Evening Star Newspaper, January 15, 1898, Page 18

THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY,’ JANUARY 15, 1898-24 PAGES, ay WOON? 2) PI Deke) THE WHITE WRITTEN FOR THE EVENING PENN OOM ONCE DN boeAse) Since, in the opinion of all reasonable men, no further attempt Is ever likely to be made to place one of the Stuart family on the throne of Great Britain, at least by force of arms, I can now, without © to any one, tell the story of the pre strange adv to face for Charles ure which brought me face the first and last time with siward Stuart, commonly known Young Pretender. » aft » of September i g letter: en the time this is placed in your hands I shall be at sea on my way to Antwerp. It all ov Under the name of John Douglas the prince has been in London for nearly a week, and nothing has come of it. There is no prospect of a rising. Gentlemen of quality and influ- nce, however devoted to the prince, have no mind to risk their lives and estates by marching on Lon unless supported by a strong bi of regular troops, believing that exile, or more probably the scaffold, would be th e and certain end of any such rash undertaking. To speak the plain truth, | am much of that way of thinking mysel. nd, having wife and child, will not draw my sword until I perceive some fair prospect of sue a I write to warn you of that which con- cerns you nearly. The other day the prince came unexpectedly to a party at Lady Primrose’s, greatly to the consternation of her ladyship and of most of her guests. Indeed, he met with but a cold reception from any but your betrothed, Miss Kate Gordon, and her cousin, Andrew Macin- tyre. who were hoth present. iss Gordon went down on her knee before them all and kissed his hand. It was very bravely done and moved him greatly. but. i d, it was searcely pru- dent. Macintyre followed her example, and I heard him whisper to the prince that if his royal highness would deign to honor his poor house with a visit this evening (ve ) he would meet with a very different d of welcome. Learning that Miss Gor- be present the prince con- as the 2, I re Dear k don would sented. “Now, a word in your ear. This Macin- tyre is not to be trusted. I have infor- mation from a sure source that he is a spy in the pay of the government, and that the man with one eye, the odious creature, Donald Fraser. who follows him about like a shadov i ible, a more infamou Tam oc concocting some plot to grace devotion to him into a hint of to me coldly, and, become notoriously from his best and well-known to’ entice ordon should made an in this villainous scheme will, 1 hateful to you, and I doubt not jo what lies in your power to pre- most f MATTHE I read this letter. Stuarts, and, indé pret should be in- ould be if word it. ‘t of mine could preve yer it was no very pleasant task for me } te re in the matter, for there had | alre 1 a sharp quarrel between Kate and vith regard to this Macintyre | and cause | of tt phan, undertaken to means or | jant me in Kate affections, 1 her small fortune for him- n out with the High- | he had then | played, and his hypocritical professions ndship, y words r drove t what my anger to would I was tyre’s hous pf my knew, ily ed on ord. procured a | irove quickly to Macintyre’s | ich lay some distance from t Within 200 or 200 yards of the gate I and, leaving the coach hidden in ar the road, walked forward by my city. alighted, | | i yn y antipathy to Macintyre, I 4 been moments when I » him capable of the in- Iding had accused him; ‘ing dusk I reached h one wall which en- jous garden, all my doubts ht of the isolated house, the ighted windows of which were barely visible through the thick foliage of the trees that surrounded it on all sides. ery for help would. pe heard beyond conf. there could scarce famy of wh but, when the gate in circled the spa vanished at tt the walls. The victim once Inside that lonely building. and sword or bullet might do its work and none be the wiser. My heart beat quickly as I passed through the zate. Such a man as Macintyre was to elute any means of get- rous rival, and I knew I carried my life in my hands. I thought I might be refused admittaice, but the gate stood wide open, and no one ap- peared or challenged me. ‘But that brought Me little comfort. It is ever an easy mat- ter to nter a trap. It 's when you seek to ve it that the difficulties begin. Still I went doggedly on, though, as I ap- broached the house, I was confident that I a faint rustling in the bushes to d left. as though invisible spies ¥ dozging my footsteps. Then ed that confirmed my worst door suddeniy opened, and shut again, but not before I} impse of two or three figures ving hurriedly inside. What could these things mean if they did rot indicate treach- ery and foul play? I am not ashamed to say that my limbs trembled and the cold sweat stood on my ferehead, as, after a moment's hesitation, I} set my teeth. and, stepping quickly for- ward, knocked at the door. It was opened by 4 man with a very evil and forbidding countenance and but one eye. He was no other than Donald Fraser, the detestable parasite of Andrew Macintyre, against Buspi ion a TUPISURAT a ESE. SESE AIS MNS WG whom my good friend Fielding had particu- larly warned me. It might have been fancy, but ‘t seemed to me that his green- ish gray eye sparkled with a kind of ma- gnant triumph at the sight of me. I think a spider might so regard the fly that ventured innocently among the meshes of his web. is Yet he readily made way for me to en- ter, and went at my request to tell Kate that I wished to speak with her. He was vi COCKADE. STAR BY JAMES WORKMAN. gone some time, and I was sure that he Wasyinforming Macintyre of my presence, before carrying the message to Kate. It would have surprised me little had I been refused speech with her; but presently I could hear her fresh, girlish voice. high and sweet and clear, singing, “The White Cockae.” Vl sell my reck, I'll sell my reel, My rippling-kame and spinning wheel, To buy mysel” a tartan plaid, A broads dirk and white cockade. O be's ranting, roving blade! © he's a brisk and bonnie lad! Betide what may, my heart is glad To see my lad wi’ his white cockade. She sang it defiantly as she came down he wide staircase, a flush on ner brave ouns face, her eyes shining with a kind of passionate enthusiasm, the sweetest maid, it seemed to me, in all broad England, and, to my mind, at that moment the foolishest. She seemed like a reckless child playing with fire, and I could have snatched away the white cockade she wore at her breast and crushed it beneath my heel. Yet as she came nearer I was convinced that she was but playing a part, for more than once I noticed her glance ‘apprehen- sively ahout her, and I felt her hand trem- tle as I clasped it in mine. Yet even at that moment, in a position, as I believed, of imminent peril, my heart leaped with joy ve that all trace of the coldness beer. for some time between us had passed away, and that she was un- feignediy rejoiced to see me. : “This is a pleasure I did not anticipate,” she said, in a formal voice, and with a slight side glance at Fraser, who stood of this vile place. The air chokes me. It reeks of treachery. Come, get your cloak, and—” “Hush,” she exclaimed, suddenly. In the silence that followed I heard steps on the path outside, a loud knock, and then the tramping of feet and the sound of voices in the hall. Kate sprang to the door which commanded a partial view of the hall, and, opening it cautiously, looked out. “Is it the prince?” I asked, breathlessly. She turned and closed the door and leaned against the wall, white and trembling. “No,” she faltered, “it is Andrew Macin- tyre, with half a dozen strange men— coarse, brutal-looking wretches, with swords and pistols. Oh, Frank, what is to become of you? He hates you. He told me so today. He threatened what he would do to you if I did not give you up. Fraser will tell him you are here, and he—they may kill you. Hush! I hear his foot on the stairs. He is coming here. You must hide—some- where—anywhere—in the cupboard—quick, get into the cupboard.” “But Fraser will tell him I am here,” I expostulated. “Perhaps not,” she exclaimed, pushing me in her exciterient toward the door of the cupboard. “They are not so friendly as they appear to be. Quick—quick—he is coming!” Yielding reluctantly to her entreaties, I stepped inside, leaving the door slightly ajar, so that I might see what passed. Then sae sat down at.a harpsichord, and began to sing a rollicking Jacobite ballad, as gayly and gallantly as if the prince had been present, with all the clans around him. I swear by the moon and stars so bright, And sun that glances early, If I had twenty thousand ilves, ‘@_gie them a° for Charlfe. o'er the water, we'll o'er the sca, We'll o'er the water to Charlle; Come weel, come woe, we'll gather and go. And live’ or die wi" Charlie. She was still singing when the door opened, and Andrew Macintyre came in. I fuliy expected to see him followed by his gang of hired ruffians, eager to cut my throat, but he was alone, and, to my as- tonishment, did not appear to suspect my presence. He was a handsome fellow, tall and well built, though I never liked the cast of his features, his thin, cruel lips and cold blue eyes. “Ah, Kate,” said he, and I fancied I could detect a faint sneer in the tones of his voice, “I thought I heard you singing. Upon my soul, your voice sends the blood “DO YOU SUPPOSE I WALKED BLINDFOLD INTO YOUR CLUMSY TRAP.” again leering beside the door. “Will you come this way, if you please?” She led the way upstairs and I followed her into a sitting room brilliantly lighted ith wax candles, as though for the recep- tion of a distinguished guest. I closed the decor behind me and was about to speak to her, when she laid her finger on her lips, and, taking one of the candles, looked beneath the table and behind the couch, and even opened the door of an empty cup- board and glanced hurriedly inside. She was very pale, and the candle trembled in her hand as she returned it to its place. Then she suddenly sank into a chair, cov- ered her face with her hands and broke into stifled so! “Why, Kat said I, you. What is the matter 2 “Indeed, I—I—scarcely know, Frank,” she faltered, raising her pale face and smil- ing faintly through her tears. “It is very silly and childish of me, but I—I am fright- ened. Andrew and his mother are out, and all the servants have been sent away, and I have been alone in the house for hours, with no one to speak to but that odious wretch, Donald Fraser—and—and—I got -rvous and began to think I could hear strange noises, whisperings at the door, and footsteps on the stairs,untii I was quite sure there were strange men in the house. I though one might be in the cupboard there, watching us and Hstening to all we said. I think it must have been fancy. If not, what can it all mean?” I fear there no his is not like doubt of what it means, Kate,” “and the time has come to I have learned that tonight the young pretender, Charles uart, is coming here. I see you have tricked yourself out in all your finery, with the white cockade on your breast to meet him. Oh, Ka you foolish child, can’t you see that this vile man, this glib, plausi- ble, double-faced spy and traitor, Andrew niyre, is using your pretty face and it enthusiasm to lure the unfortu- young prince into a trap?” In spite of her white face and startled yes she did not exhibit the anger and credulity I had expected. Was it possi- bie that she had already begun to distrust Macintyre? Frank,” she exclaimed, desperately, “surely this cannot be true. I have thought of late he was growing lukewarm, that his zeal for the cause had cooled, but he could not be capable of such treachery as this— indeed, he could not. I cannot believe 1 evertheless I could see that in her heart she did believe it. “The man is a spy,” I said, impatiently. “I have it from a sure source, and there can be no doubt about it. Moreover, there are men lurking in the garden and about the house. I heard them rustling among the bushes and saw them slinking through the door. They are here to seize the prince, and we are powerless to prevent them. No one will believe in your innocence if you are present when the prince is taken, and if you do not wish your name to become in- famous you must come away this minute. I have a coach waiting, and will take you to my aunt, Lady Chester. I will bribe Fraser to let us pass before your cousin returns, or, if necessary, run him through the body and trust to escape in the dark- ness.”” She wrung her hands in agony. “Oh,” she cried, “that 1, who would give my life to save the prince, should have been tricked by this base wretch into betraying him! Oh, this man, this man! I did not think such men lived in the world.” “Come, come,” I said impatiently, ‘Ave are wasting time, and there is not a mo- ment to lose. Your cousin may return at any moment. We must go at once.” “And leave the prince to his fate,” she exclaimed, ‘without making one effort to warn him? I cannot do it. Frank, indeed, I cannot do it. I should loathe and despise myself ever afterward. I must do what I can to save him, and I know you will help me, Frank. You will help me, Frank, will you not?” Now, what was I to do? As I have said, I was no Jacobite. To interfere in the mat- ter was against both my principles and my interest. If it became known that I had assisted the prince to escape I should em- il myself with the government and ruin my care if I did not risk my neck. But yet—ah, well, what man with any heart could listen to the cold dictates of prudence when moved by the sight of that innocent child’s face, quivering with pain and shame, and those sweet, tear-filled eyes gazing be- seechingly into his? I may have been rash, disloyal, what you will, but I could not do it. God knows that, however foolish I may have thought her in the past, I loved the girl infinitely more, if that were possible, for her fidelity to the unfortunate prince in his hour of need. Yet I knew well that it was a desperate business, and like to end badly for both of us, however it ended. “If we think of any plan that has the least chance of success I will do what I can to help you, Kate,” I answered, “but for my part I can see no way but one, and that is to intercept him before he reaches the house. For God's sake, let us get out nat dancing through my veins. "Tis more in- sp:riting than a bugle call. If you would ride at the head of the troops siaging your battle songs, with the white cockade on yeur breast, the King would socn enjoy his ewn again. With your voice to lead him to victory, who would not live or die with Charlie?” His eyes dwelt on her with a look that niade me grind my teein and grip the hilt of my sword. I would have given all I possessed to spring forward and settle the matter with the cold steel, but I knew that with a shout he csuld bring his cutthroats upon me, and my death would leave Kate defenseless in his hands. Kate was ever quick-witted and ready of speech, but the sure knowledge of his treachery, and the tragic situation in which she was placed, seemed to freeze the werds on her lips. She bent her white face over the harpsichord, and I saw her fingers trembling as they wandered over the keys. I tLink ‘twas the bitterest moment of my life. I could neither get her away from the house nor warn the prince. I was not, I think, devoid of cow=ge, and enjoyed some reputation as a swordsman, and yet I was absolutely helpless. I could do noth- ing that was not utterly reckless and fool- hardy, and stood there grinding my teeth in impotent fury while this loathsome spy and traitor made love to my betrothed. cintyre glanced at the clock. pme few minutes to the hour at which his royal highness promised to be here,” he continued in the same tone of subdued meckery. “Let us have another song, Kate. Let us have something to stir the blood, something about the gathering of the clans, and the fluttering of the kilts; the flash of the broadswords and the skirl of the pipes. ‘Twill raise the prince’s spirits if he hears you. He was dashed by the cold- ness with which he was received at Lady Primrose’s. We must give him a heartier reception tonigh I think from the malicious twinkle in his eyes that he knew she suspected him, and was playing with her as a cat with a mouse. Her cheeks flushed, and I thought she was about to give an angry reply; but, with an effort, she controlled herseif, and began to play a spirited prelude. But at that moment he held up his hand. “Hush,” he said, “I hear voices at the door. I think he must have arrived.” He turned away and stepped hurriedly to the window. In a moment Kate was on her feet, darted an appealing look at me, pointed to him and rushed to the door. I was in the room, sword in hand, before she reached it. But I was no quicker than he. I saw the gleam of his eyes and the flash of his sword before I was half way across the room. He parried the savage lunge I made at him, and leaping aside with the agility of a cat, rushed after Kate. Through the door and along the passage she went like a deer, he close on her heels, and I was on his. When she réached the stairs she ‘seemed to fly down them, and beyond her I caught a glimpse of the prince stepping into the hall. “Go back,” she cried, “go back. betrayed. Go back.” But she was too late. Clang went the heavy door, out from the adjoining rooms Bprang half a dozen men with naked swords, and there in the middle of the hall, surrounded by a ring of steel, with the sobbing girl at his feet, caught like a rat in a trap, stood Prince Charlie. Whig as'I was, I cannot describe the sick feeling of pity and shame that overwhelm- ed me at the sight. ’Twould have been a fitting death for the hero of Prestonpans and Falkirk to die sword in hand on the battlefield, but it was heart-breaking to see him betrayed and trapped by this scurvy crew of spies and traitors. And still keener was my pity for the innocent child who was sobbing at his feet, crushed with shame that her devotion to his cause should have been made the bait to lure him to the scaffold. He stood perfectly still, pale and with flashing eyes, but without a trace of fear. “Well, Mr. Macintyre,” said he, “this is a strange welcome. May I beg you to inform me what I am to understand by it?” Brought face to face with the man he had betrayed, even Macintyre lost his nerve, though he tried to brazen it out. “You may understand—’ he began, and then his eyes fell and he looked moodily at the floor. “I think the situation explains itself,” he said gloomily. The prince drew himself up and looked at Macintyre with unutterable scorn and contempt. “It does, indeed,” said he. “I have had to do with spies and traitors before, but never with one who invited me to his house as a guest in order to betray me. But this time, thank God, you have over- estimated your cunning and my simplicity. You fool, do you suppose‘ that-I have walk- ed blindfold into your clumsy trap? Look around you.” Almost before I realized what had taken place I saw Macintyre-turn white, and heard the sword drop clattering from his nerveless fingers, while his accomplices glanced round about seeking a way of es- You are cape. All eyes had. fixed on the prince. so that the may who now stood — = hand at every door and at the of every had come upon us unheard and ‘unseen. = At a glance I the faces of sev- eral well-known Jicobité gentlemen, both Englishmen and High! ers, and I saw at been. cleverly once that Macint caught in his own trap, entangled in the very meshes of the-web_he had spun to en- trap the prince. ere the men who had lurked in the ed) who had stealth- fly entered the house, ‘and the author of this plot within a plot—Donald Fraser— who had betrayed the betrayer, was now leering triumphantly at Macintyre from his post behind the'Goor. Macintyre caught a glimpse of ‘his grinning face, and his eyes gleamed with)diabsfical fury. “You hound,” heexclaimed, “this is your work.” “Yes,” said the prince coolly, “you forget what most of your kind would do well to remember, that it is as easy to set a spy upon @ spy as upon an honest man, and much easier to find those who will betray rim. I pretended to fali into your trap in order to trap you, lest good friends of mine should suffer in future by your treachery. It would be but bare justice to hang every man of you, but your lives shall be spared for the present if you instantly lay down your arms. Take thelr weapons, gentle- men.” The conspirators were so thoroughly cowed that they gave up their arms with- out a struggle. In the meantime Kate had whispered a few words to the prince, and he becKoned me toward him. “I find that I owe you a debt of gratt- tude for your conduct this night,” he said, graciously, “and I sincerely trust that at some future time it may lie within my power to repay you.” Then he turned to Kate. “As for such loyalty as yours, Miss Gor- don,” he said, ‘‘a poor exile has no fitting reward. Nay, I think the only reward I can give you is to release you from fur- ther service to a race so unfortunate as mine. Pardon me.” He took the white cockade breast and handed it to me. “See,” he continued, “I give it into the keeping cf your future husband, and I pray that you will not wear it again un- less he himself pins it upon your breast. My errand here is accomplished, and to- night I leave London. Sloth and avarice have eaten away the loyalty of those who should have flocked to my standard. They wish to save their estates and will not thrust their own heads into danger, though they would be willing enough that the poor Highland lads should leave their bones on another Culloden moor. But I will have no more useless bloodshed, please God, and so sail for France till better times. Farewell.” Kate could not speak for the sobs that choked her, and I—well, I feel no shame at the confessicn—knelt and kissed his hand with tears in my eyes. ‘Twas the last we ever saw of Prince Charlie, the bravest and most unfortunate of all the Stuarts. Toward Macintyre and his accomplices he behaved with his usual clemency. They were released when it was too late for them to interfere with his departure. I have still the white cockade Kate wi on her breast that night, but 1 think she has lost all desire to wear it again; for if what we hear of the once-gallant prince be true, his best friends might wish that he had died at the head of his brave Highlanders on Culloden moor. — MARKS I from her e LITTLE WATCHES. What the Small, Shiny Spirals on the Back Cover Mean. From the Kansas City Star. “What are all these funny little marks in your watch, Cousin Charley?” asked the bright little girl who sat In the young man’s lap playing with his gold timepiece. “Eh? Let me see,” said the young man, taking the watch from her and blushing. ‘The little girl's father looked at Cousin Charley and winked. “Let me see, too,” he rald. ; Inside the back cover of the watch were several little, shiny spiral marks that look- ed as though the gold had been rubbed hard. ‘3 ight times, ch?” satd the little girl's father. “Been hung up quite regularly, hasn't it?” What do you mean?” asked the puzzled little giri. “Seem to have “been. there: yourself," ro- marked Cousin Charley. “What are you talking about?” the little girl asked persistently. “Litue girls should be seen, not heard,” suggested her father. “Twice a year,” said Cousin Charley. “Once in the spring and again in the fall. “Overcoat time, [ see,” his uncle said, nodding understandingly. Now, the fact of the matter was this: In- side the back cover of the watch were eight little round marks made by acid. ‘They were made by pawnbrokers to te the quality of the gold when the wat. was presented for a loan. The pawnbroker dipped the frazzled end of a match in acid 1 scrubbed at a place in the gold. If the id made no impression the gold was ail right and he made the loan. If the metal had bubbled and frothed slightly where the acid touched it the was not gold and the loan was refused. This, you see, was the reason the funny marks were not explained to the little girl. There are many watches carried in fine tailor-made waistcoats in which these fun- ny little marks appear. It is one of the ex- igencies of finance. —+ e+ _____ The White Elephant and the Swans. From Harper's Bazar. FAMOUS OLD MARKET Was Once the Stronghold of the Knights Templar. NOW A SHOP FOR OLD CLO’ MEN An Institution Patronized by the Poor of Paris. MANY CURIOUS INDUSTRIES Special Correspondence of The Evening Star. PARIS, January 7, 1898. “So you are going to play the part of a working girl?” “Yes, for the first time in my life.” It was Sarah Bernhardt who was speaking, just before the new play which has caused her to be alternately acclaimed and hissed by Parisians who adore her. “I have already played two roles of peas- ant women, but there was always a cos- tume with wings to the bonnet and all the rest. This time there will be no brocade, no silks, nor flowers, nor gold and lilies, nor even make-up for my fave. “A cotton gown and an apron, already worn! Every day something is brought from the Temple Market. You understand that everything is disinfected, passed through the drying stoves. At first my girls held out and cried a little, but now they understand and are doing their best. We have had to find 200 costumes. We finally bought new dresses at one of the big shops and sent them to a factory town, where they were traded off for old dud Sarah’s experiment has not pleased the Parisians, because the play—Octave Mir- beau’s “The Evil Shepherds"—brings up the most painful phases of the conflict between labor and capital, and at the end, when the soldiers have fired on the strikers, Sarah Bernhardt, in her working girl's gown of dark blue calico, with white dots, falls bleeding and dead along with the rest. She is not pretty as a working girl—she who has won her great successes as some empress or other ornamental heroine; and at the death she is horrid. Then, the piay does not conclude, but rails bitterly at cap- italist and socialist leaders alike. Yet it is so powerful, there is so much gore in it for a theater where even “Secret Service” seemed violent end failed, that Sarah, as Madeleine, the worknig girl, may be said to have triumphed once again. Calls Attention to the Market. She has at least drawn attention to the famous market, with its 2,400 separate lit- ue shops in the one great inclosure, which occupies one of the spots most famous in Paris history. Not half the shops are used now, and tke market of the Temple -is slowly dying, with the changed condition of the working classes for whom it was kept up. Oniy a few years since the American ar- tist who care to Paris to study and live cheaply came down here to buy all sorts of second-hand furniture—beds and bedding (did he, too, disinfect?), chairs and tapestry —all of which he had for a song, as he thought, although he paid mathematically three times what the workingman would he given. Now, there is no more furniture for sale, und little tapestry, though even the poor in one’s eye is trained to desire beautiful things, cover the bareness of their wails with bits of colored hangings. Jn time the venerable old place disap- r. with so much else of vaniShing Paris. ‘orth seeing before it is quite gone. it is only thirty years ago that the pres- ent structure was erected, which shows that Paris outgrows ihe plans of its mak- ers as quick! hicago or any American city might do. The buildings are great iron sheds, forming six long, high pavilions. The French were among the first to use iren in their architecture, and all thes markets, built under Napoleon ULare much alike. They furnish room for numberless stalls or separate shops, in long rows, where the customer can pass along a strect and chaff and barter. They are light and airy, protected from wind and weather. Through the center of the Temple Market runs the public street, which is aiso span- ned by an arched roof from the iron gird- ers, On one side are the provision sho} On the other—and this is the real curiosity —are the old clothes shops and skops for all other bric-a-brac which the day laborer may be supposed to buy. At least, it was So once. Called for Knights Templar. The place has its name from the site of the old Temple, or stronghold of the Knights Templar. These doughty knight of the middle ages were supposed to be al- ways galloping away after the Turk and infidel in the Holy Land, or on some wild crusade. In reality, most of them were squatting down in the fattest places of Christian Europe, building castles with vast walled-in inclosures near the chief cities, and by their union becoming so pow- erful that kings hated them, while the church made up its mind that they were considerably worse than the Were invented to kil So French King Philip the Fair, in t year of grace 1314, without warning, had the Temple surrounded and ail the knight: in his dominion thrown into prison, whe us th> romances say, they lay f rs on Out of 565 at a slow ne, whe 400 yea infidel they knights, fifty-four were burne fire in the Faubourg Saint the revolution was so violent later After seven years, the heads of the order were brought up before Notre Dame ¢ confess their crimes before the people, but they only protested their innocence. Then the fair Philip took them to the end-of the island, where the statue of the Gallant King Henry IV now stands, and burned them also, They cited the king, who did the injustice, and the pope, who had not succeeded in preventing it, although he tried, to meet them before another and more impartial judge before the year was out. The father of Boccaccio, the great Floren- tine story teller, was in the crowd, and heard the words of the aged Jacques de Molay, grand master, who fifteen years be- fore had taken Jerusalem—the last time it has been in Christian hands. The French Freemasons of today claim affiliation with the Templars and celebrate the memory cf Jecques-de Molay. Both king and pope died within the appointed time. Who Took Refuge There. When the Templars were done for, the king took their stronghold for himself. The tower he kept for a palace or prison, as the fit seized him. The inclosure he turned over to those of his people who needed protection against the nobiles or usurers, or other exploiters of humankind. ‘Thus three classes of men needing protec- tion came to be associated with the Tem- ple, and they all exist in the Paris of to- day. The first was made up of debtors who could not pay. Here they were safe from arrest. Nowadays a debtor, unless he can prove his good faith, is apt to be arrested for swindling and to make acquaintance, So to speak, with the damp straw of dun- geons. The second class comprises all the skilled laborers who could not get on with their trades union, or guild, as it was called. This was no light matter in those days, just as it is getting to be in this age; but here, inside the Temple, there was no one to cry “Scab!” at them, and they could work and sell their work in peace. Here, finally, camped all workmen who are geniuses and can do all sorts of won- derful things, but not what the trades do. Each one invented what he wished, and they started the industry which is now known as the “Article de Paris.” At this time of the new year the makers of toys and ornaments and other fancy work still exhibit what they have made in booths along the Grand Boulevard. And they still inhabit the Quarter Saint Antoine, in the neighborhood of their old refuge in the Temple. ‘When the great revolution came to upset all France the people thrust King Louis XVI and Queen Marie Antoinette and the young Dauphin and his sister into the Tem- ple, where they remained waiting for the hour when the parents should be taken out to the Place de la Concorde to have their heads cut off. Then, when the revo- lution was over, the grand old tower, with centuries of blood on its head, was razed utterly. Not a vestige remains of the prison of Louis XVI except @ decrepit yew tree of the garden, which is now a public square. Dealers Are Called “Croakers.” The market, which now occupies the site of the inclosure, was always for the poor est of the poor from the beginning. Until the new fron buildings were erected - by Napoleon LI it had four divisions. These the people knew by the irreverent names of Palais Royal, for the part of clothing; Pa- vilion de Flore, for the beds and bedding; the Black Forest, for linen and under- wear, and the Flying Louse, for the part } devoted to footgear. In the new builing it is the upper floor which is reserved for the old-cio’ market, every day between 9 o'clock and noon. On Stndays it is jammed with workmen and their wives, making 10 centimes go as far as 2n American of their class would do with five times that amount. They pay one cent each for admission. There they find the old clothes’ merchants of all Paris, each of whom rents a small portion of space for three francs a month. The ficor is the counter where he displays his wares—hence the name- du Temple. It must not be thought his wares are dirty., His art consists in furbishing up shoes and shirts, cravats and trousers, stcckings aad corsets, to look almost as well new. He is caliel a “chineur,” and he nas communicated his ways of trade to the venders of new wares below. They. too, When you enter the market, hasten ferward to invite you pressingly to tarry at their shops, arf they detail, with urgent smiles, all the beauty of their goods. “A fur cape madame-—real seaiskin! A beaver overcoat, monsicur—the latest style In the picturesque langu jan populace these sell for the mosi part—are the “croakers"—a name which is derived from the hoarse rattle in the throat of a dying person. U fortunates come in ragged’ and go out Whole and clad. Is it an omen for Sarah Bernhardt? Her visit to the temple has been followed by more lively battles than any previous time of her career, and the wicked say that she, too, in her advancing age, begins to croak. STERLING. HEILIG. ART AND ARTISTS. At the meeting of the Water Color Club last Saturday the members decided by a favorable vote to hold meetings on the first Saturday in every month from Novem- ber to May. With the long intervals that have heretofore existed between the meet- ings too much responsibility has been thrown upon the members of the executive committee, and they have been compelled to take important steps without consulting the club as a whole. Two amendments to the constitution were proposed, one pre- viding for the suspension of members who let their dues run behind, and the other providing that any member who fails to attend at least three meetings during the season shall be asked to resign. Fifteen new members were elected. The following names were enrolled: Aline Solomons, Hat- tie Burdette, Anna Sands, Elliott P. Hough, A. G. Randall, Frank Mos: Poor, lary Ray, Wells Sawyer, val, W. B. Chilton, E. L. Mors: igo of the Paris- —they are women W. H. . J. H. Mogher and Victor Mindeleff. Three new names were proposed. Miss I Cook's resignation of the position of s tary was received with regret an¢ : Juliet Thompson was appointed to serve until the next election. Mr. Weller made an unofficial report on the recent exhibitioa during the course of the meeting, and the members we-e gratified to learn that there will be a slight surplus after the expenses are all paid. In acknowledgment of his efficient and faithful service the club voted that a_ slight but tantial token of gratitude be conveyed to Mr. George Hel- mick. * * * At present it is only at odd moments that Mr. Wells M. Sawyer finds time for painting, but he is slowly carrying for- ward the pictures which he p to send to the spring exhibition. The most nearly completed of these is an autumn sketch, delightful in its color scheme. The gold- en russet of the leaves which still cling to the spreading oaks harmonizes well with the silvery gray of the scrub poplar thicket in the middle distance and with the purplish hue of the leafless trees be- yond. It is probable that he will also sen] the large canvas painted at Riverdale and giving a glimpse of the old barn be- longing to the Calvert estate. Another sketch made near the old mansion is par- ticularly interesting by reason of the well- studied effect of detail in the foreground overgrown with briars and iron weed, and in the close-growing trees at the left ot the composition, In one of the many tly finished canvases in his studio he truthfully set down a rich color effect seen in the woods at sunset. * 203 Mrs. F. G. Doubleday has been installed in her studio in the Art League building for several weeks, and she is now tling down to work in earnest. On the walls of her studio are a number of new sketches which she brought back from York, Me., the most important being a study of a young Indian girl. Her head is adorned with an ornamental feather head- dress, and a handsome shell necklace also contributes to the barbaric ot her gay attire. Save for the dark eyes the face is stolid and expre and the head is of quite a char ic Indian type. Two little studies of children’s heads are among the other interesting canvas: that Mrs. Doubleday brought back from Maine. * * + The lecture which Mr. J. H. Moser was to ve given at the Art Students’ League this evening has been postponed until next Saturday. He will tell of his experienc in a picturesque German town, and the Giscourse will doubtless be both entertain- ing and instructive. The lecture is open to the students and their friends. Mr. Mes- ser is to deliver a series of lectures on per- spective, the talks to be given every other Friday ‘at the league rooms. These lec- will fill a long-fett want, and it is ex- ted that the students will’ derive much fit from them. Another vaiuable series of lectures is that on anatomy, which Dr. Maurice E. Miller will deliver on Thursday afternoons. * * * Mr. Paul Putzki is busily preparing for the exhibition of ceramics which he will hold at Veerhoff's during the first week in February. A number of striking new pieces which are now in his studio will contribute to the interest of the collection, and all the work promises to be up to the nigh standard that he has set for himself. * x x It will be of interest to the passers-by on F street who have noticed the painting in Beveridge’s window to learn that it is from the brush of Miss Louise Williams, a new arrival in the city. The picture represents the farewell between Prince Charlie and Flora MacDonald, and the romantic scene is set down on canvas with telling effect. The costume of a Scotch peasant, in which the prince has disguised himself, lends a bright and attractive color note to the pic- ture. Miss Williams is a Stranger in the city. but’ will not remain ene long, as she brings letters of introduction from W. J. Northen, ex-governor of Georgia: Govern- or Atkinson, Gen. Gordon, Gen. Fitzhugh Lee, ard others. She hails from Augusta, Ga., and comes to this city in a courageous erdeavor to support her invalid father, who is an cx-confederate soldier. . * * * On next Monday evening there will be an exhibition in the east parler of the First Congregational Church. Ore of the main features of the display will be the repro- ductions of some of the best drawings that cur leading illustrators, Gibson, Abber, Pyle, etc., have done ir recent years. Dr. Wright ill loan an interesting collection of etchings and engravings for exhibition. In addition to the work in black and white, which is to constitute the larger part of the exhibit, there will be a choice group of water colors by = J. H. Moser. os as A meeting of the Society of Washington Artists wes held Tuesday evening at the new gallery, and the greater part of the if you get a package like this, It contains the genuine OL st WaAsHING PowDER It cleans everything and cleans it quickly and cheaply. Largest package—greatest economy. THE N. K. FAIRBANK COMPANY, St. Louis, New Yors, Philadeipbia. quested the S. W. A. to appeint deles to confer with its representatives, and dur- ing the evening three wate pointed. Those present at the meeting w FE, F. Andrews, Marictta M. Andrew W. Christmas, W. B. Chilton, Robert Col man Child and Mrs. Child, W. H. Coffin, W. F. Curtis, Ju Dieudonne, Carl Gutherz, Robert Hinckley, E. H. Miller, E. C. Messer, Parker Mann, Frank Moss, r, Bertha Perrie, Wells Sawy Edouard Siebert, Juliet Thompson and C. Weller. oe J. H. Mo: * * % Mr. Carl Heber is Prof. Alexander ™ work cn a bust ville Bell, which prom ises to be a very strong likeness. The face is lifelike and full of expression, and is modeled in a solid, simple manner, that ts very forcible and telling. * ‘s strong likeness of Senator is one of the much-admired por- at the exhibition of the Pennsylvania my of Fine Arts. = Ss Appropriate Texts. mbers’ Jonrnal. A year or two ago minister in the neighborhood of sgow, who had been an secessful candidate at the parish coun- ion, took his re eon the Sunday morning by choosing for his text the words in Job, “No doubt but ye are the peop and wisdom will die with you. But I h standing as well I am as one ed of his neighbors; the just, upright man is laughed to scorn.” Any congr tion might well be excused for smiling when the Ned that the preacher his address to the electors asserted unat only men of “upright character” should be chosen. The text was excellent, but not quite as pointed as that chosen by the Rev. H. Paul when he was leaving a church in Ayr, “And they fell upon Paul's neck and kissed him." “When the old “repeating” tunes were first introduced, they so scan- dalized many of the clergymen that th latter felt called upon to preach special mons against the innovation, One belliger- ent parson found his text in Amos, “The songs of the temple shall be turned into howling; while another di ered what he wanted in Acts, “Those that have turned the world upside down are come hither also.” There is a very good story told of a certain ancient clergyman who had unde ave mu. taken a sea voyage for the first time. He was very sick for three » but he was able to preach on the Sunda and the worthy man could think of not “tter for a subject than the text from F ation, “There shall be no more He was thorough! ed tl drying up part of the heavenly to come—tor had he not been m the Atiantic! Teetotal. From the Echo. “In the morth of September, 1 A new name was found for ‘total abstinence from all intoxicating drinks’ by the late Richard Turner, a simple, eccentric, but honest and t reclaimed drunkard, who by this had risen to the position of plaster- s laborer, and was honored with the inctive title Dicky Turner,’ having ‘o1 been knowa only as “Cockle Dick,’ ng hawked and cri from his i that and other shellfish through the streets for a livelihood. Being in the of speaking at the meetings, have mad use of the following provinc sin a tem il heve otheration tee-total for- philippic against the old nowt to do wi’ this mod lke. I'll be reet down t nd ever.’ “Well de exclaimed the “Well done, said Mr. Liv ‘that shall be the name of our new pledge; and so from then till now all who sign the total abstinence pledge are proud to own then selves teetotalers.” tio audi There is a world of romance in the picture of a young girl reading her sweetheart’s love-let- ters. Ina multitude of cases, if ber future could also be pict- C7 ured, the picture Soh would contain a oh IA world of pathos. \ZLAl) To the healthy, robust woman, marriage “means happine: 3 supreme imotherhood and ¢ promise of a long, healthy life ‘of helpfulness with the man of weakness of the delicate and important or- gans concerned in wifehood and mother- hood, wedlock means suffering and mater- my death. Dr. R. V. Pierce is an eminent and skillful specialist, for thirty years chief consulting physician to the Invalids’ Hotel and Surgical Institute, of Buffalo, N. Y. During that time, with the assistance of a staff of able physicians, he has prescribed for thousands of women. The institute of which he is the head is one of the greatest in the world. | He is a regularly graduated physician an: Practiced right in one piace for thirty years. The esteem in which ¢ is held by his neighbors is shown by the fact that they chose him for their represent- ative in the National ‘The regard in which he is held by those whom he has treated is shown by the thonsands of letters printed in Dr. Pierce's Common Sense Med- ical Adviser, telling of the benefits derived from his treatment.