New York dispatch. [volume], December 27, 1885, Page 7, Image 7

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

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A VISIT FROM ST. NICHOLAS.
BY CLEMENT C. MOORE.
'Twas the night before Christinas, when all through
the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
The children were nestled ail snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-pinnis danced in their beaus;
And Mamma in her kerchief, and I in my cap, .
Had just settled our brains lor a long Winter s
nap—
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window 1 flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.*
The moon, on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
Gave a lustre of mid-day to objects below;
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must bo St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came.
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by
name; . _ ,
••Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and
On! Comet, on! Cupid, on! Donder and Blit-
To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall!
Now, dash away, dash away, dash away all .
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the
sky.
So, up to the house-top the coursers they new.
With the sleigh full of toys-and St. Nicholas, too.
And therein a twinkling I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur from his head to his f00t,3
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes ana
soot; , , . ,
A bundle of toys he had flung on hnwack,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
His ,eyes how they twinkled I his dimples how
merry !
His cheeks were like roses, Lis nose like a cherry;
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the board on his chin was as white as the
snow,
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teetn,
And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly
That shook, when he laughed, like a bowl full o,
jelly.
He was chubby and plump —a right jolly old elf;
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.
A wink ol his eye, and a twist of his head.
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but wont straight to his
work.
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a
jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up tho chimney he rose.
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whietio.
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle;
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
•‘Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-nightl”
1 FOUL CMBMIICT.
A SKETCH FROM JAIL-LIFE.
BY AN EX-JAIL SURGEON.
•* I have another new prisoner in here, sir,”
said the matron of tho female prison, point
ing to a coll as we entered Corridor A, I having
already examined and “ passed” some three or
four fresh importations in the chamber appoint
ed for that purpose.
“ Why in there, matron ? AVhy not with the
others? Is there anything special about this
case I inquired, officially, being quite certain
of this, that Mistress Bowmer had strong rea
sons, or she would not have ventured to in
fringe the prison regulations.
Yes, doctor, there is something very special
about this case. She is only committed for
trial at present, and is a lady bred and born.”
“ Ah, but we must not break the rules,” I
urged, as it was only right and proper that a
superior officer should do, you know. “A lady,
did you say ? Well, well, let me see.”
Now, you will readily admit that it is not very
usual for “ ladies bred and born” to be shut up
in a common jail, or even only committed for
trial, for the committal itself can only follow
very strong evidence of guilt, and some of our
magistrates are occasionally inclined to be
shrewd. Whether the magistrate who “ com
mitte'd” this “ lady” was shrewd or not, I shall
leave you to judge for yourselves.
Openiug the cell door with the usual click
clank bang that is peculiar to cell doors, and
possibly arranged for the generous purpose of
striking terror into the heart of the occupant,
we passed in, and there before us, crouching
down upon the wooden bed, with her face
buried in her hands, sat a woman, whose sym
metrical figure, even in that position, stamped
her with the unmistakable grace of a refined
lady, and as she raised her tear-stained face to
mine I. noted that she was very young.
“ This is the doctor, my dear,” said the ma
tron, in a very unofficial manner indeed—more
like a mother, in fact.
The girl, for she was nothing more, rose
quietly and came toward me, and I—well, J
blame the matron for that—actually held out
my hand for hers, quite forgetting my official
dignity for the moment.
“ How came you here ?’’ was the very natural
question that rose to my lips; but Mistress
Bowmer gave me a sign that impelled mo to
change my first impulse and to inquire if she
were in good health.
“Yes, I thank you,” she replied, in a soft,
sweet voice, struggling with gobs that would un
bidden rise—“at least—l—think so.”
With that I led her back to her couch and told
her to cheer up; that, sho would be well taken
care of here—that she had nothing to fear
all would come right by and by, and a few other
platitudes, and withdrew.
Mistress Bowmer kissed her forehead and fol
lowed mo to her private room, where I at once
requested her to give me some explanation of
the mystery.
“ I did not examine her,” I remarked, byway
of excusing myself for any official neglect.
•‘ I took it for granted ”
“ Oh, for goodness sake, sir, don’t speak like
that! I! you only knew her history ! Oh, it’s
shameful! It is, sir; on my word, it is—and
But I suppose I must not tell you.”
Mistress Bowmer was quite right, and it
would be a distinct breach of jail discipline for
the sugeon to gossip with the matron about
the private affairs, or even the offenses of the
prisoners; but, then, this was such a very ex
ceptional case.
“ Hang it all, Mistress Bowmer,” I ex
claimed, as I observed that her eyes were
flooded with tears of sympathy—“ hang the by
laws ! 1 think we can make an exception in
this case. What can she nave done to bring her
here ?”
As I spoke I closed the door of the matron’s
apartment, in defiance of the female warders
that might be about, and seated myself in a
chair to listen.
“ Well, sir, I can’t help it. I must speak
about it.”
“Very well, matron,” I said. “Let me hear
the story at once.”
Thus encouraged, she seated herself on the
edge o! a chair.
“You will be surprised to hoar, sir, that that
young girl is a mother and a wife,” she com
menced.
“Indeed, I saw no wedding-ring,” I ob
served.
“That may be so, sir; but, doctor, have you
never heard of such a thing as hunger ?”
“Ah, well—l understand-yes, pray go on.
Where is her husband, then ?”
“He has gone abroad and left her—her, that
delicate young thing, with his child, to fight the
world alone during his absence ; and, the truth
Is, she has been hunted to death—until—until
—she has come here.”
“She won’t be hunted here, that is very cer
tain. But what has she done ?”
“ Done, sir?”
“ Yes ; what crime has she committed ?”
“Crime, doctor? Do you think a gentle,
blue-eyod creature like her could commit a
crime ?”
“ She certainly does not give one the notion
of a typical criminal, I must say ; but what
brings her here ?”
“Doctor,” said the matron, impressively,
•‘ she is the victim of a foul conspiracy—that is
what she is. bhe is the victim of a deceitful
man—her husband's father—that is what she is
—a mean brute that deserves the ‘cat’ more
than any poor wretch that has suffered it here ;
and, although I could not listen to the screams
of those who were undergoing it, I would not
only laugh at his, but would like to lay the cat
upon him myself—that I would.
“Listen a moment, and you will understand
as well as I. and then, I am sure, you will feel as
Ido; and if you <-an advise and assist her in
some way, she will be very grateful, for as far.
as I can see, she has not a friend in the world. ’
Now I am not a man that loves excitement,
and, consequently, I regarded with suspicion
these passionate remarks of Mistress Bowmer.
I am at all times very loth to be mixed up in
other persons’ domestic affairs ; but here was a
case of oppression—and of a weak woman, too.
Here was" a case that appealed to one’s man
hood ; and, with a passing thought for the sor
rowful face and beautiful eyes inside that cell, I
.gave myself up, and assured the matron with
all my heart that she could count upon my good
offices.
“ She is an orphan, sir,” continued she, satis
fied with my assurance. . “ Her father was lost
at sea, and her mother died before she was ten
years old, leaving a little, but not much—just
enough, indeed, to keep her and pay for her
education until she was eighteen years old, and
then sho entered the family of a well-to-do
tradesman as governess to his children.”
“ Well ?”
“ Here she continued for some two or three
jears, when her peace of mind was disturbed by
the importunities of a young gentleman, a guest
of the family, who persisted in declaring his
passionate love for her, and imploring her to be
his wife.”
“ And she consented.”
“ He would not take no for an answer, possi
bly because he guessed that she loved him in
return?”
“ Well, she consented ?”
“ Yes, she at last consented.”
“And very wisely, too, it he was a decent fel
low and had a little money of his own. Don’t
you think so ? Go on.”
“ Whether he was a decent fellow or not re
mains to be proved. He had a little money, I
which was allowed him bv his father, a very
wealthy man.”
“ So far, so good.”
“ Yes, sir; but, unfortunately, her husband—
Who was an only son, and heir to his father’s
afraid to openly announce hia mar-
riage. For about six months they lived very
happily, until she urged upon him for honesty’s
I sake to acquaint his lather.”
“That was good, too.”
“ Yes, it was good for her—but not very good
I for her. On receiving a letter announcing the
' marriage, the father summoned his son to ap
pear before him forthwith. c Never mind, my
dear,’ he said to his wife, as he was leaving; ‘ I
will soon set matters right with him. And if he
does not please to accept the wife of my choice,
he can lose his son—that’s all.’ Yes, that was
all, but it was enough to break a sensitive heart
like hers to be the cause of a father disowning
his son.”
“That was the father’s lookout, of course—
not hers.”
“Just so. Well, sir, the blow camo quickly,
bad things always do seem in a hurry to do
their dirty work. Ho returned, and I can see
her now as she searched his face to read the re
sult. He was half sorrowful, half radiant. His
father was by no means so implacable as he
feared—indeed, he had gone so far as to sug
gest conditions which, if faithfully carried out.
would enable him to receive her and to take her
to his arms as a daughter.
“ The conditions wore these; that they should
live apart, without communicating for two
years, and if after that time their attachment
was unchanged, they should bo restored to each
other’s arms in his house.
“ They were young and devoted, and she
bado him go—go—then and at once, or—as
she told mo herself —‘ sho never could have
parted.’ ”
“ And he went ?”
“ He did.”
“ More fool he.”
“ Ah, sir, but look at tho temptation. They
were both confident, and ho trusted to his
father’s integrity, and left his wife to his car©
and guardianship, under promise that she
should be watched over, well cared for, and
supplied with funds.
“upon this promise her husband went abroad
to kill tho time, and she has not heard from him
since.”
“ Is the time up, then ?”
“ Oh, dear no. Ho has hardly boon away
half the time.”
“ Well, did tho father keep the promise?”
“ Yes, he watched over her with a vengeance,
for no sooner was his son safe on board ship
and out of roach, than ho commenced a system
of shameful persecution. Ho sent her no
money, notwithstanding her repeated appeals,
and in course of time, after sho had spent and
pawned nearly all she possessed, the day camo
that made her a mother— in the work-house !”
Tho stern, unyielding matron of tho law that
she should have been, the tender-hearted wo
man that she was, hero completely broke down
and burst into a flood of sympathetic tears, and
I clenched my hands till tho nails almost enter
ed the palms, and bit my lip till it bled.
“Go on, go on—let me hear the rest,” I
begged, when she was a little more composed.
“ When—when she left the work-house, sir,
she took herself back to her old employer, but
some one had been, there before her. They de
clined to receive her, or to allow her to enter
the door. The message was that as she bad dis
graced herself with a guest of their’s she was
no longer welcome. She protested to the ser
vant that she was legally and lawfully married,
but was laughed at lor her pains—and ordered
off.
“ Then she remembered that her husband
had taken her certificate to show his father, and
had forgotten to return it. Herring was in pawn,
and the only evidence she had of her state was
— her chud,”
t: Which was, of course, no evidence at
all. Could she not get another copv of the cer
tificate ?”
“They cost money, I believe, or perhaps she
bad no one to advise her like you would have
done.”
“Well ?”
“As she was leaving the door, utterly crushed
and broken-hearted, some friend took compas
sion upon her and offered her shelter. She
wrote heartbreaking letters to her husband’s
"father, but, as she could get no answer to them,
she suspected that he must be either ill or dead.
Unwilling to impose longer upon her kind friend
for a lodging, and with little or no hope of em
ployment, what do you think she did? Why,
she—that delicate child--positively started off
to walk nearly forty miles to throw herself at the
feet of her hard-hearted father-in-law. Her
child she left behind with her friend, who kindly
took charge of it.”
“Who is the man?” I asked.
“Presently, sir; we shall come to that. Let
mo finish one point at a time.”
“The vagabond I What could be the object of
such villainy?”
“Can’t you understand, doctor ? Can’t you
see through that ?”
1 confessed that for the moment I could not.
“lean 1” she almost screamed. “I can. The
rascal thought to hunt her to desperation—to
drive her to commit that one false step that
might open the road to ruin and—a divorce !”
‘•But why ? She was good enough for his son,
I suppose.”
“ Ah, yes; but then he may have had other
views—some family arrangement, I expect.
But he had yet to loarn how a virtuous woman
can suffer before she can be driven to part with
that which is her dearest treasure in life—l
moan her self-respect.”
“ I am glad to hear you speak so highly of
your sex, Mistress Bowmer. The specimens
you usually meet with hero would hardly war
rant you in making such an assertion.”
“That is quite true, sir; but we must not
judge of the world outside by the inmates of a
jail ”
“ They would be a very bad lot if we did.”
“ Any more than wo must judge of this dear
child by those around her—saving your pres
ence, sir.”
“ Well, well—let me hear the rest, for my
time is nearly up. I must be going.”
“Tobe short as possible, then, sir, I must
tell you that her husband’s lather was evidently
forewarned of her intended visit, but how I
cannot tell.”
“ Possibly her old employer.”
“That is what I think. At any rate, her
father-in-law was prepared for her visit, for
when she arrived—fagged, jaded, weary, hun
gry, footsore, almost dead—she was refused
admittance to the house, and would have been
driven away if she had not swooned upon the
step.”
“ Well, well ?”
“ When she came to she was on tho sofa in
the housekeeper’s room, and some food and
stimulants were before her, but she could par
take of neither. Then this housekeeper, who
had something of the woman in her, but more
of the time-server, gave her a few shillings, an
old mantle, and a bit of food in a parcel, and
turned her out again. Yes, sir, told her that
sho must go—go—after dragging her poor, weary
frame that long journey, to learn that it was ail
to no purpose- that her husband’s father was a
brute, and would neither receive her nor allow
her to remain upon bis grounds. A nice way to
keep a promise tc a son 1”
“And what did she then,” I inquired, excit
edly ; “ what did she then ?”
“V. hat could she do ? Pho went, and as she
passed down the avenue that led through the
park, she saw—Ufo squire himself. Instinctively
she knew him, and with a bound she ran for
ward, and Hung herself exhausted at his feet.
“And what happened then? What did he
say and do ?”
“Little enough. He merely asked her wha*
was in the parcel sho was carrying, and which
was then lying on the ground ; and as she was
too much overcome to speak, he raised her up,
and supporting her by one hand, and carrying
the parcel in the other, said, ‘Come this way,’
and led her to the lodge.
“ Now, sir, it was a very remarkable circum
stance, don’t you think so, sir, that in that lodge
—quite by accident, of course—the village con
stable was having a pipe with the keeper ?”
“ Ah—conspiracy I” I exclaimed.
“He took her in almost by force, and before
she had time to urge a single claim upon him,
he had given her into custody on a charge of
petty theft.”
“ Phew I”
“ Then the woman’s spirit rose up to defend
her; then she (saw tho character of the villain
with whom she had to deal—then she turned
upon him with a power of indignation, and said:
“ ‘Gentlemen, pam the wife of that man’s son.
He has parted mo and my husband by a villain
ous deceit, and now be seeks to ruin me, for
getting that, in ruining me, he casts a disgrace
upon all that bear his name.
“ ‘I will go with you,’ she said to the consta
ble, who was quite ready to receive her. ‘ Let
him wait till his son comes home.’ ”
“‘Yes, I know you,’ retorted the squire.
‘My son’s wife, indeed ! Bah I Don’t you be
lieve it—don’t you believe it, either of you; we
have heard that sort of nonsense talked before
—eh ? She’s only some artful slut that my boy
has got mixed up with, and now that he is away
she is come down here to ’
“‘To claim a fulfillment of your promise
made to your son.’
“‘Bah! Take her away-take her away.’
And the constable led her off to the station
house.
“In the morning she was brought before the
magistrate.
“ Which ?” I almost shouted, with ill-conceal
ed indignation.
“ Himself—the very man that gave her into
custody. If you read the sheet for yourself you
will see that it is so. Her committal is signed
by him.”
“ You astound mo! You take my breath
away I Can such things be true ? And he com
mitted her for trial —eh ?”
“ Yes, he did. But it is my opinion that he
overdid himself; for he gave her into custody
upon no specific charge. The constable evi
dently did his duty, and entered it as a felony
instead of petty larceny, and a magistrate can
not deal with that, or I verily believe, as Heaven
is my judge, he would have given her a couple
of months himself.”
1 drew a deep breath. I compressed my lips,
and breathed through my distended nostrils—
clenched my fists, and then demanded:
“ The name ?”
“ Squire Hugal, one of the visiting justices of
this very jail 1”
I sprang from my sent as if I had been stung.
Squire Hugal—the great Squire Hugal—a ma
gistrate and a justice to lower himself to that!
And then I breathed more gently, and con
trolled my indignation for a time. Taking Mis
tress Bowmer by the hand, 1 held it firmly, and
said:
“ Leave everything to me P’
It would be useless for me to tell you what
my feelings were in the matter, for you could
not realize them in their intensity, seeing that 1
knew all the parties to the case.
My course was clear before me. Having put
the prisoner on all the extra comforts I could
NEW YORK DISPATCH, DECEMBER 27 1885.
suggest, and left the rest to the matron, I gave
my attention to affairs outside, so that when
the next “ jail delivery,” a sort of intermediary
sessions, came, I was prepared.
There were five justices on the bench, and
Hugal among them. After disposing of some
few prisoners, “Lily Foster, alias Hugal,” was
called.
I watched th© squire closely, and noticed he
became scarlet when ho heard a mild, inoffenn
sive young soifoitor, state that he was “for the
defence.'"
The charge was being stated, when this mild
young man sprang to his. feet, and with a voice
of thunder demanded that the squire leava-the
bench.
That was- the first blow, and tho second fol
lowed quickly, for he demanded the name of
the magistrate who committed her. Then he
cross-examined Hugal, and never before was
there in. any court of law such a fearful ex
posure, such a confusion of a witness, and
such an ultimate triumph as when he read the
marriage certificate in court. The beach do
clinod to take any more evidence against “ Mrs.
Lily itugal, who left the court-without a stain
upon her character.”
I handed her from tho dock, and led her, al
most fainting, away. The storv was noised
about outside, and she was received every
where with noisy demonstration; ‘ but Squire
Hugal was mobbed, and had to claim tho pro
tection of a bodyguard of police.
Mrs. Hugal accompanied me home to my
house, where we were shortly after joined by
the “ mild” young solicitor, who was then for
mally introduced to his client as my brother.
He is a leading man now, but talks a great deal
about “that Hugal case,” for it did not end
there. He sued the squire io? heavy damages
for false imprisonment, and got them, and had
the pleasure to band over a handsome sum to
the lady he had so gallantly defended.
Oh -ah I I forgot to add that when we enter
ed the door Mrs, Lily Hugal was not only met
by my wife with a hearty welcome, but also by
a dainty little nursemaid carrying her crowing
baby boy. That was my wife’s little surprise,
and it was a success, I can assure you.
There is not much more to tell beyond that
Mrs. Hugal’s husband was found after some
slight trouble and returned to his little heroine
post haste.
Old Squire Hugal did not long survive
his disgrace. He died shortly afterward of
apoplexy, but made some atonement for his
villany by leaving every penny of his money to
his son and heir.
A WOMAN IN TEAR’S.
BY BILL NYE.
The train was crowded somewhat, and so I
sat in the seat with a woman who got aboard at
Minkin’s Siding. I noticed as we pulled out
of Minkin's Siding that this woman raised the
window so that she could bid adieu to a man
in a dyed mustache. I do not know whether
lie was her do:ce/ar niente, or her grandson by
her second husband. I know that if ho had
been a relative of mine, however, I would have
cheerfully concealed the fact.
Sho waved a little 2x5 handkerchief out of the
window, said “ Good-by,” allowed a fresh
zephyr from Cape Sabine to come in and play a
xylophone interlude on my spinal column and
then burst into a paroxysm of damp, hot tears.
1 bad to go into another car for a moment
and when I returned, a pugilist from Chicago
had my seat. When I travel, I am uniformly
courteous, especially to pugilists. A pugilist
who has started out as an obscure boy, with
no money, no friends and no one to practice on
except his wife or his mother; with no capital
aside from his bare hands; a man who has had
to fight his way through life, as it were, and yet
who has come out of obscurity and attracted
the attention of tho authorities and won the
good-will of those with whom he came in con
tact, will always find me cordial and pacific..
So I allowed this self-made man, with the
broad, high, intellectual shoulder-blades to sit
iu my seat with his feet on my new and expen
sive traveling bag, while I sat with the tear-be
dewed memento from Minkin's Siding.
She sobbed several more times, then hove a
sigh that rattled the windows iu the car, and sat
up. I asked her if I might sit by her side for a
few miles and share her great sorrow. She
looked at me askance. I did not resent it. She
allowed me to take the seat, and I looked at a
paper for a few moments so that she could look
mo over through the corners of her eyes. I also
scrutinized her lineaments some.
She was dressed up considerably, and when a
woman dresses upto ride in a railway train, she
advertises the fact that her intellect is begin
ning to totter on its throne. People who have
more than one suit of clothes should not pick
out a fine raiment for traveling purposes.
She seemed to want to converse alter a while,
and as she began on the subject of literature,
picking up a volume that had been left on her
seat by the train boy, entitled “Shadowed to
Skowhegan and Back; or, The Child Fiend,
price $2,” we drifted on pleasantly into tho broad
domain of letters.
Incidentally 1 asked her what authors she
read mostly.
“I don’t remember the authors so much as I
do the books,” said she. “1 am a great reader.
If I should tell you how much I have read, you
wouldn’t believe it.”
I said I certainly would. I had frequently
been called upon to believe things that would
make the ordinary rooster quail.
If she discovered the true inwardness of this
Anglo-American “ Jewdesprit,” she refrained
from saying anything about it.
“ 1 read a good deal,” she continued, “and
it keeps me all strung up. I weep, oh, so easi
ly.”
Just then she lightly laid her hand on my
arm and I could see that the tears were rising
to her eyes. I felt like asking her if she had
ever tried winning herself through a clothes
wringer every morning.
I did fool that some one ought to chirk her
up, eo I asked her it she remembered the ad
vice of the editor who received a letter from a
young lady troubled in the same way. She
stated that she couldn’t explain it, but- every
little while, without anv apparent cause, she
would shed tears, and the editor asked why she
didn’t lock up tho shed.
We conversed for a long time about litera
ture, but every little while she would got me
into deepwater by quoting some author or work
1 bad never read. 1 never realized what a
hopeless ignoramus I was till 1 heard about the
scores of books that had made her shod the
scalding, and yet that I had never, never road.
When she looked at me with that far-away
expression m her eyes, and her hand resting
lightly on.my arm, in such away as to give the
gorgeous two-karat Rhinestone, from Pitts
burg, full play, and told me how such works as
“ The New-Made Grave; or, The Twin Murder
ers,” had cost her many and many a copious
tear, 1 told her 1 was glad of it. If it be a
blessed boon for the student of such books to
weep at home and work up their honest per
spiration into scalding tears, far be it from me
to grudge that poor boon.
1 hope that all who may read these lines, and
who may feel that the pores of their skin are
getting torpid and sluggish, owing to an inher
ited antipathy toward physical exertion, and
who feel that thoy would rather work up their
perspiration into woe and shed it in the shape
of common red-eyed weep, will keep themselves
to this poor boon. People have different ways
of enjoying themeelves, and I hope no one will
hesitate about accepting this or any other poor
boon that I do not"happen to bousing at the
time.
BIVALB oFvANDERBILT.
European Magnates Who Count Then-
Money by the Million.
For many years the richest individual in all
Russia was Herr Steiglitz. When ho retired
from affairs in 1860 bo held property to the
value of $9,000,000. But the richest mon in the
land of the Czars at the present time are the
two Noble brothers. They are of Swiss origin.
While traveling in interior Russia they saw
thousands of acres of land aglow with the
light of oil-gas. They at once purchased entire
districts of the apparently worthless fields, sunk
oil wells and now control more petroleum than
any concern in the world. Their wealth is real
ly beyond calculation, though the London
Times’s correspondent thinks that $400,000,030
is not an extravagant estimate. It is to the
Rothschilds, however, that belongs the honor
o-r being tho richest among mon. Their united
properties—and their properties must be con
sidered as united, from their peculiar family
and business relations—pass even beyond th*e
millions.
In the past twelve years they have loaned to
certain European governments nearly $475,000,-
000. Their lordly power is shown in a modern
instance. In 1866 the Prussian government de
manded an indemnity of $25,000,C00 from the
city ot Frankfort. The bead of the Rothschild
house in that city sent word to Count Bismarck
that it an attempt was made to force the levy,
he would break every bank in Berlin. And
Bismarck was compelled to give way. Of
course it would have been different if it bad
been a question of hogs, when Bismarck would
have felt himself right at home.
The enormous wealth ot the Rothschilds is
doubly remarkable from the fact that the family
was totally unknown a century ago.
Inferior only to the Rothschilds are the Bar
ing brothers, who have “ at instantaneous com
mand ” $300,000,009. It is noteworthy that the
Barings owe their commercial rise to an Ameri
can, Mr. William Bingham, of Philadelphia,
who, many years ago, had the bouse appointed
the American agency in London.
Claus Spreckels, “ the sugar king of tho new
world,” as ho likes to call himself, is said to de
rive an incomo of $5,000,000 from his sugar
plantations in the Sandwich Islands. In his do
main he wields the most autocratic power of
any monopolist m tho world. His home at Hon
olulu is like the dream ot a Sybarite. His wants
are served by an army of negroes.
Among the richest of moderns is the Czar of
Russia, who enjoys from his personal estate an
income of $10,000,090. Tho Sultan ot Turkey is
allowed for the support of bis court $6,000,000;
in addition to this ho has a private income of
$4,000,000. The Emperor of Austria is granted
a yearly allowance of $12,000,000, and as Wien
er-wurst and beer are not expensive, he con
trives to save a lew dollars for his children.
Queen Victoria’s personal estate is estimated
at $30,000,000, and her lands and estates are
worth fully $15,000,000 more.
But there are several noblemen in England with
wealth much greater than that of their
sovereign. The Dukes of Buccleuch, Devon
shire and Norfolk, and the Marquis ot Bute
have each of them rent tolls of $2,000,000 per
The Duke of Portland, who- died re"
cently, loft unentailed property of $10.090,0.00,
and this, too, after a long-lie of the wildest ex
travagance. The greater part of hist palace was
constructed under ground. His Banquet hail,
ball-room, riding gallery, and any number of
superb guestrooms a re-veritable tunnels, dec
orated in a fashion so splendid as to-seem. when
described like a story at the Magi. If tho duke
had been an loving family would
have had him confined in an insane asylum.
Richer oven than any of these titled million
aires is the Duke of Westminster, who un
doubtedly has the largest income oi any indi
vidual in the world. Ills fortune lies largely in
the diametrically opposite regions ot Lozxdon
known as the West End and Seven Dials. He
owns acre upon acre of the m»&t aristocratic
domain* in London*, and his tenements cover
miles of the worst slums in the world. His
incomo* quite passes tho limit of the credible,
end is said by soma to amount to fifty dollars a
min u to.
Among the richest American estates ever
gathered is that of tho Astor family.. Efforts
are made to conceal the enormous figure that
would express the worth of toe property, but it
is probable thsj-t $80,090,090 is not a» extrava
gant estimate. Tho estate of William H. Van
derbilt was $200,000,000. A. T. Stewart was
worth at the time of his death fully $60,000,000,
a large part of which has gone one way or the
other, but mostly toe former. Jay Gould may
bo credited with siuo,ooo,ooo, and just as much
more as ho pleases to make. Armour, the Chi
cago hog-packor, is woHh $15,000,0.00. Mackay,
whose step-daughter, toe child of a California
camp-barber, married the prince of the ancient
house of Colonna, is worth at least $20,000,000,
and Fair, his former partner, has fully that
amount. D. O. Mills is worth at least $7,000,000,
and Edwin D. Morgan, the heir of the ex-Gov
ernor, has $30,000*000. James Gordon Bennett,
one of the richest of the younger men of Ameri
ca, has a fortune of $15,000,000. Miss Catherine
Wolfe, the richest spinster in the country, has
nearly $15,000,000, and is the last of her line.
HOW TO cure" black eyes.
Peculiar Healing Power of an Herb
Discovered by Gipsies.
(From the Denver Tribune-Republican.}
A Tt'ibune-Republican reporter made his way
to a remote neighborhood, where the wind was
blowing in such gusts that the street was swept
as clean as a floor. The district was rather
thinly settled, and there was little air of life
about the place. The reporter opened a door
and entered a barber-shop, where one man was
acting as customer and another as proprietor.
The former individual was wrapped in a huge
pink calico apron, and tho latter was engaged
in lathering tho former individual's face. The
floor was of spotless white pine, and there was
a good fire in tho stove, near which a man sat
who was undergoing all the agonies of a f earful
coughing spell. There were pink and green
placards on the wall which said, in big letters,
“Black Eyes Cured Here.” Thd scribe ex
plained his errand, and was shown to a chair.
Presently the customer went out, and there
were left only the proprietor, the man who
coughed, and the reporter.
“ How do you do it?” asked the reporter.
The proprietor laughed. “ That’s what they
all want to know,” he said. “ Well, it’s simple
enough. We have been to great expense and
pains in procuring a European herb which re
moves the discoloration from the skin; that is
about all there is ot it.”
“ What is the herb?”
“ Now if I were to tell you, you would desert
your profession and turn barber at once. That
is the secret of our prison-house. I can’t
divulge that. The herb is very costly, and there
are only two or three men in the Union who
have got bold of it. It is hard to obtain, and has
peculiar healing properties which have never
been discovered in anything else that grows.”
“ Whose discovery is it?”
“ That of a tribe of gipsies who wandered
over the continent a few years since. They sold
the secret for bread, er I presume the world
would never have known anything about it.”
“ How did you get hold of ’it ?”
“ From this gentleman hero,” indicating the
man with the cough; “ he used the herb in Now
York, and when he camo here for his health ho
told me about it and wo invested' in it to
gether.”
“ How is it applied?”
“We scrape it just as you would scrape a
potato, and apply it to the bruised spot. From
two to five hours’ application will remove tho
signs of the deepest bruise.”
“ What do tho physicians say about it ?”
“ They say there is nothing iu it, of course —
say it can’t bo done. Now, my dear fellow, if
you will come here with a black eye some day
we will show you whether it can be done or not
in very quick time.”
“ Thank you, very kindly. What is your
regular price lor a treatment?”
“ Five dollars, and we find that people with
black eyes don’t consider that any too much to
pay. Why, this gentleman, when ha was in
New York, used to get $lO lor the same work.
You see it's a great thing to do, this making
people whole again.”
“ What class of people usually desire this
kind of thing done ?” was asked of the New
York man.
“ Well, there are a great many persons who
really suffer from accidents, particularly labor
ing men, who are so exposed"to blows and fall
ing bodies. These people have a great horror
of being thought dissipated, and they will go to
almost any expense to get rid of such marks.
Thon there are, of course, the sporting classes,
who are always in some fracas or another. They
used to come to my place at all hours of tho
night in New York. You see they are very par
ticular about their appearance,’ and bruised
eyes don’t go well with flashy neckties, dia
mond pins and dandified clothes. There are
plenty of women among them, too, who get
black eyes from drunken revels, but the sad
dest sights I ever saw were those existing in
tho faces ot well-known society young men of
New York city. I used to bo called to houses
in Fifth avenue to fix up the eyes of the noble
sons of the most prominent families in the city.
At such times the greatest secrecy was enjoined
upon me. 1 used to go into luxurious bed
rooms where, when the doors were barred, the
heavy curtains drawn on every side, and the
gas lighted, I approached the victim, usually
some dissipated young man, tossing feverishly
upon his bed, and applied the herb until the
discoloration was removed entirely, and the
fellow, much encouraged, would get up, ring
for his valet and prepare to make his toilet.
“These cases are far in excess of those fur
nished by the sporting classes in New York.
While I was in the business they kept tho trade
booming, and as money was no’object to them,
they paid liberally for relief. I have been called
to the same house time after time, and have re
peatedly attended the same young man, month
after month. These fast young fellows never
seem to learn any lessons from anything, and
as the treatment is painless, and money will buy
it, they go ahead and punch each other’s heads
as a mild means of enjoyment.”
“ How many cases have you had in Denver ?”
askod the reporter of the other man. •
“Just eleven cases in the past fortnight, and
two of them were women who insisted that they
had met with accidents in working about the
house. I think very likely they had disagreed
with their leige lords, and wanted toe evidences
of the fists of those gentlemen removed from
their faces.”
TEE MRONGJTIGKETS.
The Art Critic at a Slogging Match and
the Sporting Editor at a Conceit.
(From the Boston Musical Herald.')
A terrible mistake recently occurred in one of
our most critical journals, which illustrates the
danger of mixing up reviews of different art
subjects and the maimer in which different
branches of culture can be confounded. A
eparring match and a concert took place on
the same evening, and, by mischance, the
tickets reached the wrong art critics of the
newspaper. The musical critic, thinking it was
merely a broadening out of bis field of labor,
boldly went at his tusk and handed iu tho fol
lowing review:
Soiree Pugimstiqw.—Thumper’s Hall was
well filled with an aristocratic audience last
night, who had the pleasure ot being present at
a delightful programme, which was charmingly
carried out. At 8 o’clock tho conductor called
time, but forgot to specify what tempo was do
sired. Signor J. L. Sullivani and Mr. Driscoll
appeared in the duet which seemed to bo in tho
character of a knock-turn. Signor Sullivani’s
touch was a trifle heavy and ho seems much
addicted to forearm action. His performance
was, nevertheless, a striking one and had much
power. A great many “rounds” were upon
the programme, and wc are glad to see this old
English style of composition coming into favor
again.
The art critic of sparring was at first a trifle
uneasy when he saw that he had strayed into a
musical soiree; but be soon found that his
knowledge came readily into play, and gave tho
paper the following account:'
“ Piano-Sluggino Extbaobdinaby. Apollo-
Orpheus Hall was crowded with a lively audi
ence last night to see Bale Josephee knock out
a piano iu four rounds. Betting on the event
was not very lively, and an offer of two to one
on the piano found no takers. Precisely at
eight o’clock the master of ceremonies started
the proceedings with an orchestral prelude, but
this only added to the interest attaching to the
main event. Ilafe came to the front smiling.
He had evidently been sponged off just before
the combat, and looked iu excellent condition.
He at once struck out with his right, and fol
lowed it with a terrific left-hander, and man
aged to get away without a return. He now
got in some light work with both hands, and for
a short time seemed sparring for wind. A short
rally followed, but just as the faint-hearted
were beginning to back the piano to the tuue of
three to one, he caught it a heavy body blow on
the left side, and in an instant had it in chan
cery, and was punishing it severely. Such
heavy pounding has rarely been seen in any ex
hibition. The combat was so evidently in iiafe’s
favor that we did not stay to see tho close.
The police arrangements were perfect, no dis
turbance of any kind taking place among ths
audience.”
And now the sporting critic holds himself a
musical authority, and the musical critic is
avoided as a bad man and a heavy hitter.
A parson cannot live over five days
without water, and yet you wouldn’t think so’to
look at some men’s noses.
A DISGUSTED CALLER.
THE FOURTH LAP KNOCKED HIM
OUT.
(From the Boston Reco-rd.)
Prof. Jacqpee, as everybody knows, hae been
investigarirrg psychical phenomena. The pro
fessor has &-brothor, who isn’t eo much interest
ed in psychical phenomena as he is. This bro
ther called the other evening t& make a frater
nal visit. Ho entered the house and struck,
naturally enough, for the’back parlor. The pro
fessor stopped bun at the door.
“Sh-h! sh-h!” said the professor; “don’t
come in don’t make a noise. There’s a lady in
here in a trance?’
The vi&itor started back and attempted to go
into the front parlor. At the door he was met
by somebody he didn’t know, who said :
“Sh-h ! sh-h ! don't come in; there’s a man
in here who is just going under the influence !”
Then he started for the Library. Somebody
else met. him as he swung open the door.
“Sh-h I eh-h !be careful. There’s a seance
going on, and you’ll spoil the conditions if you
come in, that way.”
Ho rushed up stairs and rapped rather brisk
ly at the door of the family sitting-room. It was
his eistor-in-law who met him this time, and she
said :
“Sh-h! sh-h! don’t make a noise; you’ll wake
the baby.”
Then he darted down stairs, took his hat and
canej and left tho house.
This table relates how Brer Buzzard came to
be known as
DE PIOUSEST OF DE OREETURS.
Brer Buzzard an’ Brer Hawk sot on a high lira’ uv
a dead pine tree an’ talk an’ talk, an' Bror Hawk
Boz, sezee:
“Brer Buzzard' whuf-fur mako you so lazy ?”
Bror Buzzard look down side wize on Brer Hawk
an’ scratch be nose wid he claw and sez, sezoo;
“ Whuf-fur you call me lazy. Brer Hawk ?”
“Cayso you jis' sot an’ sot on de high lim’ an’
wait fer sumpin ter cum long an’ dio fer you ter eat
’em. Now, when I wants ter eat I don’ wait fer
nuffin ter die. I jis’ up’n catches ’em, fresh ”
Jis’ den a little blue-jay, curus an’ screechin’ an’
peekin’ roun’ whar he done had no biznoss t’all,
cum by. Brer Hawk he dash down after him lak
fury, an’ de jay-bird dodge, an’ Brer Hawk cum
“bap” agin de tree an’ bust out ha brains, an’ fall
down dead.
Den Brer Buzzard he strech out he wing wide in
de sun an’ laf an’ sing:
“It’s good for ter wait on de Lawd.’’
Den he fly down an’ eat up Brer Hawk ter de las’
bone, an' when he done be fly up on de ola tree lim’
an’ flop ha wing big an’ sing loud:
" It’s a good thing
Ter wait on
Do Lawd.”
An’ dis am why do Buzzard am.called de pioueost
ob all de creeturs.
The nephew of Uucle McSwiggan told a terri
ble story of how a respectable gentleman was
CARRIED OFF BY A WINGED BEAST,
“Och,” ejaculated McSwlggan.of Altishuahone, im
patiently, as bo rattled down the ashes in the stove
which bo has not yot learned to manage, “shurean*
its far from bein' as handy or as aisy as the turf fire
on the hearthstone over in tho oul* dart, Phooka
take the thing I Tho very divil himsolf must have
invented it. Shuro Oi hev roasthed me finger wid
it.”
“What do you mean by saying, ‘Phooka take
it?’” asked the gatherer, who conld scarcely re
frain from laughing at tho wry faces made by tho
Irishman as he sucked his burnt finger and regarded
the stove askance.
“And did yez niver hear toll of the Phooka?”
asked McSwiggan when, he had composed himself,
and the question had been repeated to him.
The reporter confessed that he had not.
“ Well, thin, the Phooka is tho oul’ gintleman’s
horse, an’ betuno you an* me, sor, Oi’m thinkin*
the oul’ boy himself offen. takes tho same shape.
Nivor that oi’ve soen, wan mesolf, but Oi had an un
cle that did, an’ from what ho toul’ huz whin ho
kem back Oi don't want to git a ride. Mo uncle’s
name was Frenk McGlidderry, an’ it all happened at
the time he wuz coartin’ Kate Fallon. Wan night
he staid out rayther late wid her at a danco that
wuz goin’ on at Legfordrum an’ aither he laid his
home he had to go himself about two miles along
a lonely counthry road with nothin’ but a bog on
every side of him. Be the same token it was Holly
Evo night an’ all the witches and fairies wuz out
kapin’ it. Ho went on whistlin’ as bravo as yo like.
All of a suddin ho heerd a most unarthly laugh,
an’ whin he lucked over tho ditch lo an’ behould ye
if there wasn’t at laste a score of the ugliest ould
weemin ye iver set eyes on. Their clothes wudn’t
bring threepence if they were sol’ for oul’ rags, an’
they were shoutin’ an’ laughin’ an’ ridin’ on bisom
shafts roun’ a heather foire.
“AVan of them saw him and she sez :
“‘Frenk McGlidderry, if ye’re a woise bhoy,’sez
she, ‘ye’ll go homo an’go to bed an’ niver say a
word about what ye saw this night,’ sez she.
“ ‘ An’ what if Oi don’t ?’ eez Frenk, for he wasn’t
a bit afeerd.
“ ‘ Don’t ask me ony questions an’ Oi’ll tell ye no
tales,’ she soz, snappin’ loike.
“ ‘Well, Oi won’t go till Oi’m ready, an’ Oi’ll tell
all the naybors that Oi saw yez here,’ sez me uncle,
‘ an’ that ye’re a wutch, Molly Gubbins,’ sez ho, for
he wasn’t aleerd a bit now more than afore.
“ ‘ Wuil ye, indade ?’ sez she. ‘ Roise up, Phooka,
an’ take him to the Islan’ of Maggygaspar,* she sez,
clappin’ her han’s, an’ afore ye cud wink, lo an’
behoul’ ye, there appeared the ugliest baste yo iver
clappod yer two eyes on. He was covered wid hair
four inches long an’ an’ he had wings on ivery fut;
his eyes was as big as sassers an’ shun jist like the
reflektir of that oil lamp. He give a great roar, an’
afore Frenk cud know, tho Phooka had jumped over
tho hedge an’ stuck lies head atween Frenk’s logs
an’ flew away wid him.
“It nearly tuck me uncle’s broath, but ho had wit
enough left to houl’ on by the horns, for tho cray
thur had horns, an’ kape from failin’off. All of a
suddint what d’ye think the Phooka took a notion
to do but dive down undher tho wathor, an’ ho
niver kem up till ho foun’ me uncle was nearly
dhrownod.
“ ‘ Now, mo foino fella,’ soz tho basto, ‘ wall yez
go an’ to’l about Molly Gubbins?’
“ ‘lf yo take mo homo agin,’ sez me uncle, • Oi’ll
niver say a wurrud about it, and Oi’ll always pray
for yez.’
“ ‘ Pray for me I* sez tho Phooka, laflfin*, ‘what do
Oi want wid yer prayers ? Oi’m thinking it’s yer
self that’s most in nado of thim at the prisint time,
Frenk McGliddery.’
“ ‘ Och, Misther Phooka,’ pladod mo uncle, • let
me go for the sake of Katie.’
“ ‘ It’s too late to think of her now,’ sez the
baste.
“£o whin mo undo foun’ ho cud do nothin’ to
save bisself, he thought what he cud do on tho
Phooka. He bad an oul* penknoife in his pocket,
eo ho tuk it out an began to dig it into tho baste s
ribs. The Phooka begun to roar, an’ tried to throw
him aff, but me uncle held on to the horns an
crassed his logs undhernathe the haste’s belly.
“ ‘Now,’ sez mo uncle, ‘will yez take me homo?’
“ ‘Shtop proddin’ an’ Oi will,’ says the Phooka.
“ ‘Turn, thin, an’ lave me back in Altishuahone,*
sez me uncle, givin’ another prod wid the knife.
“Well, sor, the baste turned, an’ that was all me
uncle renumbered till he foun’ himself in the morn
in’ lyin’ on tho road. Iverybody, nayborly loike,
ye know, sed-he was dhrunk, an’ wudn’t belave
Molly Gubbins was a wutch till wan day she rode
away on a bisom shaft. As for me uncle, he niver
wud go out agin afther dark on Holly Eve noight,
an’ he bad a most sevarnal roomatiz till the day of
his death.”
He was a poetry quoter, and he
RECEIVED A CHRISTMAS PRESENT.
“Ah, woman, lovely woman, Nature formed thee
To temper man! We had been brutes without
thee
remarked Matthew Banahan, as he walked to the
bar of justice.
“Right, Matthew,” replied the judge. “I am
glad to see you exhibit such feeling. I admire your
sympathetic, yearning nature.”
“ Oh, woman, in our hours of ease !
Uncertain, coy and hard to please I
But where *’
“ And so forth, will do, Mr. Banahan,” sternly in
terposed his Honor. “Your poetic nature is get
ting the upper hand of your sense of righteous
ness. Could you stop your flow of rhyme for a few
seconds, and explain why you struck your wife on
the nose ?”
“Oh, that’s merely a trifling incident—it don’t
figure in this matter to any extent,” was the off
hand reply.
“Her ’prentice hand sho tried on man
And then tfho made the lasses, O.”
“Trifling incident, sir!” demanded his Honor.
“Do you call striking a woman on tho nose with a
club a trifling incident?”
“Family affair, Judgs, you know— sub rosa—skel
eton in closet!” confidentially said Matthew.
“Oh, of course; I understand you thoroughly,”
replied the judge. “I will give you a nice Christ
mas present—throe months!”
“You are only joking. Judge, ain’t you ?” alarm
edly asked Banahan. “ Quite serious, your Honor ?”
“It's only a trifling incident, Mr. Banahan, It
don’t figure in this matter to any extent, you
know !” was tho heartless reply.
And the paralyzed poetry quotor was carried out
limp and weak.
The father who doesn’t know what it is to be
questioned by a child and not be able to an
swer the question, must bo either a bright man
or be
KNOCKED OUT.
“Papa, what makes the rain come down ?” sai d a
very small girl to her parent as they stood, father,
mother and child, waiting under tho shelter of a
grocery sign till tho car should come along.
“Don’t bother me,” said the father. “Really,
Maria, that child is getting to boa perfect nuisance.
She is always asking absurd questions.”
“ I think she is real cunning,” said the mother.
“That's tho way you spoil her. You encourage
her to be cunning and sho makes the most ridicu
lous ass of herself all the time.”
“ Well, she’s going to be very clever.”
“I don’t believe it. I don’t believe she’ll know
her way home when she grows up.”
“It’s time that car was coming along,” said the
wife quietly.
“ I suppose there’s some blamed jam down the
street. I don’t see any in sight yet, and we've been
here twenty minutes.”
“Pa,” said the small child, “I don’t see any car
track on this street.”
It was so. They were on Tyler street and
were waiting for tho Turk street car. Tho mother
hummed the “Nanon” waltz .all the way home,
but the old man was very mad, and the child was
quite unconsciously mistress of the situation.
SCINTILLATIONS.
A fashion paper says that women are
going to wear their hair the same as they did three
centuries ago. That was, if wo recollect, on their
heads.
Old Farmer (to amateur ditto) —“What
do you feed your pigs ?” Amateur Farmer—•‘Corn.”
O. F.—“ln the ear!” A. F. (in disgust)—“No; in
the mouth.”
Boston is degenerating. She has just
admitted that her oldest inhabitant is “dead.”
When Boston was in its prime her people never
died. They were all ‘ ‘transplanted,’'
It is evident that the ancients could
not have been hard drinkers,-for there was Goliah
who succumbed to a single “ sling.”
It is said that the real name of Step
njak, the Nihilist writer, is Krhwtschinsky. A name
like that could never go “ thundering down the
ages;” it would have to stop and sneeze too often.
Uncle George (reading)—“And when
the man got safely home ho thanked God.” Ethel
—“ Why did he thank God, Uncle George ?” Uncle
George—“ Because the bear didn’t eat him/' Ethel
“Thon why didn’t he thank the bear ?”
King Theebaw has four queen wives
beside a score of assistant sharers in his royal smiles,
Is it any wonder that r when they all make a* de.
mand upon him for Winter bonnets and sealskin
sacquos he found it cheaper-to go to war with
England ?
“ Have you heard of that new dls
a I ' rench physician ?” asked Fanato of
McSwilligen. " What discovery ?" queried McS.
“ Why, that there is animacular life in alcohol.”
"He hasn’t discovered that, has he?” “Yes.”
** then that accounts for it,” thoughtfully com.
men tod McSwilligen. “Accounts for what?”
“Snakes.*'
A gentleman from Northwestern
Arkansas tells the following joke on Congressman
high literary attainments, but to appear well read
he professes to have gloated over every piece of
literature that comes under- discussion. Judge
Pittman, who is a highly intellectual and well-read
man, takes keen delight in talking literature to
Peel. Some time ago while a party of gentlemen
were sitting around listening to some of Peel’s ex
periences of Congress, Judge Pittman asked: “ Peel,
you have read Tennyson, haven’t you ?” “ Oh, yes,
and I like him very much.” “Do you like Gold
smith ?” “Dote on him.” “ What do you think of
his poem, * Goldsmith’s Maid ?’ ” “By George,.sir,
it is the best thing he ever wrote 1 I tell you what,
Pittman, going to Congress; whets a man’s appetite
for literature.”
HUMORS OF THE POLICE.
a
Took a Drunken Prisoner to Court, Got
Drunk Himself,, and the Man Escaped—
Staggering Drunk on Sixth Avenue—The
Effects of Thirty-eight Grains of Quinine
and a Glass of Bi-andy-Drunk, He Arrests
a Whole Family on the Street Because
He Alleged the Husband Took the Name
of God in Vain—Either Drunk or Crazy-
Transfer this Man—A Strange Arrest.
BEFORE COMMISSIONER VOORHIS.
DRUNK, AND HIS PRISONER ESCAPED.
At 9:40 A. M., December 15th, Toole, of the Twen
ty-second-Precinct, was drunk. Ho left the station
house with a prisoner, charged with intoxication,
got drunk himself on the way to court, and the so
bered prisoner escaped.
*' What have you to say to the first charge ? Is it
correct—under the influence of liquor ?” asked the
Commissioner.
“It was something stronger than liquor,” said
the officer.
“ Did you allow a prisoner to escape ?”
“It was while under this something.”
Captain Kilillea said he saw the officer when ho
came in tho station-house. He was stupid. Ser
geant Pickett called his attention to him between
nine and ten o’clock, when he came in. When the
captain entered the officer was standing at the desk
railing and the sergeant was speaking to him about
the prisoner that had escaped. He, the captain,
asked him what was the matter, and he said “Noth
ing.” The officer looked to him to be under tho
influence of liquor, but he smelled no liquor on
him. His tongue was thick and he was stupid.
Dr. Waterman saw him two hours afterward. The
officer was so much under the influence of liquor
that he would not send him out on duty.
Sergeant Pickett said the officer was drowsy, and
sleepy, and staggered. The man admitted he had
been drinking.
Roundsman Boyle said he was satisfied from the
officer's appearance that he was under the influence
of liquor and unfit to do police duty.
Dr. Waterman said he saw the officer about two
hours after the case had been reported, fifteen or
twenty minutes past eleven. The captain called
his attention to the officer. The officer was lying
on the lounge and he had difficulty in waking him
up. He smelled the officer’s breath. It was sour,
one of those mingled compounds, you couldn’t tell
what it was. He woke the officer up and took him
to the light and examined kis eyes. He was not
drunk at the time, but drowsy, and had a peculiar
expression. When he examined tho officer he was
not so much under the influence of liquor as to be
unfit to do duty.
THE ESCAPED PRISONER.
“ As regards the second charge, captain, allowing
a prisoner to escape while on the way to the Fourth
District Police Court ?”
“To the best of my knowledge he gave no account
of him when he came back. He took no prisoner to
court.”
Sergeant Picket said when the officer returned at
9:40 he passed right in the back room. The sergean t
called him back and asked what had become of his
prisoner. Finally he said he didn’t know. He
didn’t know he had a prisoner.
“ I was sick at the time,” said the officer, “ When
I took the prisoner to court. After doing the dog
watch, (from 6 to 8,) I had nothing to eat, I had
nothing tho day before. Going to court I took some
whisky and a sleeping draught.”
“ Where ?”
“ In a drug store ?”
“ Where ?”
“ Forty-eighth street, some place. Fifty-second
street, somewhere.”
“You had a prisoner ?”
“ Yes.”
“ Did he go in with you ?”•
“ No. Ho stood outside. After I walked a couple
of blocks with my prisoner, I did not know what
became of me. I did not know what was the
matter.”
“ When you went in to get this sleeping or quiet
ing draught you left your prisoner out in tho cold
on the sidewalk ?”
“Yes, sir.”
“ Had you drank anything before that ?”
“ A glass of brandy two hours before that ?*’
“ That must have been betwixt six and seven.”*
“ Yes, sir.”
“ Then that was on the dog watch when yon were
on duty ?”
“Yes, sir.”
“ Wasn’t that a strange proceeding to go in the
store and drink and leave your prisoner on the side
walk ?”
“Yes, sir, but I was very bad.”
“Why didn't you take him in with you ?”
No answer.
“ After that did you go to c ourt with your
prisoner ?”
“After that I don't remember anything. I was
all at sea. I was sick.”
“You are one of my appointments. Didn’t I
have a talk with you before going on the force ?”
“Yes, sir.”
“ Wasn’t it one of the things that I talked about,
that liquor was one-tenth of all tho trouble on the
force, and I called your attention to let that
alone ?”
“Yes, sir.”
Captain Kilillea said, on behalf of the officer, that
he never saw any indication of liquor on him
before this, and he had watched him very closely—
there was never the slightest indication of it. He
was a man that minded his own business.
The Commissioner was glad to hear that. But
here he bad only been three or four months on the
force and there were three charges recorded of ne
glect of duty.
Sergeant Pickett also gave the officer a high char
acter for efficiency,
AN OFFICER BROUGHT IN DRUNK.
Weeks, of the Twenty-ninth Precinct, was charged
with being drunk on December 15tb, at 8:15 P, M.,
while on post.
Sergeant Cross said that at eight o’clock in the
evening a citizen came in the station-house and
said there was a drunken policeman at Ninetoeuth
street and Sixth avenue. He sent Farley and Chap
man out to find the officer and bring him in. He
was brought in at 8:15, and was so much under the
influence of liquor as to be unfit for duty. Ho
staggered, and his breath smelled slightly of liquor.
When charged with being intoxicated, he made no
excuse. There was no doubt of the man being un
der the influence of liquor.
Roundsman Farley said on the evening in ques
tion he went to Nineteenth street and saw the offi
cer patrolling east. He watched the man. The
officer staggered; his appearance was that of a
drunken man and the roundsman took him to the
station house. This was two hours after the man
had gone on duty.
Roundsman Chapman said the officer was swim
ming the sidewalk.
Dr. Satterlee, who made the examination, said the
man was under the influence of liquor. He found
the officer asleep in the arm-chair. Ho couldn’t
give any coherent account of himself when he was
awoke, or bow he came where he was. He was
still under tho influence of liquor.
The officer said at half-past seven he was perfect
ly sober. He had been suffering from malaria fever,
and although not feeling well, he did not like to
report sick. After going out he took thirty-eight
grains of quinine and a glass of brandy. That was
all he took.
“ Was that done by direction of any physician ?”
“ No, sir.”
“That is the explanation that you give?”
“ I took a large amount of quinine. lam not a
drinking man, yet I know one drink would not
unfit me for duty.”
NOT ONE OF THE FINEST DRUNK.
Drunk was the charge against Mungen. of the
Fourth Precinct. Time, 10:20, December 15. He
said the charge was not true.
Sergeant McCann said at 10 P. M., Dec. 15. Officer
Munger brought in as prisoners, John Brundage,
his wife and two daughters, and charged them with
disorderly conduct. After tho usual questions, he
asked the officer in what way John had been disor
erly. He suid he took the name of God in vain.
Tho sergeant asked him why ho did not bring some
body with him that was a witness to this profanity.
John had declared, and his wile and children, that
no profane language had been used. The sergeant
sent the officer out to get witnesses to prove it; he
had said he could fetch them in in a wink. The
sergeant knew personally that the man and family
arrested were very respectable. This was 10:20. At
II o’clock the officer bad not returned, and he sent
the roundsman out to find him. His post was only
half a block from the station-house, The rounds
man returned and reported that he could not find
Munger. At 11:10 tho officer came in tho station
house and said, “Did you send for me to bring me
in?” The sergeant saw from the officer’s manner
and condition that bo bad been drinking and was
not fit to do duty, and relieved him.
“Did you charge the officer with intoxication ?”
“No, but I examined him : nd bad him walk the
floor. Ho did not stagger, but ho was stupid. The
questions put to him he was not able to under
stand. His general appearance was that of a man
under the influence of liquor. The man had been
drinking for a long time, and was suffering from it.
He had on him what they call an “eternity still.”
Roundsman Lconai 1 said that when the sergeant
told Munger to walk tho chalk-line, lie eyed it care
fully, and walked it straight and slowly, like Blon
! din crossing the Niagara on the rope-wire. The
officer did not understand the questions put to him. i
He was drunk, but did not stagger.
John Brenbridge, of No. 327 West Houston street,
Loss stevedore, who was arrested with his family, :
said when he got past the Newsboys’ Lodging j
House with his family he accidentally hitched !
against the officer, who had blocked the pavement I
up chinning to a woman. The officer turned round !
and said, “What do you mean?” Brenbridge re
plied, “It is your place to apologize for blocking th®
pavement,” “Well,” says the officer, “I’ll take you
in.” Brenbridge said, “Doit.” The wife and chil
dren began to cry. The officer said, “Oh, you all
come to the stationhouse.’’ In the station house
the officer charged him with calling him a son of a
“Had you been drinking ?”
“I might have had two or three glasses of beer.”
“You had not drank so much that your memory
would be affected ?”
“Ob, no, sir. Nobody has seen mo drunk in ten
years.”
“Was the officer, in your opinion, drunk ?”
“The expressions he used were not becoming an
officer. From the language be used, he must have
been drunk or a crazy man.”
“You had been drinking that day ?” remarked
the Commissioner.
“I might have had a glass of ale at my dinner be
fore I left home,” said the officer.
THEY DIFFERED.
Hollihan was charged with being in the back room
of a grocery store sitting and reading a paper. He
said he was not sitting. As he was passing in to go
to the watercloset he picked up a paper, to read his
transfer to the Second Precinct.
“ He was sitting in a chair reading a paper,” said
the roundsman.
“I was standing behind the stove,” said the of
ficer.
“Tho way you swear makes it difficult for me to
say which is mistaken,” said the Commissioner.
“Ho was most decidedly sitting,” said Magee.
“ I was standing,” said the officer. “My foot was
on the chair.”
“He was sitting on the chair,” said the rounds
man.
“He was watching for me,” said tho officer, “ and
he macle the remark that he would give me some
thing alter my transfer to remind me that I had
been in tho Twenty-eighth Precinct.
“I did not make that statement at that time.
When leaving us I said, ‘Remember the Twenty
eighth Precinct.’ ”
NOT SO.
Mead, of the Twenty-seventh Precinct, found in a
shanty at the corner of Warren and West streets,said
he found the door open and entered to see if all was
right.
“That is not so/’ said Roundsman Melly. “Trav
eling twice over the officer's post I couldn’t find
him. I,tried the knob of this shanty, it was locked.
Immediately after the bolt was drawn. After the
catch was drawn I opened tho door and found th®
officer sitting down.”
“ What do you say to that ?” asked the Commis
sioner.
“Nothing.”
A WEAK CHARGE.
Sullivan and Green, (tho original Gander Green),
of tho Twenty-third Precinct, were charged with
being in a liquor saloon at tho corner of Eighty-filth
street and Avenue A. Both denied the charge.
“ Coming up Avenue A,” said Roundsman Weis,
“Sullivan’s post was Avenue A. I crossed to
Eighty-fifth street, and a citizen was standing
there. He says twd officers went in that liquor
saloon, have they any right there? I told him it
was none of hts business. Ho said ho simply asked
for information. Immediately after I saw Green
approach from the north-east corner, and Sullivan
from the south-east corner. If they didn’t come,
out of that liquor saloon they must have dropped
from the clouds. I have no doubt they wore in.
there.”
“ You didn't see them enter, didn’t see them
come out, and didn't see them iu there ?” remarked
the Commissioner.
“ No, sir.”
“ All the knowledge is some citizen reported to-,
you they wore in there ?”
“A second before that I was looking the font,
ways of heaven from the corner, and didn’t sc®
them. They must have come from the side door.’*
That was a Bunsby opinion.
MR. VOORHIS’S OPINION.
Craig was found in the liquor store No. 779 Ninth,
avenue, by Roundsman Conway. Ho said he waa.
called in to stop,a row that was imminent. Conway
said when he looked in, the storm seemed in the
far distance. Craig said he was called in to put th®
people out.
The Commissioner said it was not part of polio®
duty to enter a saloon and eject a man after he had
drank there till “dead broke.” An officer ought to
know better than to go into a liquor saloon on
every ipse dixit pretext. Something of a violent
nature should happen before a policemen entered
the saloon.
Conway said when he asked what the officer was
doing in there, he replied that he went in ojji prl*
vate business.
Craig said he never said such a thing; it was
downright perjury on the part of the roundsman.
“On the word of a policeman,” said Craig, “I
never said a word that he says. I wanted to explain
to him, but be would not let mo. This last eight
months he has come down here and sworn wrong
evidence against me.”
“For what reason ?”
“ I don't know.”
“Has he wanted to borrow money,
“No.”
"Is there any ill-feeling between you ?”
“No. But when he came in he said, ‘Get out
and patrol your post; I’ll fix you before you leave
the Precinct.’ I can’t do duty under him; h®
hounds me like a dog. Sometimes he seett fse 4
dozen times on the tour, and again I don't see him,
for a month. He backbites.me to the captain anti
sergeants. It is impossible to get along with thia
man.”
Transfer him.
VERY QUEER.
Detective Bayer, o£ the Tenth Precinct, arrested
Albert Meyer, formerly ip the lottery business, but
he says not now, because he (the officer) suspected
that he had lottery tickets on his person.
Bayer said he did not arrest him, but merely said,
“Come to the station-house.” When Mey»r wm
searched, nothing was found on him. The sergeant
told him to go.
linn mill I'inruMßHurwjwiniiiiia m imaii m ■rnw
LjTATE OF NEW YORK,
Offick of tub Secretary op State, >
Albany, December 3, 1885. j
To the Sheriff of the County of New York:
Sir:—Notice is hereby given that a Special Election
will be held in the Sixth Assembly District, of the City
and County of New York, tor the purpose of electing a
Member of Assembly in the place of William Hail, de
ceased, pursuant to the annexed proclamation of th®
Governor of the State of New York.
Respectfully yours,
JOSEPH B. CARR,
Secretary of State.
PROCLAMATION BY THE GOVERNOR.
State of New York, >
Executive Chamber. >
Whereas, Due notice has been given of the death of
William Hall, who was duly elected to the office of Mem
ber of Assembly lor the Sixth Assembly District of the
County of New York on the third day of November, 1885;
and,
Whereas, His right of office has ceased before th®
commencement ot the term of service for which he wai
at the time elected; and,
Whereas, It is provided by the laws of this State that
in such a case a special election shall be held.
Now, therefore, I, David B. Hill, Governor of the Stat®
of New York, in pursuance of the requirements ofSectiou
10. Title 2, Chapter G, Part 1, of the Revised Statutes of
this State, do hereby order and proclaim that an election
for Member of Assembly, in place of the said William
Hall (the term of whose office will expire on the thirty
first day of’Decomber, 1880, be hold in the Sixth Assem
bly District of the County of New York on Tuesday, th®
twenty-ninth day of December, 1885, such election to be
conducted in the mode prescribed by law for the election
of Members of Assembly.
Given under my hand ana tho privy seal of
the State, at the capitol in the city of Ibany,
[L. S.] this third day of December, in the year of our
Lord, one thousand eight hundred and eight y
five.
DAVID B. HILL, Go.varuQF.
WILLIAM G. RICE, Private Secretary.
STATE OF NEW YORK, )„ .
Office of the Secretary of Sta'c, J BS- ■
I have compared the preceding with the original proc
lamation on file in this office, and do hereby certi'y that
the same is a correct transcript therefrom, and of the
whole of said original proclamation.
Given under my hand and the seal of offic®
of the Secretary of State, at the city o: Albany,
[L. S.) this third day of December, in the year one
thousand eight hundred and eiglityfive.
JOSEPH B. CARR,
Secretary of State.
I certify the above to be a true copy of the election no
tice received by me this day from the Secretary of State.
A. V. DAVIDSON,
Sheriff of the City and County of New York.
Publishers of newspapers will not insert this adver
tisement unless especially authorized so to do.
A. V. DAVIDSON,
Sheriff of the City and County ol New York.
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