Evening Star Newspaper, September 16, 1893, Page 11

THE EVENING STAR: WASHINGTON, D. C, SATURDAY. SEPTEMBER 16, 1893—SIXTEEN PAGES. . Il THF CHILDREN DANCE TO HIS MERRY STREET MUSICIANS. The Different Kinds of Instruments Played Upon. THE PIANO ORGAN THE LATEST Persistency of the Men Who Look for Pennies. SOME CHARACTERISTICS. See UsIc AND MUSI- clans have delight- ed and disquieted people sinse the early days when man discarded his robe of fig leaves for the skin of a wild beast and sat at the entrance of her father's cave and played on @ flute of bone to his lady love. The min- strels of old and troubadours of middle ages came later, and invented new instruments with strings, reeds and shells. To some they disturbed the quiet of the nignt with their mournful ballads and weird music, and had to be bribed to move on, much as do the street minstrels of today. ‘There ts a great deal of the troubadour still living in them. Strollers they all are, and therein les the charm of music for them. With- out tt their roving would cease, and were they deprived of that life the rest to come would be but an empty dream. ‘The troubadours of togay are made up mostly of swarthy Itallans—Dagos, as they and the Spanish and Portuguese are prop- erly called—but there are those of our people, who are usually unfortunates, to be found at the street corners grinding and sawing away, and who are sometimes to be pitied. Hut one not foreign born is likely to take up this life for the remuneration or pleasure derived from it. To the Neapolitan, however, it is an oc- cupation not to be compared even to that of fruit vending. and when he has once saved #20)—enough to purchase one of those big, noisy, automatic pianos so frequently seen on our streets—he is an influence among his brethren and a monopolist who is looked up to. It is the mearis of livelihood he likes. ‘The open-air life satisties that restless nature born within him. and, combined with the pleasure of receiving the pennies and nick- els, his cup of happiness is kept well up to the brim. The writer spent a short time—a very short time!—on [ street, not many doors from the National ‘Theater, where a colony of organ grinders and fruit venders hold | forth, and probably the less said about their mode of living the better. He was led through the ill-smetling sleeping rooms to the rear. where Sisnor Caprivenett! was bribed into divulging what little unreitable information he possessed. uot one where you would care to tarry. They have no organization and little or no system is used place to place. Some of them have regular routes and will ed to abandon it from lack of support, then they will attack other districts and stick to | the more remunerative streets. Some go in a single day from the Navy Yard to oreetown, gathering up the pennies, but n customers.” es You will find the ten Washington supports within a cireuit of eight or tea blocks of $th and F streets, while the other nocturnal warblers ard less nofey musicians will “di lying districis There is suificient most exacting taste. variety to satisfy the if you care for the e or harp vou can have them. By far noisiest and probably the more remun- rative Instrument is the automatic piano that comes from London, and is as big as a reed organ. Jt does not require an artist to operate It: the modus operandi is very simple; a turn of a lateh changes the inder to another of the ten tunes it holds, and a turn of a crank reieases the music. It has its prototype in the ancient hand organ, and its wheezy and feeble antt-bel- CS MAGS PLAY WORKED W Rut it Brought Desola miring Dude. From the Chicago Post. ‘The youth had apparently been making himself offensive to a certain young woman and another youth had taken the young »man’s part to the extent of punching the rst youch in the eye, knocking him down, Jumping on him and then kicking him. Af- ter it was al! ov 1 gentiman took th Victor aside and Wot's that?” asked t “1 say T admire gallant to the defense of that young lady “She's my gal.” explained the youth. “Your gir “Yep. We've heen training together for te am Ad- &ix_ months ‘Training? : t “I'm her steady company. See?" ‘Oh, yes. yes, of course. That made you HI the r when you saw this fellow annoying ‘The road was deep with mud and the wo- “Anno} ‘peclister. you don’t seem to | man must have taken a short cut, for 1.did | caten Ive bee in’ for this tow- | not overtake her. I met her, however.about Geaded dude fer “most = month, ‘cause I/ a half mile from the country store ahene s e him, Te An” Mag. she don't Itke him neither. couldn't just get near to him to smash him he wouldn't give so Mag. she says. get him a flirtin smash bim for flirtin Awful smart gal. Max is. self out an’ goes ot eye an that gives me the chance I want, an’ I comes up au osks him what he’s’ flirtin’ with my gal fer. an’ biffs him one in the an’ then jumps on him an" squares u; for all the time I've been waitin’. Great ri, Mag is. She knows how to help ler out when he's dyin’ fer a chan swipe one of these yeller-shoed skates.” te- - you like the laundryman you?" TH fix an’ then you ¢ ith your gal.” So she togs her- ‘an’ catches the gilly Cobble—“Don't I recommended to the trouble?” Stone—“He's just my size.""—Life. The place was | in going about from | work” it till they are forc- | the out- | | | fied the town and they | children keeping time with hands, feet \ | sorter riles_me. | i} me no reason to do it, | half a I'l Jest | ai n step up| relish. She i gives a sort of razzie-dazzle, and | no L: | | { ! GRINDING jum tunes that were once pleasing are still unwound as they were forty years ago. 4 ‘The organette and the accordion are occa- sionally heard, and the trio who handle New. the flute, harp and fiddle never fafls to at- tract attention. There are many other so- called musicians who treat the public to selections on cornet, banjo and guitar, and the vocalists and whistlers are almost innu- merable. Wherever one finds these strollers will also be found many delegated listeners, and just so varied as are the instruments’ will be their tastes. No two persons hear sounds alike. That faculty depends upon the sensibility of the auditory nerves, and ! what delights one ts quite displeasing to another. There are people in this city who would rather hear a selection from the rankest street minstrel than listen to a perfect interpretation from Mr. Seidl. But thetr opposites are many. A queer old couple once lving near Du- pont Circle, and who preferred knowing the Pedigree of the beef before eating of it, thought these musicians were an abomi- nation, and nearly all of them were paid to keep away from that neighborhood. There may be some consolation for the “musi- cians” in knowing tha, they are not the only nuisances in that line. Beethoven used to make such distressing noises while Ta-Ra-iiu-Room-De-A. | composing that he was more than once | obliged to change his lodgings on that ac-| count. ‘The poorer class enjoy the stroller’ music. Stroll through the streets eny ift- ernoon and watch the crowd of children 2s/ they laugh and shout and scamper after him. Little croakers in their ‘mothers’ arms, scarcely able to lisp the “orgie” man, are quieted and amused by his pop’ lar airs. Those able to toddle after him line the sidewalks when ne stops and their little white faces and black faces bob up and down as they dance to his merry grinding. And what perfect time} they keep to his jerky tunes as they waik and skip about! If the old couple could be induced to watch such a delighted group a little while| they would probably not denouace him in such terms as they have. And if they Were to toss a nickel to the swarthy fel- low at the crank his broad smile and po- lite bow would be cheaply purchase. On almost any of our down-town streets in the evening can be heard the orcan Children Scamper After Him. man filling the air with tis popular tunes, and as often be seen the crowd of and voice, and a group of interested lnok- ers-on. His face is a study. See how readily he detects a person in a fourth-story window | behind a screen, and how quickly comes the acquired smile and the nod. His biack eyes find you as soon as you appear at the window and if a coin is dropped down to him, no matter how Ul, the tune is ground out a Ittle faster again comes} the smile and a bow. If you were to judge from his face while| he js not acknowledging donations you would say he gets little pleasure from his| street life. not even the xrotesque danc-| ing of some of his jittle followers will elicit a comment or an falication of de- light. but give him an occupation with a roof over it and see how quickly his dis- pleasure will make itself if ost. LUCK WAS WITH HER. A Woman Who Has Reason to eve That “Thar's a Lawd in Arkan- saw. From the Detroit Free Press, It was on the Arkansas side, a few miles below Memphis, Tenn. I stopped at a creek near a pole cabin to water my horse, and a man and five children and six or eight dogs came down and surrounded me. After ask- ing where I was from and how far I was going the man said.: ‘Stranger, I reckon I kin ask yo’ to do me a leetle favor?" ‘Oh, yes. ‘My ole woman started fur town half an hour ago with three prime coonskins to sell 1 never kin dun tell what was the matter with me, but when she said and snuff I nodded my head. 1 was just | swine to send one of the children after her.” | “Have you thought of something else?" | “T just, have. T must have been crazy. | When yo’ overtake her tell her she's to git | isky and terbacker.”* she had been trading, and halted her to de- lver the message. She had a pair of coarse shoes for herself hung over her shoulder, pound of chean tea under her arm i was using a snuff stick with vigor and never stopped handling the stick until ready to answer. Then she wait- ed long enough to reply: ranger, some folks dun say thar hain't wd in Arkansas, but thar 1s. He jest dun kept me thirty minutes ahead 0” yo" till the tradin’ was traded, and I'm gwine back home a-feelin’ sich a feelin’ o' glad- ness that Sim Jones may switch me ord be hanged to him.” — They'd Dun Him. From Puck Ten Hroke—“What fs the language of flowers?” WILD JUSTICE. ee WRITTEN FOR THE EVENING STAR BY MISS BRADDON. SS Copyrighted, 1893. by the Anthor. SCENE L—THE INN YARD. T WAS TWO DAYS after the great com- ing of age ball at Hanbury Manor, and there had been a lull in business and trar- fic, and in the minds of men after that great event, which had given employ- ment to every man, boy, and horse in the little town of Ledford, in the Fens. Masters and = ser- vants, men and boys had yawned through the drowsy tomorrow of the festival, ting up late after coming home in the chill darkness before dawn, half asleep and half drunk, some of them. They had got through the broken day in «4 somnolent semi-consclousness, relieved by gossip and occasional drinks And now work-a-day life was beginning again. The great heiress’ coming of age dance was a thing of the past, and the thread of dull daily toil in @ duil little town set in the midst of a landscape of level dullness had to be taken up again. “A fly to be at Dr. Parker's door in good time for the 11:15 train. ‘That was the mezsage which came from the bar to the stable yard at 9 o'clock on Thursday morning. Coachman, hostier,and lads were washed and wakeful and in their right minds. Miss Hillborough’s coming of age belonged to history. ‘The coachman went to his coach house. There had been no orders yesterday in the general stagnation. He and his underlings had cleaned three out of the four vehicles which fetched and carried the gentry to and from Ledford and the civilized world; but there was a fourth fly, a spacious and venerable landau, the oldest vehicle on the premises, which had came in about 5 o'clock in the morning, driven by an occasional helper, and had been dragged ignominiously into a'shed, and left to molder in its dirt. “Fetch out Noah's ark,” said the coach- man to his slave, a bare-armed boy whom ry few people had ever seen in a coa' he'll do for Parker. She wasn't cleaned tother night. Thou'd best gi’ her a wash down, lad.” The lad dragged out the leathern mon- The Carriage Mat Was Covered W: Blood. strosity, which emerged wobbling upon its worn springs. He opened the door with a burst and a tug, pulled out the blue sheep- skin rug, and flung it on the ground with a ery that startled everybody in the yard and made the kitchen wench look up from her sink yonder by the scullery window. ‘What's t' row?” all over blood, and bottom ‘The men clustered round. Were those dark stains that steeped and blackened the carpet and the sheepskin rug verily blood? Yes, blood! Wet, still some of it, among the fleecy wool, Wet enough to stain the coachman’s hands hideous!: Tes bad as if somebody had been killing a pig.” “His nose must ha’ bled," said the boy, who was a chronic sufferer in that line. “Noses don't bleed enough to rot a car- riage floor,” said the coachman, grimly looking round at the eager, awe-stricken fac#s crowding at the carriage door, open mouths, scared eyes and a speechless hor- ror everywhere. “Who was it had this carriage ‘There were inquiries, assertions, contra- dictions, and finally the head of the livery yard arrived at these fact A gentleman had arrived in the station “bus late on Tuesday night, the ‘bus that met the last down train; a tall, cood-look- ing man, in a long overcoat and a soft felt hat that hid all the upper part of his f He wanted a fly to take him to the manor, and the three respectable carriages being all engaged the old Noah’s Ark had been dragged out of its pent-house, dusted and mede ready for the stranger, who paid his guinea in advance and who waited in front of the inn while the horse was har- nessed, walking about and smoking a cigar. ‘The man who took his onter remembered nothing more about him than this. The man who drove the fly was an out- sider, employed occasionally when there was @ press of business at the “George an elderly man-of-ail work, out of place after the death of an old mistress, ,in whose service he had been gardener, groom and coachman—a man who, while profess- ing general handiness, did nothing well, and was, moreover, not without suspicion of inebriety. “Dorks drove, did he? said the land- lord of the George, brought from his bar parlor by the clamor in the yard, “and of course Dorks was drunk. No dissentient voice pleaded for Dorks. Who could doubt that on un occasion of general relaxation Dorks would have had more than his proper share of alcohol? One of the boys was sent to fetch Dorks from the cottage where he lodged in Inglo- rious idleness, interrupted by odd jobs. He came looking half asleep, and less than half washed, and this was the burden of his tale. Yes, he had driven the stranger to Han- bury, and the stranger had gone in among the rest of the visitors. Dorks had seen the footmen taking off his coat in the hall. Tt was late and there were people coming away, and very few going in. He told Dorks to wait for him. When Dorks sug- gested that much waiting might be injurious to the horse, the stranger used bad language about that respectable animal, and repeated that Dorks was to wait for him in the ave- nue. “I'll send for you, or come to you when I want you.” said the stranger. After this Dorks waited—it might be an hour, it might be two, or, indeed, as evi- denced by the time of his return to the George, it must have been at least three hours—but the coldness of the night air had induced slumber, and Dorks confessed that his mind had been a blank til! he was startled by the stranger opening the door of the landau. He had just time to see that another gen- tleman got into the carriage before the rightful fare, who told him to look sharp and drive to Fairtield. ‘You know your way there. I suppos said the stranger, and another voice came from the inside of the carriage directing him. “I told him I know’d the way before either of them was born,” said Dorks. Fairfield was a village on a cross road be- tween Ledford and the nearest market town. To pass by Fairfield on the way back to the George Inn would lengthen the journey by about two miles. The road from Hanbury Manor to Fair- field was as bad a road as could be found in that part of Lincolnshire. It crossed one of the dreariest bits of that dreary dis- trict—a broad ditch on one side, open and unguarded, a copse on the other, habita- tions few ‘and far between—a deep stream and a wooden bridge to be crossed—a bridge that was generally out of order, and on which many a horse and cart had come to grief. It it was dismal in broad daylight, what of gloom and loneliness might not’ |rood over the long monotonous level in the dull gray interlude betwixt night and mornins, when one ragged rip in the low eastera sky adds to the sense of dullness by that pallid suggestion of a day that seems immeasur- ably remote. Dorks, not particularly sensitive or im- pressionable, shuddered as he recalled that long cold drive. He thought they were having high words inside, but he couldn't hear much, for there were stones newly put down for aif a mile on the Hanbury side of the stream, and the carriage made too much notse for him to hear what was going on insid= ‘Once he fancied there was a bit of a seuttie, for the carriage jolted more than tt necd have done, even over that rough bit of rond. He had no doubt both gentlemen had taken a drop, and they were a little quarrelsome but his business was to watch his horse and take care he didn’t pul! them all into the ditch; that horse was a bad one for bearing to the left, and wanted a deal of driving. . Driving!” cried the landlord, losing patience, albeit eager to hear all that Dorks could tell. “Why you don’t know the mean- ing of the word. You never drove a horse in your life. Well. go on, can't you, and tell Marie Gold—“TI don’t believe they have any.” Ten Broke—“They should be very voci- ferous if it is true that money talks.” your story a little straighter than you drive, or we shan’t hear the end of it this side dinner.’ There was a laugh at this—a laugh that relieved overchary bosoms, weighed down | “Oh, I hope no oe e | shocked look. by the silent horror of those dark stains in the carriage. What # fine gentleman was this landlord of the George, who could jest im the face of the most gruesome sugges- tions. “There ain't much more to tell,” growled Dorks, waxing surly. “One of the gents, him as hired the fly, called to me to stop, Just arter we crossed the bridge, and got out. ‘Get back to your stable as fast as you like,’ say; "'m a going to walk with my’ friend x Was, the other man with him when he spoke?" ‘Not unless he was inwisible. I never laid eyes on him from the time he got Into the carriage in the avenue.” Nothing came of those ugly stains in the old landau, that dark and ghastly pool which had soaked through the floor of the carriage. ‘The local policeman came and scrutinized and listened and asked questions. He tried to look wise, but could make nothing of It inclined to think it a case of nose bleeding. The gentlemen were in liquor, and had come to blows, and one had suffered severely in the fray,’ but not mortally. To satisfy the doubts of the innkeeper and the doctor, this authority walked over the ground by which the fly had driven, accom- panied by Dorks, to show where it was he had heard the loud talk—where he had felt the carriage lurching and jolting more than paual—where his fare had alighted and left ‘m. The innkeeper went with them on this de- tective expedition, but neither he nor the constable could extract any exact informa- tion from Dorks. who admitted, when hard | pressed, that he had been more than half asleep while they were going over the stones, and that he had only been thorough- ly ‘awakened when the stranger called to him to stop. Whatever drops of blood might have Qoaed from the carriage to the road had been washed away in the muddy drift after a long day of autumnal rain. Whatever se- cret the dyke could have told them there Was no clue to point the spot where it lay, and the constable, relying on his own theory. proposed no further investigation. ‘If them there stains means murder, why there'll be a reward offered, and then it will be time enough for you and me to come forward and tell what we know about this here business,” said the constable, sagel; appointing himself partner in the discov- ery made by George. “Rut I don’t believe there's no harm done, Mr. Jocock, except to your carriage,” he told the landlord: and the landlord shook his head, and went home burdened with unsatisfied doubts, which he discussed with his wife over an old-fash- toned night-cap of flerce brandy and water, “hot with,” which fiery mixture he stirred with a miniature glass baton instead of a spoon. “It bothers me, Jane, ‘and I feel as if 1 shou! old landau, though it’s a useful conveyance for family work. Painting the bottom und putting in a new rug, which will run to a Pound at least. won't do away with the un- comfortableness of it." ‘Lor’. Tom, why should you bother about it? If there was anything wrong—anybody hurt—or anybody missing, shouldn't have heard of it before now? “Well, News do fly about so fast nowadays. don't say as there's anything remarkabl in a stranger coming at clése upon 1: o'clock at night to go to a ball at the manor. ‘There must have been plenty of strangers there, but where wax he going fo put up for the night? and who could the other man have been: and how was it Dorks only saw one man leave the carriage aad walk away?” “Why, because Dorks was as per usual, replied his spouse smartly: “the wonder 1s he didn’t see four men. And as to waere the gentlemen were going, why, to Fair- field, of course, where they were on a visit to friends, asthe way is when there's a ball in the neighborhood. “Ah, but where now? From the style of the gent that pald for the landau they would be @ cut above visiting in a farmer's house. And except farmers and the parson, there's nobody at Fairfield.” ‘Well, then, they were going to the vicar- ge. Why not?” ‘Ah, why not?" echoed the landlord, re- Meved but not convinced. “If I was’ ac- quainted with Mr. Challoner I should go and .k him all about it.” SCENE IL--THE BAR PARLOR. There was nobody missing—no hint of a mysterious disappearance in the neighbor- hood of Ledford. Certainly there was no hint of trouble at Fairtield vicarage, as the landlord of the George discovered by aside wind before his mind was at rest. The. landlord's next-door neighbor was Tyley, the baker, whose daughter was par- los maid at the ‘arage, and this young person, taking her afternoon out and drop- ping In at the George to see her old school- fellow, the landlord's daughter was warmly pressed to stay to tea in the bar parlor. While enjoying Mr, Jocock’s hosp|- tality, and in reply to his questioning, she told him that there was nothing in the way of trouble in her master’s house, and that the young ladies were all as merry as srigs.”” “Did any of you go to the ball t’other night?" asked the landlord. fone of us went; our young ladies are not ‘out,’ ” the parior maid answered grand- ly, having educated herseif by cinner-table talk, “but .naster's nephew went.” “Oh,” said the landlord, “that good-look- ing young chap that was at the vicarage last Easter. What may he be now?" ‘He's a barrister up in London. “Oh, so he went to the ball, did he? What time may he have got home?” “Well, he didn’t come back to the vicar- age. He met a friend at the manor, and they went up to London togethe> by the pense train—the one that leaves soon after ive.” “The 5:25 hup’ assented the landlord. “That was rather a queer start, wasn’t it?” “Oh, I don't know. Mr. Desborough was always a bit wild in his ways; late in the morning, late at night, late’ for dinner. "Ratick, ‘the vicar used to call him. ‘Ha. old is dreadfully 'ratick,’ I've heard master say tmes and often, "He telegraphed to my mistress next day to apologize for giv- ing trouble. But there was nobody sitting up for him. ‘The hall door key was hidden under a laurel bush where he'd be able to find it. “Oh, he telegraphed, did he?’ He ain't written to your missus since, I'll lay,” said the landlord, rubbing a whisker with medi- tative movement of a large fat hand. ‘No, he ain't much of a one to write letters. He was alwa: one to telegraph, never troubling that every telegram costs us a shilling for the messenger.” The landlord had lapsed into deepest thought by this time. “Af, you seem to know all about this here young gent, Mariar,” he said, after a longish pause. “I suppose he was rather attentive to you, now?” ‘Never to me,” answered Marla, prompt- ly. “He held his head much too high tor that. But he was very attentive to some- one fn our house."”" “Come, Mariat ” he told his wife, Id have to burn that I suppose we should, my girl 1 it couldn't have been She's a handsome woman but there's too much of her to take young man’s fancy.” ‘In the spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love,” quoted Maria from the fourth standard reading book. “it was the spring when Mr. Des- borough was staying at the vicarage, and him and the young ladies and the governess was— _ “What, that sandy-haired young ‘ooman with short petticoats and flat feet. He must have been uncommon high if he pre- ferred her to you, my: las: ‘No! no. Mr. Jocock. That sandy young person is Miss Pepper. She's only been with us six weeks. It was Miss Heron that used to be about with Mr. Desborough. Miss Heron is very pretty, a delicate lit: tle thing with dark eyes, and very young- looking. She never told her age to any of us servants, but I don’t belleve she was out of her teens.’ “So there was a bit of a flirtation between them two,” said the landlord. “It was more than filrtation, I'm afraid. Ibelieve she was half heart-broken when he went away, poor thing, though she never let anybody see she was fretting—ex- cept a servant like me. Sometimes when I went into her room with ‘the water for her bath of a morning i could see by her poor pale face and red eyelids that she'd been awake half the night and had cried herself to sleep. But she would come down stairs an hour afterward looking fresh and light and as neat as a new pin. she's a young lady that knows how to respect her- self.” your missus. still, ‘Why did she leave her situation?” ‘Her health gave way. It's not what you can call an easy place—four strong, active girls to teach and look after and walk out with, and expected to mend their und linen into the bargain. She got through the work well enough for the first six months, and she was a real good worker, never idle for a quarter of an hour, always active and bright and ready to run about with the children just like one of th selves. But after that young man had ieft us she gave way; and one day when the children had all been very naughty about their lessons, and Mrs, Challoner was cross to her at lunch, making out that it her fault, she burst into tears and ran away from the table, aud when missus sent me to look after her I found her running down the shrubbery walk like a wild thing, and she threw herself on the seat in the sum- mer house in a fit of the violentest hys- terics I ever saw—and I've seen many a fit of hysterics, and had ‘em, too, dreadful “Poor thing,” replied the landlord, “I'm afraid it’s the old story—a silly young wo- man and a double-faced young man.” said the girl, with a “She was such a little lady. 1 never heard her speak a vulgar word: and So Neat, so pretty in all her ways—every- umbrella quite the lady—and religious, too— her New Testament on the table by her bed. And she read It, too, every morning. No, T couldn't think any harm of her.” “The harm wouldn't be in her, but in him, Mariar. Nobody thinks any harm of the lamb, it’s the butcher we hate.” SCENE IIL—THE VICARAGE. ‘That foolish woman has sent Harold's }letters back—the packet I gent him last | Tuesday—and ever so many more, John,” Mrs. Challoner said to her husband, on the morning after Maria's conversational tea- drinking at the George. “He is evidently not at his chamber. Poor fellow, I dare- say he finds life very dreary there, without the prospect of a brief!” “He ought to sit in his room and read law till the briefs come,” said the vicar, grimly. “I found my first curacy very |dreary, but I didn’t cut it till I got some- thing bettter. I'm afraid that young man will never do any good; he’s too fond of himself.”” “I'm afraid his smart friends spoil bim. He is so good looking and so altogether nice. The world is too crowded for that kind of thing. Nobody is really wanted; nobody is ever missed.” “Nonsense, Lucy. Nobody spoils anybody in London. ‘A young man of Harold's cali- ber lives in a fool's paradise. He lvoks in his glass and thinks he is such a preity fellow that the world can't do without mai [osies very worrying to have these letters sent back,” moaned Mrs. Chailoner. “Ll don’t know what I ought to do with then. “Keep them until he turns up here, or send them to the dead letter office,” ‘an. swered the vicar, as he went off to poultry yard, thinking a great dea! more of some new Cochin Chinas than his nephew. He was not very fond of that good-look- ing, high-handed nephew—a young man who made it so unpleasantly clear that he felt his superiority to his surroundings, es- pecially when those surroundings were lim- ited to a rural vicarage and a dinner table served by @ parlor maid and her attendant from upstairs. He had a shrewd idea, too, that there had been some Tooling of that pretty little gov- erness—the nice little motherless girl, whose father was keeping sheep on the other side of the world, working to make a home for his only daughter in another hemisphere. Yes, the vicar feared there had been some fooling, trivial enough and innocent enough, no doubt, but bad for the poor, pretty little thing, who looked paler and lost her happy smile after Desborough's visit. Mrs. Challoner made an inclusive packet of Desborough’s letters and posted it to his ‘Temple address, with a line on the en- velope— “Mr. Desborough has left Fairfield, Keep letters till you hear from him.” Two days later there came a laborious, epistolary effert from the laundress. “Honerred Madamm—Your nevew not bean hat is roomes sense he pade yew a veset, I doan no wot to do abowt hes letters or thinks. Peepel kawls and arsts four him, and 1 gent ad a napintmint and wors verry putt hout hat nott fynden hem. Mi weaks kash nott to ‘and as korsed fleawn- wenence wich my ‘usband’s hilnes maks Worst, hand munny lade howt likwa: Your “umble survent, “Mrs. TILTON. The unexplained absence of a briefless barrister from his chambers might in some cases occasion anxiety, but having long ago summed up his nephew's character and conduct as erratic M>. Challoner was not easily alarmed, He was going to London in a week or two; so he sent the distressed laundress a sovereign on his nephew's ac- count, and told her he would call at the chambers in about a fortnight, by which time Mr. Desborough would no doubt have returned. Even the fact that he had not sent for his luggage awakened no unpleasant suspicions, for the luggaxe consisted only of a good- sized Gladstone bag containing the young man's night gear, and the suit of clothes im which he had arrived at the vicarage. He had come for a couple of nights only, on purpose for the heiress’ ball. SCENE IV—THE MANNOR HOUSE. On the very day she received the letter from the laundress Mrs. Challoner made her ceremonial call at the menor, the visit of a nd who, having refused the invita- emed herself not the less beholden. good should I be at a dance, Laura?” she said, when Miss Hanbury re- proached her for her absence. “I am not wanted as a chaperon while my girls are in the nursery. I could only be @ useless con- sumer of the atmosphere.” “Oh, but we had plenty of atmosphere. We could have spared you the proper allow- ance of cubic feet, and we had nice rooms and comfortable chairs for our non-dancing friends. I was dreadfully disappointed at not having you and the vicar.” Miss Hanbury was almost alone in the world, and had all the independence of a young woman brought up by governesses and trustees, and never having known pa- rental authority. | ment, th “You had our nephew, and he is a good dancer. T think you had the best of the bargain,” said Mrs. Challoner, smilingly. There had been playful odds and ends of flirtation between the heiress and Harold, and it was the viear’s opinion that the young :nan, by taking pains, might make himself partner in Aliss Hanbury’s splendid fertune, but then this young man was a person who never could be depended on to take pains about anything, and a young men So bereft of common’ sense that he was not even desirous of marrying an heiress, “Your nephew was very little use to us,” the young lady answered, blushing a littie as she spoke of him: “for after two or three dances he contrived to elude us all. Mum- mie rin after him,” smiling at the faithful old governess, “and I scolded him, but he wouldn't let me lead him to the sacrifice, though there were really pretty girls siiting | smiling at vacancy and waiting for part- ners—xirls in new frocks ordered on pur- yose, for my ball. I felt myself responsi- ‘That is not like Harold,” said Mrs. Challoner. “No, it isn’t a bit like him, I'm afraid he was feeling awfully ill, I don't think he liked that friend of his coming uninvited, | though he said it was quite in accord with colonial manners.” ‘A friend of Harold's at your dance! Yes, somebody from Australia—Queent land, I think, he said. T forget the person’: name—indeed I don’t think I heard it prop- erly, for Mr. Desborough looked rather flur- ried when he introduced him and didn't speak very distinctly. A tall, handsome looking man, sunburnt, middle-aged. No doubt you know him?* “I don't think I do. T don’t recall any colonial friend of Harold's. Well. No? it don’t matter a bit, only appearance in that—colontal— ¥. spoilt your nephew's evening. They in the conservatory together talking.” “They were in the supper room together, and I'm told the colonial gentleman drank half a bottle of brandy,” said the old gov- erness, without looking up from her knit- ting. “Rutler’s gossip, mummie. to listen to such nonsense, Miss Hanbury. Mrs. Challoner was stricken with shame. Her nephew's appearance at the ball, which should have been a turning point in his des- tiny—which might, ought, could, should have led to such a grand result—had been a flasco. He had introduced a brandy drink- ing Australian. How could Harold have done such a thing? “I can’t imagine who the man could be, or what could have induced Harold to take such a liberty,” she said, with troubled brow. Dh, but it wasn't Mr. Desborough’s lib- erty. Pray don't worry about it, dear Mrs. Challoner; and don't on any account men- tion the nonsense to your nephew when you next see him. The man was evidently an old acquaintance. T did not see them go, but Iam told they left together. There was something rather grand in the man's ap- pearance, and he looked anything but a vul- garian!” till {t was a great impertinencs ‘No, no, no, dear Mrs, Challoner, only co- lonial. You oughtn’t remonstrated ee ee eee ‘The vicar went to London in the following week. Nothing had been heard of Harold Desborough at his chambers. No one whom the vicar knew, or knew of, in London, as an acyuaintance of his nephew's, had seen the young man since the date of Miss Han- bury’s ball. Nor to this day has the young man been seen or heard of at Fairfield or in London. Investigations were made. The landlord of the George told all he had to tell of the hiring of the fly overnight, and the ghastly condition in which it was found afterward. ‘The driver's story was told, and the dyke was searched for the missing man, but beside the mile and a half of dyke that bordered the road, there was the wide ex- panse of fen beyond it, and there was the running water below the bridge with many a deep hole where murder might He hidden till the day of judgment The vicar and his wife tried to persuade themselves that Harold Desborot:zh had for some sufficient reason chosen to abandon his friends and his country, and had ac- companied the unknown guest of the tall to the other side of the world. The fact that he had left all his goods and chatt in his chambers might prove nothing ex- cept that this disappearance of his was of the nature of a flight. He had done some- thing—got himself entangled in some finan- clal_web—gambling, bill-discounting, who knows? thing about her from her comb bag to her | | lady who had been invited to an entertain- | | Correspondence of The Evening Harold was always erratic.” And the ghastly witness of the carriage’ A quarrel, a scuMe—an accident of no im: portance, perhaps. EPILOGUE. From James Heron, Brisbane, to Sir John Biake, Barberry, Hereford: “Dear Sir John—Do not think me un- grateful for leaving England without seeing you and Lady Blake, or thanking you both in person for your goodness to my poor girl. I was only three weeks in my native country, where everything lookel strange and unfriendly, and where I was too un- happy to meet the face of an old friend. “I found my daughter—alone—in a Lon- don lodging, broken-hearted, @ life spoilt. a name blighted. Not your fault, my good friend, nor Lady Blake's. You both did all that friendship could do when you trans- ferred my poor child from the excellent school where she was happy and weil- cared for to the country vicarage, where she would haye been just as happs,and] just as safe, if it had not been for— + “Perhaps you can guess the rest, which I can’t write. “You know something of my temper. and something of my views, about the right of every man to settle certain debts in his own way. “The man who broke her heart will break no more hearts. “She knows nothing except that she is here in a new world with a father who idolizes her, and whose sole ta: in life henceforward is to make her forget the it. “God bless you and yours, “Good-bye, J3.H” —s PUSSIES THAT ARE HOMELESS. Where Cats Find Refuge From Boys and Dogs. Safety POTTSTOWN, PA., September 6, 1893. In this town, where broad-brimmed the- ology still casts a benevolent shade, a refuge for cats is one of the charitable in- stitutions. In this establishment all sorts and conditions of pussies are nursed and cared for, irrespective of age, sex or re- ligion. A comfortable middle-aged woman 1s the matron and physician in charge, while a small girl is employed as assistant. Boys are not allowed; they excite the cats. So sympathetic is the matron’s nature, so tender and skillful her hands, that she = a large outside practice in addition to her hospital work. ‘The worst maimed cat is carried in a basket softly lined; little kittens are conveyed to the institution in the pockets of the superintendent, while the wounded are bound up with a magic salve spread on rags. Broken legs are set in splints, while the animals, whose backs are broken, are put out of their agony with chloroform’ and decently interred. Shy kittens are held by the nape of the neck while a dab of butter is put upon each of their feet. Then they are set down in @ corner to lick their paws and refiect. By the time the butter and cheerful refiec- tions are absorbed, the little ones show re- newed confidence in human nature by tro:- ting up to the matron and demanding more butter. One room is entirely given up to the hospital ward. Ingenious little hammocks rest the broken bones and suffering bodies, while a strong odor of catnip fills the air. But catnip ts by no means the only medi- cine employed. In fact, the matron as- serts that it serves rather as a tonic than as an absolute cure. She professes to know much of herbs and decoctions of myster- fous properties. ‘Tiny kittens, too young to lap milk, are fed by means of a glass eye- dropper.’ In the same manner catnip tea is administered to them. It is a plan to be recommended for use by persons who are obliged to bring up motherless cats by hand from extreme infancy. Convalescents in the institution described are cared for on a sunny porch, a wire netting prevent- ing exciting visits from strange and healthy cats in neighboring yards. hrough all this kind treatment tke cat nature seems to remain unchanged: not- withstanding the matron’s assertion that her patients are very “huming in their feel- ings.” From time to time they make their escape into the outside world through a hole in the back fence. Sometimes such adventurers are returned in the hospital basket, one-eyed, no-tailed, and in one in- stance lacking a paw. With tears in her eyes the matron told of the tragic end of one handsome Mattese, which she had ‘ought up from kittenhood. Said sh t were a beautiful cat, but bad. When he got big enough he would squeeze out under the gate and stay away nights. There were a sick lady about a block away, and Tom would go and yeil under her window. One night her husband got mad and threw a rock at him. It knocked him off ihe fence, and he died.” ‘The institution takes In boarders, though with some reluctance, because, as the matron says, the boarding pussies “zives themselves airs end stirs un the other cats.” But the boarders pay well, and good mousers are rented out, while many cat lovers relieve the home of pretty kittens. The establishment was originally endowed by an old lady with a sum of money sufh- cient for its support, and it receives occ: sional donations. Small sums are con- tributed by little girls, who have been be- reaved of beloved pussies, but the small boys seem to send their pennies further on. — Jast How Sweet From the Pomona Progress. It has been shown by analy: young person weighing 154 poun bosed of % pounds of water, 3 pounds of white of egg, a little less than one pound of pure glue, 341-2 pounds of fat, 81-4 pounds of phosphate of Iime, one pound of cartonate of lime, 3 ounces of sugar and starch, 7 ounces of flouride of calcium, 6 ounces of phosphate of magnesia, and a little ordinary table salt. Think of it young man! That beautiful young lady whom you worship as a. pillar of unadul- terated sweetness doesn’t contain three ounces of sugar. PESTS OF FARMERS. Wild Animals of America Exhibited at the Fair. ee A GOVERNMENTAL COLLECRON Tillers of the Soil All Over the Coun- try Are Interested. Sine APPEARANCE AND HABITS. — + CHICAGO, Sept. 13, 1893. HAVE SEEN TO- day all the animals on four feet that I ever met with on my farm in thirty years,” said a farmer, who is visiting the world’s fair, to the corres- pondent of ‘The Star. He might have ad- ded that he had seen more, for the exhibit he had been inspect- >" ing. contains all the chief wild antmals that bother or please the farmers of the United States from ocean to ocean. It is found in the Agricultural Department in the government building, and is just the other side of the partition on which are hung the portraits of the Department of Justice. Let us see, then, what all these animals are, re- membering that they include the ones that the agriculturalists all over America are most interested in, A big case brings before you at a glance the representative animals of North Amer- ica from a are the four-toed Tat, a strange looking creature, that sits on his haunches Australian kangaroos do, and, “f he were jive, wor jump in the same way. as large as these rats are the pocket and scorpion mice and cliff mice. There ts a Sroup, too, of desert wood rats, rusty-look- ing fellows that are making a light und wholesome diet of of branches of deal ¥cod. Ground squirrels are here too. The upper Sonoran zone shows ra is and mice, too, and here one sees the fine eray fox that abounds in the country districts south of Washington, where he is consid- ered an animal sacred from the shot gun of every real sportsman. What ts known as the Transition zone shows chipmunks as its ebief characteristic and the Boreal zone Squirrels, chipmunks and the ubiquitous rat. Some of these animals belong to Mexico properly and others to Canada. Leave then and In the next cases you will come upon our own production. Nearly every one has seen the American red fox, which appears together with a jarge cayote wolf. The former makes his home over nearly ail the United States, | when he is not hunted to extermination by hounds and horsemen; but he will not live on the desert lands of the west, and he sel- dom goes into the southern portions of the gulf states. The cayote, on the other hand, Iikes the desert lands, and confines himself to the regions west of the Mississipp| val- ley. The red fox eats skunks, rabbits, squirrels, mice, birds and eggs, and when he can get into a hen house he works as much havoc as an Uncle Remus himself. A young lamb is not safe from him either. ‘The wretched cayote eats what he can get, and the harmless sheep are his favorite prey. It is hard enough to catch a fox, but to catch a cayote is well nigh tinpossible, ind the consequence ts that their destruc: ion is usually wrought by poison. who have been across the plains nave ales the cayote, perhaps, from the window of the rafiroad car. He pauses upon a little mound of earth and looks with a certain cowardly curiosity at the passing train. His tafl hangs down behind him, and there in @ cunning and furtive look about him that stamps him at once as a mean beast. The Specimen at the world's fair is represented in his meanest attitude—dragging down a helpless, unresisting sheep. ‘The Lynx a wu Cat. The cayote ts not a fighier, and bis as- pect is cowardly, but the Canada lynx, which is found not alone in Canada, but in the extreme northern part of the United States, looks as intrepid and formidable al- most as a tiger. He is about as large as a bolnter dog, is rough coated and his erect ears are ornamented with white tufts of fur. He is a little larger than our own wild cat, which is found in most of the forests of the eastern, southern states. There used to be terrible stories about these wild cats, and it Is probable that no other beast of the same size has such tremendous fighting qualities. It is not that they like to fight, or will do so if they can help it, but’ when they do fight they fight in a whole-souled ay. They have terrible claws and mouths, and have been known to tear an antagonist iterally almost to shreds. It used to be considered the highest boast of personal strength on the frontier for a man to say he could “whip his weight in wild cate,” and it is probable that no man ever lived who could do it with nature's weapons. The wild cats shown by the Agricultural De- partment are large, fine specimens, and ought to be quite sufficient to Satisfy the curiosity of an ordinary visitor, Next to the wild cate is an ocelot. which is, In appearance, nothing more nor less than a ilttie leopard. He ts not quite so large as the wild cat. The only farmers: Who suffer from his depredations are those who have the misfortune to live in the | dition most southern part of Tex: The Familiar Opossu t ‘There is something in the sight—indeed, | this is sald to be duc to the in the mere name—of the opossum that | is no | | is one that had better a be avoided under any, Pocket Gophers. Among the genuine farmer's pests that are shown are the pocket gophers, which are such a nuisance to the Mississippi val- sey in their injury to growing crops, There is also a select lot of rabbits—the Texas jack rabbit that loves the desert lands of the great basin and great plains end the commoner cotton tail rabbit. which sbounds all over the United States, toratchie 008 sport to many peuple. and thus far committing but little serious injury. It would be well to look out for this ipnocent tte fellow. In Australia he has everrum the earth and is the greatest nuisance and most dangerous pest in all telan: There are, besides, grou os "i ‘rte dogs, but the animal: imerated 5 ¥ Is enw Frere are the chict omen —_— CHICAGO'S JANE CLUB, From the New York Sun. When an eastern woman, for whom ne Jane Club exists, sits Gown to write about the one out west in Chicago she doesn’t know where to begin. It is such @ fairy- Mike tale of impossible good things made possible. The club was named after Miss Jane Adams, the well-known and well-be- loved founder of Hull House. She obtained the house, a big double one on @ quiet, shady street, and she got it at a Fent. Then, as godmother of the project, she furnished it foom basement to garret. ‘There are about forty lucky young women, who belong to the club. A candidete m | be backed up by the written puacentes of two members, and, this afM@davit having been accepted, she must receive two- thirds vote of ‘all the members of the club. Afaire ‘are in the hands of «president ice it. Tecording secretary, treas- urer, librarian and last and ; Jarge laundry basement. The club employs a cook for | & week, and two housemaids for S # |each. At the table are served the best Toasts, the juiclest stenks and chops, the choicest fruits and puddings and cakes, and the lightest biscuits. ‘The steward dors the marketing and ts very important persone age. ‘The members must be unmarried. or else widows without smali children. The age Limit ts from eighteen to forty-five There is one person living in the club house . This is the sixty-year-old mother of on and she is chaperon and coddler for the en- tire household. This ix not a club of ol@ maids, sour o- otherwixe. The present members are all under twenty-eight year of age and are a well-dressed and company. They are stenographers, Writers, milliners, bookbinde-s, shoemakers and so on ‘The club members entertain as if were at home, which, in reality, they Small dances, informal musiceles casional receptions dc not disturb, liven the even tenor of the Jane Club's Naturally enough, the next thing t is that other Chicago you! i fore whose envious eyes the Jane Club sprung up and flourished, are about to ganize more clubs of the same patiern. ee A JEWELED TURTLE. i Liisi fi | 4F ‘The Extravagant Freak of « New Yor Millionaire. From the St. Louie Globe Democrat. In my journeyings over this fair land 2 have run across some very strange feds ine duiged in by people who have plenty of money ahd who have used it in the gratifi- cation of fancies that have not benefited the world in the Jeast, says a corfesponé- ent. I have met stamp collectors and pug dog fanciers; men with « mania for ac- cumulating walking canes. once I knew @ man who had spent hundreds of dollars getting up a collection of historical hats covering two centuries: but « jeweler Buffalo told me about a millionaire of vicinity who should certainly have highest pointed crown hat in my collection. About a month ago Honatre walked into a jewelers a common land turve or tortoise. had captured in the woods near by, on the counter and gave a moat order, remarking: “I'll give the something to talk about.” And he certainly did. for he ordered shell of the turtle to be encrusted outer edge with a heavy Etruscan finish. In the center of its At various points in the gold serted small but pure diamonds. sive silver chain was attached to At his magnificent country seat the erratie millionaire had constructel on his lawn @ reproduction in rocks, bushes and of the spot from which the torteise been taken. In this place, which the rich man calis a Sp yg highly @eco- rated reptile is permite to reem length of his silver ae ty a though the financial stringency struck this man of means. and his neigh- bors are now waiting for him to have the house of his cattle goid plated, hie he shod with silver and diamond drops » im the ears of his famy pi-s. — Marriage in Derm: From the Loudon Tins. A chapter in the Burmah census report, dealing with what is called the “ell come f the people, gives much imtereste ing information regarding marriage in thet county. From the tables merriars enprare 0 be much less common than tn Idi, bus uy re ‘id marriage among the Buddhiew iif makes a Washingtonian feel at home, for | 82d Nat-worshipers, who form the bulk of the ‘possum, as he is usually called, ts hunted very successfully in the country districts around the District of Columbia. There are several fine specimens in the ant: mal exhibit under consideration. The opos- sum ts found in the t the Great Lakes and pi. He eats anything, mons best, grows tremendously fa! eating himself. America is the only coun- try that possesses the opossum, big island, Australia. Raccoons. His companion is the raccoon, and the Agricultural Department shows together. It is strange to know that rac- coons and bears are similar in their hab- east of the Missinsip- but he low any one who has ever hunted the raccoon must have a very imperfect idea of what bear hunting ts. ‘There is hardly a portion of America where there are no raccoons, and they are identified with the earliest dis- covertes. When the settlers of the territory bordering on the Gulf the land, they saw with these creature: looked ike cats, so they called the Cat Island. Raccoons is good, includ! garden, and they do some damage in the chicken yard, but they are really not pests. Weasel and Mink. Another animal shown the weasel, which is 80 extremely cunning and shy that it ts seldom that one ts ever captured. In summer a weasel is of a fine deep brown, but in winter he grows white as snow They live all over the northern part of the United States, and in ought ever to kill om very prey, but n island that w: black place at everything that good fricnd. Mice are his especial dhe kilis them not only to eat, use of the sport. He will, thus, possibly devour, and leave those he does not want behind. When he gets very hun- gry or is particularly reckless he will kill a hen. He Js not more than a fifth as larg: but he fastens himself to the side of the fowl, and soon brings her down. Larger than the weasel, but imilar to it, part of North America, but the mink Is most destructive to poultry, and slays right and left from sheer love of it. When caught often does some damage before he gives in. case with the weasels. several skunks. not left long in ignorance of the fact. ‘They are not fighters or biters, but even the most except the | northern the two | ma wg the sweet corn in your | mese have ¢ slaughter a great many more than he can|has divorced his wives too freely is the mink, which is found in the greater | characterizes both sexes. the ilativun. Moreover, in Burma mar Hage ts generally the result of mutual af t jon between the pertios afer they have ed years of discretion, On the other hand, marriage common there tham in European countries, for the tie Is more ited States south of | easily formed and move easily dissolved, While motives of prudence have mot the persim- | same weight. Destitution is almost um= and in the fall of the vear he! known, and the wants of Mi fae tem- and is very good | perate climate of Burmeh are more ea: satisfied than in the colder couwtries urope, A young Rurmese cou- ple can start life with « de ont « eooking- pot. The universal bambeo supplies ma- te-ials for building the house, lighting the fire, carrying the water from the well, an@ to compose the dinner tteelf. The wife Is usually share in supporting the househol its, and even slightiy so in appearance, but | *he has gradually acquired & positign of im- Zependence not always enjoyed by mat ried women elsewhe-e. It has been decided that, under the ancient Buddhist custom prevailing in Burmah, a husband cannot alienate property jointly acquired efter marriage without the consent of iis wife, Few marriages take place where either of Mexico sailed for | pazty is under fifteen, and the usual age te between fifteen and twenty-five. Polygamy At a distance they | now practically no longer exists, @ithough in ancient times the Durmese were polyga- mists as well as slave holders. Most Bur- one wife, and few mere than two. ‘The first, or head wife, is usually the choice of the husband in his youth, an@ when she ceases: have children ehe often assists in the choice of a young wife, whe is bound to obey her. The ease with which ivorce is obtained is suid to be one of the causes why polygamy is so rare. ‘The te-me of divorce are based on ancient rvles, one of which is that the party wishing the sepa- ration can take his or her property and no more; the other party takes all the rest, in= Canada. No one {cluding the children. The safeguard against for he is the farmer's | caprice in husbands is not merely publie opinion, which condemns too frequent @i- vorces, but the self-respect of women, which prevents them from marrying a man whe privilege of perfect freedom in this respect is said to be rarely abused. Divorce ts very rare, a fact attributable equally, per- haps, to the high position occupled by wo- men in Burmese soctety. the care with which marriage contracts are entered into and the extreme evenness of temper whid? e+ ——__ Pretty Bad Pictare. by a dog the mink fihts desperately, and | Strah Grand tp the Bumunttorine. For vulgarity, for boldness, fer foNy, There are several fine minks in the same | Ignorance, want of principle, petty weak- Next to them are | ness. intrigue and positive vice, yeu must These animals are siso | €o to the average society woman. to be found all over the United States, | motive is self-recking. She is a bad wife, When one actually runs across one he Is |a bad mother and a false friend. Her one tellect she has and cunning: jor religion, a rotven eon- intrepid dog will be almost paralyzed by | glomerate of emotional superstitions thet the overpowering odors that a skunk por sesses as his weapons of defense, Yet do not improve her conduct: for the hope of not being found out; skunks are a boon to agriculturists. They | charity. good feeling. modesty and every eat mice. grasshoppers and similar things | womaniy attribute, she substitutes fact—the that ought to be exterminated. It tsa very tact to respond outwardly to what she disagreeable task to destroy a skunk, and sees is required of ber by different poopie,