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Idaho news. (Blackfoot, Idaho) 1887-1891, November 19, 1887, Image 4

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Persistent link: https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn88056018/1887-11-19/ed-1/seq-4/

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WOMAN'S SONa
of
the
use
that
rtnwn r»f l,;„ m.nrl 1 . 5 . i w i;i,. i,ooin
down of Ins mmd his bodily health his
bad much improved, as not unfre- and
quently happens in such cases,
and lus mental incapacity was train
not of a . kind cause
anxiety. There nadbeen at one tirnea
qu set ion between the brothers about, that
provnding linn with an attendant, a
out Ephraim was opposed to unneces- fore
sary «pense, and pointed out that as
the old gentleman never left the house
unless by invitation, and that, while the
within doors, he was perfectly under
the control of tnose about him, in- them
eluding even the one maid-servant of
the establishment—-a trustworthy saw
young woman, who had been with the have
family tor some y*ears. The truth was wh
that the old gentleman was so sub
missive that, if so ordered, he would ;
remain in one room tor hours togeth- i
er, and, under these circumstances, it j She
reajly seemed that Ephraim and the ; of
maid were quite capable of looking On
after him. I ins idea, however, turned will
<>l m to « err ïï, eo ï*'o
The Rev. Alfred Stuckey did not
often visit London, but when lie did path,
so he always endeavored to spend a 5
day witii Ins father. On such ocea
sions he would generally take the old
gentleman out with him for the day, to
professing to think that lie was too
much confined to the house. One day, bave
about the middle of October, Ephra- it
ini Stuckey informed the maid-ser- at
vant that ms brother was coming
to town, und added that, if Alfred after
should take his father out, as he his
sometimes did, she had better take a
day's holiday.
In due course the Rev. Alfred arriv- by
ed, and, after spending a night at the doing
house, he said that lie would take his would
father by steamboat to Richmond for
the day. The jnaid was accordingly "I
informed that she could have her think
P romised holiday. Then, however, a
iHiculty arose. The girl wished to about
go som« distance, and could not be than
back before eight o'clock in the even- the
ing. Alfred, on the other hand, had
no intention of keeping his father out trutli
till that hour, and besides this, he
had to return that night to Ins .par
ish, for which purpose he must leave hands
St. Paneras Station at about seven prove
o'clock. Who was to take charge of
old Mr. Stuckey in the interval? It
"I dare say I can get home," sa:d ny's
Ephraim. • "What time will you re
turn?" , , „ „ b«
"That depends on father.' Not la- will
ter than five o'clock in any case. As I one
have to be at St. Paneras by seven, I rested
thing I shall Lave here before 5:30." expect
"I think I can manage to lie hack week
by that time," said Ephraim, "and In
there is no harm in leaving the gov- George
ernor for half an hour by himself. If I seldom
am not here when you return put him Within
into that arm-chair, give him his pipe, time
and tell him m your most impressive tion
voice that lie is not to stir upon any
account until I come in."
"Are you sure that he will be all
r T« ? * ,, . .. '»''-ate
Perfectly. He trouai not move if George
the house were on lire." of
\Vith this understanding the parties actor.
separated called,
It was between 8:30 and 0 p.m. on the
From the Clipper.
«he took her song to Willy's side
w here riehst are, and pomp, sml pride.
There In the »«rid, ami.lat tho crowd,
febo round our heurte by sorrow bowed;
Amidst h dream of light nnd dress
«he snw the pain of loitefinesu.
Her voice's magic held » tear,
«he »mdo the wenry ones draw near,
And «II « he passions ol the throng
Were melted into |>care by songi
She took her song «long the street.
Ana hushed the lient of panging feet;
Anti tired toilers «topped t«rfill
Their henrts with music nt her will#
"he fling of rest for wenry toot,
Of Hca*nionn, nnd of meadow-sweet;
Her voice'» pleading stilled the stir;
And little children wopt with lier;
So «11 their sorrow, giief, nnd pain
She softened into love again.
She took her song to those who rest
Safe in the clasp of nature's breast,
Anu.i the graves, along the shore.
Washed with sait tears forevermore;
And then she sang. How Long! How Long?
Before we hear that perfect song—
That angel hymn! That mystic strain,
when those who loved shall love again,
>V hen life's long struggle shall be blest
*> ith music of Ëternnl Kost!
The Hammersmith Mystery.
Mr. Martin Stuckey had been a pros
perous colonial merchant in his day,
but at the age of fifty-five he
•tereda succession of misfortunes which
-ultimately landed him in the Bank
ruptcy Court. When that crisis was
past he went to live in a small house
at Hammersmith with his wife, his
younger son, Ephraim, and one
vant. Not long after his wife died,
»nd this last blow reduced the old
man to a complete wreck. He became
childish, aud lost his memory
pletely that lie had no recollection of
•ordinary events from day to day,
"which was, perhaps, a merciful dis
pensation of Providence after all.
Ephraim Stuckey was now the mas
ter of the hoase, though the house it
self belonged to the father, having
been purchased with some money ot
Mrs. Stuckey's,
stock-broker in a small way of busi
ness, which might have been larger if
Ephraim himself had been fonder of
work, and had combined a little more
■greediness for the commissions of
■clients with a little less faith in grand
speculative coups on his own account.
He was addicted to grumbling at the
hardships of his lot, and more particu
larly at the burden ot keeping "t he
old man," as he called his father.
This, however, was as unreasonable
as it was undutifnl, for not only was
Ephraim living rent-free in liis father's
house, but old Mr. Stuckey's mainte
nance was fully provided for by the
elder son, Alfred. Alfred, in liis father's
pal my days, had been put into the
Church. He was'now a curate in a
Midland County parish on a princely
stipend of £200 a year, out of which
he contributed £50 a year to his fa
ther's support—quite enough to leave
a margin of profit for Epliriam. If
any one, therefore, had reason to
grumble at the prolongation of the la
ther's life it was Alfred. It must be
mentioned, however, that there was
one small expectation for both the
sons upon their father's death. Mar
tin Stuckey showed no immediate like
lihood cf enabling his sons to realize
this investment. Since the break
encoun
ser
so com
Ephraim was a
t
A
fred
Mr.
the same day when Mr. Kphraim
Stuckey presented himself at Hammer
smith Police Station and asked for
assistance. He nwide at the same time
a Statement from which.in Addition to
the above facts, it appeared that in
constqut nee of business unexpectedly
detaining him in town, he had not
reached home until close upon seven
o'clock. He then found no trace of
his father or of his brother, and after
waiting for the return of the servant
and making inquiries about the neigh
borhood, he had come to the conclu
sion that on being left alone his father
had, for the first time on record, tak
en it into liis head to go out by him
self, and lmd either lost himself or
met With some worse mischance.
Subsequent events confirmed the
latter theory. The Rev. Alfred Stuck
ey, on being communicated with by
telegram next day, replied tht he
had left his father at home in his chair
at 5:15 on the previous evening. On
the saine day Mr. Stuckey's hat was
found in die osier-beds at Chiswick. A
day or t wo later a walking stick, which
had certainly belonged to him, was
picked up in the river at Chelsea. The
police continued the hue and cry with
unabated vigor, but after these dis
coveries only one theory of the old
gentieman's disappearance seemed
tenable. There was no motive to
suggest his having met with foul play,
He had neither the means nor the
strength to have travelled to any
distance, The conclusion seemed in
evitable that he had strayed out for
some purpose—perhaps for no other
reason than that hisday's outing had
unduly excited him—and had some
how fallen into the river. It was a
considerable time, however, before
the discovery of the body put the old
man's fate beyond question. During
the interval Ephraim Stuckey was
more than once summoned to differ
ent points between Kew Bridge and !
Gravesend for the purpose of inspect- I
ing the ghastly human flotsam and
jestam of the river, but without result, j
Four weeks had nearly elapsed;
when be received information
that the body of an elderly*
man had been found nt Dept
ford, the linen of which apDeared to
have been marked with an " 8 ." Tbe
features were all but unrecognizable,
but, after such inspection as was pos
sible, Ephraim without hesitation
pronounced the remains to be those
of his lather.
ed
to
an
a
he said, "any result from
the inquiries in Stuckey's case?"
"Y'es, a little," replied Mr. George;
"but I am afraidnothingthat is much
use to us at present." al
"It is not a case of suicide?"
"Judge for yourself. You remember
that at the inquest the Rev. Alfred f°
Stuckey stated that he returned with
his father from Richmond -about five.'
and left a quarter of an hour later in
order to catch the 5:35 Metropolitan
was train to King's cross."
."Ido."
"Very well. Now I have ascertained
that Mr. Alfred and the deceased took
a carriage at Richmond not long be
fore four p. m., but wer 6 only driven
as far as Barnes, where, at tiieir own
request, they were put down on
the towpath. I have found the
flyman, who says that lie set he
in- them down on the towpath neailv
of opposite Chiswick about 4:30, anil
saw them walk away eastward. We
the have also got hold of an old woman
wh > saw them on the towpath near
Hammersmith Bridge, but whether
; below or above she cannot state,
i walking in the direction of Putney, try
it j She says it was within a few minutes
the ; of five o'clock, and just getting dusk.
On that day, October 18, thesun, you seit
will find, set at 4:37. Now it is not
impossible, of course, that Alfred
Stuckey may have been on tiie tow
did path, walking towards Putney about old
a 5 o'clock, and yet have taken the de
ceased home, as lie stales, and have
old afterwards caught the 5:35 train; but,
to my nnnd, this evidence throws grave ed
doubt on his story. Remember we of
bave only Alfred Stuckey's word for
it that the deceased ever went home
at ali. On tlie other hand, there is a
strong presumption that some time
after five o'clock that night he found
he his way into the river, having been,
a according to the medical testimony. As
knocked on the head first, presumably
by some one who had a motive for ing,
doing so, which a stranger to him
his would not have.
"You think he was murdered?"
"I form no tlieorv at present, bid. I
think that Messrs. Alfred and Ephraim
a Stuckey between them know more
to about their father's disappearance
than they have yet disciosed.and that
the evidence wenovv have offers a very
convenient means of squeezin'* the
trutli out of them." °
he "Then what do you advise?"
"Put all our information in the
hands of the police. We shali
prove suicide, and if it be a case of
of murder that does not help the office
It is therefore, not worth theCompa
ny's while to spend money on further
inquiries. On the other hand, if there
b« any fraud in the case, the truth
will very soon come out when
I one or other of these gentlemen is ar
I rested on cliarge of murder, which I
expect wo shall see before an other
week is over."
In this last conjecture Mr. George
George was not mistaken—lie verv
I seldom was about such matters
Within four or five days from the
time when he forwarded die inform
tion to Scotland-vard, the Rev, Alfred
Stuckey was in custody, charged with
murdering liis father
When he appeared before the nia-*
'»''-ate tiie facts detailed by Mr.
George were supplemented by a piece
of evidence of a most damning char
actor. A tramp, named Higgs, was
called, and tie deposed to having seen
the deceased, whom he knew quit#
Long?
pros
day,
which
Bank
was
house
his
died,
old
of
day,
dis
mas
it
ot
busi
if
of
more
of
the
he
was
the
the
a
fa
If
to
la
be
was
the
like
ser
com
a
The inquest which follôwed, and
which was. of course, held at Deptford,
added only one additional fact to
those above stated. The "medical
evidence showed that there was a se
vere contusion on the head, which had
probably been caused before death,
and the doctor was strongly of
opinion that the deceased had been
stunned by this blow, and then
thrown into the river. There was
nothing, however, to point to a defi
nite conclusion, and atter hearing the
evidence of the Rev. Alfred Stuckey
and his brother as to the mental con
dition of the deceased, the jury
t urned a verdict, of "Found Drowned."
together with other documents
A certificate of this verdict,
relating to the death, was sub
sequently lodged by the Rev. Al
fred Stuckey, as administrator of the
deceased, with the Monument Assur
ance Company, in whose office tiie in
surance or. Martin Stuckey's life had
been effected.
About a week after this was done,
Mr. Capper, the manager of the Mon
ument Assurance Company, was
shown into the office of Mr. George
George, the Company's solicitor.
"Well,
re
Jessy
lie
head.
close
me
Dang
Mr.
hav#
for
ol
Mr.
up
her
fore.
Mr.
the
never
Mr.
ey;
n
Kphraim well by eight, in company with anoth*
Hammer- er man on the towpath between Ham
for mersniitli and Putney some time aft
time er dark; to having overheard some
to thing hke an altercation, the old man
in apparently refusing to go ou, and the
young one' threatening to chuck him
not into the river if he were troublesome;
seven and, finally, to having heard two or
of three loud cries, after he had passed,
after Higgs did not attempt to identify the
servant prisoner, but he was sure that the man
neigh- with the deceased was in a black coat,
conclu- and closely resembled the prisoner in
father height and figure. With regard to the
tak- time he was uncertain; but it was
him clear from his statements that it must,
or have been within five minutes on either
side of a quarter to six. This left time,
the ts the prosecution showed, for the
Stuck- -prisoner to catch a train at Putney
by Bridge by which he could have reach
he ed St. Paneras so as to travel by the
chair 7:10 down-town train from that Sta
On tion. On thisevidencethemagistrate,
was without hesitation, committed the
A prisoner tor trail,
which Only one other piece of evidence was
was adduced when the trail came off at
The thb Old Bailey, but it had an import
with ant bearing on the issue. It appeared
dis- that when he had left the University,
old four or five years previously, the pris
seemed oner was very much in debt; that he
to had lately been threatened with sum
play, mary proceedings by some of his Ox
the ford creditors, and that on th« day of
any liis arrival in town he had been to an
in- advertising money-lender to endeavor
for to raise money on liis small expeeta
other tions from his father. In this lie had
had been unsuccessful. Here, then, as
some- counsel for the Crown did not fail
was a to point out at the trial, was a
before sufficient explanation of the motive
old for the diabolical act. For the de
During fence, every attempt possible was
was made to prove an alibi, but none of
differ- the witnesses who thought that they
and ! had seen the prisoner elsewhere were
inspect- I positive about the time; and in the
and face of the admitted fact that the
result, j prisoner bad traveled to and left St.
elapsed; Paneras Station on that night, theii
evidence came to nothing. The judge,
elderly* who, unfortunately lor Alfred Stuckey,
Dept- happened to have a reputation for
to hanging, of which lie was not a litt 1 .?
Tbe proud, put it to the jury that their
verdict must practically depend upon
pos- the weight they attached to Higgs'
evidence, which was not only consist
those ent with all the evidence as to the
prisoner's previous movements, but
was strongly corroborated by the
witness's identification of the de
ceased. There couid, in fact,
said his Lordship, be no reasonable
doubt that Higgj had seen the
deceased on the tow-path in company
with some man, who was threatening
him with violence. The only question
was whether that man was the pris
oner, in whose company the de
ceased was proved to have
been up to half an hour pre
viously, or some body elss w horn no at
tempt had been made to identify, and
who had no conceivable motive for
the crime. The jury naturally prefer
red the former alternative and return
ed a verdict of "Guilty."
Mr. and Mrs. Wattles were much
pleased with their lodger, Mr. Bib,
tho ugh they felt father sorry for the
old gentleman, too. It was very sad
to see him sitting in his room all day
looking at pictures, gazing out of the
window with that blankexpression on
his face. But, on the other hand,
young Mr. Bib paid Mrs. Waffles an
extra half-guinea per \v<-ek for keeping
an eye on the old gentleman, and had
a so paid several weeks' rent in ad
vance, which is by no means the usu
from al. practice of lodgers in the
neighborhood of Kennington Park,
where Mr. and Mrs. Watfles resided:
much Moreover, so far from requiring extra
al tention. Mr. Bib gave no trouble at
all, but did whatever he was told to
do, and would never even have asked
Alfred f° r his meals if they had not been
with forthcoming. That was why Mr. and
five.' Mrs. Waffles, were so pleased with
in their lodger.
It therefore gave Mrs. Waffles, as
she subsequently stated, "quite a
turn," when Mr. Bib camedown stairs
one morning with his hat and over
took coat on, and evinced the strongest in
be- tention of going out for a walk,
Young Mr. Bib had given strict in
own structions that his father was on no
on account to leave the house, as, be
the sides being unable tofind his wav back
set he was liable to become dangerously
excited by the noise and bustle of the
anil streets. On the two or three occa
We Sions when he had called to see his
father young Mr. Bib had always re
near peated these instructions. It was. in
tact, his intention to take his father
state, away to a quiet residence in thecoun
try us soon as he had concluded cer
tain business which lie had on hand,
dusk. Mrs.Wafflesaccordinglyplacedher
you seit before the door, and explained to
not Mr. Bib that he couid not leave the
Alfred premises at present.
tow- "Please—please,"
old gentleman, in what was lor him
de- rather an excited tone, "can't wait
have —my son, Alfred—look,
but, newspaper from his pocket, and point
grave ed to something in it. On pretence
we of looking at it Mrs. Waffles drew him
for into the parlor, where she saw that it
home was a morning paper which he bad
is a somehow e>t hold of, and that he was
time pointing to the report oi the first
day's proceedings in the trial of the
been, Rev. Alfred Stuckey at the Old Bailey,
As she read the passage over to hu
nior him the old man kept on repeat
for ing, "My son Alfred—murder me''—no'
him no—not Alfred. Musn't lmng Alfred'"
Now in tbe p
flea's husband
I
more
that
very
the
the
of
ar
I
the
and
to
a se
had
death,
of
been
then
was
defi
the
con
sub
Al
the
Assur
in
had
done,
Mon
was
George
to
re
of
ed
.
to
it
stammered the
He drew a
to
don
lig
by
sh«
only
on
pany
man passed his hand »
across his forehead and looked help
Jessy around him. "My son Alfred," This
lie said; then paused and shook his was
head. Presently he went on in a nea'
rambling fashion: "Went out with ! were
Alfred—Ephraim changed my clothes—
close by the river—Ephraim pushed ! aid*)
me into a train—no,—no! Mustn't
Dang Alfred!" round
"There's something in this," said ga.:ed
Mr. Waffles, decisively. "He couldn't '»ith
hav# got all this out of the newspaper, tion."
arlor sat Mrs. Waf
taking bis breakfast,
for he was a compositor in the office
ol a daily paper, and a late riser.
Mr. Bib's utterances made a deep im
pression on Mr. Waffles. He
man of considerable intelligence, and,
moreover, knew ail tbe facts in the
Stuckey case by heart, having been
engaged on the previous day in setting
up in type a report ot the trial.
"He's got some delusion in his head
about this trial," said Mrs Waffles.
"Not so sure about that," replied
her husband. "Ha never had one be
fore. Ask him what he wan's to do."
Mrs. Waffles did so. Mr. Bib smiled
feebly, and said, "Going to see Alfred
—mustn't hang my son Alfred."
"What is your name, sir?" asked
Mr. Waffles in a loud tone.
"Stuckey. Martin Stuckey,
the prompt response.
"Precious rum delusion!
was a
was
observed
Mr. Waffles. "Look here, Mr. Stuck
ey; how did you come liere?"
The old
n
How do we know that this old hoy
isn't Martin Stuckey as he says? lie
was brought liere on the very night
Martin Stuckey disappeared. He
hud nothing about him to show bis
name, von remember. Young Bib
bought him new linen and told you to
mark it. Martin Stuckey was weak
in his head; so is he. The name of
Martin Stuckey's second son is Kplira
im, and doesn't lie call Bib Ephraim?
put on your things, Sally, and come
round with me to the police. They
will give us a description of old Stuck
ey, and will very sorn tell us what to
do. Look sharp! They may be sen
tencing that poor devil to death this
minute."
Ham
aft
some
man
the
him
or
the
man
coat,
in
the
was
must,
time,
the
the
Sta
the
was
at
pris
he
sum
Ox
of
an
had
as
fail
a
de
was
of
the
the
St.
for
1 .?
the
but
the
de
the
de
at
for
on
an
at
to
as
a
in
It was a more than usually painful
moment when the jury nave their ver
dict. Close under the dock sat the
white-haired rector of Alfred Stuckey's
parish, who had stood by his curate
with touching faith, and whose
daughter was ieported to be engaged to
the prisoner, lie rose as the verdict
was given, as though to comfort the
unhappy man in tlie box. Just be
side him was Ephraim Stuckey, who
had been one of the principal witness
es against his brother. His position,
and the emotion he displayed while
giving his evidence, excited much com
miseration. He had grown deadly
pale when the jury returned and when
the verdict was given he buried his
face in his bands.
The judge, in the usual form, asked
the prisoner whether he had anything
to say. _ At that moment there was
some stir and confusion in the wall of
the court, two or three persons.escort
ed by a policeman, pusliing their way
towards the solicitor for the de ence.
The prisoner saw them &nd a great
change came over his fnce.
"Only this, my lord." he said,
pointing to where Mr. Bib stood be
tween Mr. and Mrs. Wattles, "that
there stands Martin Stuckey, my
father, whom I am accused ofnnirdei
ing."
At the next session ot the Central
Criminal Court, another member of
the Stuckey family stood in the dock.
It was Ephraim this time, and he was
indicted iorpei jury and for attempting
to obtain money from the Monument
Assurance Company by ialse pretenc
es. He was found guilty, on both in
dictments and sentenced to seven
years' penal servitude for the first of
fense and five for the second, the
Judge observing that if lie had the
power to pass a heavier sentence he
should have been pleased to exercise
it. In this most people thought that
his Lordship was right.—London
Truth.
at
ty
she
De
of
by
I
ed,
Career of "Colden Hand."
Princess Dolgoruki separated from
her husband four years ago, played
on a violin after that in a Paris cafe
chantant, then dropped to playing in
third-rate concert halls in Vienna,
and last of all appears to have been
mixed up in a scheme to biarkmail a
man who once was fond of her. Tbe
man is well known in London and
well thought of. He is a theatrical
manager. A Frenchman named Ed
ward Moreau, alias Ulysses De Mor
eau, writing from Vienna, threatened
to expose the theatrical manager un
less he should nt once supply Moreau
with £'500. The manager proposed
to have Moreau arrested. It was
I
done, and he was found to be living
with the princess, jähe has not yet
been arrested, but there is little
doubt that she conspired with Mor
eau to divert in their direction a part
of the revenue of the London theatre.
The princess is only 28 years old.
She is Spanish, and was first Signor
ina Casma de Lepiere. Anoth alleged
member of the nobility who
has gone wrong is the Russian
countess known to the police
Golden Hand, who has been sentenc
ed to Siberia for life, one crime among
many others proved aguinst her being
. that of marrying a great many times
too often. She was cosmopolitan i:
her tastes, her most recent victims be
ing three F reuchmen and two Germans.
Golden Hand is probably ton clever
to Stay in Siberia. She was sent there
once before, but came right away, hav
ing married and run off to Constan
tinople with an official whose business
it was to see that she did not escape.
There are several American travelers
from Buffalo In London, and they are
much interested in Golden Hand, be
lieving her to be tbe same Russian
countess who once made everything
lively around Lake Erie. Buffalo's
countess lived in grand style, and
drove handsome ponies in the park,
which caused much speculation in the
city, where everyone who could drive
handsome ponies was known. She
married there a wealthy boy when he
was drunk, nnd not long afterward she
went away. The Buffalo countess, as
described, however, seems rather too
young to have been the heroine of
Golden Hand's numerous matrimonial
adventures.
est
sire
of
tion
the
Von
like
tre.
ing
a
her
and
am
be
as
my
man
ing
1
I
be
the
first
ae
fi
a
From
of
in
of
they
must
tion*
or
er
for
of
the
ere,
liafi
or
lined
and
nate
round
is
case
Colored People in England.
"Colored people who are ambitious
to escape tbe social infei iority of their
position in the United 8 tat.es should
emigrate to England," thinks a Lon
don correspondent of the New York
World. "There appears to be a prej
udice in his favor. The negroes in Eng
land have free companionship with
whites of even superior grade of intel
lig ence. I have seen any number of
negro men out walking or riding with
white women. It is also
enough to see negro women, attended
by clean-cut, good-looking English
men. If the negro woman does not
have a white attendant, it is because
sh« prefers one of her own race. The
only noticeable prejudice comes
from the negroes themselves. Recently
going up the river to Kew, they came
on board the little steamer at the
Chelsça pier, a blue-eyed blonde, her
manner that of a neat house-inaid
upper servant. She was in the com
pany ot the meanest-looking negro
specimen I have ever seen. He was
undersized and shabby. He had the
unwholesome color of tbe offspring of
» very low specimen cf white trash
united with a degraded mutattress.
This degenerate specimen of humanity
was looked up to by this fresh-faced,
nea' ly-dressed English maid, as if he
! were a person of superior rank nnd
position. As they sat down Upon the
! aid*) of the rail her negro companion
passed his loan, yellow-nailed hand
round her waist, tinder her cloak, and
ga.:ed up into her clean-looking face
'»ith an expression of leering »atisfac
tion."
isno
1809,
day.
born,
of"
w hi
.
common
or
ite
world.
Culled Wit In Britain.
THE HKST, 'PUNCH ' CAS DO.
Last fruits of tlw session—Pair*.
Tender Pasea«ee-He iten.lo.Iyl
•■V. «, h hen it's done again.you mu»t
really see the Blondin donkey,
(sincerely )—''l «ill. Wltook ■out tor
it, nnd when 1 do see it, I will think
5 Vorth notice.-There is the slight dif
ference between the conventional t an
ke« and the avera ge home ruler, that
whilst the former swears "by nun tin.
latter swears by G. O. M.
Compensation.—Eflio— "But,
mamma, how ran we help being self
mb, Maud und I? You and papa have
always given way to us in everything.
I'nseltish parents always make selfish
children, you know—and vice versa.
Maud—"Yes, and according to that,
mummy darling, just think what nice
unselfish grandchildren you 11 have, H
we ever marry .' 1
Con, for the considerate—Why is
happinees like an act of parliament.
Because you can never tell its valu«
until it is passet!.
GROUND OUT BY "FUN."
A modern consultation.—Dr. Blos
som—"I my humble opinion, the pa
tient ought to have a most generous
diet—port, turtle, lobsters, etc." Dr.
Squilter—"According to my view ol
the case, lie must ins reduced to a
starvation diet of slops—the weakest
chicken broth, barley-water, etc." Dr.
Blossom—"Cm— er— well, its rather a
difficult question to decide which ofuj
is tight? Heads 1 win, tails you lose.
First call, old boy, for I'm rather
busy this afternoon."
A New Jersey firm states that it
turns out. on an average, about ISO,
000,000 cork screws per year. This
must be a thirstier world than even
wo thought. Certainly many thou
sands of screws are doubtless twisted
into the corks of mineral water, phys
ics and scent bottles, exclusively, but
the majority— Well, what do you
say, Sir Wiifrid Lawson?
Sweet Girl—Cookharn is becoming
quit« a honeymoon paradise." Hiver
Youth—"Yes." Sweet Girl—"There
are more loving couples on the river
than ever." Biver Youth
gets quite bored sculling against the
tied."
hoy
lie
night
He
bis
Bib
to
weak
of
come
They
to
sen
this
Sin
dear
ver
the
to
the
be
who
while
com
when
his
was
of
way
ence.
said,
be
my
of
was
in
of
the
the
he
"Yew; one
"JUDY'»" SUPREME EFFORT.
The Straight Tip.—When von are
foolish enough to havequarrellcd with
your bread and butter, your hunger
will not be appeased by eating your
words. Backets, don't lose a mo
ment! Put everything you've got on
at once.
"Attic Salt."—Why are these poor
people who are obliged to "live"in a
garret" likely to be afflicted with
pains in their limbs?—Why, because—
now bear it and grin—they are al
ways in—ha! hal—roomattii s.
To Those About to Marry —Why
should one bequitecertainthatapret
ty and eligible widow will make a good
wife? Why, inasmuch us, don't you see,
she can't be a miss.
From the Washerwoman's Point of
View.—"Do you know, mother, the
De Stuccovillvs are one of the oldest
of English families?" "So 1 should say
by the look o' these 'ere tablecloths.
I Ad 'em in use ever since they start
ed, I've no doubt."
Shocking!—11a! ha! Now then!—
Why is tiie cigar you so much enjoy
after dinner like your wife's newdtess
improver?—Why, because it is—ha!
haf— made up to back her'
cafe
in
a
un
I
i:
of
i
n
lie
to
The Bright Young Creature.
A Brooklyn young man with a mod
est bank account and bright pros
pects, but without tiie remotest de
sire to become a benedict, at least at
present, think* he met tbe great crisis
of his life this summer. "I won't men
tion any names," ho said, "as I tell
the story simply as a joke on m«.
Von know I want to have my flmg. 1
like to take young ladies to the thea
tre. and opera, and to dancing recep
tions. i am particularly fond of hav
ing a bright creature beside me when f
take an afternoon drive. Well, I met
a charming* woman of about
thirty at Saratoga. Her folks
weîe there. On my third drive with
her we chatted quite affectionately,
and a» we parted for the evening, sin
tenderly said: 'Do yon care if I tell
mamma of your affection for m»?' I
am twenty years old, and if I live to
be eighty I never expect to be floored
as I was when that question came into
my ears. 8 be, hie*.« her, knew that a
man can only be happy with a charm
ing woman for his file"companion, tint
1 wasn't quite ready to he convinced
I stammered that "perhaps it would
be advisable to defer informing her
mamma until I called again. I !»it
the springs the next morning on the
first train, and haven't seen my fair
questioner since."—Argonaut
ae
fi
Educational Reaction in Rus
sia.
From tho Boston Herald.
An edict sent out from the bureau
of the official who has charge of cdu
cation in Russia shows the strong ten
dency in that empire townrd reaction
in one of the fundamental principles
of modern civilization. This edict is
addressed to the principals of tho
gymnasiums and other schools for see
ondary education in Russia, and in it
they are informed that hereafter they
must not admit into their instit
tion* the sons or daughters ol
chanics, small shopkeepers, servants,
or any of those belonging to the low
er or middle dass. The reason given
for this policy of exclusion Is that the
children of this class of the population
of Rimsiasnould be content to follow in
the fool steps of their fathers and mot h
ere, and not attempt to acquire an edu
cation which would have the effect of
making them despise the work that
liafi supported their parents. Hnpei i
or education, therefore, is to bn con
lined in Bussiatothewell-to-doclasses
and the young man who is so unfortu
nate as to start in life nt the lowest
round of the social ladder is to be
compelled, so far as the government
is concerned and its power in this
case is very great-to'remain there
|K*r
old
L
net
'cr
J>
isno *r o 0n the °Gi, her
1809, Tennyson first saw the light o i *»•«•
day. On the 9th John Dryden wa.
born, ar.d Waiter Scott wa/fW ™ lier
of" them ont? Goethe" Äirf
w hi cJi 1 Tunny so* n a? ? K'jfoÎ wôo
. .
u
111'
August seems to have been a favor
ite month for poets to come into the
world. It was the 4th, in 1792, that
Shelley was born, and
JILTED.
tor
dif
an
that
tin.
self
have
nice
H
is
pa
Dr.
ol
a
Dr.
a
ofuj
lose.
it
but
you
the
Th. a«#«
And g.th-rn.* In th<Ml'«» " ' '
XJ V fainting Bop*'" *■*'» "J". . ..
j Imwltuf. |ir#.v, «*» «»■> , ' ut l**" 0
To »ob my ffles-i'y in
Sin
itching h»»rt
in I h "light,
If lind would «till my
And turn thy heart to mu
I'd pierce thy lev» •» by » "»rt.
Until «il Inn thy pal» thou nought
My comfort and my teiir».
v 1 « the heart that nigh»—•
Ah! wear:- .
A bride to love unkuweil -
Whose living hope» eternal cry,
Who»« leur», like «ca» <d hint.
Knahroinl thy love'» lonssm
—Ull.UK Uk.\ U ►.««•>!*.
dear
The Last of the Cragshaws.
New York (irapltic.
Poor, sickly, homely Lois Cragsiiaw
was twenty three years oid when her
mother died. 8 he was twenty-five on
the very day that her unkind oid fa
ther left her an orphan—an orphan
without ftieiids—and the last of the
New England Cragshaws.
It im on Sunday that he died, lie
was buried on Tuesday morning. Tue«
i «.lb „3
day afternoon Loi» tragshaw walked
awav from the lonely bouse that was
hers now down the road to the village,
if with I
lips
j
busy with words that were »oou to be
spoken. She met those that knew her.
»m si'- tiiti »ot r ,,.r a. » I
to feel tiie looks oi wonder and j
of disapproval bent on her by those I
who had seen her standing tliat verj
mornin,.. mute, tearless and unmoved j
by her father s open grave.
She passed them all unheeding oy.
Her steps quickened even more, and
the color rose to her cheeks a» with
out who nears his end. Her breath
came fast a» she sprang up tbe step* L
of the little brown shop that wn
really the only dollar mark of the vil- j
läge Glancing around her, not at
the loungers who looked at her,but at j
the objects Mattered on the narrow I
shelve# and counter#, »be fixed her [
eyes on a »heli that bid limit ;
in one dusky cornor away below j
others that were wider and more pre !
tentious. Tins seemed to b*> wnat
she sought, for lier face softened a lit-j
tie wlnie it grew no lee* earnest, and i
her strained muscles related, and hrr j
body showed mo.e than tier manner j
that »lie was preparing to "wait her i
turn. ' !
One by one the waiting people, »erv- \
ed or satisfied with much staring, |
turned away ami gave to tbe next bis ;
lawful right I. Some, it is true, went j
no further than the doorway, wheie
they »topped to talk in low tones my!
with many giancea at Lois, but :hl*j
tiie brown old man who watted on j
them seemed to understand and #ym- [
pathizq with, for iie paid no h«d
to tie in, but walked at once to
where Imis Cr.igshaw stood. Stic dkl j
not *i<' him. Her «yes were fixed on ;
that little Inner »hetf, and »fie »tnrted :
when lie said to her—softly, for her
drawn, excited face almost frightened ,
8 he started so I
She walked rapidly,
as
and her
if her mind was
a set purpose
worked as
seem
one
are
mo
on
a
al
of
the
him—"Well. I,oi*?"
when he «poke to her that he »poke j
again as to a child, with tfi*
iug softne«« of an old man'"
Well, I -Ol*, what can 1 give you to- J
quaver- I
day
"Tliat'" she ««id. and to |
the little lower Mielf. I
The old matt followed with hi# eye*
the direction of her linger,
forward to look more c!o#rl
dusky corner at what the
tainrd.
"That"' said Louis again, as il lie |
had not heard iter.
A tear came into the eye of the kind '
old mnn n* lie n-inernberxd whnl folk» 1
had said of her mother in years gone I
past- And he »aid to himself "Poor j
l/ois! Her wit# are gone, loo, #urc
enough." 'all
"Tliat! »aid Loi» Cragwhaw, leaning !
over the stained nnd whittled coun
I or
. y<«i, 1 ^ 11 «, " gtntly spoke the ;
awed «no; -keeper witii an air of light- !
lie«« lie was far from feeling. "But
theie's niore'u one 'that' here' Which
'that' woo'd ye tiave?" ;
he red one," she said. "The red I
one next the blue one! Oh, don't ye j
, I
im. 'D'B'cdy. indeed)-' Hureenntigh' i
i i! give it y.-' Wait a minute an I'll j h»
dust the duo off fur ye," lie raid witii j
n ginnce at lier black gown. "Sure
«■iino.li Lois, I'll give it to ye!" |
< ireTiil v turnin; hi« bark npo n ber
lie t ubbed the covers of a »until red j
book with bis big ginliam hnndker- nn
chief, then »lowly turned nnd gave it >
to her. She was waiting, one hand
outstretch«], the fingers twitching. In j
the other hand wa« the purse sin. had a
not forgotten, so strong was her de- j *
•ere for possession. The gaping neigh- in
burs gnsped asthey saw tlinold strap- I
ped wallet, into which so many had
paid the ransom from a sharp bar- !
gam, lint from which none could ro- f
member having wrested an extra cop
old
a
in
de
at
1
f
I
to
a
IL tarnt j
in the I
•ty ti
shell
"on
j
ter
"Y
is
|K*r
"How much is it?" asked Imt« i
not tvrimper.
The man shuddered a litt!« «t. the
thought of a dead man's money so
soon coming into hi« till, but Ids
tion KOt ,lie ,,,!tt " r ol his stipcmti
"Well, f used Io «ay a dollar'!, fifty,
nut folk« about, here don't, seem to
ake much to that sort o' thing, an'
they ve been lyin' around in that
rt.H, for some time. I'll call it »even
»hillings to ye, if ye want it pretty
much." * 1 #
Tbe girl plainly chafed under the
old man s volubility, but without a
woid she counted out tho money—*ff.
theJ* f «?. 1 *! 1 K, " , ', n n,Hl mo "Wy where
they had lain so long m lier miser la
ther s keepin:*. and without
iHirricd from the door.
redrav. t «r.*î re,t ; ,w flw1 ' the long
L °.M ft lm ' K * f ternoon's hot sun
searching like arrows for her heart's
biood, her fare now blotched now
jmled wit I, sudden feelings. J 1er
«trén * T | W " h * thftt weakness which
trength to a fevered creature or a
manmc, her both hands clutched
net ween them the litt le red book.
unseeing eyes and unguided feet led
'cr along the oft-trod ..nth to her lone
J> house, and the habit of venr* ili-ew
her thence to the room tliat hn,l , " W
i *»•«• Duly refuge-hard?,, ™ . bfien
Wded den beneath th?«? U,,, , n A
lier own « ! L " , the «»VCS-but
KidÄiR ^ n "°"
wôo l",!"bu'ttof thcn '' ' 8 f"> turned"'the
srïia tis
in a
ing
ft word
is
can
the
ol
are
in at tli*' wimlo
to Um door, I
pushed it nti-tee
«tend. With
drew her roi
window that
Ger l,; 4( ,.
**•* f«!V.
1 ill
m
01
U
«M :
tho
b.'u k she throw
btffdtürvoluni« t»ulatiw »
above htr head, kIib
TtfU ugh broke »t
*i *-i.t.j
>he threw herselt uprigS
«lie laughed neu in in lh , «
i.-ar«; »hu lifted up tier j
R tail: she raue«) it JM
I
■ii.l
team came.
0 «
With tb« kiss, tlu- lirktiu,
formed in year», the oi.t
«liaw died. The heilig „j
ty years had first »tru^.i*) *
and then weakly lwarvatl ,
barn that held it, knew
now free. No more t l iao
tbat was much.

. i
toll and revel and sing à i
sick body, till her
and her body felt nothing i*
power and aa-uetue»» of Wu?
By b> . t(w .Urkis-jT^
{OV ered lier as with a <tu#li,jy
rest, and with thedurkn» Zv.l
I »haw fell asleep,
AI1 »«'>*• "•'* 1 *y. DOW
now Hti'ecp, ever dreaming ifeT
j nameless dreams of «atntf^iJ
morning came, and with it ^ J
ening «en*# ot duty and r*#t u .l
» I "j, in-g «j-a
j bt . r j H y j on(! j er \v iS , j
I heart and singing lips »h« hqJ
task», nnd firm almost, wasty
j j
four-und-twewty hour« wheat J
neighbor entering tiie to* y
without tapping at the tloorJU
before her an unnsualoigiit. |U
up against a bit of blue <M| 3
L mall red book. All about nd
ut.-n-oN arid materia! for eoopJ
j over them, anxious and *«r*j*n
one who liaa much at st#t#|
j Low t Vngsbaw.
I "Well, well'" said tbe
[ "What'# all this, l^iis. f#
; got no comp'nv, have y#P*
j Ui« Cragmiaw »uattklmt
! bowed bady and looked btfqoy
lull in the face,
"What'# what?" »lie sad. <
i yere."
j Her viaitor nodded,
j Poor* Lois hmirated a mi
i then seemed decided,
! "I'll tell ye," she said. "Iwj
\ jre, I »peak no harm o' tbedalj
| »peak to you alone. For tt
; vrar», a* tieara» lean makathl
j body o' mine and what mfotW
l,ord gi'n me a» wei), hurt tu
starved to death."
"Ye#, I*oi«," »aid the woawi
j ingly, "we all know yet* hat*
[ bant road to hoe."
"Ah' none ot the com wtml
enme, either," »aut Isemm tm
j »lie picked up thwnd book;tat
; all over now. I've bnd eno*wk
: »par#. Tbt#—*fnce you «eedj
nie tell yon true—w *Tb» Was
, Own Cook Book'"'
I
that i
She did not
not faint. She
> * y out.
did
She hardly breathed, fSrJ
back in tiie ' mingled
coolness and rosa color oi (
gust sunset, and let ber ns*
j
Anglomania In New Y
The tntrwt form that Ataîl
J has astuniMt in New York ie<£r
I
| ^ tb * COrf "* Kmd »' •*
I lime#:
| Twenty-third
' »w*!L who frequrnt th*s«d
1 Gotham'# great thoroagkiw
I already calling it the Stiui|
j noMnciiUt it Strawnd, so tint *
on« may know ihry bavettata
'all through. Whether tb*
! tempt to Anglicize even • f*
Broadway In this fashion «rHsh
I or not remains to be »»ft. bl
; next be made, perha(»,Wt
! b* l, l the old streets whonen»»»'
rhanas*! after tit* rwvolutite
t«'*tore the English ns
; »i|eii out. Hoch an »ffort
I certainly be in keening with Ita^
j G>at give# English tn*t*a4ofA®^
I name# to the leading hotel» **
i flat*- An English viaitor
j h» the Evening I font thought **
j odd that no many ot our not#!
named after English pi aie» Of i *** 1
| while equally good namss t»>
wholly America:! conul lwe#«*!]t*
j them. He regarded H *»
nn y means creditable to tb»
> »pirll, even while ho appreci»'™
rompliniwit to hi# own «*•*
j Thirty years ago New York b»*
a ' hotel* which boro American
j * m? uch names are wholly uo»#
in tho hotol nomenclature of W
I When tho hotel* wer# down 1
American namss wer« good«*
! hot *inc# tho movement AbOf* *
f y -Third street began almo»! ^
hotel built, bas received a W
name, and in nearly every in»!*"
English one. In some case*
old hotel* have taken down sb ® 1
names an I put tip English
stead. The Irving house, form»*
named aller Washington î rv,r>£ '
liked for that reason by
New Yorkers, has been the Ht ""
a couple ol years. The Ans«***
epidemic may possible wear it*«
in time, but a* yet, at all S' - **
show* no sigh of so doing.
H]a nkmg of the Kngtbh toi<*
j latest thing in Anglomania!»»*
I to fix th# name of "the HtrMl*
the part of Ilroatlw«?
mut Thü
j Quit« n number t»f
How Booms are Worked
florrocco (X. M.) Chieftain. ,
Tho peopls of Tucson, by * P°
subscription, buy 8,000 top*
their local paper every month
purpose of sending it *fi r0, "'| flt |
addition pay $200 a montliWjj
expen*« attending "write UP*
city; Lamar. Colo •Vl.OOO ffrf * r|
phlet, and $1,500 for a write-» "
local press, Th# Monitor.
Hcott, Kan., is paid i
ing up the advantages of t'>*
Hutchison, Kan., claim* to '
New» $10,00(1 for running * ,
and Newton doc* belts^
1 er,
scribing $16,000 to have
can boom tiie place.
"Washington bid# fair to
the haven for all persons ol 1
nerves," remarks the Atlant** ^
tution. "The commission* ,|,
sued order* strictly forbid»'»«.
ol noises. Dogs are not 10
are not to crow, whistle" of 1
railway engines are d<" ■ u
»treet car bells are not to j'*»' j
sters are not to cry »TO
streets of the city. Vehicle*iL
lenco over the smooth pftvw 1 *''

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