New York dispatch. [volume], March 29, 1885, Image 1

About New York dispatch. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1863-1899

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IWIHD BY A. J. WIHIAMW W.
VOL. XL.-NO. 24.
Entered at'.ke Post Office at New York,
N. Y<, as Secoad Class Matter.
the ™ ’YORK DISPATCH,
PUBLISHED AT
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playFSdjlwm
SONNENTHAL, CONRIED, OR AMBERG.
A Directorial Crank—A “peculiar Cuss”—
The Great and Only Amberg—Tlxo
Engagement of Sonnenthal—Tlie
Modnlion Monarch.—Conried’s
J?lans for the Future—
A Shabby Scenic
Setting, etc.
BY JOHN CARBOY.
Heinrich Conried is a name not unfamiliar to the
German playgoers of the metropolis, nor is it by
any means strange to the English-speaking patrons
of tho drama.
Conried—to use the expressive phrase of the
lamented Artemus Ward—is a “ peculiar cuss.” In
point of fact, ho has been termed, by many of bis
more intimate friends, an out-and-out crank.
A German friend of mine, who is an especial ad
mirer of the Importer of Sonncnthal, in speaking of
his ability as a stage-director, described him as
Doing " useful, artistic, and terribly expensive.”
And one of our Broadway managers, who has had
Eome experience with Conried as a stage-manager,
gives him an endorsement to tho effect that "he
can put more art, completeness of appointments,
‘«nd depletion of a manager’s bank account into a
•Bionic setting than any other stage-director I ever
senot in the whole course of my professional career.”
Now, then, I. have summed up Herr Conried's at
tributes, as given in the foregoing estimate.
“He is a peculiar cuss.”
"He is an out-and-out crank.”
"Ho is terribly expensive '.”
Now, a man who can gain a reputation as a crank
End a peculiar and expensive “cuss” must be a man
of more than ordinary ability in his profession—
whatever it may bo. -
AN “ OUT-AND-OUT CRANK ”
is & being who, sane upon all other points, has one
particular hobby upon which, his intellect once
fairly mounted, will ride into the realms of insanity
©r into.the glory of a triumph.
A crank is usually a positive man—absolute in his
assertions, obstinate in his opinions, never a time
server, honest in his nature, ambitious, and believes
.thoroughly in himself. Not infrequently he is pop
ularly crowned as a crank, and sneered at because
his hobby—the idea to the advocacy of which he de
votes all the resources of his mind—is in advance of
his time and beyond the comprehension of his con
temporaries.
There is a long list of men who have glorified’the
art, science, and literature of the world with their
researches and labor, who were, at the outset of
their career, ranked in the category of cranks—as
loon who, in all else sensible, were crazed in regard
to some one idea.
Now here is—if lam to believe the assertions of
some of his admirers and friends—a theatrical direc
tor who is not only a crank but a peculiar and expen
sive cuss—which his name is Conried, whose foot is
not upon his native heath, but whoso present
abiding place is this metropolis.
I must say that after several pleasant chats with
him, and a careful diagnosis of his mental con
dition, and with a knowledge of his past career, I
have arrived at the conclusion that if the German
stage in America had a few more cranks like him in
its service, it would be in a much more prosperous
condition than it is now, and that there would be a
sudden and welcome disappearance from its mana
gerial ranks of incompetents of the Amberg school.
Conried may be positive, obstinate and at times
unpleasantly dictatorial in his management of tho
stage, but he nevertheless has always a
DEFINITE AND WELL CONSIDERED REASON
for what he does; he never shirks the responsibility
of his action; he faces the music, whether he is
right or.whether he is wrong—and thus far in his
stage work ho has been generally and—to parsimo
nious and speculative management — painfully
right.
He has that regard for art in stage setting which
will.not permit him for the sake of economy in cost
.to impose upon an audience the shabby furniture,
faded carpet, and tea store chromos of a second
hand auction, as the appointments of the boudoir
, of a duchess or a palace chamber.
p- He does not believe in Dutch metal where gold is
the absolute requisite.
The audience pays its money not only to see a
play properly acted, but to have its sense of sight
aud propriety pleased by an effective and appro
priate stage setting.
I sat away back in the gloom of the orchestra of
•tho Thalia Theatre, one day during the season in
•*vhich Conried was tho stage director, and watched
;2iim.rehearsing the company.
It was a pleasure to me, and tho two or .throe
■friends who were.seated there with me, but I saw it
■was hard work, and not pleasure to the people in
■the cast.
The.crank had it all his own way. No detail, ges
ture, situation or method of speech of any one, from
the leading to the smallest character, male.or female,
©scaped his direction. Ho rehearsed tho play as the
skilled master machinist would construct a ma
chine, full of all manner wheels, each dependent
upon the other, and each one requiring the greatest
©are in fitting, polishing and adjusting to
the proper.accomplishment of its share in making
the machine harmonious and perfect in tho work
for which it was intended.
I.said to myself. If this Conried be a crank he iis
IN HIS PROPER PLACE
to grind out most excellent work. It is a crank
which, like the mill of tho gods, though it may
grind slowly it grinds exceedingly fine.
Ho held all tha reins in his hand—he had the
whole team in control. From the artist on tho
paint frame to .the property man varnishing a walk
ing cane; from the stago doorkeeper over his lunch
of limburgor and be. r to the curtain boy, there
were nobody and nothing that escaped his surveil
ance. Ho was nervous, fidgetty, petulant—it may
bo—at times; but through all, and with all these
occasional faults of temperament, Conried made
his ability and authority respected by those who
were under his direction and brought to them for
their work by his strict and thorough management
tho approbation and respect of their audiences.
Never before had the German stage, in this city so
capable and efficient a director; his work was a reve
lation to the patrons of the Thalfa—a revelation
•which brought delight and a higher and heartier ap
preciation of the results which could be attained in
representations where brains and a love of art
and g»ot assininity and speculation controlled their
production.
There is nothing of the cheap-John, sell-’em-out
for-a-dinjMs characteristic in Conried’s ideas of stage
work.
Since tho appearance of the distinguished German
actor, Sonuenthai, upon the American stage there
Aas bpcij Btjddej? flood of gush—a great ways of
flatulent puffery—from the English-speaking press,
•in adulation of an individual of the name of Am
berg.
One adulatory space-stuffer in a morning paper
slops over with “Manager Amberg deserves the
thanks of the German as well as English-speaking
patrons of the theatre lor his enterprise in securing
Sonnenthal.”
From the time the engagement of Herr Sonnen
thal was announced as a fixed fact up to the occa
sion of his departure on Wednesday last, the critics
and notice writers of the English-speaking press
have created an uncertainty in the public mind as
to whether, after all, Amberg isn’t
••A BIGGER MAN THAN OLD” SONNENTHAL.
But scarcely a word for Conried, who first con
ceived the idea of bringing the German tragedian
over here; who went to Austria, engaged the actor
and secured the royal permission for his absence for a
brief period from the stage of the Berg Theatre, and
who in spite of many difficulties, brought him here.
. Not in time, unhappily, to fill the datesjfor which he
had rented the Star Theatre—where ho originally
intended the actor to give his performances.
It is Amberg first, Sonnentlial next, and then a
little more of Amberg. And then another dash of
Amberg.
I remember that at tho outset of Herr Sonnen
thal’s engagement there was in one or two para
graphic instances a vague mention of Oonreid as
being in some way or other, remotely connected
with the coming to our stage of the Austrian star.
If I mistake not, there was one journal so utterly
forgetful of the existence of the great and only Am
berg, as to mention Sonnentlial twice in the same
article and omit all allusion to the-managerial func
tionary.
For this shameful crime of omission, its perpe
trator was no doubt properly punished by his man
aging editor.
When Conried proposed the engagement of Son
nenthal, I do not think he had a dollar in the world
beyond the sum necessary to meet his current per
sonal expenses of living.
He debated within himself as to how the funds
could be raised to accomplish his purpose. He did
not debate long. The plan was soon made. There
were enough patrons of dramatic art; enough
among them who find
PLEASURE IN PROMOTING THE BEST INTER
ESTS OF THE STAGE
and-of its people, he well knew, who would not be
backward in lending him their aid.
And he made his effort in a business-like manner.
Tickets were printed for the entire series of per
formances, and these were sold in advance, and
with the money thus obtained, and with such
small suras as were loaned him, he sailed away, ful
filled his mission, and brought his prize back with
him.
It is to his efforts, to his perseverance and to his
influence and friendship with Sonnentlial, that the
thousands who have crowded the Thalia during
the.past fortnight are almost entirely indebted for
the pleasure and intellectual treat which they have
had.
It is to Amberg that Sonncnthal was indebted for
the shabby and inappropriate scenic surroundings
which attended tho production of his plays; it is to
the great and only Amberg that, even In the prop
ties, in the costumes and the general ensemble of each
night’s performance, there was nothing exhibited
which would ever cause the critical or uncritical to
call him an expensive or an out-and-out Crank, but
they might possibly be led into the belief that he is
“a peculiar cuss.”
Had Conried had the absolute direction of the
stage, and the arrangement of its scenic settings
and Sonnenthal’s engagement
would have been—aside from his own efforts—far
more memorable.
As it was, the Sonnenthal era will be recorded as
the apotheosis of Amberg.
AMBERG Hamlet, and sonnenthal.
Dramatic art, Sonnenthal, Conried—in a whisper;
Amberg in a shout. Amberg, the great and only\
in an imperial photograph in the centre of the
frame, and around him a little withered wreath of
tin-types, indicating that he was not afraid that the
dazzling lustre of his fame could be dimmed by such
obscure beings as the actors and actresses of his
company.
Amberg, the great and only—whose bronze me
dallion hangs side by side with that of the Emperor
William, or that of King Gambrinus, in the east
side beer saloons, and with his name and official ti
tle surrounding it like an aureole,'so that those who
look on it may bo sure they are not reverently lift
ing their hats to the wrong portrait.
But nowhere do we have Conried. To be sure
there were a few lithograph portraits of Sonnenthal,
and an occasional advertisement hidden away in the
amusement columns of two or three.of the German
and English daily papers, wherein there is a great
deal of Amberg and very little of Sonnenthal als
gast.
The only Amberg, from his managerial throne,
may well exclaim—in a paraphrase of Puck’s line—
“ What fools these English Editors are !”
“They worship Me; they bend the pregnant hinges
of their knees and laud Me and My greatness; give
Me qolumns of panegyric, and praise Me most, and
bring Me the rich offerings of free advertising, and
are most happy and are well content if I fling them
the poor-return of a bill board ticket. Truly lam
the only Amberg. I have made Sonnenthal famous
—cheap for cash.”
Now comes in the Crank—otherwise Conreid with
his little, but emphatic endeavor to
BELITTLE THE GREATNESS OF THE “ ONLY ’’
AMBERG.
In substance quoth Conreid—" I propose to bring
Herr Sonnenthal over next season, and if possible
for a longer term, but I will not play him upon the
Thalia stage. There is time enough for me to de
cide at which one of the English speaking theatres
he will appear. It was not in the original plan that
he should during his first engagement here have
played at the Thalia—but at the Star. I propose
that in his next series of appearances here, he will
be accompanied and supported by a company from
his own theatre.”
In one of the morning papers—notably the Sun—
the reporter who recorded the departure of Herr
Sonnenthal in the steamer from the shores of classic
Hoboken showed his utter ignorance of the relative
greatness of the various persons present upon that
occasion by mentioning the name of Sonnenthal
eight times and that of the only Amberg once.
He even added insult to injury by repeating in one
paragraph the cognomen of Levy, the cornet blow
er, twice. According to this misguided reporter, it
would seem to the ordinary reader that it was the
departure of Sonnenthal, and not the presence of
the illustrious Amberg, which he was sent to write
up. As if a shauspeiler were of more account than
a manager.
Especially a manager who spells his name in big
letters, early and often.
But while observing all due humility when in the
presence of the Great and Only, let us not forget
tha£ the credit is due to Heinrich Conried for the
presence upon our stage of Sonuenthai.
And the compositor who gets this closing para
graphic his “take” will please be careful not to mis
take tiue name of Amberg by setting it up as Hum
bug.
AN OLD PROFESSIONAL.
DEFENDED FREE BY COL. SPEN
CER FOR THE SAKE OF
“ AULD LANG SYNE.”
Annie Riley, alias Carroll, better known as "Sweet
Annie of the Glen,” was charged with attempted
larceny from the person in St. Gabriel's Church.
Her counsel, Col. Spencer, defended her from pure,
undefiled generosity. She had been a client of his
more than thirty years ago.
It appears that Scotch Jock, one of the city's old
est pickpockets, and Annie, were together “working
the kirk.” Both wore arrested, but Jack was only
acting as a "stall” for the woman, and was dis
charged in the police court. Annie was held. Offi
cer Silas B. Rodgers, of the Central Office, was com
pUijiastp Qu tUe 20tb of ho paw defendant
NEW YORKr SUNRAY. MARCH 29? 1885.
in St. Gabriel’s Church, East Thirty-seventh street.
He saw her with her right hand under tho cloak of
a lady, while the service was going on.
The colonel asked if her left arm was not injured.
The officer said she said so. This was to show that
pocketpicking being frequently done with the left
hand, she couldn’t “work,” and if working with
the right, the left arm couldn’t be lifted up to cover
the operation of the right hand.
"Did you speak to this unknown woman?” asked
counsel.
"No,” replied the officer; "she had a cloak on, and
fifty or sixty were around.”
Counsel said the law presumed defendant to be
innocent till proven guilty. Nothing was to be
assumed outside of this matter. Where they were
jammed together in a church, the mere touch on
the cloak should not bo assumed to be proof of
guilt. The hand was not proven to be in the pock
et, or any proof that there was a pocket.
•‘We will hear the defense,” said Justice Kilbretb.
"I rely on the evidence,” said Colonel Spencer.
“You can as well assume that the touch was an ac
cident, as that it was with felonious intent. There
was no proof of attempted pocket-picking.”
Tho officer, recalled, said he lost sight of the hand
when it went under the cloak.
On being acquitted, the colonel said he defended
her thirty years ago; now he again defended her for
"auld lang syne,”—she was worn out in the
service.
Scotch Jock took Annie’s arm after acquittal, and
very gallantly led her out of court.
TO HIDE HErT SIN.
An Illegitimate Daughter of a
Noble House.
The Burglary at the Scott Farm.
A Mystery Which Defied an Ex
pert Detective.
A Fortunate Stroke vrliicli Led to a Grave
Disclosure.
" Now, here is a case,” said the detective, " which
presents some features of an unusual nature.”
The writer prepared his note-book and took down
the following narrative just as the detective related
it:
In 1855, I was called to investigate a burglary at
Thornton, not far from Doncaster, in Yorkshire,
England. It was at the residence of a Mr. Scott, an
old-fashioned house standing away from the road.
Scott was a large stock farmer and in prosperous
circumstances. He was the eon of a Scotch farmer
in one of the Lothians and was his father’s manager
until he was twenty-four. Then he quarreled with<
his stepmother and went into business in Edin
burg. After a time he became confidential clerk to
a mill-owner of Dumfernline. There he made the
acquaintance of a Miss Stenhouse, who lived with
an old lady whom she supposed to be her aunt,
though no relation. Miss Stenhouse was* in reality
an illegitimate child of a member of the distin
guished Dalrymple family.
Previous to this she had been engaged to a Mr.
Hope, but her lover became involved in an amour
with a Leith girl, which obtained publicity in the
county, and Miss Stenhouse dismissed him. Just
after this Scott was introduced to her and became
her accepted lover. Hope, meanwhile, had quit the
neighborhood, having been found to be a defaulter
to the firm of which ho was a salaried partner.
Scott's maternal uncle died and left him valuable
stock on his farm near Thornton. Scott had no
difficulty in securing a long lease of the farm, and
went to live there with his wife immediately after
their marriage. His wife had six thousand pounds,
and tho old house was comfortably repaired and
fitted up. Two children wore born within three
years, and Scott was very successful in his business.
THE BURGLARY.
On July 6, 1855, Scott went to attend one of the
great northern cattle fairs. That night was very
warm, and, on retiring, Mrs. Scott left a window
open in her bed-room, which was in the southwest
corner, in the second story.
She extinguished the light and retired to bed, but
soon afterward, fancying she heard one of the chil
dren cry, she rose and went to the nursery, which
was adjoining. Finding that she was mistaken, she
removed some of the covers from the elder child,
and returned to her bed-room.. She had hardly lain
down in bed, when a light flashed in tho room.
Hastily sitting up, she received the full glare of a
bull s-eyo lantern upon her face and saw a tall
masked man by the bedside.
" If you move or make any outcry,” said the man,
it will be worse for you.”
Another tall masked man here approached the
bed and said in a low tone.
“No roughness; be gentle with her, Jack.”
"Lie down,” said the first speaker, and she obey
ed. He added; “ now tell us where you keep your
valuables and money ?”
She pointed to a bureau, and the man said to his
companion; "search the bureau.” After that she
became insensible and knew no more. The thieves
took jewelry valued at over a thousand pounds,
and three hundred and fifty pounds in money.
HUNTING FOR A CLEW.
This was tho story Mrs. Scott toldin the presence
of her husband, who had been telegraphed lor the
morning after the robbery. She was still suffering
from the fright caused by the midnight scene, and I
got the story out of her in fragments.
I examined the window in her room and saw
signs of something on .the sill, I hardly knew what,
but I was inclined to think the marks were made by
a man’s boot. There was no doubt in my view,
that the thieves had come through the window and
departed in the same way. There were three win
dows in the room, two in front, and one at the side,
and by the latter they had entered. It was easy of
access from the gravel path below, a strong lattice
work for creepers running almost from the ground
to tho sill. On this lattice work were unmistakable
marks of a man’s feet. Tho gravel was hard and
no footmarks could be traced there. I went to
work in the neighborhood and made inquiries.
Mrs. Scott was very positive that both men were
very tall, as tall as her husband, who was fully six
feet. I searched the whole vicinity and could find
no clew.
A HORSEMAN.
Just about ten o’clock, a short, stoutly-built man
passed through the tollgate on horseback, but the
keeper did not see his face. The same man return
ed toward Doncaster just at daybreak next morn
ing, but he had a red silk handkerchief thrown over
his head which effectually concealed his features.
The man, the keeper said, had been in the habit of
coming and going much in the same way for sev
eral months, and he supposed he was a cattle doc
tor, though ho could give no reasons for thinking
so beyond the fact that there wero three or four
large stock farms up that way.
The people in that district go early to bed, and it
was difficult to find any one who had been around
from eleven to one o’clock that night. Jonas Hart
ley, a laborer, said that he was in the coppice near
Scott’s house that night, and saw a man lead a horse
past and tie it to a tree a hundred yards away. As
Jonas was around for no good purpose, he got away
just as soon as the man was at a safe distance, and
saw no more of him. This was close on eleven
o’clock, so that there was no doubt in my mind that
it was the same man who had passed through the
tollgate about an hour earlier. I traced this horse
man into Doncaster, and found where he had hired
the horse. There all traces of him were lost. The
liveryman, however, said that ho had been in the
habit of hiring a horse from him about once a month
for some time, always in the night, and that, find
ing him square, he let him have tho horse this time
without any deposit. On returning it, he tendered
a five-pound Bank of England note in payment.
The man had, however, passed the note to some one
else. I knew most of the expert burglars in the
United Kingdom, their build, bight, and so forth,
but I sUdn’t know one who was oyer flvo feet ten, I
Starless art
tried to trace these men to Leeds, or to Bradford,
or Hull, or London, or Birmingham—to all the large
centres where burglars usually seek refuge and liavo
friends, but it was in vain.
STILL POSITIVE.
I put Mrs. Scott through a rigid examination once
more. I did not spare her. She was more positive,
if possible, than ever that both men were over six
feet.
“ How do yon know it? Be explicit,” I said.
“I am accustomed to see my husband by the bed
side, ah.d these men were just about the same
bight,” was the reply.
" Might you not have been mistaken ?” I asked.
“ Impossible,” she answered. Then she suddenly
brightened up and added: “ I observed that their
heads were exactly on a level with the curtains
round the top of the bed.”
. I measured the bight of these curtains and found
them six feet eight inches from the floor. I told her
this, and said:
" What do you say to it now ?”
“Oh !” she replied, though evidently flustered for
a moment, “the hangings now upon the bed are not
tho same as were there on the night of the robbery.”
I asked to see those that wero on that night, but
she replied that they wero old, and she believed they
were destroyed.
A PALE FACE AND FLASHING EYES.
Now, I will go back a little. When I first came to
Scott’s house, I observed a young woman of medi
um bight and well-formed, with an intensely pale
face and large black eyes that flashed upon you in a
half frightened way. This woman was the nurse
maid, and had charge of the children. It seemed to
me that I could never get away from her. If I went
into the vestibule, her eyes wore fixed upon me
from tho gallery above. If I examined the exterior
of the house, I was sure to seo those flaming, glar
ing eyes watching me. When I was measuring the
curtain in Mrs. Scott’s room, the eyes suddenly
disappeared from the doorway as I looked up.
When I was in the midst of the conversation with
Mrs. Scott, I turned my eyes to the open window,
and there was the woman in the shadow of a bust
close by the window, with her fiery orbs blazing
upon mo. This thing, I tell you, had a very strange
effect upon me, and kept coming into my thoughts
for fully an hour as I walked up and down the gar
den, considering what I could possibly do more be
fore I returned to London.
I entered the vestibule, and as I had not finished
my cigar, stood smoking under the main stairway.
I made up my mind that I would tell Mr. Scott it
was useless my spending more time on the case or
putting him to further expense.
LIZZIE.
I threw down the stump of my cigar and took a*
step toward the library door. It was not fastened,
but as I pushed it open there was an obstruction.
It yielded, however, and I entered. There before
me were tho large, brilliant eyes, their owner slowly
retreating backward. I purposely advanced toward
her,and as I did so she raised the feather broom which
she held in her hand, as though to ward off a blow
When she reached tho fireplace, she stopped and
stood in that attitude. What put it into my head,
I know not, but I suddenly asked her the question:
"Lizzie, what do you know about this robbery ?”
With her eyes still covering me and the feather
broom still held as though to fend me off, she said,
in a voice scarcely louder than a whisper;
“ Nothing 1”
“Now, that won’t do,” I said; "I’m looking for
some one who knows something about this affair,
and I’m going to find him or her before I go back
to London.”
Never dropping her eyes, she still stood motion
less.
“ What eyes you have, Lizzie !” I said. " Lot me
try and mesmerize you.”
Then I began to make passes with my hands. She
held up tho broom.
“Down with your hand,” I said in a stern, com
manding tone, looking her firmly in the eyes. She
dropped her hand with something like a gasp, and I
renewed tho passes.
" Once 1 get you into the mesmeric sleep,” I said,
“I’ll make you answer all tho questions I put to
you, whether you wish it or not.”
UNDER A SPELL.
She sank down into a crouching posture, and a
mist seemed to cover her eyes.
" You were in tho nursery that night when Mrs.
Scott went in to see what ailed the child ?” I asked.
"Yes,”sho replied in the same half whisper as
before.
“ Were you asleep ?” I inquired,
“ No,” in the same voice.
"Was the window in the nursery open.?” was the
next question.
“ Yes,” she said, dropping her eyes for the first
time.
"Did you hear any ono outside in tho garden ?” I
repeated this question three times, but sho made no
reply.
1 took the bright steel darbies from my coat
pocket and playfully rattled them. Her eyes rose
and settled upon them.
“Did you hear any one in the garden ?” I again
asked.
" Yes.” This came more as a sigh than an utter
ance. Here I determined to put no more leading
questions, but try and get the facts out of her.
“ Where did he stand ?” I asked.
" Under the window.” This in a more distinct
tone.
“Who was with him ?” came next.
"No one was with him—in tho garden,” she said.
" Where was the other person ?” I asked, stooping
and gazing into her face, at tho same time raising
tho darbies. Her ey-es followed them until I throw
them up and caught them. Then the eyes seemed
to spring after them, but stopped when they caught
mine. I repeated the question with emphasis:
“ Where was the other person
"At tho window,” she answered.
“ Who was that other person ?” I asked.
She arose .to her feet and remained silent. I didn’t
press tho question, but put another instead.
" The man climbed in at the window ?” I asked.
There was no answer. “What time was that,” I
asked, " when you first saw him ?”
"Eleven o’clock,” was the answer.
" And at what time did you see him quit the room
of Mrs. Scott by tho window?”
"Three o’clock,” she said.
"You see these, Lizzie?” I said, as I shook the
darbies; "if you speak about what we have been
talking, I shall have to take you to Wakefield with
these upon your wrists.”
SOLVED.
What was Idodo ? I soon made up my mind. I
sought Mr. Scott, and told him what I had found
out. What followed between him and his wife I
don’t know, but this is the story as given to mo by
Mr. Scott.
Hope and Miss Stenhouse had been privately mar
ried. After the disclosure of his licentious charac
ter and his disappearance, the unfortunate young
wife was ashamed to disclose the fact, and, imagin
ing that he would never more be heard of, she mar
ried Scott. Two years afterward Hope appeared at
Thornton, and demanded money to keep the secret.
Month after month he renewed his application, and
then demanded more—tho rights of a husband.
The woman yielded, and finally, when she had
given all she could get possession of, she gave him
her jewels and the money left in her caro by her
husband. Then she concocted this story of the bur
glary. Lizzie had long suspected the truth, but
Mr. Scott had befriended her and her mother, res
cuing the one from jail, whither she would have
been sent for stealing to satisfy hunger, and the
other from the workhouse, and so the girl resolved,
with what little strength of mind she had, never to
betray her mistress. The persistency with which
Mrs. Scott insisted on tho sizo of the burglars, can
only be explained by her desire to keep all suspicion
from Hope, who was a man about the medium
bight.
What became of Mrs. Scott ? As it was discovered
that Hope was really a married man when ho pro
fessed to wed Miss Stenhouse, the thing was easily
settled. Scott was a man of sense, and made allow
ance fey a woman placed in such a situation.
THE EXCISIUW.
VERY FEW TRIALS LAST WEEK.
The Accused Believing in Having a Jury
Trial—Dumb—Stupid—A Doubt—
JLeft the Boss.
HAD NO DEFENSE.
William Ludvoght, of No. 219 Hudson street, was
arrested Sunday, March 15th, charged with violating
the Excise Law- Officer O’Connor said he went in
by tho sido-door, asked for a glass of ale, tasted it,
paid for it and then made the arrest. It was a little
after nine in the morning.
There was no defense. Fined SBO.
SELLING WITHOUT LICENSE.
August Kiewitz keeps a lager-beer saloon and
boarding-house at No. 103 Cherry street. He is un
licensed, but sells to his boarders and others.
On the 7th of March Officer Fitzpatrick entered
the place. Defendant was behind the bar, two
glasses of beer were on the counter, and a man put
some money on the counter. As soon as he saw tho
officer, defendant put the beer under the counter.
Kiewitz took the stand and said he kept a sailors’
boarding-house. That day he went out with his
wife for a walk. He returned and they had a glass
of beer together.
" But the officer says some money passed ?” said
the Court.
" The man that was there wanted change, and he
did not understand English.”
" But that same man that wanted change had a
glass of beer?” said tho Court.
•* No, sir, that beer was drawn for me and my
wife. When the officer came in I put the beer be
hind me on the shelf, and the man went around
when I was talking to the officer and drank it.”
" That's the man got the change ?’*
He was fined $25 for selling without a license.
A DOUBT.
Petro Casselo, of No. 77 James street, was arrested
by Officer Fitzpatrick, of tho First Inspection Dis
trict, for keeping his place open on Sunday. It is a
lager beer saloon. The officer went through the side
door to the bar. Defendent said ho wasn’t selling
that day, but it was lit up. Ho went to tho collar
to get a scuttle of coal to fill the stove, then tho
officer came in. Ho never kept open on Sunday in
his life.
" Who were these two women in the place ?”
asked the Court,
" One was my sister, tho other my wife.”
The officer recalled, said the place was respecta
ble.
"How did you happen to go in?” asked the
court.
"I saw tho place open and went in.”
The court considered that there was a doubt and
discharged the prisoner.
WHY ACQUITTED.
Louis Nelson, of No. 252 Fourth avenue, lager
beer saloon, was chargod with being open on the
Bth of March. Officer J. K. Price entered the place
and found defendant, the bar-keeper, behind the
bar, and put him under arrest.
" Do you know who ho is ?” asked the court.
"Yes, sir, bartender.”
«• Was the proprietor in tho saloon when you
made the arrest?”
"Yes, sir.”
" Why didn’t you arrest him ?”
" I had arrested the bartender, and then I saw
the proprietor.”
"Step down,” said the court, "The defendant is
discharged. The proprietor was the man that
should have been arrested.”
YOUNGrBUTOLDOFFENDERS
“RED MACK,” OF THE SIXTEENTH
JWARD.
Charles McKenna, alias “Red Mack,” aged eight
een, the leader of a gang of dock thieves in the Six
teenth Ward, was charged with stealing coal from a
barge at the foot of Fifteenth street. Thomas Mc-
Cusker, the master of the barge, said that seven
boys came down the pier, each with a bag over his
shoulder. Each bag would hold 200 pounds. When
McCusker told them to keep off his boat, they told
him to shut up; they would throw him overboard if
he didn’t let them take the coal. As he walked off
the boat they camo on board and took possession of
it.
Officer Smith said several complaints bad come to
the station house of thieves going on this dock just
at relieving time, when ono officer was going into
the station house and the other was coming out.
On the 15th he went from the station house to the
dock at 6 o’clock, and found Captain McCusker,who
told him that the gang had taken possession of his
boat and were filling their bags with coal. When he
got to the boat all but the prisoner had escaped.
He was found in the hold, and pretended to be
drunk. The seven sacks were filled with coal.
Defendant said he wont down ou the dock and
saw a man pulling a log out of the river. He got
hold of the rope to help pull it up, and tho boys
halloed “ Cheese it,” and the officer came up and
put tho nippers on him.
The court sent him to tho Penitentiary for a year.
NOT TRUE, BUT PLAUSIBLE.
A clock was stolen from the premises of William
Schulz, St. Mark’s Place, by a lad named Jarnos Wil
son. An officer met him carrying it and asked him
where he got it, and being unable to tell, he arrest
ed him at Twenty-second street and Second avenue.
The boy said: “ Coming from work at six o’clock,
a man says to.me, ‘Do you want to buy a clock?
I’ll sell it cheap.’ He wanted a dollar. I only had
half a dollar. I gave half a dollar for it, and walked
through First avenue and went into a clock store
and asked if they wanted to buy a clock. They
said‘No.’ I asked what it was worth. They said,
‘Twelve dollars.’ When I esme out the officer
arrested me.”
“ How old are you ?” asked the court.
" Seventeen.”
" This is the third time you have been here for
larceny. What was done with you the last time?”
" I got a month.”
"Four months this time,” said the court.
HIS THIRD CONVICTION.
John Carlin, aged seventeen, pleaded guilty to
snatching a satchel from the hand of Lizzy Smith.
The officer said the boy was slightly under the in
fluence of liquor. He was asked how often he had
been arrested. Once for stealing a velocipede, in
company with two other boys. That didn’t profit
him much, the court remarked. He was asked who
told him in prison to say he was seventeen. No
body. In the Police Court he said sixteen. The
court said this was the third time he had been be
fore the court for larceny. The last time he got a
month. On this conviction he got four months,
The next time will probably be Sing Sing.
LIGHT FOR IiHeTcRI ?£E.
TWICE ASSAULTED BY THE SAME
TRAMPS.
Patrick Carroll and Henry Malon, city tramps,
were charged with twice assaulting James Donovan,
with intent to rob him. On the first occasion, Mr.
Donovan gave the "bums” a regular thrashing, and
when the officer arrested them ho declined to prose
cute; but they waylaid him a few nights after, and,
catching him unawares, ho was most unmercifully
whipped. When the assailants were arrested the
second time, Donovan prosecuted them for the last
assault. Mr. Donovan said :
"Passing through Twentieth street, within
seventy feet of my own house, they took me on the
inside. Malon hit me on the temple and knocked
me down. I got up as quick as possible, and one
said to the other, ‘ Get his boodle.’ I didn’t know
what they meant, and said, ‘What do you want?’
and made a blow at him. Carroll took hold of my
hands, and Malon knocked me down. Nothing had
occurred. I couldn’t say whether they were drunk
or sober. They were brought to my house after the
assault, but I didn’t want to bother with them, and
let them go, Tho next night, h<rwever, they gave it
to me.” *
OFFICE, NO. 11 FRANKFORT ST.
Officer Cassidy said on the 10th he arrested the
accused; a citizen had told him of the assault. He
took them before Mr. Donovan,who identified them,
but would not make any charge. On the 12th Mr.
Donovan’s son said his father was in a very bad
condition; he had been again waylaid by the same
men, and Officer Cassidy again arrested them.
Malon has been arrested for burglary, and Carroll
for intoxication.
They wore sent to the Penitentiary for six months
each.
OUR MUffi IHJTU.
article
THE TWENTY-SECOND REGIMENT.
How an Outburst of Patriotism Created a
Legion of Armed Men—A Regiment of
Patriots—The Twenty-Second’s Serv
ices in War and Peace—Randies
on Drill and Demons in Battle.
There is 'one feature of the groat civil war which
divided the country twenty-five years ago upon
which the historian will ever dwell with wonder
and delight. That is the self-sacrificing patriotism
it provoked. Where other nations go to war with
legions of hired mercenaries, and fill the ranks of
their national soldiery with conscripts, the United
States went to battle with the voluntary support of
her best citizens, and men who had everything to
lose and nothing to gain by the sacrifice of self to
country, made that sacrifice without hesitation or
regret.
To[this class belong the men with whom the Twen
ty-second Regiment, N. Y. S. N. G., originated,
name of Twenty-second was unknown to the annals
of our militia previous to the bombardment of Fort
Sumpter. When the news of that portentous event
reached New York it aroused the wildest indigna
tion and enthusiasm. All business was suspended,
all private interests sunk in the absorbing topic of
the time. In no section of New York was this more
noticeable than in the great mart where commerce
held her broath and watched with a brow darkened
by the clouds of the coming storm the progress of
the crisis.
One day some patriotic business men, young and
old, who were in the habit of meeting in a famous
restaurant in the financial centre, discussed the
possibility of organizing a regiment of volunteers
among their own circle. Certain leading bankers,
insurance*men, and other magnates in trade ex
pressed their readiness to stand by such an organi
zation with all the means at their command. The
time was one of deeds that followed quickly upon
words. Almost in a day the regiment was formed.
Its projectors drummed supporters up among
their friends on all sides. From the bank and the
lawyer’s office, the warehouse and the counting
room, young men who had never known of war or
arms, except by hearsay, came trooping forth, their
pale faces flushed with the spirit of enthusiasm. A
newspaper of the day described the organization of
the Twenty-second as a "hurrah exploit,” and it
must have been one indeed. It was, moreover, a
hearty hurrah that could produce such a result.
The Twenty-second was organized in April, 1861,
and entered the United States service on May 28th,
of the same year, for throe months. It performed
its tour of duty at Washington and Harper’s Ferry,
and was mustered out on September sth. Hun
dreds of its officers and men immediately entered
the volunteer service, and were distributed among
the various new regiments, their proficiency in drill
rendering thorn especially valuable. The regiment
filled its ranks immediately it returned to New York,
and when, in May, 1863, President Lincoln an
nounced the necessity of more men to the front, it
was ready, for action again. On June 18th, 1363, it
was again mustered in, this time for thirty days.
It inhaled the smoke of battle at Sporting Hill and
Carlisle, Pa,, and was mustered out on July 2lth.
Again the enthusiasm of war decimated its ranks,
leaving it to return home and fill the places of the
absentees with fresh material.
Immediately upon its return the Twenty-second
was called into service to protect the city during
the draft riots. It also served during the Orange
riots of 1871, and in 1877 was one of the regiments
which camped in their arsenals in expectation of a
summons for the suppression of the dreaded and
dreadful railroad riots.
The end of the war found the Twenty-second al
most a new regiment, so many had been the changes
made in it from top to bottom. But it retained its
high character, and holds it still. The regiment
ranks with the Seventh and Twelfth as one of the
three best in the city, and it has its colonel to thank
for it.
Colonel Josiah Porter is a lawyer by profession,
but a soldier by experience. He was a private in the
Boston Cadets, and a First Lieutenant in the Boston
City Guards before the war. When the war broke
out ho was Adjutant of the Ancient and Honorable
Artillery of that city, and with his battery enlisted
in the volunteer artillery, in which he served as
lieutenant and captain for two years in the field.
On June 13th, 1865, he was elected a captain in the
Twenty-second, becoming a major in 1867, Lieuten
ant-Colonel in 1869, and Colonel at the end of the
same year. His devotion to his regiment and his
soldierly example may be thanked for the splendid
organization and lofty regimental spirit which ani
mates his whole command.
Another old soldier in the Twenty-second Is Adju
tant William J. Harding. Adjutant Harding is an
Englishman by birth, and, like his colonel, a lawyer
by profession. Ho won considerable experience in
his native country as a gunner in the volunteer ar
tillery. In 1863 he came to America, and entered the
Seventh New Hampshire volunteers as a private,
advancing to a captaincy, through all the grades, in
1867, he entered the Twenty-second as a private the
following July, and advanced in it to his present
post, to which he was elected in 1877. There are
more veterans still among the officers of the Twen
ty-second. • Assistant Surgeon Sims saw service in
the ambulance corps during the bloody campaigns
of the Franco-Prussian war; Inspector of Rifle
Practice Downing was out with the First New York
and Captain Freeman with the Twenty-fifth New
Jersey Volunteers, and there are several more who
bear commissions and have done duty in the field;
but, as a rule, the men are new ones, having come
into the regiment since the war—some from other
regiments, but the bulk from civil life.
The Twenty-second is a thoroughly representative
New York regiment in make-up. Like the Seventh,
its membership is drawn from the upper ranks of
commercial life, and has all the progressive spirit
of intelligence and youthful devotion to duty. It
is one of the strong rifle regiments in all our shoot
ing contests, and on parade ranks with the best in
drill and equipment. Like the Eleventh, is has an
armory which seriously needs improving. At pres
ent the regiment encounters all the perils of war
whenever it drills. There is an active rivalry be
tween the "clerks’ regiments,” as the Seventh and
Twenty-second are called, among National Guards
men, though they are the best of friends. Both
regiments go in for fine accuracy of drill and wear
the most distinctive uniforms in our militia. The
Twenty second’s is the showiest uniform worn, and
is better adapted for the ball-room than for active
service. In skirmish drill the Twenty-second is ad
mitted to bo the champion. The only regiment
that runs it close in this line is the Twelfth, which,
although not as perfect in deliberate drill, is amaz
ingly proficient in all the quick and active move
ments of the manual of arms.
Most of our regiments have won the distinction of :
nicknames, more or less appropriate, from the mob. '
Thus the Seventh men are stigmatized as "dudes,” 1
by reason of their erroneously supposed airiness; the i
Twelfth as 'owls,” for their late hours and con- i
vivial characteristics, and the Twenty-second as .<
"dandies.” When they are on parade the term j
certainly fits them. (
Next week the Dispatch will tell the story of the oldest t
regiment in our National Guard, Look out for the I
Eighth Regiment, it has an interesting history.
PRICE FI VE jCENCI*
’ DYING FIRES.
BY EDWARD FULLER.
. The log on which the hearth-fire long has fed
i Is nigh consum’d, and now the flame burns 10Wj
) With ono faint blaze of feeble, flickering red,
That ghostly figures o‘n the wall doth throw.
L But now the wind comes breathing soft along,
•It flames again and lights the gloom about,
J Then lower sinks, as quick the wind is gone,
Then flickering fades and with a puff goes out.
Love’s fire for long has fed upon the heart,
And nigh consum’d it through a feeble flame.
From out the ashes now and then doth start.
Casting weird shadows on the troubled brain;
But mem’ry winds come breathing softly by,
It glows again and for a time is bright.
Then the thought passes and lips sadly sigh.
As it dies out and leaves behind but night.
i —
(gaming Stag,
l WINNING
j HER INHERITANCE,
f
i BY BARBARA DEMPSTER,
f
0 CHAPTER 111.
0 ’‘you THOUGHT I WAS ONLY A CHILD,”
Three weeks later, about five in the afternoon,
the London train steamed into Usk Station. It
0 was a small station, about five miles distant
3 ’from Mr. Irwyn’s country seat in Cornwall. Tim
1 train moved off again, leaving the passenger it
t had put down standing very disconsolate and
lonely, the sun blazing down upon her, while
. two sleepy porters, who seemed to constitute
f the whole of the officials, stared at her in groat
0 disapproval for her interruption of their aiter
-0 noon nap. Lyn gazed after the retreating train,'
I as if it were the last link between herself and
f that loving world of two hearts that she had left
a behind. The journey, full of the pain of part
s ings, of fear, and of shrinking from the things
0 to come, had been bad enough; but this arrival,
„ with no one to meet her, not a single voice to
i, greet her, almost took the last spark of her
courage away. A little more standing still, a
l- little more gazing into that whirlwind of dust—
e all that was now left of the train—and the tears
II would have forced their way Irom her eyes.
'• She turned abruptly to one of the porters,
s who was standing watching her with as much
0 curiosity as the intense heat would allow.
’ r “I want to goto Usk Hall. Is there no ono
r to meet mo ?” she asked, with imperious dig-
A nity.
>f The porter was impressed in spite of himself
it by the manner of this forlorn young lady, who
a had very little luggage, and no friends to meet
her.
“No one has been down here yet, miss; but
'• I’ll just look.”
d He went oft to the end of the platform and
’’ looked over the railing into the country road.
d In his absence Lyn had to clutch very tightly
g at her umbrella and parasol, which were
fl strapped together, so very near ths surface did
i t the tears still linger. He came back moro
t, quickly, with a considerable addition of defor
i- ence in his manner.
It “Yes, miss. There’s the carriage just come.”
it He caught up her luggage, consisting of a
’• small box and a portmanteau, and wheeled
d them briskly along, followed by Lyn, fighting
K hard to keep up as much dignity as she could
with those foolish tears so near to her eyes.
1 Outside the station, in the country road, stood .
(i ' a victoria, and, close by, a neat little cart,
„ driven by a groom.
, e The victoria was empty. Mrs. Cobb would.
:s not trouble to come and meet her. The sight ot
a the empty carriage did what all Lyn’s efforts
d had failed to do. The tears were scorched up,
and even a faint color came into her pale cheeks.
'■ She understood clearly enough that it would bo
!a war to the kuife between her and the Cobb fans
is
it 11 - v -
o The mau-servant jumped down from the vie
k toria, and, coming up to her, touched his hat.
“ Miss Irwyn ?”
Xj “Yes,” answered Lyn, with grout dignity,
e stepping into the carriage, while the groom pul
n her luggage into the little cart.
:e “Do you wish to wait for anything, miss!”
e asked the man respectfully.
a “No. You can drive on,” answered Lyn,
3 calmly, feeling a wild desire to jump out and
o rush back into the station to wait for the next
train to London.
0 The man touched his hat again, jumped up
s beside the coachman, and the victoria drove off.
j They passed through sweet rose-tangled coun
i- tty lanes, beneath dickering shadows of thick
leaved trees, glided by golden corn fields and
green daisy-starred meadows, the glorious sun
o shine falling upon all.
r The beauty of everything, sights and sounds
1 and fragrant scents, fell upon Lyn’s troubled
sorrowful heart like a spell. She forgot to bo
8 angry with Mrs. Cobb for her hardness, she lor
’ got the fear of the coming life; she could not
forget quite the pain of the partings, but tbo
□ sting of even that was lulled' as she tried (o
t fancy how her mother and Anne would look if
3 only she could have them there beside her.
The carriage at last passed through the gates
i of the grounds and swept up the magnificent
s drive; and, as Lyn caught glimpses of park
-3 laud and beautiful old trees, her youth and
: natural courage began to re-assert themselves.
’ Usk Hall was an old gray building with a tor
’ race of stone running the whole length of its
’ front, low broad steps loading up to it from the
. garden.
This afternoon the whole place was bathed in
x sunshine; and, as the carriage drove up to the
, door, Lyn thought she had never seen a love
r lier picture than that made by the old gray
t house—the exquisitely kept lawns shaded by
l elumps of magnificent trees, the scarlet masses
of bloom that lay in patches upon the emerald
1 velvet of the lawn or overflowed in wild luxuri
ance from gray-stone vases set along the ter
race.
She gazed round upon it, unconscious of
the fact that Benson had come down the stops,
and was waiting to assist her to alight, a re
spectful smile of welcome upon his face; uncon
scious of a maid-servant watching her a little
curiously from the doorway of the great square
hall, of an old man’s face peering out from a
window with a curious look on his hard wrinkled
face. Nor did she see the tall, athletic figure
of a young man, who, holding his racquet in his
hand, had just strolled round the house from
the tennis courts, and who stood now half con
cealed behind a groat cluster of Gloire de Dijon
roses, which partly covered in one end of the
long terrace. He was smiling—smiling as a
man smiles at a pretty child, for Lyn, though
unaware of it herself, was one of the prettiest
objects in all that beautiful scene, as, her lithe,
•slender figure bent a little forward, her lips
parted with the quickened breath, a flush of ex
citemcnt-on the softly rounded cheeks, she
gazed out in wondering delight at the beauty
around her.
Then, with a little start of vexation and -