Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

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.