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THE OTHER AND TQTHERPIPPERCHIRP ‘ TALES OF TEX TRAVELERS’’* SERIES. By EDGAR L. WAKEMAN. •(Copyright. 1894. A1 rights reserved.) “A pleasant land not fenced with drab ■tucco like T.vburnia or Belgravia; not guarded by a large army of footmen: not echoing with noble chariots; not replete with chintz drawing rooms and neat tea tables; a land over which hangs an end less fog, occasioned by much tobacco; a land of chambers, billiard room, supper rooms, oysters; a land of song; a land where soda water flows freely in the morn ing; a land of tin dish covers from taverns, and frothing porter; a land of lotus-eating (with lots of pepper) ;—a land where men call each other by their Christian names; where many are poor, where almost all are young, and where if a few oldsters do enter, it is because they have preserved more carefully and ten derly than other folk their youthful spirits, and the delightful capacity to be Idle.” This was “the Joyous neighborhood of Covent Garden,” London, as Thackeray knew it and wrote of it in his time. It is a pleasant land to-day, somewhat fenced roundabout with mighty pillars and Doric entablatures; rather stately from venerable footmen; when the din of the market and its clamorous costermon gers is hushed, it is now often startled from its drowsiness bv the rolling of princely carriages; a land still mist-hung with the wreaths of much tobacco smoke; still a land of chambers, billiard rooms, supper rooms, oysters,” of reminiscence, of tale and of song; a land now of ancient silver covers from ancient taverns, but still a land of humble ale and frothing porter; a land where men still call ach other by their Christian names; where few are poor, where almost all are old, and where if a few youngsters do enter, it is reverentially and because they have learned to love the olden spot for what it gave to Pepys and Evelyn, to Dr.vden. Addison and Steele, to Thackeray and to Dickens and all that noble ami inspired host who gave the world the best and mellowest literature in our tongne, since the time of royal Anne. But the Covent Harden region now is chiefly a land of olden inns; of inns in ■which the fireplaces are huge. cavernous and get-at-able; the chambers warm and cozy; the halls low-ceilinged, but broad and full of fine old settles aud sofas; whose smoking rooms aro snug and warm and cheerful with papers and books; whose pictures are yellow, old and dim and hang in great broad, odd frames, showing they were where they are long before the century came in, whose dining rooms are ample and quiet and richly browned with com fortable age; whose ports, clarets, and sherries havo the cobwebs of the twenties and thirties ujion them ; whose food is wholesome, fine and good; whose servants are friendly and "talky” when you wish to get down from your own pedestal of reserve or austerity for a little humanizing'patter; and even whose misses in the oilice and bar and whose rosy faced chambermaids are not averse on occasion to a bit of innocent banter, which after all anybody but a prude, a hermit or a hypocrite at times truly en loys. One of the oldest and stateliest of these ancient inns, built many years ago by the famous Inigo Jones, is the Slavistork. It preserved in its polished mahoganies, its curious old plate, its heavy cut glass de cauters and glasses the mellow heritage of reminiscence of the days of the three bottle men of England. There is a port wine flavor, an aroma of juicy haunches, a suggestion of olden cheer, a hushed and restlul amplitude, from its brown old breakfast rooms, its wide paneled din ing room, its snug little supper rooms, where Prince George used to meet the wiis of the town, through all its spacious, shining, low-ceilinged halls, its curious and intricate passages, past its large and restful chambers, to its very top-most dormitories, from which the Surrey hills can be seen, and where the late St. Michael Cass always preferred to lodge; for the windows often upon the leads of a roof most convenient for a stroll and smoke, a roof which is still as sturdy and strong as when laid and leaded in Charles the Second's reign. Here came of old and still come the Sir Rogers de Coverly of countryside Eng land. Here the great tragedians of both continents aired their fine manners before adoring and convivial friends. Here it was that "Boxing night’’ festivities were kept up for generations with such olden fun and frolic as must havemade the vory bones of the ancient burial place of the Abbots of Westminster, below the cellars, rattle and clatter in protest at tho sacrilege. Diplomats have here held secret meetings of import to half a dozen European powers. All the Arctic aud African explorers are found registered upon his boons. Crews of the universi ties, the great ironmasters, mill-owners and architects, the scientists, the na turalists and the archaeologists for more than a century have gathered beueath its hospitable roof. Provosts, baillies. prelates, mayors and lord mayors, and big men with big schemes to put through parliament, are among the wraiths of its olden guests. Stout squires and far descended country noblemen came here to go it a bit in Eondontown. Lords of the beach at Westminster adjourned to the Slavistork for hissing steaks and mel low port. And most of all came, and still come, little stately men of mysterious, silent lives, plethoric of pocket and meager of anatomy, garrulous and croon ing in their second childhood, loving the cheery old place and dwelling in it until death steals in upon them as peacefully as the moonlight into the chambers; and all, old or young, titled or unknown, loving the quaint old hostelry with a deeper and more passionateattachment for its strange century old record that no guest has ever seen the glint or heard the rustle of skirts within its gray and moss-grown walls. In an old inn so curious and strange that the flutter and rustle of skirts are not within it, it was not a matter for con jecture or concern when old Mr. Pipper chirp walked into the office, followed by a ship s steward of Malayan face with an odor of the East Indian docks about him. laden like a dromedary with orieutal rugs, cages and baskets, and carrying with great effort a strong oaken box which suggested at first glance both a muniment chest and a mummy. Mr. Pipperchirp held a gaudy Indian silk handkerchief in one hand, and a snuff-box in the other. He was a prim, neat looking old gentleman of three score and tea. or thereabout, with an exceed ingly red face, an abundance of white hair seemingly the whiter for the color of his countenance, immense grizzled gray eyebrows, and he was pertly clad In a black dress coat, black waistcoat and trousers, while a wonderful Gladstoman collar, the points of wnich nearly reached his nose, was encircled by a huge, old fashioned black satin slock. He walked straight to the desk as the office clerk placed the register before him. "Put it down yourself, sir;" said Mr. Plpiterchirp with brevity and decision. The clerk elevating his brows inquir ingly, waited pen in hand for the old gen tleman's directions. "Hut! hut! No hurry, young man;” Mr Pipperchirp responded. "Can I have my room •No doubt wo can oblige you. When were you here lustf ’ "in tlus fifties, No. 123; Mr. Pipper- chirp's room; fine view; quiet location. ” • That was forty years ago, Mr. Pipper chirp,” replied the clerk softly as he ran his e.ve quickly along the vacant room card rack. •‘Hut! hut What signifies forty years?” ‘‘Quite true; your room is ready, sir.” “Put Pipperchirp down, then.” “Mr.—Pipperchirp f” “Hut: hut! There is only one Pipper chirp. Write it Mr. Pipperchirp, Madras.” Old Mr. Pipperchirp was as radiant over the transaction as though he bad ac complished a life purpose, as perhaps he had. He beamed upon the clerk, benignly feed the inn porters who relieved the ship's Stewart, of his belongings, and placed a whole shining sovereign in the Malayan's hand with the gentle admoni tion to the latter to go to the devil, he and all his yellow-skinned kind, and pat ting the polished carvings along the stairs and hallways as with home-coming affection and delight, he Joyfully ascended to his quaint old dormitory whose windows opened upon the leaded roof. If old Mr. Pipperchip’s individuality impressed itself at all upon the hundreds of other odd characters at the Slavistork, it was not because he differed much from the punctilious and aged throng about him. but more for the beaming radiance which seemed to possess him. This found expression in countless, noticeable, and almost pathetic little ways. For a time he was busied in Jouneys of rediscovery in every strange oid corner of the ancient inn. “Dear, dear, dear!” he would ex claim, as he wandered among the dim old cellars where the mellow ports and Ma deiras lay sheeted in cobwebs and Bac chanal dreams, “just as they were iu the fifties, dear, dear, dear!’’ In the reading room he would lean ruminatively over a great arm chair by the fire-place and softly chirp, “My very chair, just as it was; dear, dear, dear!” Standing by the glass partition where all may see the unpretentious, ample cooking of olden times, ho would press his almost childish iface against the panes, and mur mur, “They’re at it yet, ’pon my soul; dear; dear; dear!” In the coffee room his snapping little eyes would fairly gloat over the carviugs, the plate, the glasses and edibles, ana rubbing his h inds to gether with glee, he would confide to his smiling waiter, “Ah, my dear boy, a man's a long way from home where he can’t get a glass of Bishop or of Sack o’ winter nights!” And though still much given to rice and curry, he glowed over the turbont, brill and salmon, cut from the fish itself; ordered wondrous plates of grouse, woodcock, partridge and veni son ; and bowed and nodded, and crooned to every one be met with, "Ah, dear boy! How d’ye do, dear boy? Glad to see you back here again; dear, dear, dear,” as though he had awakened from half a cen tury's slumber, bright chipper and joy ous with deep-heart gladness that all the things and faces he had loved were here again to beam back his own happy recog nition and delight. Not a month later the Slavistork office clerk one morning saw standing in front of tithe desk another dapper little old man. behind whom was waiting a brown faced ship’s steward bearing in his armsa small, stout oaken chest, while his head and shoulders were swathed and hung with gaudy rugs, mysterious bundles and packages of curious knotted canes. “Don’t set it down till!give the word!” said the little old man warningly to the steward, as the clerk nodded a pleasant good morning. “Going to leave me, Mr. Pipperchirp?” asked the clerk blandly. The little old man gave a start. “Bless me, bless me!” he returned af ter a little, a as if half to himself. “Can’t be possible!” Anu then louder to the clerk, “Young man, how old might you be!” “Oh, not far from thirty.” “Thought so;” muttered the little old man dubiously. “Very strange, very. Probably someone told him about Pip perchirp. Only one of us alive. Couldn’t forget the name; oh, dear, no!” He took up tlie desk pen as if about to register his name, and then said hesi tantly : “Bless me, it’s so like home here, if I was quite sure I could have my own old room again, I might remain—dear, dear! —I might remain for —for life!” "No trouble about it at all, sir. Room’s yours as long as you lik!” “Bless me, bless me! but that is pleas ant. I feared some changes, sir. Indeed I did. Dear, dear, dear!” He seemed in a flutter of delight and wrote his name in the book tremblingly but carefully as he could Mr. Pipperchirp, Ballarat. Accustomed as was this ordinarily im perturbable clerk to the vagaries of eccentric old men, it gave him something of a turn to see the little old man before him apparently so pitifully befogged. Madras and Ballarat were both a very long way off; the ono nearly as far from the other as the Slavistork from either; and Mr. Pipperchirp must be failing rapidly, he sympathetically re flected. But there could be no mistake about the matter. There stood the veritable Pipperchirp he had previously assigned to No. 123, with the same black coat, waistcoat and trousers, the same capa cious collar and shiny satin stock, the same excessively red face, shaggy eye brows and silvery hair, with snuff-box and silk kerchief in his hands, and the same fluttering delight in his face as his eyes wandered from old familiar object to object. “Show Mr. Pipperchirp to No. 123,” he said kindly, nodding significantly to one of the hall porters. “Bless me! bless me!” exclaimed Mr. Pipperchirp, almost beside himself with resentful disappointment; “125 you mean. Pipperchirp's room, you know. Dormi tory ; north exposure; retired, quiet, se cluded. No sun. Bless me! I’ve been blistering at Ballarat for fifty years. Bah ! —123 would kill me! Mayn’t I have my old room, Mr Clerk!” The little old man gasped out the re quest so plaintively that the clerk was quite touched. “Certainly: certainly. That’s all right, my dear sir. Quite the same; quite the same. Here, Bob.” to the porter, “show Mr. Pipperchirp to 125, and make every thing snug and tidy. Look sharp, now!” Mr. Pipperchirp wrung the clerk’s hands gratefully; poured a handful of sil ver coin into the porter shands; gave the ship's steward something that looked like gold ; rubbed his hands together pur ringl.y, wandered about the hallways a few moments with cheery and afiectiou ate evidences of heartfelt, old-time recog nition, and then followed the por;ers. now waiting at the head of the grand stairway, with the nimble alacrity of youth. The clerk of the Slavistork had hardly resumed his duties with a genial shrug of forbearance and sigh of relief, when the chamberlain of the dormitory floor sud denly descended to the olfiee as if sorely perplexed. “Did I get your order for 123 to be done up, sir!” “Exactly; 123. Put it to rights.” “Well, 1 begs your pardon, sir, but the o! gent as is in thero says as ee s takin’ a bito’an.ip; ’is room is castle; an’ ee'll ave me shot If I bothers 'im again, sir.” “Ob, very well,” said the clerk laugh ing. ' It* Mr. Pipperehap. Odd old fel low He's gone back to his own room, then!” ”1 should venture oe 'ad, air.” THE MORNING NEWS: SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 11, 1804. i “Don’t disturb him. Put 120 to rights, instead.” In a iew moments more the dormitory chamberlain appeared again at the desk in a thoroughly disordered state. He was panting a little, and appeared to have been in a tussle. “Something wrong, sir, in my ’all, sir. Mr. Pipperchirp's hoccurpyin’ two rooms, sir. Ee’s in 125 now—leastwise ee was, sir. I unlocked th’ door, sir, an’ there ee was, dancin' and cuttin’ it oncommon fat, like ee'd 'aa it a trifle to ’eavy, sir. I says, •I’ve norders on the room, sir.’ Ee says, ’Hi’ll 'ave horders on your’ead. sir! With that. sir. ee eaved a bundle o’ cansat me, an’ drove me ead on, agin 123, sir, an ee —‘Hi've not ad a drop this day fortnight, sir!—jerked open ’is door, sir, an’ swore ee’d run me through! An’ if Hi've not lost iny senses, sir, the two old uns, then catchin’sight o’ one another, ‘Hutted!’ an’‘Tutted!’an'’Poohed !’ an’ ‘Bahed!’ an’ glared an’ glowered, an’ slammed their aoors an’ are stompin’ an’ ragin’ in side, this blessed minute! Don’t take my word. sir. That Pipperchirp is double, sir, or them rooms is single, or—” The distressed chamberlain was at this moment interrupted by the furious ring ing of the office bells connecting with the Pipperchirp apartments. Seldom ns is the hotel clerk susceptible to agitation, it is not overstepping the bounds of truthful expression to say that for once the clerk of the Siavistork was genuinely agitated. On reaching the dormitory hall he found the Pipperchirp apartments not only barricaded against entrance, but their respective oe upants employed, when not ringing the bells whose clamor could be faintly heard from the office be low, thumping and whacking as if at some invisible adversary, “Bahing!” and “Hutting!” as the chamberlain had truth fully described; while up and down the hall were rows of peering silvery heads, set with bulbous, startled eyes, ducking, and bobbing in and out of various apart ments as tno Pipperchirp commotion sub sided or increased. “My dear sir?” said the clerk in his most persuasive tones, while tapping softly at the door of 123. “Hut! hut! Dont‘dear sir’ me, sir! I won't have it! It’s an outrage, sir!—dear, dear! To get yourself up like me and plant yourself like a mummy opposite my apartment! Dear, dear! I’ll have the law on the house! I’ll call you out, sir. Hut! I’ll spit you like the puppy you are, sir. Hut! hut! hut!—” The voice of the erst bland Mr. Pipper chirp was here lost in its own high pitched frenzy. “My dear, dear sir?” now pleaded the clerk, timorously tapping at the door of the opposite apartment. “Bully and whine!—bully and whine, you old sarcophagus! Oh, dear, do!— yes, yes, yes! Bah! Do come in! Bah! Don’t fall back on the code, sir; oh,' no, no! I’ll settle your pretentions, as we do at Ballarat, sir! Bring your knife, do; bring your pistol, do! I’ll skewer you be fore you’ve time to beg, with one of these canes, sir! Do come in—yes, yes, yes! Bah' —Hut; and Bah-h-h-h-h! again, sir!” Poor old Pipperchirp in 125 was now dancing and charging about in a very de lirium of indignant valor. “But. iny dear sirs! I beg of you—l’m the clerk; clerk of the Slavistork;” this to both rooms and both commotions. “There’s been some serious mistake, sirs!” “Hut, not a bit of it! He’s a deliberate ruffian!” came hotly from 123. “No mistake at all, sir. He’s a bully ing old scoundrel!” was hurled back as defiantly from 125. “But gentlemen. gentlemen!—Messrs. Pipperchirp!” pleaded the clerk despair ingly. “Hut!—Bah! There is but one Pipper chirp!” shouted the enraged old men simultaneously; followed with equally un appeasable challenges from opposite rooms of, “Hut! He’s a pretender!” and “He’s an impostor, bah!” At this critical Juncture the disordered chamberlain whispered humbly to the clerk: “Might Hi venture to say, sir, as ’ovv you might some ’ow interjuce the Other to th’ T'other, sir?” It was an inspired idea, but the manner of its execution put the elerk to his wits’ ends. The ancient guests of the dormi tory’ had now ventured into the hall, were gathering in shocked and startled groups near the Pipperchirp apartments, and something must be speedily done. The clerk hastily consulted with some of the wiser and braver of the old men. Shortly one was stationed at each door, and after much preliminary door tapping and clear ing of asthmatic throats, each soothingly began: “Ah—ah, gentleman within, sir? Mr. Pipperchirp, sir?” The snorting and cavorting within the Pipperchirp apartments seemed to be gradually diminishing. “Mr. Pipperchirp?” continued the old man insinuatingly, “did you ever have a relative, sir.” “Hut! yes;’’came from 123. “Wont to Ballarat fifty years ago. No good. Died. Dear, dear! That man there should be turned over to the law !” From 125 lame the irascible rejoinder: “Yes. Wish I hadn’t. Upstart. Went" to Madras forty years ago. Dead. Bah!” “Your brother, ah—is alive at this moment, sir!” shouted the two old men at opposite keyholes, slapping their trem bling knees in recovered valor and glee. “Hut! Don’t believe it!” from 123. From 125: “Too gauzy’—bah!” “We have proofs, Mr. Pipperchirp,” urged the old gentlemen, solemnly wink ing at their excited audiences on either side. “What is your Christian name, if you please, Mr. Pipperchirp?” “Hut—Samuel;” piped 123. “Lemuel—bah !” snapped 125. “Blow my buttons!” gasped the dis ordered chambermaid, “if th’ Other an’ Tother aren't twins!” At the word “twins” the bolts of 123 and 125 were suddenly’ drawn. Then the doorknobs were softly turned. Two red and heated faces in a mist of tousled silvery locks stealthily appeared at oppo site doors. Two thin, little old, half-clad bodies followed the faces. But the Other and Tother Pipperchirp were not to be caught napping. One hand of each cun ningly grasped its owner's respective door In the hand of Other was a tre mendously long and rusty Indian sword. Stoutly clutched in Tother's hand was a huge, gnarled Australian walking-stick. As the valiant old fellows glided warily into the hallway, all the other little old men of the dormitory fell back with “liood-bless mes!” and.kindred ejacula tions of dismay; while the clerk of the Slavistork sprang nimbly behind the dis ordered chamberlain. It was a moment of dread suspense. The two little old men sidled around each other one way, and then sidled back the other. Each seemed quivering with eagerness for conflict. Round and round, up and down the hallway they’ sidled and ambled, silent, furtive,and watchful; the startled groups giving way and closing in about them in turn, as they came and went. Suddenly there was a crash in the air of stick and sword, and the onlookers closed their eyes and shuddered. But it was not a crash of conflict. A little gur gling cry came from Tother’s lips. "Samuel! —Samuel!” Almost thrilling was the shrilly-pitched, piping response: "Lemuel!—Lemuel!” !” “Lemuel!”—“Lemuel!”— i “Samuel!” and "Bless me, bless me, bless ' me!" with ' Dear, dear, dear!” smothered and choked by embraces and hand-wring ings between tlie Other and Tother Pip perchirp, now came so fast and furious that the most wonderful stenographer the world ever knew could not have set them rightly down for printing; and all the other little old men of the dormitory j fell a hand shaking, embracing, calling j culling each other by their Christian i names, and wriggling about the Pipper- ! chirps to gel a kindly hand u|x>n them,or | a word of blessing in their happy ears; while handkerchiefs wared and tear- I ducts, closed for half a century’, flooded copious m.sts into unused eyes: and even the disordered chamberlain, bury ing his face in a corner of Other s door-frame, filliped a solitary tear from the tip of his quivering nose and hoarsely murmured to himself: "Blow my buttons! but this 'ere's th’ wettest go since hever th’ flood an’th’ hark!” From this moment the ancient twins, “the Other and Tother Pipperchirp,” as the smoking room tradition hath it to this day, became the mild and gentle lions of the Slavistora. They flitted around Ixon don town like a pair of lovers, as they were, arm in arm together. They trun dled about the ancient bookstalls, haunted the tower and monument, "hutted ' and "tutted” from tho Strangers’ gallerv at obnoxious measures in parliament, wan dered at Epping and Hempstead like boys unloosed from school, chaffed with the costers and and peas shellers of Coven t Garden, basked like contented turtles be neath the piazza or read to each other from the Newcomes by the huge fireplace in tne reading room or beside the cheery grates in their own apartments. One was never at his ease without the other. If one was late at breakfast, din ner or tea, the other fidgeted and fumed until the cause was ascertained. If one was ailing, the other fretted himself ill in his curing. Like lovers still, they quar reled ; quarreled and avoided each other’s society for at least an hour's time. At last the office bells would ring furiously. The hall porter always knew what it meant. It made no difference which door he tapped at first. When opened. Other or Tother always stood there with a note and a tip in his hand. Turning to the opposite door, the porter would always find the other little old man waiting behind it, with a note and tip in his hand. Before the servant could exchange the notes, clap his tips into his pocket, and turn his back considerately upon them, they were in each other's arms; for. bless them! •neither had need to read what the other was sure to write. For many years they ambled on in this way together. But one morning they did not come to their accustomed breakfast in the coffee-room. Then the other little old men who met them there were troub led. They waited long, and many loft their breakfast untouched. Then they gathered in anxious groups in the smok ing room, in the office, and in the hallway of the dormitory. They finally knocked at one of the doors. There was no response. They opened it, and it was vacant. Theu they entered the opposite door. For a moment they felt they had intruded. There sat the brothers in easy chairs at opposite sides of their little table, an open volume of "The Newcomes” between them, upon which laid two hands closed softly to gether. The old men were as if in slum ber, peaceful and resting. For death had come still as the moonlight to that little chamber and gently beckoned the Other and Tother Pipperchirp away. PENITENTIAL TEARS. Bab’s Timely Rules for the Nineteenth Century Lenten Period. How Society Mademoiselles Will Conduct " Themselves During the Forty Days of Mourning—Odd Res taurant Life—Distinguished Diners. A Sonnet Dedicated to a Cook—ln Bohemia’s Land. (Published 1894.) New York, Feb.—We are all in sack cloth and ashes. Being feminine, most of us drape our sackcloth in a smart way and wear our ashes as if they were the latest style of head-dress. We repent— oh, .yes we repent, but in a way that suits us best. We thank heaven that remorse doesn't keep us awake nights. Indeed, if by chance it made an attempt to speak one night, we would, properly enough, hush it with a dose of choral or morphia, and then we would laugh to think that in the days gone by people believed that the voice of conscience, or remorse, or digestion, or whatever it was called, could not be quieted. We repent in the manner of the nineteenth century. Mademoisello, who has been dancing and prancing through all the fashionable functions, getting little sleep, and having many demands made on her body and brain (for it is tho vogue for a woman to have a bit of a brain nowadays) is de lighted to welcome the forty days of mourning, because it gives her an oppor tunity to rest a little. Of course, as she tells you, she will go out to "quiet things,” but it won’t be a hurry and a scurry from house to house, from dance to dance, feariug to be absent from any one because then the world might think that she hadn't been invited And she of to-day is dreadfully afraid that that might be believed. Well, site is going to enjoy her days of mourning. You know there is a certain sort of pleasure in mourning. It is mightily pleasant to go to an early morning service, and convince one’s self that one is the greatest sinner in the world; it is a charming form of vanity, not requiring anew ball gown, a new arrangement of the hair, or anything else that tends to make one attractive. NOW SUE IS GOING TO KEPENT. Dear little Madame X. gravely an nounces to her husband that she is going to repent by giving her cook a chance to enjoy herself. X. is a little stupid, and at first he doesn’t understand, but she soon makes him. He is to take her out three nights in the week to dinner, and she adds, with a bewitching smile: “Make me enjoy myself exactly as if we wern't married.” For the first outing, X. arranged a fine dinner at Delmouico’s, flowers and favors, and all sorts of good things to eat. But the little Madame pouted all through din ner, wasn’t any too agreeable when they got home, and then burst into tears and told X., who had done his best, poor wretch, that he doesn't love her, or else he wouldn't have given her just such a dinner as she has been having ail the time, and which was no novelty. She gave him three days to find a place that would be new to her. Now, X, hap pened to know a newspaper fellow, so he asked him, and the newspaper man said: “I can tell you A PLACE THAT IS UNIQUE, Where you can get a good dinner, where you will meet the most marvelous set of people you ever saw in your life, but I’ll only tell you with the proviso that you don’t let the so-called fashionable set know anything about it: and my reason for asking this is that once they get to go ing there they will ruin it. And to show you how this can happen, I need only to illustrate the career of a restaurant that is to-day perfectly well known to every body. When it was started, the proprie tor. a neat little Frenchman, was his own manager and head waiter; his wife was the cashier, aud a very good dinner with a pint of light claret was gotten for 75 cents This place was down In the neighborhood of the University, and iu a little while the artists front Tenth street got to going there, the lit erary set found it out, and it was tho most delightful. Everybody knew every body else, and if you wanted to find a good musician, a weli-known artist or u news;,after man. you only had to drop into Joseph's to look for him. In a littlo while the said Joseph began to make money; then he put out a flag at the top of his [ house that bore the sign ‘Hotel Joseph Tho price of the dinner went up steadily, and its quality went down. Tho mon who hud written of it, and among these men waa oue of the cleverest atory writers of to-day: the men who had sketched it, in fai t, the men who had made it. found that they were being pushed out for peo ple with more money and less sense: that when they were there Joseph pointed them out as if they we animals on exhibi : tion. and gradully they stopped going. THEY STARTED OUT FOR A FEAST. “Now Joseph has got a big place, is very j insolent to the people who were polite to him in his early struggles, and only eager to cater to those who mean much money. Pleasant little Madame Joseph is dead, which may account for Joseph's impu dence. But to sum up a loug story, wo made up our minds that if ever we go to another place that suited us, the law should be that no man would write of it, no man would talk about it, but that every man would enjoy it in his owu way. How ever, I’ll tell you where it is. and you take madame thero with the understanding that you are both to keep quiet.” When X. toid her about this she threw both arms around his neck and kissed him with more fervor than she had since the waning of the honeymoon. That night they started. The house was in a down town street, and yet within a stone's throw from where the old-fashioned mil lionaires live. Three steps down a little turning, an opening of the door and they werethere. Foraminute madame scarcely knew what to think. Thefe was no car pet on tho floor; thero were two long tables, one large and one small, round one. There were people at most of them; but they paid no attention to the X.’s. So they sat down, and in a few minutes a French woman came in, put a clean nap kin. a steel knife and fork in front of each of them, and asked what wine they would have. X. knew enough to choose an Italian one, and it was brought to them in about ten minutes, during which time Madame X. saw a young man get up, announce that be wanted a clean plate, go out into the kitchen, come back with one, stop at an other table on his way, pick up a dish of spaghetti, bring it with him, and help him. Suddenly she saw him grin at X. Then he saia to him across the table: “Say, old boy, how did you ever come to Caterina’s!” And the old bay laughed, and announced that he wasn't going to tell. A conversation, in which Madame joined was kept up while they were served with very best sort of soup, and were invited to have a second helping. Then there was put before them a dish of spaghetti that looked as if it ought to do for a family, but which Madame found so delightful that she had three help ings of it, and by this time the room was full. ALL SORTS OF DINERS HERE. There was a great deal of talk; it didn’t seem to make any difference whether anybody knew anybody else or not—they talked anyhow. You didn’t hear any thing about the “Horse Show” or the last cotillion, or the latest scandal. One shabby little chap, as near-sighted as he could be, who really did seem to eat with his forehead, was induced to tell three or four men about meeting Jerome and what an awfully good fellow he was, and how he would have come over here long ago if it hadn’t been for the fact that he had an invalid wife, and he was so devoted to her that he wouldn’t make a long journey without her, and she wasn’t able to stand the sea voyage. Somebody else was talk ing about Melba, and somebody else who looked like anarchist, but who had the sweetest voice in the world, was an nouncing that he thought of the Cleve land administration. X. was interest ed, and Madame was delighted, and the next time the young man, who knew her husband, got up and went into the kitchen, she insisted upon going with him. There stood Caterina at the stove, ladling out, as they were required, the good things and giving such portions as would have made an uptown retura turer believe himself ruined. Madame was introduced as anew visitor, and Caternia, nodded “How do you do;” she couldn’t shake hands for one hand held the ladle and the other the soup pot, X’s friend has come out to say that Nanette would not give him bread enough, and Caterina placidly shrugged her shoulders and announced, “You dis pleased her the last time you were here. You make it up with her and she will be all right.” Madame laughed and, Na nette appeared Just at the happy mo ment. X’s friend went up to her and said, NANETTE, WHEN I ADORE YOU SO, how can you be angry with me? And you know I like a lot of bread, and you have been so mean with it this evening." He looked a picture of despair and Nan ette, although she was certainly 45, felt her heart touched, and showed her good will by fetching him a roll of that kind of bread that one buys by the yard. While everybody was laughing and satisfied, a woman came in, all alone. That’s nothing unusual at Caterina s, for art students and writers drift there, knowing that it is perfectly respectable. This girl came in, looked around, seemed not to find whoever she was seek ing, went out into the kitchen, spoke to Caterma.and then sat down on one of the low chairs there as if she would wait a little while, or as if she would like to get warm. The anarchist man stopped talk ing politics: he muttered something to himself that sounded like something be in? a shame, and then he got up and wont out into the kitchen, and spoke to that girl. What he said nobody knew, but in a minute or two she came out, and he went to the door with her. When he returned HE BLUSHED LIKE A SCHOOLGIRL, and to convince the rest of the people that he had no heart, he pitched violently into the government. Madame X- asked the young man who the girl was, and in a low tone ha told her. A pretty girl, who had written some poems and some stories, and who came on to New York with very little money, and no friends, but expecting that her dainty little work would have a great market. Well, the story of Faust and Marguerite was repeated, except that the girl now was a little out of her mind; and every evening, as it drew near the time when Faust used to take her out and have a gay, merry dinner with her, she went around look ing for him. She had only been to Cat erina’s once, in her happy days, but she remembered it, and they never refused to let her in. Her dinner was always of fered to her, for Caterina hasn’t made a fortune, and i-n’t hardhearted yet; but she never accepted it. She always tells that she is going to meet Faust, and have dinner with him—that she has forgotten where he was to be. She has gotten poorer and poorer, and to-night the bit ter-speaking politician had insisted on her taking enough money to provide for herself for a few days. This she accepted with one proviso, that Faust would re turn it to him, and he. knowing what it meant, agreed to it. AFTER DINNER WAS ALL OVER. and X. nad paid *2 25 for it, including wine, X’s frieud walked home them. He was very jolly, until unfortunately tho little Madame mentioned some fashion able affair, when he stiffened up put his hands in his pockets, drew out a pair of immaculate gloves, and carefully ad justed a mouocle. With this change in his appearance, came a drawl in his voice, aud he appeared like hundreds of the other young men she knew in- our set.” When they got into the house she said to X.: "Who is that'” And he laughed as he told her the name, the name of one of the richest young men in America who happens to have a great fancy for books, who knows the men vho make aud illustrate them, and vho doesn't patronize them, but respectEg ami hon oring their ability is delighted to be of them aud among them. Madame X. gave a sigh, thought what a card he would have beeu at her next tea. and remem bered him racing out into the kitchen to got a clean plate and apologizing to Nan ette because she didn’t give him bread enough. “Who were the rest?” she asked. She heard the name of a man whose stories had brought happiness to her; of another whose poetry was real; of a famous cari caturist, and of two or three well-known writers. Then she asked: “Who is the anarchist?” And her husband told her. with a smile, that the anarchist was the editor of one of the most conservative papers in New York. THE ISLAND IS THE SEA OF DOUBT. And she wondered and inquired: “Is this Bohemia?” And her husband an swered : “As near as you will get to it in New York.” And vet that country will be invaded and given over to the Philis tians if it is ever written up under its own name, or if the tired, silly set go down there to look at the people with brains as they do at the monkeys. “Oh,” exclaimed little Madame X.; “I do wish one of those clever men would write something about me!” Her husband said: “Don’t beafraid. my darling, that joy will never come to you. Those men have sense, and the only time any’ one of them has written about what occurred during the dinner hour, he wrote a superb sonnet to Caterina—that is, the cook. And in doing this, he show ed his keen appreciation of the finest art in the world. And when the ode was published, as it was, only the initiated knew the Caterina who was addressed in such a fervid and impassioned manner.” And Madame X. added thoughtfully, “I don’t feel that fasting is such a deg radation.” And X. said “Fasting? One is feasting at Caterina's.” “Yes, that’s trre,” she answered, “and the best way to show that we appreciate it is ” “Yes, I know,” he added, “to go again.” Now, if you attempt to go to Caterina’s by this letter, you will never find your way, for though the description of it is correct. Bohemia is, after all, an island— an island in the Sea of Doubt, and you may be certain that a correct chart of navigation to it has not been given to the outside world by Bab. AMBER AND AMBEROID. The Hardened Sum of Trees That Flourished Perhaps Millions of Years Ago. From the St. Paul Daily Globe. A. Becker of East Prussia, a member of the firm who own and operate the greatest amber mines in the world, the Anna and the Palmnicken, located on the north coast of the Baltic sea, said re cently : “Our firm supplies over 90 per cent, of the amber and amberoid sold in the mar kets of Europe. Great Britain, Asia. Ja pan, China and America. Amberoid is the result of small pieces of amber com pressed into one solid mass by hydraulic pressure. We employ iu our mines and manufacturing processes about 2,000 peo ple, who prepare our products for the market, ready for the manufacturer. We make no manufactured goods. Our out put is the crude material and amounts annually to about $1,000,000.” Mr. Becker then exhibited an elegant cigar ette holder of whitish amber ornamenied with gold. “This jittle holder,” said he, “exclusive of its mountings, is worth $5.” Continuing he said, “very little of the real amber is shipped to the United States. Most of that which is called amber here is only amberoid. “Amber is the gum of a conifer, but of what species no one knows. It belonged to the first period of vegetation of the earth. No one knows in what climate these trees grew, and no fossil traces of them are left for the geologist. It is not improbable that they produced amber and were stately trees millions of years ago. Dr. R. Klebs, of Konigsberg, the highest authority on this subject in the world, says there are 2,000 different varieties of insects found imprisoned in amber, and this gives us a pretty correct idea of the fauna in the remote age in which they lived. They give us besides evidences of that period of which we have no other trace. It is very interesting to compare these insects with those now existing, as the common fly, for example. Others, again, are entirely different, showing ex tinct species. Dr. Klebs’ theory is that the ainber was carried to East Prussia during the glacial epoch and imbedded in the blue earth where it is found. This blue earth is a very heavy clay, and the strata vary in thickness from 3 to 27 feet. Dr. Klebs considers that this imbedding process occurred in what geologists term the tertiary period. The right to mine amber or to take it from the sea dates back to the time the first knights who colonized East Prussia appeared—in the fifteenth century. They had the primary right to mine. Subse quently the right merged in the govern ment, which granted the privilege to pri vate parties for an annual consideration. My firm pays to the Russi n government every year 1,000,000 marks for the right, which equals about $250,000 in our money. We mine and market between eighty and ninety different sizes of amber for ship ping. The largest and most perfect specimens are made into mouth pieces for pipes, etc., and the smaller p’eces are made into the amber varnish, which is largely used in the interior of steam ships, railroad coaches, and on fine furni ture.” CRITICAL DAYS IN 1894. Prof. Falb’s Predictions of Violent Meteorological Phenomena This Year. From the Pittsburg Dispatch. Prof. Rudolf Falb, the famous German meteorologist, who only recently fright ened his countrymen by the prediction of the earth’s being doomed to come into collision with a comet some time during November, 1899, in his almanac just pub lished mentions the following “critical days” during the present year, namely: 1. Those on which the most violent meteorological currents occur—Jan. 21, Feb. 20, March 21, April 6, May 5, Aug. 1 and 30, Sept. 29 and Oct. 28 ; 2. Feb. 5, March 7, April 20, June 4, July 3, Sept. 15, Oct. 14, Nov. 13 and Dec. 12; 8, Jan. 7, May 19, June 18, July 17, Aug. 1(5, Nov. 27 and De,e. 27. The three days—March 21, April 6 and Sept. 29—of the first-named order, will be accompanied by marked phenomena, owing to the effect produced by eclipses of the sun and ntoon. Falb’s "critical days” denote periods of violent terrestrial and atmospheric commotions, accompanied by earthquakes, storms, floods and the like. Those here men tioned as being of the second or third order are less strongly marked by tel luric disturbances than those under tho first head. Prof. Falb, of course, claims that the phenomenal tidal wave, which struck the Normantiia on her way from New York in the Atlantic ocean on Jan. 21, the first critical day mentioned under 1, verified his prediction and confirmed his theory. The seismic phenomena indicated for his days are not confined to the dry land or coast line. The "tidal wave” in the ocean, from which the Normannia escaped by hair s breadth, 'was, according to his hypothesis, produced by an earthquake. The period between Jan. 21 and 25, be ing classed among those more or less dis turbed in Prof. Falb's almanac, theearth 3uake shock felt at Annapolis, Md., on an. 24 would afford additional evidence in favor of the soundness of bis auguries for 1894. "Fred only puts on the smoking-jacket I bought when ho is sick ” - I didn't know ho was ever sick." “Ho isn’t, ex cept when he tries to smoke.”—Life’s Calendar. QADWAY’S 8 3 READY RELIEF. Always Reliable. Purely Vegetable, Possess properties the most extraordinary In restoring health. They stimulate to healthy action the various organs, the natural conditions of which are so necessary for health, grapple with and neutralize the tn. purities, driving them completely out of th* system. RADWAY’3 PILLS Have Long Been Acknowledged as the Best Cure for SICK HEADACHE, FEMALE COMPLAINTS, INDIGESTION, BILIOUSNESS, CONSTIPATION, DYSPEPSIA, ■ AND All Disorders of th© Liver. \ |*y Full printed directions In each box- 2ft cents a box. Sold by all drut/lsts. RAD WAY <& CO , oZ Warren street, N. Y* HARDWARE. H A R DWARE, Bar, Band and Hoop Iron, WAGON MATERIAL, Nauaf Stores. Suppfies. FOB BALE BV EDWARD LOVELL'S SONS 155 Broughton and 138-140 State Sts. The Steamer Alpha, E. F. DANIELS, Master, On and after SUNDAY, Oct. 15, will change her Schedule as follows: Leave Savannah. Tuesday 9am Leave Beaufort, Wednesday Bam Leave Savannah, Thursday 11am Leave Beaufort, Friday Sam The steamer will stop at Bluffton on both trips each way. For further information apply to C. H. MEDLOCK, Agent. FLOUR. “An Ounce of Prevention is Worth a Pound of Cure.” An ounce of healthful food Is better than a ton oi medicine. USE Buckwheat, And throw away the medicine bottle. u SPECIALIST. Dr, Broodfool. SPECIALIST, Has passed the experimental stage, and is now acting with full knowledge of what ho can do. His straightforward course has rec ommended him to the public and his marvel ous success in the treatment of the most deli cate diseases which are peculiar to men and women and are private in their nature, has made him a reputation as a true specialist His tsuccesss has ment for pri vate, ski n. bl o o and a n^d seases. such blood poison. piles and di seases of worn en. If you can not call at his of fice write to him and he will send you symp tom blank No 1 for men; No. 2 for women; No. 3 for skin diseases, from which your case can be properly understood. If possible call at his office. Consultation costs vou nothing and terms of treatment are within reach of all. Address or call on UR. HROADFOOT, 138 Broughton St., Savannah. Gs. Hours—9 to 12, 2to 5, and 7to 9. Sundays, 10 to 1. INSURANCE. CHA R L ES F. P RENDERCAST (Successor to R. H. Footman & Co.j fite, Me m sun fens 108 BAY STREET, fNext West of the Cotton Exchange 1 Telephone call No. 31. SAVANNAH. GA. RAILROADS. iSiipiiiii SCHEDULE FOR 18160! Hods, Monigomery ond ill woy stations SUNDAY TIME. CARS KI N AS FOLLOWS: Leave Holton street 6 07 a. m.; leave Isle of Hope 8:17 a.m.: leave Bay street 10, 11 ■ a*- 12 noon, 1. 2,3, I. 5, 6. 7 and Bp. m . running direct from Bay street to Jsle of Hope, ana connecting with tho steam ears at Sandfly Leave isle of Hope 11:15 a. m . 18:15, ! ’• 2:15.3.15, 4 15, 5:15. 8:15, 7:15, 8:16 and 9p m- Cars from Thunderbolt to Isle of liope every hour after 2.0n p. m. until Bp. m. Leave laleol Hope for Thunderbolt at-*' and hourly afterward* until 6:30 p m CITY AND SUBURBAN U'V 00.