New York dispatch. [volume], June 26, 1887, Image 1

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

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PUBLISHED BY A. J. WttLIAMSON’B SOB
VOL? XLII.--NO. 37.
Entered at the Post Office at New Yolk,
N. Y., as Second Class Matter.
THE NENV YORK DISPATCH,
PUBLISHED AT
NO. 11 FRANKFORT STREET.
The NEW YORK DISPATCH is a.Journal of light, agree
able and sparkling Literature and News. One page is de
voted to Masonic Matters, and careful attention is given
to Music and the Drama.
The Dispatch Is sold by all News Agents of the city and
Suburbs, at FIVE CENTS A COPY.
TERMS FOR MAIL SUBSCRIBERS:
SINGLE SUBSCRIPTIONS $2 50 a year
TWO SUBSCRIBERS 400 “
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ALL MAIL SUBSCRIPTIONS MUST BE PAID IN AD
VANCE. POSTAGE PAID EVERYWHERE BY THE
DISPATCH OFFICE.
Address NEW YORK DISPATCH,
Post Office Box No. 1 7 7&*
PLAYS ANOIIAYERS.
THE GHOST OF TRAVERS HOUSE.
Is a Secret an Uncut Diamond 7—The
Mystery of a Play-Nemo Mac
donongh or Who 1 —The
Tiiur-.ph of the Impossi
ble — A Mosaic — Did
tlie Ghost Write
Itl Elc.
BY JOHN CARBOY.
Somebody—l forget the individual’s name—al
though lam sure it is not Farquhar Tupper nor
"Walt Whitman—hath recorded in very cold type
his opinion that “ a secret is an uncut diamond.”
According to this there is, in the possession of
Mr. T. B. Macdonough, a Koh-i-noor in the rough, of
the very largest dimensions and the value of which
—in its present condition—is yet to be ascertained.
This Koh-i-noor is a secret which can only be re
vealed by the person correctly answering the co
nundrum, “Who is the author of 'Travers
House ?’ ”
In other words, who is the wretched, trembling
being that is hiding bis identity behind such an old
worm-eaten chestnut as “Nemo ?”
Won't some nosing lapidary cut this Koh-i-noor
and ease the mental perturbation of—yours truly—
the public?
I have a gloomy suspicion that, were Mr. T. B.
Macdonough within easy reaching distance I could
put my dextor finger upon the square, solid shoul
der of this Koh-i-noor, Nemo.
I know that were that aforesaid dextor finger to
shadow tho gray-coated shoulder hereinbefore de
scribed the Macdonough would, with the smiling
stolid effrontery of a manager trained by years of
experience in consenting all sorts of unexpected
accusations, deny the charge of authorship.
“ TRAVERS HOUSE ” BAS A GHOST,
an effective and impressive spectre, which thor
oughly understands his supernatural entrances and
wierd exit.
He is a well-rehearsed spectre—grows into view
and fades away into the nothingness of his other
world abode with an artistic regard for the grada
tions of light and darkness, with a grace of appear
ance and vanishment which discounts Cromwell’s
sterooptio visions fifty to one.
Now, look at Macdonough. Is there anything
ghostly in the calm stare of his eyes? Do they re
mind you of the lenses of a stereopticon ?
Macdonough is not in the spiritual line. He isn’t
even a medium.
Unless it be at occasional impromptu seances at
the Morton House, where the spirits are generally
on tap.
“No. gentlemen of the jury, my client is emi
nently practical.”
Macdonough is not to be held responsible for the
creation of this specially ordained spectre of Sir
Reginald Travers. In all the days and years of his
management he has had but one ghost, and that, to
his credit be it said, has walked once a week for the
financial benefit of hia company.
Lucky is tne road combination which can count
upon having a ghost which is particularly punctual
in its appearances.
I have never known Mr. Macdonough to seek oc
casional relief from the care and worry of his the
atric ventures by the study of occult science. lam
quite sure that if the audience on last Monday
night had called never so vociferously for a sight of
the author, it would neither have had a glimpse of
tho mystical “Nemo” nor of the substantial phys
ique, the cold gray eyes and stone gray suit of
Thomas B. Macdonough.
The spectre of Reginald Travers might havo come
down from above, toboggan fashion, upon a streak
of calcium light, in front of the curtain, in response
to the call—but it did not—more’s the pity.
I fancy “ Travers House ” owes its origin to a
novel first published many years ago, in London,
under the title of
“THE VICAR’S PEOPLE.”
That story had a similar ghost and one equally as
well trained, as effectively introduced and who was
the spiritual representative of a gentleman whose
sudden and unexpected demise was attributable to
the same murderous violence which ends Sir Regi
nald Travers’s career in the first act of this Nemo
nian drama.
There was also an adventurer and an adventuress;
a greatly wronged, but finally righted heroine and a
hidden will—in this old-time fiction.
Well, suppose this “ Travers House” is the drama
tization of the old novel—and that "Nemo” is only
another name forT. B. Macdonough—of what earth
ly moment is the revelation to the playgoers?
The play is tho thing in question. It is a matter
of little concern who the author of the play is, or
where or how he obtained his material, so long as
the story and the method of its narration in dra
matic form, interests and delights an audience.
“Travers House,” in the theatric sense, is
ADMIRABLY CONSTRUCTED.
Its events, situations—its surprises are a deftly
fitted mosaic of impossibilities and incongruities.
The dialogue is as mechanical as the works of a
clock. Were it otherwise and possessed of notable
literary merit, it would be of little use in such a
play as this. As it is, it serves its purpose excel
lently well—that of a cement holding the mosaic
together.
From the act wherein the “man of the night,”
by the thrust of a knife, converts the living and
sentient Sir Reginald into a demnition pulseless
ghost, his phantom becomes to the audience the
foremost object in the play.
The expectancy of seeing this ghost suddenly and
with startling frequency appear almost anywhere,
absorbs the spectator’s mind. The spectral light of
the supernatural thenceforth illumines the play to
its close. It gives the mosaic the dismal glamour
of a churchyard in the moonlight.
You see, the supernatural always catches the
crowd. A house haunted by spooks and a play
haunted by a ghost will never go lacking for popu
lar favor.
In “Travers House,” tho ghost is not obtrusive.
It is not of the Louis dei Francki ilk. Nor is it a
ponderous thing, armed cap-a-pie, stalking into
View wrapped in a mosquito net. It is a gentle
manly, decorous minister plenipotentiary from tho
Kingdom of Myths to the Court of the Actual. It
is a spectre in a Prince Albert coat, mustache and
domestic-finish collar. Nothing of the blood-bolt
cred Banquo, nor a phantom coming as a candidate
for competitive examination with such melancholy
spooks as those which worried the last hours of
Bichard 111.
It doesn’t ask you to meet it at Phillipi, nor de.
Scend to the mechanism of a Pepper’s ghost.
It is as mysterious, as awesome and as accommo
dating in its brief appearances as a modern defiance
of Possibility should be.
M&cdW’4)ugb has taken great care in rehearsing
this apparition, and the apparition is a credit to his
stage craft.
Aside from the influence of this weird alter ego of
the defunct Sir Reginald, the play would hold place
in popular, if not critical, favor, through the skill
ful manner in which its story is told.
There is, with the exception of the struggle be
tween Sir Reginald and John Brands, the adven
turer, not a particle of realism in the play. It
never gets down to anything resembling practical
every day life, no more than do the stories in the
Penny Dreadful, or the fascinating lies of the
Arabian Nights.
Its material feeds fat the always hungry love for
the superstitious, which is one of the heritages for
man’s nature.
THE MARVELOUS,
like the Sea Serpent, will never be ont of fashion.
Education and intellectual advancement will not
abolish the yearning for the mysterious, nor de
crease our superstitions.
In this drama the impossible dominates; it holds
in every scene, and in the very condition of the
characters, the Unexpected is continually happen,
ing in the most unreal manner.
The burglar having climbed into the premises,
where he knows the occupants are liable to appear
at any_moment, coolly pauses to road a list and
plans of available houses for his operations; a
young woman, with deliberate calmness, throws
the written proofs of her legitimacy and the deeds
of a great estate upon a table, and thereafter, until
sudden necessity demands their production by her,
dismisses them from ber mind altogether. The
burglar finds them where she left them, and
later on conceals them behind a very accommo
dating portrait of Sir Reginald. A detective climbs
into a room through a window close upon the
heels of the burglarious villain. A priest frightens
a man of the world, and an evident expert in
affairs of gallantry, into marrying a dying woman
he has wronged. He afterward marries a woman
of doubtful antecedents and brazen impudence,
and fancies her to be everything that is gentle and
good and truthful. And the distressed heroine is
at last restored to her rightful position, villainy is
foiled, and handcuffed, virtue is crowned with
triumph through the volunteered services of a
ghost.
And there you are. But all these Munchausens
are delightfully welded together. The glamour
of romance is upon them; and the more intelli
gent and matter-of-fact the audience, the more
voracious will be its acceptance of them.
The spectator doesn’t believe a word of the story,
but he nevertheless gloats over its progress, and is
as
FEVERISHLY INTERESTED
in its marvelous revelations as be is in the plot and
action and wonders of Haggard’s “He” and “She.”
Whoever put this play together, and so skillfully
concealed its rank and limitless improbabilities of
incident under the varnished veneer of “It might
havo been,” has left little of flaw in his work.
He compels you to accept his old lamp as a new
one.
Why there isn’t a character in the cast that has
not, under other names and in other guises, be
come familiar to the stage as the stock figures of
lurid melodrama—but what of that ?
They are of the myths that have come to stay. So
long as the drama and tho fictions of literature ex
ist we will have with us these strange personages
who move in mysterious ways their wonders to
perform.
They are as unreal as unreal can be, but we like
them.
Like the little girls with their dolls, we know they
are not the genuine article, but we nurse and cod
dle them—all the same.
We have a superfluity of realism and the sensa
tional in our work-a-day lives, and in our social ex
periences—and when it confronts us at the theatre
it becomes nauseous.
So, for mental comfort's sake, let the realism of
the play masquerade in the flaring colors of ro
mance—for the sake of change.
I had much rather seek amazement in and contem
plate the vastness of the Impossible in looking at
the highly-colored pictorial posters of the circus,
than to undergo the monotonous weariness of wit
nessing the real performances within the tent.
Well, who did write “Travers House ’’—providing
“Nemo ”is not T. B. Macdonough ? That is
AS MUCH OF A MYSTERY AS THE GHOST IT
SELF.
Horace Wall—who is nothing if not positive, and
who believes nothing that he does not know, and
knows nothing that he does not believe—points
boldly at Macdonough and exclaims between
draughts of his Budweiser—“ Thou art the man.”
“Jim” Collier is willing to solemnly swear that
Daly did not adapt it from the German, and I heard
Mary Fiske—in the lobby on that first night in an
audible whisper to Madame Ponisi, assert that it
was not purloined from among the literary assets
of the late demented Salmi Morse.
Ed. Gilmore is away sailing the ocean blue and
suffering the agonies of mal de mer and small bot
tles, else he might throw the calcium light of his
knowledge upon the mystery.
The manuscript—well, here detection is at fault—
for the prompt-copy is type-written in regular
Remington No. 2, upper and lowercase form.
The author usually directs the rehearsals of his
play for its primal production. Well, Macdonough
did this—but that solitary fact does not prove that
*« Nemo * is a Mrs. Harris.
My rotund friend Treasurer Deacon Reeves has
solemnly promised me with his usual adipose
earnestness of expression that he will tell me who
it is that collects the royalties—if he can.
Perhaps it was Wheatcroft—he who so capitally
impersonates the gay and audacious villain Brande.
He is himself something of a playwright. Or it may
be that Frankie McClellan, who in her early pro
fessional life had a fondness for this sort of work,
evolved it into its present shape from the inner
consciousness of the old novel.
Certainly it wasn’t Adelaide Stanhope. She
wouldn’t have the patience for such a task. Be
side pretty women rarely take up the pen as play
wrights.
And Miss Belgarde—oh, no. She is surely not a
suspect.
Fred. Maeder ? no, it is not like him. And there
isn't big, big lost will and testament in it to fasten
ts origin upon Fred. Marsden. Fred, has never had
use for a ghost—not even a skeleton.
Howard Taylor could not have written it—for his
villains are the mildest mannered confidence opera
tors that ever cut a pocket-book or scuttled a
heroine’s fortune.
And nobody will ever accuse Belasco of Faginiz
ing it from any source-not even another iellow’s
manuscript—and as “ Travers House ” hasn’t an
Indian, nor even the suggestion of a war whoop in
it—Wayne Ellis is not to be thought of.
Gaylor doesn’t deal in spooks, nor does Gunther
“ see things ” spiritually—except through a glass
dar
J. M. Hill being closely questioned did not think
it was a dramatization oi one of Inter Ocean Barron's
criticisms on Henry Irving.
So, go the rounds as you will, to this favor must
you come at last—“ Nemo ” or T. B. Macdonough.
The people who pay their money to see the play
“ has their choice ”—and I don't think they care a
rap—who wrote it.
Of one thing everybody is certain—that the ghost
of Sir Reginald did not do it—unless he wrote it
with a phantom pencil upon the sheet of lime light
which made his spectreship visible to the nude eye.
Fbitz Is Found.—ln the case of Clif
ford vs. Clifford, reported last week, it will be re
membered that Mr. Clifiord said he never was
witbin a mile of the church, St. Mary’s, in Brook
lyn, while Mrs. Clifford swore that he was there,
and was married there. Ho was not only there, but
the sexton, the priest, of course, now dead, and
Fritz, a boy in the employ of Mr. Clifford, were
there. Fritz, who is now a man, was hunted up by
Clifford and was in Court on Tues lay ready to
swear that he never was at tho marriage ceremony
in St. Mary 's church.
What if he does? For twelve years Miss Me-
Sweeny, whether or no married, was recognized,
and known by ti.o neighbors and those that knew
them, as Mrs. Clifford.
The case, however, went o-.er to the Ist <>.' July,
NEW YORK. SUNDAY, JUNE 26. ISB7.
MADAME’S FATE.
How She Received
Two "Visitors.
The Crime of the Rue St.Peters
bourg, Paris.
A Former Affianced Lover Con
victed of Murder.
How the Pensioner of the Rue
St. Jacques Produced the
Real Criminal.
Mario Vinchon was a very lovely girl of eighteen
when Monsieur Jouarre first met her. He was
over forty, but he was good-looking and well-edu
cated, and, above all, wealthy. Marie was engaged
to be married to a young man named Sillour, who
was in comparatively humble circumstances.
Marie’s father was in the employ of the French
Government, and by no means well off, though be
had brought up his ouly child as though she had
been the daughter of a millionaire. When Mon
sieur Jouarre came along with his moneybags and
his fine house, Marie threw over her younger and
poor lover and married the older and richer one.
Poor Sillour threatened vengeance, but he had to
earn his living, and could find neither time nor
money to make reprisals upon his successful rival;
for both are necessary if one wishes to carry out
successfully schemes of revenge. Tne consequence
was that time passed on and Sillour's threats were
forgotten.
A MISTRESS.
Monsieur Jouarre resided in a fine dwelling on
the Rue de St. Petersbourg, Paris. He wae In busi
ness in the city and engaged in large financial
schemes. He was fond of women, and very soon
alter his marriage took a dashing and extravagant
lady under his care, for whom he procured apart
ments on tho Rue de Chateau d*Ee.iu.
One evening as he was about to entvr the dwell
ing ef his mistress, who should come upon him but
his wife’s former lover, Sillour, Jouarre went into
the house with a latch-key, hoping that he had 110 i
been recognized. But he was mistaken. Sillour
made inquiries, and soon learned that Monsieur
Jouarre, Under the name of Luval, supported a
mistress. Here was vengeance come to hand, ready
made.
Sillour readily found out where Monsieur Jou
arre s residence was, and made up his mind to call
upon Madame Jouarre and tell wbat he knew. Sil
lour was no longer poor, for his rich uncle had left
him 4 his solefbeir, and perhaps if Madame Jouarre
was* only satisfied of ber husband’s treachery and
unfaithiulness she might consent to fiy with her
old lover.
AN OLD LOVER’S VISIT.
On the afternoon of November 7, 1873, Sillour
started out to visit Madame Jouarre and inform her
of what he knew. He saw her leave her carriage
and enter the house. Soon afterward he rang the
bell and sent in his card.
"Madams Jouarre is not at home,” was the reply.
He retired, wondering how he could gain access
to her, for he assumed that if he could only speak
with ber for a minute or two. all would be well. A
servant came out and arranged the flowers in the
front of the window. Sillour slipped into the
house and entered the parlor. No one was there.
He was about to leave when a servant saw him, and
uttered a scream. Sillour's heart grew faint and he
hurriedly quitted the house and made his way from
the neighborhood.
Later in the day, Monsieur Jouarre’s servant man
came with a message from his master to the effect
thae he was going to bring home a friend to a seven
o'clock dinner and desired something very choice.
Madame Jouarre at once busied herself about the
preparation for such a dinner as she knew her hus.
band would like.
ANOTHER VISIT AND A MURDER I
An hour later, that is, about five o’clock or half
past, a gentleman called and sent in his card—Mon
sieur A. Pereier. Madame Jouarre received him
with courtesy, and when Crepin, the butler, was
informed that his master would bring home a friend
to dinner, he supposed that this was the gentle
man.
Madame Jouarre had to attend to many things,
and excused herself, but the gentleman remained.
When the hour for dinner drew near, the domestics
were surprised at Madame Jouarre’s absence, and
went to her apartment. In the anteroom they
found Loaise, the lady s-maid, lying on the floor,
bound hand and foot and gagged with her own slip
per. In the bedroom, Madame Jouarre was found
lying, nearly undressed, upon the floor, with her
throat cut.
On Monsieur Jouarre’s arrival with a stranger,
just at this juncture, a terrible scene awaited him.
There was evidence that a horrible crime had been
committed before the final act of the tragedy, and
the statement or the maid directed attention to the
fact that robbery had been the first object of the
perpetrator. The jewel case and a valise were miss
ing, and a gold watch, set with precious stones, had
been also taken from the dressing-table.
NO CLEW.
The description which the maid, Louise, was
able to give oi the wretch who had perpetrated
these acts, was very meagre. She described him as
of medium bight, with dark hair and mustache, a
prominent nose and a square chin. Ho was dressed
in a surtout coat of dark cloth and dark trowsers.
She distinctly remembered that he wore a diamond
ring on the little finger of tho left hand.
In connection with thia came the account of the
visit paid by a gentleman early iu the aiteruoun,
and the refusal of Madame Jouarre to see him.
Then followed an account of tho visitor who had
called later, and whose description answered that
of tho perpetrator of the crime. The domestics who
saw the first visitor were of opinion that ho was the
same person who called later. A card bearing the
name, “Monsieur A. Pereier,” was found on the
parlor table, but tho card of the first visitor was
missing.
The police authorities took the matter in hand,
and were indefatigable in their efforts to discover
tho murderer and thief. Inquiries were made in
the neighborhood, but no information could be ob
tained that threw any light upon the crime.
THE CARD.
Grojet, a detective, was particularly interested in
the case. Ho patiently scrutinized everything in
tho apartments occupied by Madame Jouarre. Fi
nally, ho examined the clothing which she had
worn that afternoon, and made a discovery. In the
pocket of a wrapper he found a crumpled card. It
boro the name, “ Henri Sillour.”
This was justly considered a very important clew.
Who was Henri Sillour?
Monsieur Jouarre could answer that question.
He was tho former affianced lover of Madame Jou
arre, whom she bad discarded for the man who be
came her husband.
This man Sillour had sworn vengeance—so said
Monsieur Jouarre—and he had recently seen him in
Paris. He was of medium size, with dark hair and
mustache, and wore a surtout when Monsieur Jou
arre last saw him.
This was tho man who was wanted. Ho had
called onco and been refused. Then ho had forced
an entrance, and had fled when discovered.
Finally he had called a second time, as a visitor,
and had been received. Then he had found an
opportunity to commit theso crimes.
SILLOUR ARRESTr.D.
This was Grojot's theory. And Grojet began at
once to look lor Sillour. Monsieur Jouarre said he
had recently seen him on the Rue de Chateau
d’Eau. Grojet searched around in that neighbor
hood, but found no trace of Sillour. Strangely
enough. Monsieur Jouarre did not know where
Sillour resided at the time when he was the affi
anced lover of Marie Vinchon. In tho meantime,
Sillour had gone to Rouen, and on his return, on
the evening of November 9, was arrested, and ac
cused of the murder of Madame Jouarre. He sol
emnly averred his innocence.
The evidence against him, however, was very
strong. He admitted having called at Madame
Jouarre’s residence, and his failure to see her. He
further admitted that he clandestinely entered the
house, and was seen by a domestic, and that then
he fled. He denied that he came a third time and
was admitted to Madame Sillour's presence under
the name of Pereier.
Crepin, the butler, was almost positive that the
man who visited Madame Jouarre was identical
with Sillour; and Louise, the maid, was equally
certain that the man who bound and gagged her,
closely resembled Sillour.
FOR LIFE.
When Sillour was asked for an explanation of his
visit to Madame Jouarre, he hesitated to answer.
Finally, however, be told tho story of his having
been engaged to ber before her marriage to Mon
sieur Jouarre, and so on, until he reached the fact
of his having ascertained that Monsieur Jouarre
was faithless to his wife.
With some hesitation he related his intention of
informing Madame Jouarre of the true condition of
things and trying to induce her to fly with him.
This didn't make things any the better for him, and
all the circumstances were considered as pointing
very plainly and strongly to his guilt. It was no
wonder, therefore, that on bis trial bo was con
victed and found guilty of the highest crime kno.wn
tothelaw. The jury, with that allowance of the
death penalty which the majority of men enter
tain, found extenuating circumstances, and conse
quently the punishment was imprisonment for
Itfo.
It is worthy of note that none of the property
stolen Hom Madame Jouarre was found on Sillour,
antr
nor could he be connected with it in any way, for
there was so far no clew to its disposal.
PAUL VERDIER.
In 1878, one Paul Vprdier was convicted of the
murder of Marguerite Thenard, at Langres. Verdier
had been a resident of the place in his younger days
but disappeared and was absent for many years.
He returned and made himself known to his aunt
about the month of December, 1873. He professed
to have been to California and amassed money, and
certainly he appeared to be very well supplied.
After staying for six months, he quitted Langres.
going no one knew whither. In March, 1878, he
returned and was compelled by the commune to
support the four year old child of Marguerite
Thenard. He did so with a good grace and even
went so far as to resume former relations with
the woman and support her in comfort. On June
29, that year, Marguerite was taken siok and ex
pired the next day. Suspicion wrs excited and
Verdier was arrested fur having administered
poison. The evidence against him was overpower
ing and he was convicted and sentenced to prison
for life.
A DIAMOND BROOCH.
When he was arrested, many valuable articles
were found among his effects, including a diamond
brooch of large size and worth several thousands of
fiance. Inquiries were made and it was ascertained
that Verdier had lor many years been known in
Paris as a man who lived by his wits, but had
never, so far as could be learned, been arrested for
any crime. The inquiries among the detective
force respecting this man excited much curiosity,
and finally the articles found in his possession were
Subjected to the inspection of the authorities. 'The
diamond brooch was identified by detective Grojet
as answering the description of a similar ornament
missing with other jewelry from Madame Jouarre’s
apartment on the night of her assassination. This
discovery aroused intense interest and further and
protracted inquiry disclosed the fact that Verdier
answered in every particular the description given
of the person who last visited Madaiie Jouarre on
November 7, 1873.
PENSIONER DELAITRE.
Verdier was questioned as to bow he came into
possession of the cross and grew nervous and re
fused to talk. The application of prison discipline,
however, brought him to his senses and he at last
said that he bought it from one Delaitre, on the
Rue St. Jacques.
This man was visited and interrogated. He turn
ed out to be a secret receiver of stolen goods, who
had carried on the business for many years, and es
caped the suspicion of the police. He was a pen
sioner of the nation, having lost a leg in the Alge
rian campaign, and so had never for a moment
thought that he was other than a harmless, loqua
cious old man.
Delaitre was roused at the ingratitude of Verdier
in disclosing his address and furnishing a clew to
his true character. He declared Verdier to boa
great scoundrel, and finally said that he could
prove that he was the murderer of Madame Jouarre.
He produced from a closet all the clothes which
Verdier wore when the crime was perpetrated, and
the valise in which he had brought away the plun
der.
When these facta were disclosed to Verdier, he
simply shrugged h 8 shoulders, and said:
“Life is so long. When it is ended, they can’t
sentence one for another life. Wbat is the differ
ence? I admit it. I perpetrated the crime.”
A CONFESSION.
After this ho was ready to make a full confession,
and did so. It ran in part thus:
“On the afternoon of November 7, 1873,
I was standing in the Rue Scribe, wondering
how I could raise money. A gentleman
came out of an office, followed by a servant
man. I heard | the former say: Tell Madame
Jouarre that I shall be homo to dinner at seven, and
bring a friend with me. Say that I request she will
prepare one of those delicious meals which Iso en
joy. It struck me that there might be something in
this and I followed the man. He entered a fine
dwelling on the Rue St. Petersbourg. After a time.
I went there, sent in my card, and saw Madame
Jouarre.
••• Madame,* I said. ‘ you maybe already aware
that your husband is bringing : a friend to dine with
him this evening.* Sbo replied, that she was. -Ah,
well,’said L*l am that happy individual. I was
to have come with your husband, but, complaining
of a headache, he urged me to come hither at once,
introduce myself to you and rest iu his study until
his arrival.’ Madame was gracious, and the rest was
easy. I went up-stairs looking for something valu
able which I could carry away easily. I found the
maid
“ASLEEP BEFORE THE FIRE,
and without difficulty bound her, gagged her, and
made it impossib e for her to give an alarm. Then
I went into the bedroom and looked for the jewels.
I couidn t see any. I came back, and, ungagging
the maid, asked her where her mistress kept her
jewels. She bade me turn up the counterpane of
the bed at the bottom, and 1 would find the case.
I returned to the bedroom. At the instant, Madame
Jouarre entered from the bath-room. She was radi
ant, and lam but mortal. I pressed her to the
floor, and with a poniard threatened her life. She
swore vengeance on me, and I cut her throat. Then
I took the jewel-casket, put it inside a small valise
that lay near by and departed.”
Verdier's confession and conviction of the mur
der of Madame Jouarre secured the liberation of
Sillour. This time, however, there was no finding
of extenuating circumstances, and one morning,
very early, Verdier found himself lying on a hard
board with his back to the dawn, looking into the
basket into which his head dropped the next in
stant.
Casting the Great Bell.
A CHINESE ~S’IORY _ dF A GIRL’S
FILIAL DEVOTION AND
SACRIFICE.
The first story told in a newly published book
entitled “Some Chinese Ghosts,” is that of the soul
of the great bell in the Tachung sz* of the city of
Pekin. Yong-Lo, of the “illustrious” or Ming dy
nasty, commanded the worthy official, Koan-Yu,
that he should have a bell made of such a size that
the sound thereof might be heard for 100 miles.
And he further ordained that the voice of the bell
should be strengthened with brass, and deepened
with gold, and sweetened with silver, and that the
face and the great lips of it should be graven with
blessed sayings from the sacred books, and that it
should be suspended in the centre of the imperial
capital, to sound through all the many-colored
ways of the city of Pekin. The worthy mandarin
immediately assembled all the master molders and
renowned bellsmiths of the emp.re, and they meas
ured the materials for the alloy and skillfully pre
pared the molds, fires, aud instruments. They la
bored like giants, tolling day and night; but when
the metal was cast it was found that the gold had
scorned alliance with the brass and the silver would
not mingle with the iron. A second attempt was
made with the same unfortunate result.
Now, when the Son of Heaven hoard these things,
he was very angry, particularly after the second
failure, and he sent his message to Koan-Yu with a
letter written upon lemon-coiored silk and sealed
with the seil of the dragon, containing theso words:
“From the Mighty Yong-Lo, the Sublime TaiU
Sung, the Celestial and August—whose reign is
called • Ming ’ —to Koan-Yu, the Fuhvin: Twice
thou hast betrayed the trust we have deigned gra
ciously to place in thee; if thou fail a third time in
fulfilling our command, thy head shall be severed
from thy nock. Tremble and obey I”
Poor Koan-Yu was in a terrible strait. But he
had a beautiful and devoted daughter, Ko-Ngai,
who, after fainting away with fear upon reading the
awful yellow missive, determined to do what she
could to save her father. She went to an astrologer,
who examined the signs of the Zodiac—the Hwang
toa or yellow road—and consulted the table of the
five Hin, or principle of the universe, and said to
her:
“Gold and brass will never meet in wedlock, sil
ver and iron will never embrace till the flesh of a
maiden be melted in the crucible, till the blood of a
virgin be mixed with the metals iu their fusion.”
So Ko-Ngai returned home sorrowful at heart, but
kept her secret from everybody. At last came the
direful day when the final casting was to be made.
Ko-Ngai and her waiting.woman went to the foun
dry with her father, aud they took their places upon
a platform overlooking the toiling of the molders.
There was no sound but the muttering of tho fires.
The blood-red lake of metal slowly brightened like
the vermillion of a sunrise, and the vermillion
changed to the glow of gold, aud the gold to blind
ing white. The metal was now ready. Koan-Yu
prepared t® grive the signal to cast. But ere he
lifted his finger a cry rang through the place. It
was the voice of Ko-Ngai, sweet as a bird’s song,
above the thunder of tho fires. She said: “For
thy sake, O my father!” and leaped Into the white
flood of metal. The serving woman put forth her
hands, but got only a tiny shoe embroidered with
pearls and flowers. Koan-Yu was wild with grief,
and had to be led away.
The casting was made, and lo 1 when the metal
had become cool it was found that the bell was
beautiful to look upon, and perfect in form, and
wonderful in color above all other bells. Nor was
there any trace found of the body of Ko-Ngai. And
when they sounded the bell its tones were deeper
and mellower and mightier than the tones of any
other bell—reaching even beyond the distance of 100
miles, like a pealing of Summer thunder; and yet
also like some vast voice uttering a name, a wom
an’s name—the name of Ko-Ngai 1 And between
each mighty stroke is heard a long, low moan, a
sound of sobbing and complaining, as though a
weeping woman should murmur “Hlai!” When
the people hear that golden moan they keep silence;
but when the sharp, sweet shuddering comes in the
air and the sobbing of '"Hiai!” then, indeed, do
the Chinese mothers, in all the many colored ways
of Pekin, whisper to their little ones: “Listen! that
is Ko-Ngai crying lor her shoe ! That is Ko-Ngai
calling for her shoe !”
Not Vehy Obnamental. —When viewed
from the street, the bill-boards which adorn the ele
vated railroad stations give to them the appearance
of the tombstones in country church yards.
NOT A BURGLAR.
The Man Who was Shot in the
Rue du Fouare, Paris.
He Was Supposed to be a
Thief.
THE WAITING MAID’S STORY.
THE MYSTERY MADE CLEAR.
Among all the noted streets of Paris probably
none has a more strange and romantic history than
the Rue du Fouare. Centuries ago the abode of
students, its walls and gables rang with the bois
terous shouts and ribald songs of the absinthe
crazy youths.
It was In an attic in this same thoroughfare that
Dante, seated upon a scanty bed of straw, first ab
sorbed the genius of his famous “Inferno,” which
was destined to hold enthralled future ages.
But, in the mighty strides of modern society,
nothing save the reminiscences of the past remains
here and there in the antique and fantastic archi
tecture of the ancient buildings.
Notable among the latter was No. 117. Here, in
January, 1874, was enacted one of those strange
mysteries in which the French capital abounds.
At one o’clock on the morning of the sth of the
above month the Sergeant de Ville, while patroiling
the quiet and slumbering street, was accosted by a
gentleman in scant attire, consisting of but shirt
and trousers, holding a glittering revolver iu his
hand.
To the astonished officer the gentleman laconi
cally and without any show of excitement, remark
ed:
“I HAVE SHOT A BURGLAR.”
Leading the way, the gentleman retraced his steps
until he came in front of No. 117, then entering, he
crossed a small garden and entered the house, fol
lowed by the officer. The lower hall was in dark
ness but the floor above, the theatre of the shoot
ing, was brilliantly lighted and the excited voices of
persons were heard. Thither the gentleman led the
sergeant. Together they ascended and entered the
front room, evidently the sleeping apartment of
monsieur.
The entrance to this room was through a door
opening into the hall. Opposite the door was a bed
in which monsieur had evidently been sleeping
when aroused by the burglar. Near the bod was a
mantel.
Passing through this room and pulling the por
tierres aside, they entered another sleeping apart
ment.
From the arrangement it was easy to be seen that
it was a lady’s chamber.
Upon a bed, at the other end, lay a form, evident
ly of the mistress of the hous*, with the bedcloth
ing pulled up over her head and face, as if to shut
out the horrible spectacle.
Across the door on the left, as they entered, the
remains of the midnight intruder lay in a pool of
blood.
The door by which the body lay, led into a lady's
boudoir.
Pointing toward the body, the gentleman said:
“I shot him as he was about to enter that room.”
The officer, hastily scanning the surroundings,
gave orders that nothing should be touched pend
ing the arrival of Monsieur le Commissaire, to whom
he had dispatched a messenger.
A reasonable length of time intervening, that
functionary arrived, accompanied by his trusted
aid.
The premises were thoroughly inspected and all
in the house at the time of the shooting, interro
gated. The gentleman who acknowledged having
done the shooting, made the following statement:
** My name is Jean Jacques Gaspard. I was horn
in Paris forty-two years ago. lam a silk merchant.
I arrived home quite late last night and retired
without disturbing madame. I, being very tired,
had immediately fallen asleep. I had been asleep I
know not how long, when I was awakened by
SOME ONE TURNING THE KNOB OF MY DOOR.
I opened my eyes, but lay very still, awaiting to see
who could be about the house at that late hour.
•• The door opened noiselessly and a figure of a
man entered, as the form passed the window by
the gleam of the lamp from the street I saw that he
carried his coat upon his arm.and his shoes, that he
might make the less noise, in his hand.
“Carefully he crossed to ray bed and peered into
my face to ascertain whether or not I was asleep.
Closing my eyes I breathed heavily. I writhed with
anger to think that one should be so bold as to thus
enter my house. However I held my peace and
awaited developments. The intruder passed from
my bed and. gently turning my head saw him dis
appear into madame’s room through the portierres.
1 now understood his movements. He was making
his way toward madame’s boudoir where was my
wife’s jewel case and other articles of value.
«• I determined to stop him at all hazards. Cau
tiously getting out of bed I crept to the mantel, on
which lay mv revolver. Seizing it I followed, and
carefully drawing the curtain aside I saw the bur
glar closely scanning madame’s face. Turning, he
directed bis steps toward the boudoir.
“I had seen enough; the man had come to rob,
and without warning him I leveled my pistol and
fired.
••WITH A GROAN HE SANK TO THE FLOOR
“in the same spot where he now lies. I then hur
riedly pulled on my trousers and hastened to notify
the police.
•• That is all I know about the dead mag. He
came to rob me and I, protecting my property, and
probably the life of madame and my own, shot him.
That is all.”
•• Monsieur did well to thus protect himself and
his property,” said the magistrate. “But come,
let us see how the rascal effected an entrance.”
Descending the stairs, they made their way into
the kitchen in the rear of the house. As they
opened the door leading into that room they were
met by a cold blast.
Lighting the lamp they quickly saw that one of
the panes of glass had been broken, and the noise
consequent had been avoided by pasting a piece of
paper moistened with water against the glass pre
vious to smashing.
Looking through the broken pane the magistrate
saw traces of feet in the light snow that had fallen
earlier in the evening.
Whispering to his aid, that individual disappeared
and in a trice reappeared with one of the shoes that
the dead man had carried in his hand as he passed
through Monsieur Gaspard’s room.
Directing all to remain indoors—for the servants
and others had by this time found their way to the
spot—the commissaire proceeded, taking the shoe
from his aid, to the.garden in the rear and, stooping
down, placed the shoe iu the track in the snow. It
fitted exactly.
THE COOK AND THE OTHER SERVANTS WERE
INTERROGATED,
and all were ignorant of any noise or disturbance
about the house until the report of monsieur’s pis
tol was heard. Being startled and terrified by the
noise they had remained in bed until the arrival of
the police.
The cook was, however, certain that she had
locked the window before retiring.
This completed the investigation of monsieur le
commissaire.
The morning papers announced the following:
“ A BurglAr Shot.—At the house of Monsieur
Gaspard, the retired silk merchant. No. 117 Rue du
Fouare, a burglar was shot and instantly killed by
the master of the house while attempting to pilfer
madame’s boudoir. Owing to the promptness of
Monsieur Gaspard both he and the charming
Madame Gaspard are now alive. This will teach
midnight intruders to be more cautious in the mat
ter of selecting houses to rob.”
ThuSjWould have passed into the records the case
of the Rue du Fouare, had not
AN INCIDENT
taken place which put a thoroughly different aspect
on the affair.
On the morning of the 15th of July, the Prefect of
Police, seated in his official chair, received a call
from a very charming waiting maid, who expressed
a desire to communicate with that functionary in
private.
Her request being granted the magistrate was
somewhat curious to learn what so demure ft body
could have to do with criminal justice.
“My name, Mensieur, is Marie Rehan. I was
waiting maid to Madame Gaspard, of No. 117 Rue
du Fouare, until yesterday, when Monsieur Gas
pard cruelly drove mo irom bis house.”
“ Well, mademoiselle, what has that to do with
justice ?” asked the magistrate perplexed as to what
the girl was driving at.
“ I will tell monsieur all. I have a lover to whom
lam affianced. He comes to see me at monsieur’s
bouse, and as we are to be married as soon as he
receives bis money from his deceased aunt’s estate,
I yielded to his ardent solicitations, and we were
surprised by Monsieur Gaspard, who drove me
from his house ana wrote my iamily at Vincennes,
who 1 know will despise me.
“ But Monsieur Gaspard will repent his acts,
for know, Monsieur de Prefect, he is a murderer.”
“What! Monsieur Gaspard a murderer?” ex
claimed the magistrate. •• Why do you state that?
It is a terrible accusation. You should not trifle
with justice.”
“Some two weeks ago,” continued the girl,
“ Monsieur Gaspard went away, and madame fear
ing to be left alone, I slept with her. In the night
she became troubled and talked in her sleep. Soon
she got up from the bed and walked to the door
opening into her boudoir, then, kneeling down, she
clutched an imaginary object, and motioning as if
patting, muttered, 'Poor, poor Andre ! Why did he
so cruelly murder you? You loved me, 1 know,
and you were foully killed for that love. I hate
him, Andre, my love, that you should die lor me.’
“Then she came back to bed and slept till morn
ing. When she awoke I asked, •Madame, who is
Andre?’ At the question she turned d atblv pale
OME, NO. 11FRWORT BT.
and on my telling her what I saw, confessed all
how that, when a girl, she had loved Andre Minart
in her home at Orleans, whom she would have mar
ried had her cruel father not compelled her to wed
Monsieur Gaspard, who was wealthy, while her
Andre was accursed with poverty.
“After her marriage, she came to live with her
husband in Paris. There she lost all trace of Andre
until hist January, when she received a note stat
ing that he was in Paris.
“Fearing the jealousy of her busband, she bade
him come to her on the night of the sth, when her
husband would be away. That he might reach her
room unseen, she, after the servants had gone to
bed, unlocked the window in the kitchen and re
tired to her room, there to await her lover.
“ She had not long to wait. Soon Andre ap
peared, with his shoes in his hand, having re
moved them so as to make no noise.
“Hardly had be finished the recital of his misery
and loneliness and enjoyed the blissful presence of
his inamorata, when the husband stood at the por
tierro separating the rooms, and, leveling h s re
volver, shot Andre, who fell dead at the boudoir
door.”
On the statement of the young woman, both
MONSIEUR AND MADAME GASPARD WERE
ARRESTED.
Madame, confronted by Marie, and caring but little
for her husband, confessed that what the girl Lad
spoken was the truth.
Monsieur Gaspard, seeing his caae a hopeless one.
put on a bold front and acknowledged bis guilt.
He, however, claimed clemency on the ground that
he was justified in killing the man who had brought
disgrace and dishonor upon him.
He farther stated that when the shot was fired,
to keep the public ignorant of his depredation, the
idea of the burglar came to him. He quickly un
dressed, sprang into bed and raffled it up, then
taking the revolver, he descended into the kitchen,
where, with the aid of a piece of damp paper, be
broke the window, which Andre had leit partially
up. Going into the street, he notified the police.
The rest has been told.
Having saved the government the cost of trial,
and the murdered man beimtin the act of ru ning
Monsieur Gaspard’s home, the court leniently sen
tenced him to three years’ imprisonment.
Marie's lover being a young man of honor, ful
filled his promise of marr age, and they now live
happily amid the various mysteries forever spring
ing up in the gay French capital.
Spiders and Their Ways.
SOME CUNNING SPECIMENS—RE
MARKABLE AS ARCHITECTS
AND UPHOLSTERERS.
(From the Boston Herald.]
Among the many things that the approach of
Summer brings for one to enjoy, or to be a source
of annoyance, is the spider. The spider family is
very numerous, no less than fifty kinds being de
scribed by naturalists. All spiders have eight legs,
with three joints in each, and terminating in thin,
crooked claws. They also have eight eyes, differ
ently arranged, according to the species.
Some have them in a straight line, others in the
shape of a capital V, others four above and four be
low, others two above, two below and two on either
side, and there are still others that have them ar
ranged iu a manner too complicated to describe
without drawings. On the front part of the head
they have a pair of sharp, crooked claws, or forceps
which stand horizontally, and which, when not in
use, are bidden from view in little cases beautifully
adapted to their reception, and in which they fold
up like a clasp-knife, and remain there between
two rows of teeth. When the spider bites it
thrusts a white proboscis out of its mouth, with
which it instils a poisonous liquid into the wound.
The abdomen, or hind part of the spider, is separ
ated irom the head and breast by a small, thread
like tube. The outer skin is a hard, polished crust.
A very curious specimen, not often found iu this
country, but which is said to be very common in
Italy, is the hunting spider, so called because, in
stead of spinning webs to entrap its pray, it jumps
on its victim. It is smal>, and of a brown color,
beautifully spotted, and its hind legs are longer
than the others. When it sees a fly three or lour
yards distant, it plans its attack with considerable
deliberation, creeping softly up and seldom missing
its object. When in a direct line, the spider springs
upon the back of the unsuspecting fly and catches
it by the head, and, alter satisfying its hunger,
carries the rest away for future consumption.
The nest of this spider is very curious. It is about
two inches high, and is composed of a close, satin
like texture. In this are two chambers placed per
pendicularly, in which the spider reposes during
the day, generally doing his hunting after night
fall. The parent regularly instructs her young how
to pursue their future vocation, and when in the
course of their instruction they happen to miss a
jump, they run away and hide as though ashamed
of their future.
The most extraordinary nest is that of the mason
spider, a native of the tropics. This nest is formed
of a very hard clay, deeply colored with oxide of
iron. It is in the form of a tube, about one inch in
diameter and six or seven inches long. It is lined
with a uniform tapestry of orange-colored silken
web, of a texture rather thicker than fine paper.
This lining is useful in two ways. It prevents
the wall of the house from falling down, and. as it
is connected with the door, it enables the spider to
know what is going on above, for the whole vibrates
when one part is touched. To one who has never
seen this nest, the word door may seem singular,
but nevertheless, there is a door, and a very inge
niously contrived one, too. and it is regarded as one
of t!ie most cur ous tbi: g in tbs whole o inscot
architecture. It is a little round piece, made to fit
the opening, slightly cenvex inside and concave on
the outer side. It is composed of twelve or more
layers of web similar to that with which the nest is
lined, laid very closely together, and so managed
that the inner layers are the broadest, the others
gradually diminishing in size, except near the
hinge, which is about an inch long. AU the layers
are united and prolonged into t'he tube, conse
quently it is the firmest and strongest portion of
the whole structure. The material Is so elastic
that the hinge shuts as though it had a spring.
The nest is always made on a sloping bank, and
one side is higher than the other, the hinge being
invariably placed on the highest side. The spider
knows well that when placed in this way the door
will fall and close itself when pushed from the out
side, and so nicely does it fit in the little groove
made for it, that the most careful observer can
scarcely discover where the joint is. Should the
door be removed, another one will soon bo put in
its place. These spiders hunt their prey by night,
and devour them in the nest. A pair of spiders,
with twenty or thirty young ones, often livo iu one
of these nests.
The most famous of all spiders is the tarantula.
It is an inhabitaut of Italy, Cyprus and the East In
dies. Its breast and abdomen are ash-colored, as
are also the wings, which have blackish rings on
the inner side. Its eyes are red, two of them being
larger than the others and placed in the front of Its
head. Four others are placed in a transverse direc
tion near the mouth, and the remaining two are
close to the back. It generally lives in bare fields
where the land is soft, and it avoids damp, shady
places, preferring a rising ground.
Its nest is four inches deep, half an inch wide and
curved at the bottom, and here the insect retreats
in unfavorable weather, weaving a web at the door
for security against rain andjdampness. In July it
cas's its skin and lays eggs to the number of 730,
but does not live to rear the young, as it dies in the
early winter. The bite of this spider was formerly
regarded as fatal. It was said that the part bitten
became greatly inflamed, then sickness and faint
ness came on, followed by difficulty in breathing,
and then by death. The only cure resorted to was
music. A musician was brought to the patient,
and he tried one air after another until one was
found that would make the sufferer dance. The
violence of the exercise brought on profuso per
spiration, which cured the disorder.
All this was long believed, tut its truth was
questioned, and investigation showed that the
tarantula was harmless, and the supposed injuries
inflicted by it were made use of as an excuse for in
dulging in a dance similar to that of the priestess of
Bacchus, which the introduction of Christianity has
put an end to. Those who were not imposters were
merely afflicted in consequence of the bite with that
nervous illness known as St. Vitus’ dance, and to
this saint many chapels have been dedicated. A
story is told that a gentleman traveling in Italy
several years, ago was anxious to see the dance, but
as it was too early in the year to find the spider,
the only thing he could do was fro prevail upon a
young woman, who had been bitten the year before,
to go through the dance for him just as she did at
that time.
She agreed to the proposal, and slow, duH music
was played until the right chord was touched, when
she started up with a frightful yell, staggering like
a drunken person, holding a handkerchief in each
hand and moving correctly to the tune. As the
music became more lively the more wildly she
jumped about, shrieking all the time. The scene
was most painful throughout. She was dressed in
white and adorned with ribbons of various colors,
and her hair fell loosely about her shoulders, which
were covered with a white scarf. This is the man
ner in which all the patients dressed.
There is another interesting species of this insect,
the water-diving spider. The diving spider is not
satisfied, as frogs are, with the air luunished by the
water, but independently carries down a supply
with him to his submarine tersXory.
When the little diver wishes to inhale a fresh sup
ply of air he rises to the surface, with his bbdy still
in the water, generally coming up every fifteen
minutes, although naturalists state that he can re
main in the water for many days. A thick coating
of hair prevents his getting wet or otherwise incon
venienced. This spider spins bis cell in the water.
It is composed of closely woven, strong, white silk,
and is shaped like u pigeon’s egg. Sometimes th4s
nest is allowed to remain partly above the water,
though generally it is submerged, and is attached
by a great many irregular threads to some near ob- ;
pct. Ihe unly opening is at the bottom. This is :
sometimes shut, when the spider remains quietly at
home with bis i.eud downward. He remains in this
position during the W nter months.
“PRICE
FATE.
Two shall be born the whole wide world apart.
And speak in different tongues, and have H 0
thought
Each of the other’s being, and no heed;
And those o’er unknown seas to unknown lands
Shall cross escaping wreck, defying death;
And all unconsciously, shape every act
And bend each wandering step to this one end—
That, one day, out of darkness they shall meet.
And read life’s meaning in each other’s eyes.
And two shall walk some narrow way of life,
So nearly side by side that, should one turn
Even so little space to left or right,
They needs must stand acknowledged face tfl face}
And yet with wistful eyes that never meet,
With groping hands that never clasp, and lipfl
Calling in vain to ears that never hear,
They seek each other all their weary days.
And die unsatisfied; and this is Fate.
Oirnimg Writ
Nothing Like low!
BY MARY BUTLER.
CHAPTER I.
“the marriage will stand firm.”
Within a mile of a certain favorite Cbeshiro
watering-place, whore everything is new, gar
ish and altogether unlovely, with the exception
of the blue waters of the Irish Sea, lies the
peaceful and secluded hamlet of Herby. It is
situated but a short distance from the sandy
shore, almost hidden from view in a slight hol
low on the side of a very high and fertile bill,
and is surrounded by orchards of apple and
pear trees and lovely sweet-scented gardens.
It contains four zig-zag streets, without &
vard ot level roadway in any of them, forming
steep ascents and sudden declivities in away
that severely tries the muscles and nerves of a.
stranger, but apparently is no inconvenience to
the natives. It has quaint overhanging upper
stories to its houses, with fantastically carved
beams crossing each other and forming dia
mond-shaped panels that are filled in with plas
ter. It has one large, low-rooted inn, a little
modernized by the laying down of shiny oil
cloth upon the floors, which only want polish
ing to bring out their rich dark colors, and by
many coats of whitewash concealing the red
sandstone walls ; but such innovations have not
deprived it ot its old-world memories. Its
quaint devices for the comfort ot a generation
of topers long since passed away, its low pan
elled rooms and ornamented galleries, its deep
window-seats and capacious chimney-corners
vividly recall the past.
Perhaps the reason why this little hamlet is
overlooked by the crowds that year alter year
seek the health-giving breezes along the espla
nade of the fashionable holiday resort so near
to it is, because it lies so embowered in trees
that were it not lor the square tower of its
church, one would pass by the meretricious
brick and stucco villas on the shore near the
painfully new railway-station, and leave the
place without ever dreaming that such a quaint
village, which time seems to have left un
touched for a hundred years, existed within a
mile ot modern seaside civilization.
But the ivy covered cruciform church that
has so many secrets hidden beneath its lettered
pavement, and the grass covered graves sur
rounding its walls, sometimes attract the atten
tion of an exceptionally observant visitor; and
thus, although the “ madding crowd ” does not
know of its existence, Herby is occasionally
visited by artists why have been “doing” Welsh
and Westmoreland lakes and mountains, and
by anglers, who sojourn there for the sake of a
certain trout stream that flows through tho
grounds of the grange.
Such was Herby on one fair and sunny June
morning, when the shadows of the leaves
formed a lace-like pattern on the broad, red
gravel walk, leading to the church, and the
shadow of the tower was thrown across the
graves. Other shadows, too, fell upon those
grassy hillocks and old, halt buried headstones,
as three persons came out by the vestry door
and walked across the churchyard toward a
stile that gave access to a narrow lane, from
which the blue sky was hidden by a canopy of
lilac and laburnum trees ih full bloom— two
men, and a tall, slender girl of some twenty or
twenty-one Summers. The girl’s clear cut,
oval face was pale, and her beautiful hazel eyes
appeared full of sadness. Her dark and deli,
cately arched eyebrows and long lashes were
perfectly black, and formed a striking contrast
to her hair, which was soft, fine, silken, and of
a pale shade of yellow that it would have been
flattery to call golden. She was clad in a tum
bled, soiled and faded gray dress ; her straw
hat was trimmed with a strip of shabby lace,,
and her luxuriant hair was carelessly coiled
about her shapely head; her small, white
hands were innocent of gloves, and on the left
a broad gold band, with a flashing diamond sot
in it, guarded a wedding ring.
The man, upon whose arm she was light’y
leaning, was about twenty-five years of age,
and as broad-shouldered and dark as she was
slight and fair—a handsome, well-bred man,
and a good one, or hie noble brow, clear, frank
eyes, and sweet mouth belied him strangely— a
man who would protect his enemy’s life with
his own, in whose hands any woman’s honor
would be safe, with a gentle, chivalrous
disposition that a wicked woman could deceive,
a child or a dog would trust.
His handsome, sun-burned face was flushed
and smiling, as he looked over the girl’s shabby
hat, and, addressing the person on the other
side of her—a fair haired, blue eyed young
man, in the dress of a clergyman—said :
“Well, it was not such a terrible business
after all, Bob; and my wild Hyacinth is mine
hard and fast, is she not?”
“ Oh, yes, the marriage will stand firm
enough. It is the clergyman who always has
to bear the brunt when it comes out that there
has been some informality in the case. It wil]
bo six months with ‘ hard,’ or a fifty-pound
fine, it either of you drags this before the
world with a view of breaking it. I tell you,
Glynn, I would not run such a risk for any one
but my sister; beside, consider my conscience,”
replied the clergyman, with dignity.
“Ob, come now—that's too much. A wed
ding isn’t a crime. le it, Hyacinth ?’
Tho girl raised her white eyelids for a mo
ment, then lowered them again demurely and
leaned rather more heavily on her husband’s
arm, but made no reply in words.
“ Well it is evading the law, you see—and that
gives one an uneasy sensation, as if there must
bo something wrong somewhere; one oannot
help feeling that where there’s secrecy there’s
sin. You understand?” answered the young
clergyman.
“ Indeed I do not I” began Glynn hastily, and
he would hove poured forth a torrent of words
on the subject had not his newly-wedded wile
interrupted him.
“I am sorryfor this/’ she said, looking grave
ly from one to other and spookiug in *