CHAPTER XXVH.—Continued.
Madame de Varnier seated herself
in the shadow, so that she would not
at once confront Helena as she en
tered. Her jeweled fingers touched
her hair lightly; her pose suggested
the languid indifference of a woman
of the world who awaits the entrance
of a caller. Mercy and tenderness and
womanly pity were denied this beauti
ful animal at her birth. Or these di
vine qualities had been fiercely
crushed by fanatic zeal.
I paced to and fro in an agony of
rage and pity; and this Medusa fol
lowed my every movement with her
cruel, mocking smile.
The woman whom I had hoped to
save from suffering, yes, the woman
I loved, was coming to this chamber
of horror. She was coming, radiant
with hope. Happiness awaited her,
she thought—the caresses of a loved
brother, repentant of his momentary
folly. And. perhaps, her heart was
beating high with gratitude to me—to
the man who she thought had made
this much wished-for reconciliation
possible.
Black despair awaited her in the
^ little oratory yonder. She was to be
tortured with a dilemma as cruel as
ever racked the heart of woman.
But her decision I could not doubt.
I had a proud faith in this lady who
had sent me into the lists to fight for
her. When first 1 had seejn her on the
terrace of the hotel at Lucerne—it
seemed ages ago, instead of days—I
remembered how her clear gaze had
thrilled me. The calm, unwavering
look of her gray eyes was truth itself,
i had thought. A lie was not possible
for her—not even a lie to be spoken
by another for her sake.
But with what abhorrence would
she regard me! Had 1 not been drawn
in the subtle web of this Circe's net,
the dilemma at least would not exist
for her. But if the dilemma did not
exist, Sir Mortimer’s dishonor would
still be a terrible reality. After all,
the curtain had not fallen yet. Helena
and I were both puppets in the hands
of capricious Fortune. It was she
who held the balances; or, rather a
just God whose wheels may turn
slowly, but sooner or later He sees
th&t justice is done.
I had left the door slightly ajar. It
was pushed open with a brusque sud
denness that startled. The servant
must have known the tragedy that
awaited the woman he was conducting
here. With a Frenchman's love of the
dramatic, he ushered her in with
pompous ceremony, and stood waiting
expectantly. As I closed the door
roughly on him. Helena saw me.
Madame de Varnier, seated in the
shadow, she had not yet seen.
1 scanned her face closely. I sawr
that not hope nor the expectancy of
a happy meeting with her brother was
her dominant emotion. Eager she
was, but it was the eagerness of anx
iety, and not of hope. Her quiet as
surance came from courage and self
control. Her brother had disappeared
mysteriously; Captain Forbes had been
the victim of a trick; she had put her
faith in one who was almost a stran
ger to her; and now she had ventured
to the chateau alone. Even a man
might have hesitated.
But when I stood before her, I was
touched to see how she leaned on me,
who had twice failed her.
“My brother?” she whispered.
Once before she had wrung from
me the bitter truth. Now, as then, a
certain courage came from her pres
ence. Her own scorn of weakness and
subterfuge supported me. I answered
her simply, as I knew she would have
me answer—the direct, stem truth:
“Your brother is dead, Miss Brett.”
There followed a silence so intense
that I could hear quite distinctly the
river Aare beating against the chateau
walls. With the curious irrelevance
that comes so often in moments of
tense anxiety I thought it strange that
Captain Forbes had not given some
sign of his presence in his prison dur
ing the past half hour. Helena leaned
toward me, frowning slightly as if in
perplexity.
“Dead, did you say? Not dead!”
* I repeated the words; unconscious
ly I spoke a little louder. The scene
seemed unreal, theatric. Again the
irrelevant thought intruded, how,
when a boy, I used to wonder if all the
things that had hitherto happened in
my life—all my existence—were not
one long dream; a dream from which
I should awake presently, to find my
self living a life utterly different.
“It seems, sir,” she faltered, “that
your mission is always to bring bad
tidings. It was only the other day
you told me that the man who loved
me had died. Now it is to tell me that
the brother I kvved so much is dead.”
She smiled pitifully, a curiously
twisted smile that expressed her suf
fering more than any tears. No re
proaches could have troubled me as
did that pathetic smile. I turned ab
ruptly to Madame de Vamier, whom
she had not yet seen. My rage and
pity overcome my reason. I might
have appealed to a heathen idol sitting
in grotesque majesty in its temple of
gloom with as little effect.
“You are a woman. You must have
a woman’s heart; you must feel some
tenderness for others in their grief.
You have told me that your life has
been one of suffering; then have
mercy for this girl who is suffering.
You will not torture her further. You
will leave to her the only comfort that
remains for her, the proud memory of
a brother who served his country with
honor.”
“It is for you to do that, monsieur.”
She spoke with assumed indifference,
fingering the cross that hung from
her neck.
“Mr. Haddon,” said Helena proudly,
“you will make no appeal to Madame
de Vamier to spare me from suffering.
Where is my brother? 1 suppose that
there is no one here who will den}- me
my right to see him?”
The two women faced each other.
"Death is sometimes not the worst
calamity that may befall one, madam.”
At these ominous words Helena
turned to me with a gesture of pain.
Her courage faltered, though she
fought for her control before the wom
an whom she hated so bitterly.
“Death is not the worst calamity?"
She repeated the words slowly, as if
seeking their hidden meaning. “Ah,
this infamous woman, who dragged
down my brother to disgrace when he
lived, will not spare even his memory.
She threatens to make his shame even
more public than it is.”
■'Your champion has it in his power
to prevent that.” suggested Madame
de Yarnier softly.
Helena turned on her with horror.
“It is incredible that you should
make traffic of a man’s love.”
"To me the love of a man like Sir
Mortimer Brett would have been a
glory, not a disgrace,” returned the
adventuress calmly. “But there was
no love between Sir Mortimer Brett
and myself in the sense you mean.
Whatever feeling your brother had for
me was controlled. Yes, and 1 tempted
him. In that regard his honor is stain
less.”
Motionless, each looked into the oth
er's eyes.
"And yet you said there is a calam
L ' .r ..^ c — <- rf-d-. .. ... ..■■ ■ ■■ -
“Your Brother Is Dead, Miss Brett.”
ity worse than death?” Helena ques
tioned, torn between hope and fear.
“And I say it again. Dishonor is
worse than death.”
Helena turned to me, dazed and ap
pealing, a trembling hand drawn slow
ly across her forehead.
“You are silent. What do those ex
traordinary words mean?”
I hesitated.
“It is said—this woman says—but it
is false. Do not believe her,” I cried
desperately at length.
“He has not the courage to tell the
truth,” cried Madame de Varnier,
walking slowly toward Helena, who
shrank back. “Your brother is known
to be guilty of taking bribes.”
“You are right not to believe that,
Mr. Haddon,” she said scornfully, and
sighed her relief.
“There are proofs to convince the
most skeptical, even you,” insisted her
tormentor with savage emphasis.
“What you say is impossible. Where
is my brother, Mr. Haddon?”
I pointed silently to the oratory.
Helena turned to go thither, but
Madame de Varnier barred her en
trance.
“Ah, you are afraid!” she cried,
standing at the door of the oratory
with extended arms. “You dare not
face the truth. Listen, madam; the
proofs of your brother’s guilt are not
imaginary. They exist in> his own
writing. Not one signature which may
be forged; there are whole pages. You
listen now; you will tremble before I
have finished. At present there is no
one who has seen these proofs except
myself. But dare to doubt me, to
ignore these proofs, and they shall be
for the whole world to read. Do you
hear? I say for the whole world; and
Russia would give me any sum I chose
to ask for those papers. I)o you hate
me so much, and scorn me so bitterly,
that you prefer to see your brother's
name held up as a byword for Eu
| rope's contempt? You disdain to think
it possible that my charge be true.
Then what have you to fear? There
is no one who can more surely identify
your brother’s writing than yourself.
Which will you choose? It in for you
to say. Will you consent to see these
papers now, or am I to sell them to
the embassies of Russia or Austria?”
The two women measured each
other in a long silence. I watched the
duel from the open window where I
--jr;-/ .\-r-. - * . *•)
stood. Madame de Varnfer's threat
was a terrible one. It was the fierce
pleading of a desperate and unscrupu
lous adventuress striving frantically to
move the lofty trust of r- sister in a
brother's rectitude and honor. I had
faith in the courage and nobility of
soul of Helena. I believed that she
would face shame and unhappiness
with calm resolution. But I could not
wonder that Madame de Varnier’s
menace made her hesitate.
The 3low seconds passed, and still
they faced each other in silence. That
long silence seemed to me ominous. I
suffered with Helena in the anguish of
her decision.
To yield would be to doubt. But if
she refused to yield, to doubt. And if
this woman spoke the truth, and made
good her threat— For herself she
would endure everything rather than
compromise with this betrayer of
men's honor. But there was the
mother to be thought of.
She had decided. She raised her
hands slowly in a gesture that pathet
ically showed her submission. Madame
de Varnier had conquered—so far.
"Do not think 1 doubt because I
consent." She turned to where I stood.
“But if this woman is sincere, and be
lieves that these proofs exist, others
will believe it too. There is no for
gery so clever that I should not de
tect it. My brother's handwriting was
peculiar. His honor must not be ques
tioned because of a clever trick. Come,
1 will see those papers.”
Madame de Varnier glided across
the bare room and struck the heavy
door of the little chamber she had
already pointed out to me as contain
ing the safe. To my surprise the door
had not been locked. It opened pon
derously, and 1 saw the gleam of the
safe. She stood at the doorway and
beckoned to Helena.
"Come, madam, or are you afraid to
trust yourself in the room alone with
me?"
"Has Mr. Haddon already seen these
papers that he is not to come?”
"Mr. Haddon has seen copies of the
original papers in the safe,” returned
Madame de Varnier in triumph. “He
— ~iTr:in;-n—-•—— -l ■-1
was so convinced of your brother’s
guilt that he destroyed these copies
You will not be surprised then if I re
fuse to trust him with the precious
originals.”
I attempted no expostulation. I
knew the uselessness of that, and we
had agreed that Helena was to decide
for herself. 1 had faith enough in
her not to doubt her ultimate decision.
“I will see these papers with you
alone,” said Helena quietly.
"And you will give me your word of
honor that you will not follow the ex
ample of Mr. Haddon in attempting to
destroy them?"
“My word of honor!” cried- Helena
with bitterness. “Would you believe
that if you think my brother guilty of
dishonor?”
“I should believe it,” answered Ma
dame de Varnier.
“Then I give it to you.”
She walked to the room with a firm
step, passing me where I stood.
“Be brave,” I whispered. “Be on
your guard. Refuse to believe that
your brother is guilty, no matter what
specious proofs this woman may show
you. It is simply impossible that he
be guilty.”
“Why do you say that?" Her eyes
were vevy wistful.
“Because," I looked at her steadily,
“I know how impossible it would be
for the sister.”
“Your faith strengthens mine.” She
entered the room, passing by Madame
de Varnier at the threshold.
“Au revoir, M. Coward!” the woman
cried tauntingly, and the key turned
in the door.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
“Coward!”
I heard a clock in tne village strike
the hour. It was sis. The chateau
walls cast a long shadow on the oppo
site bank of the river. The mountains
in the far distance were purple and
red in the evening light. The long
day was coming swiftly to an end;
and the night was mysterious with its
promise of despair.
This tower of the three, rooms! Two
of these rooms held their tragedies.
What if the third room had its tra
gedy likewiao!
I struck sharply the door of that
room in which Madame de Varnier
had said that Captain Forbes was im
prisoned. I listened; there was no
answer. I called the name of the
king's messenger aloud; still there
was no answer. Soon the moon would
rise, and its cold rays might fall on
the lifeless body of Forbes; for if all
were well, why should there be this
ominous quiet?
The suspense was unendurable. I
listened at the door of the room that
concealed the two women. I heard
the murrner of voices. That reassured
me so far as Helena’s safety was con
cerned; but it made me absolutely
certain that Captain Forbes must have
heard my voice if he were living, and
in that room.
And when the two women came out?
I shrank from that coming with
dread. I had told Helena to be brave,
to ignore the evidence of her own
sight. But I had been shaken in my
own belief as to Sir Mortimer’s inno
cence. Surely her faith would be
greater than mine; but the evidence
seemed so overwhelmingly against Sir
Mortimer, if Sir Mortimer’s letters
and notes were genuine. At any rate
the woman I loved must hold a bitter
cup to her blanched lips; it must be
emptied to the very dregs. Her suffer
ing was inevitable, whether she be
lieved her brother innocent or guilty.
I could not doubt that she would
refuse to purchase the silence of
Madame de Varnier at the cost of fur
ther dishonor, even though I were
chiefly to bear that myself. But if
she demanded that? Was I strong
enough to resist her tears? I must be.
My reason told me of the folly of
Madame de Varnier’s plan. But if I
yielded weakly presently, and the ruse
actually succeeded, I knew that the
hypocrisy of the act would become
more and more dreadful to Helena
with the coming years. No; if in that
supreme ecstacy of her agony she
should entreat me. I must still refuse.
I must decide for her, even though
she thought my own cowardice re
sponsible for that refusal.
Coward: How that word beat a
devil's tattoo on my excited brain. It
had been the keynote to all my suffer
ing, and to all my joy. Willoughby
had died uttering it; Helena had
echoed it in thought; and Madame de
Varnier had spoken it again and again
in her fierce contempt during the past
hour. Yes, it was the keynote of my
suffering and my joy. It was the
motif that obtruded again and again in
the stormy music of these past hours.
It was a baneful talisman, a watch
word. Its letters seemed to have al
most a magic potency. It was a coun
tersign that opened for me the gates
of paradise and hell.
A talisman! A watchword! A coun
tersign! Suddenly I saw the word
C-O-W-A-R-D written in flaming let
ters. They revolved furiously. They
danced before my vision.
This was sheer madness—this im
posible conjecture. I reasoned the un
reasoning impulse to hope against
hope. But the forlorn, desperate pos
sibility fought obstinately for recog
nition. It held me with all the damn
ing power of a hallucination.
And then suddenly it became a con
viction. It was no longer an impossi
ble hope, not even an intuition. It be
came an absolute belief, a certainty.
And this was the reason for my be
lief:
Whenever Madame de Varnier had
mentioned the safe she had called me
coward.
C-O-W-A-R-D !
That was the combination of the
safe.
At last a door opened. Helena made
her way toward me with uncertain
steps, her hands held out before her,
as one groping in the dark. Her splen
did fearlessness was gone. She look
ed at me with the wild eyes of a
wounded animal vainly seeking a way
of escape. As she reached my side
her hands were still held out as if for
protection. I grasped them firmly,
but I did not speak.
tTO BE CONTINUED.)
Making Life Worth Living
Some Golden Rules Laid Down by
Right Thinking Woman.
To be happy, hopeful, buoyant, kind,
loving from the very depths of my
heart; considerate and thoughtful re
garding the peculiarities and eccen
tricities of human nature, adjusting
myself to each so as to produce har
mony and not friction; to be pure
in word, thought and deed; broad
minded and liberal, not given to petty
denunciation of my fellows; moderate
in methods of life; never adding a
burden or sorrow where a little fore
thought would give pleasure; not
hasty in speech or action; sincere,
candid and truthful In every detail;
conscientious in the execution of
every duty; composed, unpretentious
and simple, keeping close to nature's
heart and always relying upon Him I
most earnestly strive to serve; keep
mg ever before me that exemplary
life as my rule of conduct toward
men, thus creating an influence for
good. This is my idea of making
“life worth living.”—Louise M. Wad
dell in The Nurse.
Professional Secrecy.
Twenty or 30 years ago Dr. Meigs
and his old mare Peggy, were familiar
figures in Derby Line, VL, and the sur
rounding country.
The doctor was very brusque in
manner, and disliked being questioned
concerning his patients.
One day a farmer was taken sick
and Dr. M. sent for. When returning
from his call, one of the neighbors
anxious to know the man’s condition,
hailed the doctor and the physician
pulled up.
“What ails Mr. Smith?”
"He’s sick; g’long Peggy.”
FRUrr ALWAYS GOOD
MANY WAYS OF SERVING THE
BLACKBERRY.
.Has Valuable Medicinal Qualities, as
Well as Being Always Appetizing
—Makes Excellent Catsup
If Properly Prepared.
The good old blackberry has a
pedigree behind it and medicinal qual
ities recognized and appreciated by
ancients and moderns. While most
fruits are laxatives, the blackberry,
*ruit, leaves and roots alike, is among
the mose valued astringents. Black
berry wine ranks high as a tonic, con
taining as it does a large amount of
iron. Blackberry cordial is one of the
most approved remedies in case of
iysentery; while jams and preserves
furnish a throat remedy that requires
no urging 'lAi the patient. From the
fresh young blackberry canes a thick
syrup is expressed, valuable for
throat, mouth and eye troubles. Made
into a vinegar, the blackberry fur
nishes one of the most refreshing and
cooling of summer drinks.
Blackberry Vinegar.—To make the
vinegar, mash the berries to a pulp
in an earthen or stoneware vessel.
Add good cider vinegar to cover well,
and stand in the sun during the day
and in the cellar over night, stirring
occasionally. The next morning strain
and add the same amount fresh ber
ries. Crush and over the whole pour
the strained juice, and set in the sun
again through the day and the cellar
at night. The third day strain and to
each quart of the juice allow one pint
of water and five pounds sugar. Heat
slowly to the boiling point, skim, and
when it boils strain and bottle, seal
ing airtight.
oiacKDerry oaisup.—(-.over masneu,
berries with boiling water, simmer'
15 minutes, press again and strain.
Allow for each quart juice a half tea
spoonful each mace, cinnamon, pepper
and white mustard. Cook down to
about a quarter of the original quan
tity, add vinegar (pure) to make
strength and consistency required,
then bottle and seal while hot.
Blackberry Jam.—Look over a gal
lon of blackberries, wash and drain.
Put in a preserving kettle, pour in a
pint of water and cook until soft, stir
ring and mashing with a wooden
spoon to break up the fruit. Take
care that it does not scorch. Take
from the Are and press through a wire
sieve into a stone jar. Do not use
tin. Stir this pulp thoroughly. Take
‘a quart of the pulp and put in a ket
|tle with a quart of sugar measured
light and previously heated in the
oven. Bring to a boil, cook rapidly
for 15 or 20 minutes, until it jellies
when dropped in a cold saucer. Pour
Into small jars and when cold seal.
Repeat the cooking with another
quart of the pulp until all has been
used. The jam is easier and better
prepared a quart at a time. It is a
good plan in hot weather to prepare
the berries one day, set away in the
cellar and make the jam in the cool
pf the next morning.
Serving Fruit.
; Fruit may be served on a large
round, flat dish, or in a fruit bowl or
fruit dish. It is very pretty to use
the natural leaves, if they can be pro
cured, for garnishing the dish. The
fruit should be passed and each per
son be given a fruit plate and fruit
knife and finger bowl. The finger
bowl is placed on the fruit plate and
should be lifted and set to one's left
before helping one’s self to fruit. A
nice way to eat an orange is to cut it
in half and eat with a spoon. Plums,
peaches and pears are eaten from the
fingers; bananas are eaten from the
fekin. Pineapple is usually pared, the
eyes taken out, the flesh picked apart
with a silver fork, placed in a fruit
dish and sugared and then served in
a dessert plate and eaten with a spoon
or a fork.
Plum Pudding Jelly.
Put one-half box gelatin in a cup of
cold water and soak one-half hour.
Heat one pint milk in a double boiler.
When hot dissolve one cup sugar in it
and 1% ounces melted chocolate. Put
one heaping cup stoned raisins, one
cup washed currants, one-half cup
sliced citron, one spoon cassia, one of
cloves into a very little warm water
on the stove and melt. When the
milk and chocolate are well mixed
pour them over the gelatin and strain
into a bowl. As soon as it begins to
grow firm stir in the fruit and put in
a mold, turn out on a platter and sur
round with whipped cream.
Cucumber Pickles.
Wash and carefully dry 100 tiny .cu
cumbers; place in a jar; put sufficient
water in porcelain kettle to cover cu
cumbers. When boiling hot stir in
salt enough to make salty to taste.
Pour this over cucumbers; let it stand
24 hours; wipe and put in jars. Put
enough vinegar in kettle to cover
them; add one onion, sliced, 12 whole
cloves, 1% ounces of mustard seed,
and three blades of mace. Let come
to boiling point; pour over the pickles;
add three small peppers; place a table
spoon of grated horseradish and sliced
onion on top.
Airing Lineni.
Linens should be given a thorough
airing every now and then, most thor
oughly of all, of course, just after
they have come from the laundress.
Plenty of Mght and air, as well as soap
and water, are necessary to keep them
in spotless condition, for what occult
reason only some one wise in the law
of physics can tell. But the results
will tell their own tale—airings are
the best preventives of “freckles’* and
mold and mildew.
Cleaning Fruit Cans.
Tops of fruit cans can be cleaned
if they are placed in sour milk or vin
egar, and left until the mold comes
oft easily, when they are washed in
water. They should also be scrubbed
with a brush to clean the grooves in
the sides of the lid.
Preserving a Broom.
To preserve brooms dip them for a
minute or two in a pall of boiling
suds once a week, which makes
them tough and pliable. A carpet
w«ars much longer If swept with such
a broom.
Z--_ ^
I
I
Gleanings of Gotham
Life in the Great Metropolis
Mirrored for Our Readers
MAY TURN BLACKWELL’S
ISLAND INTO A RESORT
NEW YORK. — Blackwells island,
which is known the world over as
the site of New York's penal institu
tions, poorhouse and city hospitals,
may soon be a thing of the past. It
has become too small to accommodate
the hordes of petty criminals and mis
erably poor and sick of the metropolis
and larger establishments are proposed
somewhere outside of the city, where
the prisoners and patients may be
made in a measure self-supporting by
farm work. In place of the prisons
and poorhouses will be established
pleasure palaces for the teeming mil
lions of the great east side. Within
another year the great Blackwells
island bridge over the East river will
be opened for use and this will render
access to the island easy for the east
side poor. The proposition is to turn
the big prison and almshouse buildings
into buildings for pleasure and make
the island a popular resort to be
owned and conducted entirely by the
city.
No city in the world possesses so
many magnificent pleasure grounds as
New York and yet there is no city in
the world where so large a proportion
of its population is unable to reach
these fresh air spots. To Central park
is a five-cent care fare. To Coney
island is a 25-cent boat ride. To any
of the resorts about the city the fare
is prohibitive to a majority of the res
idents of the east side, the people who
are most shut in and who most need
the benefit of a little air that does not
come down a narrow light well or up a
sewer. Blackwells island would rem
edy all of this. A short walk from
almost any part of the east side woiild
bring it into close connection. Sea
bathing could be enjoyed there as fine
as anything at Coney. The big build
ings could be altered and used for all
kinds of settlement work and the hu
manitarians of New York have become
thoroughly aroused to the possibilities
which open out to them when the city •
decides to abandon this island as a
place to keep its paupers and its crim
inals. At the same time the commer- •
cial spirit of the city is wide awake.
Already a syndicate of politicians
has been formed to take the island oft
the city's hands as soon as it is ready
to vacate. This syndicate proposes to
cut the place into town lots, erect
great apartment houses all over it and
make it another section of the east
side. Greed and humanity have en
tered into a battle for possession of
the desired plot and no person yet
knows which will win the victory.
ROMANCE IN FASHIONABLE
LIFE OF NEW YORK CITY
CONVERSATION in the fashionable
clubs the other night had a touch
of delightful excitement when the
news went about that that general so
ciety favorite and “all round good fel
low,” Mr. Frank Gray Griswold, and
that charming and wealthy young wid
ow, Mrs. Augustus Cass Canfield, were
engaged to be married. Naturally, so
ciety everywhere will be tremendously
interested in the news, but the engage
ment after all is in no sense a surprise
to many men and women in society
who have known of Mr. Griswold’s ad
miration for and devotion to Mrs. Can
field.
Mrs. Canfield and Mr. Griswold have
been in Europe for several months.
Their marriage is to be solemnized
within the next few weeks on the con
tinent, and soon afterward Mr. Gris
wold is to bring his bride to New York
and without fail will proceed immedi
ately to Narragansett Pier, where his
mother, Mrs. George Griswold, and his
sister, Mrs. Schuyler Van Rensselaer,
are spending the summer.
Mrs. Canfield Is a decidedly beauti
ful, talented and gracious young wom
an, and there has been no more highly
esteemed and popular hostess in so
ciety than she. She is a fine horse
woman, rides to the hounds, handles
the ribbons with the skill of a man
and will make a most congenial wife
for Mr. Griswold, whose tastes, as all
his friends know, also run in the way
of horses and outdoor sports.
Mrs. Canfield, whose first husband,
Mr. Augustus Cass Canfield, died more
than three years ago in Aiken, S. C.,
when a member of the winter colony
there, was before her marriage Miss
Josephine Houghteling, of Chicago.
She went abroad last spring, and has
spent the greater part of the time in
Paris and London, where she is well
known and much admired in society.
Mr. Griswold is one of the best
known bachelors in fashionable life
in New York and is a great social fa
vorite.
POLICY GAME REVIVED
DESPITE RECENT CRUSADE
NOBODY ever can calculate, even
roughly, how much money has
been saved the poor of New York by
the efforts of Norton Goddard, who
spent thousands of dollars of his own
money and devoted several years of
his own time to wiping out the game
of policy, the meanest form of gam
bling in this city. It is to his great
credit, too, that he provided the
means for an unending fight against
the vice.
Stringent as is the law which he got
through the legislature, and desperate
ly severe as was the campaign to hunt
out the offenders, policy is such a
profitable game to those who run it
that it was certain it would spring
up at intervals. So the Goddard anti
policy society has been busy ever
since the great reform, and every
now and then has detected and pun
ished offenders. Recently, however,
it has developed that policy playing
has been growing astonishingly. The
gamblers have worked in the face ot
great dangers, for the penalties are
severe, and had runners busy in
scores of East side tenements. In
some instances investigation has
shown that, as in the long ago when
the game flourished, credulous men
and women, particularly the latter,
have been selling their few belong
ings. the necessaries of daily life, and
even the clothing of their children—
for which there is not much need in
this season—to buy slips with the
hope of getting big earnings.
The Anti-Policy society has made
many arrests of late, but it has been
hard to fasten the crime on anyone,
for it is apparent that the gamblers
are scattering the supervision, which
heretofore was centralized, to lessen
the chances of discovery.
SIMPLICITY TO BE RULE
IN NEW GOTHAM HOTEL
r[E farmer who, on his first visit to
New York, had a room at the Wal
dorf-Astoria and later explained his
fhilure to put his boots into the shoe
closet so the night porter could polish
them while he slept by saying: ‘‘Go6h,
I was afraid he'd gild ’em,” doubtless
was greatly impressed by the splendor
of that famous hostelry, but it is con
ceivable that had he remained there
long he would have been obsessed
by that visional feast
There has been more or less fault
finding with the astonishingly mag
nificent decorations of most of the
big New York hotels, and the man
ager of a large new one now being
built has announced that the walls
will be wholly devoid of paint
ings as well as other superfluous
adornments. He says that "the bet
ter class of hotel guests have a
preference rather for simplicity than
for ornate things.”
It has been said by travelers that
though the New York hotels are splen
did they do not approximate to the
idea of a normal dwelling place; in
fact, that the managers seem to have
made them as unhomelike as possi
ble. Mr. Mallock, here recently from
England, complained that in the mod
ern New York hotel it was impossible
to find a resting place for eye or mind.
He remarked, among other things,
that in the place where he lodged he
could not even enter his private apart
ments without encountering Art at the
door—and to open the door was
\ . .1
obliged to transfix the abdomen of
Cupid with his latchkey.
The manager who says the hotel he
is building will be undecorated is tak
ing a long chance, because it is so
radical for New York, and the result
will be watched with interest
Perfectly Harmless.
The old bachelor was dining at the
home of a newly-married friend.
"Have a piece of this cake, Mr. Old
bach,” said the fair hostess. “I made
it myself.”
“Thank you,” rejoined Oldbach, “but
I—er—seldom eat cake.”
“Oh, you needn't be afraid of it, Old
bach,” said the host. “I tried a piece
of it on a tramp this morning.—Chica
go News.
Too True.
“See that man leaning over the rail
of the vessel?” said one European pas
senger to another.
“The one who’s so sick?”
“Yes; well I remember when he
didn’t know where his next meal was
coming from.”
“Indeed! Things are very much
changed with him now!”—Yonkers
Statesman.
Getting Down to Particulars.
Mrs. Slimson—Shall I read you this
animal story, 'Willie?
Willie—With or without?
“With or without ,wh«t?"
“Affidavits.”—Life. (