Evening Star Newspaper, July 28, 1894, Page 19

THE EVENING STAR, deeatcurs tel JULY 28, 1894—TWENTY PAGES. THE PARIS MORGUE Where ‘the Victims, of the Insatiate = Seine Are Exposed. RECORDS OF SUBDEN DEATHS The. Gaesome, Building and Its Curious Surroundings. IN THE HALL OF THE DEAD Special Correspoudence of The Evening Star. PARIS, July 10, 1894, HERE IS BUT ONE I morgue in the world the morgue at Par- is. Other cities have unknown dead and suicides and women drowned; they must be photographed and advertised and kept on ice. The morgue is more than that— the morgue requires its public. “Oh, the poor old man! . the poor girl! ma, why does the dead woman keep shut and one eye open?” rie, it is time for lunch!" f reason for existence m of unknown corps and accidents; and, litt to be transformed, not very like a medic t also a branch of the de- %. upon an order from “Ma 2 of the public prosecutor) wn dead, bu 0 bodies whethe: gh family hace set up for the crowd ir case be ofa tragic char- fieten tym Ved in mystery. And > the present, time, the visits of the - a3 tO @ museum, are encouraged. No suesitons: are-usked; there is no wicket seareely a door te enter; the hall hast like an’“dpen portico upon the ~.. Phe Dally Morgue Crowds. The people efowd. In’ the early morning Gay Liborers as tiey cross the bridge drop in & take @ look. Later, servants running ferrands stick i their'heads. Then, on to pNP cheor: tte boys and girls, accompanied by..theit, Quises. pareuts, guardians and ,Iasters, come to snatch complacent peeks @bd- wandex-aut.again. to eat fresh waffles en the eurbstone. (locke the-ourb. directly by the morgue, ,‘tvo applé women always sit. In summer leme of them: has evid érinks—licorice water and rel soda; and the other sells ice cream tm tie dabso-du--winter the first retails Bet chestnuts, while the second dame con- tinues ail the year to-work her waffle irons. They er interfere. The trade is good, Because the sights inside give folks a hol- low feeling—inside. ner-hant of watchmakers’ junk—de- tached wheels and _ piv weights and frumes and dials and hands—conducts his stani a few steps further on, where he has Squatted in the open air upon the bridge in its recesses. He also keeps spread a ghastly stock of worthless bric-a- . deor bells and knockers, pipes, snuff xes, rusty knives, unmatched | brass wkles, boxes of olf coins and medals, lass frames and tarnished fans—a lit- e of arts and trades. The people, ut from the long dead hall, where nzed So Vacantly, will stop before one woman or the other, stare at her ck'with the same stoic interest n give up their minds to what the has. ey ga he Bullding. morgue is a bare building, all of ory high, and something like a has a wall at each end, 2a by the river side. 7ts nm curner uf the Seine (the most ancient part aris, ana still its physical cearer,) 1s theatrical. More than half the 2 are from the river. to slip over a bridges when there is ro one looking. The morgue is at the tail end of the island. ts back is to the open river; its sides are @shed continually by the parting waters. Its front faces the flying buttresses of Notre Dame de Paris that stand out in moonlight ke so many great stone ni the huge gargoyies, with or the heads of birds of prey nameless monsters, leer down on the gpen piace. - Book Morgue and Dog P. 4 "Along thé southern Seine wall stretches Out the stock in trade of the second-hand Dook dealers, spread upon the parapet, all $m the open air. I turn over a pile of old gheet-musig and read, inscribed in English, im a fine Italian hand, “Mary J. P- a Boston.” The lot for 3 cents. You can @ leather-bound Greek-Latin folio ve ba weigls some fifteen pounds for one tre ani a hal. Lt isa, morgue of books. he"fourrlere, or dog pound, is close by, the Uttle Rue de Pontoise, where ms of M. Loze, then the prefect ave.up ihe ghost in one short suz. A few squares on, beside iver, bleak and dirty in winter, blis- tered and dirtier in summer, squats the di- Japiawed ani deserted Jardin des Plantes— for trees and plants, with a few gel and diseased wild animals in * Notre Dame. walk ‘around the sides of Notre -dral, and in and out raiiel back garden. Haif- nger 91 the garden benches, heaps of other een taken from the the course of many walk insile of Notre sit upon its steps. Insid: A bell sounds. Standing w the walls nk it is the morgue and beauty. is well surrounded; and e builiing that looks so corner of the great cathedral sets iolorous symph The Morgae’s Tena stics of the morgue, ts clients are and ai- been persons of middle age, three times to five times as Striking cases, like oman cut in thirteen common. .The contingent the river always is repuls teeined attendants: of! the m 33 morgu flat ste m Shem. And.this contingent is “Ss nemérous than th $ frome ny. oF melo cause. The next in te ney is crushed to death be- Qn ae Wheels: of art d@drays ani omni- buses. The Setne’s Victims. As to the river. (1) Peaths r fqn in July, to nething xt b e r © r r s e ® « error. They receive five dollars fer-a- rescue and cnly three for corpses. Six months ago the best of these “res- cuers” gave up thé ghost at Billancourt. During twenty years “Pere Joseph” had built up a splendid reputation as a fisher of men between times, when he was hooking fritures for the restaurants. His best year was 18%2, when he found forty-two dead bodies (700 francs), besides half a dozen rescues, for which he got rewards in pri- vate, as well as the official sums. In 1890 he had the luck to rescue two children of a rich suburban merchant, who gave, Pere Joseph an annuity for life of 300 francs a year, which is a little more than a dollar a week. Nevertheless, it is an easy thing for thoughtful suicides to get into the Seine and siay there until they float. Pere Joseph's rescues in his best year were only six, to forty-two eadavers. Suleides and Accidents. Leaving the river to contemplate suicides and accidents from all causes, there are twice as many of the former as of the latter passing through the morgue. All suicides from the river are regularly unknown, and many dry-land suicides attempt to hide their personality. In most accident cases the corpse can be identified and given over to the family. And this is also the case in the majority of murders—which are as often as not committed in the victi:n’s own apartments. And it must also be remem- bered that the morgue receives only the unknown dead, except in extraordinary cases. As to the causes of the suicides, there is much difficulty in ascertaining them, as families always find it to their interest to set up insanity. Apart from this drunken- ness is assigned as the chief cause with men. Then, in both sexes, come want and misery. After this it is incurable diseases, lack of work, despair in love, disgust for life. fear of justice, jealousy, remorse, “‘de- ceptions,” loss of fortune. Out of 761 sui- cides nine are set down to “fear of re- proaches,” and six to “result of reproaches.” But in every category and for fifty years the suicides upon the morgue’s books have been made up, in a vast majority, of work- irgmen and women, and not of the happier classes. An investigation shows the same proportion in those suicides who never reach the morgue. The Lower Classes. In France it is the lower classes who de- Stroy themselves. In men the moving cause is oftenest drink, in women it is oftenest downright want and misery, domestic troubles or desertion. In one Latin quarter students’ cafe during five months of last year (it was the famous Brasserie d’Har- court of the students’ riots) six girls took poison, and all died but one. Each was a case of quarrel or desertion, and in each ci the man for whom the poor girl died was a university or art student. None of | sha these five cases got into the morgue. Leaving suicides for sudden deaths, 262 out of G34, in a period of ten years, were murders. There were scarcely any cases of sudden ‘deaths among women which were not murders; but with men the sud- den deaths from other causes than murder were five times as numerous as murders. “Sudden deaths” do not include deaths from accidents; apart from murder their chief causes were apoplexy, sudden conges- tions, alcoholism, starvation and cold. The Morgue Push Carts. The morgue is all surrounded at the sides and back by a high and rusty fron grating. There is a gate at each side of the building large enough to give entrance to the police station push carts, which bear so ghastly a resemblance to the Paris bakers’ vehicles. ‘The push carts rattle over the stone paving ot a melancholy little garden where flocks of pigeons belonging to the employes feed. The push cart rattles through the garden and into the reception hall, and here the body is dumped down and sledded forward on a board by a mechanical device. Here also the servant of the push cart—a humble functionary of the government attached to each police station—delivers up the dead man’s ticket to the registrar. No corpse can be received without its ticket, which is @ commitment drawn up in form. The Registrar. ‘The present registrar of the morgue 1s a new man. But until a few months past the old custodian, Clovis Pierre, had wel- comed the dead visitors for thirty years. His lugubrious life, which had given him a melancholy cast of countenance, had been unable to completely destroy, however, his natural gayety of disposition and his love for literature. He not only writes poetry, but is also a skitied prestidigitator. For years he has distracted his mind from the sad scenes around him by acting the role of Robert Houdin in the Hall of the Dead, and some of his remarkable improvements in egg and cork juggling are already being put into a book. Now that he has retired upon a pension he will also publish his poems, all of which have been inspired by the incidents of his long office. One is an “Ode to the Refrigerating Apparatus,” an other is called “The Abuse of Water,”’which refers to drowning, third is on “The Pigeons of the Morgue,” while yet another he has fondly called “My House.” Immediately the body is dumped down the registrar puts its description in his book. All possible details have their columns. If papers or other clues point to an casy iden- tification, the body is not exposed to public view, but goes into another room, called the dead hall. In a little vestibule there is a photographic apparatus. Another hall is called the vestaire, where are kept the clothes of such bodies as are not exposed. The bodies which are shown to the public have their clothes lying over them after the fashion of bed-covering. The Hall of the Dead. In the hall of the dead are also placed such corpses aS are so far gone in decom- position that no useful end would be served by exposing them to the public; but, thanks to the comparatively new refrigerating ap- paratus, anything which comes even in fair condition can be kept a long time. Bodies taken from the Seine can be preserv- ed indefiniteiy in this freezing temperature, and dry land dead have been preserved as long as three months. The last act before burial (lacking a rec- ognition) Is the autopsy. These are con- ducted, also, in the same large dead Fall. There are great rows of closets coniaining every kind of instrument and chemicals, and jars holding organs to be submitted for analysis. Of late years, owing to the en- ergy of Dr. Brouardel, who is at the head of the legal section of the Paris faculty cf medicine, great improvements have been made in the preservation of bodies and in e facili’ for autopsy. But in spite of conveniences and all reforms it is a shocking thing to go directly from the pub- He street, so full of bustling life, and ad in the presence of half a dozen dead men without warning. A public spectacle, with all the joking, curious crowd who come and go. STERLING HEILIG. coo WILD ANIMALS LESS RARE. Changed Since the Dreys of the Sail- ing Vessels. From the Londoo Datly News. According to Mr. Jamrach, the dealer in wild beasts, the competition for rare ani- mals is not so keen as it was once upon a time. In former days ke has had to send ali the way to the Lizard to intercept ships with animals on board, and the men would hang about there in all weathers in open beats, sometimes for twelve or fourteen da No animals are rare nowadays in the same sense that they used to be. Steam- ers are arriving every day from all parts, the moment an animal or any foreign “duct becomes rare, it becomes worth the of some seaman to take the trouble ng it over. It was different in the of the safling ships, when so long a ‘ths would lapse after one t could be expected that mined by Mr kland. It a rat anted to o; kings, he said, used to rapped up’ and em- To pull the mummy to would ruin it, and perhaps 1 that there + y all three nture, and to ri the mummy was opened ure stfuction, it contained ng more valuable than irled-up pi@ces of the interior. Among Mr. om tomers is the Prince of Wa t pets from him, but his nagettes. is with zovlogical sa MYSTERY OF A LAKE Prof. Garner's Entertaining Account of an African Adventure, CURIOUS OPTICAL PHENOMENA The Significance Attached by the Superstitious Natives. A REAL DISCOVERY Written Exclusively for ‘The Evening Star. BOUT TWO DE- grees south of the equator in central Africa there is a tribe called the Es- yira. Their country is but little known to white men, because it => is remote from the coast, has no river Jarge enough to trav- el and has but a very small trade of any "+ people are friendly and timid, and I regard them as the best of all the people I met in Africa. Between their country and that of the N’Kaumi tribe just north of them theré is a vast region of unbroken forest, which is infest- ed with many kinds of wild beasts and huge serpents. For miles and miles across this jungle there is no trace of human life, and the silence is elmost oppressive. You rarely see a bird of any kind or hear a sound except the beating of your own heart. It was through this wild and desolate land that I made my way into the country of the Esyira tribe in quest of the gorilla and the chimpanzee. After a march of two days I came upon a camp of Aduma slaves cutting rubber for the king. At this place I spent three days, much of the time de- lirious with jungle fever, with no food but a litle dried soup and almost without hope. I shall long recall the weary hours that I waited in that dreadful place. But while at this camp I heard of a wonderful lake, far away in the bush, and many strange stories were told me about that enchanted spot. The natives called it “M'buiri M'polo,” which means in their tongue the “big enchantment.” As I pur- sued my way across the country of this tribe I heard more and more of the great fetish lake, but I did not seem to get any nearer to it, and I began to regard it as a kind of “will-o’-the-wisp,” like many other stories you hear from the natives. How- ever, all their tales agreed in_ certain points. All assigned it to a place far away in the heart of the great forest, and ail said that a white man Ilved in the depths of the lake, and all agreed that the water of the lake could talk, but no one could account for these strange things. Visit With a White Trader. After a long and weary journey of five days, besides the three days spent at the slave camp, I reached a village called Tyine- Nyeni, located on the head waters of the river N'dogo. The village is about five days by canoe from the coast at Sette Kama, which is about three degrees south of the equator. When I reached the village I found @ white trader there, and we were mutually glad to see each other, for I was the first white man that he had seen for many months. I spent a few days with him very pieasantly, and in the meantime I learned @ great deal from him about the strange lake, and I was assured that it would be vell worth my time and trouble to pay a visit to the mysterious place and learn what really did give rise to so many strange and ghastly stories, and caused the natives to hold it in such dread. After a pleasant stay with the white man and a good rest I set out for the lake, which was about three days from there, through a very wild and dreary tract of country with very few inhabitants. The first night I reached a small town, where the old king and his people were very kind to me. Soon after my arrival in the village they gave me a fine young goat and some plantains, after which they loaned me an iron pot in which to prepare my food. They were polite in their way, and after they found that I meant to pay them well for all they did for me, they were kind and attentive to me, and when I left their town it was with a promise to visit them again if I should ever come that way. Curiosity of the Natives. Early in the morning I set out and by 3 o'clock I reached another town, where we arranged to spend the night. The king and the people gave me quite a welcome to their town, and within a few minutes a fat young goat and a good supply of plantains were placed at my feet as a present from the alieged king. Very soon terms of pay- ment were made and the kid was prepared for my supper. The king of this town was an austere and silent man, and was not content with his lot in any way. After the terms we had agreed upon were quite discharged he still begged for tobacco and rum or anything else that he could get, and the piece of cloth, two hands of tobacco and a spoon that I had given him in ex- change were quite forgotten in his anxiety te get more, and he was sullen and stub- born because I would not show him what I had in my boxes. The native African never knows when he has the value of anything, and no matter how much you pay him you always owe him “a dash,” that fs, a present. All of them suppose that all white men ere rich and that he can get anything he wants by asking for it. They have no idea how a white man gets his cargo; how, where or by whom it is made or anything else about it. There is no money of any kind in use in that part and everything that is used in trade to exchange for any native pro- duct is called “cargo,” and hence almost anything of value is so called. The king of this town had heard of money, but he had never seen any of it, so he asked my interpreter if it was true that a white man could carry more cargo in his cloth than a native could carry in a canoe. White Man's Money. He said that he had heard that 2 white man could carry in his cloth more cargo than ten goats and two women were worth. He did not understand how it could be re- duced to so small a compass. As he had always seen cloth, guns or tobacco used as currency he could not see into it; but it happened that I had one single sou with me. I showed him this coin and the interpreter explained to him what it was and how white men use it, but did not tell him its real valve in commerce. The king wanted it and at once offered me a fine goat and a suppiy of other food for it. After much talk about it I told him if he would treat me well while in his town J would make him a present of the coin, and if any other white man should ever come to his town and have no rgo” he must treat him well, because he would be my white brother. He promised to do so and said whenever he should look at the coin he would remember me as his “big friend,” and he praised my generosity until I was as vain as he was grateful. He assured me that he would always keep it in his town, Lecause it would make him “good palaver,” which is meant “good luck,”’ and this weuld make him a friend to all white men. The people of the town then ail wanted to see this munificent gift, and this he al- lowed them to do by coming up one at a time, but no one was allowed to hand it to another. Each one must return it to the king himseif and allow him to hand it to the next one, and for more than an hour this went on, but not for a single moment did the old king lose sight of it. After each one had seen it his sable majesty took another long and grateful look at it and then ca y tied it up in the corner of his. cl said o' and over to me “Akewe, we otangani,”” which means “I thank, I thank you, white man.” After say- ing some nice things to.my. interpreter he bade me “ibanga,”” which means “till later,” nd is the most polite form of saying “good night.” An terprising King. During the evening I learned something more about the bewitched lake, and found that I was really approaching it. The next morning was bright and balmy, and all the fcrest seemed te-smile with joy. I began my journey whijg the air was yet cool with the heavy dew By the night before, and by noon I reached wall village of only four or five little hues of bamboo. EF was invited to step and rest which I gladly did, and was shown into one of the huts, where, to my surprise, I found the neatest,:.cleanest and most artistic house that I had ever seen in Central,Africa. It had a fleor of bamboo splits and,a table of bamboo very | neatly made, with a dressed bark top, and over this was $préad a native grass cloth of a rare and tasteful pattern. At one end of the room was aalivan of bamboo, neatly covered with a Jegpard skin, and at one end of this was a_pillow made of a bush- cat skin, sewed up with rawhide thongs and stuffed with homan hair. At the ends of the pillow were long tassels of dyed grass. . I learned that the young man who was so busy in entertaining me had founded the town, as they called it, and that he was to become a great king in time, and this was the germ from which his royal domain was to grow. He was not more than twenty- five years old, and had four fine, strong wives at this time. He kindly offered to escort me on my way to the great lake, and T accepted. Arrival at the Lake. From this village to the lake was not far, and we arrived soon efier 2 o'clock in the afternoon. On my arrival I was kindly re- ceived by Ogala, the chief man of the town, and a nephew of M’bana, the greatest of the three kings of Esyira, and he told me that I was the first white man who had ever seen the lake. I arranged to pass the night in his town, and then T began my in- quest over this sea of wonders, and found, as I had expected, that here was to be een at times a very rare mirage. The old- est man of the town told the story, while the others sat by an] prompted or amend- ed his tale from time to time, until I had a very complete account of’ this great “m'buiri.”” The sum of end of the wet s the beginning of the lake a stran| has one end cut y is that about the nd sometimes about It is white, and It always has a white man in it, but ied by four or six black men, wh var white caps, and r clothing like a white man longer than a man, and al- go backward. They catch — the or paddle with both hands right at and they do not sing or talk. The white man wears a he et very much the same as the one that I had on at the time, only it is while. Sometimes be wears white coat and black trousers, sometimes black coat and white trousers and sometimes tt is all white. At times thore are two white men in the canoe, and there have been three seen in it. The Vision Described. The vision is never seen except when the bosom of the lake is smooth and placid, but, strange to say, the oars used by the ren in the boat d> not break the surface of the lake, and yet, just beneath it, the waters boil and foam fom the force of those long paddies, and while the, cange rolls and tosses about,it never once disturbs the quiet surface o the lake, nor leaves:a trace behind it. And the most singular thing of all is that this boat never starts m the beach, nor does it ever land on the opposite shore. It is always seen far out from the bank, and it slowly melts @way into the blue waters of the lake. From this fact, it is believed that these strange people live in the depths of the water. On the stern of this phantom canoe is always car- ried an “n'tyandi,”” which is their word for cloth, and this is fastened to a long stick, and {s black and white and black. Inasmuch as they all dark colors black, the description answers for the French flag—red, , white and blue. The mystery of the long oars is easily under- stood by any one who has ever seen a ship's boat, . gig, or a yawl; but these primitive people had no idea of an oar-lock The native uses a short paddle, caught at the top by one hand, rear the middle with and sits with his face te the bow, seemed much in doubt when i tried to explain the “n’kavi otangani,” or white man’s paddie, and could not quite understand how it was done. The boat does not always travel over the same course, nor in the same direction, end one tim a native ew with three strang and they appeared to be trying to ay from the white canoe, as if from teal Pheonomen. This strange image, drawn so vividly upon the blue field of that remote and weird lake, away in the heart of that great for- est, is a problem in optics which the doc- tors of that science do not quite explain, and it is no wonder that such phenomena appeal to the fears and arouse all the super- stition in the mind of the poor savage in the wilds of an African forest. The scene is evidently of the French officers and the employes of the government, and must be reflected from the coast, the nearest point of which is quite a hundred miles away. There is no French post nearer than the coast, and the nearest one in the Agowe river must be much farther away. There is no trader near the place, and, besides, the traders do not use the kind of boat seen in the mirage, nor do they, as a rule, carry “a flag or wear a helmet. Like a € on Discharge. He said that one calm day, as the last rays of the setting sun were leaving the tree tops on the hills, he saw a flash of fire under the surface of the lake. He drew cn the ground a crude outline of the shape of it and it was quite like the flash of a cannon, and he said it started from the smaller end ani firally became smoke, and this was seen five or six times at in- tervals of a minute or so at a time. Finally the lake spoke out so loud that it sounded like thunder, and it did this as many times as the fire flashed in the water atid then one time more and hushed. This did not occur at the same time that the boat was seen nor does it occur so frequently, but it has done so for many years. The account is a perfect picture of the flash and sound of a cannon, and when this oceurs the people leave their town and take refuge in the bush, and they say when they pass a certain point not far away from the town they cannot hear it talk any more. It cannot be lightning and thunder because this always ccmes in the dry sea- son, when there is neither, and_ besides: that the natives are quite familiarwith those phenomena,and when they call this strange thing “n’jali_ m’buiri,” which is “the fetish gui while they call thunder “‘n’jali towa,” or “sky gun.” When they learned that white men had plenty of big guns like that they said “the white man is a_ big, big man; he makes a gun that talks thun- der.” Afraid of the Lake. No native would dare put a canoe tn the lake, or get into one on any terms, but just prior to my visit a trader of the N’Kaumi tribe put one in it, and whenever he vén- tures out into the lake a few yards, the people of the town watch him in silence and expect to see him engulfed in the fetish water or swallowed up by some great mon- ster in the lake. ‘The trader himself is a bit timid about ‘erdssing the path ef the mirage, and alwnys keeps along the shores. I tasted the water, smelt it, boiled it, evape crated it, and made all the tests I’ could, but could not detéct the presenee of any, mineral. v As far as I could find, there is no tribu- tary flowing into’ #, and it is fed by the drainage from tHe’hills around it, most of which are steep ard high, and I found no outlet to it. It-i¥uch below the level of the country aroand'it, and from these con- ditions it is ea¥y to infer that ‘the water contains some aykhli. I had no means of taking the altitt@e;'latitude, dimensions: or depth, but as well 4& I could judge, without the aid of instruments, it is about latitude 2.30 south, longitudé 10.40 east from Green- wich. It appears:té'be some feet below’ the water level of thé épuntry around it, and is from three to four thiles long by about’ two miles wide. 1 Enchantmént of Science. The natives differed among themselves as to whether it contained any kind of fish. Some of them said it had big fish in it, bat that no man would eat them, because they, were “m’buiri,"” and others said that no sh could live in it, because the water is “buiri,” and-I was left in doubt. After a halt of about twenty hours at this place, I resumed my march to the Rembo M Bari, on my way to Fernan Vaz. I felt amply repaid for the time and toil that I had spent in search of this wonderful gem of waters, and felt a just pride in being able to place upon the map of the world this new and beautiful lake, no trace of which is found upon any map, chart or gazetteer of any time. The fabulous tales of tke natives are founded upon simple truth, and the sorcery by which it is wrought is the veritable en- chantment of science, and while it may have no commercial value in the world of waters, itis one more jewel in the crown of knowledge, and is quite as important as thousands of other facts that have cost lives and treasure, RL. GARNER, a . 19 MRS, DUANE SECRETARY —_——_+—___ WRITTEN EXCLUSIVELY FOR THE EVENING °'o*° gap BY 4. H. HAVEMYER. 7" ee “What is Phil reading?” Mrs. Raymond tipped her head and look- qi. intently at her brother. But evidently her look was not satisfactory, for, aftér a few moments, during which he continued to stroke his mustache and gaze at the note in his hand, she said: “What in the world are you reading, Phil?” “Mrs. Duane ac- cepts with pleasure Mrs. Raymond's kind invitation for the evening of the 2ist.” Mrs. Raymond was more perplexed than ever. What did her brother find so interest- ing in a perfectly proper and formal note of acceptance. She continued her china painting, with just the shadow of a line be- tween her pretty eyebrows. Presently he came over and sat down on the divan, near her table. “I should like to know the writer of that note, Minchen. It’s an ept- ance, so I'll see her tomorrow nigh) A few moments later he sauntered out of the room, whistling softly. When the por- tier fell behind his tall figure Mildred Ray- mond put down the cup she had been paint- ing and leaned back with a decidedly trou- bled look on her pretty face. Phil was a subject of much anxiety to her.at times. To.be sure, she was considerably his junior and he had petted her all his life. She had scarcely Deen out a year when she became engaged to Jack Raymond, and, although he continued the petting process as be- sun by her brother and parents, Mrs. Ray- mond, while keeping ail the sweetness and daintiness of her girlhood, had developed into a very knowing little woman of the world, holding an undisputed sway among the upper ten, and having, moreover, the desirable reputation of being exclusive Phil often declered that they had changed places upd that she was at least ten years his senior ih the greatness of her wisdom. Her chief care was her brother. She plain- Ww that he was an extremely eligible arti, and worried herseif extremely as to whom “he should and should not marry. As for Phil, he showed the utmost indif- ference to ali such matters. He had a com- fortable, come, some little talent for Painting, a di literary taste, was a fine lawyer, when he chose to practice, and @ good all ‘round fellow. He had studied jaw. ab home, that is to say, in New York city, and art in Faris for a couple of years, Where. he had learned littie, but enjoyed himself immensely; written several notably clever stortes and illustrated them with no mean show of talent. He had made tw trips: around the world; had spent some time in India and other remote corners of the earth, and at the age of thirty had set- ued down to his law practice, with an ex- cellent pa¥ther. Society adored nim and, in u negligent way, he liked society. He was courtéjus “and attentive to all the fair sex, but it was said that he had never paid to any woman serious attention, barring sev- eral flirtations during his ‘college days, which were, of course, desperate at the time. Just at present he was enjoying his holi- day with his sister in a pretty continental city, where a large number of English and Americans were settled. He had been here a week, but, try as she might, his sister had not been able to draw him any nearer the social whirl than a daily drive with her in the afternoon. Meantime she had sent out cards for a small reception, noping to inter- est her brother in one of the American girls who were at C She had not in- vited Beatrice Duane because she wanted to, but because she had to. She was not at all the woman for Phil, and here he was in- terested in her before he had met her, and such a thing with him meant more than it vould. have meant with most men. All over a simple note. “What could he have found in that note to arouse his interest so?” In fact, so deeply did it annoy her that had there been any way of decently doing so she would have put off her reception. But then, as the wise little woman reflected, it would only put off the evil day and whet his curiosity. The reception was over. It had been a success, of course. Mrs, Raymond's affairs always were. Her rooms had been full, but not crowded; there had been a gvodly sprinkling of celebrities; the house had rever looked lovelier;the supper was perfect, and everything had gone smoothly. Yet, as she threw herself back among the soft cushions in her boudoir, her pretty eyes looked as though they might be the reser- voit of vexatious tears. “It was too annoy- ing, Jack. He paid her more attention than T have ever seen him pay to any one woman in my life.” And Jack, who, at first, had been inclined to laugh at his wife's fears, stroked his fair mustache and looked thoughtful. During the following weeks matters did not improve. Chance favored Phil, for wherever he went, and he went out a great deal now, he met the charming widow. Meanwhile Beatrice Duane, who, in addi- tion to her undeniable beauty, possessed a thorough knowledge of men, made, what Mrs. Raymond considered Phil's downward path, an easy one, and he fell or rather walked straight into the snares spread for him. He was not as wildly devoted the young subalterns who followed in her train, but he permitted himself to be whirled along in her victoria occasionally, and al- ways danced and talked with her wherever he met her. It seemed to please him better, however, to stand in some inconspicuous place, whore he had a good view of her face and watched her closely. And whenever he watched her in this way, his sister, who watched him quite as closely, noticed that his expression was one of deep study end slight perplexity rather than deep admira- tion or WIKP Jealousy. Mrs. Duane lived in an artistic little villa on the outskirts of the town, and her 5- o'clock tea table was usually thronged with ‘her young admirers. It was a pet trick of hers to suggest to some favored individual that he should come early, and then to be at home to no one else. Now, tnesé little tete-a-tetes were dangerous to more hardened men than the gay sub- alterns, for Beatrice Duane, in a perfect tea gown, lying back in a deep chair, cov- ered with white fur, was a beautiful pic- ture of luxury, and het manner of convers- ing on such’ occasions was undoubtedly fascinating. Philip had found himseif party to these tete-a-tetes on several occasions, but had not yet been brought to the point of sending her flowers, books or verses, or paying her any of those pronounced atten- tions with which the young officers over- whelmed her. Lent was approaching rapidly, and the whirl of festivity, like a whirlpool, became faster and faster as it neared the vortex down which it’ must plunge. It was Ash Wednesday morning, and Phil Reddington lounged against the man- tel of his sister's boudoir, in his most at- tractive attitude. “How handsome he kcoks; not a day older than when he grad- uated.” His sister was standing before him, drawing on her gloves, and as she lcoked at him there was a smile of genu- ine approval in her eyes. She had not looked at him with that smile for some time, He smiled back almost shyly, and then said slowly: “Minchen, I am not a school girl, and therefore I do not pre- tend to read character by hand-writing, but, yet, there is something about that note of Mrs. Duane’s that interests me strangely, and I should like to see the writer. “It seems to me that you have been de- voting a considerable amount of time to seeing’ the person who wrote it.” She drew herself up and spoke with some asperity. Phil surveyed her with evident amuse- ment. “I don't like you in that attitude, it's not becoming, and, besides”—more gtavely- am convinced that Mrs. Duane didn’t write that note.” “Then may I ask” =the. objectionable pose was more intense than before—“why, if you are not interest- ed, do you cultivate her society to such an extent?” “That note came from her, and if she did not write it herself, and Iam sure she didn't, she knows who did. tried several times to make her write a few lines, and succeeded; but she always wrote witha fountain pen, and all the peopi who use those things write alike. ¥ liam quite certain that a woman of her caliber would not write like this, and I am anxious to sec if this fanciful theory of mine works out.” The unbecoming pose was laid Mrs. Raymond's face brightened v She read the over her broth der, The le were long nd slender, firm and de and gave the impression that. they een formed quickly and easily. etty hand, but I can’t imaxine who wro it's scented with that pe fume she al Phil, dear, sh a very dangerous w . so do be c : One morning during the second wees. in Lent Phil accompanied his sister to market His artistic nature was greatly gratified py the quaint pictures he found, and he was she did, and iar oriental per- lve | making a sketch of an old flower woman when his sister cried out, “O, Phil, do look! There-are-thuwe lovely mountain primroses} the first I’ve seen this year.” Phil looked, but, he saw something besides the great bunch of-pale yellow flowers—a slender; blaek-clad figure and a pale, delicate face! Most persons would not have called her @ striking: girl but he stood fooking at her rapidly ring figure until it vanished around the r. 3 - : “Aren’t they perfect? Do you think my copy that hangy in the boudoir is good?” ‘To which her brother irrelevantly replied: “That gif] might have written it.” “J didn*t-notice the girl, but now that. I know those flowers are in town I shan’t rest until I-have some.” : At luncheon Mrs. Raymond announced that her search hed been fruitless. In a remote corner she had found a flower woman, who haf brought some primroses to market that very morning, but her young lady—a young fady who came very often— had bought them every one. That aftetrioon when Phil came into Mrs. Duane’s parlor..he felt a glow of artistic admiration. The dark paneling, lit up by the flames frem the burning logs, threw into bold yet delicate relief the figure of a woman, half reclining in a low cheig. Ler | head, crowned with soft black coils and curls, was pillowed on yellow satin cush Her gown was of the palest yellow | and her full rounded arm, the elbow jux- uriously buried in a deep cushi showed the full beauty of its magnificent curves as she raired a full, swelling, gold-tinted cup to her lips. The young subalterns gazed at cher spellbound, and Phil stood motionless ‘on the threshold. She was indeed a danger- ous woman. “Ah, Mr. Reddington.” She moved for- ward to meet him. There was no trace of the oriental perfume, but a faint, scarcely definable breath of the spring. On her breast was a great cluster of mountain primroses. The burden of the conversation fell to the young officers that afternoon. Phil had seated himself at a little distance from his fair hostess, and was, as usual, regarding her with that keen but unobtrusive scrutiny which so much puzzled ber and piqued her curiosity. Today the studious on his face was a trifle de Here in the house from which the n come, pinned on the gown of its oste: author, was a clus of mountain prim- roses. He had seen unch of them before that day, and his sister assured him that there were n> others in town. That bunch was in the bands of a giri who it seemed to him mignt embody the character he ascribed to the writer of Mrs. Du In a sunny corner n house of D—, om a certain misty morning in February, the old peasant Mere Maria, as popularly called, was dozing be- hind her display of simpi when she was awakened by the voic er own Young lady. It took her some tinze to tell in her quaint way how, on the last market day, another lady, had come, a very beautiful lady, who had descended from a carriage with liveried servants and prancing horses. She had asked for primroses, but she had told her that. her,own mademoiselle had taken them, every one, but today she had enough for all. * All this time there. wag a handsome young Pav oD the otber side of the street in the Shadow of a projecting doorway, who seemed fo be Mig a sketch of old Maria. For the next few weeks this picture was re- peated, except that the young artist had made friends with the old peasant woman, and gained her permission to sketch her from a nearer point. It was Easter morning. The little Eng- lish chapel was fiJled to its greatest capac- ity, for many of the congregation who had drifted into the foreign mode of keeping the Sabbath and rarely came to the 11 o'clock service turned out on Easter. Some came for mere fashion’s sake; some from Strength of association, and some came with a true appreciation of the day's com- memoration. This last class was large enough to spread throughout the church a reverential atmosphere. The white-robed choristers filed in singing a uiumphant hymn; the solemn confessional was said, and then the clear boys’ voices burst forth Christ, Our Passover, Is Sacriticed The chorus dies away, “through Jesus Christ, our Lord,” a few chords on the organ, and then a single voice soars up, as a bird set free, clear, pure, calm and triumphant, “Christ is risen from the dead, and become the first fruits of them that slept.” That voice was not heard again throughout the service. When the congre- sation poured forth, after the service, the one question that every one asked every one else was: “Who is the new s0- prano?” By the next afternoon it was whispered around that the gruff old choir- master had unearthed, from some obscure corner, a nightingale and given her that one tiny solo in the Easter music to intro- duce her and to whet the public curiosity. By the end of the week the rumor had fully materialized. The singer was a young American girl, an orphan, who was em- ployed as Mrs. Duane’s secretary. It was positively asserted that she would no long- er_sing in the choir. ¢ reason for this was not difficalt to find. Hitherto Mrs. Raymond had gathered around her all the literary lights and fine musicians that the little town afforded. This gave a distinctive air to her receptions that Beatrice Duane yainly envied. Now at last she had the upper hand. The wonder- ful soprano was in her possession end should @e heard only in her drawiag room. Margaret Halford’s place as Mrs. Duane’s secretary had rot been an easy one. At the time of her engagement she had been told that she would be expected to do what- ever was required of her, and so it hap- pened that she had grown accustomed to earn her small salary by the performance of manifold and miscellaneous duties and to be surprised at nothing. She had her books, however, and, thanks to the friend- ship of the English minister's wife, a few Tare opportunities to practice her beloved music in a congenial atmosphere. The morning of Easter Monday she had been summoned to Mrs. Duane’s boudoir and in- formed by that lady that she would no longer be permitted to sing at church, but would hold herself in readiness, and prepare Sultable songs to sing in the drawing room whenever she should be called upon to do so. The giri listened in silence, but a faint flush spread over her face. This was worse than she had expected. Although Mrs. Duane had always inspired her with an intense aversion, as long as their relations had been purely’ business ones this had been tolerable. “To come under her control in a social w to be made to assoclate with that throng of young officers and dilie- tante—.” The flush on her cheek died, leaving her deadly pate. The next sentence came a relief. “Of course, you under- stand that you do not come into the draw- ing room in any social capacity whatever. You will come when you are sent for, take your place at thé piano and leave the room after you have finished. A fortnight had passed since Margaret had made her debut at Mrs. Duane’s “af- ternoons.” She was a great succe: rayed in a perfectly plain black dres: and thin, she came and sang s song until dismissed by a haughty gesture from her mistresg. The world applauded the song, but pail little attention to the singer. To be sure, at her first appearance, Phil Reidington had asked about her, and his hostess had replied that she was a poor girl of common extraction, who filled the place of an upper servant. In general, however, her personality was a matter of indifference to her audience. On this par- ticular afternoon she was paler than ever, for her additiona] duties were telling on her strength. The score of a new song was before her. The maid had brought it to her room with the message that she was to learn it as soon Possible, and Marie added the information that one of the for- eign gentlemen’ had brought it. Her ac- companist plaved the prelude, and as she Sang the opening lines: “Oh, promise me taat some day vou and I Will bear our love together to some sky"— She raised her-eyes, and encountered at the far end of the room a pair or dark blue eyes fixed intently upon her's. A thrill pagsed through her. Those eyes were strangely familiar. “Where we may be alone and faith re- new, And find those bowers where those flowers grew; Those first sweet violets of early spring” zin some compelling force made her raise her eyes. A shudder passed through » frame; she tre 4 violent refused t move: the paper fel She left the room quickly her. Mrs. the foot- , i osond her ma f there -was a then an apoi For able si- | 1 that would so “The s ngt very stronc he recreited | cides’ and then the usual flow of e Margaret was pacing the floor shuddering and burning by t this that was leaping veins? Why did her thou through her come 50 quick and fast? Was she gi crazy! Why, w he sting that song, had she thought of the y artist, who was at the mar- and he was made her She had thought of him soj painting the old flower w ket? She h looking sir, ——— _— } ‘many-times, and it was at these times that she felt the wretchedness of her ~ -she care! _W! at ch th did she long to be back in her own hi and not in this false and menial position What did it all mean? She paced up and dowruntiT worn in mind and body, she threw herself én herded. It wags quite late when Marie knocked ing no answer, came shé murmured, laying her hand gently on "s forehead. At thé“first touch the girl opened her eyes. MreDusne-hedesent~for her. She arose with a premenition of coming evil; yet it | Withea feeling of valmmess and strength that she entered the boudoir. “You sent for mei believe.” "Th the mistress turned. If Phil Reddington had luxurated his artist- ic Sout and strewn his note book with sketches of an eastern beayty reclining on a inst @ background of pale yellow, divan al fair, Int j¢ madonna in bi 4 py esac [on imroses clasped to her breast, be would sone mad with artistic or could he have seen these two wom 4 } face to faee. Beatrice Du- ane, = trafting gown of yellow satin, her her dark hair disordered, her eyes flashing as she hurled abuse at thé slender girl who jeod before her, white as marble in her vere black . her hair shining like @ halo about her head. and on her face an ex- pression indescribable in its loftiness, its coldness, its sweetness and dignity. Her clear eyes were fixed upon her mis- tress, but she did not speak a word. Final- ly, strength spent, Beatrice pointed to the table and said in the haughty tone that her secretary knew so well: ‘ “There is your ticket to Dusseldorf. You ave what little money will be necessary to take you there. You will not, of course, j after this disgraceful performance expect to receive the part of your salary due you. You will leave the house immediately.” Back to Dusseldorf! As well there as anywhere else, for she had no friends, but : ae eae mother had died, and ere that she met the English clergy- tan and-his wife who had become her fast friends, and who, when her little store of money was exhausted, had procured for her a position as Mrs. Duane’s secretary. These two were only friends she had. She could go to them for tonight at least, and they would advise her what to do next. With trembling hands she packed her meager wardrobe, and telling Marie she would send for it in the morning, she drew her long, dark cloak around her and left the house, . The wind had risen, and before she had scene many steps thé rain began to fall in torrents. But a wild fear had taken possea- sion of the gtrl, and she ran on with throb- bing brain and trembling, limbs. Past the lawns and villas; down ink the more thick- ly settled part of the town, until she reach- ed the quiet street on wifich the English rectory stood. The, cathedral clock was chiming 12, but the light in the minister's study was still burning. She struggled the step@” ut her strength was exha’ She reached put..for the knecker, but the door was opened from within aud she full Snecnaow, at the feeteof Philip Redding- whew onaty = neat’ ~ and be- gan to re even t day he began to think e Eo dreaming. But no, it was all real, for here ‘as the note that the minister's wife had promised to send him, saying that Margaret seemed: strenger, but wes not fully con. scious yet. He tried to think the matter out clearly and to determine on his future course of action, but gave it up as a hope- less tatk In his’ present state of mind. two things he was certain; that the full measure of bis wrath and indignation was kindled pening Beatrice Duane, and that Margaret Halford had taken of his heart. He found himself saying over end over again that he would never give her up, never. sister was in the pretty breakfast room, waiting to pour his coffee for hira, and to her he made his confession. How be had felt strongly attached to the girl the first ume he had seen her in the market place; the sketch he had made of vid Maria had been only an excuse to see her, Each time he saw her at market or in Mrs. Duane's drawing room she had seemed more and more lovely. He had asked hig hostess for an introduction and had refused, almost brusquely. Then he had heard some one sg “Promise Me,” and had longed to hear her sing it, and so had brought it to Mrs, Duane. When he heard her voice he had forgotten everything and before he deft that evening he had openly declared to Mrs. Duane that he was pieelierty interested in her secretary. had flatly refused to introduce him, for once had lost control of herself,and showe4 H 5 son distinguished New England family, while studying music abroad had married a Swedish girl—an orphan, dependent on the parish, and well nigh friendless. When his family heard of this they cast him For some ytars he, with his wife and led a wandering life, op a small eked out by help of bis mi —_ — =. friends, but ves; too happy her husband little other companionship; the husband, and reticent. One day, was nineteen years brought home dead, team. The widow finally persuaded air, went to a little town Sweden. Here she be aiftleult to" tn , “as Nhe was kept al at worl ely, any leisure. He had sat SAeh thereat sana his wife talking < Margaret until insensible at his feet, her long hair loosened and drenched by the rain, her face pale and haggard. Here Phil stopped, and there was & set, determined expression on his face. Mrs. Raymond had heard his story with mingled consternation and sympathy, and Dow, wise little woman that she was, she advised her brother to possess his soul in patience, and she herself stepped into her carriage apd drove straight to the English rectory. From Mrs. Stanly Phil's sister heard Mar- garet’s history again. It lost nothing in the telling, for the rector’s young wife was enthusiastic in her admiration of Margaret, and her face flushed and paled, and tears stood in her eves as she told the story of the girl's sad life. When Mrs, Raymond met her brother on her return home it was with outstretched hands, smiling lips and tearful eyes. The Raymonds spent the summer in Sweden and the Stanlys were their guests, There was another member of the house- hold, in the person of Mrs. Raymond's sec- retary, and it was whispered about that she was the same who had served in a like capacity for Mrs. Duane. But those who seen her in both places found it hard to believe this report, for during the summer, amid the congenial sur- roundings of the Raymonds’ the girl's starved nature bad grown and ex- panded until her whole being seemed changed. The pale cheeks were rounded and flushed with a delieate glow, her slen- der figure had filled eut to fine proportions, her sad eyes were sad no longer, but re- tained just enough of their dermer expres- sion to give her an unworldly and uplifted . Her voice was as pure and clear as ever, but deeper and richer in volume. She had laid aside her plain black dress for lighter -@nd more artistic gowns. People began to say that she was a beauty. And if the girl were. not the same, her life was entirely @ifferent. Mrs. Raymond paid fer generous salary, and, could she have had her own way, would not have given Margatet a stroke of work to do, but delicacy forbade her to wound the girl's pride;' gin so’ she turne® over to her the formal correspondence of the houschold. For thé ‘rest Position ‘was that of an elder Gqughter, In the’early autumn PH sailed for New York, ‘byt in the early spring he returned to On. Faster Monday the English church was the scene of a qulet wedding to which a select few were bidden. The newspaper, published ‘in behalf of the foreign resi- dents, devoted considerable space to de scribing it. “One of the prettiest features of thé occasion being the touch ef color ine troduced by ses of mountain primrosep ong the flor: ous and the bour le, Jt is said that © to commemorate romantic incident connect engagement of the happy couple = —w WREN WEARY AND Use Norstord Wheo you are wearr and kaneald with the of eu . and st in Vain to keep cool, your also. usc of Uoreford’s aid you, am Pucsphuic will mater the