Daily Wabash Express, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 9 September 1888 — Page 3

He held her hand closely, and tried to draw her to him but she resisted passionately. "Do not!" she cried. "Ah, let mo go! 11 is such pain to see you, such hnmiliation! If you only understood, you would not. try to keep me."

It is betause I understand that I do keep you. Marvel, is your own grief the only thing that touches you? Am I nothing? Can I not foel too?"

She shrunk from him. "Do you think I don't know it?" she najd. "Had as it is for me, how far, far wore it must be for you! And now it is hopeless! Oh, if at that time on the yacht when I found out that you loved her if I had only had the courage to drown myself thon, how well it would have been! Hut even now cannot I haven't tho strength of mind -I am afraid and afterward that would be so terrible!" "What aro you saying?" cried he, angrily. "Are you out of your mind that you say such wicked things? Good heavens, what a fool a child like you can be! And this groat misfortune of yours, what does it come to? Why, nothing! Things are very much as they were a week ago we anticipated always what we know now and, for my part, I care not one jot." "1h that trueb" Her melancholy eyes sought his, and seemed to burn into them. "Do not lie to me!" she said. "My dear girl," said Wriothesley, with very great tenderness, "why should I do that? I have lied to no man ever—why should I lie to you? The fact is, you have dwelt so long in the unhealthy atmosphere of that sick room that, you are growing morbid. (live jourself some relaxation. You want air aud the warm sunshine to give a wholesomo color to your thoughtH." "That sounds so easy!" she said, with a little mournful smile. ou do not understand -howcould you? ou would help me, I know"— with a swift, warm glance at him "do it, then. Forgot me cea.se to lot the remombrance of me trouble you blot me out of your life in so far as you can." "I shall not do that, certainly," said tie, cheerfully. "You are part of my life, aud as such 1 shall hold you. Wo aro bound to each other, you and 1, by all the laws of man and (iod and 1 shall not be the one to sever the link. You distrust., you spurn me but will wait. Time, 1 believe, will help me." "Time! Ah, that is what 1 foar," said she, with a shudder, "the long, lougloveless years before me! And I am so young, so terribly young! All my life lies before me, ond in that there is no hope none. I eath comes to tho happy, tho well-beloved—it will not come to me!" "N'ou are well-beloved if you would only know it," Ik* said, with emotion. "YOB! There is Cicely, aud she paused.

The vision of Savage rose up before him as he had last seen him- a man impassioned, half desperate with a love he hardly dared reveal. "You stili think of him," ho said, coldly. "I think always of the very few who really love me. Are you angry about that?"- simply. ''Do not be 1 felt no love for him "ever!" It was impossible to disbelieve her. She turned to him feverishly. I have forgotten him—all--everything," she said, impetuously.

There is but. one thing that I dream of day and night I cannot sleep, I cannot eat because of it. Oh"—with a passion of despair "1 cannot bear it!" "Hear what?" asked he, made anxious by her manner.

She paused, aud then came nearer to him on tiptoe, as though fearing she might, be heard. "That, she should be my mother!" she said at last, in a panting whisper. "She, of all other! Oh, it is horrible that she should be my mother so! It is killing me! If I could only wake up and tind it all a hideous nightmare if 1 could blot out all those past terrible days, and feel again the blessed uncertainty about my history that I once so madly fought against how happy I should deem myself! Hut I cannot!" with a burst of misery. "It is all true, true, true!" "Marvel, have courage! Even if it be so "Always, it seems to me, I felt I knew it, but only as a child might who oould not reason". Oh, to bo dead!" said she, in a little cold way that frightened him. "I tell you," said he, angrily, "that you stay too long in that close sickroom. It depresses you, and, with all the other ills you have to bear, is more than you have si length for. If I could, 1 would forbid you to enter that woman's room again "but, (hough 1 am your husband. 1 kuow you will not. submit to me in even the smallest matter, still, for the sake of old times "Don't" -she put up her hands to her head and push«d back her hair in a little distracted fashion—"don't sieak like that! If I could only undo my wretched marriage, if I could only feel once more that \ou were not bound to me, that you were not my husband!" 1 le bit his lip, and a frown settled on his brow with gloomy eyes he regarded her. "You may not think it," he said at last, "but pardon me for saying it you are uncommonly rude." "I am not, aud you know it. I am only miserable," protested she, great tears standing in her eyes. "You make ."yourself so. This -this unfortunate story that was so remorselessly made known to you is a secret tetweeu me ami you. Why should it not

MARVEL.

BY THK "DUCHESS."

CHAPTER XLI.

It was tho first time Wriothesley and his wife hail been face to face en tete atete since the miserable hour when she had been declared that moat mournful of all things, basely born. The hot blood mounted to her cheeks, and she stepped back quickly, as though she would have retreated into the doorway behind her. Hut. he caught her hand and held her fast. "What is the meaning of it?" he said, "Why do you avoid me like this? There is a great deal of folly in it all, is there not?"

remain so? You have not told Cicely?" His gaze was anxious as he asked her this, and she saw it, and told herself he feared the world's comments on the. woman who bore his name—on the luckless creature whose history, if once known, would bring down upon her the scorn and contempt of all those among whom she now moved as a young and radiant queen. The thought was agony to her. "Do not fear I have told no one," she said, coldly and then, holding out her hand to him: "Good night." lie bent over it and kissed it. "You will not promise me, then, to go to your own room to-night—to cease for a few hours from your attendance in that enervating atmosphere?" "I cannot. My duty lies there, she said coldly still.

He watched her as 6he moved away from him up the lighted corridor. The step that once was light an buoyant as a young fawn's was now slow and spiritless her head had taken a little dejected bend. She went heaviiy, as one oppressed with a grief that knew no assuagement. She puzzled him almost as much as she distressed him. What if there was yet another and a worse sorrow gnawing at her heart? If it were only the misfortune of her birth, he thought, he should be able to comfort and sustain her. What if she did in reality lament her marriage with him, not because of the shame attached to her and that prompted her to fly from all men and bury her face out of sight, but because she was remembering the words and looks of another—of Savage? He drew a sharp breath aud threw up his head as this suspicion crossed his mind. Then he Hung it from him with a passionate denial of the truth of it, and turned and went away.

Meantime Marvel, sitting by the sickbed, was wearily recalling the anxious look upon his face and torturing herself with the belief that already the horror, the fear of discovery had entered into him—already he was beginning to learn that his life was spoiled, and that lesson once learned, with what regard would he look on her, tho despoiler? And yet in all these thoughts she wronged him. The anxiety he had felt and shown had been for her alone. Naturally enough, there were moments when his pride shrunk from tije cruel fact that his wife —she who had taken a place beside all the great and stainlets names that had made up the leugthy roll of his ancestry should stand beneath a shameful cloud but all his sympathy, his love was with her, and it was to shield her from cruel comment, from the bitter stings and wounds of tho world, that he had enjoined on her the necessity for scerecy.

All through the lonely silent watches of the night she sat there brooding beside the half-dead woman, ministering to her now and then, but always with her mind imbittered, despairing. Once or twice the nurse expostulated with her, entreating her even to lie down upon the couch rt the end of theroctoi but Marvel had rousod, and sat there speechless, wakeful, with pale, set face and haggard eyes.

Now and then a moan came from the bed, and then she would rise and bend over the sick woman, aud with gentle arms raise her, pressing tho pillows into such shape as seemed best to Buit her. Very seldom as she did this did she glance at her, some strange repulsion preventing her but once or twice, when compelled to look, she mot the strange piercing eyes of Mrs. Scarlett fixed on her. "Is there anything you want?" she would say then, kindly if coldly and the answer was always the same—"notlv ing."

Yet, if Marvel stirred from the bedside, she would instantly grow restless, and the moans grow louder, and the poor, tired head would move cesaselessly from side to side with a terrible impatience, and the face change from a death-like calm to a miserable frightfulness—a face still, in spite of the anguish and the strange sleeplessness that not all the doctors' skill could combat. Great hollows now lay beneath the wonderful eyes, the lovely, cruel lips were bloodless, the soft, "luxuriant hair was gone but the beauty that had lurred many men could not even by those means be altogether killed, and the wreck that lay upon the pillows—silent, motionless— was yet a beautiful one.

At last the day broke. Marvel stood up and drew aside the curtains, and gazed out upon the slow, unwilling dawning of this wild March morning. She opened the window softly aud leaned out from the south there came to her refreshing breeze, a breath from the sweetly smelling wind-blown fields. Tt was a heavenly breath, and she sighed deeply, as if to drink it in. Her sad heart was comforted by it for tho moment, and her dreamy, sensitive nature revived beneath its influence.

The spring—"tho winter's overthrow" —was slowly but surely "coming up this way," and there was a sense of life— young, fresh, vigorous—in all the air. Yet, even as she drew in the sweet, refreshing draught, grief lay in her heart she could not shake it from her. The humiliation, the sense of being not as others are, weighed her down. Of all lives it seemed to her that hers was the the saddest.

A slight sound from the bed startled her. She closed the window swiftly but noiselessly, and went back to her post. She leaned over the invalid, and raised her head as usual, shaking up the pillows and then laying her tenderly down on them. But when, having done this, she would have gone agaiu, Mrs. Scarlett caught her gown and by a feeble hand detained her. "What is it?" said Marvel, compelling herself to look at her, though a strong shudder shook her as she did so. She might be—nay, she was—her mother, but it was too late for love of any kind to blossom foy her in her breast. "Can I do anything for you?"' "Nearer!" breathed the sick woman, faintly.

Marvel beut over her until her face almost touched hers. "There is something I must say to you." The words came faintly, with a terrible effort, from between the pale, parched lips. "When you are stronger—better," urged Marvel, who shrunk with a sick loathing from tho thought of discussion of any kind—of confidences or regrets, or sick-bed repentence about the terrible story that had ruined her life. "No there is no time. I must speak now or never. Nearer—nearer still! I want to tell you"—raising her eyes, which burned like living coals in her wan face, to Marvel's —"that I lied to you. There was a marriage! lied about it to revenge myself upon him, Wriothesley. Hut now, with death staring me in the face, L—I haven't tho cour­

age to—yes, we were married secretly, but surely. There is no doubt She broke off exhausted. "Ib this the truth?" asked Marvel. Her face had grown colorless, her voice waa cold and stern she did not believe this last statement, she knew that she did not dare believe it. Were she to do bo, only to find herself deceived, she felt that it would kill her. No, there was no truth in it: Such joy, such an almost terrible relief could not be for her. "The truth—yes. Will you not believe? Why should I soy this now?" "The proofs!" said Marvel, in a strange, frozen tone. She would compel her to end this cruel farce.

The feeole hands made a movement toward her pillows, "Underneath," she whispered, faintly and Marvel, always as if in a dream, passed her hand under the pillows and drew out a tiny bunch of keys. In one of her calmer moments Mrs. Scarlett had asked for them, and had placed them herself beneath her head now she had not strength to draw them out again. "My dressing case," she said, pointing out one of the keys—" the second tray."

Marvel crossed the room mechanically opened the dressing case, and lifted the tray she had named. Some papers folded in it met her eyes she took them out and approached the bod. Her heart was beating now to suffocation. "Open—read!" said the dying woman. "It is my marriage certificate, and the certificate of your birth. Keep them if I have injured you living, you will remember when I am gone that I served you dying. Go—take them to him."

Marvel had fallen on her knees beside the bed. She was trembling violently when presently a cold, beautiful hand stole toward her and touched her. She caught it and drew it beneath her bent head, and pressed her lips to it in a passion of gratitude. She felt faint, uncertain, frightened bnt above and through ail 6he was conscious of a great and glorious freedom, a breaking of the vile bond^ that had chained her to the earth and turned the very light of day into a sullen gloom. To go to him—to tell him—that was her first thought. Through the tumult of her conflicting emotions the slow, broken voice came to her as if it were the touch of sorrow that ever accompanies our joy. "You said it once—that strange word to me. It killed me, I think. Yet I would hear it again."

She spoke with difliculty and very indistinctly, but Marvel understood. "Mother!" she whispered and pressed the hand she held, and, stooping forward, kissed the pale mouth."

She felt that the kiss was returned, and could see that an expression of rest, of peace fell on the beautiful face. She rose to her feet and bent more closely over her. Mrs. Scarlett had evidently sunk into a calm sleep, worn out, as Marvel thought, by tho excitement of the moment. She summoned the nurse hurriedly. "Is she sleeping? Will it be safe to leave her for a little while?" she asked, eagerly. "If you think she will wake spon, I would rather stay but, if not

She paused for an answer. The woman was looking at the senseless face she knew the dread sign that lay upon it—the last seal of all. "She will not wake soon, my lady you may safely leave her for awhile," she said, knowing that her patient would never wake again from the exhausted swoon into which she had fallen but she had been given strict orders by Wriothesley and the doctors to get Lady Wriothesley out of the way by any means in her power befoie the last dread summons came, and she was glad of this chance that came to her. "Call me if you see any change," said Marvel, lingering still, though in mad haste to be gone. She had the papers clasped to her bosom, and, with one last glance at the sleeping face, she left the room, and sped down the corridor to Wriothesley's apartments.

It was still very early, and only a few of the servants were moving here and there through the halls and passages. As she reached her husband's room she tapped impatiently, hurriedly, upon the panel of the door. "Who is there?" he cried, in a rather sleepy tone. "It is I—Marvel!" she said. She could have cried aloud to him, but she compelled hersalf to a calmness that almost hurt her. "You!"

His voice sounded startled, and she could hear how he sprung out of his bed. The minutes that followed seemed to her like so many interminable hours. "Oh, hurry, hurry!" she cried. "IIow long—how terribly long you are!"

He flung open the door at last, and looked at her anxiously. She was so white and was trembling so much that he went to her and placed his arm round her. "She is dead?" he said, thinking, fearing that she had witnessed her mother's death. "Oh, no, no! It is not that. Let me in, and I will tell you all," she said.

He drew her into the room and closed the door. With hands that shook she held out to him her precious papers. "Oh, read—read!" she cried. Oh, Fulke, after all, she was married! I am not such a disgrace to you—she was really married."

She broke down then, overcome by the nervous excitement of the past half hour, and, Binking into an arm-chair, burst into a passion of tears. "My dear child, what is it—what has happened?" said he, apprehensively. "Don't mind me," she sobbed. "Mind nothing but that"—pointing to the papers "and read, read, read! Oh, I am so happy!" "Gh, are you?" he said, a little lamely then, as though giving up the situation, he let her cry on contentedly, and addressed himseif to an examination of the papers she had given him. His color changed as he read them. "Thank Heaven for her!" was his first thought. As ho saw her vehement abandonment to her relief and joy he realized more thoroughly than he had ever done before the overwhelming despair that had been hers"Thank God, my dear!" he said, simply but earnestly. He bent over her and gravely kissed her cheek. "I thought it must be some great misfortune that had driven you to me I am glad to know you would come to me in your joy too." "I was not so much that," she said, flushing faintly, "as the knowledge that it was due to you to let you hear at once that the disgrace you—you felt so heavily was no longer yours."

Some soft reproach in the tone betrayed her meaning to him. "Did you think that it was myself I yitied?" he said—"that I did not feel for you far more deeply than I did for any annoyance it could cause me. Why, what a selfish fellow you must think me! Perhaps"—with a regretful remembrance of all those months in which he had virtually deserted her—"you have had reason. However, I shall not scold you to-day"—smiling—"you are too happy to heed me."

She laughed in return he was dressed

THE TERRE HAUTE EXPRESS, SUNDAY MORNING, SEPTEMBER 9, 1888.

only in his shirt and trousers, but he was looking very handsome, she thought, and very friendly. She accepted the hour as it was, though she had small dependence on the constancy of it and, besides, how could she look on anything save with rose-hued glasses with all this wealth of new-born gladness in her heart? "If I had known you were coming," said be, looking around at the rather disorderly room, "I should have furbished up my belongings a bit, and put my best foot foremost, but as it is "Well, certainly you are untidy!" said she, with a pretty air of contempt, giving a glance here and there to where books and papers lay upon the floor, and to where, on a distant table, a box of cigars were strewn about. "You want some one here to look after you more than anybody I know." "Well, that's what I think," agreed he, cordially.

He caught he hand and drew her toward him a little soft blush rose and dyed her cheek.

At that moment there came a sharp, hurried knocking at the door. Wriothesley opened it, and one of Marvel's women, not seeing her, came in quickly and spoke to him, "The nurse bid me come to you, my lord. Mrs. Scarlett is dead—it was quite sudden."

Wriothesley was too late in putting up a warning hand—Marvel had heard. A low, gasping cry broke from her and, overcome by the long, painful vigil of the night gone by and all tho conflicting emotions that hud followed so hard upon it, she sunk back in a dqad faint upon the ottoman behind her. be on in in he S a E re

IIOW (US IS MADE.

A Very Simple I'rocess Which Few Can Explain. How few people can intelligibly explain 6ome of the most ordinary things in everyday life! An ofiici.il of the city gas works was heard to say not long ago, says the St. Paul Dispatch, that if lie might judge by the number of times he was asked for information not more than two people in ten knew how common illuminating gas is made. They all seem to understand, he said, that it comes out of soft coal, but they are ignorant of the process by which it is extracted. We do not doubt this at all, for, as we have said to you several times, it is the very common things that are' apt to overlook in our search for information. You will understand, therefore, why we select subjects to talk about with which you and everybody else ought to be familiar.

Now, let us give you a very simple explanation of gas making. Break up a piece of bittuminous coal into^small fragments and fill the bowl of a clay tobacco pipe with them. Cover the mouth of the bowl with wet clay and then thoroughly dry it. Put the bowl of the pipe into afire where it will get red hot and you will soon see a yellowish smoke come out of the stem, and if you touch a match to the smoke it will burn brightly, for it is DothiDg more nor less that the gas from the coal.

You can purify and collect this-gas in a very simple way. Fill a bottle with water and turn it upside down in a bowl of water. You know the water will not run out of the bottle because the air pressure on the water in the bowl will prevent it. Put the end of the pipe stem under the mouth of the bottle and the gas will bubble up through the water into the bottle, gradually displacing the water, and if the pipe were large enough to make a great deal of gas, the bottle would be entirely filled with it.

You have seen the immense quantities of coke which they have at the gas works? That is what is left of the coal after the gas has been burned out of it. Coke is carbon, only a small part of what was in the boal having gone off with the gas. Take the clay covering off your pipe and you will find the bowl filled with this coke.

Now that is precisely the way gas is made in large quantities at the gas works. Instead of using pipe bowls they use big retorts. Heating coal red hot in a closed retort is very different from burning it in the open air. A large pipe from the retort carries off the product of the coal, consisting of steam, tar, air, and ammonia, as well as gas. The ammonia and tar go into tanks and the gas into colers, and then over lime which takes up the acids in it, into the immense iron gas-holders which you have seen at the works.

Those holders are open at the bottom, and stand, or rather swing, in tanks of water, being adjusted by means of weights. As the gas comes into them they rise up out of the water, but the bottoms are always submerged, bo that the gas cannot escape. The large gas pipes, or mains, as they are called, connect with the holders and conduct the gas through the streets to the houses where it is used. The pressure is given to the gas by the weight of the iron holders, which are always bearing down on the gas they contain.

An American Woman to Marry a Duke. One of the latest marriages announced from the other side of the Atlantic as soon to take place is that of Miss Schenck to the duke of Villarsblancos. All the cable dispatches state that the lady is the niece of the Hon. Robert C. Schanck, the one-time famous congressman and former minister to England. No one could gather from all that is said of the future bride by the European correspondents that she is the daughter of that famous patent medicine vender who has been decorating the rocks, dead walls and fences of Philadelphia and its surroundings for twentyfive years past with announcements of the great virtues concealed in his pulmonic sirup. Yet she is old Dr. Schnck's daughter. The noble Spaniard himself has been a well-known and impecunious member Parisian society for twenty years and a fortune-nunter of the boldest type. He was announced a year or two ago as engaged to the daughter of a wealthy New York judge, but the girl came home last winter and married a talented young lawyer who had nothing but his manliness and business energy to recommend him.—[New ork Graphic.

His First I'ostago-Slamps.

Mr. Varner Hurt dropped in at the postoflice in Cumming, Ga., the other day and bought 10 cents' worth of post-age-stamps. He told the postmaster that it was the first purchase of the sort he had ever made, and that in all his life— he is over 70 now—he had never written or received a letter. "He is a man of considerable property," notes the astonished reporter.—[Augusta (Ga.) Chronicle.

Portable Cooking Stoves.

The French government is said to have ordered 20,000 portable cooking stoves for camp use in the army. The inventer on a test served up a dinner of three courses, for thirty persons, at a cost of heatiDg and cooking of less than 4 cents. He uses steam as a basis of hiB heat.

IKONY OF FATEFI VENGEANCE

A Strange Sequel to a WeilKnown Detective Story.

SOMETHING OF THE LIFE OF SECRET SERVICE AGENT BROOKS.

The Vengeance That Overtook the Men Who Attempted to Assassinate Him.

[Copyrighted.]

Special Correspondence of the Express. Nkw York, September 5.—The resignation of Alfred L. Drummond, of the United States treasury secret service, from the office in this city, and his transfer to the office at Boston, takes away from New York one of the most capable, fearless officials ever engaged in that branch of the government service. His successor is John P. Brooks, only brother of James J. Brooks, the former chief of the bureau in Washington, and a faithful conscientious officer. The liking for the same profession or occupation appears to be characteristic with some families, and all the Brooks' seem to have a liking, and a peculiar fitness, for detective work. The thrilling experiences of James J. Brooks, his miraculous escape from death, and the remarkable retribution that overtook his would-be assassins reads like a carefullyprepared romance, and would be regarded as such did there not exist the most indisputable evidence of the entire truth of the strange story.

Among the older readers of this letter there are doubtless many who vividly remember the bitter opposition that met the imposition of the two-dollar-a-gallon whisky tax just after the close of the war. The law was enacted in 1S6G, 1 think but it was fully a year before the rigor of its enforcement began to be felt. As a gallon of whisky could be manufactured for twenty-five or thirty cents, the temptation to avoid the payment of the tax and make that much additional profit was great, and the subterfuges that were resorted to by "crooked" distillers were as numerous as they were ingenious. It was a common saying at the time that every teapot in the outlying district of Harlem was an illicit still. A government officer was looked upon with the same hatred and execration as an evicting constable in Ireland at the present time. Men who had been presumably honest in all their dealings before, did not hesitate to exercise all their mother wit and ingenuity to cheat the government of its due whenever the opportunity presented. An internal revenue inspector was regarded as the deadly enemy of all engaged in the business—a miserable creature, a spy, and, while still a human being, not entitled to as much consideration as rabid dog. There was a great deal of illicit distilling carried on in this city and in Brooklyn but the hot-bed of the business appeared for a time to be in Philadelphia, with New York as the center of direction. You can imagine that for one man to cope single-handed with this extensive and intricate fraud was neither an easy nor a pleasing task. But James J. Brooks undertook to do it, and did it so well that a price was put upon his head, and murderers were employed and paid to silence him with the dirk, the revolver or any other instrumentality that would verify the piratical axiom that "dead men tell no tales."

Twenty years have passed since this atrocious act was attempted. The direct participants have long since passed to their account. Their deaths were violent and in full keeping with the desperate lives they led, and the desperate chanceB they took. Three of the men who hired these low-browed wretches to do a man to death are still living. One of them is in New York, surrounded by an interesting and lovable family, none of whom has the slightest idea that the husband and father—the exemplary citizen—had ever conspired cooly and deliberately to commit murder. Another is in Philadelphia—a politician, a man of "influence," and very generally regarded by his neighbors and associates as a prince of good fellows, and a manly man. The third is in California. His conscience has kept him on the go for years. He is white-haired and prematurely old, and although the providence of God prevented the successful consummation of his murderous design, he nevertheless is haunted bay' and night by the ghost of what might have been.

When Detective Brooks was assigned bo go to Philadelphia and break up the illicit distilling in that city, he hadno idea of what a dangerous piece of work he had undertaken. He found a regular organized "whisky ring," whose sole aim and object was to evade the payment of the tax, devise ways and means for harrassing government officials, and to provide a fund for the defense of any of its members, who might get into trouble through their exertions as members of the organization. Money was plentiful. Powerful politicians were' obliged to take a secret part in all the schemes of the ring, on pain of having their ambition for power curtailed in case of refusal and the combination was so well backed in every direction, that the prospect of successfully seizing the illicit still and capturing the revenue defrauders was well nigh hopeless. Brooks, however was not easily discouraged. He went to work with a will. In a few weeks the whisky ring had been worked up to a high pitch of rage and excitement. The detective worried them to such an extent that even all the political influence and all the money possessed by the gang could not drive him off. Stills in out-of-the-way placeB were discovered and broken up. Gaugers who were disposed to wink at irregularities were removed and their places taken by honest men. The illicit traffic had never before.been so harrassed. Other detectives had been eitner cajoled or threatened, but this man Brooke appeared to be proof against threats or briDes. He mus be gotten rid of in some way or other, and with that end in view a conference was held in August, 18G9, in a Nassau street saloon, between three distillers and a Philadelphia politician. Tne unanimous conclusion, after several hours' consultation, was that the best and surest way to be relieved of Detective Brook's espionage would be to

kill him, and for the purpose of having him effectually

Bilenced

a fund of sev­

eral hundred dollars was subscribed to pay tho assassins.

Living in the Quaker City at that time was a quartette of as cold-blooded villians as ever cut a throat or scuttled a ship. Their names were Hugh Moraow, Neil McLaughlin, James Daugherty and James Kane. They were leading spirits in "gangs" in different parts of the city, and as they were valuable aids to the corrupt politicians on election day, they were tolerably well known in the illicit distiller's district. McLaughlin, Morrow and Dougherty were selected to do the work. Kane occupied a sort of advisory capacity. It was he who counseled the use of the revolver instead of the knife, although the latter was a favorite weapon with him. Mr. Brooks at that time boarded at the old Merchant's hotel, in Fourth street. He was under constant surveillance, and he could not make a move unless disguised without being "shadowed." The intending murderers were well aware that he was a man of courage, and fully capable of taking care of himself, and twice this reputation saved his life. Dougherty had laid in wait for him with a loaded revolver, but quailed when the supreme moment came. The contributors to the murderer's fund began to get impatient, and demanded that the contract be fulfilled without further delay, and the three rascals at last nerved themselves up to the proper pitch.

On September 0,18G9, Mr. Brooks had occasion to call at a wholesale whisky house on Front Btreet., near Arch, down near the Delaware river. He was followed by a hack which was occupied by Dougherty, Morrow and Kane. Neil McLaughlin was the driver. The hack stopped within fifty yards of the store where Brooks had entered. The driver held his place on the box, and the murderers alighted. Dougherty had a blackjack, Morrow a revolver and Kane a poignard. They walked quickly to the spot where the intended victim was standing examining a book at a high desk. Morrow came within three feet of him, presented the pistol, and fired. The bullet lodged in the detective's lungs instead of his heart as was intended. At the same instant Dougherty threw his blackjack with great force. It struck Brooks on the head, and he fell to the floor, the blood gushing from his nose and mouth.

The murderers made for the hack and scrambled into it, just as the wounded officer staggered to his feet and attempted to draw his own weapon. McLaughlin whipped up his horses, and, cowering to his seat, drove off like mad. When the news of the attempted assassination became known the excitement was intense. Before nightfall the mayor of Philadelphia had offered a reward of SI,090 for the apprehension of the assassins. Followingthis the next morning was a reward of So,000 offered by the United States government. Commissioner Delano took an extraordinary interest in the case, which had at once ceased to be local, and became of national importance, and every energy was bent towards capturing the the murderous agents of the whisky ring. After a wearisome search an important witness named Tom Hughes, was discovered. He was a hackman, and had some talk with McLaughlin. The agents of the ring discovered this, and an attempt was made to put Hughes out of the way but he escaped, and to thwart any further attempts upon his life, it was actually necessary for him to conceal himself. An additional reward of five hundred dollars was offered by the city of Philadelphia, and this increased stimulus brought favorable results.

Just a month after the shooting Dougherty, McLaughlin, and Morrow were captured in a saloon on Amity street, by Inspector Waller, and sent to Philadelphia for trial. They were convicted, and Morrow afterwards made a confession in which he stated that he was to have received S200 for his part in the plot, but that he only received S5. The sentenced imposed was six years, the maximum penalty but at the end of two years Morrow and Dougherty were pardoned. Morrow afterwards attempted to assassinate "Squire" McMullen, shooting him in the stomach. For this he was given a sentence of six years, which he served. Why Kane escaped has always been a mystery. It was well known that he was one of the most desperate of the gang. Fear was absolutely unknown to him, and a naturally cruel nature, and an ability to stand great physical pain, made him one of the most feared of this congregation of cutthroats.

Mark the strange and sad sequel to all this carnival of crime. Poor Tom Hughes, who was instrumental in bringing these wretches to justice, dropped dead while on hiB way to claim the reward for his services. Ned McLaughlin died a miserable death in prison while serving his sentence. Hugh Morrow, or Mara, as he was sometimes known, wag shot during a street brawl shortly after his release from prison, and a naturally robust constitution undermined by the seeds of disease sown by many days and nights of dissipation, broke down. He died of galloping consumption, cursing and blaspheming the men who. hired him to commit crime and then deserted him in his hour of need. Dougherty quarreled one night with Kane in a groggery. Each accused the other of having betrayed the secrets of the whisky ring. They left the saloon together. The next morning Dougherty's dead body was found on an open lot. He had been literally disembowelled. Kane was arrested charged with the crime, tried and convicted. By some remarkable process of legal reasoning he was found guilty of murder in the second degree, and was sentenced to twelve years' imprisonment, which he served. The last time I saw "Jimmy" Kane he was standing on a scaffold in the county prison at Philadelphia with the hangman's noose around his neck. He was about to expiate the unnatural crime of having murdered his own brother, Andrew. The sheriff pulled the bolt, and the last of the agents of the whisky ring had gone to meet his Maker.

The principal instigators of this attempted assassination, and the employers of these men, are, with the exception of the conscience-stricken wanderer I have mentioned, living in ease and comfort to-day. Detective Brooks probably knows their whereabouts.

Vincent S. Cookk.

Polyglot Wisdom.

Italian Proverb: We learn by teaching. French Proverb: Dress slowly when you are in a hurry.

German Proverb: The hasty man was never a traitor. Spanish Proverb: Jest bo that it may not turn to earnest.

Portuguese Proverb: He has a head, and so has a pinDutch Provorb: To do nothing teacheth to do evil.

3

MOSES FRALEYS WIFE.

With Her Beaut?, Diamond*, Dremteg and Dogs Slie Han Set Long Brunch Wild. The Long Branch correspondent of the New York Journal writes as follows of Mrs. Moses Fraley, of St. Louis, and her diamonds, dresses and dogs: "Mrs. Moses Fraley, who has created such a furor in Long Branch with her beauty, her diamonds, her dresses, and her dogs, is just about to go to Saratoga for the rest of the season. During her stay at West End of over four weeks, she changed her toilet five times each day, and did not appear in the same dress twice. She brought forty-eight trunks when she came, and express packages have arrived daily containing new articles of dress. She has five maids, each of whom is an artist in her individual line. One is a hairdresser, and manipulates the golden wash which has so transformed Mrs. Fraley since her last visit to Long Branch. This same maid creates the wonderful coiffures which have been copied so often since the lady showed how becoming they were. Another looks after Mrs. Fraley's wardrobe, packing away her dresses as soon as they have been once worn, ordering new ones, which she does with the very best judgment, as she was once a lady of wealth. It is said that Mrs. Fraley is very kind to this particular one of her attendants, and that she pays her a high salary. A third maid keeps Mrs. Fraley's boots and shoes in order, which is no small task, as she has over 200 pairs. Some of her slippers are works of art, one pair made of the finest white satin are embroidered with real pearls, and a pair of pink satin ones have butterflies embroidered on them which are thickly studded with precious stones in all colors. The maid who dresses Mrs. Fraley is a French girl, one of the most tasteful of her class and quite devoted to the task of making her beautiful mistress as charming as possible. Tho fifth maid has charge of the dogs, which is no small matter, as there are six of them, and their mistress is very fond of them and insists that they shall be kept in perfect order. 'The most beloved of these pets is the King Charles spaniel Favorita, for which Mr. Fraley paid the fabulous price of Sl,m She is certainly a beautiful little dog, and lives as if she really wore one of the royal family. Her couch is an upholstered chair, over which is thrown an elegant plush robe. Around her neck is a solid gold collar with her name set in diamonds upon it, while a row of small gold bells attached to the collar makes mellow music as she goes about. "Next in importance is the English pug Bijou, who wears a gay harness which is profusely hung with silver bellp. "There is a silvery Skye terrior, which is quite as silky and quite as idiotic as most of its kind, a tiny terrier that is as full of mischief as a monkey and knows more tricks than a circus pony a little white bulldog possessing the crooked lege, sharp teeth and amiable temper which is the birthright of every well regulated bulldog and last, but by no means least, is a curly brown water spaniel who does everything except talk. "Mrs. Fraley showed her dogs to the correspondent with tho greatest prido, caressing them each in turn and dealing out the sweetest possible puppy talk. Mrs. Fraley herself is a remarkably wellpreserved and handsome woman. Originally she was a brunette, but she got tired of that style and now she is a dark-eyed blonde. She has very red lips and white, even teeth, which she shows very often. Her figure is simply perfect. She has an arm that would set a sculptor wild and her neck is a dream of beauty. She is very agreeable, not in the least conscious that she is one of the richest women in America. "A newsboy run by the window selling the Long Branch Surf and tho lady exclaimed: 'Do you know I have a lot of sympathy for those little fellows? My husband used to be a newsboy in Baltimore. He used to be a regular little wharf-rat, and half the time he had no place to sleep. He was a hustler, though, and kept working up. lie made every bit of his money himself, and I'm proud of him because he did it.' "You must have been brought up quite differently from your husband?" suggested the reporter. 'Well, I don't know,' she said with a laugh 'my people were very poor. When I was 15 I went out as a nurse-girl. 1 liked it, too, and I think I was as happy then as I ever was in my life.' 'Where did you meet your husband?" asked the reporter "'He came to St. Louis, where I lived, to clerk in a store. I got acquainted with him over the counter, lie was only a clerk when I married him, on a salary of §12 a week, but we lived nicely on that, and he was very lucky. Everything he took hold of prospered, until now we have everything we want.' "'IIow much is your husband's business valued at?' 'Oh, I cannot tell,' said the lady—'a good many millions. We have enough, so that we have everything we wish for and can help others besides.'"

The reporter was curious to know where all the dresses went to that wero cast off. Mrs. Fraley said that they were divided up among her relatives and friends who are not so well-to do as herself.

She kindly showed tho representative her rare laces. A finer private collection cannot be found, and they are really almost priceless.

Mrs. Fraley has over seventy sets of jewels, which aggregate a value of nearly SI,000,000.

New Idea in Table Covers.

English dinner givers are substituting cloths of more costly material for the plain white damask. Tho Court Journal announces that Mrs. Nay lor-Ley land had a green velvet cloth at her last dinner party, with wreathes of Alpine |K)ppies, and the same flowers placed in glasseB. Mrs. Dennistoun, of Golfhill, had a white satin cloth on which were placed large Backs of white satin tied with silver cords, from which a wealth of white flowers seemed to be tumbling out. Black roses mixed with pink and yellow ones, and yellow iris with tall grasses are also much used for table docoration.

The Pope's llualth.

The correspondent of tho TndependBeige, at Home, writes that the state of Leo XIII's health iB far from satisfactory, but that his real condition is carefully kept from the public. He is in a painfully nervous state, and is constantly pursued by a morbid fear of death, the slightest ailment assuming in his excited imagination the form of a serious disorder.

Anything lint That.

Woman (to tramp)—If I give you a nice dinner will you help me put up some patent-sel-frolling window curtains?

Tramp—No, ma'am. I'll saw wood, carry in coal or dig post holes, but I wouldn't help a woman on window curtains if she gave me a Delmonico spread. —|New York Sun.