New York dispatch. [volume], June 06, 1886, Page 7, Image 7

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

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ONCE-ON-A-TIME.
BY EMILY HUNTINGTON MILLER,
Hoigh-bo ! What frolics we might see,
If it only happened to you and me
To be born in some far-off clime,
Xn the country of Somewhere, once-on-a-time !
Why, once-on-a time there were mountains of gold.
And caves full of jewe s, and treasures untold;
There were birds just waiting to fly before
And show you the way to the magical door.
And, under a tree, there was sure to be
A queer little woman to give you the key;
And a tiny, dancing, good-natured elf,
To say, with his sceptre, “Help yourself?"
For millions of dollars grew from a dime
lu the country of Somewhere, once-on-a-time.
If we lived in the country of Somewhere, you
'Cotud do what you chose to do.
Instead of a boy, with a garden to weed,
You might be a knight, w th a sword and a steed;
instead of a girl, with a towel to hem,
J might be a princess with robe and gem.
With a gay little page, and a harper old.
Who knew all the stories that ever were told—
Stories in prose and stories in rhyme.
That happened Somewhere, once-on-a-time.
in the country of Somewhere, no one looks
At maps and blackboards and grammar Looks;
• For all your knowledge just grows and grows,
Like the song in a bird or the sweet in a rose.
And if ever I chance, on a fortunate day.
To that wonderful region to find my way.
Why, then, if the stories all are true,
As quick as I can I'll come to you.
And we‘ll row away to its happy shores
JXn a silver shallow with golden oars.
IHIRIEl) ALIVE.
BY F. CHAMBERS.
No, I will never again have my life insured.
‘The first and last policy I took out nearly
caused my death, and it you should repeat what
lam going to tell you about it, I might be ob
liged to leave this section of the country with
• considerable precipitation.
I was living in Manayunk after the close of
the late war, engaged in retail trade, and I had
succeeded in borrowing a few hundred dollars
from a more prosperous fellow-townsman. He
was a qeer sort ot follow and, although I had
given him a chattel mortgage, he hinted that he
would like to have the additional security of an
insurance upon my life, made payable to him
In case of my death. His idea of “security”
rather amazed me, but, as he offered to pay all
charges, I consented to humor him and my life
was insured in three companies lor amounts
which aggregated twenty-five thousand dol
lars.
One of ÜB-»I don’t remember which—told a
young doctor, and he chaffed the old man (for
-he was old) about the inutility and unprofita
bleness of paying insurance premiums on the
life of a man as young and healthy as I was.
After awhile the old man—l will call him Black
(he proved to be a black-hearted reprobate)—
became convinced that his speculation was not
a good lone and his mind was ready to receive
Seriously the doctor’s jocular suggestion of col
lecting the insurance-money by means of false
evidence of my death and burial. To make a
long story short, Black tried to talk me into it,
promising me one-third of the steal. 1 endeav
ored to put him off by showing that we would
need a doctor’s certificate of death and that the
undertaker wotrid have to be bought: also that
pur young medical friend, already mentioned,
would have to be counted m, whether he was
or was not the doctor to give the certificate. In
a few days Doctor called upon me and as-
sured me of his readiness to take part in the
scheme, and to guarantee that the undertaker
would do what he told him to do, if we would
pay him (the doctor) ten thousand dollars.
This proposition was finally accepted by me
and Black, and the latter agreed to give me one
half of the remaining fifteen thousand, thus re
taining for himself seven thousand five hun
dred dollars. As Black wouid not have been a
(satisfactory witness as to my death (he being
Interested), it was decided for me to “ die ” at
the doctor’s house.
Accordingly I went there to live after it had
been given out that I had fallen and hurt my
spine and that I was, in consequence, suffering
■irom progressive paralysis which might termi
nate fatally at any time. Doctor’s housekeeper
was fully hoodwinked, and nobody but doctor
over came into my room without finding me in
bed apd apparently suffering.
The undertaker was, by adroit management
induced to pay me a neighborly visit and was
told by doctor that my mind was slightly
weakened. While there, I made him promise
that he would let doctor dress me and put me
in the coffin, as it had, I said, always been my
whim to want only one person to see or touch
sne after death, or at least until I was properly
laid in my coffin. The man amiably promised,
all the more readily because I assured him that
he should be paid just as if he performed all
instead of part of an undertaker’s usual duties.
t was further understood that he should say
nothing about the matter, so that my whim
could not be talked over after my death.
Black and I then saw that doctor had “fixed”
She undertaker without any expense to himself
and that therefore he would make ten thousand
clear, while we would only have fifteen thou
sand between us, but we aid not care to quarrel
In so dangerous a conspiracy with so sharp a
man as he had shown himself to be. When we
had satisfied ourselves that no one in the com
munity had any suspicion of mystery or
’‘crookedness” in my case, I was ready to
s ‘ go dead.” I had to be very quiet in my room
while the credulous undertaker was having my
coffin carried into an adjoining chamber; and I
felt somewhat conscience-stricken when I heard
the people muffling the door-bell and closing
the shutters to darken the house.
The grief-stricken friend and doctor brought
the coffin into my room, and during the three
days which were allowed to elapse for appear
ance’s sake, he smuggled food and drink to the
deceased. At last the time came for me to be
really encoffined. My conscience troubled me
some, but my fears troubled me a great deal
more.
“ Suppose,” thought I, “ that the hole in the
ooffin-lid did not let in enough air through the
cloth covering to last me during the funeral
<aermon ? Suppose the doctor determined to
make it an honest funeral by neglecting to take
out, after the service, the few screws that held
the lid down ? Or, suppose that the dummy to
be put in my place at the last moment (while I
tiled me to a closet), should not weigh right or
should in any other manner excite suspicion on
the part of the pall-bearers ? Or, finally, sup
pose that I should be discovered in the house
before dark or when fleeing that night?”
Doctor ca 5 e to help me in and cover me over,
but I hesitated. In surprise, real or assumed,
Ke asked me why I wavered. I did not tell
him all of my fears; but in a general way, I
spoke of the iniquity of the scheme and the
danger of exposure and punishment. He told
me that he was already committed, as he had
signed and delivered the certificate of my death,
which the law required him to give to the
Health Department, and that he had in other
ways professionally declared my decease. He
even went so far as to argue that, under the
circumstances, I was morally bound to do as I
nad agreod to do—that is, that it was my duty
to allow myself to be fastened in my coffin.
I remember the malicious look he gave me
when he saw that this last plea had not the
desired effect. I also remember having a sud
den realization that my head was struck. Well,
be had prepared himself for my “lack of
nerve,” as he called it, by bringing his heavy
oane into my room. Now I will tell you what I
have since found out or supposed, but what I
did not, of coursg, know at the time. By killing
me and making it a bona fide funeral, he could
save himself from State prison and obtain ten
thousand dollars ; by letting me “ back out,”
he would get the State prison part, but never
the money. As he had no time to parley, he
promptly knocked me on the head and hustled
me into the coffin, probably relying upon my
being then dead, or so near it that I could not
revive with so scant a supply of air.
Whether or not I made much noise in falling,
I don’t know ; but I think he was interrupted
by being called or having to listen, and that the
delay left the coffin open long enough for me
io partially revive. When I regained conscious
ness the lid was on and the sermon was being
breached. I could not think of anything but
Chis: “Should I make a noise, expose the
•whole fraud and go to prison in consequence?
or should I keep quiet, get as much air as pos
sible and trust doctor to let me out according
fco the original agreement? Everything bearing
iupon either of these courses was revolved over
and over again in my mind. I could not make
myself think that doctor would feel safe in re
leasing me even if he should explain and excuse
she clubbing as an expedient necessary to the
(safety of all concerned. I felt myself being
carried and jolted for about half an hour ; and
1 was still impatiently endeavoring to deter
mine what to do when I heard a heavy door
abut and locked. During the ride to and
through the cemetery I had believed that I
would yet have time to call or kick to attract
attention even when the last words were being
said at the open grave. It was unwise to delay
30 long, especially when I had little hope of
doctor’s doing anything bold to deliver me,
but I was too much frightened all the while to
be reasonable. When I realized that I had
peen placed m the receiving vault (I subse
quently ascertained that by some mistake the
grave had not been dug in time', I abandoned
the policy of waiting, and adopted vigorous
measures. By placing both palms upon the lid
and bracing my shoulders upon the bottom of
fche coffin and making a tremendous effort, I
Roosened the cover. This was more than half
the battle, for the next push made me a free
Knan—free, except that I was locked in a vault
■with no living being within hearing. It being
late, I believed that no one would come to the
vault until the next day, if then. However
much I may have desired deliverance from that
living tomb, I was by no means anxious to face
any man who would call me to account for not
Laing dead, as represented. But a thought
about my possibly malodorous companions de
cided the matter—l would get out at all haz
ards, if possible.
A cursory examination of my “quarters”
satisfied me that the two other coffins had been
there only about a day—possibly only a few
bouts—for they were little affected by damp or
dust; and I was also satisfied that there was
nothing in the vault with which I could pry
open the door, unless some of the coffin boards
could be utilized. But on looking behind one
of the coffins I found a pickax and a bottle. I
was delighted to find the former, and curious
to learn the contents of the latter. Greatly to
any surprise and abhorence, I learned that the
waa nearly full Qi sjhwky, whieh
plified the fact that familiarity with any work
or place destroys all sense of reverence or awe
otherwise pertaining to it.
I suppose the whisky had been hid there by
one of the gravediggers for his refreshment the
next day—possibly as a preventive of chills in
cident to that vocation. Having sampled the
liquor, to make sure of its being whisky, I con
cluded that a copious draught would brace mo
for the struggle with the door. But my nerves
were in no condition to bear anything of the
kind, and I soon lost my cool judgment com
pletely. After emptying the bottle down my
throat, I became wildly, insanely drunk.
I remember wondering what would become
of my fellow-conspirators when my coffin was
found open, whether I was caught or not.
Bight here I’ll toll you what did become of
them. The wily Doctor must have considered
during the night that there was a possibility of
my coming to life, lor he had left the town with
all of his portable property before the exposure
occurred —and he never came back. The un
dertaker barely managed to clear his skirts by
telling candidly what he had done, or rathe:
had not done ; but Black was sent to prison for
seven years and six months.
Wnat became ot me ? Well, I’ll tell you.
While crazy drunk I imagined that one or both
of my companions might also have been buried
alive—so I resolved to open the coffins. Each
coffin contained a man unmistakably dead ; but
in my delirium I thought it would be well to
place them where they would demoralize who
ever came to the tomb first, which, 1 confusedly
imagined, would for a short time divert atten
tion from my empty casket. Therefore I put
each of the two deceased gentlemen in a sitting
posture on the floor, with their backs against
their respective coffins, and the latter were
stood on end and in such away as to at once
manifest their emptiness. I then arranged the
four stiffened arms as it the men were playing
cards—of which I distributed the pack that had
amused me during my late illness.
Although the attitude and apparent occupa
tion were life-like, the ghastly faces and the
open caskets would instantly show the first
comer that the players were men risen from
their coffins within a closed and bolted vault.
Having set the whisky bottle between them, I
broke open the tomb door and fled in the in
creasing darkness toward Philadelphia, fearing
to go to the appointed hiding place lest Black
should inform. The next morning I was fortu
nately accepted, under an assumed name, as a
common sailor on a merchantman ; and I have
never been in that part of the country since.
About a year later I got an old paper giving
a full account of the affair, which created a de
cided sensation at the time of its occurrence.
AT FEAST.
BY AN ENGLISH EX-DETECTIVE.
Ths first time I visited Midhampton was in
pursuit ot a young fellow who had embezzled
a lew hundred pounds. I traced him to the
barracks, where, having spent all his money, he
had enlisted. Having taken the shilling be
fore noon, he went to enjoy himself in the great
manutacturing town till the evening, when he
was instructed to return to sleep, preparatory
to going before the doctor early next morning,
and being attested before the magistrate.
It was a nasty, cold night when I returned to
the military quarters, and I was not a little
pleased to find the sergeant who accompanied
me an intelligent and superior man.
The street in front of the barracks was a wide
thoroughfare, well lit up by the shops and pub
lic-houses on the opposite side. Being quite a
mile Irom the town, a black gap seemed to he
between them and it. Three miles further on
is the smaller community of Hilston, and the
sergeant explained to me that the roadway
formed something like an Irregular semi-circle,
so that actually the distance, sb the crow flies,
was less than lour miles.
“ The fact is,” he continued, “ there is a path
way across the moor which is quite a mile
shorter, and foot passengers in the day time
mostly use that way. It starts from the bottom
end ot High street, and the soldiers at ‘Tattoo ’
mostly return that way, although some of them
come to rare griei when a bit ‘top-heavy,’ for
the waste ground is full ot ruts and holes, and,
in the Winter time particularly, big pools are
formed in which more than one warrior has
closed an inglorious career. It’s a dismal
spot, and the mere sight of it gives me the
‘ blues.’”
“ There’s a sentry on the back gate then, I
suppose ?” I said.
‘‘There’s a sentry on the gate leading to the
back ot the officer’s quarters, and from there
another gate leading into tho barrack square,
but that is closed at tattoo, so that men who
are late must pass the main guard. I expect
that will be closed earlier to-night,” continued
the sergeant, “lor there are great ‘goings on’
among the officers.”
“ Indeed,” I said.
“Yes,” continued my informant. “I don’t
suppose the old building has ever witnessed
such a scene before. The adjutant of the Third
Battalion ot the Midhamptonshire iiegiment—
that is the militia—was married this morning
to the colonel’s niece, and as it is the last day
of the annual training, the wedding breakfast
is made a general-guest-night, and the fair sex
are of course very well represented.”
“ There is no regular regiment here, then?”
I remarked.
“Ko; only the depot of the first battalion, at
present at the Cape.”
Alter a short delay, I cried:
“ Since it is not yet tattoo, onr man could
manage to get in by the back gate.”
“ I don’t think it is at all likely," returned my
companion, “ unless, indeed, he made the ac
quaintance of some ot the other men. We may,
however, have a walk round. In the meantime,
I’ll just ask the corporal to detain the youth in
the guardroom, should he turn up in our ab
sence.”
Having done so, we walked leisurely along
the front wall in the direction of the town, and
then turned up alongside the higher one run
ning at right angles, within a few feet of which
the dwellings were built. The chill rain was
drizzling in our laces, and both with one ac
cord raised the collars ot our overcoats. At the
same instant, and before we had left the high
way twelve paces, we heard something that
caused the sergeant to cry:
“Halloa 1”
“ What’s that?” I exclaimed.
“ It’s a shot,” he returned.
“ There's no practice going on inside just
now,” 1 proceeded.
“ Not at this hour,” he replied. “ There
must be something wrong. The sound seemed
to come irom behind us—the main entrance, in
fact. Two years ago a sergeant, who expected
being “ broken ” for drunkenness, shot him
self in the guard-room. I hope it isn’t such
another case.”
“ Let’s see,” I cried, and I sot off running in
the direction we had come, followed by the
heavier and more deliberate man in uniform.
When we got to the main gate, one of the
servants had just arrived from tho mess, breath
less from running, and white with horror.
“ The colonel orders the large gate to be
shut, a policeman sent for, and every man who
enters after now to be detained before going to
his quarters.”
“ Here is a police-sergeant,” said the ser
geant of the guard, as we entered. “ What’s
the matter?”
“ The adjutant has just been shot—dead—
through the moss-room window I”
There was a general cry of amazement and
horror from the men forming the guard. I was
disgusted with the job I was on, which gave no
opportunity for exercising skill, and felt some
how elated that I happened to be on the spot
when, what promised to be a very mysterious
affair occurred. Addressing the servant, who
was clad in a blue striped jacket of the Eton
cut, I cried:
“ Lead me to the scene of the murder in the
shortest way.” Then, turning to the officer in
uniform, 1 added, “ Come along, sergeant,”
and commenced rifnning across the spacious
parade ground in the wake of the man who
brought the news. I had not run quick enough,
however, to prevent me from hearing one of the
soldiers say:
“ And so the beggar's shot at last. I always
thought someone would brain him.”
Another voice murmured something like
“ Serve him right.” But that was not the time
to make inquiries, nor the place.
We entered the spacious hall of the officers’
quarters, and the sounds ot women screaming
and weeping could be heard on every hand. At
the door of the mess-room an elderly gentleman
in mess costume stopped the way.
“ Ah, a policeman at last,” he said.
“ This gentleman,” said the police-sergeant,
“is Inspector Poynter, from Scotland Yard—
fortunately here on other business.”
“ This way, sir,” cried the major—for that
was this gentleman’s rank. “ Thank heaven
you are on the spot,” and he led the way into
the great room, around which a few men in
uniform and private dress were standing, pale
faced and hushed, in the presence of death.
Two army doctors were leaning over the chair
of the murdered man, and they had already
pronounced life to be extinct.
As I advanced announced, the medical men
stood aside, au'd I saw a stout man lying back
inanimate in the circular chair which he had
occupied at the feast. He was in all likelihood
lorty years of age, hook-nosed, and 1 should
imagine that his habitual expression might be
termed fierce and commanding. His eyebrows
were bushy and heavy, and met over the nose,
while his large moustache joined short whiskers
at the ends. Ghastly pale, a bluish tinge re
mained upon the nose and cheeks, and this
seemed to indicate that his countenance was
not only weather-beaten, but marked by tokens
only to be seen on the laces ot these who are
fond ot wine and similar beverages, and who
use them unsparingly.
“Will you see that nothing is moved?” I
asked the police sergeant; and having explained
the necessity of this precaution to the major, I
examined the surroundings.
The white damask cloth in front of the chair
was crimson and wet with ills heart’s blood.
There were lour very large and wide windows
looking toward the moorland, and the deceased
man bad been seated right opposite the one at
the extreme end of the room—the end where
the bead of the table was.
It was explained that Captain Mervyn—that
was his name—was in the act of rising to reply
to the toast of the bride’s health, when the fatal
bullet came crashing through tho window to
penetrate his heart. Standing as nearly in his
then position as possibls, I saw the holo in the
glass, with the numberless cracks radiating
from the round centre. lu the gloomy light of
NEW YORK DISPATCH, JUNE 6. 1886.
i the space between the window and the moor
land, I discerned something like the ruins of a
house. When I had noted everything, I in
formed the doctors that the body might be re
moved to the captain’s bedroom, if they wished
it, and that gentleman might take away what
ever possessions they had on the tables. Mean
time, I left the room in charge of a constable
who had just arrived, and with the sergeant
proceeded to examine the outside ot the build
ing.
Upon entering the building, I noticed that a
flight of six steps led up to the hall, and a side
flight of a similar number led down to the area
and the kitchens. From this it wtll be under
stood that although the mess-room might be
said to be on the ground floor, it was still high
enough to be classed a first-floor.
Going out at the back door, we descended tho
same number of steps, and here I found a num
ber of young officers, servants, soldiers, and
militiamen - the latter half-clad, just as they
had run irom their dormitories, the canteen, or
the recreation rooms. The colonel was there in
a state of great excitement and distress. He
had, notwithstanding this fact, taken the pie
caution to put an extra guard of a sergeant and
two men on the gate, aud no oue was permitted
to enter or pass out except a lew officers who
had rushed out bare-headed in pursuit of the
assassin.
I noticed to my dismay that a number of peo
ple Irom the street had gathered outside the
walls. Passing through the gateway, after be
ing introduced to the colonel, I saw that the
ground to the moorland rose slightly, and that
the roofless ruius of a hut stood upon the very
edge of the rise, and directly opposite the broken
window, and this window was opposite the gate
way. Little more than a glance sufficed to show
me that a firearm, resting horizontally upon the
sill of what once was a window in the hut, would
convey a bullet to the billet this fatal one had
found.
“The shot has been fired from this hut,” I
intimated. “ Will you see that no oue enters
it?”
I proceeded to the sergeant.
Ab 1 spoke two young officers, clad in mess
jackets, advanced from the ruins, and one of
them said :
“ We have been there ” but before I could
answer I heard other words spoken in the close
vicinity which commanded my attention, al
though I took care not to appear to be listening.
The words were these :
“Somebody has been killed—who is it?” and
before I could interfere the second officer re
plied to the speaker:
“ Miss Brooks ”
“ Miss Brooks I Great heavens ! Not Captain
Mervyn ”
The rain was coming down again, but in a
dense, misty kind of way. Some men came out
with lanterns, and a guard was put on the ruins
at my request. I then noticed that the two
young officers who had come from them, and
the civilian who had spoken so strangely and
suspiciously, were not only wet but stained and
splashed with mud from head to loot. The
officer who had uttered the words “Miss
Brooks ” had evidently fallen more than once,
for his fine scarlet mess jacket was bedaubed
all up one side.
Taking tho first young officer and the police
sergeant aside, I asked the former if he was
acquainted with the young gentleman to whom
his companion was now speaking.
“Oh, yes ; he is a friend of most of us.”
“ His name ?”
“ Sydney Beryl.”
“Any profession?”
“No.” Then with sudden suspicion: “Surely
you don’t suspect him ?”
“ I can’t say yet,” 1 replied.
Then turning to tho sergeant, I asked him to
disperse the crowd, if possible, while I pro
ceeded with my examination.
“What is your friend’s name ?” I asked the
officer I was talking to —“ the gentleman speak
ing to Beryl.”
“ His name is Bromley—Lieutenant Brom
ley.”
“ And yours?”
“ Clayton—Captain Clayton.”
“Ask Mr. Bromley and Mr. Beryl to step this
way,” I said to the police sergeant, and then
request the people to disperse.”
“Now, Captain Clayton,” I began, “ will you
kindly tell me all you know—briefly—before
your friend approaches, and before we retire
within the building.”
“If you will oblige me by asking some one to
send our servants out with our caps and great
coats,” he returned.
Then be went on, after the message was sent:
“ When the shot was fired, it caused the great
est consternation, I need not say. Bromley and
I were nearest the door, and distinctly saw the
flash through the lower windows. Upon one
impulse we both rushed out. My first thought
was that the sentry was the murderer, but when
we reached the back door we saw the man com
ing hurriedly from the box ten yards in the
other direction, where he had naturally taken
refuge irom the rain.
“1 hurried out at the back gateway, closely
followed by Bromley. Leaping up beside the
ruins, we both at one moment saw some oue
running across the moor ”
“ At ono moment?”
“Yes, because just as I was about to cry
‘There ho is,’ the same words were uttered by
Bromley, and wo both set off in pursuit. It was
dark, and grew darker there in the hollow ; and
Bromley, who got in front of me, stumbled aud
fell in a slimy pool. Before I could pull up I
went right over him. When we got up we hur
ried on in the direction of the wood or plantation
to tho left there. Wo had not gone far. however,
when I looked to the right and saw a figure
running along the elevated ground which
skirts the high road to Hilston. Changing our
course, we stumbled along in that direction,
but when we approached the rising stretch
we distinctly heard tho noise of wheels. It
seemed as if some vehicle had just been
started, and when we reached tho ridgo upon
which ho had seen the running man clearly de
fined, silhouette fashion, against tho long line
of pale blue sky, nothing was to be seen, and
tho noise of tho wheels had died away, leaving
us periectly puzzled ns to which direction the
cab—or whatever it was—had gone.”
“ And then ”
“We returned alter a little consultation. It
was still raining sharply, and wo fancy wo came
up td tho ruins there without boiug observed
by those within tho barrack walls and at tho
gate. Bromley, who has injured himself
slightly, was for going to hia quarters at once ;
but as I said I moaut to explore tho ruins be
fore going in, ho accompanied me, protesting
however, that we could find nothing in there.’
“He was wrong, however,” I said, “ for you
found that piece ot halt-burned paper which
you have in your hand.”
“ Yes,” faltered Captain Clayton. “ You have
sharp eyes, sir.”
“It is my profession to have sharp eyes,” I
answered. “ Will you permit mo to examine
your paper ?”
He gave the scrap up reluctantly. Turning
in such away that the light of the mess-room
windows fell upon it, I saw that it was a bit of
what newspaper people call a “ proof.” Look
ing closer, I perceived that the words printed
formed a fragment of a verse or two. 1 have
preserved a copy ot tho fragment—hero it is :
of golden day,
of moonlit night ;
as autumn grey,
ing on my sight.
cease to meet,
break the spell ;
on memories sweet,
Farewell! Farewell !
“You will permit me to retain this,” I said to
Captain Clayton, who now was enabled to don
his grey coat and cap.
“Of course,” ho said, but with a hesitation
which 1 mentally noted.
Having elicited as much as possible from this
gentleman, I found an opportunity of listening
to his companion, Mr. Bromley; but the infor
mation received tallied in every particular.
From him I learned that Mr. Beryl was the son
of a gentleman, who had been nearly ruined by
the failure ot a bank before his decease. Syd
ney had spent much of his time in London
mixing in good society, and winning the repu
tation ot being something of a poet. Upon the
death of his only parent he returned to his
native place, and the fragment of property left
him. He still wrote verses and amused him
self by having them printed for private circu
lation among his friends. He had long been a
suitor for the hand of Miss Brooks, whose uncle
lived in the neighborhood. The latter, however,
objected to him as a husband for his niece after
the loss of his fortune, and he was finally re
jected upon the circulation of certain rumors
regarding the dissipated nature of his life in
London.
The sergeant of police being on night duty, I
requested him to be present at the changing of
the guard on the ruins during the night. Then
having sent a messenger lor the coroner’s at
tendance, I walked homeward with the ser
geant, and greatly to his amazement procured a
constable to watch Mr. Beryl’s house all night.
Next morning at daylight I was at the ruins.
The sergeant had not yet gone off duty, and we
both began to examine the interior of the old
hut together. The rain had passed off, and the
soft mud of the night before had become glu
tinous. I then demonstrated clearly to the
amazed police-sergeant that four distinct indi
viduals had entered the place the night before ;
but while I astonished my companion I was not
a little startled myself, for one of the four indi
viduals had most certainly been a woman—a
woman with a very small foot, and the boots or
shoes worn were of the most fashionable make,
with very high and pointed heels.
Having procured the boots worn by Captain
Clayton and Mr. Bromley the night before, and
verified the imprints made by these, I made in
quiries, and discovered that none of the ladies
present at the breakfast had passed beyond the
door of the building until they finally left by
the front door and front gate. As soon as Cap
tain Clayton made his appearance I asked him
if anyone else had accompanied his friend and
himself into the interior of the hut. He an
swered, “No,” pointedly, and when I said that
there were clear and distinct marks of another
pair of masculine boots or shoes, he cried :
“You are a most extraordinary fellow, and it
is—it seems to me—impossible to conceal any
thing from you. I suppose it is my duty to
speak out,” he continued, with a sigh, “ and
yet I feel as certain as I am that I live and
breathe that Sydney Beryl is as innocent as 1
am.”
“Sydney Beryl I” I repeated. “What of
him ?”
“I told you,” continued the captain, “that
my friend and I entered the ruined hut to
gether. Well, when we were about to leave we
saw another man enter by the outer doorway.
I pulled Bromley aside into the shadow, and
saw Beryl pass us. He walked right into the
inner rooiq aud paused fyi a mojueut to look
out of the very opening from which you said,
last night, you thought the fatal shot was fired.
We hurried out and got round toward the gate
by the left of the ruin, when we met you. A
moment afterward we heard Beryl speak, and
saw that be must have come round by the other
side.”
“ He very likely returned to see if be had
dropped anything on his former visit to the
spot,” I murmured. “ Did you notice from
what direction he came when you first saw
him ?”
“No,” was the captain’s reply, apparently
horrified at the web I was weaving round the
verse-writing lover of Edith Brooks.
“Do you think,” I proceeded to ask, “that
supposing he were the figure you saw running
away, he could have got back by the highway in
time to mingle with tho people who had gath
ered there ?”
“I should think so,” returned Captain Clay
ton, “ particularly if he had a vehicle of some
kind waiting.”
“I must send round to his house and procure
the boots Mr. Beryl wore last night,” I mur
mured, thoughtiully.
“That will be unnecessary,” a voice replied.
“The boots are here.”
Looking up, I saw Mr. Beryl, pale and worn
looking, standing in front of us behind tho hut.
“ What do you want with them ?” he inquired,
proudly, and with a sneer.
“ I wished to discover if you had entered this
ruin last night,” I replied, somewhat taken
aback.
“ You will have no difficulty in that, because
I tell you I did enter there last night.”
“ More than once ?”
“ No; only once.”
“ Indeed 1”
“ Indeed. Do you doubt my word ?”
“I do,” I returned.
“ Insolent I” he exclaimed.
But I proceeded with my examination, al
though I was not altogether at my ease regard
ing the impressions of a woman’s shoes, as well
as a little staggered by his manner—which, I
must confess, was extremely like the manner
of an innocent person falsely accused. At last
I said :
“ It is my duty to inform you that I mny ar
rest you at any moment, without even the for
mality of a magistrate’s warrant.”
“I shall not run away,” lie said, fiercely,
turning upon his heel.
I mentally resolved that he would not have
the chance.
I had him watched all that day. In the after
noon, one of the printers he had been in the
habit of employing discovered a corrected proof
of a poem called “Farewell.” The type had
long been broken up, but one of the verses
ran:
" By the light of golden day,
By tho charm of moonlit night;
Though thour't cold Autumn gray,
Thou art glowing in my sight.
Though at last wo cease to meet.
Absence cannot break the spell;
I must live on memories sweet.
Oh, my love, farewell!—farewell 1"
Although T still had misgivings, I consulted
Che coroner and the stipendiary magistrate, and
the latter ordered the arrest of Mr. Beryl at
once.
1 had learned during |he day that no sus
picion led to any of the men of the militia or the
depot of “regulars.” The deceased was uni
versally disliked; but the bullet which killed
him was a round one, fired from an old smooth
bore musket. That still might point toward
Beryl; but that woman’s shoes rendered me
uneasy, and I could not satisfy myself on the
subject even when I discovered that the pris
oner and the dead man had had a terrible quar
rel—a quarrel that had nearly ended in a trip
to Boulogne and a duel on the sands.
Of course this came from the love borne to
Miss Brooks; and after asking myself if the
poetical Beryl had, in a fit of frenzy, concluded
to kill his rival, I proceeded, unsatisfied, to an
other query—ls there another woman in the
case ? and was the man the victim the assassin
intended.
Returning to the barracks, I got the officers
to come into the mess-room again. The mur
dered man had been sitting with his face to
the window—the blinds ot which were seldom
or never lowered, since the whole row looked
only on the blank walls or the moorland—and
so it was plain that the person who sat in the
chair opposite him would be in the line of fire.
When I asked the question, I almost divined
the answer:
“ The bride.”
Standing up as the deceased had been stand
ing when he was shot, I asked the shortest and
slightest of the officers to sit in the chair which
had been occupied by the unhappy lady.
The top of the bride’s head would be on a
line with the heart of the victim I
He was rising to return thanks for the toast
of the evening, when the shot was fired. Sup
pose the bullet was intended for the brain of
the lady, the sudden rising of the gentleman
might well make tho hand of the assassin shake
and spoil the aim. It was plain to me that I
must look for a woman - some woman who felt
herself injured by the marriage, and who hated
the girl who had won the place or position she
coveted.
The more I pondered on this, the idea of
Beryl’s innocence grew upon me. And yet, I
argued, on the other hand, what English wo
man would resort to such a revenge ?
1 made inquiries, however, aud discovered
that Captain Mervyn’s character had been a
strangely wild one. Belonging to a good fami
ly, he lived in expectation of a title aud a for
tune, and this, coupled with the fact that he did
the bulk of the colonel’s duties, led that gentle
man to use all his influence with his niece to
bring about the marriage which was never to be
consummated.
The name most connected with Captain Mer
vyn's was that ot Miss Inez Harman, tho niece
of the stipendiary magistrate.
The coroner’s inquest took place one day, and
the prisoner was brought before Mr. Harman
the next. Miss Harman sat at the solicitor’s
table, and was certainly not in her first youth.
She had been very beautiful, and her eyes aud
hair were still black as night—the former large
and brilliant. I learned that her father, who
was the elder brother ot the magistrate, had
been in the consular service, and had married
a Spanish lady previous to being transferred to
Brazil. He died, and left his only daughter to
his brother’s care.
During the magistrate’s examination I be
came cognizant of two things. The widowed
bride had persisted in being present, and early,
in the proceedings I saw her gaze upon the
prisoner in such away as proved to me beyond
doubt that she loved him with her whole heart
and soul. An hour later I happened to glance
at the magistrate’s niece, and beheld her look
ing at Mrs. Mervyn—the bride—with such an
expression of concentrated hate as I never saw
before or since on a human face.
That look was a revelation to me, and that
afternoon I went secretly and made a cast of the
impression ot the woman s shoes in the ruined
hut. I tried to trace them from the old build
ing, but the soil was sandy, and the rain had
obliterated ail recognizable traces of any foot
marks.
I communicated with headquarters, and was
ordered to remain at the disposal of the
local authorities, who had applied for the con
tinuation of my services. I made the acquaint
ance of Miss Harman’s maid, and was not long
before I got an opportunity ot comparing one of
the lady’s shoes with the cast I had made. Hav
ing formed a mold from tho cast, I fitted the
shoe in, and it was periectly accurate.
Captain Clayton and Mr. Bromley swore posi
tively to having seen a man-a slight one, prob
ably—fly from the scene of the murder, and
that set me thinking again.
A fortnight passed over, and I was almost de
spairing ot making the discovery 1 desired, when
an advertisement appeared in the Times tor a
coachman to be “generally useful ae an indoor
servant.” I almost leaped tor jov when I read
“apply to Mr. Harman, Milton House, Hilston
road, Midhampton.” I wrote to the chief to
provide me with first-class references, aud then
hurried up to town. From there I applied for
the situation, and, having got it, disguised my
self by donning a close cut red-brown wig and
crepe hair side whiskers, glued so finely to my
cheeks that I could comb them with impunity.
Ne :t day I arrived like a stranger in Midhamp
ton, and on reaching the magistrate’s house,
was, thanks to the excellency of my testimo
nials, placed in a confidential position at once.
Milton House was half a mile further on the
road than the barracks, and the route taken by
the flying fugitive on the night of the murder
would lead right to the back gate of the
premises.
I had provided myself with a complete set
of keys and “pick-lock” instruments. It was
my hope to be able to use them successfully on
the first Sunday. That day, however, was wet,
and I had to drive the magistrate and his niece
to church.
Next Sunday dawned beautifully, and the
whole household, with the exception of the
cook and myself, walked to church. The for
mer was too busy to look after me, so I had
ample time to ransack every corner of Miss
Inez Harman's rooms.
In a cupboard oft' the dressing-room I found
a mud-stained sailor suit of clothing, which I
afterward discovered had belonged to her
cousin, the magistrate’s son, now a sub-lieuten
ant in the Royal Navy. The garments were cast
off when he was a midshipman, and had been
locked up in his room, to which Inez, as mis
tress of the house, had access, of course. A
pair of shriveled up shoes were rolled up iu
the trousers, afid in one of the pockets ot the
latter 1 discovered the remainder ot tho proof
of the poem “ Farewell.” The burned fragr
ment had been used as wadding for the gu#
and this I found at the bottom of a curious q['
box, which stood in a dark corner of the dres£
ing-room. It was a short, ornamental weapon
of Spanish manufacture, and several bullets
exactly matching the one taken from the dead
man's wound were found in a case beside it.
-1 carried all the proofs of the woman’s guilt
into hor sitting-room, and placed them upon
the table. Then I went up-stairs to my own
bed-room, and changing my disguise, waited
for the return of the murderess.
She came up-stairs lightly, and entered the
apartm*ent humming a hymn tune. The next
moment a terrible scream, or rather shriek,
startled the whole house. I ran down stairs
and saw the unhappy woman lying on the car
pet insensible. The servants cama rushing up,
but I stood at the door and permitted no one to
enter until her uncle arrived.
“ You here 1” he cried.
“Send the servants away, sir,” I said.
He waved bis hand in a stupefied kind of way,
and the women gradually disappeared. Then I
asked him to prepare for a great shock, and
ushered him into tue room.
He was a man of strong nerve and undoubted
He grasped th® details very briefly
I and then wo raised the murderess upon the
sofa, ehe had burst a blood vessel, and the
stamp of death was upon her brow.
“Brandy I’’ he said.
I brought him some. He endeavored to pour
some between her set teeth. Presently ehe
opened her great dark eyes, and looked strange
ly and wistfully round. Her eyes fell upon the
gun and the mud-stained clothes and shoes on
the table.
“Ah!” she moaned, in a kind of hoarse
whisper. Thon, alter a pause, she added with
an effort: “Ho betrayed me with promises,
ruined mo, and married another! I did not
mean to kill him though. No; I wished to re
move her that he might return to his first, his
only lo ”
The word was never completed.
When the prisoner was next brought up, an
aZi&i was truthfully and successfully proved,
and he was discharged. By the public gener
ally this was classed among the crimes never
cleared up; but Sydney Beryl and his wife—for
he soon after married Edith Brooks, or Mervyn
—knew, and one or two others knew at the
time, the true story ot the bridegroom, shot
through the heart,
“ FRESH EISII.”
BY M. QUAD.
Now, what’s the use of it? When a couple
get married and go off on a bridal tour why so
misbehave themselves as to be “ spotted ” by
every man, woman and child on the train for
“fresh fish?” How silly the thing must appear
to them when they look back after a period ot
six months ! Are we fools when in love, and
are we idiots when we marry?
The couple I have in mind had a seat in the
middle of the car. She was his n and he was
hers. All the tomfoolery of courtship days was
over. The preacher had made them one, and
her father would no longer set the dog on him
nor place torpedoes around the gate. She
didn’t show the least disposition to jump out of
the car window, but all of a sudden he grabbed
her by the paw. She grabbed back. Then he
leaned over an angle ot forty-five degrees, and
she fell toward him. It was a very uncomfort
able position, but they maintained it with scarce
ly any change for hours. Her hat got skewed
around almost hindside before, but she would
not release her clutch for fear he’d go through
the roof. His collar wilted and his necktie
worked around under his ear, but if he let go of
her paw she’d think he was mad.
“Darling,” said he in a bullfrog whisper,
“doesn’t it seem funny?”
“I can’t realize it,” she answered, as she
raked one of her back hairpins across his nose.
“ All mine ?”
“ Yes, lovey.”
“ Never get mad?”
“Never, sweety.”
The man on the seat behind them folded up
his paper, picked up bis grip, and changed to a
seat across the aisle. As he sat down a moth
erly-looking woman inquired-:
“ Are they married ?”
“I think so, madam.”
“ And can nothing be done to atop it ? ’
“I think not.”
For two or three minutes the newly-wedded
were silent. She was probably thinking of the
sights in Chicago, and he was wondering why he
hadn’t taken that porous plaster off his back be
fore starting.
“Darling!” she suddenly sighed.
“ What is it, my angel ?”
“Darling I”
“ What is itl If any bass hyena has dared to
cause you a moment’s unhappiness I’ll murder
him ! Pint out the animal ?”
“ It isn’t that.”
“Then what!”
“I’m—l’m afraid you’ll be—be mad.”
“No, 1 won’t. How could I be mad at you ?
What is it, Dolly ?”
“ Why, 1 wish you'd wipe the sweet out of
that left’ear. Now, you love me just the same,
don’t you ?”
“Of course.”
“ And you ain’t mad ? ’
“Why, no. There, now—who care’s who’s
looking ? It’s nobody’s business, anyhow.”
There was another interval of silence, during
which she tried to remember whether they were
engaged the week before her father gave Henry
the boot, or whether it was the next Sunday
after, and he was figuring whether he washed
his feet and cut his toe-nails, or only washed his
ieet the night before.
“ Henwy 1”
“ What, angel ?”
“ Are we weally married?”
“ Yes, love.”
“ And you love me ?”
“ With all my heart.”
“ And you ain't mad ?”
“No, dearest.”
“Then I’m so happy! Henwy, squeeze my
hand.”
He squoze. We held an indignation meeting
and appointed a committee to see if something
could not be done, but he squoze the harder.
Three or four women got together and passed
a resolution to the effect that if a railroad com
pany could not protect its passengers the Legis
lature should be appealed to, but that couple
had a death-grin on each other and wouldn’t let
go-
The baggageman came in when sent for, but,
he said, he was helpless. He knew just how we
must feel, but the road wasn’t to blame. The
conductor came back to the car and asked us
not to lay it up against him. He was a poor
man, had been out of a job several months, and
this was his first run.
Well, the long and short of the matter was,
that eighteen or twenty of us rode 150 miles
with that panorama, but such a thing will never
happen again—never! We shook hands on
that, and agreed we’d walk first.
A correspondent vividly describes that inter
esting and neighborly female who
IMPARTS MANY CONFIDENCES.
Mrs. Cracky is our rather near neighbor, geo
graphical.y speaking, bhe lives In the state of de
pression called Bottle Hollow, whose people are
chronically drunk, except when they labor under
the emergency of doing a day’s work. Mrs. Cracky
is wont to lend us the pleasure of her society, chiefly
when she is out of one stone jug and into another;
and of a fine Summer afternoou ehe is frequently
observed to be meditatively ensconsed at the foot of
the big elm tree that marks our house. At about
these times her heart overflows in confidence rashly
bestowed, and seeks sympathy.
Ono morning we were being Spring cleaned, and
to further this end the masons had scattered plaster
from parlor to cellar; the paper-hanger had torn off
half tne old paper and disappeared; the tacks were
out of the carpets just enough to enable everybody
to catch his feet in them in opening the door; the
paint pots were pungently fresh and conveniently
placed to ba overset, and the expressman was wait
ing till somebody hunted up a pencil to sign a re
ceipt in his book, while the bundle of straw matting
that he had brought lay in the middle of the floor,
with the lady of the house sitting on top of it and
saying emphatically to the waiter-girl:
“Now, Mary, I want you to understand me dis
tinctly. If anybody comes to see me, be it man,
woman or child, you can tell them what you like—
that I am ill in bed, or gone out of town to look
alter my copper mines. Tie up the knocker; say
I’m sick, I’m dead, but ”
“Here's Mrs. Cracky, ma’am,” said the low-voiced
Mary.
“If ye plaze, mim,” said our neighbor, suddenly
appearing through an unwary door that stood open
behind the waiting expressman. “If ye.plaze, mim.
that Jim Krue’s wile she threw bilin' water at me,
she did, mim; and the other woman, she called mo
a witcb, she did, mim; and there’s a good miny of
the folks up there that I’m onpieasant wid, forby,
and I jes'put on me bes’bunnit this marning, an'
I'm goin* to take the coort to thim, I am; an' I was
thinking it yees had any troubles wid yer folks, or
yer neighbors, ye moight like to be puttin’ the two
of us thogether and make the case of it to the
Joodge, mim !”
She stood unabashed, with her big mob cap round
her face and her sharp nose and chin as vicious as
sharp noses and chins can be.
“Thank you, Mrs. Cracky, but we don’t quarrel
without neighbors, and we make our own law; I
am grateful to you, however, for thinking of us, all
the same. What did you say to Mrs. Krue to make
her throw boiling water at you, when cold, appa
rently, would have been better ?”
“ Me, mim ? I niver said a thing to her, mim. I
only jis’ shpoke av me family, in Ireland; it’s a fine
lamily they were, and raised up a b’y for a praste.
they did, mim, and 1 miutioned that her mother
niver had but the leather made of a pig's tail in her
bonnet, and mine bad the fine astridge, I did, mim;
and sure her mother dhrove the pigs to market,
true for ye ! and then 1 shpoke of a fut like a flat
iron.”
“ And didn’t she like that?”
Mrs. Cracky’s old jaws opened and shut glee
fully.
“ Well, mim, I wouldn’t be shpaking hard of me
neighbors, but thrue for yez, she wint on a shpree,
she did, mim, an' she had the husband in bed wid a
cowld in his heart, mim, an’ she put a warrum flat,
iron to his feet, mim, and bein' as she couldn't
rightly see, she burnt *im wid it, tnat ho couldn't
move only wid tire crutch for six months, mim, she
did.”
“ Oh, that's it. Was it she who called you a
witch, too ?’’„
“ Na—that's another o’ thim trotters wid their
toes all black wid the bogs. I niver said a thing to
her, nayther.; but passin’ by her I jes’ held up me
petticoat an’ says, says I, wid a turn ov me nose,
*Oh, ho ! Once ,’twas “Who’ll I have ?” an’ now it’s
“ Who’ll have me ?” an’ thrue for yez is it, she de
meaned herself wid marrying that crooked sthlck
*>f an ould Patrick, w f hen she was gettin’ a trifle in
i - «ars—it’s very p aceful I am, niver fightin’wid
tnybody; but in case you won’t be goin’to court—
would ye gimme the*ould shoes ye re done wear
£n’?”
’ “My shoes! Mrs. Cracky, you must wear nines
at least. Let me see your foot.”
She lifted a huge leather shoe, with a red flannel
rag tied round it, for inspection.
“ That will do. Mary, my purse. Mrs. Cracky,
do you know, if the devil should lose his tail where
he'd go to get another ?”
“Me, mim? Sure, I don’t, mim.”
“ Then please accept this ninepence and try to
to find out. Would you mind excusing me now ?
lam rather busy this morning. Mary, here’s a pen
cil, and you sign my name in the express book, and
finish taking out the rest of the tacks, and tell the
painter that these two shades don’t harmonize, and
—well, what is it, Mrs. Cracky?”
“Nothing, mim; but where would he go, mim,
for tlie tail, mim ?”
“The devil? Why, where they retail ardent
spirits. Good morning.”
Judge Bluker feelingly discourses on the real
causes of
THE RUIN OF THE COUNTRY.
“Do you know what is ruining this country ?”
said Judge Bluker. “I will tell you. It is not
over-production, but it is the dichonesty of the
people thav destroys public and private confidence.
I’ll give you an example of dishonesty practiced
upon me by a party named Jimpleson. He came to
I my house quo day aad told mo he had one of the
best schemes in the evorld; said that he had a gold
mine not far away, arid that if he had only a little
gold with which to salt like could sell the claim for
SIOO,OOO. He was so plausible, talked so fairly, that
I was completely taken in. I went with him and
looked at the mine. I was in n®ed of about $50,000,
so I concluded to lot him have the gold. He said
that he could take a gold piece, grate it off. and so
skilfully embed it in the sand that u-o one could de
tect our scheme. ‘How much gold will it take ?” I
asked.
” 'Oh, about S3OO. I can take that amount and
make the place worth at least $150,000 to us.’
“ I gave the money and he got a grater and went
out to the mines. Several days afterward he in
vited me to come out. He had done his work well.
We invited capitalists to come and make us a bid.
My partner was not present when an assay was
made. Good thing for him that he wasn't. He had
salted the mine with copper dust and bad kept the
gold. I have not seen him since. Now, don’t you
see I lost confidence in him. He is not an honest
man.”
We do not know who is the author of those
versos, but they excellently picture the
•THREE YEARS OLD.
Up In the morning early,
Breakfast and then to play
The house is hurly-burly
All the rest of the day.
Cart in the hallway rolling;
Treading on pussy’s tail;
Hoop in the kitchen trolling.
Upsetting pan and pail.
Ofttimes making a racket.
Knowing mamma will run
And whip 'oo ’ittle jacket,
Just a wee bit for fun.
Night time, tired and surly,
“ Dusty man ” gets in ins eyes;
Hates to give up so early.
Wearily sobs and sighs.
Mamma unrobes her darling,
Kissing away his tears.
Sleep ends his tired snarling.
And that’s your boy of three yeara.
The people who live in a flat will appreciate
this little story of
A LEAF FROM A WIFE’S DIARY.
The people who live in the lower flat appear to be
very nice. I think I shall like her. She was telling
me last night how it was she came to marry her
husband.
The servant girl of the people who live in the
flat below hasn’t the sense she was born with. She
told our girl that we were to have Tuesday for wash
day. Monday has always been our day, and shali
be until I die.
8:30 A. M.— Have just told our girl to go at her
washing and get it out.
9:30 —The girl in the flat below is also washing.
Have told our girl to get her washing out first.
10:30—Rev. Dr. , our rector, has just called.
Good man, but his sermons are so tedious. Wants
to know when we are going to bring Gertie down
to have her baptized. Mart says not until July.
Afraid to have water put on Gertie’s head in cold
weather. Mart knows.
12 —Time for lunch. Girl says she can’t get our
washing out first and lunch at the same time.
12:30—Never was so hungry in my life, but told
the girl to get out the washing.
1 P. M.—Our girl is down in the back yard with
the clothes-line. Girl in the flat below is out with
her line. I wonder if that woman down stairs
th.inks that I am going to stand that sort of thing ?
I:ls—Girls are calling each other names in' the
back yard. Our girl has one end of our line tied to
the post. She has stretched it to tne other post.
Veni, vidi, viol. Sic semper tyrannis ! Home rule
in the top flat.
1:20 —The woman in the flat below has told her
girl to cut our line. I knew she was a vixen the
first time I saw her I mean the woman, not the
girl.
I:2s—The girl is cutting our line. Later—She
has cut it. Our girl has thrown the ashpan, ashes
and all over the back porch and ashes have settled
on the clothes of the woman in the flat below.
I:3o—There are footsteps oa the stairs. I hear
the rustle of the dress of the woman in the flat be
low. There is a knock on my door.
1:50 —She is gone. I guess she will not come
again. I put a flea in her ear which will keep her
out of the back yard.
2P. M.—Saw a messenger go into the flat below
with a hatbox. I wonder if that woman is going to
rig out in a new hat before I get mine. Our girl has
her clothes line out again and our washing is all
out.
2:30—1 wonder what kind of a hat she has—the
mean thing.
3—Our washing is still there.
3:30—1 wish I could see what sort of a bonnet she
has. But I am too proud to ask her forgiveness.
Beside, it wasn’t my fault.
4P. M.—What’s the use of keeping your enemy
down when you’ve got ’em down ? Magnanimity is
one of the ruling principles of our house. I am
going down. I can afford to do it, because our
washing is in.
SP. M.—l feel better. I went down stairs and
kissed her, and told her she could have the back
yard next Monday all to herself. That broke her
back —I mean her pride. Then she kissed me, and
we sobbed it out together. Then I saw her bonnet.
It is a jewel. It is very becoming to me.
6:3o—How quiet the house is. Gertie is asleep
and Mart is reading his papers. The little motto
over the door, “God Bless Our Home,” seems to be
living. My new bonnet is ordered, and will be here
in the morning. It will cost $6 more than hers.
Gertie has just woke up.— Chicago Herald.
SCINTILLATIONS.
Sleight of hand—refusing a marriage
offer.
Washingtonians are happy people.
They are all capitalists.
The small boy learning the alphabet
is very much like the postage stamp—he often gets
stuck on a letter.
A contemporary announces a new
story, entitled “The Need of Money.” That has
long been an old, old story with us.
He (after surveying the company)—
“Mixed lot! Hardly a gentleman in the room.”
She (innocently)—“ Not one, that lean see.”
“ Pa,” said Bobby, sleepily, “ can I
ask one more question, if 'tain’t foolish ?” “Ya-as,
one more.” “How much older is a ripe old age
than a green old age?”
There is no kitchen girl, however able,
But breaks the crockery ware ;
There is no butter placed upon the table
But has its lock of hair.
“I understand our friend Miss High
note is singing with considerable success in South
America.” “Is, eh? Glad to hear it.” “ That she
is singing ?” “ Yes—in South America.”
“Theair is full of expectant bride
grooms,” says an exchange. In order that this item
may be intelligent to our readers we will explain
that it is dated from the cyclone district.
“ Papa, if three wheels is a tricycle,
and two wheels is a bicycle, what is one wheel?”
“One wheel, my son ? Well, let me see. One wheel
must be a unicycle.’' “No, it ain’t, papa; it’s a
wheelborrow.”
One of the Lynn, (Mass.) primary
school toachers, a few days since, asked her schol
ars the question, “ What is dust?” One little fel
low answered, “Please, marm, it is dirt with the
water squeezed out.”
“ There is something in this little fel
low I like,” said an appreciative New Orleans visit
or eta young hopeful he was trotting on his knee.
“Say, now,” said the boy, “how did you know I
had swallowed.a nickel ?”
A few days since a gentleman saw a
little six-year-old feliow playing during school
hours about a quarter of a mile from home, and in
quired: “Johnny, why are you not at school?”
“ Mother is sick and I stayed home to take care of
her,” was the ready reply.
It was Freddy’s first experience with
soda water. Drinking his glass with perhaps undue
eagerness, he was aware of a tingling sensation in
his nostrils. “How do you like it ?” inquired his
mother, who had stood treat. Freddy thought a
moment, wrinkling his nose as he did so, and then
observed : “It tastes like your foots was asleep.”
“I understand you are offering some
remnants for sale,” said an Arkansas man to a dry
goods clerk. “Yes, sir, we have some remnants
which wa are offering very cheap.” “ Wai, I want
a remnant for my dog.” “ For your dog 1” “ Yes ;
yer see. some feller’s cut my dog’s tail off, and I
thought if yer had a remnant of a yaller bulldog I
mout find a piece at'd fit it.
OUR~TELEPHONE GISL.
BY F. E. HUDDLE.
“ Hello 1” she languidly said in reply to Hard
scrabble's call.
“ Hello I” he replied. “ Give me Mrs. Mans
field, please.”
“Hello. Mrs. Mansfield.”
“Hollo!”
“Did you get the groceries we sent out for
you this morning 1”
“Yes.”
“ All right. The delivery boy brought in a
lot of goods because we do not know who or
dered them. The name was lost oft the pack
age, and I was afraid they were yours, but its
all right now that I know they are not. Good
bye.”
“ Hello, Hardscrabble!”
“ Yes.”
“ There were only four good eggs in the two
dozen ordered, and that codfish was simply hor
rible. I—l believe it was dead.”
“ Oh, no, Mrs. Mansfield,” said the grocery
man, but the wicked girl switched on a chicken
hatchery where the private secretary was re
porting to the boss the condition of things, and
Mrs. Mansfield thought the grocer very frank
when the hatchery man said:
“ Why, the eggs were set only eleven days
ago in incubator No. 3, and not one of them has
ever been pipped yet; and as for the fish, it is
some I got in the slop-barrel back of Garbage
Commission house, and is good enough for your
purposes.”
Mrs. Mansfield now buys her groceries else
where. and Hardscrabble is losing business
right along.
“kltingT
MEN OF GENIUS AS GOURMANDS.
(From the Youth’s Companion.)
Scott was wont to attribute his extraordinary
capacity for continuous work to his good diges
tion, and the wholesome restraints of bis appetite
in his youth. “ I have as keen an appetite now
as any man,” he said. “ But I know when to
ston.”
The Chambers brothers, during the years ot
their first struggles in Edinburgh, lived upon
oatmeal, with a meal of meat once a week. To
that early discipline they were wont to attribute
their vigorous health in oldjage.
Mirabeau is stated to have been an enormous
feeder, eating as much at a meal as would
suffice three ordinary men. Talleyrand was
also a noted gourmand. Goethe and Napoleon '
ate large quantities of food, but cared little for
the quality. Prigoa Bisja ncK W notod tyr. his
appetite, which is insatiable; but his food is of
the simplest quality.
Many anecdotes are told of the gross delight
in eating of the two Dumas, father and son, one
of which is that the younger, being overtaken
by a storm, took refuge in a liotel, near Paris.
Twenty-four turkeys were hanging upon the
spit.
“ And all for a single traveler,” exclaimed the
host.
“ (Test mon pere !” exclaimed Alexander,
lie was right.
The fact is that the man of genius, instead of
being, as the young people generally suppose,
a creature of delicate organization, who can
dineon the perfume of a lily, usually requires
a large supply of substantial food. Intellectual
work demands full nutrition in the stomach to
repair the waste of brain tissue. Hence addi
tional caution is needed in young men who take
up such work for life, that the apparently un
natural craving for food and drink, which fol
lows severe exertion of the brain, shall be kept
within wholesome limits. There is great truth
for all time in the legend of Circe and the
swine,
THIS ELEGANT
The above Cut represents, and Is exact size of gentle
mans Watch. It is an 18 K gold plated, hunting case*
stem winding, stem setter; has second hand; celebrated!
American Anchor lever movement: compensation bal
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Catalogue. Victor Watch Co., No. 48 and 50 Mal
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M
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is presented to the public, without fear of contradictlo*
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of the Hair science has ever produced. It performs wiia*
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prevents the hair from falling out,
BEST OTt lH
THE HAIR ON BALD DEADS,
restoresit to its original color, makes it grow rapidly
will not stain the skin, contains not a particle of lead,
silver, sulphur or other deleterious drugs.
It Is a Natural Product of the Earth
containing the elements required by the hair to feed
upon. A few applications will show its restorative qual.
ities. Does not require months of continued use before
you can perceive any result. It is cooling, cleanly and
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PRICE SI.OO PER BOTTLE.
SOLI) BY ALL -DRUGGISTS.
VZINCHESTER'S
HYPOPHOSPHITE of LIME and SODA Is a matchless
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gists. WINCHESTER & CO., Chemists,
No. 163 William St., New York.
FRENCH REGULATING PILLS.
The World-renowned French Remedy I
The original and only genuine (non-lnjurious) regu
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your Druggist for U1 T) T) or inclose 4 cent»
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ly sealed, sent you by return mail. Ladies can addres®
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THE FRENCH SPECIFIC COMPANY,
St. Alban’s Place, Philadelphia, Pa.
LADIESL
The Queen Pure Rubber Specialty
Indispensable to Ladies. No Drugs, Safe and alwaye
reliable. Indorsed by prominent physicians, and worth
its weight in gold. Enclose 4 cents (stamps) for full par
ticulars, sample, etc. Sent you securely sealed. Ladies
can address us in sacred confidence. Mention this paper.
THE FRENCH SPECIFIC COMPANY,*
St. Alban’s Place, Philadelphia, Pa.
•« / z DR. YOUNG’S PATENT
Electric belts.—They
are a sure cure for nervous
debility, loss of manhood.
Uyouthful errors, weakness of
body and mind, weak and
Her v HEALTH vn lame back. etc. They are
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a ntl Manly Vigor in a few
days. Come and see them
be’ore you buy elsewhere, or
‘ x write for book (free) on Man-
R# E* MIV v ta°r. Dr- W. Young, 260
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I D AY»fAfll AD A strengthens, enlarges, and de-g
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New England Medical Institute, H
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sure Yourselfl
Dr. Bohannan's “Vegetable Curative” is warranted to
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Power,” and brings back the “Youthful Vigor” ofthose
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tices, in from two to aeven weeks' time. It has been
used by Dr. Bohannan in hia private practice for over
thirty years, was never known to fail in curingeven the
WORST CASES. It gives vitality and imparts energy
with wonderful effect to those middle aged men who
feel a weakness beyond their years. Young men suffer
ing from the consequences of that dreadfully destructive
habit of Self- Abuse can use this medicine with the as
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roots, herbs, etc., and are a.specific forthc above diseases.
B®”Price Five Dollars, sent with full directions, etc.,
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N. E. comer of Sixth and Biddle streets, St. Louis, Mo.
Established in 1887-
tnarDr. B.’s “Treatise on Special Diseases,” which
gives a clear delineation of the nature, symptoms, means
of cure, etc., of SYPHILIS, SEMINAL WEAKNESS,
Etc., Sent Free to any- address upon receipt of O”.e stamp
Diseases of Men Only
are auccessfully cured by
Dr. EZ. S’K.AKHB,
the well-known specialist.
ulcers, humors, blotches
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MERCURY or other POISONS; NERVOUS
DEBILITY, DOSS of MANHOOD, DOSS of
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NEW YORK BOTANIC MEDICAL INSTITUTE,
No. 178 Lexington Ave., cor. 31st St.,
New York city (formerly No. 5:3 Third avenue). Send
stamp for circular. Patients treated by mail. Office
hours, 9to 4,6 to 8; Sundays, 10 to 2. Mention this paper.
TENNYROYOiLLiT
“CHICHESTER’S ENGLISH.”
The Original and Only Genuine.
Safe and always Reliable. Beware of worthless Imitations.
Indispensable to LADIES. Ask your Druggist for
“Chichester’s English” and take no other, or inclose 4c.
(stamps) to us for particulars in letter by return mail.
NAME PAPER. Chichester Chemical Co.,
2818 Madison Square, Phllada., Pa.
Sold by Druggists everywhere. Ask for “Chiche»>
ter’s English” Pennyroyal Pills. Take no other.
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Improved Elastic
Truss. Worn night
and da Y- Positively
Lil ELASTIC Enn cures Rupture. Sent
IRa. 7T T> TT <! <? raDy mail everywhere.
Write for full descript
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NEW YORK ELASTIC
W TRUSS CO.,
. 744 Broadway. HtS.
7