(Copyright. I Kiel. All lights wserved.) I^CHPibfMAb Dinner V* *y ^UB* ^ATOM R) ifillEKL have been many re TS&I M-Jt "larka,jl° dinners, but the dinner given on Christmas j; V night, 1892, by Mr. and Mrs “ Cornelius Van Tassel to their friends, Mr. and Mrs. John Girard and Mr. and Mrs. Vincent Cowles, at their Gt a mercy park home, will prob ably pass into history as the most re markable dinner of all. The table was a cheering sight as the guests entered from the drawing room, its polished mahogany top gleaming here and there between the snowy, weblike doilies, its glistening china and cut glass, its bright silver and its floral decora tions. forming under the soft glare of the electric lights a picture that seemed eloquent in its augury of good things to come. Candelabra with dainty yellow shades and vases filled with golden hued chrys anthemums stood at opposite corners of the table, and one of t.bo fluffy yellow flowers lay at each place. The maid had announced dinner just as the grandfather’s clock in the hall sounded the hour of 7, but when the guests and their hosts were seated she failed to appear. Mrs. Van Tassel was annoyed and surprised, for Betty was al ways alert and had never failed her when a dinner was to be served in state. After waiting several minutes Mrs. Van Tas sel touched her foot to the button be neath the table and rang flie electric bell, but no Betty appeared with the belated Blue Points. The conversation was flagging, as it will when host and guests me conscious that the household machinery is not mov ing smoothly, and Mrs. Van Tassel’s annoyance and indignation rapidly in creased as she rang again and again in vain. Finally, concluding that Betty must have fainted, Mrs. Van Tassel excused herself, with very manifest mortification, and started for the butler’s pantry to solve the mystery of the maid’s nonap pearance. As sho opened the door she screamed and ran back toward the table. A masked man, with a revolver in each hand, stood in the doorway. He swept the company with the leveled weapons and then pointed one of them at Mrs. Van Tassel. “Don’t exercise your lungs again like that, madam, please,” he said politely, “or 1 shall be under the painful neces sity of perforating them with a leaden pill, don’t you see. The other ladies and geutlemen present will also remain quiet, or these pistols may go off by accident, don’t you know. There’s going to be a big movement in silver here pretty soon, as wo say down in Wall street, but don't be at all alarmed. “No one will harm you if you are not ungentlemanly or unladylike enough to insist upon making a scene, don’t you know—a thing which, of course, you will not even think of doing. But pardon me for not having introduced myself be fore. It is a trifle late for Santa Claus, but here 1 am—Mr. T. Brown Jones, at your service—silver service, don’t you know. Ha! Ha! Pardon the pun; but, as you are aware, the iniquitous habit of play upon words has gained a strong foothold, don't you know, even among the exclusive circles in which we all move.” To say that the Van Tassels and their guests were astounded by the advent of the masked Mr. T. Brown Jones is a very conservative statement. His sud den entrance, his daring coolness and matchless impudence, his polite manners and his excellent English, fairly stunned them. Not long before a desperate fellow had held up and robbed a money broker in his office on Broadway near Trinity church at midday, but his audacity paled into comparative insignificance beside that of Mr. T. Brown Jones, who had coolly held up an entire family, their guests and servants, in the heart of a fashionable New York residence quarter at 7 o’clock in the evening. The ladies were deathly pale and on the verge of fainting. The gentlemen had half started to their feet, but sank back into their chairs with dazed faces as the revolvers covered them. The bur glar’s chin and mouth beneath the edge of the mask had a resolute, but refined A MASKED MAN STOOD IN THE DOORWAY. look. His voice was rich, musical and evidently that of a cultivated, intelli gent, educated man, and to Van Tassel at least it had a slightly familiar ring. The burglar’s hands, too, were small and white, and there was about him an un mistakable if incongruous air of refine ment. Van Tassel was the first to recover the use of his intellect and tongue. “Who are you and what is the mean ing of this outrage?” he demanded. “I thought, don’t you see, that 1 bad already announced my name as T. Brown Jones. Pardon me for not hav ing made it clear,” replied the burglar, bowing deferentially. “Get out of here instantly!” Van Tas sel cried, with a very perceptible quaver in his voice. “How dare you, sir? I’ll call the police at once unless you leave.” “Oh, no. you will not, Mr. Van Tas sel. Pardon me, but at present, don’t you see, I am doing all the calling that will be done in this vicinity," said Jir. Jones. “It is true that 1 have commit ted the ulmost unpardonable sin of be ing late at a Christinas dinner, don’t you know, but I am sure you will forgive me. I also took the liberty, which you are well bred enough to overlook, of bring-: ing several friends with me. We will not delay the dinner any longer." As lie concluded Jones whistled twice, the drawing room and hall doors opened, and two more burglars, masked and armed exactly like their leader, stepped into the dining room. “Allow me to present Messrs. Brown and Jones Smith, brothers and excellent company. They will lend the brilliance of their presence to this notable gather ing, don’t you know, and will do ample justice to your turkey and your wines,” said Jones. “You must have heard of these young men, who belong to the famous Bowery family of Joneses, and whose ancestors have not only been noted for years, don't you know, as skillful collectors of silver, gold and diamonds, but have also been much sought after by prominent city officials. “At least two of their near relatives have been the principal actors in events that have been described at great length in the newspapers, events which, unhap pily, don’t you know, resulted in the un timely death of both gentlemen. So you see that your guests are not ordi nary people by any means, don’t you understand, oven if your welcome has a lack of warmth about it hardly appro priate for such a day of rejoicing and loving kindness as today.” “Well—well, bah Jove!” gasped Mr. Girard. “Leave us instantly!” cried Mr. Van Tassel. He attempted to riso from his chair as he spoke, but Jones Smith, who stood behind him, pressed the cold muzzle of a revolver to the back of his head, and he sat down again precipi tately. “Please do not move, Cornelius,” plead ed Mrs. Van Tassel, beginning to shed tears, “or these horrid—these gentlemen will kill you!” “Yes, Cornelius; please remain in your chair, for whenever you move like that I am in mortal terror, don’t you see, lest a revolver somewhere should go off and hurt you, don’t you know,” said T. Brown Jones. “For fear, how ever, that he may be indiscreet, secure him to this chair,” the burglar added, ad dressing his companions. “B-bah—bah Jove! Deuced shame!” cried Mr. Girard. The two scions of famous Bowery fam ilies not only obeyed their leader’s in structions, but they also bound Mrs. Van Tassel, Mr. and Mrs. Girard and Mr. and Mrs. Cowles firmly to the chairs in which they sat. The gentlemen mur mured loudly against this indignity to their wives, but the cold steel of three revolvers was an argument that they were powerless against. It was in vain that Mr. Girard pro tested, with numerous “Bah Joves,” and finally in despair he vigorously jammed his monocle into his right eye, knowing that he would soon be unable to adjust it. The arms and legs of the men were securely fastened, but the ladies were simply bound to their seats by the arms. The burglars accomplished their task in as gentle and polite a manner as possible, and not one of the captives was really suffering physically. “There’s another member of the noted Smith family in the house,” continued Mr. T. Brown Jones, “but I regret to say that at present he is busily engaged in sitting on your negro chef, who will insist upon rolling about and endeavor ing to release himself from bondage, and in keeping an eye, don’t you see, on your maid. As soon, however, as he gets the chef securely corralled between the legs of your big refrigerator, don’t you know, he may favor us with his company.” “Well, what do you want?" demanded Mr. Van Tassel. “Why don’t you take what we have and get out and allow my guests to enjoy their dinner?” “I will attend to everything in good time, Cornelius, but the heavy move ment in silver, don’t you know, cannot take place yet very well, for the reason that the silver is all in use. That beau tiful solid silver soup tureen must be emptied, for instance, don’t you see, and if hunger is gnawing at your vitals sup pose we begin operations. “I see covers are only laid for six, but that need not embarrass you. My Bow ery friends will assist you in moving closer together, so that there will be room for us at your hospitable table Ah, that is just the thing. There’s room and to spare. Now the surplus dining room chairs. Well done, my friends.” As he gave utterance to these approv ing words, Mr. T. Brown Jones took his seat at the head of the table beside Mr. Van Tassel, deposited his revolvers on one of the lace doilies, spread a napkin across his lap and drew Mr. Van Tas sel's yellow chrysanthemum through his buttonhole. “My favorite flower—since it has been a society fad,” he said simply. “Now, Mrs. Van Tassel, do me the kindness to ring for your maid. Three more covers, you know, for us, and dinner served for nine instead of six,” the burglar added, carelessly lifting one of his revolvers so that it was leveled in the direction of the tearful hostess. “Well, bah Jove!” ejaculated Mr. Gi rard, as the full force of audacious Mr. Jones' intentions dawned upon him. His face suddenly expanded into such a look of astonishment that his faithful monocle, which had remained where he had put it all through the binding ordeal as though glued to the spot, fell from his eye as if it, too, had been overcome by amazement. “Allow me,” said T. Brown Jones, as he politely caught up the monocle and thrust it back into its place. Mr. Girard was so surprised at this act that he for got to contract his eyebrow in time, and l the erratic glass again shot down the length of its gold chain. But Mr. Jones was not at all dis couraged. for he promptly attempted the feat once more. This time Mr. Girard lifted his right eyebrow at least half un inch as he 6a\v the monocle coining, closed down upon it as Mr. Jones cried “Now!” and success crowned the joint undertaking. Meantime the other two burglars had followed the example of their chief, and each was seated beside one of the male guests, with chrysanthemums brushing the black masks that covered their faces. They lacked the ease of Mr. T. Brown Jones, and by several awkward moves confirmed the correctness of their lead er’s statements concerning their Bowery ancestry. They also watched Jones nar rowly through the eyeholes in their somber masks and promptly imitated him in everything he did at the table. Meantime, too, Mrs. Van Tassel had pressed her trembling foot to the elec tric bell and summoned Betty. She had been wondering in a dazed sort of way what had become of the maid and was hoping that she had either rung the mes senger call for the police or had escaped from the house and personally sought aid. This hope was dispelled by the prompt appearance of Betty at the door. She was pale and trembling, and very evi dently half frightened out of her wits. She stepped to her mistress’ side and waited, her face the picture of mingled wonder, fear and helplessness. She was too well disciplined to speak even under such remarkable circumstances. She simply stared. “Your maid seems to have become petrified mentally and physically, Mrs. Van Tassel,” said Jones in a lowr voice, as if the words were for her ear alone. “Perhaps it would be well to explain to her, don’t you see, that dinner is to be served as usual.” As he spoke Mr. Jones again carelessly laid his hand upon one of the revolvers beside him. Mrs. Van Tassel’s face would have been an excellent study for a picture of Despair. “Dinner—dinner as usual, Betty,” she faltered in a whisper. When the Blue Points wero served, the Bowery swells glanced doubtfully from the tempting array of shells to the be “PARDON US,” HE SAID HUMBLY. wildenng array of sterling knives, forks and spoons that lay beside them, as if seeking for the proper weapon of attack. Then they sat still and looked inquiring ly at Mr. T. Brown Jones. That worthy noted the glance, as be seemed to note every other movement or noise about the dining room. “The custom, don’t you know, of eat ing oysters on the half shell with these little forks,” he said thoughtfully, hold ing one of them up and then spearing a bivalve with it, “is an excellent one.” The Boweryites at once looked as re lieved as two masked faces could, and were soon vigorously plying the oyster forks. “Table etiquette should be taught at Yale. Now, when I was in Jale”—Mr. Jones was continuing reflectively, when he was interrupted by a loud guffaw from his Bowery confreres. There were even slight smiles upon the faces of the inwardly raging Mr. Van Tassel, the outwardly fuming Mr. Cowles and the monocle eyed Mr. Girard. -“when I was in Yale, don’t you know,” Jones repeated, looking up in apparent surprise. “I was struck by the reflection that proper table manners are not bom, but made, don’t you see, for the child that is bom, as we all were, with a silver spoon, so to speak, don’t you see, in its mouth will, when at ta ble, remove the spoon and try to play ‘Annie Rooney’ and similar tunes pop ular with the canaille on the doilies Years of training alone, don’t yon know, give one polish in table etiquette. Even you, Cornelius, probably used your silver spoon for a drumstick when you were a child, 1 dare say.” “I’d like to use”— began Mr. Van Tas sel, with a roar of pent up rage. “Cornelius, for heaven’s sake, for my sake, do be quiet!” pleaded his distracted wife. “Cornelius, if you don't stop roaring so. I’ll not only gag you, but I’ll also have our mutual friend, McAllister, ex pel you from the One Hundred and Fifty,” murmured Mr. Jones, toying with his revolver. “Sorry you don’t like oysters,” he continued, cooly appropri ating the plate of the helpless Van Tas sel. Evidently Mr. Girard and Mr. Cowles were not fond of Blue Points also, for the Boweryites followed Jones’ example and transferred their oyster dredging operations from their own empty plates to the full plates of Van Tassel’s male guests. “Blue Points are so small, don’t you know, that really 1 shall be compelled to accept your offer,” Mr. Jones said apologetically a few moments later as he took Mrs. Girard's oysters. In the same deferential manner his Bowery friends made way with the bivalves huddled to gether upon the plates of the other help less ladies, and then, following the ex ample of Mr. Jones, carefully wiped the oyster forks on their napkins and put them in their pockets. “Your souvenirs are so pretty,” mar* inured Jones, “that they fairly carry us away. “I'll serve the consomme,” he added to Betty, who had just come in with the tureen, “for Mrs. Van Tassel seems to be fully occupied." The appetizing odor of the soup caused nine mouths to water; but, as in the case of the oysters, six of them watered in vain. “Where are you going, ray pretty turk?" “I’m going to dinner." she said with a smirk. “May I go with you, my turkey maid?" “Nobody axed you. sir,” she said, murmured Mr. Jones as the big brown bird, hot and steaming and redolent of, savory dressing, was deposited in front, of him by the maid. “Betty," he con tinued, beginning to carve the fowl with apparent skill, “don’t forget the wines. Wine is a mocker, don’t you know, but strong drink doesn’t seem to have been raging very much around here yet. don’t you see, but—but it will be shortly, when the Bowery is heard from.” Then Mr. Jones served the Christmas turkey in his most polite manner. “White or dark?” he would ask one of the company. “Ah, yes, to be sure. You always preferred the dark meat. How deuced stupid of me not to remember! Cornelius,” he said as he deftly removed and divided one of the turkey’s legs, “here’s a drumstick for you in remem brance of your infancy, don’t you see; but, Corny, for heaven’s sake, for my sake, don’t pound out ‘Annie Iiooney' on the doilies with it!” “B-bah Jove! Deuced shame!" cried Mr. Girard. Not until every person at the table had been helped did Mr. Jones turn his attention to his own plate. When he and the Bowery boys did get fairly to work, however, turkey, cranberry sauce, turkey dressing, wines and the numer ous other delicacies that composed the Van Tassels’ Christmas dinner vanished from view like a Kansas town in the track of a cyclone. When the three strange guests had de voured the turkey on their own plates, they turned to in the most polite manner and assisted the Van Tassels, the Girards and the Cowles. The dinner passed off very well, considering the circum stances, as Mr. Jones afterward re marked. “Those Gramercy park people, don’t you know, were rather stupid. They didn’t talk much. They ate even less. The Bowery people, too, were no bet ter as conversationists, but there was nothing the matter, don’t you know', about their appetites. I never before saw such a demonstration of the shovel ing capacities of the ordinary table knife. But I amused them all, don’t you understand. I was not only after dinner but middinner and before dinner speaker, and told a few good stories that I see Depew has since got hold of.” By the time the different courses had been served and the coffee came on in the Dresden china after dinner cups, the pockets of Mr. Jones and his companions were fairly bulging with spoons, knives and forks, and it was evident that the heavy movement in silver was soon to commence. The only interruption to the dinner occurred when, just as Mr. Jones was drinking Mr. Van Tassel’s coffee, a voice with an unmistakable Bowery accent shouted from the butler’s pantry: “Ef youse fellers don’t send me out a ham sandwish er somethin pretty dern quick, I’ll give de hull gang dead away. See?” Mr. Jones paid no attention to the re mark, however, but drank the remain ing cups of coffee within reach, excused himself and rose from the table. “Par don us,” he said humbly as he and his assistants relieved the gentlemen of then watches and pocketbooks and the ladies of their diamonds and other jewelry, “but at Christmas time it is always bet ter to give than to receive, don’t you know.” With profuse apologies, too, Mr. Jones securely gagged the Van Tassels, their guests and the maid, and saw that they were all firmly bound. Then Mr. Jones’ companions engineered the heavy move ment in silverware to a carriage at the door, leaving j ones to bid the hospitable Van Tassels bon soir. Raising the turkey’s wishbone so that all could see, he pulled it apart with his own hands, wished them “many happy returns of the day” and vanished. ****** Thus it was that Jack Schuyler (alias T. Brown Jones), swell clubman and man about town, won the half forgotten wager he had made a year previous with Cornelius Van Tassel—that a Gramercy park family, its guests and its servants could be held up and robbed at dinner and the burglars make good their escape. Van Tassel paid the wager, but there is a coldness akin to Christmas weather between him and “Mr. T. Brown Jones.” _ A Christmas Tree In Paris. Opposite the church of St. Eustache is the great market of the Halles, which furnished the worst of the horrible mot of fishwomen who, 100 years ago, swarmed Versailles to tear the queen to pieces. On Christmas eve their lineal and commercial successors, the present “dames des Halles,” raised among them selves a handsome subscription and fur nished a great tree for the half starved poor of that quarter. The lower branches were loaded with toys and good things for the children, the upper with legs of mutton, bottles of wine, warm clothes and all sorts of comforts from their weil stocked stalls; illuminated by candles and encircling bonfires. Around this tree was held a great reveillon—the best fcttended in all Paris, needless to say— which lasted from midnight until 4 o’clock Christmas day. The generous women who had prepared the tree did not go home at all, but opened their \ stalls, rubbed their eyes and made ready for business.—Pittsburg Dispatch. The White Tuletide. The ground is white and the sky is gray. Snow has fallen and snow will fall; Snow has fallen before today. But this is the suow of all— For the yule is white! Fields of December or woods of May, White of blossom or white of snow— White is the wear for a holiday. And the old earth seems to know— For the yule is white! —Selected. , THE BODV AND THE MIND. Why the Former Should Re Cultivated For the Sake of the Latter. The important subject of physical cul ture is not considered us it ought to Ixj by the majority of men and women, and there is almost absolute ignorance of the makeup of the body on the part of even intelligent people, with little desire for such knowledge, although health, beauty i and success depend largely on the treat- j ment given to tho body. Mental ac- i quirements are blindly worshiped, while the essential question of health receives 1 little thought, and hence it is almost im- | possible to find men in the ordinary walks of active life, at middle age, who do not complain of impaired health and want of vital force. Without a sound body one cannot have ix sound mind, and unless proper at tention is given to the culture of the body good health cannot be expected. Plato is 6aid to have called a certain man lame because he exercised the mind while the body was allowed to suffer. This is done to an alarming extent now adays. Brain workers, as a rule, exer cise no part of the body except the head, and consequently suffer from indiges tion, palpitation of the heart, insomnia aud other ills, which if neglected gener ally prove fatal. Brilliant and success ful men are constantly obliged to give np work through the growing malady of nervous prostration. The number of those who succumb to it has increased to an alarming extent of late years aud that of suicides hardly less. Few will question that this is owing to overwork ing the brain and the neglect of body culture. Vitality becomes impaired and strength consumed by mental demands, which are nowadays raised to a perilous height, and it is only by careful attention to physical development and by judicious bodily exercise that the brainworker can counteract the mental strain. Women rarely consider the importance of phys ical culture, yet tin y need physical train ing almost more t.«„u men do. Thou sands of our young women are unfit to become wives or mothers, who might he strong and beautiful if they gave a short time daily to physic al development.— Lippincott’s Magazine. How Jack Gets Whisky. One of the most arduous tasks devolv ing upon the officers of a warship is that of preventing the men from smuggling intoxicants aboard the ship. A company of half a dozen men on one of the warships here during the na val review had a young parrot for a pet housed in a gorgeous big cage. The bird was the successor of several that had oc cupied the same cage during a stay at a tropical port. The owners seemed to be unfortunate with their pets, which lived only a short time. The one they brought here, which had stood the voyage well, died soon after the ship arrived in port. The men took the cage ashore and got some other kind of bird. That also soon died, and so did four or five others in succession within a few weeks. Finally the officers noticed the great mortality of pet birds, as they had also noticed the great frequency with which the joint owners of these pets got mys teriously drunk aboard ship. A suspi cion dawned upon them, and they seized the birdcage. They found it had a false bottom, with a capacity for several quarts of whisky, and also that the food i tins and even the thick bars wero hoi- j low. The men had killed their cheap j pet when other schemes for obtaining liquor were not available, and taking the cage ashore for another came back with a new bird and half a gallon or so of whisky.—New York Sun. The Shackles Worn by John Brown. James N. Atwood of this town has in his possession the shackles worn by John Brown when he was captured. Soon after the execution of John Brown, in I 1859, Kev. Hezekiah Atwood, originally of Livermore, Me., was in Charleston, | Va., and while there visited the jail , where Brown was incarcerated awaiting execution. He was shown the leg irons which were placed upon Brown at the ' time of his capture and worn constantly by him until his execution. He tried to purchase the shackles, but was told that it would be impossible. Asking the old ! negress what would happen if the irons should disappear and another pair be substituted, she replied that “the num ber would be good,1’ evidently with no idea of their historical value. Mr. At wood after much difficulty procured an other pair at an expense of $8 and was soon in possession of the coveted shac kles. At one time during the lifetime of Mr. Atwood they were used in lectures by Henry Ward Beecher.—Livermore Falls (Me.) Letter. Gas Excepted. Ministers sometimes play good, jokes upon themselves. Rev. Thomas K. Beecher tells the following: “Some years ago a young man named Plympton came to Elmira to take charge of a paper. 1 was in the habit of pub lishing my church notices in the paper, and one Saturday night the gas gave out and promised to stay out for a day or . two. So I ran over to Plympton and said: ‘Just say, “Services as usual, ex- • cepting the gas.” ’ “ ‘Shall I print it in just that way? asked Plympton. “ ‘Certainly,’ I said, and left him. He did publish it that way, and next day narrowly escaped being tarred and feathered at the hands of a committee of my deacons, who thought he was ridi- . culing me.”—Ram's Horn. Tommy’s Bad Break. “We are going to have pie for dinner,” said Tommy Uptown to the minister. “Indeed!” laughed the clergyman, amused at the little boy’s alertness, “and what kind of pie is it?’ “It’s a new kind. Ma was talking this morning about pa bringing you home to dinner so often, and pa said he didn’t care what she thought, and ma said she would make him eat humble pie before , the day was over, an I suppose we are goin to have it for dinner.” Tableau.—Tammany Times. JAPANESE SCENES. OrD AND INTERESTING SIGHTS SEEN BY A TRAVELER. Ilaudhouf Women uikJ Well Ui'2av«d('hll* dreii- Ionian It* Happy In Her I’ottillOtt of Subjection—The (iriKliii (Islw ;>ud Unto! ifill |>hiii ing. The Japanese pedestrians who are uj