Omaha Daily Bee Newspaper, March 27, 1887, Page 12

| TOUCHING THE TOURNURE, ~ Latest Bociety Mandate in the Matter of Bustles and Coat-Tails, FADS IN FICTION AND FENCING. May Fortescue Helps Abbey Out of Tronble—~Shamrock Gloves—High Hats Won't Down—The Giddy Bernhardt, o S New York, March 24.—[Correspon- " dence of the BEE.]—Young Mrs. Wal- . dorfl Astor has sct a new fashion for the belles of high society. It is based on an wsthetic, intellectual,exquisitely cultured §dea,and all the women in that particular eirele are already obeying it. *'Show no eonsciousness of your bustle.”” That is the mandate. In other and more explana- " tory words, do not betray the fact that you are in the least anxious about that abnormally developed and easily dis- placed appurtenance of your costume. “How do you know he isn't a gentle- man?’' asked somebody of Mrs. John Bigelow, as that eccentric wife of un ex- governor commented on a chap at a re- cent reception. “Because he parts his coat-tails when * he sits down,’’ was the repl) ‘What she meant wasthat a true gentle- | man should appear so unaware of his | clothes that, in taking a seat, he would not spread aside the skirts of his coat to save them from getting wrinkled. That js the doctrine embodied 1n Mrs. Astor’s innovation, The belle must not adjust the draperies of her tournure so much as by the slightest pat or the most obscure adjustment. The amended rule was first obseryed in operation at the big dinner ven g id-Careme by Mrs. Astor, and ¥ the time kaster brings out new toilets 1t will be in full force among our swells, FORTUNES IN [CTION. ‘Who shall say that a minute knowledge of fashion’s changeful customs is not worth while, when Agnes Fleming got rich by that means? She died a year or more ago, leaving a fortune, over which » fight has just arisen in the courts. She 3 was a writer of stories for one of the cheap papers. I asked a publisher in that field how, when morbid fiction is so plenty, rs. Fleming accumulated wealth. 4 Prlncl‘mlly I:{ making a study of the ways of rich and fashionable folks,” was his reply. ‘‘She had s knack of conceiv- lnfi)good plots for stories calculated to jnterest women and girls; butso have hundreds of amateur novelists, whose work may be had almost for the asking. Different from them, she took the pains o learn accurately and fully how women in ‘the best society’ behaved, aund she made her swell heroines conform thereto. In'that way she produced im- aginary ladies who were true to realism. 8he kept them right up to the times. 1 ve even known her,in re-casting one of her old stories for fresh publication,to al- ter not only the costumes of the heroine, but to change her tricks of manner to suit new usages of society. Some of her readers may not have appreciated this, the editors did, and it vntlg enhance her In their estimation, and boomed her .loAg o popularity.” nd how much pay did she get?® ‘At the time of her death she was un- der contract to write ten stories for 75,000. They were to be produced at the rate of two a year, thus making her income $15,000 per annum.” How many hundreds of women with a literary bent will take up their pens,with | convulsive énthusiasm, on reading those figures? ! FAIR ONES WITH FOILS, | __“The Ladies’ Fencing class of the i Fencer’s Club" is the long name of the Iatest association of New York fashion- able girls for purposes of exercise. It is 8 sort of inside organization of the . Fencer’s club, which has its home at 19 . West Twenty-fourth street, and is com- posed solely of relatives and sweethearts © of the male fencers. Captain Nicholas, the expert, gives to them the benefit of i all he knows, and on three days of the * week, from 10 o'clock until 2, "the prac- ticing room is sacred to feminine shrieks and giggles, to skirts and Turkish trous- ers. In the class are some of the best known belles of fashion in the ity. The ‘names of Lorillard, Van- rbilt and Astor are among the first on the list. The limit decided upon for the membership has already been reached [ and the 1adies have gone to work in very L business like earnest, fiemng themselves organized, electing oflicers, appointing | eommittees and otherwise making them- #elves into an actual club. They have not adopted a special costume, but each pe dresses to suit herself. Some still ng:o skirts, though made fuller and Bhorter than usual; some have falteringly othed themselves in Turkish trousers, ouses and perhaps the addition of a ‘much gbbreviated skirt; still others ve put ‘on Mrs. Lsnfitry's Cos- jmes of jersey waist and loose trous- i, While e d in actual enercise, all wear thick leather armor rotecting front of the body, with holes for the s to 'fi? through and tied down the back. is addition to the costume is peither beauviful nor picturesque, but for nners in fencing it is highly neces- iry to save the tuir form from punc- THE LATEST IN GLOVES, The very lutest spring glove just from I8 1s suggestive of a sheet of monrn- aper, of a black-edged handker- , of a widow in the third degree ot m. In material it is of fine undressed and in color it is of agrayish greenary-yallery cast, as if it had not uite recovered from seasickness. That it s this hue where it isn’t black. It embroidered in black and bound with there are stripes of between the fingers . and running their length. The effect is nique, But thero1s a purpose in this. hiose black strips are not there because ey are pretty. Their motive is more osophical than that. ‘Lhey are put in pause they make the [ingers look long, flender and bird-clawish. Many ot the W gloves from Paris are. rather strik- And some of them are pretty hard, A Amr of yellow-green ones em- oldercd in black, for instance, are quite in effect to u blow below the enish tint sometimes quite decided to_have struck all the colored 8. Green is the most frequent color milllner{ lmtoru'.lonl. and it be- to look as if fashion would make the sion from church on Easter Sun- look like a St. Patrick’s day parade. FLUFFILY FORTESCUE. Bome of ourthigh society got odd in- fruction and amusement from Ma ortescue, the English actress and senti- X plaintiff, €m beforo her depart- this week for home. Sheis a beauty, understood, and her cleanly lawsuit Lord Garmoyle has forced her ‘flu onable consideration, She may led, a8 they assort, in her pro- al tour of America, but the posi- lump! rnhard ying She freakishly insists upon ?Illklll' termissions between acts half an ong. The Eooph resent this trlfll:g Manager Abbey is seriously annoyed, it hurts his' business, " Fortescue been under his direction, She told him that she wished to the great Frenchwoman act, give " he said, *'if you look your prettiest at the front so that the audience mhln& to divert them dur- long a ," replicd Forteseue; “'I k. 1t. THE OMAHA DAILY ‘BEE: SUNDAY MARCH 27. 1887. —TWELVE PAGES, will agree to entertain the people “twixt aots.” She did, with a yengeance. 8he wore white fluflily, and carried an immense fan of the same color. hat made her conspicuous, for it is not the custom in New York to don such clothes for the drama, though it is done elabor: l'v at the opera. She seated herself at the front of a lower proscenium box facing the audience, and proceeded to impersonate @ vivacious, ingemous maiden. It was as bold an undertaking as anybody ever gaw in a theatre; it was a marvel of demonstrative pantomime; picturesque ses and extravagait gesticulations nated; a bevy of fellows supported tableaux; and the amazed and amused spectators found that the tedium of the half-hour intervals was beguiled. But it would be a pity if the young girls present were to take pattern of Fortescue and behave in that extraordinary fashion at the theatre. HIGH HATS WILL KOT DOWN, The efforts of mankind will never bring about the abolition of the hat in the thea- tre. 'There are numberiess reasons each more potent than the first, why the idea is impracticable. Those women whom Washington Bishop styles ‘‘carriage veo- ple,” will take kindly enough as they al- ways have done to the fashion. But the great majority who patronize the ele- vated ronds and the street cars,will nover yicld. Bonnets that have been adjusted with infinite care and patience are not going to be twitched off and surrendered to the tender mercy of # dressing room attendant to be ticketed and jammed on shelves, Then think of the rush and crush to recover your Kropuny with an impatient husband or the other fellow, cooling his heels outside while you fran- tically struggle for an ingh of the looking- lass to see whether your Bat is cocked on ?uur hairs or quite ofl'{eu;xg pand. Why, the thought 18 prepos! us. one grand reason is this: Like the man who was accused of owning a Canmbal of a dog—he claimed his dog couldn’t have bitten anyone, because his teeth were gone; because he was amiable; be- cause he was tied up, and because he never had a dog. So, after all, the small reasons come in; the weightiest is that in the present style of woman's dress. HOW A WOMAN DRESSES. She can no more put on her hat with her corsage buttoned, or take it off, than she can stand on her head. The next article that goes on a lady, after her skirts, is in- variably her bonnet. After a dress waist is buttoned, you can no more put your hands to your head than a trussed turkey can scratch its wish-bone. The poky little dressing room of a theater would have to be an undressing room of immense capacity to enable a manager to enjoy a bare-headed audience. The only women in favor of the innovation are wardrobe women, . What a heavenly time they would have trying on hats! No, dear men, your superior scientitic attainments level tremendous obstrue- tions; the rocks on Manhattan Island hide their ~diminished heads; vast forests fall at ‘‘your command; the flags of your enemies lie in the dust; great opposing forces that rear themselves against you give way; but the hat of woman proudly flaunts at the mast head, and it will iy there till the end. William, the bald and John, the baldist, will have to take their glimpses of Md'lie Passeul’s tantalizing toes through the waving feathers of Ma- tilda’s bonnet and the meshes of Maria's millinery. Women will never sit bare- headed and expose their well matched locks to such hairpins as the dear mén, while they have an ounce of sense in their noddles. AGED BUT GIDDY SARA. It 18 a curious study to see the rapidly aging Bernhardt play the young, giddy and fascinating girl. Even in the hey- dey of her youth she coula not have been in any sense prepossessing. A large nose, lantern jawed, colorless face, carroty hair, and a figure which justifies all the extravagant jokes about its leanness; these must have been as strange to look at as they are now, but years have added to them "the marks of old age that the actress takes no apparent pains to con- ceal. So far as facial make-up is con- cerned Bernhardt comes upon the stage without any,except when feigning mortal sickness; then the natural pallor of her cheeks 18 heightened by powder to a ghastly, morgue-gray. In dress she dis- l)lnys an infinite variety within well de- lined limitations. That is, in texture and combinations of color she has the world to draw from and never fails to give a vision of something new and beautiful; but in style her garments are almost alwgys distinguished by a cut that does as much as art can to disguise the attenuation of her shape. She rarely confesses in her dress that she hasa waist, and perhaps if the truth were known she hasn’t any. And as for bust, tnat also is'an unknown quantity. Her young [{irl. then, if places as a wa cule. There are many successful ac- tresses who are interesting if they but maintain a graceful repose on the sjage. Bernhardt is not one of these. The criti have told over and over again the meas- ure of her success, soI am not concerned with that; maybe they tnink her success is negative, even failure; whatever it may be, I have been interested simply in obserying how she attains it, IN ‘‘FROU-FROU," as all theatre goers know, she has to {»lu_v the partof a light headed, excep- ionally fascinating girl. When she first burst upon the scene she has on the con- ventional riding habit. She dashes to a table, seizesa newq')nper,erushea it in her hands, tears it and throws herself upon sofa punting and laughing. She remains but a few minutes, and during that time is in almost constant action, ~She never allows her face to be passive. Her fea- tures are always expressive of some emo- tion, if nothing more than a smile of gaiety. When she has gone one has not recovered sufliciently from the vivacious impression of her entrance to realize just how she gained her effect. To show how she makes the evident old woman disappear throughout the play it would be necessary to follow her from scene to scene, from line to line, For the se- cret seems to lie in her ceaseless activity. When she :Freed to accept Sartorys as her husband and the happy man had been summoned, there is & moment when one can watch without being bewildered by her rapid changes of position and ex- pression. It is a time when she must ap- pear . ARTLESS, COY, FRANK, bewitching and just a iittle timid. Ex- l:ecun; the entrance of Sartorys, Bern- ardt stands at the left of the stage so that her ‘)roule isseen by the audience. Her shoulders are thrown back and her head slightly forward, so that n looking 4 person in the face, she hus to glance up under her brows, One handis laid caresaingly on the shoulder of ber sister in the n{l. The other holds a rose, the stem of which she places constantly ' be- tween her teeth, er lips are separated in smule that conveys the impression that Frou-kron does net know whether she ought to smile or look solemn. Her ly sways ever so slightly and _alternately with its swaying she gives a nervous nibple at the stem of the rose. When Sl"ol‘il at last. comes l;x she does not change her attitude until the cue to take his hand, when, with a quick, sparkling glance at her sister, in which there is more of triumph than of fun, sho withdraws her hand and extends it to her lover, throwiog her shoulders still further back at the same moment; and as he holds her hand for an instant she looks up at him fearlessly under her brows, still smiling aud biting at the rose stem. There is no hanging of the nead to one side in Bernhardt's acting; it is always forwards and hnck\\‘uflll.nflnd I cannot romembor that in the entire play of*'Frou-Frou"she shry her shoulders once—a gesture much affected, and often cleverly, by actresses zl“[ similar roles, (| ‘ufl‘nlu-l. in the corner | | flower would only excite ridi- | THE DEBUT OF THE DIVA,| Adam Badean's Recollections of the Lifo of the Queen of Song. PATTI'S PEERLESS PRESENCE. Appearance in New York Twenty- kFive Years Ago—Honors Shown by Crowned Heads—Re- ceived by Napoleun, New York, March 24.—[Correspond” ence of the BEe.]—The return of Patti to New York suggests to me many mem- ories. I was at her debut at the academy of music more than a quarter of a cen- tury ago. I was present at the rehearsal, when she sang Lucia in a bonnet and shawl, and even then extorted applause from a critical and 1nvited audience of connoisseurs. Earlier than this she was a musical prodigy, and used to sing at her brother-in-law’s, Strakosch's, concerts, traveling about the country, but not, as now, in a palace car. It was uncertain then whether the young voice that prom- ised so much would ever be developed, and her elder sister, Carlotta, the lame one, was thought by many a finer artist thanjAdelina. There are so many blossoms every spring on every tree from which no fruit is ever matured. At the beginning the future prima donna COULD NOT ACT. They said she might become a vocalist but that was all; she was awkward an nervous like other novices. Who can fancy to-day that Patti was ever awk- ward or nervous?—that model of self- poised, self-possessed, executive art! the opera queen, who is equally at home as Marguerite and Semiramide, the Assyrian monarch and Goethe’s maiden; Amina and Linda, Carmen and Lucia? In London, however, they praised her acting as much as her singing; they thought the cathedral scene in ‘‘Faust™ as fine as anything on_the lyric stage, and the wild tremolos of Lucia equal in tragic power to the utterance of Rachel in “Phedre,” or of Grisi in *“Norma.” The London Times of ten or fifteen years ago bepraised her till one almost doubted the sincerity, or at least the spontaneity of the plaudits; and most of the other journals followed suit. But the English have their fashions inart to a greater extent than Americans imagine; partly, perhaps, because they have so lit- tle appreciation of what is great or genu- e in art; for the English geniusis ex- hausted in literature; there is neither ower nor taste of the highest order left or painting or architecture or the to-day. Witness Leighton and C Stott and Irving—all learned, elaborate, artificial, second-rate executants. Natur- ally the English thought Patti a great actress. They could not perceive that she always simulates and never fegls; they could not detect that she was col and hard in whatever requiried expres- sion or dramatic quality. They had not the sympathetic chord themselves and could not know that it was not touched by a master hand. Accordingly Patti was for a loag while the fashion in London. She had MARRIED A GENUINE MARQUIS, and was received at court; so ot course she was a great actress as well as singer. I have been at court concerts many a time at Buckingham ce when the prince, aye, and the princess of Wales, went up and complimented her upon her singing, and Madame Marquise Ia Caux made a courtesy as graceful as she ever performed on the stage, and as cor- rect 1n etiquette as any of the prim peer- esses about her could exccute. Atter that you may be sure everybody else thought her charming. She was invited to little dinners at Richmond Hill by am- bagsadors, and taken out on drags by noble lords with noble ladies by her side. Shé was very pretty in those days. She retained her freshness of look and voice a long while and her toilettes were rav- ishing. Her manner, too, was agreeable, although she was rather too conscious off the stage as well as on, but very capti- vating all the same, And she sang deliciously. If you did not care for soul there was nothing else to agk for. Vocalism, execution, facility, truth of tone, purity, sweetness, exquis- ite quality—something like the flavor of pate de foi gras, after champagne— the 1inest perfection appreciable to the most cultivated taste, and yet a sim- Elicity in result which is only attainable y the highest art, and that taught her to touch the popular fancy in ‘‘Home, Sweet Home' EVERYTHING BUT SOUL. But never could she reach the power of infusing a sympathetic quality into that wonderful, flexible, tractable, elastic, ex- tensible organ which in its own peculi- arities is unrivalled in our time. ~ Prob- ably Malibran may have equalled her; but I said in her time. For all I know, there were singers before the fiood with purer and higher soprano notes, and who could execute the floriture passages of the **Traviata’ or *‘Lucia” with greater taste or skill, but don't go back so far. I have heard all the great prima don- nas for thirty years, and in that time no one has rivalled Patti in her own domain of exquitite and artificial art. And certainly no oue has shared her triumphs. Every capital in Europe,from Madrid to ot. Petersburg, has witnessed them; Rome, Naples, Milan, Paris, Berlin, Vienna have welcomed her. She has been petted by more monarchs and had presents from more millionaires than anybody of this or the last generation— except Tom Thumb, ‘The bracelets and “rings and things,” as Petruccio says: the golden as well as laurel crowns that have been lavished upon her; the emperors that have sent for her after the opera or visited her between the acts; the empresses who have ALLOWED HER TO KISS THEIR HANDS; the students who have dragged her car- riages (1t 18 always students who drag the carriages; will any student of buman na- ture tell us why?); the crowds that have risen when she appeared; the managers that haye quarrelled about her engage- meuts; the bouquets that have nearly buried her; the salaries that have been showsred upon her—would require an especial number of the BEE to enum- erate. Brought nhto suppose she was a sort of Wilhelm Meister’s sweetheart; petted by fine ladies; singing at concerts when she was four years old; then suddenly leaping into the position of the very queen of opera, in the days when opera was still the fashipnable amusement of the froat world.\ The English -fash- ionables have forgotieu that they ever haa boxes at Convént Garden pr Drury Lane; they now nfl'uyt the play, and run after Irving or Kate' Vaughan, or Nellie Farren. Opera houses with them are an old story; while ours, and the people who frequent them, are nouveaux, lgut in the days of Patti’s prime, duchesses and grand duchessps, as well as grand dukes, still looked and listened, both in Germany and Britain, SHE WAS AN ESPECIAL FAVORITE at the Tuilleries, while the Tuilleries ex- isted; the second empire admitted her to its exclusive circles. The Marquis de Caux was a member of the imperial court. One lineage was as loug de- scended as the other, and Patti's royalt; lasted later than that of those who pat- ronized her. This success, you may say, was all very well, for a court like that of Napoleon II., as much of a sham as that of Gerolstein; but almost the same thing occurred in England. Patti was not only asked to court concerts to sing, but to dance; her name on the court cicoular, among those of - the marchionesses; after those that began with B, and before those that began with D, And this was all the stranger, because at that time the English treated artists de haut en bas. have often been at concerts at private houses, where the great people of the stage were hired to perform, and were kept ngidly off from the great people who came to listen, Perhaps a duchess might condescend to goup and say how pleased she was to be pleased; but the singers must keep their places and wait to be spuken to, not move about as guests, Their supper was always served to them apart. Patti was not treated in this way. EVEN NILSSON NEVER achieved the same position. Tmet the Swede soon after 1 went to London, at the house of the countess of Essex, but that noblewoman had herself been a pub- lie singer, though the stain of genius was covered by the coronet, she did not forget her origin, and always treated ar- tists as ladies and gentlemen. At that very dinner, Nilsson sat next the present Lord Rothschild, who seemed to admire her vastly, and people were wondering whether he would ofter her his hand or his handkerchief. But 1 thought the prima_donna laughed too loud, and opened her mouth too wide (she sat op- posite me); her manner suggested that she had, indeed, been a Mignon, She bared her arms and shewed the sinews that proved she had been a circus player. She was not the artist off the stage that Patti was,and could not play so well the role ot a grande dame, to which she was not born. ApAM BADEAU. WONDERFUL OASE OF JAMES HARNEY “I had been a medical student at R—— college for about two years,” said a gray- haired doctor who was one of a party around the cabin stove,‘‘when I met with a singular adventure. 1t was forty years #go, and only a few lines concerning it were ever published. The state prison was located in the same city,and although there was no law to that eftect, as is the case now, all bodies of dead convicts not claimed by friends were turned over to our college for subjects. It somtimes happened, however, that we did not want them, as we drew from other local- ities, and the classes were much fewer in number than now. At the time I speak of we had three or four subjects, and wou!ld not want any more for wee ks. “One dav—it was in June—I received a note requesting me to call on a convict at the prison named James Harney. He was a man only twenty-cight years of age, and had escaped the gallows by a scratch to be sentenced to solitary con- finement for life. Judges still sentence men to solitary- confinement, butit is well known that the sentence is not carried out. After abrief period in a dark cell the convict is set to work: with the other prisoners and treated just the same. At that time, however, solitery confinement was a dungeon darker than midnight. with leave to walk in a corrdor lighted by lamps half an hour every third day. Harney was a stout, robust (e{ low, with a constitution like 1iron, and had been in prison over two years when he sent for me. Some influential friends of his had inter- ceded with the governor, and Harney himself had saved a keeper from being killed by an insane convict, and 1n conse- quence the terms of his sentence had been modified and mitigated. He was permitted to have the run of a corridor, an ordinary cell was allotted to him, anc a part of the time he carried the meals t~ the men still in the dungeons. There was no rossiblu chance for him to escape, and, as he had apparently resigned him- self to his fate, no one suspected him of such an intention. He had:got a note to me on the excuse that he had some im- portant matters to reveal' regarding a robbery perpetrated on my father, then dead. [went to the prison supposing that was the convict's sale oh‘iect. I was permitted to talk with him:with an iron grating between us and & keeper sitting a few feet away to see that I did not pass in any article. *‘Harney’s boldness filled me with as- tonishment. He began by stating that he had heard I was an enthusiastic student of anatomy, and that I had written two or three articles for a medical magazin on the subject of suspended animation and trances. This was a fact; but as they had been written and published after Harney's imgrisomnent., and as he was supposed to be dead to the world, 1 could not understand how he had become ac- quainted with the fact. He put his propo- sition entirely on the ground of medical science, and 1t was no more nor less than that he should die and his body be turned over to our college. He stipulated that his bodg should not go into the vat where the subjects are kept for twenty-four hours after being received, and that I should personally watch over it for that length of time. It'was only after a sec- ond visit that 1 was enabled to fully com- prehend his plans. He had discovered that he could die at will and return to life at any hour not over a day and a night distant. He said that he had tried it successfully up to ten hours on several occasiuns, and felt sure that he could make the time twice or three times as long. A fellow prisoner who had ob- served him while in this state had as- serted that it was a perfect countefeit of death, the heart ceasing its pulsations, the limbs growing cold and rigid and the pulse being too faint to be felt. He ap- pealed to my enthusiasm in medical science to make his escupe from a life sentence, and though I was at first 1irm15 opposed to the idea, he brought forware 80 many arguments and put them to me so keenly, that I was won over. **‘Medical science must have dead bodies to secure benefits for the living,’ he argued. ‘1 am a practical demonstra- tion of a medical theory you hold. You believe that human life can be tempor- arnly suspended, and you have been ridi- culed for your assertions. Here is the opportunity to prove your theory. 1 will die. All the doctors will pronounce me dead. You shall restore me to life. The case will make you famous.” **‘But your ‘object isto escape trom prison,’ I protested. “‘Granted. Ikilled an old man, who had only two or three years to live, any how. I have been shut up two years for it. It was my first and only crime, and I have bitterly repented it. Let me out into the world and 1 shall be a good man under another name, The law will sup- pose me dead and be satisfied.’ “In the end he overcame my scruples, and I agreed to his plans, but we were baffled at the very outset by the fact that vacation was coming on, while the col- lege had more subjects than it needed 'l‘g‘cs was June, you will remember, and it would be near October betore Harney’s plan could be carried out. We could safely figure in this case as in all others, ‘The prison doctor was an old quack, who had ‘secured his pince through volitics. 1t was well known among the medicallfra- ternity that he was stupid and ignorant, and that the patients who took his doses were as likely to die as to mend. When a conviet died, the case was nearly always reported as typhoid fover. The old fellow appeared to reason that this was a virulent disease. which he could not be exbected to cure,and eonsumption, lung fever, and nearly evur_vthh'\‘“ else went down in his reports ‘as ‘Tiefoid fever—-badd case.’ It was his rule to get the body out of the way as soon as pos- sible, If a convict died early in the morn- ing, he was burried in the afternoon, or his body sent to the college in the even- ing. If he died at about dusk, his body was disposed of beforo midmight. *'‘Conyicts are useless critters afler the THOMASON & GOOS' ADDITION ., Lies just south of Hanscom Park,only 2 miles from the court house, on high and sightly ground. 176 beautiful residence lots. 27 Events _are of SURE PR LOTS SOL.D, 27 shaping that will make th i She fi"g e ese lots an investment $800 to $1,000 will Buy Lots Now, but one Year from Today You will Pay $1,800 $2,000 and $2,500 for Them Ten months_ago we told you there was big money in SOUTH OMAHA roperty. You were skeptical and waited, and what did you miss? ome people say, ‘'Oh!its all luck, this making money.” Luck to the dogs. Its Foresight, Judgment and Sand. These are the elements that go to make up the sum of prosperity. Tak a square look at the case of Thomason & Goos’ addition, who own the 600 acres adjoining it on the south. A RICH AND POWERFUL SYNDICATE ‘Who, without any further_effort, could peddle it out in the next two years for ONE enou CAB AILLION DOLLARS. Do you sl}.lif h todo this?, No! They will either b E LINE and realize three millions from it. é)ose they are Idiots or subscribe to A TXAKE X TUMBLK'?Y toyourselves, do that there are the Omaha and South (X3 g little investigatingand fl% reatest Bargains on Earth, Omaha, uring and you will see , in Tots in this “Key tu Remember, that this is no washings of the Missouri River, nor farm lands diverted from their natural uses, years too soon, but choice suburban residence property, situated on the everlastin Hills, midway between two cities, to one solid mighty metropolis. M. A. UPTON & GO. Pharmacy Building, South Oma. hat are tast closing in tha and 1509 Farnam, Telephone 73 breath leaves ’em,’ he said to me one oc- casion, ‘and keeping a corpse around here kinder discourages the living.’ “When I informed Harney that it would be three months before our plans could be attempted, he grew desperate. He felt certain in his own mind that we should achieve success, and the iden of delay made him reckless. The prison graveyard was then a part of the city graveyard, or atleast separated only by a fence. A dead convict was lfted into a pine coffin, the lid screwed down, and two men with a one-horse wagon droye to the graveyard and dumped the box into a three-foot hole and fillled the hole up. There was no cere- mony and no feeling. I knew all these facts, for I had seen several burials, but how ){urney could krow them was a puz- zle to me until I learned that he got themn while in jail awaiting sentence. e now proposed that he should die and be buried, and that I should dig him up and carry him off, and wait for life to come. This called for far more nerve than the other plan, and I would not give him an answer until 1 found a fellow enthusiast who entered into the plot with great alacrity. We rented a room, arranged for a horse and wagon, provided our- selves with an_electric battery, various restoratives, wine and food, and on the afternonn of the 21st day of June I prom- ised Harney that we would be rena?y on the following night. He was highly elated, and assured me that if there was any hitch in the programme it would not be his fault. When'1 left him [ went to the doctor’s office in the prison, and after a few general remarks, observed: “‘Well, doctor, is there much sick- ness?’” ““‘No, not much,’” 'We shan't want any more cadavers before October.’ i *“‘No, I suppose not. Well, itisn't much of a job to plant em.’ ‘I was just talking with Harney—No. 810. He's looking powerful bad, and I predict that he won't live a month.’ | ‘“‘Harney! Oh, yes. I was noticin, him the other day. " Got all the points of Eluluad, he has, and he may drop off any ay. W ‘Well, give him a decent burial, doc- tor. Good day.’ “I had scoréd a point for my man. The doctor was prepared for his death, and would make the usual record. This is what happened at the prison soon after I left: The doctor was informed that Har- ney was ill, and he went in to see him and found him feverish and flighty, with his pulse way up. “*Sorry for you, Harney,’ said the old quack, after making a brief examination, ‘but I'm afraid you are going to be a very sick man.’ Yos, I think so, doctor.’ “ ‘You've got all the symptoms of tie- foid; and if the disease gets a good grip on you, it will be a hard job to pull you through,’ “Doctor, it's no use,” whispered Har- ney. ‘If anybody can save me, you cun; but [ feel thut I have only a short time to live. I've had trouble with my heart for a long time,and I feel as if I was gradually going to vieces.’ “+‘Well, I'll send you in sorae pow- ders, and perhaps you'll brace up; but, to be honest with you, I think your hours are numbered.’ “Next morming Harney was much worse, and the doctor gave up all hopes, and sent the chaplain in to console the dying man. Harney was very penitent, and when the man left him 1t was with the tirm conviction that the dying convict had truly repented of all his sins. At 8 o'clock in the afternoon the hall master reported to the doctor: *‘No. 810 is dead in his cell, sir. 2 “'Ob, he is? Well, those that can't live must die. We will have to go the same way. Have the body put in a coflin and olrr{ed to the dead house, and it had better be buried as soon a8 night comes.’ “Isn't it to go to the college?’ “No, They don't need any more just now.’ *'A plain white wood coffin was taken nto the corridor, and the body of 310, which was already growing rigid was placed in it, and the “burden was then carried to a shed in the yard which was used for & dead house. A convict named Saunders screwed down the coffin lid,but before he had finished his work he dropped his tools and ran to the door and exclaimed: 4] believe Harney isin a trance or something of that sort, for astrue asl live 1 saw his chest heave and his eyelids flutter as I put the cover on.” * ‘Bosh,’ shouted the doctor. *‘But 1did, sir.’ ** ‘Look here, Saunders, I shall report to the warden that you had best bo re- turned to the blacksmith shop. scrub convict has the audacity to stand up and tell the prison doctor he doesn’t kqu his business, one or the other must 0 B9 ut 1 meant no disrespect, sir.’ **Perhaps not; but when I pronounce a man dead of tiefoid fever—aye, when I have already made my report to that ef- ;ccfi—ho is either dead or I am a cussed 0ol.” ** ‘Yes, sir; yes, sir. T was probably mustaken, sir, and I'll promise that this does not happen again, Please forgive me, sir. 1 must have been a little ner- vous.’ ‘““*Well, I'll_overlook it this time, but be more careful in future. Have him buried as soon as 1t is dark. [ don’t hke :lm h{eu of keeping dead folks around here. \ *‘Soon after dusk the wagon drove out of the prison yurd with 1ts burden of death, and the burial party consisted of a citizen employed for the purpose and a trusty convict. They had the grave to le, and they had not yet completed it when we arrived on the ground and care- fully crept to & go-ition within ear shot. They were in a hurry to have the job off their hands, and they had not gone down over two feet when the citizen employe of the prison said to the convict: ** ‘That's deep enough for him or any other dead man. Nobody's to know whether he's two or seven feet down.’ “‘Correct you are,” replied the con- vict, as he got out of the whole. ‘I came near getting into trouble with the doctor over this fellow.’ ‘“‘How?' “‘As I put the lid on the coflin I saw his eyelids flutter and his chest heave,and I went to the doctor with it, The old fraud threatened to take my soft snap awa"." A **You might have been deceived.’ “‘Never. 1'm certain that we are bury- ing the poor devil al but that's noth- ing to you or me. He'll be dead enough by the time all the dirt is on top of him.’ ***Right you are. He might as well be buried alive in this hole agtodie by inches in the prison. Grab hold, now, and we’ll do him the good turn to let him down ently.’ “Txey made only ten minutes work of filung “up the grave, and they had scarcely reached their wagon when the two of us were throwinfi out the dirt. When we came to the coflin we lifted it out, removed the lid, took out the body, and the coffin was returned to the grave and the dirt shovelled back. In three. quarters of an hour from Harney's first burial we had him in our quarters, and had escaped any chance for susbicion of body snatching. During our last interview in prison he had exacted of me the promise that I would make no efforts at resuscitation until twenty-four hours had passed. He intended to die for just that period of time, and he firmly believed his will could control events, After twenty-four hours had passed I was at liberty to use any means I thought besi. Weo undressed the body, wrapped itin woolen blankets,and laid it on a bed. On a stand beside the bed we placed water, wine and food, and then left the room and turned the key in the door. This was at 11 o'clock at night, and Har- ney had been dead eight hours. The twenty-four hours would not expire until 8 o'clock in the afternogs of the next When a day. L 'We did not go near the room until half an hour before the expected time,and the moment we looked on the deadman’s face we realized that reacfion had set in, The pallor was dwnpwnrlngfi color was returning to the lips, and there was a moisture which felt warm to the touch. We drew up our chairs without a word, and paid the keenest attention to what was to outrival any experience in any doctor's career, At a quarter of three there was a flutter of the’ eyelids, and I put my hand on his heart and could de- tect a faint pulsation. The color con- tinued to come to his face, signs of life were multiplied each moment, and at five minutes to three, Harney opened hig eyes and looked full atus. We saw at once that he was conscious and in pos- session of all his senses, and I bent oves him and whispered: ‘‘We have kept our promise. died 1n prison, were buried b ficials, and we dug you up and brought ou here. It is just twenty-four hours, Remain quiet until your strength re- turns.’ “l ted him wine and food, and five minutes later he dropped off nto natural and healthy sleep, which laste four hours. When he awoke he was ready to sit up and talk, and, after eat- lnsf and drinking very heartily, he wag able 10 walk across the room. When asked for his experience he replied: *“The only way that I can describe it is to say that [ lay down on my back on the tloor, held my breath, closed my eyes and gradually became unconscious. It was perhaps ten minutes before I lost my senses. It was like falling asleep, only 1t seemed as if I was melting away to noth- ing. Ikept repeating to myself, ‘You must awake at 8 o’clock to-morrow,’ and that was the very last thing I can remem- ber. My coming back to life wus like awakening from sleep, but I feel weak, and tremble as if I had just gotup fromn & fit ot sickness.’ “Well, Harney was out of prison,ana’l had such facts and points on the subject of suspended animation as would make the public believe me a liar and a fraud if 1 wrote the solemn truth. After two or three days, when I asked what he pro- sed to doin the future, he sat and re- lected, and then answered: “*Bring me a razor,some court plaster and bandages, and I will answer your question before the week is out. ** *What do you intend?" *¢ “Trust me and ask no questions.’ *That night when I went to carry him his supper, I found Harney looking as if he had been fighting a ducl with knives, and his face was so covered with strips of court plaster that he was a ludicrous sight. What had he done? Well, itis worth relating. for he exhibited wonder- ful nerve and skill. He had a nose with a very large end, By the use of the razor he made an altogether different looking nasal organ of it. He had a fat chin; he made a dimplein it. His mouth was naturally large. By making a cut at one corner, which would leave a scar, he changed the contour of it. He had heavy eyebrows. These he trimmed down and shaped in & new way. Two weeks later, when he was ready to go out into the world as William Redford, no man could have identified him as James Har- ney. He was a muchinist by trade and he went from our room to a shop in the city and secured work, and for over twenty years he was a resident of the place.” ‘As William Redtord he married there, came to have a half interest in the shop, and for six years was an alderman, 1 have spent many an hour in his house and have trotted two of his children on my knee. “'Was he ever suspected? No, but the convict Saunders, whose time soon ex- pired, told how Harney had been buried alive and the story created so much feel- ing that the grave was opened. They found the body gone, but the theory wad that 1t had been stolen for some medical college. I was the doctor called to at- tend Redford in his last illness, which strangely enough, was typhoid fever, m_n| not hilf an hour before he died he whis- pered to me with a smile on his fac It will be for good this time, doctor.? ‘“‘And so it was.” You the of- e A rat and a cock-sparrow had a pitched battle in Oil City the other day. “The sparrow was the aggressor, and attacked the rat viciously, striking at it very muoh in the style of a game cock and then fly- g down and pecking atit. Unce it struck the rat in the eye, and the rat spun around and around before it could get itd bearings. In the end, however, the rat got the best of the buttle, and the sparrow flew away, having lost many feuthicrs,