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New York dispatch. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1863-1899, April 03, 1887, Image 1

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PIMBED BY A. J. WILLIAMSON’S SONS.
vol." "xmE^noT %s.
Euferefl at the Post Office at New Yoi%
N. Y., as Second Class Matter.
THE NENV YORKDISPATCH,
PUBLISHED AT
SO. 11 FRANKFORT STREET.
The NEW TORR DISPATCH? Jfi * journal of light, agree
able and sparkling Literature •and News. One page is de
voted to Masonic Matters, and oarellil attention is given
to Musicand the Drama.
The Dispatch 1b sold byaJl Ifwfi Agents of the city and
suburbs, at FIVE CENTS A ‘COPY.
TERMS FOR MAU. SUBSCRIBERS:
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JWO SV BSC MB® RS 400 “
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ACaress NEW YORK DISPATCH,
Post Ofii.ie Box No. 1 7? 5.
PLATS JUB PLAYERS.
BERNHARDT—BARRETT.
Sl&it tlYe ‘EJutor tile Mascxiline—
i\ VroficsaioHrtJ Altttine®' Its Ci’itics anti
Imymen-Where the Tickets Went-
Alfr o AVibcn Barrett’s New Hamlet
—1 he Now Song to an Old Air.
BY JOHN CARBOY.
Mow that •♦the” Bernhardt has passed from the
•metropolitan presence—for ft whilo, at least—it is
•curious, if not entertaining, to hear the
<*»ritiuisi!MK<rf''divora and sundry of the "profesb,”
riling her appearance, her method of dressing
and'the quality of her acting.
The si stern and brethren of the stage were pres
ent in largo numbers at the professional Thursday
•nvatinee given by her.
And there were a great many persons there in no
•wise connected with the theatrical guild, who aired
their ignobilrty in seats not sent to nor intended for
them.
I saw a tailor and his chief cutter in two of the
-orchestra chairs, who never, under any circum
stances, were known to visit a theatre unless it
was as deadheads.
There were three lawyers who never had a theatri
■on!client in the whole course of their rather limited
practice. An imposing barkeeper, accompanied by
a gorgeously decorated young lady, had places—and
so had a French barber. A pair of hotel keepers, a
•royal flush of restaurant proprietors—a three of a
-kind in a trio of railroad employees.
None.of these were invited, but they were there
•all the came.
Theee examples always get there when tho occa
•eion ie-that of
A iPROFESSIONAL MATINEE.
And they are loudor in the expression of approval ol
the performance than any of the rest of the audi
4>»ce—and invariably damn it after they get out.
There is -something of this weathercock style of
eritieism in order, with the professionals. Lord,
Low -ecme of them applauded Bernhardt in pas
sages, where not a soul—understanding her lan
guage—would by any possibility ever think of
applauding 1
Tlieyiiad seen the Davenport play the character
in the English version.
At a professional matinee she gave during her first
avason's performance of it, at the Fourteenth Street
Theatre, 1 heal'd several notable actors—regular
swells, doncher know—remark in substance : "She
«an give points to Bernhardt any day;** and one in
particular, an English professional, shot off his
vocal charge: ' I've seen ’em both, me boy; but
the Eavenport lays away ov.r the French woman.”
Last Thursday, this same Englishman turned up
a! the matinee, and gave it as his opinion that
•' there is but one Fedora, and her name is Bern
hard t.”
It reminds ma of the fellow whose doctor gave
him a dose of medicine which very speedily effected
a cure of his complaint. A few days lator the
patient, being congratulated upon the cure, said:
"Oh, damn tho doctor; he had nothing to do
with it. His medicine wasn t worth the bottle that
held it 1 '
• But while you were ill you were loud in praise
of his ability.”
” Well, I didn’t want to hurt his feelings then.
Now that he’s done with me, I’ve a right to say
what I think.”
These critical pro:esh didn't want to hurt
Sarah’s feelings while they were her guests.
When the matinee was over they had a right to
*' pitch in.”
Precisely, and they did it—a large number of
them.
Even the cultured and dist'ngulshed leading man
of Maude Granger’s company, Mr. Dave Murray, so
far overcame that modesty which is his, as it is the
thief characteristic of nil great men, as to declare:
*• Yes, I saw Bernhardt act. She makes me tired.”
“Great artiste !” rapturously exclaimed Manager
Mack, who insists that Bob Downing Forrest and
John McCullough were the joint authors of "Toe
Gladiator.” “ Groat artiste—if she could only act.”
A LUMP JOB ACTOR,
recently doing the walking gentleman ac t on the
Ilaritan canal tow-path, who sauntered into the
lobby between acts, exclaimed, "G-r-rand 1 Sub
timer’—but, ; fil eted with remorse and repentance
after the performance, ventilated hie opinion at
tho Morton House bar that "She’s a slouch. I’m
d-d if I can soo anything Jsj her acting to go crazy
over.” ' ' a
are lhe weathercock! of a professional
andinee. ’ /J',
Hct'C 18 an interchange of words I overheard in
Henry’s cafe, adjoining the Thirteenth street en
trance to the Star Theatre, between a pair of noble
Thespians:
“Well, Jim, d’ye go to the Bernhardt mat ?”
“Not much I Fact is, I gave my seats to my
landlady, and made myself solid for a month to
come, you bet 1 Did you go ? ’
••Nixey go, Cully. I put ’em where they’d do the
most good—Give ’em to my hatter—and stood him
up for this cady. See ? ’
I’d have given a dollar to have seen the crown
lining of that new cady, and thereby known the
name of tho hatter so that I could have published it
here.
Then this pair over their beer and a pick at the
free lunch unanimously agreed that " after all the
blowing—Sarah didn’t amount to much-better ac
tresses on our stage any day.”
“Were you at the Bernhardt matinee, professor ?”
This query was fired at Prof. Cromweii by Mr. Ed.
Gilmore.
“Not much. I get more of the French than I
want over at the sweet Violet house.”
Well, “ the” Bernhardt is gone—but it isn’t
likely sho will ba soon forgotten by the thousands
who night after night paid their quota of dollars for
the pleasure of witnessing her display
THE WONDERFUL AND VARIED RESOURCES OF
HER ART.
Beside, she is not the sort of a woman to permit
herself to bo forgotten. All circumstances are
made available by her to keep her memory green in
tho public mind. She has by her extraordinary
methods of social advertising, as well as by her
ability as an artiste, held place and admiration in
the estimate of the most fickle of playgoers—those
of Paris. Her personal eccentricities no less than
her art command constant comment there; com
ment which is repeated here as in London, and all
the cities of continental Europe.
When Her almost inanito faculty for the inven
tion of do vices—to have herself talked of in print,
fails in its purpose—it will be when Bernhardt
ceases to bo the great artiste she now is.
After Bernhardt comes another B. to make things
lively for an all too brief fortnight in tho star line.
NaUbly AU. Witeo# Parrett, who, during his in-
augural engagement hero last fall, gave us only
“Claudian” and the “triple bill.”
This time he will reveal to his audiences his ideal
of Hamlet and the spectacular and sensuous play of
“Clito.”
So, you see, we are to have no earthquake scenes,
no hint of the legend of eternal youth, no weird
and mystic fantasies to beguile the sense and to
lure the thought into the belief that what is not
nevertheless is.
Merely a new Hamlet —one which is a thing of
youth, if not of joy, forever.
And the aforesaid “Clito.”
Mr. Wilson Barrett has, if we accept hie statement,
often repeated to the guild of nosing repertorial
interviewers, firmly convinced himself by a close
study of the text, that Hamlet was a youth of
sweet but melancholy nineteen.
I remember having seen
JAMES E. MURDOCH
enact Hamlet. It was when that tragico-comedinn
was in his prime, yet then he was the oldest-visaged
Hamlet I had ever beheld or have seen since.
The most “ fat and scant of breath ” Hamlet that
ever completely filled my vision with the vastitude
of his adipose tissue', wae Mr. Cal. J. Smith, and
when I add that the Ghost was thinner and longer
than the afternoon ehadow of Bernhardt—one can
readily imagine how impressive was the contrast of
the pair.
There was a French blond© wig Hamlet, Fechter;
there is a German Hamlet, Dan Bandmann; an
ituiun Hamlet—which his name is Rossi, a darkey
Hamlet—and there is a ghastly rumor afloat that a
company of Chinese tragedians are next season to
give us a dose of tca-chest Hamlet,
I have escaped the infliction of Lawrence Barrett’s
Hamlet, but I did not, woo is me, avoid being parti
ceps criviinis as a spectator in witnessing about the
worst Hamlet ever :pitchforked at a confiding public,
that of Cemond Tearle.
Kyrle Bellow might discount Tearle in thii re
gard, but I doubt it.
That most excellent comedian, Mr. Wm. Wheatly,
who always entertained the idea that he was cut
out and basted up by tailor Nature to fit tragedy,
occasionally, tried Hamlet on—in Philadelphia. He
gave a rollicking Don Caesar de Bazan swing to the
melancholy Dane, which was as novel in his time
as it was refreshing.
Now Mr. Wilson Barrett is to add his quota to the
general results of a couple of centuries of study of
this apparently complex yet, after all, clearly de
fined character. He avoids, does Mr. Barrett, all the
old formulas; the funereal solemnity, and intro
spective mysticism which have marked Hamlet’s
progress from the first interview with the Ghost to
the foil scene with Laertes.
HAMLET A8 A YOUTH OF NINETEEN,
not a full grown misanthrope of thirty ! Well, well,
"Good, my masters, the world moves, and he that
does not move with it will have sorry pickings lor
his pains withah”
In speaking of that long line of Hamlets which
have, even in my time stalked in weird procession
in the glare of the footlights—l had almost forgot
ten one distinguished representative of the charac
ter—Mr. William O. Macready. His Hamlet was
considerably beyond the thirty. In fact, when I
saw him, his age—so far as his make up indi
cated—was a wrinkled doubt. It was almost as
spinster like and as stiffly formed as his Claude Mel
ncite.
So far as Mr. Barrett’s performance ol Hamlet is
concerned, it at least cannot be eaid to bo an imita
tion; it is original in its method.and therefore even
though his conception of the character may not be
accepted here in the metropolis, it will, through
the very novelty of its presentation, command re
spect and arouse critical comment.
It will give the local critics an opportunity to ex
hibit in cold type—and perhaps in more or less of
ambiguous phrase—what they know about the text
of Hamlet.
Heretofore, not a few of them have gone no
further in the business than to make an exposition
of what they did not know. Notably, they did this
when Charles Fechter came over and bewildered
them with his Dane in a blonde wig.'
ONE OF THE CRITICS
—I can imagine hie face flushed with indignation
and bear —cried out in tho very agony of his analysis
—“ now then let us have a red beaded Macbeth and
a bald headed lago.”
Another one in a fine burst of stub-pencil-rhetoric,
after alluding to the “sublime but eacreligious ”
audacity of those who had dared to fashion the text
of the " immortal bard,” to suit their own inclin
ing, exclaimed: “ In all ages the Innovator has been
the link connecting his believers with the lunatic
asylum.”
That’s the way they went for poor Fechter—great
an artist as be was.
And all because he fancied that Hamlet might
look well in yellow hair—and a blonde lace. There
are Danes who are blonde in hair and cuticle as
even an Oscar Wilde could desire as an example of
the “ too-too lovely.”
It is—next to "God bless the Duke of Argyle”—a
prerogative of Scotchmen to indulge in red hair.
Why, then, should we not have for a change a red
beaded, red-whiskered Macbeth, coming up to the
scratch with a red-headed Macduff—eh?
Or a bald-headed lago—or a screw-eyed Othello?
In the meantime, while holding the answer to
these important queries, let us give Mr. Wilson
Barret and his Hamlet a patient hearing, and, lay
ing aside the prejudices of our own inclining, give
his work an impartial as well as kindly considera
tion. He has in his profession'll career arisen, by
slow degrees and earnestness of purpose, from the
ranks; he* has been faithful to his task; he has
sought to ennoble the stage with worthy dramatic
examples, worthily enacted, and in this let him find
his recommendation sweet to tho sense of those
to whom, in this new land, he appeals for recogni
tion.
Vnprcvoked Assault.
HIS CHARACTER SAVES SEVERE
PUNISHMENT.
A one armed painter named James Mcßride was
charged with assaulting Bertha Richer, who keeps
a lager beer saloon at 403 West Twenty-ninth street.
She said he struck her with bis fist and, when down,
kicked her. He wanted a beer; he was intoxicated,
and she refused to give it.
Although the accused lived near by, Bertha said
she never saw him before,
“What was the cause of the difficulty that oc
curred there?” asked Mcßride’s counsel.
“The accused came into my place very much
under the influence of kiquor and asked for beer. I
said he was already tipsy, and refused it. He com
menced to be abusive, and I simply opened the door
and told him to get out, when he struck me.”
It appears that after the assault the woman was
so badly injured that she was laid up some time
and could not appear to prosecute, causing several
adjournments.
Mrs. Buchanan, living at 434 West Twenty-ninth
street, said she lived close by Bertha, and called on
her next morning after the assault to get the par
ticulars of the affair—not as a reporter, but as a
friend of the Mcßrides. Bertha said nothing about
being kicked, and was seen an hour after she said
she had been* kicked, and was not lame.
Prisoner said he lived within 200 feet of Bertha’s
saloon, but was never in it before this night, Feb
ruary 18. He dropped in to get a beer before going
home. She was sitting at the sewing machine, and
two children by her. When he asked for a beer, she
said, “No.” He said, “Why? This is a public
house.” She said, "Get out, or I’ll call my hus
band.” She got a beer mallet, and went to hit him,
and he resisted and pushed her back to the bar.
She screeched, and he walked out and home. Half
an hour after he was arrested. He never was ar
rested before, and worked every day.
James Mcßride, the Lather, said his son was a
good, steady, hard-working boy, and had always
Lome a good character. He had been a good boy to
him.
Mr, Sutherland, of Brooklyn, his employer, said
Mcßride had worked with him lor three years. Ho
bad known him twenty-five years, and he was al
ways quiet, and bore a good character.
Character raved!)ini.
The Court fined biin S2O.
NEW YORK. SUNDAY. APRIL 3, 1887.
EDITORIAL REHIMISCEHCES. ■
— T —- j
Daniel Webster—Edward Everett—Bob- (
ert C. Winthrop — Epes Sargent—
Lucius Manlius Sargent—Peele ■ 1
Dabney and Other Habitues ef
the Old Editorial Room of
the Boston Transcript.
Interesting Incidents in the Lives
of these Noted Msn.
The Singular Circumstance Under which
“ A Life on the Ocean Wave' 1
was Written.
While crossing the Battery a few days ago, view
ing the inspiriting ami reviving scene of activity
among the shipping of our beautiful harbor, and
calling to mind tho great improvements that have
been made at this opening to the great artery of
travel of our metropolis during the past quarter of
a century, an incident in its history recurred to my
memory. It was as follows: In the year 1848. the
writer was an apprentics in the office of the Boston
Evening Transcript, of which the poet, Epes Eargent,
was then the editor. The editorial room was often
visited by the most distinguished statesmen, poets
literary men, authors and critics of that time. Old
“Black Dau," ae the great Constitutional Ex
pounder—Daniel Webster —was then and always
since has been called, was a frequent visitor, and
was certainly one of the most genial of conversa
tional companions, blending high-toned statesman
ship with many a good joke, and always heartily
joining his sonorous laugh with others at the re
partees which always characterized the presence of
the great orator in those little social meetings.
Ex-Governor Robert C. Winthrop, one of tho most
eloquent of the sons of the old Bay State, was also
a frequent “droppor-in” to pay bis respects to the
poet-editor, as well as to the generous and liberal
minded proprietor, Henry W. Dutton. In fact, Mr.
Dutton, the principal owner ol the paper, was one
of the most popular and esteemed men in the city
of Bouton, dividing the honors in this respect with
the famous and genial Co). Charles Gordon Greene,
of the old Boston Post.
THE STATELY SENATOR
and statesman-orator, Edward Everett, was one of
the callers at the editorial room, when not in Wash
ington, nearly every day. Mr. Everett was a very
quiet man in his habits, but in a genial and warm
style of conversation, always charmed the coterie
of fello-w-statesmen whom he met in this sanctum.
Charles Sprague, the banker poet, and his son,
were frequent visitors, and filled the room with an
atmosphere of cultured geniality such as would
nowadays capture our most refined and intellectual
people. At times their sallies were a mixture of
wit and eesaya upon the national debt and the last
triumph of Booth the elder on the stage of the old
Tremont Theatre. The Spragues were the princi
pal ornaments of the old State street coterie of
bankers and sedate insurance presidents. There
were also occasional visits from the prolessors of
Harvard University, and there always was an atmo
sphere of high culture and superior intellectuality
pervading the old editorial sanctum of tho Evening
Transcript.
ONE PECULIARLY ELDERLY GENTLEMAN
from Harvard University, wae Professor Peele
Dabney, a celebrated antiquarian and author. He
always wore a shad-belly, long-tailed blue coat,
with a high-backed collar, and shining brass but
tons, with a big buff waistcoat, and even in those
days of old-style dress, was an object of remork as
he traversed State, Washington and Tremont
streets, on bis way to Boston Common. One of his
peculiarities was the killing of files and insects
wherever he might be. While talking with friends
in the editorial room he would suddenly extend bis
right band and pounce upon a wee fly on the win*
dow-pane that no one else could discern, and never
failed to catch one, which he always put in his wallet
He would do tho same on the street, and has been
known to frighten stately ladies by pouncing on a
mosquito or midget which be observed on their
shoulder.
Another daily visitor was the uncle of editor
Sargeant- a stalwart giant, standing over six feet
two inches in his stockings, with shoulders broad
as an Ajax or an Atlas—a face strong in its features
as were those of Miles Standish, whom he is said to
have resembled; who, when a student at Harvard,
thrashed a dozen sophomores a day on the campus
—who had whipped on State street, in the presence
of several hundred bankers and brokers, the seven
foot fighting man of the Society of Boston Truck,
men—and who was known, beside these physical at.
tributes, to be a warm-hearted and liberal bene
factor of the poor. His name is well known to the
old corps of the literati of this country as,
LUCIUS MANLIUS SARGENT.
He was the author of a fine volume on temper
ance, entitled, “My Mother’s Gold Ring,” which was
honored with a reprint in London, and widely cir
culated in all the then principal cities oi this
country.
Notwithstanding his advocacy of temperance, no
man in old Boston more heartily enjeyed the glori
ous o d Burgundy of those days thm did this au
thor of one of the beet and most convincing stories
depicting the terrible curse of the abuse of spirit
uous and vinous liquors. He was also the author
of the work on varions subjects, then of both local
and general public interest, written over the nom. de
plume of "The Sexton of the Old School,” It was
first printed in a series of articles, weekly, in tho
Transcript, and then issued in full iu book form,
comprising nearly a thousand pages, under the
title of “Dealings With the Lead.”
When articles were printed in the paper, the
writer frequently “set up” columns ol them, in
common with other printers. The giant author
would generally drop in after his noon lunch at the
Tremont House to look over the proofs, alter I had
read them, as he used many Latin quotations —
sometimes Spanish, and very often French. He
once got into a squabble with Charles Sumner over
a quotation from Confucius, and floored Sumner.
Ono day in his article as the " Sexton of tho Old
School,” he assailed some of the doings of tho mu
nicipal authorities anent a proposed outrage on hie
pet premenado—tho Boston Common. Ho laid the
lash on with unusual severity, aud the article was
set up, nnd put in the form in a hurry, without
having been read by myself as proof reader, in or
der to have it issued in the first edition, at two
o’clock.
In the article was the following quotation, in the
middle of a line, set in italic, as printed in that
edition: •* Old Temperancel Old Moses!” A few
minutes after the paper had been on the street this
giant came striding into the editorial room (which
was on the same floor as the composing room), his
reddish gray hair all afly, his hat in one hand, a
Transcript and his big malaca cane in the other—
his eyes and big a!J aflame y 3 gs. He
stamp d on tho floor like an enraged bull, held the
paper toward Epes Sargent, the little dapper nephew
editor—who never weighed over a hundred pounds,
and whp looked up at th® distended and posy cquq
tenanceofhis big uncle with feaf afid {fembling.
Ofd Lucius Manlius Sargent then exclaimed:
“Epesl Epesi Who was the accursed jackass in
your office that set up this horrible charivari on
me? Show him to me, and I will throw him off
Long Wharf!”
The editor replied that he would have to inquire
of old Pa Walton, the foreman. The printers had
heard every word, and there was then
A SUDDEN JUMP
of John Courtney, one of the apprentices, who pied
a stickful of matter, but who made all haste in
opening a back window, </ut of which, in his shirt
sleeves, bare-headed, with only one slipper on, be
jumped to tho roof of the old City Stables, thence
to the ground and fled to the quiet back-room of
John Leishman’s Beil-in-Hand tavern. The escape
was not made any too soon, for the old author bad
observed the boy start for the window, but he failed
to catch the culprit.
The old fellow raged around the printing office
and the editorial sanctum like a mad bison, but was
finally pacified by the good-natured proprietor, Mr.
Dutton. The quotation, to read as origin
ally appeared properly in the succeeding
editions, thus: “ 0 tempora 1 O Moresi” How
ever, the genial Col. Greene, of the Post, Dr. Brewer,
of the Atlas, Charles Hale, of the Advertiser, James
A. Dik, of the Journal, and George Lunt, of the
Courier, made the contretemps echo around the com
munity for months afterward. The " Sexton of the
Old School ” felt the rankle of that printer boy s
bull for years, and his comrades at the old Tremont
were olten placated by rare old Burgundy to pre
vent any reference to it in his august presence.
Many strange stories were in vogue of the great
prowess and pugilistic science of .the old man, and
when Tom Hyer returned from England, I saw him
shake hands with great cordiality in tho editorial
room with the big Bostonian, and then adjourn to
the Tremont House-
While Epes Sargent was editor of the Transcript,
the English balladist and songster, Dempster, made
bis first appearance in Boston. Among the many
songs be sang, was that written by Epes Sargent,
entitled:
“A LIFE ON THE OCEAN WAVE.”
It was always encored, and was very popular in
New England, being played by Bartlett’s old Brigade
Band, with Ned Kendall’s celebrated bugle leading;
by Gilmore’s aud all the other brass bands, beside
being sung in all tho schools. While Dempster was
in Boston bo usually paid a daily visit to Editor Sar
gent, ftnd was a most agreeable and sprightly gen
tleman. After ono of these visits, Mr. Sargent sat
down beside the writer, and related the following
incident:
"When I was on a visit to New York, some time
age, I stopped at the Astor House. I there met
Gottschalk, the great pianist and composer, with
xyhofu I had long been on friendly terms. One af
ternoon wo took a walk down Broadway, stopping
to take a look in at old Trinity and its churchyard.
1 heuert wo wended our way leisurely to the Battery,
where wo sat on an old log, apjl enjoyed the scenery
anil snirqjtntanL
of New York's beautiful bay. Several fine ships,
under full sail, were noticed, and the scene inspired
the muse within me. I took out my pencil, and
jotted down the song ol * A Life on the Ocean
Wave.’ I banded it to Gottschalk, who read it,
then hummed it o*ver, then grow enthusiastic over
what he termed the sentiment in its lines, and sug
gested that we return to the botol. This we did,
and we located in what Mr. Stetson called • the
Daniel Webster parlor.’ There was a piano in the
parlor, and the composer immediately sat down to
it, and began to hum the notes that he thought
would bo appropriate for the song. Tijis he did for
some time, when he at lust exclaimed:
“Ah!” now 1 have it,” and he rolled out from
the instrument the notes to which it has been sung
all these years. Gottschalk then stood up, and.
laying paper on the piano, wrote the music which
has made the impromptu production famous all
over the world. It was subsequently printed, and
the musical world and the general public know its
future history.
Mr. Sargent informed the writer that when he
wrote that song on the Battery in New York he had
never been at sea two miles, but had read much of
the pleasures of a life on shipboard, and had enjoyed
several excursions in Boston harbor on Colonel Win
chester’s famous yacht, the “Northern Light.”
Both the author and the composer are in theother
world, but both have contributed much to the cul
ture and refinement of humanity. That is the his
tory of the celebrated song, which has not hereto
fore been made public.
It may be interesting to add that the eld editorial
room was afterward occupied by that prince of
editors, who broke away from the old-fashioned
routine of a past age, and made the favorite tea
table paper of the Hub more entertaining and
newsy than ever before.
DANIEL N. HASKELL,
a wide-awake and well-known citizen,was called to
succeed Mr. Sargent,and he was also greeted with the
friendship of tho above-mentioned celebrated men.
He also added to the list of contributors to its eoi
umns such writers as the brilliant Rev. Thomas
Starr King, whose word-painting of the magnifi
cence of the scenery of the White Mountains still
stands unrivalled. James T. Fields, the poet, who
once started for Europe and returned after sailing
to Halifax, too seasick to continue the voyage,
whereat he received the questionable appellative In
literary circles of the •• Old Man of the Sea,” much
to his mental discomfort and high-toned sensitive
ness. After several years service Mr. Haskell re
tired, and has since been gathered to his fathers.
He was followed by Mr. Wm. A. Hovey, who cele
brated his accession to the editorial chair by in
creasing the nows and telegraphic facilities of the
paper, and has retired to other business. The pa
per has been removed from its old historic build
ing on Congress street, known as the Old Quaker
Church, and is now in more modern quarters
on Washington and Mill streets, under the protect
ing eyes of the steeple of the Old South Church.
The old firm of Dutton & Wentworth has passed
away, and the heirs are represented by the veteran
William Durant, who has been its cashier over fifty
years. The present editor is Mr. Edward Clement,
a fine writer and an experienced newsman. He
once, however, had to perform a hard job. ae the
reporter for the New York World, when Manton
Marble was its proprietor. Clement was sent to
Boston to telegraph and write douni Patrick Sarsfield
Gilmore’s first grand Peace Jubilee. It was a tough
task for a Boston boy to do, but he was faithful to
his instructions, as be is always faithful in all
things; but I believe he resigned his job in a few
days. The editorial position now filled by him has
reflected credit upon him and the old pet evening
paper of Boston; and he is highly esteemed by all
the culture and wealth of the modern Athens.
Thus much for the reminiscences of an editorial
room that is held in warm remembrance by the
writer, who has been led to print ’the above by a
casual walk over the breezy paths of the New York
Battery.
A Fresh Officer.
HE CLUBS A PEACEMAKER.
Thomas Whalen was charged with assaulting
Officer.McCann, of tho Second Precinct. The officer
said Tom tripped him up, and when he arrested
him for disorderly conduct, he was kicked in the
stomach. This occurred on ths dock. When the
prisoner got hie arm around his neck he had to use
the club.
“ How did you come to arrest him ?” asked the
Court.
"There was a fight on the pier, and he acted as
second for ono of them.”
“Now do try and tell the truth for once, under
oath, wasn’t he making peace and parting them ?”
said counsel.
“No, he was acting as second; be was saying,
• give it to him, on the eye.’ ”
“ You clubbed him pretty severely ?”
“ I bad to do it. It was necessary or I would have
gone over the dock in the river. This happened
Saturday night. Twenty minutes after I arrested
him in Morris street. He shoved me away and said
don’t interfere with it.”
“ He didn’t take any of your buttons off?”
“No* I don’t know him. Have been thirteen
weeks on that post. The fellow has been arrested
before.” ,
The last assertion of the officer the Court ordered
to be stricken out. Officers should know that evi
dence of bad character is never allowed until after
conviction, or until the accused himself brings it in
as an issue.
Tom's counsel, however, asked him how he knew
the accused had been arrested. He didn’t know,
but the Ward men told him.
Tom took the stand, and said he was a truckman.
He had been working on the docks ten years and
never was arrested except for swimming.
“ How did you come to get into this difficulty ?”
asked his counsel.
“Two friends of mine were on the dock fighting,
and I tried to separate them. I stooped down to
pull them apart, when this officer came up and
“tapped” me on the head with hie stick. I then
went across the street to wash the blood off my
head aud face, when he came over and arrested
me.”
“Did you do anything to blip ?” ; asked Justice
Kilbretb.
•• No, sir, nothing.”
“ Not after he hit you ? ’
“No, after I saw who it was.”
“Had you been drinking?”
" No.”
Justice Gorman asked him who be. worked for.
He answered. He was asked how much time a
week he averaged for the last year. About three
days and made sl2.
“The officer says yon have not been at work in
two years,” said Justice Gorman.
••I have been at work, every week steady,” re.
plied the accus d.
Tom Whalen, the father, was sworn. He was
somewhat deaf, and his answers suited himself.
" This is your son ?” said counsel.
"How hong? I’ve been thirty-six years in the
country and I alleys voted the straight Tflfflmany
ticket,” .<
u Waft yvfiF suf? ever arrested ?”
“I never was inside a jail in my life an' neither
was Tom. He has the good will of all his
naybors.”
is Tom’s character ?”
“Nobody can say a word agin my character, an’
Tom ’ll never disgrace it.”
“What do yon do for a living ?”
“ Tom’s my only support, an’ a better boy nlver
put his fist in the sleeve o’ a coat,” said the old
man.
“Discharged,” said the court.
How Apes ©atch Crabs.
A BI I OF STRATEGY INVOLVING
PERSONAL DISCOMFORT.
(From the New Orleans Picayune.)
There are on the coast of Java a peculiar long
tailed ape and a sand crab that grows to extraordi
nary size and possesses great strength in its claws.
The apes are particularly fond of these crabs, which
are very shy and wonderfully quick in their move
ments. The crabs live in deep holes in the sand,
but spend much of their time on the outside of
their holes, where they run and hop about. They
range in size from that of a silver dollar to that of
our edible crabs. Their claws are not large, but
havo a grip that is vise-like. The apes make daily
raids on the haunts of the crabs, and occasionally
succeed—by creeping stealthily to within a few feet
of a group of them—in capturing one.
Usually, however, the crabs are so wary that while
the ape is in the air during his spring toward them
they have separated and disappeared into the
ground. The ape,.finding himself too slow to make
a capture, then resorts to a bit of strategy to secure
a dinner. His mode of final capture inflicts upon
him a pang of physical suffering which is frequently
more than he can bear; but his love for the crab as
a morsel of food is so strong that he never hesitates
to accept the personal discomfort which its capture
involves, and usually bears it with a stocism which
might inspire admiratlofi if it were not for its
comical side. When the ape finds that he is foiled
in his effort to capture a crab by springing at a
group, he backs himself up to a hole into which
one has disappeared. Sitting down, he thrusts his
long tail in the hole.
The crab, to punish such unwonted intrusion,
seizes the end of the tail the moment it approaches
near enough* Any one who has been fortunate
enough to hide himself iu tne bushes unobserved
by the ape making the raid, will have a hard time
to restrain his laughter when the critical moment
of contact between the crab's claw and the ape’s
tail is reached. There is a comical look of suspense
on the ape’s face as he thrusts his tail into the hole.
When the crab closes on the tail, the look of sus
pense departs. The apo gives an involuntary start
and then settles on his haunches, while he closes
his teeth together with a determined air, and event
ually spring forward, out comes the tail from the
hole, with the crab dangling to it, and the apo is
soon proceeding with bis meal.
THE WIDOW JUACUE.
The Crime of the Rue
Lixplnce.
How the Assassin Entered the
Dwelling.
The Men on the Stairs With a
Trunk.
An Old Detective’s Scheme to
Discover a Murder.
The Widow Vuacbe lived on the Rue Laplace, near
the Place du Pantheon, Paris. The few neighbors
knew little of her. She had suddenly appeared
among them, and seemed to be in comfortable cir
cumstances. She Was supposed to be about filty
years old or perhaps more, of the medium hight,
inclined to be stout, and of dark complexion
with very gray hair. Bhe seldom went out by day
light and made no acquaintances. It was a matter
of popular knowledge that she came between dusk
of January 3, and dawn of January 4, 1875. She
received no letters and no one ever Inquired for
her. After dark she had been seen to leave the
house where she occupied apartments with a basket
and soon return, as was supposed, with supplies for
domsetlc use. Marie Gobert, the landlady, said
she paid her double the price of any other tenant,
and that she had purchased a number of articles of
elegant furniture for the three rooms which she
rented.
“ More than that,” said Marie to her neighbors,
“ I have seen her counting gold and once I saw her
with a pocket-book full ol bills. About once a week,
she goes out about eight o’clock at night and does
not return before midnight. She is a lady, that is
certain, and plays the piano and does embroidery,
and has lots of beautifully bound books which she
reads. She writes, too, every day, and then locks
■what fffie has written in a desk and carries the key
in her pocket.”
Madame Gobert did not say how ahe had received
tho chief part of her information, for that would
have divulged an important secret of her own. She
was generally supposed to be a widow, but the
truth wae that, when she came to her present abode
twelve years before, her husband, Jules, had just
been sentenced to spend twenty-five years in prison,
for be was a notoriously expert and successful thief
and forger, and had set the law at defiance in many
ways. Just before the widow Vuache took up her
abode in tho bouse, Jules escaped from prison and
found his way to Paris, and was in close hiding in
his wife s dwelling, occupying with her the rooms
immediately over Madame Vuache. In the floor ol
one of these rooms was a trap, which had been made
when tne chandelier was fixed in the room below.
By raising the trap, a view could be had of what
was going on below through a break in the imper
fect molding of the ornament that decorated the
ceiling whore the chandelier was attached to it»
A TRUNK FOR MADAMS VUACHE.
About eight o’clock on an evening in October,
1875, Madame Vauche quilted her abode. An hour
later a vehicle was driven to the door and the bell
wae rung. Madame Gobert answered the sum
mons. •
“ A trunk for Madame Vuache,” said a man stand
ing at the foot of the few steps which led to the
door.
" Madame Vuache is not ip,” was the reply.
“I know that, for she has sent the trunk here
with directions that you allow us to put it in her
room,” the man said.
“ Well, that is all right, then,” Madame Gobert
eaid: “Bring it in.”
Thereupon two men brought in a large, heavy
trunk, which with some difficulty they carried up
stairs. Jules Gobert, as his habit was when a ring
came to the door, was at the top of thesecond flight
of staire, watching and listening. The man who
held the lower end of the trunk slipped and his
slouched hat fell off. Madame Gobert opened the
door of the widow Vuache'a parlor with a master
key, and the men carried in the trunk, placing it
against the wall. Then they quitted tho house.
About midnight Madame Vuache returned home.
Gobert and his wife beard her step on the stair and
her key in the door of her parlor. Then they closed
their door and went to bed iu the rear room.
A few seconds later, they heard a noise which
they supposed wae caused by the widow moving
the heavy trunk. A fow minutes later, they heard
her door open and Gobert arose and peered over the
bannisters. In the dim light, he saw a female figure
go down stairs and quit the house.
“ The widow has gone out again,” he said to hie
wife; “ what can be the matter ?”
“It is none of our business, anyway,” replied
Madame Gobert; “let us go to sleep.”
MURDER 1
Next morning no sound was beard in the widow’s
apartment. Alter breakfast, madame went to the
door and knocked. There was no reply. Then she
tried the door and found it open. Advancing into
the room, she saw a sight which made her blood
run cold.
Madame Vuache was lying on the floor, with her
face in a pool of blood. Madame Gobert, restrain
ing herself as well as she could, informed her hus
band, who crept down stairs cautiously and soon
satisfied himself that the widow was dead and cold.
He was In a dreadful state.
“ The police will come and I shall be discovered,”
he said, in a perfect agony of fear. “ What shall I
do?”
After due deliberation, he did the only thing he
could do. Disguising himself as best he could, he
quitted the house, and sought refuge in a den kept
by a Madame Bouse, at Rue Bt. Jacques. Then
Madame Gobert notified tho police of the discovery
•he had made. The authorities were not slow in
concluding that a murder had been committed, but
they were at a loss to find a clew to the perpetrator
of it.
Madame Gobert was closely questioned, and
among other things disclosed the fact that tho pre
vious night, during the Widow Vuacbe’s absence,
two men had brought a large trunk and deposited it
in her room. The trunk was examined. There was
nothing in it, and there was nothing that could be
found likely to have come out of it. It bad been
bound around with a strong leathern strap, which,
examination showed, bad been <?u| dean in two. A
close scrutiny of the trunk revealed a slit in one
side, three inches long, and the sixteenth of an inch
wide.
A THEORY.
Davouet, the detective, was quick at a theory,
and the general impression was that he was right.
“ said he. was brought into the
room in the trunk. Through the slit iu the side he
passed the blade of a knife, and severed the strap.
Then the lid was free and he got out. When
Madame Vuache arrived, he wae in hiding. The
first fair chance be had, he stabbed her from behind
in the neck, and one tell dead. Then he assumed
some of her clothes and quitted the house.
What was the motive?
No one knew who the murdered lady wae. There
was nothing to give any clew. Her desk bad been
broken open and rifled, and her pockets had been
emptied. Her body was removed to the Morgue
and lay there lor identification, but no one recog
nized the remains. No suspicion rested upon any
one in the dwelling. The authorities were perfectly
satisfied that Davoust’s theory was correct.
It is uot necessary to this narrative to go into all
the details of the various plans adopted to find
some explanation of the crime. It is enough to say
that it was soon included among those undiscov
ered mysteries with which the rolls of crime in
Paris are filled.
AN OFFER.
A month passed away, and Jules Gobert had re
turned to his wife’s dwelling, and was still in se
clusion. He and his wife bad many long conver
sations together in secret, and one day Jules sat
down and wrote a letter. It was addressed to the
Chief of Police, and ran thus:
"An escaped convict can give important informa
tion respecting a recent crime. He has committed
no crime since his escape from prison, and if par*
don is assured he will disclose all he knows. A par
agraph in the Moniteur, saying that the terms are
accepted, will induce the writer to c-11 at the quar
ters of the Chief of Police, and tell what he knows.
“Pierre,”
This letter was put in an envelope, addressed to
the Chief of Police, and posted by Madame Gobert.
Two days later a paragraph appeared in the Moni
teur in these words:
“We are authorized to say that if ‘Pierre’will
communicate information respecting a recent crimo,
in person, to the Chief of Police, and it prove of
importance, he will enjoy that immunity from pun
ishment which he desires.”
This hardly satisfied Jules Gobert. Still, he rea
soned that bis chances were great, and that anyhow
he couldn’t live much longer in lorced seclusion,
which was already as bad as imprisonment. There
fore he went to the Chief of Police, and told what
he knew.
JULES GOBERT’S STORY.
This is what he knew: As already stated, when
the men were bringing in the trunk, Jules was
watching them from the landing above. When the
slouch hat ol one of them fell off, as narrated, Jules
had a full view of the man s face, and at once iden
tilled him as Jean Carnac, a notorious criminal, who
had been several times in prison, and was now the
owner of alow boozing den in the purlieus of the
Faubourg St. Antoine.
Jules had known the man for many years, ftnd,
on preparing to escape from prison, had been in
formed by a recently arrived convict where Carnac
was to be found, and had received a password which
would insure him a welcome apd temporary aid
OFFICE, NO. II FRANKFORT BT.
from him. On reaching Paris, Jules Gobert, whose
alias was Bezard, found.out Carnac and remained
for some days under his care, communicating
meanwhile, with a sister, who told him the resi
dence of bis wife.
All these facts Jules communicated to tho chief
without reserve. There had recently come from
Berlin, where he had long been employed on tho
police force, a Paris detective named Couvllle.
Though not now actively employed, he was ready
to lend auy aid he could to the authorities. To him
Jules also told his story.
“Now.” said the chief, “it will be needful for
you, Jules, to be detained in custody, and I will
give you in charge of an officer; but your liberty
•ball not be too much curtailed.”
THE PASSWORD.
To this Jules readily agreed. Couville had re
cently arrested in Berlin, a well known Paris thief
named Moolay. Conville determined to disguise
himself and pass as an escaped convict from Ger
many, in which character he was to gain a footing
with Carnac and his fraternity. Thoroughly dis
guised, he made bis way by night to Carnac** den,
and mentioned the name of the thief he had arrested
in Germany. Carnac admitted that he knew him
well.
"Then,” said Couville, "* we eat and drink, but
we never sleep.’ ”
These formed the password which Jules had
used, and th y immediately gained Couville free
admission to Carnac’s fraternity. Here he soon
became very popular, and thoroughly ingratiated
himself with Carnac. He never quitted the place
except at night, when be went forth, as he said, to
visit a female friend. He did indeed meet a woman,
but she was a female detective to whom be reported
progress. Through her he furnished the authori
ties with a complete diagram of Carnac’s premises,
and ultimately assured them that he had acquired
a knowledge of ail tho persons implicated in the
murder of Madame Vuacbe. Carnac had, in his
moments of carousal, communicated to him the
secret and pointed out the men who had assisted
him with the trunk and also the man who had been
concealed inside aud perpetrated the murder. He
had gone further and given him the name of the
person who instigated the crime and paid for the
deed of blood.
One night Couville went out as usual to soe his
lady friend. During hie absence the police, in plain
clothes, well armed, quietly entered Carnac’s place
and arrested every man there to the number of
■even. Almost at the same time. Monsieur Charles
Blanel, a rich merchant residing on the Boulevard
de Neuilly, was also arrested.
Carnac and Thuin were charged with having con
veyed the trunk to the house, and Gratmont with
having been concealed in the trunk and committing
the murder. Charles Blanet was charged with hav
ing instigated and paid for the crime.
SOLVING THE MYSTERY.
In 1880, August Nourry absconded from Besan
con, taking with him some thirty thousand francs
belonging to his wife. He was much younger than
she, and had been married to her only a lew years.
She never took any proceedings against him, for
the sake of their only child. For many years she
never heard of her husband. Finally, toward the
close of 1874, she was informed by a nephew that he
bad seen a gentleman in Paris closely resembling
her husband, and that he was married to tho
daughter of a wealthy man, and went by the name
of Blanet.
Madame Nourry, assuming the maiden name of
her mother, Vuache, came to Paris, to ascertain
whether the man was her husband. She took up
her abode with Madame Gobert, but never commu
nicated with her nephew, who was ignorant of her
presence in the city. Bhe ascertained that every
Wednesday night Monsieur Blanet and his wife at
tended the opera, and thither she went, and, after
many nights spent in vain searching for the miss
ing husband in the audience, she at last discovered
him, as she believed.
Every Wednesday night ahe went to the onera,
and finally was observed by Blanet, on account of
the intensity with which she fixed her gaze upon
him. He grew alarmed, for he recognized the wife
he had deserted, and did not know how soon she
might appear to confront him and degrade him in
the eyes of the new wife, whom he passionately
loved,.and their children.
A COMPACT.
One night, sending his wife home from the op
era, he watched for his former wife, and followed
her warily to the Rue Laplace. Then ht began to
revolve in his mind a scheme by which to rid him
self of her forever. As he was crossing the Pont
Notre Dame, lost in thought, two men confronted
him and made a grab at him.
“Stop 1” he exclaimed; "you are the very men I
want. If you wish for money, I will give yon a job
that will pay you far better than taking my purse
and watch.”
The men hesitated. But Blanet didn’t.
“Here,” he said, “I will arrange matters with
you in a few minutes. First, take my purse, but
give me enough to pay for a cab. Be here to-mor
row night at eleven, and I will give you twice as
mueh as is in my purse, and tell you what I want
you to do.”
“It is no trick you are playing upon us?” said
one of them.
“Indeed it is not,” was the reply. “See, here’s
the patrol. If I wanted, I could call thorn in au in
stant.”
The two men showed signs of fear.
“ Come along; you’re my friends,” said Blanet.
With that he took an arm of each and walked to
ward the patrol.
“I know them,” said Blanet; “my business is
right here and I know all of them.”
As the patrol drew near, Blanet said: “Good
night. Jean; good night, Michel.”
“Good night. Monsieur Blanet.” each respond
ed, gazing curiously nevertheless at the gentleman’s
strange companions.
"Now,” said Blanet “be here at eleven to-mor.
row night. Make yourselves look decent, and I
will tell you what I want.”
RETRIBUTION.
Next night the the meeting took place. The mon
were told by Blanet what |he expected them to do.
They were to follow Madame Vauche from the
opera to her home, ascertain where aud with whom
she lived, and what name she went by. All this
they did. Next Blanet suggested the trunk
scheme and promised them a handsome sum for
the deed of blood which they undertook. These
men were Carnac and Thuin, and Grobmont was
taken into the job as the most desperate and cold
blooded of the gang.
The case was clearly proven against all the par
ties implicated, and the revelations on the trial
fully justified tho theory formed by Davoust, The
four conspirators were sentenced for life, Blanet in
addition being mulcted in a fine of 25,000 francs.
A Slight in the Tree Tops.
THRILLING INCIDENT ON THE
UPPER MISSOURI.
F. B. Thayer, a Pullman car conductor on the
Northern Pacific road, gives the following graphic
account of a perilous trip of a party of twelve men
across the river at Bismarck, on Thursday night,
during the ice gorge there. His orders were im
perative to cross the river, and he managed to hire
five men to take him and six passengers across in a
yawl. The flood was at its hight, the Missouri rver
was full of floating ice, and it seemed almost impos
sible for a boat to live in the angry torrent. A
steamer from Bismarck had made a trip early in the
day, landing up stream a distance of four miles
from Mandan. Mr. Thayer’s story is as follows-.r
“ We left the landing about five o'clock. It looked
as though we would make the trip to Bismarck be
fore dark, as the current was running so swiftly
that it was only necessary to steer the boat and
keep her head down stream. Suddenly and without
warning a squall struck us, the boat almost upset,
so violent was the shock, and we shipped a sea that
completely filled the bottom of our bark and gave
us a ducking. The wind seemed to have started
the ice, and we were continually being caught in
eddies that would turn the boat around and make
it unmanageable, even with four strong men at tho
oars. Once we collided with an ice floe with such
force that it seemed as if we should go to the bot
tom; a miracle must have been performed to save
us. We gradually worked the boat into the tree
tops that were a lew feet above water and secured
anchorage, and then discussed the situation. By
this time it was quite dark.
“We had the choice of remaining where we were
all night or venturing out into the main channel
and taking chances of reaching our destination.
We naturally chose the former course. The wind
had increased in violence, and soon after dark it
began to rain, then hail, and finally snow. Our
clothing was wet through and finally froze stiff.
One of the party had got his feet wet and changed
his stockings. But bis shoes froze and he was so
benumbed that be could not get them on again.
He then took a coat from his satchel, cut the sleeves
out, and wrapped his feet in the sleeves. We stood
up in the boat, stamped, swung our arms to keep
our blood in circulation, and resorted to every form
of exercise that our cramped position would permit.
One of the party finally gave up and declared he
did not care if he did freeze to death, and sank
down in the boat. I aroused him by a smart slap
in the face that angered him. and he got up and
wanted to fight.
•• The same thing occurred several times during
that awful night, and I am satisfied that we should
all have perished but for such measures. The roar
ing of the river and the cracking of tho ice were
simply awful. At times we could not make ourselves
heard, and to add to our discomfiture we could hear
quite’ near us the screams of two mountain lions,
probably in some tree top, imprisoned by the flood.
At last the long weary hours wore away, and a faint
gleam of light appeared in the eastern sky, and as
it grew lighter, the tide gradually went down and
the muddy waves diminished in size. There was
less ice in the river, too, and with benumbed hands
wo unfastened our moorings and drifted with tho
flood down the river, and finally managed to get
ashore.” t
The mania for securing Washington
relics is ud confined to the East; Mr. Gunther,
of this city, has a superb collection of them, the
most interesting and valuable being a quart of
merries Iron) the tree which George < ut down with
I lus little b'af
PRICE FIVE CENTS.
IN DAYS TO COME.
BY J. N. MATHEWS.
In days to como, when you and I
Wax faint and frail, and heartfires die,
And tinkling rhymes no more obey
The wooing lips of yesterday.
Bow slowly will the hours go by !.
When wo have drained our song-cups dry.
My comrade, shall we Bit and sigh.
Childlike, o’er joys too Sweet to stay
In dayß to come?
Nay ! nay ! we’ll give old time the He,
And, thatched with three score years we’ll try
A rondeau or a roundelay
As long as any lute string may
To our light touches make reply
in days to come.
Bio.
BEWITCHING IDlilllE.
BY A NEW AUTHOR.
CHAPTER XXI.
“ I AM GOING TO BE MARRIED IN HIRED WEEKS.”
But Mr. Seymour did not trouble hie head
about Mr. Leverick; he bad somethin;; far more
serious to think of. The information which
Mr. Wheeler had given him had struck him to
the very centre. If true, there was a chance
that he might even yet lose Lorrie. Lose Lor
rie ! The thought made his heart almost stand
still. Lose her after all he had dared and
done ! Smiling placidly, he walked along west
ward, his hand clenched upon his cane, and his
teeth ground together.
There was no time to be wasted. IHhis news
was true, Lorrie must be made his wife at onee.
But how 1 All the way along the Strand and
up Pall Mall he revolved this question in his
acute brain, and it was not until be stood op
posite bis father’s club that an idea came in
answer.
He went up the steps in his light and cat-like
fashion, and learning that Mr. Melford, senior,
was in the smoking-room, entered that apart
ment
Mr. Mollord was seated before a glass of
whisky and water, and smoking a largo cigar,
which he worked into the corner of his mouth
to grunt a greeting to his only son.
•' HalloI” he said; “ what’s the matter ?”—for
Mr. Seymour was not in the habit of paying hie
father visits at his club unless he wanted some
thing.
“ Don’t let mo disturb yon,” said Seymour,
dutifully. “ I wanted to speak to you about
the French contract ”
Mr. Melford had just procured a contract lor
making a railroad in the south of France, which
nobody wanted.
“ Well, what about it?” demanded hie father,
suspiciously.
" Don’t you think some one had better go and
look after that business ?” said Mr. Seymour,
pleasantly.
Mr. Melford eyed him keenly.
“ Somebody go to Fi ance—of course. I’m go
ing to send my man of business.”
“Don’t you think that some one more closely
connected and interested ought to go?” asked
Mr. Seymour.
The old mau stared at him.
“ What do you mean ? Do you moan me ?”
“ No, I meant myself,” replied Seymour.
Mr. Melford's eyes grew saucer-like, and ho
grinned.
“ What do you want to go to the eeutb of
France for ?” he said. “Why, 1 thought; you
were head over ears in love with Miss Dolores,
and couldn’t leave her for more than a couple
of days !”
“Nor can I," said Seymour, blandly; "I in
tend talking her-with me, sir.”
The old man stared still harder.
“ Take her with you 1 Do you mean that you
want to marry her right off?”
“That is what I mean and want,” said Sey
mour, looking round warningly, for his father’!
voice had been rather loud, and two or three
men had glanced up from their newspapers cu
riously.
Mr. Melford scratched his eyebrows and at
tacked bis whisky and water.
“ What’s your reason for this suddenness ?”
he demanded. “ Why can’t you wait the—the
proper time ? Why, it’s only yesterday, io to
speak, that you got engaged. Are you afraid
she’ll get tired of you, Seymour?”
Mr. Seymour’s smile grew rather unpleasant
to look at; but still it was a smile.
“ Not exactly, sir; I have my reasons, but I
won’t weary you with them. I am not alway#
wrong in what I do, sir,” be added, signifi
cantly.
The old man colored and nodded.
“No, no—l’ll do you that justice. You man
aged that affair between Diana and young Ken
dale properly enough. But this tear-away bus
iness puzzles me. Why do you do it ?”
Mr. Seymour s smile grew slightly contempt
uous.
“ Call it a whim if you like, sir.” he said. “At
any rate yon can trust me to look alter the
French business. lam willing to go over there
in three weeks. I shall be more useful to you
than your man, I think,”— modestly.
Mr. Melford nodded.
“ Have your own way,” he said, grn'liy. “ I
don’t pretend to know your motives, but you
seem to be playing a strange game. One day
you fall in love with a parson’s daughter--you
that might have married as high as you liked;
then you choose to throw your money away on
the Wheal Rose shares, and now you want to
get married, all in five minutes 1 Well, have
your way. You want some money, I suppose ?
All right! Anything else ?”
Mr. Seymour rose and fetched some writing
materials from a neighboring table and pul
them down in front of his respected parent.
“Just write me a short note saying that it is
imperatively necessary that I should go to
France, will you ? Put it as strongly as you
like; you can’t put it too strongly.”
Mr. Mellord drew the paper toward him and
wrote the note.
“There you are,” he said, pushing it toward
him. “You’re a strange fellow, Seymour; I
suppose you couldn’t go straight if you tried.”
Mr. Seymour laughed softly as he put the
letter in his pocket-book.
“I have away of my own of doing things,
sir,” he said, pleasantly.
“ Yes, and a dused mysterious way 1” retort
ed Mr. Melford. “Will you have some wine
cigar—anything?”
“ Nothing, thanks. I never drink anything in
the morning,” and with a respectful and even
affectionate nod he went out, and in an hour’s
time he was m the train bound lor Carshal.
They are Bitting round the fire in the rectory
drawing-room that evening when he is announc
ed, and Lorrie, who has been staring at an open
leaf of the last new novel without turning it for
the last half-hour, starts and changes color.
■■ I thought you wore going to remain in Lou-

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