New York dispatch. [volume], March 07, 1886, Image 1

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

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PUBLISHED BT A. J. WttLIAMSON’S SONS.
VOL? '
Entered at the Post Office at New York,
N. Y., as Second Class Hatter.
THE NE'W YORK DISPATCH,
PUBLISHED AT
NO. 11 FRANKFORT STREET.
The NEW YORK DISPATCH is a Journal of light, agree
able and sparkling Literature and News. One page is de
voted to Masonic Matters, and careful attention is given
to Music and the Drama.
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Address NEW YORK DISPATCH,
Post Office Box No. 177 5.
PLAYS AND PLAYERS.
THE MORAL MANAGER.
A Fairy Tale—The Ogre’s Reign-
Such Base Ingratitude—The
Throne Room, etc.
BY JOHN CARBOY.
A largo number of very respectable, not to say
pretentious, managers, regard morality as they do
medicine ; they cheerfully recommend it to others,
but loftily decline it as not needed for themselves.
Not more than a fortnight ago, a well-to-do
traveling manager, then in a neighboring city,
and who sometimes dabbles in comic opera bur
lesque and other snaps which require as their
chief feature a liberal exposition of female anatomy,
discharged a young woman from his company.
Ho had a perfect right to discharge her, but in
the managerial sense right is not always justice.
Ho had engaged her to sing in the chorus, to
wear tights and make as much of a show of her
charms as possible.
For ten dollars a week.
What did ho discharge her for ? Incompetency,
non-attendance at rehearsals or general insubordi
nation ?
The alleged cause was—’ 4 She couldn’t sing ; she
was out in the score.”
Remember, she had rehearsed ; she had gone on
at each performance and sang her share of the mu
cic to the entire satisfaction of the musical director
and the principals for two weeks.
Suddenly this manager discovered that
SHE COULDN’T SING,
ttha her voice was of no account whatever, and
on t she went.
This came manager only a little while before was
Interviewed by the reporter of a daily paper as to
his opinion ot the morality of the people of the
stage, and this was the substance of bis opinion:
“ The drama, sir, can take care of itself. So far
as my theatre is concerned, I never permit upon Its
stage any expression, gesture, or hint that savors in
the least of indecency, or that the most modest wo
man, married or unmarried, could not hear with
perfect propriety. There are no scandals connected
with my theatre. No, sir. When I put on. a comic
opera, the chorus girls are Heated at rehearsalsand
during the performances, as ladies. I allow no
* mashers ’on my stage. No lovers. My stage, sir,”
—this, I have no doubt, was spoken with the
brusque assertive loftiness of a Busby—“ Shall
never be made the threshold of a brothel 1”
Now—as an appendix to his high sounding asser
tion—let me add the girl’s statement as to the real
cause of her discharge after three weeks* service in
the chorus:
She came to this city and, with little difficulty, ob
tained an engagement as a chorister.
Being questioned as to her discharge, she frankly
said:
“ Because I refused to submit to the manager’s
whims.”
“ Whims ?”
“ Well, that’s as good a word as any, but it has
another meaning as I use it. When I applied for an
engagement he was mild, smiling and gentlemanly.
I tried my voice in his and the musical director’s
presence, and the manager said I had a lovely
voice—the finest voice ha had heard in the chorus.
“Then he told me that I might consider myself
sure for the run of the opera, and while for the first
two or three weeks my salary would be ten dollars,
he'd advance me and see that it was doubled,and he
would make me the understudy for one of the prin
cipals.
••OH, WASN’T HE SWEET.
•’Three or four times after the performance he
insisted that I should have supper with him at a
well-known restaurant; twice I was there with him,
through fear of angering him—but I began to sus
pect him. One night it was raining awfully, and he
ordered a carriage, saying that as he was going to a
party of some sort—l should get in and he would
leave mo at my lodgings—and then go on his way.
‘•ln that carriage, before we had driven two
blocks from the stage door, I discovered that he
was—well, wanted to be entirely too affectionate.
I threatened to scream if he didn’t stop the carriage
instantly. He called to the driver; the carriage
stopped; this lovely manager opened Its door, and
pushing mo out into the mud and the rain of the
street, said: • There’s gratitude, after all I've done
for you.’ ”
••Why didn’t you make complaint against him ?”
•‘Yes, and make a public exhibition of myself in
court—have him swear me out of countenance.
Beside, I thought that he, knowing that I knew him
as the fool he was, wouldn’t dare either discharge
or speak to mo again. You see I was mistaken.
He discharged me. I afterward heard from their
own lips of other girls in his chorus upon whom he
had made the same brutal attack.”
It is not wonderful that
THIS •• MORAL MANAGER’S”
stage should never be made the “ threshold of a
brothel.”
•• And there’s gratitude, after all I have done for
you.”
I wonder, in the career of this manager, hew
often he has captured his game in this precious
manner ?
The managers in this city have pi claimed to a
man, so far as they individually were concerned—
and only recently, too—that where “Virtue dwells
there is their home.”
With tho Bunsby addenda to their asseverations
that *• if so be as how there is immorality on the
stage and thoy don't know it, how can they get rid
of it?” When found make a note.
Tho managers of our theatres are, so far as I
know, a respectable, law-abiding guild. But they
are human; they have alike the virtues, social ex
cellencies and the dominant passions of humanity.
One need not be a Joseph to be a manager; nor is
it assumed in any broad guage estimate of human
nature that under certain favorable circumstances,
a Joseph cannot be a manager.
Tho press, however, has nothing to do with the
private affairs of either managers or the people of
the stage so long as whatever of scandal there is in
their conduct does not become the town talk.
Tho public are interested only in the acting and
singing of these people; it cares little, if anything,
for the manager or as to who ho is, so long as he
conducts his theatre and its performances reputa
bly.
But when a manager—stage manager or the
musical director of a theatre so far forgets tho
reputability of his position and the common de
cencies of treatment due to tho women who are
under his direction and slaves to his business
caprices in their round of professional work; when
he forgets that they are there for tho purpose of
honestly earning tho salary accorded them and that
are not there, or at least th© majority of them
for love making or to forget themselves for the
sake of gaining hia favor —when, I say, he thus for
gets the manhood of his position he gives cause for
public offence and for public comment upon hia
private life.
And right here is the opportunity to narrate
THE LITTLE FAIRY TALE,
fancy sketch, if yott choose to regard it as such.
I will commence it according to the old-fashioned
formula—“ Once upon a time.”
Once upon a time, then, there was a Lilliputian
Ogre—a little one for a cent, who was a stage man
ager.
He lived in a great city—it wasn’t Constantinople
or Salt Lake City. He was known as an ogre of
much talent, more vanity and not a most particu
larly sweet and angelic temper.
Ogres are generally constructed in thia fashion.
Now this bright and talented Ogre, among his
more notable faults, had a very Limited opinion of
woman’s integrity.
But this did not prevent him from making love
to them and to endeavor to convert unto him
self a harem—or something of that sort—from the
collection of stage beauties and choristers to whom
his master, the manager, was paying weekly tribute
in the form of salaries.
He had artistic taste, had thia Ogre, and there
fore he had fitted up in exceedingly attractive style,
an office—a salon which he devoted to the uses of
business, interviews with the people of the stage
and—for other purposes.
He was an overbearing Ogre; a tyrant—and knew
it. Advice and suggestion he wouldn*t have from
anybody; he dropped them as the mangy dog in
the streets of Bagdad dropped the meatless bone.
He had smiles which he kept in reserve for special
occasions, but these facial allurements were rarely
exhibited elsewhere than in his throne-room—oth
erwise “ The office.”
He could be pleasant of speech and do something
of special pleading—in the Throne room.
Now, then, the fairy tale goes on to relate, in its
simple, honest way, how tho Ogre, in his official
position, conducted himself.
When a handsome young woman applied for an
engagement he played the part of the stern and
business-freighted manager, curtly asked her had
she been long on the stage, what was her voice, and
then, with the glance of an adept, noted her form.
Then he tries her voice. Evidently it or the
young woman’s presence impresses the Ogre.
••Well, miss, come around to-morrow to my lodg
ings at three o’clock and I’ll give you an answer.”
••But, sir,” says the girl to the Ogre, ” why not
let me call here at the theatre for the answer ?”
••It isn't convenient for me, miss. Why do you
object V*
••Because,” said the girl, with a flash in her eye,
•• I’ve heard of you before, Mr. Ogre.”
And this chorister came not again. But she told
her fairy godmother the story, all the same.
THEN A YOUNG AND HANDSOME PRINCIPAL
in the company, who, being requested to make her
presence visible in the Throne room, did so.
The Ogre let out all his smiles, and because of
their infrequent use they were very bright and
winsome, and for the moment made him look very
much like a nice, moral gentleman.
Then the Ogre began to tell her how much he
thought of her, how he proposed to advance her ahead
of all the other principals; he ogled, smiled, plead,
and went through all the range of protestations of
devotion. “Only give me one word?” and here the
Ogre approached her, and boldly manifested his de
sire for a more intimate association with the hand
some Idol,
Then she turned on him with all the wrath of an
insulted, honest woman.
You miserable, contemptible hound. This is
the • business of your Throne room,’ is it ? If ever
you speak to me again, or approach me, or if you
attempt to discharge me, I’ll make such a public
exposure of your practices that you will be glad
to get out of town, away from the contempt of
those who know you.”
Again the Ogre, hungering for prey, tried his ex
periment upon another principal, but in a mild
degree, for he suddenly remembered that she had a
stalwart and much loved husband, who was not
only a man of means, but of courage.
The Ogre, in this instance, and with dread of hav
ing an enraged husband wipe up the floor with him,
very wisely made pretence of business in reference
to some trifling change in her stage costume.
The Ogre is not always disappointed. He some
times catches a “ Tartar.”
Otherwise a designing young woman whose expe
rience in the ways of the world and its pleasures
has taught her—in the vulgar phrase of the street—
“ to play a sucker for all he is worth.”
When the Ogre finds he is a victim of this sort of
feminine—and he isn’t a great while in making the
discovery—he quietly ignores her, and—slang again
—“fires her out,” for the highly virtuous reason
that he has found her •• to be an immoral charac
ter.”
The Ogre—as the tale goes—is a stout defender of
the morality of the stage and the impregnable vir
tue of its women.
Of course he refers to the women—principals and
choristers—who shave seen no beauty in the Ogre’s
presence, and who have declined the Judas’ prom
ises for their betrayal.
1 do not take much stock in fairy tales—they are
so unreliable, and the fairies who relate them arc
often given to exaggeration. But occasionally a
fairy—perhaps forgetting her imaginative proclivi
ties—does come somewhere near the well in which
truth is popularly supposed to be doing the “float
act ” with her head above water.
And fairies of any sort have no fondness for
Ogres.
HUSBAND AND WIFE.
THE MARRIAGE VOWS RENEWED
IN COURT.
The trial of James Gillen, charged with assaulting
bis wife, Mary, provoked quite a hot discussion on
the bench. Kilbreth and. Murray were for dealing
leniently with the young man, the desire ot tho
wife, but Patterson was anxious to mete out pun
ishment to its fullest extent. She was sworn and
examined. The prisoner was her husband. On the
9th of February he assaulted her, and threw a
vase at her, she ran out of the house. Nine days
before that he struck her with his fist. There was
no reason why he should strike her.
“Does he support you?” asked Justice Patter
son.
“He hasn’t worked since the November elec
tion.”
“ What does he work at ?”
“ A brass moulder, but he has had work since last
Monday.”
He was on bail.
Justice Patterson said that the fellow had been
arrested for beating his wife, as soon as he got out
on bail he went back to the house and took every
thing in it, even to the bed.
“ Where is the furniture ?” asked Justice Patter
son.
“ His mother has it,” said the young wife; “ she
said she bought it from him.”
She said she had been married five months, and
sometimes did scrubbing, but she could not sup
port herself. Since her marriage she had twice got
scrubbing from his mother.
Defendant said he had not worked since Novem
ber, but had got it now—had been two days at
work.
“ You are a very mean fellow,” said Justice Pat
terson ; “ you smash her about the house and treat
her all the time shamefully.”
•• Are you willing to treat your wife properly and
not get drunk ?” said Justice Kilbreth.
•• Yes, sir,” replied the man.
“And you,” said Justice Patterson, addressing
the wife, “ will you promise to come to me if he
strikes you or refuses to support you ? Will you
make a report to me ?”
“ Yes, sir.”
“ Then he is discharged,” said the Court. The
scene was quite amusing to the spectators.
NEW YORK. SUNDAY. MARCH 7. 1886.
“LAWYER JOE.”
The Bold Crime of an Expert
Burglar.
Putting the Authorities on a
Wrong Scent.
A Clever Bow Street Runner who
Knew His Business.
A Successful Raid on an English Conn
try House.
In 1820, Mrs. Dorothy Shaw lived at the Willows,
near Ripon, in Yorkshire, England. She was a
widow of three-score and ten, and had been a nota
ble woman in her day. Her husband was an officer
in the Navy, and she had accompanied him on
many voyages, and braved the terrors of the ocean
both in storm and battle. She had borne nine chil
dren, all of whom were dead except a son who was
in India, in the service of the government.
Ripon is noted for its stream, along the banks of
which willows grow in profusion, bending over the
water and forming a leafy arcade. The Willows
lay between two of such streams, one of which was
without the lofty walls of the forty-acre park in
which the dwelling Stood. The other flowed under
an arch in the west wall into the park and away in
the roar of the dwelling. From side to side of the
arch was a massive water-gate, which served as a
barrier to prevent entrance to the park by the
stream. The house was a large, old-fashioned
place, with quaint doors and windows and a bell
tower at one corner. Inside it was stranger than
outside. The large hall reached to tho roof and
away to the rear, and was partly occupied by a
broad staircase which led to a capacious gallery,
from which the rooms on the second floor opened.
Under the stairway was the entrance to the wine
cellar, beyond which, extending under the immense
stone terrace, from which the main door opened,
was an ice-house.
MRS. SHAW’S NEIGHBOR.
Mrs. Shaw’s nearest neighbor was a Mr. Sefton.
A year before he had rented a small furnished
house, which had formerly been occupied by a
widow, whose marriage had necessitated her
removal to another part of the country. This house
stood back a few yards from the main road, about
half a mile from Mrs. Shaw’s residence.
Mr. Sefton represented himself as a lawyer who
had retired temporarily from practice on account of
impaired health. He had acquired a friendly inti
macy with Mrs, Shaw. He was a middle-aged man
of good address and extensive Information and had
very pleasing manners.
On September 20, in the year named, Mr. Seiton
paid a visit to Mrs. Shaw. During the conversation
ho casually mentioned the fact that he wou-ld have
to go to London for a few days, as an elderly friend
had died suddenly without leaving a will and there
was every probability of her relations quarreling
over her estate and causing a prolonged and expen
sive litigation.
“ I hope, my dear Mrs. Shaw,” he said, “ that you
have made a will, so that, in case of any unforeseen
event, those whom you intend to benefit may run
no chance of being defrauded.”
“Oh, I have made no will,” was the reply ; “but
I have no fear of any trouble after my death over
my property. For five years after the death of my
husband, I deposited the greater part of my rents,
which, as I have before told you, amount to £ISOO
a year, in a bank. The bank failed, and I lost all.
Ever since then I have been my own banker.”
“You run a great risk,” said Mr. Sefton, with a
serious air.
“I have no fear of thieves, she said; “for every
night two trusty bulldogs are let loose in the
grounds. And as for fire, I have provided against
that. My strong box, which contains the accumu
lations of fifteen years, is safely stowed in the ice
house, under the granite portico. My son and my
faithful attendant, Margaret, know where it is. If
the place was burned down, no fire could reach the
place of security I have chosen.”
Before departing, Ms. Sefton asked Mrs. Shaw
whether there was anything he could do for her in
London, whither he intended to go by the mail
next day. Mrs. Shaw replied that she knew of
nothing and Mr. Sefton took his leave.
A WARNING.
On the morning of September 29, Clarence, Mr.
Sefton’s servant, visited Squire Chaters, a neighbor
ing magistrate, and showed him a letter which he
said he had found lying on the sward in front of
Mr. Sefton's cottage soon after daylight. It was
unsealed and undirected and was evidently in a
disguised hand. It read thus:
“ Mr. SEFTON-Your house is to be robbed this
night. lam a friend of one of the men vho are to
do it. You once did me a favor and I wish to give
you notice. a Friend.”
The servant informed Squire Chaters that Mr.
Sefton had left for London the previous week. He
did not know positively, but he believed that Mr.
Sefton had valuable personal property in the cottage.
The squire sent for the chief constable and it was
soon arranged that an ambuscade should bo set to
catch the thieves.
A SUGGESTION.
“If I might make a suggestion, your worship,”
said Clarence, “it would be that we should borrow
Mrs. Shaw’s bull dogs for the night. They know
me well for I have often taken them out for Mrs.
Shaw, and I could bring them down to the cottage
by the fields in the rear, and no one would be the
wiser.” f
•• That is an excellent idea,” the squire said; •• I
will send a note to her explaining the affair and you
can carry it and bring down the dogs. You can let
them loose in the garden and we will devise means
to capture the rascals.”
The dogs were brought to the cottage and were to
be kept in the rear until the thieves gave notice of
their approach, when they were to be quietly let
loose. The constables had prepared for the recep
tion of the burglars and quietness reigned around.
But the night wore on and the expected robbers
made no sign. Three o’clock came and nothing
disturbed the silence of the place.
And so the morning slowly crept on until day
break, and the constables retired to their homes, the
general impression being that the burglars had got
an inkling of the reception that awaited them at
the cottage and had deferred, if not altogether
abandoned their design.
A SURPRISE.
Before the officers separated, however, a surprise
was in store for them. Information reached them
that the residence of Mrs. Shaw had been entered
by thieves, that Mrs. Shaw had been seriously in
jured, that her domestics had been bound and flag
ged, and that the burglars had removed Mrs.
Shaw’s strong box, containing a large sum oi
money, and had also made off with a quantity of
valuable jewelry and gold and silver plate.
Squire Chaters and his officials were soon at The
Willows and found their worst fears confirmed’
William Conyers, who had charge of the cows
reached the Willows at five o'clock in the morning,
and went about his labors as asual. As the morning
wore on, he observed no one stirring in the house,
and went to see what was the matter. The rear
doors were closed and he went round to the front
entrance. It was open and everything in the hall
was in disorder. In the lower part of the house no
one was visible. On ascending the stairs he found
the door leading to Mrs. Shaw’s apartments ajar.
On entering he found that lady in her nightdress,
lying on the floor, bleeding from a severe wound in
the head. Everything in the room was in the wild
est confusion. Bureaus had been ransacked and
drawers forced. Though excedingly weak, Mrs.
Shaw was conscious, and said:
“ William, the house has been robbed, and, from
the screams I heard, I very much fear that the ser
vants have been murdered. I beg you will go to
their rooms and see.”
Conyers went and found Margaret, the old lady’s
attendant, and three other women tied to the posts
of their beds and gagged. He removed the gags and
otr fnhpnhnt
untied thejeords. Though greatly frightened and ex
hausted, there was little else the matter with them.
They soon recovered sufficiently to attend to
their mistress, and Conyers dispatched a laborer to
the village to notify the authorities.
MRS. SHAW’S STATEMENT.
When Squire Chaters reached the Willows, Mrs.
Shaw was sufficiently recovered to be able to re
count what had happened.
•• I went to bed about eleven o’clock,” she said,
“ and must have slept about an hour, when I heard
a grating noise in the dining-room, which is below
my sleeping apartment, Then I distinctly heard
a window opened. I arose and listened. All was
still, and I thought I must have been mistaken.
Soon I heard a door close, and listening with ray
ear to the door, I was satisfied that several persons
were moving down stairs. I opened the door, and,
advancing to the railing of tho gallery, looked down
upon tho hall. There was no mistake. Though it
was dark, I could discern figures below. Presently
there was a flash of light from a dark lantern,'and I
saw four men, wearing masks, standing at the foot
of the stairs.
“ The bell-tower, as you know, is at the end of
the house, opposite to my rooms, and close to the
rooms occupied by the servantfl. I uttered a scream
and cried, ‘Help! murder! thieves!’ thinking to
arouse the servants, who, I felt sure, would in
stantly ring the alarm bell in the tower. The men
instantly sprang up stairs. I retreated to ray room,
and was followed by two of them. I tried to close
the door, but it was too late. Two men entered the
room. A night light was burning on the dressing
table. I seized a chair, and, turning upon my pur
suers, struck at them repeatedly. I hit one or
other of them several times, but finally one of them
aimed a blow at me with his lantern. It struck me
on the head, and I fell insensible. I had just recov
ered consciousness, when Conyers came into my
room.”
From the narrative of the servants, it appeared
that they were aroused by the outcry raised by
Mrs. Shaw, and instantly arose. One of them
struck a light, and they were about to quit the
room, when two men came upon them, forced them
back and bound and gagged them.
HOW IT WAS DONE.
Investigation show’ed that the robbers had forced
the cellar door and the door of the ice-house under
the portico. They had then removed the oaken
chest containing the old lady’s hoard. This had
been done before the apartments of Mrs. Shaw bad
been ransacked, because there were white foot
marks on the stairs and the floor of the cellar was
chalky. The thieves had pried open one of the
dining-room windows and forced the doors on their
way. The front door had been opened from within
and the chalky footsteps showed that the strong
box had been carried through the front entrance.
For some time it was a mystery as to how the box
had been removed from the grounds. The two gates
opening on tho main road had been locked all
night. The garden entrance was closed. There was
no sign about the walls of any one’s having at
tempted to scale them. At length, however, it was
discovered that the water gate in tho will, already
referred to, had been removed, and then there was
no doubt that a flat-bottomed boat, or punt, had
been brought up the stream to the rear of the
house and used for tho removal of the strong box.
Following the stream down for half a mile, a punt
belonging to the Willows was found, and the banks
of the stream showed conclusively that at that
spot the box had been landed and transferred to a
vehicle, the marks of the wheels of which were dis
tinctly visible.
The thieves had got away with nearly £20,000 in
property and money. It was at once decided that
the letter thrown into Mr. Sefton’s garden was a
deep trick to direct the attention of the authorities
to that locality while the burglars wore operating
elsewhere.
A DETECTIVE AT WORK.
Fred Tasker, a butcher, was then a noted special
detective, or Bow street runner, of London. He
had long been the associate of the criminal classes,
and was familiar with all their ways and haunts.
On him devolved the task of unfathoming the crime
at the Willows. First of all he examined the letter
which had been found in front of Mr. Sefton s resi
dence. It was evidently written in a disguised
hand and by a person who was somewhat of a
scholar, for it was correctly spelled. This was noth
ing remarkable, for among the most notorious
criminals were men of education, who once filled
superior positions in life. One thing, however,
struck him, namely, that the writing, disguised
though it was, partook of the character peculiar to le
gal documents. Tasker desired to question Clarence,
but l:e was confined to his bed, he was told when
he called, with a severe cold and rheumatism. The
officer, nevertheless, insisted on an interview, and
questioned him as he lay in bed with his head ban
daged and his body wrapped in flannels. He told
the old story about the letter, and that was all. As
the officer was about to quit the bedroom his ob
servant eye rested on a pair of boots which lay at
the foot of the bed. There was mud upon them not yet
dry.
••This man,” the officer said to himself, “is
shamming. These boots haven’t been off his feet
ten minutes. I should like to see him with the ban
dages off bis face.”
The officer made a remark about his having
caught cold probably from exposure on the night of
the expected burglary, and suggested a doctor, but
Clarence said be was sure there was no need as ho
would soon be well.
A FAMILIAR FACE.
That niaht Taster found his way to the rear of
the cottage, and watched. He had a good view of
the kitchen, and could see a man moving about
who, he felt sure, was Clarence. What the officer
wanted was a closer view of the man. This was
unexpectedly furnished, for the man came out into
the yard and stood by the open window, smoking.
Tasker was within three yards of him and saw him
distinctly as the light from the kitchen was full
upon bis face.
“That is enough,” the officer said to himself;
“the face is familiar, and I must try to search my
memory to discover where I have seen it before.”
He remained in his hiding-place until Clarence
retired, and then went cautiously back to the main
road and away to bis inn.
The next morning, after Tasker bad been closeted
with Squire Chaters lor some time, the two went
to the Willows and had an interview with Mrs.
Shaw. They questioned her about her acquaint
ance with Mr. Seiton until she was somewhat an
noyed, and said:
•■ Air. Seiton has been my very kind neighbor and
friend, and I hHve reposed more confidence in him
than in any stranger I ever met.”
“Perhaps you have reposed too much,” said the
detective; “ for I am very certain of one thing, that
the man whom he calls his servant and who passes
by the name of Clarence, is a thief whom I saw con
victed at Maidstone Assizes, four years ago, of high
way robbery. How be came to be at liberty is more
than I can explain, but I am certain about my man.’’
THE MAN WHO WAS WANTED.
Mrs. Shaw was evidently astonished, and her
countenance changed.
•• Well,’’ she said, “it is assuredly very singular,
but only two days before the robbery, Air. Sefton
called previous to going to London, and we had a
long conversation, during which I told him where
I kept my strong box.”
Then Mrs. Shaw repeated the conversation with
which the reader is already familiar.
“ That removes all doubt from my mind,” said
Tasker; “ and the man I want is the man known to
you as Sefton. All is clear. The letter, the sugges
tion about the bull dogs, the knowledge of the
house—everything. I want Mr. Sefton.”
Mrs. Shaw was hard to convince, but at last she
admitted that it might be so and gave the officer a
very accurate description of Mr. Sefton.
After consultation with a lawyer. Squire Chaters
issued a warrant for the arrest of Clarence as an
accessory to the burglary, and that gentleman was
duly placed in jail. Two officers were put in
charge of the cottage and of the elderly woman
already referred to. Detective Tasker spent an
hour with her and got out of her much informa
tion. She had come with Sefton from Leeds, and
she gave his former address there. Thither Tasker
went and, procuring additional aid, visited the
address given by the woman in an alley at the foot
of Boar Lane. The house was a large, old fashioned
building, with a brass plate on the door, bearing
the name of George Smithson, Solicitor.
CAPTURED.
The place was watched and Sefton was discovered
in the twilight coming out of the dwelling, accom
panied by two men. The three were captured and
beiton was identified by Tasker as a celebrated
burglar known as Lawyer Joe. In the house were
found several of the articles stolen from Mrs.
Shaw’s dwelling, but the trunk was not there.
When Clarence found that bis chief was in jail, he
turned King’s evidence and disclosed the whole
job. Three years beiore. Lawyer Joe, whose real
name was Simpson, had organized a gang whose
object was to go through the country and obtain
iniormation of places which it would be worth
while to crack, and after a successful robbery in
Somersetshire, Sefton found it needful to keep out
of the way, and started North, well provided with
means. He took a letter of introdnction to Smith
son, who had long been the popular lawyer with
notorious criminals on the York circuit, and at his
house he made his headquarters, assisting him for
a time in his business, for Sefton had originally
been a lawyer’s clerk, when there was a great stir in
Leeds over a robbery at Hunslet, near by, and offi
cers from London were sent for. Simpson cleared
out: and. seeing in the Leeds Mercury that a fur
nished cottage was for rent near Ripon, he took it
and removed thither with Clarence, who was also
in hiding with Smithson, and with a woman whom
Smithson had saved from the gallows.
Sefton soon found that Mrs. Shaw must be
wealthy, and wormed himself into her good graces.
As soon as he acquired the information he desired,
he started for Leeds and readily found the assis
tance he required. He planned the way of approach
to the house and wrote the letter which Clarence
found on the sward of the cottage. How Clarence
escaped after his conviction at Maidstone does not
appear on the record. Simpson and his accomplices
were sent across the seas. What became of the
large sum of money stolen from Mrs. Shaw was
never known.
FATHER JAQUES’S MISSION.
How the Catholic Church was
Established in New York.
A HEROIC PIONEER PRIEST.
The Old Jesuit College Where
Trinity Church Now Stands.
FATHER DE LA MOTFE’S MARTYRDOM.
The Foundation of St. Peter’s and
the Old Cathedral.
POOR
The most reliable reports and rumors point to the
fact that death, which deprived America of her only
Cardinal, is likely to give her two in return. The
appointment of Archbishop Gibbons, of Baltimore,
has already been made, and it is said that the great
see of New York is also to receive a special prince
of the church. These facts render the origin and
growth of tho Catholic Church in this city matters
of intimate historic interest, especially as there
has been no special record of them made, except in
the devotional histories, whose perusal is confined
to members of the faith alone. Yet the story of the
Catholic Church in New York is in every way a ro
mantic and fascinating one. It has been said that
“ practically, in this city, Catholicism is the State
religion.” and to a certain extent the statement is a
true one. It may not obtain as extensively as it did
twenty years ago, but it is certainly a power in pol
itics as in society, and the church is growing so
steadily in wealth and splendor that it is not risk
ing much to predict for it a great deal of that mag
nificence in the future which it continues eventual
ly to attain wherever it settles and sots up its
cross.
NEW YORK’S FIRST PRIESTS.
The first priest definitely known to have set foot
on Manhattan Island was Father Isaac Jaques, a
Jesuit missionary to the Indians in Canada. He
arrived at Quebec in 1636, and thence went to the
Huron country, where in 1643 he was captured by
the hostile Mohawks, and suffered almost every
torture human nature could endure. His captivity
lasted fifteen months. As they were about to put
him to death, he escaped to the Dutch at Fort
Orange (Albany), where ho received kind treatment.
His savage captors followed, demanded their pris
oner, and threatened revenge with tomahawk
and torch. The Dutch refused to give him up, and
sent him to New Amsterdam for safety. They paci
fied the Indians by paying his ransom, while he
was on his way down the rivor. Covered with
wounds, mutilated, and scarce human in dress or
outward form, Father Jaques entered the infant
city, meeting with respect and kindness from the
liberal-spirited Dutch inhabitants, and with rever
ence due to a martyr from the only two Catholics
then here—an Irishman and a Portuguese woman.
The stay of this illustrious missionary was brief,
and his ministry was limited to the confessional.
Governor Kie.'t received him kindly, and gave him
a passage to France.
The poor priest, unlike the burned child, how
ever, had not learned to dread the fire. Peace hav
ing been made with the Mohawks, he returned to
Montreal, and thence went as an ambassador to
that tribe, and to the scene of his former capture.
On his previous detention among them he had left
a little box with some articles in it, and. as their
crops had suffered by the worm, the Indians con
eluded he had left an evil spirit in the box. They
condemned him to death. Invited to sup in a
cabim, as he entered the door, be received a blow
and fell dead, on the 18th of October, 1646. His
body was thrown into the Mohawk river, his head
fixed to the palisades in tho village, which is sup
posed to have been in Montgomery county. He
was in his fortieth year at the time he met his fate.
He left a “ description of the New Netherlands in
1644,” which was widely read in the church and
led to several movements toward a Catholic settle
ment here. The troublous times Europe was ex
periencing interfered to prevent these being carried
out however, and for some years our Catholic
clergy was represented by priests who came here
indirectly as Father Jaques had. The next to fol
low him was the Italian Father Bressani, who had
undergone a similar course of suffering, and been
ransomed by the Dutch, and by them sent to
France. The Jesuit Father, Simon Le Mayne, the
discoverer of the salt springs at Syracuse, and the
successful founder of the Mohawk and Onondaga
missions, next made repeated visits to this island,
in order to give the consolations of religion to some
Catholic sailors and residents. A priest, however,
did not meet toleration at this time, and his field of
labor was confined to the Indians.
THE FIRST JESUIT COLLEGE.
In 1664, the island was reduced to the English
sway. James, Duke of York, was a Catholic, and
his province of New York was for a time governed
by Colonel Thomas Dongan, also a Catholic. Under
his administration, Catholic priests for the first
time took up their residence here. The three priests
who officiated here taught Latin, and established a
" Jesuit College.” The King’s Farm was assigned
as the place for this institution of learning, but
soon afterward James 11. lost his throne, and penal
laws were enacted against Catholics. The King’s
Farm passed into the hands of the English Church,
and Trinity Church was built on it. The few com
municants the faith had here practiced it in secret,
but there cannot have been many of these, for the
brief record of the time says of the Jesuit College:
Mr. Graham, Judge Palmer, and John Tudar
did contribute their sons for some time, but no
body imitating them, the college vanished.”
In 1741 the people of New York became infected
with an insane alarm and rage against the negroes
and the Catholics, which is celebrated in history as
“ The Negro Plot.” New York was then scarcely a
place for a Catholic to reside. But not long before
the Revolution, a Jesuit Father from Maryland be
gan to gather a flock and administer the Sacra
ments. This was Father Ferdinand Steiamcyer,
know in the American mission as Father Farmer.
He formed the first congregation, the nucleus of St.
Peter’s, and it is said that he said the first mass in
the house of Mr. Idley, a German of that early day,
in Wall street. The descendant of the latter, who
probably witnessed it, rests in St. Patrick’s church
yard in Mulberry street.
During the British oceupation of the city, from
1776, Catholic services were tabooed here, and this
led to a curious historical episode.
In 1778 a French man-of-war was taken by the
English and brought to New York. The chaplain,
M. De La Motte, was put on a parole, and visited
the city. He asked permission of the British com
mander to celebrate mass, at the request of the few
Catholics in the city. He received a peremptory
refusal. He celebrated the mysteries of his faith
notwithstanding. He was arrested, and confined in
prison till exchanged. The old Dutch Church, for
merly used as a post office, was occupied at that
time by the English troops as a riding-school and a
OFFICE, NO. 11 MKFORT ST.
hospital. Here it is supposed M. De La Motte was
confined. His martyrdom, as it was called, made a
reputation for him and secured him honors in the
Church on his return to his native land.
THE CHURCH’S GROWTH.
Immediately upon the British evacuation ef the
city in November, 1783, a congregation was gath
ered under the ministry of Rev. Andrew Nugent. A
suitable building was erected at Vauxball Garden,
then on the margin of the North River, between
Warren and Chambers streets. Work was imme
diately commenced on the progenitor of the pres
ent fine old church in Barclay street. The State of
New York granted the act of incorporation in 1785.
The Spanish Embassador laid the corner-stone of
St. Peter’s in 1786, and Charles the Third, of Spain,
presented a handsome sum for the erection of the
building. The Sieur de St. John de Crevecour, the
French Consul, together with Jose Roix Silva,
James Stuart, and Henry Dufflin, were incorpora
ted as trustees. The original edifice was of brick,
at Church and Barclay streets, and was finished so
have mass celebrated on November 4, 1786. It
became St. Peter’s Church, and for thirty years was
the only Catholic church in the city. It was re
built in stone in 1836. After Father Nugent, who
ministered till 1788, its earliest pastors were Rever
ends William O’Brien, John Powers, and Charles G.
Pise. New York was erected into a see, April Bth,
1808, by Pope Pius VII.
The first Catholic burials took place in Trinity
churchyard, a section of which was consecrated
and set aside for this purpose. Then a plot of
ground on Prince street, between Mott and Mul
berry, was acquired as a special place of interment
for the Catholic dead. In 1815 the first cathedral
was founded, on part of this ground, fronting on
Mott street. It was named in honor of Ireland’s
patron saint.
It was a modest enough building at first, its di
mensions being but 120x80, but at later dates it was
extended till its depth reached Mulberry street. In
its vaults are buried the successive prelates of tbi*
Catholic diocese and many of the priests of the
church, and the graveyards on each side of it house
many of our historic Catholic dead. Among the
more notable in the north churchyard, near the
front, is a square monument “To the memory of
Stephen Ju reel, known as an eminent merchant and
the early patron of St. Patrick’s Church. Born at
Moatdemarsln, Department of Lands, in the King
dom of Franca. Died at New York, May 22, 1832.
2Et. 74 years. Erected by his affectionate wife, Eliza
Jumel," who was not so affectionate, however,
as not to marry seventy-eight year old Aaron Burr
soon after, only to become divorced from him before
the honeymoon was well over.
Near the Jamel sepulchre is the well-preserved
tomb of James Hart, died 1869, aged 86, for fifty
years sexton of the Cathedral. In the south yard is
the solid granite tomb of Charles O’Conor and of
his son, Thomas O’Conor, erected by the grandson
of the former, Charles O’Conor, the great lawyer.
Near by is buried Elizabeth Idley, who died in 1848,
aged 86; the descendant of the family who were so
closely connected with the history of the early
Catholic Church df Now York. In the rear of the
north yard is a neat monument of enduring mate
rial, erected by the late District-Attorney McKeon
to the memory of his father. Captain James McKeon,
of the Third United States Artillery. He was an
officer during the war of 1812, and the tomb is in
scribed “Niagara.” Time has demolished the old
est of all the monuments in old St. Patrick’s, how
ever—that to Admiral Landais.
AN OLD-TIME CRaNK.
Pierro Do Landais was tho younger son of a
French family of rank. He was a lieutenant of the
navy of that nation when he volunteered into tho
United States service during tho Revolution. Ho
was given the command of a frigate and the title of
Admiral. In September, 1779, Landais was In com
mand of the “Alliance,” ono of tho squadron of
Paul Jones, then lying in a port of Fraace,
Previous to sailing, Landais had very suspiciously
run his ship into the “Bon Homme Richard,” the
flagship of Jones, damaging both vessels. On the
night of September 23, the squadron was cruising
off the northeast coast of England. It consisted of
the “Bon Homme Richard,” tho “ Alliance,” Cap
tain Landais, and the “ Pallas,” Captain Cottineau.
At half-past seven o’clock, under a full harvest
moon, they encountered two British meu-of-war,
the “Serapis” and the “ Countess of Scarborough,”
off Flamborough Head, Tho "Serapis” and “Bon
Homme Richard” were laid square alongside each
other, lashed together, with their muzzles close,
and thus they fought for three hours, tho “Alli
ance” hovering at a distance. The “ Serapis” sur
rendered, and a few hours later tho “Bon Homme
Richard” sunk, but Jones, after one of the most
desperate naval actions on record, bad both the
English ships as prizes. Just as the action was
closing, Landais, in the “ Alliance,” appeared and
poured broadsides into his own commander’s ship,
although he was repeatedly hailed and signaled. This
account was confirmed by the logbook of the flagship
which was saved, and by her first lieutenant. Dale.
The only commendation of Landais was found in
the report of the English commander. Not long after
ward, Paul Jones was appointed to command the
“Alliance,” then in France; but Landais and
Arthur Lee treasonably seized her and ran off with
her to America. The Congress dismissed Landais
from the service.
That person claimed that it was all a mistake,
and that he had become confused by excitement on
the one occasion, and had misinterpreted orders on
the other. But Congress did not view it in that
light. After his disgrace he resided constantly in
New York, paying a visit to Washington twice a
year, to present a memorial respecting the injuries
done him, and to claim restitution of his rank and
his arrears of pay. He was very poor, but he kept
up to the last the habits and exterior of a gentle
man. His linen, though not very fine, nor proba
bly very whole, was always clean; his coat thread
bare, but scrupulously brushed, and for occasions
of ceremonious visiting he had a pair of paste knee
buckles and faded yellow silk stockings with red
clocks. He wore the American cockade to the last,
and on the 4th of July, the day of St. Louis and
Evacuation Day he periodically mounted bis old
Continental uniform, although its brass buttons
had lost their splendor, and the skirts of the coat,
which wrapped his shrunken person like a cloak,
touched his heels in walking, while the sleeves, by
some contradictory process, had receded several
inches from the wrists. He subsisted with the ut
most independence on bis scanty income, refusing
all presents, even the most trifling.
He died as poor as any beggar, and his monu
ment in tho Cathedral yard was erected by a friend.
It bore this epitaph, designed by the man who lay
beneath it himself:
A la Memoire de
PIERRE DE LANDAIS,
Ancien Contre- Amiral
au service
Des Etats-Un is.
Qui disparut
Juin 1818.
Age eighty-seven ans.
THE NEW CATHEDRAL.
The present Cathedral, on Fifth avenue, was pro
jected by Archbishop Hughes, about 1850. and the
corner-stone was laid on August 15, 1858. It was
solemnly dedicated on May 25, 1879, by Cardinal
McCloskey, (the successorjof its founder), who had
been made a cardinal March 15, 1875.
It is the finest and most imposing church build
ing in the country. Its cost, when completed, will
be about $3,000,000. James Renwick was the archi
tect, and a memorial window to him, donated by
the Hon. John Kelly, is one of the beautiful minor
features of the cathedral. Other splendid windows
wore donated by Eleanor Iselin, Henry L. Hoguet,
Eugene Kelly and a number of other prominent
citizens. The windows were mainly made in
France and cost ov. r SIOO,OOO. St. Patrick’s is
probably the fourth largest cathedral on the West
ern Continent. The first, is that in the City of
Mexico, which was built rn 1573. It is a magnifi
cent structure, 500 feet long by 420 broad. The
cathedral in Lima is 320 feet long and 180 wide.
That in Philadelphia is about the same size. Then
comes St. Patrick’s, with a length of 306 feet.
Another old Catholic institution of this city
worthy of note is St. John’s College, Fordham. It
was founded in 1839, by Archbishop Hughes. Car
dinal McCloskey was its first President. As a sort
of preparatory school to it is the college of St.
Francis Xavier, between Fifteenth and Sixteenth
streets and Fifth and Sixth avenues, founded in
1850. Attached to it is the splendid Jesuit church
of the same name. The two colleges combine to
form one of the finest scholastic institutions of the
country, and have graduated some of our most
prominent citizens in the various professions.
There are about sixty Catholic churches in this
city.
~PRICE~ FIVE
WHEN YCU ARE SAD.
When yon are sad, I ask no more
The lavish rights I claimed before.
When sunrise glittered on the seas,
And dancing to the wooing breeze,
The laughing ripples kissed the shore.
Tho morning glow of love is o’er;
Oh, rosy dreams we dreamed of yore I
I do but ask the least of those,
When you are sad.
Let the fresh darling you adore,
With joy’s light footstep cross the floor)
But hear the last of all my pleas,
And shut for all but me the door,
When you are sad.
llElffllßMlllliTß.
BY A POPULAR AUTHOR.
CHAPTER I.
'•it is just the dream of mt life.”
“It is the very greatest trial 1” sighed Mrs/
Conyers.
“ It is indeed,” agreed Miss Hutchinson, who!
was the most agreeable person in all Easton, iqf
the sense of never allowing her own opinions to
differ from those of her friends, though some-1
times her efforts to reconcile conflicting viQTfft
gave the latter no little amusement.
“If it were Tiny, now, instead of Crystal,'
things would be so very different,” Mrs. Con
yers went on in the aggrieved tone which she
habitually used when speaking of her third!
daughter. “ Tiny would do me credit, as her
elder sisters have done; but Crystal—Crystal
is quite hopeless, a different sort of girl alto
gether from the others 1 Alice, you know, made
a furore when she came out”—Miss Hutchin
inson smiled and nodded, for all Easton was
proud.of Alice Conyers’s match with Sir Mar
tin Harland. “Then, dear Blanche gives me
no anxiety; she is so popular and charming;
only I shall miss her terribly, dear Miss
Hutchinson, if I have to part with her, and I
can’t expect to keep her long, can I ?”
Hera Mrs. Conyers stopped to take breath,
and Miss Hutchinson had au opportunity of
nodding again and looking very arch. Mrs.
Conyers pretended not to notice any special
import in her friend’s attitude; but she.felt
gratified to think that the greatest gossip in
Easton was not unaware ot Mr. Raymond More
ton’s attentions to the rector’s second daughter.
Then she went on again :
“Tiny is just like Alice and Blanche—lively,
accomplished, fond ot innocent gayety”—Mrs.
Conyers always spoke of her girls enjoying
“ innocent gayety,” as if other people’s daugh
ters were in the habit of amusing themselves
with pastimes the reverse of innocent—“ not
too fond, you know, to the exclusion of her
home duties, her studies, her little parochial
responsibilities, but as gay and as charming as
a kitten or a canary. Now Crystel goes moon
ing about like a student, with her head in a
book or her thoughts in the clouds, forgetting
her little social duties, saying the most gauche
things, or blurting out home truths—nothing
can be so ill-bred as what people are pleased to
call home truths! And, when I think of bring
ing her ‘out,’ of presenting her in Eastehire
society, my heart sinks within me. The poor
ohild herself wishes for nothing so much as to
remain in the background, to be left unobserved
among her books, and would gladly see Tiny
taken • out ’in her stead. But what would peo
ple say if I wore to do that ? Either I should
be accused of partiality in putting one filter
over the other, or people might even go so far*
as to hint that there was something wrong with
my third girl, that she was deformed or eccen
tric, or not like the others. I don’t think any
mother was so tried before. .Here is Crystel
shrinking back from society and Tiny longing
to come ‘ out,’ and I am able to gratify neither
of them, nor to please myself. I always blame
the rector for allowing Crystel so much liberty,
and giving her so much encouragement in read
ing and muddling her head in the library. De
pend upon it, girls that are to be successful in
life and to marry well should not be, permitted
to grow up differently from their neighbors
men don’t like it.”
At this point it began to dawn upon the
aggrieved Mrs. Conyers that she was address
ing her conversation to a single lady ; but Miss
Hutchinson was not likely to resent it, as she
never resented anything from the rector’s wife.
What was perhaps more dangerous was the
manner in which her tongue had run on about
her daughter Crystel, putting into words a dis
satisfaction which she ought rather to smother
or make light of, if Crystel had to he brought
“ out ” in Easton as “ our third daughter, quite
a blue-stocking,” or, “our dear, awkward,
clever Crystel I” Mrs. Conyers had a knack of
apostrophizing her daughters in the characters
which she wished them to support. She hast
ened to efface as best she might the impression
she had uaintentionally given her friend of
Crystel’s awkwardness and undesirability.
“But then, you know, on the other side, there
is this to be said for Crystel—she is the most
excellent company, the most amusing compan
ion, when she is in the mood, that you can
imagine. Mrs. Woodroffe is quite in love with
her. •Do send Crystel down to me,’ she often
writes in the morning, when she has one of her
bad attacks and can’t get up. She will keep the
girl with her all day long, and says she does her
the utmost good, though, when Crystel comes
home at night, and I ask whatever she and Mrs.
Woodroffe found to talk about, she can’t repeat
a word that is in the least funny or entertain
ing. And it is the same with the children; I
hear shouts of laughter in the nursery, and,
when 1 go in to see what it is about, Crystel is
telling them stories out of her head, and the
tears are streaming down their faces with
amusement. But, if I stop to listen, I only
gather a heap of nonsense, or the girl gets ehy
and won’t speak before me; that is just tho
root of the matter—she can never be depended
upon to show to advantage before anybody, and
what is the good of bringing ‘out’ a daughter
of whom one could not feel sure ?”
“ Where is she now ?” asked Miss Hutchinson,
stirring her second cup of tea with a pleased
smile; she was thinking how interesting all these
little details about Crystel Conyers would be to
Mrs. Franks, the doctor’s wife, whose daugh
ters were not a success socially, and to whom
the short-comings of the rector’s third girl
would be as butter and honey.
“ With Mrs. Woodroffe as usual, and I am de
lighted she should be so happily occupied, for
the old lady makes quite a pet of her, and is
very grateful to ns for letting her be there ”—
after all, the least attractive of the Conyers girls
was the chosen companion of the squire’s widow
—“ and, as dear Blanche is still away, I shall
take Tiny with me, just for company, to the Ba
kers’ tennis party. I suppose it will be quite
an informal little meeting, and the child does so
enjoy a game of tennis, it is a pleasure to see
her.”
“Then you will be wanting me to be off,”eaid
Miss Hutchinson, rising and possessing herself
of the shiny black bag without whieh she had