,- 12 THE ETTTSBTTKG DISPATCH, THURSDAY, JULY .21, 1892. GOLD EN ROD : vrtiTTr.2r foe R. E. FRANCILLON, Author of " Bounce Bahawder," " King or Knave, " "Romance of the Law," 'No Conjuror," etc, etc. COPYEIGHT, 1892. It was on a dull, hot, heavy day in the middle of a London August, and in the middle of a London street, that Denis War ren first felt himself overpowered by a dreadful doubt the most dreadful, per haps, of all that can occur to a man lite him. It was not whether he was really the greatest genins in the world; many men, even much younger than he, have experi enced that without feeling that there is nothing left to live for. It as whether he was a genius at all; whether he was not just as common-place a piece of human crockery as the unoccupied crossing sweeper at the corner, or even as the stock broker, if such it was, whose wheels splashed the mud upon him as they passed by. Once he would have held his head the higher; it is an honor to walk in davs when only dull folk ride. To-day, the splasher onlv asked him whether he were not really the dullest of all the dull too dull even to become a millionaire. Per haps, indeed he might aspire to take the place ofthe crossing-sweeper; though even of that he was no longer sure. Denis Warren was a musician, who had started upon his career in the full faith that his name, although so unpromisinglv En glish, would travel down to posterity in company with Beethoven's at the very leaBt, if not in advance; and a poor sort of a musician he would have been had he been content with less at starting unless, in deed, he were so creat, beyond all other greatness, as to think only of music, and not of himself at all. Denis did think a great deal of himself, it must be owned; and even the purest and most practical sense will allow that, on this particular day, he had ample reason wny. lie aaa come out in the morning, with exactly sevenpence in his pocket all he owned in the world except the clothes he stood in, half-a-dozen manu script operas, an unfinished oratorio, a wife, and a bundle of unpaid bills to pick up a few crumbs from the wealth of London; and he was returning homeward with the same amount of capital, all but fivepence, which had somehow turned into crumbs for richer sparrows' picking. Every acquaint ance he had was out ot town or pocket; not a tradesman would glance at what he had to sell, even at the latest pot-boiler of which he was the most ashamed. But that was an old story now; there was scarcely a trades man left v ho was not inaccessible when Denis Warren called. Common sense will suggest the pawnbroker's. But not the most benevolent of pawnbroker will ad vance anything worth mentioning on a piece of music paper, a wife, or an unpaid tilL Jn short, here was Denis Warren, at an age when he ought to have had a firm foot on the ladder ot life, worse than penniless, worse than friendless, and overcome by a sudden annihilation of pride which means the crowning loss of all the loss of courage. It was a new loss to him, from which, in his bewilderment, he did not know how to recover; and even if he had known how, hunger and weariness of body and spirit, and the thought ot hunger at home, had to be reckoned with as well. Lile took the lorm of one colossal blunder the impotence of ambition, the barrenness of labor, the cruelty even of love. Even when he ex claimed, almost aloud, "Poor Mabel!" he really meant ''Poor Denis!" for though St was Sad enough to return home with an empty poceet, it was worse to face the woman to whom he had condescended from his height of genius in the character ot a sell-detected imposter. This was the crud est part of all. And, therefore, his homeward way was as slow as a heavy heart could make it: indeed it was hardly his homeward way at all it was one ot those ways which are just as likely as not to last for hours, and then to come to a sudden stop at the bottom of the Thames. There was nothing in his appear ance to attract the attention of a passer-by, whether Levite or Samaritan; anybody idle enough to glance at him, took him for just a fellow idler, trying to amuse himself with the shop windows. What an unfailing at traction shop windows always exercise upon eyes too blinded by mental mist to see any thing in them! So at least it was with Denis, who must at last have stood for a good quarter of an hour at the least, gazing' into a florist's window without knowing it from a cheesemonger's. Lines drawn from his eyes would have converged upon a branch of Goldenrod, with its rich clusters of starry bloom; but to him it might have been a wax doll or a brass kettle, for all that his mind saw. But, his eyes still fixed upon what, to him, was misty space, and after a space of time that might have been either a moment or an age conscious the while, if of any thing outside himself at all, only of the hum of the traffic which turned to rhythm in his brain he started as if he had received a galvanic shock. Had the stars of the Gold enrod been human yes, they would have opened and stared to see how suddenly he flushed, and then grew pale; how the veins stood out on his forehead; how he trembled for a moment from head to foot, as If he had been touched, or rather stung, by an unseen wand. Possibly, however, being a flower, the Goldenrod saw not only as much as a man or a woman might see which after all is never anything worth mentioning but a great deal more. No longer at the place of an aimless snail, but as if he were pursuing what he feared might escape him at the next corner, avoiding collisions on the pavement, and the perils of the crossings, only by that instinct which comes to the help of men who, whether walking or sleeping, are not in a state to help themselves, he at last reached the door of the shabby lodging house in a shabby street one of those doors where a very small girl on tip-toe is for ever trying to reach the topmost of half a dozen bell-handles, and forever in vain. Before Denis the door seemed to melt like mist, and, weak and weary as he must have been, he was at the topmast landing with out being conscious of a single stair. The room in which his flight, or his chase, ended was as poor as its owner, but for one thing the light that came into a pair of brown eyes when Denis entered. If this was what be had been pursuing there was little wonder at his speed. The owner of the eyes was a young woman of no especial beauty, and yet it was plain to see that who ever could call that light into her face br his coming could never be truly called a poor man, even if he had to go without more common food. But not an answer ing glance did it receive from Denis. There was a light, indeed, upon his own face, too; but it was not for her. Habel Warren, whom undeserved misfort une had doomed to be the wife of a man whose profession was genius, was not es pecially sensitive to apparent trifles; bnt the light changed into moisture, and she sighed; and when that was over she became just as commonplace a young woman as ever chose the wrong moment lor saying the wrong thing. "Denis," she said, gently enough, but not in the tone which her eyes had first promised, "Jlrs. Hughes has'just been in here." "Mrs. Hughes?" asked Denis, in the tone of an echo, while making over and over Xin the three strides between the fire :e and the door. "Mrs. Hughes?" Tea, and she wasn't unkind, but she said that if we could not pay her something, she cannot afford to let us stay here beyond this week's end. And, indeed, I don't see how she can; she's not well off, herself, I know. And the baker " Denis stopped hii impatient tramp and clapped his hands tightly to his ears. - . the dispatch bt f "Hush, for merev's sake!'' he exclaimed. "If von say another word you 11 kill it. It It 1 before It's born 1" She looked at him in alarm. "You have had ill luck?" she asked. "Mabel, do you want to send me crazy ? Don't you see that I've had all the luck that doesn't come to one man in a hundred years?" "I am glad !" she said, gently, but still anxiously. One must be used to good fort une before one can go out to welcome her half way. "And you don't even ask what it is? Gues. I'll give you a dozen guesses." "You have sold 'Good morning?' " "A bit of trash not worth two-pence? As if anyone would look at such a thing;no not even I have ever been so unlucky as to have my name to that thing. I should never have held up my head again. But that's woman all oVer. One sees one's way to thousands to tens of thousands to better than all the thousands in the world; and she thinks of pence and farthings " "Thousands, Dinis!" said Mabel, faintly, turninff a shade paler. What could he have been doing, to talk of thousands? And be was so excited so unlike anything she had ever seen, although she had. thought she knew him through and through. She was growing afraid with a fear that would have made her tear herheart out rather than give it a name. "Yes it has come at last, thank God!" he exclaimed, no longer with rough im patience, but joyously. "Everything is all right now more than all right, Mabel. Congratulate me congratulate us both congratulate the whole world! I have found " "What, Denis?" "A Song!" IL But had not Denis Warren already made, or found, scores and scores of songs, and had not incessant experience taught him that there was not 6 penny worth of fortune in the whole pile. Nothing of the sort. One does not give to things made of wax the name ot flowers; or, if one does, it is only out of a moment's foolishness. Denis "Warren had covered many a sheet of music paper, but now he knew that he had made a song, and never before. Before his eyes had chanced to fall upon that particular branch of Goldenrod, he was a self despised nobodv; in one moment he knew himself to be in very truth the genius that he had once only imagined himself to be. All in a moment there had blossomed into his brain, with stars for notes, the freshest and the most ex quisite melody that he had ever heard; more exquisite indeed it was as if music had been waiting till that moment for its crown. And this was not only a real song, full and finished in itself in the first moment of its creation it was as he knew in that self-same moment, a germ from which other melodies, no less exquisitely fresh, would spring and blossom, and which an artist might enrich with all the treas ures of harmony, till their stood forth masterwork of the world: the arch-drama of passion translated from life into song. When hopeless and helpless, his first thought, anil the burden of all his thoughts, had been "Poor Mabel!" Now he had but one thought to crystallise the melody be fore it could escape him; for such things, unless secured at once, are swifter to vanish than to come. Moreover a song of that sort leaves no room in either heart or brain for any other thing or creature; not even for MabeL Having given her all the explana tion of what had happened to him that he felt to be needful, Denis took paper and pencil, and in the excitement of eivinp visi ble substance to bis melody forgot the very existence ot Mabel. There was no need to put it to tbe coarse test of the piano. He could hear it in himself he had become the most sensitive of instruments, with nerves for strings. To turn it suddenly into sound would seem, as yet, too grossly profane. And even before the melody was half be fore his eyes, the notes became not only sounds, but live words, which, all uu thought, seemed to drop from his pencil. He had never suspected himself of being a poet; and yet the air drew from him, with itself, the very words it needed in order to be sung with all its meaning. "Hadn't you better get some sleep?" at last he heard asked in a far-oft voice that did not seem wholly strange to him. He was too absorbed in his new life even to resent an interruption, of which indeed he was but mechanically aware. He ought to have been craving lor sleep and rest, and, before any possible sleep, lor food, even if he had been able to forget that there was somebody else who needed them too. He rose irom his seat, however, for he had so far become a mere highly strung instrument that he might have been played upon by a child. Perhaps he slept; but certainly he dreamed. But it was not of his music. It was of a branch of Goldenrod which he did not know he had ever seen. IIL The musician's instinct proved trne that sudden song w as indeed a branch from which fresh sprays, each with its clustering blos som of melody, sprang forth day by day; al most hour by hour. But how are such days and hours to be reckoned? "Whatever may be their meas ure, it has assuredly nothing to do with clocks, or bells, or mealtimes, or the post man's knocks, or even the times of rising up or lying down. It had nothing, even, to do with Mabel's Kisses, or even with her good night or gnod morning; for Denis had ceased to heed that such things were. He was aware but of one thing the great lyric drama that was taken from under his hand, springing from that one sons. Time had no measure, for there was no longer such a thing as time. For aught he knew or heeded Mrs. Hughes might have forgotten or foregone her rest, and butcher and baker have entered into a conspiracy to support him and his wife for nothing. He did not know or heed that his days w ere undisturbed: though at the top of a. jjuuuuu luuKiiiK u seemeu penectiy nat ural that he should have more freedom from worry than if he were on a desert island. To tell the history of those days is the easiest thing in the world: they had no his tory. But at last he woke. And there, as If it naa actually come to mm in a dream of sleep, lay before him his great work a per fect whole, finished and real, and all his his very own. He did not know whether he was wholly glad that the ecstasy of pro duction, as if he had been played upon by an invisible hand, was over. But there was the second besMoy of success before him; and meanwhile he had the sense of achieve ment, and that delicious weariness which may be indulged in as freely as a con valescence. It was just beginning to grow dusk when Denis Warren at last laid down his pen, and told himself that his work was good, and that he needed, food. But need of food unhappily means need of money; and it occurred to him that when the song whence all the rest had sprang came into his mind there had been but a penny and two halfpennies In his pocket. He had certainly not trenched upon this capital since, so he felt for it, and waa not so very much surprised to find an unex- ected piece of gold. Such accidents have een known to happen, though, it mast be sadly confessed, they are rare. But to one who has just come off a journey to "Wonder land the only things that are not wonderful are those thatare. After all, the fairies, or whatever "they may be, who can freely give a man a song like that would scarcely leave him to starve before it could be heard. So he put away his pile of manuscript, and went out for a solitary meal. And Mabel? Well, in the first place, it was well she was not in the way to take the bloom off the moment of triumph by imper fect sympathy; and, in the second place, he wanted to be alone with himself to re cover himself from his fever, and to revel in what had come to him. What a marvel ous change had come over even the streets of London, now that he paced them no longer as a beaten man, but as a conqueror! The rumble of the vehicles swelled in his ears into the roar of applause; the flare of the gas mellowed into the light of glory; every parserby seemed to be thinking the same thought aloud and it was: ''There goes Denis Warren, the greatest musician in the whole world!" After so sharp a spell of excitement, it was only natural thai he should rest a little upon his future laurels, so that some sorjt of equilibrium should be restored between Denis Warren, the great musician, and Denis "Warren, the man. As it was, the two scarcely knev$ one another; they needed time to become acquainted. He studied his own work, talked pleasantly enough to Mabel between whiles, rambled about a good deal, and came to take for granted the otherwise singular fact that, though one cannot ramble about for nothing, he never found his pocket empty. He had often won dered at the same thing in the case of men who, to his own knowledge, had neither means nor earnings, and yet were never without coin for their pleasures all who have ever set foot in Bohemia have been exercised by the same riddle, but, though the riddle remained as inexplicable as ever, the1 fact, in his own case, seemed entirely natural, and in accord with the fitness of things. For that matter, other men began to find it natural in his case also; and he began, in addition to those of wealth, to foretaste the pleasures of popularity which chiefly con sist, as everybody knows, in giving drink to the thirsty and in the philanthropic ap plication of small change. There were soon scores of men whose judgment the critics never thought of disputing:, who. were any hour ready to swear to his face that his great work had only to come forth, be heard, and conquer. For though no human being has as yet heard a note of it, he had begun to boast of it a little, so far as the proverbial modesty of true genius allowed. It must be confessed that this new life of his was in some ways unwholesome, in com parison with his days of patient battle. His evenings, for example, became anything but domestic. But then one can purchase so much more sympathy out of doors than is given to one at home. Still, he could not go on anticipating glory for ever, even with the help of a pocKct wnere, in that mysterious manner, silver, and even gold, seemed to breed. Be sides his name, from having been unknown except to himself, had somehow got into the air. Such a thing does happen some times and when it does, then is the time for action. In short, fame as well as fortune seemed, without any exception of his own, to be showering themselves upon Denis Warren even belore they are due. As if touched by a magic Eod, the very tradesman a very great tradesman, indeed who had refused his latest pot boiler had of his own accord asked for an introduction to the work, of which expectant rumors of his unheard magic had ex haled, like the perfume "of an invisi ble flower. The introduction had been arranged; and Denis departed irom a preliminary interview in a state of thor ough confidence in himself and satisfaction with a world which had surely been grossly libeled when charged with being hard and cold. The air of the streets was cold, however, this raw and misty November evening; at least for all whose cloak of self-esteem was less weather proof than Denis "Warren's. As it was, he could afford comfortably his habit of lingering as he walked when his thoughts were pleasant, and of taking round-about roads for the further pleasure of making such thoughts the longer. It was certainly not for the sake ot getting quickly to anywhere that, instead ot keeD- ing to the main thoroughfare, he tnrned into a quiet roadway divided from it by a low wall and a narrow strip of garde a Slanted by shrubs and trees. It was a imly lighted terrace of tall houses, made darker by the trees and the gray mist, in wnicn ne coma nnm to himselt that won derful air, which was the source and the soul of his great work without being dis turbedfor he fell to it as a lover. Undisturbed! Is there an inch of Lon don where even the deaf can count upon a moment which he shall be free to say "I will do this," however small a thing "this" may be? Hardly had he begun to feel alone than there rose out of the gray silence a woman's voice in song so bright, so clear, so fresh, a voice that he even forgot himself in sudden wonder whence it could come. And when be knew, it was to forget himself in further surprise. Not quite within the shadow of the trees, and near enough to be more to be no more than softened by the mist, stood a slender form draped in black, perfectly still: and thence the song came, and its slight support of tinkling chords. A street singer? So his eyes told him: but if they were right, there was no need for people in want of a song to go farther than their street doors. It was "Che Faro:" rendered not merely with vocal perfection that was its last charm but with a fresh ness of voice which seldom survives culti vation, and with a thrilling pathos in it, as if, instead of having been studied, it was coming straight and warm from the singer's own heart; as it she had learned it from dead love and living sorrow. It was less a song than a soul. Denis stood spellbound, as well he might; and he felt angry when such music was fol lowed by so sordid a rupture of the charm as the ring of a coin thrown from an open window, which the 3inger stooped to pick up as if she were a common ballad bawler. What could it mean? What could be her history? Especially as the voice was a lady's in every tone. Did the face match the voice? Even if it did not, what could have driven any woman with such a gift to the destitution implied by such a calling? Then, she must be a good woman to prefer such a calling to all the worse things to which such a voice, even without beauty to match it, would be an "Open, Sesame." She must be absolutely without protection, and alone; yet she must have loved no woman sines like that until her soul has been born; few until it has begun to despair. It must needs have been a story of love, per haps of passion; and Denis' blood glowed with righteous anger against the man, whoever be was, husband or lover, who had left her to sing in the streets for the bread of charity. The man might be dead? Not he! In the first place a voice like that would have kept him alive; in the second well, Denis, with all the logic of impulse, was ready to stake his great work that the man was alive, and the greatest scoundrel unhanged. , At any rate it was not for him, a musi cian, to leave a voice like that for the weather to break to pieces; it was his duty to give it a proper setting, perhaps in a work of his own. How fortunate for her that the great musician of the age happened to have strolled down on that road on chat particular evening! He would wait for another song, and then question her. He bad not long to wait. A chord or two tinkled, and then As clear and as sweet as he had heard it in his own brain, nay, clearer and sweeter far, there rose into the mist his own air the air the air which had come to him in a magic moment, and whence all else had come, and not only the air, but the very words: the air and the words which none' but he had seen, and not even he had heard with his ears! It was impossible. Denis knew, when that melody came to him, that until that moment it had not existed, nor even its most distant likeness. No human being had ever seen it or heard it and yet here it was in the pnblio streets, upon the lips of a strolling ballad-singer. It was utterly impossible; and yet it was true. And If ft was trne, it was a horrible thing. Hii whole work, and therefore hit whole vision of wealth and glory hung upon this melody. And now either It had be come common before it was born, or else by some hideons conincldenee he was exposed to be vscouted as a plagiarist and an im postor. He tried to think while she sang. Had he by chance heard this woman singing before? Perhaps unconsciously at the very moment when he was staring in at the florist's window? No; because here was not only his own music, but his own words; and then it was rendered, not as he imagined it. but with a pathetic passion of which he had never dreamed, and yet must have remem-' bered had it been only dreamed. And no; it could be no coincidence. There must be a limit even to miracles. It was some hideous mockery on the part of fortune, who had taken advantage of his despair to de lude him with imaginary genius and prom ises of wealth and glory never meant to be fulfilled. There was one hope whatever tbe secret of the song, it might perhaps be between him and the singer; and in that case he might make it his own by purchase. It was not a noble thought: but it was at any rate better than if it had occurred to him to make it his own br means of murder for he might hare told his conscience that if homicide in the defense ot one's mere life is justified, homicide in defense of what is ten thousand times more than life is justi fied ten thousand times over. But, how ever he might hare to act, he must know first the nature of the mystery. The song closed at last; again he heard the clink of coins upon the gravel. He came out of the shadow and approached the fig ure, scarce knowing, however, what he should say. There was no need to know. Scarcely had he caught sight, not of a face, but of a black veil which hid all features except the lips and chin, when the form glided away so swiftly as to be lost in the mist almost before he reached the spot where it had been. Had it not been for some silver at his feet he might have fancied that no ears but his own had heard the song. But had it been so? Were the coins only another illusion? Had anything happened since when? Or had he, since he saw the Goldenrod without seeing it, been wander ing about for minutes or hours which had seemed months, weeks or days or even years? "Heaven help me I must be mad or dead!" he groaned aloud; and the mist turned to darkness, into which he seemed to sink as into a sea. IV. .When Denis came to himself his first thought was that he had been the victim of a nightmare. But when he tried to lift himself in his bed, and had to fall back again from weakness, and when he looked round and recognized all the surroundings of a sick room, his second was that his mind had really wandered. His third, however, was the knowledge that, however he had come into his own room, everything had been as real as the daylight in which he lay. One of the strangest things about such a state is how clearly one knows; even things that one has never known before. He could even remember having seen the branch of Goldenrod, as if his eyes had taken all this while to convey its image to his brain. He followed himself through the frenzy of inspiration, the throes of com positionand thence throughout until he reached the point which, since it was as suredly not ot madness, was all the more of unfathomable mystery. It was all real; onlv too real. And, hear ing a sigh beside his bed he knew that there was something else in the world at least as real as the daylight Mabel; of little mo ment, doubtless, in the life of an artist, but whom, at this hour of weakness, when sus tained thought was too hard a labor, he could not help feeling that he bad forgotten almost beyond what a woman who marries genius deserves. So something had hap pened to him in the street; he had been brought home; and she was nursing him. That also was clear. He closed his eyes in order to see the better, and when he opened them they met hers. "You are the woman!" said he. They were strange words to be his first; but hers were stranger still: "Forgive me, Denis! But oh, never mind forgiving me now! Don't forgivemeat all thank God, you will get well now! Only you must be" very quiet " "How did vou learn my song?" "Denis? Must I say? It was one night: you 'were very restless: you left your bed without waking, and went to the piano, and It was dreadful: it haunted me! And then when " "How did you learn to sing?" "I don't know but I could not let you X t-,-l J I.. J i. !f T be iruuuieu m vuur nutj uuu TCb Jl J. 'could do nothing but thank God, you were spared from Knowing how things were, thanks to that very song! It came to me one day that people who sing in the street must make money by it, and that J could not do worse than they, even if I tried. I never meant you to know. I wrapped my self up so that I could not be seen, and then I saw you fall. Oh, Denis! Don't ask me any more; it is all so much harder to tell than to do " "You have done all this for the sake of my work and me? To shield me from worry to I was a fool to ask you how you learned to sing as I heard you sing. There is only one master who teaches like that; and " Hark! It was a street where such things come; and from the pavement below the window rose in soulless rhythm the Inspira tion of Denis Warren, played as as the barrel organist alone knows how' to play, with perhaps an ape to cut capers to the tune. Fame had come; but In what a guise! Denis could not help one sigh. "There goes my great work," the sigh said: but not lor even Mabel to hear. "Never mind, dear," he said aloud. "There was a mo ment when I felt, for the sake of a woman, more scorn and anger against a man than I can tell. You are the woman, Mabel; and I am the man. Forgive me. Genius, indeed! You are my genius: my good gen ius. Lei everything en except vou. If I ever fail you again " "You have never failed me," said Mabel, very gently. "It I ever fail you again, say the one word, 'Goldenrod!' and " "You never will," said she; and she knew. The End. A Model Chicago Location. A syndicate of successful and wealthy Chicagoaus have just arranged to put Shel don Heights, a model residence location, on the market Their reasons for delaying giving investors a chance to share in the enormous profits (which will result from the settling up and occupation of Sheldon Heights) is that their improvements have just been completed. It, has taken a year's time and a large amount of money to ma cademize all the streets; lay stone sidewalks around every block; put pure water in every street; plant trees, and in fact make the model residence location of Chicago. This is whathas been accomplished with Shel don Heights. Lots are now- being sold upon prices and terms that make Sheldon Heights property the best possible purchase in Chi cago real estate. Send for the fuller de scription of the story in a booklet called 'The Way to Win" to Jas. E. & Eobt, L. McElroy, Chamber of Commerce, Chicago Mr. lander Recommendation. Mr. J. A. Lander, a prominent citizen ot Clarksburg, Mo., and widely known in that State, says of Chamberlain's Colic, Cholera and Diarrhoea Remedy: "I have seen its good results and can recommend it" For tale by druggists. Tuwihsu 83 Excursion to Cleveland Via Pennsyl vania Lines Tuesday, July 26L from Pittsburg for special train leaving Union station 8 a. m., and for regular trains at 1:30 p. x. and 11:05 v. it, central time; tickets good to return until July 30. inclusive. rrhsu No Flour In the World Will make suoh nice, light, white bread ind So so far as "Bosallna" and "Our B at" rands. The Iron City Milling Compnny make it. All grocers sellit tm Fxbtxot action and perfect health result from the use of De Witt's Little Early Risen Aperlaot little pill. Very small! very ior THE REDS OF LONDON. Their Rant, Their Bluster and Their Titter Abhorrence of Soap. A WORD AS TO WILLIA1I MORRIS. The Kind of Men Who Frequent the Vari ous Anarchistic Clubs. ENDS OP THE DOCTRINE OP DYNAMITE The Anarchists of London are not nu merous, but all of them are noisy, and for the most part they have an aversion to baths. They live amid clouds of rhetorical dust, and so the world appears to them un clean. If they would for a moment climb down from their abstractions and look about them they would find their immediate sur roundings as unclean as any districts further west Thus writes Arthur Warren for the Boston Herald. He continues: Berners street and its neighborhood, for example, needs washing. The headquar ters of the Anarchists' Club there would be no worse if it were scrubbed, but Anarchy would probably suffer. It would seem that there can be nothing more difficult than to be an Anarchist and to be clean. If this is not strictly true then the apostles of tbe dispensation, that is not to be, must bear the blame. Somebody will say that I forget that 'William Morris is an Anarchist But it is not possible to forget William Morris. Be sides, I am not so sure of him. Mot a Patron of Laundries. He soorns a white shirt and wears a woolen one, perhaps more, but I can swear to the one. No doubt it is difficult, even impossible, to keep a white shirt clean in London over six hours, but Mr. Morris is rich. A laundry bill need have no terrors for him. Moreover, Mr. Morris be lieves in giving employment to those that need it Why draw the line at laundresses? But "William Morris is not so much of an Anarchist as he likes to think .himself, and as he likes others to think him. To be sure, he is inconsistent, but most Christians have that virtue. Mr. Morris may spurn collars, yet, after all, the beatitudes of anarchy allure the elect from other false gods than linen, although this one, of course, is incompatible with sound belief or that belief in sound belief which makes a man one of the faithful. Wealth the Source of the Man's Power. William Morris is rich; at all events he is rich enough to go bail for other Anarch ists when they get into trouble. This, per haps, is a reason why the real believers, unadulterated with soap, point to Mr. Morris as a model. When you say that Anarchists are unclean, or unkempt, or this, or that, or the other, they point to William Morris, and so fling back the aspersion in the teeth of him that utters it. But, when all is said, they have no un breakable laith in the poet who also manu factures artistic furniture. No gennine Anarchist can believe in a man with a bank account Moreover, William Morris is not alto gether sound on tbe assassination question, and merit untempered with assassination must lie unrecognized in the final councils of anarchy. Anarchy, it will be observed, is always to be spelled with tbe large"A." Spelling is not a strong point with your genuine Anarch ist, but he insists upon the large "A" as the only lorm ot capital wnlch must not perish from the earth. Anarchy is of such importance that no man must be permitted to ignore its apostles. By uproars, or odors, do they manifest themselves. Dynamite Their Ultimate Argument. You cannot walk across Hyde Park of a Sunday without espying, under some leafy arch, a wild-eyed, bedraggled person de nouncing everything that is and belauding everything that is not Slmiarly, if you promenade the prosaic stretches of the King's road in Chelsea on the Sabbath day, you will encounter before the "World's End" public house a vociferous group of unpleasant individuals who declare that, if nothing elie serves, you shall be converted by dynamite. The other day a youth, somewhere be twixt 14 and 17 tears ot age, committed suicide by hanging. He had been previous ly e stopped at tne Dusmess; once wuen he had his father's razor at his throat, and again when he had jumped into the Thames. Now he has hanged himself and left a docu ment half adjuration, halt last-will-aud-testament for the edification of the world. "I am tired of life," moans Sir Boy. "I will no longer be a slave or countenance the slavery of my fellow-creatures. I bequeath my curse to society, and request my com rades to carry on the good work. Long live anarchy!" A Remarkable Thirst for Blood. The case made a quarter of a column in the newspapers and was then lorgotten for weightier matters. But I hold that Sir Boy was a most exemplary Anarchist He had such a thirst for blood that he regaled himselt with his own, JN othing could be liner. Here was a case of "poetic justice," which might commend itself to such an artist in poesy as William Morris. It Only that enchanting bard could but persuade the whole tribe of the anarchical to retire into corners and slay themselves! The "good work" ot cursing could be left to certain politicians we wot ot. Berners street is the paradise of the un clean. It was there that the accomplished assassin, "Jack the Hipper," disported him self on the night of his most notable feat in butchery. It was in the yard ot the An archists Club, under the anarchistic win dows, and against the very lintel of the door ot Anarchists, that the adroit slayer of females put his knife to his fifth victim about 1 o'clock on the morning of Sunday, September 30, 1888. The Anarchists were jollifying within doors. Their corrugated throats vented some murderous Bussian chorus just as "Jack" sent the remnant of another soul to the other whither. Startled by the shout from the windows just above him, the mysterious Bipper fled. HU farther Career of Murder. Within an hour he killed, another woman in a dark square a mile away. Whether the anarchistic noise frightened him from Ber ners street, or the mad song of the Anarchists fired him with additional zeal, ivho shall say. It is significant that the fiend that night killed two women and that he began his work in the Anarchists' back yard, thus testifying his regard for the general fitness of things. It is not without interest that one notes the origin of the bawling brethren. You rarely find a Londoner among them or a man of English birth. Ot course, some of the bad blood ofthe nation has shown itself among the dynamite hosts, but the princi pal interest is foreign. Bussians ot evil countenance, Poles of an even viler physi ognomy, Germans well soaked in malty fluids, Italians whose idea ot liberty is end less macaroni and unnumbered daggers, a sprinkling of Frenchmen to whom you would give a wide birth on a dark night, make up the bulk of the anarchical follow ing in London. They are of the kind of patriots wno "leave their country for their country's good." The few English among them are a weak sort, easily influenced by visions, strong drink, rhetorical vaporings at which the alien brothers are clever and possessed of mighty grievances, like Sir Boy. Unfortunately, they have not Sir Boy's discretion they do not hang themselves. Ihey Have Less License In America. A palavering woman, Louise Michel, to wit, is loud in the councils of these right eous ones. There ismuch talk of "tyranny," no end'ot demand lor "free speech and'all the rest of it But where is speech freer than in London, and where can you "demon strate" and make processions with such blissful disregard for the liberty of other people? Certainly not in the United States where, as Europeans generally mppose, any fellow mar do as he chooses. Bnt the Anarchists know better. They know that they, at least, cannot do as they choose on the other side of the Atlantic, therefore, they hate the American Bepublie worse than they hate Czardom and Kaiser dom and the Victorian empire. Wherever and whenever Anarchists meet in London they flaunt banners inicribed with the legend "Bemember Chicago." It is precisely because they "remember Chicago that they remain safely in Lon don. Thev have no ' relish for the Napo leonic method as a dissolvent of mobs. In the Tottenham court road there is an Anarchists' Club. It is not so large as the one in Berners street, but it is as dirty, and it has produced, or has attempted to pro duce, some dynamite effects. More Anarchy Clnbs In Prospect. Before long there will probably be more Anarchist clubs in "London. The recent ac tivity of the continental police has added to London's stock of lond mouthed and un washed. Some 400 of this kidney are said to have crossed the channel Englandward in one week recently. London, yon see, be comes a receptacle for the outpourings of tbe European sewers. Picture to yourselves these "saviors of society." Would you not prefer rather to be among the lost than among the saved if salvation, social or other, is to come irom the uncouth hands of the blatant? What have these men of ignorance and unclean habits and intemperate speech to teach hu manity, except to teach it what to avoid themselves and their fry. The position would be ludicrous if there were not dyna mite in the filthy trenches. Not to convince, but to terrorize, is the doctrine of "anarchy as she is spoke." If yon refuse to believe, then you are blown up. If you do your duty as officer, jury man, judge, public man or private citizen, and assist timid justice a little (the poor, blind creature), then does dynamite dis member you, and distribute your fragments among the spheres. This is the philosophy of Bavacholism. May Soon Be Reduced to Practice. In London this beautiful anarchistic creed has not yet been put into practice. But it will come. The persuasive uses of dyna mite have been hitherto illustrated here by certain picturesque zealots of Celtic patriot ism vide the Clerkenwell, London bridge and Houses ot Parliament explo sions. But there is hope for the London Anar chist yet He has got as far as threatening assassination in his public prints. A Sec retary of State, a Judge and a Chief of Po lice are declared by the Commonweal too vile to be allowed to live. The editor of tbe Commonweal, thus declaring for an era of common woe, is arrested, and Mr. William Morris leaves his poetry and his artistic furniture and bails him out Meantime, the editor valorous champion of assassination by newspaper "cries baby." "Please, Mr. Judge, I didn't do it I don't approve of it I had already re signed the editorship before or after (it isn't quite clear) the article appeared.'' Fellow-feeling makes even anarchistic poets and furniture makers "wondrous kind." Mr. William Morris started the Commonweal; edited it, and when he found it getting too hot for him threw it over. Mr. Mowbray picks it up, and when he finds himself" arrested for "inciting mur der" he pleads irresponsibility and resigna tion. It makes such a difference in' anarchy whether you kill the other fellow, or the other fellow c'aps you into jail. AGAINST THE PABTY SYSTEM. A Canadian Statesman in Search of a Now Plan of Government. Ottawa, Ont., July 20. Sanford Flem ing, C. M. G., has offered a prize of ? 1,000 for the best workable measure which, if made a law, would give the whole Canadian people equal representation in Parliament and each elector due weight in the Govern ment through Parliament Accordingly, he invites essays on electoral representa tion and the rectification ot Parliament, accompanied by a draft of a bill applicable to the country and with a parliamentary system similar in general features to that of Canada. He says: "The method of election which we follow, in its effect disfranchises half the popula tion entitled to representation in Parlia ment The question is simply to determine a practicable plan by which the whole body of electors can form a standing committee, chosen from among themselves, to manage and direct the National affairs. The present system places these affairs in the hands of a committee of a party, not a committee of tne whole people. An Appeal for Mercy. If you have any regard for your physical welfaie, have mercy on your bowels, cease dolnginrr them with drenching purgatives and relax them without pain with Hostet ter's Stomach Bitters. Subdue with It, too, malarial and kidney complaints, kidney and rheumatic aliments, dyspepsia and nervous ness. The Pennsylvania Kallroad'g Special Sea shore Excursion. Tickets will be sold for regular trains to- uay, jtuursuay, uuiy zj, leaving union station at 4:30, 7:10 and 8:10 p. m., tickets available to either Atlantic City, Sea Isle City, Ocean City or Cape May and return sold at rate of $10 for the round trip, good 12 days, with privilege of stop off at Philadel phia on return trip within tlie limit. The date of the next excursion to seashore via Pennsylvania Railroad will be Thursday, August 4. Excursion "Via the Picturesque B. & O. B. K. To Atlantic City, via Washington, Baltimore and Philadelphia, on Thursday, July 2S, 1802. Bate $10 the round trip; tickets good lor U days from day of sale and good to stop off at Washington City returning. Trains with Pullman parlor and sleeping cars will leave B. & O. depot, Pittsburg, at8i.li. and 920 p. M. Why allow bedbngs to keep you awake at night when a bottle or Bugme will destroy them In a minute? 25 cents. Mrs WrssLow's Soothing Syrup for chil dren teethinjr produces natural, quiet sleep. 25c. THE BEST IN BlacKwelF? Bull Durban? SrnoKing Tobacco m Situated in the immediate section of tobacco, that in texture, flavor in the world, and being in position fags upon this market, we spare no THE VERY BE5T. When in want of the best; ask for Bull Durban?. Sold everywhere. None genuine without the Trade Mark of the Bull on each package. BLACKWELL'S DURHAM TOBACCO CO., DURHAM, N. C YOUGHIOGHENY COAL CO., LTD., Greenough Street and Gas Alley. T. S. KNAP, MANAGER OFFICE. 106 GRANT ST. 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Is the oldest estal llshed and most prominent physician In the clty.devotlns; speolal attention to all ohronle &"'N0 FEE UNTIL CURED ponible MCDWnllO and moa'al " persons MlinVUUO eases, physioal de cay, nervoua debility, laolc of energy, ambt tlon and hope, lmpairea memory, disordered sight, self distrust, bashfulnes-i, dizziness sleeplessness, pimples, eruption?. lrnpove lshed Dlood, ffilllni: powers, organic weak ness., dyspeoiia, constipation, consumption, nnflttlnir the penon for tjnslness.society and marriage, permanently, safely and privately ,cr.diiBL00D AND SKINr eruptions, blotohes.fallinr halr.bonei, pains, glandular Kwolltmra, ulceration of the tongne, month, throat, uloers, old sores, are enred for life, and blood polaona thoroughly eradicated froral IDIM A RV Jld?Sv' aPa that nvatam- U 11 IyMii I ib adder do- rangement, weik baot gravel, catarrhal discharges. Inflammation and other painful symptoms receive searehlnr treameni. Tjromptreltef and real cures. Dr. Whittlers life-long extensive expert enee Insures ctentlfl and reliable treis. mentoncommomensa principles. Consult, tlon free. Patients as a. distance as carefully treated a If here. Offlee hoars. a. sr. to i F. ac Sunday, la a. K. ta 1 r. t only. Dd WKRTJBB,8U Pean avenue, Plttiburz, P DOCTORS LAKE SPECIALISTS In all cases re- aulrlng scientific and confl entlal treatment. Dr. S. K. Lake, M. B. C. P. S., la the old est and most experienced spe cialist in the city. Consulta tion free and strictly confi dential. Ofnoehonrs,9to4and7to 8 r. at; a - J -n -u- t'Vinortlf-- triMin Ttflr-tfin ally, or write- Doctors Lake, cor. renn aT. and Fourth st.. Pittsburg; Pa- Jel6-82-DWk THE WORLD- of country that produces a grade and quality is not grown elsewhere to command the choice of all offer, pains nor expense to give the trade HI sacnaaaftTTTOH ill (KTSUOW W3 K
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers