Evening Star Newspaper, September 25, 1897, Page 21

MBS, HEARNE'S CHAUVIES A Story of American Gypsies by Paul Kester. (@opsright, 1897, by the Donbleday-MeClure Co.) “I say I never heard the equal of that. 1 ask you, young man, was that right? May I never tell another lie as long as I tive if I stays in a tem where th2 Gorgious carries it off so high. Here I jaws over the river into the gay, as who has a better right than an Egyp- tian? Here am I set on by all the little devils in bare-foot and stockings, by all the dogs in the town. Now I says noth- ing to that, for have I not my staff to drive off the juckels and my vast to cuff the chauvies about their ears? Indeed have I both my staff and my vast as they learns to their sorrow. But by the God’s truth I will ro longer remain in the land where every chicko muskro, every, dirty policerran, may chiv me to staraben for telling a fortune and asking my lawful pay for the dukkerin.” Mrs. Harne was indeed a tragic figure as she stood in the dusky room where the deputy sheriff, who made the arrest, had seen her locked safely a half hour before. She stood near the barred window, a tall, gaunt figure, with the last gleam of the Ungering light of the yellow sunset gliding her tawny face. “Dawdy, Dawdy. What are the poor People coming to, when they cannot take what they can get from the dinello Gor- gious without a gresy muskro puting them to staraben, to prison, with never a thought for their children? Here's the mush with the dud.” A prison attendant brought in a light. “It's closing time; you can’t stay much She stretched out the poor food in her unt hands. eIINO, dye, I'l not take it. But they shall sup well enough. Make your mind easy. T'll_see to them. Kushto ratti.” “You've the peor person’s blessing, my son,” she called after me as I passed out through the dim. chilly corridors into the warm summer night. I. Over the hills came the moonlight, fresh with the wind that blew from the west, under the trees shone the street lamas, breaking the shadows with patches of light. Up from the square into the hush of the evening floated the faint clatter of traffic, while a carriage rolled silently by over the smooth drive to lose itself soon in the shade of the great elms. Over all the town, peace, over the hills the moonlight * * * in the treetops the robins, hushing their last notes * * * over the world ‘the soft wind, the white stars. My footfall awakened the pleasant echoes as I went on treading the uneven bricks of the pavement, bits of song filled the evening, stealing out from half-opened windows where the breeze gently st‘rred the white curtains, or, like a benison, ring- ing richly from the church doors as the congregation gathered for prayer meet- ing. ° Across the cool square into the heart of the town. Down the main street and over the bridge, with only a pause here and there to fill a good wicker basket, or to change a word with a friend. So on and so over the bridge—so on to the great elm in the lane where Mrs. Lee and my pal Anselo had once made their camp, so to the van and the tan of my friend in the gloomy room with the barred windows. I paused at some little distance to put my basket down in the tall grass while I reconnoitered. For all the scft summer night end the lights of the town just over the water the camp had a lonely, desolate look, as a hearth has when the fire burns low and tired children huddle over the coals awaiting the return of their mother. A fire was smoldering out near the tent. From the wagon came the sound of a child’s voice, a child singing a child to sleep. The voice trembled. Suddenly the song ceased * * * the singer’s sharp ears WATCHED HIM PREPARE THE SUPPER. longe-,"" he said. Then locking the docr upon us, he continued his rounds. I turned again to the gy: . “You must tell me what has happened, dye, or I can do nothing for you. It is growing late.” ie “I will tell you. young man. "Tis grow- ing late of a truth; I can feel the night coming on a dark over my heart, for my chauvies are all alone in the van across the doyav. the river, and they are young chil- dren. They do not know where their mother is. They are waiting for her to come home with their supper. But she cannot come.” “Are they all alone, dye “All alone with the horses. The dog was killed the last fortnight. he took up scme meat a farming mush threw him with seme poison upon it. The pitiful Gor- gious. They loves nothing the poor per- son_has. “When the yellow light fades my chauvies will sit in the van waiting for me, but 1 will not come. I will not, for the Gor- gious are slow to open the doors of their prisons. “I wiil tell you, then, quickly, how it be- fell. My rom, Mushie Hearne, shipped to California in the spring to bring some vans back which his brother left him by will. Ccming overland is slow traveling. It’s some time before I expects him. Now, I travels with some of my people, also I travels alone. As you may know, it is not eesy for me to cook the dinner, to care for the horses, to mind the chauvies, dukker and all. Many’s the day it is little I have to put in the kettle, or to fry in the pan, eye, many’s the day I have but a crust for my mouth. But the chauvies are fed and Tasks no more. Now, come I to this gav, the curse of the beng be upon it and upon me for pitching my tent within sound of its church bells. Here do I come to pen duk- kerir. Here do I find a foolish old Gentile who asks me if his son has not robbed him. “Knowing it is the way of the Gorgious for the son to rob father, father to rob son, I answers that no doubt he has. There- on I takes some of the young man’s hair which the father brings me, a few threads, and I lays them, between the leaves of a certain book, which is mine, and I says an incantation, bofting my kettle, walking backward to the water, washing my hands behind my back, having nothing better to do, for which silly dealings and the like he gives me in Hills in vonger, which is none too much to pay me for being a fool. The next day I do the same, and the next. For each I gets the same luvver; nor would you do it for less. If the mush would make me a fool he must pay. Now, on the fourth day I tells him for sure that his son is a thief, that he has taken us money. What does the old man do then but ask me to come with him into the gav that I may show him where it is hidden. I makes my excuse, saying I have my other en- ents, but he will have it that I go. gor jaws with him, meaning to give him the siip, for I likes not his way. Once we gets inio the gav I suspects something wrong by the look in his eye, as well as by his laying his hand on my arm. Seeing a muskro coming toward us, I thinks it is time I am jawing. So I shakes off his hand and hurries away down a lane to’r’ds the fields. Now what should the fool do but set up a great cry and start after me as fast as he can. I waits for no more, but being a good runner, I mends me my pace, leading him a pretty chase of down the lane. Ha! Now come the little boys and the dogs after me with the mush and the muskro yelling behind and the fields and the woods getting nearer and nearer. Dawdy! Then I catches my foot in a rent in my gad, and I falls ‘lat in a heap in the gutter, with a crowd coming up all about me. The little boys pulling my eases, my dress, while the juckies snap at my feet. Then runs up my pretty old Gorgious, all out of breath. and when he can speak he calls me a thief for taking his money, ha! and a mischief maker for setting’ him against his son. What, then, does the muskro? What, indeed. does the muskro, but take me up rough by the arm and drag me here for no reason. Then do I learn that the thieving son has given the vonger back to nis father. “Tis for this that they put me to prison. “By the God's truth when my rom comes back he shail strangle that old man and his son. Bad luck be upon them. “But the money he gave you?” “Fool that I was to keep it about me. y searched me.” ‘And found it?" ‘May it burn out their pockets. May it ay for the bane which shall be their des- truction when their children mixes it in their food. I hates them.” “They have their money again. Tomor- tow, dye, I promise you shall go back to your chauvies.” The attendant returned with the pris- oner’s supper. “The sheriff says your time is up. You can come in again in the morning.” “Tomorrow, dye, it will be settled in a few hours. Kushto ratti.” “Tomorrow.” Her voice rang strangely in the lonely place, making me pause in the doorwzy. “But tonight. My chauvies. y are waiting for me in the van pardel doyav. They are hungry.” She turned the keeper: “Can't a woman go to her 7” she pleaded. “No,” said the keeper roughly. With an oath the gypsy turned to the Have flo f for. them, Mrs. Hearne. “Have fear for. irs. key shall be cared for." I.saw her face twitch in the dim light. “Will you take-them this bite of bread Yor their supper? They are hungry. I have been gone from the camp all the ie] had caught the sound of my steps on the path. “Mammy, mammy,” cried two little voices. In the moonlight I saw three dark little heads crowd to the front of the van. “Is it you, mammy? fevader won't go to sleep. I'se been singing a gillie to he. But it won't shut its eyes.” “Ith’s not mammy,” a second voice lisp- ingly whispered, “‘mandy’s atrash, I’m afraid.” tremblingly questioned the “Ain't it you, mammy?” y don’t mammy come home from the av, mandy’s atrash,” lisped the second voice. “Mammy? ain't it mammy, ain't it you?’ “Sarishan,” I cried, coming forward. “Rommany chel! Rommany chel!” piped the voices. Then the three little heads sank into the gloom of the wagon and pro- found silence reigned. “Sarishan,” I repeated, knowing nothing more soothing to the ear of a gypsy than the old mystic greeting. “Sar’san.” piped a faint frightened voice from the wagon, “but you ain’t mammy.” “Tute tan’t tum into our tan,” lisped the second voice, “mandy’s atrash. “You need not be afraid, pal, for I come from your mother. Get down from the wagon and let’s have supper. Mammy can’t come home tonight, so I have come to stay with you. Come down and let’s be acquainted.”” Who ith you?” asked the lisper. I am the man with the supper.” “Where ith the supper?” quoth the lisper, venturing his head a little way out of the wagon “Mandy tan’t dick er tupper.” “Dick adovo tucheni adoi, lcok at that basket there. The supper is in it.” “Ith there much tupper?" demanded the lisper. “There is enough.” . 5 “Ith that all?” plaintively wailed jisper. “Do you want more “Yeth, 1 want more,” sighed the lisper. I turned to the smoldering fire, break- ing some dead peoens that lay in the grass into fagots and flinging them upon the embers. Soon the flames burst from the twigs, throwing a merry light over the camp. “Now come down, pals, and you shall see what I have in the basket. Come now, or rm be jalling back to the gav.” “Not with er tupper?” pleaded the lisper. ‘ome, then. ‘Us is coming.” They came, first cautiously descending the lisper, closely followed by the child whom I heard singing when I approached, the latter bringing the baby. Three as gaunt little Romans as ever played by the roadside or begged a penny for sweet- meats. “We ith sc hungry,” wailed the lisper, pausing by the tongue of the wag “uth hath ’ad nuffin’ to eat all 'er day.’ “"Sept some cold potatoes,” corrected the child with the baby. “And her,” tapping the baby’s curly head “her had to have most of them. Jimmie and me let her eat all her could, "cause her’s been sick.” “Get the kettle for me, Jimmie,” I said to the lisper. “You shall soon have some kot tea to warm you. It’s a fine supper we'll have when it’s ready.” “Willie "Il get 'er kettle,” quoth the lisp- er, who now seemed to be master of the situation. “Get ‘er kettle, Willie. I'll poke ‘er yog.” In a few moments the kettle hung on the sarshta over the fire, the steam slowly you, mammy? dearie the Rumbied Slowly Down the Hill. curling up into the leaves of the elm tree. i thrust a pronged stick through a thin piece of bi 5 * Will you toast this for me, Jimmie?” asked. “Willie ‘Il toast ‘er bread,” was the lisp- er’s response. Then, turning to Willie, all srpiling now in the firelight, he held out his short little arms. “Gimme ‘er bal Willie. Now toast a nice piece for x rye.” The obedient Willie toasted the bread, holding his hand PR ata Keep, the slow from bis face, while ied himself with the baby, which now perched on his tiny knee. ‘When it was all ready we gathered close rished table—the seat of a jee ‘er _chavi,” smiled the lisper, la ly spreading great pieces of butter over ‘his toast with his thumb, while his other hand was lost to the wrist, immersed in the pint cup which held his tea. “Dick, "er chavi, Willie. Her’s blinking her eyth. Ain't her our own pretty sister?” He withdrew his hand from the tin cup to pat the baby affectionately uj it head, thé baby crowing and gorgling all the more, much pleased by her brother’s attention, and by the tea that ran down — her curls to the tip of her little dark “Gu,” laughed the baby, throwing her: arms around my neck in a fashion truly ee ie it is your name?" Willie, the elder boy, suddenly asked, lcoking up in my face with a wistful expression. “You're not the man that lelled off with the pot of luvver what I’ve heard my dad tell about? My dad said he was the pleas- antest gentleman what ever he see. 5 my dad said he had ail the money there was in a bank, ‘cause he broked open the safe with a crowbar and lelled away with the luvver. Mor’n the price of a hundred — my dad said. You ain’t him, are To my great regret, truth compelled me to make answer that I was not the pleas- ae gentleman who had lelied off with the “I can’t remember him very well, but my dad said he. used to travel with us sometimes when the dirty muskros was a after him. He could rakker, and he gived me sweets and such. Are the muskros after you?” “I hope not,” I said, glancing over any ulder to hide the smile that came to my lips. ;. “There ain’th none there,” whispered the ligper to reassure me. “Ith been watching. When ith see the muskros Ith just runned away til! Ith got other side ‘er big house. Then Ith throwed a stone round the cer- ner, and Ith runned and runned.” Here the baby crowed with delight, and her brothers laughed like merry Romans te think that the lisper had thrown a stone at a policeman. “Gimme ‘er baby,” Jimmie begged, well pleased with himself and his prowess. “My daddy’s tailer’n you,” Willie said, leoking me over as he took up the thread of the conversation, “and the muskros been after him. But my dad never minde. He just hitched up the horses faster'n blazes, and drove off like lightning—that’s what he said, and they never ketched him at all. Did they, Jimmie?” “No,” Jimmie replied, rolling the baby ever on its back while he patted its stom- ach torgetfully. “They’th never ketched éad.” “I thought you might be the man what lelled off with the pot, ‘cause he always had sweets in his pockets,” Willie remark- ed, staring at my swollen pockets with jorging. “Ath you got any sweets in ‘er potets?”: questioned the lisper, new light coming into his eyes. “Willie, hold ‘er baby. Ith think "er rye ath some Sweets in ith potet.” He gave the baby to Willie, and, being thus unincumbered and free, crept close to my side \ith smiles enough to cozen a bushel of sweetmeats from the sternest of grocers. Soon his tiny hands hed rummaged the swollen recesses, bringing forth a little heap, above which the baby crowed and gurgled gleefully, while a deep peace spread cver the countenance of the lisper, and Willie's eyes opened wide. “And you ain't the man what lelled off with the pot, either,” Willie repeated in wonder. “But you ith a pleasant gentleman, any- beamed the lisper, “ain't he, Wil- “Don't you cheat, Jimmie, and keep all the big pieces,” his brother protested, as the lisper made a separate pile of the longest sticks and most desirable choco- lates. “These ith for mammy,” said the lisper, clearing himself of the charge and over- whelming me with the sense of his good- “We musn’t forget mamm) No,” assented Willie, ruefully. ‘But she won't eat ‘em, and you'll have ‘em all your- self tomorrow.” “Ith donth know,” sighe shadow crossing his brow get 'em.” “Why can’t mammy come back tonight?” the elder boy asked, his voice trembling a little. The fire had burnt low now, while the hush of the night time increased with the hours, bringing a feeling of loneliness, too, as the new moon sank to the ridge of the gray western hills. Then [ told them how it was with ‘their mother, cheering them with the thought that they should see her soon in the morn- ing. “You must jal to woddrus now, pals,” I told them, for their little heads bent wear- ily on their tired shoulders. “Indeed, you must go to bed now.” “I ith sleepy,” the lisper said, yawning. “But if ‘er ain'th nobody to be company for you you'll get lonesome and jaw back to the gav. Put ‘er baby to bed, Willle. An’ you go to sleep, too; ith’ll be company for ‘er rye. You wonth be lonesome with me?" he asked bravely, blinking his eyes to keep back the tears, “you ‘ill thay if I sith up ith you?” “I will sit up, too,” Willie said. “No,” said the lisper, still blinking, “take ‘er baby to bed, Wille. [th'll sith up with “er rye all alone by myself.” “Go to bed, both of you_babies, Mandy will stay till the morning. Sleep in the tent or the wagon. I'll have my blankets here by_the fire.” When I had put them to bed in the tent I spread some blankets I found in the wagon over a pile of fresh straw near the fire, and lay down to watch the embers until they were ashes, then to watch the stars till they faded into the gray of morn- ing. I had just drawn my blankets around me, thinking the chavies asleep, when, hearing a sound, I turned to the tent door, to be- hold the lisper advancing to me in the dim light, something outstretched in his hand. ¢ “What is it, pal?” “Ith your “My what?" I questioned. “Your sweth,” he repeated, extending some sticks of the candy. “Ith going to give you half of mammy’s; mine and Willie’s all gone, an’ you ain’th had any.” 5 “Keep it all for your dye, little brother; Mandy don’t want any sweets.” Even in the dim light I was sure I could see the look of self-sacrifice fade from the face of the lisper, to be replaced by an ex- pression of the deepest contentment. “You ith a nicer rye than the one what lelled off with the luvver that our dad talks about,” he murmured, in sleepy ep- proval, as he retired into the gloom of the tent to his bed and his slumbers. itt. It is well to sleep under a tent in the summertime, aye, till the heavy hoar frosts whiten the grass in the mornings; it is bet- ter than to sleep beneath any roof, and better it is to lie with nothing at all 'twixt one’s face and the stars when the night is a clear one and warm. We live too much in the shadow und limit our own handiwork, too little in the space and freedom of God's. Like children, we magnify the work of our own hands, thinking we have heaped up a mountain or built us a pdlace, when, indeed, our moun- tain is but a dust pile, our palace but a poor sort of prison. All night long the fresh wind rusiled the leaves on the boughs of the elm tree, above me all night long the whippoorwills called by the river, all night long the pure air gladdened my nostrils till I awakened, re- freshed, to see the yellow sun rise over the misty reach of the rich valley. All the beauty of the night, all its won- derful stillness and rest, which only -hdse know who put by the cares and the com- forts of houses, all its peace and its heal- ing had been upon me, soothing the unrest, bringing lHfe back to a truer proportion, giving me strength to awaken, glad that a new day had dawned. “Wash 'er baby’s face, Willie.” I heard the lisper direct as I lighted the fire. ently he came and stood by, watching the preparations I was making for the break- fast, but with a wandering eye. “When ith mammy tumin’ back to her chavies?” he asked. “We wants our mam- the lisper, a ‘er baby may ae We know she ith lonesome wifout uth.” - THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 25, 1897-2 But I knew that my-cause was won when later, as we wentdntosthe sheriff's office, oo sete my armgently, saying: * you managed: tor- get through the night without. keepimpvthe Well, well, to think that y dispensed with his wom#any. “Good morning, yoarshonor, said as we enteredthis office. “Good morning, John#’ said the mayor, smiling blandly as <he::held out his case. “Won't you have a cigqr?” “I don’t smoke sp; soon aiter breakfast,” the sheriff said, eyétng the mayor with sus- picion, the cigars. twithsthat half interest the most indifferentreonnoisseur must feel he sight of a good wi ‘Put it in your povket. until you are ready,” his honorf gently, as the sheriff weakens an@‘hokis out his hard. Then, after a pause) which gives the sher- iff time to sniff the fragrant Havana: “In the matter of the gypsy woman, Mrs. Hearne, I think, John, we had better let Mrs. Hearne go back*to her children. “It is Just as you please, but for myself, I believe we should) make an’ example. There are too many> gypsivs coming our way this summer.” > “It may be so,” said the. mayor, gently, iccking from the window of the sheriff's office across to the barred windows that lighted the jail; “it_may be go, John, but I think when we make our example we will not take a lone woman away from her chil- 6ren. We will take aman, John.” “Oh, it’s just as you please,’”’said the sher- iff. pe rou say that’s.a-good cigar you gave’ me? “It comes trom Cuba.” ~ The sheriff looked at-his watch.’ “Well, I. guess I camplight it.” There was a pause while the sheriff eyed the cigar. Then he rolled it reflectively be- tween his large hands, then he hit off the erd, accepting the lighted match I extended with a very gruff “thank vou,” accompa- nied by a look which said plainly enough, “So this is your doing?” For a moment the smoke rose in silence. “It's a good cigar,” said the sheriff. He puffed on. “A very good vigar.” A smile dawned upon his lips: “It spreai to the cor- ners of his mouth. To his cheeks. To his eyes. To his chin. It wriakled his fore- head. “I never tried a better cigar, I beg your honor’s pardon, what was ‘that about Mrs. Hearne? You see, the old man she fleeced is my wife's uncle, and I was expected to do ail I could. You see how ft is.” “Tell your wife all about it.” And the mayor told the story. “Why, my boy lisps,” said the sheriff, letting the ashes 1all from his cigar, where they had clung uutil it was half smoked away. “My wife says she don't like it, hut I tell ycu it just pleases me better than any other kind of talk. ‘Why, you look here,’ I say to her, ‘he'll get over it iong enough before I wish he would. Boys grow up teo fast nowadays. You wait and see.’ He’s a e child. I wish you'd teke him off with you sometimes on your long walks," turning to me. “He plays too much in the jail yard, I think. He'd be no Usper aweke. 7 could have trouble. Take psy cemps with you. It w id of good.” “Now, about Mrs. Hearne,” gently re- menstrated his honor. “Why, by noon I guess she can go back to her babies. I’m glad you told me about those . It'll make it easier at hom2. , I say, I think there'd be less occasion for that old fool she played the game on to talk if she'd just pack up and go.” , Iv. “By the God’s truth, young man,” quotn Mrs. Hearne, as we went down the side street together, ‘it'll’ be a_ fine present I'll make you when I meets you again. Andimy. rom,, when.--he comes back from’ California, will make you another. I'll’ be’ going 6n today if you.think best, but. me and my fam- ily may be this way, before long: I wants to settle my score, with that old man; and when we comes you shall know it.” Then on and over the river and down to the lane. oe “Mammy! mammy!” piped the voices. “It's dreary, mammmy!"" “I won't take anything rye,” Mrs. Hearne made answer, as she hitch the horses before the van in which she packed all her belongings. “‘Mandy don't like the feel of luvver when it comés from the hand of a friend. We shall do weil enough. But I thanks you kindly for thinking of it.” To my joy at this moment a long-de- layed grocery wagon turned into the lane. “Hero's a basket fot you,” the boy told Mrs. Hearne as he handed it out. “Get up, Sally!" he cried to his horse, and, his mission being done, ke drove whistling back to town. There were tears in Mrs. Hearne’s eyes. “The mayor sent it,” I hastened to say. “He told me he would, but I thought he'd forgotten.” “He's a fin entieman,” Mrs. Hearne murmured. ve seen worse gavs than this after all's said.” th got some sweth for mammy, sweth the rye gave uth. Doth mammy wanth them?" queried the lisper. “Keep them ourself, dearie, Mr: Hearne answered nly give ‘Willie som and some to little sister.” “Ith divide ith,” sighed the lisper with the air of a martyr. ay “Good luck, rye,” Mrs. Hearne said, as she leaned from the wagon to shake hands. will their dye, Kuskto bok.’ Over the grass of the lane for a space, followed a space by the great elm tree's shadow, then. with a tugging of harness, a rattling of kettles and wheels, the van turns out upon the high road and goes slowly southward, raisirg a white cloud of dust as it passes away into the heat of the sultry sun. “Kushto bok,” say I, as I turn back to the town. “Good luck to Mrs, Hearne and her chauvies.”” — The Tall Hat. From the Chicago Record. The crusade against the tall hat, which was begun in England a year orf more ago by Lord Ronald Gower, is ended and the “stovepipe’’ still hoids the field, Lord Ronald having been routed, horse, foot and dragoons. The crusaders made their final effort when they appealed to the Prince of Wales. Knowing that his highness’ word was law in the world of fashion, they asked him to signalize his mother’s diamond jubilee by giving his influence to the movement for the abolition of the tall hat. But the prince took sides with the much abused -hat and put an end to the’ crusade by most decisive action. Whereas, in past years the prince has-been in the habit of appearing at the Goodwood races in a soft felt hat or in a derby, this year he not only himself wore a stovepipe hat and black frock coat, but actually went so far as to send notes to the admiral and general in command at Portsmouth, ask- ing them to give orders that ait the officers of their command attending the Goodwood races should be thus “colffed.” He like- wise, before leaving London, caused his equerry-in-waiting to send an intimation to the Turf, the Marlborough Boodles and the Guards clubs requesting that any .mem- bers of these institutions going to the races should wear high hats. The royal com- mands were obeyest, universally, although very irksome, as the weather was extreme- ly hot ard dusty, gnd jnly two or three very bold spirits yentyred to appear-in straw and white inate, being frowned upon by the prince for their non-compli- ance with his injungtiong S. liver, he soon 1 loses enjoy- ment of his meals. Nothing tastes good or looks appetizing. He grumbles at his wife, or the cook, or the lord, or the landlady, or the waiter, as the case may be. say that he has “‘a finicky appetite” and let it goat that. The fact is that the man is in a jous con- dition and, if he continues to neglect his Health, is a candidate for consumption or some equally terrible malady. __ es If a man doesn’t wish to ‘‘dine with death for a waiter” he should take the right remedy for ‘‘little ills” as they arise, and thus ward se ie “I gas When a man’s appetite is “finicky, when_his liver is torpid, when he feels be * dull, listless and generally out of sorts, Golden Medical Discovery. It makes the appetite keen, the liver active, the blood pure, the brain clear and the whole body alert and energetic. If the bowels are constipated Dr. Pierce’s Pleasant Pellets will cure that. The “ so} oe Discovery ”’ cures 98 per cent. of cases of consumption, weak lungs, catarrhal, bronchial and throat troubles. “ t different doctors told me that T would ISS Gak'n short times that Ihad consumption and must die,” writes Geo. R. Haq. of Myers Valley, Pottawatomie Co. Kans. “I finally commenced taking Dr. Pierce’ Golden Medical and am still in the land and among the living. I have faith to be- Heye that it has lengthened my life for the last Of Dr Pierce's medicines that T want his "Com- mon Sense Medical Adviser.’ Dr. Pierce’s Pleasant Pellets cure con- stipation. One little “Pellet” is a dose. ACCUSED BY A CORPSE. Austrian Nobleman Killed a Deserter to Gain His Superior’s Praise. From the New York Journal. The old adage that murder will out has once more proved to be true, this time in Galicia. From there comes a remarkable story of how science proved an Austrian officer to have been guilty of murdering a ‘ate of his regiment. The private de- rerted with the intention of coming to this country. He was captured by the search- ing party, but managed to escape. Three days later the officer, who is said to be a nobleman of high Standing and whose name has been kept secret by the Austrian government, reported that he had d killed the deserter. He asserted had been out hunting when he e across the fugitive. : “Halt, in the name of the emperor!” he ares he cried. Then, according to the told by the efficer, the man ran away, n being warned twice more the officer fired and killed him. * The following day the officer was calied before his regiment and complimented on his bravery, for the fugitive was known to be a desperate character. Visions of a medal flashed across the officer's mind and everything seemed smooth sailing until a physician reported the result of the au- topsy. The doctor found that the bullet which had killed the man had taken a most re- markable course. It had entered the head at the point where the hair begins, near the left temple. It then plowed its way downward and emerged beneath the right clavicle. This exploded the officer's story that he had shot the man from behind, for the position of the body while running would make it an impossibility for the bul- let to have taken the course described. The doctor declared that from the wound it was evident that the man had been lying flat on his back when the shot was fired, and that in all probability his hands had been folded beneath the nape of his neck. From this the authorities made the deduc- tion that the deserter had been sleeping when attacked by the officer, whose desire for glory was stronger than his humanity. The officer was arrested and the corpse of the private became his accuser, silent, but backed by the authority of science. A court-martial was held, but the officer stuck to his original story. When faced by the scientists and their evidence he broke down and confessed that he had shot«the man while he was asleep. He was sen- tenced to life imprisonment. — Cerrachi. ‘| From the New York Post. “The chauvies will never forget you; ‘nor | The likeness of Franklin upon our post- age stamps is taken from a bust made of him by Cerrachi. and not by the artist Whose name usually figures in post office reports. Cerrachi was a Corsican, and one ot the party who attempted to assassinate Napoleon while on his way to the theater one evening at the time when Napoleon was plotting to be made emperor. Cer- rachi was guillotined. He had made the acquaintance of Franklin when the latter was the American envoy to France, and on Fraaklin’s invitation had visited Amer- ica, and here made busts of many eminent men The Road to Klondike is a long and hard one. It is much casier to get * GOLD DUST from your grocer, Sold everywhere and cleans everything. Made only by THE N. K. FAIRBANK COMPANY. ‘Chleago. &t. Louis, New York. HOTELS. ‘This List Appears Every Saturday. HOTEL INFORMATION FREE. For booklets of American, Earopean Hotels, Fall and Winter Resorts, also rates of apartments in Hotels below, call or address (send stamp) HOTEL TARIFF BUREAU, PENNSYLVANIA RAILMOAD. Station corner of Sixth end B streets. 7:30 A.M. WEEK DAYS. PITTSCURG EXPRESS. pearior aod Dining Cars, Barristurg to Pitts: re. 10:50 A.M. PENNSYLVANIA LIMITED.—Puliman Sleeping, Dining. Smcking: and Wbservation Cars Harrisburg to Chicago, Cinciunatl, . Cleveland and Toledo. Car to Harrisbarg. 10:50 A.M. FAST LINE.--Paliman Roffet Parlor Car to Harrisburg. Buffet Parlor Car Macristurg Indianapolis, Buster actor to he ( 63 Fifth Ave., New York. 3:40. P.M. CHICAGO AND ST. LOUIS EXPRESS. } 96 Regent st. London. - Car Washington to St. Souls, and (248 Rue de Rivoli, Paris, to St. Louie, (via Clocinnati), and Ci 2 | an TERN EXPRess ng Pittatneg. Chi Clevela: Dining Gar to Chicago 7:0 P.M. nd Dining Cs i seit ining Cars Harri HOTEL POCKET GUIDE FRER. (AP. means American Pian; E. P., European.) SOUTHWESTERN EXPRESS. ull Bing ¥ jotel Keamore, A.P., $1] mae Sleeping td Wastington to Pattee ya » AP, a I ASBURY PARK, N.J....West End Hotel, now open| Gar 7" © St. Louis and Cinctonat sed BALTIMORE, Ma....Hotel Rennert, EP. $1.50 up | 1040 P-M. PACIFIC EXPHESS.—Puliman Slecp- The © to Pittsburg. >. Toe Corrodtton, AP SF 32 | 1:30 AM. tor Rane, Canapaicon, Rochester and STON BB. w0 + -: ‘ Niagara Fy dally, except Sunday. BOURNEMOUTH, Bag.Roral Bath Hotel, A. 10:50 A.M. for Elia‘fa and Renovo Aailx, -except BRADFORD,Eng.Midiand Hti.,A.P..$3.50;E. —ya4 For Willlumsport daily, 3:40 P.M. 00K: . $1; AP. 7:10 P.M. for Williamsport. Rochester, Erle, Buf- BR LYN, N.¥.Hotel St.George. E.P..$1; A-P.$3) ““faio and Niagnrn Fale daily, exept. Saturday, CINCINNATI, O....Grand Hotel, EP., $1; A-P., $3] with Sleeping Car Washington to Tutrato, jew St.James Hotel, A.P., $2.50 up | 10:40 anc d Erie and Siu Getly Hotel Witdsor, A.P.. $2 to $3.50 Rochester, | Buffalo and Ningar Royal ix Hotel, LP, $8 ay nil aS ag Calienan Sleeping Car Mass.Berkshire Inn, A-P., $3 op] | For Phila New York and the “CONGRESSIONAL LIMITED, tty, ‘Ml Parlor Cars, with Dining Car from Roeltimore, Regular at 7:00 Mining Car). 8 Mining Car). and 11:00 ining ¢ 45, 4:2), 6. LEEDS, Eng. .Quecu’s Hotel, A.! LIVERPOOL, Exg. Adelphi H’t*1,A.P.,$3.5 LONDON, Eng......--+.-++ Hotel Cecil, E-P.. $2 up| ington) AM. 12 ¥ BO, 10:00 and 11:35 PM. Gn , 7:00 (ining Cari, 8:00, ag ~The Langham Hotel, EP, $2 eP| 9:90. 11:05 (mins Car’ from, Wilinineton 3 do.(St-Pancras).Midland Grand.a.P..$3.50: E.P..61up | 12:15, 8:15, 4:21. 6-50, 10-00 nnd dd LONDOX(Westminster)..t.Erm’n'sHoteL. High class. | For Philadeiphin only. express, Jnexcelled for Juxury, comfort, cuisine. E.P..$1 cp] Seek days. | apres, 15 P.M. week days, 2:01 and 5:40 P.M. i. For Boston, without change, 7:50 A.M. week days, 220 daily. an@ 4:20 P.M. For Baltimore, 6:25, 7-00, 10:50, 11-00 AM ISI8 foe LONDON,Eug.DeVere Hotel ) DeVere Gardens. @o...-Broodwalk do. | Kensington Palace,W. do. .Prince of Wales do. ) Specially recommended NEW ORLEANS,La.New st.Char-esHotel,A.P.,$4 up do. -Hotel Grunewaid, E.V’., $1 up -The Cosmopolitan Hotel, E.P., $1.50 up Fifth Avenue Hotel, A.P., $3 --The Majestic, E.P., $2 B. Barry) St. Cloud Hotel, E.P., $1.50 (Chas.4.Davis) Hotel St. Aadrew, E. do. (W.JobnsorQuinn)Htl. Empire,E.P.,§1 do...(Wm. Noble) Hotel Grenoble, E. do.(Sth av.&15th st.)Hotel Kensington. E. 5 4o.(C.ambers& WB’ way).C.smopolitan,E.P.,§1 up do. .(s.e. cor. Sth av.£15 st.yHotel Hanover, A.P. and ML. Atlantic Coast “Line—Express for Foints fon Atlantic Const Tine, 4: PM. daily; Richmond only, faye; Atlanta Special @aity. Ae " . daily and 4:25 P.M. do. .-THE RUTLAND, 57th and Broadwa; zm FECTIONS. ‘Superior apartments, $1,200 to $3,500 yearl: City erin Delawa River Betage, ant. PHILADELPHIA, -New Walton Hotel, E.P., $2 : via M: = Se 3:15 and 11:35 P.M. -The Aldine Hotel, A.P.. $3.90 PM. Sock dave iiias Pate anise 8 a-carte)NewLafayette,E.P..$1up do. ..¢Arch&12th st.) Hotel Hanov PLYMOUTH, Eng. RICHMOND, Va.TheJefferson. pe May, PM. daiiy. Ticket oftices, corner 15th and G st: the station. 6th and fst w be left for the ehecking of ba; at 4 10:00, 31-00 A.M. week days, 11:35 “bee TCHINSON, roo ‘ General Manager. rn 3. R General Pass. Agent. 1.,$1.50; A.D.,$4 ‘The Troy House, A.P., $3 up D. C.....Arlington Hotel, A-P., $5 ~The Ral . $1.50 up WASHINGTON, do. D OHIO RAILROAD. as of New ‘corner rsey ave. au it “go and 0, 11 C st Vestibuled Limited + 8203) pan, wee ‘or € St. Louis and Indianapolis, Ex- ress, Vestibuled Limited, 3:40" p.m. sayrenn, 11:30 p.m VIRGINIA AYE. or Pirtsvarg aod Cleveland, Express daily, 10:00 hotel, with ail © Columbus, Toledo and Detroit, 11:20 p tral "location. For Wincheste - Sees cee a a $ to $2.00 per aay. For Win: aod way stations, 13:00, 711285 reduction in \eekly and family rates for Write fe scriptive booklet. Capacit First season, J. P. COPE, Proprietor. |. RICHMOND, ENTUCKY AVE., ATLA tie City, N. J.—8) yards from beach; elevator to round floor; appointments ard cuisine of the ighest standard; special rates for fall. J. D. PI SE. ahd: selv-lm ESTMINSTER, tor. Steam heat. Sup war- h. Mos. M. KOCHE. e2-26t he Shelburne. Open throughout the J. D. SOUTHWICK, Manager. rs throug daily P 2 all xi: AND OCTOBER AT clr Are Most Delightfal. HADDON HALL Will remain open .brcughout the year. able pleasures and cinusements, and way points, Kk 12:50, 3:00, 4:40, 4233, 5-30 Sundays, 9200 ‘a.m.,” 1:15, soo m Junction and way points, Tiiustrated booklet n alled. a.m., 4.30, 5:30 p.u., week days; 9-00 0. 8,521 D Y ).n., Sundays. = LEEDS & LIPPINOOTT. | foval “GLUE LINE FOR x Fr ST. CHARLES, a re OTEL zl Atlantic Ci All trains illuminated with I The finest hotel on the coast. For Philad Will remaio ope2 throughout the year. East, - first-class in every appointment. Write’ for illustrated booklet, JAMES B. REILLY, mh6-208t Owner and Proprietor. THE CHALFONTE, Atlantic City, N. J. SEPTEMBER BY THE SEA IS MOST DE- LIGHTFUL. Llustrated booklet mailed. E. RORERTS' SON: NHURST—OCEAN END OF MICHIGAN ave., Atlantic Cits, N. J.; electric elevator to Street level, Send for iilustrated booklet. JAMES Strictly For Atlantic City, 7:05, 30:00 12:40 and 3:00 p.m. week days. For Cape May, 12:00 tExcept unda, xE: Bazgage called for residences by Union Trans! y ticket offices, 619 Peunsylvania ave. = a eS = — st., aud ar Awe OTF! KELEY. 5 . GRI ENE, D. BoM ARTIN, Kentucky ave., 50 feet from board walk. Ocean ae) Mer. Pass. ‘Traffic. view from all Tuoms. Steam heat. Sun parlors, | Je m., 12:00 noon, 40 p.m. Sun noon. 1 {Sunday only. ins. "4 from hotels and rders deft at nw. New etc. Elevator from street level. Special week! - a rates, G o’ciock dinners. JAMES & GEORGE BEW. SOUTHERN RAILWAY. 330-156-5, Schedule in effect July 4, 1897. All trains arsive and leave at Pennsylvacia pas- seuger stetion $:12 A.M.—Dally.—Loal tor Da ‘HOTEL, ANNAPOLIS, MD.—LAn ile, Charlorte rooms; modern conveniences; abundant _tabli way stations. Com as for § ‘boating, — fishing; $5 per week upward. Horrisorburg and unten, daily execr W. SANDERSON, Prop., “formerly Congressional with Norfolk Hotel. Wasitngtcn. Je2y-tf pe IN THE MOUNTAINS. THE BOLIVAR HEIGHTS ‘OTEL AND ALE Cottage wants 30 persons in the mountains. This point commands unequaled views of the bistoric mountains of Pi Va. and W. Va. “All home comforts.” terms are offered for the mouths of Sept. aud Uct. Write for terms, &c. sel0-1m W. J. MURPHY. A_REST RESORT—MUNTE VISTA—ONE MILE from station; ore of the highest points in the Alleghanies, "No malaria; bo hay fever; the house open through the year. Address MONT! VISTA, Oukland, Garrett “Co., Md. au26-t “THE LOCKWOOD,” HARPER'S FERRY, W. Va. ‘will open for the season May 15; rooms iarge and airy; plenty of sbade; table first-class; rates rea- sonable. A. P. DAN: Proprietor.’ my1-Sm HILL TOP HOUSE, HARPER'S FERRY, W. VA.— ‘This popular resort so Satisfaction guar- aptecd. = se Ca naa ieee ~ OCEAN TRAVEL. z American Line. New York-Southampton (Londcn-Paris) Twin-screw U, S. Mail Steamsbips. Sailing every Wednesday. Paris....-Sept. 29, 10 am St. Paul...Oct. 27. 10am 3 “ ov. Oct. ‘Oct. S Oct. 20, 10 am’ Si. Paul-.Nov. ed Star Line. NEW YORK TO ANTWERP. SOUTHWARK. ‘September 29, 11 a.m. NOORD! 5 October 6, 12 noon ober 13, 12 noon -October 20, 12 noon ‘AL NAVIGATION COMPANY, ‘Oaice, 8 Bowling Green, X. ¥. jowllng Gi x GEO. W. MOSS, “Agent, se22-fm 921 Penn. ave. NORTH GERMAN LLOYD FAST EXPRESS SERVICE. PLYMOUTH, LONDON, Kaiser.Th.Sept. 29, & 4 e with I . Sleeper New Orleans, connecting at Atlunta for Birmiag- ham and M is. Solid train Washington > Orleans without change. Sunset Personal ducted Temist Excmsion Through Sleeper on this train every Wednesday to San Francisco without 5 iy.—W ASHINGTO VESTIBULED LIMI estivuled Sleepers, Dining Coaches. Pullman mgs “ea w York to Temn., via Asheville, Knoxville and Chattanoog: New York to ‘Tampa, va Charlotte, Os vaunah and Jacksonville, and New ¥: pis, via Birmingham; New York to via “Atlanta and Montgomery. Vestibaled Day Cozch Washington to Atlanta. Southern Rellway Diving Car Greensboro’ to Montgomery. TRAINS ON WASHINGTON SION leave Washington 9:01 \. and 4:45 p.m. daily except Sunday, and 6:25 p.m. Sundays only for Round Hil; 4:32'p.m. daily. e cpt Sunday, for Leesburg, and Herndon. Returning, arrive at a.m. and §:40 p.m. daily and 3:00 p.m. daily, ex: S<pt Sunday. from Round Hil. 7:06 a.m. daily, x. cept Sunday, from Herndon, 8:34 a. lly, except Sunday, f-om Leesburg. yh trains from the south arrive at Wash- ington, 6:42 a. and p.m. daily, Harrisburg, 12:40 and 9:25 p.m. dally, except Sunday, and 8:30 a.m. daily from Charlottesville. ‘Tickets. sleeping Car reservation and informa- tion furnished at offices, 511 and 1300 Pennsylvania avenue, and at Peunsylvania railroad passenger station W. H. GREEN, General Supt. 3M. CULP, Trafic W. A. TURK, L.'s. BRO ef. wager. Gen. Pass. Agent. Gen. Agt. Pass. Dept. WASHINGTON, ALEXANDRIA AND MT. VERNON RAILWAY. FROM STATION, 13% STREET AND PA. AVE. In effect May 9, 1897. xandria (weck days), 6:30, 7:05, 7:35 ex.. 30 9:00, 9:50, 10:05 ex. 11:00, 11:48 45, 2:05 ex. ats ex,’ 445, 5205, 5735 325, 7:00, 8:00, 9:00, 10:00, SSENGER MPTON, LONDON, ¥ e and W 10:05, 11:00 a m., . 4:15 p.m. 23, 7:00, 8:00 p.m. e on ridge (Sunday outs): 8:00, 9:00, 50:00, 10:30, 11:00, 11:3) nme 32:00 noon, 12:30, 1:00, 1:30, 2 F 2200, 2:30, 230, 4:00, “4:30, 5200, 5:30, 6200, 6:30, 7:00, 8:00 holing first- 2 cents each. CHESAPEAKE AND OHIO RAILWAY, THROUGH THE GRANDEST SCENERY OF MEALS SEEVED IN DIsINa CARS. STa- ‘TION SIXTH AND B STREETS. elai—Solid ‘train for Cincineati, Pullman to Cinctnnsti, Louisville, Exzington and Loolerille ce Pall: Finest change, Toredaye Tnrednys ‘and "Cater: {Son patter Gar. Soapere Gictanstl to Culcagy oad