"TV- ' 4tv ' H X Mf SECOND PART. BILL NYE'S TRAVELS. He Utilizes a Cracker Man's Back for ' Writing Parposes and LIST TO THE SOPHOMORES' SONG. William Would Fly to the Beseue oi a Helpless Female. HE BEPBAHfB AND LEARNS A LESSOK wains roB nn DnrxTCH.1 owthe roau. -with my scratch block 1 hesthto on the back of a ckackeb v Mas feoji New Yokk city. ) SHOBT time ago I got in this car to use it for riding pur poses. There were only seven people in it, and so I picked the lock of the seat ahead of me, thus giving full scope to my lithe and blithe sweet of legs. It also cave me a chance to write a few lines for the press. At "West McGinty a fat man with a box oi sample crackers in one hand and a sand bag in the other came into the car, and seeing that I had an air of comfort which sent the hot blood mantling to his marble brow his marble mantling brow, as it were he whopped that front seat over in such a way as to lracture my leg a little, bnt I did not get mad. It does cot pay for one to get mad, or even two for that matter, so I went on writing, though, of course, the incident gave a tinge of sadness to my work. I have a large, valuable, new far top coat which I bought in Montreal in November. I got it in order to insure an opeu winter This coat hung against the window, and, as the tram moved swiltly forward, sometimes on the track and then again on the rongh and frozen prairie, this court would ever and anon joylully knock out the eye of this preat coarse man. It is doing so yet. And I am making a writing desk of his back. A friend of mine is thoughtlessly using his overshoes as a receptacle lor his apple cores, and the rest of the people are enjoy ing it. A MODEST FAMILY. That is, everybody except a family who got on at Dead Han's Crossing. They con sist of a father, a mother and a grown daughter. Tbey have not been acenstomed very much to travel, as one can see at once, for thev evidently think they are only en titled to one seat "among them, and the whole three of them are sitting togetner in creat pain, for the mother is quite robust and the lather will do for market by February. Bo, while the rest of us are trying to hold a whole section apiece, these gentle creatures are scrouging and suffering. Jin another part of the car some young men, on their way home from college, aie singing. Thev do not sing well. Tbey are the kind of college boys who do the hazing and hire their speeches written for them by a poor boy who wears paper collars. They eing gaily the chaste and beautiinl senti ments entitled "Yonpiden I die," a song, I may truthfully say, which no man can listen to in .the right spirit and not go away a better man. One ot the voices is qnite piercing. Mr. XTtUizing the Cracker Man. Eiley says he would like to borrow it to scour knives with. The voice of the tenor, be claims, bas a ferule on the end of it, and when the rollicking sophomore strikes C on fourth added line above his mouth looks like a stab in the dark. Tbfe small boy in the back seat grows pale as the song proceeds, totters to the icewater tank and drinks it dry, draws his over worked jacket sleeves across his dripping month, and, going back to bis seat, finishes up the Inst round of candy ammunition from a glass revolver and a red rolling pin. we now pull up Detween two Jong lines of cars loaded with hogs, and waitfor orders. The cracker man ahead of me starts violent ly every time the other ones squeal. So he is not entirely devoid of heart after all. He certainly sympathizes with the lardy da passengers in the other train, and blood, after all, is thicker than water. The peanutter now comes to ask me it I would not ltke a pair of embroidered moccasins with colored beads on them, or some other literary work. He shows me some nice gum arabic figs, while I hold his large basket for him. I tell him I do not care for figs, especially the elastic or non corrosive fig made at the Pullman Car "Works. Then he tries to sell me the holi day number of the War Cry. I say no, I do not need it. He then urges me to buy a copy of a book entitled, "Hounded to the Southwest Corner of Perdition and Back," by the author of "Where is My Girl To night?" , THE rEAHUTTER'S METHODS. I tell Mm courteously that I wouldn't choose any. He seeks then to sell me a book containing 2,000 words, and also some tables, that be jays are quite thrilling. I draw him out in regard to his books. He is more interesting than his literature. He finally admits, after I "have told him how I dislike these flashy books like "Looking Backward," that he lias not read any of his carefully selected library( although ever ready and willing to enter into a heated dis cussion regarding these books. It seems that he gets all his information from the passengers. He does not read the books himself. A man says: "I do not want that book oi Zola's; it is too prudish." Then, of course, he remembers and treasures up the remark so that the next time through the car he can bring one that is not so prudish. And so on. finally, the yonng man gives me his promise that some day he will bathe his hands and read come of his books. Then he tries to sell me a fine watch charm with a view of Brooklyn bridge inside of it. I sneak out of that, and after trying to swap knives with me, he goes away, but comes back again to say that if I am through with my Dispatch he would like to see it. Igive it to him. After awhile Mr. Biley comes in 'm j from the smoking car and savs that by a good deal ot scheming be has bribed the boy to get him a Dispatch. Would I like to look at it? The boy bas sold him my Dis patch. There are a good many tragedies going on almost beneath our very eyes of which we know little till the papers tell us the de nouement. I think it is denouement, is it not? I heard the sobs of a woman in the room next to my own .at a hotel last week; and was going to ring for a boy and ask bim to find ont about the cause of the trouble, but just then I beard the low voiceof a man who was evidently trying to hnsh ber up. I thought then, of coarse, if it resolved itself into a domestic spat or curtain lecture I would not interfere. I would also try not to listen. So I went on with my book, entitled "Light, More Light, There's Danger in the Dark." ECHOES OF A TRAGEDY. Pretty soon the woman gave a little smothered shriek. But the man tried to quiet her, though I could only get his tone and not his words. "You are drunk," she wailed, "and you are going to kill me. Oh, have mercyl Please do not kill me." He mumbled something or other, and I could hear him step to the dresser, I thought, and open it. Row Bhe cried more pitifully, but not so loudly. I had my finger on the bell in my room, but hesitated. Then sue screamed again, and I heard a chair fall over, I thought. I expected to bear a shot, but was not sure that he would not stab her in bis drunken fury. I rang. Two or three years afterward, it seemed to me, tbe boy came, but by that time it was all still in the next room, so I sent a letter down to mail by the boy and said nothing. "' A Peep at the Tragedy. Then I heard a muffled groan come over the transom just as one might groan alter a long, hard struggle as life went out and the tortured soul flew away to find rest and change of scene. I could not bear it anv longer, for I could hear the man sigh and drop a metallic wea pon on the marble top of tbe dresser. At that time I cot a chair up to the tran som and then laid my traveling bag on top of that, so as to make it high enough. I never looked over a transom before I would not now, only fhatM did not care to be considered a fellow assassin. Then I took a little sip of spoopju, so that I would not taint and tall over backward. Then I climbed the dizzy valise slowly. As I rose, the bloody hand'of a man with some kind of steel weapon flashed into view, and was again out ot sight I got down and took a fnll breath. Then I took a glass of xnoxie, and wondered what I had better do. What would you have done, gentle reader? I did not want to scare the man away en tirely. I wanted to capture him before he killed any more helpless people. THE MYSTERY SOLVED. Jnst touching my lips to the spoopju again, I tried slowly once more to climb the chair, with my own revolver at full cock, for I had determined that if I waited I would be no longer innocent. As I got up a little higher I could see the face of the brute. It hardly betrayed the true nature of the man, though the lips were tightly compressed, and "there was a slight pallor on the brow. As I rose a little higher I saw a placard on the door of the room, which went on to state as follows: : a MARATHON WELLS. D. D. B.. I PBACTICAIi SUBQEON DENTIST. : Teeth Extracted Without Pain. : Laughing Gas. Etber.JCocoaine, Chloro- : : form, etc, etc., administered without risk : to either the patient or tbe operator. We ' : give either, eyether, ether or neyether. He was pulling her teeth while she was under the influence of some of these drug. We should gradually, each and all, learn from this little incident to mind our own business, such as it is. Supposing it had been as I supposed it to be. A frenzied man beating Out all the brains there were in the house, viz., those of his wife. Would I have been safe even then in interfering? I wot not. That's wot I wot. For the chances are more than ever that when I exclaimed through my clenched teeth, "Villain, avauntl" instead of aVaunting he would have maimed me the first shot and then pblled me through the transom. He wonld then, have knocked out my most desirable brains and with her dying breath the wile would have encouraged him and cheered him on, meantime denouncing me as a great big prying, meddlesome, nasty thing. Whom God hath joined together, let no ordinary amateur undertake to put asunder. Bill Nye. GOING AEOUXD THE WORLD. The Circumnavigator Gain a Date Instead of a Day. Kew Yorl.Trlbnne.1 A fair lady writes: "Can't you explain about gaining and losing a day when you go round the world? Jules Verne muddled me all up,and everyone that tries to explain it makes my head go round, too." Cer tainly, ma'am, only you must fix your mind on one thing at a time and not let it go a wandering like the little pig that wouldn't stand still long enough to be counted. Well, then, there is no day lost or gained. What you will lose or gain if you go round the world (beside, some pleasant company wherefore, don't) is a date, not a day. In traveling westward, each date, commonly called a day, hides tbe fact that for each de gree of longitude passed over you have added four minutes to tbe 24 hours. At noon, when bv custom you change your date, you find you have traversed 15 degrees, then your "day" has contained 25 hours in stead of 24. Id going to the eastward, the conditions wonld be reversed, and your date called a "day" would contain but 23 hours. But if you and your friend should stand backtobactat New York, and starting at the same instant walk straight round the world, each walking exactly three miles an hour and never stopping for anything, you would both meet and pass half way in ex actly 3,500 hours, and you would again meet in New York In exactly 7,000 hours. State the time in hours and yon will grasp It immediately, -r ZGzs4vr5ss sxaef-nr- v &?- THE PITTSBURG DISPATCH: LONDON OS PARADE. Henry Hail Describes the Brilliant Scenes in Rotten Row When FASHION'S TIDE IS AT ITS FLOOD. Borne of the People Who Help to Form the Procession. A TALK WITH ONE OF THE 0MEMPL0IED 1WK1TTES rOB THE DISFATCIt.1 ASHION'Stideisat 1 its flood as we enter the great stone gates at Hyde Park Corner and go down by the "Drive" with the gay throng that presses along "on the proper aide, as the golden sun'is setting." ' It istheheightof the London season. Eot- tenBow is crowded with horsemen and horsewomen, the latter, fair haired, rosy cheeked English girls, riding their long necked, long legged, thin flanked steeds with the grace of an Amazon, and appar ently enjoying the gallop to the full, while their male escorts look the very incarnation of solemnity. Between Hyde Park Corner and the Queen's Gate, on both sides of the drive, strolling along the board walks, or sitting in the chairs that are placed five and six rows deep, are thousands of people, the women arrayed in garments that po far to disprove the old assertion that all English women are dowdies. The men in closely buttoned frock coats and light trousers, or those doubled-breasted sack coats with the lower button fastened, with cane in one hand and a pair of yellow kids in the other, while from the buttonhole blooms a rose, a lily of the valley or the primrose which proclaims the wearer's adherence to the politics ol Disraeli who ever thinks of him as Beaconsfield? a parade of beauty. For the modest sum of a penny we secure chairs in the front row, and sit down at ease to watch, to use the language of the country fair bills relative to the grand procession of prize horses and cattle which winds around the race track on the last day, "Blooded Beauty's Proud Parade." It is certainly there both blood and beauty. Along the drive pass four lines of carriages, two going earh way, at little faster than a walk, and frequently coming to a deadlock. Slowly, almost sadly, the procession moves by, and the birth and rank and wealth and fashion ot almost all Eng land, tor, as we have said, the London sea son is at its height, are on exhibition to all who care to gaze. Barouches, landaus, broughams, dogcarts, every variety of fash ionable carriage is there, drawn by one horse, two abreast, or tandem, the mettle some steeds champing their bits aud fret ting at the slow pace, the gold and silver mounted harness, and the crests and coats of arms on the gleaming panels flashing in the sun. And then the flunkeys! Oh, the flunkeys! What a gorgeous, awe-inspiring sight they arel Clad in every style of livery, cut in every fashion, in colors somber aud gay, with wigs and powdered hair, they are here, the coachman holding the reins at the proper A Shabby Uenteel Orator. tension, and the whip at the most aristocratically fashionable angle, while the footman on the box beside him, frequently with two othersjbehind, sits with folded arms and a face from which every shade of expression has utterly vanished. Can there be "within the periphery of this terraqueous ball" a being whose features can assume such a perfectly inane stolidity as do those of the British flunky when on duty? No shadow of emotion plays over that wooden face. No gleam of intelligence lights those leaden eyes. He sees, hears, feels, nothing. One might almost fancy that Hyde Park, with its trees and flowers and fountains, was a desert, its thousands of gav idlers mere grains of sand, and every flunky a sphynx regarding the scene with changeless, sightless look. It is there one recalls with renewed pleasure those delight ful passages in "nigh life below stairs" de scribed by Dickens and Thackeray, when Jeems and Tummas and John give vent to their congealed emotions to the cook and the maid and mercilessly dissect Lord Tommy Noddy, Lady Clara Vere de Vere, the Veneering?, the Pod snaps and the Mr. Dombeys for their delectation. The volcano of emotion pent up under those wooden faces must have its vent some time. But we are forgetting the masters and mistresses in the servants. What a panorama it is ! How many faces, how many types of character. In this car riage, a crest on its panels, is a dowager old enough to have made ber peace with Ood and bade farewell to earthly vanities years ago, and yet tricked out in garments which would have set Solomon in all his glory wild with envy. She regards the passing show with a cold stare, occasionally placing her long-handled glasses to her eyes and unbending into a chilly smile when some acquaintance bows. Here is a "managing mamma," her plain bnt rich attire serving as an elegant foil to the radiant garments of the two girls who sit beside her. They are for sale, evidently, and mamma is displaying her wares. Likely their blood is richer than their purses, and it behooves her to see them married, if not mated. Who is this old beau, sitting bolt upright in his carriage, padded and braced, his bristly mustache dyed and his locks far too dark to- be anything but a wig? What a satyr-like leer gleams in his wicked old eyes. Surely that must be Lord Steyne, with whom poor Beckv Sham trot into sueh a peck of trouble, or is it the Earl of Bare acres, or Lord Bingwood? And who is this dark, middle-aged man, faultlessly dressed, who whispers something, evidently wicked you can tell that from his look in the ear of the bored blonde young man who lolls bv his side? Is it not Sir Mulberry HawK and Lord. Freddy Verisopht? If not, it must be their twin brothers. In this big barouche, drawn bv two big bays, with a big coachman and a bigger footman, is one of the city's businessmen. An Alderman, he, perhaps, who counts "his wealth by millions, whose counting-house holds a host of underpaid clerks, whose cor respondents are in every city and port of Christendom. Observe that square jaw, those compressed lips, the hard eye. Busi ness is written all over him in every line of his face, in every hair ol hi gray side whis kers, in the folds of his chin. It might be Balph Nickleby but Ralph never went to the expense of keeping a carriage. Or, is it Mr. Bounderby come to town, or Mr. Merdle? . BEAUTIFUL ACTRESSES. f But all the faces we see 'are ,sot , of Ihe vr PHTSBtJEG, SUNDAY, types mentioned above, for, leaning grace fully back ia the cushioned seat, bewitch ingly dressed, holding a gay parasol between the sun and her fair cheeks and yellow hair, comes Alma Stanley, "the handsomest woman on the London stage," someone tells us. Her admirers are on every side, aud she almost holds a levee from ber carriage. She is indeed beautiful, but her beauty is soon equaled, if not eclipsed, when in a dainty little carriage comes Agnes Huntingdon, the fair American who is charming all who hear her in the opera of "Paul Jones," at the Princess of Wales theater, and close behind comes little Geraldine TJlmer, whom we knew with the Boston Ideals, but who now sings in the "Yeomen of the Guard" at the Savoy, and who, someone else tells us," is the ' worst little flirt in London" with an espe cial penchaut for married men. And so the procession passes. Bank and wealth are not all that we. see, for in the throng are men who bear honored names1, who have won renown in literature and art, in tbe field and at the bar, and in both Houses of Parliament. Bright, fresh-faced young girls, as innocent as they are joyous, tall, broad-shouldered young men, their manly faces aglow with health and vigor; handsome matrons, who adorn and bless happy homes. The phantoms of care and ambition and greed and sin do not hover over every carriage, nor have pride aud rank and wealth stifled the good in every heart It is, indeed, a panorama of life, and shows all sorts exoept the poor and ignorant But under all the gayety.and glitter, beneath the veneering ot rank and wealth, are mere men and women as good and as bad, as wise and as foolish', as grave and as giddy, no better, no worse, than their brothers and sisters in any other walk of life. A SHABBY GENTEEL ORATOR. By and by we tire a little of watching the apparently endless procession, and we strike up a conversation with a gentleman who has jnst edged into the seat next us. He fairly comes under the head of "shabhy genteel." His clothing is suspiciously shiny, his linen fives the impression that his laundress has een ofl on an extended vacation, while bis hat looks as though a cow had trodden on it When the floodgates of his eloquence are once fairly opened, he deluges us with the rankest kind ot socialism, and his denuncia tions of the rnling classes and of the rich are too lurid for reproductioti here. "Hi ham one hof the hunheniployed, who 'ave nowhere to go," he says, "hand London's full hof us. Hi ham a carpenter and joiner by trade, but we're ground down huntil hi can't get more nor four hand sixpence a day, hand, blow me! hafore hi'll work for that hi'll starve." The proverbial "half-loaf" remark would have hardly been appreciated by this de An Eloquent Denunciation. termined individual, so we refrained from its use, and he proceeded, with withering scorn: "See 'em go by! Look hat the hold duffers a-layin' back hin their kemges looking hat -us has hif we was dirt hunder their feet" which, indeed, they were not doing at all. "See their 'osses bajid gold-mounie&Airaess handjhe. bloomin' flunkeys a-sitting hup there like bleedin' hold himages. There they hare. By'al 'ighnesses, yer Graces, yer Lordships, me Ladies, hall a-livin' hon the fat o' the lahd hand never doin' a 'and's turn, hand hall hover London there's thousands o men hand women hand chil dren has 'asn't one penny to rub hagin hanother. Hand 'ere we hare, taxed to keep hup a hold Queen has his a-goin' to life forever, hand her children hand grand children to the third hand fourth genera tion has the hold catechism they used to cram hinto me when hi was a kid says taxed to keep hup Bishops hand Harch bishops and parsons, taxed to keep hup a harmy to shoot us down hif we basks for hour rights, taxed to keep hup a lot hof hold men-o'-war bas sinks like bloomin' teakittles hif they 'its a rock, taxed to keep Bussiarhout hof Hindia, Germany bout hof Hafrica, Portygal hof the Congo, Hamericar hout hof Canada, taxed to fight the Boers hat the Cape of Good 'One, the Zulus hin Hafrica, the Habysinnians hin Hasia, the Harabs hin Hegypt, the Hafghans hin Hindia blow me hit hit doesn't look has though Hin gland was nothin' bnt a bloomin' hold policeman hand 'er beat the 'ole world !" solved life's problem. When he had run down we asked how long be had been out of work. "Hit's four months since hi've done a 'and's turn." "And how do you live ?" we venture to ask. "Live ? Why, my missus takes hin wash- Avoiding the Collector. in", hand hi've a gell has lives hin a family hand beam two and six a week hand 'er keep. Hand we manage to scratch halong. But hit won't hallns be this way. Hin--gland's hon the hedge hof a volcano, hand when she busts let the royal familvhandtbe hsristocracy hand the rich look hout, for when the people rises hin their might they'll fear nothin', dare heverythin'" and just then our bellicose friend cut his stick and his story at the same time, nor staved to say larewcu. rr e wuuuerea at ms lltgbt until we saw approaching the stout official who collected tbe pennies for the chairs. "There 'e goes hagin," he cried, wrath fully, watching the rapidly disappearing form of our revolutionary friend. "Blow me! hif 'e doesn't spread '"imself hall hover a chair hevery day hand cut wheil 'e sees me a-comin' for the penny. Hif Hi hever lays my 'ands hon 'im. hafore the beak 'e goes, or my name hisn't what hit his." It was a ludicrous sight to see the gentle man who a few moments before had been ready to dare everything flee before a pettv park official. But it is not an unusual traft in revolutionists. There was considerable truth in much that be said, but it is to be feared thai he was one of that rather numerous-order of social reformers and agitators "Whose wives take In sewing To keep the house going While their husbands manage the world." Henry Hall. Bny.it, try it. Dr. Bull's Cough Syrup for cough, cold and incipient eosnuapueB - ABW JANUARY 5, 1890. BEAUTY'S BLUNDERS. Some of the Amusing Mistakes Hade by New York Society Women. EXPLODING HYGIENIC THEORIES. Tbe Little Lunch Devoured by a Young and Pretty Blonde. PECULIAR HOBBIES OP A BI0H BELLE ICOBRESPONDEWCI OF THE DI8IM.TCII.1 NEW York, January 4. HE anniversary cele bration of Sorosis called wide-spread attention to that company of New York's bright women, and it has since be come quite a fad among the lesser lights of feminine metropolitans to af fect literary tastes and habits. Little clubs and eateries of women have sprung up all over the city which designate them selves by the name of some master in litera ture and make a show of studying his works. Women and girls are now seen run ning about with books in place of shopping bags, with lists of references to be hunted up in libraries, with absorbed airs and stu dious frowns, and faces all but "sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought," till they bid fair to make our city as blue stockingy as Boston! Some of these societies may do sincere and hopeful work, but occasionally tne veneer ot the fad is so thin and transparent that even the sables and diamonds, with which the fair students invest themselves, cannot blind the observer. As, for in stance, when one of them bewailed in this style: "That dear delightful Browning is dead! Ah, we shall have no more autocrats on our breakfast tables!" SLIPS OF THE TONGUE. In tact these literary Parlingtons are very numerous, but are so delightfully uncon scious and on such agreeable terms with themselves it would be absolutely wicked to disturb such comfortable serenity. A party of newly-fledged students were gathering in a West End mansion for an afternoon's study and in the interim the lady of the house was showing her guests through the beautiful rooms. She casually remarked: "I have the finest abasement in my honse'of any house in town. Do come and see the abasement." They went, and after the survey a gor geous dame declared: 'A good abasement is an indispensable perquisite to a house." They all agreed to that and the study of Goethe was taken up with great enthusiasm. But the great names do suffer, and more than that, they are in danger of losing their identity on the lips of their disciples. "I belong to a a Shakespiamy Club and an Aspasia Club," announced a little lady to a party of acquaintances outside of her par ticular set. Her listeners were aghast for a moment, till one whispered behind her handker chief: "She doesn't mean Aspasia, you know, she can't mean that; it is probably Hypatia." Then alond: "You belong to he Hypatiit.Club?'iu.- . - ..-it.- "Oh, yes, and we have such elegant times, such beautiful lunches, and cunning teas, you never saw!" Well, there is one comfort for us. The New York woman, whatever her fad may be, will never be a dowdy. She will never become the abominably dressed, uncorseted, ungraceful being that the Boston literary woman-is. If she cannot get at the true in wardness of Browning or Goethe she will al ways be neat and charming, taut and trim from the crown of her head to the sole of her foot, bless her! So if she does say of a bon net or of a poem that "it is sweet pretty," or of the weather, that it is "elegant," we shall forgive her. NO CHANCE FOE THEORIES. There is among your acquaintances, no doubt, the young girl who will not drink coffee because it makes her complexion yel low, who eats stale bread, wheaten grits, chopped rare meat, and abjures all sweets' and starchy vegetables because that regime is conducive to a lustrous white skin and sparkling eyes. Society is filled with girls- who are cranes on diet and exercise simply because they will make any sort of a fight and even sacrifice their comfort for a beauti ful complexion. I have often wondered how far this strict attention to one's self would purify the skin texture. Now, I chanced to run across an old friend of mine at lunch time, and sat down with her and her daughter, a young lady of 18, who is to make her social debut during the present winter. The girl was one of the fairest examples of perfect blonde beauty I have ever seen. Her skin was dazzling, it was so pure in its whiteness. I will venture to say that the carefnllest examination in the strongest light wonld not reveal a blemish on the lustrous, healthy flesh. Her eyes, also, were as brilliant as stars, the blue of them warm and clear, the white like snow. The fruity perfection of this girl was so extraordinary that I was at once struck with the fancy that if diet had anything to do with producing a beautiful skin, this lovely creature must have been reared on the dew from the hearts of honey suckles. Therefore I was interested in what she chose from the lunch card that the waiter handed to her. It can be imagined how shocked I was when I heard the order. Here it is: "A Welsh rarebit, a bottle of beer, and, afterward, mince pie, cheese and a large cup of black coffee." A BELLE'S PECULIAR HOBBIES. The best turnout in dogs is .now being produced on Fifth avenue by a colored man who is employed by a thoroughbred young lady in tbe double capacity of dog trainer and boxing professon The girl is 20, is bnilt handsomely, avoids the routine cele brations of society, though she is received in tbe choicest houses, is a good swordswoman, and has recently taken up boxing as a pastime. She brought home from Europe this summer two black French poodles, and her negro servant trots them tbe length of Fifth avenue twice each day. The dogs are chained together, aud are caparisoned ex actly alike. On each is a broadcloth blanket. Then both wear silver bangles, bright bows of ribbon on the tips of their tails, and carry pipes in their monthB. They run perfectly straight down the center of the sidewalk, never turning to right or lelt, disdainful of all the attention they attract, but obedient to every word ad dressed to them by their attendant I am told that these dogs have a room of their own fitted up almost as luxuriously as that of their mistress,, and that all the pictures and ornaments arc appropriate to canine taste. As the young lady owning tbe little beasts is handsome and rich she -naturally comes in for a great share of attention from the men, but at present there is no promise of any serious result from it all. A young fellow observed of her: "It is all very well to get a girl who is a crank on dogs off in a corner, but you had better let the other fellow marry her. She ties rib bons on her poodle's tail and takes boxing lessons. Well, that is magnificent, but it is not love." I think that young man's head is quite level. Clara Belle. Hebe tbey come with umbrella and grip sack; down goes the name on the register of the Bturtevaut House, corner Broadway and Twenty-ninth St., N. Y., with a zest, clad to get under tee zool el so hospitable- hotel, BEATRICE. RIDER HAGGARD, The Famous Novelist's Latest' "and Greatest Work. WRITTEN- FOE Ki ts. Hlii autumn afternoon was fading into evening It had been cloudy weath er, bnt tEe clouds had softened and broken up. Now they were lost in slowly darkening blue. The sea was per fectly and utterly still. It seemed to sleep, but in its sleep it still waxed with the rising tide. The eye could not mark its slow in crease, but Beatrice, standing upon the furthest point of the Dog Books, idly noted that the long brown seaweeds which clung about their sides began to lift as the water took their weight, till at last the delicate pattern floated out and lay like a woman's hair upon the green depth of sea. Mean while a mist was growing dense snd soft -?&- Pi GEOFFREY WADING AFTER THE DEAD CURLEW. upon the quiet waters. It was not blown up from the west, it simply grew like tbe twi light, making the silence yet mora silent and blotting away the outlines of the land. Beatrice gave up studying the seaweed and watched the gathering of tbe fleecy hosts. "What a curious evening," she said aloud to herself, speaking in a low, full voice. "I have not seen one like it since mother died, and that is seven years ago. I've grown since then, grown every way," and she laughed somewhat sadly, and looked at her own reflection in the quiet water. She could no$ have looked at anything more charming, for it wonld have been hard to find a girl of nobler mien than Beatrice Granger as she stood and gazed, on this her 22d birthday, into that misty sea. Of rather more than middle height, and modeled like a statue, strength and health seemed to radiate from her form. But it was her face, with the stamp of intellect and power shadowing its woman's loveliness, that must have made her remarkable among women even more beautiful than herself. There are many girls who have rich brown hair, like some autumn leaf here and there just yellowing into gold, girls whose deep gray eyes can grow tender as a dove's, or flash like the stirred waters of a northern sea, and whose bloom can bear comparison with the wilding rose. But few can show a face like that which upon this day first dawned on Geoffrey Bingham to his sorrow and his hope. It was strong and pure and sweet as the keen sea breath, and looking on it one must know that beneath this fair cloak lay a wit as fair. And yet it was all womanly; here was not the hard sex less Btamp ot the "cultured" female. She who owned it was capable of many things. She could love and she conld suffer, and it need be she could dare or die. It was to be read upon that lovely brow and face and in the depths of those gray eyes that is, by those to whom the book of character is open, and who wish to Btudy it. But Beatrice was not thinking of her loveliness as she gazed into the water. -She knew that she was beautiful, of course; her beauty was too obvious to be overlooked, and besides it had been brought home to her in several more or less disagreeable ways. "Seven years," she was thinking, "since the night of tbe 'death log;' that was what old Edward called it, and so it was. I was only so high then," and following her thoughts she touched herself upon the breast "And I was happy, too. in my own way. Why can't one always be 15, and be lieve everything one is toiav and sne sighed. "Seven years and nothing done yet Work, work, and nothing coming out of the work, and everything fading away. I think that life is very dreary when one has lost everything, and found nothing, and loves nobody. I wonder what it Will be like in another seven years." She covered her eyes with her hands, and then, taking them away, once more looked at the water. Such light as struggled through the fog was behind her, and the mist was thickening. At first she had some difficulty in tracing, her own likeness upon the glassy surface, but gradually she marked its outline, it sireicnea away irom ner, ana its appearance was as though she herself were lying on her back in the water, wrapped about with the fleecy mist "How curious it seems," she thought; "what is it that reflection reminds me of with the white all round it?" iNext instant she gave a little cry and turned sharply away; she knew now. It re called her mother as she had last seen her seven years ago. CHAPTER IL AT THE BELL EOCK. A mile or more away from where Beatrice stood and saw visions, and further up the coast line, a second group of rocks, known from their color as the Bed Bocks, or some- tiraw, for taetker rawes, m tbe Sell EocKsy -m -BY- THE DISPATCH. jnst out between half and three-quarters of a mile into the waters of the Welsh bay that lies behind Bumball Point At low tide these rocks are bare,sothata man may walk: or wade to their extremity; but when the flood is full, only one or two of the very largest can from time to time be seen pro jecting their weed-wreathed heads through tbe wash of the shore-bound waves. In cer tain sets of the wind and tide this is a terri ble and most dangerous spot in rough weather, as more than one vessel bas learned to ber cost So long ago as 1780 a three-decker man-of-war went ashore there in a furions winter gale, and, with one exception, every living soul on board ot her, to the number of 700, was drowned. The one exception was a man in irons, who came safely and serenely ashore seated upon a piece of wreckage. Nobody ever knew how the shipwreck happened, aeast of all tbe survivor lu irons, out the tradition of the terror of the scene yet lives in the district, and the spot where the bones of the drowned men still peep grimly through the sand is not unnaturally sup posed to be haunted. Ever since this catastrophe a large bell (it was originally the bell of the ill-fated vessel!, and still bears her name, H. 1. S. Thunder, stamped upon its metal) has been fixed upon tbe highest rock, and in times of storm and at high tide sends its solemn note of warning boomimr across the deep. But the bell was quiet now, and just be neath it, in tbe shadow oi tne rocs wnereon it was placed, a man half hidden in sea weed, with which he appeared to have pur posely covered himself, was seated upon a piece of wreck. In appearance he was a verv fine man. bie shouldered and broad limbed, and his age might have been 35 or a little more. Of his frame, however, what between the mist and the unpleasantly damp seaweed with which he was wreathed, not much was to be seen. But such light as there was fell upon his face as he peered eagerly over and round therock, and glinted down the battels of the double ten-bore gun which he held across his knee. It was a striking countenance, with its brownish eyes, dark peaked beard and strong features, very powerful and very able. And yet there was a certain softness in the face, which hovered around the region of tbe month like light at the edge of a dark cloud, hinting at gentle sunshine. But little of this was visible now. Geoffrey Bingham, barrister-at-law of the Inner Temple, M. A., was engaged with a very serious occupation. He was trying to shoot curlew as tbey flew over his hiding place on their way to the mud banks where they feed further along the coast. Now if there is a thing in the world which calls for the exercise of man's every faculty it is curlew shooting in a mist. Perhaps he may waitfor an hour or even two hours and see nothing, not even an oyster catcher. Then at last from miles away comes the faint wild call of curlew on the wing. He strains his eyes; the call comes nearer, but nothing can he see. At last, 70 yards or more to the right, he catches sight of the flicker of beating wings, and like a flash they are gone. Again a call the curlew are flighting. He looks and looks, in his excitement struggling to his feet, and rais ing his head incautiously far above the 1 fa GOODB? 1 SHE CRIED, heltering rock. There they come, a greats flock of 30 or, more, bearing straight down on him, a hundred yards off 80 60 now. TJp goes the gun, but alas and alast they catch a glimpse of the light glinting on the barrels, and perhaps of the head be hind them, and in another second they have broken and scattered this way and that way, twisting off like a wisp of gigantic snipe and vanishing with melancholy cries into the depth of mist This is bad, but the ardent sportsman sits down with a groan and waits, listening to the soft lap of the tide. And then at last virtue is rewarded. First of all two wild ducks come over, cleaving the air. like ar rows. Tbe mallard is missed, but the left barrel Teaches the duck, and down it comes with a full and satisfying thud. Hardly have the cartridges been replaced when the wild cry of the curlew is once more heard quite close this time. "There they are, loom ing large against tbe foe. Bang! down goes the firt iinri lls ffanninfr nmonir the'roclrs. lake a flash the second is away to the lelt. Basgt aft Mm, awl wugat Mm, teel Hart PAGES9 TO I6.1 to the splash as he falls into the deep water 60 yards away. And then the mist close in so densely that tbe sport is done for tbe day. Well, that right and left bas been, worth three hours' wait in the wet seaweed and the violent cold that may follow that is, to any man who has a soul for true sport. Just such an experience as this hod be fallen Geoffrey Bingham. He had bagged his wild duck and his brace of curlew that is, he had bagged one of them, for the other was floating In the sea when a sudden In crease in the density of the mist put a stop to further operations. He shook tbe wet seaweed off bis rough clothes, and, having: lit a short brier pipe, set to work to mint for the duck and tbe first curlew. He found them easily enough, and then, walking to the edge of the rocks, up the sides of which the tide was gradually creeping, peered into the mist to seeif be conld find the other. Presently theog lined a little, and he dis covered tbe bird floating on the oily water about 50 yards'away. A little to the left tbe rocks ran out in a. peak, and he knew Signaling for AuUlance. from experience that the tide setting toward the shore would carry the curlew past this peak. So he went to its extremity, sat down upon a big stone and waited. All this while the tide was rising fast, though, intent as he was upon bringing the curlew to bag, be did not pay much heed to it, forgetting that it was cutting him off from the land. At last, after more than half an hour of waiting, he caught sight or the bird again, but, arbad luck would have it, it was still 20 yards or more from him and in deep water. He was determined, however, to get the bird if he could, for Geoffrey hated leav ing his game, so he palled up his trousers and set to work to wade toward it For the first few steps all went well, but tbe fourth or fifth landed bim in a hole that wet his right leg nearlv up to the thigh and gave his ankle a severe twist. Beflecting that it would be very awkward if he sprained his ankle in such a lonely place, he beat a re treat, and bethought him that unless the curlew was to become food for the dogfish he had better strip bodily and swim for it This for Geoffrey was "a man of determined mind he decided to do, snd had already' taken off his coat and waistcoat to that end, when suddenly some sort of a boat be judged it to be a canoe from the slightness of its shape loomed up in the mist before him. An idea struck him. The canoe, or its occupant, if anybody could be insane enough to come out canoeing in such weather, might fetch the curlew and save him a swim. "Hit" he shouted in stentorian tones. "Hullo there!" "Yes," answered a woman's gentle voice across the waters. "Oh," he replied, struggling; to get into his waistcoat again, for the voice told him that he was dealing with some befogged lady, "I'm sure I beg your pardon, but would you do me a favor? There's srdeadtrurlewfloat ing about there not ten yards from your boat If you wouldn't mind" A white hand was put forward, and the canoe glided on toward the bird. Presently the band plunged downward into the misty waters and the curlew was bagged. Then, while Geoffrey was still struggling with his waistcoat, the canoe sped toward him like a dream boat, and in another moment it was beneath his rock, and a sweet dim face was looking up into his own. Now let us go back a little (alas! that the privilege should be peculiar to the recorder of things done) and see bow it came about that Beatrice Granger was there to retrieve Goeffrey Bingham's dead cnrlew. Immediately after the unpleasant idea re corded in the last or, to be more accurate, in tbe first chapter of this comedy, had im pressed itself upon Beatrice's mind, she came to the conclusion that she had seen enough of the Dog Bocks for one afternoon. Thereupon, like a sensible person, she set herself to quit them in the same way that she had reached them, namely by means of a canoe. She got into her canoe safely enough and paddled a little way out to ses, with a view of returning to the place whence she came. But the further she went out and it was necessary that she sbdsfd go some way on account of the rocksVid the enrrents the denser grew the fog. Sounds came through it indeed, bnt she could not clearly distinguish, whence they came, till at last, well as she knew the coast, she grew confused as to whither she was heading. In this dilemma, as she rested on CLTNOIKO TO HIS HAKD. her paddle, staring into the dense surround ing mist and keeping her gray eyes as wide open as nature would allow, and that was very wide, she heard the sound of a gun behind her to the right Arguing to herself that some wild-fowler on the water must have fired it who would be able to direct her, she turned the canue around and pad dled swiftly in the direction whence the sound came. Presently she heard the gun again; both barrels were fired in there to tbe right, but some way off. She paddled on vigorously, but now no more shots eame to guide ber, therefore for a while -her search was iruitless. At last, however, she saw something looming through the mist ahead; it was the Bed Bocks, though she did not know it and she drew near with, caution till Geoffrey's shout broke upon her ears. She picked up the dead bird and paddled toward the dim figure, who was evidently wrestling with something, she could not see What t IHere is the cnrlew, sir," she said, ;to, thtek job,"' wuworei . 3 ? & i A .'
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