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IWl® i W wß<r wWWWI v jojl,.||b|.. zx^; ' y .iQiipy PUBLISHED BI A. J. WILLIAMSON’S SONS. VOL. XL.-NO. 26. Entered at the Post Office at New York, N. ¥., as Second Class Matter* THE PUBLISHED AT NO. 11 FRANKFORT STREET. The NEW YORK DISPATCH is a journal of light, agree able and sparkling Literature and News. One page is de voted to Masonic Matters, and careftil attention is given to Music and the Drama. The Dispatch is sold by all News Agents of the city and suburbs, at FIVE CENTS A COPY. TERMS FOR MAIL SUBSCRIBERS: SINGLE SUBSCRIPTIONS $2 50 a year TWO SUBSCRIBERS 400 “ FIVE SUBSCRIBERS 900 “ ALL MAIL SUBSCRIPTIONS MUST BE PAID IN AD VANCE. POSTAGE PAID EVERYWHERE BY THE DISPATCH OFFICE. Address NEW YORK DISPATCH, Poet Office Box No. 1775. STEELE MACKAYE REDIVIVUS. A Positive Man-The New Theatre—En ter Mack aye—Tlie Automatic Ticket Speculator — The Electric TJslier— “No Flies on this Stage”—A Me chanical Dramatist—Tlie New Fire Escape. BY JOHN CARBOY. it you wish to feast your eyes with the sight of Positive Man look upon Steele Mackaye. In this regard, to quote the remark of Mr. J. Cieesar, who I believe was at one time a person of considerable consequence in the Roman Empire— he is as " constant as the northern star, of whose true fix’d and resting quality there is no follow in the firmament.’* He believes in himseX Staff himself only. And he is of the opinion that with himself he is always in good company. And being this quality of believer he can argue his of a question with the direct ness and force of logic of a Philadelphia lawyer. Positive? If you doubt it just try and convince him that he fe Wrong in reference to any given point in What ke may assert, and you will find your- I self knocked'out 1 in the first round. I think that with a fair opportunity for getting Sn his fine work in the line of argument he coald <eonvett : Bob Ingersoll, and talk him into the Tanks ■of the Salvation Army as one of its most valiant and faithful warriors. Horrever encountered but one individual upon whom his eloquence was wasted, and who was as impervious to his powers of persuasion, enforced hyall the gestures and grimaces of Delsartian ora tory, as the back of a duck is to water. individual was Mallory—t7te Mallory. l lt remained for A. M. Palmer to capture that stronghold. I am of the opinion that had Mackaye remained a ~year longer in the management of the Madison •Square Theatre, he would have converted the entire ■block upon which it stands into one vast theatre, ■with the Fifth Avenue Hotel as an annex in which to store his constantly increasing stock ox inven tions and ideas. I remember that one afternoon in the long, long ago, when "Hazel Kirke” was in its early youth, I had occasion to visit the Madison Square taber nacle and ascend the narrow way to the holy of holies—the Mallory office. THE GATES WERE AJAR, or rather let me say the doors. Shaking the pro fane dust of the street from my number nine san dals, I entered the sacred presence. I made but one step over the threshold and then paused. There was before me the vision of a tall form wildly gesticulating and towering over a very little man who seemed to be crouching and trying to shrink out of sight and sink into the innermost recesses of a huge, easy chair. The tall form was that of Steele Mackaye; the lit tle man in the easy chair was Mallory. A moment later Mallory, just as I imagined he was on the point of shrinking into the nothingness of an atom of dust—caught sight of me. »• Saved!” ho murmured, and slid out of the chair. In a little while after, I very naturally inquired ■what the trouble was that had caused Mackaye to turn on the tap of his eloquence. *' Lord deliver me from evil,” sighed Mallory, “If you had not come in when you did, I would have been done for. He was trying to talk me into giv ing a one hundred dollar bill to every purchaser of a seat for tho twenty-fifth performance of * Hazel Kirke,’as a souvenir. And if he had not been in terrupted by your entrance, I would have had to. <!o it.” Now, when the Mallory is no longer a manager; when the double stage goes up to glory and comes down to hard pan at the command of Palmer— tho whirligig of time has again brought the in domitable and positive Mackaye to the front as a playwright, a builder, an inventor and—l was about to say as an actor, but I won’t. On last Monday The Lyceum Theatre was opened for the admission of the general public, the in auguration of Mackaye’s management, and for the first performance of his comedy drama in five acts. In a previous issue of the Dispatch there appeared in the dramatic columns an elaborate and minute •discription of the interior of this theatre and its warious decorations. But the description, carefully prepared as it was, was by no means complete—for it failed to enumer ate the many wonderful provisions, invented and perfected by Mr. Mackaye for the benefit of those who might hereafter patronise the " temple.” Some of these inventions were not visible on tho opening night—but since then they have been finished and put in place. The glory of the Madison fiqaaare Theatre with its noiseless ushers, its patent ventilation, double stage and aerial orchestra dwindles into insignificance when compared with this latest addition to .the " HOMES OF DRAMATIC ART.” At the main entrance there are on either side of the lofty and spacious portals a pair of automatic ticket spectators. The figures are clad in dress suits, and the whirring sound of the machinery inside alono indicates that they are other than things of life. These figures are wound up for busi ness onceaday. They are a vast improvement over the speculators to which the public have become painfully accustomed. Being mere figures they cannot blaspheme, nor can they expectorate tobacco juice upon the dresses of the ladies as they pass in. Each one holds in his outstretched hand a small box, into which each person desiring to secure seats ■without the trouble of going to the box-office, must drop the exact amount in silver, through a slit in tho top. The moment the price of a seat is dropped in, a handsomely-engraved coupon springs out of the box into the hand of the purchaser. On the side of the box is a diagram of the seats, each seat space being numbered and marked by an electric button. The purchaser, when he drops the "exact” amount into the box, has only to touch the button <of the numbered seat he desires, and the coupon which flies into his hand will bear the correspond ing figure. An automatic figure, as a ticket-seller in the box office, is all finished except putting a head on it. Ascending the broad and handsomely-carpeted stairs to the orchestra entrance, there is visible an other invention—that of an electric seat indicator, by which the services of the usual corps of ushers are dispensed with. At the back are seated, at'small desks, opposite the entrance to each aisle of the house, officials, with a series of buttons in front of them, communicating by electric wires to every scat on the floor. As the holder of the coupon en ters, he announces to one of these operators the iiet/er and number of bis seat. The operator touches a button, and at once, from the back of the .seat, there springs up a Strip of card- board indicating its locality, and thus guides its f purchaser directly to it. The cardbeard remains i in sight until the seat is occupied. Once seated, the auditor, by simply touching a spring in the back of the seat directly in front of him, will have a programme, printed on satin, thrust into his hands. On the stage the improvements invented by Mr. Mackaye almost seem marvellous. THERE ARE NO “ FLIES ” ON THIS STAGE. There are no grooves; all the sets are made by means of electric appliances. Strong magnets are not only used in lieu of braces and screws to hold set pieces, such as cottages, trees, and rocks, in place, but to draw up the drops, and work the entire machinery of the scene. All these magnets are managed by one person at the prompt place, in precisely the same manner in which be controls the front and stage lights. ■ The musicians are automatic, and the sounds of the various they are supposed to be playing are so faithfully imitated that none who sat in front and listened to them on tho first night and watched the natural movements and realistic ex pression of the faces of the various players, ima gined for an instant that they were after all merely mechanical music-boxes clad in dark suits and sot in motion by the will of the prompter, Mr. Mackaye informed me positively that it was his intention next season to add still ANOTHER SET OF AUTOMATONS; a full company of mechanical actors from the don stage, where they have been in general use so long that English playgoers have lost all taste for the real article. "And see here, my boy,” said Mackaye, leading the way into a small but gorgeously furnished room at the rear of the stage. "Do you see that machine with that huge roll of white paper attached to it ? Looks like a miniature Hoe press, doesn’t it? When that is completed, which it will bo in a few days, it will astonish the playwrights.” " What is it ?” I asked. That,” said he, with a Bmile of prido illuminat ing his face, and patting the machine with his jew eled hand. “ That, when finished, will be the dram atist of the theatre. I call it the Improved Three- Cylinder Boucicanlt. You see that hopper ? Well, into that I throw throe or four old plays, a sensa tional novel, and two or throo sheets of music. Thea I touch this brass knob and the machine be ■gins its work, and in half an hour there comes out at this lower opening a new and original melo drama, comedy, farce, or in ft&t any sort of drama" j tic work I desire—ail printed—with stage business, everything ready to be put in rehearsal. You. oee 1 that row of knobs, lettered T. Md., C. F> T 3. P. Whatever kind of splay I desire is ground >aut by touching one of ’these. The letters indicate Trage-1 dy, Melo-drama,'Comedy, Farce, Spectacle, Panto-; mime. With the'machine properly fed with reprint material, I‘can‘j«n off with ease fifty a year. I intend ; to bull the market in this 'Mne and make French and the rest of the dealers-sick-df their busi ness. “And I’ve got another mechanical contrivance in my Efind'Which I intend to perfect in a few'weeks, which will “INSURE THE SAFETY OF THE AUDIENCE TN CASE OF FIRE. * 3 -I spropose, during the season, to put the en tire auditorium—that is, the orchestra and balcony —on wheels, so that the whole audience can be slid into the street and remain tn their seats, where, they can sit and enjoy the performance of the fire men and the play of the engines in extinguishing the flames.” “But how about the front wall ?” " Well, I ll find 5 way to'open that—never fear.” A little while alter Mr. Mackaye had shown me , this automatic play-producer, and whilb standing in front of the box office winding up one of the "Speculators,” which he had forgotten in the hur ry of business, he suddenly turned upon me with; “Isay, here —one of my patents I must explain to you. It is a thirty-day, compensation-balance, advertising machine. Com-sin here.” I followed him up the stairs to the top of the building. In a room rather dark, but still suffi ciently light to admit of noting its contents, there was a figure covered with-cloth. Mackaye touched a button (these electric buttons are an “ institution” in every part of the house), and a flood of light made everything distinct. He’ : pulled the doth from the figure. It was that of an aristocratic-looking person, clad in business suit and with a face ornamented with a luxuriant mus tache. "This is the machine. I am going to use it for attending to my newspaper work. I call it tho Bunkum Stuffem Machine. Observe me. I simply wind it up, give its ear a twisL and put a hat on it and a cigar in its mouth, and insert in proper or der in its hand all my daily and weekly ads. I set it in motion, and once it is on the way down town, nobody would dream—least of all, the newspaper crowd—that this Bunkum Stuffem is only a thing ' . of wheels, springs, with a wooden head, glass eyes and patent reversible joints. “I have given it a trial, and find that its running gear requires a little alteration. Yoia see, I con structed it on the plan of, and to work precisely as "AN ORDINARY, REAL, LIVE AGENT. "I started it out, and it did its duty well enough, to all appearances, but I found that it took advantage of my confidence. It delivered all the ads, but it played me for a—well, an innocent. It was work ing, or trying to work, the commission racket on them, and pocketing the difference between what it paid and tho regular price which I gave it. "So it is that I propose altering it—changing its action, as it were.” Wo came down stairs, and over the way the Ash land House Cafe seemed to invite and yearn for our presence. Camo Wes. Sisson, the mildest-man nered manager who ever cut a deadhead or scuttled a cocktail, and Tom Gossman, who pervades the Ly ceum Theatre day and night with his restless talent, nervous energy, and wholesome, manly presence, as if he were its guardiah spirit. And "over there”—once again the Lyceum, its improvements, its possible future, the "school of acting,” and—some matters of fluidic moment were sandwiched in between the moments of the hour as it passed. Let mo repeat—Stoelo Mackaye is a positive man, and if hb is anything of a theorist—in theatric affairs or mechanism—he never forgets to be real, earnest, and confoundedly positive in his friendships as well as in his enmities. And one always knows where to find such a man. FROM THE VAULTS. A GOOD CITIZEN’S ONE BAD DEED AND BITTER MEMORY. In view of recent agitations over the manage ment of cemeteries, and the mechanical, unsenti mental handling of the dead by employees, the fol lowing remarks of an old man, years ago sexton of an ancient church of this city, will prove of deep interest: "You will not use my name, for I have, as you know, gained a good reputation as a citizen, farmer, etc., in Fairfield County, Connecticut; and you will not mention the name of the old East-side church with which I was so long connected, for the officers of that church could very easily tell by the books that I was one of the men connected with the job of which I am going to speak. You know that years ago nearly every church had its adjoining graveyard, and that burials were even very frequent in vaults under the churches. •“Well, in the vaults under the church where I was so long sexton, bodies had been stored away for a generation or so. One day the government offi cials took it into their heads that the public health required that these remains of the dead should be removed outside the city, and they issued an order to carry out their idea. Jim —well, call him Blank —Jim Blank and I were called upon to do the work of removal. No very pleasant job, either. The coffins were piled in some parts of the vaults eight or ten deep. I was not much of a drinker, but, to own up to it, I drank whisky all the time the job lasted—and so did Jim—to keep off tho effects of NEW ~ YORK? APRIL 12. 1885. the poisonous air, and we also washed our hands In spirits, and to further aid in warding off bad effects, we smoked cigars every blessed minute. " Some of the coffins were very old and had all gone to pieces. These and the bones wo smashed up pretty well with a crowbar on account of saving space. Soon after we started out on the job, a fine looking, smoothed-down, polished sort of a man came to us and said that his wife was buried in those vaults five years before, and that he would give us twenty-five dollars if we would find the coffin for him. Ho gave us the name, age and time of death. Of course we set right to work on the search—twenty-five dollars in those days was quite a sum of money; but hunt as we would we could not find that coffin. Finally Jim said that we’d bet ter rig up something for the gentleman. We found a coffin of the right length and age to correspond with the description given by our customer. “ * Hold on, Jim !’ said I. ' Let’s open it. Don’t make any mistake.’ "We opened tho coffin and found that it con_ tained the body of a mulatto. I needn’t tell you that we nailed that up pretty quick. By and by we got a corpse and coffin to suit us, and I went to a shop and had a plate engraved according to the strict wording of the directions given us by tho gentleman. Then wo put that plate in acid and col ored it off to suit the ago of five years, screwed it on to the coffin and delivered io the man what he supposed was the body of his loved wife. Wo got pur twenty-five dollars; but after a time wo %th also got bitter memories. As wo older, and sometimes seriously spoke tq other of that man’s mourning over the remains of a perfect stranger, Jim would say t 0 me : "•We got tba twenty-five dollars, partner; but I tell you, Y’d give twenty-five hundred dollars, this very dSy, to have the thing off my mind.’ ” our buys num. M'.vi:Nrn THE NOBLE EIGHTH. A Regiment with a Long and Gallant Rec ord—Two Years at the Front) with a Prince ibr Commander. When She historian of the future undertakes to embalm our militia in majestic prose, he will dis cover the real-difficulties which attend the making . of history. It is an astonishing fact that only the obscurest and most slip-shod records chronicle the , early existence of our citizen soldiery. In many • regiments, indeed, their origin can only be traced by inference or analogy, through the meagre infor ; mation of the press. The early militia organiza tions of New York were purely social in character. In 1792, When the General Government began mak ing an annual appropriation, certain ghostly bat talions began to exist on paper, in order that a share of the yearly militia money might be handled by somebody. But of actual organization and sys tematic recording of the growth cf the so-called regiments, there is little or none. The Eighth is only one of several newer regi ments which suffer from this fact. All that is known of its early history can be briefly summed up. The first traces of its organization date back to 1797, and from that time down to the breaking out of the war, it existed under various titles, SOMETIMES NEARLY DISORGANIZED, and at others quite healthy and flourishing. Like all old militia organizations, it was more of a club than a military body. The members assembled for drill, it is true, but sociability invariably got tho better of discipline. In spite of all the drawbacks .under which it suffered, the Eighth grew into a strong organization, andan the fifties took its place well up among the best of the local militia. On the memorable night in September, 1858, dur ing the grand torchlight parade and illumination of New York in honor of the successful laying of the first Atlantic cable, the citizens of Staten Island burned the Quarantine buildings. On the follow ing Saturday the Eighth Regiment, in full march ing order, with a large sidewalk committee, went into camp on the hospital grounds, and when Staten Island was put under martial law, Colonel Lyons > was put in command of the whole County of Rich mond. The first night in camp was uncomfortable enough for the boys, as tho cold rain storm had wet everything, and following a spell of hot weather, the contrast was rather unpleasant. Add to this, seventeen yellow fever patients and some with smallpox, had to be taken care of, and it will be seen that it was rather unlike a military picnic. The regiment served two weeks at Quarantine, where they were relieved. Their sojourn at the island was beneficial, however, as they were drilled constantly, and made a splendid appearance as they marched up Broadway on their return. ; Previous to this, on the 4th of July, 1857, the Dead Rabbit riot took place in Bayard street, near the Bowery, at midnight. The Eighth Regiment had quite a force in the array of men who had turned out almost without notice. During the whole month of July, 1857, riots of one kind or another took place, keeping the regiment more or less under arms, and it was at this season and to this probation that its first great efficiency UNDER ARMS IS DUE. Tho Eighth was also put in the police riots. On the 16th of June, 1857, the Seventh Regiment was halted at the Park on its way to Boston, for the pur pose of quelling a police riot and arresting Mayoi* Wood in his office in the City Hall. The Eighth Regiment had a large battalion en route for Boston, and they were ordered to stop at the Battery to await further orders. They were forgotten, and passed the night there. They left in the morning, and reached Boston on the evening of the 17th, after the great celebration was over. Thanks to this event, the regiment, for many years, was known by the (to ail people not conversant with its origin) mysterious tilfe, “THE DAY LATES.” When the war broke out, the Eighth was re-organ ized, and enlisted to serve for two years in the volunteer service. Colonel (afterward General) Louis Blenker was in command, and when he re ceived his promotion ho was followed by Colonel Julius Stobel, who was also promoted. Colonel Wutschell followed, and was dismissed after serving less than a year. Tho remainder of its term of service the regiment was in command of Prince Salm-Salm, and the Colonel’s dashing wife was a familiar figure in its camp. The Eighth at that time was a thoroughly German regiment, from its commanding officers down to the rank and file. The Eighth fell into the disorganization which be fel nearly all our militia regiments alter the war, but has, of recent years, been vigorously shaken up and drilled into form as one of the leading organiza tions of the N. G. S. N. Y. Colonel George D. Scott, the present commander of the Eighth, has been in the regiment since he en tered it as a private in 1856. He went to the front as sergeant in Company F in 1861 and in 1863 had become a first lieutenant. He has been colonel since October 18tb, 1869. Old a militiaman as he is, his second in command outranks him by years of service. Lieutenant Colonel Francis A. Schilling is a Frenchman by birth and an American by choice. He entered the Twentieth Regiment in October, 1851, as private, and having left the district in 1853, en tered the Fifty-fifth in 1859. He went to the front with the Fifty-fifth as a first lieutenant and vacated that office in 1862 to enter the volunteer service. When the war was over he went back to his old regiment, to which he stuck till its disbandment. His connection with the Eighth began as lieutenant colonel in 1870, and he was honored with the brevet of colonel in 1879. Among other veterans in the regiment are Adju tant James O. Johnson, who has been in it since 1854, and Inspector of Rifle Practice Barker, who entered as a private in 1857. Both these officers have wa/records.. The war history ot the Eighth Regiment forms one of the most interesting features of the memoirs of Prince balm Salm, published a couple of years anil ago by his wife. The prince returned to Europe af ter the war and died there some ten years ago. He was one of the most dashing and brilliant of the many gallant foreigners who served under the stars and striped in their hour of need. Fighting was a passion with him, and when this country ceased to offer him an opportunity to indulge his sanguinary hobby, he went to Mexico and took a hand in the wars there, which led to the sacrifice of Maximilian. The regiment he commanded, now ranks among the quartette which lead our National Guard. It is worthy of its history. The Seventy-first Regiment will report for duty next Sunday* It is a fighting regiment with a record of its own, THU MTfflllll OOT. Anxious to be Rid of Their Help- Meets. MEN THE POOR AGGRIEVED CREATURES. Some Motions Made in Chinntjerg Before Justice Barrett. The first case reads like a chapter from a novel of the French school. SPENCER VS. SPENCER—I.BOO CHARGES OF ADULTERY. This was a motion to strike out certain allegations in the complaint which were Bliam, and ftlso for additional counsel fee. The Application was for SSO a week alimony for the wi'fo, the plaintiff was entirely able to pay it. He is Sector in a savings bank. He has 430 shares in the docidental Com pany, SIOO a share, paying eight per ’dbnt interest, beside that he made $25,000 last year, Without going into details, he was able to pay the alimony, which was reasonable, to support her and her child seven years of age. Counsel also asked a fee of SSOO to be paid him by the husband for defending the wife. He did not think the amount excessive, con sidering the circumstances of plaintiff. The defendant also asked for a bill of particulars, and counsel got it. It was very sweeping. It was an anomaly, perhaps, never heard of in a court in this country; it was without precedent in this or any other court. The counsel states that, and it is sworn to, this defendant committed adultery every day for six years, except Sunday. That was the most sweeping charge of adultery that he ever heard husband make against wife. And more than that; she was committing adultery with two men, and at the same time she was living in the house with her husband and two children. At the same time that all this was going on she was living with her hus band, she was moving in good society, was a mem ber and regular attendant every Sunday of a well known church. During all this time, every day, there was an oct of adultery committed with one of these two men, to tho number of between seventeen and eighteen hundred specific acts. Counsel had framed his issues, and the two gentlemen, well known, who were charged, deny every one of the allegations, and so did the woman, so did members of her family. Judge Barrett said counsel was entitled to a reas onable fee to meet such an array of charges. Counsel said charges of adultery were alleged in three States, and at Asbury Park, N. J., more par ticularly. Judge Barrett said the fee of counsel was not ex orbitant, and granted the motion. This extraordinary trial will come up soon, but whether with open or closed doors it is not yet known. LEVY vs. LEVY—IN JAIL IN CONTEMPT. Mr. Levy was sued by Mrs. Levy for limited di vorce. The court had ordered him to pay his wife’s counsel to prosecute him, fifty dollars, counsel fee, and, pending the suit, the wife five dollars a week, alimony. He refused to pay to be prosecuted and to give five dollars a week to a woman he didn’t live with. He didn’t comply with the order of the court and went to New Jersey. That was fourteen months ago. He returned to tho city, was arrested, and is now in’Ludlow Street Jail, guilty of contempt of court. "He never paid the five dollars a week?” said Justice Barrett, "No,” replied counsel. "That is enough. No court will dismiss on a motion of this kind.” "The motion is to discharge from arrest,” said counsel. " The action is for limited divorce—a separation. In her complaint, all she swears to is that on one occasion, the 14th of September, 1883, the defendant, without cause, almost choked her to death, threw her down, kicked her, put her out of the house in the street, and threw a pail of water on her. That is tho only one allegation in the com plaint, and charge of cruelty, in a long married life. He was arrested, the two went to the station-house, and the sergeant at tho desk discharged him. Sii&e his imprisonment in jail he has been unable to earn money or obtain the alimony. If released he might get money to pay counsel to prosecute him.” “ How about being absent from the city fourteen months ?” asked the Court. " The lawyer he retained advised him to go over to New Jersey. He went there, and when he came back and was arrested, I was substituted. The suit was instigated by the woman’s father. The defend ant was sick, and if long imprisoned was likely to die. He was a tailor.” Counsel for the woman said the case had been three times up before the court, and on the 15th of October, 1883, when this order of the court was entered, defendant fled the city. The only ques tion to consider was, would further punishment endanger his life. Ho (counsel) had the affidavits of two physicians who had examined him, and found him in a healthy condition. The Justice held that Levy was still in contempt, and he must remain in jail. Levy must raise the funds to enable his wife to prosecute him. FRANCE vs. FRANCE. This is an action for limited divorce, on the. ground of abandonment. When the original com plaint was served, it did not show that both parties were residents of the city of New York. It did not set forth that they had resided in the State a Counsel for the woman said ho was not aware at the time that that fact should have been set forth. The other side said that was counsel’s mistake. Where the marriage, as in this case, had been be yond the limits of the State, it was necessary to al lege that the parties had been residents of the State, and had continued residents in it for a year. But even now defendant was allowing his wife SSO a month during their separation. The motion was merely a question to get costs. Of course it was granted, to get a speedy trial. HERMAN vs. HERMAN. This application was for alimony pending the suit. Counsel asked $250 counsel fee, and for the woman $lO a week. Defendant was worth $40,000. The woman was not in good health, and was here a>tranger among strangers, from Savannah. After hearing the other side, Judge Barrett re duced counsel fee to $l5O, and gave the woman $lO a week alimony. The Polite Cat.—A member of the British Zoological Society tells this story, so it inust be true : " I once had a cat who always sat up to the dinner-tabffi with me, and had his napkin round his neck, and his plate and some fish. He used his paw, of course; but he was very particular and be haved with extraordinary decorum. When he had finished his fish I sometimes gave him a piece of mine. One day he was not to be found when the dinner-bell rang, so we began without him. Just as the plates were put round for the entree, puss came rushing up stairs and sprang into his chair with two mice in his mouth. Before he could be stopped, he dropped a mouse on to his own plate and then one on to mine. He divided his dinner with me, as I divided mine with him.” TRICKS OF SMCGGLERS. Ths Yacht “Seagull” of the Royal Club. Transformations Which Puzzled the Revenue Service. How an Extensive Scheme of the Con trabandists was Discovered. •‘I suppose you think no more smuggling is car ried on upon the English coast,” the detective said; “if you do, you’re mistaken. Of course, this of fense against the laws is in the province of the pre ventive service. Nevertheless, I have been more than once called on to lend a hand in aid of the gov ernment, and the last time not so very long ago.” The detective assumed a comfortable position, and narrated what follows: The harbor of Ilfracombe, in Devonshire, Eng land, is one of the most remarkable in existence. It is a very small bay, absolutely shut in by tall cliffs, • except at the entrance, across which you might throw a stone. At low tide inside is not much bet ter than a mud-hole, nevertheless it is one of the most piettirem? s F otf ? R ™, nd harbor are wharves and a hotel or two, and all u$ j the hillside beautiful residences. It is a Summer ‘ resort for wealthy people, who spend money freely, and want the best of everything. THE “SEAGULL.” In Jtin'S, 1878, just after the season had fairly be- • giih, a very pretty schooner yacht entered the port ? of Ilfracombe, as it is ostentatiously called. She p ; e&me snug up to a wharf, and it was soon ascertain -3 ed that she was the “ Seagull,” owned by a wealthy J merchant, and had come there to await the pleasure of her owner and his friends who were staying at » Bouchier Park, fifteen miles avray. Next day, how ever, she received orders to go round to Barnstaple, » and sailed away. I In less than a month she came into the harbor, as 3 before, and several passengers landed and walked 0 about the bights and saw the sights. The next morning she was away by the first tide, and the same afternoon the queen’s revenue cutter “Hawk” •> crawled into the harbor to look after a square-sail 8 schooner which it had chased from the French II coast, in the vicinity of Morlaix, suspecting her to r be a smuggler. They kept her in sight, as they sup -8 posed, all night, but were surprised when daylight y came to find that what they had taken for the smug -0 glar was an elegantly appointed fore-and-aft schoon d er yacht. ; A BIG SMUGGLING SCHEME, it About this time I was employed by the govern r ment to investigate an extensive smuggling kt scheme. One Endicott, a custom officer at Brid a- port, in Dorsetshire, was discovered to have been i- engaged in aiding smugglers to a large extent. At 1- the moment when everything was prepared to ar rest him, he disappeared and left no trace. I went )f down to Bridport and began a quiet search into the n facts. ,d Endicott was a man with a family, and lived in a 1- modest way. I found, however, that within the ie last few years his brother, who was a farmer, twen rs ty miles inland, had become very prosperous, and was accounted wealthy. He had built a fine dwell s- ing, and Endicott’s family spent the best part of the year there. At the time I went to Bridport, n Mrs. Endicott was residing there. One morning I r- watched for the postman, and as he went to the door of her residence I went there also. I let him s- ring, and caught a glimpse of a letter he handed in. It bore the Exeter postmark. I asked to see Mr. it Endicott, and appeared to be surprised when I was et informed he was not at home. THE LETTER. That evening I started for Exeter, and next day j. waited round the post-office. I had a photograph > 8 of Endicott, and felt sure I should know him if I e saw him. He didn’t show up. I showed my cre dentials to the postmaster, and found that three 3 letters were there from Bridport—two to well. »t known citizens and a third to be called for. I wait -10 od until this letter was demanded by a ’small girl. n It was addressed to Mr. Williams. j “If you please, sir,” said the girl to the postmas ter, “here’s a postage stamp, and would you change the address on this letter to Ilfracombe ? j Mr. Williams has gone there, and won’t be back.” The postmaster said it was hardly the thing, but I suggested quietly that it was safe for him to do it a in the interest of the Government. He did it, and 1 went to Ilfracombe. The letter came safely enough to that place, but a no one called for it. Early, however, the next [ g morning, when the postmaster’s wife was in j charge, while her husband was at his breakfast, a 0 man of whom I could get no description called and jf got the letter. All that day I went around looking u for my man. t . THE MAN ON THE CLIFF. j. Just at dusk, I saw a man answering to the hight , and build of Endicott quit the lighthouse on the e cliff and hastily descend by the walk to the quay q just below the cliff. I followed and kept him in t sight until he reached the bottom, when he sudden ly and thoroughly disappeared. I questioned some Q persons lounging around but none of them had seen any stranger. r “I saw Mr. Storer come down the cliff just now, e and enter his warehouse,” said a man. j I went into the warehouse and asked for Mr. Storer. A man appeared in a straw hat and a loose 0 jacket, just such as were worn by the man whom I had followed. 3 “ Excuse me, sir,” I said, “ but did you come f down the cliff just now ?” g He smiled good-humoredly and seemed sur prised. t “Youmusn’t take offense,” I said, “ but I saw g some one come out of the lighthouse a little while j ago and descend to the quay whom I took for a friend.” ‘•You saw me,” said the gentleman; “I was up there to see whether there was any signs of a 5 schooner we are expecting from Swansea.” George,” he added, addressing a clerk, “ go and tell Graves that the schooner is not in sight.” The clerk quitted the office, and after a few words 3 . of apology I left. I hung around,’ however, and fifteen minutes later, I saw a man descending the > cliff. I watched him and he went into Storer's ware t house. It was the clerk whom Storer had sent to , tell Graves the schooner was not in sight. ‘ SUSPICIONS. This set me thinking. Was Graves a myth, and had the clerk been dispatched to instruct the light house man that, if he was asked who had been with him, he must say, “Mr. Storer, to look out fora ’ schooner which he expects from Swansea.” At b eleven o’clock Mr. Storer locked up his place and 1 went home. I watched it all night, and at daylight went to my hotel, that stood right on an angle of the quay, and overlooked all the harbor. I washed my hands and face and had breakfast. At half past ten it was high water, and just then in came a top -3 sail schooner and, after reefing her sails, hauled in ’ to Storer’s wharf. She took on board a few articles, • and among them a puncheon of Devonshire bams— -3 so it was labelled —which was rolled with much care down the wharf from the warehouse, and stowed on ■ the deck of the schooner. Then the schooner ) hauled off, and went out with the ebbing tide, DISGUISED LIKE AN OLD SAILOR, and, taking a glass under my arm, I ascended to the ! summit of the cliff. The schooner was not a mile ; away, and I could.see all on board. I saw some of • the crew gathered around the puncheon. I sa'w the i head removed, and the form of a man emerge. Bad as I felt, I recognized the man whom I had seen quit the light-house, who I now felt sure was Endi cott. The schooner was making for sea with a fresh breeze. I knew that a steam gunboat in the pre ventive service was at Redenth, and I telegraphed down there, and told them I would start at once by the first train. I did so, and by four o’clock that afternoon we were steaming out of Redenth to in tercept the schooner. In less than an hour we saw a vessel bowling along toward us at fifteen knots. But she was a fine looking fore and aft yacht, with the pennant of the Royal Yacht Club streaming OFFICE, M.U FRANKFORT ST. out, we could see her beautiful brass work gleam ing in the setting sun, and by and by the uniforms of her crew. I watched her intently with my glass where I could not bo observed. Suddenly there was a stir on board the yacht, and something was lifted to the bulwarks and DROPPED INTO THE SEA. As we passed we saluted and found the yacht was the “Seagull.” I had my glass on a dark object which I took to be what the yacht had heaved over board. I directed attention to it, and we steamed close by it. It was a pun'cheou, with one end out, floating buoyantly. “Lieutenant,” said I to the officer in command, “that is the vessel we want. Endicott is aboard her as sure as you live. That is the topsail schooner which I have told you about, but changed as you see. Ten to one she is a smuggler.” We wore about in no time and steamed after the yacht. Sail after sail she set, and it was clear it was going to be a chase. We hoisted sail, however, and as we could make seventeen knots easily, we soon overtook her. A signal was made for her to heave to, and as our gun would have knocked her to splinters in ten minutes, she deemed discretion the better part of valor and hove to. The lieutenant, a midshipman, myself and four men went on board. Endicott was there sure enough, and quietly deliv ered himself up. The midshipman and two men were put in charge and the gunboat convoyed the , k*. “ .n vz -r ’ .r “ Seagull ” into Plymouth. TRICKS OF THE SMUGGLERS* The arrangements on board the “yacht’* were unique. By means of a few sliding planks her sides could bo so altered as to make her look like another vessel. All her brass gear could be unship ped and stowed away, and her topsails hoisted, and in a few minutes she could then be completely transformed from an elegant yacht into a common coasting topsail schooner, and from that into an elegant yacht. Alter this the revenue service paid its respects to Mr. Storer, at Ilfracombe, and learned all about the visits of the yacht to his wharf, as related before. Furthermore, valuable articles which had never’ paid duty were found stowed away in Storer’s ware house. He had long carried on a thriving trade in contraband goods, and Endicott had been in collu sion with him. That all parties implicated—not excepting the lighthouse keeper, who was one of the gang—got their deserts, you may be sure; for John Bull keeps a very jealous watch over the sources of his revenue. THE JUDGE’S JOKE. HIS INTEREST IN HIS SON’S EX TRAORDINARY SUNDAY DEVOTIONS. There are hundreds of clubs in this city which have no formal organization, and are even without names. But theirs is genuine club life in all essen tial matters—the daily and nightly rendezvous of congenial spirits—headquarters of “old cronies,” who would feel as if something were lost out of their day did they neglect “ the daily meet.” For example, many a politician would feel it to be an ’ actual hardship to pass the Astor House without 1 the opportunity of greeting old comrades in the Ro tunda. At one of these nameless clubs yesterday, 1 made up largely of legal and literary lights, and which might properly be called “The Story Tellers’ ■ Club,” one of the members gave the foilowing anec dote, which he vouched for as strictly true. He gave L the names, but out of regard to the family only the ’ initial is here given: 1 “Judge 8., of New Haven, was a remarkably able jurist, and as upright as the ideal Judge himself. He had a son of great merit and cleverness, who also 1 was ‘bred to the law,’ and who was always called Sammy B. Now Sammy had one fault; he would not only ‘take a nip,’ but sometimes two or three nips, and was consequently very noticably nipped J himself at times. By the way. when he got ‘sprung’ he revealed hfs condition ft those who knew him well, not by any stagger or crooked walk, but by the bee line which he took when walking. On the sidewalk his walk was in such a’rigid air lino that it suggested that he was trying to walk a crack along a floor. In other words, he was so very straight that he inclined to lean backward. The judge him self was a very abstemious man, but he did keen a demijohn of brandy in his office with which to treat his friends. “ In due course of time Sammy found out where the Judge kept the key of the closet in which he so carefully locked up the brandy. The Sunday follow ing, he ostensibly started for church, but got no further in his devotions than that brandy closet. He felt perfectly safe, as the Judge never visited his law office on Sunday. So Sammy, with a couple of boon companions, had, or thought he had, a good time. When the church folks went home Sammy joined them and reached- his father’s house on regulation time. At dinner the Judge pleasantly said: “ ‘ And now, Sammy, may I ask you where you have been ? To church ?’ “ ‘Yes, father.’ “ ‘And what church did you attend ?’ “ ‘Oh, I went down to the Second Methodist.’ “ ‘That’s right, Sammy, that's right. Always go to church of a Sunday when you can. And what text did the doctor preach you ?’ “‘Well, the fact is, I can’t remember. I'm not very strong on texts. But it was about faith.* “ Then Sammy rattled off on some other subject, and his father questioned him no more on the church service. The next Sunday the young man again visited his father’s office, and of course the closet, and at dinner the old Judge good-naturedly and confidently remarked: “‘That’s a good boy, Sammy; been to church again, eh ?’ “ ‘ Yes, said Sammy, down to the Second Metho dist.’ “ Fortunately for the son, the father didn’t extend this line of questioning. The third Sunday Sammy also visited his fathers's law office, and likewise the brandy closet. He complacently smacked his lips in expectancy, and lovingly drew out the old demi john. To his consternation he found it empty, tho cork gone, and tied in the willow a card with this inscription: “ • The Second Methodist Church is closed for repairs.’ “ Sammy B. hadn’t the courage to join the shrewd old Judge at dinner that day.” mscinatinVmary. A WARNING TO YOUNG LIQUOR DEALERS. Mary Cole, a married woman, appeared on the witness stand as complainant against Mr. Geary,who keeps a liquor saloon at No. 345 East Thirty-third street. The case is a warning to all young men who keep liquor saloons not to be fascinated by custom ers. Mrs. Cole, who had a baby in her arms, said that she entered defendant’s place on the 23d of March and was assaulted and knocked down, and in the scuffle she lost $8 and her baby fell on the floor. Counsel for Mr. Geary then took her in hand, and the following answers that came to the questions can be surmised: Married ? Yes. Husband liv ing? Don’t live with him. Support myself by washing. Never was arrested for soliciting. Had known Geary about a month. Went to his store and demanded the $8 that he took from her. Her husband had been gone from her four months. She was understood to say that he was in Sing Sing. Mr. Geary said he was proprietor of the liquor sa loon No. 345 East Thirty-third street, and continued: “This woman invited me to her room twice. The first time she asked money. The second time I was invited for fun. I went. I ain’t in the habit of drinking, but I took a little and lay down. In the morning I don’t know how I sneaked out of the room, but I got out. She came down to the store afterward and said I had robbed her of SB. Lord ! I had paid her ! I was mad at that. I had paid her, and then to be charged with taking back in a sneak- | ing way what I had given ! Lord ! I was mad ! but I didn’t lay a hand on her. I was tempted. I pay ' my way, gentlemen.” He couldn’t say how she supported herself, except it was in the way she worked him. The court fined Mr. Geary SSO. i PRICE FIVE CENTS “IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN.” BY KATIE M. LUCK. It might have boon I Oh, saddest words of all* Wo dream and dream of scenes beyond recall. Sad thoughts will come, and burning tears will fall*' For “might have been.” Oh, could we live our lives all o’er again ! Could we forget the present, with the pain Of thoughts that are unspoken I All in vain. It might have been. It might have been. Oh, words of wild regret; Sorrow for vanished hours, and yet—ah, yet— Would we, if e’en we could, forget—forget What might have been ? Ah, well! perchance for all some sweet hope lies Buried deeply, maybe, from human eyes, And none but God may ever hear our sighs O’er “ might have been.” God knoweth best; and though ours tears fast fall a Though none beside may know, He knoweth all, All that is sad and lost beyond recall— The “ might have been.** ■ WINNING HEIt IMIERIWCE. BY BARBARA DEMPSTER. CHAPTER VII. “on ! HE IS—A MAN I” Dar Eatalby had put the last strain upon Lyn’a ■ endurance. This was worse than all. Mrs. Cobb’s insulting insinuations, Mr. Cobb’s oiljt politeness, all the discomforts and troubles, tha weary home-sickness which had made hor heart, ache and fail in this house of strangers, seemeit as nothing to this last insult. That he should think so lightly of her as to kiss her, and ima gine that she would submit to the indignity 1 IS seemed as if her last protector had been taken from her—for how could she trust in him again? She could not tell what feeling possessed her, unless it was a vague, wild fear, a passionata aching at her heart, that made tho desire to leave the house an irresistible power; but, aa she ran toward tho house to make her way to her own room, she was resolved upon one thing. Nothing should keep her from her grandfather. She went with swift light steps down tho cor ridor leading to his room, though she dreaded ■ every second to bear the stealthy step of Mr. ’ Cobb creep out upon her, and imagined that every sound was tho sharp harsh voice of Mrs. ■ Cobb calling her back. She passed behind tho curtain and reached the door. With beating ’ heart she knocked; but the knock was timid and , uncertain. There was no answer. She knocked again, this time rather louder. , Still no reply came—only, as she bent her head , forward to listen, she fancied sho heard a slight movement; but as she knocked again and lis > toned, all was silent once more. Though al most terrified at her own. audacity, and with 1 her heart beating so loudly that she could hear j it, she suddenly turned the handle of the door* and, pushing it open, stepped into tho room. ’ Then she nearly turned and fled, startled out , of all presence of mind by herself alontf her grandfather. He was sitting in an arm-chair, placed near a writing-table; but ha was paying no attention to tho papers strewn in . front of him, but was sitting upright and look ing toward the door. As she stepped in and found herself looking straight into his eyes, it seemed to the startled girl as if a carious light, ’ almost of satisfaction, gleamed in them. But there was a strange expression on hia face that frightened her. It was deadly pale, with a curious rigid stiffening of the features, a strained, anxious look, almost agonized in its . intensity. Save for that sudden brightening in his eyes, he betrayed no other sign cither o£ wonder or disapproval, or even consciousness of her uninvited presence. “Grandfather 1” she faltered, a ter a second, as he neither stirred nor spoke, “Grandfather, won’t you speak tome?’ Sho drew a step or two nearer. Then a sudden fear seized her, and she hurried to his side. “Are you ill? What is tho matter ? Shall I call somebody ?” Terrified at tho ghastliness of his face, she turned to run for help. But suddenly, as if with a violent effort, he raised his hand touched her arm. “So you have come at last,” he said, as shd turned swiftly to him again, tho words coming hoarsely and indistinctly from bis whito, stiff lips. “ At last I’’ sho echoed, more frightened than ever at the strange sound of his voice. “They said you would not come,” ho went on, an almost imperceptible pause between each word, as if the effort to speak were almost be yond his strength. “Would not come!” She understood hind now, and, in her indignant resentment, almost forgot his strange looks. “ I have asked a groat many times, and they would not let mo !” Again the flash of brightness gleamed in hid eyes; but it seemed to make the white mask like stillness of his face only more ghastly. “Ob, grandfather,” she cried, “what is it? For tho sake of my father, who was your only son, speak kindly to me; don’t let all that past hardness live between us. Be good to us, ami let us love you. We are lonely; but not so lone ly as you, for we have each other to love and trust to; but you have no one She had sunk down on tho ground as sho pleaded, her face Hushed and eager, her eyea loving and pitiful. She had no thought for any thing that moment save for hie loneliness and isolation in the midst of that envious, grasping, greedy family. A spasm of intense pain contracted his faco as he slowly, still with the same strange appar ent effort, turned his head to look down at her. “Oh, grandfather,” she said imploringly, full of pity lor that long, lonely, unloved life, “let us love you I” “You will think I have been hard—unjust. It is too late now to change anything; but I searched out what was right, and—it—seemed —to The words, which had come slower and slower, hoarser and more indistinct, ceased abruptly. The hands slipped from the table on which they had been resting, and fell cold and nerveless upon here. Then the gray head fell forward, as a strange low hoarse sound broka from the pallid lips, and old Mr. Irwyn lay still and senseless, his head resting upon his papers. Lyn sprang to her feet and tried to raise tha heavy head, looking instinctively toward tha door. On' its threshold stood Dar Estalby; ha had come to pay his daily visit to the old man. “Oh, Mr. Estalby!” she cried, forgetting all else. Her white terrified face told him what had happened. The next second he was at hen side. With grave gentleness he put her away, and bent over the bowed head. “ Go and call them,” he said; and, as she flocl out of the room, he reverently lifted the down turned faco and looked at it.