Evening Star Newspaper, June 28, 1879, Page 6

é Mrs. Bennion’s Disappearance. “Did your mistress leave no word a3 to when she woud be in?” asked Mr. Bennton, com- his watch with the drawiog-room clock his butier. Both master and man looked very uneasy. bs = sir, Missis went out after luncheon. dinner for 7 as usual, so we sup- she would be in.”” “It {38.39 now,” said Mr. Bennion, endeavor- ing to look com . “You are sure no card or note was left for me?’ “ Quite sure, sir,” replied the butler, who had been summoned up four or five times within the last hour aud a half to answer similar tn- ‘Shall I serve up the dtnner, “ Yes, you had better; probably your mistres3 thas goné to dine with her parents. I dare say she sent me a note to my chambers, and it must Mr. Bennion sought to quiet himself by say- ing this, put he was {ll atease. He was a bar- rister in large practice who had been married about a year, and this was the first time that there had been the slightest hitch in the clock- work of hishome life. Except on Sundays, during vacation and when he was absent on circuit he was accustomed to leave his home at 9.30every morning and to return at6.45, when he would find hts wife dressed to receive him and the dinner read: be served. He was a methodical man and she a social lit- tle woman, who knew her husband’s liking for yunctuality and took care that he should never fe disturbed by anything amiss in ber domes:ic arrangements, He sat down to his solitary dinner in the large handsome dining-room. He lived in Rus- where all apartments are spactous; rous min, Dis ——— rs) luxurious. ‘The tabie, spread w' iy was decked witha flowers ands'iver, and the soft light shining through*ylobes of white giass shea on it an air of festivity. Bat the chair of the young mistress of the house remained empty; and gazing on that vacant seat, Heary Ben- nion could neltner eat nor drink. te had never realized till that moment how very dear his wife was to bim. She had graced bis home and made him happy. From the ‘irstday when she had sat in that place of honor at the head of his Doard—a still blusiiag bride after thi feomthe honeymoon tour—from tt an Secret that very morning of this day, when she had presided as usual over uis Dre ee ace! ape nod = the most tender an ul compantoa- ede Hejealled to mind how often he had ylanced across the table and met the beams of res, how often he had been en merry prattie and toucued by the interest which she expressed in his work, his pleading and his growing she appeared so proud! No Tag ever passed between them; no coidaes3 orsul had ever marred their intercourse for an hour, | on the contrary, in the smallest matters as weil | as in great ones, dear Mabel Bennion bad made | her husband constantly feei taat she was a | heipmate on whose loving devotion and entice } frankness he could rely wholly. Abruptly a presentiment fell upon him that all this was past and gone and that his wife would never more sit in her piace at that table—never! He pushed away his plate and stared at the empty chair with a haggard glance. A ¢! ing of the flesh came upon his] as if misfortuae had entered his home and were standing near him With her chill shadow. He had started sev- eral times at the sound of cab-wheels and evea bells, and now a loud knock at a neighbarins door made him jump up with the reflection that it was past and thatevery moment added to his just cause for alarm. walked into the hall, puton his hat and left the house without speaking to any of the servants. At the first cab-stand he hatiéd a hangom and told the driver to take him to Eaton — where Mr. Kurthew, Mabel’s fa- , lived. ONT. Kurthew was a wealthy solicitor, having @ large family of sons and daughters whom he hhad all settled comfortabiy in life with the ex- | ception of one daughter, an invalid, who re- sided with him. Ji Kurthew with her father ‘and mother were all three in the drawing-room when Henry Bennion arrived, andto the aax- fous question which he stammered out, “Have you seen Mabel?” they answered In the neza- tive. Julia at once saw that there was som9- thing wrong, but she was not tue person to of- fer any comiort. Her general occupation was tolieon the sofa and say snappish things. “Has Mabel left you?” she said, arching her ebrows. ore She bas disappeared,” answered Bennion, ‘Mr. and Mrs. Kurthew rather thaa Julia, whose tone shocked him. “I hoped she it have come here.” . and Mrs. Kurthew both w much ‘They were too proud attribute their daughter's ce to any scanda- lous reason, and conciuded that ske must have ‘met with some terrible accident. Perhaps she hhad been run over in the streets, or been in- jured while riding inacab, Mr. Kurthew satd would accompany-Beanion to Russell square to see if any news of Mabel had yet arrived; and if pot, they must go to Scotland Yard. ‘They left the house accordingiy, but at Ben- Dion's residence they learned nothing new. in silent consternatior Henry Bennion had m they drove to the police and saw one of the heads of the depart- Ment, who took down a description of Mabie and obligingly promised, that inquiries; should be instituted that night ia all the hospitals and police stations, so that the afti'cted husband Might at least have tidings of some sort on the morrow. But neither on the morrow nor on the days following that could any intelligence be ob- tained of Mabel Bennion. Her servants were greatly agitated but in answering the cros3- questions of their master and of detecttves they ‘Were all agreed that nothing unusual was no- Uceable in their mistress’s appearance the last time they saw her. Henry Sennion had now at aside all professional work and speat his Hime in drivirg about to police stations and hospitals. When at home he employed him- self in oxam all 1s oes her dresses, an to see ply some clue to tife wofal mystery might be discovered. But he found at all—nota single line of a compromising —nothing to shake the melancholy belief at which he had arrived that his wife's disaj nce id only be ac- counted for by her death. Asa last resou: YSTERIOUSLY DISAPPEARED FROM HE! house in Ruseell square, on the oth. ¥ ry hen last seen in a dark 2 sealekin 2 er. Linen marked M.B. A re- fe 3 . ward of ONE ‘HUNDRED POUNDS will be paid for information which shall disclose this lady's whereabouts, if living, or to the recovery of pyr yemains if she be dead. Apply to dcotland | By this time Mrs. Bennion’s disappearance had been reported editorially in all the papers and was becoming the talk of the kingdom. It had been converted into a sensation affair, in- scmuch that some of the daily journals printed two or three columns full of lettersevery morn- | ing from correspondents who had explanations to suggest—most of them opining that the miss- = iy Must have been decoyed into some ves’ dea and there murdered. Henry Ben- nion himse:f received heaps of communications from persons who had seen ladies answering to the description of his wife, and he was stm- moned a dozen times to identify dead bodies that had been found {n the river. At the end ofa month he pat on mourning, feeling era- | Vinced that he was a widower. Among all his acquaintances there was but one person who id not believe Mabel to be dead, aad that was her sister, Julia Kurthew. Lying on the sofa in her languid way, with noveis in her lap, this girl, who would ha’ been pretty but for her hard look and trick o' sneering, ok no part in the discussions thit | Were held in her preseace as to Mabei’s prob- able fate, but she occasionally suoo% her head and sintled as if incredulously. Waen Henry Bennion had seen her do this several times, he one day lost patience and turned on her ab- | ruptly: “Juila, you don’t seem to agree with us | about your sister’s death,” he sald, looking | hard at her. “Can you say anything to en- | lighten us? “ No, I don’t believe she is dead,” answered Julia, coloricg. “Then do you imagine she has left me pur- posely? What could make her wish to bring this sorrow on us? don’t believe Mabel was bapoy with yout” replied Juila, coldly. U ‘Time assuages grief, for men must work, and no tribulation falling upon amin who is not of weak nature will prostrate him for long. Henry Beanion left histhome tn Russell squat work at the bar. is practice lay and the habit he ing very hard to driv earn iim exceptional He had always been a se his trouble seeme: n blustering ady + Who nade no to rant or to bully witnesses, he b2- rkable for his gravity aud quiet per- ile was 0 f these lawyers who are said to “have the ear” of juries and jidse3, Dp ed that he would himself in due time be el d to the be: it came to pass that al h's bereavement Heary Benalon, Home Circuit, was retained to def aceused of accidental manslaughter. ‘Was nothing peculiar in the case at {ts ontset but in the course of tue trial the prosezarion procured information tending toshow th. —— Was a desperate criminal who had | almost inaudibly. | the railings, then turned her | pleaded Henry nconvicted of uttering forged notes two years previously, Dut had escaped from prison, and these facts had a direct bearing on the charge of manslaughter, for if proved they would demonstrate that the prisoner had long known the map whom he had killed, and that, Spats Soeteees tooee ane gee mm =p) r. Henry Ben- Ww cient had been out on bail ——— Oh an easy acquittal did his utmost to rebut the theory which the prosecution had started; but after the trial had been di on for several hours, the counsel for the Crown— & Joung barrister Of no bigh stajus—rose and said: “My lord, we contend that the prisoner wilfully dustgurea himself by scarring his fea- tures with vitriol. I will now ca'l tvo wit nesses as to his identity—the landlady of the lodg! Bogda ih = = — has years ago when cl rgery and the woman who was sentenced as his accomplice and wno is stil Ley @ sentence of five years’ penal servit at Wol 7 It was a hot summer afternoon, and the court was densely crowded, The blinds had been pulled down to shut out the hot sun, and there was but a dim light, which made the red robes of the Judge and the scarlet uniform of the Sheriff stand out in bright relief. The atmos- phere was stifling. The first witeess who ap Seer lady—had not much to say. She could not identify the prisoner because of his scars, an would like, said she, to hear his voice. Henry Bennion objected, andthe Judge agreed with him that the prisoner ought not to be made to speak. es is the Crown counsel, excitedly, cane Ukaeen has broken down, but I don’t think the next will. The prisoner was her husband or her paramour; at all events. sue was convicted under his name, Call Maria Burt.” licemen cleared the way through the court fora ‘woman in a blue check dress and an ugly poke-bonnet of brown straw, who was | at- tended by a wardress from Wokti The con- viet was ushered into the witness- and the Glerk of Arraigns was about to administer the oath to her when Henry Bennion, who had caught sight of her features, started up with a torrent of blood suffusing his face and leaned right across the solicitor’s table to get_a clos r view of her. “Great Heavens!” he was hea d to falter. “Whois that woman? Mabel—— The prisoner stood perfectly collested. It may bave been that her lips twitched for a mo- ment, and thatin the glance which she bent for an tnstant on the counsel for the defense there was a flash—just a flash and no more, ‘Then she righted herself and took the oath. “My name 1s Maria Burt,” she sald, cxlmly. Now, tell me whether you know that man,’ said the prosecuting counsel, pointing to the prisoner. “7 have never ‘seen him before,” she an- swered, after a minute’s S.eady gaze as the oc- cupant of the dock. “Were you not convicted with him newly four years ago of uttering forged notes?” “He is an entire stranger to me,” repeated the convict, quietly. “Why, heavens, itis her votce. There fs no mistake ab ut it” exclaimed Rennion, who had sunk back in his seat to hear the prisoner speak, but now rose again, pallid aad trem- bing. ‘Mabel, look_at me!” How ts is ityou are ere “What is the matter?” asked tho Judge, leaning forward in his astonisliment and beck- oning Benton to speak to him. * My lord. it’s my wife!” gasped the barrister, and Suruggling forward to leave his place, he uttered an awful wall and fell across the so- licitors’ table, senseless. The trial was adjourned amid a scene of in- deserible contusion. iit. Tn the cell numbered Al 12, at the Female Penitentiary, at Woking, Maria Burt sat, some bours later, with her head buried in her hands and her elbows resting on her little deal table. It was a dismal place that cell, with its wuite- washed walls, red floor and odor of oakum, and the prisoner who was caged in it looked neither graceful nor pretty. Perhaps she had been comely once, but four years of penal servitude had lent hera gray, sickly complexion. Her hands wer2 coarse and wrinkled from occupa- tion in the laundry, and the locks of chestnut hair which protruded under her white cap were short as a boy’s. A blue check Hoe Untick worsted stockings and heavy-nailed shoes formed her costume. which was covered with a number of broad arrowheads and had nothing in the way of ornament but a red badge on one of the sleeves—a good-conduct badge. Maria Burt had almost completed her term of servi- tude, forshe was to be discharged in a few days with a ticket of leave. Apparently the recollection of this occurred to her, for, starting from the table, she walked to a corner of the cell in which hunga card the record of her conviction with the date of her coming release, and she toox a long look at it. There were no tears in her eyes, but she pressed a hand to her browand a sigh escaped her like a moan of pain. Suddenly a wardress, who had been watch- ing her through the Pecphols in the door, turned a key In the lock and entered the cell. “Tell us the truth, ‘Twelve,’” she said, ly. “Was that gentleman your hus- “Tve told you no,” answered “Twelve,” tn- differently. “Well, he and another gentleman and two ladies have come tothe prison about you. They are in the Governor's room now and they have asked to see the you had on whea you were brought here.” “ And have they seen them?” asked the pris- oner, whose cheeks becayne overspread with a faint of color. “No, for convicts’ clothes are sold; you will have a newsult when you go out.” “ What sort of sult?” “ Ah! that interests you,” laughed the ward- , Who was a bouncing sort of servant-girl. : the clothes won’t be anything very gra1d but they’ll do to find a situation with. No body will suspect where they come from. But hark! there's the Governor's beli. I expeci you're going to be Bent for.” ore Hert ‘Was Cos Agee hel Gaihecetiaines ute the matron appeared jangling a large bunch of keys and ordered Twelve” to follow her. The pair proceeded down the broad wing of th: prison, so unsightly a spectacle with its blac< iron galieries and scores of nall-studded doors, ull they came to a private part of the butiding where the Governor's office stood. The mi- tron knocked, andin a moment the prisoner was ushered into an apartment divided from roof to floor by a railing of bars. Behind these rails Marfa Burt and the matron stood alone; in the other part of the room was grou the . and Mrs. Kurthew, Julta and Henry Bennion. The latter was leaning de- Jectedly with an elbow on the mantelshelf, but when the prisoner entered he would have ad- vanced towards her had not Mr. Kurthew checked him. “Let me try to identify her first,” said the solicitor, coldly. “Julia, come with me.” There was a moment of deep and solemn si- lence. The father, with his daughter beside him, gazed through the bars, endeavoring to detect the lineaments of his other child in the shame-stricken figure before him. Maria Burt put up her hands before her face and quatiled. “Take down your hands, Twelve,” said the m1- tron curtly, and glancing at Mr. Kurthew, she plainly saw that beads of perspiration’ had | sete on his forehead. Yet, after a moment’s esitation, the solicitor said hoarsely, so that he had to Clear his throat in the midst of his sentence. “I do not know—this—this person— do you, Julia?” “No—o,” faltered Julia, with her handker- chief to her mouth. “« And you,” Mrs. Kurthew?” sald the Gover- ner, addressing that lady. “‘I do not know her,” repeated Mrs. Kurthew, She had not left her piace, and had only cast one fearful pee towards face away and burst out crying; under any circumstances her tears seemed natural. Henry Bennion now stepped forward, and the gaze which he bent on ie pene made her cower. His eyes gleamed a3 in fever, and there was no uncertainty in thelr expression yet his voice was beseechingly low and pa- thetic—almost a whisper, as murmured “Don’t you know me, Mabel? Whatever hor- rible mystery may have brought you here, don’t be afraid to confess it. You remember how I loved you.” “I don’t understand you, sir,” murmured the prisoner, whose features wese convulsed by spasms. MiLook at me ai ain; give me your hand,” nuion. “See how mine eras! Do you think Icould mistake my own wife? “Yam not your wife, sir,” muttered Maria Burt. ‘Then suddenly trying to retreat from lum, she placed a hand over her eyes, whilst her features worked in a convulsion that ended in a hysteric laugh. “No, I'm not your wife, I say—but If you like to adopt me when I come out of working, I don’t mind. No, no, if you're inclined to It. “I dare say you could give mea good home.” “No, that’s not_ my wife,’ sighed Bennion, dropping the prisoner’s hand. *‘Mabel woulda’t | ba Kurthew had already fainted. Sie ped On the floor in a swoon as the prisoner vanished from behind the ratis without giving her a look. It went forth to the world that Henry nion had been deluded by acase of ti: identity, Nevertheless a fe~ mornings after This a Strange scene ratght have been eaacted Within stone's throw of tie gates of Woxiug Prison, Marla Burt had just been rele. 5 Diessed in plain clothes, like those of a 5: vant-girl, she lefr the pen'tentlary and wal hurriedly down the road till she came to 4 corner where a cab stood. She halted a mo ment as if uncertain which way to turn, when her progress was barred by Mr. Kurthew ap- pearing before her, holding the cab-door open. “Get in, Mabel,” he sald with a mourafal com- posure. “I did not choose to recognize you at tue prison the other day because Of the s:an- dal it would have caused, but”— “Tassure you you are mistaken, str,” an- swered the discharged convict, retreating. “Come, you heed not be afraid of me,” sata the old man, wistfully; “you can’t deny that you are my dauzhte “ Yes, yes; you are quite wrong; please leave me,” faltered Mi Burt, and darting from him she crossed the road, turned down a corner and wedan It be osstble? red M “Can it 2” murmul ‘abel Ben- nion’s father, and he stood stock-still, gazing in the if he had seen this earth. Iv. Five years passed. During that time Mr. and Mrs. Kurthew both dled, and at length Julia health, which had always been s0 rok mm Where the woma had gone, ag | @N apparition that was not of | lyJulta. “You lown, and she; in her turn at the point of eatk, on tne aey when the doctors had pro nounced their verdict concerning her, and when it wasevident that she had bata few hours more to live she tle for Henry Beanion and ade him a confession. That woman in Woking was Mabel, your wife,” she said. “I knew it when I saw Ter, and I have ascertained it for certain now.” “An!” exclaimed Bennton, rising, with a look of uputterable horror in his eyes. “Yes; don’t scold me, but listen,” moaned she were not le for each -. You used to leave her alone for hours and days. She could not bear that, for she loved to be made much of. She made the ac- uaintance of a man—an adventurer—whom 1c to visit, His true character was un- known to her, but one day while she was with him he was arrested for passing forged notes and she was taken as his accomplice. Sooner than let you find out her infidelity she Lbs red to let you think she was dead, That ls the whole secret.” , “And where Is Mabel now?” asked Henry Bennion, with a fatal sort of calm. At “ She died in Australia six months ago,” satd Julla, “and she®ent me this for you—a lock of her hatr. with a prayer that you would pardon her. Here, look at the hair; Mabel was quite young, yet it has gray streaks in 10, You do forgive her, don’t you?”’ es!” muruured the wretched widower.— {London Weel Sins of Mai ree If an entire stranger, unintroduced, should request. free access to the bound volumes of The Times in this office, it would be necessary, with wi atever regret, to refuse the privileze, simply because experience has shown that in every thousand or so of persons who consult reference works there ts one who will take what he wants with knife instead of pencil, and we could not know but that the applicant might be that one. Most Itbraries and reading rooms -have specimens of this literary mabem, and it is a humiliating fact that a special law covering it has been found necessary, and a placard of warning has to be displayed. Tne mutilator, in his contemptible selfishnes3, not only destroys the value of the work Itself for everybody else, and puts all decent people to shame, but abrid ses for them the enjoyment of the privilege he abuses, Yet every volume in circulating l'bra- ries must have the library stamp distributed through it, espectally on the tllustrations, ta t readers may be dissuaded from purioining. The milder fault of marking seem Irrepressipie, and the refined reader cannot add hts indignant rotest without committing It himself. The porrower fs another offender from whom suffer not only book-owners, Dut all the thrifty ones who have convenient things, each in its piace. To them hie, in every need, the large class who learn nothing from the methodicat way of nature, but go througis lifedriving nails | with the poker and drawing tacks with a table- knife, never having any convénience unless they Qave first borrowed it. The habitual bor- rower returns nothing. He scatters books, sometimes breaking sets, and often ltitle valuing or using them; umbrellas are practically considered as belonging to the takers; and the general rule, sustained by that unfatling, tiough frivelous, excuse, forgetfulness, is that when the owner wants an article lent he can come after it. Something of antiques who purloins what wiil close a gap in the compieteness of his treasures—any pas- sion may grow into a mania which smothers moral considerations. The matilator of books aad papers cuts to save labor in copying or be- cause he likes some print, and can do so with- Out danger of discovery—he steals it; the bor- rower violates property rights without tatend- ing to doso. Law can do nothing to restrain either of these offenders, particularly the bor- rowing one, and there is also a large class of small infringements upon the rights of the person against which there Is no protection. If aman spits upon the wayfarer, or thrusts a stick between his legs, or trips up his heels, or jJostles him rudely, or throws vitriol or any uncleanly thing ea him, or crowds close to and screams {n his ear, or ‘(makes faces” at him—any of these acts done purposely Is so far in the nature of assault that the affronted poy if physically able, might stand justified in retorting by any muscular exertion not too pov bis tor the dio partons the act S not leveled against any particularly person, an that it has no conceivable intent of disturbing anybody? A legion of persons drop fruit skin; on the sidewalk, rega of the bility that any piece may cause fracture or sprain to somebody; umbrellas and canes are carried in Such a way as to make the loss of an eye baer ble; whoever carries paint or other uncl articles 1s quite careless whom he rubs, and one large firm in the paint trade, for example, habitually occupy and smear the sidewalk ta Fulton street with oil and dry color. Tobacco leads to constant inf! ent of personal rights. The street car is made loathsome by the chewer, stnokers are everywhere, and some of them never fail to disregard the obvious rule that nobody, whether a user of the weed or not, likes to be made the direct recipleat of the products of tobacco consumption laden with the personal characteristics of the con- Even a our oo beer ey ne ae secure against ierogs of personal for “the people next door” Se a tress- ful cur, or they may thump a tuneless plano,or be vocally outrageous, or be uncleanly io their habits, or in many ways be enemies of comfort. The catalogue of theze offences ts almost en1- less. It is difficult to draw the line exactly, , although a noiseless person, for ex- ample, is not a pleasant sight, such a person's right to use the street could not be questioned, nor have we a right to object to a bizarre cus- tume because it offends our refined taste; yet. suppose a person likes assafctida, employs it as @ perfume and then to church, or that somebody whose clothes soil what they touch pushes steadily through every kind of people in the street? Evidently, a wrong done to the person does not require that some particular Subject for it is selected, or even that there ts an intention to do wrong. These acts are done because they suit the convenienve Rei oll the desires of the doer, just asthe midnight cur howls to the moon—he probably does not wish to give offence, even to the moon, but howls ree wens to. ron pearls eee go throug! Wo figuratively speaking, with their elbows sticking out from their sides, are doing what they like, without troubiing themselves how they affect others. It might not be justitiable to say that sins of manners are more frequent or are more gross in this than inoider countries. But if they are, the fact may be reasonably taken as a natural outgrowth of democratic institutions, like a weed in strong soil. The hard scrambling by which men do and must get up above their fei- lows here, is so thoroughly understood to be a soit of American right, that a specially bold and even offensive assertion of one’s privilege to do ag he pleases in the thousand littie ways of life, witnout regard to what others care about it, 18 not an unnatural result. We are so extraordinarily “free” that we crowd one an other, and not even the Golden Rule itselr would be protection in all cages, even if every- body obeyed it. The hedge x, Probably has no objection to prickles, and the people wio offend in carrying out the prerogative of doing what they please go long as they do not’ aim at apybody in particular, and do not try to disturb others, are rhaps willing others should do the same, There 1s no remedy for these sins of manners on the road through life except in a gradual recognition of the rights of the rest in ittle as well as in large things.—[W, ¥. 7 . Times, The Climate of Leadvilic. The ope Cee is neither ee no ble. Nearly every one w! accustomed to fr aieitads is troubied witn of breath, hi catarrh, bleed in wat the nose, &c., when remaining long at an altitude Of 10,000 feet, which is the elevation of this clty. Great physical exertion 1s tmpoastbie, and prolonged mental labor {s followed by great prostration. I have been here now just a week, and we have had a snow storm every day but one. Yesterday, which I see by a dispatch printed in one of the newspapers was an op- ressively hot day in New York, was uncom- fortably cold here, It snowed all day and al- though the snow disappeared from the streets almost as fast as it fell, it gathered on the mountains within two or three miles from here, and about many of the mines to the depth of five or six inches. I saw icicles yesterday on a sluice box, through which water ts carried over California Gulch, ten or fifteen feet long, and two feet thick at the top. Consump- tives and rheumatics find the climate of lace especially trying, and 1 would advise no one who has not a robust con- stitution, free from disease, to come here with the expectation of rematning. Paeumonta is very prevalent, and the greatest care Is requlred to prevent a stranger from contracting a severe cold. When you swelter beneath a summer sua it may be refreshing to think of snow and ice, of frozen streets and cutting frosty winds in June, but the experience is not an agreeable one. I presume there is much more sicknass here than there would be if the people lived more comfortably and were moru Careful of thetr health, A majority of the men dwell in Tude cabins and know nothing of the comforts cven of @ humbie home, Thelr food ls coarse and badly cooked, and they consume Iordinite quantities of bad whisky and tobacco. Comins ‘ut of the mines often in profuse perspiration, they put on no extra clothing to protect then against the cold winds, and 1s remarkable rather that 80 many are able to endure the climate and hardships than that some succumb to them.—[Letter to Boston Herald, a May be pardoned to the collector | “Society.” TAE DREADFULLY MIXED DEFINITIONS GIVEN BY TANTE. T have only an aunt. That ts a disadvantage. When I say I have only an aunt, I have also a father, godmothers, cousins, uncles, &c., but I have no mother—only, as I satd before, an aunt. Hitherto I have lived with her in the conntry, fattening on the richest of cream and freshest lawn-tennis tournament (why they are called tournaments when there ts never a horse, nor a knight, nor a queen of beauty to be seen, I can- not imagine), an archery meeting and the hunt ball have been my only dissipations. The young men of my luaintance are limp, spectack curates, or ambitious rura) doctors who have relations in London and are always expecting a practice, or unfledged undergraduates who talk about their sisters and ride bicycles; now we are going to change all that. Iam going into society and the im of my life 1s to be ful- filled, Stop a moment; I forgot in my list of young men to mention Cecil Vivian. He is a neighbor; his father’s covert joins ours; his father’s house is bigger than ours; his grapes and peaches always ripen earlier; and Cecil himself 1s very fond of me, At least so he says, not that I believe much what men say, for I haye read tie “ Maxtmes de la Rochefocauld,” aud feel quite able to take care of myself and believe in nothing. In fact to believe in noth- ing is the proper thing, Tam told, ta London. 1 ony hope | shan’t forget, for Lam rather of a vonfiding disposition. When first Aunt Jane an to talk about society I thought {¢ must be ‘s(n, for she used to say, ‘ Od, society won't that, one must not fly in the face of so- y is 50 eerie But then Lady who is quite the leader of fashioa in Motstshire, remarked, “ Society, a horrid lot of 8: obs, my dear,” so then I Knew it meant a number of people; but papa, who Is old-tash- foned and a Tory, said pettishly, ‘Society, trere’s no society nowadays; don’t exist—went out with the Georges.” I was more pees still; fortunately Cecil came in just thea. I put the question to him, “ What is soctety—do tellme?” He scratched his head, looked out of the window, coughed, then he satd mysteri- ously, * It’s dréhdfully mtxed, you see the demt- monde is all Against it.” “ What do you mean, my dear boy?” “Oh, never mind. you're only a (a yowll understand by and by.” Now, if here 1s anything in the world [abhor it 13 mys- | tertes. Ever since my nurse used to shut me up In the cupboard while she talked “ secrets ” w.th the butler, | have always had a horror of | them, and 1 determined to inquire more. Our | clergyman is a nice old man. though he wili preach ina black gown and talk cf the Sab- bath, which I believe ts against the act of Par- Mament;-so I got him into a corner of the room the next time he dined and I again propounded the famous question, “* What is society, Dr, M!!- dew?” “Soctety, my dear?” He took a pinch | Of snuff. “Society is the veritable Antichrist— the world, the flesh, and the devil.” Good gra- cious! But now I really th'nk you must be mis- taken, for aunt sald society 1s dreadfully par- ticular, so you see it can’t be anything to do with the devil.” Pretty Mrs. Sweeteyes,who 3 Such a favorite with men and whom all wome. hate—I can’t think why, for she has really. love- ly eyes—was sitting at the piano. I asked her. Ruuning her be-ringed hands idly over the keys, she ejaculated, “Society is a monster.” “Well, indeed,” said I, “I shail never get a consistent answer. Why isita monster?” “Oh, because ir 1g never satisfied Ull it has destroyed a wo- man’s reputation.” I thougat deeply about all this and I said to mnysell, “Evidently I shall know ee ult have seen society, and go there I will.” It took me six months of tears, entreaties, sulks and smiles before J got Aunt Jane to agree with me, and pare to agree with her. Old ple cant understand how dreadfully we long to get away from our stupid old homes and see a little of life. However, here we are at last in London, and now hurrah for society! I mean tohave my fill. Tam going to dance, and dine, and drive and amuse myselffrom morning till night, and Mrs. Sweeteyes is poling to help me. Tam going to plunge headforemost into all that’s going on, and I mean to master the extraordinary ques- tion, What ts society? Of course I thought the very day we arrived, as Aunt Jane had written to all her friends, we should have been inun- dated with visits; but nothing of the sort. There was only one Ey aed bit of pasteboard which had been Lee ito the post-box and that was 4 card from the doctor's wife. Indeed, as Aunt Jane said, that was only mercenary; for she must have hoped we should soon require her husband's services. Our house is very comfor- table and fashionably situated, for Mrs. Sweet- eyes said no one would call on us If we lived in Russell square or Bloomsbury square or very far down South Kensington. It seems only artists can afford to live in out of the way Places, as they are always erratic and it 13 an occupation for swells to drive out to see them. ‘The swells talk about it afterwards and {t gives them a flavor of art. But Aunt Jane is neither @ peeress hor an artist, so society will tolerate Do deviation from the beaten track. We live in Belgrave square, but we had not been in Lon- don a day or two before all the servants gave warning. It was the fauit of the black beetles and the beer-money they said, which they had not been engaged for or accustomed to in tne country, Aunt Jane looked as black as the beetles, but I dragged her out to buy a new bon- net and the Looe ‘woman paid her compliments, which restored her Phe € London 13 not quite what I fancied, it isso black and dingy and dull, and people all look bored and nota bit oe you; but Mrs. Sweeteyes says that look delighted tosee me and that [shall have more invitations than Ican accept. She says that the great thing is for me to be noticed by an exalted personage; but how Is this to be achieved, that 1s the question? Mrs. Sweeteyes says it only requires impudence, a few friends tu for a great many people start for the Beauty Stake and oniy a few ever win the great prize. Ore must, s6 she says, either startie, defy or please scclety. Ihave not yet decided which Shall be my line. Of course when once I have choren it I'shall have to = to It, for society forgives any vagaries as long as they are char- acteristic of the part you play. * Ihave a very figure, Pte hair and blue eyes, therefore I think I ought to goin for being @ professional beauty, which is a very pleasant and lucrative business. However, I am told this is reserved for married women, for a husband to escort one and never be in the way ts con- sidered a necessary appent ._ Besides, Aunt Jane says my photograph shall not be sold or ut in the shop windows, and what isa pro- essional beauty without photographs? ‘The shops have an interest in crying you down If you don’t bring in as much money as the other beauties. Altogether it ts hi Ree Sir] is to do to get herself noticed in Lon- lon. Iam not clever enough to set up for be ing artistic. I cannot paint even the most ana. tomically tncorrect monster as many of my friends can, and don’t know a word of the Jar. gon, and I’m nota bitof a ju ip blue and white china and sea-green stuffs, I think I might perhaps be fast, but I have never yet trled—one Ve 80 little experience lving among curates and quiet country. le. If l were only Pak and ta Seduce Dae Re hi rr al r little fortune of £3,000 18 all I shall ever bave, and I spend almost all that on my dress, However, time will show, and I have lots of pluck, good health and good temper, and under these cir. cumstances there is no know! what ma; happen.—[{London Week. 3 sf Duck Hanting. HOW A PROUD SHOT PAID DEARLY FOR HIS SPORT. Some three or four years ago, says a western exchange, the conductor of & treigne train on the Fort Wayne , WhO was out with his train, saw a couple of fine looking ducks on the river near the track. He had a shot gun In the caboose car, and stopping the train fora few minutes, he got off and shot both of the birds. He thought this was something to congratulate himself on, and when he reached his home he invited a Uttle party of friends to partake of the fruit of his powess. A couple of days after this the conductor happened w be stopped ar the place where the ducks had been shot. ie got Out his gun and walked down tothe river, ‘With the intention of bagging acouple more, if possible. He had scarcely reached the edze of the river before a man, who looked like a farmer, approached him and said: “Are you the man who shot those two ducks here day before yesterda; “Yes, that was me,” said the sportsman, rather proudly. “Well, those ducks belonged to me. They wasn't any of your wild ducks but were tame ones,” “Oh, pshaw! Yon can’t fvol me. know a wild dnck from a tame one, 1 pee me for the ducks? iy. I guess I sald the farmer, ‘cool “No, si, 1 won’t. You can’t prove the ducks were hot wild ducks.” “All right,” aud the farmer started off to the nearest village. “Where are you going? Waat do you tntena todo?” asked the conductor. “Well,” sald the farmer quletly, as he leaned against a tree, “I am going 10 a ‘squire to make an information against you for killing wid ducks out of season. If you insist that tuem ducks was wild, it'll cost you $a duc If you come to the conctusioa they were tame, Ww only cost you $2.50 a duck. Now what'li you do??? The conductor stared at his _tormentor, ratched his head, satd something about ducks In a Lerrer written tn 1367 Mr. Thaddeus Stevens, referring to a pani. charge that he Was an atheist, said: “I have always been a firm belfever in the Bible. He {gs & foal who dis- beifeves the existence of a God, a3 you say 13 charged on me. I also believe in the existence of a hell, for the especial benefit of this slan- derer. I have sald that I never deny any charges, however gross. 1 make an exception where my religious belief is brought tn ques- ton. 1 make no pretension to piety (the more pity), but I would not be thought to an in- Hidel. 1 was raised a Baptist and adhere to their belief.” €A writer telis us to place our hand upon our heart and feel its mufMed beat—that it will sadden us. True; but not half so much as nein OBE hand upon our wailet, and realizing rom its thinness that we must soon become the muftled beat,—[Reckland Courier, eherally and these ducks in particular, and theu paid $5, He does not carry a gun in bis car any more. MR. W. H. Saira, the so-called “ Ruler of the Queen’s Navee,” said recently at a pubile mee: ing: “1 say advisedly that the men of the nav are equal to the men that have gone before them. I cannot give them aes Pratse, ‘They are fitted to manage and direct the most powerful and completearm that could be en- trusted to them.” S2-The Utica Observer, ob erving rows of oe men at church doors on Sunday even- 8, them “dandy lines.” Are they there Just for greens? 63-A New another man’s wife, and its mother eloped with auother woman’s husband. ‘The little one goes | made mo forget Ie ah hota W the poorhouse, THOSE WHO KNOW TO %N INQUIRING DEBU- | of butter and vegetating like our prize pigs. A | } | ie SHE LOVED ANOTHER. Hither we came, And sitting down upon the golden moss, Held converse sweet and low—low converse In which our voices bore least part. The wind Toid a lovetale beside us, how he woo'd The waters, and the waters answering lisp'd To kisses of the wind, that, sick with love, Fainted at intervals, and grew again To utterance of passion. Ye cannot shape .cy 80 fair as is this memory, hough xcellence that ever was Had drawn herself from many thousand years And all the separate Edens of thisearth, ‘To center in th « place and time. I listen’d And her words stole with most prevai ing sweetness Into my heart, as thronging fancies come ‘To boys and girls when summer days are new, body are all at ease; What marvel my Camilla told me all? It was go happy an hour, so sweet a place, An And. And soul and heart and 1 was as the brother of her blood, that name I moved upon her breath, much of nearness in it ¢ of this time! very sweet and low, As if she were afraid of titterance; But in the onward current of her apeech (As echoes of the hollow-banked brooks Are fashion'd by the channel which they keep), Her words did of their meaning borrow sound, Her cheek did catch the color of her words. I heard and trembled, yet I could but hear; My heart pansed—my raised eyelids would not fal, But still 1 kept my eyes upon the I seem’d the only part of Time stood s And saw the motion of ail other things ; White her words, syllable by syllable, Like water, drop’ by drop, rpon my er Fell; and I wish'd, yet wish'd her 10° to speak; re I did name no wish. Cauaiila told me all es of Hope and Love— returned.” Even then the in their rtations as T waze om, for I did name no wich, Hope was not wholly dead, But breathing hard at the approach of Death Camilla, my Camilla, who was mine No longer in the dearest sense of mine— For all the t of her inmost heart, And all the maiden empire of her miad, Lay like a map befcrs me, and I saw | There, where E hoped myself to rein ag kinu, here, where that day I crown’d myself as king, There in my realm and even on my throne, Another! then it seerg’d as tho’ a Kink Of some tet chain within wy, inmost frame ‘as riven in twain: that life [ heeded not jow'd from me, and the derknss of the wrave, The darkness of the Did swallow Even the Smit with Tennyson's ¥ eth sul Poem, “The Lover's Tate.” A Horse-Catcher. A RECORD TO BE PROUD OF, AND WHICH SHOULD BE REWARDED. For the past elght or ten years the public hag from time to time read of the daring exploits of Mr. James Findley, of this city, whose prowess has won for him the sobriquet of ‘The Horse- Catcher.” Duriog his r.s'Geace in Syracuse he has caught over 20) rugaway horses, savin; Many lives by his daring efforts, and much es ed from destruction, Mr. Findley is a Modest and unassuming young man, born tn the city ef Albany, who came to syracuse some eighteen years = Although ouly twenty-three years old, he family, aig served five years at his trade as a carr painter. About twelve years ago young Findley commenced the business of caten- ing runaway horses. He was somewhat timid at first, as may be imagined, but he gained confi- dence in himself as he succeeded and experi- mented, and now does not hesitate to throw himself in the pathway of the most Infuriated steed in 1t8 headlong runaway career. Find- ley’s first experience as a horse-catcher was in the city of Auburn, He was waiting for a train in the vicinity of the depot one afternoon twelve yeaisago, when all at once his attention was attracted by a runaway horse which was dasa- ing towards hitn at a break-neck pace. In the wagon were seated a lady and her little child. ‘The mother was paralyzed with fear, and could Ot 5) . The iittle child screamed in terror, and the cheeks of the bystanders were blanched as they saw the frightened, maddened horse dashing furiously towards a train of cars that stood across the street. The spectators all rushed out of the way, and hackmen and dray- men ran to a place of safety. Findley saw inan instant Ubat the occupants of the wagon would be Killed if they were thrown agalast the train of cars. Without eee '& moment he planted Himse)t directly in front of the maddened beast and sprang like a cat at its head. He threw the. horse down, and, although the wagon was over- turned, the occupants were uninjured, save by mere scratches. Since then he has thrown him- selfin the way of and stopped hundreds of horses under circumstances is only because I am not the fashion, and thu | as soon ag Iam that everybody will smile aad ! Mette child’s father eloped with | the longest day in the year?” “Yes, 1 know can run like a deer, and by the tim away horse 1s abreast of him, nine times out of ten, he is rupning as fast as the horse 1s. To seize’ him by the check-rein or one line and bring him toa halt 1s but the work of an instant. Of course bis act is fraught with great danger, and he may be sald to take his life in his hands every time he attempts to stop a horse. It is ge a Loerie ae is ee me rage, supposed, or by fear,—al y's life would not be worth much if the maddened animal were to hit hira with its tron shoe. He has received no oficial reward for his valiant services, and in many instances the greed of those Whose lives he has saved has so overmastered them that they have forgottea all about the bravery of the man who risked his life to save theirs. The horse-catcher is always on the lookout. Three-fourths of the runaways are caused by the horses of countrymen. They are easily frightened, and as a general thing their harness is old and unsafe. Ladies wuo are ariving in the streets are in constant danger from being run into by frightened horses from the country. The horse-catcher travels around the business streets and carefully looks over all the country horses that are hitched, examintog their fastenings to see if they are secure. In many instances he has found horses hitched with weak or broken straps, and, keeping his eye upon them, has seen them watch their op- porvanity and start torun. But he was there time to head them off. He studies the dispo- sition of the horse, and can tell Aan eye or his uneasy and restless manner that he is watching the first opportunity to runaway. . Perhaps the bravest act of Baie wane r- formed on the 7th of May last. A teaffi of young horses was running at bi down West Genesee street and across the mar- ket infront of the Emptre House directl7 to- wards the Syracuse Savings Bank. In a* in- stant more they would have plunged into that inoue. Baw them coming and spfang ith. He seized one by the check.reta and vaulted upon its back light a ig ena my effort he st the horses in their course, down tothe ground. The nessed by Patrick that it should not He tiere- fore caused a han ‘bronze medal 2 be struck off, upon which the deed was comm>mo- rated in fitting terms, and presented it t. Mr. Findley. It seems to usthat thecity authort- Ues should make some substantial recogrition of Mr. Findley’s services.—[S ‘ ¥. Had xy ices.—[Syracuee (N. ¥.) Buying a Bonnet in Paris. Directed to the fourth story by the conc*erge, I ascended and found if in ments, yon bes it, a laces. An Infinity of confections were upon ex- Aibition, and though thelr construction justified the prices, they exceeded what I was able to ay. No bonnet for less than $12, and many for » and I should have turned away had been for the courtesy of the accomplished sale3- ladies. I may apply the wora every acceptation- | and in education. Both the younger past youth, the elder had crossed ‘the ‘meridtan of lifp, and yet either would have “shaken the saintship of an anchorite” by her subtle grace and liquid voice and talking eyes; and led in selling me a bonnet, — oo ba two such caelgeeget Nat- ars’ ey compelled me to be seated before a mirror, and one bonnet after another adorned my pate; for “she was quite sure she could sult madame, If one was t20 costly there was another, ing upon the next peg, just as beautiful, for 1s franes less. If madame did not like the rouge madame should see herself in the cie/-bleu; 1t Was just madame’s color, but then madame Was 80 easily coi/fed; madame was—ah! si trea belle 1n anything;” and then these two hand- some, crafty females indulged tn a dissertation in their own tongue, largely interlarded with English, upon my constructive attractions, ‘This last coup d'etat clinched the bargain. Tae uext “madame” who purchased a more expen- sive article would be stil more beautifvl, and would undoubtedty bear her charms extolled in SUL more winning tones, Sull, I admire the shrewd phlosophy of these people; 1t made us all py; they soid their merchandise; 1 wei away ina state of beatitude, tn being cicapeen ° ‘ilowers and angels and sunbeams, the calm- ness of moonlight and the Sparkle’ of cham, vagne.” And as I passed away towards the oOkshop my meditations were upon the crue} fascinations of these French women. With me their iniluence has been potentlal; What would such sway be with the opposite’sex? I could Und itule censwe for one who yielded to the spel, whether exercised for good or evilL— Envly, in Forney’s Prese, ee AFTER MATURE DELiseration and with fuli Knowledge of tae possible efect of our words upon our fellow inortats, we wish to remark t the man who can play three games or croquet without murder in his heart and a general desire to punch things, animate and inanimate, is either too good for this wicked sora or a first-rate player.—[Boston Trans- cript, ¥27A fierce bulldog at Meriden, Conn., tried to fight his reflection in a mirror, at a Cost of $200 Co his owner, S23” A partly paralyzed boy stole a rideona Grand ‘trunk railway car Dy hiding underneath ona truck. A spark set fire to his clot and hes was jail ablaze when discovered. He of rele was on a@ settee nearthe water's rge,” sald she, “Did you know that this 1s it,” it you Daily News, LADIES’ GOODS. At Cust! at CostTN In order to reduce our very large stock of MILLINERY GOODS, We Writ Sevt Uri Juty l0ra, . WERS, FEATHERS. RID’ HATE, FEQOES AKD OMNAMENTE > = AT FIRST COST. MADAME &M. J. HUNT. 691 and 693 D ste~t wir. BREEULAS Btock complete in all lines. Je24-tr FRENCH CHIP HATS axD BONNETS. BEST GOODS anp MOST DESIRABLE SHAPE B From 75 cents to $2. FAYAL SHADE HATS, LEGHORN and MILAN STRAWS at lowest prices J. P. PALMER, my29tr No. 1107 F st,, bet. 11th ana 12th. AS. H. VERMIL' J Mawcracreree oF LADIES AND OHILDREN'S FINE. 610 9th st., opposite Patent Ofica in the abo Everything al re Hine eae | sete, en a perfect fit has a wife aud | i ' i aE i" f i Esbiiay & i Serna at office foot of 6tnand M streets «.w. apis G. T JONES, Agent. NOTICE To Ho) DaM,’ REW YORE ; first class steamers of Ww. Tenet se GaLasDe Petia: ce "ard hn al: d Hee ie ae i i anit iB | i i ing at Cork FROM PIER 40, N. ABYRSINIA, Wednesday, BOTRNIA, Wed GALLIA, Wednesday, ALGERIA, Wedxi , June i Pe SOYTHIA, Wedn Juve 1i, 10am. And every following Wednesday from New York. RATES OF PASSAGE. ,Glasrow, For freight and pastage apply wie ‘or fre Company's office, No.4 Bowling G: both stesrage and cabin, co OT18 BIGELOW, 608 Teh stroct, Washing: Janvély CHAB. G. CKLYN, Agent, N.¥. anstly CHAS. G. FRANCKLYN, Agent, N.¥._ LEws JOHNSON & CO., Bankers, WASHINGTON, D. C., DEALEBS IN UNITED BTATES BONDS, DIS ‘TRICT and other INVESTMENT SEOUBITI£S. DOMESTIC and FOREIGN EXCHANGE. Jette et S?INDIA LINEN, for Ladies’ white dresses, 25, 31, 37, ipa tae e rative dealy and patterns. in her lectures on EDUCATIONAL. -RIVATELY In ATIN, Ei een oe PARABO.8, Plain and Fy Handles, Plain SS Bulke, trona Sh ups ne Teles COTTONS AT WHOLESALE PRICES. FRENCH BUNTINGS FIGURED LINEN LAWNS, FIGURED FRENCH LAWNS. BLACK LINEN Lawns. BLACK FRENCH LAWN3. LMeNsE ASSORTMENT oF LAWNS! LAWNS! Lawye: FIVE HUNDRED IN! (500) 7 LAWN SUSt RECEIVED OTOL tbe pew and desirable articlo BEAUTIFUL FIGURED FRENCH LAWNS only 25. UTIFUL FIGURED LINEN LAWNS, 12 “EAUT SUL AMERICAN Lawn: A |. 8, 0 gf ADIas' LINEN DUsTERs, $125, eisai ts BLEACHED TA’ DAM . PURE SILK AND WOOL SLACK GRENA DINES, at actral BLACK 8ILK®, COLORED SILKS, 15, CHECKED AND 871 jer SE es a AT MILLER’s, IN GEORGETOWN. ‘The heaviest Cotton, at 8c., in the Bummer Alpacsa, 32: seluneres, 3 All wool Buatinge, in Ulack art cot 3 Beautiful tae ‘and int a taconite TIES IN DRY GOOD. erived BO Fare Cored ato worth 7 — at 500, 150, worth @2a5 a8 1 Drilla, cheap. Gent'sand cheap. All ot goods of best ai LUTTRELL & WINE, Cor. 20th st. and Pa. ave. A full line aphine aod other ishing Goods and at lowest cash ee a Em od jelétr UMMER DBESS GOODS. ni teal, sttention of purchasers is called to our HED Ere, GOLD EDGE BLACK SILK ONB DOLLAR A YARD. 308. B. BAILEY, Cor. Tth @ F ste. 8.1. HOUSEFURNISHINGS. PLATED ICE PITCHERS, ICE-CREAM FREEZERS, ICE-CREAM BETS, 13 pieces, PATENT FLY FANB, EDDY REFRIGERATORS, FRENCH AND BNGLISH DINNER SETS. M. W. BEVERIDGR, ate Webb & Beveridge) 1009 Pa. ave. moylt+r Jenste JUST BECEIVED- 100 NEW PATTERNS or DECORATED CHAMBER SETS, AT THE LOWEST PRIORG, az SCHAEFER’s ‘Sole, of the Oclebrated EMPIRE HEAT- tie HEEEE nor peane ig deci. ie rent Sain avhingston, Call and examine them. ‘College, re) of Ancient ana guases. 8 W. FLYNN, A.M. 1227 Lot, nw. 27-tr US a Lt, ew. KSI te Sours SCHOOL OF BUSINESS.