Evening Star Newspaper, November 4, 1893, Page 18

VG STAR: WASHINGTON, D. C., SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 4, 1893-TWENTY PAGES. FARM HOUSE. WITH THE DUNKARDS A Visit to the Old Church in the Antietam Valley. THE RELIGIOUS RITES. Interesting Characteristics of These Peculiar People. THEY ARE THRIFTY FARMERS. Written Evening Star. a HE OLD DUNKARD Church in the beauti- ful valley of the An- tietam lands on a slight eminence near the fork of the Boonsboro pike and the East Woods road, in the town of Sharps- burg. It ts a plain, Square, one-story building with the doors and windows Set in in such a regu- lar way that they stand as a silent reproach to the congrega- tions who seek to worship in churches where the exterior shows triumphs tn archi- tecture and the interiors are a study of Modern luxury. Around the chureh is a scattered grove of oaks, and to these are fastened the teams ef the worshiping Dunkards. The vehicles are of the pattern usually found in farming communities, none of them have been se- lected with an eye to smartness or style— @urability and strength are the primary considerations. The wagon seats, in many were covered with undressed calf or sheepskin—in one wagon I noticed a two gallon keg of drinking water, which the @river had brought with the recollection of the fact that there is no good drinking ‘water near the church. Waddling around among the horses was @ litter of seven black forlorn looking pigs. 3 = The Dunkard Church. I counted the number because I was think- ing of Pharaoh's dream and the seven lean kine at the time. The pigs and the horses seem to be on amicable terms and old ac- quaintances. ‘When the writer visited the church on a Deautiful Indian summer Sunday the con- gregation were singing a familiar hymn. ‘The interior consisted of a room about thir- ty feet square; the floor was of smooth boards that had been scrubbed until their whiteness equaled the whiteness of the floors of the historical Dutch kitchens: the walls were without paper, fresco or kalso- mine; the white plaster walls were without ornament or decoration of any kind. The ‘windows, of which there were eight, were Without curtains or shades, no stained glass Zz WASH DAY AM or ground glass in the windows to tone and soften the sunlight, which shone through the clean glass without hindrance. feats were plain wooden benches with a Barrow straight board for a back which would prove a stumbling block to the long or short worshipers; those of metium height could lean back and thank their| Dirth star that they were not as some other toe long or too short. It is needless say that the seats were without cushions. Such an innovation would no doubt breed in the midst of the humble worship- ers, to whom the four bare walls embody everything necessary in a church in which te worship God, who is no respecter of ‘The church is entirely destitute of a pul- “ patert: acu Church. pit or pulpit furni The preacher is not even given the prominence of having a faised platform on which to stand while he ONG THE DUNKARDS. The | addresses his audience. His bench is as hard and as cushionless as any of those in his audience. He has a long, narrow table or desk in front of him, on which is placed his Bible, hymn book, an earthen pitcher of water. His bench and desk face the audience; this is the only distinction that his office affords. The office of preacher is an elective office, and the electors are the church of which he is a member. The office is for life—if the duties are performed satisfactorily, but the salary, here is the incentive that is wholly lacking—in the Dunkard Church the preacher is expected to serve the church without salary or reward except that which comes to one who fs conscious of an ear- nest effort to do good. Three Divisions. In the church were some forty worship- ers, the female portion of which were seated on one side, and the male portion on the opposite side of the church. The sisters seemed to be divided into two classes, the uniformed and the ununiformed. I noticed that those who wore the regulation Dunker garb were seated in one of the amen cor- hers near the preacher. Those who were dressed after the sinful fashion of this world sat apart. The cut of the garments of the sisters are of the same sober Quakerish pattern that was used generations ago, but in the ma- terial the ambitious Dunkeress finds an opportunity to make her less forutnate sis- ters turn green with envy, and it is often the case that the rich material represents the outlay of more money than the most fetching tailor-made gown has cost the fashion-worshiping sinners. It is related that a servant girl, upon her conversion to the Dunkard faith, was or- dered, as one of the evidences of her con- version, to don the Dunkard garb. She plead poverty as an excuse, and asked per- mission to wear, for a little time, her sinful straw hat, which cost seventy-five cents— but the sister who wore a sik hood costing over $7 ventured the remark that the newly converted was still longing after the fiesh pots of Egypt. The brethren of the congregation dress much after the fashion that prevails among the well-to-do farmers, in every farming community. Years ago the correct style was to wear coats fastened by hooks and eyes instead of buttons, to shave the up- per lip, and have the hair cut after the pattern formed by placing a milk crock on the head and cutting away all the hair not covered by the crock—but all these dis- tinctive characteristics of dress have pass- ed away, and while the Dunkard brother of today dresses plainly, there is little about his appearance that would indicate the brotherhood to which he belongs. The singing is without the leadership of an organ or precentor—it is congregational and independent; there is no stern-eyed chorister to browbeat the singers into the | adoption of some standard of time of his | own selection. Each singer feels his or her | own importance in the proper rendition of | the sacred song, and proceeds to do his level | best without thought Of the ‘other singers. | One quavering, soprano voice was heard | above all the rest, one metallic tenor fol- lowed for half a line In unison and then | struck out boldly into the unknown ethics | of free upper thought. After the singing the preacher offered prayer. There was much of earnestness and but little thought of rhetorical pauses or finely formed sentences in the prayer; it was the simple st of man’s needs, poured into the ear of a sympathetic Creator. The whole congregation knelt. The prayer ended, the worshipers remained upon their knees; a solemn hush pervaded the little church; then an aged brother commenced | the recital of the Lord’s prayer, siowly and reverently the words dropping from his lips. | I have heard many renowned pulpit orators, |I have listened to some of the best actors of the day, but as compared with the re- cital of the Lord’s prayer by the aged Dunkard brother the pulpit orators and the | actors have as yet only learned the alphabet of expression in the school in which the old man is so proficient. The sermoh was preached without any reference to any written notes or headings, as the Dunkards do not believe in the prac- tice of writing sermons, claiming that the inspiration to preach should be forthcoming at the time andto suit the purposes of the occasion. The sermon was a plain matter- of-fact talk. There was no attempt at flights of oratory, nor struggle for effective sounding sentences, but a plain interpreta- tion from the preacher's standpoint of the meaning of the Scripture from which the text had been chosen and its personal ap- plication to the every-day life of his hear- ers. Throughout the sermon the attention of the audience was invariably good. After the close of the sermon the preacher an- nounced the services for the week in the different parts of the town. The aged Dunkard who had acted as an assistant to the preacher offered the clos- ing prayer, the preacher followed by re- iting the Lord's prayer and then the con- sregation was dismissed. There was no col- ion taken. The omission of this usual aportant part of worship was quite noticeable. After being dismissed the congregation ered for a short time, and discussed s of interest with neighbors whom y have not met since the last service, snd then the church was deserted. The windows were securely fastened down, the -hutters closed, the doors locked, and the ms unhitched from the grove of oaks, yn the different teams were driven away in a sober way, highly appropriate for the Sabbath. The Love Feast. The Dunkards date back to the sixteenth century, when they Were called the German Baptists. Some of their church ceremonies are peculiarly their own, especially the love feast, followed by the washing of feet. At these love feasts the men and the women sit spart, as at the usual services. After the partaking of the love feast basins of water and towels are brought, and on each side of the church the washing of feet is commenced. This ceremony is confined to the members of the church, although at some portions of the love feast all are in- vited to partake. The brother who com- mences the ceremony washes one foot of the brother next to him and salutes him with a kiss, the brother who las thus been washed and kissed then per- forms the same office for the brother next to him, and this course is followed until all have been waited upcn, the same line of action is pursued by the sisters of ‘the church. “How 4d) you manage when you come to @ person in the church that you don’t like?” was asked of ister concerning this cere- mony. “Oh,’ replied, ‘we always man- age to sit beside some one we are on good terms with.” So it seems that there are rsons from whom the great lesson of umility has not entirely leavened the spirit of caste and wordly preference, Dunkard Characteristics. Aside from the peculiarities of dress ond church ceremonies the Dunkards have other characteristics which identify them in the community in which they reside— they are usually very thrifty and their farms are well cultivated. Brawls and dissensions among them are rare, they do not seek for political preference and in some localities it is extremely difficult to induce them to go to the polls to vote, even during the most heated political excitement. Some have been known to visit the polling precincts and vote and then return with- out waiting to learn the results of their vote or remain long enough to see whether the candidate of their choice could be elect- ed by their remaining for another ballot. They have discharged their duty by voting once and are then ready to wash their hands of all responsibility in the matter and go home to the more congenial occu- pations of the farm. The Dunkards as a class are strictly tem- perate; their lives are as quiet as the hills and valleys about their farms. While they take but little interest in the manazement of the affairs in the communities in which they live they are good citizens and man- age to live without helping to support law- yers or courts of justice. Of late years the boundaries, which sepa- rate them from their neighbors have been somewhat broken down—the plain’ Quaker- ish garb is considered a yoke of bondage by the younger generation, the manner of has become so much modified by the class who seem to be able to think for themselves, that it is safe to say that not one-half of the church membership wear the Dunkard garb. Their close proxirnity to other religious bodies has somewhat broken into their church membership, and many of the younger Dunkards have left the church in which they were reared and al- Ned themselves to other churches which seem to them less exacting in the pre- requisites of church membership. Wash Day. The next day being Monday, and conse- quently wash day, I managed to get eround somewhat through the beautiful valley cf the Antietam, to take a look at the Dun- kard farms. The well-tilled fields and over- flowing barns everywhere bore witness to the industry and prosperity of this thrifty class; indeed, a Dunkard farmer who is not prosperous would be a curiosity, if not an exception or impossibility. Their suc- cess seems to be due to the wise selection of farming lands, their untiring industry, and simple, frugal manner of living. The same rules followed by other formers would without doubt yield the same degree of prosperity, and help to solve the prob- lem: “Does farming pay?" An Interview With the Preacher. A visit to the Dunkards wouid not be complete without a chat with the preacher (the term minister or pastor is not used), so I managed to find an excuse for calling upon the preacher to whose sermon I had listened the Sunday before. I found him at work upon the little farm, for he is a farmer, and soon was enguged in conversation with him. Our talk soon At Antietam ford. turned upon the church service of the day before, and he half apologetically, said he was not so weil prepared as he shouid have been, as it was expected another preacher would preside, but having been called away to attend a funeral there was no other choice, but to preach himself. I expressed myself as highly pleased and instructed by his sermon, and then he told me o manner in which his sermon was prep a “I always select my text early He said: in the week, and then by the of my Bible and Concordance, study carefully all passages of Scripture relating to the sub- ject selected. All the week while at my work I keep my mind upon the subject of my sermon, and try so far as possible to learn exactly what it means, and its lesson and application to ourselves. Then on Sun- day I try to tell the church what the Bible has told to me on the subject.” “Do you have theological schools and seminaries?” I asked. “No,” he replied, “our preachers are se- lected by a vote of the church; formerly we were not in favor of a liberal educa- tion, but we see the pulpits of other churches supplied with men specially edu- cated for the ministerial work, and we Tecognize the fact that we must educate our children or we shall constantly lose ground—so we are starting schovis for the higher education of our young peopie, and believe that every one should be educated well enough so that if elected to preach we will have the benefits of a well-trained mind. We believe that a thorough know edge of the Biby is of itself a liberal edu- cation, and tht to preach the truth one must first clearly and thoroughly under- stand that which he attempts to preach After this we believe in teaching the truch by the mind that has been educated, so that the preacher may be well equipped to preach in a manner that will be accepta- ble to his hearers.” “Do you think the Dunkard character- istics of a few years ago will finally dis- appear?” I asked. “I do,” he said, “so far as the peculiari- ties of dress are concerned, but the church ceremonies will probably remain unchan. ed. To us they have their value as ob- ject lessons of the life of humility which is taught by the Bible. But our people are becoming more liberal every year by con- tact and comparisons with other denomt- rations, and we cannot foresee w changes twenty years may bring to one. CHARLES E. IRMA e+ — SOUTHERN SPORTSMEN, Brought Up to Ride, Shoot, Tell the Truth and Know Good Whisky From Baa. From Frank Leslie's Monthly. Next to his wife, before even his horse or his dog, each man in the old south of them loved and cared for his gun. In at least half the modern households there is a tradition of some ancestor who scorned to kill a wild turkey otherwise than with a rifle bullet in the neck, or shot wild geese flying so high as scarcely to be visible; or at the shooting matches of his day would put six bullets in a silver half-dollar at fifty yards and finish | with a seventh exactly in the middle of them. Naturally, among folk of such lin- eage, “to ride, to shoot, to tell the truth,” is in large part “the education of a gentle- man.” Additionally it is well to be able to “read, write and cast accounts,” to dance reels and cotillions, to know good whisky from bad and use without abusing it and to make love decently to the nearest pretty face. so A Rich Idea. yi" said Reginald, “I've an idea for a charade, don’t you know. Tommy Van- derbut and I could stand up with my men in between us. Nobody’d ever guess that we were mountains, with a valley ip be- tween, eh?’ BURGLARS THREE. James Harviy Smith in the New York Mail and Express. —_—__—_ 8S A USUAL THING, f when they cracked a crib, one of the three remained outside to warn with a whistle, or some other pre- viously concerted sig- nal, his companions inside. But on this occasion when Jim Baxter opened the simple catch that fastened the wood- shed door, and thence gained access to the interior of the house, Wilson Graham and Harry Montgomery followed after him. This breach of burglarious custom was probably due to the fact that the Braith- wait mansion was in the suburbs, some dis- tance from the road, and several hundred yards from the nearest house. Once inside, Mr. Graham lighted the gas, and it was then the work of a very few minutes to open the sideboard and subtract therefrom the family silver and place it in @ beg brought for that purpose. While this operation was taking place, Montgomery made a tour to the upper rooms. “I-don’t exactly like to trust Harry up- stair: remarked Baxter in a surly tone, after he had securely tied the mouth of the bag. “He is too soft. Like as not he'll go and git sentimental over a picture or some- thin’, or maybe git a-thinkin’ of his mother and leave half the ornyments.” Graham, who had just opened a pearl- inlaid secretaire, and was possessing him- selt of numerous valuable trinkets, laughed Soilly as he replied: “I don’t think so, Jim. Only yesterday 1 gave the boy a good talking to, and he promised to attend strictly to business in future. You must remember he is young, ard, unless we give him a chance, how 1s he to learn? Of course, if there was @ young girl in the house—but there isn’t,’* he added quickly, observing the wrathfui frown on his companion’s face. “I made certain that the only people who sleep in the house are Mr. Braithwait and the housekeeper, who is rather old and nearly @eaf; the rest of the family are in Florida for their health. If braithwait makes a disturbance 1 reckon Harry can settle him without any sentimental nonsense. “id settle him,” muttered Baxter surlily. “You're a savage, Jim,” said Graham re- eroachtully. “How often have I told you (bat there is no virtue in violence. Haven't i convinced you that the easy way is the sate way?” “Yah! Don’t give me no more of that!” said Baxter contemptuousiy. “I ain't no missionary.” At this juncture, when the argument threatened to develop into quarrel, peace was restored by the reappearance of the young burglar, carrying a considerable Quantity of jewelry, loose and in boxes, while he softly whistled “M’Appari.” “Not a bad haul,” observed Graham, turning over the plunder as it lay on the table. ““I'wo watches?” “They're them little tickers what the wirls carry,” said Baxter scornfully. “We w wet & apiece for ‘em.” . “Won't we, though,” said Graham, smil- ing. “They are goid, and there is an in scription on each; that means a fancy re. ward, or I don’t know human feminine na- ture. Two brooches, a necklace—h’m—h'm 'y good, indeed.”” here was no money,” remarked Harry, adjusting his necktie before the mirror, ang giving his small blond mustache a curl. “I expected as much,” commented Gra- ham, stowing away the trinkets in his potkets. “Braithwait has a hundred with him, I dare say, but it isn’t worth the risk. if we kill a man in the city it’s soon for- gotten, but in the suburbs it creates a reg- ular panic. The neighbors hire detectives and follow a man all over creation, and you can’t buy them off or compromise the mat- ter—money is no object. That's why I keep telling Jim—" “Let up, will ye! exclaimed Baxter, roughly. “I ain't killin’ anybody, am 1?” ertainly not; but 1 only say—” “Say nothin’! Where's the feed box?” Mr. Graham groaned and looked at his young accomplice in comical alarm. “I knew how it would be! Jim, these luncheons will be the ruin of us all some night.” “Can't help {t," retorted Baxter, doggea- ly. “It's a good four-mile walk from the city and as much back, and we hadn't anything but a snack for supper. A man's got to eat, and when I'm hungry——” “Well, well,” said the other, with a gest- ure of impatience, “if it must be, it must. Harry, see to the wine, and we will find the substantials. Now, Jim, do be careful of the dishes, and don’t grunt and puft while you're eating. It’s vulgar.” Jim Baxter grunted and puffed at this, but made no other reply as he busied him- self spreading the contents of the refrigera- tor on the dining room table, while Harry from the sideboard produced a decanter ct whisky and three bottles of claret. ‘There Was a nice piece of cold ham, some tongue, cheese and pickles, bread and butter, an- chovies and sardines, a bottle of olives and the remains of an oyster pie. “Quite a lay out,” remarked Baxter, with a@ ravenous chuckle. “D'ye remember the house at Barleytown, where there wasn’t nothin’ but graham crackers and winegar in the box “I should say so,” with a look of disgust. “Some people are too mean to liv marked Baxter savagely. “Come, over that decanter and let’s pitch in. gers, gents, ‘cause there ain't nothin’ but Silver knives and forks in this house, un- less I take ‘em out of the bag, which I ain't doin’. Here's luck!” “Excellent claret, Wilson,” said the young glar, holding his glass up to the light ‘Genuine Medoc,” returned Graham, with the air of connoisseur. “That’s the worst of this business; not one gentleman out of ten is a judge of wine. Now, the whisky—” “The whisky’s all right,” interrupted Baxter curtly. “All whisky’s good; some’s better'n others, but it’s all good. Blow claret!” “No style about Jim,” said Harry, with a smile that was half a sn “No, you bet there ain't, stolidly. You oughter call me ‘cause that’s Dickles.”” It was a most interesting sight. At the head of the table sat Graham, a smooth- faced, well-fed man of forty, who might have passed for a prosperous banker, or a man living cn an annuity; to his right re- lined, rather than sat, young Montgom- ‘ery, a spruce and slender fellow, with soft blue eyes, tremulous lips and light hair neatly brushed; while opposite Graham sat Baxter, a coarse, shaggy, grimy man of uncertain age, with small, ‘shifty eye: heavy beard and a general air of b strength. Had it not been for the fact that each man wore his hat, and that the bag of stolen goods lay on one corner of the table, it might have been taken for a stag exclaimed Graham, said Baxter, ‘Ol Business,” what I am. Pass them party, Graham personating the host to perfection. The resemblace was lost, however, a moment later. . The door leading to the back stairway, directly behind Jim Baxter, opened and revealed a spare man, with long blond whiskers, wearing gold eyeglass- es and a flowered dressing gown. Graham was the first to see the intruder, and his exclamation of astonishment caus- ed Baxter to turn his head. In an instant that worthy was on his feet, with a pistol in his hand. Graham was quicker, how- ever, and before his companion could raise the weapon he seized his arm and pushed him_ aside. No violence, Jim,” he said sternly. ‘I warn’t goin’ to shoot,” growled Jim. “I was only goin’ to give him a crack cn the head.” “I won't have it,” returned Graham, au- thoritatively. “Sit down.” Baxter put up his pistol and sat down. Graham then turned to the spare gentle- man, who had not moved from the doorway | during this episode. | “Mr. Braithwait, I presume?” “That is my name,” was the composed reply. “Burglars, I presume?” | “The presumption is correct. Will you | take a seat?” | Mr. Braithwait sat down opposite young Montgomery, to whom he bowed gravely. |'There was then a moment of silence, | broken by Graham, who had resumed his place at the head of the table. “Tam sorry,” said he, ou have made your appearance, as we can't very well apologize for our intrusion.” vo, I suppose not,” said Mr. Braithwait “Yet Iam rather pleased that T ‘ince I always enjoy an unusnal | smiling. | did come experienc “Glad you enjoy it,” muttered Baxter; but no one listened to him. “I was aroused by the reflection of the gaslight in the upper hall,” explained Mr. Braithwait, “and I supposed that the housekeeper had left it burning—she has done so more than once. I came down to extinguish ft. I heard voices in this room and I entered.” “at the risk of your life,” observed Gra- ham with a significant glance at Baxter, who had resumed eating. “I did not think of that,” said Mr. Braith- wait simply. “My life has been threatened so often—you know I am a railroad man— that I give little thought to the risk of an undertaking. Professionals I suppose?” He looked at Montgomery, who nodded nonchalantly and — @ cigarette, Mr. Braithwait coug! “I wish you wouldn't,” he said deprecat- ingly. “Apart from the looks I can’t bear cigarette smoke. There's @ box of very fi Conchas on the sideboard. Thank you”— to Graham—“if you will join me?—thank you again. Graham laughed with genuine enjoyment, yet without ity. “I like you,” he said frankly, “and I am sorry that, in the line of business—” He waved his cigar at the bag. “Of course, yes, of course, I know that can’t be helped Mr, Braithwait, smok- ing away easily, ‘and that’s another reason why I'm glad I came. I suppose you have in that bag some trinkets belonging to my wife and daughters that have a special value as mementos. I hear that you gentle- men are frequently forced to sell your plunder at a simply ruinous sacrifice, and it occurred to me that if we could come to some arrangement--you understand?” “Perfectly,” answered Graham. “It can be done, and I will open: negotiations at an early date. Provided, of course,” he added severely, “that you play fair. “That is understood. As a business man I accept the situation. My loss is your gain. At this the youngest burglar broke silence for the first time. “You are a philosopher,” he said, in a tone of admiration. ‘What sensible man is not?” responded Mr. Braithwait cheerfully. “I suppose it is capable of proof that the accumulated wisdom of the ancients amounts simply to the homely proverb, ‘What can’t be cured must be endured.’ My business is a sort of war, and I have my defeats as well as my victories. I must bear them both with equanimity.” ‘So is ours,” said the youngest burglar. ‘As Horace says in his ‘Epistles,’ ‘Caedi- mui totidem plagis consumimus hos- returned Mr. Braithwait, “to reply with Catullus, ‘Nil mihi tam valde Placeat, Rhamnu: ‘0, Quod temere in- vitis suscipiatur heri Montgomery flushed slightly, and Baxter growled an incoherent protest against ihe use of foreign languages. ‘Of course, I do not claim that I enjoy being robbed,” continued Mr. Braithwait, but I realize that it is not as bad as it might be. Last week you would have caught me with two thousand in cash in the house, and last month you would have horribly my, wife and daughters. “Not for worlds,” murmured Mr. Mont- gomery. “Well, you might have done so—women have such a detestation of robbers, except when they are in jail.The pleasure of your visit—I hinted that I could extract pieas- ures from adversity—lies in the fact that it brings me in have previously known only by hearsay suppose I may take it for granted you gen- tlemen are experts?” “We've been there before,” said Baxter, coarsely. ““If an experience of fourteen years Is any guarantee then I am an expert,” said Gra- ham, with a certain air of pride in his tones. “Our friend there,” nodding at Bax- ter, as, I believe, been in th Profession since childhood, ‘while Mr. '—indicating Montgomery with his cigz you'll excuse my not mentioning names?—is a beginner. A skilled workman, I admit, but this is only his second year. “I don’t wonder that he"—and Mr. Braithwait glanced lightly at Baxter—“re- mains in the business, but that you should follow the vocation for fourteen years sur- pris mee} greatly.” ndeed?” queried Grahi epil- ble stiftness, Why?" um ith percept “Because you appear to be &@ sensible man, and I should not think the business would pay. What is your annual income as @ burglar?” ‘On an average, I should say three thous- and a year. “And you are an expert! I receive six thousand @ year, and I am only assistant general freight agent, and have been but twelve years in the business» Then I may infer that these two gentlemen make much ort than three thousand?” “T’'ve seen the week when I didn’t make hod carrier's wages,” growled Baxter, who had now finished eating, and was prepar- yg smoke a black wooden pipe. “You're not so sensible as I tho vi joined Mr. Braithwait, frankly, eee oan: ly imagine a man exposin, himself to dread- ful dangers and cruel privations when there is @ great prize in view. An explorer like Stanley, a pioneer like Pike or Fremont, @ conqueror like Cortez, or a revolutionist like Washington, could well brave hardship ana peril when success meant wealth as well as the plaudits of their feliow men. The eary settlers of this and every other country, the gold hunters of 49, the Pirates who ravaged the seas, all were actuated by the hope of a fortune at one swoop, but to risk prison, to say nothing of life ao for a - laborer's wages—" “But” spoke up Montgomery, quickly, “there is fame, if not fortune: sides “Pardon me. In what way?” “In the usual way. Who has not heard of Hickey, the man who cracked twenty banks before they tripped him up; Peters, the New England cracksman; Browthers, the Chicago expert? “I hope,” said Mr. Braithwait, gently, “I won't offend you when I say I never heard of those gentlemen. “Is it possible! helene I never did.” You have surely heard of Red Leary?* can’t recall his name.” ‘George Post? Ludlum? Pete Mc- “Yes, I do, and I have a good memory. I can say without boasting that I have on my tongue’s end all the professional, lit- erary and artistic names in America, and many in Europe. In my library I have many biographies, but none of which a burglar is the theme, nor do I recall the names of a celebrated criminal, unless,” pleasantly, ie has been hanged. “Yet there are famous names in our Pro- fession,” persisted the young burglar, some- what sullenly. “Oh, yes,” admitted Mr. Braithwait, tak- ing a small drink of claret. “Literature has preserved Claude Duval, Jack Shep- herd, Dick Turpin—all hung—Fra Diavolo, who was shot, and even our own James and Younger boys; and I have heard vaguely of one Billy the Kid somewhere out west. In a general sense literature and the drama are saturated with bandits, brigands and outlaws, sometimes comical, sometimes heroic, but you will excuse me if I maintain that you stand on a different footing. Those fellows always had a poet- ical backing; somebody or something had driven them to their illegal calling, but you can scarcely make a similar claim.” “I don't know about tha protest Baxter, doggedly. “Who'd give me a job “Did you ever try?” - ‘o; nor I ain’t goin’ to!” I supposed. Honest work is plenti- ful, therefore you are absolutely without excuse. No one has usurped your name and fortune, stolen your ancestral home or intended bride; neither have you been out- lawed for your political or religious be- liefs, or unjustly accused of crime. The big burglar looked extremely blank at this pointed address, and took a grum- bling drink of whisky. Mr. Graham promptly came to his companion’s relief, “You have made out a prima facie case, as the lawyers say, but the fact remains that there is a fascination In the life we lead, and some romance. There is a my: tery about it, for one thing, and danger for another. Then we certainly have the sympathy of a certain class of society when we are prisoners,’ “Is not the sympathy to which you al- lude confined to murderers, especially those who kill their wives?” contact with a profession I I \siecy among vue associkies and vulgar survUlidiigs, 400 ai lor & piutul tusee wousaua & Year! by heaven, at as wor “ou use strong language, sir,” ex- Claimed Lue Youugest burguur, rising and PACLUg Lhe HOOF IM Bn agitated Way. aumlled Lue masver of Wwe house, “because my QusNess wense 1S CULTaged LY your svupiaity.” sharply, ‘nat is the word,” returned ir. braith- wait sterniy. Your profession requires acuteness, courage, skill, cauuion anu en- durance. GenUemen, these are admurabie traits, and with them you might be any- thing but burgiars. The banking insutu- tious, railways, private and civic corpora- tions, are eager for such men; they pay them large wages and grant them great privileges. The governments, state and ational, want such men, and are looking for them, while they are skulking througn city alleys or walking miry roads at mid- night. Gentiemen, with ali your qualifica- tions, you lack the one essential to success —common sense. “Permit me,” said Graham, leaning over the table, and speaking with much force, “to call your attention to the fact that we are bright enough to keep society eternally on the defensive.” Granted,” said Mr. Braithwait. mall in numbers though we are, we necessitate the employment of a police force in every village, town and city in the Union, to say nothing of special constables and private watchmen. We force every bank and corporation to sink thousands in costly safes, locks and other safeguards, and no householder is ever free from apprehension on our account. Could we exercise this power without brains?” “Ay! could we!” supplemented Mont- gomery, with flashing eyes. “Granted again,” said Mr, Braithwait cheerfully, “but quite foreign to the point at issue. Society is terrorized through its inertness, and when society enters on an active warfare you gentlemen cannot make a show of resistance. And even under our present policy of passive resistance there is but one thing that will save a criminal from the eventual clutch of the law, and that is—death. You cannot commit a crime without leaving a tra went on Mr. Braithwait impassively, “and every modern appliance is a stumbling block in your path. The modern bank safe, equipped with time locks, is impregnable; the electric light has made our streets as safe by night as day, and the telegraph has lengthened the arm of justice until it encircles the globe.” “And yet,” retorted Graham, with a slight ou have been robbed. nd yet I have been robbed,” repeated Mr. Braithwait calmly. “I cannot make my house a bank or surround myself with an army of watchmen. And I don’t like dogs. So I have been robbed. Yet”—Mr. Braithwait looked Graham quietly in the eye—‘“yet I am not entirely defenseless. “Hello!” said Baxter, breathing hard. “Have you been up to somethin’?” “You shall judge whether I have:rightly accused you of lack of common sense. Be- fore attacking this house, did you make yourself acquainted with the ‘surroun ings?” “I did,” answered Graham confidently. “Do you know that I am a railroad man?” “Certainly.” “Did you notice a wire running the woods at the rear of my house?” Xo!” cried Graham, violently. “A strange oversicht on your part. stupid. It is a telephone wire, and from my chamber above to my office city. Now for the application of my re- marks. From the moment of your entrance I was aware of your movements, and in- stantly explained the situation to the night emery He, of course, notified the po- 8) “And while you kept us in con- versation— cried Grahat nabeeceer gown A “The police were coming on a train to my assistance,” said Mr Braiene wait, taking a second cigar. “Damn you!” exclaimed Baxter, threat- eningly. | “Stop!” cried Graham, tnt “We have no time for that. Tet us’ run? “Don’ said the host warningly. “The surrounded, and you will certain! Accept the situation, as I You gentlemen have been my guests this evening, and I have been highly enter- tained. May I hope that the pleasure has been mutual?” Before any one could answer, the door leading to the wood shed was thrown open, and four policemen appeared on the thresh. old. Montgomery sank helplessly into a chair. Baxter made a dash for the door, while Graham remained impassive, but all re alike handcuffed expeditiously. ir,” said Graham, taking a cigar from the box, “our misfortune is directly due to the uncontrollable appetite of our compan- Very leads “As a rule, yes,” admitted Graham; “but the people who have sympathy for mur- derers generally have such a superabun- dance that they can spare some for us. I have known burglars to receive six bou- quets in a single day, and from real ladies, too.” am afraid,” said Mr. Braithwait, with a smile, “that the sympa’ hy extended with such small discretion has little market value. But let us pass that by and glance at the disagreeable side of your profession, For instance, this night you have walked from the city, the nearest point of which is three miles.” “We come four miles,” growled Bo “Well, four; and four could not have been a pleasant walk, as the night is cloudy and the roads are hea’ from recent rains.” id “There warn't no choice,” said Baxter savagely. ‘We had to walk.” “There it is,” said Mr. Braithwait triumphantly, “you had to walk. } ‘ow, I don’t have to walk. I ride in the train or my carriage at any hour of the day or night. No honest man has to walk if he money—and, of course, you have.” he point,” admitted ter. back is eight. It Nor is this the only Instance in which your pleasure is marred by fear. The very fame for which you strive is a constant bar to your enjoyment. If you take lodging at a hotel you are fon, but none the less I congratulate you upon your ingenuity. “Thanks,” said Mr. Braithwait. “Did I not tell you that you were stupid?” Mr, Braithwait waved his hand. “But there, I am sleepy,” he said, with a yawn. “Gentlemen, good night; 1 will see you again—in court.” ——_—-+e+______ WOMEN SCRUB THE STREETS. An Old Philadelphia Castom Which is =» Unique as It is Contagious. Every one has heard of the abnormal cleanliness of the front steps of P! jel- phia houses, but it remained for the Press of that town to discover a section in which the streets are scrubbed every morning, six days in the week, with soapsuds. And this scrubbing is done not by the hired girl, but by the lady of the house herself. The extraordinary practice prevails in the section of the city bounded by Dia- mond, Broad, Eighteenth and Huntingdon streets. Every morning of the week, unless bad weather prevents, a double line of wo- men mey be seen scrubbing away and dash- ing buckets of water on the pavements to rinse off the soapsuds. These streets are only about fifteen feet wide from curb to curb, and the narrowness of them seems to engender a feeling of ibility for their cleanliness, These ladies ere possessed by this queer mania to such an extent that they hire women to do their scrubbing about the houses, but reserve the street cleaning for their own special recreation. Some of the women were asked why they did such unpleasant work. who did not seem to particularly like th employment, smiled quizzically and said: “That's just the question every one of us asked when we moved -into this locality. We called the other women idiots for doing it for about a week, and then we got ashamed of seeing the pavement in front of our own particular house so much dirtier than our neighbor's, and so we got to work and did as the other women do, scrub our part of the street every morning. It isn't a bit nice and I don’t like to do it, but it has become the custom and I can’t stand against it. The house may wait for a scrub- bing and the children may run wild, but we can’t neglect the street. “How did such a ridiculous custom’ be- come established?" was asked. “Nobody knows. It just broke out like an epidemic of measles, I suppose, and when it once got started nothing could stop it.” “What do your husbands think about this street scrubbing?” “Our husbands? Oh, they growl a Uttle, but that doesn’t matter. Other women were asked tf they scrubbed the pavements because they liked the work. They all seemed to think the question pre- posterous. “I certainly don’t like ft. What in the name of goodness is there to like about it?” That is the answer one made, and without exception all those who were questioned affirmed that there was nothing they detested more than to get out in the street and scrub. Then to the question as to why they did it if they didn’t like it, some said they did it because the neighbors did, and some few said they couldn't bear to see the street in front of their doors dirty, No Time to Lose. ejected; you may be refused admittance to any respectable theater; in any place of en- tertainment, except the very lowest, you cannot make a new acquaintance for fear he may be a detective plotting your cap- ture; you are compelled to eat, drink Old Boy—“Have you been around to see Witherby’s baby?" No Rot yet.” yell, you had better go pretty learning to talk!” in the |- ———————————_—_—_—X—X—XSX—SXSXXXXXX WINTER COMES! But Indoor Life Need Not Be Dreaded. Paine’s Celery Compound Will Give jew Strength. Aged ané Infirm Must Look Well te Their Health. 2bundsnt nutrition; the blood Paine’s celery compound, People well, should now Paine’s celery compound ergy to the system. It strengthens the nerves, Paine's celery compound the frank, outspoken approval of physicians; they have amalyzed st, discussed it at their meetings, prescribed it Paine's celery compound @ host of owe their activity and keeps steadily at work cities and in the little Bess is. It invigorates and People well. ‘Try it. ADED YES, WE ARE LOADED WITH GOOD SHOES THAT HIT THE WANTS OF THE MAJORITY OF THE PEOPLE, AND OUR PRICES JUST FIT THE PURSES OF BOONOMICAL BUYERS. Dot These Down Im Your Memory, Viz,s ‘Men's $3 and $4 Shoes for $2.65. ‘Men's $6 French Patent Calf Shoes fer $3.75. Ladies’ $3 and $4 Shoes for $2.65. Ladies’ $5 Hand-turmed Shoes for $3.50. THE WARREN SHOE ROUSE, (GEO, W. RICE) 019 F STREET K.W. When You @et Married?’ are ready to begin housekeeping, perv you'll need a Little belp im furnishing house. It's more than Likely that you go straight to Grogan’s Mammoth Gredit Howse itt : F & é [ | | ii 3 & if § ! re i } : } ulee : ates HE HE i I I if { yey ii GROGAN’S ANMMOTH GREDIT HOUSE, 819, 821, 833 1TH ST. NW. BET. H AND I 8ST nol WE CLOSE EVERY EVEXING AT f. Coats Sacrificed! T WOULDN'T be possible fer as te ecll Coats at these prices were we not closing out the Coat Department. Rather than “Wal- ly” with them all season, we made up our minds to close them out quickly by cutting down the prices almost a third. You cam be thank- ful if you have “pot of” buying unt now. $7.50 Coats now $4 $9 Coats now $6 0.50 Quate sow $7.00. 3.50 Coats now $10. oo ‘BOW. Misses’ Coats now $3. Coates now $6. Coats now pow Row 928 77m Sz. Axn 706 K Sz. “Qpen-stock” Table China. pdsomer ames decorations ‘imaginable. Nine in Havi- and China and eleven ix Buglish and ots tn Inkling of how reasonable they ance 3 Mi “Cpocmuar Ko. 1205 Pa. Ava Are Toilet Sets .- —among the things you nee@ this wiater? If 0, bear in mind that © Uttle mouey will go farther here im the Tollet Set line tyan at any other ** store in Washington. Note this: 100 Decorated Tollet Sets, 8 @iferent patterns, worth at least a fourth more, Oxry $2.50 Ser. eee E7Siop Jars to go with these sets eeee at $1.50. sees We bave about 150 different de 222 signs, colors and decorations in Tollet sees Sets to choose from, $2.50 to §80. J.W. Boteler| 923 seer & SON, Ps Ave a