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2 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 on Elixir. 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.