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A WISE LITTLE MAID.
I know a moat fair little maid,
Whose eves on the world open wide,
And who thinks to herself, I’m afraid,
Shue knows more than all others beside.
She tells the moat marvelous tales!
She sees the most wonderful things
Tn each cloud as it over her sails.
In the song that the summer bird sings.
The fairies that hide in the tree.’,
Or rest in the roses, are hers;
The humming of insects ami bees,
In her bosom soft wonderment stir’.
Oh this w ise little maiden of ours,
Aged seven —how doth knowledge increase
Who is versed in the signs of the sky.
Who talks of'• the Iliad” ami “Greece.”
With a look most important, from school
Comes in with bustle and rush,
And with manner emphatic proclaims,
Tk< sign <>f addition is plunk!
SUDDEN WEALTH.
Stories of the Flush Days of Leadville—
Men Who Couldn’t Stand Prosperity.
Kansan City Star.
The crowd of us who used to hang
around the Windsor Hotel in the days of
Leadville's hectic prosperity always said
that if old Charley Hicks ever “struck it
rich” his fortune would dq him some
good, and he would not go and fool his
money away bucking faro or squander it
at the shrine of Bacchus or Venus. He
was old and decrepit, and had been pros
pecting so long that the memory of man
ran not to the contrary, but without find
ing anything except hard luck, wrinkles,
and a kind of grim philosophy that en- I
abled him to accept misfortunes that
have put a suicidal bullet into many
a younge:? but less sturdy heart.
It was really pitiful to see him come
plodding slowly in from the mountains
after another unsuccessful tour, never
complaining, but always sanguine of bet
ter luck next time, while where he would
eat that day and sleep that night were un
solved problems to him. One day, in the I
fall of the year, old Charley did strike it
and received SIB,OOO in cold cash for a
prospect hole in the Tin Cup district. I
can see now the flush of honest joy in his
warm old face as he told me about it, and
w r ent over and over again how he would I
be comfortable in his old age, and shook
hands many times, and finally burst out
crying from sheer excess of happiness. I
can also see him, five short days later, as,
clad in a stiff, stark, ready-made
suit, and his hair dyed a weird,
unnatural black, he led to the altar
a blushing relic of the days of the
Santa Fe trail, known far and wide as
Albuquerque Alice. She was an old
timer and regarded as one of the land
marks of that part of the country. He
had met her in a dance hall two days be
fore, and in marying her ignored the ad
vice of his friends, and the fact that he
already had a wife back in Ohio. He was
reminded of the latter incident by the ar
rival of the lady herself on the same day
that Alice decamped with the remnant f
his fortune and a disreputable character
known as Seven-up-Bill, and a diffidence
about facing her, as well as a prejudice
against the statute in relation to bigamy,
made him fly to the fastnesses of the
mountains, from w hich, to my knowledge,
he never returned.
There was a great passion for wearing
jewelry in the camp in those days, par
ticularly diamonds, which were regarded
as a sort of ticket of admittance into good
society, and the aristocracy found its
limits both ways from the man who wore
a little splinter of a stone that the setting
could hardly hold to he who sported a
four carat. Consequently diamonds were,
in nine cases out of ten, the immediate
purchase of those w’ho suddenly acquired
wealth, and many and many a man would
buy a gorgeous, flaming stud w hich would
remind him of the mortifying fact that he
had no shirt to put it in. A diamond w’as
about Gov. Tabor’s first investment; not
the gem that petrified the Senate, but a
large straw-colored brilliant, which a
broken gambler had pawned, and on
which the millionaire, then an humble
storekeeper, had often cast covetous eyes.
He regarded it at the time as the ne plus
ultra of personal adornment. One of Ta
bor’s partners,w'hen he Struck *!!§ first bo
nanza, was a German named Riche, who
was past the middle-age, had been a cob
bling shoemaker all his life, and a SSO
note \va& an engraving he had never
inspected at nearer range than
through the wicket of a bank counter. He
got about SIOO,OOO. The first thing he did
was to build a large brick house, red in
color, and of square and hideous archi
tectural design, about tw’o miles distant
from the camp or any other habitation.
Then be got married, and retired into this
dwelling, as the knights and barons of
media-val times retired into their castle
keeps, and he only emerged at long inter
vals to lay in provisions and chewing to
bacco. This was his conception of per
fect rest, and consequently ecstatic hap
piness. He had a profound mistrust of
banks and kept his cash by him, where
thieves could not break in nor moths cor
rupt. One w’ould suppose that this scheme
was open to objections on the ground of
its lack of variety, but unkind rumor
credited the capitalist’s wife. w T ho was a
very voluble lady, with an ability to keep
him entertained and excited.
A contemporaneous gentleman of for
tune was Capt. Connors, well know’ll to I
all residents of the camp. He b-i” often
told me the story of his t u )St . ll ,p „ ri *
received s4oo° A - . stake. He
ior his interest in some
mineral property, and it was paid to him
at the bank in four rectangular packages
of bills of SIO,OOO each. The Captain had
kept his good fortune a secret from his
wife, and he hurried home to tell her. She
w’as sitting down after a hard day’s W’ork,
and without a word he dropped the arm
ful of greenbacks in her lap. It was a
loyal and touching thing to do. For a mo
ment she sat paralyzed w-ith astonish
ment, and then, hugging the mass up to
her, she sobbed out:
“Oh, Tom. how dirty they are! Let me
put them in a tub and wash them.”
“Do it if you want to, dear,” he replied,
with a tenderness that it would be well i
for other rich men of Colorado to emu
late “uuv V9 U uev dr wash anything
else again.”
Among the people I knew’ around the
Camp w r as a man named Ed Braden, who
divided his time between reporting on a
newspaper and prospecting, and who !
loved to tell what good and noble and ,
sensible things he would do should he I
happen to strike it. AV hen fortune did ■
smile on him one day he launched imme
diately upon several enterprises not con
templated in the original prospectus.
Among other vagaries he became enam
ored of a vivacious little soubrette who
was playing at the opera house, and ar
ranged a unique and remarkable testi
monial to her beauty and talents. At
great expense he procured from Denver
some twenty or thirty hot-house bouquets.
The holders'of these he had weighted with
a leaden spike, point downward, so that
when it was thrown upon the stage it
would stick in the boards and stand erect.
His idea was to precipitate the whole
number at once when the soubrette made
her appearance, and, to use his own lan
guage, “transform the stage into a bower
of roses.” To this end he had a number
of friends stationed at different points in
the audience, each bearing a deadly bou
quet.
The curtain rose, the actress tripped on,
when bang! bang! bang! the flower-decked
missiles hurled through the air. The poor
girl, who had read something of wild
Western ways, thought it was a plot to
kill her, and fled to the cellar, from which
she had to be subsequently dragged by
main force, uttering piercing shrieks.
The Braden party were all somew’hat in
ebriated, and the more enthusiastic fired
their bouquets with such reckless aim
that one oi them hit the leader of the or
chestra on the bald head, and he had to
be held by two men while the gore was
being mopped off and explanations made.
All this went a great way toward marring
what might have otherwise been a pleas
ant occasion. This is a fair specimen of
the pursuits in which Braden spent a
very decent fortune and succeeded in
three brief months in getting back into
scrub journalism and prospecting again.
A miner named Luke Fuller, a gradu
ate of Bowdoin and a man of really bril
liant mind and wide information, one af
ternoon, entirely unanticipated by him
self, consummated a sale that placed in
his hands over SIO,OOO. It was to be sup
posed that three or four years'of grind
ing poverty bad given him an apprecia
tion of the value .of money, and he had
never been known to dissipate in any’
form. To the surprise of everybody, he
went on a monumental spree, which he
wound up by taking five or six boon com
panions on a sortof tiiumphal tour into
the East, The party stranded in Chicago,
and the next time 1 saw Fuller he was in
Saur’s saloon destroying a free lunch and
furtively watching ihe bartender.
As a' rule the secondary effect of sud
denly acquired wealth was to strangle
out the better and more natural impulses
and replace them by a forced and arti
ficial character that was very ludicrous
where it was not disgusting. It was
pretty safe to say out there that a man of
means was a mean man, and I have seen
many a brain, erstwhile full of good horse
sense, go into perpetual eclipse behind a
S2O gold piece.
The lucky ones formed a sort of aris
tocracy, and I do not recall anything
more extraordinary off the burlesque
stage than the soirees they used to give.
Big, hulking fellows, who didn’t knovr a
quadrille from a quadroon, would amble
around the hall in dress coats made in
Denver, and their fingers, unused to
gloves, sticking out, separate from each
other, like radiating rays from a central
sun of.white kid. Many of them were,
indeed, whited sepulchres, and would not
stand too close analysis even into their
raiment. On one occasion, while in the
midst of a set of the “Prairie Queen,” a
gentleman became enraged at his “oppo
site,” and incautiously peeled off his swal
low-tail to mop the wax floor w ith him,
revealing thereby the mortifying fact that
his collar, shirt front and cuffs were hol
low and detached shams, and merely
pinned to the blue flannel shirt that long
association as a miner had made him loth
to part with. A bosom friend of this gen
tleman was a gaunt, raw-boned farmer’s
boy, who had wandered into the West,
and whom sudden riches had dragged out
of the obscurity of a prospect hide, stuck
a diamond in his bosom and dropped dow’n
into the midst of the ultra aristocratic
circles. He distinguished himself at his
debut. A young lady remarked to him
that her sister had a" penchant for water
color painting, and he promptly replied:
“Why, kin they get one fur that? My
old man applied fur one fur a wound he
got at Shilo, but the pesky government
wouldn’t give it to him ’cause he'd lost
his discharge papers.”
PARIS PLAY HOUSES.
Some Theatrical Statistics —Figues of
Forty Tears Ago and To-Day.
Paris Letter New York Sun.
What are the Parisians talking about?
Tonquin? 'The insult to the French repre
sentative at Tangiers? The visit of “our
Fritz” to Madrid and the prospect of a
Hispano-German alliance? The new vul
ume of the corrospondence of M. de Rem
usat, son of the Mme. de Remusat who
W’rote the memoirs? The electric tram
way? No. All these subjects are too
serious. The great news is that M. Menri
Meilhac’s author’s fees for the month of
October amounted to $9,800. M. Heilhac’s
rights for the present month will amount
to even more than that sum, for his name
figures on the bills of more theatresthan it
did last month, and all these thea
tres are making money, namely,
the Porte Saint-Martin with “Frou
frou” and Sarah Bernhardt, the
Opera Comique with “Carmen” and Van
Zandt, the Varietes with a revival of “La
Vie Parisienne” the Gymnase with a re
vival of “La Petite Marquise,” the Palais
Royal with “Ma Camarade,” to say noth
ing of “Lete de Saint-Martin,” 'which
holds a permanent place in the repertory
of the Comedie Francaise. The author’s
tees on all these pieces have to be shared,
of course, with different collaborators,
otherwise M. Meilhae would run the risk
of becoming a millionaire.
But how immense is the difference be
tween the Paris stage nowadays and the
Paris stage forty years ago. Why, even
thirty years ago Scribe and Anicet Boui
geois used to write half a dozen pieces a
year, and think they were great boys if
they made SIO,OOO a year. The receipts of
the theatres have advanced in as great
proportions. The opera, for instance, in
the year of the Exhibition of 1867 did not
quite reach $400,000; nowadays the re
ceipts are over $600,000. In iB4O, with
Rachel at its head, the Comedie Francaise
made about $137,000 a year; now the an
nual receipts exceed $400,000. In 1867,
the Exhibition year, the Varietes took in
$112,400; for the season 1882-83 the re
ceipts were in round numbers $230,000. In
1840, S2OO a night were considered good
receipts at the Gaite and the Ambigu,
then, as now, the home of melodrama;
nowadays at least five times that sum is
considered barely satisfactory, and one
piece is required to run a hundred nights.
In 1833, the year of the famous “Tour de
Nesle,” the receipts of the Porte Saint-
Martin were $120,400; last season the re
ceipts exceeded $200,000, and at the pres
ent moment Sarah Bernhardt is nightly
bringing to the house receipts of $2,000. “ s
Apropos of the receipts of the Paris
theatres, some curiou statistical pheno
mena are to be observed. When a piece
is a success at a theatre, the receipts
reach the maximum. Take the Nouve
a-ites, for instance The maximum is sl,-
20), which represents some 1,406 specta
tors. Well, every night the receipts re
main the same within a few dollars, ac
counted for by the fees on booked seats;
every night 1,400 persons come to the
theatre, and nobody is refused. New how
does it happen that just the requisite
number of people go to each theatre per
night? Why should there not be 200 peo
ple too few’ one night and 200 too many
another night? Another phenomenon
that has been remarked is, that supposing
a piece is a failure, and that the failure
has been published by the press, the thea
tre w ill nevertheless be sure of a mini
mum receipt of S2OO, and this receipt will
continue invariable day after day. If
the piece is a moderate success', the
nightly receipts will be half the maxi
mum, and this average will continue in
variable fora month, and thenjthe receipts
w’ill lessen progressively from w’eek to
week. At the Opera the receipts vary
with the pieces. “Faust” produces ju- |
I? r A a . bl y $ 3 ’ 600 a toe “Brophete”
s3mvo, and so on w ith the other pieces.
These facts have been deduced from the
figures in the account books of the Dra
matic Authors’ Society. How’ they are to
explained is a mystery. The phenomenon
is that there is in Paris an equal number
of people daily going to see the same thea
tre bill.
When we come to the question of the
earnings of actors, w’e find a similar pro
gression. Rachel, who was engaged at the
Comedie Francaise in 1838 at the rate of
SBOO a year, demanded and obtained in
1840, a fixed salary of $5,400, plus $3,600
for feux or extras, plus three months’ holi
day, plus a benefit performance estimated
at $3,000. (Mile Fargueil’s benefit at the
Vaudeville last Thursday produced nearly
$8,000.) In short, Rachel received from
the Comedie Francaise $12,000 in all at.
the beginning of her career, while Mlle.
Mars toward the end ot her career re
ceived in all only SB,OOO, and these sums
were considered to be colossal. Last year
Mme. Brohan, who is not a sensational
actress like Sarah Bernhardt, received
$12,000 at the Comedie Franchise and M.
Got a still larger sum. These two are
stock artists w’ho do not particularly at
i tract the public, and w’ho do not go in ex
! clusively for making money. The elder
: Coquelin received $12,000, but he has the
privilege of frequent holidays, w hich en
able him to add at least $20,000 to tbffi
sum. Mme. Judic has $12,000a year fixed
at the Varietes where she play's perhaps
j four or five months at the outside out of
the twelve, spending the rest of the time
in tours in the provinces or abroad. Now,
for instance, she has just started for Rus
sia, where in six weeks she will earn just
$40,000. And Sarah Bernhardt, w hose ex
! ploits I have hitherto neglected, Sarah
! Bernhardt receives S2OO a night for play
> mg “Froufrou!” The sum and substance
i of all these figures is that forty years ago
- the Parisians spent annually $1,200,000 on
; theatregoing exclusive of balls, concerts,
i cafeschantant, etc., and that now they
spend more than $4,000,000 on the same
■ object. And in this sum are not included
the subventions granted by the State to
| the principal theatres and lyric establish-
I ments, namely, some $55,000 a year to the
j Conservatoire, $160,000 to the Opera, $50,-
; 000 to the Comedie Francaise, $60,000 to
j the Opera Comique, $20,000 to the Odeon,
i and some SIO,OOO to various concerts,
j Somebody has observed that the French
i are more ready to endow’ three theatres
than one church.
Comstock’s Consistency.
New York Letter to Chicago Journal.
Well, w’ho knows but that it may be
l come fashionable to become a convict?
j Don’t be astonished if you hear that Wil
| liam 11. Vanderbilt has been sentenced to
I imprisonment. Here is some logical
| reasoning that consigns him to that fate.
! Bonaventure is a city dealer in pictures.
; He lately imported a stock of photographs
j of paintings from the public art galleries
| of Paris. Nude figures abound in them,
I of course, and Anthony Comstock, the
; probably honest and certainly fanatical
I suppressor of such things, has had the
I merchant indicted.
“Shall you be able to convict him ?” was
■ asked of Comstock.
“Undoubtedly,” was the confident re
i ply.
“Are you aware that the original of one
i of these'pictures has been placed on exhi
j bition in Ned Stokes’ barroom?”
“I am.”
! “Do you mean to send Stokes to prison ?”
“I do.”
“A copy is hung in Vanderbilt’s picture
I gallery. Shall you send Vanderbilt to
I Sing Sing?”
“His gallery is private, and it is a ques
-1 tion whether the mere possession of ob-
I scenity, without any intention to sell or
i exhibit, ought always to be punished.’’
Burnett’s Cocoaiue.
The Best and Cheapest Hair Dressing.
It kills dandruff, allays irritation, and
i promotes a vigorous grow’th of the hair.
Burnett’s Flavoring Extracts
j are invariably acknowledged the purest
| and best.
THE SUNDAY MORNING NEWS: SAVANNAH, DECEMBER 9, 1883.
BY THE NIGHT EXPRESS
BY MABY CECIL HAY.
t
A bitter December midnight, and the
up-express panting through its ten min
utes’ rest at Rugby. With what passen
gers just arriving and passengers just de
parting—what with the friends who came
to see the last of the departing passen
gers, or to meet the arriving ones—the
platform was full enough, I can assure
you; and I had some difficulty in making
iny way from carriage to carriage, even
though I generally find that people (al
most unconsciously, perhaps) move aside
for the guard w hen they see him walking
up and dow’n close to the carriage doors.
This difficulty was increased, too, by
the manoeuvres of my companion, a Lon
don detective, who had joined me to give
himself a better opportunity of examin
ing the passengers. Keenly he did it, too,
in that seemingly careless way of his, and,
while he appeared to be only an idle,
lounging acquaintance of any own, 1
knew that under his unssupecte'd scrutiny
it was next to impossible for the thieves he
was seeking to escape—even in hampers.
I didn’t trouble myself to help him, for 1
knew’it wasn’t necessary; yet I was. as
anxious as hundreds of others were that
those practiced thieves, w hom the police
had been hunting for the last two days,
should be caught, as they deserved.
Sometimes w T e came upon a group
which my companion could not take in at
a glance, and then he always found him
self unusually cold,and stopped to stamp a
little life into his petrified feet. Os course,
for me, this enforced standing w’as the
signal for an attack of that persistent
questioning with which railway guards
are familiar; and, in attending to polite
questioners who deserved answering, and
unpolite ones w ho insisted on it, I had not
much time for looking about me; but
presently I did catch myself watching one
girl who stood alone at some distance—a
girl very pretty and pleasant to look
upon, I thought, though her face, and her
dress, and her attitude w’ere all sad; a
tall, slight girl, in deep mourning, with a
quantity of bright, fair hair plaited high
upon her head, as w’ell as hanging loosely
on her shoulders; and a childishly inno
cent face, with pretty, bewildered eyes.
She stood just at the door of the booking
office, and I wished I could have gone
straight to her and put her into one—the
most comfortable—of the line of carriages
at which she gazed so timidly.
Just as I hesitated a very remarkable
figure elbowed its way to me—a stout,
grandly-dressed old lady, panting pain
fully, and almost piercing me with a pair
of restless, half-opened eyes, that looked
out through the gold-rimmed spectacles
perched on her sharp nose. Two porters
followed her, laden with bags, cloaks, um
brellas, and flowers—the only flowers in
the station, I expect, on that winter night
—and one of the men w’inked at me over
her head, while the other guarded her
treasures w’ith a face of concentrated
anxiety, and thoughts engrossed by pos
sible fees.
“This is the London train, is it, gua’d?”
she asked, peering sharply into my face
w’ith her half-closed eyes, as if she"found
it difficult to distinguish me even through
her spectacles.
From her whole attitude I guessed her
to be deaf, but I never guessed how deaf
until, after yelling my answer so long that
the engine-driver must have heard it
eighteen carriages off, she still remained
stonily waiting for it.
“Deaf as a dozen posts,” remarked the
detective, aloud, giving the old ladv an
expressive little nod in the direction of
the train.
“Slow train?” she asked, in that plain
tive tone which the very deaf often use.
“Mail!” I shouted, putting my mouth
as close to her cheek as I fancied she
would like.
“JLZe/” she shrieked back at me, the
spectacles shaking a little on her thin
nose. “Why should you want ale for
listening to civil questions that you are
paid to answ’er? Ale, indeed! I believe
railway men think of nothing else.”
Then she shook her head angrily, and
waddled off, looking as acid an old' party
as one would ever cart? t 9 see, In at
every door she peered through the glitter
ing glasses, the tw’o porters following her,
until she made, a stop before an empty
second-class carriage near my van, and,
with much labor and assistance, got her
self and her packages into it.
When I passed, a few minutes after
wmrd she was standing in the doorway,
effectually barring the door to any other
passenger by her own unattractive ap
pearance there, and prolonging with an
evident relish the anxiety of the obse
quious porters. I fancy that though the
purse she fumbled in w’as large, the coin
she w anted was but small, for I passed on
and left her still searching, and still ask
ing questions of the men, but hearing
nothing either of their replies or of the
loud asides in which they indulged to
each other. I had reached the other end
of the train, and was just about making
my way back to my own van, when the
young lady I had’ before noticed went
slowly in front of me, toward the empty
flrSvQlass compartment near which I
stood.
“Aui I right for Euston?” she asked
me, gently, as she hesitated at the door.
“All right, miss,” I said, taking the
door from her, and standing w hile she got
in. “Any luggage?” For from that very
moment I took her, in a sort of way, into
my charge, because she was so thorough
ly alone, you see, not having any friends
there even to see her off.
“No, luggage, thank you,” she answer
ed, putting her little leather satchel down
besidefheron the seat, and settling herself
in the corner farthest from the open door.
“Do we stop auyw’here between here and
London ?”
“Don’t stop again, miss, except for a j
few minutes to take tickets.” Then I I
looked at her as much as to say, “You’re !
all right, because I’m the guard,” and !
shut the door.
I suppose that, without exactly being
aware of it, I kept a sort of watch over
this carriage, for I w’as perfectly aware
of a lazy young gentleman who persist- i
ently kept hovering about it mid looking
in. Ills inquisitive eyes bad of course
caught sight oi the pretty face in there
alone, and I could see that he w’as making
up his mind to join her; but he seemed
doing it in a most careless and languid
manner. He was no gentleman for that
reason, I said to myself; yet his dress w’as
handsome, and the'hand that played with
his long, dark beard was small and fash
ionably gloved.
Glancing still into the far corner of that
one first-class compartment, he lingered
until the last moment was come; then,
quite leisurely, he walked up to the door,
opened it, entered the carriage, and in an
instant the door w’as banged to behind
him. Without the least hesitation I went
up to the window, and stood near it
w hile the lamp was fitted in the compart
ment. The gentleman was standing up
within, drawing off a dark overcoat; the
young lady in the distant corner was
looking from the window, as if even the
half-darkness was better to look at than
this companion. Mortified a good deal at
the failure of my scheme for her comfort, I
went on to my van, beside which the de
tective w’aited for me.
“No go, you see,” he muttered,crossly;
“and yet it seemed to me so likely that
they’d take this train.”
“I don’t see why it should seem likely,”
I answered, for 1 hadn’t gone with him
in the idea. “It doesn’t seem to me very
likely that three such skillful thieves as
you are dogging, who did their work in
this neighborhood so cleverly two nights
ago, should leave the station any night, by
the very train which the police watch with
double suspicion.”
“Doesn’t it?” he echoed, with most
satirical knowingness. “Perhaps you
may have got it quite clear in your
mind how’ they will leave the tow’n', for
it’s sure enough that they haven’t left it
up to now’. That they’ll be in a hurry to
leave it, is sure enough, too, for this isn’t
the sort of place they’ll care to hide in
longer than necessary. Well, w’hat’s
the hardest place for us to track them in ?
London. And what’s the easiest place for'
them to get to sea from? London. Then,
naturally enough, to London they’ll want
to go. Isn’t this a fast train? and shouldn’t
you choose a fast train if you were run
ning away from the police?”
I didn’t tell him what sort of a train I
should choose, because I hadn’t quite
made up my mind; and he. was looking
cross enough for anything, in that last
glimpse I caught at him.
Having nothing better to do, I wonder
ed a good deal how’ these thieves could ar
range their getting away, while the walls
were coveted with the description of
them, and every official on the line was up
in it. There was no doubt about their be
ing three very dexterous knaves, butthen
our detective force was yery dexterous,
too, though they w’eren’t knaves (and I do
believe the greater dexterity is generally
on the knavish side); and so it was odd
that the watching still was ineffective,
and the offered reward unclaimed. I read
over again the handbill in my van, which
described the robbers. “Edward Capon,
! alias Capt. Winter, alias John Pearson,
| alias Dr. Crow: a thick-set, active man,
of middle height, and about 50 years of
age; with thick, iron-gray hair and
whiskers, dark-gray eyes, and an aquiline
nose. Mary Capon, his wife: a tall wo
man of 40, with a handsome, fair face, a
quantity of very red hair, and a cut
across her under lip. Adward Capon,
their son: a slight-built youth oi not
more than 15 or 16, with closely-cut
black hair, light gray eyes, and delicate
features.”
We all knew this description well
enough, and for two days had kept our
eyes open, hoping to identify them among
the passengers. But our scrutiny had all
been in vain; and as the train rushed on,
I felt how disappointed the police at Eus
ton w’ould be when we arrived again
without even tidings of them.
I was soon tired of this subject, and
went back to worrying myself about the
sad-looking, yellow-haired girl, who had
so evidently wished to travel alone, and
been so successfully foiled in the attempt
by that intrusive fop with the handsome
beard. Foolishly I kept on thinking of
her, until, as we were dashing almost like
lightning through the wind and darkness,
only fifteen or twenty miles from Chalk
Farm, the bell in my van rungout with
a sharp and sudden summons. I never
wondered for a moment who had pulled
the cord; instinctively I knew, and—it
was the carriage farthest from my van! I
left my place almost breathlessb*, as the
engine slacked speed, and, hastening
along the foot-board, hesitated at no
window until I reached the one from
which I felt quite sure that a frightened
young face would be looking out. My
heart literally beat in dread as I stopped
anti looked into the carriage. What did
I see? Only the two passengers buried
in their separate corners. The young
lady raised her head from the book she
held, and looked up at me astonished—
childishly and wonderingly astonished.
“Has anything happened to the train?”
she asked, timidly.
The gentleman' roused himself from a
seemingly comfortable nap.
“What'on earth has stopped us in this
hole?” he said, rising, and pushing his
handsome face and his long beard past me
at the window.
It w’as only too evident that the alarm
had not been given from this carriage;
yet the feeling had been such a certainty
to me that it was long before I felt quite
convinced to the contrary; and I went on
along the foot-board to' other carriages
very much more slowly than I had gone
first to that one. Utter darkness sur
rounded us outside; but from the lamp
lit compartments eager heads were
thrust, searching for the reason of this
unexpected stoppage. No one ow’ned to
having summoned me until I reached the
second-class carriage near my ow n van
(w’hich I had hastened past before), where
the fidgety, deaf old lady who had amuse#
me at Rugby sat alone. I had no
need to look in and question her. Her
head was quite out of the window’,
and, though she had her back to the light
and I couldn’t see her face, her voice was
cool enough to show that she was not
overpowered by fear.
“What a time you’ve been coming!” she
said. “Where is it?”
“Where’s what?”
But, though I yelled the question with
all my might and main, I believe I might
just as hopefully have .questioned the
telegraph post which I could dimly see be
side us, and have expected an answer
along the wires.
“Where’s the small luncheon basket?”
she inquired, pulling out her long purse
with great fussiness—“a small luncheon
basket, my good man, and make haste!”
Shall I ever forget the sharp expectan
cy of the old lady’s eyes as they looked
into mine—first over, then under, then
through, her goid-rimmed spectacles?
What surprised me most particularly was
the fact of her decidedly not —being as any
one might suppose—a raving lunatic.
“Be quick w’ith the small luncheon
basket, please!” she said, resignedly sit
ting down, and pouring the contents of
her purse out into her lap; “I’m as hun
gry as I can be.”
I suppose that when she looked up at
me from the silver she w’as counting she
saw’ my utter bewilderment (I didn’t try
now to make hear, for I knew it to be
hopeless), for she raised her voice to a
shrill pitch of peevishness, and pointed
with one shaking hand to the wall of the
carriage:
“Look there! Doesn’t it say Small
Luncheon-baskets. Full Down the
Cord? I want a small luncheon-basket,
so I pulled down the cord. Make haste
and get me it, or I'll report you to the
manager!”
Seeing now’ that she was almost as
blind as she was deaf, I began to under
stand what she meant. On the spot to
which she pointed, above the seat oppo
site her, two papers were posted in a line
—one, the advertisement of “Small
luncheon-baskets supplied at Rugby;”
the other, the company’s directions for
summoning the guard and stopping the
train in cases ot danger. As they happen
ed to be placed, the large letters did read
as she had said:
Small Luncheon-baskets. Pull Down the Cord.
While I was gazing from her to the
bills, getting over a bit of my astonish
ment, and she was giving me every now’
and then a sharp touch on the shoulder
to recall me to my duty and hasten me
with her refreshment, we w’ere joined by
by one of the directors, who happened to
be going up to town by the express. But
his just and natural w’rath, loud as it w’as,
never moved the hungry old lady—oh, not
in the slightest degree. She never heard
one word of it, and only mildly insisted in
the midst of it that she w’as almost tired
of waiting for her small luncheon-basket.
With a fierce parting shot, the director
tried to make her understand that she had
incurred a penalty of five pounds; but he
couldn’t, though he bawled it at her until
the poor old thing—perhaps mortified at
having taken so much trouble for nothing
—perhaps overcome by her hunger—per
haps frightened at the commotion she saw’,
but didn’t hear—sank back in her seat in
a strong fit of hysterics, and let the shil
lings and sixpences roll out of her lap and
settle under the seat.
It seemed to me a long time before we
Started on again, but I suppose it was
onlv six or seven minutes’ delay after all.
I expect 1 should have w’aited to explain
the stoppage to the pretty young girl of
whom I considered myself a sortof protec
tor; but, as I said, s’he was at the very’
opposite end of the train, and I was in
haste now. There must have been a good
laugh in several of the carriages when the
cause of our stoppage got whispered
about. As for me, w’hen I shut myself up
again into my van, I chuckled over it
until we stopped at Chalk Farm to take
tickets.
It seemed to me that the train was
taken into custody as soon as it stopped
here.
“Os course you have the carraige-doors
all locked, and I’ll.godown with you while
you open them one by one. My men are
in possession of the platform.”
This w’as said to me by Davis, the de
tective officer, whom I knew pretty well
by this time, having had a good bit to do
with him about this Warw’ickshire rob
bery.
“It is no use,” I said:j “before w’e start
ed the train was searched, as you may
say, at Rugby. Every passenger has under
gone a close scrutiny, I can tell you.
What causes such scientific preparation
for us here ?”
“A telegram received ten minutes aao,”
he answered. “It seems that two of the
thieves we are dogging are in this train in
clever disguises. We have had pretty
full particulars, though the discovery
wasn’t made until after you left the junc
tion. Have you noticed” —he dropped
his voice a little—“a young lady and geu-
■ tieman together in any carriage?’’
I felt a bit of an odd catching in my
breath as he spoke.
“No,” 1 said, quite in a burry; “no
young lady and gentleman belonging to
gether; but there may be plenty in the
train. What if there are, though? There
was no young lady or gentleman among
the robbers!”
“Among the robbers,” rejoined Davis,
with suppressed enjoyment, “was a -wo
man who’d make herself into anything;
and you must own that a gentleman with
a dark, long beard isn’t bad for a lady
known to us pretty well by her thick red
hair and a cut on her under lip.”
“But the young lady?” I asked,cogitat
ing.
“Ah, the young lady! True enough;
well, w’hat should you say now if I
told you she grew out of that boy we’re
after', with the closely-cut dark hair?”
I remembered the pretty plaits and the
loosely-falling hair; I remembered the be
wilderment in the eyes which entirely hid
their natural expression, and I didn’t an
swer this at all.
“I wish I had as good a chance of catch
ing the old fellow’ as I have of catching
the woman and boy,” continued Davis,
as we moved slowly past the locked lug
gage-van. “I know’ they’re here, and that
I shall recognize them under any dis
guise: but we’ve no clew yet to the older
rascal. It's most aggravating, that by
some means, we’ve lost sight of the big
gest rogue of all. Come along!”
I did come along, feeling very stupidly
‘ glad that there was all the train to search
before w T e could reach that carriage at
' the other end, where sat the girl whom
I had, in away, taken under my protec
tion.
“When are we to be allowed to leave
this train, pray ? Call me a cab!” cried
the deaf old lady, plaintively, as we
reached her carriage, and found her gaz
ing out in most evident and utter ignor
ance of all that was going on around
her. “I am locked in, gua’d—do vou
hear?”
I heard—ay, sharp enough; I only wish
ed she could hear me as readily.
Davis stood aside watching, while 1 un
locked the door and helped her down. Then,
seeing her helplessness and her countless
packages, he beckoned a porter to her,
winking expressively to call his attention
to a probable shilling.
Carriage after carriage we examined,
and, though Davis detected no thiel, he
turned away only more and more hopeful
from each, lie was so sure they icere
there, and that escape was impossible.
We reached the last carriage in the line—
and now my heart beat in the oddest man
ner possible.
“Is this compartment empty,then ?” ask
ed Davis, while my fingers were actually
shaking as I put my key into the door of
the centre one—“empty and dark ?”
“Even if it had been empty, it wouldn’t
have been left dark,” 1 muttered, look
ing in. “Halloo! what’s come to the
lamp?”
I might well ask what was come to the
lamp, for the compartment was as dark
as if it had never been lighted; yet had not
I myself stood and watched the lighted
lamp put in at Rugby? And—the carriage
was empty, too!”
“Why was this?” asked the detective,
turning sharply upon me. “Why was not
the lamp lighted?”
But the lamp was lighted, and burning
now as sensibly as the others—if we
could but have seen it. As we soon dis
covered, the glass was covered by a
kind of tarpaulin, intently black and
strongly adhesive, and the carriage was
as completely dark as if no lamp had
been there at all. Davis’ perplexity was
as great as my own when I told him who
had traveled here.
“They couldn’t have left the train here,
at any rate,” he said: and I knew that as
well as he did.
But you have guessed the end. During
those few minutes that we stopped on the
line, the two thieves—darkening the lamp
even after I had left them, and using
their own key—had left the carriage
under cover of the darkness: managing
their escape, in their black dresses, out
into the darkness of the night, as cleverly
as they had managed their theft and sub
sequent concealment. But how could
they have depended on this unusual delay
—this exquisite opportunity given them
in the utter darkness, close to the city,
yet at no station ? When I ofiicia lly made
my deposition, and explained the absurd
cause of our stoppage, and the length of
it, the truth broke upon us all; and it
wasn’t long before it settled into a cer
tainty. Clear enough it was to every
body, then, that the older scoundrel had
duped us more ingeniously than the
younger ones. As the incapable old ladv
(deaf as a stone, and so blind that she
had to peer through her glittering glasses
with eyes always half closed, and so hun
gry that she had to stop the train for a
luncheon-basket, while the confederates
escaped) he had played upon us the neat
est trick of all. Where on earth were the
thick iron-gray hair and whiskers by
which we were to identify him? But by
the time the police saw the whole thing
clearly it was too late to follow up any
clew to him.
The cab which had taken the eccentric
old lady and her parcels and flowers from
Euston was lost in the city, and could
not be traced. A high reward was offer
ed for information, but no one ever won
it. My firm belief is that it was no
legitimately licensed cab at all, but one
belonging to the gang, and part of the
finished fraud. I verily believe, too, that
sometimes now—though perhaps on the
other side the channel—those three prac
ticed knaves enjoy a heartv laugh over
that December journey bv "the night ex
press.
BARNUM'S WHITE ELEPHANT.
The Wonderful Adventure of His Agent
in Securing it.
At last the great and only Barnum has
secured the prize he has coveted for half
a century in the shape of a sacred white
elephant, and it is expected that Jumbo
will turn pale with envy, a transforma
tion which will have its advantages. For
years Barnum’s agents have been running
fearful risks in Indian jungles and Siam
ese courts in order to obtain one of these
sacred beasts; and the tale of their ad
ventures—as told by themselves—is as
wonderful as any of Verne’s romances.
Mr. S. B. Gaylord, the chief agent of Bar
num, Bailey & Hutchinson, went into the
very presence of royalty itself, and
actually had the audacity' to offer the
King of Siam, in person, seated upon his
imperial throne with his regal crown upon
his sovereign head, SIOO,OOO for one of the
white elephants that his court and people
worshiped. When the King recovered
from his astonishment he sent Mr. Gay
lord to his uncles, who were in charge of
the white elephants, (it should be under
stood that the word “uncle” does not im
ply a financial relationship in Siam), and
to them Mr. Gaylord repeated his propo
sition. These worthy gentlemen were so
shocked and horrified that they implored
Mr. Gaylord to flee from Bangkok, lest the
vengeance of the court and the Siamese
people overtake him for his blasphemous
presumption. Mr. Gaylord took the hint
and never stopped in his flight until he
reached a British colony.
The facts got abroad in the Eastern
world, and Mr. Gaylord finally obtained
a white elephant from a Siamese noble
man, which was poisoned by Buddhist
fanatics the morning hefore it was to be
taken on board the steamer for England.
But on the 26th of last November Mr.
Gaylord finally succeeded in purchasing
for £40,000 a white elephant from bloody
King Theebau, of Burmah, the gentle
man who recently murdered his wives,
and the beast is nowen route for America,
with all the royal documents attesting its
genuineness.
Risks in Promising to Marry.
Pall Mall Gazette.
It is an interesting question of social
ethics how far the parties to a matrimo
nial engagement ought to disclose any
skeletons they may chance to have in their
respective cupboards. As far as the law,
however, is concerned, the question seems
to be settled by the breach of promise case
which, after occupying Baron Pollock and
a special jury for several days, came to
an end yesterday. There is no rule-of
law, the learned Judge told the jury, “to
compel any absolute or entire disclosure
before a lady accepted a lover’s oiler,”
and a man who promises to marry a lady
without expressly making his promise
conditional does so at his own risk. In
this case the risk has been a very serious
matter, and the jury, acting apparently
on Baron Pollock’s suggestion that “to a
lady in a questionable position the chance
of a good marriage is doubly precious,”
awarded the “exemplary” damages of
£2,350. The defendant is a successful
builder at Bournemouth, and perhaps can
afford to buy his experience dear, but he
has hardly shown much skill in erecting
“the temple of bis love.” Baron Pollock
was of opinion that “no time had been
wasted in elucidating a social matter of
this nature,” and the case will certainly
have been useful if it puts elderly lovers
on their guard by reminding them of the
sympathy which’“a fine-looking woman”
is sure of obtaining from a British jury.
A Clergyman and His Room-Mate.
Norwich {Conn,.} Bulletin.
A Naugatuck passenger by the New
Haven boat to New York tells'the follow
ing story: “The staterooms were all taken,
but at last a clergyman, at the suggestion
of the clerk, consented to share his room
with the Naugatuck man. The former
took a Bible from his pocket and read a
chapter to himself and then knelt in
prayer, without asking the other to join
him in his devotions or noticing him at
all. He then divested himself of his
clothing, placed his wallet carefully un
der his pillow, and said to him: ‘There, I
have put my money and watch under my
pillow for safekeeping, and if you get up
in the night and steal it the Lord will pun
ish you.’ ‘Well,’ said the other, ‘I have
left my watch and money in my clothing
on that chair, and if you get up and run
away with them you are a much smarter
man than I think you are.’ ”
A Wise Mother.
The Hour.
A fair and radiant creature, all smiles
and dimples, came to her mamma one
morning, with clouded brow: “Why
should that stolid Anastasia, the plainest
girl that I know, have so much attention ?
She always has a partner for the cotillion,
while I”—and the fair one, with a violent
gulp, mastered her emotions, but over
turned a chair in the process.
“It is all my fault, I see,” replied mam
ma, placidly. “I deemed the austerity of
Anastasia’s mother, in never permitting
her daughter to receive even flowers from
gentlemen, as quite misplaced; but I now
perceive the wisdom of her course. The
young men can dance with Anastasia for
nothing, whereas a cotillion with you is
only obtained at the price of a bouquet,”
REAL ARABS.
A Dozen Swarthy Sons of the Desert—
The Feats They Perform and What
They Wear.
A New York special to the St. Louis
Globe-Democrat thus describes the famous
troupe of Bedouin Arabs recently import
ed by Mr. Ernest Cooke, of Cole’s Circus,
for that immense exhibition. They were
found in the southern part of Russia,
i whither they had journeyed from Jerusa
lem and the Holy Land:
“Take the Chief, Kefr Shima, for in
stance,” says the writer; “he is a man of
i probably fifty years, tall like the poplar
: and straight as a reed; his brown limbs
i that are exposed to view are firmlv knit
and sinewy as those ot an athlete', and,
despite the patriarchal appearance given
I him by his long white beard and the snowy
locks that fall from under his tarboosh, he
j seems still to have the strength and agility
I of youth, and suggests the idea that the
sight of a rich caravan and the hot breath
I of his native sands would cause his eye
i to glitter and his blood to leap as it was
wont to do 'when in the olden days he
dreamt only of booty and carried a readv
lance and primed match-lock for the mer
chants upon whom he and his Bedouin
brethren occasionally preyed. Like the
rest of the band, his raiment is simple but
very pleasing in its combinations. The
i tarboosh or cap is red and he wears a loose,
red jacket, baggy blue trousers, gathered
at the waist and held there by a variega
ted sash, red shoes with pointed turn-up
toes, and besides a few ornamental bits
of cloth, a long, light mantle that trails
upon the ground. The chief's wife ac
| companies him. She is a charming little
, lady, handsome in features and graceful
1 in carriage, and wears a plain blue gown
| of rusty cotton cloth, and has a rusty
| looking tarboosh, similar to her Sheik-like
I husband, on her head. A piece of white
muslin is drawn across her face to con
i ceal it from the eyes of men. All the
| women wear this veil, called in the Orient
the yakmash, which completely hides the
features from view. Holes are cut in the
veil through which the eyes look out.
For the first time in their lives New Y’ork
ers saw this yakmash, and many hundred
ladies, who had heard of it, called at the
hotel to learn exactly what it was like.
The first thing you know metropolitan
belles will be wearing yakmashes; some
of the ugliest of the society darlings
would take to them most willingly, ho
doubt. The Bedouins are twelve in num
ber. As has been said they were
i in Southern Russia when Mr. Cooke found
them. They were giving exhibitions of
their skill in horsemanship and as acro
bats and athletes. The men would form
pyramids and juggle knives in this posi
tion until they seemed to be surrounded
by a shower of cutlery. They tumbled
over bayonets and revolved in the air with
open knives in their hands, and performed
other seemingly impossible and certainly
dangerous feats. The women, who are
born snake charmers, handled boa-con
strictors and anacondas as if they were
harmless pets. Men and women juggled
and dealt in magic as cleverly as the fa- !
kirs of India or the tricky dervishes |
around Lahore. They made no secret ;
that they came fresh from conquests on
the desert, but advertised their extraordi- I
nary skill and were creating the wildest !
furore in Russia when Mr. Cooke dropped
in on them. Now, Mr. Cooke is a friend
of W. AV. Cole, the proprietor of the New
Colossal Shows, and seeing the possibility
of making a great success with the Be
douins in America, cabled Mr. Cole about
them. Mr. Cole cabled back at once to
Constantinople, with instructions to Cooke
to engage the Bedouins and bring them on
immediately. After some delay in making
arrangements with the Consuls the bar
gain was struck at last and the Arabs are
now with Cole’s Colossal Shows.
GAMBLING FOR WIVES.
Instances of the Horrible Practice.
Horrible as the idea may seem in this
age of the world, instances are by no
means uncommon in history of men gam
bling off their wives. During the London
plague of 1665 Captain Desbrowe lost a
large sum of money by a bully, Sir Paul
Parravicin, whereupon the latter made an
indecent allusion to his wife, and then,
picking up the dice-box, said: “You are a
ruined man and have lost all your prop
erty. I will stake it, yes, double the
amount, against your wife. You have a
key of your house. If I win, that key
shall be mine. Do you now understand
me?”
“I do,” said the young man, with con
centrated fury, “You robbed me of my
money, now you would have my honor.”
“Harsh words, but let them pass. We
will play first, fight afterward. You re
fuse my challenge?’’
“I accept it, and throw the key upon the
table. My life is set on the die, and if I
lose I will not survive my shame.”
Desbrowe seized the box and threw
twelve, crying: “Huzza! My honor is
saved!”
“Hold! not so fast. It is a tie; I have
thrown twelve.”
Another decided it. The young man
threw six.
“Ten!” said Parravicin.
“Horrible!” cried the young man. “My
wife entrusted to this villain.”
Parravicin took up the key, and Des
browe, seizing his sword, made a rush at
his assailant, but fortune again favored
the villain and the youth was disarmed.
The winner visited the house. One
sight was enough and he fled. As he is
sued from the street door his throat was
grasped and the point of a sword placed
at his breast.
“You shall not escape my vengeance
now. villain.”
“You are already avenged; your wife
has the plague!”
GIVE THE BOYS A CHANCE.
The Fellows who Found it a Long Time
Between Drinks Trying to Catch on
Again.
Washington Special Courier-Journal, sth.
The rush for patronage continues with
renewed force and influence. Nowhere is
the Democratic Congressman safe from
importunate appeals, even threats, unless
he promises to use his “influence” in be
half of a dozen or two of his constituents.
Seated in the House, he finds that
the cards and messages from the corri
dors succeed each other with disagreea
ble and monotonous rapidity. He is way
laid and buttonholed in the streets and
other public places and besieged in his
lodgings. Even his bed chamber is in
vaded by the more pertinacious of his tor
mentors. If he goes down to the House
early, hoping to escape, he finds the hun
gry oftice seekers there in force.
For an hour this morning, before the
floor of the House was cleared of all ex
cept members and officials, it was
thronged with wild-eyed, anxious-looking
men, many of whom had petitions which
they were imploring the Democratic Con
gressmen present to sign. One man |
wanted to open and shut the doors; an
other desired a congenial field for his
abilities in the folding room; a third
would be content if he could be permitted I
to file the bills of the nation; a fourth |
aspired to a clerkship; while a fifth, more
modest in his ambition, would willingly
build fires or carry messages, all for a
1 good salavy.
The anxiety undergone by Gen. Clark
I and Mr. AViritersmith while they were
■ only candidates for office was nothing to
what they now experience. They have to
endure not only the stings and arrows of
outrageous office seekers, but the impor
tunities of Congressmen who voted for
1 them and are careful that they shall not
forget it.
A WELL dressed young man was found
the other morning lying in East St. Louis,
! 111., with a bullet in his head and a re
j volver by his side. There was nothing to
! indicate his name or home. A note, writ
ten in a good business hand, was found
lying near the body. It read as follows :
“Any man who may happen to find it
will confer a great favor on this corpse by
just digging a hole and covering it up.
God will pay you for your trouble.”
CH AFTER IL
“Malden, Mass.. Mass., Feb. 1, 1880. Gen
tlemen —I suffered with attacks of sick head
ache.”
Neuralgia, female trouble, for years in
the most terrible and excruciating man
ner.
No medicine or doctor could give me
relief or cure until I used Hop Bitters.
“The first bottle
Nearly cured me;”
The second made me as well and strong
as when a child,
“And I have been so to this day.”
My husband was an invalid for twenty
years with a serious
“Kidney, liver and urinary complaint,
“Pronounced by Boston's best physi
cians—
“lncurable.”
Seven bottles of your bitters cured him
and I know of the
“Lives of eight persons”
In my neighborhood that have been
saved by your bitters,
And many more are using them with
great benefit.
“They almost
Do miracles?” — Jlrs. D. D. Slack.
fjotifcan (Fcodo.
A. R. ALTMAYER & CO.
GRAND HOLIDAY DRAWING!
Three Elegant and Costly Presents
* *
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the winner), valued at SSO. 10 ,JC ’♦ketei by
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An Elegant Imported French Doll, Valued at S4O.
present ixo. a.
A Pair of Fine Plush and Embroidered Frame Mirrors, Valued it $•»•> - 0
REMEMBER THAT EVERY ENTITLES YOU TO A CHANCE
Our Stock of Useful Presents Consists of
HANDKERCHIEF BOXES.
< ir GLOVE BOXES.
AUTOGRAPH ALBUMS.
ASE ' , ‘ PHOTOGRAPH ALBUMS.
JKWKL CASE>. CHINESE TABI El'S
WOH S K J nn™i NAMENTS ’ EMBROIDERED FELT M AT-.
HRmtl OXfc8 ’ embroidered cretonne m \t<
IXKSTavik SOFA CUSHIONS.
INK STANDS. SCRAPBOOKS.
Amt any quantity of other articles throughout our many varied denartmeuts
A FULL LINE OF
§• B I-i-r AC 'I -C <« < I
SVCH AS PARASOL AXO
HOLIDAY PRESENTS.
■ ~T~ I — b \ I 1
CHRISTMAS EXHIBITION!
AT
Pffltfs Nev My Store,
13S BROUGHTON STREET.
MONDAY, DEC. 10, 1883,
On which occasion will be presented for the insnection of the public the most extensive
stock of
Toys, Bohemian Glassware,
SILVER-PLATED WARE,
Crockery, Baskets, Fancy Articles, etc.
EVER BROUGHT TO SAVANNAH.
NOTE WELL WHAT WE SAY, THE LARGEST SELECTION OF
French Bisque Figures.
WE DIRECT SPECIAL ATTENTION TO
OUR STOCK OF DOLLS,
Which cannot be equaled in the South as to variety and cheapness.
Our assortment of Yumeau Dolls surpass all previous efforts
S'&~' SPECIAL NOTICE.—For every ?5 worth of goods boughton and after the date ot
Grand Christmas Exhibition entitles the purchaser to a chance on the LARGE DRESSED
FRENCH BISQUE DOLL, to be raffled on WEDNESDAY, December 26, at 10 o'clock a. m.
sharp. This Doll is superior to any we have yet offered and should be seen to be appreciated.
Fine Display of Novelties
FOR
HOLIDAY PRESENTS.
REAL DUCHESS LACE HANDKERCHIEFS and COLLARS.
All SILK HAND RUN LACE FICHUS and SCARFS.
BLACK and CREAM ESCURIAL LACE FICHUS.
BLACK and CREAM SPANISH LACE FICHUS and SCARFS.
Gents’ Silk Handkerchiefs, Ladies’ Silk Handkerchiefs, Gents’ Linen Handkerchiefs,
Ladies’ Linen Handkerchiefs, Children’s Linen Handkerchiefs, Lace Handkerchiefs.
Gents’ Silk Hose, Ladies’ Silk Hose, Children's Silk Hose, Gents’ Cotton Hose, La
dies’ Cotton Hose, Children’s Cotton Hose. ;
Gents’Merino Underwear, Ladies’ Merino Underwear, Ladies’ Cambric Under
wear, Children's Merino Underwear.
Children’s White Knit Shirts, Children’s Scarlet Xnit Shirts.
Bailies’ Silk Umbrellas, with Solid Silver and Ivory Handles.
Ladies’ Bracelets, Children’s Bracelets, Ladies’ Jersey Pins, Ladies’ Long Pins,
Ladies’ Ear Drops. .
Real Alligator Hand Bags. Calf Skin Hand Bags, Plush Hand Bags, Leather ana
Velvet Hand Bags, Silvered Letters for Hand Bags.
Children’s Hand-made Sacques, Children's Hand-made Ulsters, Children's L' -- ns
and Mitts, Hand-made Carriage Robes, Children's Lace Caps.
A large assortment of Solid Silver Pins and Drops, set with Pbine
Also, a large assortment of FANCY ARTICLES, such as Toilet Sets, Nail ■
Plush Work Boxes, Plush Collar and Cuff Boxes, Bisque Figures, Dolls. Ink '
Cigar and Cigarette Cases, Smoking Sets, and a large variety of other goods, wiucn
must be seen to be appreciated,
A T (G I J TAI AK’ S,
141 BKOIGIirON STREET.
ZFiiritihtre. ___
GranH Ojii of Holiday W
AT THE
Southern Furniture House,
170 BROUGHTON STREET.
Carpets, Window Shades,
,AJNI> I.ACII CTimA-IA'S
In endless variety, at popular prices.
Everything, from a Hobby Horse to the finest Black
Walnut Bedroom and Parlor Suites, to suit
the pockets of ail.
My stock of FURNITURE is now complete in all ilepartments. and I re-p<prices
friends and the public generally to give me a call, inspect TrtmZnt of feTOVt' *> til
«1 1 -
i fl ?
° I frwnw- - - '
S X Hr '' z
- y ’ x/
-r \ \ 11 IX Ki d
Do not forget to patronize mv PATENT FEATHgR Lr.NO\ , the
Feather Beds and Mattresses renovated and made as good aS nv" •
best physicians and citizens of Savannah. z
S. HERMAN, 170 Broughton Street-