THE COURIER
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Helen Bertram, the actress, is still
seriously ill in Philadelphia from
what is believed to be an overdose
of laudanum taken last week. A
few weeks ago, when E. J. Henley,
her actor husband, wanted her to
join the "Birth of VenuB" company
and she preferred to remain with "Little Christopher,' ho one night
locked her in her room and prevented her Trom going to the theatre.
When she got there the next night she eaid she had to run away
while ho was asleep and she evinced the greatest terror lest he
should follow her. She added that at times he had struck her. In
the same breath with which Bho would express her fear she would
say: "I lovo him better than all the world, but ho will get drunk."
Miss Bertram deeply regretted losing her engagement at the Garden
theatre. It was Henley who persuaded her to go to see a perform
ance in the Herald Square theatre and send the excuso to Mr. Rice
that she was ill. This deception Jed to her discharge. Had she
remained at homo nothing would have been said. After her dis
charge Miss Bertram followed her husband to Philadelphia, where
tho "Birth of Venus" is playing. Doubtless she has been very much
depressed over tho loss of a good engagement and a large salary.
Henley and Helen Bertram were only married last summer, though
their names have been connected for some two or three years.
Young Mr. Lorillard Kip, who represents a wealthy New York
family, took Nina Farrington and another young lady to the Imper
ial music hall a night or two ago. Mr. Kip was in good humor,
having dined well, and when tho Manhattan quartette came out to
sing he threw hie partner's flowers on tho stage. When the Mowers
wero exhausted he was still in an applauding mood, and finding
nothing more sentimental at hand he picked up a plush ottoman
and hurled it at the singers, striking the fat falsetto squarely in the
chest. Tho house was in an uproar, and the manager appeared in
tho box and requested tho party to get out. They sneaked away
very quietly and tbe show went on. Thus does high life disport
itself.
Tho marriage ceremony uniting Miss Anna Gould to Count do
Castcllano will bo performed twice. That ought to bo sufficient to
make even the marriage bond between an American heiress and a
foreign nobleman stick.
Think of it. An advance sale of 15,000 copies of a parody on
"Trilby" has been assured. And yet some people claim that good
literature is not in demand since old Mr. Munro passed away.
Late society news from the 400 indicates one impending divorce
two "conjugal separations,' the expulsion of young Mr. Kip from a
music hall for throwing an ottoman at a singer, and a deplorable
mishap at an evening party, where three debutantes guzzled too
much wine. This summary of pleasing intelligence causes a plain
man to write to tho local press that if this constitutes "our best peo
ple, I am glad I am a vulgarian.'
When Julia Marlowe was playing in a certain western town, two
young swells who admired her very much decided to see her
"Ingomar." Their purses wero rather slim that month, so they
agreed to sit in the gallery. Now every one knows that the fair
Julia does not attract a gallery audienco and the young men soon
discovered that they wero the solo possessors of that part of the
house. When in a few moments Julia came in and started off with
this lino, "O ye gods!" the fellows were quite equal to grasping
tho situation and simultaneously rose and placing their hands on
their hearts in mock acknowledgment bowed low and resumed their
seats.
The soda warter and effervescent water manufacturers of tho coun
try have formed a trust. Fortunately for the "brownies" and their
mates, ice cream will probably not bo raised in price next summer,
the ice supply being more than ample.
Tho following pithy comment from tho bright and brainy editor
of the Chadron Signal is bristling with burning truth: "A legal
notice to J. D. Calhoun in tho Alliance Times of last week stirs a
good many recollections in tho heart of the writer. It is a tax fore
closure notice on lot 11 block 10 by banker R. M. Hampton and the
gist of it is that it bars one J. D. Calhoun from any interest or
equity in said parcel of ground. J. D. Calhoun, bo it known, O
youthful politician, was a democratic editor a real, genuine demo
crat. Ho had a wit as keen and sparkling as the crystal headwaters
of White river, he had an industry that lasted eighteen hours a day,
seven days in the week, ho had a heart that throbbed with tho lovo
of common humanity and a soul that hated shams as an eagle hates
the buzzard that flies in its wake. For twenty-five years this J. D.
Calhoun fought the battles of democracy in Nebraska. Scarcely a
democratic office holder in the state that was not beholden to him
for sturdy blows in his behalf. At last the time came when as some
slight recognition of his fidelity, ability and toil for a quarter of a
century Calhoun asked for the postotlice in his town. He had tho
enthusiastic endorsement of the leading democrats and the hearty
good will of three-fourths of tho people irrespective of party. But
alas! for Calhoun. He wouldn't swear that yellow was white. He
refused to worship the golden calf. He was not courtier enough to
stand by like tho retainers of King Canute and tell the power on tho
throne that even tho waves would obey hiB command. In other
words he refused to concede the absolute inspiration of Grover
Cleveland and J. Sterling Morton in economic doctrines and ho was
cast into outer darkness and now toils for a weekly stipend in a
newspaper office in Florida while his unlucky numbered lot 13 in
Alliance goes to tax fori closure. Think on these things, Samuel,
and if thou seekest office prepare to swear that the great horn spoon
is made of brass if tho master says so for so shalt thou prosper."
Mrs. Bourke Cochran, who died in New York the other day, was a
very brilliant woman and exercised a strong influence over her hus
band from tho time sho was his school teacher. It was she who
first stimulated Mr. Cockran's ambition in a political direction. For
some years Mrs. Cockran was a sufferer from consumption, but like
a great many eastern people was contcut to try the climate cure o"
the hopeless places in the vicinity of New York. Tho Cockrans
had made their plans to go to Europo in the quest of health. But
the end came to soon. It seems deplorable that the time that was
wasted in tho eastern and southern mountains was not put in in
New Mexico or Northern Texas, where the air counts for some
thing in cousumption.
One of tho latest of the great Hermann's tricks was exploited
before a small and not overly select audienco during his last enaage
in Washington. The great magician one morning went down co the
market. Washington has one of tho largest and finest market
houses in tho world, and one of its most dicturesqu features is the
row of comfortable negro mammies, with baskets of eggs and vege
tables, sitting outside the building, laughing, '-hatting and smoking.
Tho sleight-of-hand expert, who had a friend with him. sauntered
up to one inky black old market-woman with a pipe in her mouth
and a beautiful array of fresh eggs before her. He looked at them
and asked the price.
"Tuenty-threc cents, honey," answered mammy, "an" deso heah is
fust rate aigs de hen ain' hardly done cluckin' ober 'em yit.'"
"I should think so," said he, and, as he picked up one and crack
ed it, out came a quarter." .
Mammy's jaw dropped, and the pipe with it.
"And this one and this one seems pretty good," carelessly re
marked tho man, cracking two more, out of which "30cent piecc3
tumbled.
He cracked half-a-dozen in all, end mammy's store of silver was
increased every time. As he walked off, followed by a dozen pairs
of beady black eyes with nothing but she whites showing, some
body came up and asked the awestruck old market-woman the
price of her eggs.
"Dese aigs ain' fur sale,"' she answered, and gathered them ud
and waddled ofi in the direction of home.