Newspaper Page Text
1805.
iARAH BERNHARDT AT HOME
Ln Hour in the Ealon cf the Host Won
derful of Frenchwom en.
BHE WHO 18 INOOHPABA8I1 £
Hi.
Ever Young. Ever Adorable, a Genlue
Who Gbarras at Sixty ae at
rwenty-flve—Her View*
Of America.
tl'opyrlsbl 1090. hr Carhelirr, Johnson a
Bscbellrr.)
AHI8, May 20.—
Sarah Hernhnrdt fa
the most sundeful
thing In Paris, and
there are many
wonderful thlncs 111
1 tart*. Forget Ihnt
•he In an acireM, If
you piea.10 (an I did
yeatenlay when 1
•Mr her), and re-
member only that
•he In a woman.
When you meet
f)],i.Intone and Bismarck you Kill forget
that they are etatenmen, and /..•member
»nly that they are men. You will nay
"amen!" to Iho populace which hae
nicknamed them "Grand Old Men," mid
Ihen. alter you have met Bernhardt,
fou will nleknaene her "Oraud Old
Woman." I write thin through no lack
sf gullantry, but let It rl«c from the
iepthn of a very deep admiration.
She hae not«» beautiful a home now,
f am tokl, an her old hotel wan, hut ft
la one of the mo»t beautiful places that
I have ever Keen, lta facade la not Im
posing—It la merely a part of the dead
Mono monotony which tinea the aLroetn
of Paris. But the monotony ended when
1 rang the bell. In Pari* every re*l-
aenco building hae It* courtyard In the
rentre. To this one in admitted through
a door big enough to pann vehtiden aa
well na pednatrlan*. Thin la guarded
by a concierge, who keeps a. •harp eye
hind her across the rugs. She advanced
with a little cry of praise for America
and all who come from tb«re. That
Is a part of her fit
the maoon telegraph : Sunday morning, juni
and •till makes every syllable distinct
and crisp. Her French is comforting
to the person who has learned the lan
guage from teachers. It has been said
that there Is no other person In France
whose French it is so easy to under
stand.
'Ah!" she cried. ‘"You are from New
York. I am going to New York again.
I feel as it 1 must see New York once
In a while. It Is so new and fresh. It
Inspires mo." This may or may not
have been sincere. But no one who
hoard her say It could at that moment
have doubted Jts sincerity.
For a moment she stood before the
Are chatting with Indescribable vi
vacity. Then she sank down among the
cushions of the big divan ready to
answer questions. It was with a Pas
ture of the most engaging abandon
ment that she placed herzelt at the
mercy of the American newspaper
man. With her spreading outstretched
hands she said, very plainly:
Hem I am—do what you like. I de
sire to talk to an American above all
other things on earth. •! would readily
forego any other pleasure in the whole
world In order to secure this one!"
The woman who sat there is prob
ably nearly 00 years old. She became
an actress because there was nothing
else for her to do. Bhe stood small
chance of making a good marriage, be
cause she had no dot. and a dot Is an
essential of a good marriage In France.
Her mother’s good friend was the Duke
of Momy. a cousin of Napoleon III.,
and the brainiest diplomat of his reign,
despite his dissolute character. When
he died Napoleon’s power began to
wane, and some believe that this was
because of the Duke of Morny's death.
This friendship made It possible for
Barah's mother to place the girl In the
Conservatory. It was the only thing
which was possible, so to the Conserva
tory she went. It wus there that she
mot Murle Columbler. who afterward
wrote "The Memories of Sarah Bar-
num,” h book which made a horribly
vicious attack upon Bernhardt, and
caused three duels beforo it was sup
pressed, besides gaining for the author
ess u horsewhipping from Sarah her
self. Columbler and Bernhardt had di
vided the second prize for elocution at
powder and rouge could ill deceive
him. Thsre is »n her wonderfully mo
bile face not one wrinkle. Her hands
tt li probable that there I* no other y^uns*mU.'could wl*h*heeown*to*^f
morsel.*, clocks of the human frame—
that the tale of her years Is told. And
she wears long laces about them,
which conceal them except when her
gestures, free and graceful as the fly
ing of a bird, disturb their folds and re
veal the little tracks upon her flesh. Her
voice ho* not 111 It one of the cracked
high note* which one expect* in a
woman who ha* pa»«ed the meridian of
life, and journeyed well along toward
the time when the »un munt net, and
along a rough and rocky road, at
that, but la aa full of the round, full
wonderful tone., the rich, penetrating,
mesmerizing cadence:, which have
charmed audience, and Intimate* from
the ddy when .he first swept the pub
lic to her feet with her performance
of Zarnette In Coppee'n "Passant."
When 1 told her horv America ad
mires her her laughter came out rip
pling and musical—It was the leusthtc-
or a young girl, not that of an old
woman. When she leaned forward and
told me how nhe admire. America,
the pretty words were spoken In the
voice of a maiden—a maiden who hesi
tate* and almost blushes before .he
gives rein to her Impetuous enthusi
asm. And If she Is acting, I could not
dream of It until after I had left her.
"If you were to name the very g,ea t-
est part that has ever been written for
presentation on the stage, what would
you answer?" I asked, after she had
told all our merits as a nation, and re
fused to acknowledge that we have any
faults worth mentioning. She hesitated
for a long time, toying with the fur of
her wrap and twisting a big tassel
which hung down from It. Finally she
aald, reflectively:
"For men unquestionably the great
est part Is Hamlet. I am anxious to
hear what Alexander Salvlni, who Is to
play It In America soon, will do with It.
For women the greatest part In that of
Lady Macbeth. If you turn to comedy,
the greatest part In In ’Ah You Like
It.' But aside from that cne I rank
Mollere with Shakespeare as a writer
of comedy. /Look at the ’School of
the Women,* ‘The School of the Hun-
bandn’ and ‘Amphitryon’—all grand! If
I had to give a preference among
Mollcro’H comedies. It would be for
‘Tartuffe,’ or ‘The Wise .Women,”*
“And the greatest single emotional
situation ?’’ I persisted.
“Oh, there are so many! So many!”
she exclaimed. "There is the last act
In "Camille!* There In the third act in
*La Tosca!' There Is the.scene in Sud-
errnann’s *Foyer Paternal!’ But from
them all I shall select the great scene
In 'Olivia* aa the very, very greatest.
"I have studied out the elements of
most of these scenes. It in nothing for
me to loam a part, you know-I can
not Imagine how the mere learning of
the lines of a part can be hard work
for anybody. The role of Oismonda I
learned In an hour, but I spent weeks
In studying It after I had learned It. I
ever do. I read everything that can help
me to understand the times In which a
play 1h laid, which can help me to un
derstand the character of the person
whom I am to represent on the stage.
I think it out in* what I call the ’lost
moments’—the moments when one
would ordinarily waste one’s mind on
trivialities, the moments In my car
riage, the moments when lam walking
from one part of iny house to an
other, the moments when I am going to
sleep or waking up. There is so much
time which one can save by having
something Important to think about.
But as for the parrot trick of learn
ing the lines, it la nothing! After that
Is accomplished, one must spend so
much time In learning how to live the
life of the character—in becoming actu-
A MYSTERY OF THE CLOTH
'be Heath and Falingentsis of a 38-Cest
Coat.
ANOIHEB EAST 8.DE 8E0BET
The Kennels and InU-dMsc About
the Bowery Iieveal Where Old
Clothes Go to Be 3Iede
•New.
(Copjrlrht, 1805.)
EW YORK, June
S.—t'SIneo nothing
Is ever loirt," said
I, "much would U
please me to know
what becomes of
tho old clothes.
Where do they
lie hid, after they
are cast off by
you and me and
all those other
men, until their
severed part* re
appear as rags on a mop end, or serve
as steam Jacket* on tho chestnut
t casters of the sunny *ons of the blue
.Mediterranean?'’
"Come with me," said he, after r,
little reflection; "I doubt not that „„ iw
we Bhal1 fin(1 *-t>o solution of this, as of of a coat we’ve Just seen knocked' down
high, where the auctioneer stands. As
he takes each article, be rune forward
to the other end of the platform and
rapidly back again, dragging It after
him. Hand* are reached out to grasp
at It aud feel lta quality, hands of
grimy and pinched women squatting
along the platform, hands of frowsy
and unkempt anarchistic-looking fel
lows, standing Just behind them.
Still further In the' background are
others, packed like sardines. At the
back of the store are a few men,
very few. somewhat better dressed.
This Is the auctioneer's monologuer
“Five fine babies—three-eighths I'm
offered. Who sa«s half—half—half? Sold
to Jones. Lot 230—a fine ladles' wrap
per and skirt Who wants this beauti
ful lady for five-eighths—flve-elghths-
seventy—seventy-five—eighty. Smith,
Lot 257. Suit of clothes. Five-eighths
—six—one—one—five. Sold, cp*h !"—
It Is like the clapper of a child's
windmill.
We notice some things. Babies'
clothes are called "babies" for short,
A woman's dress Is a "lady." Bidding
goes by York shillings, elsewhere ob
solete, by eighths of a dollar. The
prices are very small, but, little as they
nre, the goods do not look worth even
so much.
The purchasers are a study. A very
few of them are poor men. looking for
cheap clothing to wear. The women
are the mistresses of tiny Sweat
shops, where men and women of their
own blood, who know no English, toll
night and day In a living hell at the
repair cf the garments bought. The
•better dressed men at the rear are
agents of the big auction goods houses.
And a visit to one of them, in the wake
/W'
on visitors. So far Sarah’s house Is
like every other house In Farts. But
you have .urty to ensin the first thresh
old 111 order to discover Borah. She la
there In Uio grotesque copper nines
which Hunk the doorway loading from
Hie courtyard Into her house, tuul which
nre unlike any other copper ruses ever
designed by the hand of mun; In the
great moose skin, whk-h, surrounded by
the deep, rich fur of the black bear,
hangs upon tho wall of the entrance
way, and which la one of tho trnphtos
or one of Huruh'a own hunting expedi
tions; in the bell pull, cleverly disguised
us a clinging vine, from the end of
which hangs a handle. A Jerk at It
kturted a great cluttering and clanging
a-going somewhere tn the Interior of
the hvnim\ Evidently Sarah's nerves
nre moro composed than the ulmble-
flitgered paragrapher would have us
think. That bell must have been orig
inally designed for the earn of a black
smith. .
Tho ihsir opened noiselessly and
framed a man servant, who gilded be
fore until he had led us to the entrance
to tile iileller—Sarah's reception room.
There his place was token by a Utile
npnarlUon with shining block fact- and
hands and the tooeely draped folds of
a while silk zouave suit surmounting
1-tsek stockings, nnd, sins’ conventional
black shoes. Sarah should give more
attention to detail, This tiny Turk, or
Indian, or m•go—whatever he may be—
would Inive been perfect had his shoea
been In character. But they wero heavy
ce 'enawe. They clattered. They were
not eonststent.
It took the loom Itself to remove the
unhappy effect of the little boy'n shoea.
It Is a glorious room—long and high,
with one stained glasa aide, and with
the light from lta peaked stained glass
roof tempered by curtain* which may
he manipulated from below. Its fur
nishings nre gorgeous and unique. At
one end Is a great fireplace, In which
tiro logs sputtered und flashed behind a
brass game screen, calculated to con
fine the sparks, but to release the
warmth. Tho day was chilly. Over In
the corner tie treat to the fireplace Is
a pile of cushions hooded by a splendid
ranopy and making a divan of great
elegance. An Incomparable cabinet,
full of the mementoa of Sarah's wide
traveling, stands nearby. There are
three pictures of Importance on the
walls. One Is of Sarah's son. Maurice,
■nude when he was a hoy of about 10
mid showing him accompanied by a
magnificent hound. The other two are
of herself, and nro both near to life
rise. In an extension, built tn a window
orpeslte tho picture of little Maurice. Is
s big cage occupied by a splendid spe
end a parrot of gorgeous plumage.
They apparently dwell together In peace
ml harmony. This side of the room ta
> it Into alcoves by fine cabinets and
> i her b'g pieces of furniture. In one
'■f these alcoves Is a pedestal upon
wl !rh Is displayed a bit of Sarah's
-wi. w> rj: an a sculptor. A great chunk
of pure whits marble she has cut Into
the remblanee of n human head, freshly
decapitated. It ts not a pleasant effigy.
But It chimes In with the popular con
ception of Sarah's eccentricity.
While I waited for Madame I heard
her laughing nnd talking with friends
In the breakfast room. They were
very merry. It was shout 1 o'clock In
the arternoon. ami she was entertain-
lag a breakfast parly.
Bv and by aha came, the little appa
rition dn block holding aside the cur
tains for her os the patoed down the
three or four broad steps which ltd
Into the room,
She might bay* been a woman of 25.
on she walked down the length of the
atelier with that tplutdld grace which
seems to be hers alone. Her long
whit* dp as. covered by a white robe.
fur-Uned and MIU longer, swept be-
the Conservatory, hut no one believed
that Sarah cuu ) possibly keep paco
with the other girl. Columbler was
considered to be by far the more prom
ising of the pair. Bernhardt’s vastly
greater success may have been what
really caused the scurrilous hook to he
written. Frenchwomen hnvo been
known to bo Jealous. Bernhardt was
horn about tS4l). Her father was an at
torney of .Havre, and her mother a
Dutch Jewess of Amsterdam. Her early
youth woa passed In the latter city,
where, after the death of her father,
ahe lived with her grandfather. From
thta home ahe was sent Into the con
vent of the Orandc Champ at Versailles
where she was educated In the Catho
lic faith. At 15 the life of the oonvont
was exchanged for Ihe life of the Con
servatoire.
"I have never thought that I was
born to be an actress. I have al
ways known that t was born to
he a painter and noth I nr, else. If I
had had my way I should have been
a painter. Of all things tn Bits world
I lovo painting beat, and did love It
best then, nnd always ahull love It
best. But circumstances made an net-
reas of me, and at first a very bad
actress, for all tho critics could not
have been mistaken, and there was not
one who did not Join tn my condemna
tion. 1 sank Into complete obscurity,
but 1 worked. What was hoforo me I
did not like, hut I would not. consent ta
being n failure. I was forced to do
eomothlng which I did not want to do,
hut 1 made up my mind to do it well.
1 played minor parte at the Clymnnsc,
sang in the chorus at the Porte 8t.
Martin, amt .did general' drudge work.
Bui 1 never stopped my study for a
moment. At Inst I got another chance.
It was the night of Jan. 14, ISO?. I
played Arhulle In ‘Lea Femmes Sa
vants.' 'I succeeded mildly, I one no
longer utterly obscure. Two vears later
I won a real triumph In the part of
Zarnette at the Odeon.
"This was really the beginning of the
time shea the public saw fit to be
good to me. There has been no cessa
tion of Its Pleasantness since then,
some of It, I think. 1 nave deserved,
rente of It I know I have not de
served, My place In the Comedle
Krancalse was offered to me after I
had crested the part of Marie de Neu-
borg In 'Huy Bias' by Victor Hugo.
After 1 had pluyed the part of Donna
Sol In tho same writer's "Hernanl"
he sent me a little note saying: 'i wept.
Accept Ihe homage of (hat tear of the
eld poet.' That was the most welcome
praise I have ever known.''
Since then there Is scarcely a writer
In the whole world ahe knows so well
who has not done her more homage
than did Hugo then. The greatest
playwright of modern ttmoa—Vlctorlen
Sardou—has for years devoted hta beat
brain to her. He has written nothing
without considering her needs and her
capabilities; he has placed him: elf and
hla pen at her service absolutely. She
Is considered first. Alt other genius
come* second In bis mind. That la a
tribute worth the gaining.
Bernhardt's greatest triumph la
unique. She has triumphed over time!
In all tha world to-day there Is no
woman actively In the public view
who has lived so long, and who has
lived so much during the years that
•he has lived. She may be fifty, she
may be fifty-five, yet ahe looka thirty,
and that not only on the etage, when
•he has all the accessories of arranged
light* and hidden paint* to gloss the
ravages of time, but In her own recep
tion room at midday, with the light
of the sun shining brightly tn and
with the visitor so close to her that
ally married to one's part—that one has
none to waste on the mere committing
of the Hues to memory.
"What would you say to young play
wrights. Madame? What advice would
you give them ?••
“i would advlBe them against nature 1-
Ism and realism In theatres. Those
are the besetting sins of the dratnn of
these years. The stuff for plays should
be drawn from t!)e Imnglnntlon. which
lifts up; not from real life, whieltdrngs
down. The great fault of our modern
dramatists—many of them—Is that they
try to split u hair Into four parts»~they
try to get something out of nothing."
After Madame Bernhardt had thus
given tier Idea* of her own profession,
I tried to find out what she thought ol'
the many other arts and professions
In which she hns been snhl to take so
great nil Interest. I remembered ihnt
I hud been told about her great abili
ties aa a painter, aa a sculptor, aa a
writer, as a mathematician, a* a hunt
ress—as almost anything and every
thing under the sun. I remembered
rending how she hnd taken the Instru
ments away from the captain of a pa
cific steamship as she was crossing
from Japan, and made the day's obser
vations a* well s as he could have made
them himself,' showing a thorough
knowledge of navigation. I temem-
bereil that she had hnd paintings and
statues exhibited In the Salon. I re
membered the moose skin hanging
down In the entry way.
She laughed merrily and musically
when I told her whal I was thinking
nbout.
"Oil, 1 have been credited with so
many things that 1 have never done!”
said she. "People think me so very
much cleverer ihan I am. 1 watch, I ob
serve; 1 cannot help it. and because 1
show a little general knowledge of
things, which are not tn the routine
round of my life, they raise tholf
hands and praise me as If I knew
everything. But t do not. Oh, I know
very little. ) hnd watched the captain
of that steamship ns ho took his obser
vations for many days, and I had ques
tioned him and oiher* about It. Final
ly, when we had nearly reached our
Journey's end, was It surprising that I
had learned something? Would f not
have ben Incredibly stupid If I had
not? And the painting! Ah, It ts the
painting that 1 love better than J do
anything el/e | n this world—better than
acting, better than myself. It was what
I ought to have studied. In painting
l could have done something really
worth while, I think. But I have never
studied It. I have simply painted a
little now nnd then, because 1 love t:
so nnd cannot help It. Have 1 done
very wrong tn yielding to the tempta
tion? Sculpture Is the only thing that
I have actually made any serious study
of. outside of my profession. And thnt
I have only studied ns an amnteur. As
an amateur 1 try to do some dcehrntlvs
work In that—and I do not ask anybody
to look at anything I do—there Is noth
ing for the public to complain of. I
endure my own statues."
By this time Madame’a reception hour
had arrived. We were interrupted u
hundred times. She received her
friends as a queen might receive her
subjects. Arthur Meyer, the editor of
la Bauhils, cam# tn. nnd bending rever
entially ever her extended hand, kissed
It and passed out. Maurice entered,
and lightly touched bis mother's fore
head with his lips, men Terry, who
hod run over from London feir a day—
she has been far from rrell this year,
and tins been obliged to take frequent
little vacations—rustled down the room,
and was received by Bernhardt as one
great artiste should receive a pother.
Young nnd old, man an* women
came to do homage to Sarah the Di
vine. There she -at. liot,u v d tied by the
weight of year*, happy, exhilarated by
the pleasure of seeing her friends,
shaking her red bush of hair merrily
With one. bowlny It slowlv tn response
to the compliment* of another, always
saying the right thing tn ih« right
place, never hurrying, never hesitating
Bernhardt In the salon Is aa wonder
ful aa Bernhardt on the stage.
One man. as he rais'd rut, pausM on
the little stairs, and. turning, bet I tip
his hands, and said to a group near
by:
“Ah. Mrdame the Ineomnerahle! Pe
lvis hypnotised us alt. She has hvpno-
"FIVE FINE BABIES!'
all other mysteries of the world, on the
east sloe."
So, through that teeming town within
u that great and sordid region
whose loves, hates, mysteries, super
stitions, tragedies, gayetles, meannesses
and generosities an army of novelists
couldn’t adequately picture if they
worked overtime until the millennium,
we chased the evasive coattails of the
problem, until its solution was caught
und laid before u,s, thus:
There is a reason for everything, ex
cept when there are two or more rea*.
sons; and the reason why the hand-me-
down mystery is run to earth In the
burrows nnd kennels of the east
side is the poverty of the place. Here
second-hand clothing accumulates be
cause hero live the old-clo’ men.
who swup for It tin things of full* ex
terior, but fleeting virtues; and the
chiiTonnlera who hook It up out of the
ash barrelH. and the gentlemen who
beg seven suits a day for their own
strictly perHonul use, and the gentle
men who steal It, and, moat of all, the
pawnbrokers.
The biggest pawnbroker In New York
Ih a member of the Press Club, a
politician, and a man of ostentatious
charities. He can afford to be. He
di es a business of reveral million dol
lars a year, and until the Charities
building pawnshop was opened* and
brought the rate of interest down to
1 per cent, per month It was twice
or thrice us high, und one’s capital
doubled In three or four years, liy
the way, that was one practical, chari
table enterprise that really helped
for "S cents, is as big a sight as can
be found in New York, and in New
York oven on the east side.
I can’t mention the auction goods
dealer by name. He doesn’t like news
paper advertising. He does, however,
send out 150,000 circulars to every big
or little town or hamlet of the United
States or Canada, and many even to
That’s enterprise No. 1. No. ,2 comes
when you pass through the <sunny of
fice, with Its pretty typewriter girls,
Into the safe room, where. In an enor
mous vault, protected from robbery by
every device known to modern science,
lies probably $100,000 worth of dia
monds and precious stones, all bought
In pawnbrokers’ pledges. There will
be diamond earrings, with brilliants as
big as Lima beans, and worth hundreds
of dollars; aolltaire and cluster rings of
exquisite size and lustre; topazes,
emeralds, brooches, pins, watches,
nothing pinchbeck, but all perfectly
genuine; nnd a story of heartbreak or
hunger, death or desertion lurking be
hind the hard and cruel glitter of every
one. Who would think that such rich
treasures, and so many, could find
their way from poverty back to wealth
again through such sordid channels? *
There is a corps of jewelers cleaning
and repairing Jewels and watches, eras
ing all private marks, nnd making them
look like new for the country merchant
who comes to get a stock a little below
the wholesale rates; but this is neg
lecting the IlS-cent. coat which, by
this time, is away up on the top floor,
its price ticketed within the collar. We
climb the stairs Just In time to see the
the poor, whose only bank Is the one garment grasped by the only man, who
IN THE SWEAT SHOP,
with the sign of the three balls, wasn’t
It?
Weil, one pawnbroker turns over sev
eral millions a year; and there are
others. A mountain of articles gathers
in their shops, and of these a great
portion rcmhlna unclaimed; sometimes
tecaure the owner** couldn't redeem
them, sometimes because they don’t
want to, ro me times because the owners
nd the pawners weren’t the same
persons. Unredeemed pledges must be
sold—^hoproom is valuable—they eat
tho profits up in Interest and insurance.
trace the old coat from the
pawnshop to the auction room. It
goes the same road, no matter who
get* It from the flrai wearer.
The auction room W not the attractive
piowu store, with Its litter of
bibelots. Its scent-laden atmosphere and
rustle of ladles* silks, but a room
whose air Is close, wheae bidders are
c!ad in rags, like thoao they i,.:y; whose
prices average a fraction of & dol
lar. and whose stile* follow eAch other
with inconcelvai le rapidity. There are
of these places In the city, and
their business goes on all day long,
flve days every week in the yeor.
Imn.ein* the quantity of stuff they
ir.urt *•'11!
The treat picturesque of these sales
rooms Is. of course, on the Bowery
where they do and «%y uuch things,
fright down the m ddlc t f the little
store run* a narrow platform, wait
Inal Cohens'* who sell auction goods oil
Baxter street do their own repairing.
The auction goods Jobber deals with.
the country.
The reader never saw. and never will
see. unless he’s in the business, one of
rhc*?e 150.000 circulars. If he did. he d-
notice that the clothing Is sold In grad
ed lots'by the dozen. Coats of rather
small sizes can be bought, nholesa 1 ?,
f. o. b„ as low as $18 a dozen. For
fit)! drees suits one pays a more fancy
price, say $40 a dozen. After paying*
freight, there is still considerable mar
gin of profit In selling second-hand
<*oods for new, even at very low prices.
And It must be sold as new. I never
In my life saw a sign or an advertise
ment which read: "Second-hand cloth
ing, neatly repaired by experts, for salo
at low prices,” or words to that effect.
Did you? m
I was thinking of something like this,
of the hundred and fifty thousand clr-i
culars sent out by a single firm, thtf
five auction rooms grinding away at
lightning speed every day, of the box*s,
the bales, the busy scenes, the hundreds
or workmen, the loaded wagons, when*
I said, as we walked away toward
Newspaper Row: "There must be thou
sands of men at this moment. In alt
parts of these United States. Who’d btf
Insulted If you told 'em the simple
truth—that they're wearing second
hand coats Instead of new ones.”
"Yes," said tho east side philosopher,
there must be. Is that suit you’re
wearing ready-made?"
"It Is.” I said. “Fairly nice suit, too.”
"So I see. How do you know that
lsm't second hand—out of tills same
shop we Just left?"
"Oh, because,” I said, "because I
paid too much for It, and because the'
firm that, sold it is not only honeat. but
bo big that It could not afford to run.
the risk of detection, and because—•'
but, pshaw! what's the odds?”
OWEN DANGDON.
THE GOSSIP OF GOT1IA3I.
Cleveland Hum Written Again Deny*
ingr Third Term Ambitions.
(Copyright, 181*5.)
It to only In New York that much;
attention has been paid to reports tha
Mr. Cleveland (s willing to consider the
possibility of aj
third term for
himself. Yet New!
York should be
the very last;
place in which!
such rumors
could find cre-J
dence, because iti
is to public men,
In the metropo.isi
that the Pre.-d-,
dent has ex-i
pressed himself!
most emphatical-s
CLEVELAND'S NEW ly on the subject.
hole. Many New York
ers of national reputation have received
verbal and written Intimations of Mr.
Cleveland’s positive intention to retire
to private life when his term of office
ends.
William C. Whitney is probably the
best informed man In this respect, fori
he has letters from Mr. Cleveland in:
which that gentleman categorically de
nies any intention to be a candidate
again. Indeed, it is no secret In the
metropolis that there are letters In ex
istence, addressed to more than one
person, setting forth this well con
sidered determination to retire perma
nently to private life. The President’s
law partners have, moreover, perfected
arrangements for him to resume the
practice of law with them in a year or'
two.
Quito apart from any political con
sideration, however, is the condition
of Mr. Cleveland’s household. Ills wife
will, under no circumstances, hear of
any more public honors. The children'-
are growing up and they are not re
ceiving the personal attention from
their parents which private life would
make possible. Then there la thein
future to consider. Mr. Cleveland’s prU
vate affairs are not In flourishing con
dition. He has some Interests which
ought to be looked after by himself.
Again, there arc the nervous strain a* d
care of office. It Is significant that Mr.
Cleveland has been arranging to buy
house in New York. As tor ambition,
he could get no higher than he is, and
another term could scarcely make him,
greater.
There is a story, however, that Mr.
Cleveland will settle down in New.
York as a private oitlzen and devota
his attention to municipal problems.
City government has attracted his at
tention lately. He has talked the matter 1
over with prominent reformers, and the J
probability Is that Father Knicker-i I
bocker will have an opportunity of pre-i I
sentlng a list of his woes to Mr. Cleve- J
land, and if the latter alleviates them*'
he will be as great as ever ha was
while President. The new role would
harmonize well with the character of
the man.
GOELET’S RETURN.
Ogden Goelet will very soon turn up
a( Newport, and while he may not hava
the glory of the
Prince’s pres
ence, it seems
likely that the
young husband
the aged
Baroness Bur-
dett-Coutts is to
be his guest at
Newport this
Summer. Young
Bartlett, for that
is the name of
this juvenile hus
band, sold a pair
of his wife’s
horses to Mr.
Goelet recently,
and they are su
perb beasts, soon
to surprise
American turf
men. Mr. Bart
lett has not been in the best of healt.Si
lately, and an American tour woylai
do him good. He was to huve coniefl
over here last year, but his wife tem
ill, and the trip was postponed. An^
other guest of Mr. Goelet will be Vis-V
count Crnnbrooke.
As for the Prince of Wales’ visit there
is still a possibility of It. As will be
remembered, this projected tour, on
rather run here, was announced to
have been abandoned. Now it seems
that the Prince is considering It, and
would very much like to come, because
he and other English yachtsmen firmly
believe that we are going to lose that
cup this year. It 13 all very well for
us to put on a bold fr6nt, but there 1*
some ground for the confidence of tha
British. The Prince chares this confl-.
dence, and that is why he has been anx-*
lous to be In at the death by arrlv*
in.T In September. Should he come, It
will mean that Englishmen deem tha
MR. BARTLETT,
stands upright In a reeking garret,
bare to hla elbows, sloshing it with
what looks like a mixture of mud and
water, beating it with a big brush,
sousing It in various tubs and hanging
it up to dry. The process is thorough,
not only removing every ataln, but rece theirs as a foregone conclusion.
even restoring the nap to shiny el- ***- ~ m ~— *'
bows. For special stains not to be
reached by this process are special
remedies—alkalies for acids mainly.
Behind, huddled together like sheep.
thirty in a bunch, squatting, cross-leg
ged like Turks, pale-faced, swart-
bearded, anarchistic looking, round-
shouldered, gasping in a stale atmos
phere of lint end motes, sit tailors,
binding, lining, renewing buttons, press
ing, finishing; in a word, like Burns*
housewife, they "gae nuld clues iulk
air.alst as weel’s the new." Better than
that, or worse. They make them look
exactly new. neither more nor lew.
For presently. If we have patience,
we find our SS-cent coat tn the
stockroom below, neatly folded with
others of Its like: and lb would take a
wiser man than the present writer to
point out wherein It differs from an
absolutely new coat. The nap Is per-
foct. the binding fresh, the lining looks
new. the buttons are firm. It is nicely
pressed.
In a word, the room has the look of
a retail c’whlng house, except that It
has no customer* or seler.men. Orders
come entirely by mall, bovkIj go by ex
press. The dozen or more "only orig-
Tho Prince will not come, however. If
there Is any doubt.
YOUNG VANDERBILT’S WOES.
Cornelius Vanderbilt, Jr. v Is not at
all pleased with the future mapped out
K for him by hla
parents. The
young man, it
leaks out, was
informed that,
his studies be*
lng practically
over and hid
settlement i n
life now In or
der, marriage
and some defi
nite career must
be hIs portion.
But the young
THE VANDERBILT »an does not
deluge. wish to marry.
He has Announced hts intention of liv
ing and dying a bachelor like hij undo
George. This Is melancholy news to
the whole family, fora well-known and
charming maiden had been picked ou*
as hla future bride, an arrangement in
which he will not coincide.