m.4r
P SECOND PART."
Hf I. . - ..
THE PITTSBURG DISPATCH,
,31
PAGES 9 TO 16.
PITTSBURG, SUNDAY, MAT 18, 1890.
e
SHORTHAND EXPERTS
Stenographers "Who Beport
Congressional Talk.
' SALARIES THEY COMMAND,
Ken Who Caught the Words of Weh
Bter, Clay and Calhoun.
THE PEIYATE SECEETAEY'S DDTT
rcoBxxsroscxxcx or im dispatch.!
Washinqtox, May 17. Stenographers
of the Home of Representatives, have been
"ted nearly to death daring the past two
weeks. The long
winded discussions
of the tariff haTe
interspersed with the
running fire of de
bate and the fall
corps of 5,000 men
haTe been busy night
and day. It is im
possible to conceive
the difficulty of re
porting the House
during such a dis
cnssion. A half-
dozen men are often
D. F. Murphy, speaking at once and
Blount, of Georgia, Cannon, of Illinois,
Mills, of Texas, and McKinley, of Ohio, are
often shouting at each other at the same
time at the tops of their voices. The re
porters take their note-books and rush into
the melee and get every word as it is
Uttered.
One man is always on duty, and some
times more. The reporters have desks di
rectly in front of the Speaker and on a level
with the House floor, and the work of re
porting is done by relays. One will take
notes say for 20 minutes, and he will then
be relieved by another, while the first goes
down to the transcribing room in the base
ment of the Capitol and writes out his
notes. Until very recently this transcribing
was done by redictating the notes to another
shorthand man, who in turn translated his
notes and put them down on paper for the
Congressional Record. Now the most of the
stenographers use the graphophone.
ONE OP THE BUSIEST PLACES.
As soon as they leave the House they sit
down before one of these little machines run
by electricity and talk off their notes into it.
An ordinary typewriter can take them from
the craphophone and the expense of
transcription is much less. The transcrib
ing room is one of the busiest places of the
CapitoL No talking is allowed in it, and
the only sounds that are heard are the low
but distinct tones of dictation and the rattle
of the typewriter. There are five official
reporters of the House, each of whom gets
$5,000 a year, with the exception of the
chief, John J. McElhone, who has a salary
of 56.000.
McElhone is one of the oldest and most
efficient reporters of the United States. He
waB the first man to report the House ver
batim, and before
he undertook it it
was supposed to
be impassible. H
bad been a re
porter in the Sen
ate, and he con"
traded for the re
porting of the
lower House in
connection with
John C. Hives, the
founderof the Con
grctsional Globe.
This was in 1850,
aud Mr. McElhone
has bc:n reporting
frrm that dnv to
thi TTi U in J. J- -McElhone.
beginning his forty-ninth session of Con
gress, and he is more efficient to-day than
he was 40 years ago. He has a curious way
of working. He pays no attention to the
mechanical part of his work, and his sys
tem is the Pitman system in its simplest
form. He is so thoroughly posted on legis
lation and public questions that he knows
what each man ought to say, and he keeps
tip with the thought as he goes along. He
criticises every sentence and his hand fol
lows his brain like a piece ot machinery.
AN ACCOMPLISHED GENIUS.
He is one of the fastest thinkers among
our public men, and he thinks as last as he
writes. He is a man of fine literary cul
ture, has studied law, and he has one of the
finest private libraries of "Washington, in
cluding many old and rare books. He was
for a time a newspaper correspondent in
connection with his reporting of the debates,
and he wrote letters for a long time for the
Philadelphia JVess. When Lewis Cass was
Secretary of State under Buchanan he
offered McElhone one of the foreign mis-
Following a Speaker.
sions, but be refused it, and he will proba
bly remain in the harness as lone as he
lives. McElhone can report equally well
with both hands, and he often shifts his
pencil from one hand to the other during a
busy day of the House. He has a son of
about 20, who is the youngest stenographer
on the House side, and who promises to be
as expert a reporter as his father.
The five reporters are always on hand a
few minutes before the meeting of the
House. They -divide the work between
them. Each one takes a column of the
Record, and the man who gets the first as
signment is seated in his desk at the time
that the Speaker's gavel falls. From this
time on he takes everything, from Chaplain
Milbnrn's prayer to one of Congressman
Hoi man's rasping speeches. He is respon
siDle for an intelligent and accurate report
f all that occurs and he must know every
thing that is going on. Every sound that is
uttered in the way of debate or in asides
must fall upon the tympanum of his ear, and
if he should miss a word he could not stop to
recover it, in the necessity of keeping up
with that which follows.
THE EAPID SPEAKERS.
The average speaking of both House and
Senate is not over 150 wordsperminnte,bnt at
times a member will shout out an avalanche
oinew phrases at the rate of 200 words per
minute, and there have been speakers who
have uttered 225 words. Tom i? it.
like a steam engine and his spasmodic Ut
terances sometimes reach the 220-word
limit Mills rattles out 175 wnrd nlnm.
rc . fi3ff canvi
C!V JKP ffitf J
f Crilp, of Georgia, utters on the average 150
vords durine each 60 seconds, and Allen, of
Mississippi, is another fast talker. Judge
Holman talks slowly and deliberately, Mc
Kinley has an unpleasant way of letting his
voice fall at the end of every sentence and
his concluding words are very indistinct.
He does not speak fast, however, and in
clines to pompous utterances. Joe Cannon
speaks like lightning and so does General
Henderson, of Iowa, when he is warmed up.
Dalzell, of Pennsylvania, varies his speed
from 150 to 175 words per minute, and
Cheadle, of Indiana, gets through his
speeches at all sorts of gaits. One of the
fastest speakers of the past was Jim Belford,
who was liable to break out at any time into
oratorical pyrotechnics at the rateof200words
per minute, and another was Sam Cox,
whose wittiest utterances were spouted out
at 200 words per minute. Some of the slow
speakers are as hard to report as the fast
ones, and the man who halts, stutters and
stammers troubles the reporter as much as
he who talks rightalong and speaks rapidly.
The speaking of the House is much easier
for the professional House stenographer than
for a new man. There are scores of words
which you will scarcely hear anywhere else '
and which occnr again and again.
COLLEGE BEED MEN.
The reporter must have a thorough knowl
edge of parliamentary rules and he must
understand the usages of the House. Nearly
every one of the reporters is a college bred
man, and most of them have been profes
sional stenographers for years. David Wolf
Brown, one of the most expert of the House
stenographers, learned the art when he was
13, and he has been encaged in reporting
Congress since 18G4. Another reporter, Mr.
White, took up shorthand when he was a
child, and Andrew Devine reported the
Legislature at Albany beiore he came to re
port Congress in '74. He was engaged in
law reporting in New York for a long time,
and he was one ofthereportcrs in the famous
Beecher trial.
It costs 8250,000 every year to get out the
Using the Graphophone.
daily newspaper ot Congress, known as the
the Congressional Record, and a good, round
part of this goes into the pay of the stenog
raphers. The House has its fixed reporters,
to whom it pays fixed salaries. The Senate
lumps the job, and gives it to Dennis P.
Murphy, who engages to furnish accurate
reports of all that is done for $25,000 a year.
The session of Congress lasts trom three to
eight months, so you see that the pay is very
fair. Out of this 525,000, however, Mr.
Murphv has to hire his assistants, and he
has under him some of the most efficient re
porters of the country. His own connection
with Congress is even longer than that of
McElhone, and he began to report here in
1S48, and as a boy he was engaged in report
ing the debates in the Senate in which Cal
houn, Webster and Tom Benton partici
pated. ABRAHAM LINCOLN'S ASSASSINATION.
He reported the trial of Mrs. Surratt and
the others who were implicated in the assas
sination of Lincoln, and be has more curious
reminiscences packed away in his little head
than any other man intWashington. He be
gan to report for the Senate when he was only
14 years old, and he has had lull charge of
the Senate reports since 1869.'' He told me
one day that speaking in the United States
Senate was increasing in speed. "Webster,"
said he, "was a very slow talker, and he did
not average over 100 words a minute. He
dealt in rounded periods, and was not a hard
man to report. Henry Clay rolled out about
150 words to the minute, and Calhoun start
ed slowly, but roused up as he went on, and
he frequently spoke as fast as Mr. Clay.
Jefferson Davis was one of the fine speakers
ot the past, abounding in classical allusions,
and one of the fastest speakers I have ever
known was Sargent, of California, who once
spoke for two hours, and averaged 200 words
per minute during the whole time.
"There was a debate here some years agoon
the District of Columbia bonds which lasted
about four hours and which by actual calcu
lation averaged between 190 and 200 words
per minute. The average of speaking in
the Senate to-day is not, I think, over 150
words per minute. The late Senator Beck
was a very last speaker and he frequently
wilted his shirt collar with the perspiration
of his earnestness. One of the most curious
speeches I ever heard was that ot John Bell,
of Tennessee, who roared out his sentiments
with all the eloquence and earnestness of a
revivalist preacher notwithstanding that the
President of the Senate, himself and I were
tne only persons in the chamber. It was a
night session and all the rest of the Sena
tors had gone to the cloakrooms. Bell tore
the air and preached away as though 50,000
people were listening to him. The perspira
tion rolled down his face. He tore off his
collar, and though the temperature was at
70, he thrashed himself into a frenzy ot ex
citement It was very funny."
OTHEE SENATE SPEAKERS.
Blackburn, of Kentucky, is one of the
fastest speakers of the Senate. He trot
excited and rolls out his words at the rate
of 200 per minute. Ingalls talks more de
liberately and Sherman does not speak over
150 words per minute. Senator Hawley is
another fast speaker. He speaks 200 words
in 60 seconds and only the best of reporters
can follow him. Senator Plumb moves his
jaws with the same speed that he does his
right arm in gestures, and he is another 200
word speaker. The reporters do not like
him. SenatorMorgan speaks very deliber
ately and he is good for an hour any time
he takes the floor. Kenna is a good talker
aud Cullora is not a hard man to report
Anthony Higgins, of Delaware, articulates
every syllable, and Frank Hiscock, of New
York, sponts out his words like a school
boy delivering an oration.
George F. Hoar talks at times very fast,
but his speeches are usually deliberate.
Edmunds has a very free delivery and Joe
Brown, of Georgia, speaks as though his
tongue was run by machinery and could go
no faster or no slower than it does. John C.
Spooner at times reaches 200 words. Leland
Standlord talks slowly. Stewart, of Ne
vada, averages 175 words and George Vest
oltcn rises to 200. Evarts gives out his 400
word sentences at about 160 words per
minute. He is never in a hurry and his
mind is so clear that his words comes regu
larly. Blair talks for nours and at the same
even rate of speed. Allison speaks in the
same suave manner that he acts, and Zeb
Vance, of North Carolina, though he usually
talks at the rate of two words to the second,,
often rises to three nnrt fr.nr,ti., t re
words. Quay doesn't talk at all. With all
of these speakers Dennis F. Murphy is at
home and the fastest of them do not phase
him. r
AN IBISH-AMERICAN.
Dennis F. Murphy does not weigh more
than 125 pounds. He is a pleasant-faced,
brown-whiskered, slightly built man of 60
years of ace. He was born in Cork, but he
has lost all his Irish brogue since he came
here, and he is an American in the fullest
sense. He revises all the manuscript before
it goes to the printers, and he works regu
larly in the Senate. He has a brother who
is as good a reporter as he is, and who is
one of the lew men who can read his notes.
His assistants are all hich-nriced mm. and
all have been connected with the Senate for I
I
years. The irost of them use .the grapho
phone and the typewriter, and one of the
busiest place in the Capitol is the big room
off the east platform of the Senate where
this transcribing is done.
There is probably no city in the' United
States which has so many stenographers in
proportion to its population as Washing
ton. There is scarcely a man in public life
who has not a stenographio secretary who
accompanies him on all occasions, and this
custom has grown up within the past 20
years. Senators Seward and Sumner were
among the first to bring shorthand to their
aid in their work, and since that time the
practice has grown like Jonah's gourd.
Now every Senator has a shorthand clerk,
who is paid by the Government and nearly
every member of the House has to employ
one to keep up with his correspondence.
Wilson, of Washington State, 'one of the
new Congressmen, told me yesterday that be
had received 1,000 letters within' the past
three months, and Senator Manderson re
ceives on an average of 100 letters a day.
"WHAT INGALLS SPEECH BROUGHT.
During the week alter his great speech,
about a month ago. Senator Ingalls re
ceived 1,000 letters bv actual count, and
there is not a Western Senator who is not
kept busy for two hours every day in an
swering letters. The Eastern Congressman
have less correspondence, but it is impossi
ble for a man to attend to public affairs and
do all his own letter writing. The clerks of
the committees of Congress get $G a day,
and they are expected to attend to the cor
respondence ot the chairmen of the commit
tees as well. Senator Stanford is said to
give his private secretary his whole salary,
but not a few Senators employ their wives,,
their sisters, their cousins or their aunts as
private secretaries, and have their real work
done by the cheap shorthand men with
whome the Capitol abounds.
President Harrison's stenographer gets
51,800 a year, and his private secretary, Mr.
Halford, gets 53,500. The shorthand man of
the Bureau of Engraving and Printing re
ceives $1,600 annually, and the fattest of the
House committeeships are worth 52,200 a
year. All the heads of departments have
stenographers. Every bureau officer has his
shorthand man, and there is scarcely a room
among the thousands in the great Govern
ment departments which has notone or more
stenographers connected with it The steno
graphic work of Washington outside the
Government departments is very great.
There are several thousand stenographers
and typewriters who do business for lawyers,
claim agents and others. Many of these
men and women have their own offices and
their assistants, and the court reporters here
receive from 25 to 35 cents a folio.
THET MAKE BIG MONET.
They make a great deal of money in big
cases and there have been trials here which
have paid the reporters 520,000 apiece.
Many of the most expert typewriters of the
United States are here and" therg is a little
black-eyed fellow who now acts as secretary
for Mr. Bobert l'acke, the General Passen
ger Agent for the Pennsylvania Bailroad
Company here, who can take down 70 words
a minute on his caligraph, and I have my
self dictated to him at the rate of 3,000
words per hour. He takes the dictations
directly on the typewriter and you get your
copy as fast as you dictate the words. Many
of the newspaper men ot Washington use
shorthand amanuenses and hardly one of
tbem now writes his correspondence out
with a pen. He either dictates to the gra
phophone, to a typewriter or to a stenog
rapher, or manipulates the typewriter him
self, composing as he goes alone and rat
tling out his thoughts upon the kevs.
And still the demand for stenographers in
Washington is on the increase. Every
month or two the Civil Service Commission
advertises, for new stenographers and type
writers, and the business colleges of the
capital are turning out hundreds every
month. Good men never lack work, but the
efficient private secretary embraces many
more qualifications than' the mere taking
down ot words from another man's mouth.
The best of the private secretaries here have
on an average as much sense as their
masters. They must, if they serve a Senator
or Bepresentative, know all about the de
partments and be able to look up a pension
case or a land claim, to compose a letter or
to draft a bill. Not a few of them look up
the materials for their speeches, and some
EVEN WBITE THE SPEECHES
themselves. Many public men dictate their
speeches to their stenographers beiore they
deliver them, and the stenographer is sup
posed to put on the finishing touches and to
give back the complete oration in type
writing to his Senator. Most of the bureau
officers do not answer the most of
their correspondence themselves. A
chief will take a letter and tell
his private secretary to write a nice re
ply refusing or granting a request, and the
man is supposed to be able to put this in
ship-shape form so that the chief will not be
ashamed of it. ' Certain classes of letters
never meet the public man s eye. The sec
retary understands, by experience, what is
to be done with the case and he answers it
himself.
In this way the private secretary becomes
a very important man at Washington, and
the office of Private Secretary to the Presi
dent is fully as important as that of any of
tne uaDinct .Ministers, uavia Davis nsed
to say that the salary of this place ought to
be at least 7,000 a year, as the man was
practically the executive officer of the Presi
dent, and in many cases did as much work
as he did. Colonel Lamont was worth more
to President Cleveland than any of his Cab
inet officers, and Colonel Halford does to
day fully as much work as any man con
nected with the administration. The Pri
vate Secretary to the President must be on
call at all times, and heis liable to beroused
from his bed at midnight to counsel with
the President in regard to some important
dispatch or diplomaticoccurrence which re
quires an immediate answer.
Feank G. Cabpentee.
BENT OF BUSINESS BOOKS.
Rates In Philadelphia Top the Pittsbnrc
Rales by a Good Deal.
Philadelphia Times. I
I had occasion the other day to make in
quiries concerning renting rooms for busi
ness purposes and was astonished to find
that no matter how high one went in some
of the new and magnificent structures lately
erected by various companies the rents were
higher still. I could find nothing under $350
or $400 a year aud that for only one room.
In fact in several buildings I was told that
they had nothing under $700 and felt no
anxiety about securing a tenant But in
these days when so much is demanded by
tenants such as stationary washstands, elec
tric lights, messenger calls, etc., the rents
have to be placed high, i
TEEATHfG B0Q BITES.
A Novel Flan That U n Little Hard on the
Fowl Creation.
St Louis Globe-Democrat
A good thing to do for a mad dog bite is
to fill the wound with powder and touch it
off. Then drink whisky. This meets snake
bites, too. An efficacious and aboriginal
plan is to procure half a dozen young live
fowls, cut the skin from the side of one, and
put the raw spot against the bitten part In
a few minutes take another fowl and use it
in the same way. Pour will usually die,
the fifth will get giddy, but hot die, and the
sixth may not be needed. Such a treatment
for dog bites is handier than, aud as reliable
as, the madstone.
A alnn to Avoid.
Bostonlin.J
Gilroy There's Snodrrass across the
street let's go over. .
Larkin No, thanks.
Gilroy Why, I thought you were friends.
Larkin So we' are, but Snodgrass lives in
the country now. and I don't care to hear
anythii-g tbout his garden to-day.
- V . .v-- -
FLOWING WITH FUN.
Pens of Prominent Paragraphers
Plied for Public Pleasure.
LIVISG LINES ON LOYB AND LOBE.
Amusing Anecdotes, Penetrating Philoso
phy, Distracting Dialect.
TIPE
two Points of View
L
The sky shet down
jest like , the roof
thot kive'rs up a
hearse.
,Vn' mo a useless, Ilvln'
corpse in a berrld
UDlverse;
riio clouds were jest
like strips er crape;
the win's were wails
er woe,
An' all creation bed
the dumps w'en
SaUle tol me "Nor
W'y, thet one word fum thet one gal It made
the sun turn black,
J lls'ened for the crack er doom an' thought
I'd hear her crack:
The win's jest boo-hooed through the trees, an'
I I felt so mean
X thought a lust-class funeral 'nd liven up the
scene.
I felt so streaktd an' so blue, an' life wuz seen
afiz.
'At 1 kneeled down an prayed an' prayed to
her the roomatiz:
Fer roomatiz is happiness beside the orfnl
ache
Thet soaks through all yer systim w'en yer
heart begins to break.
An' tben the snn an' moon went down, I
tnongnt 'twuz tneir last trip.
The mighty Han' thet hoi's the worl' It jest let
go its grip:
Like xhe chap thet called to Gallagher, I cried
out, '"Let 'er got"
Tho bull roun' worl' dropped into night w'en
6ally tol' me "No."
IL
The sky wuz 'like a weddin' ring that went
aroun' the worl',
The sun wnz like a dimon' pin on the buzzum
uv a girl;
The win's went flddlin' through the grass an'
struck the wilderness
As a feller strikes a tambourine, w'en Bailie
tol' me "Yes."
I thought the worl' a paradise, all tree fum
shame an' sin,
An' me a burnin' seraph an' the angel Ga
briel's twin;
My lips wuz like a laffln brook thet on'y hez to
flow
Through tiger-lily medders where the pussy
willers grow.
An I thought 'twould flow forever, flow for
ever, jest like this.
Till it struck the mighty oshun uv everlastin'
bliss;
I felt thet heaven had come on earth an'
wouldn' go on agin I
An'Natur' nothin' else to do but jest lay back
an' grin.
A flower path to the end er time stretched way
"The mornin' tars they sa.b'g" 'together anI,
3 meu in me cnorus; , .
The mighty-Han' thet hors the worl' I felt Its
gentle press
I knew the universe was safe w'en SaUle tol
me "Yes." a W. Fobs.
Sweet.
A LEADING QUESTION.
Sam Johnsing (who, thanks to bis law
yer, has just been acquitted of robbing a
smokehouse) I'se mighty obleeged ter yer
ter gittin' me outer dis scrape.
Lawyer How about my fees?
Johnsing r hain't got no money, boss,
but how is yer off fer bacon?
BUT HIS HABITS WEEK LOOSE.
"Mr. Bapid acts very queerly of late.
I'm afraid there is a screw loose some
where." "I can't imagine where. He is usually
tight all over." Alex E. Sweet.
The Jnnsfran.
Out of her mist veils, virgin fair,
Tho JunEfran towered in the Alpine air;
While they from the rustic bridge, below,
Admired her beauty of sun and snow.
"When shall you leaver" His friend in
quired. "Well," he said, "my time's expired
"I ought to have gone last week, yet still
I seem to linger, against my will;
"I can't see why It Is really queer,
But I think the Jnngfrau keeps me here."
Then, suddenly turning, at bowed and
blushed
His tourist cap to his bosom crushed
As a German maiden, with eyes of blue.
Walked by them, bowing and blushing too.
And, after her form the young man gazed.
While one of them said, with eyebrows raised;
"My boy, to me It is distinctly clear
That the Jnngfrau' means to keep you here.
MADELINE S. BBTDQKS.
Folk's Jokc.
WILLIE A SAD SEA-SOO.
"I see somebody has introduced a bill in
Congress to prevent this ocean racing:
Good idea.
"Yes hardly a week passes that the
record is not cut down."
"What is the record now?"
"Well, Willie Fourhundred took a
sohooner this morning and already he's half
seas over."
A NEEDLE-LESS EXPLANATION.
"Ah, my sirenl" said the dreamy looking
young man, as he toyed with the silk with
which she was working a pink bird on a
yellow slipper, "do you know what it was
that first drew me to you?"
Of course she didn't!
"It was your eyes your beautiful, be
wildering eyes. Thereissomethingin their
mystical, fathomless depths that holds me,
little one, as the needle is heldbythePole."
"A case of hooks-and-eyes?" she asked,
as she threaded a green bug in the blue bill
of the pink bird. Polk Swaips.
A Slother Gooselct.
NDTKTEEXTH CENTUBT BOYS AnDJJIBLS.
"Bovs and srirlL com. nnt tn ni&T.L-'.? .
, ,,.,
TIT1LLATI5G TEIPLES PDT IH
tmnts roz tiix pisrATcn.1
I vui rVMlLS
XX7J miffiPK
iintmi
GH.M
NHK
i 'nmm
I MtflpiJP
1 1 imdr
sl ' Jk lev
The moon is shining bright as day."
"Oh I no. Indeed, dear sir, we shan't
We much prefer peruslngKant,
To spend a quiet, restful hour
With Hoffmann and with Scnopenhaner."
John Kendeick Bangs.
And on Time, Too.
"Why do you call this night train The
Tramp? " asked the cross passenger, who
was mad because he had lost his ticket,
over paid the hnckman, got an upper berth,
and broke the handle off his umbrella.
"Because," replied Ganymede, the train
boy, for it was he, "it goes through without
change."
And while the convict in upper four
played a breezy nocturne with his nose, the
tall thin passenger, much pleased, bought a
box of fresh kiln-dried Smyrna figi of the
boy, saying he had promised to bring the
children home a set of jack stones, but had
forgotten all about it until he heard the rattle
of these delicious bivalves as the boy passed
by. The use of this expression, coupled
with the fadt that the tall thin passenger
went clear down to the wood box to pay his
fare, and did so with an 'air of great mys
tery and a diplomatic and telephonic dis
cussion conducted in whispers on his part
and a loud, harsh utterance on the part of
the conductor, led to the suspicion that the
the tall thin passenger edited a weekly paper
to fill a long felt want.
Bobert J. Btjedette.
Let Out a Reef.
"By John Henderson, you are getting
tremendously stout."
"Yes. I'm thinking of making a corpor
ation of myself."
"Good idea; you're started well. Ton
must have let out that stitch in your side
you complained of the other day."
Caeltle Smith.
Their Wooden Wedding.
"Let's see; yesterday was Robinson's
wooden wedding anniversary, wasn't it?"
"Yes."
"Wonder if anybody went around?"
"Yes; I went around in the evening."
"Anything going on."
"You betl Mrs. Bobiusou had just
broken a mop-stick to pieces over Bobinson's
head. The floor was all littered up with
his whittlings. Somebody had tipped the
wood-box over. The cat was cavorting
around with a clothes-pin on her tail. The
children were playiug see-saw with the
bread board, and the baby was eating a box
ot matches. I came to the conclusion that
the Bobinsons were fully able to celebrate
their own wooden wedding, and that I had
better give the lemon-squeezer I bought for
them to my wife." Paul Pastkoe.
A Bleltlne Talc.
Where the days are piping hot
In the heart of Africay,
Lived a little Hottentot
In his simple, artless way;
There he wooed a merry maid
Who was full of happy fun.
Though 'twas ninety lu the shade
Aud two hundred in the sun.
Of her frizzy, kinky locks
The little maid was prond;
And she had a toilet-box
Which used to murmur loud;
Of monkey-grease pomade
The toilet-box was full
And the dusky little jade
Would rub it on her wool.
Bnt alasl one fatal day
Tbevleft the palm-tree's shade
That Hottentot so gay
And the merry little maid;
And the blistering, burning sun
Oh their kinky heads shone fnll,
Till it focussed on the one
With pomade upon her wool.
Then that maiden slowlyf rled
On the sands of Africay,
And in agony she died
In most heartrending way.
w
And here and there a stain
That leads toward the shade
Is all that doth remain
Of that foolish little maid.
Sam T. CLOVES.
Pellets From Tarlona Pestles.
There is always room at the bottom of
the soup.
Among public speakers it is notable that
those who lose their heads usually keep
their feet.
Pepper and salt are the best seasoning for
oysters. The summer season doesn't do
oysters much good.
It takes a woman two seconds to make up
her mind, and four hours to make up her
toilet
A young man who was recently expelled
from a social organization is said to have
observed that he never before realized how
much force there is a "club-foot."
A BEE IK A FLO WEB.
The Plet are In an Orchid Found In Monnt-
nlnoa Parti of England.
Harper's Bazar.
These lines, written years ago, refer to a
species of orchid which may be found in the
mountainous parts of Lincolnshire aud
Kent, England:
"I sought the Living Bee to And,
And f onnd the picture of a Bee."
A traveler has said that "nature has
formed a bee apparently feeding in the
heart of the flower, and with such exactness
as makes it impossible to distinguish the
imposition."
Another, writing of the bee orchid, adds,
"Their resemblance to these insects, when
in full bloom, is the most perfect conceiv
able." There is mention also of a fly orchid, a
plant equally curious, and both these pecu
liar growths become very, fascinating stud
ies to all lovers of flowers.
Dahomey' Faith In HI Fighters.
Detroit Free Fress.
The King of Dahomey had for years be
lieved that one of his warriors could whip
seven white men. When one Frenchman
began to lick nine of his fighters, the King
slowly realized that he was J'off," and he
also "offed" the heads of several of his gen
erals for consolation.
'JV0 TPanrnt Tintnf thi?TTnm. , -
fej''''' vw
)-. .,," i --
IXBrmar fok the-dispatch.
SYNOPSIS OP PRECEDING CHAPTERS.
The leading characters of the story are Geoffrey Bingham, a London banister, and Beatrice
Granger, daughter of the rector of Bryngelly, on the Welsh coast, and village school teacher.
Geoffrey is married to a titled woman. Lady Honoria, who married him for an expected fortune
that did not materialize. She fretted at poverty and made life generally miserable for Geoffrey
dnring his early struggles. They hare a daughter, Effle, a child oC sweetest disposition. While
outing at Bryngelly. Geoffrey is rescued from drowning by Beatrice. In spite of themselves this
Incident developed Into deep affection. Lady Honoria is not slow to see it, and this makes mat
ters worse between her and Geoffrey. Beatrice has a sister, Elizabeth. The family is poor and
Elizabeth is ambitions to become the wife of 'Squire Owen Davles. who Is rich, but stupid. He is
madly In love with Beatrice, finally proposes toner. Is rejected, but continues to annoy her with
his attentions. During Geoffrey's stay at Bryngelly he receives a brief la a celebrated law case.
Beatrice reads it and hits npon the right theory of the case. Geoffrey returns to London, tries
the case on Beatrice's theory and wins a great victory. It Is his key to fortune. Henceforth
money rolls in to him. He gratifies Lady Honorla's every whim. Finally he is elected to
Parliament, where he soon distinguishes himself. The poverty of the Granger family becomes
serious. Beatrice gives up her salary to her father, but it is not sufficient. Mr. Granger must
borrow. Scheming Elizabeth takes advantago of this fact to compromise Beatrice in The eves of
Owen Davies. She sends her father to Geoffrey Bingham, who not only gives hint 200. but
agrees to visit Bryngelly. Before leaving home Lady Honoria charges Geoffrey with his tender
ness for the pretty school teacher. He meets Beatrice unexpectedly, and on the Impulse of the
moment conresses to ner sne is tne oniy woman wno can properly sympatmze wren Dim. mat
night Geoffrey cannot sleep, and is startled at last by Beatrice who in a somnambulistic state
walks to his room, awakes and, realizing the situation, swoons away. The crash of the doors
awakes both Elizabeth and Mr. Granger. Geoffrey starts to carry the inanimate form of Beatrice
to her room and narrowly escapes being discovered by Mr. Granger, who is up to see what
caused the noise. As Geoffrey enters with his precious burden Elizabeth appears to sleep, bnt
in reality is alert to every move. Geoffrey returns to London, and Elizabeth, In order to ex
plode the whole matter, write an anonymous letter, reciting the events of the night, to Lady
Honoria. She charges Geoffrey with unfaithfulness and threatens to begin action for a separa
tion. She also writes to Beatrice, telling her if she lores Geoffrey to instantly put an end to their
friendly relations. Geoffrey also Writes to Beatrice, asking her to fly with him and Effle to Amer
ica. Beatrice replies: "No. dear Geoffrey. Thinea must take tneir course." Owen Davies, half
crazed by love, again asks Beatrice to be his wife, this time in the presence of Mr. Granger and
Elizabeth. Of coarse, Beatrice refuses Owen's proposal. Elizabeth blurts out the story of the
night adventure. Beatrice denies any wrong and tells the whole truth. Her father, even, can
not accept her explanation. Beatrice leaves for London anl takes a last look at Geoffrey. She
almost touches him on the street, bnt her disguise is perfect She returns to Bryngelly, gets
Into her canoe, rows far out into the breakers and, as the sun is sinking, Beatrice sinks to rest
the name of Geoffrey upon her lips.
4
CHAPTER XXIX.
A WOMAN'S LAST WOED.
Geoffrey came down to breakfast about 11
o'clock on the morning of that day the first
hours of which he had spent at Euston sta
tion. Not seeing Effie, he asked Lady Hon
oria where she was, and was informed that
Anne, the French bonne, said that the child
was not well, and that she had kept her in
bed to breakfast
"Do you mean to say that you have not
been up to see what is the matter with her?"
asked Geoffrey.
"No, not yet," answered his wife. 'I
have had the dressmaker here with my new
dress for the Duchess' ball to-morrow; it's
lovely, but I think that there is a little too
much ot the creamy lace about it
With an exclamation of impatience,
Geoffrey rose and went upstairs. He found
Effie tossing about in bed, her face flushed,
her eyes wide open and her little hands
quite hot.
"Send ior the doctor at once," he said.
The doctor came and examined the child,
asking her if she had wet her feet lately.
"Yes, I did, two days ago," she answered.
"But Anne did say that they would soon
get dry, it I held them to the fire, because
my other boots were not clean. Oh, my head
does ache, daddie."
"Ah," said the doctor, and then covering
the child up took Geoffrey aside and tola
him that his daughter had got'a mild attack
of inflammation of the lungs. There was
no cause for anxiety, only she must be
looked after and guarded from chills.
Geoffrey asked if he should get a trained
nurse.
"Oh, no," said the doctor. "I do not
think it is necessary, at any rate at present.
I will tell the nurse what to do, and doubt
less your wife will keep an eye on her."
So Anne was called up, and vowed that
she would guard the cherished child like
the apple ot her eye. Indeed, no, the boots
were not wet there was a little, a very, very
little mud on them, that was all.
"Well, don't talk so much, but see that
you attend to her properly," said Geoffrey,
leeling rather doubtful, for he did not trust
Anne. However, he thought he would see
himself that there was no neglect When i
she heard what was the matter. Lady Ho
noria was much put out
"Really," she said, "children are the
most vexatious creatures in the world. The
idea of her getting inflammation o! the
lungs in this unprovoked fashion. The end
of it will be that I shall not be able to go to
the Duchess ball to-morrow night, and she
was so kind about it, she made quite a point
of my coming. Beside I have Dought that
lovely new dress on purpose. I should
never have dreamed of going to so much
expense for anything else.
"Don't trouble yourself," said Geoffrey.
"The House does not sit to-morrow; I will
look alter her. Unless Effie dies in the in
terval, you will certainly be able to go to
the ball."
"Dies what nonsensel The doctor says
that it is a veryslight attack. Why should
she Bie?"
"I am sure I hope that there is no fear ot
anything of the sort, Honoria. Only she
must be properly looked after. I do not
trust this woman Anne. I have half a mind
to get in a trained nurse after all,"
"Well, if you do, she will have to sleep
out of the house, that's all. Amelia (Lady
Garsington) is coming up. to-night, and I
must have somewhere to put her maid, and
there is no room for another bed in Effie's
room.
'Oh, very well, very well," said Geof
frey. "I dare say that it will be all right, but if
Effie gets any worse, you will please under
stand that room must'be made."
.But Effie did not get worse. She remained
much about the same. Geoffrey sat at home
all day; fortunately he had not to go to
conrt, and employed himself in reading
kaSnTa A Tinnf H n'rtlrttlr rm want 4avv Am
briefs. Abont 6 o clock he went down to
the House, and having dined very simply
and quietly, took his Seat and listened to
some dreary talk which was being carried
on for the benefit of the reporters, about the
adoption of the Welsh language in the law
courts of Wales.
Suddenly he became aware of a most ex
traordinary sense of oppression. An inde
finable dread took hold of him, his very soul
was filled with terrible apprehensions and
alarm. Something dreadful seemed to knocE
at the portals of his sense, a horror that he
could not gras'p. His mind was confused,
but little by little it grew clearer, and he
began to understand that a danger threat
ened Beatrice, that she was in great peril.
He was sure of it. Her agonized dying
cries reached him where he was, though in
no form winch he conld understand; once I
more ner thought beat on bis thought once
more aud for the last time her spirit spoke
to his.
Then suddenly a cold wind seemed to
breathe upon his face and lift his hair, and
everything was gone. His mind was as it
had been; again he heard the dreary orator
and saw the members slipping awav to din
ner. The conditions that disturbed him
had passed, things were as they had been.
Nor was this strangel For the link was
broken. Beatrice was dead. She had passed
into tne domains ot impenetrable silence.
Geoffrey sat up with a gasp, and as he did
so a letter was placed in his hand. It was
addressed in Beatrice's handwriting and
bore the Chester postmark. A chill fear
seized him. What did it contain? He hur
ried with it into a private room and opened
it It was dated from Bryngelly ou the
previous Sunday and had several incis
ures. "My dearest Geoffrey," it began, "Ihave
never before addressed you thus on paper.
nor should I dc. so now, knowing to what
risks such written words might put you,
were it not that occasions may arise (as in
this case) which seem to justify the risk.
For when all things are ended between a
man and a woman who are to each other
what we have been, then it is well that the
one who goes should speak plainly beiore
speech becomes impossible, if only that the
one who is left should not misunderstand
that which has been done.
"Geoffrey, it is probable it is almost cer
tain that before your eyes read these words
I shall be where in the body they can never
see me more. I write to you from the brink
of the grave. When you read, it will have
closed over me.
"Geoffrey, I shall be dead.
"I received your dear letter (it is de
stroyed now) in which you expressed a wish
that I should come away with you to some
other country, and I answered it in eight
brief words. I dared not trust myself to
write more, nor had I anv limp. TTntr
could you think that I should ever accept
such an offer for my own sake, when to do
so would have been to ruin you? Bnt first
I will tell you all that has happened here."
(Here followed a long and exact descrip
tion of thoseevents with which we are al
ready acquainted, including the denuncia-
OEOFFEET BEADS
tion of Beatrice by her sister, the threats of
Owen Davies as regards himself, and the
uusuin niucu sne naa aaoptea to
gain.
hllUV.J
Further." the letter rontfnnprf "T in
close your wife's letter to me.. And here I
wish to state that I have not one word to
say against Lady Honoria or her letter. I
think that she was perfectly justified in
writing as she did, for, after all, dear Geof
frey, you are her husband, and in loving
eacu oiuer we nave ouenaed against her.
She tells me truly that it is my duty to make
all further communication between us im
possible. There is only one way to do this
and I take it
"And now I have spoken enough about
myself, nor do I wish to enter into details
that could only 'give you pain. There will
be no scandal, dear, and if any word should
be raised against you after I have gone, I
have provided an answer in the second let
ter, which I have inclosed. You can print
it if necessary; it will be a sufficient reply
to any talk. Nobody after reading it can
believe that you were in any way connected
wua me accident wnicn win nappen. .Dear.
one word more still about myself, you seel
Do not blame yourself in this matter for
you are not to blame; of my own free will I
do it, because in the extremity ot the cir
cumstances I think it best that one should
go and the other be saved, rather than
that both should be involved in a common
ruin.
"Dear, do you remember how in that
strange vision of mine I dreamed that you
came and touched me ou the breast and
showed me light? So it has come to pass,
for you have given me love that is light;
and now in death I shall seek lor wisdom.
r And this being fulfilled, shall not the rest
be fulfilled in season? Shall I not sit in
those clondy balls 'till I see you come to
seek me, the word of wisdom ou your lips?
And since I cannot have you to myself, and
be all in all to you, why I am glad to go.
For here on the world is neither rest nor
happiness; as in, mv dream, too often does
'Hope seem to rend her starry robes.'
"I am glad to go from such a world, in
which but one happy thing has found me
the blessing of your love. I am worn out
with the weariness and struggle, and now
that I have lost you I long for rest I do
not know if I sin "in what I do; if so, may I
be forgiven. If forgiveness is impossible, so
be it Yon will forgive me. Geoffrey, and
you will always laye me, however wicked I
may be; even if at the last you go where I
am- not yon will remember and love the
erring woman to whom, being so little, you
tilt wMi all In 11 TXTa a . ... .-J
Geoffrey, according to, the, customs ot the
world, but two short days from hence I shall
celebrate a service that is greater and mors
solemn than any of the earth. For Death
will be the priest and that oath which I
shall take will be to all eternity. Who can
prophesy of that whereof man has no sure
knowledge? Yet I do believe that in a time
to come we shall once more look in each
other's eyes and kiss' each other's lips and
be one for evermore. If this is so, it is
worth while to have lived and died; if not,
then, Geoffrey, farewell!
"If I may I will always be near you.
Listen to the night wind, it shall be my
voice; look on the stais, they will be my
eyes, and my love shall be as the air you
breathe. And when at last the end comes,
remember me, for if I live at all I shall be
near you then. What have I more to say?
So much, my dear, that words cannot con
vey it. Let it be unsaid; but whenever you
hear or read that which is beautiful and
tender, think This is what Beatrice would
have said to me and could notl'
"You will be a great man, dear, the fore
most, or one of the foremost, of your age.
You have alreadypromised me to persevere
to this end; I will not ask you to promise
atresh. Do not be content to accept the
world as women must. Great men do not
accept the world; they reform it and you .
are of their number. And when you are
great you will always use your power, not
ior sen-interest Dnt to large and worthy
ends, yon will nlways strive to help the
poor, to break down oppression from those
who have to bear it, and to advance the
honor of your country. Yon will do all this'
from your own heart and not because I asc
if of you, bnt remember that your fame
will be my best monument though none
shall ever know the grave it covers.
"Farewell, farewell, farewell 1 Ob, Geof
frey, my darling, to whom I have never
been a wife, to whom I am more than any
wife do not forget me in the long years
that are to come. Do not forget me when
others flatter you and try to win your love,
for none can be to you what I have been
none can ever love you more than that lost
Beatrice who writes those heavy words to
night, and who will pass away blessing you
with her last breath, to await you, if she
may, in the land to which your feet also
draw daily on."
Then came a tear-stained postcript in pen
cil, dated Paddington Station on that very
morning.
"I journeyed to London to see you, Geof
rey. I could not die without looking on
your face once more. I was in the gallery
oi tne Mouse ana neara your great speech.
Your friend found me a place. Afterward
I touched your coat as you passed by the
pillar of the gateway. Then I ran away be
cause I saw your friend turn and look at me.
I shall kiss this letter just here beiore I
close it kiss it there too it is our last cold
embrace. Before the end I shall put on the
ring you gave me on my hand I mean. I
have always worn it upon my breast When
I touched you as you passed through the
gateway I thought that I should have
broken down and called to you but I found
strength not to do so. My heart is breaking
and my eyes are blind with tears. I can
write no more. I have no more to say. Now
once again, good-by. -4re atque vale oh,
mv lovel B."
The second letter was a dummy. That is N
to say, it purported to be such an epistle as
any young lady might have written to agen
leman friend. It began, "Dear Mr. Bing
ham," and ended, "Yours sincerely, Bea
trice Granger;" was filled with chit-chat
and expressed hopes that he would be able
to come down to Bryngelly again later iu
the summer, when they would have soma
canoeing.
It was obvious, thought Beatrice, that if
BEATEICE'S LETTER.
Geoffrey was accused by Owen Davies or
anybody else of baying had anything to do
with her mysterious end, the production of
such a frank epistle, written two days pre
viously, would demonstrate the absurdity of
the idea. Poor Beatrice, she wai full of
precautions!
Let him who may imagine the effect pro
duced upon Geoffrey by this heartrending
and astounding epistle! Could Beatrice have
seen his face when he had finished reading
it she would never have committed suicide.
In a minute it became like that of an old
man. As the whole truth sank into his
mind, such an agony of horror, of remorse,
ot unavailing woe and helplessness swept
across his soul that for a moment he thonght
his vital forces would give way beneath it,
and that he should die. as indeed ia that
dark hour he would have rejoiced to do.
And of those cowards who hounded her to
death, if indeed she was already dead. Ob,
he would kill this Owen Davies yes, and
Elizabeth, too, were it not that she was a
woman; and as for Honoria, he had dona
with her. Scandal, what did he care for
scandal? If he had his will there should be
a scandal, indeed, for he would beat this
Owen Davies, this reptile, who did not hesi
tate to use a woman's terrors to prosper the
lulfilling of his lust yes, and then drag
him to the Continent and kill him there.
Only vengeance was left to him!
Stop, he must not give wav perhaps she
was not dead perhaps that horrible presage
of evil which had struck him like a storm,
was nothing but a dream. Could he tele
graph? No, it was .too late; the office at
Bryngelly would be closed it was past 8
now. But he could go. There was a train
leaving a little after 9 he should be there
by 650 to-morrow. And Effie was ill well,
surely they could look after her for 21 hours;
she was in no danger, and he must go ha
couiu not oear in is torturing suspense, un,
how had she done the deedl
Geoffrey snatched a sheet of piper and
tried to write. He could not, his hand shook
so. With a groan he rose, and going to the
refreshmenfroom swallowed two glasses of
brandy one after another. The spirit took
effect on him; he could write now. Rapidly
he scribbled on a sheet of paper:
"I have been called away upon impartant
business, and shall probably not be backfill
Thursday morning. See that Effie is prop
erly attended to. It I am not back you must
not go to the Duchess' ball.
"Geoppbet Bingham."
Then he addressed the letter to Lady
Honoris, and dispatched a commissionaire
with it. This done he eot into a cab and v
bade the cabman drive to Euston a fast u
his horse conld go. f
To fte continued next &nday.
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