Evening Star Newspaper, August 6, 1892, Page 7

| THE EVENING STAR: WASHINGTON, D. C. SATURDAY. AUGUST 6, 1892-SIXTEEN PAGES. CHAPTER I. LL DAY LONG the snow had been falling, not in large flakes, but in tiny particles, which fell ‘to the earth rapidly. as if they came with a pur- Pose, and were as rapidly succeeded by others. This had gone on till even the exposed places in the bare fields were covered to the depth of a foot, while in the hollows and the sheltered lanes the snow was fifteen to eighteen inches | If it bad been possible for some denizen of | the air to scan miles of these deep, secluded | Foadwaye at a glance he would have seen but | one creature toiling through that mass of snow, | and that creature was Dr. Brancepeth's stout | eob. The doctor, a hale and vigorous man in | spite of his sixty sears, was on the cob's back. | “Cheer up, Prince! we shall soon be there, you | know,” cried the doctor, patting the horse's | neck with his numb gloved hand. It really seemed as if the animal caught his ‘master's meaning; he tossed his head and lunged vigorously, making steady though Lowe promress “The long light of the March evening had faded and the twilight had passed into unmistakable darkness before the lights of the little town of Overton came in sight th doctor's cob turned of his own accord up the avenue that led to his stable. ‘The was hanging about the stable yard, him a few directions respect- front of the house. and let himself in with his latch key. s No pattcring feet ran to miect him, 0 woman's voice fell on his ear: for the doctor ma widower nigh sixteen years, and ter was still at school. But the ‘dining room burned strong and if the hearth was lonely, the table spotless and the dinner cooked to a doctor managed to get off his thi ‘and gloves, and then walked heavily, let- bis wearied body fall first on one foot and then on another. up, to the fireplace, where he sank into an old leathern easy cl ~Your hot water's up, sir.” said a voice at the E by be Agee gike Hi ‘An acquiescent grunt was the repiy. In less than two minutes the summons was repeated. ¥ “Shut the door, Leah: I feel the draught, the doctor called oat. ‘tall, spare woman, the doctor's housekeeper, coming into the room. “Hadn't you better go now, “I suppose so, but upon my word I am too toatir. I feel dead beat. Give mea cup and I'll try to get upstairs.” not approve of tea before dinner, e her master a cup asa concession Weakness, and he managed to stumble ji i ig SZ, E is deprivation of rest, joined to the ent in the saddle, ‘had tired him is dinner, thinking now and then form which long years ago used to to him at that same table, and of the saucy little girl who was “for good” in July to be mistress dinner he sat down without rebuke in the great chair, and his face wore ought of Marjory and her her sweet penitence, and her mother. This was the Barge ifr ee i i ? a He | | Pay his slumber that Leah had to him by the shoulder and shake him before t him awake. Doctor! Dr. Brancepeth!” he heard her voice calling to him as ina dream. “Wake up, Here's the groom come for the aquire’s medicine, and I can’t find any made up for him. It was the doctor's custom to make up the next day's medicines in the early part of the evening and lay them out on_a table set apart for the purpose, so that Leah might be able to give them to any one who called for them with- out troubling the doctor. But tonight the table was bare. pot tocking’ op cs it be hersly understocd looking up as if y underst said to him. t morning he had assisigd at a con- held at the bedside of his old friend tron, Squire Ingleton. and it had been that in twelve hours « certain medicine administered. if the «ymptoms did in the meantime. The poor squire il and the medicine was to be ‘asalast resource. It was for this drug the groom had come, an‘ in a few seconds circumstances recurred to the doctor's memory. After ing and rubbing his eyes the doctor rose and pased out of the dining room imto the hall. “Give the man something hot. Leah,” be called out as he crossed the hall, and then, paabing Wek a red baize door. he disoppeared to the peal “Something hot—that means a cup of tea,” maid Leah to herself, with a «mile. No matter what the weather was she disapproved of letting workmen or messengers have anything stronger than tea. Wm. Dance. the groom, eved the tea with a look of sovereign contempt: but he drank it off andsatdown with a discon- tented sir to wait for the medicine. In a few minntes it was ready and handed over Dance, who set off on bis «ix miles’ Fide through the «now. The storm had now abated: bat a few flakes of snow were yet fall- ing and the sky was dark as a cav “I ought to make up those medicines,” said the doctor to himself,ashe turned over the leaves of his note book by the light of his soli: candle; “but really { feel too sleepy. It’s hat any of the other patients stnif on a night like this. e! I'm off to bed.” He went into the hall. called hix housekeeper and, telling he was half dead with igue. charged her that be was not to be roused except on the gravest necessity. He then went upstairs. and in ten minutes was once more soand asiee. ‘The next day about 3 o'clock Dr. Brancepeth opened his eves, =: nd ody. His first thought was of Squire Ingie- ton. Was he better? Had the medicine ad. ministered the sgh: before served itm purpone’ He felt as if he would have liked to spend whole day at Mr. lngleton’s bedside: for Dr. Brancepeth was one © persons whos gratitude does n “ of time. Thirty years before, when peth had come to the pari-h and almost urknown man. t i i : é iit f | oy t ding neighborhood. This had proved the tarning poiust in the doctor's career: and he had never forgotten that it ton he owed his present prosperity After hasty breakfast Dr. Brancepeth went into bis surgery to begin his postponed task of | making up the medicmes which he had in his own mind prescribed on the preceding day. He bad got half way through bis list, when, occasion to reach town upper shelf, his om the bottle from which he had taken , dose for Squire Ingleton on the | every Jightly disturbing the other as As the thought occurred to him he took the two botties down from the shelf | und examined them, trying to remember which of them he had used the night before. Mechanic- ally he put his hand first on one gises stopper and then on the other. As his hand touched the second he gave u ery—a loud, despairing The stopper of the bottle containing the | ‘which poison was loose; the stopper of the one eld the drag he had intended to give—the medicine—was fast jammed in_ the neck of the bottle. ashe might the doctor could not loosen it with his fingers. This was clear, cer- tain evidence that he had unintentionally, yet with most culpable, shocking carelesmess, given his patient and friend a draught that must have killed him. ‘The doctor staggered to one of the cane- bottomed chairs that were in the room and fell down on it, put his elbows on his knees and lot his head fall between his hands. He felt as if his heart would burst; as if tears or a prison— anything, would bea relief. To think that by gross and inexensable carelessness he had sent | to his grave a man to whora he was bound by tie of gratitude; to think that he had made that man's wifea widow and his children fatherless! The thought seemed to take from him the power of thinking and acting. Then, after atime, the idea pressed itself ‘pon his mind—“Why am I sitting here? It is | possible that the medicine may not have been given and I may arrive in time to prevent its | being taken. It iseven barely possible that the drug may not have acted aait usnally does. . If! I were at the Hall I might be of use.” He sprang to his feet, rushed to the stables, | threw the saddle on hig horse with his own | hands, swung himself on its back and urged | the faithfal brute along the snow-burdened road. But before he had gone half amile he saw a man coming toward him—a man whom he recog- nized. It was William Dance, and at the sight | of him the doctor’s heart sank. He could ride no further, but let Prince stand still while the | other drew near. ‘The man touched his hat. The doctor looked his inquiries; he could not them. “Mrs. Ingleton sent me on, sir, to meet you | and spare you coming out today, as she was sure you must be worn out. It's all ever, The master died last night.” It seemed to Dr. Brancepeth as if his heart op beating: a keen physical pain shot igh it as the tidings reached his ears. “Did he get the medicine? Were you in time with it?” he asked in a, strange, constrained | Voie ir. “You are sure?” “Yes, sir. ‘How long did he live after the time when he took the drag—after the time he got back, let It might be half an hour, sir; from that to an hour,” answered William, after a moment's reflection. “Ab, well,” said the doctor, turning away, “it can't be helped now; I mean. of course, I can't be of any farther use. Tell your mistress I am much obliged to her for considerately send- ing you to meet me.” He turned back to his own house, and even in the turmoil and horror of his thoughts he re- membered that he had not given the squire’s servant anything for his trouble. He wheeled | his horse round—rather a difficult operation | in the snow—called after Dance, and gave half a crown. “Then he turned back to his own me. Throughout the morning, and all through ee day —_ the —— for many ay afer, the same thoughts held possession of and were alwa; mt with him. his | lonely rides, by bis solitary hearth, even in sick rooms, he was thinking: “My hand killed John Ingleton.” “But he might have died in an case,”” he would answer to himself, and the piti- “But he might have recover: 3 i , strive as he might against such thoughts, dreadful pictures would crowd into his imagination. He thought | of the joy of the dead man’s widow if her hus- band had recovered; and with a yu w that he could ot control -he pictured the squire in the different stages of recovery; now he would have been able to sit up in his room, now he might have ventured down stairs. and now | he might perhaps have been enjoying that | sweetest of draughts to an invalid, a breath of the pure unconfined air of heaven. At first he felt certain that there would be an inquest, and he lived in momentary ex- pectation of arrest. Then he saw that there need be no inquest if he chose to sign the usual certificate of death; and, after a long debate with himself, he signed it. He forced himself to call and see the widow and her family, but he felt that for him to go | to the funeral was impossible, so he shut him- | self up the dav before the interment and pre-| tended to be ill. After all immediate of detection and mnishment had gone by he began to torment imself in a new war. Was it not his duty he asked himself, to confess his fault and give himself up to the police? Would he not bea better anda happicr man if he confessed and suffered the peuslty. than he would be if he kept the guilty secret in his own breast? | He had a feeling as if the crime might in some sense be atoned for in that way. have been guilty of manslaughter, say to himself. “It was not a pure accident. Thad no business to make up medicine when I was half asleep. I ought to have roused m: self. Lhave shed man’s blood. Whose? Ji Ingleton’s! The blood of my old friend, the man who stood by me when other friends I had none. I ought to be in prison; but, as it ia, my punishment is great. ‘Once he was actually on his way to the station to give himself up when t of his daughter came into his mind. If he spoke this word that he intended to speak she would be known ail her life as the daughter of the | Po*¢. doctor who was so many months or years in jail for manslanghter. Her life would be ruined almost before it had begun. “He could not do that. But he conld not bear to meet any of the Ingleton family. Th ight of their black drewes made him shudder. Mrs. Ingleton's kind, sad smile went to his heart like a knife. By degrees he became more accustomed to the company of these unhappy thoughts, but at the same time he became more hard, gioomy and self-centered. Everybody noticed the change, but the doctor took care that no one should from any word or look of his form a guess as to its camse, CHAPTER IL. Three years went by and time seemed to do little to lighten the weight on Dr. Brancepeth's mind. He was apt to be morose, absent minded and melancholy, a different being from the cheery old man he had been. The only one who could win him from his melancholy hu- mors was his daughter Marjory. She had been the living sunshine of his house ever since her return from school. It was a June evening and the doctor paced impatiently up and down his dining room, glancing now and then out of the window to see whether Marjory were coming. She had been at a tennis party at the rector, thought. rather unreasone to have been home half ar At last she appeared, walking slowly up the garden path that led to the rectors. But she was not alone. Aman in tennis costume— young Squire Ingleton—sas by her side. ‘They were walking very slowly; the girl's eyes were bent on the gronnd,as if to avoid the gaze which her companion fixed on her face, A groan berst from the doctor's lips. “I might bave foreseen this!” he cried alond, as he hurried to get his uat, and went out to the advancing pair. You are very ba almost sternly. with a nod to her escort. “It ia not very lat “I shall walk,” answered the squire. “Tt ina Jong wa ‘Only six miles, “Then, if, you are detain you, “Tam not in any hnrry. ‘said the doctor coldiy. sa | tor, tonight. | your daughter Marjory. my he: you She iwall the world tome. Hav: “looked up quickly. mean that he had obje: ili “Do you mean, sir—" he began. “I mean that I have objections, | objections, to such a marriage. {i It is impossible. Ingleton could hardly believe his ears. H “very stron; offering Marjory was. far better one than th cutee com } child. sir, you have nothing against_m mally?” he said, with a touch of pride i No.” “Nor against my family?” “No; it is much better than my own.” is enough that I do object, most strong]: “If you fear that Marjory would not be wel | You have been talking it over, then’ | Bat it doesn’t matter. never come together. avoided and I could not tell that you would by foolish enough to fall in love with her. Neve min e old man. tinued in a softer tone. each other. What is it that has raised up barrier, as it were, between you and us, evet “Doctor Brancepeth,”” such friends, that were it only for his sake, w tant. You have not seemed to care for Mar. Jory and my sisters being together. Have w. slighted or offended you in any way? If s0, am heartily sorry for it. “No, Mr. Inglcton, I have nothing to com: lain of. The fault has been entirely on m side. ButI cannot speak of it further. Yo must excuse me. But put all thoughty of a marriage between yo and Marjory out off your head. “I am sorry fo you both, but it can never be. Good night!” Dr. Brancepeth did not go indoors, as he ha’ said he would do. For more than an hour h remained pacing up and down tl “No,” he was saying, in snswer to some appeal within his own breast, ‘no, my old friend’ illness was not fatal. He died by my hand. If his son knew—if Mar: jory knew—and I dare not tell them. Oh. In Sleton, my friend, [wish I bad died in you Lae] and entreated him to come in. he began abruptly. “Has be, papa?” Marjory’s hand trembled on her father’ arm, and she turned toward him, laying he forebead on his shoulder. marriage is impossible. understand Gans girl: Marjory was very still. look faint. a must never be. When her father he began angrily. naturally they must have taken his consent fo: granted, he stopped himself. “Bat 'we—we love each other, papa,” sh stammered out. reason. You may please yourself then—when am dead. But I think if you did such a thin, the curse of the dead—not imine, but—another’ —must fall on you.” They were standing in the hall when this wai said. “The only light came from the ope’ doo: of the dining room. The doctor could just se how white and wan the poor girl looked. Shi incomprehensible. OMe daziing, ment clasped her to hia breast. smber. you are a manslayer. Your hands ¥ your innocent chi and locked himself i CHAPTER IIL. Possionate words of love, came from him t Majory just before he left home. nothing of it to her father. treasure she knew the the It was the on ¢ page. ‘three or four months after the equi if left to himself, would have declined, Mrs. Miles should be offended be accepted. ie dinner the doctor found bimeelf lef! wit were practically alone, for the ladies had left the room, and the other two male out eyes or ears for anything else. “Do you think, doctor,” said the rector sud- bound to inform upon himself?” Dr. Brancepeth started and stared at Mr. Miles for an instant before he answered: ‘No, not in a general way.” ‘But suppose it was some: you had, not willfally, mind you, some gross dereliction of dut; “You know how the squire came by his death? “Yes, I know all about it.” ‘Who can have told you? I tol “The man himself told me.” “What man? Ob. I suppose you questi drew your own conclusions.” ‘The doctor pressed his hand on his brow. Hi: sufficiently master of own still. Miles,” said Dr. Brancepeth, as steadily events.” rector with « smile. “You are quite right to be cautious, for it isa serious matter. Idon’'t think there you Dance’s story. “The poor fellow came to me yesterday asked me the question [have just put to you *Iy a man bound to accuse himself when 5 ie through negligence?" aid I thought not; and then it all came ou ‘The doctors had ordered that he was to have certain medicine at 11 ociock at night, an Dance, who was then the squire’s head groom, was sent for it. He got it ut your house, an on the way home, us it i turned into Mra. Dawson's—Mrs, Pheasant, you know—for a glass of hot. Unfortunately there was an old friend of his there, who stood treat, and Dance had en: to make him rather stupid. What with snow storm and the liquor , and when at last he arrived at the hall ‘only to be told that by dee had F fore—What is it, doc: to walk, I mustn't the squire, and | ing up to his subject, tle talk with you doc- The fact is, sir, 1am in love with T love her, I will not say asthe deserves to be loved, but with all +t. any objections to my asking her to marry Did the doctor tions to the matah? ly not. Yet his tone was far from con- iliatory. it cannot be. conid not help knowing that the position he was Feasonably have expected for his “What is it, then? Why do you object to our marriage’ “Tam not obliged to give you may reasons. It | assure you that my mother is pre- You and Marjory can I ought not to have al- lowed you to mect—but that conld hardly be Take my advice, sir—leave for a time. By and by you will meet some other girl. After | a time vou will forget her.” Never!” cried Guy, ina voice that startled he cou-| jet us be frank with since my poor father's death? You and he were hoped the old intimacy would have continued. Butit haa not. You have been cold and_dis- I think I will go in now. e path which Guy and Marjory had traversed. together. He might have recovered. From such morbid and gloomy thoughts the doctor was seldom free. He might have stayed there half the night had not Marjory come out “Young Ingleton has been speaking to me,” “And have told him, my child, that such a ‘ou at her he thought she was about to “Ho ought not to have said anything to you,” Then, remembering how “Child, I tell you it cannot be. Perhaps, when I'am on my deathbed, I will tell you my looked bewildered,too—her father’s words were | he said,and for a mo- b ‘Then the evil t persecuted him whispered in his ear— %t fit to tonch Suddenly he set her free, went to his room Gay Ingleton followed Dr. Broneepeth’s ad- vice—he went abroad. A long letter, full of She said ossessed, and she read it till she tion of every word as it stood on # de- parture the doctor and Marjory received an invitation to dine at the rectory. Dr. Brance- Dut ine enw his daughter wished to go, In case a refusal, and agreed that the invitation should his host at one end of the table. They guests were engaged in a discussion which left them with- denly, “that if a man commits a crime, he is ing serious, sup y but through some negligence on’ your part—culpable negligence, caused another man's death, would you think that you were bound to deliver yourself up to | Justice and suffer the punishment due to your “Dance himself, And I am surprised that you should know about it. He told me he had never breathed a word of it to any living soul. Mra. Dawson and head seemed to be turning round; but he was himself to sec that the rector and himself were at cross purposes. It seemed possible that his fatal secret was his ‘I'm afraid I don't understand you, Mr. he could. “We must be speaking of different “Or else you are very cantious,” said the However, can be any harm in telling he has ‘og remember that on the night poo: Sauire Ingkston died. there waes great mow storm, went out of bh? time, and that the squire died about an hour after taking the—what I sef&t:” and the poor doctor groaned inwardly to think how much suffering had been cansed by that one false- “Ah!” answered th> rector, “no doubt he } said that to avert a scolding, or worse, from himself. But I may tell him, T not, that you do not think the medicine could have saved | the squire’s life?” | “Certainly you may,” was the answer. “After ail,” added Dr. Brancepeth to himseif, “the poor fellow could not possibly conceive the rea! meaning of my question. I ought not to blame him too much,” Once or twice during the evening Marjory caught her father’s eve. He was smiling at hor and looked as if he longed to speak to her. Sho ailed in return, but wondered inwardly. ‘othing, however, could be said till the door of the rectory was ‘closed behind’ them. They | were passing through the path by which she and Guy had come from the tennis party. She flways avoided it, but tonight she hnd not been able to do so, sked Marjory. le ‘What is the matter, papa?” “You looked so bright and happy when you came into the drawing room [| thought you must have heard that some one had left you a fortune. You seemed ten years younger.” ‘The doctor threw his arm around the girl's waist and drew her to him. ‘So Iam, my dear—twenty years younger. And, Marjory, I am going up to the Hall to- morrow, and I shail tell Mra. Ingleton that I |have been under a misapprehension all these ¥ears—entirely my fault, you understand?— and that if she cares to write and tell Guy to come home I rhall be delighted to see him.” ‘Oh, papa! Guy? Guy come home’ fes, Marjory. And I see how it will be. You will run away and leave me. Bat I shali go and live over at Ingleton, so as to be neat you. We shall have all sorts of plans——” ‘Dear papa, you have made me so happy It all came about as the doctor had foreseen. Guy came home the moment he got hismotber' letter as fast as steam could bring him, and the wedding took place betore Christmas, Neither Mrs. Ingleton, however, nor her son, nor Marjory herself, could persuade Dr. Brance- eth to say why he had at first so firmly refused Eis consent to the match. The most they could 8 in a 2 e a a T isapprehension, and that his dolusion had arisen from a ‘doctor's blunder.—Cassell’s Family Magazine. e _ nt THE CAPTAIN OF COMPANY B. The Men Had Sized Him Up Long Before He Led Them Toward the Knoll. From the New York Sun. After the first year of the war the rank and file sized up an officer on his merits within ten minutes of the opening of battle. No matter how much they saw of him in camp no verdict was rendered until he had been tried by fire. While every man isa part ofa great machine in battle, the rank and file moves only as di- rectly commanded. We depended not on each other, but on the man in command. He must be brave; he must be cool; he must have good judgment, He must know when ho is whipped and how to retreat to the best advantage. Many officers made the mistake of trying to pass off do for the genuine article. For instance, they talked in lond tones, not think- ing that the sharp-eared men could detect the tremor of their voices. If bullets and shells were flying over the lines they wonld control their nerves and not duck and dodge. When they locked around for admiration they saw faces wearing signs of doubt. “He is holding himself up—he's no good!" was the criticism against such officer, and it ah had a sure foundation. Nobody had any sympathy for a private who became rattled, although it was not always a sign of cowardice, but there was never a more itiful sight than the spectacle of a captain Preaking down on the battiefeld. Watch him ag the regiment suddenly receives the order to move by the right flank from the shelter of the hill into an open field to fill a gap. first fight. Ingcamp he has been a bulldozer anda martinet® Back there with the reserves, safe from the missiles of war, he has folded his arms and assumed theatrical poses, talked very loudly, handled his sword and examined his re- volvers. Other captains have watched him and perhaps envied his nerve, but the men have muttered to cach other, “He's too cool—too much show. Ws As we move out a shell comes serea our heads anda man is struck by a bullet. captain grows white-faced and looks uneasily about him. There's asingle gun on a knoll to our right as we fill the gap. If it is supported we cannot see the infantry. It is a glorious op- portunity for a hundred men to distinguish themselves. “Capt. Blank, take your company and bring back that gun,” shouts the colonel as he rides up. ttention, company B! Tight—marei!” is that the voice of our captain? It is wo changed that no man can identify it. lips are as white as one lying dead for a day, and he drags his fect as if there was no spring to his knees. There are ninety-two of us. We leave almost 900 men in the lines, each one hoping for our success, but each one a criti “Whizz! Scream! —Whew-ew-ew-ew-ew!” comes # shell, just clearing our heads, and our captain falls flat on his face. He leapa up to sword in a frantic way and shout for We do not obey. We are not near enough for that. “Boom! Rattle—wish! wi: wish! the grapeshot, but not a man is struck. Our captain has thrown down his sword and is crying and laughing ina hysterical fashic Tam near him and I can hear him mutte “We can’t do it—we shall all be killed! must go back! Company B, about face!” “Now, men, there's our ‘gun and away wo go—charge!””’ shouts our first lieutenant, and with a yell we spring forward. ‘The captain ran after us. Then he turned | and ran back. Then he advanced again,waving astick he had picked up on the ground. We dashed for the gun and got it. but as we were drawing it off a full regiment of theenemy suddenly came into view from behind a heavy fringe of bushes. “By the left flank—left flank—left flank!” screamed the captain. “By the right flank!” shouted the first lieu- nt, and we tumbled into a dry ravine and fired volley after volley into the advancing regi- ment, holding it in check until our lines came up. ‘The left flank was an open plain. One volley from that regiment would have wiped us out. We did not go back. Company B had advanced the line to the ravine. We were cheered and cheered again by the 900 men, “What is it for—what dothey mean?” shouted | our captain. “Oh, yes, I know. Hip hurrah Yes. We got the gun!’ Glorious old company B!_ Iam proud to lead you!” We had'sized him up. He had lost his head in battle and we had no further use for him. Every man in company B pittied him, but not a man would have gone into battle with him again if refusal had been called mutiny, He had no “good-bys” to make. The officers of the regiment turned away from him as from an outcast, and the men satin their tents and knew not when he went. ~ +02 Woman's Way: e I y | nt r i a r ‘8 C T r Ty 6 8 r e 1° Forward—guide 10 ng: We it t is | From Puck. sd I it. a a i Why does she wear a hat like this in the broiling «un?— ch it get out of him was that he had boen tinder a | It’s his | | | | | | == A NOTED MANSION. Thé Corcoran House to Be Occupied by Senator Brice. ITS FORMER HISTORY. Distinguished Men Who Lived There—Mr. Brice’s Valnable Library and Some of the Rare Works It Contains—John W. Forney | a8 a Slave Owner and How It Came About. Written for The Evening Star. XTENSIVE ALI- terations which are being made in the Cor- | coran mansion by the lessee, Senator Calvin 8. Brice, will materi- ally change its outward - appearance and almost 4 rearrange the interior. This fine old house, when I first rememb it, was occupied by Mr, Swan, who was district attorney during the presidency of Mr. John Quincy Adams. I think the house was built by him. As I re- member it years ago it was a plain three or four-story brick. After the ocenpany of Mr. | Swan an English minister lived there, and sub- | ** sequently Mr. Webster occupied it. When Mr. Corcoran purchased it it was the only house on the square. and Mr. James Renwick, the archi- tect of the Smithsonian Institution, planned the alterations and additions, which made it for many years the most imposing private resi- dence in Washington. Mr. Corcoran was a very liberal entertainer, and when he was abroad dnring the warithe Marquis de Montholon re- sided ‘there while French minister. During that oceupancy parties, dinners and balls suc- ceeded each other almost nightly and were re- markable for the lavish entertainments at each and ail of them. Senator Brice in assuming the host of that famed residence finds precedents for the hosp’ tality which has marked his residences in York and Ohio, and which wili doubtless con- tinue the well-earned fame of the old_ mansion. Iwas interested to know if Mr. Brice would remove his library here, for it contains some of the rarest specimens of books of that age when fortunes were spent in the bindings of them. Groliers are rare acquisitions and are generally secured by governments, but Mr. Brice is the fortunate possessor of specimens which rival those in the great European libraries. Mr. Brice is a bibliomaniac of a mild form and finds time amid higgbusiness and senatorial duties to devote time it adding to the rare collection he has already secured. His purchases are made with judgment and knowledge of book lore. RARE BINDING OF BOOKS. Grolier was governor of Milan and the bind- ings done at that period, tho early part of the seventeenth century, under his patronage, took his name, and those specimens which are in existence are almost priceless, Hisroyal master, Francis IL, it is said, designed some of them. ‘That was the age of the most lavish display of taste and genius in that line and the examples of some bindings executed for Diana of Poitiers are marvels of beauty. ery celebrated though local binder of books in Brodklyn who, though retired from business. self in rare and beautiful d and Mr. Brice’s library contains examples whieh rival the more historical specimens preserved of the former age. Mr. PD dulges in a books with on the margin of ev paintings, pencil drawings and portraits of the contents of that page. The minute perfection required to produce such embellishment can be attained by the most skillful artist: He is now having embellished Gen, Grant's memoirs in like manner, with landseape draw- ings of the places mentioned, sketches of the battles or some incident in them, portraits of the heroes engaged in them and such other in- teffesting matter as will bewr illustration. J enator Brice served through the whole war he can aid his artists from his personal knowledge. ‘The Senator informs me he will bring selections from his libraries in his two reslences, New York and LimagChio, and such an acquisition will be fully a ied by the literary and artistic eloment which. finds a congenial resi- dence in Washington, ‘The Senator has leased the old mansion for five years and we trust he will find inducements enough here to make him apermanent resident. There isa good deai of interesting history connected with that sqnare and house. ‘The grounds, which were very ex- tensive for a city residence, were laid out by the famed landseape gardener, Downing, who also auperintended and designed the laying out of Lafayette Square which wat the first of the public squares or reservations that were redeemed from almost astate of nature. Mr. Downing designed the grounds of the Smithsonian Institution aud was to have continued his beautifying labor on all the principal reservations then in existence, for until Gov. Shepherd disinterred from their sleep of half a century the plans of Gen. Wash- ington there were very few squares or rese1 tions in existence, except as_‘fom Moore found them, “‘aquares in morasses.”” Mr. Downing was not fated to finish the work he had begun. He lost his life on the steamer Henry Clay, which was burned on the Hudson river. The house, as designed by Renwick, the architect of the Smithsonian Institution, was built by Mr. John Sniffen of New York and our old citizen, Mr. Job W. Angus. OME OLD PROORAMS. Iam indebted to Mr. Leonard Moxley for an hour or two enjoyment in looking over a vol- ume of rare interest, the play bills of the Amer- ican Theater f 833 to its close, also the bills of the Holiday Street Theater and the Front Street ‘Theater, Baltimoze, under the management of Jefferson and McKenzie. It Was a treat indeed. The Mrs. Duff, of whom ‘Tae Stan has spoken through a correspondent, as the “Mary of ‘Tom Moore” appeared here in 1833-34 and °85, Here is a bill, Nov. 19, 1834, the play “‘Macbeth”—James Sheridan Knowles, Macbeth, and Mrs, Duff as Lady Macbeth, and an earlier bill, Mrs. Duff's benefit, December 2, 1833—"'The Rival’ Queens”—and_ other bills, showing she played here the whole range of the drama for several years. The company at the Front Street was the same which played at the American Theater, Louisiana avenue, for in the casts I find Jefferson, Warren, Bill Isherwood, Jim Wills, Mra. Chapman, = Mr, and Mrs. Ingersoll and the rest. J. BR. Scott and Forrest were then almost rivals, but there was a Mr. Field, who played leading char- acters, and Charles Kemble Mason, who was supported by Mrs. Chapman, and in a bill of “The Stranger” Mr. Mason played The Stranger and Mrs. Richardson (formerly Mrs. Chapman) layed “Mrs, Haller, and in the farce ‘The of a Lover” she played Gertrude. Where today can you find on the American stage an actress of such versatile talent? They don't exist. Mrs, Chapman married after the death of her first husband, who was a comedian of talent, a lawyer of Baltimore, Mr. Richardson, and retired from the stage. She was a daughter of the elder Jefferson. Soon after her marriage Mr. Richardson was killed or died suddenly, nd after a time she returned to the Her reappearance was an ovation. She wasa wonderful actress. Tyrone Power of her as the rival of the great Mrs. Nesbit and as one of the most versatile actresses had ever veen. When I last caw her, a year or two before her death, an aged woman in ill health, with no trace of the ‘ovely actress I had seen in my bovhocd, she asked me if I remem- bered the Jefferson family, and I recalling them, spoke of Mra, Chapman and her Rose Redland in the “Robber's Wife” and Beatrice and Gertrude and \ Ciart fand Mrs. Haller, the met whi never left she her veil over her face, and with teats a ac (tee the, Hone Deiond you remember so well.” OLD MEMORIES EVOKED, The only actress I ever saw who played such opposite characters on the same night was Mra. Charles Burke. She played Mrs, Haller with a pathos and beauty that drew tears from evi one in the a | an water color | and his daughter, Priscilla Cooper, who married Robert Trler and did the honors of Executive Mansion, appeared, opening in Duke Aranza, Mr. Cooper; er. On the 18th of De- , they played “The y. Mr. Coope: Cooper--and I verily bel ter ths! nigat. I saw tragedy and my memo: subsequent]; Mrs ie ve I was in the thea e Coopers in that years afterward, saw Hamlin as nilin (Mite Shaw) as M, a vas Stuiely [don’t remember ever to have seen this very gloomy old tragedy except on those two occa: . Jefferson announces on the 2a January, 1835, the appearance for one night of the Warren Dramatic Company in “Rob Roy. Rob Roy by a young gentleman—that’s ‘aton, who was our beau ide : Baillie Nicol ennangh. The rs, Hughes, that sterling felen McGregor.” On'the 20th ower played the actrees, played December, 1833, “Trish Ambassn deen O Rafferty. Mra. Austin, an English vocalist nd Mr. Waiton played an eny “the Wife, a Tale of M: John R. Scott, . Pierre, and Mrs. Richardson, Maria d “-Blaak Eyed Susan, usan, Mrs. Richardson. old drama never heard of now, 4 Gwi brose, Dave Ingersol, a capital Ned Greyling (the villain of the play), Bill Isherwood: Lucy. Mra. Richardson. Here's | more of the old delightful plays: “The F Stratagem” with Mrs. Chapman as Lititia lari, t aid of Milan,” Howard 1 drama, in, which she sang weet Home.” On the 11th of jovember, 1831, Charley Burke makes his ap- pearance as Master Burke. ‘THOSE OLD PORTRAITS. In an article of mine some time since, which | *ppeared in Tue Stan, I spoke of the Washing- ton Theater,when remodeled, being embellished with porti spondent, “Pacific John Cranch had painted them. September 26, 18: nder MeKenzie an- nounces the ope! er, “remodeled by Wm. P. Elli The | paintings on the second tier of boxes were de- signs in oil from Shakespeare b Cranch, and portraits in water colors on the lower tier of distinguished actora by Joseph | Wood.” My memory of the portraits after 80 | man! ears is ‘afr, | Jefferson gs Nepperkin, Forrest and § | Thave off. wondered’ what became of them. ‘They would be priceless now. The few pic | extant of Wood are heirlooms. We have one, | painted by Wood, of Mrs. Coyle’s grand | father, Major Joseph Wheaton of revola- tionary fi which i asterpiece of 4 portrai every panel jot — th | vandal destro: | remodeled fot i announcing the first Hughes aa the Wider Oh D: 3 Here's an perfect—Warren as F in rier in the “Soldier's ills were printed Pennsylvania avenue be- ¢ streete. This | is made at the foot of the bill | liquors furnished at the bat | quality and supplied, under the e, by Maj. Thomas Harrison.” Maj. Har- d army officer who lost a leg at retired and kept a wine store in | the Wi puilding just bevond the Owen | House. ‘kets for sale at tho book store of | McKenzie & Hartwig, corner 13th street and | Pennsylvania avenue. 7 were, indeed, | primitive days. In Mr. Moxley’s collection, he hasa very fine collection of photographs, | paintings, &c.,is an engraving of a view of | Washington taken from the Capitol in 1834. pitol is evidently a are of the best rms of our | The fence around the C wooden paling and near the hill, and the ave- nae, which then run straight ‘through the | White House grounds, had four rowg of Lombardy poplars on the avenue. 0 wboms to be no houses between the Capitol and the Hall, and the south side is very sparsely 1, and the grounds look aa if laid off for et gardening. I find here a bill of the Boston Musenm of September 10, no year, unfortunately, announe- in as Richard and Edwin Booth ax | ¢ appearance onany stage,” and May 31, 1842, National Theater, Mr. Murdock | asstagemannger. Hereis an old bill of the Phila~ } delphia Theater, Sel Scan- id fill columns with the memories ‘awakened by these old pl when the | theater was my dream of hap and when | Charley Burke used to take us boys in to see (the play. Alas, with the excep of Mr. | Hendley of the War Department and Capt. | Klopfer, all who participated in the enjoy- | ments of those days are gone. JOHN W. FORNEY'S SLAVE. Thave found among my old papers a curious | document, which will create some surprise | among those who remember the late Col. John | W. Forney’s repugnance to slavery, to find him acknowledging in_a legal document the owner- ship of aslave. The circumstances are these Thad for some years a most excellent servant, | who was a general favorite, not only in my fam: y, but with all who came ‘in contact with him. One morning he came to my room in the deep- ext distress and told me. hi who belonged to a Maryland famil sold on the division of the esta ‘kles, and | that she was then in called, | and going south. I went immediately to Mr. | Sheckies” establishment and told him I wanted | to buy her and requested he would keep her for | me a few days, until [ raised the money. “Take | her now, y for her when you lease. I paid $800 for her and you shall have er for just what [ paid.” In an hour she was in with her husband. Istarted a sub- | scriptionand went to Col. Forney and said: “Here a chance for you republicans to show the faith that isin you. I headed the list with a hundred dollars, and I want you and Gen. Cameron, Mr. Wiimot, John Hickman, Mr. Sumner, Mr. Wilson and the rest of your friends to make up the #800." And they did, and before night I had a bill of sale made ont to John W. Forney and the deed of manumission executed by him. THE DEED OF MANUMISSIOX, ‘This instrument, almost the last of such trans- actions in the District of Columbia, is some- | thing of a curiosity nowadays, It was drawn by | the late Wiiliam H. Ward. ‘To all whom it may concern: Be it known that I, John W. Forney of Philadelphia, in the state of Pennsylvania, at present temporarily residing in the city of Washington, for divers good and valuable considerations, me thereunto moving, and for the farther consideration of #1, in lawful money, to me now in hand paid, have released from slavery, manumitted and set free,and I do by these’ presents release from slavery, manumit and set free, my negro slave woman Matilda Mackal, the wife of Sam- uel Mackal, aged about forty years, of dark complexion and medium size, the said Matilda being able and capable to earn and gain for herself a sufficient livelihood and support. And Ido hereby declare said Matilda to be from henceforth free and discharged forever from all manner of servitude to me, my executors and administrators, e “In testimopy whereof I have hereunto set my band and seal this 12th day of June, in the year. of 1860, Seal.) “Joux W. Forxey.” is reminiscence of that period seems like an echo from the long past. ahd in justice to a man engaged ina business which was regarded with almost detestation even in the sonth I can r. Sheckles to those of the race who came under his charge. Not thisinstance alone do Irecall, but another, in which a man well-known here at the time was sold under the law dividing an estate, and was bought by Mr. Sheckles,who re- leased him almost immediately apd gave him his own time to pay v hat he had cost,and I un- derstood a year or two had elapsed ‘before he was able to do #0, Joux F. Corie. a, | William, | ott, dee. | of my own knowledge of the kindness of | 2 FANCIES FOR WEDDING CAKES. Tasteful and Cnique Designs for Their Ornamentation, Some Being Very Elaborate. LABORATE ORNAMENTS FOR WED- ding cakes ure just now in fashion. They are made chiefly of a mixture of sugar and starch, called “gum paste,” with a profusion of of it is perfect. I | pretty flowers and leaves fashioned out of gum | Mth street and 34 avenue. Not kn paste and muslin, Without a design of this ample, one represents Cupid armed with « gilded sledge hammer and engaged in «mashing with it two hearts into one onan anvil. In others the god of love is dropping a letter into a mail box, ringing a marriage bell, playing a Wedding march on a harp or standing beneath an umbrella to symbolize protection. A pair of scales is emblematic of equity in the relations of the newly wedded @ouple. But the favorite style of thing isa representation in gum paste of a bride and groom in the conventional matri- monial attitude, the former in a white veil and the latter in evening dress, Sometimes Cupid stands behind them, bestowing a blessing or ringing a b There are not less than 200 of them bei of imitation flowers. I is one that goes by aple riding ar tifal chariot, groomsman dance sympa- in alittle car precedes the f the wedded pair, The price of this artis $20. After the wedding cake en eaten it iscnstomary to preserve the ornament under a gloss shade. Of course the ome represented are aiwave those which ally associated with matrimony, blossoms, may bells and lilies The bells are quite and tinkle Prettils.. being made of giyss silvered over. Harp strings are of gilt wire. Cupid is some- | times seen standing beneath a marriage bell | and carrying two rings on a silk cushion. For the more serious-minded a design is pro- vided in the shape of a cross, anchor and heart in white gum paste. mewhat of the cemetery, ae clockwork, the b: top of the cake in a be bridesmaid a the valley, lings, the breaking of a glass being a part of the regular ceremonial with people of that faith. The ornamental dosigns are turned ont in the rough from molds.and finished by hand. For instanc h Cupid is cast in gum paste with plaster of paris molds, the front half and the back half The halves are put together workman, and thas the nu micchi ker is small quantity of car- d int ntabh ut for the Ke not only for bu ason that he hasas vet no 4 out of we deft fingers of the arti- to the body. The ears n molds, and they are stuck uubstance being quite plastic until it has had time to harden. All this work Jd marble slab, eo that the mate- not get too soft in the process of Sometimes the clothing of the | rial may kneading. Cupid is made of gum paste and sometimes. it | ts cut « Tn th: t of silk or cotton lace. former case the gum paste is rolled out very thin on the marble slab and then | the workman shapes it into graceful pleats and | folds around the body of the Cupid. Finally the wings ast in gum paste and stuck on, un- lest ganze wings are to be employed. ‘The bride and groom are made in precisely the same manner, only that they are not pink, the groom's dress suit being painted black, as well as his hair, and the bride being adorned with a gauze veil.” Flowers are molded from the gum paste by free-hand, with the fingers and with wooden modeling tools, whiie the muslin leaves are pressed out with dies. Gum paste wedding belis and all sorts of fancy adornments are cast in molds. | Written for The Evening Star. ‘Trinmphant. Thongh conqnered and bleeding and dying, My spirit soars high o'er the gale, And round me sweet voices are sighing A dirge for ihe noble who fail. Long lines of the conquered are coming ‘To waft me awag to the skies, And echoes are peacefully humming A song for the hero who dies— For the rights he has fervently cherished Along the dark vale of despair, And for his own trath he has perished Like dew drops that melt into air, No marble may mark his cold ashes, No song lend a charm to his name; The lightuing of war only Nashes ‘The death moan that murmurs his fame. ‘The grass grows as green o'er the conquered As where the victorious lie; ‘They fell with a yell fora watchword ‘That taught their proud manhood to die. When God comes to judge all His creatures Who toddie through life's Iittle day, I know He will work His own features In the mortal that falls by the way. And when victory garlands her heroes Who perish in nake , ‘She will not crown the long line of Neroa, But the truthful wno struggle and fail! —Joux A. Jorce. Washington, D. C., aly, 1992. ———-- eee -____ School Chastisements. From the Lancet. think Some grown persons would to that there is no true place for chastitement in a system of education. Such, at all events, is our among them, who regard an ordinary beating given in school as almost an indictable form of assault. People of this kind have evidently forgotten the singularities of their own way- ward youth, or perhaps their lives knew only a genial and untroubled springtime of good con- duct. In neither case can theit ju t be upon to form a rule of discipline for the ince of school teachers. ‘The bad boy will nue to deserve and to repay with better his needful thrashings, and even the good boy will sometimes err and will profit by corporal reproofs. The truth about physical punishment, we may take it, is that it is indis- pensable—an evil, perhaps, but a necessary one. it must be borne, but in order to attain success with the least possible amount of injurious fri. tion it must also be regulated. There must be no impulsive Pailing about, no random atrokes with the hand or the raler, no ear-poxing its probable eequel—the ruptured tympanum. The head should never be struck, not even slapped. We may say the same of the body, | but for one most tender but safely padded prominence which appears to mark the naturally appointed seat of childish al fliction, We need hardly emphasize the importanee of guarding , jealously against all displays of temper while ‘inflicti ment. No doubt this isdificult vith tory children, but such a degree of self-government as will enable parents or teachers to avoid the angry moment is nevertheless requisite for suc- cess. A case occurred lately which illustrates this point. It was that of a boy who was beaten about the back and hand the day following a Singularly nor | impression of those, and there are many parents | ARRANGING 4 CODE. | Elaborate System of Signals for Use ine i “Friendly Game” of Poker. From the New York Herald Three well-dressed men, with nothing of the element in their attire or jewelrs, boarded town “L” train yesterday afternoon at ang their names let me label them A.B and C for identisi- cation in this brief yet instructive tale. “How much aid you fellows drop Thursday | night?” inquired A. “I squandered sixty-two cold bones,” replied B, “and Jack contributed forty-teven to keep the ball a-rolling.” “Blast me if Lever saw such luck as that fel- | low had,” rejoined A. “I thought he was « soft mark, especially as he carried helf » jag Yet with my eighty-five he managed to bag | nearly two hundred planks from the three of us. Do you know if be is coming around to- night to give us our revenge “Yeu,” said ©, “I saw him at Iunch time and he told me he'd probably drop in to- night. “Well. bors,” ejacniated A, “I think we must put our heads together to clip bh. He bs More money than the three of ustwice over, un it's a blamed shame that he fd also hha ba splurge of luck. I bel could draw he te and make a royal flash. ttle science against bis it?” Just by arranging nals am, will rongest of our three b: The thing is very simple Twas not eavesdropping and T confess I was astounded at the coolness of the trio in thus openly discunsing a gxme of poker. I was glancing ove: Paper, bat the men must have been w that Tand others could overhear the fact did not seem to disturb them The gentletaan whom T have designated as & proceeded sure enough to formul: code He w to indicat character of his hand by the manipulat his cigar and match box. To the upward downward inclination of the weed to its position between the lips or in either hand, or on the 1K to indicate every= inquired . n innocent code of sig- was the anewer. “Then to lay down or let the ds buck against him. the arranged to ped by the draw or not. Bis signals were to be manipulated by finger- ing his mustache and exhi by means of his cards and the familiar A to the dealer, risk two, ‘Let me have two blues, indicate that he held three of a kind pat, “Just t old man,” or “Fill this bobtail, fas to convey the information that he held an or king with a smaller pair, Promising to meet at § o'clock that evening, for rehearsal and practice, the three genth left the car at 67th street. I call them gentle men in conformity with current usage. may not come up to the standard gig.” a quoted by cynical Thomas they night well be experts in Kentacky pattern. Moreover, they wore high jbate, irreproachable linen and garments of faultless cut, If “the other fellow” played with them Inst night and chances to read this true chronicle today he will probably know more about the | ituent elements of “a friendly game” of poker. Mentioning the incident last evening tow | friend of mine, who is cashier for « big import- ing firm, he «nid: ' keoper and myself were waiting for a New York Central and wandered over to a quiet way cafe. It was Sunday, and ate a «nack we nee burly friend playing we upon three officers of her majesty’sarmy,whoss: claims have been eubmitted for her majestr'é approval, for the conspicnous bravery dis- in the Hunzaand Nagur country on the Gilgst frontier in December, 1891. The officers are Capt. Fenton John Aylmer of the Royal Engineers, and Lieuts. G. H. Bois« ragon and John Manners Smith of the Indian Staff Corps. Capt. Aylmer receives his cross for his conspicuous bravéry in the amwult and capture of the Nilt Porton December 2, 1891. According to the official record this officer ac~ companied the storming party, burst open the inner gate with gun cotton, which he placed and ignited, and though severely wounded, once in the leg and twice in the right hand, fired nine teen shots with his revolver, killing several of ‘the enemy, and remained fighting until fainting from loas of blood he was carried out of action. i y Hudieston Boisragon also earns the | Vietorin Croas for his cor uous braver ‘the assault and captnre of the Nilt Fort. He described as having led the assault with dos and determination and forced his way through ifficult obstacles to the inner gate, when he re- turned for reinforcements, moving intrepidly to and fro under a heavy cross fire until be had collected sufficicnt men to relieve the hardly pressed storming party and drive the enemy the fort. The Victoria Cross to be given to Lieut. John Manners Smith is awarded for | his conspicuous bravery whe ing party at the attack and ition occupied by the enemy near Nilt, in the | Hunza-Nagar couniry, on December 20, 18%. official record says the position was, owing to the nature of the country, an ex- | tremely strong one. and had barred the ad- vance of a force for veventeen days. It was | eventually forced by « «mall party of fifty | rifles, with another of equal strength in # | ‘The first of a parties wi oer command of Lieut. Smith, and it was en- tirely owing to his splendid leading and the coolness, combined with dash, he displayed | while doing s0 that a success was obtained, For neatly four hours, on the face of a cliff which was almost precipitous, he steadily moved his handful of men from ‘point to porut ax the dificulties of the ground and showers of stones from above gave him an opportunity, and during the whola of this time he was | such a position as to be unable to defend him- self from any attack the enemy might cheose to make. He was the first man to reach the summit, within a few-vards of one of the enem: v's sungars, was rusbed, Lieut. Smith pistoling the first man. st)