New York dispatch. [volume], June 12, 1887, Page 2, Image 2

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

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2
“Yes, I will go down,” said Daisy.
She slipped Jack’s comforting letter within
the bosom oi her dress, and was about to leave
the room, when the sound ot wheels on the
drive, followed by voices in the porch, attract
ed her attention.
“Now, who are these?” she asked, impa
tiently.
“ Vv hy, the folks ’as been coming all the day,
replied Mary, volubly. “Cherry have stood
with the door m ’>s ’and, so to speak. There
was Mrs. and them Miss Lennoxes a few min
utes since, and they asked to see you, so Cher
ry takes ’em into 'he drawing-room and goes to
the colonel, and the colonel was rare vexed
about it. Says he, ‘ Duse take their impu
dence 1' So < berry wont back and said you
was very poorly, and couldn’t bo seen to-day,
anyhow.”
“I’ll go down, Mary, 5 said Daisy, wearily.
“I suppose every 1 ody will come worrying with
their condolen es.’’
The colonel was anxiously awaiting her when
she reached the din ng-room. He looked hn
llieueely relieved when he found she was calm
and collected.
“ I'm so glad you have come, Daisy,” he said,
kindly. “You must try to eat something or
other, lor we have a trying afternoon before us.”
“ uh, the inquest I Shall we have to say any
thing *?”
“ I fear so. You see, we were the last who
saw the poor ellow, and we shall just have to
give evidence to th »t eject- nothing more.”
However, when the inquiry began. Colonel
Cameron found that there was something more
for both o them to sav.
First came the evidence of the two men--la
borers both—-who had found the squire lying
dead on the ro <d then that of the medical man,
who deposed to the c use of death; then that o'
Colonel anieron, who gave evidence that the
deceased, Mr. Ormond Danvers, had dined
with him on the previous evening, leaving to
walk home to the manor shortly before eleven
o’clock.
“ Was not the deceased on the point o" mar
riage? ’ was asked.
“ les; he was to have been married on Thurs
day.”
“To your daughter?”
“Ho was,” the colonel answered, wondering
What that could have to do with the matter.
“Do you know any one of the name of Ber
ners—John Berners?”
The colonel shook his haad.
“I do not.”
“ You have never met a person named John
Berners ?”
“To the best ol my belief, not; but I have
met a great many people during my lifetime,
and I am not* very good at remembering
names.”
“ I will assist your memory. John Berners is
an officer in the Royal Horan Artillery. Does
that recall him ?”
“it does not. 1 don’t remember ever to
have met him.”
“ Thank you—that will do. Let Miss Cameron
bo called.” ■
So Daisy appeared, dressed in black and
Wearing avail. A subdued murmur of sym
pathy ran round the room, and the coroner or
dered a chair to be set for her, which Daisy ac
cepted, her lather standing close behind her.
Then began a system of torture worse than the
punishments of the Inquisition, for, when Daisy
had repeated her statement, that was similar to
her father’s, the much-dreaded questioning be
gan. She had not been in the room during the
colonel’s evidence, so had had no warning of
Vhat was coming.”
“ Have you anv acquaintance with a person
called Berners r-John Berners?”
Poor Daisy nearly fell off her seat. She felt
the whole room was spinning round her, or as
if she was spinning round like a top or a teeto
tum. and the faces o' the twelve jurymen faded
Jsto blurred, reddish mists. She never at
tempted to answer, and the question was there
fore repeated.
“Have you any acquaintance with a person
named Berners —John Berners ?”
“ J know him,” Daisy said, in a low tone.
“Is he an officer in the Iloyal Horse Artil
lery ? ’
“Yes.”
“ You know him intimately 7”
“Yes.”
“ How long have you known him ?”
“Several monlbs.”
“ How did yon become acquainted with him?”
“He found and restored a ring to me which I
had lost.”
“Thank you. You were about to be married
to the deceased gentleman, Mr. Ormond Dan
vers?”
“1 was to have been married on Thursday,”
“Were yon ever much attached to him?”
Daisy made no reply.
“1 bog you will answer my question.”
And Daisy did so very unwillingly and petu
lantly.
“Mr. Danvers know 1 did not care for him at
first,” she broke out: “but afterward! liked
him very much.” Then, defiantly—“ And if he
was satisfied "
“That is not quite the question,” interrupted
the coroner quietly. “ You were not very deep
ly attached to him ?”.
“I suppose not. I liked him very well of
late.”
“You were to have been married on Thurs
day?”
“I have already told you so,” said Daisy,with
Borno dignity.
“Thon will you tell me, on your oath, if you
really intended to marry Mr. Ormond Danvers
next Thursday, or at any time ?”
“ I don’t understand you.” In reality she did
not. “Ot what time are you speaking?”
“Of the immediate past -say yesterday ”
She saw that everything, or nearly everything,
was known, and feeling that it was no use fenc
ing, she answered frankly:
“ Yesterday, when 1 awoke, I certain!}’ had
every intention of marrying Mr. Danvers; but be
fore;dinner time something occurred which made
me feel that the marriage could never take
place.”
“ And what was that something which occur
red to make you change your mind ?”
“My plans,’ corrected Daisy. “My mind al
ways remained unchanged.”
“ Your plans, then. Well, was it that you flaw
Mr. John Berners?”
“Yes,” in an almost inaudible voice.
“ Did you expect to see him ?”
“Certainly not.”
“la it true that you met him unexpectedly at
a little gate which leads from your garden on to
the towing-path?”
“Yes; that is true.,’
“You had not seen him for some time?”
“No.”
“How long? Can you give us the date of
your last interview with him?”
“ It was the ninth of August.”
“ When Mr. Berners met you yesterday after
noon, was he not very much surprised and taken
aback to find you were ao soon to be married ?”
“ Yea.”
•‘There had been a coldness between you ?”
“ Yea.”
“He swore vou should never be wife of his —
meaning Mr. Ormond Danvers ?”
“He did say something of the sort; but 1
never thought o: marrying Mr. Danvers after
we had made up our difference. We wore to
have told my father everything thia morning.”
“And you intended to give up all idea of this
Wealthy marriage ?”
“ 1 had already done that.”
“Did not Mr. Berners say to you yesterday
that if Mr. Ormond Danvers managed to tie the
knot he would soon loosen it?”
“Something of the sort—it was all a joke!”
indignantly.
“ That ho would shoot him ?”
“1 don’t know—l don’t remember, really; he
was only chaffing me.”
In the agony of her fright she could not find
proper English, only slang, to express her mean
ing, and one or two men smiled as they heard
it. None of the jurymen, however; on their
twelve stolid country laces there was no soften
ing, no sympathy for the witness under examin
ation. Their squire had been foully murdered
in their very midst, and at his own gates, and
some one should “awing” for it—they did not
much care who.
Then Daisy was told she might go if she
•pleased, but Daisy preferred to remain; and
stay she did, in spite ot the colonel's whisper
that she might do as she chose, only he thought
she had better go home.
“ 1 shall go mad it 1 go away,” she replied; so
the colonel urged her no further.
The next witness was the groom Tom, who
flatly declined to bo sworn, and declared, more
over, that anything he might have “ let fly,” as
he expressed himself, in the excitement caused
by the murder was neither more nor less than a
pack of lies, and that, in fact, he knew just as
much connected with the matter as a wooden
dummy, and no more.
“ You must be eworn. Now come—don’t give
us any trouble, or yon will be punished, and
punished severely,” said the coroner sharply.
Tom reiterated that ho had nothing whatever
tc tell, for, like many another man and woman
of his class, once on his “Bible oath,” he would
have told the whole truth and nothing but the
truth, scorning to break it, yet on his bare word
would think it rather honorable than otherwise to
gwear lies through thick and thin to screen or
eave a friend, or, as in the present instance, to
defend his mistress’s good name or save her
annoyance. But this is a common thing among
the mon of the North Country, and the eoroner
knew it. He insisted on his taking the oath,
and then corroborative evidence was forthcom
ing, albeit from the most unwilling witness
over court was troubled with. But it was the
truth. Ho had seen his young miss with the
captain, as he persisted in calling him. How
many times ? He could not say for certain
had never expected to be called to book in this
wav, or ho might have counted them. Yes, he
had seen them more than once-- couldn’t say
how many times altogether—a goodish few.
The captain, he had “ ’eard,” was staying for
fishing. “ Yea, he seemed very fond of miss,
and miss of 'im,” and at this point ths faithful
Tom lost his temper and added fiercely :
“What if he were? 11l tell yer, mister, our
young miss is wuthall t’spindle-shanked lasses
for ten mile round • There ain’t a bit o* vice in
her, and I'll knock any man down as says there
is !”
All this was blurted out at great speed ere he
could be hushed or awed into silence, and the
examination < arried on in the same warlike
Btyle as be ore.
Did he remember his mistress going to York
alone with her cart during the month el
August? Of course he did. He supposed
“ miss ’adn't no one’s leave to arsk.” Here he
yras frowned down again and threatened with a
week in the castle ii he did not take care.
Finally it was drawn from him how he had
overheard Jack Berners threaten to take the
squire’s life and his own; they even dragged
fioai him all the details q! his little pantomimej
and how nervously his mistress had caught at
h.s arm. Then there was an awful question :
“ Now, on your solemn oath, did you not af
terward—that is some time to-day—describe
the expression of Mr. Berner’s face as ‘mur
derous?’ ”
“ I doan’t believe as ’o ’a’ done it 1” shouted
Tom defiantly, in his broadest vernacular.
“Will you answer the question? Wo don’t
want your opinion’’—severely. ‘“Yes’ or
‘No?”
“Ah forgets ” —increasing in breadth of
speech.
“ Oh, no, you don’t! Come—if you don’t an
swer instantly, I’ll put you in the castle at
once !”
“ If I said so, ’twas a lie,” Tom said, thus
pressed, but he saw at once that nobody be
lieved him, and felt he had broken his “Bible
oath ” for nothing.
Then Tom stood down and Mary was put up,
and Alary was more troublesome than Tom had
been. She sobbed and cried; she implored
Daisv’s forgiveness ; she asked for a chair and
dropped upon it groaning and swaying to and
fro ; then she fainted, and took perhaps ten
times as much “ bringing to ” as any one else
would have required in similar circumstances.
She said she was very sorry—she had “ a weak
'©art”—might she “ go ’ome ?”
They told her certainly, when she had given
her evidence—not before. So at last a certain
amount of evidence was dragged out of her,
strengthening the impression caused by what
bad gone before. Then Daisy was recalled and
asked one question :
“ Have you any knowledge of how Mr. Or
mond Danvers has disposed ot his property?”
“ None whatever”—promptly.
“ Do you know if he has leit a will
“No.”
“ That will do, thank you.”
Then the colonel took her home, the inquest
being adjourned for a week.
“Don’t reproach me, father.” she said im
ploringly. when they were in the carriage again.
“ My child, I am not going to do so.”
“ But you don’t believe he did it?”
“ My poor g rl, whether or not, you have put
the roue round that poor fellow's neck to-day.
The jury are against him to a man,”
CHAPTER XVIII.
‘murder will out.”
“The jury are against him to a man,” said
the colonel, in a tone of conviction, at which
Daisy clutched his arm and turned a white face
to him so full of agonizing misery that, had he
been the hardest oi parents, with the mil inten
tion of giving her a severe scolding for what had
ust come to light, he could not have lound it in
his he rt to say one h rsh word to her then,
when she was overwhelmed by this horrid mis
ery and suspense. “But there, there—don't
distress yourself so, my poor girl,” he went on.
“ ,i the fellow is innocent, he will be right.
Murder w.ll out.”
“And you don’t believe he did it?” she
wailed.
“Ot course not. Gentlemen—and I suppose
the man is a gentleman, or you wouldn’t be so
taken up with him - don’t murder one another
in this country ; beside, he had no need to do it.
Faith, in the circumstances and all things con
sidered, poor Danvers had tar away the most
right to feel aggrieved; only, of course, poor
fellow, he didn’t know it.”
Then they reached home, and Daisy straight
way followed her father into his sanctum, and,
while he smoked his pipe, gave him the entire
history o: her affair with Jack Berners, omit
ting not the smallest detail, not sparing hersel.
in any way, relating minutely the story of the
special license and her journey to Peter
borough. The colonel heard in absolute si
lence, but, when she had quite finished her
story, he spoke.
“Look here, Daisy,” he said; “you know I
am not like some nien, afraid to own myself
wrong? I own it frankly; all this miserable
affair lies at my door—the fault is mine.”
“ Yours ?” cried Daisy.
“ I ought never to have urged you to accept
Danvers when your heart did not prompt you
to say ‘ Yes ’ lor yourself. It I had let you take
your own course, all this would never have
happened, and he, poor fellow, would in all
probability have been alive and we.l at this mo
ment.”
“Bat, father, you don’t—you cannot believe
that Jack did it ?” Daisy cried, in a tone which
told her father very plainly that she herself was
by no means sure about it.
“Of course not; but Danvers would most
probably have been away irom Brockhurst -
certainly would not have been walking home
alone and lame from this house. 1 wish I had
never inter cred—l do. I regret it bitterly;
but, oh, Daisy, 1 did so dread poverty tor
you !”
“ Yes, yes: it was all for the best i” cried Dai
sy. She could not endure to hear her lather’s
self-reproaches and regrets—she who felt she
had all along acted with such inconsiderateness
and deceit.
“It seems a thousand pities, in the circum
stances and as matters have turned out, that
you were seized with that sudden fit ot filial
duty at the church doors. If you had married
him quietly, I might have kicked up a duse of a
row—l’ve no doubt 1 should have done so—but
I should have come round after awhile; and,
any way, both you and Berners would have been
out of this mess.”
“ 1 hat’s true,” said Daisy forlornly.
“Did you say he was to leave the village to
day?”
“Yes.”
“Depend upon it, they have not let him go.”
“You don’t mean that they will have arrested
him ?” she cried, horrified.
“I should think so—and ransacked his traps
and belongings. I should have liked to see
him.”
“ He would come if you sent down,” suggest
ed Daisy timidly.
“ Then 1 will. I’ll send Cherry down at once.
Will you ring the bell, my dear ?”
Daisy rang the bell, and Cherry made his ap
pearance.
“ Cherry,” said the colonel.
“Yes, sor,” said Cherry, in true soldier style,
standing strictly at attention.
“Go down to the ‘ Danvers Arms,’ and ask
for Mr. Berners.”
“ Mr. Berners ? Yes, sor.”
“ Give him Colonel Cameron’s compliments,
and say he will be glad to see Mr. Berners as
soon as convenient -at dinner, if possible.”
“ Yes, sor”—still standing at attention, though
the Colonel had apparently finished.
Then he wheeled round and made for the
door, when the Colonel spoke again.
“And, Cherry, say 7 o’clock for dinner.”
“Yes, sor,” answered Cherry, and departed.
Colonel Cameron turned and looked a't Daisy.
“You won’t dress, of course; but won’t you
just bathe your face ? You look most deplora
ble. Come—go away and freshen yourself a
little.”
Poor Daisy burst out crying again.
“if you would scold me—if you would slang
me,’’she sobbed, “I shouldn’t feel it,half so much
—butl’ve behaved abominably all through, and
I feel so mean—l do indeed I I was the same
when he was so good to me. As long as he in
sisted and was sarcastic, I didn’t care how I
disappointed him; but when he was so good,
and seemed to trust me so. I felt just as despic
able as I do now.”
The Colonel put his arm around her.
“Listen to me, my girl,” he said, kindly. “ I
cannot see that you are in any way to blame for
Danvers’s death—and that is'our first consider
ation at present. When the shadow of murder
comes to hang over us, it will be worse than
useless to add reproaches to our distress and
trouble. Beside, I have owned myself as much
to blame -as much?—no, more to blame than
any one.”
So Daisy left him, and went up stairs to
straighten her dishevelled locks and bathe her
tear-stained face before Jack should come.
But there was no sign of him; nor had Cherry
returned. The hands of the little clock on her
chimney-shelf pointed to a quarter before seven,
and she went restlessly down stairs into the
room where her father was still paying tribute
to the great god Nicotine.
“ What a long time Cherry is !” she exclaimed.
“Yes, very,” answered the Colonel, sleepily.
She betook herself to the window, and tapped
with her fingers on the pane till the Colonel was
thoroughly aroused. Then—almost on the
point ot seven—Cherry appeared, and stood at
attention just within the doorway.
“ Well ?” said the Colonel.
“ If you please, sor, I was too late—they had
took the gentleman away.”
“Away! Where?” cried Daisy, sharply.
“ They've put him under arrest, Miss Daisy,”
said Cherry, trying to frame his news in softer
words than he would have done had the Colonel
been alone.
“ What—to prison—to the cells?” she cried.
“ To the cells, Miss Daisy,” confirmed Cherry,
sorrowfully.
“But can you tell us nothing? What did he
say ? What did he do ? You must have heard
something 1”
“The landlady said he was very cool—about
the coolest sho’d ever seen. The gentleman
told her to keep his rooms for him, as he should
want them again. He paid for ’em.”
“And did ho leave no »ote, no message for—
for us ?”—hesitating how to frame her question
in disguising words, which really concealed
nothing of the truth from her faithful Cherry.
“ Not a word, Miss Daisy. But he scarcely
had time —and then he was eo taken by sur
prise.”
“Yes, that’s true,” said Daisy. Then, Cherry
having left the room, she said to her father :
“ I no good could come ot it—l told him
so. Oh, that unlucky ring—giver, wearer,
loser, finder— it has brought evil to all, and to
seme, shame.”
CHAPTER XIX.
“ THE RESIDUE OF MY REAL ESTATE I LEAVE TO
MARGARET O’NEIL CAMERON.
On the day which was to have been the
squire’s wedding day, his poor murdered body
was laid in the grave. Almost unavoidably was
it so—and, indeed, half the notices of the
funeral had been sent out before those in charge
of the affair remembered the fact at all. Then,
as the lawyer very truly said, it was of no use
altering it ; tbe circumstance could hardly add
to tbe sadness of the event, and poor Ormond
Danvers had done now with marriage feasting
and festivities.
As for Miss Cameron, he expressed his opin
ion that it did not in the least matter whether
she was'pained by the incongruity between the
intention and the reality of the manner in
which the day would be spent.
But Daisy did not go to the funeral, though
the colonel did, and faced all the gaping multi
tude gathered from the whole country side,
i With a dignity and coolness which won lor him
NEW YORK DISPATCH, JUNE 12 1887.
, the admiration of all those who saw him. As
lor i -aisy, most people were vqry sorry tor her
—sorry for the engagement that she had really
been forced into—sorry for her anxiety concern
ing the man she loved. fSome of them were
sorry for him also, though a few did not hesi
tate to point not only the finger but the whole
hapd of suspicion at him.
It was a solemn and impressive scene. The
sun shone down brilliantly upon the mourn ul
crowd gathered in the quaint, old-fashioned
chuohyard. There were distinguished and
learned men from all parts of the c untry, who
had come to pay their last tribute of respect to
one whose attainments had ranked very high,
even among them ; there were bluff and hearty
country s uires and gentlemen farmers ; there
were all the Brockhurst and Friarbnrn ten
antry, and all the laborers on the dead squire’s
estates.
And in the midst of all these lay tbe oaken
coffin, covered, nay, heaped up-with tokens of
affection and respect—rich and costly hothouse
blooms, fair Autumn roses and sweet smelling
garden flowers, and humble posies plucked by
the little, innocent h> nds of the children. One
little bairn had brought a rude wreath ot great
m-irguerites, backed by broad, green ferns ;
and, she being the last to offer her tribute, this
lay on the top of all the othere. and just above
the dead man’s breast. So -they were many
who noticed it—Ormond Danvers, on the day
which way to have been his wedding day, was
crowned with daisies after all.
And then, when all was over, there was a great
gathering in the long dining-room ot the manor
to hear the will read. Colonel Cameron had
tried to get off that part of the day’s proceedings,
but in vain. In vain did he urge the tact that
he wanted to get home to h s poor little girl,
who was horribly cut up by the whole affair, and
well-nigh distracted-in vaia did he set forth
that he detested hearing wills read at any time,
and particularly wished to escape the present
one; the lawyer was inexorable.
“It is imperatively necessary for you to be
present,” he said, in a very business-like tone;
so the Colonel had to give in, and take himself
back to the manor with tbe others.
Everybody, knowing that the late Ormond
Danvers, of Brockhurst, was the last of his race
and did not happen to possess a relative in the
world, was curious as to how he might have
left his money; many and wild were the specu
lations and suggestions put forth, and great was
the surprise caused by the reading oi the will.
“A year’s wages to every servant in the es
tablishment; nineteen guineas to every laborer
on the estate; three thousand pounds each to
J-eters the valet, Simpson the butler, Badger
the coachman, and Mrs. Gardner the house
keeper: a thousand pounds to each of the execu
tors; ten thousand pounds to his valued friend,
Colonel Cameron.
Then the lawyer made a slight pause, and the
curiosity of the audience was aroused to the
highest pitch.
“The residue of my real and personal estate
1 leave to Margaret O’Neil Cameron, to be abso
lutely at her owngdisposal, to deal with as she
best pleases ”
And that was all.
There was a dead silence in the large room,
broken only by the rustling ot the voluminous
will as it was folded up by the solicitor; then,
after a moment or so oi astonished gazing into
one another's faces, a buzz of tongues. Colonel
Cameron rose to his feet.
“ It will be impossible tor my daughter to ac
cept this,” he blurted out. “l am sure she will
say so when she hears of it. She cannot accept
it.”
“Is she of age?” some one inquired.
“Oh, no—only nineteen I”
“Then she cannot decide for herself, and you
cannot decide it for her. Beside, if you and
she eventually refuse to take it, who can ? There
are no relatives, and you will only enrich the
Crown.”
“ True—true,” said the Colonel, still amazed.
“There is a sealed packet, ‘To ba given to
Colonel Cameron in case of my death,’ ” said the
lawyer.
The Colonel took it with thanks, and slipped
it into his breast po ket. Ho knew well enough
that it contained the LOU lor five thousand
pounds, so did not open it before all the inquir
ing eyes around him. Then, saying adieu only
to those near to him, he went back to the cot
tage to tell Daisy his astonishing news. Ho
found the sympathizing Mary in the drawing
room with his daughter; and Mary, having been
to tbe funeral, had thought it kind to go in to
her mistress and harrow her feelings by a de
scription of all the melancholy proceedings, not
forgetting to lay great stress on the incident of
the wreath of marguerites and tbe remarks that
had been passed among the crowd concern
ing it.
“ Ay, Miss Daisy —and they did say it was
strange the ’ poor gentleman should ’ave a
wreath of dasiesjust above his breast on the
day that was to ’ave been his wedding day.
I lay he’d ’ave been pleased-?rare and pleased
—if he d seen it. And, oh, miss, I’ve never ’ad
the chance to say so, but I do hope you’ll for
give me for what I ’ad to say at the inquest. It
they adn’t ’ave put me on my Bible oath, 1
shouldn’t ’ave cared ; but I dursn’t break that,
though Tom did.”
“ Well, you were obliged to tell the truth, and
I hope no harm will be done, ’ answered Daisy,
forlornly.
“ Yes, miss. And Tom, he’s nearly wild. He
says he’s broke his Bible oath, and nobody be
lieves him when all’s said and done. He cried
last night, miss, in the kitchen, for he says it he
'adn’t a’ lost his temper, he might ave done a
deal more good.”
“It can’t be helped,” Daisy remarked, wretch
edly.
“ People in general—that is, most folks—
don’t seem to believe the—the other gentleman
did if,” Mary put forth timidly, alter a pause.
Daisy Hamed up in an instant.
“Of course he did not do it—he was asleep
and in bed. Beside, why should he have done
it? Nobody but a fool would have suspected
him for a moment.”
“ No, miss—of course not,” said Mary, dis
creetly, agreeing with her young mistress.
All the same, Mary remembered the words
she had heard spoken by Berners previously to
the murder—remembered, too, the fierce ex
pression on his face ; and, though now, in con
sideration of the turn affairs had taken, she
would not have admitted it for the whole world
—or, as she herself would melodramat
ically put it, wild horses wouldn’t have dragged
it out of her—yet down in the very deepest and
inmost recesses ot her heajt, Mary had very
little doubt that Jack was the doer of the deed.
“ There is the colonel, ma’am,” said Mary,
suddenly transforming herself from the sym
pathizing and sensational brioger of nows to
the well trained and low spoken maidservant,
and discreetly retired, leaving the colonel and
Daisy alone.
“ Well, daisy, it’s all over now ; and, really,
every one was most sympathetic and kind in
their inquiries alter you,’ he said. “ And now
I have the most astonishing piece of news for
you. You won t let it knock you over ?”
“No ; what is it ? Have’they got the man ?
Is Jack free ?”
The colonel shook his head, grieved for her
disappointment.
“ It is too soon to expect that,” he told her.
•‘ No, it concerns poor Danvor’s will. How do
you think he has left bis property ?”
“ Oh, 1 don’t know!”—with utter indiffer
ence. “ How should I
“ There are some legacies,” said the colonel,
slowly ; “ but he has leit the bulk to you.”
“To me ?” cried Daisy, not believing the
evidence of her own ears.
“To you,” said the colonel, in confirmation.
“ Oh, I don’t want it—l won’t have it-I’ve
no right to it,” Daisy cried.
“ !8o I said. However, it seems that we can
neither of us decline to have it until you are of
age ; and then—well, who can say what you
may wish to do ? In any case, it is not defraud
ing any man of his just dues, lor poor Danvers
had not a relative in the whole world.”
Daisy remained silent for some time, then she
broke out, passionately:
» “ Oh, if I could take back the past I If I had
only behaved better to him while he was living
—it I had only been honest 1”
“ What is past and gone,” said the colonel,
gravely, “ can never be undone or unsaid.
And, as to this money, my dear, I, as you have
done, called out that you could never take it;
yet you throw it away hastily, not un
til you have considered at least if, in keeping it
—in keeping up the old place as he kept it, in
retaining the old servantsand the old privileges
—you will not be carrying out his last wishes to
the letter.”
“ Yes ; 1 think he would have liked it—l am
sure he would. He used so often to apeak ot
my ‘coming rule !’ We never thought, though,
that it would come in this way !”—the great
tears flooding into her eyes instantly.
“Of course not—who did ? A fine fellow, the
essence of goodness, cut down in tbe very Hower
of hia strength 1” rejoined the colonel. “But,
Daisy, aa regards thia property, you must de
cide nothing hastily or without due and careful
consideration.”
“ if—Jack-gets off,” Daisy said, with diffi
culty—for the bare idea of Jack s not getting
off was enough to choke her—“l will keep it
and try to do good with it—as he would have
wished. But-if—Jack—oh, father, father, it
would be the price of blood ! It is that al
ready !”
“ My dear, my dear”—soothingiy—“ to be sure
he will get off! Once the London detectives
get to work, the truth ia sure to come out, and
he will be all right—never fear 1”
“ They got to the bottom of what I thought
was a secret without the help of the London de
tectives,” said Daisy, despairingly. “I am so—
afraid—that ”
“I begin to think,” said the colonel, “that
you are not ao sure of your Jack’s innocence.
It that ia so, may Heaven pity you, for you will
need it.”
“I do need it,” Daisy answered, solemnly;
“but I shall believe in Jack’s innocence to the
last hour of my life. Nothing could shake my
faith in him—nothing.”
“That is all right,” answered the colonel, but
he went away shaking his close-cropped white
head doubtfully; for, notwithstanding all Daisy’s
passionate protestations, he, who was as confi
dent of Berners’s innocence of guilt as of his
own, behoved them just as much as had believed
the groom Tom s reply at the inquest—” If I
said so, ’twas a lie.”
CHAPTER XX.
“THE JURY ARE DEAD AGAINST HIM.”
It was surprising, when the nows that Daisy
was Ormond Danvers's heiress oozed out in the
neighborhood, how much sympathy was ex
pressed for her n the teinble position in which
She was placed, and how many ingenious ex
cuses were made lor her conduct—conduct
which, during the few days intervening between
the inquest aud the xoatog Ql Uq will,
been stigmatized as “utterly disgraceful”—
“a wretched little flirt, brought up very loosely
in the army, you know, always trailing about
: the country side in that last-looking trap of hers
' —she as bold as brass, just a match for it.”
That was Miss Cameron, the admired (laugh
ter o a poor officer; Mas Cameron, the mis-
I tress o' the Manor, was altogether different.
“ Well, really, I do pity the poor child most
I sincerely only nineteen and no mother; and
, then so admired—how could she help flirting a
i little ? And o course it was not her fault, her
engagement to Ormond Danvers; he would have
' her,reason or none,and got the colonolfto bring
i h 8 powers of persuasion to bear on the matter.
They say he actually forced her to accept him.
Any way, 1 do know this, that Daisy never pre
tended to care for him in the least; and it was
quite understood all along that it was entirely
a marriage ol prudence on her part. Ob, no, I
don't belie > e tor a moment that the other one
did it! Gentlemen sometimes get murdered
—poor Mr. Danvers, for example—but they
don’t murder others. And they say ho is such
a tine,pleasant lellow. I saw the landlady©, the
‘ Danvers Arms ’ this morning, and she is quite
heart-broken about it.”
Tbe excuses however were made for, not to
her, for Daisy did not make her appearance in
public at all, and was seen by nobody until the
reopening o the inquiry into the murder. Then
lor the first time she saw Jack, who, backed by
the cleverest lawyer to be found in England,
was as o >ol and composed as ever he had been
when sitting on a court-martial himself. In
deed every one declared his manner was per
fection, for he was grave and quiet, and as cool
as ice. He was accommodated with a seat next
to his lawyer, and, had it not been for a tall po
liceman stat oned behind him, nobody who had
not been told ot his identity could have guessed
that he was “the prisoner.”
He was already in the room when Daisy came
in with her father, she being the first witness
called. The great lawyer, who meanwhile bad
taken the strongest fancy for his client, and be
lieved in bis innocence as thoroughly as any
one, looked up at her with keen interest.
“Is this the lady ?” he asked in an under
tone.
“ Y’ea,” answered Jack, who had barely
glanced up.
But, all the same, ho had noticed that Daisy
was closely vailed, and that every shade of co
lor had leit her cheeks. It happened that-her
place at the table was close to -lack, so that the
great man of law wr.s able to see her very well
indeed when she was seated and had taken off
her vail. Jack's blue eyes noted how her hand
trembled, but he was afraid to raise them to
her face, lest what he might see there should
unnerve him for what was coming; for Jack,
though very cool and composed, was perfectly
aw re of the gravity of the situation in which
he had come to be placed, and of the serious
ness of the charge against him.
There was an interval of a lew minutes before
the taking of the evidence began, owing to a
consultation between the coroner and some
other gentleman; and Mr. Firth, Jack’s lawyer,
took advantage of it to speak to Daisy, who was
immediately on his left hand.
“ I w n’t you, for my client’s sake,” he said,
in a gentle undertone, “to be as cool as you
can. I dare say you will be very sharply cross
examined, but you must try to be as collected
as you can—will you ?’
“Yes,” said Daisy, looking at him for an in
stant, her eyes wandering past his to Jack’s face
yearningly.
“ There is not the slightest doubt of the ver
dict,” Mr. Firth went on, in reassuring tones.
“You think not?” —eagerly.
“ Uh, dear, no ! It will be all over in a couple
ot hours at most. It was a mere bungling mis
take to have fixed on him at first. Wu are not in
the least uneasy.”
Then the consultation at the other end of the
table broke up, and Daisy was sworn.
Her evidence was at first merely a recapitula
tion oi what she had given previously. Then
she was asked:
“Did you on the 9th of August last drive into
York ?”
“I object to that question,” said Daisy’s
lawyer.
“ 1 must press it.” Question repeated. “Yes,”
answered Daisy.
“ Without the usual attendance of your
groom ?”
“ Yes.”
“ You left home that morning with the inten
tion of being married ?”
“ Yes”-almost inaudibly.
“But you were not married ?”
“ 1 ob ect to these questions; they are beside
the case,” interposed the lawyer again.
“ Not at all. We know that Miss Cameron
was to have been married to the deceased gen
tleman—was engaged to him—had been engaged
some time before she met or even Knew the
prisoner. A special license has been found
among his luggage at tno ‘Danvers Arms,’
made out in the name of John L’Estranga Ber
ners and Margaret O’Neil Cameron. Miss
Cameron has admitted that on the morning oi
the Jth of August she left home to be married—
I want to hear why she was not married.”
Daisy had turned very white, and Jack cast a
frowning glanca at the lawyer lor the prosecu
tion—a frov.n taken note ol by every one oi the
twelve stolid jurymen.
“I changed my mind,” faltered Daisy, casting
a piteous look at Jack, whereupon tbe lawyer
remarked jocosely that the young lady seemed
to be given to that practice.
All the shrinking dread and fear vanished in
stantly, and the Lot indignant blood rose into
the girl’s pale face.
“I suppose—’’she began angrily, when she
caught the expression on Mr. Firth’s face, and
literally bit off the words sharply.
“ Well, you changed your mind,” continued
the cross-examiner, “ and came home again
without having gone through the ceremony ot
matrimony ?”
“ Yes.”
“ The prisoner and you had quarrelled ?”
“Hq W”.s awfully angry,” said Daisy naively
—at which most of the listeners smiled, and
Jack turned as red as fire.
“I don’t at all wonder,” said the cross
examiner, in an amused tone. “ Then it is true
that you never saw him from that day until tbe
day of tbe murder?”
“Quite true.”
“ Or communicated with him in any way ?”
“1 bad not heard from him at all.”
“ Or of him ?”
“Yes, I heard something of him.”
“ What h'ld you heard ? ’
“I objecl io that question”—from Daisy’s
legal adviser.
“ I must put it.”
“ 1 decidedly object — hearsay is not evidence.”
“But I didn’t hear anything,” cried Daisy
“only that ” But here she was silenced by
the lawyer.
’‘lmuat proas the question,” repeated the
other.
“ Hearsay is not evidence,” persisted the de
fender of Daisy’s interests.
“However, after a groat deal of haggling
and quoting and persisting, he gave way, and
Dmsy was allowed to finish her sentence.
“It was only that he might have to go out to
India again, ’she said simply, over which her
lawyer positively chuckled and beamed with
delight.
Then there was a great deal of haggling
about the threatening expressions used by Jack
concerning the murdered squire during the
evening on which the murder was committed.
But on that point Daisy was ffrm aa a rock; not
ail the twistings ot her words, not all the per
suasions and threats and pitfalls skillfully ore
pared could get from her anything more than
that he had “said something of the sort in
joke,” but she had not taken particular notice,
and could not swear to the words.
“ I cannot give false evidence 1” she cried at
last desperately; and alter that they allowed her
to get off the mental rack on which they had al
most tortured her into madness.
Jack drew a long breath o: relief, and Mr.
Firth whispered to him that the worst part of it
was over now; all the others would soon be dis
posed of. Tom followed with an even greater dis
play of block-headed stupidity than he had shown
on the previous occasion, and his reiteration of
the assertion that, if he had said “ the expres
sion on the captain's face was murderous,
’twas a lie;” and then, when he was asked what
possible motive he could have for telling such a
lie, he answered with a frank simplicity that
was well assumed, “ Why, just lor t’ sake o’
talking an’ knowing a bit more about it than
other folks.”
“That’s a fine fellow I” murmured Mr. Firth
approvingly. “He tells lies admirably.”
Then Mary appeared with her tears and her
information that she “ ’ad a weak ’e irt,” and
managed to bring down the house—as one of
the persons present afterward expressed it
—by replying that, “’aving a weak’eart, she
always felt a bit flurried when nigh Tom, and
never remembered very well anything that ’ad
been said. And then she couldn’t ’ear very
well, and Tom kept nuking her laugh, and of
course they never neither of them expected
they was going to b® ’ad up for murder over it.”
“ But you are not being had up for murder,’’
expostulated the lawyer for tho prosecution.
“Did you hear the prisoier threaten to take
Mr. Ormond Danvers's life or not ?”
All at once Mary’s “ weak ’eart ” must have
given way, for she began to sob piteously.
“It s no use, gentlemen,” she sobbed, look
ing round appealingly—“ I’ve a weak ’eart, and
I gets that flustered, I should own to doing it
• myself alter a bit. I always was so—just turn
me round twice, and I don’t know where I am.
They often tells me so.”
“ A splendid witness,” murmured Mr. Firth,
with delight. “No, I’m not going to question
her—do more harm than good, and we re quite
safe.”
Then followed various witnesses—those who
had found the body, the doctors, the police who
had searched the scene of the murder, and
those who had arrested the prisoner and
searched his rooms at the inn. These last de
posed to finding a six-shot revolver which had
been recently fired.
“I did fire it that very night,” interposed
Jack hastily. “The cats made such a row I
couldn’t sleep—it was about three in the morn
ing.”
Jack, however, was hushed into silence, and
P. C. Jinks continued :
“ The revolver ’’—produced—“ appeared to
have been recently fired—it was unloaded.
There was a japanned box containing twenty
two cartridges.”
Mr. Firth—“ Has the bullet which caused Mr.
Danvers’s death been found ?”
“No, it has not.”
A juror—“ Has a bullet from the box been
compared with the wound on Mr. Danvers’s
body?”
“ Yes.”
“Was the wound such as might have been
caused by a shot of this size ?”
“It might have been. The orifice of the
Ifouud W larger than 1 should
I have expected from a bullet of thia size —that ia
of the size of the bullet shown to me as having
i been found in the prisoner’s room.”
“But it is not impossible that the wound
; might have been caused by such a bullet?”
“Certainly not—but very improbable.”
“Never beard of such an absurd case in all
my Hie 1” muttered Mr. Firth to Daisy's law
yer.
“ The jury are dead against him, though,”
the other whispered back.
“ Back of fools I” was the great lawyer’s con
temptuous comment as he scanned the twelve
stolid faces.
Then there were called in succession the
landlord of the “ Danvers ' rm.< ” and his wife,
their evidence be.ng almost word lor word the
s. me. They said Mr. Berners had arrived at
Brookhurst about four in the afternoon. Yes,,
he went out, but came in for dinner at seven.
He talked a little to the landlord, and went out
again; he came in shortly before ten. He had
some whisky, and John, the boots, fetched his
boots to clean, giving him his slippers. John
cleaned all the boots at night, leaving them in
his pantry till morning, when he took them up
stairs along with the sha ing water. Oh, yes,
they were accustomed to having -visitors; they
had a great many gentlemen during tho course
of the Summer and Autumn, lor fishing or
sketching 1 Mr. Berners had been there several
weeks during the Summer. On the evening of
the murder the landlord locked up the house;
ho always attended to that himself. Could not
swear tnat Mr. Berners did not leave the house
after that, but had no reason to belie o ho hid
done so; if he did, he must have gone in his
slippers or dress shoes, as tho landlady could
a wear she unpacked his portmanteau, and he
had only one pair of boots beside those on his
feet. Both pairs were taken down to clean, and
remained in the pantry all night. It was im
possible for him to have got at them, as John
was responsible for the safety of the boots, and
always took tho keys of the pantry to his own
room. If he had gone as far as the manor in
either his dress shoes or his slippers, traces
must h ve been found, for rain had fal.en heav
ily within a few hours, and the roads wore
muddy. With regard to the shots, he slept next
to Mr. Berners, and heard him jump out of bed
and open the window. The cats were making
a fear.ul row, and Mr. Berners fired several
times. The c its were a groat nuisance.
The dress shoes—produced were almost
new and had apparently been worn but once,
the soles having certainly ne'er been damped.
The slippers—also produced—were of light
Cambridge blue, and would have showed the
slightest trace of mud or damp.
Then followed the “ boots ” of the inn, John,
who swore positively that on the night in ques
tion he fetched two pairs of boots irom Mr.Bor
ner’s room, giving him his slippers in place of
them. He cleaned both pairs, and was positive
that he locked the pantry door. In the morn
ing he took up Mr. Berners’s shaving water,
and he asked if he—John—had found any dead
cate about, adding, “What a row the brutes
made, to be sure I” John had replied that he
had heard them and heard him fire. He then
told Mr. Berners that the squire.had been found
lying dead at the manor gates. Mr. Borners
said, “Good gracious I How did it happen?”
He told him he had been murdered. Mr. Ber
ners raised himself up on his elbow and said,
“Good heavens, you don’t say so !”
At this point the foreman of the jury asked if
there was any further evidence tor the defence.
“There is not,” answered the groat lawyer
suavely, in a tone which conveyed the idea that
he considered they had quite sufficient as it
was.
“Then.” said the foreman, “it is of no use
continuing the inquiry further, as we have come
to a conclusion,”
“Aery well, gentlemen,” said the coroner—
“you are agreed as to a verdict?”
“ We are,” answered the foreman solemnly.
(To be Oontimiada
SHERIDAN OUTGENERALED.
The Valiant Little General Overthrown
by Woman’s Tactics.
(From the Pittsburg Times.)
h. very amusing story about General Sheri
dan has just been told me that is well worth
reproducing. It seems that some artist, about
three or lour years ago, painted a portrait of
General Sheridan that proved a dismal failure,
but, nevertheless, was hung in the general's
private office, and there continued to hang until
it became so familiar as to cease to cause com
ment.
Finally, after the portrait had been hanging
there lor two or three years, a request came
from a G. A. R. post in Ohio lor a picture of the
hero of Winchester, with which to adorn the
walls of their rooms. Tho general was medi
tating as to how he could fill their request,
when his eye lit upon the caricature of himself
that hung upon the wall.
“ The very thing I” sprung into his mind.
And, as it is well known with him, to think is
to act, he straightway tapped his bell and hade
his orderly take down the picture and box it
ready for shipment. That night at dinner he
informed Mrs Sheridan of the request from the
Ohio post, and the manner in which he intended
complying with it.
“ Oh, Philip,” said Mrs. Sheridan, “ not that
horrible thing that has been hanging on your
office wall for the last year or so >”
“ The very same,” said the general.
“ But, Philip, if you send this picture out it
will be placed prominently on the wall and
labeled as a present from you, and that awful
daub will go down to posterity as a likeness of
yourself, and some future day will turn up, to
the unspeakable horror of your children and
friends, as a per ect likeness bl how you looked
when in your prime.”
Then followed a stormy scene, Mrs. Sheridan
arguing that the picture should not be sent, and
the general taking the side that he must, in
some way, comply with the re juegt. and, as ho
had nothing else to send, this picture should
go. The argument waxed hotter and hotter,
until finally General Sheridan got up and
marched to the door, and, having reached that
stragetic point, turned and said :
“ Mrs, SheriQan, that picture shall go. Now
let neither of us ever mention its existence
again.”
Having said this, he left the room before Mrs.
Sheridan had time to say a word in reply.
But he little knew bls wife’s pluck, lor, early
nexfi morning, before any one Was up, she went
down to his officb and surprised the orderly in
the very act of boxing the picture.
“Is there any paint or varnish here that will
stick and not wash off?” she sweetly asked.
“Yes, madam,” answered the unsuspecting
soldier.
“ Bring it to me, please,” said Mrs. Sheri
dan.
The orderly fetched some black paint from
the outer oifice and gave it to Mrs. Sheridan.
The she, deliberately turning the unlucky
painting on its back, brushed every resem
blance of a picture Irom off the canvas, only
leaving a dim vista of black paint.
“ Uh, do stay here until the general comes,”
was all the wretched orderly could gasp as be
saw this surprising proceeding. But be had no
need of this request, for hardly were the words
out of his mouth before iShendan’s light step
was heard in the outer office, and in an instant
his stout figure darkened the door. His quick
eye in a second took in the state of affairs, and,
turning red in the face, he said:
“ Mrs. Sheridan, what doos this pro ”
“Stop, Philip,” said she; “last night you
made the request that neither ol us should ever
mention this again,” pointing to what remained
of the picture. “Do not be the first to break
this request,” and without another word she
swept out of tho office, leaving Little Phil abso
lutely rooted to the floor.
It is, perhaps, needless to tell that the pic
ture has been a dead letter in tho Sheridan
household from that day to this, and bids fair
to remain so.
REMEMBERED HIS LESSON.
BY MBS. M. L. RAYSE.
If we had all been born grown-up like owls
and bumble-bees, what a wonder and a delight
a little child would be to us !
We would give it a more cordial reception
than the miners of California gave to the clown’s
baby when they earned it in triumph on their
shoulders and filled its little hands with gold.
But we seo them every day, and like the vio
lets and pansies, they become common, even
with the gold of heaven on their hair and its
light falling on their sweet brows.
And we call them stupid when they are not
quick to learn. A little people among a race of
giants. Foreigners, who do not even know our
language, we begin their tender infancy to teach
them those things which we least understand
ourselves.
This is a long prelude to a very short story,
but it is one that is repeated in so many house
holds that I often wonder that it has not come
under the notice of the Society for the Preven
tion of Cruelty to Children.
Willie K was the only son of fond and
ambitious parents. They wanted their child to
learn everything, and at six years of ago he was
a second Paul Dombey, excepting that he soon
forgot what be learned.
He was heedless, his parents said. His teach
er declared that he was idle; that he played
truant to find dandelions and make chains of
them; that ho stared out of the windows,
watching the birds; that he drew pictures on
his slate.
So he was prodded at home and scolded at
school, and even Sunday was not a day of rest
to him, for he had long lessons and texts to re
peat and whole chapters from the Bible to com
mit to memory.
There camo a Sunday when Willie forgot his
text entirely. There it was on a pretty card
and he was ready for Sunday school, and his
mother had taken some portion of each day to
instruct him, and now he did not know it at all.
It was a sorrowful little boy that sat among
the bright children that day, and could only re
member to say:
“ Teacher, 1 did forget.”
Perhaps it was the foreshadowing of coming
illness that made him so “ dull ’ and “ stupid.”
No one seemed to know how hot the little hands
were, or how the heavy head drooped. Next
Sunday he was not there. He was very, very
sick, his teacher said.
And now it was whispered about among the
other children that little Willie K was go-
ing to die!
He had lain in a heavy stupor for many
hours, when he suddenly awakened and looked
about him with bright, intelligent eyes.
“lean say it now, mamma,”he whispered,
hoarsely.
His mother brushed the curling hair from the
“ Willie,” she asked, fondly, “ are you bet
ter?”
But one idea dominated the mind of the dy
ing child in that supreme hour.
‘loan say it now, mamma. ‘Be— o f —good
—cheer. I—have— overcome—the—world? ”
And the weary eyes closed forever.
HUMOR ThF ID ITR.
BY THE DETROIT .FREE FIE TO.
CHILD QUITS.
“ I’ve seen men too mean to lend a friend a
dollar,” said Wigwug.
“So have I,” replied Filtrip. “ And, by the
way, can’t you lot me have a dollar now ior a
few days ?”
“Zounds, man ! I was just preparing to ask
you for a five !”
EXPECTED A KICK.
A cow stood looking over a gate on Brush
street, yesterday, and a woman stood waving
her apron at the cow from the fro.nt steps. A
boy came along and saw the situation, and cried
out:
“She won’t hook you, ma’am.”
“Oh, I ain’t afraid of her hooking me,” re
plied the woman, “ but I don t want her to
come into the house and kick th® furniture all
to pieces.”
SOMETHING ELSE.
“ Five cents apiece for peaches !” she ex
claimed, as she retreated a step or two in
amazement.
“Yea’m five cents.”
“ But isn’t that awful ?”
“Yes, rather steep, ma’am. Therefore, per
mit mo to call your atteut on to these beautiful
Bermuda onions—five times as large as a peach
—No pit in the centre to.take up room—and
selling for three cents each. Might say six for
fifteen cents, ma’am.”
THAT’S THE DIFFERENCE.
“You can see how mooch dee erence he vhas
in dis county,” ho was saying to a reporter yes
terday, us he gyrated his arms around in an ex
cited manner. “My naybur he hat a poy. Dot
poy gets on der railroad car und 'alls off und
loses a leg. Der railroad folks pay his ladder
two tousand dollar damages.”
“Well?”
“ Vhell, 1 haf a poy, und he goes on der rail
road, und some policemens come along und
pull him off, und oop ho goes for thirty days.
Do you call him some shustice und equality?”
NEITHER WENT.
Two mothers sat opposite each other in a car
on a Michigan Central train going to Toledo the
other day. Each had a baby about a year old,
and each baby came in for a share of the admi
ration of tho passengers. This seemed to m ko
the mother’s jealous, and aiter thinking the
matter over for a while one of them leaned
across the aisle and said:
“I feel it my duty to tell you to go into tho
car ahead with your child, as mine has the
whooping cough.”
“Uh, has it? Thanks for your kindness, but
mine is all over the whooping cough and is now
coming down with the measles. Perhaps you
had better go into the car behind I”
HE WOULD.
A trampish-looking man with a particularly
dirty face was hanging about a Woodward ave
nue grocery the other day, when a clerk ob
served:
“If you had a bar of soap could you make
good use ot it ?”
“ You bet!” was the prompt reply.
He was handed one and went off. In about an
hour he returned, his face as dirty as before,
and the clerk exclaimed:
“You never used a bit of that soap I”
“You asked me to make good use of it So I
did. 1 traded it off for something to wash over
four weeks’ dust out of my throat. This dirt on
my face ain’t three days old yet.”
SHE GOT THERE.
A Detroiter with an office up four pair of
stairs on Griswold street was inquired after by
a lady yesterday at the elevator and the boy
asked:
“ Are you a book agent, madam ?”
“No, sir 1”
“ Como about some charity ?”
’ “ No, sir !”
t “ Want his influence in temperance or poli
“No, sir!”
“ Be is very particular whom hesoes, madam.
Will you give me your name ?”
“ 1 am his wife, sir !”
“ O-h-h I you are I Well, please wait here un
til I go up and ask him it he will see you. Take
a chair, madam, and I will do my best to bring
about an interview.”
A CHANGE OF PROGRAMME.
“I beg pardon, sir,” he said as he stopped a
pedestrian on Woodward avenue, “but can you
tell me where the City Hall is?”
“ Right over there, sir.”
“Ah ! that’s it, eh? Are there any Aidermen
about the Hall this time o’ day?”
“There may be.”
“ Thanks. I suppose you know ’em all.”
“ Most of them.”
“Just so. Some of them are charitable, are
they not?”
“ 1 don’t know as to that.”
“I see. If I found an Aiderman there he
might not be a charitable Aiderman, eh ?”
“ That’s about it.”
“ I was going over there to ask some charita
ble Alderman to loan me a dollar, but as the
prospects are so dubious and as you have
evinced an interest in my welfare, permit me to
abandon my original plan and strike you for a
quarter.”
CASAR’S GRAVE.
The First Colored Soldier of the Late
War to Die for the Union Cause.
(From the Baltimore Sun,)
A reporter, on Decoration Day, paid a visit to
Camp Bolger, where many regiments of white
trpops wero encamped during the civil war, and
where several thousand colored troops were
mustered into the service of the United States.
He fortunately met Judge Hugh L. Bond, who
lives near the old camp.
“ This is an historic place,” said the reporter.
“ les,” replied the Judge. “When General
Dix commanded in Baltimore he did not know
where to put the regiments constantly arriving,
and I told him there were eighty acres of
land here, of which he could have the use, pro
vided h£ would send no regiment to occupy it
that was not commanded by a gentleman. Gen
eral Dix agreed to the terms, and sent General
P. P. Porter and Colonel Chapin, Generals
I‘oome, of Now York, Rodman, of Massachu
setts, and plenty of others, whose society was
enjoyed very much. At last came General Bir
ney to enlist colored troops. His effort, I think,
was tentative. That is, he had no direct authori
ty from Washington to enlist negro regiments,
at least he bad none to enlist slaves. There
were at the time about 87,0J0 free colored people
in the State and >O,OOO slaves. I wrote him a
letter directing him to leave the premises unless
he enlisted slaves pari passu with free persons;
that every time he took a free colored man from
labor, he made it necessary to employ a slave ;
that the war, by his process, would make slave
bolding profitable, while he wished it abol
ished. He sent the letter to Secretary Stanton,
who published it, and the work of enlisting
slaves was commenced. One day a soldier of
Birney’s enlistment died, the first colored sol
dier of the war to offer up his life for the Union.
He is buried over there.”
“No one seems to have clecrated his grave,”
said the reporter.
“ No, he is forgotten; but I tried to get him a
monument once. Being in Washington I told
secretary Stanton of the loss the country bad
suffered, and asked him to give me one of the
broken columns, of which there were many ly
ing around the unfinished Capitol. He said 1
should certainly have one for the purpose, I
suggested that as I intended to erect it just at
the park gate he might give me two of the larg
est condemned cannon over at the arsenal to
place beside it to keep wagons and carriages
from running against it.
“ ‘ Oh, well,’ he said, ‘ yes; you can have two
of them too. What was the soldier’s name ?’
“‘Well,’ said I, ‘he was a slave, and had
about as many names as he had haa masters,
but he went by the name of C.i ear.’
“ ‘ Well, you ought to be particular about the
superscription you place on the column.’
“ ‘ We have thought of that, and have agreed
to inscribe on it:
“ • Had yon rather Cfesar were living and die all
slaves,
Or that Ciesar were dead and live all freemen ?'
“This met the Secretary’s approbation.
“ When, Mr. Secretary, will you send the col
umn and cannon over ?” said I.
“ ‘Now, Bond,’ said he, ‘ this »s monstrous. I
have given you property that cost the Govern
ment more than $50,000, and you ask me to
spend $.5,000 or $(>,000 more to get it to you.
No, sir 1 Emphatically, no !’
“ The want of generosity upon the part of this
official is all that prevented the decoration of
that lonely grave.”
INVITED TO DINE.
BUT IT WAS A HURRIED AND BA
THER SILENTJMEAL.
An amusing story is told of a pretty little
actress who figures in the bills as “ Miss, ’ al
though she has been a wife and a mother this
half dozen years. When the company to which
she belonged was singing comic opera here last
Winter, the actress was pestered by the atten
tions of the friend of the stage manager, and
although she snubbed him persistently, she
did not feel it wholly politic to quarrel with
him ii she could possibly avoid it. The youth
had frequently invited her to dine or sup with
him, and at length she accepted im invitation to
meet him at a well-known restaurant after the
play.
“ Only I must bring a friend with me,” she
said. I can’t go about alone, yon know.”
He tried to persuade her that there was no
need ot such an addition to the party, but she
was firm, and the matter ended by his saying:
“ Very well, only ii you bring a riend i’ll
bring a iriend, too, to talk to her. If I don’t 1
shan’t have a chance to get a word with you.”
The actress acquiesced with a demure sparkle
in her eye which might mean many things, and
on the evening appointed she presented herself
at the rendezvous with a discreet tap upon the
door. Then she opened it a little and peered in
with a bewitching smile. The host and another
man were waiting, and tho table gave evidence
ol preparation for an elaborate supper.
"Oh, you *l'o Bere, are you'?’ she said,
“ You and your friend. Well, so am I and mv
Iriend.”
And with a quick movement she slipped in,
threw tho door open and announced: “ Aly
husband, gentlemen.” The supper was eaten,
but it was a hurried and rather s lant meal, and
Aladame is hardly likely to bo invited to supper
again by that man.
ME A SURE EOR MEASURE.
PREFACED AND ILLUSTRATED,
(From the Boston Transci'ipt.)
It is the‘ashion among the lords of creation
to make merry over tho ways of women, and to
think, apparently, that the more ridiculous
they can make their sisters appear the wiser
and more sensible they must prove themselves
to be, merely by force o contrast, woman,
the wh spering sex would have us believe, is
illogical, unmethodical, and cun re ch results
only by a haphazard intuition, instead of by tho
divine Beason with a big Lt, which is monopol
ized exclusively by man.
Without entering upon any abstruse snecula
tiqn as to the relative merits of reason and in
tuition that is to say, as t > the m nuers of men
and the ways of women one practical illustra
t on ot the methods pursued respectively by
tiie sons o. Adam and Eve’s daughters will bo
sufficient to prove to all unpre udiced readers
that not only, as the immortal Sam Fateh ob
served, some things cun be done as well as
others, but tiie same thing can be doner in dir
ferent ways, and the result lie as if
reached in one way as by another. .
So much .or preface; now ior AHe illustra
tion. /
Not long ago Fogg bought a and,
thinking to save tho expense o layln<At; j’te iold
Airs. Fogg he would do tne worfpjimqUr.^. /
Fogg and the carpet in
the a.ternooa. Fogg got out of liifrgobd clothes
and into the old suit th t had I een feeding tho
motiis throu/h the Winter. He armed h msdf
with tacks and hammer, with a yardstick, a two
.oot rule, a carpenter’s square* a ten-mot polo
and a tape measure.
First he unrolled the carpet, spread it out to
cover the floor, walked over it two or tbr< e
times, pulled it here and twitched it there,
puckered bis mouth, corrugated his forehead,
and was half a do en times on the point of
asking Mrs. Fogg’s advice, and would havo
done it, only he knew it would please her too
well.
“Of course !” he suddenly exclaimed, as one
who recognizes the orce o a now inspiration.
Then he took hia measuring implements, one
alter the other, and then all together, and pro
ceeded to get the exact dimensions of the room
with all its angles, recesses, projections and
catti-corners. Ne t he sat him down and drew
an elaborate diagram or tho promises.
“ Now,” said he, jumping up briskly, “ I can
go to work in a business-like way.”
Taking his diagram he proceeded to tho scene
of action. He measured here and yard-sticked
there and tenpoled in every direction. Ho
labored long and well, ha ripped the carpet,
unraveled the edges, pounded his nails quite aa
liberally as the tacks, and uttered language
quite shocking; and when he got through - wo
have Airs. Fogg's word ior it—“ that carpet
was all askew.” It was, as the same authority
expressed it, “ a sight to behold.”
Fogg himself remarked that he nover saw
such a carpet in all his life There wasn’t any
shape to it. He was all right: oi course it wns
all the carpet’s fault in cases of this kind.
Airs. F. said nothing further than, “ Well, I
wouldn’t bother about it any more to-night,
Daniel. You are all tired out, and had better
go to bed.”
Next morning Mrs. Fogg, without stopping to
change her apparel, went to work to see what
she could do. She began at the beginning by
undoing all that her lord and master had done.
Then she tooK a string, measured across the
room and down its length, soliloquizing mean
while about “so much and half a finger,”
“three times and two fingers,” “once and a lit
tle bit over, ’ with various other equally unin
telligible remarks.
Then she got down on her knees, and with
hammer and tacks she had that carpet down
quicker than scat, and as smooth as her own
placid brow, and she got up irom her work
with spirit unru bed and clothing unsoiled.
When Fogg came home and saw the room all
put to rights, with the carpet fitting as though
it were painted on the door, he felt proud of
his wi:e; yes, actually proud of her. Oi course
he didn't say anything turtber than to remark
that it was easy enough to put down a carpet by
daylight; anybody could do that.
But Mrs. Fogg doesn t care. She knows that
Fogg thinks she is worth her weight in gold,
but that he thinks that women, like children,
are not to be praised ior tear of spoiling them.
But when anybody tells you that a woman is
illogical and unmethodical* mention this little
story about putting down a carpet.
WHO’S PAR?
A STORY OF THE DAYS OF THE
LATE UNPLEASANTNESS.
(From, the Detroit F'ee Press.)
On tho evening of the 15th of Alay, 1864, Gens.
Butler and Beauregard faced each other on the
James River in the neighborhood of Bermuda
Hundred. Butler’s headquarters on that night
were in a farm house within nine miles oi Rich
mond, and he had had the best ot the fighting
indulged in during the day. The sun was
scarcely down beiore Beauregard’s chief of
scouts called six oi us subordinates together for
consultation, and in half an hour each man had
his work planned for him on the right of But
ler’s line, which rested on the James, or was
probably supposed to, by the commander. In
stead oi this, however, as was easily discovered
from our front before dark, his line of infantry
rested on high ground a long three-quarters of
a mile from the water. What other troops
filled the gap we could not make out, and it was
almost believed that some mistake or blunder
had left a gap by which Beauregard could march
in turn the Federal Hftnk.
The orders issued to the scouts were to in
spect this stretch of ground and ascertain what
troops occupied it, and how they were situated
to meet a sudden attack. Wo did not leave the
ouiposta until ten o’clock, and by that time a
mist was rising from the river and the low lands
to increase the darkness of the night. We sep
arated to take in the whole mile front, and as
we were all dressed in blue each one went for
ward in confidence. I had the uniform of a
Federal second lieutenant, and from prisoners
we had captured that day 1 knew that the first
troops we should find in that direction would
belong to Heckman’s brigade. 1 made no effort
whatever at concealment, but walked straight
ahead toward the Federal lines, and the first
salutation 1 got was:
“ Who’s dar ? Speak, or I’ze gwine to shoot!”
I replied in the customary manner and ad
vanced upon two negro cavalrymen who were
on outpost a few hundred feet from a reserve
picket of a dozen men. When challenged for
the countersign I advanced as closely as possi
ble and said:
“ Who posted you niggers here? You have
left your posts, and I will have you shot
“ 'Deed, sah, we’s biu right yore all de time.
Heah’s de worry spot whar' do ossifer put us !”
“ Well, you come with me. Your officer shall
bo tried by court martial at once i”
Both mon iollowed me straight to the Confed
erate outposts, where they were taken in, and
then I returned to inspect the reserve. I
walked boldly in among the men, who were in
charge of a white sergeant, and angrily de
manded :
“ Sergeant, get your men in line and follow
me ! The rebels are falling back and you ought
to have known it half an hour ago 1”
He sprang up, saluted me, gave the order to
fall in, and the entire picket was marched into
the Confederate lines. At the same time other
scouts arrived with other colored prisoners,
and, as a matter of fact and of military record,
we took over forty of the Federal pickets out of
that gap without a gun being fired or an alarm
being given, 'ihe last men were taken at 11:30
o'clock, by which time a dense fog had settled
over everything. After taking in my second
batch, I joined a scout named Philbrick, and
together we flanked a reserve picket and pene
trated almost to the Bermuda Hundred road.
All along in front of Weitzel’s division we found
telegraph wires strung from tree to treo and
stump to stump, and we were provided with
files to remove them.
We worked at this a full hour, and then know
ing that the Con ederate advance would be
made soon after midnight, we made our way
back to the lines. On ©ur way we picked up an
orderly sergeant of cavalry who was drunk and
riding about the country at will. He was bent
forward on the saddle, clasping his horse’s
mano with both hands, and the animal was
picking its own way and taking its own time.
While my comrade led the horse I held tho
sergeant in his saddle, and he kept muttering
to him&elt:
“ Ole fell’r, y’er drunk—slavin’ drunk ! Boys,
whazzer think ot a fell’r who gets drunk on
leckshun day, eh ?”
He wasn’t sober enough to realize the situa
tion when we turned him over a prisoner, but
with maudlin gravity he held out his hand to
the captain, who received him, and said:
“ Shay, gener’l, gimme $2, ’nd I’ll lick Alisser
Bu’gard’s hull army in jess two minits I”
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