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BARTIMEUS.
■‘Ami Janus answered and said ur.to Mm,
What wilt thou that 1 should do uutothee? The
blind tnan said unto Him, Lord, that I might re
ceive my sight."
I would receive my sight: my clouded eyes
Miss the glad radiance of the morning sun,
Hie changing tints that glorify the skies
With roseate splendors when the day is done;
The shadows soft and gray, the pearly light
Of summer twilight deep ning into night.
t cannot see to keep the narrow way.
And so 1 blindly wander here and there.
Groping amidst the tombs, or helpless stray
Through pnthless, tangled deserts, bleak and
bare;
Weeping I seek the way I cannot find-
Ocam my eyes, dear Lord, for I am blind.
A .id oft 1 laugh will: some light, thoughtless
Jest.
Nor see how anguish lines som- face most
dear.
And write my mirth, a mocking palimpsest
On blotted scrolls of human pain and fear;
And never see the heartache interlined—
Pity, oh sou of David: lam blind.
I do not see the pain my light words give.
The quivering, shrinking heart 1 cannot see;
So, light of thought, midst hidden griefs I live.
Ana mock the cypressed tombs with sightless
glee;
Open mine eyes, light, blessed ways to find—
Jesus, have mercy on me—l am blind.
Hv useless eyes are reservoirs of tears,
Doomed for their blind mistakes to overflow;
To weep for thoughtless ways of wandering
years,
Because I could not see—l did not know.
These sightless eyes—than angriest glance less
kind
Light of the World, have pity! lam blind.
RoHBRT J. lV lIDETTK.
lONSIEUR LE CURE.
I met the Cure one evening as I was re
turning home from the woods, where I had
been sketching. The fine old man was stand
ing on the doorstep of the presbytere, look
ing towards the sea, which at that moment
was glorious beneath the sotting sun. I
Viewed to him as 1 passed, for his presence
had always inspired me with sympathy and
respect, and I knew how much this tribute
from a foreigner would gratify a member of
that class which the republican government
is bringing into disrespect by constant per
lecutions.
He returned my salute with such kindly
courtesy that I took the opportunity,
which I had long desired, of speaking to
him.
“A lovely sight, Monsieur le Cure,” I said,
pointing to the sea.
“It is indeed, Monsieur,” he answei'ed,
without looking around.
After awhile he added:
“It is such sights that reconcile one to this
earth. And yet I do not know; cite has
always the bitter certainty that very
soon the night will come, when all will be
dark.”
“And, en attendant," I said, trying to
laugh away his evident melancholy, “if I
do not get home soon the night and her
darkness will come most certainly; and it’s
a break-neck path to n*v house.”
“But, Monsieur,” sain the Cure, “there is
no hurry. I heard from the village people
that Monsieur had expressed the desire to
visit our church. There is, indeed, little to
wee. but if—”
“I should be mast delighted,” I an
swered.
“I will get the key,” he said, lead
ing me into his simple parlor, and bid
ding me sit down while he went up-stairs to
fetch it.
The room was one of the poorest in point
of decoration and furniture that 1 bail seen
in any house in the village; and yet there
was one object, which by its great beauty
compensated for all the unloveliness of the
rest,. It was the picture of a young worn Ah,
{minted in oils, and signed by a painter who
about thirty yeai-s ago had bemi at the suifi
mit of his art. The girl rejmtsented was
E'ri Icvely, and it seemed to me that her
face was one which hail lieeu the model of
many other artists as famous as the one who
had painted this portrait. A royally femin
ine face, and here clothed with that expres
sion of timidity, blushing and afraid, which
in some women is so sweet and so strongly
appeals to all that is noblest and most manly
in man.
This was my first, impression, but, as I
looked at it longer the timidity, from being
Subjective merely, seemed to grow objective.
■Mfewas not a timid girl, it was u girl
Her eyes seemed to look with hor-
S for, on still closer observation, the fear
into horror, or something that was not
in the picture. How could it
Hpktnng that those fearful eyes were look
oSout of the plan, straight over my head,
stood facing her, at the wull behind
The picture was by far too fine u work
for one to suppose that any attempt
been made to enhance its interest by an
HBaordinarv and theatrical tnise en-geene,
and I felt it would lie an insult to the great
painter to turn round and s>e if anything
was visible to explain the expression of t hose
eyes. Moreover, it was the expression that
held me, not the reason thereof. lam not
<me of those who seek in every picture an
illustration.
I stood before it some time, sadly envious
of the technique of the departed hand, and
wondering what angel hand, the angel
Raphael's |>erliaps, had guided the painter’s
fingers when lie had mixed the color of
sun-kissed auburn that sung, and
colors sing, from those clustering curls,
of hair, when the Cure came back into the
room.
I turned as I heard his stem and as I did
so my eyes fell oil the wall on which my
back had been turned. Directly opposite
the picture, and in the point of vision of its
eyes bung a rapier. As I looked closer I saw
that the point of this sword,was black, of
that ill-omened black that blood, long since
shed, does take.
I almost felt angry. Blood-stained rapier
or chromo-lithograph of some hobgoblin
ghoul or spectre, it annoyed me to think
that any one should have' ventured, with
the most vulgar taste of melodramatie effect,
to complete what was already so sublimely
and perfectly complete. It was the act of a
bourgeois of the bourgeois, uneasy and dis
turbed if the Sevres china statuette of a
Watteau shepherdesson this side of his Louis
XV. timepiece has not, on the yon side of it,
fronting her, as pendant, a Inuguishing
Corydon.
My annoyance was so real that I paid but
little attention to all that the Cure, who
had now greatly sunk In iny esteem, showed
me and told me. I vaguely rememlier that
hr led mo through a churchyard, where, by
the grave of his predecessor, he pointed out
the plot of ground where he was forest
himself; that he told me that the church
was many liundrod years old and hail been
cans le temps, the lodgo of :t company of
Knights Templar, whose bodies lay shroud
ed in stone sepulchres in a remote |>art of
the cemetery. The church was very unin
teresting to me in my preoccupation.' There
were some fine Lotiis XI. candlesticks in
massive cornier on one of the altars. The
Care had Isiught them from a denier in
old metals, to whom an ignorant colleague
had sold them at tho rate of ninepeuee the
pound.
"Tlim you have (tome taste,” I
thought, “but that only makes it more in
excusable.”
1 was examining these candlestick* when
• pwuwut girl came unto us, anil with many
clumsy ■•curtesies told M. le Cure that his
supper had been served.
Hhe had a motherly tone with the old man
this girl of fifteen, and would not hear of
his showing me the vestry.
w| " * K ‘ * or another day," she said.
Tfcc important thing is now ‘ tiiut M. le
Lure should not let that Issuitiful trout get
L ■ , opened a bottle of Chablis to
drink with it, and there will bo an omelette
nuaefiturs hrrbet and somo jieaehes in the
second service."
‘‘Hhe seems a very intelligent child.” 1 said
** 1 accompanied t,le Cure to his door “Is
th* your servant I”
‘Clh.no,” he answered with a smile. “That
woual 1 not be allowed. My servant is ill in
bed, and this girl is taking her place. But
no, Monsieur. 1 cannot Jot you go now. You
must come in and.sliaremy.supper. Jeanette,
lay another cover.”
“1 did that in advance.” answered the girl.
“When AI. le Cure has visitors—”
“He insists on their becoming his
guest. You are right, anil Monsieur
sees it..”
Tho trout, perfectly cooked, was firm and
sweet; the Chablis, cool and fragant, with
a laint scent of violets, gleamed like liquid
gold in my glass; tlie table was exquisitely
laid- Ac silver, the plate of peaches, the
yellow r ■ • laid on the white cloth, were
very L-a-luf.il to the eye; the Cure, with
lus itieiod us voice, full of careasing notes,
charmed my ear, as his anecdotes and wit
delighted my mind. But all these lights
were powerless to distract my attention from
the annoyance I hud experienced. My calm
was marred. I barely listened to my host,
yet gave him enough attention to regret my
preoccupation. At another time his con
versation would have charmed me, who for
many months ha-1 heard only the sordid
bargaiidngs of the Norman peasants in their
drawing and inharmonious patois.
He had tiocn speaking about the Oxford
revival, and had quoted the Pope’s remark
on the Puseyites, that like liellringers they
invited the world to come in to the Holy
Church, but themselves did not enter it,
when, unable to contain myself any longer,
1 rudely interrupted him, saying: “But
why vulgarize her glorious passion? AVhy
make her sublime fear paltry and ridicu
lous? One annoys the timidity of children
with blood-stained rapiers, skulls or chromes
of ‘Fox’s Martyrs.’ They cannot explain her
terror. They only insult her.”
The Cure smiled, anil seemed at
once to understand w hat, it was I was refer
ring to.
“You are right. Monsieur,” lie said, “It
is in bail taste. But it is Betto's fault, not
mine. ”
“Bette,” he continued, “ismy old servant,
the one w-ho is lying ill up-stairs. She has
been most faithful and devoted to me ever
since she came to this place, now twenty
years ago. I used to keep that rapier in my
Ixxlroorn, but it was not long before she
found it out, and then she insisted on hang
ing it were you saw it. The arrangement
has always rather spoiled my pleasure in
the picture, and my reason is the same as
yours; but I could not find it in my heart to
thwart tho good old woman’s w ish. She
would have it thus, and would take no con
tradiction on this point.”
“I suppose,” I rejoined, “the good woman
was vexed at the sight of the girl frightened
at nothing. The blood-stained sword would
explain this fear, and make the tableau
complete. It is natural in a peasant woman.
But I should have been better pleased with
Bette if she hail completed it in another way.
For instance, if she had hung opposite those
terrified eyes a picture bv Delacroix or un
otlier classic. That, would have explained,
and charmingly, the horror of a creation of
M ’g.”
“You are severe on Delacroix,” laughed
the Cure. “In my time he was to as what
Meissonier is to vou to-day.”
“May I ask, Monsieur,” I said, “if there is
any connection between the picture and the
weapon ?”
“ A terrible one,” said the Cure.
His tone was so sad, and there
was such a sorrowful expression on his
face as he answered me that I regretted
my indiscretion anil apologized to him
for it.
“It is strange,” ho continued, after a
pause, “that, you should ask me this to-day,
for aril this day my thoughts have been
going baek to the most terrible scene of my
life. Nay, do not ask my pardon. lam
glad to s)H-ak to you of it. Silence does not
kill a sorrow, it nurses it, I know it. For
thirty years I have never opened my mouth,
and the wound in ray heart has deepened all
the more. Never, never be reserved on the
troubles of your life. Rather cry them out
around oii'the housetops. Does not a cry
relieve a bodily suffering? Then why should
not thp same relief lie afforded in the same
way to It lie tortures of conscience? Ask for
sympathy, human sympathy, and whether
you get it or not, the mere asking will com
fori yoy. I will tell you about that rapier
and that picture. My heart has been very
full to-day.”
Then, bending over the table to me, he
said:
“That, picture is tiie portrait of the only
woman I have ever to vis l, and that rapier is
the sword with which I killed my dearest
friend. The blood on its point is the blood
of the only heart of man that ever beat in
love anil sympathy with mine.
“Ah,” he continued, “you look surprised.
One does not suppose any romance can be
enshrined beneath the soutane of a village
cure, and, perhaps, to look at me, I appear
the very last man to have had a drama of so
terrible a kind in my life. Yet, I am told,
they made a very good play of it at one of the
boulevard theatres in Baris. The world
had the comedy, the tragedy was for me. It
was just, quite just. My story? Oh! a
common one. He was my friend, she, the
lovely woman, was his wife. We hail both
jiaid court to her, but he had won her. He
was richer than I, anil in France, you know,
that is the first consideration of parents in
giving their daughter. Well, though 1 loved
her with all my heart, when she became
his, I was loyal to her as to him, as a gen
tleman and his friend. Of course 1 sought
her society—it was natural, was it not, that
I should do so? 111-advised, oh, ill-advised—
nobody sees that better than I do now. But
I swear, if swear 1 might, that my loyalty
to him and to her never, oven in
thought,, wavered an instant. The world,
the wicked world, thought otherwise; and
wicked tongues went wagging. He was my
best friend, and I loved him like a brother
—and all the more dearly that he was her
husband. Yet how could I act otherwise
than I did, when one day, urged on by these
wicked tongues, lie rushed up to me on the
boulevard anil struck ine in the face, calling
me liar, traitor, coward. It was done in the
eyes of Baris, luid I was hot-blooded in those
days. It was a provocation, a challenge,
which 1 was forced, as I thought then, to
accept. We fought next morning in the
Bois de Vincennes, it was an accident—
yes, that thrust, of mine avas an accident, I
shall always say so. He ran upon my point.
I could not help myself. But, oh, the horror
of that moment! The artist who painted
that portrait was one of tin we who took my
Paul home. He told me that she looked
thus when she saw him as 1 had made him.
As for me, I went for many months a crazed
man. I think it was my great-uncle, tho
Bishop of T , who first suggested to me
that if any atonement for my crime there
-could lie, it would lie in the devotion and
service of a lifetime. I took his advice, for
I wus weary of the world, named through
tin* ordeal of the novitiate and was ordained.
My uncle gave me this presbytere, anil here
I have lived and worked for thirty years,
humbly, obscurely and penitently. I have
not atoned—no, no, 1 have not atoned; but
I sometimes think that Baul knows all now,
and—and, perhaps, has forgiven me.
“I never saw her again. I never heard of
her. Is she dead / did she marry again ? did
she, os some said she intended to do, retire
to a convent? Ido not know. I have never
ceased to love her, as I did then, loyally and
devoutly; not ns the woman i had wanted to
marry but as the wife of my friend, as my
dear Haul’s wife.”
1 said nothing. I felt sorry now to ha\ o
colled lorth this confession. The quiet Ues
pair of this old man as ho told me the
misery of his ruined life was a poignant
sorrow to the eye and to the ear. When he
had finished s] making ho sat with his hand
covering his eyes. 1 fancy there were tears
in them.
We were sitting thus in silence in the
darkening room, when the little maid came
running in.
“Monsieur h* Cure, Monsieur le Cure!”she
cried. “Come quickly—conic quickly! Old
llettc is dying. Hhe cal In lor you."
“Oh! do not say that,” cried the Cure,
staiting to his leet. “be not say that.
My old Bette! My faithful old servant!
No. it, cannot bo that after twenty year*
ot loyal servksj and sacrifice lam to loss
her now.’'
“It is very certain, moil [s-re,*’ said the
trembling girl, that old Bette is dying. Khr
say* so liei-sclf, and I cuu see that she is
lIIE MORNING- NEWS-: SUNDAY, MAY 1, 1887-TWELVE PAGES.
right, for she looks just like la mere Man on
diil before she died. And she begs Monsieur
le Cure to com-- to her at owe.” ’
“I come, I come!” cried the old man in
tones of the deepest anguish. “But a doctor,
Jeannette, the doctor! Him for him. Oh,
that is useless, of cour.se. He lives ten miles
away. What shall we do? What will becoino
of us?”
“I have studied medicine,” I said. “I may
be able tol-enf some assistance. If Monsieur
le Cure will permit, I—”
“Come, come!” he cried, clutching me by
the arm. “It is the blessing of Providence.
Is there anything you want? It is disease of
the heart. Now, then, come. But first Jean
nette, run up-stairs and see whether Mon
sieur can enter.” •
The girl had turned to enter to obey,
when through the silence of the house there
rung the awful noise of a dying woman’s
voice.
“Raoul, Raoul! where are you? Je me
meurs, mon ami.”
It was the voice of a high-born lady. For
what reason I know not, I turned towards
the picture. It seemed the cry that should
come from those lij>s.
The Cure hiul started like a man who is
suddenly stabbed.
“Mou Dieu, mon Dieu!” he cried. “Whose
voice is that?”
Ar.d with this cry he turned towards the
picture.
“Raoul, Raoul! You must come quickly,
or it will be too late,”
“It is old Bette that is calling you Mon
sieur le Cure,” said Jeannette, pointing
to the room übove. It is her voice is it
not ?”
“Bette’s?” stammered the Cure, “the old
peasant woman’s? No, no, no! It was
Mireille's. But—” ,
“Meanwhile, Monsieur,” said Jeannette,
“the old woman dies.”
“1 go,” said the Cure.
I did not follow him; I had some feeling
that there would be something solemn—
something sacred was to lie revealed in this
last interview between the old Cure and his
dying servant. 1 knew that, great as may
l>e the devotion and self-saerifieeof the man,
the self-sacrifice and devotion of the woman
that loves him, or has loved him, can he im
measurably greater, and I believed that the
Cure would find out that his life-long pen
ance hail hod even on this earth its passing
great reward, and that the love of the woman
lie had worshiped in his youth had been with
him and around him, silent, watchful, all
these years.
“It would have been a splendid devotion,”
1 said to myself, us I made my way home,
“and one 'possible only in a woman, to
humble herself as he had humbled herself—
yet lower, to leave the boudoir of the woman
of the world for the kitchen of a village
presbytere ', to put off the elegant toilet and
to put on the peasant’s gown, aye, and more
than all this, to live by liis side, unknown to
him, respecting his loyalty to tho dead —it
was sublime.”
A year latter I visited P again. They
told me that the old Cure hail died about
two months ago. 1 saw his grave in the
churchyard, but it was not in the spot that
he had laughingly pointed out to me when
he hud shown me the church. I found it
hidden away in a corner, from which a
splendid view of the sea eould lie obtained.
'I here was another grave by his side,
adorned with a simple white cross, on
which was written the one word, “Mireille.”
— Belgravia.
WEDDING PRESENTS.
The Novelties for the Season in Por
celain Souvenirs.
New York, April .'4O. —What seems to
puzzle society just now—that is, the female
{Mjrtion of it—is tho question of wedding
presents. Of course the men of a family
can dismiss the subject with a check.
Directly after Easter there is a crop of wed
dings, presumably the result of the winter’s
social campaign. Any one capable of giving
a present at all can buy teaspoons, furkfl and
knives and lie quite sure that tlieif*‘presents
will lx- duplicated a dozen
apt is tills t-> Ik- tin- case thul
■-!- 1 lint :ul\ i-1- t<. Ill] 1 -I'MiNHHBm-'
din. gut- 'i'cii- lul: th-- |-I
-- - I' - iroyisl. Ixh-ius- th.- gift is
In- ki-pt as a souvenir of tin- ' -tw
isting L-tweeu giver and '*{■
greatest n-'S.-lt ics for the scum >n£BMltaiif'
lain. \ \on L-autiful lierry
of Dresden It in tin- I --nit (hSmHi ■
scallop shells, l inning in
t-ions. while above, w here they WHIHPw■
ptucles, one lor cream,
jxircclain ladle, the other
is a handle to the whole. VMMijfltfc'
strawberry vine with leaves
in natural colors, winds around the emfro
dish. It is not only beautiful to look at and
novel, but it forms n handsome ornament for
the table as well. A dozen bouillon cups in
plush case make a handsome present. They
are distinctive from the fact of having a
handle on both si- les A bedroom ice water
set is new and pretty. It consists of a fine
cut glass pitcher, with initials engraved
upon it, and two glasses, all held together
by an attractive basket frame with handle,
so that the whole may be easily moved.
Each glass has an appropriate quotation cut
in it. These come in both white and colored
glass. A change from the yellow or pink
dinners is to have each course served on a
single color of porcelain. Perhaps the first
course might lx- green, the next blue, anil
so on. It is usual to save the {link course
for the salad, because pink and green are an
attractive combination.
Evei-yn Baker Habvier.
SUMMER NOVELTIES.
Portieres and Curtains of Linen Em
broidered with Colored Floss.
New York, April SO.—Novelties in por
tieres and curtains for summer use are of
line unbleached linen embroidered in bright
colored floss silks. The design may be in the
form of a border of arabesques or flowers at
the top and at tho bottom of the curtain,
the lower one of course being the wider; or
the entire surface of the linen may lie em
broidered in any pattern that suits the
fancy. This invokes a greater amount of
work, but the effect when finished is much
richer. Covers for tea tables and dressing
bureaus can also be manufactured of un
bleached linen embroidered in a similar
manner, line-1 with thin silk and fringed on
the edges. This kind of w ork originated
with the Irish peasantry, and a few pieces
were reeeutly imported" to this country by a
prominent art dealer of New York. They
wece so admired that since then they have
been most extensively copied and imitated.
A pretty model for a lamp shade destined
as an Easter offering was a square of white
surah with a round opening cut in the cen
tre. The silk was hand-pamted in an ex
quisite design of pale wild roses ami honey
suckle anil edged with wide Valenciennes
lai-e. The opening in the middle wus faced
and had a white .intin ribbon run through it,
by means of which the shade was properly
adjusted to the lamp chimney.
It used to le the lashion to put slices of
fresh lemon in finger bowls at entertain
ments, but nowadays this custom is con
fined wholly to hotels and restaurants.
Whatever flowers happen to la* in season are
used instead Just now, violets, daffodils
and lilies of the valley are seen in profusion
on dinner and luncheon tables, and whoever
happens to have any Bohemian glass stowed
away iu tho cupboard has become un object
of envy, since no tabic decoration is now
considered complete without it.
Clara Lanza. I
The Queen's Pudding.
From the 1 station Truth.
Wo hear from an ncquaiutmice in Bir
m.nghum thatthe luncheon table laid fortho
Queen was u thing of beauty. It was set
out for four ]lemons, and there were exquis
ite Mowers a i rungisl in vases of Worcester
and Ciii|H>rt porcelain, sent by Mean*. Os
ier, who also provided some wonderful eut
ghott finger-bowls of a surprising thick
new and beauty. It seems odd that the
Queen of Kngtarid and Empress of India
should have that simple nursery dish, a
■tiding, specially prepared for her;
bice Is at least consistent with
city and homeliness of her life. I
Ihe Prince tup-
FREE LUNCH DKSTROYERS
HOW THEIR OPERATIONS ARE
CONDUCTED IN NEW YORK.
Guests of Honor and Victims of the
“Bouncer”—How Other Cities Com
pare With the Metropolis—Opinions
of Various Victims of the Lunch
Fiend.
New York, April flO. -Free lunch is pe
culiarly an American institution, an out
growth of that same active, pushing spirit
of competition which induces religious pa
pers to offer chromos and revolvers to every
subscriber, and tobacco manufacturers to
put gold coins, greenbacks and orders for
building lots in packages of chewing to
bacco.
When a man can get a glass of tieer and a
sandwich for five cents in one saloon he will
not go next door where the only extras of
fered him with his beer are a few consump
tive cloves and a handful of antique pop
corn. Then again most men like to take a
bite between drinks, and highly seasoned
food induces an extra thirst which", perforce,
must bo slaked at the bar.
= I
THKFIBXD.
The free lunches of San Francisco are
spoken of with admiring awe by the well
seasoned rounders who nave tasted them.
Regular dinners of five or six courses, oys
ters, soup, fish, roast and entrees, are dis
pensed by white-aproned attendants to thii-s
--ty patrons of the bar with true Western
hospitality and lavislinesw. It is only within
the last few years, however, that tho scheme
has been very extensively adopted in New
York. A double 1-owl containing very salt
fish with an exceedingly mild cheese "for a
long time Suited New York saloouists. This
was supplemented by peppery pickles and
olives, sausage sandwiches and the like, until
now in some of tho more progressive bar
rooms lunches are set up which fairly rival
those offered in the City of the Golden Gate.
Baked salmon, pickled and fried oysters,
dainty ham sandwiches, all sorts of soups,
baked beans, crackers and cheese, bologna
sausages, potato salads, chowders and stews
are among the viands set out to tempt the
hungry and allure the thirsty. In fact, free
lunches have become so lavish and so free
that restaurant keepers complain that it is
interfering seriously with their trade.
“How do you suppose I can compete with
that place on the corner,” growled a discon
tented Boniface to me the other day. “Ihave
to pay for my material and must charge for
it. A man won’t come here to pay 50 cents
for lunch and a glass of lager when he can
get the t-oer for 5 cents ana have the lunch
thrown in over there.”
“How do they do it?” queried I.
The restaurant keeper winked mysteri
ously, shrugged his shoulders and muttered
i something to the effect that he did not see
how a man could afford to pay for good
material and then give it a way. But I think
his dark hints were without foundation.
There is no doubt that in some of the small
er gin mills the stews are marie up from the
refuse of hotel kitchens and are highly sea
soned to conceal their composition. In the
barrooms connected with the larger hotels
the food is prepared by .he same cooks and
from the same materials as are served to the
guests of the house.
n|[ pig 1
j I? |
THE BOUNCER.
I rail across a talkative barkeeper in one
of the gorgeous uptown saloons not long
ago. Opposite to the bar was a long table,
presided over by a white-jacketed "attend
ant. On the tables were six different kinds
of crackers, two varieties of cheese, two or
three plates of pickles, a fine boiled ham
and a round of coined beef, a silver tureen
of- soup with a iamp under it. bread, boiled
beans, small codfish balls anil half a dozen
other dishes which I did not particularly
notice. A dude was gingerly holding a plate
of soup with one hand and picking from
dish to dish with the other.
“Hmv do you make that pay f’ I askcsl,
after 1 had seen the youth get away with
about “0 cents worth of lunch, pay 5 cents
for a licor and tiptoe out.
“In that single taco it don't pny,” replied
the bar-keeiier : “but ho is a regular ens-
I tomcr; it gets him in the habit of coming
I here, and in the long run his custom and
j that of his friends makes up thoavemge.
I Now hero come* a different scat of a crowd,”
he added, as five men, who might lmvc been
brokers or politicians, entered. I deter
mined to watch the matter, so I sat down,
picked upapujXTuud wait id. They ordered
a round of drinks and one by one strolled
over to the lunch table and nibbled and
chatted; another round of drinks followed,
and another and another. They stood there
about an hour, during which time (4 00
found its way into the nil. After the second
round first one started to go out and then
another, but each tunc they were detained
by someone of the party, who stopped at
the lunch table for “just ono more bite,”
and another order for drinks was the result.
Yet, with all their nibbling, the total con
sumption of food did not amount to 50
cents.
“Now, you see those fellows were pleased,”
remarked the barkeeper, as they went out,.
“They will each of ’em come in next time
and tlio chunces arc that they will bring in
others. If it had not been for the lunch
they would have taken one or two drinks
ana left. The lunch induced ’em to stay.
Here, get out o’ that,” he exclaimed, inter
rupting himself: “that's no tns> lunch; it
costs a dollar a bite.” This lust remark was
addressed ton ragged siieciincn of the genus
tramp who had sidled up to the lunch tuble.
“(rive him a chunk of bread and tire him
out,” added the barkeeper to the waiter in
charge of the lunch table.
“Do you turning again to
“that who
I‘V* tm iuin-Kltet ■toU’foiut
ing to the tramp; “of course he lives on free
lunch and gets precious little to wash it
down with, but real society men who, to all
appearances, are liang up swells. Why, some
of ’em make a science of it anil have their
routes all mapped out regular. You see a
fellow hires a furnished room without board
I lor $3 or ftf a week. In the morning he
comes around and gets a couple of cocktails
for 20 cents and eats a breakfast. Then he
is perhaps treated once or twice during the
morning. He gets his lunch in the same
way, and if he is not invited out to dinner
he takes another lunch at dinner time. He
keeps on eating every time he takes a drink
between times, so that, take it year in and
year out, his meals don’t average more than
50 cents a day. There are lots of 'em, but
you can’t help spotting them if you only
watch ’em. One fellow comes in here almost
every day and drinks two glasses of beer;
while he is taking the first one lie looks at
the lunch counter and perhaps nibbles a
cracker or two, then he says to Andy: “By
Jove, I’ve just had dinner, but that soup
looks so good I lielieve I’ll try a spoonful—
a—-you might give me a bit of bread and a
slice of ham and a—yes, one or two of those
beans.” Then he takes another beer and
goes out with ten cents worth of beer and a
quarter’s worth of lunch under his belt.
Bay? Why, yes, of course, such custom
jiays. He knows we set a good lunch and if
any one offers to treat him he steers ’em in
here. Then, too, all these fellows will drink
and if they only have to pay for their drinks
and get their meals for nothing it's so much
saved. Here comes a regular now.”
A fashionably dressed gentleman entered
and proceeded at once to the lunch counter;
he disposed of a plate of soup and sonic
crackers; then ordered a glass of beer and
again turned his attention to the lunch.
“Such fellows as that don't pay except in
the long run,” remarked my communicative
friend. “You’ve got to average’em lip, but
where one fellow comes in and eats a quar
ter's worth there are ten wfio don't eat a
cent’s worth from week’s end to week’s end.
But when they do want a bite they want it,
anil they [patronize some barroom where
they can get it. That is why free lunches
pay.”
“Where do you get the things from?” I
asked.
“We have 'em cooked down here in the
hotel, except the beans, which we buy from
a bean bakery. But there are fellows who
make a business of supplying the smaller
places with lunch. They cook at wholesale
anil sell at reasonable prices enough and so
make a good thing out of it.”
THE LUNCH.
“Do they use the refuse from hotels?” I
asked, remembering the statement of my
friend the restaurateur. My informant
winked knowingly und turned to attend to
two men who sat down at one of the tables
and boldly ordered a bottle of wine and
some lunch. “Regulars,” whispered the
barkeeper as I went out.
There is no doubt that the expensive
lunches are seriously cutting down the profits
of the saloons. Some of the larger ones
serve a regular dinner to all who choose to
take it, and even the margin of profit on
liquor is not broad enough to stand it. But
free lunches are the order of the day, and if
the saloonist wishes to keep up with the
times he must provide them.
It is hardly necessary to add that as he
realizes that he must square himself some
how the quality of the liquor frequently
suffers in consequence. This continual eat
ing at lunch counters ruins the digestion,
but eating and drinking at the same time
delays drunkenness, and after all I don’t
know but that dyspepsia is fully as respect
able as delirium tremens.
Allan Forman.
DRAWING-ROOM DECORATIONS.
New Ideas in Table Ornamentation—
Some Pretty Designs.
New York, April 80. —A pretty drawing
room decoration consists in having several
small tables each with a collection of some
particular ornament. Mrs. Florence Rice-
Knox has a wonderfully beautiful collection
of china slippers resting on a carved table.
They are of all shapes and styles and are of
Dresden, Sevres, Royal Worcester, Minton,
Delfe, Japanese and from many other
famous potteries. I know another lady who
has over 200 china cats in an ebony cabinet.
They are large and small, some lying down,
some standing, sitting or running. These
also are from famous potteries. Statuettes
of illustrious people or reproductions of
famous pieces of sculpture in miniature
make an interesting collection. Another
friend has a table covered with a hundred
or more tiny but costly vases, the largest
three inches high. Very pretty hanging
brackets and cabinets, made of celluloid, of
the amber color, or those imitating tortoise
shell, are something very new and unique.
Royal Worcester ornaments on the latter
are very beautiful. The dark background
displays them to excellent advantage.
Evelyn Baker Harvier.
A Lunatic’s Story About Mrs. Cleve
land.
From the Philadelphia News.
“Mrs. Cleveland came very near being as
sassinated on the night of her marriage,”
said a stout, elderly-looking gentleman in
the parlor of the Girard House, a few days
ago. “A young man employed in the White
House as butler's assistant saw a photograph
of Mrs. Cleveland that used to be hanging
in the Bresident’s room anil at once con
ceived a violent passion for the fair original,
although he hail never seen her. He, or
course, knew that his love was hopeless, but
rather than see her another's ho resolved to
slay her. He managed to liave himself ap
i minted to wait at the side gate of the White
House grounds to show the bridal partv to
the carriage which was in readiness to con
vey them to Deer Park. Ho quietly con
ducted the bride and groom to the carriage
door, and just as Mrs. C. hail placed her
foot on the step he grasped her arm and was
about to plunge a stiletto in her breast
when he caught sight of her fair, sweet fuco
blanched with fear. The sight was too
much for him. His arm was stayed, and
she took advantage of the opportunity to
escape into the carriage. The President,
followed, thoroughly dazed, and nobody has
yet lieon told his impressions of thut memor
able episode. The amorous young man de
veloped unmistakable signs of insanity a
short time afterward and is now confined
in the Gergetown insane asylum. I visited
the place not long ago and ne told me the
story himself.” The genial gentleman
thereupon yawned, went out and walked
down ('hestnut street humming a tuuu *to
cool himself off.
“Rough on Rats,”
Clears out rate, mice, roaches, flies, ante,
bedbugs, ten ties, insects, skunks, jack mis
hits, sparrows, gophers. 15c. At druggists,
"Rough on Corns.”
Ask for Wells’ “Rough on Corns.” Quick
relief, complete cure. Corns, warts, bun-’
ious. 15c.
"Rough on Itch.”
“Rough on Itch” cures skin humors, erup
tions, ring-worm, tetter, salt rheum, fronted
feet, chilblains, itch, ivy poison, barber’s
itch. 50c. jars.
"Rough on Catarrh”
Corrects offensive odors at once. Complete
cure of worst chronic cases: also unequaled
ns gargle for diphtheria, sore throat, foul
breath. 50c.
A SHADOWS ROMANCE.
DETECTIVE LOWELL TAKES PAKT
IN A DRAMA IN REAL LIFE.
j Plots and Counterplots and a Divorce
! Suit Cause His Arrest for Black
mail-He is Proven Innocent and Ac
quitted.
From the New York Star.
One of the most singular and remarkable
trials ever brought in New York, one full of
plot and counterplot, ended last week in
throwing the prosecution out of court, and
in acquitting the surprised and innocent de
fendant. It was the end of a mysterious
drama in real life that moved simultane
ously in two cities, and involved a srtange
medley of people, most of whom were un
seen and unknown to the others. It began
in marital troubles in one city, with suit and
cross-suit for divorce, and ended in another
city in the acquittal of a man on a charge
of blackmail.
Mr. Samuel J. Lowell of No. 25 Pine street
was a substantial, gruff and hearty New
Hampshire man, a descendant of the Puri
tan Lowells, who came from the west of
England. Fifteen years ago he was in the
secret service of the United States govern
ment. Retiring from that employment he
established a detective agency near Wall
street and for twelvo years was employed
by various steamboat companies and many
important business firms. He enjoyed an
income of about SIO,OOO a year and stood
well in the opinion of all who knew him.
He was generous and in a vei-y quiet
way did some benevolent deefi,s, one
of which, in time of sore trial, ifke bread
cast on the waters, returned after many
days.
One morning in February, 188(1, Mr. J.
Treadwell Richards of the firm of Richards
& Brawn, counselors at law, No. 42 Wall
street, sent for Mr. Lowell and asked him to
shadow a man named C. C. Hears, who lived
at Buffalo, but was at that time in New
York city. Mr. Richards said he would meet
Mr. Lowell at the Morton House and point
out Mr. Seare to him.
The two men met in the hotel tliut night,
and while Mr. Seal's was placidly smoking a
cigar the lawyer pointed him out to the de
tective. Then the two men, whom Mr.
Sears had not seen, stepped out of the hotel,
and Mr. Richardson said to Mr. Lowell that
he wanted Mr. Seal's shadowed and memo
randa made of his movements. The de
tective shadowed Mr. Sears through the
streets that night. Air. Sears did not know
that he was being watched, and Detective
Lowell did not know why he was shadowing
him.
Thisoften happens with private detectives,
for their reports are considered more ac
curate when they do not s now why they' are
shadowing a man—knowledge which
might enable them to neglect their task
and return an unimportant, fictitious nar
rative.
Detective Lowell reported next day to the
lawy’ere and said that he would not be able
to shadow Seare all the time and would
like to employ an assistant. The law firm
agreed. Detective Lowell departed and by
accident met Andrew J. AVightman, who
formerly had been a detective, but at this
time was a salesman for a wholesale liquor
house. He engaged AVightman to assist him
in the case.
Lowell and AVightman shadowed Sears
that evening, Feb. 10, when he left the
Morton House and strolled through the
street. They said that he dropped into
Theiss’ Alhambra concert saloon at 10
o'clock in the evening, and after staying
half an hour, walked through Fourteenth
street to Sixth aveune. They' averred that
near this well-known thoroughfare the man
who was shadowed met a young English
woman with bleached hair, and the two
subsequently got on a Sixth avenue street
oar and rode uptown. They said the girl
alighted from the car at Twenty-third street
and Seare at Twenty-fourth street; that the
two met and went into the Hfi Omer Hotel,
where Sears registered under an assumed
name, and were assigned to room No. 18;
that he remained two hours, and then
left the hotel, and that the girl remained all
night.
Next day Mr. Lowell reported the state
ments made above to Lawyer Richards.
Mr. Richards asked who the woman was.
Mr. Lowell said he did not know; he was
not shadowing any woman. Mr. Richards
replied that Lowell must find the woman at
all hazards. Mr. Lowell, who was somewhat
puzzled, said: ‘‘AH right; we will try to find
her.”
Up to this time Detective Lowell had been
wholly in the dark in respect to who Mr.
Sears was and why he was shadowing him.
Lawyer Richards now told AH'. Lowell that
Mr. Soars lived in Buffalo, and had com
menced in that city an action against his
wife for divorce oil the ground of infidelity,
the co-respondent being a rich wholesale
merchant , who, Air. Sears claimed, was a
member of a large dry goods firm in New
York, and that Aire. Sears was about to
begin a cross suit. Air. Seal's had already
begun an action against the merchant for
$ ldO,ooo damages for alienating Ills w ife’s
affectious
Detective Lowell spent five or six days in
looking lor the girl with the bleached hair,
lie mot her on Fourteenth street one even
ing as she was going into Theiss’ concert
saloon. Another young woman was with
her. Lowell and AVightman went into tho
saloon, made the acquaintance of the young
woman, and invited them to take supper,
an invitatiou which they eagerly accepted.
The two detectives and the two
young women sat at the table and talked
freely.
The young woman with the bleached hair
said her name was May Thatcher. The de
tectives asked her about the incident at the
St. Omer Hotel. She corroborated all they
had seen. They then asked her if she hall
any objection to coming down to their office,
as they would like to use her as a witness,
and if she had any objection to making on
affidavit to the facts which she had related.
She had no objection, and the next
day called at the office as she had promised
to do.
Mr. Lowell reported tho discovery of the
girl to lawyer Richards and was instructed
to keep track of her at all hazards and if
necessary pay her board and room rent,
though the expenditure must not exceed $lO
a week. Air. Lowell said lie would keep liis
eye on her, but suggested that it luul better
appear that the money came from him, for
if tho young woman knew that the money
came from Wall street lawyers she might
want more.
The girl with the bleached hair lived in
clover for three months as a prospective wit
nos in a cross suit for divorce, an occupa
tion which furnished her rent and board.
When tiie Sears divorce suit was about to
b‘ called on tho calendar, early in May,
Lawyers Richards, AVightman and May
Thatcher went to Buffalo to appear. Tho
case was postponed, but May Thatcher
saw Mr. Seare the second time, and de
clared that she identified him as tile
man who accompanied her to the St. Omer
Hotel.
About Slay 15 Lawyer Richards with
drew from the case, and with his Withdrawal
the occupation of lawyer, detectives and
witnesses was gone. Ho told Detective
Lowell to inform the girl that he would not
pay her any further, as he was no longer
connected with the case. A few days later
the girl called at Lowell’s office, which was
then at No. 39 Broad street, und Mr.
Ito Well told her what Richards had said.
She told a pitiful tale, representing her
self us very jioor and about to become a
mother.
Lowell felt sorry for her and went to see
Lawyer Richards to learn if any further
payment could Is l male to the girl. Air.
Richards repeated that he was out
of the case entirely, there being some
hitch about the iiavment of expenses by his
client.
A few days later. May 25, the girl came to
Lowell's office again, reiterated her story of
prospective maternity, said that in a few
days she would he without a roof I
and asked in despair what she flkdd do. |
Air. Lowell advised her to go to n jawrer'a i
office. He told Wightmun to hi-cßjr'VWf j
to Lawyer Boles’ office. Boles was an hones*
young lawyer, and the girl could state W
case to him. AVightman and the girl W Z,
to the young lawyer’s office, and thi S eadt
Detective Lowell’s connection with the Sears
cross divorce suit and with Alay Thatcher
AVhen AVightman and May Thatcher walked
into Lawyer Boles’ office May Thatcher
gave the name of May Livingston She
told a story quite as imaginative as
Solomon’s Alines,” and Lawyer Boles sat
down and wrote a letter to Mr. C. C Seais
at Buffalo, saying that Miss Livingstone of
the St. Omer hotel escapade was abom
become a mother, and that he had better
“avoid publicity or legal steps” by settl
ing.
On receiving the letter Mr. Sears at once
wrote to his counsel, AVilliam P. B urr
320 Broadway, saying that he had never
been to the St. Omer Hotel, and inclosing
the letter that had been sent to him. Bun
placed himself in communication with
Boles. Mary Thatcher thought that ner
case was already in court, and was surprised
after more than a w eek’s waiting to learn
that it had not yet begun.
Mr. Lowell was surprised one morning to
see her come into his office. She com.
plained that Boles was doing nothing with
ner case, and she asked Lowell to go with
her to Boles’ office. Lowell, w'ho knew
nothing that had taken place in Lawyer
Boles’ office, walked in there with the Airi
and said:
“Mr. Boles, Miss Thatcher is dissat
isfied with the way you are carrying on the
case.”
UAliss Thatcher?” said Boles; “why she
gave me the name of Livingston.”
Boles then said to her that for his own pro.
tection she must make an affidavit reciting
her story. A few- days previous Boles had
called on counselor Burr, and, being asked
to say in writing how much the girl would
take, wrote that she would settle for SI,OOO.
Counselor Burr next wmote for her affidavit!
and the affidavit already drawn was sent to
him. i
Five days later, on June 12, Lawyer Boles
AVightman, May Thatcher and Mr. Lowell
were arrested on a charge of blackmail. May
Thatcher was accepted as a witness for the
State. She claimed that the whole affair
was a job of blackmail put up by Lowell and
AVightman to blackmail Sears to prevent
him from prosecuting his divorce suit until
he had paid them money and that she was
an innocent victim.
All were put in jail till they furnished
$2,500 bail each AVight man was tried Nov.
11 before Judge Brady in Oyer and Ter
miner. The ease was on four days. Counsel
for the defense claimed that the letter sent
by Boles was merely a business letter and did
not contain a threat. AA’ightman was convict
ed and was sent to Sing Sing for three
yes re, where he now is.
Mr. Lowell was brought to trial last week,
ami was defended by ex-Senator Oradv and
Alaurioe Mayer. The defense claimed that
the job, if there was one, was put up by an
other linn of detectives, who had learned of
the Sears case, and that they got May That
cher to go to Lowell, and that she was an
employe of theirs. The defense claimed that
after May Thatcher lost her occupation as a
prospective witness in the Sears case she be
came acquainted with two detectives, who
induced her to go to Lowell with a false
story for the purpose of placing him in a bad
light and of making it appear that he had
done wrong.
The 'counsel claimed that Lowell was
wholly ignorant of all that went on in
Lawyer Boles’ office, and never saw’ the let
ter which was sent to Mr. Seal's. After the
prosecution finished the defense asked that
the case be dismissed. Judge Van Brunt dis
missed it at once. Mr. Lowell’s business baa
been ruined by it.
REFORMED BY KINDNESS.
How the Great Shipbuilder Cured a
Drunken Employe.
John Roach, the late famous shipbuilder,
believed in the law of kindness in dealing
with erring men. Out of the 25,000 men
employed by him first and last there were
seventy found guilty of criminal conduct.
He saved sixty of them. This is his story of
the way he reformed a “confirmed drunk
ard,” says the 'Suitors' Magazine. The man
was a “master workman”:
“He had terrible sprees, and had them
pretty often. He would come raving into
tito shops, disgracing himself and digusting
ever ,'body. When sober he was penitent,
and I forgave him and took him back again
and again. I appealed till there seemed to
be nothing else to appeal to. One morning
he came in after one of his sprees and said:
“ ‘Mr. Roach, I want you to discharge me.
You can’t make anything of me. I have
broken my promise and abused your trust
over and over. You took me up #hen I had
nothing to do, and you learned me your
trade, and paid me good wages, and have
borne with my faults till it ain’t human to
ask you to bear any more. Now, discharge
me.’
“ ‘Mike’ says I, ‘I won’t discharge you,
but I’ll let you resign. I’ll write your resig
nation,’ for an idea struck me. I went to
ray desk and wrote:
“ ‘John Roach:
“ ‘Sir —You helped me when I was penni
less. You gave me work whem I was idle.
You taught me when I was ignorant. You
have always paid me well. Youhaveborne
with my infirmities over and over. But I
have lost my self-respect, and have not
enough regard for you or love for my wife
and children to behave like a man, and
therefore I hereby withdraw from your em
ployment.’
“I gave it to him and said: ‘I want you
to promise me one thing—that you will al
ways carry this with you, and that, when
about to take a glass of liquor, you will take
this out, read it. sign it, and mail it to me
before you drink.’ He promised solemnly
that he would. He staid in my employ for
years and was never drunk again.”
Abstemious Southern Senators.
Letter to the Manchester Union.
There are a great many Southern Sena
tors who do not drink at all. There is Maiev,
of Texas, who is succeeded by Reagan. Th*
latter is also a total abstinence advocate.
Colquitt, of Georgia, is one of the most high
toned Christian gentlemen in the Senate.
He was a Alajor General in the Confederate
army, and one of the fiercest fighters th
South possessed. He graduated at Princeton
previous to the war. AA r hen there is any
question of morality concerned in a ques
tion before the Senate Colquitt leads the
ranks in support, no matter now the party
lines are drawn. Senator Morgan is also a
total abstainer. Senator Gibson, of Dunst
ana, would vote for prohibition if he had ar
opportunity. Senator Ransom, of North
Carolina, says he has not tasted a drop of
liquor for many years, and is in favor of a
high license, and not prohibition.
I think there could tie a great many Sena
torial names counted up on the Republican
side who drink more “pizen” than then
brethren in the South. I t hink I could men
tion one New England Senator who con
sumes a sufficient quantity for a supply °*
any two of the Southern States, barring
Virginia and West Virginia.
LEMON ELIXIR.
A Pleasant Lemon Drink.
Fifty cents and one dollar per bottle. Sold
by druggists.
Prepared by H. Mozley, M. D., Atlanta,
For biliousness and constipation take
Lemon Elixir. . . . . ,
For indigestion and foul stomach taso
Lemon Elixir. , , . .
For sick and nervous headaches take Lem
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For sleeplessness and nervousness laas
Lemon Elixir. . ...... , oL „
For loss of appetite and debility take
Lemon Elixir. , ... ,
For fever*, chills and malaria, take Lent
Elixir, all of which diseases arise from a <*>r
pid or diseased liver.
Lemon Hot Drops
Cure all coughs, colds, hoarseness, soi"
.throat, bronchitis anil all throat and line*
diseases. Price 25 cent*. Bold by diuggis*-
[Prepared by Dr. H. Mozley, Atlanta, Ga.,
uu both liquid and lozenge form.