Omaha Daily Bee Newspaper, March 18, 1888, Page 12

i t | 12 THE OMAHA DAILY BEE: SUNDAY, MARCH 18, 1888~SIXTEEN PAGES. lilli THE AMERICAN TAILORS, A SKETCH OF JOHN BRIGHT, How He Lives in His Native Lanca- shire Home. A TRUE BRITON IN APPEARANCE. A Man of the People—His Carpet Fac- tory—Secret of John Bright's Oratory—The Popularity of the Noted Personage. LONDON, March 8.—[Correspondence of the Beg.]—“What Lancashire thinks ‘to-day|England thinks tosmorrow.” This remarkable tribute to the strong com- mon-sense of “Lancashire lads” and Manchester men,” I heard Lord Sali: bury pay to the assembled merchants in the Manchester for a generation in- spired the progress of the English peo- ple. It need not be retold how he, with Cobden, created, championed, and con- cluded in triumph the crusade "against the corn laws that starved the poor, nor how he stood almost alone in his grandeur of principle and eloguence as the protester against the popular Crim- ean war, nor how he led the battle of reform that was won in 1867. He was the pride of his native Tancashire, Manchester honored itself by electing him to parliament, his voice was the clarion call that could rouse the coun- try to action or soothe it by exquisite melody. Yet Manchester rejected John Bright mm a fit of bad temper in 1857, since when Birmingham has prized the distinction of calling him her M P. And, Lanca- shire-like, Bright paid unfaithful Manchester back by keeping out of her way for nine long years. It was only when the great wave of agitation for reform arose in 1866 that he relented for the good of the cause, and agreed to make a speech, The memorable scene is nover to be obliterated. More than a hundred thousand had held open-air meetings that afternoon. At night the Free Trade hall held two or three thousand more than its seating capacity ~five thousand—ana when Bright's noble figure was seen the pent up en- thusinsm of those nine cold years burst out in torrents of cheering, found a vent in the singing over and over again of #¢Auld Lang Syne,” while hard-visaged men were moved to tears. It was odd that his title of ‘‘Right Hon.” was gained by his acceptance of a sent in Gladstone’s cabinet, which made him, the opponent of the state church, a patron of forty-one church livings. He Boon gave it up. His home has always been in his own country, near his mills and among his friends, the working people. He is a typical “Lancashire lad” himsell, plusa Quaker training and taste, which has pmoothed down much of the rugged un- couthness characteristic of the species. TRochdale is a typical Lancashire town, irregular, up and down, more dirty than clean, its air penetrated with as rank a dialect as now remains in England. Near by, just across the wild moor that ‘begins back of John Bright’s house, is Toamorden, whose people explain 1ts queer design, ns the “Rachda fowk might say of their town, “God made th’ earth, but forgot Tordmudden cos it hed gotten under ’is thoomb.” The Rocn- dale co-operative pioneers are the {umcst trading concern on that system nthe world, Through one of its long snake-like streets, out toward the moor, wast a large family of huge factories, we come to a plain, old-fashioned but state- ly red brick house, standing on p well-kept lawn, edged with flower- beds and shrubs, This is “One Ash,” the home of John Bright, Qi r and Man of the Peopl No showiness, yet unmistakable dignity; no trace of wealth display, yet there is'a refinement in the surroundings which tells of highly cul- tivated taste, The home proclaims the man. A maid-servant opens the door, a favorite Scotch collie gives a much more home-like welcome than a liveried foot- man, and the simple et ceteras that in- terest the visitor in the drawing-room aro thoroughly in keeping with the un- ostentatiuus character of the Busts of Cobden, Chevalier, Milner Gib- son, and engraved portraits of others of his eminent comrades in the old cam- paigns are the principal works of art. A handsome oaken cabinet holds a col- lection of the finest specimens of Staf- fordshire pottery and other manufac- tures, presented to My, Bright by the people of that country. His large corre- spondence finds him plenty of work with that fine small-hand pen which he so courteously and conscientiously wields. He is simplicity itself in his habits. John Bright never was a society man.” Since his widowerhood he has done more reading, For several vears he had a charming residence in Piceadilly, overlooking Green Park, with the lead- ing people of title as his neighbors on either hand. His relations with his workpeople are those of a conscientious employer, who pays market wages and expects a full tale of work. The local institute has benefitted considerably by Mr. Bright’s gifts of books and his kindly interest in whatever helps the progress of the people. As corpet- makers, the firm of which John Bright is senior partner have a world-wide reputation, and have made an immense fortune. The business has been under the management of Mr. Benjamin Bright, and is now chiefly controlled by John Bright, jr., of whom something may yet be heard in the political world, though he has not his father’s elo- quence. Mur. Jacob Bright, a younger brother, though now about sixty, is one of the members for Manchester, a weak man, physically and politically, the champion of the woman’s rights move- ment, which big brother John stoutly opposes. Mr. Bright is always “proper” in dress. He does not wear the Quaker garb, though he attends ‘‘meeting,” and occassionally preaches. You always find him in superfine black broadcloth, old-fashioncd = stand-up collar, black necktie. and a tall hat. But if you fol- low him away north to the banks of the Tweed, you will see him ‘‘dress the part” in honor of the lordly salmon he 2 -will soon persuade to accompany him home to dinner. John Bright is a stal- wart fisherman, orthodox in extolling the rod and execrating the spear, and he will discourse more_eloquently—and veraciously—upon the haunts and hab- 1ts of the king of the fishes than any in the throng of his parliament brothers in the art, who love to gather round and hear of his hauls. This fishing hobby John Bright's only vice, excepting merciless slugging of his political foes. He drinks no intoxicants, I think he never began to try. 1 am not sure if he smokes, but I know he fumes, and that right hearti Hear him when he harangues throng. Look at him as h his place with an air imperial as that of a Roman emporor. Everyone, surely,, knows by some photograph that leonine heud, the profile of lofty forehead, the straight, clear-cut nose, the broad pout- ing mouth, the bold chin and strong neck, ond the graceful flow of abundant white hair like a lion’s mane. Heisa typical Anglo-Saxon, a true Briton of the noblest mould, His majestic air strangely rivets the audience. The bell-like clearness and resonance of his voice give a charm as of poetry to his virile prose. Gladstone is, in another line, as fine an orator, but Bright has the gift of n\mukmg our mother-tongue in its simple purity, Gladstono is a Latinist, and his long words run into long, involved sentences that are son times hard to follow in a long address Bright knows 'no lang but, = the arches to 1411 FARNAM STREET, PAXTON HOTEL. LEGANT LINE of $25 SUITING OUR WORD IS OUR BOND. ‘We have just opened our new and elegant importations of spring goods, which embrace all the latest novelties in men’s wear. Our prices are the lowestand our workmanship the best. riable ruleis, that no piece of work shall leavethe shop without perfect satisfaction to the customer and ourselves OUR WORD IS OUR BOND. We have come to Omaha to stay and intend that our work shall be our recommendation. glish, butof that he is by far the most porfect master among Englishmen. He once told us that he owed his unequalied command of the language to his pref- crence for reading the Bible, Bunyan, Milton, and the Linglish poets, down 1o last contury. In these we have ‘‘a well of English undefiled,” of which it were well if the young men of to-day would think more than they do. The beauty of Bright’s speeches lies in their grand simplicity, not of thought but of con- | struction and expression. I have heard him often, in the old days when a hundred thousand clamored for a word from hislips, in the great hall where his constituents erowded for his annual oration, and in the House of Commons. Wherever it may be, you listen to the same siately opening of the case, in which calm common- sense is lit up with humorous gleams as he shows the weak side of the adver- sary’s statement. Then follows the filmn presentation of the root-facts, in is man-of-business vein. Every now and again there is some blunt exposure of some glaring inconsistency, which youunever thought so important before, and when he sees and hears that his point has gone home, then fall the sledge-hammer blows of argument, de- monstration, ridicule, scorn, whichdo more in one hour to demolish a wrong than the pleadings of other leaders ac complish in a month. T am not exag- gerating. There has not been a_great triumphant movement in England these forty vears that has not_ ended with tributes of this kind being heaped upon Bright by all the other orators. When he has spent the volume of his stirri harangue in this torrent of denuncia- tion, his gentler tones come back, and their music maks sweeter the pleading words he hopes will bring all men into rational mood and agreement. John Bright overflows with sympathy. It is this which won the hearts of the English Kcoplo a generation ago. He could never ave exposed a cause if his sympathy was not stirred. He has never made an after-dinner speech, nor cared for ap- plause. He is,in truth, more akin to the prophets of old than to the modern type of pol n. His nature is in- tensely religious, and his convictions, happily always on the side of justice and right, have been called narrow. Itis this puritanical earnestness, unwaver- ing, unflinching, that long ago won for Bright the profound respect of his op- ponents. No speaker causes so rapid a rushi for the dining andZother rooms in the house of commons as when the quick words goes round—*Bright’s up.” No tidings will bring a wider wave of sad- ness ‘over the heart of England than will the message (long be it deferred), “‘Bright’s gone.” CHARLES QUARLES, ) WITHOUT EVIDENCE. THE AFFAIR OF THE AVENUE DE L'IM- PERATRICE. Evelyn Thorpe in New York Meroury, Two Americans, one long a resident of Paris, the second newly arrived, had been asked to be present at the civil marriage contract of a compatriot of theirs, This ceremony was taking place, according to the French law and usage, the evening prior to the reli ious ceremony. The lady whom Varley was marrying was, nowever, not a French woman. The elder of the two men now making their way in a cab toward the villa occupied by her had been answering a few questions put 1o him by the younger, a newly fledged graduate of the New York médical col- lege, us to Varley's bride. “She’s the widow of a very rich Span- iard, who died in the Philippines.” said Castleton, who had a dry, taciturn face. “Is she handsome?’ asked Moore- hous “Ye-e: She is considered a great beanty? “Young?" Castleton paused. The villa w ome di **She looks so0.” tance dut on the Avenue de I'Imperatrice. ments were all magnificence. its appoint- upon a scale of quiet There could be no doubt as to the dead Spaniard’s riches. Var- ley, however was not marrying the woman for the sake of the possessions. He had of his own as much as she. Be- sides, he was as infatuatedly in love as | & man can be. ‘‘And no wonder, by Jove!” thought Moorhouse, \\lm could not take his eyes off of the bride. ‘She’s ubout the most superb-looking woman I've seen in my life!” There were not many people present. Tt was still quite early when Castleton and Moorhouso left the house. As they were doing so a foounan prosented a note to their hostess on a small silver salver. It seemed to be a rather coarse- looking affair. She took it up with curious fingers. ‘It looks like a begging letter.” If it was, the suprlnut had timed his appeal well, Out of the plenitude of its own happiness there is little the heart wiil refuse. And the beautiful woman who stood smiling upon her departing guests with her betrothed by her side, with the diamonds flashing from her dazzling throat, atd the light of many candles on her Hufnished hair, had upon herlips, her éyés, her brow, that seal of triumph, of fruition, of culmina- tion, set on man Or' woman-—alone in those rare moments of a very few lives when the apex, the pinnacle of success, seems to have been reached---when fate can give nothing more, nothing beyond. Moorhouse, who was keenly impress- ionable, caught the key-note of the sit- uation ot once. “‘George! That womau is positively blinding! Arthur Varley’s alucky dog, and no mistake, She looks as though she adored him. . Strange, and yet physiologically natural, too, that a mag- nificent woman lilke that, with an abounding vitality, should love a dre&mf' fellow, with an artistic temper- ment, like Arthur., They are negatiye and positive.” “‘Oh, Arthur isn’t weak,” commented Castleton. “They make a handsome couple,” he added. *'Oh, yes. Arthur has the dark, deli- cate, poetic type. Itisn’t very Ameri- can. Idon’t know where he gets it from. But the bride’s type—that is un- common, if you will! 1" don’t think I ever saw a hair of that Titiens color withso dark a complexion before. It$ unique and startling. “‘Some Chilian women have it.” They had left their cab at the Arc de Triom- phe and were walking down the Champs Blysces in the mild spring night. “And Toncesaw a girl in one of ourown southern states wsth just that coloring- t00,” Castleton subjoined in a moment. **Well, its superb. But her eyebrows! Have you ever noticed M > d’Ar- royos’ eyebrows, leton The elder man gave a dry laugh. “T don’t see how any one could avoid noticing them.” “It is their irregularity—one so straight and the other so extremely arched, which gives all that piquancy, that strange jo ne sais quoi, in the up- per part of the face, vas some time finding it out. . But the thing flashed upon mo suddenly. Tt is a defect, of course, but it is a defect more facinat- ing than a charm. It is like a brown mole on a white neck—like Louise de la Vallier’s limp.” “Oh, you've lost your head,” said Cas- tleton cooly. :y had stopped before acafe. “Are you coming in with me? No? Well, I suppose I'll sce you at the church to-morrow?” were married at the Madeleine. She had adopted the wedding dress in vogue for French widows of distinetion and wore a long gown of white silk with w mantilla of black lace draped over her head and shoulder: A little stir ran through the crowd as she entered. The beautiful edifice was packed. She was intensely pale, but more sirangely love- ly than ev The se was o long one. Arthur Varley and Madame d’Arroyos | Once or twice while it progressed the bride had been observed to raise her handkerchief to her lips, as though in faintness, When she turned away from the altar with her husband she sank lifeless and had to be carried out in his arms. It was a sensation. “Poor woman! Such au ordeal to go through!” “The church was so warm!” “The service was solong. “The shock she received this morning had something to do with her nerves, doubtless, teo.” **‘What shock?” ‘*How! Youdon't know! Why, there was a man—a laborer—found deac just outside the garden of her villa—at the ate, you may say. Her servants found him. ~ He had crawled under some bushes, He had an empty brandy bot- tle beside him. He had died suddenly during the night, appavently.” ¢ Shocking! shocking!™ “Shocking, indeed! cried Moor- house, who, With Castleton on the steps of the church, had gleaned these scraps of information from the environing chatter. ‘*What a horrible occurrence to have taken place at a woman’s very door on the morning of her wedding. No wonder the poor creature was un- strung. Well, what are you staring at?” to Castleton. “Nothing.” Which was true. Never- theless, the elder man had been looking intently straight before him over the heads of the surging throng. 4 Moorhouse saw nothing further of his friend till the following day. Then he met him sauntering slowly over one of the bridges. “Where have you been?” he asked. “Talking witn a detective. I know about the ‘Vietim of the Avenue de T'Imperatrice.”” The papers had been printing all the known details of the affair under this heading. “Well?”” demanded Moorhouse. ‘“Well, they've discovered nothing. And they’re not likely to. I saw the ‘victim,’ by the way.” “No! How on earth—" “Oh, one can always manage those things.” Moorhouse expressed no further sur- }wise. Castleton s an odd sort of ellow who passed his time much in s of his1 - own, and - who, a potential lawyer who never had practiced, however, might bo supposed 10 have a sort of professional interest in such cases, Ho liked Paris, and latterly had spent several years at a stretch there. He knew it from end to end. “He was of the usual whisky-soaked pattern of tramp. 1 suppose? ug- rested Moorhouse, referring to the vie- tim, and without much interest in the matter. “1 fanc free committal The affair soon gave place to a fresh excitement, and nothing having come to light which could lead to the detec- tion of the criminal—an autopsy had proved the fact that the man had died of poison. though how administered, or when, was doubtful—the case of the “Vietim of the Avenue de 'Imperatrice”™ sank into the oblivion which closes over manp other undetected edimes. POy R TR S T SR S Two years later found Castleton still in Pa There he also one ds against Moorhouse who, according his own account, had been spending the interim in studying human nature in various parts of the continent before re- turning home to go to work “1f you go on much lon he'd been drinking pretty ¢, resumed Castleton non- you'll find that you will soon have no taste for studying anything else,” remarked Castleton in his shyly characteristic ¢, when ho had invited the younger man into his semi-artistic bachelor den and pushed a cedar-wood box toward him. ‘Take warning of me.” Moorhouse laughed. “1 find human nature studied socially very absorbing, tor my part. And this reférs directly to something I wanted to THE AMERICAN TAILORS LARGE LINE of PANTS from $6 UP| OUR WORD IS OUR BOND. Our inva- Paxton Hotel Building. see you about. You remember Arvthur ¥ wife, of course?” sileton looked up with interest. “She died last week at Nice,” “Possibly? I saw nothing of it.” “I attended her in her last illness. Tt was a curious case; 1 was called in very suddenly in the middle of the night. She had been thrown from her horse that day, while riding, and the shock Arthur said, brought on a congestive chill, though she was not injured. 1did not believe it could have that effect without prolonged mental strain pre- ceding the fall. Arthur looked aghast when I suggested as much. Still, he onded by acknowledging that Mrs. Var- ley had seemed to have something in her mind for a long time. I did not think him looking well, either. Well, t0 be brief, her brain became affected, and she diod o few days after in o rag- ing delivium. And what form do you suppose her mania took? She imagined she had murdered that man who was found dead in the grounds of her villa the morning of the day she was married to Arthur. Castleton had thrown himself back in his chs He smoked a few moments with his eyes on the ceiling. Then he said* “I am going to give you the benefit of an experience 1 had—well, it’s twenty years ago, now. During a short so- journ in the southwest I happened to witness the marriage of two youthful lovers—the girl, at loast, could pot huve been more than fifteen—a runaway couple I believe.' The bridegroom, who was a colossal fellow, a finimal, had just enough money in his pocket to pay for his license. The bride, I suspect, had no other trousseau or dower than the clothes she wore on her back at the time. But, though the two could barely write their names, and were thus ‘deficient in worldly goods, they went, off as happy as lords. The inci- dent was diverting, but I should not have remembered 1t if it had not been for the beauty of the girl, which fired my youthful imagination. 1t was not only beauty superlative in a degree, but most unusual in kind. She was as light and flexible as a panther. She had a mass of tawny hair, and with it the warm olive-tinted complexion which habiturlly accompanies black hair, Most singular of all, though, she had eyebrows unevenly marked; while one was straight and level the other, the left one, was as keenly arched as a cir- cumflex accent.” Moornouse gave vent to, a low excla- mation. “Of course Idid not see my crackers again,” Castleton resumed. ‘“‘Three vears ago, howaver, I met here in Paris the woman we have both since known as having the same peculinvit; The first time 1 saw Mudamed’Arroyos—all Paris was talking about her—I was reminded of my beautiful young_savage, who had goné outof mymind in the interval as completely as though she had never existed, Arthur Varley had alveady secured the entree to the villa on the Avenue de I'Tmperatrice and was mak- ing the running against all competitors, and 1 was frequently there with them, One day that a portrait of a lady was being discussed I ventured to make the remark that T had only once before seen sbrows like hers. I went on to tell ner the incident I justtold you. We core standing a littlo” apart together. stleton here suddenly lenned inteatly forward in his chair. “The change that swept over that woman’s face [ could not begin to describe to you. Some people might not have noticed it. [ might not have under some ci m- stances. She had herself under cont in o moment. To the last I am sure she never suspected for an instant that sho had betrayed herself tome. But that one moment to me was like a flash of light on darkness. The bo ief, prepos- terous as it scemed at fiest, that the wild chit of a country girl I had seen mar- ried years before, and this elegant woman of the world, were one and the same person, sprung up in me and re- mained. And, after all, why so prepos- terous? How many clever adventuresses have done as much for themselves? What was the great Nelson’s Lndy Ham- ilton, originally, but a_nur maid? But what had become of the big six-foot husband of the present Madame d’Ar- roy And how had she drifted to the Philippina Islands? set about obtaining such facts as I could inn quiet way. I discovered nothing much except that thore had been an odd fellow by the name of Arroyoslong resi- dent in Manilla, and that he died, leav- ing a lavge fortune. There the mattor druvpcd. .+ . Well, shortly after, Arthur Varley became engiged to Madame d’Arroyos. Then came the wedding. Do you remember, the night before, a note that was handed to me as we were going away? Do you remomber her nervousness, her fainting fit at the church? Do you remember meeting me the next day, when I told you I had been to sce the body of the man found dead in the Avenue de I'lmperatrice? That man was no more Fronch, from his ap- pearance, than Iam or you are. And, changed as he had become—older, coarsened with hard labor and bloated with drink-—-it was quite possible to in him the signs of some such ysical conformation as that possessed by the young fellow whom Isaw mar- ried down south to the beautiful girl with the eyebrows.” Moorhouse, who had followed the de- velopment of Castleton’s thoughts with asort of growing horror depicted on his face, here exclaimed: *Gooa heaven! you don't think—" ““I think that sho made way with him —yes,” said Castleton, steadily. L Bug—" ‘‘She may have thought he was dead. She probably did. He came back—at what moment? Think for an instant what it would have been for her to recognize him as her husband. No one knows how he had traced her. She had doubtless iost sight of him for years. Consider what it would be for a woman with ambition like that to fall from the height she had raised herself to. More- over, and most of all, she loved Arthur Varley. She wanted him. She would not give him up. She probably acted with wonderful promptitude. To steal out to the man waiting in her grounds with that fatal bottle medicated with some such drug 8s is keptin many a medicine chest would be a very easy way of keeping him quiet for a while. She might tell him she would join him again in an hour. The fellow would drink the stuff—every drop of it, you may de&m d—and then ho would telf no tales. By George, one must admit that it was artistic work.” Moorehouse shuddered. “But she was clever, devilish clever, A man I have since met, who had been long in the Philippines, remembered when she first came there under the protection of old Arroyos. She had probably run away from her husband long before. She used to suy she was born in South America, of a Portuguese mother and Amer n father, Sho spoko Spanish imporfectly, and as a matter of fact, English with a southern accent. But no one noticed that. *“*Oh, yes; she was clever.” “Good God! And can nothing bo done?” eried Moorehouse, excitedly. $ thing,” replied Castleton, in the incisive tones he had fallen into. Then, with a return of his habitual noncha- lance: **Nothing. Nothing could be done then, nothing tan be done now. There was no evidence.” There is a floor walker in one of the large dry goods stores in this city whoso great toes point toward each other in the most friendly manner. “What will you have, madam{" said he to an Irishwoman, who was looking hopelessly around. “Calico.” “Walk this way.”’ “Walk that way, is it! Sure, I'd huve you know, sur, that my legs Is not built that way, sur, and 1 coulan’t walk that way it yowd give me the whole sture, sur.” e 4 Claus Sprockels is sugar-coated, but not so swoet as the original Santa Cluus, The Lig UNION SEWING MACHINE OFFICE, 1609 EXOW.ARD STREXT, htest Running Machine, The Quietest Running Machine The Fewest Parts to Wear O ut| MOST DURABLE Machine MADE. 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