Illicit

On the north side of Atlantic City, N. J., fringing the smoke-blackened Pennsylvania railroad yards, row on row of frame houses slouch over the street like ragged standees at a free-lunch counter. In the daytime, almost no one can be seen along that street, but at night the doors of the rickety houses open and the occupants come forth. Their black faces blend adeptly with the night; their bodies are blurred shadows in doorways, or lazy silhouettes revealed where street-corner bars and laundries drip golden honey into the darkness. They seem not to have a wish in the world, these limber shadows, except to idle, waiting for a hypothetical friend to treat them to a phantom beer, or listening to the mutter and shuffle 'of jazz that issues from the garish arcade of the Paradise Cafe.

' Yet what wishes they harbor in their ghostly hearts were revealed last week by the police. They wish for magic powders potent to bring back an erring wife or husband; for herbs that will "Tie Down Goods" (i.e., keep the object of their affections from departing), for "Boss Fix Powders" (roots and simples that will keep an employer in a halcyon mood), for fusions that will win the heart of the most austere maiden. Throaty voices extol in music the virtues of such medicines.

Last week, along these smoked streets, a letter was distributed. It was signed by one D. Alexander, 99 Downing Street, Brooklyn, N. Y., and offered to supply the needs of the wishers at the following rates:

Guffer Dust (No. 1 good) $ 50

Happy Dust 40

Black Cat's Ankle Dust 500

Black Cat's Wishbone 1,000

King Solomon's Marrow 1,000

Easy Life Powder , 100

Tying Down Goods 50

Chasing Away Goods 50

Boss Fix Powders 15

Buzzard Nest 100

Halleluiah! Everyone was joyful. Happy times were coming. King Solomon was coming. The devil was a deadbeat now. Halleluiah ! Sang some :

/ swear to God my man's got a black

cat's bone

I said a black cat's-- / mean bone. I swear to God my man's got a black

cat's bone-- Every time I start to leave I gotta come

back home.

Others:

Just sprinkle, sprinkle, sprinkle Yo' goofer du--hust

And yo' little yellow Nellie with the diamonds on her bosom

Will quit her razz-ma'tazzle, her sneakin' jizzle-jazzle

An' come back to the Daddy that had her fust.

The police confiscated 12,000 of the circulars of voodoo doctor D. Alexander as they were being distributed among the dingy houses by six negro boys. The cache of the abominable illicit medicines which he offered for sale could not, however, be located.