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. ' . " ? ';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.”