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I ESTABLISHED 13.10. >
(J- H. ESTILL Editor and Proprietor. $
BY THE SUMMER SEA.
BY CHRISTIAN REID.
(thought I had surely conquered and lived down
this sharp, old pain.
Till the mighty voice of the ocean wakes it to
night again—
Wakes it to throb and torture, to burn with its
tire anew,
As I sit on the sands, Oh, Phillip, and long and
yearn for you!
There are fancies strangely bitter in the surge
of the restless sea,
And hopes, and dreams, and memories, all ris
ing mournfully.
The waves that are softly breaking, with starry
lustre kissed,
Summon a host of phantoms out of the ocean
mist.
In the years that have fled forever since you and
I first met,
The long years of hopeless passion, the long
years of vain regret,
I have fondly dreamed, O, Phillip, that I had
mastered quite
The heart t hat rises up once more to bitterness
to-nigbt: •
I have thrust away in silence each loving
thought of you;
1 have laid to rest each memory, so tender and
so true,
I have prayed upon my bended knees for power
to forget.
And the answer to that prayer is this—l love
you, love you yet;
> Is love so very plenty in this weary world of
pain.
That you cannot let all else go by and trust me
once again?
X would never wrong you, Philip, nor ever pain
you more—
You see I cast all pride away, here on this ocean
shore.
My heart seems breaking, Phillip, as I linger all
alone.
And there comes no sound of comfort, save the
ocean's restless moan;
1 stretch ray arms to heaven, and pray for your
return;
But the hope that dies, and the love that lives,
can only pant and yearn.
The cruel sea's between us, with its ceaseless
ebb and flow,
And I sigh, and wonder, and question, will it
ever be so?
Will the distance loom, my darling, ever so great
as now.
When Time has left his silver threads athwart
my pallid brow?
Will there come no end, 0, Phillip, to the weari
ness and strife?
Will there dawn no day of gladness upon my
saddened life?
Wil] the sun go down in darkness, and peace lie
only given.
When the aching heart is laid to rest and the
sinful soul is shriven?
You cannot blame me, Phillip, that I remember
still,
For they err, who tell us all things are possible
to will!
I would gladly crush forever, the heart which
madly clings.
Dog-like unto the cruel hand, that only strikes
and stings!
But love, which is sorely bitter, is very mighty,
too,
And faith is like a needle—to its magnet ever
tone;
1 would fain be fickle, Phillip, and false as false
can be.
As 1 sit alone and desolate, beside the summer
sea.
But the past is here beside me, in the purple
starry night,
And her great eyes shine upon me with tender,
mournful light—
Sweet eyes, so full of gentleness, so lovely in
their pain.
That I elasp.her back, O. Phillip, to my faithful
heart again.
SAINT AGNES.
BY HENRY H. INGRAM.
[ Copyrighted , 1887.1
I hated accounts, and my delight can he
Understood when I was officially notified
one morning by my firm that I had beCn
placed upon the road; in other words, I had
been made a drummer. Fortune seemed
patting me on the back when I was told
that my outlined route passed through
Nashville, Tenn., and included a stay of a
week in that city. In Nashville my college
chum. Bob Severn, had established him
self and office. We hail been the David
and Jonathan of our class, and had not
met for a year. I listened attentively to
instructions which mingled themselves
with a mental panorama of Bob's hearty
greeting.
A few days later and the instructions were
being followed to the letter, and Bob’s hand
clasped mine, and Bob's voice was cheery in
my ear.
This was but a few years after the war of
secession. Nashville had recovered from its
effects with surprising elasticity, and public
works were rapidly progressing. After a
comfortable dinner and talk of old times
Bob proposed a walk to see the new Suspen
sion Bridge, then the pride of the city,
though lam told the growth of the place
has since necessitated another and larger
••structure. We passed the public square
with the market and dingy court house in
the centre, passed the historic scene of the
Jackson and Benton rencounter, descended
a slight slojie to the bridge, and looked from
its railing to the Cumberland flowing below.
Boh called upon me to note its dizzy towers
and the long graceful curves of the immense
w-ire cables as they swung from the high
piers, like a slack rone, to within a foot of
the floor; I remember that we noted the
diameter as being not less than eight or
nine inches.
Tlie bridge connected the city “bristling
with brick blocks,” with the country-like
suburb of Edgefield, a village of trees, em
bowered homes, ideal retreat of luxurious
ease, comfort and taste.
We sauntered on toward the Edgefield
and aiul fell again into college chat. As we
(>ssed round the comor ot a pier we came
out face to face with a line of vohiclcs pass
ing on to the central roadway.
Glancing along the slowly moving line.
By eye was suddenly arrested, and an un
conscious exclamation passed my lips,
heated in an elegant landau with top thrown
hack was a lady with the most strangely
and perfectly beautiful face I had ever seen.
Its beauty was indeed perfect. It was as if
the Venus of Milo had become animated
and flushed with a rich, yet delicate sweep
of color through her veins, and ha 1 been
arrayed in stylish but quiet dross of perfect,
fit and faultless fashion. The chief 1 sanity
of the face was in the full, deep, fathomless
brown eyes, over which arched a brow deli
cate yet distinct as if penciled in India ink.
The mouth and smooth fair chin tiiat molted
into an ideal column of neck and throat had
m expression of sweet strength and much
of character. It wasnotthe beauty of girl
hood, but the perfected blossom of a woman
in the full maturity of her charms The
lieaut.y was strange, for crowning this fair,
uuwn'nkled brow, fresh young complexion
and jxsrfoct face was a wealth of wavy
snow-white hair. Braids of silvery gloam
ing were but, bulf concealed by the tastolul
bonnet. By her side sat a boy of (i, in whoso
fae was a" likeness, yet a difference, with
curls of chestnut brown clustering wound u
full white forehead.
tPje ilornino ffotojS.
' / ait-
An obstructing street car had made a
pause in the procession, and we, slowly
sauntering, passed within a few feet of the
carriage. Its occupant raised the brown
eyes with a moment’s interest, and looked
me in the face. The deep liquidity, the rich
volor, the arched brow, and the snowy
waves above it made a picture I shall never
lose. I turned to Bob as the carriages moved
again.
“What a beautiful face, and what a
stronge trick nature has played upon it!” I
exclaimed.
“Oh! you mean the ladv in the carriage?”
he asked.
“Certainly. Whom else should I mean? I
have never seen so perfect a face nor so
strange an effect,” I replied.
“Yes, she is called the most beautiful
woman in the city, I believe. But,” he
added, “her beauty is the least interesting
thing about her. She would be respected
and admired if she were ugly as an alli
gator.”
“Who is she?” I asked. “Identify her.
Fell what there is so interesting concerning
her that it can outweigh those eyes and that
curves from chin-point to ear?”
“Let us turn back and walk on the bridge,”
said Bob, “and I’ll tell you.”
We turned and Bob threw a cigar stump
into the Cumberland and asked thought
fully, “Do you remember the fellow who
was employed to paint the chapel walls in
our junior year ?”
I was not ready with my assent. I could
not then remember.
“He afterwards painted that little
chemist's house, and painted light diamonds
on the dark floor of the front piazza. You
haven’t surely forgotten how the boys
stole his paint pots one night and inter
spersed hearts, clubs and spades on the same
floor?"
I recalled the incident perfectly. I re
called, too, the suit of clothes ruined in the
scrape.
“But,” persisted Bob, “can you recall him,
the painter, the individual ?”"
‘.Yes. I see him now,” I replied. “Ho was
tall and handsome, with a moustache and
easy air that I envied him.”
“You have him,” cried Bob with de
light.
“Well,” he resumed, “shortly after I came
here the Methodists took a fancy to have
the steeple of the McKendree Church paint
ed. It is the. tallest and slimmest spire in the
city. No painter would undertake the job.
Finally preparations began and I paused
one day, curious to see the workmen. In
the chief director I recognized our friend of
the diamonds. I wondered if he would or
nament the steeply with our addenda to his
idea. Of course he did not recognize me,
but I felt a sort of fascination in watching
him. He took the mast perilous part of the
work himself, and I stopped every day to
see him, a mere moving speck, suspended on
a swinging plank hundreds of feet above
the busy street below. The whole city
seemed interested. Hardly a passer up
Church street that did not pause to note his
progress.
“As I stood looking at him one day two
men paused near me, and one said to the
other:
‘ ‘Has he any family?”
The steeple climher'ii last spree.
“ ‘A wife who is a genuine beauty,’ re
plied the other with a good deal of en
thusiasm, ‘and a noble woman besides.
They have one baby boy, a little yearling
chap.’
“ ‘Does he drink? was the next inquiry; ‘I
never saw a painter who wouldn’t.’
“I shuddered as 1 listened for the reply.
The bare idea of that human being at that
giddy height, with the uncertain nerves of
a toner, was horrible.
“The second citizen replied: ‘He is not
drinking now. you may lie sure, nor he
hasn’t taken liquor since he first thought of
this job, but when it is all over he’ll go on
a regular ripper! He’ll paint the town! He
always does after a risky job. Seems as if
he looked back and realizcfl his danger after
it is over and takes to drink to drown the
sense of it.’
“ ‘Then’s when,’ he continued as he ob
served me listening, ‘then's when his wife
will come out true blue. She stands by him
like an angel, nurses him through all his
scrapes, and brings him around all right.
No one dares to even pity, her, either, she’s
got such a wav with her.’
“I passed oh, but I noticed the next day
that the steeple was finished, and I wonder
ed if the spree would follow.
“A few days later I crossed this bridge to
that chalybeate spring you see there and
found painting going on here also. I
looked up to the top of that tower before
us and saw just this side of it standing
on a single plank our painter of the dia
monds.
“The giddy height, the swaying of the
bridge us heavy loads passed over it, and
the deep running river beneath seemed to
disturb him as Tittle as the Church street
crowds.
“He had evidently omitted to ‘paint the
town’ after the last ‘risky job.’
"A few days later I noticed a paragraph
in the Daily'Anwri'<in announcing that the
painting of the bridge Imd been successfully
accomplished. ”
Boh had stopped in his walk and stood
leaning hack against the outer railing
and faring the cable. I waited his plea
sure.
“Ton or twelve days later,” he went on,
“I was crossing the end of Market street to
Crone's corner when I saw a rushing of peo
ple for the bridge. It. was early business
hours and quantities of pimple on the street,
The excitement seemed general, and 1
joined the crowd and hastened around that
western pier, when a sight met my eyes that
I wish I could forget. That same painter,
with wild eyes, bareheaded, barefooted, in a
painter’s loose blouse and dark pants, yell
ing like a maniac, which he really was, and
holding over his head a beautiful child about
a year ami a half old, was rapidly making
hi* wav up this very cable of wire. Do von
see those two marks in white paint a few
foet from where the cable crosses the top of
the pier!”
I nodded assent.
“Well, that is the very place. That mad
man went up to tiiat spot as easily a* a
squirrel would climb a tree, yelling as he
went that he was going Jo show Agnes that
he could make a painter of that boy, that he
was going to iiegin now to make him steady
headed He actually placed the little fellow
astride that great roll of wire just where
SAVANNAH, GA„ SUNDAY, JUNE 12, 1887—TWELVE PAGES.
you see those marks, and balancing the little
fat legs on each side and laying the child
along the wire on its stomach, put the
chubby arms around the cold iron log. This
done, with a yell like some wounded wild
animal, he clambered down one of those
slim iron rods, and screaming with laughter,
as if at some, huge joke successfully per
petrated, escaped down those steps to the
bank below, and was out of sight Ix-hind
that bucket factory almost instantly. No
one opposed him or eared to pursue, for all
eyes and interest now centred in the babe,
helplessly hanging between earth and
heaven. It seemed stunned or stupefied at
its situation. It neither cried nor smiled,
but clung with that brave sobriety of b.uby
luxxi, and, being well balanced, seemed un
able to let go. No one dared to attract its
attention by an encouraging word or a
warning caution. By a sort of common
consent a dead silence fell on the crowd,
which by this time had become immense.
No ladder in the city could reach half the
distance, no man could ever either walk or
climb up that smooth gpund metal log. No
man but the one who mid just done it could
‘hand over hand’ those slim iron axis which
hung from the curving beam. If perchance
a sailor-like climber or a goat-footed rope
walker could be found all felt that to excite
the boy and make him spring with joy or
shrink with fear would be to precipitate him
from his lofty perch.”
I gazed at the marks which indicated that
“lofty i>erch” and my head grew giddy with
the picture. The lofty towers seemed to al
most reach the clouds, and only a few feet
from their highest point were the two white
marks, small crosses. I saw at a glance the
hopelessness of a rescue and waited in
shivering anticipation to hear the sicken
ing end. Bob became more animated and
resumed:
“While the entire crowd seemed at their
wits’ end, and every eye was fixed upon the
child, expecting its momentary fall, a com
motion at the farther end of the bridge at
tracted my ear. A murmur rippled through
the vast assembly, which had now swelled
to thousands. The murmur was a subrlued
sob of sympathy, and I caught the words
‘his mother’ as it subsided again into silence.
I saw the crowd part just over there, and a
pale woman with a look of horror on the
most beautiful face I ever saw stepped
through the opening. The baby’s back
was turned to her. His^, beastly fat her had
faced him towards the tower. 1 saw her
look a moment and clasp her hands in an
agony that wrung every heart, in that im
mense crowd.
“Suddenly her whole appearance changed.
White teeth closed over her under lip till a
drop of blood oozed over its curves, and
slowly ran like a red tear down the perfect
chin. Tim crowd opened wherever she
turned, and Some stepped to her side with
sympathetic words as she quickly crossed to
this walk and came to that point where the
wire rope hangs low est. There she stepped
upon it, and began walking cautiously step
by step upward. When she reached the
point where it rises to about six feet, and
she could no longer touch that centre rail
ing with one hand, she paused a moment,
gathered her skirts tightly and modestly
around her feet, and sliding to a sitting
posture, placed one foot on each side that
immense cable, and began aaeending as
schoolboys ‘skin’ a log. Advancing her
hands a foot at a time, she drew her body
upward by a series of hitches. The crowd
stood breathless. The woman was astride
the cable in the presence of almost a city,
where was the soul that, thought to even
smile? Not there. Every eye was fixed
upon her,heart was praying for her. Men for
got to even breathe, and women with hands
clasped and uplifted eyes sank on their
knees. Mothers clasped babes closer and
tears streamed down unconscious faces. Not
a whisper or a word was breathed. The
silence of an awful suspense hung over that
sea of upturned faces. Presently those near
est could see that her hands were torn and
bleeding, but she seemed unconscious of it.
Her hair became unbound and gradually
shook out of coil till it fell like a waving
brown veil around her. It was magnificent
hair.
' “7.
lIK
IS
.Vo fore like a Mother's.
“The distance between herself and the
boy was rapidly lessening. Bhe had begun
to whimper in a half frightened way. Up!
up! she goes! Will she turn dizzy now?
Will the ball*’ fall etc she reaches* him, and
she so near? ‘Papa, I tired 1 tate me down,’
in peevish cry, comes floating down from
the little fellow’s lips. It was a spur to the
ascending mother. Words nor paint could
picture the eager suspense and strained in
tensity of her face. Her eyes seemed reach
ing out toward the boy as If to hold him till
her hands could clutch. She lacked hut a
foot or two when the boy unclasped his chub
by hands and straightened himself to a sit
ting posture. You have seen a cat
bound for a mouse, or a house spider
jump from a windowsill on a fly? Wed,
she seemed so to spring forward and
clasp him with one arm tightly the
waist. n)
“The little follow sceniefl to knovvher touch
or khe may have murmured soothing words
in his car. He neither sprang with delight
nor struggled with fright or. surprise, but
quiesly submitted.
“A spontaneous cheer lust started from the
crowd and then subsided intoeoi# thing like
a wail, as the though occurred to all, ’How
will she get back?’ M
“Again ail was tension. The crowd hanj
drawn one long breath, and now again"
stood in stupid, over strained suspense, gaz
ing at the mother with her boy neld to her
sine by one arm. Mhe indulged in no effus
ions of joy at recovering him, did not even
bestow a kiss upon his shining curls, but
pausing a moment as if for breath sue placed
him before her as a lady sits on a side sad
dle, and carefully pushing herself, inch by
inch, backwards, holding on with one hand
with the agony of despair to prevent going
down too rapidly. The danger was more
imminent tr.an ever before, and the bridge
swayed with the weight of the now re
doubled crowd. Rhe had descended nearly
one-third the distance. Ready hands were
outstretched to catch and bi-eftk the fail
if she tottered, and men wore climbing to
meet her and take the child from her arms
when she should reach the centre railing.
Wealthy wholesale merchants from the
square were offering immense rewards for
any one who would venture to her rescue,
but most of the multitude stood hushed,
breathless and helpless.
“Just tip there, she touched one of those
rods with the foot that hung on this side.
She cautiously felt it, and bracing firmly
against it, she checked herself for an instant,
and quick as flashes of light one hand caught
a great lock of the long hair from one side
of ner head, and passing it around the boy
under his arms she took the end tightly iii
her teeth, thus making a loop which tied him
firmly to herself. With her partially freed
hands, scratched, tom mid bleeding, she
then began an easier and more rapid des
cent. She soon reached the point where men
were waiting to aid her, but she seemed un
conscious of their presence. She descended
until she reached that lowest point where
she could stop to the floor, and looking up
as one suddenly awakened, sank unconscious
into outstreh-tied arms. A shout that
shook its rock foundations rose from the
bridge.
“Of course baby and mother were cared
for. A few days of sharp illness followed
for her. A week later her husband died of
delirium tremens. I went to the poor
wretch's funeral. It was not much of a
pageant, but there seemed much sympathy
tor the widow. I noticed some of the mar
chants from the square in attendance, and
I saw Nicholson, a partner in that five
story wholesale house that runs its rear wall
almost into the river, iusteresting himself
in the details.
The rescue.
“At the cemetery, as the little group turn
ed from the grave, the weeping widow
stooped and tenderly readjusted some
flowers, and the wind partially lifted her
veil. I saw again the faultless face, hut the
rich brown hair bad become perfectly
white.
“A year ago six'iety here was a good deal
stirred up by a quiet marriage. The white
haired young widow was the bride, and
Nicholson, the merchant, was the groom.
She proved to lx* as refined and accomplish
ed as she was beautiful, and the daughter of
an old Judge in Kentucky. She had l*x*n
captivated by our painter’s handsome mous
tache and flue airs, for. which, as you ac
knowledged, you once envied him. and had
run away from school to marry him. It was
a schoolgirl's mistake, but she had mafic the
best of it, and tx*en a true, noble, faithful
wife throughout.
“Nicholson saw her for the first time as
she went to the rescue of her baby boy.
“Thus readeth the story of the beauty
you have just seen in her second husband -
carriage, with her first husband’s boy by
her side. Take one more look at* the
white marks on the cable and let us walk
on."
I glanced upward as Bob produced a fresh
cigar.
“8o,” said I, “Nicholson first sa w his
wife astride an iron log nine inches in dia
meter V
Bob stopped suddenly in frrtht of me bar
ring my progress. \V ith an outstretched
forefinger and a grave, earnest manner, he
said:
“Now, don’t do that! From the day I
watched that awful scene until now I have
heard the comments of all sorts of men arid
classes of minds, but I have never heard a
disrespectful, careless mention or reference
to that devoted woman’s attitude. From
that day to this I have utterly repudiated
the doctrines of toial depravity. When I
remember that immense crowd, suddenly
gathered from the streets, workshops, store
hou-xs, offices and wharves of this city, com
posed of all classes, colors, sexes and avoca
tions, and reflect that not one seemed con
scious of an unusual appearance, or saw the
occasion for a jeer, and not ore then or ever
after has counted it as lessening, the respect
in which she has ever 1 x*on held: that,, on the
contrary, every heart was wrung in sym
pathy with her anxiety, and every voice
rang in the shout of joy for her safety, I con
elude that human nature has traces of divin
ity in its makeup. This being so, it cannot
be totally depraved. What!” added he.
“speak lightly of that heroic exhibition of
a mother’s love? Saints have been canonized
for less."
“Bob,” said I, “you are eloquent!”
YACHTING COSTUMES.
Points in which We are Becoming More
Like the English.
New York, June 11. —We are becoming
more like the English every day in the ap
propriatoness of our cotumes. .Tust now
the ladies are particularly interested in
yachting, and some of the costumes, usually
of the wearer’s own design, are very effect
ive: in fact, there is quite a rivalry between
certain Indies its to who shall invent the,odd
est yachting suit, and ttrere seems to be no
limit to their fancies. A pretty costumed*
of fine French flannel, dark blup, figured
with tiny white anchors. The skirt was
kilted, and a short overskirt very much
looped on the left side and held in place by
a silver anchor. The waist was a loose
blouse with sailor collar and navy blue silk
sailor knot in trout. A soft hat made of the
flannel in derby shape around whieh was
wound a blue and white silk cord and tassel
completed the suit. White yachting cloth,
which looks like fine white flannel, but
washes better, comes at low price. A cos
tuine of this has a kilted skirt and overskirt,
entirely of white, while the waist is of sear
let and whltaHitriped flannel, with sailor fol
iar of dark blue embroidered with tiny
white stars. It isealied a flag cost ume. The
bat is a soft red felt, around which is a blue
and white cord and tassels.
pretty toilet was with white
wptliUrti, with blue and whlteetriped
T^kkt, made plaited and confined hv n leather
iMHhfhe clasp of which was a solid silver
and cuffs of dark blue, the collar
opeifflßfahnost to the waist, with an inner
vest of plain blue, on whieh was embroid
ered the ensign of the favorite yacht, an
anchor or a tiny ship.
A rod flannel skirt with a huge net as an
overskirt, caught up on the side with sil
ver anchor, a red felt hat trimmed with a
net, with an oar for ornament is pretty: it
also makes an appropriate tennis costume by
replacing the oar and anchor by ball, mallet
or bat. .
A young lady in mourning lias just had
made a black flauncl skirt, with blouse waist
of black, laced down tha front witli white
cord, collais and cuffs off white flannel, on
the corners of which are embroidered black
anchors. The hat is of white felt, with black
cord and tassel.
Uho would not like “to sail the wean
blue” with pretty young Indie* for compan
ions arrayed in such yachting costumes as
th*ief Evict, tn Baker Rarvier.
STOLETHKWEimiXGCAKE
A CROOK TELLS THE STORY OF A
CHEEKY OPERATION.
Romantic Adventure of a Bad Man
Who Went to School With Jesse
Grant-* A Bride Groom Treated
to Their Own Bridtd Sweetmeats.
NK\v York, June If. —A day or two ago
a detective with whom I am acquainted
gave ine a letter of introduction to a semi
reformed crook. Semi-reformation in this
case means that the man lias abandoned
plain, ordinary stealing and has gone to
gambling. There are many such in New
York, and my letter was ad
dressed to one of the best of
them. I was particularly anxious to hear
him tell how he stole a wedding cake and
treated the bride and groom to a piece of it.
The detective had outlined this instructive
bile to me, leaving the details to lx* filled in
by t he hero himself.
“Doe” Merry man has been a crook and
there is no denying it. He has violated the
eighth commandment artistically and
often, but Inspector Byrnes has said that
the crooked shall bo made straight, and the
Doc. aftora trip or two upthe river, has de
cided to try it. He has not, recently in
dulged in unauthorized redistribution of
property. My letter of introduction con
tained the words, "talk to him just ns you
would to mo”—this from a detective to a
crook. But it produced the desired effect,
ami I found that 1 could have had no bet
ter credentials. From thodetective I learned
that the Dim* was of g<x> I Western stock,
though his parents were poor. He was a
schoolfellow of Jessie Grant, and in fact
used to sit at the same desk with him. Ib
knew the whole Grant family well, and this
proved a go<xl thing for him later.
His first departure of any consequence
from the straight and narrow way was in
the line of forgery, and ho “went up” for a
ten years' sentence in consequence. This
was when Grant was President. From his
dungeon cell the culprit wrote* an ap]x*al to
Jesse Grant, calling upon him as an old
schoolmate for help. The case was at once
investigated, and as the sentence was mani
festly unjust. President Grant pardoned the
prisoner after a shortterm. But, unfor
tunately, he was not reformed.
i r--
|l|j
< al'ing n the Hoc.
This little incident made me all the more
anxious to see the Doc. I found him at the
house of a friend of his, where a mild and
quiet gauie of “draw” was in progress,
when 1 was ushered in. By the way, I won
der why so many gamblers--for that Is
what the Doc is now—gain the title of doc
tor. Is it because the medical profession
frequently loses a member who prefers to
take chances with his own money rather
than with other people's lives, or is it a
simile from dentistry founded on the fact
that gamblers are always “drawingand fill
ing?" But let that pass. The former sup
position covers the present case, for the Doe
is a regular graduate and entitled to pren
tice. During this digression he has won a
large jack pot; has piled up his checks, re
signed his seat, and greeted me very picas
antly. He is a man of medium height,
with slender frame, light complexion, close,
cropped curly beard and moustache, and
restless blue eyes. The same restlessness
characterizes his conversation, and this ef
fect was heightened by bursts of what
seemed to me the very absurdity of frank
ness. Evidently he must have relied im
plicitly on the man whose name 1 brought
hiiu, tor he told me many private matters.
1 had been told to ask tor the “wedding
cake story,” so I soon intimated my desire to
hear it.
“That is such a good story,” said the Doc,
“and I have told it so many times, that I tan
hardly lx* sure of telling it just as it <s
rurred. You know there’s a great tempta
tion to embellish a good yarn till yon can’t
youmeir tell whether you're bluffing or only
betting your band.”
From subsequent investigation I fear that
the Doc was “muffing” n little, but the mam
facts of the story are as you told them to
me. I will not attempt to reproduce his
words, for f could not do them justice.
They were too rich in the expressive
metaphor of the green cloth. The story
ran about as follows;
The Doc and a pa! concluded to pa y a visit
to the centre of American culture on the
shore of Massachusetts Bay. They were
much impressed by many tilings they saw
there —by the State House, the Common,
the Old South ('hureh, ami the magnificent
jewelry in the stores on Washington street.
The first three were fastened down but the
last, was movable, so the puls concluded to
tuke some of it as a memento of their visit.
Thi' genttemnn from ftroektnn.
The store of Slireve, Crump & Iw in on
the coiner of Rummer am! Washingt* >n
street*. There is an entrance on the latter
which admits (JfriH-tly t<> the pert of the
store where the goods are displayed; and an
other on Summer street which in near the
private office. •It hapf**nod that but one
member of the Arm won in the office when
a handsomely dressed man called one after
noon. The visitor would have none of the
clerks; he must sums the proprietor, no he was
ushered into the private office. He bowed
politely, and Haiti: ,
“[lull building a residence in Brockton
which in nearly completed. and 1 wsntsome
artistic little busts and bronzes, They must
tie the bent and I was cent to -<ri ns a man
who could assist my judgment and in whom
I could implicitly rely."
The member ofqglic (Irm was flattered.
He left t.ho private office and proceeded to
show his gentlemanly y.sitor the wealth of
art which lay upon the counters. Consider
able time was occupied in discussing the
merits of these articles, in which both men
seemed greatly interested. Meantime there
had been another caller at. the private office.
He had entered from Hummer street. He
was a well-dressed man, and in his hand he
carried a green hag, such ns lawyers put
their books into, lie did not seem sur
prised to find the office vacant, anil imme
diately preceded to make himself at home.
He removed some old newspapers from the
bag and replaced them with glittering
jewels from trie recesses of the safe. Then
lie departed, but in a few minutes returned
and repeated the operation.
Nothing in tile appearance of the private
office indicated that any one had entered it,
when the member of the firm and the gen
t'.email from Brockton returned.
“You have some of the handsomest goods
in stock that f have ever seen,” said the visi
tor. "Insueli a bewildering variety one can
hardly choose.' I w ill think the matter over
and return in a day or two.”
“I shall be pleased to soe you,” said the
member of the firm, but lie didn’t know at
the time what asublimity of prophetic truth
there was in his words.
A &-KH) chronometer watch lay on the
of the safe, it must have been overlooked
by the man with the green bag. The gen
tleman from Brockton carelessly slipped the
watch into his pocket.
‘‘l am afraid that I have taken too much
of your valuable time,” said he, with slight,
emphasis on the last, word.
“My time is at your service,” said the
member of the linn, politely.
“1 have taken the liberty of making that
assumption,” said the Doe, and lie smilingly
departed.
An hour later two results of the events
just related developed. The member of the
linn hurried up to police headquarters with
vengeance in his eye, and the gentleman
from Brockton and the man with the green
’nag. sitting in a private room at one of the
hotels, pledged each other’s health in spark
ling champagne, for they were #4,000 richer
than they had been six hours before. It
will surprise any one who has faith in the
. tllcacy of modem police methods and the
astuteness of jewelers to learn that the esti
mable pair repeated their operation several
times (Turing the next day at various stores
in Boston. Then they took a well-earned
holiday and proceeded to see the sights. In
such cases it is a sad fact that the bottom of
certain tumblers and glasses are among the
most attractive sights. Ho it happened that
the Doe and his pal got considerably ex
hilarated. Notthat their condition unfitted
them for work; on the contrary, the Doc’s
tongue ran nlj the nioreglibly and his friend’s
lingers became lighter.
In their ramblers they saw a great many
interesting things, although they avoided
the greater thoroughfares. There was one
sight in particular which interests lmth. It.
was a glimpse through a back window show
ing a handsome wedding cake, elalxirately
frosted, in the foreground, and a basket of
wine in the background.
“.Johnny,” says the Doc, “I’m fond of
cuke, and i’ll crack that crib for the sake o’
the sugar cherubs.”
■.‘Affright if you say so,” says Johnny,
“hut don't you think it'll be playing our
good luck rather brash for a small stakeT’
They took the cake.
“Not a tiit of it; just, watch me, or rather
watch the cake;’' aiid Johnny did so while
his pal disappeared to gain the front of the
house.
It was not a swell wedding on the Back
Bay. but just a nuiet little affair in a re
siiectable though not aristocratic street.
Only a few friends were present, but in some
way, known only to such men as the Doc,
and perhaps a reporter or two, the wily
crook gained admission to the house, and in
ten minutes hail accomplish such a diversion
a-, to delay the entrance bf the party into the
dining room. Meanwhile Johnny hail
"mashed ’’ the cook, and on one pretext or
another had disposed of the other servant*,
and before any one in the house realized
what, was being done the audacious scamp
had actually walked oir with the wedding
cake, the silver platter on which it had been
put, and the basket of wine. The Doe, be
fore the discovery hail been made, excused
himself and withdrew. They decamped on
afi o’clock train which connected witli a
Sound steamer.
The stolen wines proved to is- excellent; so
good, in fact, that thetwofrionducoucluaed
to shure them with the passengers. They
quietly passed the wine around the saloon
without, at iirst., attracting the attention of
the officers of the boat; and then, as a giddy
climax of drunken bravado they actually
IHis.ied the wedding cake around on its sil
ver platter, giving some übsurd excuse to
account for their possession of it. It reads
like a romance, but. as the Doc says:
“Copper me eternally from soda to hock
if the bride and groom weren't among that
crowd; and they ate their own wedding cake
second-handl”
This was too much;the luck had changed,
and the spoil of the reckless pair was recog
nized by the victims, who reported tile
facts to the Captain. Asa consequence, the
police boat was signaled in New York har-
Iku’, and tlie crooks were taken into custody.
The check-'for their trunks were found in
their pockets, and the stolen Jewelry was
t hus recovered. Neither of them received
a long sentence. Perhaps the Judge was
moved by the sublimity of their "cheek."
After the Din-, hud told his story tho con
versation turned upon the subject of the de
eotioti of crime, and the Doc spoke ad
miringly of Ins[K'ctor Byrnes.”
“He* always used me square,” he said,
“though of course he’s sent me up once or
twice, lie’s always willing to help a fellow
if he thinks there* any good in him. He
treats me well, Isx-ause I know how to get
along with Win. There’s only one way to
do that; you’ve got to tell him the truth
every time. He hates a liar, and it isn’t
any use to lie to him. He always knows it.
One time ho hail me up to headquarters to
ask me alsnit some stuff that hail disap
peared. Wu taikcii awhile aboutit and then
lie said;
“ ‘Now look me in the eye and tell me you
didn’t get that stuff.’
“Think I was fool enough to try it; not
much! 1 looked square at him and said:
“*Tbt isn’t, a tali-deal, lnsfks-ioi-. Here
I’m in quod and you’re surrounded by pimp.
I can’t, go you even. You've got a better
eye loan leave, anyway.’
1 PRICE gl A YEAR.I
1 5 CENTS A COPYif
“You know he’s a big, imposing-looking
cuss that you don’t like to fool with. Weil
sir, that seemed to please him to think ]
wouldn’t lie square at him, and though Iliad
to go up for the business I got off light and
had any easy time while I was inside—cams
out with money in my pocket und got lotsol
good advice and other kindnesses from th
Inspector when I got on the right side ol th
bars.”
His praise of the I inspector seemed to b*
genuine, though it was very strange to heal
the fox testify to the skill of the hunter,
Mr. Byrnes was unquestionably right i*
supposing that there was some good in tin
Doc, and, as 1 bade him good night, I asked
him to come and smoke a cigar w ith me som*
day and tell another story.
Chart.es W. Hook*.
USES OF THE BOX LOUNGE.
A New Device which Appears to b#
Growing in Popularity.
New York, June 11.—A new device is th*
box lounge, which is a great thing for peo
pie short of closet room or those living it
apartments. The seats lift up, and into it
may lie placed evening dresses, laid out theii
full length, which prevents crushing. A box
lounge may lie of home manufacture, easilyi
or if a carpenter is convenient, have hint
make a box, say five feet long by three widu
then have notches made for slats; over that
a small hair mattress, throw over that i
largo Turkish rug or a chenille piano cover,
pile up three or tour sofa cushions and yoii
have a very handsome lounge, something
that with sheets and pillow cases may b<
transformed into a tied, and dresses may N
placed in the box beneath. The reason foi
the slats instead of a cover is twofold. 11l
the first place, it makes the bpd or loung*
easier; and in the second place, it is lea*
weight to lift a slat, or two at a time to find
the article of clothing you may be in search
of than it would be to lift a large and heavy
cover. Some people prefer a small wir*
spring mattress for a cover to the box, which
is on hinges at the back and lifts like any
other co' cr. It is not heavy. A young
artist friend of mine hasoneof theaq lounge*
in hlsstudioand lie calls it multum inpnrut.
It contains in the box his dress suit, several
pairs of patent leather shoes and some re
serve boxes of cigars, all of which I saw aa
lie unfoldisl its isiauty and convenience to
party of us. The best of ail was that he im
formed in the box cost but $2 and the mat*
tress #O. Tlie Turkish rug which covered il
carelessly was one of his former possession*
Evelyn Baker llahvixr.
THE PILGRIM STAR.
Disbelief in the Actal Disappearance at
the Star of Bethlehem.
Fnjm the Aliiuouri Kefuihltenn.
The reitoned reappearance in t,he heaven*
of the “Star of Bethlehem.” after an ab*
sence of more than 300 years, reawakened
the interest, in this wonderful visitor which
was manifested a year or so ago, and th<
local astronomers are bmshing up on it*
history and the theories ad valu ed in favoi
of its identity. The first intelligent story ol
the appouranee of this “Pilgrim” star, it
transmitted by Tycho Brahe, who recog.
nized It in Cassiopea’s “chain,” on Nov. 11,
I.M 2. This was I sffore the invention of the
telescope, but the peculiar brightness and
characteristics of tne star at. once revealed
its novelty. It was at, that time much
brighter tnan any starof the first magnitude,
anil was of a brilliant yellow color. By many
people it, was seen at midday until February
of the following year, when it is assumed a
darker, reddish lute, and had gradually
diminished in brilliancy to the quality of a
star of the Hint magnitude; by the following
November it tiad fs-nmod the proportions ol
a fourth magnitude star, and at the end ol
March. 1574, it faded from before the naked
eye. Tycho Brahe describe*, his discovery a*
a most brilliant, scintillating star, withouts
tail and with the features of the other fixed
stars, excepting that its scintillations were
more pronounced and stronger. It was also
without the nebulous lights so ofte,n ob
served in wayward truauts. such as it is as
sumed to he. Upon the appea ranee of the
star tile great Danish astronomer who dis
covered it, and his learned colleagues,
sought lor some data by which to plaice it.
They finally found that, about 1204 a sfer
had'licori discovered at the site o<-coupled by
their star, and again in 045. At noth of
these dates the descriptions were meagre,
but in the aimence of a better explanation
they assumed that the star*, at the diff*reti{
dates were one and the same: so, tracing
bark down the vault of years, they discover
ed that, the star would, by the laws of
periodicity, have I sen present at about the
year .’! B. C. Reasoning on the basis of tbe
recognized inaccuracies of the methods of
computation of time in those days of sim
plicity, they assumed again that their star
was ttie very same guiding slar that led th#
magi to
THE MAlfOr.lt AT BETH I.EHEM,
and they calksl it “The >Sar of Bethlehem."
During all these years of the supposed ab
sence of the star of Bethlehem there ha* re
sided at its proper abode, in the chair of the
celestial queen (’awdojiea, a star of the tenth
magnitude, which was long supposed to he
tho Star of Bethlehem, hiding, ns it were,
la-hind some mysterious veil of fate.
A theory was advanced many years ago
that the “sun spots,” which are character
istics more or less of the fixed stars and the
sun, were variable in their luminosity, and,
being vastly larger than the spots on the
sun, served either to reveal or hide the star.
The stars known as “eleven-year stars’’
were covered with s|*jt*, frequent in their
cluxnges; the stars visible at longer inter-*
vals were possessed of spits whose variations
were i-orn-spondingly slow in execution. 80
that on this theory the star of Bethlehem
may not have lieen a truant after all, but
may have undergone the change in sun spots,
causing its dimness, and the luminous stag*
of its .quits may now be returning. Ac
cording to another theory, and one, by the
way, not izi well thought of, an opaque body
of some celestial texture, is poised in space
barring our vision from a portion of such
supposed periodical star, and the surface of
light being thereby diminished, we see the
star at a groat disadvantage, and assume
that it is a star of some lesser magnitude.
FATHER rHARROPPIN'S VIEWS.
Among ihn loeal astronomers most inter
pKtod in the prospective guest is Rev. Father
Charrnpin of Ht. Louis university, who is
giving the matter some serious study and
olwervation. He is as vet sceptical as to the
identify of the star of Bethlehem, and sug
gi-sts that it will lie well not to conclude too
nastily that the Almighty has made use of
one lit tie star of to-day to guide the shepherds
to the .Saviour of mankind. He inclines to
the opinion that tho bibicnl “star of Beth
lehem" was some miraculous light going be
foiv the magi, as did the “pillar of fire by
night and the pillar of cloud by day,” when
it was (tod's will that the children of Israel
should be led through the “desert” of Egypt,
However, he does not dispute that the name
is apropos, since the history of the star la
that it is one of the brightest in the celestial
diadem Rev. C'harropiu is of the opin
ion that the star expected, has remained at
it present site during the ages of the world,
but that some unknown force has yelled it.
Its npps*ranee :sir years are to heoxnlained
on ime or more of the several theories
advanced, two of which are given
iitNive, a:id he thinks that ere the period of
brightness of the star passes away, should
it come at ail, the improved instruments of
the day will have discovered its hiding place
and expluioed awuy it* mysterious ahae-voo.