Newspaper Page Text
. ' . " ? ';V■ ISIBIB
2;S SAVANNAH WEEKLY NEWS.
ilk & MONDAYS AND THURSDAYS. ilk J@i
VOL. 44.
The chief difficulty with Aunt Mirandy,
a maiden lady of exceeding vigor and ec
centric character, was the repression
which circumstances had placed upon her
natural powers. This was intensified by
her possession of what might be properly
termed large and permanently dormant
means.
Mr. Trlgtidy, who was in the manufac
turing line, and who was also Aunt
Mirandy’s brother, had often remarked
to his good wife;
“Clara Trlgtidy, if Aunt Mjrandy was
• man she would make the wheels of af
fairs go round with a hum.”
“Triplebob Trigtidy, I wish she was;
for then she wouldn’t be here and all
over every room in the house the same min
ute;" that lady would respond with such
a show of feeling that her husband was
stirred into temporizing apology and de
fense. , ~
“You must admit she’s a remarkable
woman?”
“Remarkable.”
“With tremendous powers?”
“Tremendous.”
“And keen and penetrating insight into
things?”
“Keen and penetrating.”
“With extraordinary activity?”
“Extraordinary.”
“A great factor in the church?”
“Great."
“A most original thinker?”
“Always.”
“And she’s got lots of money?”
“Oh, I suppose so.”
“Which we’ll get?”
“When?”
“Why, when Aunt Mirandy’s through
with it.”
“When’ll that be?”
“Clara, she’s past sixty.”
“And we’re only just past forty, but
really older than she?"
“Tut, tut!”
“While she has already ruled this house
for twenty years; ever since a year after
we were married, Triplebob?’?
“My, my!”
“Ami brought our children into the
werla, and took ’em out of it?”
“Gracious, Clara!”
“And worried those that lived until we
had to send them away?”
“Don’t put it that way, wife!”
“And engaged our servants, and se
lected our clothing and decided on our
food and chosen our friends and made our
enemies?”
“Dear, dear!—not so bad as that.”
“And owned this house and made me a
lU'ad of a wife, and you a grovel
ing instead of a man all for a few paltry
°dear l d *
“Oh, ’Trlblebob Trigtidy, isn’t a real
homo rot those you loro, while you and
they are yet living, more than a possible
inheritance when everything dear is gone
and the grave is all there is left to long
for?”
Mr. Trigtidy was astounded and con
fused. His good wife had never rose up
to this hight of protest until this mo
ment, when, as ho was about to leave for
his office at a late hour of the morning,
tho unfortunate subject of Aunt Mirandy
bad again been broached.
Like most men of affairs, he had taken
only the business view of his erratic elder
sister. “Gimo me a home, Triplebob,”
she had said in her curt, direct way,
“and when I’m gone I’ll leave you a
million?"
It had seemed an easy way, a good and
filial way. to become rich and powerful.
He had only thought of that; and, like so
many other well meaning men, had never
comprehended or had always ignored tho
first sacred duty of the husband to pre
serve the home intact from whimsical
and offensive influences, which the wife
and the children almost solely suffer,
from irresponsible or tyrannical relatives.
They were coming up from the break
fast room together.
“There she is now—berating the cler
gyman !" whispered Mrs. Trigtidy, as she
brushed a few hopeless tears from her
cheek ; and the two heard a shrill voice
advancing from tho reception room into
the hallway with bland, protestive tones
,and irregular footfalls preceding it.
Mr. Trigtidy peered through tho banis
ters apprehensively. Ho saw the gaunt,
but erect, form of Aunt Mirandy advanc
ing upon the backing, pursy figure of the
clergyman of their own church. Her eyes
flashed, her arms whirled wildly as her
hands came together in resounding whacks
in emphasis of her words, and her griz
zled locks, disarranged from the violence
of her indignant head-shakings, whipped
threateningly about her scrawny neck
and head.
“Huh!” snorted Aunt Mirandy. “You'll
not got a penny!”
“But my dear Miss Trigtidy,” gasped
the astonished clergymen, dodging the
newel post cleverly.
“Don’t’but’me, sir! I won’t have it.
Church Extension Funds' Huh! Why
don’t vou stop extendin’? Why don’t you
stop tryin’ to outdo other churches? Why
don’t you stop your everlastin’ beggin’?”
“Remember your means and your
years!” pleaded the clergyman, execut
ing a dexterous rlgh about-face, during
which ho recovered his hat and umbrella.
“My moans and my years, th?” re
torted the irate maiden lady. “Hain't t'
blamo for my years—you better look to
home!—and I wouldn’t have any means
left in a week, if your kind had your
way!”
“I beg of you, Miss Trigtidy!”
“Os course you do! It's all in the name
of the Lord! Oh, what hasn't he had to
stand! It's all in tho name of religion!
Oh, what hasn't it had to stand I It's all
in the name of charity! Oh, what hasn’t
it had to stand!”
“I am pained and surprised !”
“Be. be you? So is everybody else. Ask
people, if you don't believe it. Cornin’
here in your carriage to beg, beg, beg for
‘church extension,' while thousands are
starvin' all around us! Beg. plead,
scheme, juggle with church polities like
an aiderman, and nobody bein’ helped or
saved!”
“This is astonishing, Miss !”
“Os course ’tis! Thought so, forty year.
What’s churches for? Show I Not much!
What's religion for’ Palace building? Not
much! What's charity for? Gettin’
your name in the papers? Not much!
Churches and religion anil charity have
got to quit holdin' their heads so high,
eatin* up folks' substance, and givin’
nothing but sound and words and sham,
or everybody’ll turn infidel and religion
hater'fore long! Oh, h-h-h!“ she con
tinued in a frenzy of denunciation, “if I
had my way, sir, I'd change all link with
• bang!”
( THE MORNING NEWS. >
■( ESTABLISHED 1850. INCORPORATED 1888. >
I J. H. ESTILL, President. f
AUNT MIRANDY.
“TALES OF TEN TRAVETERS”* SERIES.
By EDGAR L. WAKEMAN.
Copyright. 1304.
The clergyman had managed to get into
the vestibule. Clinging to the door knob
on one side, while Aunt Mirandy held
fast to the other, he was gently endeavor
ing to close the door and bow himself out.
Being in a manner on the outer and safe
side of the incident, he ventured with
some little satire to inquire:
“And if Miss Trigtidy had her way how
would she improve matters?”
She began improving them Dy giving
the door spiteful pushes, which her rev
erend visitor gently returned, and, be
tween these rapid openings and measured
closings, various propositions of a prac
tical and emphatic nature reached both
the suave clergyman and the trembling
Trigtidys on the basement stairway.
“I’d get off my high horses; that’s what
I’d do!”
“Always a good thing to do,” returned
the clergyman, blandly.
“I’d quit pilin’ up church mortgages;
that’s what I’d do!”
“Good again,” was the response as
door softly swayed back upon Aunt Mi
randy.
“I'd qxit gettin' long-haired foreigners
for organists, operatic singers for choir
soloists and millionaire nobodys for
ushers; .that’s another K thing I’d do!”
This with an unusually vigorous push of
the door.
“Ah?” floated <back with the gentle
swinging of the door.
“Yes;‘ah’and’ah’ again, sir; and I’d
take off some of my fine duds; get out of
my carriage; get along with one girl in
the kitchen ;and get down alongside them
that needs comfortin’; that’s what I’d do,
too, sir!”
“You would certainly be blessed, if you
could do all that. Miss Trigtidy.”t
“Would, would I? Yes, I would; and
so would you—getting right down among
the sore and the needy and. the lame and
the halt and the blind, without any long
face, or aii;s, or I’m-better-than-you-be,
about it either I”
The clergyman had by this time got
the outer door open, and he could there
fore most composedly ask:
“Like all true reformers, you speak
from experience, I hope!”
“Huh!—from settin’ under your preach
in’ for twenty years.” she retorted
fiercely; “and from lookin' around that
church and just boilin’ over all the time,
because—”
“Because all the rest of us were not at
that precise moment toiling in the slums,
I presume? Very natural; very. We are
not far apart in all these matters, Miss
Trigdity. Good morning!”
Inexpressible scorn mingled with a
slight tinge of humiliation mantled Aunt
Mirandy’s flaming face.
She slammed the door defiantly behind
the departing clergyman and rested a mo
ment Kgaia-ii the huge carvew n«w«l»pu*t
to recover her breath.
“He’s a little right, and I’m more’n’
right;” she panted reflectively. “Lord ! I
wish I was a man and a minister?”
Here Mrs. Trigtidy’s hand sought her
husband’s with a firm pressure of ap
proval.
“But 'taint too late! ’Taint, too late.
Here I’ve been holdin’ this bouse and
home together for twenty year, with Tri
plebob a noodle and Clara a ninny. Here
I've been holdin’ that church together for
twenty year, and that preacher a pesky
time-server. The rest of my life I’ll do
some good with my own money to them
•that’s under my own nose, my own
way!” '
“That means us, Clara!” whispered Mr.
Trigtidy, gratified at the apparently for
tunate outcome and proud of his fine fore
sight.
‘‘l won’t wait a day. I won't wait an
hour. I’ll begin this very minute!”
“Gracious!” whispered Mr. Trigtidy to
his spouse. “I’m glad I’m late to busi
ness this morning. We’ll be right here
together when she’s in the humor !”
With this he began craning bis neck
above the banisters and clearing his
throat as if to speak; but his more cau
tious wife silenced him with a gesture of
protest.
“This minute!” repeated Aunt Mirandy
vehemently. “Among the millions in
this great city, I can certainly seek out
and succor some of the vicious and dis
tressed.”
Mr. Trigtidy’s luminous face was sud
denly clouded with a grimace of disap
pointment and chagrin.
“I don’t care how low they be. I’ll lift
’em up by bein’ humble; by bein’ like ’em:
by doin’ like ’em ; by actin’ like ’em; till
they're weaned from the downward path.
Lord! If I only was a man and a minis
ter! But, heavens be praised! I’m a
woinffn and can stir things up. This very
minute I’ll start the stirrin’!”
She scampered up the stairs with un
usual vigor, returned shortly in her
plainest stree ‘ tire, and with a happy
face disappeai d nto the street, leaving
the perplexed the temporary
freedom of their own establishment.
“Well, well, Clara,” murmured Trig
tidy reflectively and yet compassionately
to his wife, “we've stood it so long now, I
hope you’ll make the best of it; there’s a
dear. It’s too much to lose!"
“Triplebob,” she returned, closing her
eyes discouragedly, “we’ve stood it so
long, it’s too much to keep!"
But events were already rapidly shap
ing toward unexpected ’relief for the
Trigtidy household.
Aunt Mirandy, having gained the street,
gratefully sniffed the fresh morning
breeze wafted gently up from the great
river and gaily exclaimed:
“I feel better anyhow. Decidin’ to do
something's new lite, if you don’t even
know what the something is!”
She wore so bright a face and stepped out
with so elated a gait, that many looked
up at here with something akin to
kindling recognition and smiles.
“’Pears like everybody knows just
what I'm goin' to do, and are glad of it.”
she reflected as she caught the subtle
human sympathy.
“Lots of good people in the world yet,
ain’t they now?” she asked herself, in the
tone of original discover}' and inquiry.
“I should think there was, though!”
she as heartily answered. “If we'd all
get together at doin’ common, every-day
good, stead of turnin’ it over to the
churches for corporation religion,shuttin’
our eyes to results, mebby runnin'
churches’d be easier for the ministers,
and 'twouldn’t be so plaguey hard to save
sinners. Mebby there wouldn't be so
many sinners/to worry over, either!”
With these and similar reflections.
Aunt Mirandy passed from the region of
aristocratic abodes through the dis
tricts of prim and tidy homes, past the
doubtful territory of mixed business
structures and habitations, into the roar
ing thoroughfares of Gotham; and then,
more by instinct than from knowledge,
into one of those down-town quarters
THURSDAY, AUGUST 23, 1894. .
where great palaces of trade wall in vast
areas of squalor, vice and crime.
At this hour of the day. the crooked,
loathsome street through which her foot
steps led, was strangely still. Aunt Mi
randy was ignorant of its grewsome and
dreadful night life, and the silence dis
tracted her.
“Don’t wonder they can’t get along.”
she observed with some asperity, “when
they don’t mosey out in the mornin’ and
get to work like other folks. Mercy!
Why, they look like the dead I”
She had now turned into a bend of the
thoroughfare where doors, windows and
hallways of the crazy old structures were
all wide open. The tottering buildings
were so close together that it was dank
and shadowy between. Festering gar
bage covered the broken pavement. Foul
odors emanated from every nook and
cranny. The nauseous, appalling pres
ence of putrid death itself seemed to fly
at her with palpable and overpowering
savagery.
In shadowy basements were stretched
the revolting forms of humans of strange
race and color, their features distorted
as if in frightful dreams. Women and
children, half nude and filthy, lay in
grotesque heaps upon bare floors, or were
dimly visible among piles of wretched
rags. At this window or that, a bare arm
or a leg or a head hung over the sill, as
though its owner's body had been dis
membered and had fallen from sight be
hind.
Every hallway and stairway was heaped
with apparently lifeless bodies, Males
and females lay against steps, copings,
area railings, or were stretched across
sidewalks, doubled in gutters, or still lay
prone upon the noisome stones of the
street. A few of all these hideous forms
and faces were pinched and thin and
drawn and pallid from pain and want;
out most were blowsy and bloated and
fiery from endless drink.
There was a horrible fascination in the
revolting scene which drew Aunt Mirandy
on and on. With her skirts instinctively
gathered about her and her quaint old
viniagrette clasped tightly to her quiver
ing nostrils, she picked her way here and
there, or leaped gingerly over sodden
bodies, muttering “Mercy! mercy! mer
cy!” all the dreadful way.
The recurring sounds of business life,
the clang and clamor of the great trade
thoroughfares beyond, finally recalled
her to her mission.
“Huh!” she startlingly exclaimed. “If
I ain’t doin’ just like all the rest; lookin
at these hornors like a play-show and
leavin’ ’em horrors still! Mercy me!
Where shall I begin?”
She retraced her steps, stood still for a
little, shook her viniagrette ferociously
and gazed distractedly up the winding
street, loathsome in its sinuous trailing
as the discarded skin of a huge snake.
Just then a horrible volley of oaths,
oaths from women, too, with the unmis
takeable sounds of cuffings and thump
ings, arrested her attention. They issued
from a dark basement stairway almost
beneath her.
Stepping to the iron railing, she peered
cautiously into thedarkpess below. When
her eyes had become accustomed to the
shadows of the nauseous pit, she saw in
the turn of the passage way a wriggling
mass of heads and legs and fists and
When and thL blows ksld
somewhat stilled from exhaustion, sho
dimly discerned the forms and faces of
three girls; of those girls of the slums
with little, chunky bodies; with strangely
symmetric forms and marvelously agile
physical powers; with unconscious and
exquisitely graceful movements, and
often with winsomely molded features; of
those girls who never knew a girlhood,
between whom and maidenhood lies the
impassible gulf, to whom womanhood is
forever barred r of those girls altogether
as cunnimr as imps of darkness and hard
as the pavement stones, from which, for
all they know, or the world cares, they
have been given luckless birth.
“Right here's the place to begin!” said
Aunt Mirandy determinedly.
Without hesitation she descended the
slippery steps, hustled the girls upon
their feet in a corner, tidied their cloth
ing, primped their hair, rubbed up their
faces with her handkerchief; and all
with such a rush of aptitude and uncon
scious kindly authority that there was no
further show of protest than a few aqi
mal-like gurgles and grunts of curiosity
and surprise.
“Come’long to breakfact now; all of
j"ou!” she commanded, herding the rum
pled and tousled lot before her. “Need
some more myself;” she continued as the
girls’ eyes opened wide in astonishment.
“Got rung away from mine this morn
ing by a beggar: an audacious beggar,
too! W’ouldn’t like that, would you,
girls?”
“Nope?” they chorused, slyly prodding
each other with their nimble elbows
while snickering brazenly.
“Here we are. This'll do;” insisted
Aunt Mirandy, still herding her lot be
fore her into an unpretentious restau
rant.
But a few patrons were now at the
tables and a waiter, noticing the strange
party, stepped forward with a quizzical
look in his face.
“Now, no airs, waiter!” said Aunt
Mirandy sternly. 4
“No airs, waiter,” echoed the trio, “er
th’ old un an’ us’ll do yo!—see?”
“Where's your washstand?” Aunt
Mirandy demanded unmoved.
“Yes, where’s de hydran’ plug, corkey?”
mimicked the girls uproariously.
The waiter, with solemn ceremonious
ness, led the way to a little alcove, turned
the water on with a swish into four
basins, and retreated to a respectful dis
tance.
“Here, go an’ get me a comb and
brush!"
She gave him a bank note and an addi
tional command: “While you’re at it,
bring throe tidy chip hats for these three
—these three young friends of mine.
Keep the change.”
Then, while the girls rolled up their
eyes. Aunt Mirandy rolled up her sleeves.
“Wash!” she said tersely. “Here,
water and soap, mind!”
She did not stand idly by. She lathered
her own hands, and, one Dy one. soaped
those stirls’ hands and arms and necks
and heads, and scoured and soused and
rinsed and dried; and when the comb and
brush and package of hats had come,
after general directions to the waiter for
“a good breakfast for four?” she worked
on those girls’ pretty but frowsy heads
heroically; braiding this one’s locks, con
verting into a handsome knot that one s
tangled tresses, and deftly winding over
her fingers the other one’s curls; until
anyone would have thought her a travel
| ing hair dresSer; and when the three
1 neat little chip hats were on their heads,
| and they had worked over each other’s
not ungainly apparel with a wisp-broom
! in barbarously playful vim. Aunt Mi
randy sat down in a chair before them in
gratified admiration with the enthusias
tic remarK: “There ain’t three finer on
Fifth avenue!” which brought shame
dazed but proud light into thbir snapping
eyes, the quick flush of emulation into
their cheeks, and to their lips the grate
ful tribute to their unaccountable com
j panion of:
'•Hullygce! Git on ter wat de fairv's
’ did!"
Upon which they went awkardly, be
| cause now somewhat consciously, to
their table and ate like ravenous beasts,
I while Aunt Mirandy could scarcely
watch their outlandish actions closely
enough, by the mists which constantly
gathered in her old and happy eyes.
“Now girls—you aint goin’ to be pes
tered about any livin’ thing—but what’s
your names anyhow?” asked Aunt Mir
andy, encouragingly.
' “De dead right ones, er de ones us sa
shays roun’ on?”
“Oh, just your short, common, every
day ones. Them’lldo.”
“She’s Maine, de Terror,” said one,
jerking her head toward the one with the
Grecian knot, “kase she’ de slugger of
the combination;” at which Marne stole
a glance a conscious pride at the sur
prised old lady.
“Marne’s a nice name,” she responded,
reflectively.
“An’ she's Sal Smuggs,” retorted the
young woman of vocal prowess, viciously
tweaking the nose of the girl with crinkly
ringlets, “kase her nose is de best part o’
her!”
Here the girls laughed heartily, and
Aunt Mirandy perplexedly joined.
“Dis ’ere side pardner,” continued
Mame with affected compassionate toler
ance, as she tugged at the shining braids
of the other, “is de one as breaks our
hearts ter git ’long wid. Dey call her
Chub Slivers roun’ de Bow'ry, kase dey
ain’ no free lunch layout dat can stan’ up
agin’ 'er. It’s a sorrer ter keep dis kitten
in chuck, I’ni givin’ ye it straight. Don’
yer see she’s hungry an’ holler, after dis
stunnin’ banket?”
The girls laughed at this pleasantry
and Aunt Mirandy laughed in an amazed,
pitying way, as she wondered what man
ner of language she had stumbled upon.D
“Well, Mame and Sal and Chub,” she
began briskly as she arose from the table,
“you’re just goin’ to have the happiest
day you ever had in all your life, if you
never get another !*’
“Look out fur de trac’s an’ de chapel,
now!” whispered Sal to her companions,
who at once began looking glum and
solemn.
“Not a bit of it!” rejoined Aunt Mi
randy. whose quick ears had caught the
lugubrious prophesy. “It’s a boat-ride;
an outing!”
“Lord!—it’s de Tombs, an’ thirty days
on de island!” whispered Chub Slivers
nervously, wriggling and dodging like
a young partridge ready to break for
cover.
“Not a bit of it!” steutly reasserted
Aunt Mirandy in alarm. “Now, you poor
little fools, do I look like a detective, or a
policeman, or a missionary?”
“Nope!” shouted Mame heartily.
“You’re de plush jay of de town!”
added Chub Slivers in tones of reassur
ance and approval.
“De easiest angel dat’s lit on our route!”
gurgled Sal Smqggs, with a smile at the
earnest old lady, and a wicked leer at
her companions.
“I should think so!” ejaculated Aunt
Mirandy with swelling pride. “No airs,
neither. We’re just all going to be
friends together. Come on, now for an
outing; all day, mind you, down by the
. seashore. And you’re just goin’ to be
free and happy an t l natural and your
selves, and do what • and say what
you like and you like, every
blesst|i miAnte the tkcloug !”
Poor old Aunt'Mirandy! To keep
these hopeful pledges will at least tem
porarily trail your banners of practical
religion in the dust!
A half houi later the four were wedged
in among the masses of humanity throng
ing the great pleasure boats which daily
ply between the seething city and the
soothing sea.
Aunt Mirandy, already wearied from
her unusual mental and physical exer
tions of the morning, nodded and started
and gulped and snored, all of which drew
forth untranslatable sayings from her
outlandish charges for a time; but the
gentle influence of the to them wondrous
experience soon subdued them, stilled
them, perhaps awed them; for to these
waifs, whose farthest confines of observa
tion had been the outlyinsr towering walls
surrounding the dreadful" quarter where
they prowled like hats, or the river’s
edge where they occasionally skulked to
the water like fever-driven beasts, it was
all a mighty voyage of discovery.
The islands of the bay, with their sin
uous shores, their glowing coves rimmed
by emerald verdure and cameo-like villas
above; the forests, the parks, the home
hung cliffs of radiant river shores; the in
numerable ghostly harbor craft; the great
Liberty statue, with extended torch hun
dreds of feet above the pennants of tallest
ships’ spars; the frowning forts with their
cannon gleaming in the sun and silent
sentries, with their solemn, measured
march above; the Narrows, where the
tides play wild and fiercely; the lofty,
luminous highlands of the Jersey coast,
fading into an indistinguishable line of
mist and haze, where the far sand-dunes
and waters meet; thff swaying fog-bells
with their dolorous throbs; the light
ships rocking lazily with the tide;
and* then, as the steamer skirted the
Long Island coast, the boundless ocean,
bringing the first faint consciousness of
measureless immensity they had e?e¥
known—all toned and touched and ten
derly tinted by the impalpable, breeze
swung pendulums of the sea’s ever chang
ing lights and shades—wrought upon
their souls so deep a spell that they at
last sat mute and still, long after the
thousands had scrambled from the steam
er’s decks: and only when Aunt Mirandy,
scourged from the land of Nod by the
stern hand of Silence, awakened with a
snort which diverted the deck porter
from a surly reproof at delay, was the
blessed spell and enchantment broken;
when they scrambled like merciless imps
in the summer day pleasures of the shore
As they left the great iron pier and
passed the long lines of artfully arranged
nickel-dreadful dens of fakirs and shams,
Aunt Mirandy noticed the trio’s glisten
ing eyes and craning necks, but she
wheedled them past these, and finally, by
gentle wiles and promises of future gaye
ties, enticed them to the beach, where
thousands, for miles in either direction,
were wallowing in the sands or tumbling
m the foaming surf.
In a trice she had them among the
bathers, while she sat like a contented
child among the sand, with smiles of sat
isfaction playing about her hard old face;
thinking wonderful things about practi
cal piety, snorting and ejaculating by
turns, and enjoying their enjoyment with
the Spirit and fervor of elated youth.
And how those girls of the" slums dis
ported in that lashing and foaming surf!
How they ran and scampered, sallied and
retreated, tussled and strove! How they
jumped end plunged and corvetted and
darted, and blowed like frolicsome por
poises—for the time, in their unrestrained
i liberty, so little different, so completely
indistinguishable, from the countless
ones around them! And who wav know
but that, for this little time, they were
precisely the same human animals, lifted
out of taint and stain by the blessed ex
hilaration and abandon of old ocean’s im
partial waves and spume?
This is at least the view that Aunt Mi
randy took of the matter, as she sat in
sand, saying precisely this manner of
things, though curtly and sententiously
as she occasionally recalled TripleboD
Trigtidy and the minister with scorn, or
brushed a tear of overflowing enjoyment
from the quivering tip of her wrinkled
nose.
If the breakfast had been a “Stunnin*
banket,” that dinner in the great pavil
ion, with the melodious rattle and clatter
about them, the band playing the most
enlivening music, and the soft breezes
stealing up from the sea, was entirely be
yond the powers of Mame and Sal and
Chub to fitly praise.
But when done, Aunt Mirandy kept
her word in other notable respects.
She rode with them the raging tobog-'
gan. She had their pictures taken with
her grinning charges hovering open
mouthed above and behind her. She
raced with them upon scraggy donkeys’
backs. She penetrated with them the
lairs of the stuffed serpents, the dens of
the stuffy freaks and the jungles of the
stuffier fortune tellers. They tossed balls
at impossible targets. They swayed in
chariots of the mighty revolving wheel
They made startling rushes on overhead
wire railways. They repeatedly paid
homage to that most perennial and most
entertaining of all trivialities, the mirth
ful tragedy of Punch and Judy. It seemed
they would never finish with the merry
go-rounds. In fact, they indulged un
stintedly in every grotesque diversion of
the seaside Babel; and as the lights began
to flare out along this gayest and most
cosmopolitan coast the world can show,
they clambered back with the noisy
throngs trpon the steamer’s deck; and,
still stirred and enlivened by the music,
the songs, the almost Bacchanalian revel
ries of the pleasure seekers about them,
found the return sail all too short, and
the white disks in the spires and towers
pointing the hour of 10, when they again
sst feet upon the streets of the great city.
Babbling and chattering alongYogether
they at last came to a broad thorough
fare. dazzlingly glaring in its innumerable
lights, chokingly thronged with people of
strange faces, manners and attire, and in
its pandemonium of sights and uncouth
sounds, almost an exact night picture,
only in greater magnitude, of the distract
ing aggregation of touters’ dens they had
left beside the sea.
“Hully gee!" sighed Chub, “home’s de
bes’ place after all!”
“Dey ain’t no hunkier one dan dis!”
murmured Sal in sympathy.
“You’re dead right, pards,” chimedin
Mame; “de ol’ Bow’ry gits over dem all!”
“Why. is this the Bowery?” stammered
AuntMirandy, experiencing her first sense
of trepidation of the day.
‘“Tain tno udder! ’’ replied Chub proudly
and pettishly. “Say, Aunt M’randy, ye
ain’t goin’ back ’mong de nobs, ’thout
settin’ up de wet?”
“Without setting up the wet?” horri
fiedly replied the old lady.
“Yes, yes, yes!” they importuned with
ugly and threatening persistence, pushing
Aunt Mirandy toward a dark alley near.
“No Bow’ry ladies parts, ’thout doin’ the
lucky?”
The instant the waifs had reached the
famous and infamous thoroughfare, the
glare of the lights, the sight of their
companions, the fumes from liquor dens,
and all that subtle influence which
reaches its develish clutches from the
dark realms of vicious familiar associa
tion, had rehabilitated these things of
the night with their savage natures, and
Aunt Mirandy suddenly felt Uaat the
tables of power and authority had been
turned.
Overcome with dread and fear, she dare
not resist. With a rush they carried her
into a dimly lighted groggery. Scarcely
knowing what she did, she let the ravens
have their way. They recounted the ad
ventures of the day uproariously to the
grinning frequenters of the place. They
drank and sang, and pressed drink upon
their now terrorized companion. It had
scarcely touched ber lips before every-’
thing seemed to whirl about her and her
veins were on fire. She tried to speak;
to plead; but she could not. She saw dim
and darkly, retaining only some sort of
consciousness that impish forms were
dancing and cavorting about her, embrac
ing her in ogerish glee.
Those of the raven’s ilk who soddenly
saw the rest, saw a helpless old woman
bundled along the lothesome alleys where
she haa that morning come with such
pride and sturdy purpose, by three savage
and relentless ravens that plucked and
picked and plucked, until every article of
value and shred of attire about her was
gone; when the pitiful old creature, bare
as when she entered the world, was
hustled into a dark hallway and gro
tesquely robed in fluttering rags. Then
they pushed and shoved and carried her
to the corner of a respectable street
where the ravens waited until they espied
an officer and bailed him jocularly at a
sage distance distance with,
“Hi, eopsy—you! De ol’ jay’s name is
Aunt Mirandy Trigtidy. Dere’s a card
pinned on ’er evenin' gown dat tells wher’
de angel bunks. Take ’er dere. She’ll
be wort’ a dozen bones to yer, copsy!V
With which, and with wild yells of
glee, they disappeared in the darkness
whence they came; and an hour later, the
perspiring policeman deposited the limp
form of Aunt Mirandy in the arms of the
horrified Triplebob Trigtidy, who, while
his good wife moaned. “Has it come to
this?” glared in contemptous incredulity
at the honest officer’s tale and rewarded
him for his merciful pains by slamming
the door in his face.
It might have been the loss of blood, for
few will admit it could have been a twinge
of quickened conscience, which, a few
hours later, brought Chub Slivers, par
tially sobered, to a sitting posture beside
her prostrate companions, where, over
division of their spoils, in their drunken
frenzy they had tigerishly fought and fell.
“ ’Taint de dead hunk t’ing—no, ’taint
so!” she sniffed hoarsely.
She staggered to her feet and began
fumbling about the pockets, breasts and
clenched hands of Mame and Sal. Then
she cleared her own pockets, and with
deft touches went over each article,
identifying it and calling it by name in
her own strange jargon.
“She done de gran’act—so she did!”
muttered Chub with a trace of indigna
tion in her lowered tones.
Then she made a package of all the
booty as best she could.
•■Aunt Mirandy gits dese traps,” she
said fiercely, shaking her swollen fists de
fiantly at ber snoring companions, “if
Chub Slivers has ter do time!”
When she had arrived at the fine Trig
tidy mansion. shQ hovered about it until
the policeman on that beat had disap
peared on his rounds. Then she rang the
bell stoutly and Triplebob Trigtidy him
self. wakeful from already experienced
calamity and closely followed by his
timid and apprehensive helpmeet showed
his head cautiously at a crack of the
door.
-Murder!” he cried, shutting the
door fast as he caught sight of Ch,ub
Slivers’ disheveled clothing, portentious
package and gashed and bloody face.
The bell rang again with more insistive
clamor. As he once more furtively
opened the door for a cautious distance he
heard a window above him go up with a
slam. A gray and scraggy head pro
truded.
“Who’s there?” its voice huskily de
manded.
“It’s me—Chub Slivers, mum!—one o’
de muges as guv ye de knock-out drops
an’ done ye hunk! Aunt Mirandy, I’s
come wid .ver saps!”
“Triplebob!—you there?”
“Ye-e e-s, Mirandy.”
“Bring the girl up to my room in
stanter. or—or I’ll cut you off without a
penny 1”
In a moment more the amazed Trigtidy,
his wife and the raven stood before Aunt
Mirandy, who sat bolt upright in bed.
“Fetch the doctor! Bring my lawyer,
too!” she shouted after her nimbly de
parting brother.
“I said I’d bring de duds,” said the girl
doggedly,” if 1 had ter do time; an' here
dey is.”
“Bosh! Put ’em down an’ set down
yourself I’2
A physician was soon stitching and
patching the ugly gashes on Chub Slivers’
hands, neck and face; and Aunt Miran
dy’s lawyer was beside her directly, un
questioningly obeying her imperative
behests.
‘.‘Write a check for five thousand, paya
ble to the order of the Church Ex-
tension Fund. I’ll sign it in the morn
ing.”
The check was drawn as she directed.
“Now, Triplebob,” she said sternly;
‘Tm going to cut you off—!”
Mr. Trigtidy turned pale and his wife
wore the first hopeful smile her face had
known for years.
“With only one-half of my property!—
for Clara; for she’s the one you’ve let
stand my domineerin’ all her married
life.”
“Oh, sister!” and “Oh. Mirandy!”
came chokingly from their confused
lips.
“Oh, bother!” she returned stoutly.
“That’s th’ ivay ’t’ll be. I’ll keep tho
rest. Now, everybody get out—but Chub
Slivers. She and I’ll get out in the
mornin’. You, Chub, go to bed on that
sofy. I’ve had one day at reformin’, hit
or miss, and rather like it. One out
of three ain’t bad! Chub’, lock that
door.
And as the astonished group stole whis-'
peringly in the hallway and Chub Slivers
turned the key in the lock and skulked
to the sofa, as bidden; the sturdy old sol
dier of the Cross turned on her pillow,
muttered. “One out of three ain’t bad!”
for a little, and finally sank into peaceful
sleep.
Over against the Bowery, at the edge
of Gotham’s dreadful No-man’s-land,
stands a neat stone structure, ivhere the
young and the all but lost among women
are rescued and saved. At any time of
the day and night its welcoming portals
are open to the outcast and Godforsaken;
and the now gentle spirit whose heart
and purse have made this so, is silver
haired Aunt Mirandy, whose faith in
practical piety is still abiding, and who
steadfastly holds to her original convic
tion, based on bitter experience, that
there is a certain and blessed percentage
of consummation in all earnest efforts in
true reform.
IMPORTANT GATHERING.
Meeting of the Southern Bail-way and
Steamship Association.
Coney Island, N. Y., Aug. 22.—The
Southern Railway and Steamship Asso
ciation was called to order at 12:80 o’clock
this afternoon, in a meeting supplemen
tary to that held here fri July, when the'
questions regarding rates and the con
tinuance of the association for another
year were discussed. Gen. J. W. Thomas,
president of the Nashville, Chattanooga
and St. Louis railroad, of Nashville, was
chairman, secretary W. L. McGill of
Atlanta reported that the tentative agree
ment to restore rates until Sept. 1, after
the cutting which prevailed from June 1
until the July meeting, had been accepted
by all but about a dozen roads.
As the meeting adjourned soon after
roll call until 10 o’clock to-morrow, it is
evident the session is to last two or three
days. Gs the forty or more corporate in
terests represented in the association, all
but eight were on hand at roll call, in the
person of the president or prominent
traffic officers, the Atlanta and West
Point, the Mobile and Ohio, the Seaboard
and Roanoke and the South Carolina be
ing the most prominent roads not putting
in an appearance. Among the prominent
men on hand, in most cases with
subordinates, are: Gen. Thomas,
Nashville, Chattanooga and St.
Louis railroad: S. M. Felton,
Queen and Crescent system: M. H. Smith,
Louisville and Nashville; H. B. Plant
and Col. H. S. Haines, of the Plant sys
tem: Stuyvesant Fish. Illinois Central;
H W. Comer, Georgia Central; Sol Hass,
representing President Samuel Spencer,
of the Southern Railway, formerly the
Richmond and Danville; T. M. Emerson,
traffic manager Atlantic Coast Line;
W. H. Guillandeau, traffic manager of the
Old Dominion Steamship Company; M.
H. Clyde, representing Clyde Steamship
Company, and T. K. Scott, general mana
ger of the Cape Fear and Yadkin Valley
road. In all about 100 important officials
have thus far registered and more are ex
pected, including President Spencer of
the Southern Railway.
' A meeting of the executive committee
was called for this afternoon. It seems
probable that the association will be con
tinued another year if present indications
of harmony prevail, and Col. E. B. Stahl
uianwill evidently be continued as com
missioner, unless some 'opponent for the
place and salary of $15,000 comes sud
denly into view.
The chief discussion of the day' occurred
at a session of the executiue committee,
presided over by Commissioner E. B.
Stahlman, which took up the entire after
noon. Represensatives of the Louisville
and Nashville and Queen and Crescent
took up most of the time on the old trouble
which caused the temporary withdrawal
last spring of the former road from the
association, which seemed for a time to
be disrupted. Without action, the com
mittee adjourned until to-morrow.
The session will last two or three days,
the settlement of the rates question for
the ensuing year, and election of officers
being the most important matters.
This evening representatives of the
Southern Railway Company,Plant system
Central railway of Georgia, Atlantic
Coast Line, Clyde Line. Ocean Steamship
Company and Old Dominion Steamship
Company, and the Merchants and Miners
Transportation Company held a confer
ence oh the question of rates on oranges
to the north and east. The decision will
be of interest.as the tariff on the favorite
Florida fruit has not been formally re
vised for three or four years.
FOB A TEST CASE;
Judge Aldrich’s Dispensary Decision
to Go Before the Supreme Court.
Columbia, S. C.. Aug. 22.—The attorney
general of the state and the city of Aiken
have agreed to take Judge Aldrich’s de
cision and make a test case of the dis
pensary law before the suprems court.
The chief justice has Deen requested to
call and extra spssion of the court, and he
will probably do so in a day or two. The
po;' its in the case have already been filed
w h the clerk of the court and an early
decision is expected.
( WEEKLY, (3-TIMES-A-WEEK) SI A YEAR. )
■? 5 CENTS A COPY. 4G
I DAILY, $lO A YEAR. f V
WASSAIL AT WOODLAND.
Roast Oxen and Sheep Galore and
Burgoo by the Gallon.
The Sun Shone Brightly Withal, but
It Waa a Cold Day for “Breckin
ridge and Brains”—The Great Lex*
ington Barbecue in Favor of Owen*
Thronged by the Bluegrass Beauty
and Chivalry—The Ladies, the Big
Delegations, the Music and the
Speakers.
Lexington, Ky., Aug. 22.---As early as 8
o’clock this morning people commenced
swarming the streets here preparatory to
attending the big Owens barbecue at
Woodland Park. County people are pres
ent by the score, all wearing either
a badge or a button showing their choice
in the now highly sensational congres
sional race. Scarcely a Settle or Breck
inridge badge could be seen, and it seems
as if everybody favoring the election of
either of these candidates had left town
or were keeping indoors. The day is
beautiful and the bright sun, casting its
rays through the beautiful oak trees in
Woodland park, adds to the cheerfulness
of the scene.
In the park everything is in perfect
readiness. Scores of beeves and sheep
have been cooked and burgoo is ready to
be dished out by the gallon. The street
in front of the Florentine hotel has been
so full of people it is almost impossible to
pass on Main street. Those who will
participate in the oratory were also on
the streets early. Owens was up and
ready for the greatest day in the history
of congressional politics in Kentucky.
By the time trains from different points
began to arrive, the streets were alive
with a surging mass of humanity. The
Breckinridge forces were distributing
little slips of paper on which was printed
“Breckinridge and Brains.” There were
thousands of women on the street, and
the cars could not carry the people to
Woodland Park fast enough. The Fay
ette Owens Club, 2,500 strong, formed on
Main street to join in behind the Wood
ford, Scott and other delegations which
came in on the Southern road. The street
cars brought the bulk of the ladies who
came with the Georgetown delegation,
but a great many of them bad to walk.
Mr. Owens, accompanied by President
Barney Tracy. Judge G. W. Kinkead and
D. E. Frazee, headed the procession, and
when passing under the large Breckin
ridge banner on Main street Mr. Owens
raised nis hat. The carriage was fol
lowed by the Bullock State Guards, and
then came the Woodford delegation,
1,090 strong. The Scott county delega
tion followed with 2,415 men in line. A
large handsome banner bearing the pic
ture of |Mr. Owens, was carried just
behind the band of music. Numerous
banners- on which “Faithful to His
Tmiai is Hob. W. C. Owens;” “After the
Fun, the Shbuting;” “He Has Never Be
trayed a.l’rasjif” “Scott County Indorses?
hltn.” etc.
From Georgetown there were 145 la
dies. This delegation was followed by
the Georgetown colored band and a large
banner on which was prihted: “The Ash
land District Will Be Proud of Him.”
There were probably 8,000 people in line.
WOULD SEAL HIB DOOM.
Judge J. R. Morton of this city made a
thrilling address, introducing Hon. Geo.
B. Kinkead. Judge Morton said that it
was unfortunate that there was a division
of the strength opposed to the renomina
tion of Breckinridge. He thought that
the people would finally triumph in the de
feat of Breckinridge, and that Mr. Settle,
the third man in the race, would not re
ceive much support, as soon as it is found
that Owens is the contending man against
Breckinridge. He said that the 52,000
people leaving their homes to-day and
turning out in one mignty protest against
the re-electio“i of Breckinridge would seal
his doom.
BRILLIANT ARRAIGNMENT.
Judge Kinkead’s arraignment of Col.
Breckinridge was one of the most brill
iant ever heard. He told of the incon
sistencies of Breckinridge, reviewing his
entire life, and putting, in a dramatic
way, the proceedings of Judge Bailey’s
court in Washington. “See him, as ho
introduces his mistress into the school at
which your daughters are taught and
of which he was a trustee,” he said,
in a burst of eloquence, assuming the role
of Marc Antony. Mr. Kinkead told of
the deception practiced by Breckin
ridge on Mrs. Blackburn, the widow of a
man whom Kentucky was proud te
honor.
He was followed by Prof. C. M. Al- .
bert, a local politician, who got after Col.
Breckinridge for intimating that he was
the only man in the district fit to repre
sent it in congress.
“What a calamity would befall us if he
should die,” said the speaker, and the ap
plause which followed lasted for several
minutes.
THE MOST SCATHING YET.
Mr. Owens’ arraignment of Col. Breck
inridge was the most scathing that has
yet been delivered in the campaign. He
told how the colonel would quake
when in battle, completely dis
figuring his war record. In re
ferring to Breckinridge’s repentance for
his nine years of dual life, he said that
should he commit a crime for which a ne
gro would be lynched in Kentucky to
morrow. he would tell his friends he was
penitent and declare to those who disap
proved of the deed that he wrs ant
subject to-be sent to congress and defy
them to say aught against him.
The address of Mr. Owens was heartily
received, and the 8,000 women present ex
pressed much enthusiasm.
Maj. H. C. McDowell, speaking of the
crowded fight, said that he believed
Breckinridge had met nis Waterloo.
Should Breckinridge get the nomination,
the republicans will run McDowell
against him.
REVOLT OF THE IRISH.
Said to Have Been Quelled in Its In*
cipiency by Mr. Morley.
London, Aug. 22.—The incipient revolt
of the Irish members of parliament, re
sulting from the veto by the House of
Lords of the evicted tenants bill nas, it is
reported, been quelled by Chief Secretary
for Ireland Morley. Suspicion has been
rife among the Irish members that the
government was working with the con
servatives for the postponement for the
House of Lords’votes, but this suspicion
was declared to be baseless by both Mr.
Morley aud the conservative leader. A. J.
Balfour, in the House of Commons last
evening.
The Times, referring to the matter,
says: Few people believe that it was
more than a sham tight, done for the pur
pose of coddling the Irish electors into
the belief that the Irish members are not
the servile tools of the governmeat.”