Evening Star Newspaper, January 3, 1891, Page 7

WASHINGTON, D.C, SATURDAY, JANUARY 3, 1891-SIXTEEN PAGES. * SHE LIVED LONG AGO. ONE OF THE CHILDREN WHO HAVE MADE STORIES. WRITTEN FOR THE EVENING STAR BY FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT. WOULD be very difficult to tell anything at all definite about her. One can only try to imagine what she was like, what she thought, what she did, and how her young life was passed. And imagination, however power- fal, can scarcely be relied on to depict to one very clearly and truly the things that happened more than 1,80) years ago. More than 1,800 years ago she died in the ancient city of Pompeii an awful, tragic death, whieh 2,000 people shared with her, perishing im the most overwheiming catastrophe the world has ever known. And yet today one can pass through the streets she walked about in, stand in the “peristylium” or court of the house which was perhaps the one she lived in, amd where her favorite flowers grew, and where she amused herself by watching the gold fishes in the little oblong stone-lined pool which we are told was called the piscina. One sees, per- haps, her very own little bed room. where she slept with her playthings about her, as rosy and peaceful as other little girls sleep today in their bed rooms in London or New York. And one can stand and look down pityingly at the slender lava and ash-incrusted little form whieh was all that the great eruption of Mount Vesuvius on the 24th of August, A.D. 79, left of her childish body. She is lying by her mother, just as she fell when they were trying to escape among the blinding showers of hot ashes, red- hot lapilli or small fragments of pumice ‘stone and the sudden deluge of boiling water, which the great volcano poured forth alternately and sometimes ail at once, and which turned the beautiful day into black night, filled the air With shrieks of terror and the narrow streets with bewildered, agoni: je losing their way and stumbling in the horrible darkness as they were flying for their lives. ‘Many bs ‘years she lay in the darkness with the gay, luxurious little city she had lived in and which the quaking earth had broken into ruins and the ing mountain had covered with shower after shower of lapilli and ashes until it was buried twenty feet deep, no trace of it left to show that it had ever existed. When one stands in the small museum and looks down at the slender, lava-incrusted frame, which looks more like a curiously rough gray image than anything elee, it ix difficult to think of it as the body of a real, living young creature, warm and soft and full of movement and color. And yet she was so—1,81l years ago. If she had died as others do she would have been dust centuries ago, but as it is she lies in the tiny Pompeii museum in a glass case near that other lava-incrusted image which is sup- d to have been her mother. and with other ike images near her, and one stands and looks at her with thrilled wonder and tries to imagine what sl like, what her short life was, and if all was quickly over when she fell. amid the stifling ashes, the sulphurous vapor, the sudden unnatural gusts of hot wind, the of ghastly lightning and the awful vol- cano’s thuncer. Inacase near hez there is a poor dog with what seems to have been quite a beautiful collar round his neck. He is lying in a distorted sition on his back, his feet in the air and his mouth open, as if he had died on giving a last yelp of terror and pain. I wondered if per- he had been her dog, and I hoped he was not or that she had not heard his poor ery for the help which she could not give. It was her figure which was my companion all the soft sunny day as I wandered through the once brilliant little city where she had lived and died. My friends did notsee her, but I di and fancied even that I felt the touch of little hand. Noone could hear her, for she moved so softly. But when I imagined that she walked with me she was no longer poor little gray lava incrusted thing, but supple and pretty and soft and clothed in the delicate, gracefal garments she wore so long ago—or at least as nearly as iny imagination, assisted by Alma Tadema’s beautiful pictures, could array But for those wonderful pictures I think I could not have really ealled her to life, but re- membering them I made a little shadow which seemed almost more than s me—a slender figure in a graceful little white tunic falling in simple lovely folds and with a border of gold or purple or purple and gold together. She had small on her slim feet and a light wreath of flowers on her delicate head. As for her face, I only seemed to see that it was sweet and innocent and fair; that there was a child- ish rose bloom on her checks; that her eyes were shadowy under their lon, lashes, and that she had blue-black hair, whic was not long, but waved softly about her head | and neck and her forehead a little, as it | might if she lived in the present day. ‘She was my guide and she seemed to tell me many things and make the dead ancient city we again, though I do not know how I under- stood her, for I think she 1sed to speak Latia when she was alive. But vhere was a guide in uniform who led our party, and as he ex-| plained things in French pernaps I stole the | words from him and altered them and added to them, and translated them into the music of the voice that ceased speaking 1,811 years | ago. Thave many interesting days in my life to re- member. but among them alf there is not one which stands out aa a memory so utter strangely beautiful and absorbing as that « spent rambling through the streets and ruins | of along. jong dead city warmly flooded with an Italiau sun It must have been sucha gay | and brilliant little place, with its richly colored | and decorated houses, thei: flower-wreathed red or yellow columns, thei: bright court yards, their fountains and vines, the graceful temples and theaters and villas, the great | mountain behind, the blue Mediterranean at its feet. “It was very beautiful,” I thought my little shadow told me. “The people were so gay and rich. It was not so stately and magnificent as Kome, but it was so bright and luxurious. | There were so many flowers everywhere. the sky was always so blue and the sun so warm. We lived so much out of doors, we used to sit and work and take our meals in the open court, and the wine cups were wreathed with flowers, and garlands bung from the columns and wer twined about them, and we wore fresh gar- lands on our heads—every one wore them when there was gayety and feasting.” “You were never afraid of the great moun- tain then?” I said, and I looked up at it as it towered so near us, dark and bare looking and | sullen with its cloud of smoke rolling upward | and abont its summit. “No one was afraid of it then—particularly | not the children. We used to hear that vears | b before—when some of us were not born—there | then, covered with beautiful mead- ows, and the earthquake seemed to us to have been so ago that it would have seemed only like a legend if we had not been able to wee some of the ruins it had made ai Forum which was being rebuilt. It when the great eruption came. which burned everything. When you go into it today | you will see the unfinished columns just as the | slaves left them when they turned and fled into the darkness to try to save their lives.” And then there came to my mind a paragraph I remembered reading in Bulwer's “Last Days of Pompeii:” | public edifices appropriated to the city workmen were employed the columns and you heard the noise of now and then rising above multitude. ‘The columns are to this day.” ruins of the Forum—the thering | re ‘magis- | coming on that, terrible to prove there rel es of one, is a mystery which appears unex} | Onr guide could not tell us, and as he conld not Iconld not imagine the answer my shadow might have given. And yet we told that the streets were brilliant once—that the: prvi, jeweled and clad in Tyrian dyes; that atifal tiful things; that one caught glimpses of fountains and Sxquiste toupee aid’ Ctemphel, arches: that all was brightness and d wealth of life. : streets, the broken columns, and the ruins of the houses owners’ tombe 1.800 yearsago. ag Thor my shadow compenion could make me understand what Her answers might have been to some of the questions I should have liked to ask, and which neither my imagi- nation nor the unimformed guide could reply to, yet Ithink her presence helped me to some fancied life and color to the ruined houses and made them something as they might have been when they were homes. Through street after narrow street we walked, through houses and tem through forums and once sumptuous baths and theaters. ‘The excavations, which are made by the govern- ment, are still going on. The silent streets, the ruins themselves seem to be and in order. But for the broken mx, the rcofless buildings left open to shine, all is so free from obstacles and rubbish that one says to one’s self again and again, “Eightcen centhries! eighteen centuries since Pompeiian feet trod these stones.” ‘The large : ” the smaller ones “Bicolo.” ey Ce rio (the Street of Mercury), rada del Fortuna (the Street of Fortune), the Strada dell” Abbondanza (the Street of Abundance), the Strada delle Terme (Street of the Baths), Strada del Faro (Street of the Forum), the Bi- colo del Fauno (Little Street of the Faun), Bi- colo del Balcone Pensile (Street of the Hanging Balcony). ‘These are of course only a few of the names. All the houses have their names also, roost of them taken from some statue or painting which decorated them. Some of them were given by the scientific excavators and were taken from seal or signet ring found in the ruins. There is the Casa di Apollo (House of Apollo), the House of Adonis, the House of Castor an Pollox, the House of the Faun, the House of the Little Fountain and of the Great Fountain, the House of the Tragic Poet, the House of Pansa, the House of Sallust, the House of the Centaur. They are all names like these. In the present day when a man buildsa house he builds it solely after his own tastes and fancies. “His entrance hall is square or ob- long or irregular, as he pleases; he builds as many stories as ‘he is inclined to mount, he places his dining room, his bed room and library just where he thinks best. In other times there seems to have been an idea that the houses men lived in should naturally be as much alike as the shells on the backs of snails and tortoises are like each other. In London one sees rows and rows of melancholy structures all exactly the same; one sees them in New York, thoug! there they are not smoke-begrimed all to one hopelessly dingy shade. And in Pompeii one from street to street and finds in all the ouses the one One ehtera, yestibulam, which leads one to a court, i @ narrow Paseo, the wi it that strange, awful last uit real my tle black hair. I felt. H HEE? ind innit fi gi 3 3 E g a oF i H < was one—a pretty li have fallen frightened and exhausted. Its feathers were ruftied and it was panting for breath and held ite tiny beak open. It looked at me with such timid bright eyes as if it wanted mo to be kind and protect it. I’ think it must flown from the mountain and felt the first stifling vapors. ButI did not think of that then. It let me down and take it and gave it some water. drank, but it would not eat, and all the time it looked at me with its timid’bright eyes as if it were asking me a question. Idid not try to keop it prisoner, but it would not leavo me. It were frightened and felt that something terri- ble was near. My little dog was restless and turned round and round on his bed as if he were afraid to lie down, and again ard again he lifted his head and gave long, doleful howls. “The day got hotter and hotter. _I tried to sleep in the shade of the colonnade and the little bird nestled in the folds of my tunic on my breast. But we neither of us slept and it kept ruling its feathers and opening its beak as if to get the air. “And the flowers drooped so that at last I thought I would give them more water to drink. I gave them all some and went to look at the gold fish again. Iwas standing near them Shen sudienly I heard a. strange rumbling sound and felt myself shaken as if the eart were trembling, the fish were darting to and fro, the water in their basin was agitated, my little dog ran cowering to me and the bird flut- tered wildly about my head. I knew what earthquakes were and I guessed this was one and turned to run to find my mother. But in a moment there were a sounds on ever] side. There was the crash of falling halls an rootsand pillars, and a great darkness seemed to come from the mountain—a blackness lighted with deep burning red. I looked up where was called the “atrium,” and which has in the center a sort of square, shallow made in the mosaic pavement to receiye the rain water which emptied itself into it from the aperture in the sloping roof. This was called the “im- pluvium.” At the opposite end of this “atrium” was a room called the “tablinum,” andall around it tiny rooms which, in modern days, would seem scarcely more than closets. But it was the center, court or “‘peristylium” where the people really lived, and which Iam sure they must have felt to be truly their home. Surely they could not have spent much time in the tiny rooms, which had no windows, and no doors to close—only draperies to hang over them. But the “‘peristyle” was open to the sunshine and the blue southern Italian sky. There was @ colonnade around it, whose columns were garlanded with flowers. “The center was a gar- den. There was the tiny piscina with the gold tish: there were pedestals with vases of brilliant flowers upon them; perhaps there was a foun- tain and sometimes a graceful statue. Around thir peristyle there were other tiny rooms in which the people of the house must have slept. They used to sit in the shade of the colonnade and work or receive their guests there. I tried to imagine one of these houses as it was when my little shadow, with the blue-black hair and deep soft eyes and the white tunic, played in the peristylium. 1 tried sure of the red and yellow colnmns, the gay colors, the frescoes, the rich draperies, th mosaic pavements, ‘the graceful couches of bronze ornamented with gold and ailver, the wonderful sumptuous stufly thrown over them. Bat though with the help of what I had heard and read and seen I could make # sort of half antique oman, half antique Grecian picture, I could not find in it very definite surroundings for my little girl. What did children do 1,800 years ago? Does any one really know? I think there were no antique Pompeiian dolls ex- cavated. I saw none inthe museum. But surely she had something of wood or stone or some composition, which was made in the form f a miniature child, and which she could hold in her arms and sing to sleep and dress when it awakened. ina doll's tanic, and sandals and girdle, and for whose head ‘she could twine a tiny garland of flowers. Ab, it must have been so even 1,! She had people had searcely any. we are tol n tion of books.” She must have looked at the frescoes on the wails, the pictured | legends of gods and goddesses, and told her- self stories about then. we: Uncle Remus—who could tell stories of god- desses and gods, of Fauns and Satyrs, and of his own country. from which he had, perhaps, been taken as a prisoner of war. For the rest she had the flowers and the fish, it may be, some birds or a pet dog with a golden collar. “There was the beautiful sea, too,” I fancied her saying. “It was as blue as the sky and there were ships coming and going from strange countries. And we loved the mountain then. It was beautiful, too. It was covered with lovely soft green meadows, and the most fertile vineyards were upon it.The grapes in them were larger and more purple and sweeter than those that grew anywhere else. Only at the very top it was sterile, and the earth was like ashes and the rocks were blackened as if they had been burned. Wise men who had climbed to look at them used to say strange things about them and tell strange stories. They said that it might once have been a voleano, one of the mountains that are filled with fire, and which sometimes spout forth flames and showers of boiling water and molten stones. They were stories which made me afraid, but I could not help drawing near to listen when they talked; did not believe that ever there had. been a time when our beautiful green mountain had been so terrible. ‘The children used to. talk about it among themselves and speak of the soft grass and the flowers that grew on it, and the sweet purple and white grapes in the vine- yards, and say it must be all a philosopher's le- wend and could not be true. We went to the wonderful baths srhere the rich and idle spent the greater part of their days lounging. talking, listening to the reads of some poet and passing, under the hands slaves, through the luxurious processes of bath- ing, We saw the public fountains at the ends of the streets, with the grooves worn a) in the stone by the many hands and vewels which had rested there when water was drawn. We explored the temples of the gods—of Apollo, of Mercury, of Jupiter, of mules, of Ven of Fortune, and the temple of the Egyptian god Isis, through the lips of whose image an oracle wu believed to i “Pe used came here,” explained m; shadow, ““toaak if theit voyages attd ventures and other affairs would be successful. It was very wonderful to hear Isis give them his an- sewers.” It must have seemed . found among the excavations and which was the means the priesta used to meke their way to 1 goddess from where their voices would seem to come from her orac- ular lips. But none of the gods probed’ ff was no warning. bubited r i i i FF i i fi H , : s i Ve i: tre Fi i the strange cloud had been hovering, and there was a great tree of fire flaming to the skies. Its trunk was blackness, but its branches were flame. Then an awful volume of the blackness rolled over us and seemed to swallow the city up. Iran screaming tomy mother's rooms. She met me before I reached them and caught my hand in the darkness, and we ran through the falling vestibulum into the street. It was filled with shricking, flying people; on all sides things were falling, the air was thick with stif- ling vapors, and we were smothered with heavy showers of hot ashes and scorched with burn- ling fragments of pumice stone. We could not see and we could not breathe; I could searcely ery out when @ house or «temple crumbled pear me, or a huge red-hot boulder came flying from the awful mountain and fell at my fee “We ran hither and thither ir the darkness, not knowing where to go; we stumbled over crushed and dead bodies, the ashes and rapilli came thicker and thicker. And in the midet of it [had a strange thoughi of the beautiful per- stulium, with the garlands and statues and flowers and the gold fish in tho little erystal pool. “Ido not know how long we ran and strug- Jed over the ruins in our way. It could not we been long, because the ashes came so thickly and there was no air to breathe, but it seemed as if we ran to and fro for hours. Then there came more awful sounds from the moun- tain, more flames, more ashes, mare_ stone and what seemed a scalding rain. water muting forth with all the mixed the | was spouting forth rest an: with stones it fell upon us. Tconld run no more and fell writhing on the trembling earth. My mother would not leave me. She struggled to raise me and then fell too. Ionly remember one thing more— that I thought how soft and green the moun- tain had been only the day before—that I re- membered the garlands again and the thirsty flowers and frightened gold fish, and I won- dered where the little bird had gone.” ‘This was what I imagined she told me in the yoice and language of a little girl of today. One can imagine anything and make it seem Teal to oneself-—even C ofa r little y i e in a glass case—all that that awful fast day left of the child who had died in Pom- peii 1,811 years ago. A Lesson in Law, Ayoung lawyer who has been practicing at the bar for may be three or four years received one Christmas present which he did not appre- ciate, says the Pittsburg Dispatch. It was a nice enough present, but—well, the whole story had better be told. On Christmas morning a messenger boy brought to the young attorney's house a pack- sgcclone up in brown paper and tied with very inoffensive-looking string. He carried the package into the dining room, where his wife sat at breakfast, and she of course started up fall of excitement and curiosity. In fact it was she who took the bi knife and cut the string. Her hands removed the brown paper and uncovered the inner skin of white paper sealed with red wax. A card, a plain visiting card, lay there. The young lawyer saw it, and heaven preserve us! blushed. card bore the name of a client of his whose case he had conducted laboriously and expensively to feat. “What does he mean by sending me a pres- ent?” he asked. “The last time he was in my ofice I felt inclined to pitch him out of the window.” “Perhaps he wants to make up at Christmas time, dear,” his gentler half suggested, as she proceeded to rip _up the white paper with a silver hair pin. In a few seconds a couple of volumes covered in law-sheep were revealed. ‘The attorney took one of the up and read the title: ““Blackstone’s Commentaries, vol. I,” the other book was vol. II. “What in thunder does he mean by sending me this?” he asked fiercely. “I am sure I don’t know, dear,” safd she meekly. There was an uncomfortable silence for sev- eral minutes. ‘Then the attorney said with con- siderable more emphasis than can be repro- duced in words: “Now Iknow what that —— fool meant by saying when he left me that he would teach me the rudiments of law, if he had to spend good money to do it. I thought he was going to sue me.” _— ‘Mr. Hatch’s Dream. ‘From the Belfast (Me.) Republican Journal. ‘Mr. William H. Hatch of this city hasason named Roland Hatch. Twenty years ago he left home for the west, and for many years his whereabouts was unknown to his parents. It has been six years since he wrote his father. Mr. Hatch is now ill. One night last week he dreamed that he was with his son in the state of M thot his son was ina camp, numbered 40, with a In the morn’ ‘ Batch told is wite the dr a letter from the long-absen| ing that ho was with » logging everything about him tallied with , and 's dream. & “Come, come, sir; what are you doing up “Tah all e-night key; somebody mark tound'it cod feng nee! SOCIETY IN LIMA: COMPOSITION OF THE ARMY. All the Officers Are White Men and the Sel- diers Indians—How the Latter Are Madeto ‘Volunteer—Female Soldiers and Their Chil- dren—Delights of the Latter. every ten “common” ones. While the rank and file of the Peruvian army is almost exclu- sively made up of Indians and negroes, the line and staff represent some of the best families in the republic. All the officers are sons of the aristocracy, who have been educated to their vocation in the various military schools. They wear extremely gaudy uniforms, with plenty of scarlet cloth, gold lace and brass buttons, and are never seen in anything but full military dress, off duty or on. A Spaniard, whatever his station in life, is proud to wear a sword; but nothing can induce him to carry a musket: This prejudice of caste was strongly exemplified 8 few years ago in the defense of Lima against the Chilian army, when doctors, lawyers, mer- chante, prieste—everybody, regardless of call- ing or condition—rushed fato ‘the ranks much us did citizens of the United States in '61; but not a mother’s son of them could be coaxed or compelled to put on uniform. They were glad to fight in defense of their homes and country, but refused to be degraded by wearing the tog gery of common soldiers. INDIAXS AS INFANTRY. The Indians constitute the infantry, and being accustomed from childhood to travel on foot in the mountainous interior they have ac- quired wonder‘ul rapidity and endurance on the march. With each ‘company of soldiers there goesa squad of women whw are called rabonus—a dozen: of them to every twenty or thirty men. These female volunteers serve without pay, but are given rations and free transportation, for the government not onl tolerates but, encourages their presence, as it serves to make the men more contented. They are really of much service—on the march, in camp andin battle. They share the eame fatigues and exposures as their lords and masters, be- sides doing most'uf the foraging for the messes to which they belong, not to mention m the Sooke ing, washing and other necessary w. are always with the men, are officially enum- erated in the rosters of troops as also in the re- Ports of casualties—so many men and so many rabonas killed and wounded—for they share the soldier's death as uncomplainingly as they do his privations. | In battle they nurse the wounded, carry water and ammunition, rob the dead and perform any other useful services that may be required. THE RABONAS AND THEIR HABITS. The custom of allowing rabonas to go with the army grew of the habit the Incas had of taking their wives to war, but as time went on the marital ties among this class became lessened by common consent. The rabonas of today are not much like Mama Della, their a1 cestress, who instructed the Indian women the olden timo in the arte of spinning. weav- ing, sewing and the care of children, for they areabout the most miserablo and ‘dej imens one can find—hardly » degree above the dogs with which they sleep. Among them the ceremony of mai is almost unknown, but they have virtues, nevertheless, not least being cheerfulness under difficulties, and faithfulness unto de Their powers of endurance are extraordii . Often they have to march twenty or thirty miles between day- light and dark, many of them carrying babies on their backs. There is hardly a company without a score of youngsters following at the heels of the rabonas. ‘The children of the reg- iment have the hardest time. being homeless from birth as well as nameless, generally with- out rest or shelter and often without food. When one, of fen dies on the march the mother ai rage and throws the poor little body fatofeaqaad or leaves Ti made tree, glad to be relieved of the encumbrance. HOW THE SORDIERS. VOLUNTEER. ‘The Peruvian soldiers are all volunteers, bé- cause, as in most republics, conscription is for- bidden by law... But the way they “volunteer” is unique. When more soldiers are needed men are sent out, who capture Indians wherever they can—at their homes, on the highway or in chicl ‘These ‘are I up until there are enongh tosend to headquarters, when they are taken before the proper recruiting of. ficers and made to sign a statement to the e! fect that they “‘volunteer” to serve their coun- try aslong asshe may need them. Of course they cannot read,and “sign” by making a cross, but thus the law's demands are satisfied. A dozen or more “volunteers” are then lashed t each having hishands tied behind him, and they are driven to the garrison, like sheep toa hter house. Uniforms are put on ‘them, muskets, given, them ‘and unre but | Pe are turned over to the 9 tender 1 == ofe drill ver- geant, who pu Fo) simplest tactics until #7 at least know how to carry a gun and to fire it. ‘THE PENITENTIAR The Lima penitentiary, which by the way was built by a Philadelphia architect, on the plan of the Philadelphia house of correction, con- tainsabout one hundred and fifty prisoners, who are serving out life sentences for murder. The liberal government long ago abolished capital punishment, but political offenders are still ried by military courts and shot when ad- judged guilty of conspiracy or treason. Hang- ng was never perpetrated in Pera. even in darkest days of Spanish cruelty. The prisoners are mostly e1 in making uniforms, shoes ‘other equipments for the army. INDIFFERENCE TO COUNTRY LIFZ. Though Lima is surrounded by some most romantic and inviting spots there seems to be an universal indifference to country life; except during a certain season, when it is the custom of those who can afford it to tlock to Miraflores (the Newport of Peru), or to make themselves uncomfortable for sake of a little sea bathing at Chorillos, the local Long Branch. There are jenty of other places within short distances from the crowded city, which, were it New York, Boston, San Francisco, Chicago or any other North American metropolis, would be covered by suburban villas. People do not even ride out to these lovely spots for a breath of country air, but fashion confines itself to the busy streets, except on All Souls’ day, when every- body promenades in the Freat pantheon, just outside the city limits, and on the ‘220 day of June, when the Limaian world to the hill of Amancaes to pick daff THE DISASTERS OF WAR. Miraflores and Chorillos are both recovering slowly from the disasters of war, which de- bh malicious & of the righta of non-combatants and in violation of the lawa of civilized the Chilian army created about as much devas- tation in this part of Pera as Pizarro caused when be invaded the homes of the peaceful Incas. ‘Their lines of march were shown by the break or destruction of that wold burn. Towns, farms ahd factories f Sie pinta Sees surrounded by beautiful vandalism, termination to do as much injury as poasi- ble. Exquisite marble statues were scattered in fragments on the ;, ahade trees that had been carefully 1 tor century or more were wantonly ; fountains an fountains were broken, sare the Chiilisns to leat hung. but the protests of, the diplomatic corpe as well Were Since that terrible war there have been public balls and receptions, and for the same poutes, out like water. From the same source pericarp priceless lace and the Cy Og “beat "whic teenth century senorita look as if she had just stepped down and out of an old painting. SOCIAL RESTRICTIONS. Those ancient social restrictions which make it breach of decorum for a lady to see a gen- tleman alone for one moment until after mar- Tinge still Pern am the tlatses, and te nnmasrous ey ceavestioeel- are as strongly mar! the entire ab- sence of all conventionali the lower orders. For example: a gentleman has had re- peated invitations to a certain family, and some fine day he goes. In every case he must ask for the gentleman of the house; or, if he is not at home, the point may be stretched to the extent of asking for the elder brother, should there be grown-up young man in the family. If it happens that both are absent the Visitor must depart at once, leaving his card for master of the casa and his verbal compli- ménts for the ladies, but on no account must he ask to see the latter. If the father or brother are at home they will welcowe the caller most hospitably. One by one the temale members of the family will all drop in; some music, on rp Piano or mandolin will be beautifully by tho senoritas, who, coquettish by nature and ‘eager to entertain and be enter- tained, will “make eyes” at the caller if he has the faintest approach to. attractiveness about him; tea or ‘chocolate with dulcice ‘will ‘be served, and s most charming hour or two may be spent. PERUVIAN COOKERY. Peruvian cookery is an incongruous mixture of foreign and native styles, the latter predomi- nating at private meals, the former at all cere- monious repasts. A dinner-table custom, which was once common and is not. yet entirely done away with, even in ima, is called the ita, and isa rather comical if not always entirely acceptable demonstration of friendship or something warmer. It consists in sel a choice morsel from your own plate and han: {ing it on your fork to some lady present, who, in her turn, is privileged to not only pay back the delicate compliment, but to intensify it by taking a tid-bit from her own plate, without the f | aid of a knife or fork, and preventing it to the gentleman who has’ made. the N aning over the table and receiving it in his mouth from her fingers. It used to ary in Pera, on all occasions of formality, for the host and hostess to eat by themselves, im- mediately before the banquet, and then during ‘the progress of the ceremonious repast to take nothing whatever, though sitting one at each end of the table, being supposed in that way to give their undivided attention to the guests. HOW TO MAKE PUCHERO. Mr. Knox, in his “Boy Travelers,” makes Frank say in a letter to his mother: “We can- not say much for the cookery of Lima, if we are to judge by what we have seen. One arti- cle that may be called a national dish of Pera is known as puchero. Ihave obtained the re- ceipt for you, and here it is: Have a kettle ac- cording to your puchero; put into it » large asae] beef or mutton, some cabbage, sweet tatoes, salt pork, sausage, piss feet, yucas, Wile gently four or. five hours, then serve on deep platter. Pachero is paiterned some- that after the olla podrids of Spain, the chaw- der of New England, and the bouillabiasse of southern France, butcontaina more it ta and more flavors than all of them put together. Tcannot say that I dislike it, but could get along with it a great deal better if they would put in loss rod pepper. CHUPE, A WONDERFUL MIzTURE. “Another stew, simpler than puchero, is called chupe, a favorite breakfast dish, but not often served at dinner. The lower classes are fond of the hottest picantes, compounded of meat, fish, at potions, Bananes and red ra, mix juice oranges = etewed in water. We have tasted this won- derful mixture, but could not get tos second mfal in consequence of the fery nature of 3. says they use a pound o Peppers to « pound of all the other i water included. Swallor a toreb-| cession would be proferabl = picantes. Arou! e landit place at Callao we saw women with little fenton at charcoal ladling out steamed picantes to the and idlers of the port aud were told that it is their only article of food. In the poorer parts of Lima there is © picanteria every few yards and each establishment bas its patrons among work- Tieties denies tes, oe Seget! many vai jcantes, each having « tinct name; but every one of them is ‘red hot with peppers. Faxwie B. Wann. Written for The Evening Star. Rural Delights. Almost within the city’s sounds, within the city’s sights, Bat far enough away to give us restful days and nights, ‘The little country village straggies up and down the hills, Fall of rural joysin Summer and in Winter full of chills. "Tis the dream of him who battles in the city’s busy strife ‘To take there goods and chattels, his mother-in-law and wife; ‘Some implements for gardening, a watch dog and a cow, A horse to ride to office, a few chickens and a sow. He goes when Spring is smiling in a way that makes him smile, And he thinks of old-time Joys, waving corn and trysting stile, ‘When his boyship wore the butternut and tramped to village achool, Where the preacher was the teacher and his argu- ment the rule. Te forgets that youthful dreaming figures mach in youthfal joy; And that chasing cows and crazy hens, at forty, dreams destroy. ‘ And ithe tries fond courtahip at the stile with some maid, He'll nd his hayseed scattered by a broomstick daftly Inia. Anon the neighbors will drop in with latest village news, 3 And ask his wife how much she paid for hat, and gown, and shoes. ‘Thea load her up with scandal like » veritable poll, ‘Until she too must gad the town with Jennie, Sue and Moll. ‘His antecedents all must know; and, how he earns his bread; oat Pro- | the don: them NEW YEAR DAY LORE. How the First Month of the Year Was Given Its Name, ORIGIN OF MANY CUSTOMS. Observances in the Time of the Roman Em- pire—The Gifts to Royalty--The Wassail Bow! and What It Meant—New Year Super- etitiome—The Vessl Cup Carol. (Copyrichted.} ‘Written for The Evening Star. OF ALL THE MANY FESTAL CUSTOMS of ‘modern society there are few which can boast of greater antiquity, interest and universality than those which are practiced in the celebra- tion of the first day of the year, or New Year day, though many of the observances which once enjoyed great popularity are now almost or wholly obsolete. Among the ancient Romans, from the time of the Julian reformation of the calendar, the first day or the “‘Calends” of January was ob- served asa public holiday marking the begin- | ning ofa new year. They dedicated the day and the whole ensuing month tothe god Janus, from whom it derives its name of January, and whom they represented as a man with two faces, one looking backward, the other for- ward. implying that he stood between the old and the new year with a regard to both. Throughout January they offered sacrifices to Janus upon twelve altars, and on the first day of that month they were careful to so regulate their conduct that their every word and act should be a happy ai forall the ensuing snruld bos hepey angery RECONCILIATION OP DIFFEREXCES. Ovid and other Latin writers of that age allude to the suspension of all litigation and st-ife, tha reconciliation of differences between friends, the smoking altars and the white robed ‘processions to the capitol upon the Ist day of Sanus, or New Year day aa we now call ig, They also tell of the exchanging of ‘visite, ei ‘and receiving of presents or and the feastini “strenae,” the masqueradii with which in their time aay was celebrate: throughout the Roman empire. The modern dude, who puts on his swallow-tailed coat and his white necktie and sallies forth to visit his female friends, will be su to learn that | ioned, dark. the Roman dude, arrayed in a new shirt and toga, went forth upon precisely the same errand more than 2,000 years ago. From the very birth of Christianity, the par- ticipation iby Christians in the aoe ‘observ- ances of New Yearday was vigorou posed by the church, until about the fifth cewtury, 1e 25th of December had gradually became & fixed festival commemorative of our Lord's na- tivity, whereupon the Ist of January assumed a specially sacred character as the octave of Christmas day and as the anniversary of Christ's circumcision. As such it still holds a place in the calendars of the various branches of the eastern and western church, but only as a feast of a subordinate importance. CUSTOM OF GIVIXG GIFTS. The custom of giving gifts upon New Year day, though it has to a great extent been superseded in our own time by the giving of Christmas gifts, is one of the oldest as it was formerly one of the most universal observances of the occasion. The Persians celebrated the Deginning of the year by exchanging presents of eggs. The ancient Druids distributed as New Year gifts among the carly Bri branches of mistletoe cut with — pecnliarls solemn ceremonies. The early Saxons observe: the festival of New Year with feasta and gifts. Among the ancient Romans the “strense” or New Year precenis, elready alluded to, wege not only exchanged between relatives and friends, but were exacted by the emperors from their subjects. Under the Cesars these New Year gifts became such a source of profit to the sovercign and #0 onerous .a burden to the people that Claudius limited their cost by a decree. QUEEN ELIZABETH’s PRESENTS. Henry Ill of England followed the Roman it in extorting New Year gifts from his subjects, the practice being revived in the reign of Henry VI and continuing till the reign of Charles I. Butit was during Queen Elizabeth's reign that thid custom of presenting Now Year to the sovereign attained its greatest and most extravagant height. ‘These Presents were made by every one in any way associated with the virgin queen, from the great officers of state down to her majesty’s dustman, and included sums of money, ie for the queen's person or apartments, caskets studded with Feocious stones, necklaces, brace- wns, mantles, petticoats, fans, mirrora, sit cocking and w ret variety of other arti- cles. Hor states in his “History of the World” that “Queen Elizabeth'in 1561 was pre- sented with a pair of black silk knit stockings by her silk woman, Mrs. Montague, and thence- forth she never wore cloth hose’ any more.” ‘The queen's wardrobe is said to have been al- most wholly suj by these New Year gifts, in return for which she ‘made presents of gold and silver plate. rN is told of Arch; court fester to” Chaties I, who, on rece twenty gold pieces from a n man one New eons complained that they were too light. “Let me see them again, then, Archy,” said or, “and, by the way, there is one of Conkdenly spouting karge ft the jester ye a larger handed the Gold pieces back Si ee who put them in his pocket and marched off, saying: “I gave my money to a fool who had not the wit to keep it.” The custom of giving New Year presents to English sovereigns ceased with the establish- ment of the commonwealth in the days of Oliver Cromwell and has never since been revived. HOW PIN MONEY ORIGINATED. All Indies know what pin money is, but it may be interesting to them to learn the origin of the expression and also to know that it is directly connected with New Year day. Until the beginning of the sixteenth century the only pins used by the poorer classes were made of wood—-in fact they were not pins at all, but skewers, which for the use of the wealthy were made of box wood, bone and silver. period above named the metal pins now in use (pore invented aad people of ion were enger to possess them. They at once became the most popular and acceptable New Year gift for ladies, but it soon became customary to give instead of the pins themselves the money with which to purchase them, and thi New Year customs, but all of them are peculiar to England and never known or practised in our own country, are those pertaining to the waseail bowl. Wassail is a com of hot , , toast and apples, and is be- lieved to have originated about the time of the Saxon invasion d, its name being de- Bein health.” Ameng the early tes f tif ine it f EI ret i | - tf i ul He i i i I H E ; H if rT i waseail has been {tformerly dee as lamb’s wool. MASQUERADING cUstoM. A.once highly popular New Year custom in of oer own country, but one falling more and more into t in remote rural districts, is that of young men and women, often Aiageiced y | jue costumes and manqnes. going about | Ke tees thous en Nos Tecrert firing off guns, blowing horns, singing and parteking of any good cheer that may be offered them. This is undoubtedly 3 woltieation a the old | ish custom of “First f wi Shere ty rg yee of sh ands carrving a great bow! or flagon of the “lamb's wool” or wassail, already described, and a supply of cakes, bread and cheese. ntifal Tes eq they went about from house to house at midnight on New Year eve, and if in any of the dwellings visited they were the first to set foot after that hour they were called the “First footing” and were treated with the ut- most consideration by the ‘of the house. who provided them with cheer and par- took, in return, of that which the “First foot- ing” party brought with them. NEW YEAR SUPERSTITIONS. Among many other old superstitions asso- ciated with New Year isa belief that if « lamp or candle be taken out of a house on that day some member of the family will die within a twolvemonth, while to throw out dirty water, | or anything whatever, no matter how worthless, is led as certain to bring ill luck during the whole of that year. If the visitor toa dwelling on New Year day is female and she is admitted misfortune and misery are eaid to be sure to follow that house- hold for the next twelve months, while it is also thought to bode serious evil to a lady her first New Year caller bea dark-compiex: -haired man, instead of one whose i hair and skin are fair. It is said in Scotland that those who desire to learn what fate or fortune the new year has in store for them may do so by consulting the Bible on New Year morning before fast. | The sacred book must be laid upon a table and those who wish to consult it must open it at random and place a finger upon one or other of the chapters at which it is opened. This chap- ter is read and is believed to describe in some Way the happiness or misery during the en ing year of the person making the trial. CAROLS FOR CHARITY. One of the quaintest of all New Year custome, and one which is still obscrved in some of the northern counties of England, is called “Going | about with a vessel cup.” Poor women and girls, desirous of obtaining charity, take two dolis representing the Virgin Mother and the | Infant Jesus, and go about from house to house | during the week before New Year singing the following quaint old carol and at the conclusion Presenting, for the receipt of alms, small cup, which is known as a “vessel eup:” Fes are son Jor that Mary hed. it wes the toy of ome, To see ber own wn Jesus to le ai her It brings tidings of contort and jos ‘The next Ms 5 Pepiertir sy eer meee At brings tidings of couuort and joy! The Rest ecod Joy that Mary had, it was the Joy of To se her own son Jesus to make the blind to see. In brings tidings of comfort aud joy" oo The next good joy that Mary had, it west! four! Toure het own ton desus towed the Bike Cee oe Ie brings ‘Of coustor® and JO$ The next that Mary hod.it was the . Toere net own son deoue to make tee dad aes I brings tidines or comtort und ext good Joy that Mary had, {t was the joy of aix, er owt'som Jesus to beer tue cructiiy? {dings of comfort abd Soy! The next good Joy thet Mary bad, it was the Joy of To sec own son Jesus ti ‘the be Ie brings tidings of comtort aud sey oF Beevem To turn one of these a. <0 me} forfeit od jaited from your door ii fealth and good fortune fr he spprending New Year. -————+ee_____, MR. FERGUSON'S MACKINTOSH. Tribulations of a Young Man Who Invested in a Waterproof Coat. From the Chicago Tribune. It had rained for three weeks and was still raining when George Ferguson made up his mind to buy a mackintosh. “I want the best you ve got,” he said to the clerk at the rubber goods store. “if I had bought it when it began to rain it would have saved me a whole suit of clothes,” “It would have saved you €5 besides your suit of clothes,” said the clerk, after he had found a garment that Stted his customer and Duttoned it around him. “How 20?” “McKinley bill.” George Ferguson paid the double salesman demanded and went out. When he had entered the store, five minutes before, a heavy rain was falling. When he went out with his mackintosh on the rain bad stopped, the clouds had almost disappeared and the sun weir wl Eo raink in in a little h “Tt w Traini - aid. “CUkeep tet ene” be Hie took it “to the office where he was em- joyed. P “Perfectly dry, isn't it?” inquired one of his fes. It cost him $1.50 to go out with the boys and “wet it.” ‘He bung it on a hook back of his desk, and for a whole week it remained there undis- turbed. ‘There was nota sign of rain in all that time. He ached for an excuse to wear that mackintosh, but the weather gave him no op- portunity. At last came g, cloudy, lowering day. Hecar- ried the mackintosh out with him when he went to lunch and took it home in the evening, but itrained not. He wore his heavy fur beaver overcoat down town next morning and the "The da following ‘was cloud in and he | ing was cloudy again brought his mackintosh to the office and hung it on its accustomed hook. In the afternoon it cleared off, turned sad- denly cold and he nearly froze riding home in ® North Side car without any overcoat. ‘This would not do. He removed his toa place within five or ten minutes’ walk of the office so that he could make a hasty trip from one to the other for the mackintosh when necessary. When it looked like rain he t it with him to the office and when it was clear he brought his fur beaver. : One morning when everything was frosty he came down with his heavy overcoat on and buttoned up tothe chin. It becamecloudy and comewhat warmer later in the day, and he left his overcoat at the office a: bi for hit i it heavily before he and he reac! MEN OF THE PAST. Portraits Which Keep Vigil Over the ne trict Government. PICTURES THAT ADOKN THE conmmesioNnne OFFICE —MEN WHO HELD HONORED PLACES pr THE COMMUNITY AND LEGISLATORS WHO AIDED TEE DIsrRicr. AU. PAT LONG. from year in to year out, 2 Memiting bemgnty down upon the beters Feneons mass of poople who visit the Commis Moners cach with tales of woe, are the portraits Theat is the question that is asked the Commissioners many times a day. The ¢ are as ignorant on the subject as the question. ere. Commissioner Douglass has threatened time and again to have each one labeled, but as vet this has not been done. A reporter of Tae Stam started in a few daysago to learn who the originals of these pictures were and this is what he found ovt after a search through old, musiy records. PRILIF DOpPRIDSE. On the west wall of Commissioner Rost Toom hangs a large picture with a beavy walnut frame. It is the likeness of Philip Doddridge of Virginia. He was born in Brooke county in 1772, and in his youth worked on «farm om the Ohio river. He did not receive any educe- tion until he was sixteen years of age, and after a journey down the Mimiesippi river on a. flet boat studied law and gained a brilliant loced eputation. He was delegate from Brooke ounty to the legislature of Virginia in ISi6 and waa member for some years. in the cov stitational convention in 1829 and 1530 was the acknowledged leader of the party in favor of the white basis of representation; his success in parliamentary conflict, it is stated, was due to his close reasoning, thorough knowledge the subject, great of manner and « wonderful command of language; was a Repre- sentative in Congress from Virginia from 1899 to 1882 and later resided in Washington. He mantfested a great interest in the local District vernment and was engaged in coditying the weof the District of Columbia. He died a this city shortly after his cot ere ended. EX-GOVERNOR COOKE. Over near the door hangs an excellent crayon of the Inte ex-Gov. Henry D. Cooke, whose name is prominently identified with the history of the District. Mr. Cooke was born in Sandusk Ohio, jaated o( ¥. in 186 practised. In hi carly days he turned his attention to writing for the [press and in 1847 attache to the American consulate at Valpe Taixo. Chili. The vessel in which he sailed was Brecked off the Bermudas, but be reached 8) Thomas in safety and continued across Panama. of a ste by the way he wrate on the and years after the Pac Company was organized Cooke subsequently resided in Califor had much to do with the shipping of the I He was the first to announce through. «sis ry governor of Californ of gold in ceting with mix fortunes in California he returned to the east and was associated with the r s tial elector im 1856 and in 1861 became a partner in the house of Jay Cooke & Company, the well-known bankers, and resided in this city. In 1870 be was appointed first governor of the District of Columbia, which office he resigned in 1873. He had a handsome residence in Georgetown and besides building « mission church in that city gave £20.00 building a wecond piace: pal church in the same place. He gave lib erally to many public enterprises. He will be remembered by many of our citizens as an aff ble and courteous gentleman and a public offi cer of unsullied honesty. He departed this life in 1881, mourned as a public benefactor. SAMUEL L. SOUTHARD. The first picture that strikes one’s eye on entering Commissioner Douglass’ room is thas of Samuel L. Southard, remembered in New Jersey as the “favorite son” of that state. He was prominent in the part he took in District aftaire at his time and expecially in the legisla tion concerning the Chesapeake and Ohio canal, which was then considered of importance to a . Premdent risun in 1840 and the accession of the Vice Pree- ident to_the presidential office Mr. became President of the Senate. At one time he was Secretary of the Navy and acted suc cessively as Secretary of the Navy and Secre- tary of War. the picture of Joseph Gales, one of the mayors of Washington. He was an Englishman by father was a printer by trade and after coming to Philadelphia in 1792 became the first re porter of proceedings in the American Con . Seven _vears later he founded the Raleigh Geginer in North Carolina. The son, whose portrait adorns the Commissioners’ room, ob- tained « good education and came to Washing ton in 1807 and became an assistant in the office of the National Intelligencer, which was w new name for the Gazetterr, the paper estab lished by his father in Philadelphia and re moved to this city with the government. Hw became one of the proprietors of the intelli in 1809 and from that time to his death in conjunction with his brother-in-iaw, Wm.W Seaton, he was the ruling spirit of the grea journal. He held many local offices of trust and honor and was repeatedly chosen mayor of Washington. He died in this city July 2. 1860. WILLIAM W. SEATON. Beside the picture of Mr. Gales is that of his brother-indaw, William W. Seaton, who, like himself, was a journalist and ferved as mayor of Washington. He came to Washington in 1812 and was associated in the of the National Inieitigracer, with he wae identified until bis death, which oc- Institution and was the public printer for many years. This completes the pictores in the Civil ‘Commissioners’ rooms. MAJ. TWINING. ij Commissioner of the District of Columbia. He was appointed in 1878, when the present form of govearment for the District was is rated, and served asa Commissioner until May 5, 1882, when he died from a severe cold cou- tracted at the Great Falla. His deats was @ particularly sad one. as Maj. Twining was in the prime of I to greatly Siacngin his profession. He was extremely popular with the citizens f 2s sccm RUBIES THE FASHION. They Are Recoming Very Scares. worked out. Only a few days ago « friend of mine sold a ruby weighing little over a carat for $2,000. The mle took place in Chicago and men in i Hej g i ; i af A Hl 1 5 Le if f i H i Ee