Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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? ? ? ? r ? ^~ ~ ? ? ? ???-? " ? "" ^ ^ "" ^ lewis m. gbist, proprietor. | gin J nrlf pendent ^family dfcrospapfr: ^oi[ the promotion of flti) folitiqal, jsoeial, gji;intlfiii;at and Cfommfi|rial Jntercsts of fhij j^outh. |TERMS?$2.00 A YEAfi IN ADVANCE. "VOL. 37. YOEKVILLE, S. C., WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 28, 1891. ^TO- 38. THE MAN Wl BY W. C. Whose Nom de 3?luir Author of "The I [Copyright, 1891, by Cassell Publishing Cc meut wit! CHAPTER IV. "THE HEARING BAR AND THE SEEING EYE." On the floor lay the body of a gray haired woman. Catheart made his way hastily to Pine street, where be entered the office of a real estate agent, one who had charge of tbeBleecker street property. The agent was willing to tell all he knew, but it was wot-much. About two weeks previously an elderly woman had called Upon, .him to rent the floor where the mupder had taken place. She had said that the necessity of earning an income had only recently made itself felt, and she wanted to open a costumer's business, with which, in her younger days, she had been familiar; that while she could, if it were required, present references, * still, as she had for twenty-five years been regarded as independent in circumstances, she did not care to call upon them and would therefore pay the rent quarterly in advance: and this she bUUUgUb WrtO au bUU IUVAO uwvixw*; , tw she had determined to conduct her business under the name of Madame Pelamonr; as a matter of fact'her name was Parish?Mrs. Emma Parish?and her addrees was number ? East Sixteenth street Who the young woman reported to lave been killed in her place was he did not know. Upon this information Cathcart determined to go directly to Mrs. Parish. On nearing the house he saw a group of people gathered at the foot of the steps of the dwelling. A policeman stood at the foot of the steps, and another guarded the.door at the top. "They have brought the body of the girl' to the house of Mrs. Parish," he muttered to himself. "She must. have been nearer than a mere employee." Beaching the foot of the steps, he said to the policeman, "Who is in charge?' "Captain Lawton." He mounted the steps, and though the guardian of the door stopped him, he said, "1 am on this business and must see Captain Lawton." He stepped through the door and encountered the captain in the halL "They have brought the body of the girl here then?* he said. The captain stared at him, and without ~rfr Panted to the door leading into the parlor. He entered. Accustomed as he was to such scenes, this one shocked him. On the floor lay the body of a gray haired woman. As in the other case, she was weltering in her blood. The two had been killed in a similar manner. The captain had followed him to the dpor, keenly observant of him. Turning, he said: "Mrs. Parish?" The captain nodded in acquiescence. . "Madame Delamour?" he added. An expression of wonder passed over the detective's face, and bidding Cathcart follow him, he led the way up stairs and into the front room on the second floor, closing the door after him. "Now then," he said, "what do you mean by thatT * "By what?" asked Cathcart in return. "By calling Mrs. Parish Madame Delamour." "Because Madame Delamour was Mrs. Parish." "How do you know that?" "The same way you da" "But I don't know it" "One of your men called on the agent who has charge of the Bleecker street property before 1 did, and was told the two were one, as I was. Madame Delamour, an assumed name to conduct the business of costuming under?real name, Parish; address, this house." "Ah! I was called here before he could report But who are you? What are you interfering in this case for? What interest have you in it?" "Whatl" said Cathcart with as near an expression of surprise as he could achieve. "I have lived for a year within gunshot of your headquarters and you do not know who I am?" "No, I don't" replied the captain sternly. "Not very flattering to my fame," said Cathcart as he extended a card to the other. "That was my business card little more than a year ago." The captain read the card with an unmistakable start of surprise, while a slight flush overspread his face. A change took place in his manner at once. "What!" he cried. "Yon are the celebrated Cathcart?" The captain might well have felt ft.h*iihad- However little the avera&e citizen might know of the fame of the insignificant appearing man who had jnst revealed himself, there was not a police officer, of the npper grade at least, who had not heard of the exploits of Cathcart, known to criminals as the Devil of the West, of his deeds of courage in the hunting down and taking of desperadoes in the most desperate parts of the western country. His reputation for courage amounting to recklessness, for shrewdness unrivaled in its results, for ability in unraveling tangled knots, and for persistency, when on the trail, equaled only by that of a sleuthhound, was known wherever policemen talked. "I knew you had gone out of business," said the captain in a deferential manner, "but not that you had come to New York." "Yes," replied Cathcart, "I've made my pile, and as I've passed sixty I wanted to retire. They would not let me alone out there, so I came back to where I nmi Vwvrn and whprfi mv relatives are." "I see. Are you on this business?" * "No! Perhaps! That is, 1 am not employed. It is a nice case. If I touch it, it is for the fancy of the thing." "What do you know about it?" "Only what I have told you." "The two murders are connected?" "No doubt of it; killed the same way. When was this done?" "Last night, some time between eight and eleven. The servant was permitted to go out at eight and returned at eleven, through the basement door, the key of which she carried. No lights were in the house, except in the hall, as was usual when she went to bed after the family. Supposing Mrs. Farish and her daughter, the only inmates of the house, , had retired, she turned out the light and went to her room. This morning, de- ' soending the stairs at the usual hour, sho made the discovery of the murder and gave the alarm." "Where is the daughter?" "She went away yesterday forenoon? where the girl does not know. She has not returned yet." "The young woman killed in Bleecker street." "The devil! Yes. It must be." TH A THUMB. ^ 11 HUDSON, ; t le is Barclay iVorth, jj diamond Bixtton." a d t impany and published by special arrange- ; c i them.] j "Let as And that out first Whose v room is this?" j' "Mrs. Parish's.*' t "Then we'll look here first." v Cathcart's eyes swept the room, tak- t ing in everything with one comprehen- [ give glance. Between the windows was a an old fashioned bureau, and on either c side of the glass were two ledges in the fa frame about midway of the glass. On h each a photograph?one of an elderly t woman, the other of a younger one. i Cathcart pounced upon them. Taking , r the one of the younger person he cried: ? "There she is. -You-have questioned f the servant?" j> "Yte." * c "Let us have her up again, in view of h the new phase this case has assumed." t Upon the summons of the captain the t girl came into the room, worn, trembling t and frightened. p "Whose picture is that?" asked Cathcart "Miss Anne's," replied the girl in a faltering voice. "Who is Miss Anne? Mrs. Fa'iah's daughter?" "Yea. sir." Cathoart handed the picture to the captain, and showing the other to the girl, asked whose that was. "Mrs. Parish's," replied the girL "The mother of Miss Anne?" "Yes, sir." . "Madame Delamour?" "Sir," said the girl wonderingly. Cathcart neither repeated nor explained the question, but handed this photograph to the captain. Then bidding the girl to bo seated he in a kindly tone began to question her. He induced her to tell of her discovery of the murder, and without interference permitted her to exhaust her story of the part she had played. "When did Miss Anne leave the house?* he asked when she had finished. "After breakfast yesterday morning." ! "Was that her usual habit?" "She's gone away after breakfast for a week, coming home at six." "Did Mrs. Farish remain at home during this week?" "No, sir, she would go out later and n come back earlier." b "Were Mrs. Farish and her daughter a in the habft of being out a good deal?" a "No, sir, not much. About three t! weeks ago they began to be out a good deal, but not regular until a week ago." a "Did Mrs. Farish have any business?" a "What?* asked the girl, unable to un- a deratand. "Did Mrs. Farish have to earn h money?" fl "No, sir; she owned this house and had money in the bank." "How long have you lived with her?" c "Going on three years." n "Did Mrs. Farish have plenty of visit- h ore?company, you know?" "No, sir. Very few. Sometimes a c neighbor would call in." "Didn't she have any relatives to come o and Bee her?" p "She hadn't any, fve heard say she ji hadn't but one, and he lived out '.vost." "Who was he?" n "She didn't say. Once in a long time si a young man would come to the house." "Who was he?" tl "1 don't know." "Didn't you ever hear anything about him?" "No, sir." h "What did he look like?" "L^ardly know. They always seemed d to know when he was coming, and Miss Anne watched for him and let him in n herself. They always took him in the n parlor and shut the door. When he went away Miss Anne always looked as if she'd been crying and Mrs. Farish was c down like. Once 1 beard Miss Anne say, 'He's got no mercy; he's all selfishness; he'd take all you've got and leave noth- o ing.'" ii "What did Mrs. Farish say?" "Nothing." e: "Can't you tell me what tht3 young man looked like?" v "1 never saw his face but once, and e then just a glimpse. 1 was coming up c the basement stairs when he was let in, and saw him go into the parlor. He was bi tall and slim and had brown hair." o "How often did he come hert>?" "About once in three months" E "How long did he stay when he earner "Sometimes an hour; sometimes long- n er. Once he staid all afternoon. I laid a plate for him for supper, but he did not b stay. Just before he went away he was E angry and talked loud." v "Was that the only time you heard f him angry?" "Yea. frir." n "Did Mrs. Farish and her daughter go out visiting?' "I never knew them do so. They lived u by themselves." f< "Did they go to church?" h "Every Sunday, twice a day, down V here to the church, on the corner. The o minister, Mr. Carman, used, to come once in a while to see them." v "Was Mrs. Farish pretty comfortable a about money?" tl "She seemed to be, sir." All this time the captain had been a C close listener, not interfering in the examination. Cathcart having finished c< be dismissed the girL g "What do you make of it?" asked the y captain. " "Nothing. The case is us dark as 1 night. That young man is worth look* ; u ing after." * "Yes. I had got that point out of the ti girl before. You got two additional ones?that he was angry the day he a] staid so long: and that the daughter j ie cried and the mother was sad whenever ; fi he came. I have searched the house j systematically from top to bottom and a found nothing to throw any light on the : deed or the people?no letters or documents in the house." j v "The place in Bleecker street wants a thorough search now." j ii "It will have it today." ? "If that man is all right he'll turn up 1 ? i? .1 l. ?i_ r? i >oeii brought to justice from a clew less ban this." The captain was deeply interested. "The hand this glove fitted," continled Cathcart, "is not that of a workingaan, yet one whose bones are naturally arge and whose knuckles and joints are irominent. See how large and promilent that second knuckle is. Moreover, he man who wore this glove is a nice oKnnf V*io QnnfiornnPA LIU09C1 vniCl Ul cti/vub ?h>j wuww . d the fit of his clothes?a bit of a landy. He either is or tries to be a genleman. Nor does he spare cost in his lothes. Yon see the kid is of the best [nality, bnt this is the point?that glove ras made only for the hand that wore t. Seel The peculiarity of the hand is he thnmb. It is long and bent backward at the end; it is ont of all proporion in its size and length to the fingers, t is almost a deformity. Yon might exmine the hands of all the men in the ity and hot find one like it Yet see iow perfectly the glove has fitted the iand?every finger exactly filled, the humb also?not a wrinkle in the glova .'hat glove was not got by accident nor icked ont of a general stock in a store. so chosen, if it fitted the thnmb, rould have been too large for the finere; if it fitted the fingers, the thumb onldn't have gotten in. Yon wanted to .now where to begin your search for he young man who called at stated inervals. There yon are. Take care of bat glove. Put a bell glass over it; it's irecious." It UiUmhjU Clint murder I tuivc ctulcd." refilled Catliairl. The captain, either because he was inch impressed by the old detective, or ( ecause he was too great for jealousy nd was anxious for all the aid he could ecure in a dark case, took the glove and he advice with good grace. Cathcart, bending over the body, saw omething calling for greater attention, , nd crossing to the other side, uneeiea j own and narrowly examined the body. "Robbery," he mattered. "Something as been torn from her breast, either bejre or after she was murdered." The captain nodded j "I was waiting to see whether my contusion would be yours." he said. "But, . lark you, she has money and jewels on er person. They have not been taken." "Valuable papers, perhaps." said Cathart i At this moment there were the sounds i f many feet at the door. The officer assed the word that the coroner and his lry were come to view the body. 1 The two detectives retired to a rear ( Dom, reaching which Cathcart turned uddenly upon the captain. "You have that man who first entered lie Bleecker street room Bhadowed?" "Yes." "Whyr , "There is something suspicious about i im. 1 want to know who he is." < "Do you connect him with the murer?" "No; yet he seemed to get into those xuns very quickly. There was a faliliarity with the house about that" i "It was all explained." "Yes, but?well, he had something to onceal." "He had. He gave you a false name." The captain wondered how this sharp Id man had managed to learn so much 1 so short a time. "Do you recollect the Dorison case of Ight years ago?" asked Cathcart. "I ought to," replied the captain. "It ras the very first important affair I was ugaged on. It was a strange case and ame to nothing." ' That man in .lohn Dorison?the son." or His own accoru; n crooKyju no wou t. c "His failure to turn up will make the I more reason for looking for him. But t how and where to begin the search for L.:?in mm; v To this the old detective made no re- e ply, bnt thrusting his hands in his vest pockets, walked out of the room, and b descending the stairs entered the parlor, | v where the body lay, carefully noting | every article in the room and their dis- e position. His keen eyes perceived some- e thing lying on the floor near and par- | tially uuder the body. He beckoned to ' b the captain standing at the door and pointed to it The officer, bending down, | said: | t "Ah, a glove?a man's glove." "A clew." said Cathcart. : d ! CHAPTER V. J "LETS IN NEW LIGHT THROUGH CHINKS." | p The captain 6tretched forth his hand b to pick up the glove, but Cathcart re- ! strained him. Looking about the room ! f; he found a small straw fan. Carefully p lifting the glove at the wrist, he skillfully thrust the fan under the glove so tl that it rested upon the fan without its ! p form having been disturbed. "The hand of the man that will fit d this glove is the hand of the man who j y did this deed," said Cathcai t, straighten- | a ing up and carrying the glove into the { a light to examine it "Criminals have I t lid Cathcart. watching keenly the effect f his words. The captain was evidently astonished, le said: "Bat he gave the name of Dudley last ight?" "That is the name he has been known y since he left the city eight years ago. Ie returned yesterday morning and reealed himself to one of his father's old riends?old man Nettleman." "Yes," interrupted the captain, "the lan he talked with in the 6aloon." "The same." "But," said the captain, loath to give ip a possible clew, "how do you account or his extreme familiarity with the ouse in Bleecker street, and his going othat particular house on the first night f his return?" * v "He was born there. Idle curiosity rhile out- for fresh air took him to look t the house of his birth, since he was in lie neighborhood." "True," mused the captain, "that was Prison's house. I had forgotten it." "Having given you this information ; oncerning him and standing ready to I ive you any more you may want, I ask j ou to take the shadow off." "Why?" "1 have undertaken to discover the lystery of that unfinished letter." "You believe the son then, and not the ither?" "I believe the son is innocent of what ppear to be charges against him in a (tter death prevented the father from nishing." "It will be difficult to trace the matter fter this lapse of time." "It will." "Our people do not agree with your iew of the case." "Possibly. Was anything ever found 1 a the young man's life to give color to ! he charge?" "No: that was the puzzler. But the harges were distinct and unequivocal. , will give you a copy of the report in ; he case." "Thanks; that will be a help. But I rant that shadow off. It will embarrass ay work." "I will call him off at once, if you will | >e responsible for your man's appearance j ?hen wanted." "I will be. In the meantime treat ! ay communication?that is, as to the I aan's identity?as confidential." "It will be so treated. But you had j etter help us in this matter." "No. You are competent enough." "It is a case dark enough to stagger ; he most competent." The bustle in the adjoining room in- j icated that the coroner and his jury ad completed their investigation of the : cene of the murder and were departing, 'he two detectives left the room they j ad retired to, and the captain accom- | anied Cathcart to the door. As they ; tood on the top step the captain said: "Mr. Cathcart, I have a forboding of ailure in this affair. I wish I could ; ersuade you to work with us." The old detective looked down upon : he throng for a moment or two and re- . lied: "I may work on the case. Its very | ifficulties attract me. But I cannot j rork with any one. I have had assist- j nts, obedient to my orders, never asociates, whoso views I was compelled o consider. It will be better for us to work apart. We can meet from time to time and compare notes. 1 cannot work any other way." The captain shook hands wannly with the old man, Baying that so much was better than nothing. Cathcart descended the steps with his hands in his vest pockets. He songht the minister of the church attended by Mrs. Farish and her daughter without delay. Presenting his request to see Mr. Carman upon an important matter, he was ushered into the> parlor. Mr. Carman came to him promptly, and a single glance sufficed to show the old detective that the minister was much agitated. "Sir," he said, "if your business can be delayed I would like it I have bu1: this moment learned that one of my parishioners has been foully murdered. It is my duty to at once visit the daughter and offer her such consolation as I can." "It is about that murder I have callsd,4 replied Cathcart. "Permit ine to urgs yon to sit down. Indeed, permit me to urge you to prepare yonrself against another shock." The minister, impressed by the manner of the old detective, did as he was requested. "Now that you are seated," continued Cathcart, "let me tell you that your visit can be of no use. There is no daughter to console.'' "I do not understand you." wonderingly replied Mr. Carman. "This is the shock you must brace up against. In another part of the city last night the daughter was also murdered." "Oh, my merciful Father!" cried the minister. "Who are you who brings such dreadful tidings?" "I am a detective seeking the cause and the perpetrator of the double mur. TVia rjiM in shrouded in darkness. and no reason as yet appears for these deeds. But there was one, and in an in* qniry into the lives and antecedents of these women we hope to discover it." Bnt the good old minister was more anxious to ask than to answer questions, and he poured forth a torrent of them. When his curiosity wus satisfied, the detective began: "How long have yon known these women?" "Since I have been pastor of this church, now some twelve years. Both mother and daughter were enrolled members of the congregation when 1 came to it." "Did you know anything of their surrouudings?" "No. I knew her as a widow, of a small property amply sufficient for their modest life. They were much respected in the church." "Did you learn anything of their antecedents?" "Why, no; when 1 assumed charge their places in ' the congregation were fixed, and 1 accepted them at the valuation placed upon them by the other members. They were unobtrusive people, reserved, not seeking society, talking not at all of themselves. I made regular pastoral calls upon them. They took little part in the social side of the church, but were not remiss in their duties." "Did they have any intimacies with any one in the church?" "I can recall none that were noticeable." "Did not the young lady mingle with the young people?" "She did when 1 first came, but when she was about twenty, say six years ago, Bhe abruptly withdrew herself." "Can you recall anything within your knowledge which at any time seemed uncommon, or out of the way?mysterious, so to speak?" asked Cathcart. The minister thought a tew moments. "Well, sir." he said at length, "I have often said to my wife that Mrs. Farish gave me the impression of a woman with a history. Under a sweet, equable temper there were to me signs of a latent grief, settled to be sure, but the cause of constant sorrow. Shortly after 1 came here 1 remarked this to her. She did not seem well pleased, but answered that in her young days she had passed through ajteriod of deep sorrow, and she Bupposed it had left its impressions upon her. On another occasion, when Mrs. Farish was calling at the parsonage, my wife, referring to a case just then occupying a great deal of space in the public press, bore down heavily on the woman involved, when Mrs. Farish, much agitated and evincing an imoatience foreign < her, cried out to my wife to bo merciful. 'There are lives,' she said, 'that God aloue can see the innocence of, but which a censorious world would pronounce evil?" Then she added, these singular words, addressing my wife: 'Judge not, lest ye he judged. Your condemnation of this poor woman rings in my ears as a condemnation of myself.1 "My wife and 1 often talked of this incident, but could make nothing of it. Again, eight years ago, 1 called at her house and found her in great distress, and though I endeavored to console her she would say nothing as to its cause. At that time she put on mourning, which she wore ever after, and it was at that time that the daughter withdrew from association with the young people. This is all 1 can recollect, I think. Stop, '- ??? fritrtol nor. IUCI O ID UI1C UiUtO lUUIUOUV) Vilf ?IM| |/V? haps, but I will tell it. One day about three years ago I had been from home in attendance upon a funeral, and returning was told that Mrs. Farish had been awaiting me in the study a long time. Going to her I found her in great trouble. She said, however, that though sho had come for advice upon a matter giving her great pain, she hud reflected while waiting and had reached the conclusion that it were better for all concerned to say nothing; that she would bear this new trouble as she had borne other troubles all her life, alone, and she went away." The old detective had listened most intently, never interposing a word, gesture or expression, though his keen bright eyes gave heed to everything. "Of what did her family consist all these years?" he asked. "Herself and daughter. 1 once heard her refer to the boyhood of a son, but from her speech I presumed he had died young." Cathcart asked and received the names and addresses of some of the older members of the church, whom he next sought in inquiry. One old lady recollected that when Mrs. Farish first came among them she had a son, but that he disappeared when about eighteen, her understanding being that he had gone to the care of a relative in another city. The daughter of another old member contributed the fact that during the past three years she had seen Anne Farish walking, on three different occasions, in Union square with a young man?the same young man. She had noted and remembered it, since it was the only time Anne had been known to be in the society of one of the " -1 C i-U ~ 4K..4 otuer sex, anu uisu irum me iwi wmi, she seemed to be greatly troubled on each occasion, and further that the young man was most fashionably clad and had the air of being fast. The day was well spent when Cathcart finished these inquiries, and he now recollected he had neither lunched nor tined. He hurried to the Grand Central otel. CHAPTER VI. WEAVING A THEORY. Dorison was wandering abou" the office of his hotel in an aimless manner, inexpressibly bored by his compulsory inaction. When he saw Cathcart his face lighted up and he greeted the old man effusively. "How long am I to remain ;a prisoner here?" he asked. "No longer," replied Cathcart. "The shadow has been removed and you are free to come and go at your will. Come and dine with me. 1 want to talk over the events of the day with you." As much pleased as if he had been released from actual imprisonment, Dorison accompanied the old detective to a Cathcart until, "Now / toant to reason and reason aloud." quiet restaurant in( University place, where they could secure themselves against interruption. While they dined Cathcart detailed to the young man the occurrences or tne any. The recital consumed the time of the dinner. When the coffee and cigars were brpught, Catbcart said: "Now 1 want to- reason and reason aloud. If you diaeortsr a flajv in my argument put your linger upon It at once, else do not interrupt me. Now to begin: A woman named Farisfc., who lias a daughter, living in Sixteenth street for twenty years in the same house, which she owns, having no occupation and subsisting on her money, suddenly changes her mode of life, and, under the assumed name of Madame Delamour, rents the parlor floor of a. house in Bleecker street and opens a costumer's business. "Inference: A change has taken place in her financial affairs, necessitating the earning of an income after twenty years of comparative independence. "The business is opened ore day, and on the night of the next day the daughter is found dead, stabbed in the neck in such a manner as to sever the carotid I artery. On the same night, in her own | house in Sixteenth street, Mrs. Furish. I alias Madame Delamour, is found dead, under similar circumstances?stabbed in : such a manner as to sever the carotid ! artery. "Inference: The two murders were 1 t___ At 1 .1. a. il. | commuted oy me same uunu; me lueiuods of taking life are the same:' themnrJ dered women bore the relation of mother i and laughter. To suppose that these i two. oeariug to each other the relation they did. were killed by different persons for different reasons, is to udmit the existence of a coincidence without parallel in the history of crime. "Inference second: The murder was : committed by a man who has some knowledge of anatomy and some surgical skill, as is argued by the precision with which these arteries were found and cut. "A young man, whose attention is attracted to the possibility of wrongdoing in the Bleecker street house, forces his way into the room occupied as a costumer's place, and finds in the fingers of the murdered girl a torn scrap of paper, and on the floor near by another torn scrap, both covered by writing in the same hand, the scraps suggesting that they were torn from letters wrested from the hands of the girL The police discovered that the dress of Mrs. Farish is violently torn in the breast, with all the appearance of something having been dragged from it. Valuables and money on the person are not taken. "Inference: The murderer desired to possess himself of certain documents or papers held by the murdered woman; hence the motive of the crime. "This young max a?no discovers the portrait and ring of Reuben Dorison in the room, and determines the writing on the torn scraps of paper to be in the hand of Reuben Dorison. "Inference: in some way Reuben Dorison, dead eight years, was connected with the woman" Farish and her daughter. Query, how? Not at present clear or ascertainable. "Inquiry elicits these facts: The two women live quiet, regular and proper lives; are constant in attendance upon church and their duties; they have 110 iutimate friends, few callers and no social relations; at stated intervals a young man, tall, slim, with brown hair, whose visits leave the mother sad and the daughter in tears, calls upon them; j by her own admission the mother in her younger days tiad passed tnrongn a period of great sorrow, sorrow.. so great as to influence her after life; on. two occasions she is known to be in great distress ?once eight years ago, when she refused to explain the cause, but immediately dresses in mourning, and the daughter withdraws from all association with young people; the other three years ago, when, seeking her minister for advice, the mother thinks better of it and says she will meet this trouble as she has met her other troubles, alone. Reuben Donson died eight years ago, coincidental with the appearance of Mrs. Farish in j mourning. Inquiry also elicits that when the minister's wife is, in the presence of Mrs. Farish, condemning a woman for irregularity of life, Mrs. Farish cries out in protest, 6aying that the condemnation of the woman rings in her ears as a condemnation of herself. "Inference: There was something?a fault, a misfortune or a crime in the life of the mother, with which the caller at ' Btated intervals, and presumably Reuben j Dorison, is connected. "Inquiry also elicits the fact that the j daughter, who has no association with j young people, is Been on three different i occasion walking in Union square, evi! dently greatly troubled, with a young 1 man, tall and slim, of fast appearance, dressed in extreme fashion. "Inference: The caller at stated intervals and the walker in Union square are ! one and the same. "Near the body of the mother was | I found a man's glove, the form of which j i shows it was worn by a man with a largo j hand, prominent knuckles and joints, j whose thumb was disproportionately 1 long. This glove was cut and made to ! fit only the hand that wore it, an indicaI tion that the wearer was a man exceed! ingly particular as to his personal api pearance and nice as to his apparel. I "Inference: First, ?s the walker in I Union square was noticeable because of | his fine dress, and as the wearer of the : glove was, as it indicates, careful as to ' his appearance, the wearer of the glove, ' the walker in Union Bquare and the j caller at stated intervals were one and the same. Second, as the glove was j found close to the body of the mother | after her death, and as one caller on the family was the incident of a month, this wearer of the glove was the murderer of the mother. Third, if of the mother, then of the daughter. "One more point: Inasmuch a3 after the two women engaged in the costuming business it was the habit of the . mother to return home before the ! daughter, and the daughter to return at. I six, and as the servant left Mrs. Farish I alone at eight, there it- reason to believe j that the daughter was murdered first and the mother after, i "Now, as to a theory. Mrs. Farish : had been connected with some event, the secret of which she jealously guarded, ; in her early life, which was criminal. She had documents relating to this event, ! possession of which she shared with her 1 daughter. These documents either iinj plicated a young man who called upon ; her at stated intervals, or which, being i in his hands, would prove of such value 1 that to possess them he could bring himI self to commit murder. With these j events Reuben Dorison is associated. since the only glimpse of any part of 1 : them we have obtained shows his liandi writing. The young man for years per; secuted the two women to obtain the ; papers, being always refused and pla! cated with gifts of money to such an ex' tent that in time the independence of j Mrs. Farish was so impaired that she was compelled to resume a business she had many years beforo been engaged in. Ho had become desperate in finding that he could neither obtain the documents nor any more money, the latter fact being made clear to him when he learns that Mrs. Farish has gone into business. Believing these documents to be in the possession of the young woman, he visited the Bleecker street apartment, and, finding no other way to obtain them, murders her and seizes them. He finds, however, that he has not all, and he goes to the Sixteenth street house to see the mother. He demands and is refused them. He takes them by force, and he now knows that Mrs. Farish will unerringly attribute the murder of the daughter to him, and as a matter of self preservation he kills the mother. "We have the motive for the deed. The criminal is a tall, slim man, with brown hair, who dresses in extreme fashion, who is dissipated, and who can be recognized by a large hand, with prominent joints and knuckles, and whose thumb is so disproportionately large and long as to be almost a deformity. He is a surgeon or has studied surgery. To find that man is to find the murderer, und, in my judgment, is to find the secret of that unfinished letter of your father's." The old detective looked into the face of Dorison for the first time since he had | begun to reason. Ui>on it was expressed excitement and admiration. Dorison's eyes burned brightly, his lips were parted, high color was in his^heeks and he breathed heavily. sometmng or wie fever of the chase was upon him. "It is wonderful I It is wonderful!" he breathed out, rather than articulated. "It is profound, subtle reasoning, and all from such meager and insufficient facte. It is reasoned ont to a conclusion." "No," said the old detective, "it is only the first theory, and may be utterly overturned by the first real, substantial fact hit upon." "I cannot believe it," protested Dorison. "Your conclusions are too strong." "But my premises may be weak." persisted Cathcart. "Don't lean too heavily upon a theory. The value of one is only that it gives you a basis from which to j work. The danger of a theory is that j you cling to it, refusing in its interest j to recognize the plain facts under your ' nose. The difference between a shrewd j' detective and a dull one is this: The lat- j ter becomes a slave to his theory and it | controls him; the former treats it with suspicion and abandons it whenever facte justify such abandonment But even worlring on' the lines of an erroneous theory, you are more apt to hit upon the true facte than when you are working wild without plan or purpose. There is j always some truth in every theory. The j trouble with this theory of mine is that i it is too natural and plausible. I always distrust that which seems natural in the beginning of a dark case." Dorison was plainly disappointed and puzzled at the manner in which the old detective treated his own theory. He did not speak for some moments, and then he suddenly ejaculated: "If I had so little confidence in a theory that I had spent so much pain and labor i in building up, I would not work on it." "Yes," calmly replied the old detective. "That is just what an inexperienced man like you would do. But that is what neither you nor myself will. We will go to work on it and your work will begin very soon." Dorison looked up interested. "My plans,"continued Cathcart, "have bet n materially changed by the events of today, especially as to your work. It is my belief that the owner of that glove is to be found in the places frequented by young men of fashion. And it is in those places I want you to look for him." "That I presume I can do without especial shrewdness?" "I do not intend to give you my reasons for the plans I have formed. Reaonrin T plwftvs keen to mvself. But. for reasons of my own, I want you to be informed upon the ways of the young men of the day and the young men themselves. To do this you must know them, associate with them, and to a certain extent be one of them. Hence, I want to set you on foot as soon as possible as a young man of fashion about town. Your business you are to keep closely to yourself; never lisping it to anyone, and you will not be required to do any work which will betray it. You have been a man of fashion once; you can easily resume the role." "But when all this is done, what am I to do? "'Continuously extend the circle of your acquaintance and become familiar with fashionable haunts of all kinds, and obtain invitations, if possible, to ; visit people's homes. In the meantime I watch people's hands. In short, so that I you may not think you are on a fool's e rrand, 1 will tell you that I want you to be eyes and ears for me in places wnere 1 cannot go myself without arousing suspicion." They parted with this. [TO ?K CONTINUED NEXT WEKk.] Re:3UKED.?The story is told of a certain New Yorker, whose splendid j country seat has not always housed ; himself and family and whose plethor- I if" hnnk nncnunt is of comparative re- I cent dute. There was not so very long ago a guest at this house, a man whose us- 1 ual courtesy was greatly taxed by the I ostentation of his host. Did he admire the view of the distant river, he j was fold what it cost to cut the vista j through ; when the stables were visited j an estimate was given of the expense ; of building and stocking them; a fine painting was commented only to have its value in dollars and cents proclaimed, and so on in the most trying manner. At length dinner was announced, and beyond giving the amount of the : wages he paid his French cook the host ; was fairly quiet. At desert, however, j whose fruit included some hot-house ; peaches, lie pressed a second upon his I guest, who took it with the remark j that such luscious peaches at this season were a tempting delicacy. "Yes," said the host, "they are, and i an expensive delicacy, too. I estimate | that these peaches cost me about 35 ccnfs apiece right here iu my own hot : house." Whereupon the guest, taxed beyond ; his endurance, reached over and took a third peach from the dish, produced a dollar bill from his vest pocket and say .ng calmly: "I suppose you are willing to say three for a dollar," laid it down and Lift Your Hat to Her!?Lift your hat reverently when you pass the | teacher of a primary school. She takes the little bantling free from the home | nest and full of his pouts and passions? an ungovernable little wretch, whose own mother admits she sends him to school to get rid of him. The young lady, who knows her business, takes a } whole ear-load of these anarchists, half of whom single handed and alone are more than a match for their parents, anil at once puts them in the way of j being useful and upright citizens. At what expense of toil and weariness? Here is the most responsible position in the whole school, and if her salary were doubled she would receive less than she earns.?Havana Journal. BSaJT Expert testimony has got down to a fine point when a chemist will swear that he can tell from a disc of dried blood what a woman ate for din- , ncr. A witness in "Frenchy's" trial at | New York, testified that the blood ' found on his hands showed, under mi- I croscopic examination, that the person j from whose veins the blood came had corned beef and cabbage for dinner, j Other witnesses testified that the wo- , man "Shakespeare" did eat corned ! beef and cabbage the day before she was murdered. While bright-eyed science watches round the murderer j has a poor chance of escaping detection, j ^Miscellaneous Reading, j FROM A DUNGEON CELL S fi 3 HOW A TRIBUNE MAN FARED AMONG ft' THE CONFEDERATES. w o: a The Story Albert D. Richardson Told In ^ His Narrative, "Field, Dnngeon and ei Escape"?Twenty Months' Captivity and fl a Twenty-seven Days' Race for Liberty. H n [Copyright by American Frees Association.] ii HE circumstances ? o t Richardson's tt O / capture by the tl Confederates were 1< charnc t e r i s t i c. When Grant's w jJl U army was at U Grand Gulf,on the tl jajp ,^ag\ Mississippi below l ardson, Junius I tfmfflt, Henri Browne, *4WflfM\!wFwalso 01 The TribJjji iff,4 une, and R.T. Colar-ff TV / . burn, of The I \\ World, joined an II \S ?r\ expedition fitted U to run out past tbeVicksburgbat I?* teries and got ac I f~~^\ , "" commodations on yjfca. a barge loaded with hay bales. After a terrible experience the expedition passed five miles of batteries and was "within ten minutes of safety" . when it suddenly came to grief. "In the confusion caused by our evolutions in the i eddies," says Richardson, "I had quite lost ! the points of the compass, and asked, 'In ' which direction is Vicksburg?' 'There,' re- j plied Junius, pointing to the lurid smoke. " 'I think itmust be on the other shore.' " 'Oh. no; wait a moment and you'll see the flash of the guns.' Just then I did see the flash of more guns than I coveted, 11 and four or Ave shots came shrieking toward us. Colburn and myself instinctively dropped behind the nearest hay bales. A n moment after we were amused to observe n that we had sought shfelter on the wrong side of the bales?the side facing the Con- v federate guns. * * * 0 " *1 suppose we can surrender,' cried a ? poor scalded fellow. ? " 'Surrender the devil!' replied Colburn. 81 'I suppose we will fight them!' 8 "It was very creditable to the det^rmina- ? tion of our companion, but, to put it mildly, our fighting facilities just then were ? somewhat limited. " "My comrades assisted nearly all the 1 wounded and scalded men down the sides n of the barge to the water's edge, and placed r them carefully upon hay bales. Remaining ^ there we had nothing to lose and nothing to gain, and I urged: "'Let us take to the water.' J il lf\L. ?> ? ? Unnda 'mfl H?] 11 ? UU, yw, luy LliCUUO nv after a while.' . 1 "Soou I repeated the suggestion and they 0 repeated the answer. It was no time to 8 stand upon forms. I jumped into the river, c ten or fifteen feet below our barge. They c rolled over a hay bale for me. I climbed upon it and found it a very comfortable means of navigation. At last, free from I the instinctive dread of mutilation by splinters which had constantly haunted v me, I now felt that if wounded at all it c must at least be by a clean shot The J thought was a great relief. c "With dim suspicion?not the ripe and perfect knowledge afterward obtained? 1; that clothing was scarce in the southern F Confederacy, I removed my boots, tied v them together with my watch guard and 0 fastened them to one of the hoops of the ( bale. Taking off my coat I secured it in * the same manner." 8 Settling himself securely on his floating bale Richardson determined to escape down I the river, but the enemy ceased firing and r sent out a yawl and captured the whole 8 party. The three correspondents gave the usual parole and went to Richmond for f exchange, but the Confederate commia- ^ sioner refused to release The Tribune men. 1 and they lay in Libby prison and Castle t Thunder several months. After employ- 8 ing counsel and trying %every honorable ^ means to secure justice the unfortunate 8 men began to plot for escape. 4 Once they hod everything plauued to c bribe the guards, but an accident revealed I the scheme, and they were put in a dun- ? geon for punishment, and were shortly * afterward sent to Salisbury, N. C. About ? this time a correspondent of the Cincinnati e Gazette, W. T. Davis, united his fortunes with The Tribune men. A friendly guard 8 fn naio Hia t.rin ovor lil? hpjlt On f l/ai^WUVU VU |/UsW vuw V . a certain night. Richardson and Browne * were on hand, but an accident delayed 4 Davis until the guard was relieved, and kthe others refused to proceed without him. c Again and again hopes of escape were frustrated by some trifle. Now and then I desperation led to some more daring efforts, c but these, too, failed. One day a body of prisoners rushed upon a guard relief, seized their muskets, and attacked the sentinels on their posts. In their haste all hands rushed to one point and attempted ' to pass the fence, but a couple of field pieces and the muskets of the reserve guard turned upon that one point, quelled the insurrection in three minutes, r A scheme of tunneling was pushed far b toward success, but the prison commandant ^ took alarm and posted a second line of j, guards 100 feet outside the stockade, nnd that rendered egress by tunnels out of the 11 question. ^ I PORTRAIT OF ALBERT D. RICHARDSOH. a After spending ten months in the Salis- t bury prison, Richardson and his two com- j panions determined to take heavy risks to get out and make their way to the mountains of East Tennessee. The outlook, uc- ' - .I,,-!,,., I coraing lu l>iiu sunnuw \jl vovctp^a uut>.<n their experiences in that prison, was not at s all promising. Out of seventy prisoners that had passed the guard but Ave had reached the north. The others had been retaken or had been shot in the mountains. By extraordinary good luck the trio passed the guards on the night of Dec. 17, 1864. At the time all three were on duty in the hospital, and Davis and Browne held passes permitting them to go outside the first line of sentinels to a Confederate dispensary for supplies. This privilege had been enjoyed so long that they were allowed to go on sight. The night of tho escape Browne loaned his piiss to Richardson, and with Davis walked coolly out to tho dispensary. Richardson's exit is described in his narrative as follows: "A few minutes later, taking a l>ox filled with bottles in which the medicines were usually brought, and giving it to a lad who assisted mc in my hospital duties, I started to follow them. As if in great liuste we walked rapidly towurd the fence. When we reached the gate I took the box from tho boy and said to him, of course for ! the benefit of the sentinel: " 'I am going outside to get these bottles filled. I shall be back in fifteen minutes, and want you to remain right here to take | them and distribute them among the hos- t { pitals. Do not go away now.' "The lad understanding me perfectly re- j plied, 'Yes, sir,' and I attempted to pass ! ? the sentinel by mere assurance. * * * i 1 Tho sentinel stopped me with his musket, r demanding: | j " 'Have you a p;iss, sir?' " 'Certainly I have a pass,' I replied,with j all the indignation I could assume. 'Have j J you not seen it often enough to know it by this time?' t "Apparently a little dumfounucu, 110 re- s plied modestly: t '"Probably I have; but they are strict ] with us and I am not quite sure.' " ^ The sentinel examined the document, which was all right in Browne's hands, but all wrong iu Richardson's. But he did ! tnot know the difference, and told Richard- j * son to pass on. Once outside Richardson j s met several Confederate officials who knew ; j him and knew that he was out of his place, j but the "peculiarly honest and business- I j like look of that mcdicino box" threw them j off their guard. Instead of entering the ( dispensary Richardson hid his box and ( flipped under a convenient shelter. At t dark his friends joined him, and the three \ passed the outer guard without difficulty. | For The Tribune men this was the end of i twenty months of captivity. } The first night, and day wore passed in the barn of a friendly citizen withjiLyue ilc of the prison. The second night a a onfederate lieutenant belouging to the p ons of America, an order of southern s len who secretly aided the Union, met lem and gave full directions how to reach iends on their journey. Then they set v ut on their long winter tramp, poorly lad and weak from long confinement. The main ghido of the refugees was a v lilroad track running west. They were n ften obliged to leave the line, however, to r void crowded settlements, and in making jj etours were frequently lost. In these jj mergencies they, relied upon chance riends among the slaves to direct them , right. One night they were rested and p ^freshed in a slave cabin, "the first dwell- ^ lg," says Richardson, " that I had. enter- v i for twenty months. It was rude almost b j squalor, but it looked more palatial n ban the most elegant and luxurious sa- * >on." t The slave led them to the railroad from 'hich they had strayed, and a long walk c x)k them near to a village. In avoiding ^ bis they lost their way and walked twelve p ^1^ jj I I DELUDING THE SENTINEL. J 0 liles to Rain half a mile. Another slave riend hid them for a day in hie; master's arn, remarking: "Master is a terrible war , lan, a Confederate officer, and would kill le if he was to find ifc.out." r Regaining the right road the travelers 11 ralked on until daylight, when they dis- e overed that they were being followed by t Confederate home guard. Another long j etour was necessary to throw him oil the ? cent. They next entered a region where ? laves were few. Being almost starved, neof the party, who had secured a fair ? Confederate uniform for a disguise, enter- ?' d u wayside tavern to get food. In the c Arroom a lounger gave him the sign of ' he Sons of America. This brought them friend indeed, who loaned the party ^ nules to ride and guided them five miles o the home of a strong Union man. On the morning of the seventh day they e ound that they had made fifty miles of t heir direct journey. Their next chance I riend was a woman whose acquaintance c lichardson made by tapping ot the door Ia log cottage. Alter asprignuy coiioquy he betrayed her sympathy with the Union c ause. Richardson told his errand, reeiving the cheerful salutation: "If you are Yankees all I have to aay la hat you have come exactly to the right ilace." Afterward she said to Richardson: " You rere the first Yankee I ever saw. Tho noment I observed your clothing I knew ou must be one, and I wanted to throw ny arms about your neck and kiss you!" On Dec. 30 they crossed Yudkiu river nto a region where Union homes were ilenty. Communications had to be opened vith women because the men were "lying mt" to avoid impressment by the hated Confederacy. After allaying all suspicions he refugees found the people of great ervice. "These men were walking arsenals, iach had a trusty rifle, one or two navy evolvers, a great bowie knife. haversack ,nd cunteen." Guided and fed by such frieuds tho refugees reached Tennessee early in January, fet their perils wero not over, for the nountains were patrolled by Confederate juerrillas. Once they bad to pass within l quarter of a mile of a notorious rendezrous called Little Richmond. An invalid irose from his bed and guided them past he danger at the risk of his life. On anither occasion their guide, the celebrated Don Ellis, aroused the party from sleep vith the startling announcement: "We lave walked right into a nest of rebels. Several hundred are within a few miles, ighty are in this immediate vicinity." The refugees scattered among the mountins in groups, each group having a faithul guide. Richardson and others were led >y a young woman who often performed his service, and whose name, Melivina Stevens, was not revealed until the war losed. . On the 14th of January, 1865, The Tribune irinted this dispatch from its long lost ^respondent: Knoxvillk, Tenn., Jan. 13,1805. Out of tho jaws of death: out of the mouth of ielL Albert D. Richauoson. He had traveled 340 miles since leaving he prison twenty-seven days before. George L. Kilmer. The Rock of Moses.?How many eaders know that what is believed to ie the identical rock struck by Moses, '?? 1? /ln-1 Am* tlio fnm. 1 men ne euimimuucu nmci ivi vnv u?u j shing thousands who were wandering i n the wilderness, is still to be seen, as mtural as it was in the- days of the ;reat law-giver ? Dr. Thomas Shaw, ] ). D., at one time regius professor of " Jreek at Oxford, one of the greatest of l Cnglish Seventeenth Century travel- j rs, gives this description of it on page ] 152 of his "Travels." ] "It is a block of granite marble, j ibout six yards square, variously j mown as the 'Itock of Horeb,' 'Rock ] ?f Massah' and 'Stone of Moses.' It j ies tottering and loose in the Valley of ] tephidim, and seems to have formerly ] >elonged to Mount Sanai, which hangs , n a variety of precipices all over the j >lain. The waters which flowed out i md the streams which flowed withal , Psalms lxxviii, 20) have hollowed j icross one corner of this rock a chan- j lei about two inches deep and twenty , nchcs wide, which is now crusted all ver like the inside of a teakettle that lath been long in use. Besides several nossy productions which are still pre- ] erved by the dew, we see all over this \ hannel a great number of holes, some j ?f them four or five inches in diameter, . ively tokens of there having been so uany fountains." i Dr. Pocock's description of the j 'Rock of Moses," and that of "Prefet- ( o of Egypt," both of which the read:r may find in Bishop Clogher's "Jour- 1 lal of a Trim from Grand Cairo to , Uount Sanai," page 14, second edition, lorresponds with the above in every isseutial feature. Relics by the Wagon Load.?Un- ' ler the direction of Professor Putnam, ihief of the department of Ethnology, j >f the World's Columbian Expositiou, j i party of men has been making ex- : ensive excavations of the pre-historic | nournls in Oliio and Indiana, and ac- | :ording to reports, received from time o time, most gratifying success has >cen met with. Many skulls, skeletons, j ;opper hatchets, pipes, ornaments, j dtar of burnt clay weighing 400 to 500 lounds, flint spear heads, etc., have , >een secured. i : In one mound, situated near Ander- | i ion Station, Indiana, 7,232 Hint spear leads, and knives were discovered. The bulk was so great that it took four lorses and and a large corn wagon to inul the flints to camp. The total veight was a trifle over 4,700 pounds, rhe implements were found in a layer ; me foot in thickness, extending over a space twenty by thirty feet. Many of hem were over eight or ten inches in ength; some of them even larger, vhile the majority ranged from seven j o eight inches. They are made of jray flint found only in Indiana, and show that there were from sixty to seventy flakes detached from each one n order to fashion it. The largest find of flint implements mule in one place heretore in America lid not exceed 1,800 specimens. In me of the caverns occupied by primi- , ive man in the valley of the Seine, jelow Paris, 2,300 implements were bund in one deposit. As it is reason- ! ible to conclude that nearly one day's ! vork was expended on each implcnent, and as each one exhibits almost bsolute perfeciton as far as mni cniping is concerned, the find will be of pecial value to ethnological research. How the Woodcock Feeds.?A writer in Forest and Stream gives the allowing account of the way he saw woodcocks "boring" for worms one loonligbt night: "The birds would est their bills upon the mud and stand a this position for several seconds, as F listening. Then, with a sudden, wift movement, they would drive the ill its entire length in the soil, hold 5 so for a second, and then as swiftly withdraw it. Though I watched the irds carefully with the glass, I could iot detect the presence of a worm in heir bills when they were withdrawn, iut a subsequent process gave me the lew to their method of feeding. Afer having bored, over a considerable >iece of ground?a square foot or aore?they proceeded to execute what soked comically like a war-dance upn the perforated territory. They also ccasionally tapped the ground with he tips of their wings. My intense uriosity to know the possible utility f this process was at length gratiied by seeing a worm brawl, half ength, from one of the borings, when b was immediately pounced upon and levoured by one of the woodcocks, ^esently another worm made its aptearance, and so on nntil the two voodcocks had devoured as many as a lozen of them. Then the "vein" eemed exhausted, and the birds took heir leave. The antics of the woodocks after they had made their borings pere simply mimetic, and intended to lelude the worms into the belief that b was raining in the upper world. [*he worms, being deceived, came up ,nd were devoured." The Queen of Flowers.?When tod formed the garden of Eden (so uns the tale) and gave his blessing ipon all things, he strewed sweet flowire over the landscape, and one day hese flowers assembled in council and iroclaimed as their ruler Queen Rose iy right of her exquisite beauty. iVhite as the falling snow, pure as t]be >cean pearl, fair and lovely as the spotess cloud sailing through the blue leptbs of heaven was the right royal 'queen of the flowers." Her Dlace was close bv the fatal tree vhereon grew the "forbidden fruit" ind as Eve, our erring mother, reachid forth her hand to pluck the fruit, he pure lily rose drooped head and (lushed for shame that God's trusted ihildren could thus sin against Him. That crimson flush of shame refnain:d upon the sorrowing rose until the Saviour deceuded from his Heavenly Lome, until He had reconciled God to inning man by the mighty sacrifice to , limself. Then the rose proudly lilted her lead once more, glowing with joy and >urity, and her fair cheek regained its jearly tint. Yet not every rose regained its white hued glory, for it was lecreed that, although forgiven, man hould not lose the memory of his sin. And thus it is that we find the roses dended, crimson and white,, side by ide. The one blushes for the fall of nan, the other rejoices in his redempiou. Among the Highlands.?While in Perthshire recently Queen Victoria requested an old Highland laird to visit ler, and when he did so very graciousy received him, thanked him for comng, and then explained why she xvish;d to see him. "I should like to know," she said, "the exact spot whefe the Pretender landed, and"? She was lot allowed to proceed further. In- ' stantly the old chief laid his hand upon i6r shoulder, saying, "He was no pre:ender, madam; he was our king." T beg your pardon," said the queen, ciudly; "I ought not to have used that vord. I should have said Prince Dharles Edward." Then, by way of lumoring the gruff old Jacobite, she uided, "You know that I, too, have Stuart blood in my veins." "Yes, I enow it," was the reply, "and were it lot for that you wssid not be where /nn arp " This nlain sneakinc. which ather startled her retinue, did not displease the queen ; on the contrary, she ivas amused at it, and seemed to like t, and it roused her interest in her unjourtly-mannered subject, and her way )f taking it went to his heart, and unDent and softened his stern spirit. They talked long together and they parted like old friends. On the queen's return to the castle where she was staying, she said to her host, "I have ust met one of the most honest men in my realm."?Ex. Visible Only at Night.?A singular character residing near Irasburgh, Vt., is said to have allowed no human neing to look on her during the day Jor nearly forty years. She goes by Tbe name of Ann Dennis, and is said to nave been the daughter of a well-to-do farmer, and that she lost her mind, or it any rate, took up her present singular mode of life after the death of her mother, whom she accidentally killed by an overdose of some opiate. . She iives in a small, substantial one-room labin, about six miles from the town, ind remains tightly shut up during the day, and ventures out only on the larkest niehts. when she will walk into town and transact such business is she may have, but cannot be induced to enter a room lighted up save very dimly, and then only when thickly veiled. As she has some little money left her by her father, the tradesmen all humor this singularity of hers, though several attempts have been made to get her to show herself in the light, but however well planned the strategy it has never succeeded. She converses intelligently enough when she wants to and many deny that her mind is at all affected beyond a little harmless eccentricity. Those who remember her in her youth say uiai sne was uu uiiukuuh; picu,j, attractive girl, and well educated. She lives quite alone, with nothing living to keep her company.?Philadelphia Times. "Put This in the Middle."? Much undoubtedly veritable old Chinese porcelain, such as Canton and Nankin, says a writer in Scribner, is found in New England seaports and river valley towns; nor can it be doubted that many persons in America and England ordered services of porcelain to be made and decorated for them in China. These orders were sometimes filled in a manner which was vastly disappointing. Miss Leslie, the sister of the great painter, related that she ordered a dinner service to be made and decorated for her in China. She directed that a coat-of-arms should be ?.1 *1?A ,-vf Aii/ib i\1ofn on,r1 piUl't'U 111 liic iciiii i; ui tuv.ii jiuov, unv. made a drawing of the coat-of-urms and pasted it in the centre of a specimen plate, and wrote under it, "Put this in the middle." What was her dismay when, on the arrival of the china, she found 011 every piece not only the coat-of-arms, but the words indellibly burnt iu, "Put this in the middle." SST A smoking baby is the latest prodigy reported from Chicago. The wicked little rascal has been pulling at the pipe ever since he was two months old, and is so wedded to the habit that he bellows for it as other children for the sucking bottle. An examination just made by physicians show the baby to be already suffering from nicotine poisoning and "tobacco heart." His father, who led him into dissipation, is to be prosecuted. The extreme penalty under the law is unfortunately only one year's imprisonment.