New York dispatch. [volume], May 08, 1887, Image 1

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

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PUBLISHED BI A. J. WILLIAMSON’S SONS.
VOL. XLII.--NO. 30.
Entered at the Post Office at New York,
N. Y., as Second Class Matter.
TSE NEAV M DISPATCH,
PUBLISHED AT
NO. 11 FRANKFORT STREET.
The NEW YORK DISPATCH is a journal of light, agree
able and sparkling Literature and News. One page is de
voted to Masonic Matters, and careful attention is given
to Music and the Drama.
The Dispatch is sold by all News Agents of the city and
suburbs, at FIVE CENTS A COPY.
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PLAYSANDJPUYERS.
PALMY-BAY “RULES AND REGULATIONS.”
Hamblin’s Ironclad Contract—Th© Green
rot.in ’‘Rules and Regulations
The “Forfeit” Hit—A Curio of
the Olden Time, etc., etc.
BY JOHN CARBOY.
Another glorification of th© “Palmy day *’ actors,
ch ?
Ob. no I They glorified themselves by their work
long before the r race became absent in tho abstract
and dost in tho concrete. They aro gone, their
bones—if anv are left—ar© marrowless and there is
no speculation in their eyes as to the chances of
the next season.
In their day and generation they did great work
and the leading men and leading women of their
guild overcame obstacles, disappointments and
seas of trouble which would to-day cause our one
part dress-suit darlings of the society drama and
our Worth-robed simpering incarnates of affecta
tion and vanity who pose in the emotional plays of
tho period, towash off their grease, paint and rouge,
cast aside their gow gaws and retire from the stage
in disgust.
Rather than encounter the trials and vexations,
the scrimping and economy, the cheap board and
lack of oft laundried linen, sweet cigarettes, dog
carts and Dunlap hats, pet dogs, and magnificently
furnished flats—these of to-day would make nee of
what their obliging critics choose to call their “re
served force ’’—and incontinently flee the atage.
No. lam not about to insult common sense by
comparing the Kyrle Bellews and Osmond Tearles
of to-day with the Lester Wallacks and the William
Wheatleys as they were in the days of their prime.
For in those days the Beilews and the Tearles
and men of their professional ability were rated
and found place in the •• general utility *' line, or at
their best as " walking gentlemen."
But this is what I have to present concerning
THE “PALMY DAYS"
when the great orchestral drum of little Davis and
the bald-headed blower of the big bassoon in Wolff’s
band filled the old Bowery Theatre with sounding
inspiration for the gods of the gallery and the pea
nut pickers of the pit, and when the mighty but
asthmatic Arbaces—tho—Egyptian—otherwise Ham
blin, managed the theatre better than h© ever man
aged himself.
It is a curio for the present let-’em-up-easy gener
ation of professionals. An iron-clad contract for
the season, signed by Thomas S. Hamblin, and the
party of the second part Edward L. Davenport,
and witnessed by A. W. Jackson—known familiarly
then as "Black Jack" and as the father of Lizzie
Weeion—now Mrs. Charles Mathews.
Iron-clad ? Well, it is a regular biod-you-up
band-and-foot agreement—as one-sided as a jug
handle.
Now it is the actor who generally rules th© man
ager; it is the manager who bows deferentially to
bis leading man, and abases himself with smirking
and smiling fawning to th© behests of his leading
woman.
The manager honors him with a private box when
he is not in the cast, and she fills the manager’s
soul with joy when she smiles upon him with a
doctor’s certificate, that she may have "a racket ’
and a day off instead of attending rehearsal or
filling her place in tho cast of a night s perform
ance.
The date of this contract, by which the actor is
bound to the cross of obedience to the
“RULES AND REGULATIONS"
as printed and posted in the green room of the
theatre, is June 12th, 1844—just forty-three years
ago. And here aro the "Art cles :’*
Tho Green Room is a place for the quiet and
peaceable assemblage of the company. They will
bo called thonce (and thence only) to the duties of
the stage. The manager or his deputy is not to be
spoken to on business in the Green Room, under
the penalty of one dollar.
Any person act.ng improperly in the Green Room,
talking loudly, using improper language, or words
calculated to produce a quarrel, shall forfeit five
dollars. Any person guilty of a similar offense in
any other part of the house shall lorteit two dollars
for the first offense and five dollars for the second,
or bo subject to bo discharged, at the option of the
manager.
Any member of the company having a complaint
to utter or a request to make, other than pertains
to the general business of the pieces to be per
formed on the same evening, shall not address the
manager on tho subject during rehearsal, or while
they are on the stage attending to the same. The
office of tho theatre is a place for private discussions
of business. For a transgression ot this rule five
dollars will he exacted.
After due notice, all rehearsals must bo attended.
Tho calls for rehearsals will be put up by the
prompter in the green room, in due time; no ex
cuse will be received that the call has not been seen,
in order to avoid the penalties. The green room
clock is to regulate the time. Ten minutes will be al
lowed lor difference of clocks at the commencement
oi rehearsal. Forfeit 25 cents for absence irom
each scene; the whole rehearsal at the same rate.
Any performer absent at the commencement of a
scene, will bo forfeited as absent during he whole
of it. Any person who is habitually neglectful of
rehearsals, or who manifests a carelessness in busi
ness, will be discharged, as forfeits are no compen
sation for such faults.
Any performer rehearsing from a book or part at
the last rehearsal of a new piece, forfeits a night’s
■alary.
For walking across the stage, or standing on it,
during rehealsal, unless the business of the stage
requires it, twenty-five cents shall be forfeited.
For making tho stage wait, or not being at the
proper entrance at the proper time, after being duly
called, one dollar shall be forfeited.
Any person opening the stage door, unless re
quired to do so by the business of the representa
tion, forfeits one dollar.
Any perlormer introducing improper jests not in
tho author, or swearing, in the personation of a
character, when the part does not require it, shall
forfeit two dollars for such offence.
Any person conversing with the prompter during
representation, or talking aloud behind the scenes,
to the interruption of the performance, shall forfeit
two dollars.
A performer refusing to perform the duties as
signed him or her by the management (not con.
fileting with his or her engagement) shall lorteit a
week’s salary; and, on repetition of such offense,
shall render bis or her engagement liable tc be can
celled, at tho discretion ol the manager.
Any performer who neglects or refuses to give out
a play, or make an apology to the audience when
ca.lod on by the manager or prompter, shall forfeit
fivo dollars.
Any poriormer not ready in a character having
had tho usual time allowed for study, and receiving
due notice oi its representation, shall forfeit a week’s
■alary.
Any performer imperfect in an old play, farce or
opera, after sufficient time allowed, shall forfeit a
night's salary; but in a new play or opera, after
three rehearsals, the forfeit shall be doubled.
No performer shall be excused from rehearsal on
account, of indisposition arising from imprudent
conduct. Performers pre ven tel from attending to
their duties by indisposition are requested to send
notice to the prompter; and in case such indisposi
tion prevents their performing the characters an
nounced in the bills, the cert f r ate of a physician
will be required. Salaries in no cases will be paid
where services aro not rendered.
For refusing, on a sudden change of play or farce,
to represent a character performed by the same per
son during the season, a week’s salary will be lor.
foiled.
A performerwho shall make an improper entrance
on the representation of his or her character, or go
on the stage without the properties requisite for th©
sceno, shall forfeit one dollar.
Performers singing songs not advertised in the
bills of the day, omitting any, or introducing them
when not in the part allotted them, without first
having the consent of tho manager, shall forfeit a
night's salary.
For talking loud, or making other noiso, during
rehearsal, to the interruption of the same, one dol
lar will bo forfeited; for a second offense of this
kind on the same day, two dollars, and in the same
ratio for each succeeding offense.
A performer cutting out speeches or sentences, or
restoring them when cut out by the manager, shall
forfeit a night’s salary.
No person to draw the curtain or drop-scene aside
to look at the audience, under a penalty of one dol
lar. and on a second offense, th© forfeiture shall be
doubled.
A performer absenting himself or herself from the
theatre on an evening when concerned in the busi
ness of the stage, will forfeit a week’s salary and be
liable to bo discharged.
Performers will not be allowed to go into the
audience part of the theatre during the representa
tion of a piece in which they have appeared or are
required to appear. For a violation of this rule
they shall forfeit a night’s salary.
The manager reserves to himself the right to dis
charge from the company (by giving a week’s no
tice) all persons who shall be guilty of conduct un
becoming ladies and gentlemen, and calculated to
bring disrepute on the establishment; all who shall
conspire against the interests of the theatre; defame
the members of the company; make public the
private affairs of the concern, or by other conduct
manifest a disposition to throw obstacles in the way
of the manager. Buch persons are undeserving
situations in a respectable theatre.
No person will be permitted to pass from the
stage to the front of the house, through the side
door, during the morning or night. Th© entrance
to the stage is from Elizabeth street. No part of the
front of the house to be used as a place of gossip by
the performers. All persons engaged in the theatre
excluded from the Box Office, except on salary day,
and on that day the entrance to the office is from
the Bowery. The Box Office is not a thoroughfare
for either the ladies or gentlemen of the company.
An infringement of this article will be a forfeit of
one week's salary or a discharge.
No money will be advanced on any pretence what
ever.
Performers taking clothes from the theatre, which
belong to the wardrobe, will be liable to th© forfeit
of a week’s salary.
Hats, feathers, wigs, boots, shoes, swords, sandals,
and fleshings, to be found by the performer, when
requisite, or forfeit a week's salary.
Th© person having the control of the supernumer
aries, to keep the entrance clear during perform
ances. Each neglect will subject him to a forfeit of
one night’s salary.
As it is the intention of the manager to use every
exertion in his power to hold up the respectability
of the actor's profession, he most earnestly entreats
every member of his establishment (for their own
sakes) to give him all the aid they can ; and he
knows no better method of exacting respect from
those not attached to it than by showing a proper
respect for each other. For instance, if a party of
ladies and gentlemen are called to a rehearsal, and
one-third of them are absent, in his opinion an
apology is due to those who are kept waiting, or
whose professional efforts are destroyed when
brought before the public. Merchants, lawyers,
physicians, &c., do not call each other Dick, Bob,
Jack, and a variety of other names; then why
should actors? All this, by an illbred, uneducated,
vulgar man, would doubtless be called twaddle, or
by some other slang phrase; notwithstanding
which, it is the manager's intention to bring about
a reformation, if it is in his power. As far as re
gards a proper respect being paid to one person, it
is. and that is himself; at all events, by who
are employed by him. For the future, when spoken
to, or of, he expects to be called by his name, as he
signs it, or as it is printed in the bills, or as tho
Manager of the Theatre, not by a variety of nick
names, that many persons are in the habit ©f in
dulging in. Whenever this comes to his knowledge
the offending party shall be immediately discharged,
or at all events, as soon as it suits his convenience.
In all instances gentlemanly conduct and strict
attention to business shall carry the palm with him,
against any talent, if accompanied by rudeness,
neglect and indolence.
MR. DAVENPORT’S SALARY
as nominated in the bond, was eighteen dollars per
week. In addition to this ho was to have two ben
efits during the year, of the receipts of which he
was to have one-third clear.
In such records and account books of the theatre
as are in existence—and they are few—there is no
entry that Mr. Davenport was, during his engage
ment, “ docked "on his salary in tho payment of
forfeits.
A few five dollar “ whacks " out of his income
wouldn’t have left him very much of an opportun
ity to indulge in an after-performance steak and
pot of “ ’af-an’-’af," at Windust's or the Old Shades
down in Thames street, even though the succulent
porterhouse cut and the ale, with the luxury of a
principe cigar, only amounted to the sum total of
thirty-seven cents—or as it was rated then—three
shillings.
In these ** Rules and Regulations *’ there is ma
terial for any extent of thoughtful comment in
making a comparison between the methods of man
agement nearly half a century ago and those which
guide the conduct of the stage at the present time.
Suppose through the illness of an actor—nowa
days a manager should withhold his week’s salary
—what a howl there would be all along the profes
sional line—about this manager’s “cruelty," his
“heartlessness" and utter disregard of the “resnect
due the people who make his money for him ?"
Wouldn’t this actor—whose illness might probably
bo the result oi a "high old time," or in other words
a general and extended drunk —have it “ out ’’ with
the manager by means of being “interviewed" by
the reportorial space stuffers of tho daily press—
especially if he happened to be a popular favorite ?
Alack-a-day—it is all business now—but it is your
leading actors—or alleged leading actors—who
gather in the profits; it is the poor devil of a man
ager who has to take what is le:t, and pay his bills
as best he may; it is the actors who make the
" Rules and Regulations ’’ by which th© wretched
manager must b© governed.
There is a vast difference between Then and Now
-eh ?
After His Wife.
WHY SHOULD HE WANT TO SEND HER TO THE
PENITENTIARY.
If Joseph Lambert had been in a country village,
instead of in the city, Joe would most certainly
have got a dousing under a pump. He had
charged his wife, Catherine, with cruelly beating,
and blackening the eye of their puny, dying, three
year old child, that he carried in his arms.
There were thirty femal© neighbors, a regular
regiment of indignant women, who came volun
tarily to court in behalf of the woman, not one for
the man. He had not a single witness to corrobo
rate his charge of cruelty to the child, but the
child Itself, who he said would testify against the
mother.
It could hardly lisp.
“is this child your daughter?” asked Justice
Kilbreth.
“ Yes, sir."
••How old is it?"
•* Three years."
“ And Catherine is your wife?"
“Yes, air."
“On the 28th of April was this child assaulted ?”
•• Yes, sir; it got a black eye."
•• Who gave it ?'*
•• My wife. She gave it a black eye and a cut on
the ear. I asked her why she did it, she said she
couldn’t control her temper. She had abused the
child before that, and 1 said if she did it again 1
should have her arrested."
•• was she drunk or sober ?”
"Sober."
Joe’s cross-examination by counsel shook faith in
the complaint he had made against his wife.
" You didn’t see your wife strike the child that
day ?”
•• No."
•• Is your mother living with you now ?”
•• Not now."
•• Is your mother in the habit of visiting you ?”
*• Once in a while."
•• Has your mother had trouble with h< r ?’’
"No; she has only given her warning not to as
sault the child.”
" Did you ever have trouble with your wife ?"
“ I have bad trouble about her ignorance.. She is
a very ignorant woman. ’
•• She is expecting an inheritance from Germany?”
•• Yes, sir.’’
" And you have asked her to sign it over to you?’’
" No."
•• Didn’t you say yon would make trouble for her
if she didn’t sign it over to you ?’’
" No.”
Kate took the stand and said she lived in Sixth
street, b- tween Avannes B and C. She never struck
her child or gave it a black eye. But she had it out
in the Park, and running, it fell. She never mis
treated her child; was always kind to her. Her
husband wanted her to sign away her right to the
money that was coming to her from Europe, and
she would not do it, and be threatened her. Her
mother-in-law was in tho habit of coining to tho
house and beating the chill, and the lather, too,
and often called her to account for not beating it.
When the bevy of ladies came up to test iy for
Mrs. Lambert, tho Court asked Coirnsel what l.e
proposed to prove. He oaid to disprove the scandal.
Kate was acquitted, aud the ncighb. rs flocked
around her leaving court.
NEW "y ORK. "SUNDAY, MAY 8.""1887.
maim aim TaicL
The Certifi
cates of Stock.
Mme. de Marignan’s Jewel Safe.
MISSING FROM THE BANKS OF THE SEINE.
The Meanest Piece of Business Detec’ive
Jessaint Ever Did,
August Jermyn was the son of a lawyer of Ande
lys, a town lying southwest of Rouen, in Norman
dy, France. At the age of nineteen he went to Paris
to study law with an advocate named Quimault.
Jermyn was a handsome, attractive youth, and it
did not take him long to discover that he was a fav
orite with women. He began to lead a dissipated
life and his resources were too limited to bear the
expense which this entailed. So he had to look
around to find means to increase his income.
Among Quinault’s clients were men whose opinions
respecting the rights of property were at variance
with the law, and consequently they were at times
in trouble and needed all the aid that gentlemen of
the legal profession could give them.
Among them was one Guisarde, an expert forger,
who had successfully practiced his profession for
years and managed to evade justice, thanks to the
cunning and eloquence of Monsieur Quinault.
Jermyn mad© Guisarde’s acquaintance and was in
troduced by him to three of his associates in crime.
Gambey, Framlappe and Parilot. He procured
from them checks of several firms, in the keeping
of Quinault for the purposes of litigation, and the
gang was thus enabled to make excellent counter
feits and gather in a large sum of money, of which
Jermyn received his fair share. The checks being
always returned to the drawer where the papers to
which they belonged were deposited, no suspicion
was ever excited.
THE FORGED CERTIFICATES.
But Jermvn did better than even that. A cause
had to be tried which involved the question of the
genuineness of the signature of a Monsieur Lan
drieux to certain certificates of stock of large value,
and in order to conduct the case it was needful that
Quinault should have certificates, the signatures to
which were genuine without question. These Jer
myn procured, and in the evening conveyed them
to Guisarde, at his residence on the rue Chaptai.
The gang worked diligently all night, and next
morning Jermyn restored the certificates to the
place where they belonged. The next evening he
again abstracted them, and the gang spent the
night in completing their work. As the trial had
not come on, Jermyn was able to give the gang the
use of the certificates twice more, and finally they
produced such an admirable counterfeit, that it
was difficult, if not impossible, to tell the spurious
from the genuine. Then the spurious certificates
were banded to Jermyn instead of the true ones,
and he deposited them in their place in Quinault’s
office, in ignorance of the fact that they were not
the very same which he had abstracted. The genu
ine certificates were speedily disposed of by the
gang, who realized a large sum, of which they gave
Jermyn 15,000 francs. As the trial was postponed,
and the certificates of stock such as is generally
held, or what is termed In this country gilt-edged,
it was some time before a suspicion of foul play was
excited.
In the meantime. Jermyn law life. In December,
1876, ho visited Andelya to spend a few weeks.
THE OLD CHATEAU.
At the old chateau on the bank of th© Seine, re
sided a Monsieur de Marignan, whose son Charles
had been a companion in boyhood of Jermyn.
Charles was at home, and he and Jermyn renewed
their former friendship. Jermyn dressed well and
had plenty of money and behaved himself like a
reputable and sedate young gentleman. Monsieur
and Madame de Marignan were highly pleased with
him and expressed satisfaction at their son’s having
so agreeable and desirable a companion for the holi
days.
Jermyn spent most of his time at the chateau,
with which be bad been well acquainted from his
childhood, having spent many weeks there at a
time with Charles, whose parents had always re
garded their son’s playmate with warm interest and
affection.
On Christmas night. Monsieur de Marignan gave
a party, and Jermyn was, of courae, to be there.
That very morning, however, he received a com
munication from Guisarde, urging him to come to
him at Paris without delay, as there was a matter
of importance about which he must be consulted.
Jermyn’s worst fears were at once excited. Never
theless he resolved, after some hours* deliberation,
to remain until next day. for reasons which the
reader will speedily understand.
THE JEWEL SAFE.
After taking some part in the festivities of the
night, Jermyn excused himself to Ch ties, saying
that he had a headache and would go into the open
air for a few minutes. He did so, but returned by
a side door.
Then he cautiously sought the library, which he
knew would be deserted. Going to Monsieur de
Marignan’s secretary, he pressed the spring of a
secret drawer and abstracted a brass key. Then he
cautiously threaded the corrid- ra to the rear stair
case and ascended to the floor above.
Proceeding to Madame de Marignan’s apartments,
ho opened an old-fashioned wardrobe, with which he
was perfectly familiar. On the bottom shelf stood a
small iron jewel safe. Applying the stolen key, be
opened the safe and depleted it of the family jewels,
which he placed in his pockets. Relocking the sale
and closing the wardrobe, he descended to the
library and replaced the key in the secret drawer.
Then he returned to the drawing-rooms, and was
soon in conversation with one and another. He ex
cused himself from dancing, and about one o’clock
called Charles aside and said he thought he would
go homo as be was suff ring from vertigo.
•• My dear fellow,” said Charles, " you know my
apartments are at your serv ce, and you needn’t gp.
home. Go and sleep, and in the morning you’ll be’
all right.”
Jermyn, however, insisted on going home, and
then Charlee said ho would order the drag and drive
him to Andelys.
" I would rather walk,” was the reply. “It is a
fine, clear night, and the distance along the bank of
the river is short. Moreover, the cool air will re
fresh me and take away this cursed headache."
As he persisted, Charles said he would accompany
him a little way, first explaining his temporary ab
sence to his father.
"To tell the truth. Charles,” Jermyn said, "I am
going to ask you to go a short way with me, but
hardly liked to drag you away, but pray don’t say
anything about it to your parents.
A CUNNING TRICK.
Charles consented, aud the two started. When
they had gone about half a mile along the river
bank Jermyn said:
“ I declare lam almost well. Tho bracing air has
restored me and now I think you had better re
turn, as you will be missed."
" Well, it you are sure you are all right, and will
promise to be around early in the morning, I will
leave you," said Charles.
Jermyn promised, and they shook hands and
separated. They were not twenty yards apart when
Jermyn picked up a big atone and hurled it into
the swollen river, at the same instant drawing his
handkerchief irom bis dress coat pocket and put
ting it over hia mouth he uttered an outcry in a
smothered voice. Then he stepped aside into the
coppice of the bank side and awaited the result.
Charles, hearing the splash and the outcry, at
once concluded that Jermyn, suffering from verti
go, had lost hia bxlauce and fallen into the river.
Hurrying bacK to the spot, he tried in vain to pene
trate the darkness, crying out:
" August, August ’ where are you ?’’
Jermyn stood still and presently Charles ran back
to the chateau to give the alarm. Then Jermyn
arose from his concealment and hurried on tow <rd
Audelys. Looking back, he saw lights on the bank
and concluded that persons Irom the chateau were
endeavoring to discover and rescue him from the
flood.
HIDING IN PARIS.
Hurrying on past Andelys, he took the road to
Gisars, where he arrived in time to take the early
train to Paris.
When he reached the city, it was not yet daylight
and be went straight to Guisarde’s residence on the
Rue Chaptai. Guisarde was not out of bed’ but
Jermyn went straight to his apartment and was ad
mitted.
" What is the matter ?" he asked.
"Everything,” was the answer. “The forgery is
discovered and the detectives are at work."
“ Any suspicion oi me ?’’
" None; your absence was satisfactorily explain
ed and. beside, so far as I can learn from Maublane
—the detective, you remember, who is our friend
no one in particular is suspected. Gambey, Fram
lappe, and Parilot are to keep away for a time, and
the best thing you can do is to rem tin here for a
time. You are young and it is pretty easy for you
to disguise yourself, so perhaps you may be able to
get around with care, occasionally.”
"I’m content. The fact is, that I didn’t intend
to go near Quinault. I’m dead by this time
drowned in the Seine, and my friends are dragging
the river for my corpse. Look here I’’
THE MISSING CROSS.
Jermyn emptied his pockets of the jewels which
he had stolen from Madame de Marignan’s safe
and spread them on the bed.
" My God 1” exclaimed Guisarde, "where did you
get them ? They are splendid I”
Jermyn told him the story of the robbery, and
how, when he received his message, he concluded
jt was ail up, and thought he might as well prepare
against a rainy day. When Jermyn related how he
art
had played off drowning, Guisarde was lost in admi
ration, and exclaimed:
“ August, you are an artist of the first-class !’’
Observing that Jermyn was searching his pockets
over and over again Guisarde asked:
" What’s the matter ? Have you lost anything 1"
" I could have sworn that I put in my dress-coat
pocket a splendid diamond cross,” he said; "I
know it too well to be mistaken, lor the old lady
has shown it to me many a time, and told me how
it had never been worn by any of the family since
the time of the Huguenots—for the Marignans, you
must know, are not Catholics. I’m sure I put it in
my pocket, and yet it is not there."
" Never mind a cross," said Guisarde. You have
a fortune here without it, and we must devise some
means to get rid of these jewels, and change them
into useful money."
THE CROSS ON THE RIVER BANK.
After a long and painful search along the river,
Charles de Marignan and the party from the
Chateau gave up their attempt to rescue August,
who they supposed was drowned. Early the next
morning, however, Charles and others went over
the ground once more, in hope of finding the body.
Poor old Monsieur Jermyn, almost crazy, was there,
wringing bis hands aud bewailing the fate of his
handsome boy.
"I parted irom him bore," said Charles, and then
they walked along the bank.
"Just at this spot he must have fallen in,"
Charles continued.
Suddenly something on the ground attracted his
attention, aud he stooped and picked it up.
An old-fashioned diamond cross, which he recog
nized as his mother’s!
A strange feeling came over him, and he put it
into his pocket without a word. After the fruitless
search was over, and the conviction had come upon
them that the body must have been borne down by
tho swift current toward th© sea, the party sep
arated and Charles returned home.
THE EMPTY SAFE.
Calling his father aside, Charles showed him the
diamond cross and told him where he had found it.
Monsieur de Marignan took the brass key irom hie
secret drawer and, proceeding to his wife’s room,
opened the jewel safe.
It was empty !
It was a very difficult matter for Monsieur de
Marignan and his son to bring themselves to believe
that August had stolen the jewels, and yet what
other alternative was there? While they were
naturally very anxious to recover the jewels which
had been in their family for so many generations
they wished to do nothing that would add to the
misery of Monsieur Jermyn. Without communicat
ing thoir suspicions to any one, they resolved to
visit Paris and consult with some experienced de
tective. Thither they acc<?rd{ngiy went and were
recommended to an did and expert detective, named
Jessaint. To him they unreservedly narrated the
whole story, and he was greatly impressed with it.
"A CLEVER JOB.”
“Itia a very clever job,” ho said. “I don’t know
that a better one has ever come under my observa
tion. You see he used the knowledge he had of the
chateau aud the position of the safe to some ad
vantage. Of course the headache was only a sub
terfuge to cover up any nervousness or flurry which
you might have observed.”
“ But how came he to fall into the river unless
he was suffering from vertigo as he said?” asked
Charles.
" Did he fall into the river ? That is the question.
If he did, the best way is’ to employ men of experi
ence in such matters to hunt for the body, for you
will find the jewels upon it. They were evidently
put loose into his pockets, and the diamond cross
had been drawn out accidentally.”
" You don’t mean to say that he didn’t fall into
the water ?”
"My firm impression Is that he did pot. I think
he meant to Impress you with that idea, and proba
bly threw something in the river to make a splash
and then cried out to aid the deception. My honest
conviction is that the young man is in concealment
in this city at this moment."
CONFIRMATION.
After further talk, Charles and Jessaint went to
the office of Monsieur Quinault to make inquiries,
without, of course, expecting any satisfactory re
sults. When they reached there and mentioned
August Jermyn’s name, Mons. Quinault said:
"I have just heard of the sad accident and it is a
very great blow to me, for I was in hopes he might
have shed light on a very important matter."
Then, to the utter amazement of hia visitors, he
told them of the substitution of forged certificates
for the genuine ones, which he had had in his
keeping as the lawyer of Mons. Landrieux.
It is needless to say that, after this, the convic
tion was forced upon them that August was a scoun
drel, who had no doubt abstracted the certificates
aud replaced them with forgeries; and of course
that he was connected
with persons whoso business it was to perpetrate
the nidst desperate of crimes. If this were so, what
more likely than that he should have stolen the
jewels and practised a clever imposition in order to
escape suspicion and avoid the consequences of his
crimes, if they were discovered.
“For my part,” said Jessaint, "I have now no
doubt that Jermyn is a rogue, and it must be our
endeavor to discover his whereabouts.’*
How this was to be done, the detective didn’t say,
for in truth he was almost utterly at a loss to know
how to begin the search. The first thing was to
search for the jewels, but in a city like Paris, where
so many persons are always on the lookout to pur
chase stolen gems and where expert workmen can
in an hour or two so transform them as to render
their identification nearly impossible, it was no easy
matter to succeed in such an undertaking.
THE STORY OF THE FORGERY.
Jermyn continued to remain in Guisarde’s dwell
ing and that worthy explained to him the way in
which the forgery was discovered. Then for the
first time Auuust know that the certificates which
he had returned to Quinault’s office were not the gen
uine ones.but forgeries. He was greatly excited over
this and swore that he never would have aided Gui
sarde in the matter if he had understood that Quin
ault was to be the victim, for of course he would be
responsible lor the loss.
"You see,” said Guisard©, " it was the only way
to manage it. They were not things one could nego
tiate. I had a world of trouble, as it was. of which
you knew nothing. First of all, I had to find some
one to help me who had been in Landrieux’s em
ploy. I found a young man who had recently been
discharged, and him I retained after some trouble.
He procured me a note such as Landrieux used,
and told me where it was his habit at'times to bor
row large sums of money on security. A note was
made for 150,000 francs for ninety days, and I forged
Landrieux’s name to it. Then the young man took
notes and certificates to the money broker and got
th© money for the note, leaving the certificates as
collateral. When the note became due Landrieux
was notified, and then the murder was out. The
discharged clerk now safe beyond the sea."
THE DETECTIVE’S IDEA.
After much deliberation, Monsieur Jessaint came
to tho conclusion that one of the first things which
Jermyn would do, as soon as thought things had
quieted down, would be to notify his father of his
being alive. Jessaint, therefore started tor Andleys,
aud began to inquire lor a farm in the neighbor
hood, which be could purchase. Naturally his ob
ject took him to the only lawyer in the place.
Monsieur Jermyn. He saw how dejected and un
strung the poor man was, and, as they grew more
familiar, expressed a fear his health was not good.
Then the lawyer briefly told him of the dreadful
late which had befallen his son, and the failure of
all efforts to find the body. For of th© suspicions
against his son. Monsieur Jermyn as yet know
nothing.
?.fter some days had passed, Jessaint, visiting the
lawyers , found him occupied in private with some
person. When this man loft, Jessaint got a good
view of him. Jessaint found Monsieur Jermyn
flushed and full of unwonted energy and for a time
was puzzled to account for it. At length the thought
struck him that the recent visitor must have com
municated to the old man the fact of his son’s be
ing alive.
Jessaint quickly finished his interview and has
tened to the village hotel, reaching it just in time
to see the stranger start in a gig for the railway sta
tion at G:sars. Inquiry showed Jessaint that a
quick horse could carry him to Fleury in time to
catch the train from Rouen to Par s, which stopped
at Gisars aud would urobably be the train which
the stranger would take. Such a horse was procur
ed for monev and speedily harnessed to a light ve
hicle, and thus Jessaint was driven to Fleury, which
he reached just as the train came in sight.
TRACKED.
As the train drew near to Gisars, Jessaint recog
nized the stranger waiting at the station and saw
him board the cars with eminent satisfaction. On
arriving at Paris, the stranger quitted the station
on tho Place du Roubaix followed by Jessaint, who
was resolved to allow nothing to hinder his keeping
his eye on his man until he had run him down.
The stranger went toward the Boulevard de Magenta
and along that to the Boulevard de la Chapelle and
so westward to the Rue Kigali© and into the Rue
Chaptai. Then he raug at th© door of No. —, aud
was admitted.
Jessaint noted the place and departed. Next day
he hired a room nearly opposite and was on the
watch. Several persons came and went, among
them the stranger whom he met at Audelys. Then
Jessaint vacated his room and disappeared. He had
a long talk with a fellow detective, named Duver
net, alter which the latter went to Audelys and
called on Mons. Jermyn.
"Your son wants to see you," said Duvernet,
" and 1 am commissioned to take you to him.”
The old man was delighted, and Duvernet con
ducted him to the Rue Chaptai, Paris.
"There is no such person here,” said the woman
who answered the bell.
"lam his father, and this is my friend," said
Monsieur Jermyn.
That settled the matter, and August Jermyn ap
peared. The meeting was remarkable, and Duver
net slipped into the hallway and opened the door.
Jessaint and two other officers entered.
"Sorry to disturb you," said Jessaint, "but
August Jermyn is our prisoner.”
“THE MEANEST PIECE OF BUSINESS."
So he was captured and led away in spite of the
tears and bewailings of the father.
"It is the meanest piece of business I ever did."
said Jessaint to Duvernet; "but tho end justifies
the means here, if it ever did.”
Guisarde and Framlappe were also taken in the
house and removed.
“Oh,” said tho old man, when he saw Framlappe,
“that is the man who visited meat Andelys and
said my son was living.”
August con:essed all and was sent to prison for
five years. Guisarde and Framlappe received a
heavier sentence —twenty years each. Gambey and
Parilot were arrested within three months and
shared the same fate as Guisarde and Framlappe.
Jessaint was complimented on the way he had
managed the business, for all the jewels were recov
ered.
“Nevertheless,” said Jessaint, “I have not
changed my opinion. It was the meanest piece of
business I over did.”
On Good Behavior.
WHAT ASTONISHED A PRIVATE DETECTIVE AT
HOME.
William Abott, private detective, was charged
with assaulting Carrie Abott, his mistress. She
said the defendant was her husband. He said she
was only mistress
The 30th ult. he came home drunk and very cross.
He tore up the carpets, and then went to get a
wagon to take them off. He tormented her “so
much,” then took her by the arm, twisted her
around and falling against the door, her body wa
bruised and blackened.
“When do you say this took place ?” asked coun
sel.
“Monday week.”
“That was the 25th?”
“Yes, sir,”
“Ara you sure of it ?”
“Yes, sir.”
“He shoved yon, you fell against the door and
bruised your arm ?”
••Yes, sir.”
•• wnat did you do to him ?”
“Nothing; but he called me most filthy names.
I don't want him to go to prison. I want him bound
to keep the peace and stay away from me lorever.
He didn’t tell me to keep away and I did not tanta
lize him. Wherever Igo he comes after me.”
“ When he came home on Friday night he
couldn't get in the house?”
“ Oh, yes, it was a spring latch and he had a
key.”
“ Yes, but he couldn’t get in ?”
“ Ob, yes.”
“ Who was with you when he camo that night ?’ ’
“ A Loy from the store, he came from the store
with work for me.”
“ Wasn t there a man there beside a boy ?”
“No, sir.”
“ Do you mean to say you are this man’s wife ?”
“ I think so.”
“ Were you ever married to him ?”
“ I have been recognized as his wife, and received
as such by his father, mother and sister,”
Abott took the stand and his counsel asked him if
complainant was his wife. No, be never was mar
ried to her. He took her on probation. He was a
private detective, was originally a drummer. It
was not so that he assaulted her. Two weeks ago
he went home about half-past five and tried the
knob of the door and couldn't get in. He thought
it singular that both locks should be bolted. After
waiting five minutes he beard somebody cross the
room and Immediately the door opened, and to his
astonishment he saw two strange men standing in
his room. That he didn’t like, and asked very
naturally who the h they were, and ordered
them out. Then he told her it was about time they
broke up housekeeping. Angry words followed.
To smooth matters, he said in the divide be would
give her the biggest share. Then she began to
tantalize him. He said he knew she wanted him to
strike her so that she could get a warrant. But he
forbore.
“Was it Monday you shoved her?” asked conn-
“I didn’t shove her at all. Monday morning I
had an appointment, and I started up early. I
hadn't slept in the house since Friday. On the way
through Bleecker street I mother coming down,
and she stopped me and handed me a summons.”
“Before yon got that summons, did you say you
had not seen her?” asked bis counsel.
“Not since the 23d, and she served the summons
on the 25th.”
“You are employed as a private detective ?’•
“Yes. sir, and I carried home every Monday
night fifteen dollars, with the understanding that
she would buy lor cash the things for the house.
Instead of that, she bought on the instalment
plan.”
••Were you ever arrested for fighting?”
“ Never.”
“ And born in this city ?”
“Yes, sir.” .
“You let this woman alone; you can g<>" said
the Court.
“I certainly shall,” said Abott.
Mary’s Brief Story.
WHY SHE WANTED HIM ONLY BOUND TO KEEP
THE PEACE.
Mary Traynor, a middle-aged woman, had a black
eye and the side of her lace much swollen when she
took the stand. Her husband, James, was a stal
wart, strong fellow.
“Defendant is your husband,” remarked tho
Court.
“Yes, sir.”
“On the 13th of last month were you'assaulted ?”
“He came in about half-past five. The supper
wasn’t on the table, I was busy ironing, and he
wouldn’t wait. He came in at eleven o’clock and
demanded his supper, and began to curse and
swear. I was in bed with the baby, and he took his
fist and let me have it in the face. I got up and he
threw me on the floor and beat and kicked me till
I was unconscious. He took the keys and pounded
me, his fists and his heels wasn’t hard enough for
me.”
“ He was drunk ?”
“ No, not so very drunk. He followed my child
out (a little humpbacked boy) and beat him too.”
“Oh, what a calker,” be said. “I came in and
asked for my supper and when I couldn’t get it I
walked right out. I came in again for supper and
couldn’t get it.”
“ How did she get that bruised face?” asked the
Court.
“O, she must have fallen agin so’thing in the
bed,” ho replied.
“The Court finds you guilty,” said Justice Kil
breth. “Is this man in the habit of beating you ?”
“ Yes, sir.”
“Was he ever arrested before?”
“Once he got twelve months by the Police Jus
tice, and I was foolish enough to take him out. The
same night that he came home he beat me. He
hasn’t given me a dollar in five weeks.”
“ How do you make a living ?”
“Ido a little washing. I work night and day.
Don’t send him up; he will take my life. He says
if I ever put him on the Island he will kill me when
he gets out. Grant me protection, but don’t send
him up.”
“One year,” said the Court.
Traynor may change his mind after a year's hard
labor and no rum.
NOT SO BAD A CASE.
John Edwards pleaded guilty to beating his wife,
Rosanna.
“Is be in the habit of beating you?” asked the
Court.
“ Not very often.”
“ Was he ever arrested ?”
“ Once.”
“ What was done with him ?”
“He got three months.”
“Does he work at anything?”
“ He is a stone-cutter, but he is drunk the greater
part of his time."
“Five months,” said the Court.
Mllie’s Nose I* u. Lied.
AND NEARLY TWISTED OUT OF JOINT.
On the 13th of April Michael Morris said he was
assaulted by his former friend, Morris Levy. Com
ing home at a quarter to eleven. Levy came out of
the entry and hit him on the ear. He did nothing
to him. He could not say whether Levy was drunk
or sober.
“ Didn’t Michael sue you in a civil court some
time ago ?” asked counsel.
“No.”
“You swear positively he never sued you in a
civil court?”
‘•No; and never served papers on me,”
“ Well, sir, look at Levy’s nose.”
“ Yes, sir; I see it.”
It could be seen by a rush light.
Didn’t you take hold of his nose between your
fingers and twist it around like a corkscrew ?”•
“No, sir.”
“ You didn’t scratch his face?”
“ Nothing of the kind.”
Mr. Levy said he had neared home with two gen
tlemen that night, when Mr. Morris ran into him.
caught him by the nose, and nearly twisted it off
his face, then threw him in the str et.
“ Go,” said the Court to Levy; and he went.
Wonderful, But No Good. —Two
men were driving along on top of a furniture van
when one of them said :
“That was the dog gondest thing I ever saw.”
“What was?”
“Why, the bell on the front door at that last’
house. It was a round business with a white spot
in the middle, and w hen I grabbed a-hold to pull, it
wouldn't come. I g ave it a thundering yank, and
the next I knew I was at the bottom of the stoop
with a coil of telegraph wire ’round my legs. A
man what came out a-cursing and swearing paid it
was an electric door bell, one of these new-tauuled
things what you push a button to ring, and it lights
the gas, unchains the dog, and opens a bottle of
beer in the cellar. It’s wonderful, me boy, but it’s
no good.
OFFICE, NO. M FRANKFORT ST.
THE PRESS CLUB.
Its Benefits and Progress.
The Home of Journalists from
all Parts of the World.
The New Burial Plot at Cypress Hills -
The History of its Duration—The
Dedication to Take Place on
the Seventh of June with
Great Ceremonies.
There are a great many people, doubtless, who
have but a vague idea of the aims and objects of the
New York Press Club. Th© general impression of
the public seems to bo that it is, like all other such
organizations—a rendezvous for journalists to ex
change views and while away idle hours. This
may be correct to a certain extent, but that is not
all. The object of the club ia to foster fraternal
feeling, to have the journalists of the whole coun
try as well as those of this immediate vicinity,
brought together on a common ground of brother
hood, under a roof of their own. The membership
is quite large, and now consists of as fine a body of
brainy men as can be found in this country. The
rooms are daily visited by journalists from Europe
and all parts of this country, and many warm and
lasting friendships have been formed within its
walls. The files of daily and weekly papers in the
reading-room, are from almost every quarter of the
globe, and the enterprising sheets of Los Angeles,
in Southern California, can be found cavorting by
the side of the Calais (Me.) Gazette; the Halifax and
Montreal papers beside the Texas dailies; the Win
nipeg and Dakota sheets overlapping the Florida
orange grove advertisers, and the various maga
zines and a raft of trade papers are to be had on
draught.
THE LIBRARY
is well stored with valuable works, and is crowded
with bound files of our metropolitan dailies for
many years, Desks are fully supplied in both the
reading-room and the library, and there is no hour
of the day, or hardly of the night, but tney are
occupied by busy members of the newspaper craft.
In the morning there are certain editors aud con
tributors to the evening papers who can be found
at work, scribbling away to get their copy into the
hands of managing editors in season for the noon
editions.
Later on, a few evening paper reporters will rush
in and scribble off several pages of either a " beat,"
which they have been fortunate enough to have
•• tumbled to,” or towrite out an "assignment."
These flying emissaries of news make things appear
lively for a time.
There are also several older members of the jour
nalistic profession, some of whom have left the pen
and printers* ink for other business, or for leisure,
who regularly appear o’ mornings for an hour or
two in which they read such papers or books as
they desire. During the rest of the day many of
those who are eugaged on the morning papers—
mostly news editors, "regular" assistant editors
and others of the real workers who make our news
paper© what they are by their acumen, judgment
and brains—drop in, have friendly chats, and be
tween five and s x o’clock disappear in the direction
of Newspaper row.
The walls of the Club have
EXCELLENT PICTURES
of deceased journalists, including Greeley, Dr.
Wood, Wm. Cullen Bryant, Stanton and others.
There are also several busts of noted men of letters
and art.
The parlor devoted to the reception of guests, and
also used for the meetings of the President and
Board of Trustees, is furnished with a fine piano,
Turkish easy chairs and the club’s safe. It is a
pleasant room, aud many distinguished men have
met within its walls. The club, while not an elee
mosynary institution, looks sedulously after its
sick members, and. in case a member dies, whose
family is unable to bury him, the funeral is pro
vided for. The club also interests itself in the em
ployment and care of orphans and widows of de
ceased members, and there has not been a month of
its existence which has not witnessed instances of
this benevolence.
ON THE ROLL OF THE CLUB
are names of some of the most prominent men in
this country, famed for statesmanship, patriotism,
oratory on th© rostrum and in the pulpit, generals,
millionaires, admirals, financiers, bankers, mer
chants, poets, anti others who have made our coun
try famous. A few of these names are here ap
pended : Henry Ward Beecher, Noah Brooks, Geo.
W. Childs, Charles A. Dana, Paul Dana, Cyrus W.
Field, Thomas L. James, James G. Blaine, Hon.
John J. Kiernan, Daniel Lamont, Henry dews,
R. Bartholdi, Samuel L. Clemens, J. A. Cantor,
Amos J. Cummings, J. A. Cockerill, Thomas A.
Edison, Roswell P. Flower. Judge Frederick G. Ged
ney, Henry F. Gillig, the poet William Geoghegan,
ex-Mayor flWm. R. Grace, Joseph Howard, Jr., Rev.
Dr. Talmage, Joseph C. Hendrix, Henry Hilton,
Gen. Horatio C. King, Hon. Truman A. Merriman,
ex-Lt.-Gov. Dorsheimer, Hon. Levi P. Morton. John
P. Nagle. Joseph Pulitzer, James Pooton, W. P. Phil
lips, Prof. J. L. Rice, Chas. Sotherau, ex-Surrogate
Gidoon J. Tucker, Prof. Peter E. Tarpey, tho poet
Nat Umar, Salem H. Wales, Erastus Wiman, ex-
Minister John Russell Young, etc.
THE OIFICERS AND MEMBERS
from its first inception, have harmoniously and
zealously labored to enhance and honor the
name of journalist, an the fact that since
its formation the club has not had but
one or two occasions to blush for any short
comings of any of its members, is evidence of the
good influence evolved in its membership. The
club, during the past decade, has gradually in
creased in numbers, and a resolution was adopted
at the last monthly meeting to increase the initia
tion fee after the first of June from $lO to $25.
THE CLUB’S BURIAL PLOT.
Several years ago there was some difficulty ex
perienced in obtaining a grave in which to inter a
well known journalist who had died i-n poverty.
This fact, coming to the knowledge of Col. Thomas
Bonar, one of tho veteran members, he interested
himself in the matter, and. being one of the leading
owners of Cypress Hills Cemetery, in Queens
county, L. 1., bad the interment take place there.
On reflection, aud consideration of this incident,
Mr. Bonar came to the conclusion that there
should be a plot for all future journalists, who
should by misfortune die in this vicinity friendless
aud alone. The liberal-hearted man, after consulta
tion with the Trustees of the Cemetery, decided to
donate to the New York Press Club some twenty*
four lots in that cemetery. Mr. Bonar was aided to
a certain extent by William Miles, one of the prin
cipal officers of tho Cypress Hills Cemetery Associa
tion. The club, at the time of this liberal donation,
was not financially in condition to improve the
place. Last year, however, an increased Interest
was manifested, and President Cummings, and his
Board of Trustees, as well as the present President,
John A. Greene, took measures to raise a cemetery
fund. In this they were heartily endorsed by all
the membership, and, Mr. Joseph Howard Jr. t who
is an old member, proposed to deliver a lecture at
the Academy of Music to raise a portion of the
fund. The lecture was a success, and about feur
thousand dollars were netted.
Since then, by a vote of the club, President Greene
appointed a committee to take charge of the plot at
the cemetery. A fine granite curb has been laid
around the enclosure, it has been grided, and
several bodies of journalists now repose in its bound
ary. The club instructed the committee to have an .
appropriate shaft erected, and to make arrange
ments for appropriate dedicatory A
granite monument rising, thirty-five feet from the
ground, has been put in a prominent central' pdint
in the plot, with appropriate inscriptions on the
fonr sides of its pedestal, and the Whole plot is now
in excellent order. The ceremonies ate now being
arranged, and will be participated in by some of the
moat eminent men of our country. There will be
music, a poem, and several addresses. The day eet
apart by the club for the dedication la the 7th of
next June.
h‘FT’ v7Tv
JVot a JPalatial
A HOTEL ON PARK ROW THAT HAS NO ROOMS,
f PUT A ROW OF COTS.
John Nolan, of Haverstraw, said he put up at a
hotel without a name on Park Row. He had two
dollars cash, and gave it, he said, to Frank Flynn,
the night clerk, for safe keeping. In the morning
he asked for his two dollars, and it was refused.
“What was the number of your room?" asked
Flynn’s counsel.
“No. 19,’’ said Nolan.
•• What did he say to you when you asked for your
money ?” asked the Court.
" He said I hadn’t been in his place."
“Did you ask it from him ?”
•• I asked for it when I came down-stairs, before I
left the house."
Michael Flynn said he was boss of the Park Row
hotel. The prisoner was his nephew and book
keeper, night watchman and general manager.
•• Are there any rooms in your hotel ?" asked
counsel.
"No, sir."
" What have you ?"
"AU cot-beds in a row.”
" Is there any room numbered 19 ?”
"No, sFr."
"Tho de'endant is in your employ ?"
" Yes, sir."
"Discharged,” said th© Court.
PRICE FIVE CENTS.
- L - —r
ROSE LEAV-S.
BY WILLIAM DOUGLAS.
Under the feet of the years,.
Hidden from life and light,
With its burden of grief and tears.
The past has gone from my sight,
Leaving only a dream
And a lonely grave by the sea,
And a song with love for a theme,
Set to a minor key.
Like one who gathers the leaves
Of a fragrant rose that is dead,
And sighs as he sadly grieves
At the life and beauty fled;
So I, from the buried p >st,
Call back in its bloom a rose,
And wonder if dreams that last
Are the best that man over knows.
I have only a dream in my heart,
And a face that is new in lay eyes 1
Can a new love’s smile impart
The love that never dies ?
Can rose leaves, withered and dried,
Be stronger than flesh to hold
The love a new love would buy
With its coin of beauty’s gold ?
In my heart lives only a dream
And the ghost of a past that is dead.
In mine eyes the living eyes gleam,
By fleeting desire fed;
But the withered loaves in my hand
Are sweet with the rose’s breath.
And a voice from the shadow land
Is stronger than life or death,
herTohnhie.
BY VIOLET WHYTE.
CHAPTER I.
“ you will marry mf..”
It was hay-time in the village of Brookhurstf
the grass was ent everywhere, the weather wast
glorious, and the whole population of the placet
seemed to be outside their houses. Not tiiaf
the entire population of Brookhurst meant very
many people, for Brookhurst parish did not in
elude mor, than two hundred souls—not evert
with the addition of the picturesque little ham
let of Friarburn, a cluster ol not more than
twenty bouses lying, half hidden among apple
trees just two miles further down the river—a.
gem of a village, a gem of a hamlet, a gem of a
river.
In tho village there were ever so many ob
jects of distinction—a Norman church, or at
least part ot one (for Brookhurst church Was
a very handsome Gothic structure with an un
doubted Norman porch on its south side;}
a stone bridge of a single span over the river, 1
just below a broad and noisy lasher—a bridge,
so Brockhurst people said, which was once tha
scene of a fierce and bloody battle lasting tbrert
days, between the rival Houses of York audf
Lancaster, and which ended by leaving a crim
son stain on the petals of the white rose—a
crimson stain both dark and deep. Then them
was the Manor, a hideous but comfortable
sion of doubtful style, boasting of seven-and
thirty bedchambers and the finest entertaining
rooms lor twenty miles around. Near th/
church and about a quarter of a mile irom tha
manor stood the rectory, a tall and roomy
house, altogether overshadowed by a staring'
red-brick palace of a place just across the road,
as yet unfinished, but destined to provide sheU
ter for the doctor of the district and his four,
teen sons and daughters.
About midway between these two and tha
manor house with its seven-and-thirty bed
chambers there stood, in the midst of old
fashioned, sweet-smelling gardens, sloping
gently down in grassy lawns to the towing palls'
along the river’s bank, the pottage, a ramblings
two storied building, almost covered with
honeysuckle and creepers ; and in that house,
there dwelt a man who had a daughter, whq
just now was walking slowly along a
mossy pathway under the tall hedge dividing
the cottage garden from the towing path—s
very pretty girl, whose name was Daisy Cam
eron—not a classic beauty by any means, but #
short, plump, fair-iaced girl, with sunny heist
and sunny, hazel eyes, a pretty, dimpled chin,
and a pretty, rosy-lipped mouth under a abort,:
coquettish nose—as an admiring farmer's wifa
in the neighborhood once said of her : " Just A
lump of Jove.”
A very fair picture she made as she saun
tered along under the shade of the tall hedge,
her white dress contrasting Well with the darkr
foliage. She was all in white, the white embroi
dery of her gown being secured at the threat
by a little silver brooch, and her straw sailor’®
hat bound by a broad, white ribbon. The
little brooch was the only ornament she wore,
with tha exception of a large ring on her left
hand, a costly and uncommon-looking orna
ment, for in its centre was a very fine and fiery
opal, surrounded by emeralds alternated witli
diamonds. It flashed and glittered every now
and then, as a stray sunbeam found its way
through the space of the thick hedge, sending
out sparkling shafts of light— green, red and
blue. Once they caught the girl’s eye, and eh*
held up her hand In the full sunlight.
‘‘l suppose it’s pretty,” she muttered, he*
chin drawn down till not a dimple was
“ That opal must bo worth no end of money-7
to say nothing of the other stones—but I hata
it very nearly as much as I hate Ormond Dan
vers. They say opals are unlucky—l’m sure
hope this one will be to him. It will be unlucky
to me if ever he manages to put the plain one
against it which will make me Mrs. Ormond
Danvers of Brockhurst.” Then all at once the
dimples came out again—plenty of them. “ Ab,
but I’m not Mrs. Danvers yet; and they say emer.
aids are worse omens than opals. It was •
happy thought of mine to suggest an emerald
and diamond setting when ho brought me hie
wretched opal—tor ‘ green’s forsaken.’ Well, I
don’t care how soon Mr. Ormond Danvers for
sakes me. I only wish he would, but I suppose
there’s no such luck.”
She sauntered slowly along the path, plucking
now and then at the tall grasses fringing it, sing
ing—tor she was a gay little soul—in a sweet
undertone a favorite song of hers—only two
verses of it, for the third never crossed her lips.
It was only the refrain indeed that she sang that
morning, and she sang it with an emphasis and
meaning anything but flattering to the giver of
the ring, in which were combined stones of sucll
ill omen as opals and emeralds.
•• Bonnie Jockie, blithe and gay,
Kissed young Jennie making hay;
The lassie blushed and, frowning, cried, • No, ne, it
will not do—
I cannot, cannot, cannot, wunnot, wunnot, buckle
to
It was something liko a sentiment that eh 4$
thought, and she forthwith proceeded to sing *
part of it over again, adding a reckless, defiant
expression to it because she heard the sound of
a heavy loot coming along the walk behind her,
„ . i cannot, cannot, cannot, wunnot, wunnot buckle
to I’ ’’