Evening Star Newspaper, May 1, 1897, Page 18

18 ‘BIRDS AND BLOSSOMS Forest and Field in the Lovely Month of May. WHEN NATURE 18 MOST GENEROUS Visitors to Woodland Haunts Will Be Well Repaid. ‘CHARMING TO EYE AND EAR Written Exclusively for The Evening Star. Y THE FIRST OF May all semblance of. winter has van- ished from the land- scape. The brown earth and dead leaves have disap- peared beneath the fresh green of the grass and herbs; the skeletons of the trees are reclothed with verdure, and bloom and song are on every hand. It is true that there is a tradition of a snow- “storm in May, back in the 50's, that was *so heavy that a carriage was stalled in a snowdrift on 9th street and could not be sextricated for two or three days; but this seccurrence, if the tradition be trustworthy, was of so exceptional a character that we may safely leave it out of our calculations and store our winter appurtenances,sleighs, wraps, skates and the like, in some safe place, where, let us hope, “moth and rust’ will “not corrupt, nor thieves break through and steal.” And with our bridges thus burned behind us, we turn our faces summerward and lightly and gaily seek ‘those enjoyments that are offered by the outdoor season. As if to lure us to her haunts at the out- «set nature is most lavish of her wealth in May, the threshold of summer. The air is pure and of just the most enjoyable degree of temperature; the foliage is fresh sand delicate, many of the choicest flowers are at the height of their bloom, and the song birds are in their best voice, brightest apparel, blithest spirits and greatest num- bers. By the end of the first week our summer birds have all arrived, and the great migratory stream has aitained_ its ficed. This hest of passing birds is now greatly augmented by the warbler family. Why they are called “warblers” it would be hard to say, for very few of them have any high degree of musical ability. They are far inferior vocally to the finches and thrushes, their songs consisting prircipaliy of high, thin notes, suggestive of fine wire, or buzzy tones, whose perpetual hoarseness suggests the chance of a boom in the cough drop industry. Gay of Plumage. But if they are deficient in the musical attainment that might be expected from the family pamed, they are easily first in beauty and elegance ef attire. Their cos- tumes confbine the ricnest and most varied colors. Blue-wingei yellow warbler, cerul- ean, blue yellow-backed, black and yellow, chestnut sided, these names convey a hint of the richness of their coats, but it is the merest hint, for they are meager descrip- tions, and give no adequate idea of the variety of bright shades that each bird may display. Chestnut-sided, for example, tells nothing of the bright yellow cap, with Its double border of first white and then black, aml the coat of mixed black and pale yel- low margined with olive green that are worn by the dainty bird that bears the Name. And so it is of others. Some have rames that give absolutely no clue to the character of the birds. One of the hand- somest members of the family, a bird that wears a striking costume of black and white lberaliy intermixed with intense orange, is called the Blackburniun war- bler, in honor of an English woman whose husband’s patronym was Blackburn. And though some ingenious person might per- ceive in the name a possible allusion to two of the colors of the bird,—its black being aflame with orange,—yet it is safe to as- sume that no such occult meaning occurred to the ornithologist who stood sponsor for the little fellow. This interesting group of birds is well worth seeing. The trees of the woods are filled with them, particularly in the early morning, and one can easily imagine him- self in the tropics, so much of vivid color- ing is exhibited by the dainty visitcrs as they dart in and out, feeding, sporting and uttering their brief and unpretentious but attractive little strains. Yet it is a singu- lar fact that their presence with us for two ‘or three weeks every spring is comparative- ay unknown, even to those whose lives are ‘spent in the country. They pass by, a gay ‘end brilliant throng, unnoticed by all save an insignificant number of persons, princt- pally ornithologists. It is probably because ‘we see only what we look for, and very few look for birds. The Scarlet Tanager. One of the transient birds of May, whose plumage rivals that of the warblers in ‘beauty and elegance, is the scarlet tanager This gentleman (his wife is differently clad) wears a suit of the brightest of scar- det, handsomely trimmed with black. He sings for us while he is passing through, but with indifferent skill. His method is ‘faulty, and the result is a throatiness of tone; while one of his songs, and the one of which he seems to be most proud, con- sists of a deliberate and tireless reiteration of the words “chip churr’’ from the top of some forest tree. This phrase as he ren- ‘ders it ts so nearly devoid of musical in- ‘tonation that {t seems to belong to the “ategory of oratory rather than singing. ‘Wet itis a pleasant sound to one who knows ‘the singer, for it tells of the proximity of “one of the handsomest of our visitors. ‘The Baltimore Oriole. Ne apology need be made for the music of the well-known Baltimore oriole, who arrives at this time from the south. Bear- fing the colors of Lord Baltimore (orange and black) through the land, he might be excused I?, like the scarlet tanagelbena the warble: he neglected vocal studies and depended for favor upon his handsome liv- ery. But he is not content with charming the eye alone. He has a good voice, and pays such careful attention to vocal studies that his presence is weicomed by his many friends as much for his jolly, rollicking gongs as for his fine clothes und good breeding. x son. His suit of dark blue, with almost imperceptible black trimmings, and his weak-volced but happy little song, are thor- oughly associated with the hot days of summer. He is a modest, contented little finch, = as biithely and heartily through the middle of a blazing day of July as during the days of the present month. So great is his enjoyment of life that often of a summer evenf&g he ‘will mount to an unusual height and sail down to the ground with outspread but motionless wings, uttering the most ec- static little burst of song. It seems that nothing short of an aerial tobogganing like this is sufficient to let out the pent-up hap- piness which fills his diminutive breast. Somehow his simple nature and unconven- tional ingeruousness win for him a deeper feeling of affection than is ry all the beauty of the warblers. With all their charm, there is a certain degree of self- consciousness about them that -bars the way to the deepest part of our hearts. Ruby-Throated Humming Bird. It is 80, aleo, with the humming bird. As much as we may admire his glossy and prismatic armor, his easy and graceful poises and dartings, and his daintiness of form, yet we do not take him to our hearts as a friend, but allow admiration to supply the place of affection. There is not the same feeling of warm welcome for him when, early in May, we suddenly discover him probing the honey compartments of our garden flowers. Of course, his arrival is an event—every additional sign of the season has an attractiveness for the watcher for signs—but it is not a personal event as when the indigo bird's simple little lay falls upon the ear for the first time in the year. The Partridge. The humming bird is no singer; his pres- ence is manifest only to the eye. The par- tridg2 er Bob White, on the contrary, is usually but a voice. The few notes that constitute his song, however, are so whole- some in tone, so full of sturdy vigor and courage, that we could far better spare the glittering splendor of the humming bird. Who that has heard his “Bob White!” “Bob, Bob White!” has not been moved by a feeling of friendliness for the doughty spirit that -is manifest in this brief and simple utterance? It is in the latter part of May that his song first rolls across the meadow with its message of good cheer, and, like all other May sounds, it gains ad- ditional attractiveness by its association with the charms of the month. Everything that is referable to May has a full floral setting. Early May Blossoms, The month is ushered in with a wealth of apple blossoms and the resplendent beauty of flowering dogwood in its snowy dress, while the scarcely less noticeable white robes of the black haw are abundant- ly mingled with the different shades of green with which other forest trees and shrubs are clad. On wooded hillsides the wild lupine with its purplish-blue racemes lends dense masses of color to the scene, and the meadows are soon fringed with snowbanks of blackberry. These are large splashes of color—if we may include white urder that head without violating technical rules. But if our taste inclines rather to individuals than to mass- es, dots cf color here and there promise good return from closer examination. Lit- tle spots of bright blue in the grass of the meadows, if investigated, will prove to be tke flat, star-shaped blossoms of the blue- eyed grass lifted up on their grass-like stems. In damp fields we shall find the primrose-leaved violets with their brown stems and white flowers, smaller than those ot their purple cousins, holding up their pretty faces to the sunshine. Along the rocky banks of streams the nodding red and yellow clusters of cornucopias of the wild columbine hang from their perehes in the clefts of the rocks. They are so graceful ard airy contrasted with the solid back- ground from which they spring that it is a matter of regret that they are not more often encountered by the May rambler. Much more abundant 1s the wild geranium, which may be found throughout the month in woody places, and whose large brizht blossoms of pink-purple are so attractive that one never tires of seeing them. The woeds of May are also the home of the azalea or wild honeysuckle, with its varied shades of pink and purple. The blossoms are erected on their woody stalks several feet above the ground and gleam brightly amld the young green leaves of trees and shrubs. They were not made for bouquets, though the tendency to pluck every flower that pleases does not spare them. They are too large and unwieldly to combine comfort- ably with other flowers. But in the ca- pacity for which they were designed, brightening the green about them and ve- ing reciprocally brightened by it, they are a great source of enjoyment. Orchids, In the woods, in spots made sacred to the botanist by their presence, there are cccasienal floral treasures to be found. Several of the native crchids expand their always interesting and sometimes very beautiful corollas during May. The showy orchids,which has a number of pink- purple and white blossoms on one stalk; the tway blade or lily-leaved Uparis, with its six or eight small translucent flowers of purplish brown, very singular in ap- pearance compared with the gay colors which most flowers present, but with a charm of their own independent of their membership in this most Interesting fam- ih the pink lady’s slipper or moccasin ficwer, its single bloom, in appearance like a large pink pounch with drooping greenish streamers, standing like a soldier on guard abcve the brown carpet of pine needles (it is always found in pine woods); these three may be met with in May, two of them early in the month and the other, the tway blade, toward its close. A guide to their identity is the pair of large wide rcot leaves, their cnly foliage, flanking the upright flower stalk on both sides. The early part of the month also witnesses the blooming of the yellow lady’s slipper, whose leaveg grow from the stem, which polses at its summit the yellow pouch with its brown streamers. If found at all this showy bloom will be found in rich, moist woods. But it is very rare, and may be regarded as a botanical prize. To- ward the end of the month the aplectrum, krown to our rustic colored brethren, who are often excellent natural botanists, as Adam and Eve, from the two bulbs, one large and one small, which compose the rect, opens its rather inconspicuous blos- sons. The whorled snake-mouth, or pogonia, also blooms during the latter half of the month. It may be recognized, if found, which is very doubtful, by its single dingy purple flower, surmounting a thick round stem, from the middle of which springs a cirelet of long leaves. Lastly the beautiful rose-purple blossom of the arethusa may be sought in May. But should you find it you should regard it as a great treasure, for it has not.been seen in the vicinity of Washington for many years, and it Is suspected of having en- tirely withdrawn its presence from us. Others Less Rare. Were our ficra to censist oniy of orchids, the woods and fields would be bare indeed. But we have many equally beautiful flowers which are fortunately not so exclusive in habit. There is a species of iris which blooms in May and may be met with not infrequently in marshy places,with the Star of Bethlehem, perhaps, for a near neigh- The spiderwort, whose showy blue flower is seen In many a garden, is indi- genous to our neighborhood, and is not uncommon. And the handsome dark blue of the skullcap awaits the rambler in shady covers such as the wood thrush chooses for his home. Throughout May the floral season makes ‘Steady progress, and with each weck many additional bits of colcr are added to the approach ihe confines month there is a bewildering ‘The fragrance of THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, MAY 1, 1897-24 PAGES. IN MUSICAL CIRCLES Damrosch Society Concert. Miss Maud Powell's Ladies’ Tric to Be Heard Here for the First Time— Other Interesting Items, The Damrosch Society is to be congratu- lated on securing such an array of talent to assist it on the evening of May 12 at the Columbia Theater, and the friends and admirers of those who are to participate, and music lovers generally, will no doubt tex the capacity of the cozy little play house to its utmost. ‘The Maud Powell Ladies’ Trio has been in existence but a comparatively short time, but, under Miss Powell's masterful guidance, has acquired a wonderful firm- ness of tone, brilliancy of execution and tenderness of expression. This will be the first appedrance tn Washington of this organization as such, and the Damrosch Society merits commendation for its en- terprise. The trio will be heard in two numbers, and each of its members ts.down for a solo part. Miss Powell is a Wash- ington girl, whose successes have been received with the keeneSt gratification by her well-wishers. That she ranks second to none as a violinist is amply attested by the heartiness of the criticisms in her favor. While abroad she met with the Most cordial receptions. Miss Lotta Mills, the pianist of the or- ganization, is likewise a Washington girl, with hosts of admirers. This talented young lady is well remembered by her excellent performances on the plano when hardly more than a child, but the ripening of her talent brought also the desire for more finished instruction than it was pos- sible to obtain at home, so she went abroad, where, under Paderewski’s master, Leschetizky, she developed into one of the best of the younger rank of artists. She has but to make her appearance before a home audience when such a demonstration is awakened as leaves no doubt of her pop- ularity. Of Miss Leontine Gaertner’s work on the violoncello nothing but the best is said. Foreign born, a young lady of much sweet- ness of face and manner, she immediately enlists the interest and admiration of her hearers, aud holds their attention as she wrests those wonderful tones from the beautiful instrument she has so completely mastered. Mrs. Nellie Wilson Shir-Cliff and Mr. John H. Nolan are both too well known to need any enlarged notice here. As to the society, its work is improving with every rehearsal, and its friends will not be dis- appointed in those qualities which go to make pleasing and successful male-voice singing. The Sunday Night Music Club was en- tertained by Mrs. Sloan and Miss Cheno- with at the Chenowith Institute on Ver- mont avenue, and spent the evening upon Handel's compositions, playing mostly from his oratorios, including the Dead March, from Saul; the Largo, from Xerxes; Fixed in His Everlasting Seat, from Samson; Hark! ‘Tis the Linnet, from Joshua; I Know That My Redeemer Liveth, from The Messiah; together with two movements of one of his piano concertos, arranged as a Piano duet, with string quintet accom- Daniment. Mrs. Sloan sang Nazareth and Unfold, Ye Portals, both by Gounod, and Calvary, = Rodney, all with piano and string quin- et. The following translated extract from a copy of the Mittwelder Wochenbiatt, an Austrian newspaper, will be of peculiar in- terest to Washington musicians, many of whom will recall Mr. Stanley Olmsted, whose performances on the piano were al- ready beginning to attract attention prior to his departure for Europe some four years ago: ‘The artist concert of the singer Fraulien Albertine Margadant and the virtuoso Herr Stanley Olmsted was held in the concert hall of the Stadt Chemnitz, and despite the Warm summer evening drew a well-filled house. Undoubtedly a number withheld their attendance imbued with the idea that while the singing might be pleasant the monotony of the piano would be tedious. But there exists a marvelous difference between playing and playing. This fact was patent to the concert-goer on this par- ticular evening. The artist drew forth more and more applause with each suc- ceeding number, and must needs at last, by his reappearance upon the platform, give satisfaction to the wildest enthusiasm on the part of his auditors. His playing Was not, as is the case with many so- called virtuosos, a hashing after effect and dargging forward of break-finger gymnast- ics, but, instead, a quiet performance, with finished technique and caressing touch, and with a fine understanding in the interpre- tation of the numbers and a general soul- fulnes of rendition that instead of palling led the audience to ever-increased delight. Mr. Olmsted was offered a tempting sal- ary to continue with the concert party throughout their engagement, but decided to return to his studies with Leschestita- ky. At the completion of his course with this master, who enjoys the unique record of never having graduated a pupil who failed to become famous, Mr. Olmsted will return to Washington. ———-.—__ Written for The Evening Star. The Swallows. (Brom the French of Florian) How I love to see the swallows At my window, every year, ‘They who coine o'er hills and hollows Bearing news that spring is near. “The same nest,” thus sing the rovers, “Now the same sweet love shall sec; Meet it is that faithful lovers Herald sunny days for thee.” ‘When beneath the first frosts trembling Fall the forest leaves like rain, Then the swallows, reassembling, Call from cottage eaves again. “Fly the lands that chill snow covers, Fly the storm-wind’s blast! they sing, “Winter's not for faithfal lovers, They dwell always in the spring.” If upon her way a swallow Prisoned by a child’s caprice Longs in vain her love to follow, Wearies vainly for release, oon the swallow’s woe is over, Soon she dies of grief and pain, While that day her faithful lover By the sumo despair is slain. GRACE BE. PALMER. a A Novel Occupation. From the New York Tribune. A visitor in Pass Christian, Miss., the other day heard some pistol shots, and asked a negro boy what they meant. “Oh,” wa3 the reply, “them fellows dun be shootin’ fo’ hats.” “Shooting for hats!” exclaimed the visitor, “what on earth do you mean?” “Sure; dere is nuffin’ strange *bout dat; they’s doin’ it ebry day, ‘most. When de train ts comin’ dey jes’ fires dem shots when she gets good on to de bridge, an’ de men dey sticks dere heads out to see what's up, and de wind jes’ takes dere hats off an’ drops ’em in de bay. Den dey rows around an’ picks ‘em up. Sometimes dey gets 4 lot of ‘em. Other day Josh Johnson got seben. ‘What does Josh Johnson do besides shoot for hats?” was “Oh, he fishes an’ does odd jobs an’ lives.” - * + oe A Delicate Question. From the Chicago Times-Herald. During the flood of five years ago I visited the section below Memphis with a news- paper artist. One afternoon we were perched on the top of a bit of highland viewing the waste of waters when an old negro approached and offered to sell two fine roosters. With great volubility he ex- plain the fowls had eat Per that he could not altord to kecp longer, and therefore he had them_end 3 i i i ff i THE TWO. DOORS. The Rebel, ‘ther Tary-and the Spy. rr A Tale of an Esoape From New York, 1778, by Clinton ia (Copyright, 189%, by Clinton Ross.) Pactedemcant of thoto bays, @ major gen- A Heutenaht eral later, has left an unt of an escape ms he was taken from New York. “f&/ on @ foraging expedition in Westchester. The capture of himself and his comrades, this Mordaunt states particularly, was his own fault. His escape was little less than remarkable, and I will leave him to state it in his own words. The narrative, you will notice, begins rather abruptly. The little town of gabled roofs broke at last on my wearied sense, as the guard troops brought us in, like a scene in a play I had once seen in Philadelphia—as if, I should turn’ from it to a town of the Can- adas, though this was all unlike; a Dutch town, indeed, with marks put on {t-of a long English occupation, as we felt among the king’s red-coated ‘soldiery. I wanted, weary as I was, to say.a word to my poor comrades, but I was riot per- mitted it; and I accused myself, whose sorry rashness—for I nad urged the expe- dition—had brought them to this plight of Prisoners of war. But.I had no chance then, nor later. As for myself, I was taken into a build- ing which proved an improvised jail, where I was given o comfortable room, the cir- cumstances. being considered, where at once I fell to sleep. I do not know how Jong I slept, when I was awakened by sunshine streaming through a barred window, and insistent tones in my ears. A sergeant stood there, directing a man with my breakfast. I ate heartily, forgetting all my misfortunes. And this was the beginning of many days. ‘At last one day, long past sunset, I heard a considerable commotion outside. My barred window showed nothing against the gathering dusk, though looking out into a Street—it was a little side street. But the commotion continued. Present- ly I heard steps in the corridor, and the bolts drawn, when my gaoler sergeant ap- peared with two soldiers supporting a young man in a Heutenant’s uniform, from whose pale face I saw at once that he was drunk. “The house is filled, and we shall have to put him in with you,” the sergeant said, the other supporting him to the bed, where he sank down. “Why don’t I hear from Sir Henry Clin- ton?” I asked like a peevish fool, as if the sergeant should know. “I expect a parole, at sleast.” He shrugged his shoulders and went out and closed the door, and I heard the fading footfalls. Why. indeed, wasn’t some action taken in my case? I had been now a prisoner near a week. The fellow on the bed breathed heavily. He wore the uniform of a line regiment, and had a young, gentle face, rather worn with dissipation. I do not know to this day what caused the street noises preced- ing his appearance. Watching his hard breathing, I suddenly ‘wished that I had his uniform, mous did not think why. The thought was e an inSpiration. For what if the door had been left unbolted? Of course it were impossible it should have been? And yet I had not heard the rasp- ing of the bolt against its socket. And I tried it. Will you believe me, that door swung back, and I was looking into the corridor. Quickly I closed it and went back to the hard-breathing figure on the bed. For a moment im: the flickering light—I had lit my candle—I watched his face,which reminded me of my owh. Finally, having the courage of my purpose, I shook him roughly, but he did not se much as stir. So I began to pull off shis coat, his stock, his Waistcoat. Still he was unconscious, till he startled me by opening his eyes. “What?” he asked, Huskily. And then he rolled over on his side in stupor, leaving me the possessor of the uniform. The colot.of my beeches would not be observed, I | cided; and I had on‘his watstcoat, coat and ock.. I saw that some regimental disorder ad been in the town, necessitating the use of my gaol as a guardhouse. Now I went to the door and opened it, and was in the dusky corridor. Down its lergth I tiptoed, no one hindering, and then I was at an outer door. Here the risk must, be taken, and I hur- ried, opening the door. The fresh air struck my face and a sleepy sentinel, musket on shoulder, turned about, staring. I did not hesitate for a moment, but, summoning all my sangfroid, closed the door, as if my ap- pearance were of course. “T'll report you for a sleepy knave,” I sald, facing him. If my voice were strange he did not notice it, but only saluted as if all were the matter of course. I can’t account for that lax discipline new; but I suppose he thought me some officer, and my authoritative word did not leave him the sense to inquire. At least he let me pass on; and I turned, without fur- ther word, into a little deserted street. I did not know what I now should do. Presently, before me, I saw one coming with a swinging lantern—a short, squat figure of a man. I thought to turn back, but, not daring, kept on, As he approached I held myself erect, and so passed into the lantern light, which flickered, for the night was gusty, New York being exposed on all sides to stretches of violent wind. He, it feems, was peering about, for he saw me only to stop. I did not run, for I did not know where. I began. “Come, turn back! You I hesitated for a moment. I looked up and down, and the wind moaned a chorus to my thoughts; and yet, after a week in a cell, it brought the sweetness of freedom. It sang that word in my ears, it put my pulse to beating. The chance should not Present itself in vain, said I then. I shouldn't be stopped by this fellow, who- ever he might be. ’Twas a question, at the most, of man to man; and for his compact, powerful figure, I held that my legs were good; and the lane was long and dark and deserted. When you are telling long after what you did in impulsive activity the words may choke the action. You fail to produce for the reader the effect of the moment. For you can be assured it was not a moment, hardly an instant, before I was giving him my heels in answer to his demand. The situation had framed itself so fortuitously, ard I was not the man that moment to let it slip me. the lane was dark enough, I have said; There was orly an occasional glimmer from a house edging it. Yet no sooner had I started before the man who had accosted me broke out in a mighty voice, which seemed to shake Manhattan Island, and lights blazed to right and left, and scurry- ing figures appeared, sc"ge with a gleam of red breeches; and that on that lene I had happened on the quarters of some company; I hi surely into a net. Two met me squ@tdly, but I hora down on them like a rant—m¥ head bent down as I have seen e ny 4m Maryland zun, my fista clinched. ; y, bad no time to ; A Bistol's butt wontd ee my impetuosity reach for a wea} ie opened into the oe exultantly. T | tiously, know where to turn. Presently the sounds ‘were nearer. I saw that I must be sur~ rounded, willy, nilly; that I must take a despérate chance. wonder at it now. leed the most fool! GOOD LOOKS. LESS PLASTIC SURGICAL OPERATIONS that make people 10 to. 20 years younger looking; also for the corvection ot grajecting Of -shajed ears, noses and all Facial Deformitica, know the lay of the nor how well they might have the place surrounded. At the worst I might be taken. But some- where—in some silly book of adventure, or in some story of my father’s, who had served with. Wolfe—-somewhere I had read, or heard, of a man hiding in a hause, in th very heart of an enemy’s town. The chance: were that I should not hide; but that I should run on them, full tilt. But, then, as IT have said, what were the chances on the other side? But to bring this reasoning to an end, I stole aeross that moonNt space, and through the door.. At the hall's end w: a single pencil of light as from a door’ crack. A broad stair’s foot faced me. To the left ves the door of an unlit room. Into this I stole as quietly as you please. At one side in the moonshine I saw an- other door; and this I pulled open cau- finding myself in a long deep closet. So far it had been well. I began to feel que proud about it all and that my father himself might not disapprove of my readiness. Then I remembered in time enough not to leave myself vain that the chance of that door at the jail was, while extraordinsury, a very simple one to take; and I remembered, too, how the expedi- tion into Westchester had failed through my over-confidence; I thought, as well, of my pcor comraces in their jail. I tell “you I was left even frightened by thoughts, with the consideration that I was still rather tightly caught; should I have a moment to breathe, I as well might try to fly as to try to get away from the island. These thoughts left me sober eno: But at the moment were sounds at the outer door and shuffling feet, and a strong, decisive tread, and the steps were in the room on which my closet opened. “Put down the candies, Simpson,” I heard in a clear, authoritative voice. “Well, sergeant, you can’t find him?” ‘No, sir; he’s gone.” ‘He slipped through your line some- where. With companies about here it seems as if he might have been caught.” = | a believe, sir, there’ you can call to, or have closed the door. “I was a fool,” said he. “No, sir;* satd I, “not that. This in- terruption was too startling. You couldn't Well have Jone otherwise. But now—” “But now?” said he. “You'll try to prevent my escape; so I must take you as a prisoner. ‘Me?” said he, “as a prisoner.” “Now, honestly,” said I then, “how else can I do? "Tis your dyty to follow me.” 3 “my duty.” I sald grimly, “You are a Mordaunt*?” he said. “Of Maryland,” I retorted. “You are like them,” he said, . @ gentleman. Don’t you see that if I dis- appear, they will say I've deserted—I, Nicholas Van Hails.” “Yes,” said I. “But, ‘pon my honor, I'll say that you didn’t. More than that—I Promise to return you here tomorrew.’ “You premise Nevertheless his eyes were moving about uneasily. “Yet, if you try to run, to fight, I will shoot you down, Col. Von Hals.” “Yes, your father would do the same,” he said. ‘You knew my father?" I was with him at Quebec. “Ah, E remember. I’m sorry for this dis- courtesy, Col. Van Hals. Yet, I'm forced to it. I have given my word. Now, snuff the candle and lead to the door. I can see you by the moon. He made some demur, but finally did as I bade rim. I saw he was one of those strorg men who lose their wit in emer- gency. So he led as I ordered, into the hall; outside into the moonshine, not once operation for the cure of catarrh, reduces the bagginess of the chin. 6 reduces nostril partition. 7 removes the hump on the nose, 8 removea “‘slack”” from drooping eyelids, 9 straightens a crooked nose wall. reduces a dimple in the check. oodbury John H. W Dermatological Institute, New York, 127 W. 42d st.; Phila. 1306 Wainut st Beston, 11 Winter st.;" Chicago, 163 State st. Address letters to 127’ West 42d 'st., N.Y. my1,5,15819 “Why not leave him here, if that’s the case? We can bind and gag him, and lock hi -e, Mr. Mordaunt, this hoolmaster, for I've heard you were once half schoolmaster, half cob- bier. As for the other matter, Col. Van Hals crosses the river with us, matter of pride, eh?” said the cob- hall we bind and gag you, colonel?” will cry ou said h t “Why not in my company?” sald I. “There were no sentinels near enough, before you could have killed me; but, the river the patrol will hear and you. “Yes,” said I; “you must tie his hands— no, that’s not needful—gag him, Pringle.” The prisoner looked about as if medi*at ing resistance; but he saw it was useless, as I took his pistol and held it over him, while Pringle proceeded to gag him, mu:- tering something low in his ears.” The candle in the rough room flickerad on the scene. An old rheumatic dog rose la- boriously from his corner, and sniffed at the prisoner. Pringle slipped a band about his wrists, beyond my request, and then snuffed the candle. “You'll walk, colonel; or we will carry you. He walked without demur, and we left by a littie path where the thick bushes swept our faces. The moon was low on the herizon, and the night soon would fall dark. But Pringle, if ofce on the river, did not fear light so much; to Sir Henry he Was a spy on us; to us one on Sir Henry; he was constantly going to and fro. Presently we found the skiff, the prisoner ertered without resistance. ‘e put out, the cobbler extended me a second pair of oars. He was surprisingly strong in the way of those littie wiry men; men who have, too, astonishing endurance, as I have known many times on long cam- paigns. The mocn had dipped, fell suddenly darker. A frigate loomed to leeward, and then we settled down to our steady work. A dog bayed dismaily, and my heart beat again wildiy over this part of the adventure. I had succeeded so far by an extraordinary association of chances, but I felt ominous. I watched the still figure of our prisoner, who, without that seg, might have spoilt all by a shout to the shipping. But the lights of that shipping fell te- hind, when suddenly a challenge fell on our ears, as the patrol loomed up. The men backed, and leaned on their oars. Pringle gave his own name and the word. They seemed accustomed to his presence on the river at night. We had drawn on some distance when a votee rang out with shrill distinctness: “An escaped prisoner—a spy! Stop them! I had not noticed our prisoner for some moments, but now. looking around at this startling interruption, I saw him upright, his arms unfettered, the gag out of his mouth. For an instant he stood there poised, and then sprang into the river. “To your oars, man! "Tis life or deat sang out the spy. And I understood him. We pulled on for our lives knowing they must stop to pick him up. Yet the chance was small enough. What was the surpris- ing part was that when they had drawn him out of the river they did not seem to be hurried. They came after us, to be sure, but not so briskly as they might. “God biess the colonel!” said Pringle. I did not think of that then. Freedom for which F had fought so hard was of {m- port enough to make me forget all else. Not till some time after, when we grounded under the cliff on eur own side of the river, and we were walking as briskly as we could toward Maj. Lee's pickets, did I remember, and ask: “What did you mean by that, Pringle?” “The colonel, sir, told them the truth, ‘and that they should let us get away.” “Let us get away’ I asked. “Yes, you see, I whispered in his ear, while I was gagging him, that I wouldn't Se tigat.” “What d’ye mean, I That's traitorous to us. Sines “Mr. Mordaunt,” he answered, when I needed money, that gentleman helped me out. That was before this blessed war. In this case I intended giv- ing him a chance. I said nothing, think the spy went on. “If it were traitorous, can’t I show one hundred cases where I've risked my neck? Now, I never can go into New York again till Congress holds it.” Still I said nothing, thinking it over. “A man must be human, even in war. I gave him only a little chance. He might have been drowned, but he took it,” the spy went on, with sullen persistence. “If he'd Leen brought over, he would have had the appearance of having helped you. At last I said “TI don’t see why I should report this.” Then he cried out: “Why, bless you, Capt. Mordaunt, I will report it myself. If they don’t think I de- serve some consideration, they can go and be hanged The cobbler’s thin, wiry figure seemed to me to tzke on heroic proportions, as we walked there together in that still, dark hour. If he had lost me my prisoner, the prisoner equally had let me escape. And, in fact, when the matter was reported headquarters, without an extenuating clause, the same view was taken of it, and Pringle was continued in the service, with the rank of sergeant. So the account ends as abruptly as it be- gan; but it may show, perhaps, the char- acters of the renaway prisoner; of the old tory, and of the spy, who, despite the usage of war, could not forget a favor- even though granted by a political enemy. —— === “TO YOUR OARS, MAN! ’TIS LIFE OR DEATH!” SANG OUT THE SPY. and the landscape cry:ng cut, for, as I had surmised, there was no one in the house to answer. “To Pringle’s,” I said in a tremble; for here was tne new hazard. “To Pringie’s?” he saidg turning. ‘So I said, colonel.” You know the direction?” ‘You can’t mislead me,” said I, grimly. I know this town, riow that I have my wits gathered.” You have been here?” said he, as we stood there, two figures outlined clear in the_mconshine. “Once,” said J, “if in the rush of flight I had forgotten it. But on, sir—out of the moorshine! For a moment he looked at me, and then he sprang toward me. Rage and despera- tion were in his muscles that moment, and I dropped my pistol; I could not use it against him for all my threat, for all the determination I had a few moments before. I thought he would raise a cry, but he failed to; rage had taken the power of shoutirg, and we met and wrestled for a moment. He was a strong man indeed, but I was more supple. I had that advantage, and, having him down in a moment, jumped up from him, and seizing the p! tol stocd above him. “I'm sorry,” I said, “but you must go with re.” Then sulienly he rose. “It scems it must be paused. “Your promise ‘To see that you are retu: cross the river. It is given, Then he rose and went on, I following, wondering at the chance of our having aroused no one. I felt easier presently we passed into the shadow of the trees pusked along into the path and more quickly down the road. The night was filled with its noises, as we thus silcntly passed on from shadow to stretch of moo: shine, and as the slope fell we came into the ccbbler’s cabi I was in a cold sweat that moment, won- derirg if Pringic inceed might be there. What if he shouldn't be? But keeping my eye cn my prisoner, I knocked at first reg- ularly and then more istently. T believe there is a fortune favoring him who dares. For presently a voice sounde: ‘Who's there?” 5 “I, Mordaunt. You know me, Pringle He krew my voice, indeed. The door fe’ back, and a litte wiry man Iceked out on us, at first starting at sight of my pris- cr “He's vanished, sir." “Somebody will have to be court-mar- tlaled for this.” > “It isn’t my men’s fault, if it please you, colonel.”” “No; you oughtn't to be blamed for what happened in the guard house; there’s that blessed meeting in the Irish line, and the dinner, where the yourgsters lost their heads.” “It’s remarkable, sir,” said the other. “J don’t understand ft. But it isn’t my matten It’s Sir Henry’s. But here is your prisoner reaching my grounds— “He's gone, sir,” the sergeant repeated. “So it seems; I know, I know, he’s gone. But I'm dragged into the matter. « “Not you, sir.” “Well. find kim. Go over the ground again, do you hear. I don’t believe any- thing like this ever happened in an English regiment. ‘te ought not now, ae said the eer int’s ff voice. only can for it in Sergeant Timms being excited by the noises outside. There have been mfany ests, sir.” orwell, Timms will have a chance to ex- plain to the proper authorities. Now do our best.”” ver afraid he’s gone too far, sir. You know there are many houses in New York that would like nothing better than to hide a rebel. “Nothing in the world better,” said the eergood night, sir.” . “Good night, sir. “Gocd night to you, sergeant, and bet- ter ee Po “I hope for tt, His steps sounded and the door opened ard closed. The candles still burned in the outer room, for the light entered through the chinks of the closet door. And then I heard the scratching of a quill: he was writing, and suddenly I thought who he might be. I remembered the exact sit- uation, and, Indeed, the colonel himself. Now, in all this account, the sudden- ness of the ajventure must explain the daze in which I had been. Even had I been drepped down in a place I knew bet. ter than New York, these events would have been enough to confuse me; and I was not particularly familiar with New York. I had passed the summer of ‘74 there. I remembered the location of certain strects, and among many other features I remembered the Van Hals manor on its hill. The place became as clear as if I saw it in the light. This was Col. Van Hals’ manor; that was, indeed, no other than the tory colonel himseif. I need not explain who he was to you. You will know the man who put his great estates at the king’s service, be- cause he believed that no good, nothing but disaster, would come of our success. He was honest and brave and strong, and commanded, with the rank of colonel, a troop which had been enlisted fer the king. I had fallen into his house; and he was sitttrg out therc—beyond the door—writ- in; ‘Then, as I stood there in that dark hole, Itke a cornered fox, I remembered where the shop of Hosea Pringle stood—Pringle, the cobbler, who was a spy in our service. ‘ It was down a turn at the hill's foot. If I could reach there, Pringle would hide me. That was one of the houses the sergeant had referred to; one of the spies they not so much as suspected. This much was plain, If Pringle should be in, be would find means of sending me across the river. My heart beat till I could hear its thump- ing, as I thought of my position then: as I saw how near, and yet how far, I was from that jail. I must get out of this hot unobserved, not only for my own seke, but, as well, because I could not lead to Pringle’s; the discovery that the honest fellow was a spy would lead him to his execution. Yet even with this suddenly presented chance, the situation was not much hap- pier. The great Col. Van Hals—after Col. de Lancy, one of. the richest and stanch- est New York tories—was outside that door. My cxultation suddenly died; the chance was, indeed, so small a one. And then, I thought of my father; I thought of Peggy—the one girl in all the world who ever was worth while. They all seemed very far away that moment. If they took man?” “once it all over, while rT. ‘he colonel,” said T. = I, Pringle. I'll have you hung some day. “Not today, sir,” said the cobbler, mo- ticning us in. “I am his prisoner,” rather savagely. “In New York,” said Pringle. “Yes, if you get away,” he “It’s my business to attend to that,” the cotbler retorted. “As it is, I was about to cross in an hour.” “But your boat?” woenderinsly. ’Tis down there in the bushes,” he sald. ‘But the patrols?” password! I'm on Sir Hen- he “What sald the colonel, the prisoner asked, crted. “You can’t depend on men fn a town so divided as this, Col. Van Hails,” the cob- bler said, grimly: nd the meaning of that word treachery depends on the side you're on.” T've faund that out.” said the prisoner, rather bitterly. “I can’t call them all a set of rascaily traltors—when families like the Mordaunts are so much concerned;” and he bowed courteously to me. I bowed back, acknowledging his; and we stood together in that cabin, an oddly as- sorted trio. Here was the little cobbler himself—one of those whom civil war make into dare-devils; here was the proprietor a prisoner in our hands; and here was the still uncertain enterprise of taking him to the boat and of getting the boat across to Paulus jiook. That moment .as well as chance had carried the enterprise, ‘twas nothing to gamble on. The colonel’s bright apprehensive eyes studied us as we talked it over together. Now E wonder if I have made his try and my he felt as if I were the whole army of Con- gress breaking through the king’s lines and tly, Indeed, as General me, they now wouldn't take my parole— which, after all, I was thankful not to have given. time passed, and the quill still scratched on, to stop at last; it must have been after two hours. I was cramped and Then I beard him rising. He might have turned to the closet, I suddenly recol- lected; but he didn’t. The light in the chinks flickered, and, as I heard his steps, Sha shut, and the outer room was Then you may believe I watched—watched till I thought I should venture it, when I but this emergency with its need of sudden action had made him rather of a coward. Yet you can’t call a man a coward phrasing; ‘tis a term that plays both ways. Do they not say that the bravest soldiers run in their first battles: and why should not a brave man make his resistance rather less bec he never bad been a prisoner so taken, by a desperate and held now as well b; escaped prisaner, yy & spy whose life would be the forfeit of the British knowl- edge of his business.