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The morning news. (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, June 12, 1887, Image 1

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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 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. 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 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.