Evening Star Newspaper, November 24, 1894, Page 18

18 THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 24, 1894—TWENTY PAGES. A REAL OLD PLACE A Quaint Maryland Town and Its Interesting Past, VOYAGE OF DISCOVERY 10 PISCATAWAY At One Time the Center of a Pros- perous Tobacco Trade. THE FADED GLORIES —— ‘The Evering Star. HERE IS IN THE immediate vicinity of Washington a town which is not only an- cient, accordi.g to our American stand- ards of antiquity, but which is in fact pre- historic, having been in existence before our colonies began making new world history. Further, if its present progress ¢ of decrease be con- tinued, it will shortly possers the additional interest of being extinct. If you follow my recommendation of ‘last week and take the old river road down the Maryland shore of the Potomac you will find it at the other end of fifteen miles and four or five miles inland from Fort Washington. I refer to theevillage of Piscataway. People who see Piscataway for the first time are wont to smile and to deride it because of the absence of the busy hum of traffic. It is irreverence. Such people would deride a cemetery. Piscataway is not adapted to the busy hum of traffic and they would not go well together. It is a city of rest, of relics and of remin- iscence. Nevertheless, it has had its palmy days and is known to history, and it was krown to Iterature before our ancestors began to wrangle over a site for the capi- tal of the infant republic. When Lord Baltimore's colony of Catholic refugees reached America early in the spring of 1634 and cast anchor in the Potomac a few miles from its mouth Leonard Calvert, the governor, left the ship and in a small pinnace, accompanied by a few of his men, sailed up the river in search of a suitable spot to establish his settlement. A Non-Committal Indi: The journey is described in a curious little work called the “Relation of Mary- land,” published in London, 1635, After landing at an Indian village called Pata- ‘womeck, on the southern shore of the river, where they had a short interview with the chief, to whom they gave a few points on religion, “The governor,” in the words of the narrative, “went to Paschato- wey, about twenty leagues higher, where hee found many Indians assembled, and Written Exclusively for = fhe Emperor of Pixcataway Dis- charged His Squaws. heere hee met with one Captain Henry Fleete, an Englishman, who had lived many years among the Indians, and by that means spake the countrey language very well, and was much esteemed of by the natives. Him our governor sent ashore to invite the werowance (chief) to a parley, who thereupon came with bin aboard pri- vately, where he was courteously enter- tained, and after some parley, being de- manded by the governor whether hee would be content that hee and his people should set downe in his country in case bee should find a place convenient for him, his answer was that hee would not bid him gce, neither would he bid him stay, but that hee might use his owne discretio: So the governor returned down the river, founded St. Mary's City and set about learning to smoke and chew. This old chieftain, or emperor, as the colonists called him, was the most power- ful of the region, and all the neighoring tribes were tributary. Pgschatoway, cr Kittamaquindi, as it seems to have been called py the Indians themselves, was his capital, and was a stockaded town of about 500 warriors. The chief lived here with his wives in considerable style until a mission- ary came and told him that he was kcep- ing house on too large a scale for his in- come and persuaded him to discharge most of his squaws and get married decently to one. He did so with Christian equanimity, keeping only the one who could have heen called good-looking with the least aftront to the aesthetic faculty, and was baptized with great ceremony ‘and thoroughness. Gov. Calvert, his secretary and most of the dignitaries of the colony were present on the occasion and enjoyed it very much. buportant Shipping Point. The town was a missionary post for ~many years, in charge of the Rev. Father White, a priest of great benevolence, and one of the earliest writers on the subject of colonial Maryland. The relations Le- tween the early Marylanders and the In- dians were very peaceful, and serious con- flicts were rare; but the contact with ef zation had its ‘usual fatal effect, and the tribes gradually dwindled and disappeared or moved away beyond the mountains. ‘There {s, however, I have been told, still ® remnant of them on the Potomac some- where in the region of Port Tobacco or be- low—a community of swarthy people, with straight, dark hair, extremely exclusive and upiversally Catholics. As the colony rapidly grew in population and prosperity Piscataway became an im- portant shipping point for the rich tobacco growing region around it, and many of the vealthy tohacco agents had their resi- dences in the village. The Piscataway river, which {s now a_ shallow, muddy creek, was thén of sufficient depth and wide enough at the town to accommodate the ships of those days with ease, and thcy were loaded here for Europe. ‘ Amusements of the Time. When the ships arrived the town a lively pluce. The planters came i every direction with their families, « Bumerous inns were crowded. It wa: Universal Mending Co. was from the like W116 Fost. nav a protracted fair. There were horse races, chicken fights, bear and bull baitings and shooting matches in the day; and in the evening the high-stocked, pig-tailed young planters dance] with, squeezed and made love to the short-waisted, buxom and be- feathered damsels, with all the courtliness of a magazine filustration. There was more or less gaming, too, and any amount of bard drinking, for in those days conscience was not quick in such matters, and people did very nearly as they pleased. But it does not appear that there was much lawlessness, and none of the fero- cious rowdyism which characterizes a mod- ern Anglo-Saxon community on the out- skirts of civilization, although the immi- grants were of an extremely mixed class and contained, undoubtedly, a large crim- inal element, particularly after the eustom was established of sending over convicts by the shipload to be sold to the tobacco grow- ers. But there was also a large element of gentle blood which served as a leavening to the community, and these and their do- seendants preserved something. of their aristocratic traditions and manners. He Had Many Followers. There arrived from London in those early days one Ebenezer Cook, who came over for the purpose of becoming a to- bacco agent, er, as they were then called, from the popular name of the commodity in which they dealt, a “sot weed factor.” He met with divers experiences in his travels through the colony, and being a tenderfoot, and, moreover, a cockney, he Gov: Calvert Learned to Smoke. was very shortly swindled out of his pos- sessions and forced to return to England, where he vented his feelings In a poetic “satyr,” called “The Sot-Weed Factor.” In this he details, with considerable acri- mony, his adventures and his impressions. He describes his landing at Piscataway: “Where soon repair’d a numerous Crew In Shirt and Drawers of Scotch-cloth, blue, With neither Stockings, Hat nor Shooe. ‘These Sot-weed Planters crowd the Shoar In hue as tauny as a Moor; Figures so strange ho God design’d ‘To be a part of Humane kind; But wanton Nature, void of Rest, Moulded the brittle Clay in Jest. In this strain of criticism the disgruntled Mr. Cook goes through a poem of consid- erable length, and finds many faults in the Marylanders. He was the prototype of a long, dreary succession of Britons, at whose tail is the unsettled Mr. Stead, who have enjoyed American hospitality and then gone home and snarled at their hosts. The Old Man Explained. Of such memortes is quaint old ‘Scat- away. When I visited the place for the first time, several summers ago, I thought that I had discovered a deserted village. Not a soul was in sight down the single street, nor a chicken, nor a pig. I travers- ed nearly the entire extent of the town before I found, at last, an old negro at work shelling corn in a barn. “Good :norning, uncle,” I said. “Where are all the people of this town? You are the first living being that I have met.” “Well, sah,” he replied, “dey’s mos'ly all aid." “Dead!” I exclaimed, fearing for the in- stant that I had struck a pestilence. “Yes, sah, duid and buried. Dey’s been a dyin’ off an’ a dyin’ off ever since I kin rece’lect, 2n’ no new ones comin’ ‘cept de bables, an’ dey all cl’ar out jes as soon «1s ever dey’s big enough, so dey ain’ nobody lef’ 'cap'n jis de ole folks. An’ dey ain’ ve’'y many 0° dem.” “PL: —e_ used to be quite a town,” sted. it did! Hit used to be right smaht of a place. Dey was a time, sah, when it was a heap bigger’n Washington.” “Yes, that’s a fact,” I asserted. “But it sut'ny is playin’ out. I kin rec- c'lect de time when dey was a heap mo’ houses 'n what dey is now. A string of em "way "long down de road, an’ a lot of ‘em back yorder to’ds de hills and down "long by de creek, roun’ whah de ole to- bacco warehouses vsed to stan’. But dey’s all tumbled down, an’ blowed down, an’ been pulled down fo’ firewood, tell dey ain’ but few of ‘em lef’, but dey's mo’ lef’ dan dey is folks to live in em.” A White Man's Value. “Where were the tobacco warehouses, uncle? 1 should like to see what fs left of them.” | “"Deéd dey ain’ nuthin’ lef’ ‘cept de groun” whah dey stood on. But I'll show you. Come ‘long dis "yah way.” He led the way across the field and through a thick undergrowth, toward the creek. On the way he asked “Does you b'long to one o° famblys o’ Maryland?” With a view of establishing a prestige in the old man’s mind, 1 lied, innocently, and said that 1 did. de fust “ "Deed, does you, boss? ‘Deed, docs you?” he exclaimed, with real feeling, seizing me by the arm. “Good lan’! Den jes’ as like as not dis ‘yah’s de ve'y spot Whah yo’ gret-gret-gran’pap an’ my gret- Colonial Amusements. gret-gran’pap was bofe sold fo’ a bale o° tefbaccy! On’y,” he continued, straighten- ing himself a bit, “only a niggah was wuth a heap mo’n a white man in dem times. A niggah he'd fetch mo’n one bale o' ter- bacey, anywheres, but a white man wouldn't. A white man wasn't much ‘count on de plantation, nohow, The collapse of a punctured toy balloon could not have been more complete than mine. 1 looked with dampened interest at the spot where there were no remains of warehouses, and wondered, in feeble vay, why the spirit of mortal should be c. B. H. Bachelors’ and family mending neatly done. proud. LIGHTING THE CITY A Combination of Gas, Electricity, Oil and the Moon, LAMPLIGHTERS AND THEIR WORK The Proposed Paris System of Des- ignating the Streets. THE MUNICIPAL MOON See LTHOUGH LIGHT- ing the streets of Washington is a matter of consider- able interest to the public-at-large, yet it is probably a cor- rect surmise that but few of the 2 odd thousand residents of the District of Co- jumbia are familiar with the details of the system by which Pedestrianism and the use of horses and wheels are rendered safe atter nightfall. The average citizen is aware that the majority of streets of the city are illuminated on nights when the silvery moon is not on duty by rows of gas lamps located at intervals in very close proximity to the curbing on both gides of the streets. He knows from personal ob- servation that the principal business streets are robbed of darkness by means of are electric lights, and that the road- ways of the suburbs not as yet supplied with gas mains depend on oil lamps to partially dispel the gloom of night. But as to who lights and extinguishes the jamps, the number of such, what their maintenance costs, or any other facts in relation to the matter are questions that but a smali proportion of the population of the capital city of these United States, it is safe to say, are prepared to anwser. For the fiscal year ending in 18% Con- gress has appropriated for {illuminating ma- terial, lighting, extinguishing, repairing and cleaning public lamps on avenues, street: roads and alleys, for purchasing and ex pense of erecting new lamp posts, street- designation lanterns and fixtures, moving lamp posts, painting lamp posts and lan- terns, replacing and repairing lamp posts and lanterns damaged or unfit for service, for storage and cartage of material,$142,400. Congress, in its wisdom has directed that the lamps shall burn not less than 3,000 hours per annum, provided, that before any expenditures are made from the ap- propriation in question the contracting gas ecompany shail equip each street lamp with a self-regulating burner and tip, so com- bined and adjusted as to secure, under all ordinary Variations of pressure and density, consumption of six cubic feet of gas per hour. Problem of the Trees. ‘There is appropriated for electric lighting, including necessary expenses of inspection, on one or more of the principal streets in the cities of Washington and Georgetown, $47,600, Not more than 40 cents per night, the law provides, shall be paid for any electric are light burning every night from sunset to sunrise, and operated wholly by means of underground wires. Each are light, it is stipulated, shall be of not less than 1,000 candle power. According to Capt. George McC. Derby, who was until recently assistant to the Engineer Commissioner of the District, the streets of this city are most difficult to light, owing to the great number of ae planted on the curb line. The heavy shade renders the use of large electric Hghts at wide irtervals generally unsuitable, and the high price charged by the electric company, Capt. Derby states, makes it impossible to even extend this system to all the streets, where the trees will permit. The trees are generally located so near the curb that the lamp posts have to be set on practically the same line as the trunks of the trees, so that even in winter when the trees are bare of leaves the streets look gloomy at night as compared with the streets of most large capitals. Some experiments have been made during the past year looking to a change in the type of lamp post and lantern, to obviate this difficulty as far as possible, but so far without developing anything that would be considered a solution of the problem In many cases Capt. Derby is inclined to think that the best results would be ob- tained by locating the lamp posts in the center of the streets, as is done to some extent in many foreign cities, a curbing around the foot of the post serving the pur- pose of protecting the post and furnishing a place of safety where pedestrians can take refuge in crossing crowded streets. These small refuges, placed at intervals of 100 or 125 feet, would also help, it is said, to regulate traff.c, as vehicles would natur- ally keep to the right of them. The Municipal Moonlight. ‘The city is at the present time lighted by 327 electric lights, 6,246 gas lamps and 747 oil lamps. The United States Electric Light Company furnishes the electric portion of the illumination, the gas is supplied by the Washington Gas Light Company, and the oil lamps by a firm in this city. An ad- vantageous contract, it is thought, has been made for the substitution of gasoline for the oil lamps used, where gas mains have not been laid. The lamps are lighted from forty minutes after sunset until forty minutes before sunrise every night of the year for $17 per lamp per annum. As has been stated, by far the greater portion of the lighting is by means of gas. The government erects the lamps, but the gas company must see to it that they are maintained in proper condition. Of the 6,246 lamps, but a very small proportion are under the direction of the United States government, and these’ are located in the grounds surrounding the Executive Man- sion and the public parks and reservations. The lamps are lighted and extinguished in accordance with the schedule governing the city lamps, and are paid- for at the same rate. It ts prescribed by law that each gas lamp shall burn just 3,000 hours each year, while to maintain an all night service dur- ing the entire $65 nights would require that the lamps should be lighted at least 4,000 hours. Therefore, in order to remain with- in the 3,000-hour limit the lamps are not lighted on nights when the full moon shines forth. The Corps of Lamplighters. The lamps are lighted as prescribed in a schedule arranged by the District officials at the end of each calendar month to gov- ern the succeeding month. This ts trans- mitted to the Washington Gas Light Com- pany, which furnishes copies to each lam- lighter, who is held strictly accountable and required to live up to the regulations contained therein and to observe the hours prescribed. The corps of lamplighters con- sists of fifty men, the majority being col- ored. In addition to lighting and extin- guishing the lamps, the lamplighters are expected to keep them clean. The number of lamps assigned to each man is about one hundred and twenty, and he must light them all in the space of one hour, and ex- tinguish them in a similar period, without regard to the weather. For their services the lamplighters are paid at the rate of $28 per month each. ‘Several watchmen are employed by the gas light company to see that the lamplighters perform their duty as they are expected to do. Capt. W. L. Cash is the gas company’s superintendent of street lamps, and the lamplighters report to him at the 10th street office for orders daily, before mak- ing their rounds. Even when the prepared schedules denotes a moonlight night the lighters are required to report, for when the day betokens a dark night, the lamps are made, as far as possible, to take the place of the moon. A fine of 2 cents per hour is imposed on the gas light company for each lamp not lighted on the appointed nights, and policemen are required to re- port all omissions. Wind often extinguish- es the lights and the company is held responsible. One night not very long ago a sudden gust put out every one of the any hundred lights on the Anacostia ridge. The System in Paris. The amount of glass in street lamps de- stroyed by the wantonness of mischievous small boys is surprisingly large, and the expense resulting from the same is. con- —_—_=——_——— Mending for all busy men and women, siderable. Each lamp costs $4.50, and they are frequently twisted and wrecked. Both the District government and the gas light company are making strenuous efforts to lessen the loss ffomjthis cause. The in- crease in the number of gas lamps between the years 1891 1899 was 1,200. In conection wit! lamps may be men- tioned the system-of marking the names.of the streets at the street corners. Some steps have been enjduring the past year to improve the niethd’, which is not alto- gether satisfactory, as the glass signs used are constantly getting broken, are @x- nsive to replace, and with the small num- r of inspectors ke tho street lighting do- partment, are liable remain broken for weeks before they are discovered and re- placed. On strats lighted by electricity lamp posts are maintained at street corners for the sole purpose af carrying the street designations, forming unnecessary obstruc- tions on the sidewalks and detracting from the beauty of the'streets. Probably the best marked city at home or abroad is Paris, where the streets are all marked with absolute uniformity by means of a blue enameled sign placed on corner houses at the level of the second floor and bearing the name of the streets in white block letters. In Paris all corner houses bear these signs, be they palaces or shan- ties. A specimen of these signs has recent- ly been obtained from Paris, arrangements have been made for duplicating them, and signatures of the owners of a number of corner houses have been obtained permit- ting the piacing of these signs on their property. t In Favor of Municipal Control. There has been considerable agitation within a year past by citizens’ associations and others in favor of municipal control of city lighting, and committees have con- ferred with the Commissioners in regard to the matier, but no decisive action has as yet "been taken. The estimates submitted for the next fiscal year are: One superin- tendent of lamps, $1,800; three inspectors of gas and electric lighting, $000 each, $2,700, and for operating and extending the street lighting system, $271,856. A marked increase js asked in the appro- priation for street lighting, because it is not believed that the existing service 1s satisfactory or in keeping with the high standard set in the other branches of the city government. According to Capt. Der- by, nearly all of the streets are but dimly lighted, many of them are not lighted at all; there are many thickly inhabited alleys entirely without lights, and it is very gen- erally believed it is high time the city cease to depend upon the moon for any portion of its street lighting. ate Not at All Surprised. From the Indianapolis Journal. ‘Well, what do you think of it?” “Oh, I ain't surprised,” said the trustee of Hoop ole township. ‘I knowed that when they jumped on me fer spendin’ $3 fer a bridge over Smith’s branch the people would rally to our support.” Fally Occupied. From the Chicago Inter-Ocean. “Has your housemaid enough work to keep her busy all the time?” Mrs. Newbride—“Yes, indeed. She has three afternoons out, and it takes all the rest of her time getting ready to go.” ————e+—__ Which? From Life. She—“Did you ever see a. more perfect moon?” He (slightly under the influence)—“Wer- wer-wish One are you ‘ferring to?” Mistaken Identity. From Truth. . Mr. Turkey—“‘Hullo! What's that?” — “Well, bless my Thanksgtving soul, if I haven't been raising an ostrich!” 4B kinds of mending. Universal Mending Cec. The Happy Thanksgiving of the Burglar and Plumber BY OCTAVE THANET. (Copyright, 1894, by Octave Thanet.) ISS ELINOR MER- ryweather went to bed Thanksgiving evening, in a grace- less frame of mind, at least in a frame of mind that may pass for graceless in @ woman of such kindly nature as Miss Merryweather. “You may go, Rob- she said to her faithful maid; “ard you and Harriet” (Harriet was-the cook) “and Matilda” (Ma- tilda was the waitress) “may all go to that party at James’ ” (James was the gardener). “I shall not need any of you.” I hate to leave you alone, Miss Elinor,” said Robbins; and hesitated, knowing Miss Merryweather well enough not to ask her would she be afraid? she did not do much better to blurt out: “They do say there's burglars in town, ma’am.” “Very well,” responded Miss Merry weather with unshaken calm—whatever her faults, timidity rever was charged to her—“be sure you lock all the doors and windows securely. And you may as well see the galvanic battery works all right; and that the silver is ali in the safe. Good night, a pleasant time to you.” Robbins knew when her mistress used this tone that argument would be vain, so, discomfited and with more than one wist- ful glance backward in the hall, she re- tired. Miss Merryweather began to walk up and down the room. It was an attractive room with the soft ivory gleam of the paint and the sprangly, old-fashioned flowers on the creamy walls. These walls were thickly hung with water-color sketches and pen and ink and wesh drawings, which gave one an eerie sensation of familiarity, like faces seen in a dream, and sometimes by some clever people of long memories were traced to a favorite illustrator, being in fact by famous artists their original draw- ings for well-known magazines. One perecived also an old-fashioned air that came from the presence of certain chairs and tables luxuriantly carved in dull-hued oak or tinted in old marqueterie. In one corner of the room a cabinet showed all the dazzhng hues of rare, old china, the sumptuous gilding of Satsuma, the delicate forms of old Sevres, the dainty fancies in Meissen, and the soldier opulence of color and shape by the great English makers. A davenpert in one cor- ner, a lounge with many pillows in ane other, and a tea table with its shining equipage, hinted the room to be Miss Mer- ryweather’s own special sitting room. She never called it a boudoir, and nothing made her more indignant than to hear the name from any one else. “Do I look like a woman who would have a boudoir?” she had been known to demand, almost with fierceness. “A boudoir is a’ place where girls witn sloopy hair read poetry and write notes on scented paper, and make poor tea, that they sip with souvenir spoons. Look at my spoons; they are truly apostles; and isn't that Eve sprawling by that ridiculous river on that Capo di Monti teapot delicious? Taste my tea? A friend brought it to me from Russia. Did you ever taste such tea in a boudoir? I think not!” Miss Merryweather’s tea was celebrated by all who Were so fortunate as to drink it; but it was not the tea table to which the eye of a newcomer instinctively turned; it was a heavy Italian chest, the lid adorned by two curiously wrought iron handles, the chest itself of age-stained oak, having divers vague and grisly traditions connecting it with the treasure of a con- vent and the murder of faithful guardians by vandal robbers in the eighth English Henry's time. By a natural divagation of the mind the chest had become Miss Mer- ryweather’s safe, and contained, it was said, a bona fide safe, wherein was depo: ited the famous Merryweather plate, some descended from colonial Merryweathers, some presented by brother officers to the late Gen. Merryweather. Also therein sparkled the jewels of Miss Merryweather, which would not have been despised in a large city, and were regarded with awe in an Iowa town. Miss Merryweather, though a spinster and no longer young, was fond of mag- nificence in dress, on proper occasions, In general, she wore simple costumes always of black, which recognized, but did not slavishly defer to fashion. But for high toilets she had satins and velvets and lace as ancient as her china. In person, Miss Merryweather was tali and thin; but she had a mantua maker that understood her business. When she was young and her hair was black, Miss Merryweather’s Ro- man features might have seemed large, however finely chiseled. Now, framed in softest iron gray, they were commonly de- scribed as “so distinguished.” She was of a fine carfiage, a figure to notice on the streets; expecially as she was.a trifle ab- sent mirded, and when she walked had the habit of swaying her shapely right hand from side to side as if addressing an in- visible avdience in inaudible words, She ha:l a warm heart and a quick temper, and she had Leen known to arrest (with the aid of symputhetic bystanders) at least half a dozen oppressors of duinb brutes. She did not keep a single cat in the house. In pus- sy’s place, she petted a majestic Saint Ber- nard, who sometimes accompanied her in lieu of the body rd. Whatever her eccentricities—I must grant her some—she was greatly Beloved by her fellow townsmen, and those who knew her Lest loved her most strongly. She had, however, a will of her own. And she was one who, in the language of Holy Writ, kept her promise to her hurt. Thus, some- times, an impetuous temper led her into imprudent declarations out of which she sould not always extract herself without zreat exercise of her wits. Her latest di- lemma engrossed her tonight. Having tne plumbing of her dwelling repaired, in an unlucky moment she had a quarrel with the piumbers' uhion over # bill, and the re- sult was, that she sent aw ‘every man swindler of them all”—I would not be un- derstood to indorse her words—and was left with the water service of the house cut off and water hauled from the cisterns and a single faucet in the garden, while friends sniffed apprehensively whenever they entered the house, and asked was she not afraid of sewer gas? and her niece (who was as a daughter to her) did not » dare to bring the baby to spend Thanksgiv- because the child might catch diph- ugh the deadly, leaking pipes. sald Miss Merryweather, who used strong expressions sometimes, being by birth and breeding quite too great a lady. to disturb herself about the minor conventions. “Stuff and nonsense! There are no leaks, but I’m not going to argue with you, Helen. I shall get a plumber and have you come Thnaksgiving.” ‘Then, discerning a peculiar smile on the amiable features of Helov's husband, she acded gravely: ‘He will not belong to the union. If Th to wait to hire a union plumber I shall wait until the pipes tumble to pieces But the impurted plumber who was to put the forces of organized labor to rout did not come, although such is the extra- ordinary working of the feminine logic, he was offered as high wages as the erring and grasping union piumbers had been refused. Miss Merryweather was sure he had either been bought off or assassinated by the union; she paid no heed to the theory submissively tendered by Helen's hus- band, to wit, that, knowing the man's habits, he had catise to suspect he was simply celebrating Thanksgiving in an unholy menner on his own account. “No, poor fellow,” she murmured, “most likely he is lying dead in some alleyway with all his ribs broken. They do such things.” It was with a gloomy mind she beheld the night before Thanksgiving. “I never was so little thankful in my life,” she murmured, “and I was so bent on having that plumbing done in time to have Helen and show that Vance that I am a maich for the plumbers’ union if 1 am a lone woman.” Miss Merryweather was not used to being beaten; it galled; she had mailed iettgrs to different plumbers asking for bids by telegraph, but, peer as she might, she could not see a loophole of es- cape for her this time. She went to bed early, but for a long while she could not sleep. She thought of the plumbers’ union and her own defeat and raged anew. And when, at last, she was just, slippini off into the shadows of peace, she hea the softest of footfalls. Surely she had closed the door on Diogenes, the dog! Hadn't she closed the door? Her mind drove her backward over that hasty jour- | wea | have planned things that w: ney through the rooms down stairs. Diog- enes had a mat in the laundry, and the range of the kitchen; she certainly had closed one of the kitchen doors; didn’t she close the kitchen door upstairs? She did— at least she had seen that the door to the cellar was fast and she thought she had bolted the door upstairs—how did people ever feel certain about anything enough to swear that it happened? The footsteps were nearer, in the sitting room, which adjoined the chamber. Her first thought was for the safety of the tea table with its precious freight; she was sure if she called to the dog kindly, he would begin wagging his tail, that tremendous brush which, with one sweep, might hurl her idols into irredeemable, smashing, crashing ruin! Sternness was the only chance! “Down charge, Die’ she commanded. “Bad dog! Down!” A particularly mild voice answered her, ain’t a dog, miss; it’s a man!” *A man?’ repeated Miss Merryweather. “Well!” Of course it was not well; but Miss Mer- ryweather did not think of the nicer mean- ings of words. “Yes, ma’am,” the voice repeated be alarmed, I'm a man, a burglai Miss Merryweather showed no signs of alzrm. In the first place, she had a fear- less soul; in the .second place, the voice wes so milc, so almost apologetic, that it rized her serse of humor. I don’t know but that you are less of ‘ance than the dog would be,” said she. cu stay right where you are and I will turn on the electric lights as soon as I get on a few thiags. Don't move, or you'll hit something!” s “All right, ma'am,” said the burglar, “only no pulling out a pop, you know, and firing it off at me in the dark, hit or miss.” “Certainly not—at least, not until I can see you,” said Miss Merryweather. All the while she was hastily doaning a wrapper and slippers. Then she turned on the lights. The burglar stood directly under the blaze. He did not look like a burglar; there was nothing much in’ his pale face oxcept the look of recent sickness and hopviess- ness. His clothes were like any workman's =a pair of blue, soiled overalls, with some- thing like a bib front, and a patched, check shirt. His hat (it was a hat, and not the cap in which artists, for ‘reasons best known to themselves, delight to depict the burglar) was a very battered soft felt, and it was not pulled down over his black brows; it was pushed back from dark brown locks. He looked like a workman out of a job. His hands, one of which held a pistol, were calloused and sta‘ned—a workingman’s hand: When Miss Merryweather loomed upon him—one may say darted, since that was the effect of the springing of the light up- on her image—he lifted his empty hand to his hat. “I don’t want to disturb you, ma’ain,” he repeated, “but I've got to have some mon- ey. “Why?” said Miss Merryweather. She was quite at her ease and had taken a rocking chair. “Why?” the man echoed, bitterly. * Be- cause I prefer to steal to-seelng my wife dying for want of things done for her, and my children without shoes to their’ feet, and never a bite amongst us all this day. By , 1 beg your pardon, lady; 1 meaning to swear, but I'ra wore out. “Haven't you had anything to cat to- day?" said Miss Merryweather. He shook his head. A stiff lock of brown hair, which stood up on the top of his head, waggled at the motion; it gave him a grotesque look. He certainly was fright- fully thin. “Humph!” said Miss Merryweather, “you sit down in that rocking chair and sta there until I come up again. Don’t you burgle any until I come back; then we'll see what we can do.” “You ain't going to telephone to the police to nab me?” Miss Merryweather waved her hand to- ward the wall at a telephone. “It isn't customary in houses of people who are not millionaires to have two tele- phones,” said she. “Iam going to bring you something to eat. “I won't touch a thing, lady,” promise? the burglar. “I've been druv to this, I truly have.” Miss Merryweather encouraged him by a nod ani departed, lighted candle in hand. Never, it seemed to her, had she heard so many sinister noises at night as pricked her ears while her candle flitted from pantry to sideboard. Boards creaked under her tread as they never creaked in the daytime, and every door she touched sent up a long shriek of remonstrance. But Diogenes slept calmly in the laundry. Miss Morryweather shook Fer head. She carried a revolver in her hand, which she laid on the tray. “He seems like a decent sort of submerged unfortunate”—thus ran her meditations while she provisioned the tray—“but he may be wicked and run after me down staits. If he does, Di and the gun will have w nurt nim. “And I won't talk to him away from the teleprone.”” She thought of waking the sleeping dog ard taking him upstairs, but the peril’ to the china of Diogenes’ clumsy bulk seemed so much greater to her in- trepid soul than any personal danger from the mild-mannered burglar that she dis- missed the suggestion as soon as it appear- ed. And when she entered her sitting room again and saw how starved and tired her burglar looked, she was glad of her decision. He was leaning back in his chair, his pistol still in one limp hand, his head laid back, showing his miserably thin neck, and the white glare full on the haggard pallor of his face. His eyes brightened at the sight of the tray. Miss Merryweather, making no com- ment, lighted the lamp ‘under the silver chafing dish; and as it burned, she but- tered the slices of bread and placed beef between them. “I am afraid the beef is a little under- done for your taste,” observed she kind- ly, “and I hope you don’t care for mustard, for I forgot it; but I've put on salt and pepper, and they were the best done pieces 1 could find. The soup will be warm in a minute. Now, you drink this glass of wine." The man drenk it, keeping his eyes on her. Then he laid the pistol on-the table. “I ain't going to use it,” he said. Much better not,” returned Miss Merry- ther. “The truth is [have long had a curiosity to see a burglar and I rather but I didn’t expect he would be so decent ‘as you scem, ‘don’t How do you like tnit wine? "It’s old Jacques port.” The burglar looked rather bewildered, but answered that it was the best wine he hed ever tasted. He added ingenuously that he had net tasted much wine. “You are pot at all dike a prefessional burgiar,” remarked the lady, who had now come to ladling out the steaming soup. “I think you must be an amateur.” “I never touched a thing 'wasa’t my own before, lady, so help me —~" “Well, you haven't touched anything yet row,” interrupted Miss Merryweather, who had a mania for accuracy. She con- tinued: “I suppose you are putting that sandwich into your pocket for your fam- ily— don’t do it! I'l make you up a basket for them. Tell me what brought you, such a decent man, to this pass?” The man smeared his eyes with his hand before. he began. “I never seen a lady like you,” sald he, “I'm just going to tell you the honest truth. I’ was working in Chi- cago. 1 ,belonged to the junior plumb- ers’ —' “Oh, if you were a plumbe come natural to you to rob The burglar acknowledge a faint smile. ‘We ain’t so bad as they make us out. Well, hard’ times come, and work fell off and the unton wouldn't let us work below wages, so I left the union. Fact is, I couldn’t keep up my dues ——” “Do you mean to tell me,” cried Miss Merryweather, springing from her chair in strong agitation, * you are not a union man. Don't think of burgling me! I can give you a great d better job, and I will advance you mone on it, too. This house is only about half plumbed; if you will take hold and get it must have the sally by this plumbing done hy 6 o’¢lock tomorrow | T'll pay you weil! And you shall have two men to help you who aren't plumbers, but have some sense! And a boy to run to the shop to get the ‘tools. Are you a good plumber?” : Yes’m, I was, but you sce I went to Pullman and worked there till the strike came. I didn’t strike, but I joined A. R. U. afterward, so as to get the relief. The strike lasted so long I used up all my savings, and then I didn’t git back, after all. So I'm a iittle out of practice. But I guess I can satisfy you. I'll try hard.’ “You shall have a chance, anyhow. So| my burglar, got a good plumber shop and y didn’t you | | get back there when the strike end | you went to Pullman; and w 13 “They didn't take all the mex, ma'am; and 1 heard of a job in Chicaxo, s0 I moved there; and I got it sure enough; but it only lasted a little while; and then I wrote to the new factory they were starting here, the glucose works, and I got a job, but the first week I come down with typhoid fever and I worked with the fever on me; and I did take whisky to kinder hold me up, for | was wild to think of losing my job; but I wasn’t drunk, though somebody said so. So I jost it and another feller got it—well, I guess he needed it bad, too. But that’s how it was. I went home and was sick awful bad for six weeks; and when 1 9 you mean to tell me | | | by 4 of the next afternoon. the | | attempt to rob. got up again, there was nothing I coul@ get, and the baby come, just then, Gog forgive it! and I guess he knowed he was none too welcome, for he's been hollering ever since. Doctor says he needs some kinder food, ‘Nestling food,’ or some sich name, and I wanted to git it, for I some- way don’t jest want him to die, if he is mean! Then, I wanted to git my woman things; she's an awful nice woman, I'll say, that, and about all we've got, she’s earned washing. I have been out a week, walking about a hundred miles, I guess, begging for a job everywhere I heard jobs were to be had; but, you see, we were strangers, and there ain’t enough work to go round ‘mon, the old men. Today, as I went back fro: the shoe factory ‘cross the river, and seen all the turkeys in the winders, and remem- bered how there wasn’t a bite in our house for today nor for tomorrow; and looked at the rich folks that don’t love their fam- ies a mite better’n I love mine, I got kin- der wild, I guess. I never hi grudged rich folks their money before. I was will- ing to work hard, and not to have very much; but now, it seems as if there wasn’t an inch of room for me and my family on this earth! We'd pawned every last thing we could pawn and there we was, a sturv- “But, goodness gracious!” exclaimed Miss Merryweather, who had with difficulty re- frained from interrupting him before, “why didn’t you Ko to the Associated Charities or to the Industrial Aid?” “You see, lady, we ain't used to being poor, we didn’t know about them places. Lady, I tell you, it ain't the poverty poor that gits squeezed the hardest when there's hard times; bless you, no! They're used to leanin’ on other folks and they just lop over a leetle heavier; but it’s the decent folks that never knew the way to the poor overseer’s office before, or even to the pawk shop, that catch it. They suffer and don} holler about it.” “I see,” said Miss Merryweather, “go on. “There ain't much more,” said the man, very neatly folding the napkin. “I told my wife I had got a job, and I would have the for a turkey for tomorrow, not t> I'd git some advanced. I wen! straight out, meaning to enter scinebody’s heuse and git enough to buy a Thanks- giving cinner. I prowied about for a long time, first deciding on one house and then on another. Bye and bye I saw all the folks in your kitchen going out end th light up stairs; and says I, that lady is all alone by herself and Ican git some money, “etBut how did y “But how you get in? The wisdow: barred downstairs ie es'm, they look like good winders. But I come in by the door, the kitchen door. I reasoned like the girls would have som place where they hid the kitchen key, and. I conld hunt it up. Most like it would be —_ the doormat. That's where it was, ey shall have a latchkey, every one of them; of course you got 5 A mr erae the Senet sot in, But didn’t “No, ma’am, he just slept like the dead. Them big dogs is jest like men about sleeping, they sleep so sound.” “But when you came up the stairs what did you do about the mat at the foot of the stairs? The lights ought to have sprung up and the bells rung the instant your foot touched the mat.” “Why, you see, lady,” said the burglat apologetically—he seemed to fear lest abe should be hurt by the failure of her care- fully planned burglar traps—“you see, I raturally struck a match, now and then, to see my way, and when I come on that plain, common mat in that beautiful hall with the handsome rugs about, I knowed it to be a burglar mat, so T jest stepped over it; I've no doubt all the things would have happened if I had stepped on it right.” “I don’t know,” said Miss Merryweather gloomily, “may be the plumbers got it out of order. But,come here, open that chest She pointed to the nuns’ chest azainst ¢ wall, und the burglar obediently laid h a be ar to do her jaating. An inner . ron was josed, having ve projecting handle: ee ee “Lift the cover, ry weatabe. : smile of grim expectation rtd her firm lips; now approached her triumph The burglar laid his hands on the knobs, and pensively nodded his head, screwing up h mouth, like a man recognizing a familiar flavor. “Yes'm,” id he, it? Kinder prickly: oe = the current,” said Miss Mer- eather; “you must be & rtan not to call out.” fsiameaee “Well, you see, I ruther suspicioned what it wes,” the burglar replied, letting his hards drop. “How can you get your hands awny?* cried Miss Merryweather. cM “Hain’t you weakened the current recated the burglar. “Shaw! I thought you had, or I wouldn't a taken them down; I'm real sorry.” Miss Merryweather laughed. “Everything is a failure,” said she. “You ousht to be held a prisoner, with your shoulders bunche ed up. It's all wrong. “Oh, no it ain't, ma’am,” the burglar tried to reassure her. “I ain't no manner of doubt that them mats down stairs would work splendid. We kin try, goin wn. But these here galvanic batteries are mighty unreliable. Never mind, I kin fix it all right for you. I'm glad I came, though.” “So am I,” said Miss Merryweather. “Do you think something is the matter with this, too?” displaying her revolver. It was a big revolver, of glossy and iridescent black; not a feminine fripper about it, no pearl, no silver; a revolver that meant business and showed its intentions, honorably. “No, it’s all right,” said the burglar, ads miringl ‘you could ‘a plugged me, sure.’ nless you shot me first.” “Humph! that would ‘a been difficult, seein’ mine ain't loaded, and there's some- thing the matter with the trigger, so it can't go off; else it would ‘a been in the pawnshop ‘stead of here.” “Well,” sighed Miss Merryweather, “it'a a mercy you tried to burgle me with that useless thing, Instead ef some one else. Now, for goodness sake, come dowustairs and let me give you that basket und get you Off before the servants come.” Miss Merryweather had very much the sensations of a burglar in her own house, as she despoiled the larder, the friendly burglar holding the candle, They lurrie at every glimpse of the clock; they treimbi: at all the creakings of the floor, “Robbins never did stay out before lat than 12 or 1; it’s a quar—Great heavens Miss Merryweather jumped. Suddenly she was bathed in a flood of light and bells seemed to be ringing all over the house. “L guess the mats is straight goods," said the burglar. “You trod on one by mistake, ma‘am. Say, what's that? They're a-hol lering in the yard! I'll try this door—— jo, you will not,” said Miss Merr: weather, all herself again; “you will stay just where you are, while I open the door.”’ She was at the hall door before she ended, calling loudly te the shrieking maids, who came in, timidly (except Robbins) in the rear,of the two men, who were none too valorous. othing is the matter,” said Miss Mer- ry weather. stepped on the mat myself. It works perfectly. Harriet, I've engaged a plumber, and he is to work all night and the plumbing will be done ‘by tomorrow afternoon. If you need those extra tools, you better go home and get them now” —turning upon the bewildered burglar— “and you don’t need that candle any more; Don't forget the basket.” commanded Miss Mere “galvanic battery, ain't “No, ma’am, thank you, a'am,” the burglar responded, meekly, “and I'll be back——"" ‘As soon ag you can, there's no time to lose,” said Miss Merryweather. “He is a good plumber,” she announced, calmly, to | her dazed domestic staff; “and I was lucky to get him, I have sent a basket of things to his family. Get him a good breakfast tomorrow morning; and I hope we shall have @ Thanksgiving, after all. I shan't forget how good you all are in these emer- gencies.” The household knew too well Miss Mer- ryweather’s generosity for these special eff. to be happy; but Robbins summed up the general mixture of dlsapprobation and admiration; she said: “Did y sce the like? I’ believe Miss Elinor y, get her will if she had to tear the world up_by the roots! The plumbing was done, and well done, The burglar mily, as well as the Merryweather gat ering, dined late that Thanksgiving. 1 cannot find any good. moral in this tal unless it be contained in Miss weather's own subsquent reflection aren't the ways of Providence queer! lots of custom, simply by an unsuccessful But then, it ts a merciful thing that as our best intentions are liable to bring harm and misfortune, so our bad ones run off the track sometimes, too. And, anyhow, tt wasn’t because he was a bu glar he was so lucky, but because he wi such a remarkably gentle and propitiating burglar! If he hadn’t been, I should have had to shoot him or sic Diogenes on him. I hope it will be a lesson to us both that it is better far to rule by love than fear, ani kind words can never die, and all thal kind of thing! And it was certainly @ mercy to me that I feel truly thankful fort I don't know how I could have beaten the * plumbers without him!"