OUR NEW YORK LETTER.

New Zealand Times, Volume LI, Issue 8970, 22 April 1890, Page 3

OUR NEW YORK LETTER.

In an uptown hotel in a small room no*. ov«r provided with comforts, lay a maa considerably past middle life wasted and careworn ; h'u features were t-harp and pinched with suffering, for his struggle with death had been a long one, but at last be had won at heavy coat. He had been handsome, and even now, worn with disease, the oast of his face and the mould of his head, told at once that he was considerably more than a commonplace man. He was an actor ©micent in his day, whose dramatic achievements bad won him high distinction in his profession, and for years he had stood in the front rank, applauded by men anil adored by women, who find on the stage the realizations of their dreams ; dreams born in the prevalent literature of the times ; dreams never to be realized this side of the golden gates Back about two miles from the terminus of the great Brooklyn Bridge, is a quarter known as The Hill. Doctor Talmage’s new church will stand in a part of its most fashionable quarter, but beyond that, a half mile, is a fine avenue lined with stately residences, near which profane trade has never been able to come. Around the mansions are magnificent grounds carefully tended by skilful bands, and even in midwinter when snow and ice are supreme, beautiful orchids and other rare flowenng plants can be seen through the windows of the ample greenhouses, whoso roofs in frosty January are feat oned with great bunches of luscious grapes, such as are found in other climes under a burning sun. Croesus Uvea here, and revels summer and winter in all that gold can buy. But gold nor silver nor precious atones can keep away the messenger of death ; for see, the door knob and the bell of yonder palace are covered with solemn crape ; crape mingled with white, emblems of hope and despair. Enter the palace gate, around on every hand gold has been scattered with a lavish hand. Pictures by the finest masters hang on the Walls; rare bric-a-brac fills every nook and corner ; the tread falls noiselessly on the rich Wiltons that cover the floor, rivalling the exquisite frescos that look down on them from the ceilings above. In the centre of the grand parlour heaped hiyh with flowers la a’ casket, heavily mounted with silver, and in it rests peacefully she who was once the wife of the sick man in the hotel of whom I spoke at the opening of this letter. Agnes Leonard is dead. She was one of Singer’s many daughters. How many history has no accurate record. When the inventor of the sewing machine died, he left many millions to be divided among his five wives and their numerous progeny, and whatever Singer’s faults were, anfi goodness knows the list was a long one, non-provision for his family could not be placed among the number. If he had a large family he took good care of them, and it was said that his daughter Alice was the favourite of them all, Bo that as it may, ho lavished money on her and her mother, and from tke day of her birth to the hour of her death she never knew a want that money could gratify. In her young girlhood she married an old man named Lagrove ; her wedded life was short. She soon separated from her aged husband, and finally drifted to America.

Sbe had been reared on the continent of Europe, most of her early life in Paris. Here, with great wealth and i othing to do, time hang heavy on her hands. The theatre was her great delight and the stage her beau ideal of life. Acting became a craze with her, and at last she formed a company of her own and became a strolling player. Thou* sands of dollars were sunk in the venture, criticisms harsh and blistering failed to discourage her. Mrs Langtry had succeeded, Mary Anderson bad been received by royalty, even Mrs James Brown-Potter, while not a pronounced success, was far from a dismal failure ; and why should she not carve name and fame'wheh so many bad achieved success? In the course of her travels she met the popular actor Frank Bangs and fell desperately in iove with him. At this time Mr Bangs wa> over fifty years and blase; he had been on the stage for many years arid the romance of acting bad all been knocked out of him for a quarter of a century. He had run through the whole list of stage lovers, Claude Melnotte, Romeo, and Armaud Duval in Camille. Love-mak-ing to him was simply a matter of business, into which no more feeling entered than if be had been a wooden Indian. But Agnes Leonard, as she called herself, bad seen him only from the front of the house, and to her he was Romeo, Claude Melnotte, and Armand Duval, all rolled into one. One afternoon about five years ago Mr Bangs and Miss Leonard appeared at the house of the Reverend Henry Ward Beecher and the twain were made one. That afternoon they started for Washington, where she expected to meet all the great lights of the stage, .Sooth, Jefferson, Bill v Florence, Larry Barrett, Janauscheck, Mary Anderson and Modjeski. The goal of her life’s ambition was reached, she had a romantic lover for a husband, and the kings and queens of the stage were to meet and greet her on equal terms. On the way to Washington it was alleged that the newly-made bridegroom paid more attention to his little dog Toby than be did to his bride. In point of fact, Toby had been his constant companion for years, and he would not have parted with him for all the women in the world. Arrived in Washington, there were no great actors there to greet her ; and her husband, instead of a romantic lover, was a blaatj old' man, as cold as an iceberg. Sbe was sick at heart, the hopes, of her life were shattered, her dream was dust and ashes. The next afternoon she took the train for her Brooklyn home, and she never saw her husband after. Divorce proceedings were instituted, to which Mr Bangs made no answer, and Mrs Lagrove; for that was her real name, was released from her mprriago tie. She kept the costly dresses which she had prepared for the stage with all her stage jewels in a large room; they had cost her over a hundred thousand dollars, and were the objects of her adoration to the last. _Sr> ends a stormy and an unhappy life. With all of his kindness the memory of her father was anything but pleasant to her, for there was a stamp of illegitimacy about all of Singer’s later children, and that thought weighed on her like a mountain. But the end came at last, and the hard battle of life is ended. Sbe died at thirty eight worth half a million, leaving an only eon by her first husband, the inheritor of her wealth. , On Tuesday 1 heard that Red Jim McDermott had arrived in town from Kurope, and that consequently there was quite a stir in Fenian circles. The Clan-na-Gael had set a price upon Jim’s head, for he was supposed to be the spy of the English Government, whose evidence sent several good Fenians and Clan-na Gaels to the gallows.

A few years ufter the war Mr McDermott figured as an active politician in the city of Brooklyn, and was remarkable for his hatred of the English Government. The very name of the Sassenach was poison to him, and ho had several plans for blowing up Windsor Palace, the Parliament Houses, and Scotland Yard. Wales and the Queen he was going to finish himself, while ho planned revolts in Ireland, Canada, India and Australia which were sure to rend the British Empire in pieces. He was known as ‘ Red Jim ’ partially on account of his red head, bat more particularly on account of his gory record, for every day he waded np to his boot tops in British blood. Red Jim never worked, but somehow he always appeared to be well fixed for cash.. The expedition to blow up the Parliament Boases was arranged here in Brooklyn ; Red Jim had a band in the pie; a Doctor Gallagher, who resided In Brooklyn, was implicated in tho expedition. Scotland Yard knew all about Doctor Gallagher and his mission before be landed. Tho information was furnished by

Red Jim, and part of it was supposed to be furnished by O’Donovan Rossa, for a cheque of Red Jim’s for fifty dollars was found in Rossa’s possession about that time. Poor Gallagher was gobbled up just after he reached London, and is now serving a penal term in England with a ball and chain attached to his leg, while some of his coadjutors were bung. Shortly after Gallagher’s capture, Tied Jim McDermott was suspected by the Clan-na-Gael. One night I was going up town and as I was passing a low saloon I heard the sharp crack of a pistol, and the flying ball shivered the glass above my head. Being naturally brave, but knowing at the same time that people of my high tone were getting scarce, I dodged Into the first hall way and crawled behind the door. Just then a man rushed out of the saloon bareheaded, pursued by another who kept pn firing ; as he passed the street-lamp opposite the door where I was sheltered, I recognized Red Jim McDermott. Bat New York and Brooklyn grew too hot for him and knew him no more from that day. The Clan-na-Gael was said to have registered an oath to kill him anywhere between sunrise and sunset. For years he was lost to sight and was supposed to be skulking away from his terrible foes somewhere on the South American pampas, or amid the wilds of Australia, or the savages of New Guinea. While all sorts of fairy tales were written about him, he was walking the streets of London and Paris without the shadow of a disguise. Jim married a Countess with money, and has been keeping his vaoht, and living like a gentleman on the fat of the land. So far. no red-handed Fenian, or no murderous Clau-na-Gaeler, has attempted to cut Jim’s wizen. Last week after an absence of five years, he landed in New York, and was seen by several of his friends, without a coroner’s inquest. It may be possible that their ill lack with Cronin in Chicago has made the Clan-na-Gael a little cantious. I shall not be surprised to hear that Red Jim has turned up all right in London or Paris. He has, as many lives as a cat and he has not parted with one of them yet. The Baptist Union dined at Delmonioo’s last week. I confess I was astonished to hear it. The Union as a religious body is pledged to prohibition ; so you may guess my surprise to find them dining in a rum shop, for that is all Delmonico’s is. I admit it is a very high- toned rum shop; whisky (Old Bourbon or Rye 1798) costs yon forty cents for a respectable smell, and brandy a half dollar. I don’t know that any of the Union folks moistened their clay with anything more dangerous than apollinaris, But Satan was in the cellar ; whole boxes and barrels of him. ‘ Lead us not into tempta* tion.’ Not that I drink—oh my no ; it’s somebody else. Broadbrim.