OCR Interpretation

New York dispatch. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1863-1899, July 26, 1885, Image 1

Image and text provided by Library of Congress, Washington, DC

Persistent link: https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn85026214/1885-07-26/ed-1/seq-1/

What is OCR?

Thumbnail for

a. J
' 1 ll *\ N\ -sT
NJ I afT) t i fifl Mr fiNErlW< 1 i O
i JL JLJL I I, JLJL H?lb ts i /zCj J JCIII.
f/ , - \ g ( x>'T ' E . "^'' —— <s&r-.<fa.
VOL.. X 1..-N 0.41.
Entered at the Post Office at New York,
N. Y., as Second Class Matter.
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 careful 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 COPV.
Post Office Box No. 1775.
Tiie “Mikado” and tlie Mosquitoes—Tlie
Descent of Vermont—Tlie Judge and tlie
Injunctive Rosenfeld Redivlvus—
Howe & Huinmell-Tlie Big
Scare—Duff and Stetson—ln
tlie Bosom of Abraham.
Trifles sometimes convert enterprises of great
pith and moment into dire failure.
The smaller the pith and moment of the enter
prise the more noise and clamor there is over its
And if, in whatever the undertaking may be,
there is absolutely nothing of any consequence to
the general public and of precious little if any
profit to the principals concerned in it—then the
uproar and excitement is equal to that which at
tends the progress of a great battle upon the result
of which depends the fate of an Empire.
During tho past week one of these unconsidered
trifles turned up in the shape of an alleged “mas
terpiece of comic satire’’—that’s the compliment
eno journal applied to it—entitled “The Mikado.”
This trifle, the aforesaid and hereinafter men
tioned “ Mikado,” came with the reputation of be
ing tuneful and eminently calculated to ensure a
love of harmony in the human breast and to lull
oven the soul of a reporter to sweet forgetfulness of
the ruin brought upon his most cherished work by
the blue pencil of a despotic city editor.
Instead of bringing peace, with charity for all and
malice toward none,
brought with it a tumult of wrath, threats and
Warfare. Singularly enough trifles like troubles
rarely come singly; they double up like the song and
dance fakes in variety troupes. So it was that on
Monday last the “Mikado”was not the only disturber
of the serenity of the public mind which put in a
first appearance of the season. There were several
others claiming and receiving the distinction of a
midsummer debut.
For instance, there was the appearance of the first
oase of cholera, not on, but under the boards of a
•hanty up in Mackerelville.
The first batch of early growth Jersey mosquitos
—like the “ Mikado,” musical but malicioss—open
ed its regular / season with an enlarged chorus in
the public squares.
Came too, a thoroughly organized and general
strike of the thermometers for higher figures —IOO
in the shade and nothing less.
But these, none of them of quite so little moment
as the “Mikado,” could not compare with it in its
quality of aggravation and its power of exaspera
The individuals least spoken of and to all appear
ances the least interested in this trifle, were plain
-Mr. |Wm. 8. Gilbert and ‘the right honorable Sir
'{with a big-big 8) Arthur Sullivan, who are itc re
puted authors.
As a firm they have for many years run a lively
and very profitable business in the line of comic
opera, their factory and principal salesrooms,
where all orders are filled with neatness and dis
patch, being in London.
Mr. Gilbert, who is financially inclined to be sa
tirically economical and economically satirical, as
circumstances may demand, visited this coun
try several seasons ago to give a personal
boom to a business affair in which he was
interested, namely, his share of the receipts at the
Park Theatre for the run of the comedy of “ En
gaged,” in which Miss Agnes Booth ensured its
success. Mr.Horaoe Wall,to whom, for certain mone
tary considerations he had given the right to pro
duce it “ here, anywhere, all over the world, so long
as he divvied up,” handed him as his share in all
twelve thousand dollars. And Horace made six
“ Ma conscience, such a mickle for such a muckle.
I’ll gie ye na mair comedy,” quoth the author,
gazing at his share; “but I’ll hae my revenge—l’ll
cram every mithers bairn of ye wi’icomicopera— an’
I’ll sen’ D’Oyley Carte over wi’ it to mak yo pay
ower dearly for it. An’ I’ll bother myeel na more
aboot ye.”
And he kept b?s word; also D’Oyley Carte as the
crammer in chief.
And let me mildly insinuate that D’Oyley is one of
the components of the “Mikado ” trifle.
And he has with a paper rope made of greenbacks
or other representatives of lawful metallic currency,
lassooed into his service Alex. Brown, a legal lumi
minary of Boston, and Joseph H. Choate, originally
Also of the “Hub.”
Sydney Rosenfeld, who brought the “Mikado”
here from Chicago, wasn't pulled into the row. He
didn’t wait to be lassooed, but waded into it over
head and ears on.his own account.
He is now somewhere in the weird woeds of the
wild West wishing he bad brought a car-load of
Chicago dressed beef instead of the badly-dressed
’trifle which has plunged him into his present un
profitable business of dodging D’Oyley Carte.
But Sydney came, he saw, and was seen no more.
■His "Mikado” was, but is not. It was spitted and
.roasted in the beat of .that broiling Monday night,
in the presence of an audience bathed in perspira
tion; worried by anxiety before the curtain went
up and tormented by a.nameless dread that it was
about to sit through an immense extent of discom
fort and orchestral overture to get an infinitessimal
amount of enjoyment.
It was on a par with the task of hunting for a
needle in the hayloft under the roof of a country
.barn in August.
It did take place—with difficulty—and the “Mika
.do,” very much in the condition of an unfinished
.crazy quilt, was duly exhibited.
From early morn until dewy eve the indefatiga
nnd Irrepressible Sydney was visible in all parts of
the city. He was seen frantically plunging into
cabs and wildly leaping out of horse-cars, climbing
flights of stairs, delivering flights of rhetoric, rush
ing across all sorts of streets, until his fragile form,
glistening with condensed perspiration, looked like
An attenuated and demoralized water sprite on its
last lap.
He was everywhere until he ran against the In
junction, and then he was nowhere.
Around the Morton House and the Union Square
Theatre there was an unusual gathering of the
clans professional; the clans legal and theatric.
There, too, the reporters, dramatic editors and the
hangera-on of the theatre were collected, as if the
greatest Event of the year was about to put in an
Injunction was on everybody’s (tongue, there was
a glare of Injunction in every eye and an Injunc
tion paralysis seemed to have withered up every at
tribute of the crowd except thirst and the power of
speech. They could drink faster a&d talk BiGi'e and
W less than they am did
Nobody mentioned Gilbert and Sullivan. It was
D’Oyley Carte, Rosenfeld, “ Mikado” and Injunction.
It was the shrewd device of getting a real live
Judge down here all the way from Vermont and a
couple of real live lawyers all the way from Boston
to come on here all on account of and for a little
trifle like the Mikado.
A Japanese trifle, at that; a bit of lyric bric-a
brac—only that and nothing more.
Every one of them, the moment he heard Rosen
feld and the Mikado were in town, skipped the
tra-la-100 and vanished, and all the lawyers who
had money enough to pay their fare to Hoboken or
the wilds of Westchester county gathered up their
papers and incontinently fled.
Judge Benedict was unfortunately caught be
fore he had finished his dinner, and he only escaped
being collared into the Mikado muddle by sol
emnly affirming that it was not in his district, and
that if it was he would be only too happy to con
sign it to the flames of Sheol and sentence every
body connected with such a flagrant disturber of
the judicial peace to undergo the punishment of
That would be just as well Japanic.
The Vermont judge, the Boston lawyers, and their
aiders and abettors, marched the Injunction into the
Rosenfeld camp in sections.
Rosenfeld turned, with longing gaze and pleading
prayer, toward Howe and Hummell.
The majestic William F. taking Hummell from
the vast depths of one of the side pockets of his
linen duster set him up before Syd. and bade the
partner of his law offices to speak.
Which he did. “I love thee, Sydney, but never
more be client of mine.’*
And then, like a sweep of wind through some hoi
low cavern, came reverberating from the lips of
William F. “ Avaunt, Syd. Hence, horrible
shadow, hence I Thy bones are marrowless; there
is no speculation in your “ Mikado” with which you
bore us withal. Avaunt, and drop it as we drop
you I”
And the Vermont judge echoed “Drop it!”
And the Boston lawyers lifted up their little
voices, pocketed their little fees and repeated their
little “Stop it!”
And everybody else in the court, on the square
and everywhere around and about the theatre re
peated “ Stop it, drop it I”
And so did their sisters and cousins and aunts.
“ Oh, the Lecturer’s lot is not a happy one !” sadly
murmured Sydney as he despairingly sought refuge
in the bosom of Abraham.
Abraham put his arms around and about him and
said: “I will not abandon thee, thou lone one.
They shall not Japan thee.” Then he chanted :
“Thou’rt the last snap of Summer
Left mourning alone.
All your loved companions
Are busted and flown.
Til shoulder • Tho Mikado ’ and defy D’Oyley
Carte and all his minions ’ Give to me the lease !
You shall have my notes payable one day after
death, as security for tho rent.’*
••’Twas mine—’tis yours—it might have been the
sheriff's I”
sealed with a couple of sours—strong, and Abraham
went to glory—with the “Mikado”—for one night
And John Stetson, Whe also has a “ Mikado ’* in
his stock of theatric'bric-a-brac, cried out “ Figs !”
and cancelled his dates.
“Figsl Tbore’s’nothing in it.”
Away up in his Standard castle John Duff looks
out u>pon the hot sky and the dome of the Union
Dime Savings Bank, and softly murmurs as he
quaffs his draughts of Seltzer and Rhenish down—
Mikado ’ is mtae, sayeth the Lord Duff, and I’ll
play it for all it’s worth.”
“And that isn’t much,” quoth tho Raven, sitting
evermore, upon the pallid bust of season’s busi
ness—chalked over tha office door.
“I*ll play it,” quoth Jim Duff by telephone from
his retreat, where the sad sea waves pile up the
weeds and wrinkle the sand on Long Island’s shore
—“I’ll pley it even though they bring the whole
State of Vermont and a truckload of Boston law
yers and injunctions to stay my triumphal pro
gress. Trifles light as air don’t frighten me.”
But even with the snuffing-out of the Rosenfeld
“ Mikado ” there comes
There are now all sorts'of deputy marshals, with
all sorts of grab-the-boly-wherever-it-can-be-found
write, dodging about she square and ready to
pounce upon all sorts of managers, agents, and
other alleged particeps -criminis, before and after the
fact, in the great “ Mikado” crime.
Even the mild and placid Ned Tilton trembles at
the sight of a stranger with a slip of paper in his
hand; Jim Collier hae established a cordon of senti
nels from the door of his office to the front entrances
-of the hotel and the theatre; Cazauran has totally
disappeared, and “Gone to the country ’* is posted
upon the portals of Abraham’s lodgings.
Roland Reed is no longer an executioner; he has
disappeared from the scene of his one night’s tri
umph, and he repeats Ko Ko’s lines to Naaki Poo
as he in his hiding-place glares upon a photographic
image of the gone but not forgotten manager :
“ ‘Oh, for the hour when I may meet you. When
the time comes there’ll be a grand public cere
monial. You’ll be the central figure, and no one
will attempt to deprive you of that distinction.
There’ll be a procession, bands—dead march, bells
tolling, all the girls in tears (of joy). Then, when
all is over, and I’m through with you, there’ll be
general rejoicings and a display of fireworks in the
evening. You won’t see them, but they’ll be there
all the same.’ ”
“ And,” adds little Alice Harrison, who is in no
fear of being arrested although she needs a rest—“no
more performance for me.”
I have a gloomy suspicion that if D’Oyley Carte
can arrange dates and terms he will bring here a
full company of judges from down east with one or
two leading judicial heavies and issue enough
injunctions, writs and other of the principal
parts in tho “ Mikado *’ to wipe all the managers,
actors and agents out of the country.
Meanwhile, over in London, the
dramatists and story writers will continue to ap
propriate steal and otherwise convey to their per
sonal use, fame and profit the plays and works of
our writers with their usual alacrity and cheek.
They only kick, or send over their agents to do
their kicking, when the English ox is gored. The
suffering of .the American ox is of no possible con
sequence. A mere trifle.
They want no reciprocity in pilfering.
It is possible though that the D’Oyley Carte will
find the job he has undertaken a larger one than he
calculated on. He will find that there are judges
here who may disagree, in their opinions upon the
matter of the “ Mikado ” from that of their learned
brother from Vermont, and may discover too that
there are lawyers in this city who are equally as
shrewd in bringing the technicalities of the law to
bear in their favor as those who hail from the Bos
ton bar.
And further, that the managers who propose in
the coming season to do the “Mikado,” will not be
as pecuniary helpless and as easily bluffed into
dropping it as was Sydney Rosenfeld.
Gilbert and Sullivan do not care a fig how many
managers in this city or elsewhere in this country
play the “Mikado’’and I question very much
whether they are in the slightest degree troubled
concerning Mr. D’Oyley Carte’s fight over it here.
They simply sold him a right to play it here and
no more. Whether bemoan establish that right here
subsequent to the printed publication of the opera
in England, is a matter in which they are not in
What they want, and what is duo them, is that
the managers here who do play it shall not only put
it on the s age in a creditable manner, but pay di
rectly to the authors a lair royalty.
That is what every honorable manager here will
And, course, Mr. D’Oyley Carte vzill be wel
come to all he can get. Which, outside of the
amount Jj£ receives from John Stetson won’t be
new York.' sunday/July •■?<>■ issi.
Elise Foublanc and Her Two
The Fate of Two Suborned Wit-
The Unfailing Vengeance of Blanchelot,
the Tailor of Orleans.
In 1840, Justus Foublanc, a widower of Orleans,
France, died. He left his only child, Elise, to tho
guardianship of his friends, Cherupin and Gouru,
who were partners in business. In 1851. when Elise
was twenty, she was married to one Marc Antony
Daletour. She subsequently confessed to her hus
band that, years before, Cherupin had seduced her
and that she had been subsequently used by both
her guardians for the purposes of lust. Daletour
went to Cherupin’s house and found him in his
garden. He charged him with the crime of which
Elise had accused him and then shot him through
the heart. Daletour was tried for homicide. Be
fore the trial, Elise died in childbed, chiefly from
the effect of the nervous shock which the exposure
of her former life bad given her. On the trial, Guil
laume Yssup, who had been in Cherupin’s employ
as apprentice and journeyman for many years,
ewore that he had seduced Elise six years before
hor marriage, and brought one Quentin, who made
oath that ho, too, had had relations with Elise, and
that both ho and Yssup had frequently spoken on
the subject with Daletour, with whom they had
been intimate since they were children. Daletour
was convicted of homicide with extenuating cir
cumstances, and sent to the bagnio for twenty
In 1865 Gouru died and Yssup succeeded to his
business. Meanwhile Quentin, who had never had
two centimes to rub together until he appeared as a
witness to corroborate Yssup, went into business as
a horse dealer and seemed to do well. These two
men were fast friends and resided in adjacent
houses on the Faubourg St. Vincent.
In 1868 there came to reside in Orleans, on the rue
Bourgogne, one Blanchelot, a tailor. He was a
quiet, retiring man, and soon drew customers.
Guillaume Yssup, dealer in harness and vehicles,
occupied the adjoining store, and the two soon be
came friends. About January, 1869, Yssup bought
a horse from Quentin, and subsequently discovered
that the horse was lame in the knee joint. Quentin
protested that the annimal was sound when he sold
it and no veterinary surgeon could find the cause
of the trouble. The knee swelled and the horse
finally sickened and died.
Soon after this Yssup began to receive anonymous
letters, intimating that a great crime which he had
committed was known to the writer and would
shortly be revealed. These letters increased in
virulence and threatened Yssup with utter and
complete disgrace and ruin. Yssup at length showed
the letters to Blanchelot who, after a patient in
vestigation, as he said, came to a conclusion as to
their authorship.
“It is a very serious matter,” he said, “ and I do
not say anything for certain; still you may use
your own eyes and say what you think.”
Then he asked Yssup to come into his place and
examine his order book. “ You see,” he said,
“ when a customer comes to be measured, I make
him write down himself how he wants his clothes
made and when, and sign his name. Now, I want
you to see whether any writing in my book resem
bles the writing in the anonymous letters.”
Comparisons were made, and Yssup, to his very
great surprise and indignation, saw that a very
close resemblance existed between the writing in
the letters and the writing of Guillaume Quentin,
who was one of Blauchelot’s customers. Yssup
procured letters written by Quentin, and was more
than ever satisfied that Quentin was sending him
the anonymous letters.
“Why don’t you take steps to punish him ?”
Blanchelot asked.
“The truth is,” was the answer, “we have been
friends all our lives, and I don’t wish now to quar
rel with him.”
By and by Yssup and Quentin became estranged,
and the letters still continued. Finally Yssup re
ceived a letter containing a recapitulation of all
which the anonymous missives had stated, and
signed with Quentin’s name. Blanchelot urged
Yssup to lay the matter before the authorities, but
he would not do it. Letter after letter followed, all
purporting to be signed by Quentin, and though
Yssup -was greatly aroused and used strong lan
guage, nothing could induce him even to mention
to Quentin bis extraordinary conduct.
■Things went on thus until April 20, 1869. On the
afternoon of that day Yssup received a letter from
Quentin, asking him to meet Quentin at the Rue de
la Gare. Yssup informed Blanchelot of the proposed
meeting, and Blanchelot said he would accompany
his friend to the meeting-place designated. But
Blanchelot, according to Yssup’s statement, at
the last minute, said that important business
would detain him, but that if Yssup would walk on
through the suburb from his residence, he would
go from his store by the Rue Royale and the Rue
Baunier, and join him on the Rue de la Gare at
nine o’clock. Shortly before ten Yssup returned
heme, and told his wife that Blanchelot had failed
to keep his appointment.
That night at a few minutes past nine o’clock and
within a few feet of the railway depot, Quentin was
found lying in the road with a bullet in his brain.
Near by, where it had evidently been thrown, lay a
The case was a mystery to the police for some
days. At length the prefect received an anonymous
communication, stating that for some time emnity
had existed between Yssup and Quentin and that
investigation would show such to be the case.
Yssup, to his great astonishment, as he appeared to
think, was requested to appear before a magistrate
and be examined. The fact of the anonymous let
ters and of the others signed by Quentin came out
as a matter of course, and also the fact of Yssup’s
having been in the neighborhood of the crime at the
time of its commission. On the revolver’s being
produced, he was astounded, and after a minute
scrutiny, admitted it was one he had had in his
keeping for many years. He swore that though he
received Quentin’s letter making the appointment,
he went to the Rue de la Gare solely by appoint
with Blanchelot and paid no heed to Quentin’s let
ter; but, when Blanchelot was examined, he posi
tively denied having made any such appointment.
As to the secret crime to which the letters alluded,
Yssup solemnly averred utter ignorance. In the
face of such overwhelming circumstantial evidence,
there was nothing but to hold Yssup for the crime
of murder. For this he was tried and was convicted
and sentenced for life.
In December, 1884, there died in a Paris hospital
a man who called himself Caspar Blanchelot. Before
his death he made a confession which was properly
taken down and attested. It is appended:
“I, known here as Caspar Blanchelot, voluntarily
make this confession: My true name is Marc Antony
Daletour. lam a native of Bonneval, near Orleans,
and was manager for the firm of Manton & Co., in
that city. In 18511 was married to Elise Foublanc,
and some months after our marriage she confessed
that her guardian, Cherupin, had seduced her many
years before, and that her other guardian, Gouru,
and Cherupin, had made of her an instrument of
their shameful passion ever since. I accused Che
rupin of the crime, and he admitted it, saying that
her father, instead of leaving property, died insolv
ent, and that he acted as guardian and supported
her at his own expense. He said that Elise showed
a disposition to be frivolous, end that it was with
her full consent and for value that she yielded to
his desires. As I felt this to be false. I shot the vil
lain on the spot, The disgrace Attending the di*
antr gittajttitanf.
closure made my wife sick. Premature confine
ment followed, and she died without having made
any deposition. I was thus deprived of her aid on
the trial. One Yssup, a miserable wretch, who had
and had been in his employ for years, swore on the
trial that he bad seduced Elise at the age of four
teen, and one Quentin, a stable boy, and a charac
terless blackguard, was suborned also by Gouru to
swear that Elise had been unchaste. I was con
victed and sentenced for twenty years. At the end
of fifteen years I was released. I was prematurely
old. My hair was gray. I learned tailoring in
prison, and, having allowed my beard to grow,
which was as white as snow, and satisfied that I
could never be identified, I went to Orleans and
started business as a tailor, with a few hundred
francs I had saved while working in Paris.
“ I made up my mind to avenge Elise. I resolved
that all who had conspired to ruin her and me
should suffer. I had slain Cherupin. Gouru was
dead. Yssup and Quentin alone survived. It was 1
who drove a needle into the knee joint of tho horse
purchased by Yssup of Quentin, and thus first
sowed discord between them. It was I who wrote
all the letters to Yssup. I know well that he would
not speak to Quentin on the subject, because I was
certain that they were both perjurers. I arranged
for the meeting with Yssup to get him into the
for Quentin as he returned from bis stables at nine
o'clock, his usual hour, and shot him in the head
with the revolver previously abstracted from
Yssup’s desk.
“I studied Quentin’s writing from his entry in
my book. I traced the signature. If the detectives
had been skillful I should have been discovered, for
on the trial the fact that I and Yssup compared the
letters with the writing on my book came out. If a
pair of dividers had been placed on the extreme
points of the genuine signature in my book, and
then on tho extreme points of the signatures to tho
letters, not a hair’s breadth of variation would have
been found, and that alone would have shown there
was forgery. Cherupin died by my hand. Gouro
escaped my vengeance by dying a natural death,
Quentin was a just victim of retribution. Yssup
has been in forced servitude for fifteen years—tho
same term for which I suffered. Elise is avenged,
and I die without a pang or a dread.
“I sign myself, on the brink of eternity,
Daletour, Gop’b Red Hand.”
How American Snobs, Male and Female,
Denationize Themselves.
Autocrats of the Goose who Boss
Fashionable Geese.
New York’s Ugly Rich Women and
Pretty Poor Ones.
There is woe in the camp of the milliners, and
desolation perches like a raven on the rooftrees of
the makers of Spring bonnets. Tyrant man, en
croaching more and more on woman s chosen fields
of industry, has at last set his brutal heel even in
her pot stronghold. An old philosopher once said,
“Let me have the making of a people's ballads and
I-care not who make their laws.” In the same
strain the milliner once said, “Let me make the
wife’s dresses and I care not who makes the hus
band’s clothes.” But time, the merciless and the
changeable, has set his seal upon this blissful priv
ilege of the artist in flounces and ribbons. The art
of embellishing our wives and daughters, our sis
ters, cousins and aunts, not to mention our moth
ers, grandmothers and mothers-in-law, has already
commenced to pass into male hands too.
was Monsieur Worth, of Paris, and for more than a
generation he has ruled supreme. He found an
imitator in this city many years ago, but here, as in
Paris, this competition held no particular peril for
the female milliner at large. The man milliner al
ways ran his establishment with a staff of women,
employed female foremen, cutters, fitters and the
like, and really only presided over the business as
its director and master.
But with the growth of an advanced English
taste among us, and the increase of the desire on
the part of our fashionables to make the world be
lieve that they belong to ” dear old Lunnon, don’t
chew knew,” rather than to lew and vulgar New
York, an English practice which forebodes ruin to
the millinery and mantua-making interests of
America has crept into vogue. It is no longer fash
ionable for a lady to have her attire fashioned by
a dressmaker, but by a tailor.
During the past couple of years half a dozen es
tablishments of a most peculiar character have
found a lodgment in New York. They are, literally
speaking, tailoring establishments for women. They
are all run by men who claim to have large connec
tions with the nobility and gentry of England, and
a couple of them assert themselves to have won the
crowning distinctions of catering to the Queen and
tho Princess of Wales, and other lofty notables.
These invaders pitch their tents on our swellest
avenues, advertise hugely in the fashion and so
ciety papers, and appear to do a rushing trade.
They fit their shops up rather as parlors than shops,
employ male attendants who bang their hair and
enclose their necks in strangulation collars, and are
extremely haughty and overbearing in their treat
ment of their customers. Any ordinary American
tradesman who exhibited a quarter of the insolence
to his female patrons that one of these foreign snobs
does would be kicked or hoisewhipped. He, how
ever, goes unscathed because
Everything which the man milliner does is done
in style. Even the boy in buttons who opens his
door is made up after the plan of a servitor in the
employ of a royal duke. His walls are adorned
with water-color drawings of beautiful women
dressed in tailor-made garments, and his floors are
carpeted with the costliest fabrics of the Oriental
looms. He always wears full dress at business, and
pays all his bills in checks with a crest on them.
Indeed, crests are his strong hold. His advertise
ments and billheads fairly bristle with them. One
of the newest accessions to his ranks among us
sports the coats of arms of Denmark, Portugal,
Russia, England and of the Prince of Wales, to each
of which is attached the announcement “ by special
appointment to H. R. H. Princess of Wales,” “ H.
M. the Queen of England,” of “Portugal or Den
mark, and H. I. M. Empress of Russia.”
The man milliner invariably calls himself a
“ladles tailor and habit maker.” and claims to have
branch offices in London and Paris. He has agen
cies at Saratoga, Newport, and Long Branch, and
sends drummers travelling throughout the country
to beat up business for him. One of the latest ad
vertisements announces that: “Mr. So-and-So has
now opened a postal department at his New York
establishment (on tae same principle as carried out
in his Cowes, London and Paris branches), where
ladies living at a distance can send their orders for
gowns, coats and toques through the mail. Patterns
of tho late st Summer cloths and Islo of Wight ser.
ges of their own manufacture, in all colors, with
original sketches, paintings and photographs, sent
to any part of the world on application, free of
charge. A perfect fit guaranteed without a personal
interview. To this is appended a long list of names
to whom the advertiser has catered and which'prob
aoly proves a rare bait for the average American
snob. The list begins with empresses and queens
and ends with “honorables.” No mere insignifi
cant civilian is permitted to figure on it. Indeed
one of tha gentry in question recently remarked ;
“ Well, my boy, I don’t really care to dress for any
but people of title, you know. At borne, don’t you
know, I never take a—ahem !—commission from a
commoner. Hero, I have to do it, of course—your
country is so beastly democratic. Not that you K
haven’t real nice people here, don’t you know; but
really, you seo, they ought to have titles. They
deserve it, upon my soul they do. It’s a shame 1
that there shouldn’t be any distinction made be
tween such real nice people and a perfect mob of
common ones, don’t you know. Sometimes it .
The prices charged at these establishments are
extortionate to a degree. They average at least
double what the most extravagant female milliner
would dare charge. ’ The work is well done, of
course, and its results, when displayed upon the
female form, are extremely toney. But it ought to c
be, for the cost. The measuring is always done 1
under tho master’s eye, by a male assistant, and B
the cutting, fitting, and making up are all confided c
to men. About the only use found for a women in 1
the man-milliners shop is to scrub the floors. So t
successful have the various ventures in this line 1
proven, that a number of the fashionable native *
tailors have commenced to fall into line as women s <
outfitters, too; but, not being English, they do not
succeed particularly well. A few years ago about F
all the tailoring they dreamed of doing for women 1
was in the form of riding habits and pantaloons I
and ulsters. Now the whole dresses are confided to 1
the tailor for construction, and it is confidently ’
predicted that the man-milliner will have tho f
fashions entirely in his hands next Winter—as far <
as our so-called ‘•bon ton” are concerned.
••Tho fashion just now,” observed an acute ob- 5
server of passing people and events, to a Dispatch I
reporter, “among our fashionable girls seems to be i
to wear tailor-made suits and drive about in han- i
soms. They wear the suits to be looked at, and ride I
in the hansoms because people can seo them better ]
in them than in close carriages. They drive up and ;
down Fifth avenue, along Broadway, and through i
the Park for hours. From 11 till 3 o’clock in the
day it is almost impossible for a man to hire a han- i
worn up town, From 10 till 11 o’clock you will find «
the girls in the riding school.exercising around tho i
track. Whatever they do you may depend is sane- 1
tioned by English precedents. They would no more
think of adopting a fashion that was not in vogue in
London than they would think of
“In some eases the fashion is certainly a pleasant
one. The tailor-made garments set off a trim young
figure with a stout pair of shoulders and good bust j
and hips wonderfully well. Such a girl, laying back
in her hansom and eyeing you, as she whirls by, ]
through a gold-rim med quizzing-glass, is an agree- <
able sight to the eye. But such examples of the
fashion are in the minority. It is a lamentable fact
that most New York society women have ugly faces ■
and bad figures. Dressed in the English fashion,
they are simply hideous. Half the working girls of
the metropolis can discount them for style and
beauty. But they will do it, because it’s English,
you know.
“It is not only in clothes and carriages, but in
ways of talking and walking, in boots, bats, um
brellas and collars, that this is exemplified. The
French shoemaker, like the French dressmaker, is
no longer in favor. The artist who adorns fash
ion’s pedal tootsy-wootsy’s, now hangs out a sign
as ' late of Piccadilly,’ and makes shoes on the clum
siest and most approved English plan. Parasols are
no longer carried; umbrellas are the style, and if
they are not of English make they must bo good
imitations. The very swellest of our girls now
carry canes and dog-whips on the promenade, be
cause in England, when a lady strolls in her gar
den or about her estates, she always has her dogs at
her heels and carries some implement to correct
them with. The proper caper in hats, now, is also
of insular origin. You must not adorn your head
with a ‘love of a bonnet’ that costs a great deal
more than its weight in gold, but go to a hatter and
be fitted with a 'darling’ Leghorn or some other
cranial protection which a few years ago would
have been consecrated to strictly masculine use.”
“ According to your theory, then, French fash
ions are in the decline among us ?”
“ For full toilets for ball, dinner, opera and the
like the French modiste still holds her own. But
for street wear the tailor is now the proper pur
veyor. The sumptuary programme of a New York
aristocrat may now be divided into two parts. By
day she wears English clothes, shoes, hats, gloves
and so on. By night she wears French dresses,
pivot-heeled boots, stockings and gloves with hand
painting on them, and has her hair done up a la
mode Francais. English under-clothing is now im
ported by our belles for day wear, just as Parisian
is for night. The former is perfectly plain and
made of the finest linen. The latter is all
The same distinction is made in such minor de
tails as gloves and collars, which are English by day
and French by night. Handkerchiefs come under
the same head. No woman can get along without
some help from the French dressmaker, you know.
In England the full toilets are all of French origin,
consequently, even though our society women may
occasionally don a French dress, they are really im
itating the English in doing so.”
“ But if the English style has got such a grip on
us,” said the reporter, “ who wear American clothes
now ?”
“ Well,” replied the authority, with a quiet smile,
“as far as I can see, American clothes are worn by
some fifty millions of decent and self-respecting
men and women who are not ashamed of their
country, and who can afford to let a few thousand
purse-proud vulgarians make fools of themselves
for the public amusement. Come and have a pew
ter of bass and a pickled onion. It’s English, you
know; but it is just from London, and is consid
ered very hum-tum.”
The reporter compromised on a glass of George
Bechtel’s beer and a pretzel.
“I was standing at the corner of Twenty-sixth
street and Seventh avenue talking to a friend that
keeps a fruit stand there,” said Mr. James Stover,
•when Ann Gillan came along and joined us. My
friend knew her, I didn’t. She asked me to treat
her, and offered to get a kettle if I would shell out
the money. I shelled out for a quart of beer, which
she fetched and we drank. She then asked me to '
take her arm. I took it. She then walked me into '
a restaurant and called for supper for two. We ate it 1
and I shelled out seventy-five cents. We got up 1
and she took my arm and led me into a house and 1
I shelled out seven dollars for current expenses. I *
had twenty-five dollars left, and before retiring, to ’
make sure that I shouldn’t be robbed, 1 put the ?
money in my boot. We retired to bed; when I got *
up in the morning she was gone, and when I looked 1
in my boots the money, too, was gone.”
“She says you were in her company all day,
drinking,” said Justice Kilbreth. 1
“ No, sir, I did not see her till 10 o’clock. At 3
o’clock I woke up. in the room, but had
gone out and came back. I saw her come in, and C
she went to bed again and woke me up at 6 o’clock. 8
I then found my money wum’t in my boot.'*
“What did you say ?’*
’• ‘l’ve been robbed. You give me my money
back. She said, •! haven’t got it.’ I said I had it
last night. She was dressing herself to go when I
had her arrested. She said she was in a hurry to
catch the steamer.”
She was held in SSOO to answer.
Ann McGiven picked John Thorn up and relieved
him of $27. She denied the charge. They had
roomed together.
“You left him suddenly ?” said the Justice.
“I wae there the agreed time.”
“There was no contract as to time,” said the man.
“Why did you leave ?” asked the court.
“When there if-, no contract as to time, we leave
when it suits,” said the girl.
“But you left suddenly, and so did his money.”
“I left when I found he had a pistol.”
“I never carried a pistol in my life,” said the man. i
“I was drunk and he was drunk.”
“I was sober,” said the man. 1
She was held in SI,OOO to answer, !
A Hundred Murders a Year that are
Never Heard of.
.A. State in wHicti Terrorism
He wore a broad-brimmed slouch hat, and his
clothes were of butternut jeans, made on a hand
loom. When, in response to an invitation to “take
something,” says the Philadelphia Times, he leaned
confidentially toward the bartender and softly whis
pered “Bourbon, sah,” it was conclusive evidence
that ho hailed from Kentucky. Ho was bony, angu
lar, six feet and over in bight, slightly stoop-shoul
dered, his hair was long, and he chewed tobacco in
cessantly. |
“Yes, sah; I am from Kaintucky, sah,” ho an- i
swered, when tho question was put to him. “I was
with Cap’n Peter Everett, of John Morgan’s Ran
gers, and I know Kaintucky from tho Ohio to the
mountains. Since the wah, sab, I’ve been in Gov’-
ment employ—working as a special bailiff for United
States Deputy Ma’shals. Have I ever been in Rowan
County ? Well, a few 1 Rowan’s right in my baili
wick, and at different times I’ve had half the citi
zens under arrest for moonshining. I arrested John
Martin twice. He’s tho leader of one of the factions
in the present wah down thar, and I’ve been
through Mo’ehead and Confedrit Cross Roads when
it was necessary to go armed and carry your wea
pons cocked and ready for business. I moonshined
with Harrington, Cockran, and Heflin, and was rid
ing through the county all through the Underwood-
Holbrook wah. That little difficulty got consider- .
able newspaper notoriety, and it was right, smart of
a skirmish; but if you want to see right down fight
ing, you want to go into the upper counties—Law
rence, Johnson, Morgan, Magoffin, Wolf, Breathitt,
Floyd, Pike, Letcher, Harlan, or Bell. They're al
ways fighting thar, and a hundred murders are com
mitted every year in factional fights that the world
outside knows nothing of.
“Take Bloody Breathitt, for instance. I was raid
ing through that section in 1877 when Judge Elliott I
was killed at Jackson. There were two great fami- j
lies engaged in that wah, and every man in the
county took sides with one or the other. They
were about equally divided, and when they broke
up the court, and killed the Criminal Judge, the
Governor ordered out the militia and sent a regi
ment of troops in to suppress the insurrection. It
cost SIOO,OOO to transport the soldiers across the
mountains, and when they reached the top of the
ridge that divides Letcher from Breathitt, and
looked down into the valley, thar was not a man in
the county in arms. They staid thar several days,
and finding nobody to fight, marched back again.
When the last soldier disappeared over the ridge,
the Strongs and Littles took up arms again, and
they’ve been killing each other ever since.
“Once we made a raid into Floyd county, and
one of the warrants in our hands called for the ap
prehension of the Sheriff. There was an illicit still
on every little run in the county, and the Grand
Jury that had just been discharged, found nineteen
indictments for murder against the citizens of the
county. Ed. Floyd, who lived in Big Timber Cove,
and was a pilot to the United States Marshal, was
one of the bravest men I ever met. He had many
enemies, but they dare not attack him openly. He
farmed a little piece of land at the head of the cove,
and lived thar with his wife and three children.
“ One night a party of his enemies attacked and
drove him from home. He took shelter in a corn
field just back of his house and his wife brought
him out his arms and ammunition. There were
forty men in the attacking party and when they
had him hemmed in the leader called on him to
surrender. ‘l’ll be damned if I do!’ was his
answer, and he opened fire on them, sah.
“ He was a dead shot and when they ptfossed him
close ho used his rifle with such aim that nine men
fell dead and the balance retired discomfited. They
were down on him because he had piloted the
Gov’ment officers, and one night when he was com
ing home they waylaid him and two days after
ward his dead body was found, riddled with bul
lets. All of these factional fights are the outgrowth
of the lato wah. Kentucky was a border State and
its people were about equally divided in sentiment.
The Confederates organized themselves into guerilla
bands and the Union people rallied around the
stars and stripes and called themselves the home
guards. It was brother against brother, father
against son and neighbor against neighbor. When
the wah closed the Confederates surrendered, but
they never laid down their arms, and they’ll proba
bly continue fighting until the end of tho chapter.
Prior to 1874 an honest man who wasn’t on the
shoot couldn’t live in mountain Kaintucky. The
mountains were full of cut-throats and desperadoes,
and it was not until tho Regulators were organ'zed
in Elliott county that anything like peace was
arrived at. Elliott county was full of desperadoes,
and Cracker’s Neck, a lofty plateau, which is nearly
surrounded by the Little Sandy River, was their
headquarters. Col. Peter J. Livingston, and ex-
ConfeJerate partisan soldier and an ex-member of
the Legislature, was the leader of the gang.
“The desperadoes finally became so bold that the
Regulators were organized and Aleck Howell was
made generalissimo of the order. They hung nine
teen men in Martinsburg one night, and so terror
ized the outlaws that hundreds of them fled the
country. After Howell was killed, while acting as
United States Special Bailiff in Logan county, West
Virginia, the Regulators reorganized and elected
Finney Roland generalissimo. Roland was a bad
man, and a friend and associate of bad men.
He terrorized the country, and at the head
of 500 armed and masked men rode into Catletts
burg, the seat of Boyd county, released five Regu
lars who were in prison thar, and continuing on
to Louisa, Lawrence county, warned the Criminal
Judge, James Stewart, who was about opening the
Criminal Court, to beware and try no Regulators, at
his peril. They served notices on the Grand Jury,
the Sheriff and the County Commissioners, and sta
tioned guards to watch the house of every suspect
ed man. Judge Stewart, fearing for his life, called
on the Governor for support, and a company of mi
litia was sent to his assistance. A proclamation was
issued by Governor Blackburn, promising pardon
to every Regulator who would surrender, and on
the day that court opened 500 members of the or
der rode into Louisa, surrendered and sued for
“This infuriated Roland, and he called a meeting ,
of the Grand Lodge. Death warrants were issued
against every recreant Regulator and against every
civil official in that section of the country. Roland
controlled 5,000 men, and they rose up in arms
when he issued his bloodthirsty order. Before they
could do much damage Roland was shot dead on
the banks of Sinking river, and the order went to
smash. Its reorganization has been attempted sev*
eral times since, but it is no longer a power, and
until mountain Kaintucky is pierced with railways,
factional wars will continue to be waged. Those
mountaineers are a queer people. They’re hospit
able to strangers, but they will fight among them
selves, Half the population is engaged in making
moonshine whisky and the other half drink it—and
fight. They live within 150 miles of the most pol
ished civilization in the world, and yet not one in
ten can read, and eighty out of every one hundred
write their name with a cross. They live on corn
bread, buttermilk and hog meat, and the children
learn to shoot as soon as they’re able to hold up a
As once again, with loosened rein,
I thread the pathway shady—
Blue skies above, green woods around,
And underneath me Sadie,
My gentle mare—what treasure-trove
Is this that lies before me?
A woman’s glove—a riding-glove—
That brings old tremors o’er me !
The monogram too well I know,
That marks the buttons rusty,
Though all the shapely parts with snow
And rain are black and musty;
And still it brings the vision of
The dainty hand that filled it.
And taught my bosom first to love,
And then with sorrow thrilled it.
That hand to me once pledged its faith;
How well I mind the May-time
We last rode down this bridal path
And made of life a playtime!
Now precious is my heart’s regret
For that which once so thrilled it,
And I will keep this token yet.
Though false the hand that filled it*
Junie Storn.
now itlamFabout.
My aunt was plainly wandering back again to
old scones. An intense desire to know my
aunt's life-history took possession of me, espe
cially as that history was in some way connected
with Aubrey’s father, but I shrank from asking
her. So for spine time silence reigned between
us. At length I asked, rather timidly:
“Did you know Aubrey’s father intimately,'
auntie ?”
My aunt drew a long breath and paused bo.
fore answering. Then she said slowly:
“Yes, my dear, I did.”
“ Auntie,” I continued, " tell me something
about him, will you—that is, if it does not pain
you ? Was ho like Aubrey—Arthur, I moan ?”
“Yes,” she answered, “very like, only hand
somer. I remember,” she continued softly,
“ when I first saw him—it was at a schoolfel
low’s house where I was visiting—l thought I
had never seen so handsome a man, and, when
later on it fell to hie lot to take me in to dinner,
I found that my companion was as charming in
conversation as he was pleasing in appearance;
when addressing me, his voice, always gentla
and persuasive, would sink to a tone both soft
and tender.”
“ Oh, aunt,” I interrupted, “ that is just like
Aubrey ! One would think you were describing
“ Yes,” said aunt Jane, “ there is in that re
spect a great resemblance in the father and son
—in fact, in all the family.”
“ Tell me some more, please,” I whispered,
as she sat silent—“ tell me everything about
“ What is there to tell,” she resumed sadly,
“ but what one hears every day, of an idol
shiped as pure gold and proving in the but
base metal ? If however you wish ’,<> hear, I
will tell you what 1 have never d p o ] ;o n of be
fore; but time heals bad wc <<ludaj though the
scars remain.
“ I was staying at r 3 Dalton’s for an indef
inite period, and- e0 wa3 Arthur Galveston. We
were throwrj lllto dany> a i, noa t hourly compan
ionship., woud er then that I gave my
".uole heart into this man’s keeping, h o l'. 6V ' n &
him to be all that was noble and true ? Thue a
month flew by, and I was the happiest of mor
tals. Arthur and I were formally engaged, and
I wore on the third finger of my left hand a ring
set with pearls, my betrothal ring.
“ He loved me then, there is no doubt of that,
but only, as I found out afterward, as he had
loved several before me. His fickle natura
could not keep true to one if other attractions
presented themselves. But I did not know
this. To me the world could hold no greater
happiness. I was Arthur’s and he was mine,
that was sufficient tor me.
“ About that time there came to visit at Mrs.
Dalton’s a distant cousin of Laura’s. She waa
a dark, lively little thing, and we soon cams to
look upon her as the pet of the house. Arthur
used to take a great deal of notice of her; but I
did not think anything ot that, for he always
treated her as a child. But soon I had an un
pleasant consciousness that Arthur preferred
her company to mine. I was angry with myself
for my suspicions; nevertheless I watched them
closely, and soon saw that gay little Dolly Pres
ton loved him even as I did. Whether he loved
her I could not determine. He was still the
tender lover to me in the moments we were
alone together, but, by love’s intuition, I
missed something in his manner there had been
“ One evening—it was in May—l had dressed
for dinner rather earlier than usual, so I en
tered the library to look for a book I wanted.
After finding it, I stood idly pulling one book
down alter another and carelessly glancing at
their contents and replacing them. I was just
turning away, when I noticed between two vol
umes a small piece of paper. Scarcely knowing
why, I took it out, and, unfolding it, read its
contents. This is what I read:
‘“My darling, I shall be at the old place int
the shrubbery to-night at nine o’clock. Do try
to come, for 1 have something to tell you.
“ ‘ Your devoted lover, A.’
“It was in Arthur’s handwriting. I did not
betray the pain I felt on reading this. I care
fully refolded the note and replaced it. I an,
not demonstrative—l never was; but during tha
two or three minutes I stood in the library
years oi agony seemed to pass over me. But,
when I rejoined the others in the drawing
room, there was no trace of emotion visible bey
yond an unusual pallor.
“The first thing I noticed on entering tha
roomjwas Dolly, dressed in white, with little
clusters of purple heartsease in her hair anil
at her throat. She was talking rapidly, and hen
cheeks were unusually flushed. She was sur
rounded by a little knot of admirers, for thera
was nearly always company staying at Mrs. Dal-
ton’s; but I perceived that her glance constantly
wandered to the door. Presently Arthur came
in, and I turned faint at heart as I noticed tha
look of happiness which leaped to her eyes aer
she saw him. I sat in a corner unnoticed till
we went in to dinner. Directly that was over,
I went softly up to my room, and, throwing %
long black cloak around me, crept forth softly
into the garden and ran swiftly to the shrub-*
bery. At the entrance to the principal walk;
was a group of statuary, and behind thw I hid
“The moon had not yet risen, so I was nofe
afraid of being seen, especially as the statuary
stood back in the deep shadow. I waited
patiently for some time. At last I heard a foot-,
fall on the graveled walk, the perfume of a
cigar was waited to me/thon, passing dose to

xml | txt