Evening Star Newspaper, November 4, 1893, Page 15

THE EVENING STAR: WASHINGTON, D. ©. SATURDAY. NOVEMBER 4, 1893—-TWENTY PAGES. 5 1 REGRETS. THE DAY OF THE DEAD! How Parisians Are Devoted to Their Annual Mourning. IN THE CEMETERIES. Covering the Tombs With Artificial Emblems. WHEN PARIS CEASES TO CHAFF os Written for The Evening Star. PARIS, October 15, 1893. ARISIANS ARE commonly supposed to be so taken up| with this world that they have no time to think of the next. Yet no other people bestow so much thought on their dead. Every Paris cemetery wears the signs of this fond remem- brance all the year round. But it is on the second of Novern- fer, the Day of the Dead (our All Souls’ @ay), and for a week afterward that the burying places especially blossom with flow- ers, natural and artificial, and of beadwork, and with every other mark of tenderness for those whose bodies lie uncer the infinite and quaint variety of tombs. “This is the day, the only one of the Year,” says a Boulevard poet, “when Paris eases to chaff and chatter; when the liv- ing, if they are pious. knee! in the churches, weeping to the sound of psalms; when, even if they are atheists, they make the round of the tombs where lie their loved ones of other days, and when the last of men—he who has never loved—stops for a moment and shudders on his way. For on that day the greatest doubter of all, thrilled by his Memories, for a moment believes in the future life of heaven.” Among the French the tmagination is ‘very much affected at the fact of deata, and the fragrance of pious and sentimental Fomance clings round the thought. The key- note of the sentiment is struck in the verses ®0 dear to the people: “Mes chers amis, quand je mourrai;* end its pra is remarked by every tour- ist as he visits the cemeteries of Pere La- chaise and Montmartre, most cf ail in the @ray days of November. These cemeteries are not laid out, it is @rue, like the rich burying places of Eng- land and America, in park-like lawns and alleys; but they are all the more homelike to the Parisian. He can use his own taste im adorning and building on his little lot. The result seems grotesque, huddled, in- congruous to the disappointed tourist on his Qrst visit. But he learns after a time to ap- preciate the human interest of it all. Such cemeteries are really sad. They are places where untrained grief, which is always Romely, leaves no room for Parisian co- quetry. The Tombs. The tombs of darkish marble are dingy from the dampness of the Paris atinos- Phere. The growth of the grass is rank; the round pebbles of the gravel walk grate mournfully beneath the foot. Ugly iron failings, rusty and corroded, give forth a tr Here Lies a Mother-in-Law. gad significance, and the lank trailing boughs of weeping willows that swing list- Jessly in the breezes of the hill complete @ hopeless picture. Grave efter grave is adorned with a decoration almost as im- mortal and quite as ugly as death itself. There are wreaths and c and white and pu toes wrought in w Friend,” with hite—“My Father “Desolated.” Artificial Emblems. As you draw near to Pere Lachaise you Pass shop after shop, and even stalls along the street, piled high with these ghastly emblems. They reach all the w from the prison of La Roquette to the gate of the cemetery, far above on the hill. These ar- tificial immortelles, with their shining de ork, thei white and black ribbons and their motto are universal in French for the flowers il Souls” . mn. They of being cheap le, for the most | part. ck and white beads strung in spreading floral « wires and ad with silk ribbon, v ten has an inscription in gilt letters 2 * tombs or placed above the y will long resist sun and | color is varied with also the hue of mou nh do not recognize yell tallans do. except in natural or arti- flowers; and these are mainiy re- served for the day of burial itself, when | funeral are strewn lavishly, or| for the month's mind or anniversary, or, | ehiefest of all, for this Day of the Dead. Old Picus Customs. In the old times, when religion ruled, every one laid off work to pray in the| churches and visit the cemeteries on the morning of All Souls’ day. Even now the French peasant has a superstition that gome ill luck will befall him if he works during that time. In the city, in spite of the lack of religion, as many as are able keep to the old pious custom. If they are obliged to work, they replace their next Sunday’s outing by a visit to the of the dead. of simple eity Gambetta, who hated priests and l2ughed at religion, was seen each year until his death, on the Day of the Dead, dutifully kneeling at mass for his mother’s soul in early morning, and then going to lay his tribute of affection on her grave. And no Parisian was found scoffer enough to laugh at him. Scenes at Pere Lackatse. If it is possible for the tourist to visit Pere Lachaise at such a time, a scene will be presented to him able to reveal a side of the Parisian character which, perhaps, he had not dreamed of. In the center of the long alley, half way up the height along the hill. there is a monumental column. Grave after erave is piled with flowers, but none is covered like this column. You may stand and see man after man of every rank in life. women, young, middle-aged and old,and Uttle children ik up, cast a bouquet upon it and depart. Yet no one is buried under it, and no name ts graven on {t. This is the Monument de Souvenir; and this moun- tain of flow s for the “cause commune” —for the neglected and forgotten dead, for all who lie in Pere Lachaise, and for all the Gead in general Strangers in Paris who have dear ones dead in distant places find in this column for the common cause something to local- ize their grief. For Parisians, especially for those of modest means, there is another reason for this nameless mourning. Paris has twenty-two burial grounds, it is true; yet these would not suffice for the hundred graves required each day were it not for the saddest of all interments in the fosses communes and the almost as sad burial right of the concession temporaire. In the fosses communes the very poor are buried. Forty coffins go into each large grave in cemeteries outside the walls, like St. Ouen and Ivvy. And the concession temporaire is also made necessary by the crowding of the Paris dead. It is true that at Pere Lachaise all this is no longer done; but the Tonument of pious remembrance still ap- peals to sentiment. The Three Great Cemeteries. There are three really great cemeteries inside the present limits of the city. To the east there is Pere Lachaise in the midst of the crowded workingmen’s quarters of Men- ilmontant and the Faubourg Saint-Antoine, of Belleville and La Villette. To the north there is Montmartre, and on the south side of the river Montparnasse. These are the largest of all the really Parisian burial grounds by the number of the great names which have been consigned to them. There are ten smaller cemeteries which have been incorporated into the city as it spread out. The customs are much the same in all; and each has its own special glories moidering to the dust. Within the City Limits. The city government has more than once had to take into account the love of Paris- jans for their dead. Years ago it was thought that, for reasons of health, there should be one great burying place, outside of the crowded city. Land was bought in a pleasant site, along the river Oise, and every provision was made to enable the poorest citizen to make use of the new tery easily and comfortably and freely. For the funerals special trains were to be always ready, with carriages decently The Grave ef an Uncle. arrayed in mourning, with fitting places for the corpse and 13 bearers, for friends and all those who chose to do honor to the dead. Every facility was to be given for daily visits to the grave, and all was to be at as cheap a rate as for the present cemeteries. But the Parisians would not hear of it. It was removing their cherished dead too far from home. After a lapse of years the authorities came back to the scheme, but the popular resistance was as strong as ever. And so the project had finally to be abandoned, and Paris, which has now grown out far beyond the mits of all its cemeteries, continues to hold even its dead children within its own bosom. Among the Monuments. The great portal of Pere Lachaise is in a semicircle of massive masonry, funereally decorated with stone incense pans opening upward and dying torches reversed down- ward. Passing through the gates a long avenue leads up the hill, lined with tombs built irregularly, like small mortuary chap- els. On either side a maze of avenues and alleys winds off in every direction, filled with the same kind of monuments, many costly, many humble and few graceful or pleasing to the eye. There is no room for lawns or garden-like spaces. The monu- ments and gravestones are of every con- ceivable form, according to the taste or the wealth of ‘the friends of the departed— now a Greek portal, now a Gothic arch, now a little more than a flat upright sur- face on which to engrave an inscription, and again a broken column railed round, with room to plant some flower or willow. Frequently the tomb is a square vault rais. ed above the ground. Through a grated doorway you can see a sort of altar within, on which bouquets of artificial flowers and emblems religious or simply sentimental are placed. The graves are constantly vis- ited by mourning ones, but they do not seek to make them smart and newish look- ing. To the Parisian imagination that Would seem like trifing. Everywhere you meet with t name: with which the world ‘has tung. “Mowe it and grow sentimental over the m of Heloise and Abelard. Tt a_ pretty Gothic canopy above the statues oe two lovers, lying side by side in It matters not that the lovers wer many years in a Paris museum, whe it was transplanted hither only in IRit, The same sentimental reasons which Heloise and sons and daughters of Toraci have’ thelr tombs. They have made their way steadily in France ever since this cemetery was opened, in the first years of this ninsteenth century. Rachel. the actress, and Roths- child, the hanker, have their names among the rest. Clear across the cemetery on the hill there Is a little inclosed space for the faithful of Mahomet, with a tiny mosque in the midst Here lie the Queen of Oude in india and her son, find their grave. In ‘another part are the victims of the great fire of the Opera Comique in 1887, and elsewhere the mem- bers of the commune who were shot in 1871. The common grave of the latter is a place of socialist and anarchist pilgrimage once a year, with great display of red flags and much speechmaking. On the top of the eminence, at the end of the central avenue, the great bare re- ceiving chapel rises, only four walls, like a larger tomb, and a stone altar within. Near by and almost as large and conspicu- ous is the immense monument of Thiers, who, however, was but a little man. He was the first president of the present re- public, but it was his family that has used his own riches in raising this meraorial. Along one of the avenues on the brow of the hi ral of the first Napoleon's travest shals and generals have long since ceased from war and the glory of arms. ‘All in all the impression is somber. Noth- ing is picturesque to the eye, the moss creeps over the weatherbeaten stones, and the mind, overcome with the fragiilty of man's mortal state, is moreover wearied with the numberless winding ways border- ed by these tiny houses of the dead. Still it is a favorite promenade for the Parisians of a Sunday afternoon, it ts visited by all foreigners, and in November—in the days of the dead—tIilies and roses and bead flowers of elaborate make succeed in throw- ing an artificial bloom and splendor cver all. STERLI. HE Decay M! d Man (to Professional Liter- ary Humorist)—“I say, old fellow, now, really, is there any money in writing jokes for the comic papers?” Humorist— 'y y I could start in at the beginning of the sea- son with one joke, and live on it for forty who came so far to! OUR VICE PRESIDENT, | A Chat With Adlai E. Stevenson Upon Public Questions, HOW HE LOOKS AND TALKS: ete ie | Some Entertaining Incidents of His Early Life. Sas THE TARIFF AND SILVER. Sa ee SPENT AN EVEN- | ing this week with) the Vice President of the United States. My neld five iwes about to start on a trip around the world, was years ago. ve me let- his friend, Hubbard, our minister to Japan. At that time Mr. Steven son Was essistant postmaster general. Now he is Vice Presi- }dent of the United States. He stands with- ‘in one of being the chief executive of t nation, und the chances of life and d are such that he may be the most important man in the United States within the next four years. What kind of a man is the Vice President of the United States? How does he look, act and tatk? What are his ideas upon public questions? These are some of the interesting queries which I hear from time to time in my travels about the coun- try. I cannct answer them better than by giving a running description of my chai with him last night. The Vice President at Home. The Vice President lives at the Ebbitt House. He has pleasant rooms in one of the corners of this big hotel, and he is to be found here almost every evening with his | family about him. He is domestic in his tastes, and he spends his evenings at nome. There is no red tape about getting tw him. You send up your card, and a moment later to ‘twa \— The Vice President Today. { you are told to walk right up. You knock at the door. It opens, and a giant of @ man greets you with a shake of the hand. Vice President son is one of the big men among our stat men. He is six feet two in his stockin and he weighs more than two hundred pounds. He stands as straight as a Nor- wegian pine in his polished boots, and his big blonde head is fastened to his broad shoulders by a strong firm neck. His arms and legs are long. His chest is broad ard full, and his shoulders are well thrown back. His complexion is clear, and he looks lke a man whose blood is pure and who knows not that he has a stomach. His Ancestry. I asked as to his ancestry. Gen. Steven- son replied: “The Stevensons come of Scotch-Irish stock. My people came this country long before the revolution and settled in Maryland and Pennsylvania. They drifted from here south to the Caro linas and thence on into Kentucky. I was, you know, born in Kentucky, and I moved with my father from Kentucky to Illinois. My father was a farmer or planter. He had the natural blood of the pioneer in him, and he came from North Carolina into Kentucky, and as the state filled up he sold out and went on to Illinois. This was in 1852." How One Boy Got an Education. “You say you worked your way through college, general. How did you make the money?” I asked. “In different ways,” replied the Vice President. “I taught during vacation, and and at one time I remember I received $25 a@ month and boarded around, and at other times I left school for the winter and took a turn at teaching. It didn’t cost so much to go to college at that time as now. I remember I paid $2.50 a week for my room and board, and other things were propor- j tionately cheap. After leaving school I | Bro’ had,” replied the Vice President. “We may have no giants like Calhoun, Webster or Clay, but the average is higher, the men are broader, better educated, and the rarge of subjects which they have to discuss {3 wider and deeper than those which taxed the Sen- ators of the past. The questions which are now to be decided by the United States Senate demand a well equipped mind. They are not abstract questions, beginning and ending in the theories of government. They are business questions, and upon the deci- sion of them depends the welfare of an empire. When the first Senate met we had 3,000,000 people in the Union, and the country over which they legislated was a narrow strip running up and down the Atlantic coast. Now we have nearly twenty-five times as many people, and we are bound by the Pacific. We have a country of vast re- sources, divided into sections, each of which has its own interests, and the government must be for the good of the whole. We have an enormous revenue to raise. When Buchanan was President one of the chief arguments against his administration was the immense expenditure which it made. It took $50,000,000 to pay its bills. Now we spend over $40,000,000 every year to run the government. Will the Union Last? “Does not this growth tend to dissolu- tion, Mr. Vice President?” I asked. “WIil not our country and people eventually be- come so rich and so great that it will be divided into sections? Wiil the Union con- tinue?" Stevenson at Forty. “I think the Unton will last,” said the Vice President, “though in the centuries to come, who can tell! Our chief safety les m of our people. We are at rn ation of patriots, and 1 want | is part of our nature developed to . Yes, I am in favor of Fourth of July celebrations. I want all the national holidays we can have. In the future we will have our troubles, but this lov *3F bmcers . | added to a good’ government and coaued| “Willlam C. Whitney,” sald several of | Constitution, will be our salvation.” the men tn unison, d cne or two of them “How about the anarchists’ smiled while several whistled softly. “There is no danger from them. ‘They| “Yes,” said the man who had been speak- = ign ee ae of our national | ing, “ex-corporation counsel of New York Public opinion is greater than parties, and the moment the anarchi: threaten our institutions a public iment will arise which will result in the destruction of whatever imperils our free institutions.”’ Politics Not Corrupt. “Is there not danger from the corruption which exists in our politics?” “I don’t think much corruption exists in politics today,” replied Vice President Ste- venson. “I suppose there is some, but if so It it is found chiefly in the large cities. | Politics are purer now than they have ever | been, and they are growing better in every way from year to year. Our cities are ig better. Vice is being controlled, and this is an age of churches and char- ities. Millions are now spent in education where thousands were not known a few years ago. Fortunes are given daily to in- stitutions for the betterment of the people, and we are making giant strides in the right direction. It is the same in politics. The people n idea that there is cor- ruption and bribery here in Congress, I was four years in the lower house, and I have had la! cquaintance with members of Congress. I have never heard of a mem- ber who had been approached in that way, and I do not know of one to whom you would dare to offer a bribe. Look back over our history. What laws have ever passed by corruption? There is the Credit Mobilier,”” said T Yes," replied the Vice President, “and that is the exception that proves the ru'e. And look at its results. It was the political grave of every man who had anything to do with it. A case happened many years ago in which a Congressman was expelled for selling a West Point cadetship. At present there is little if any corruption about the Capitol. Think of the hundreds of millions which have to be disposed of by Congress, Think of the billions which are affected by legislation, and it is one of the wonders of history that Congress is so. pure. I do not betieve that there ts another body of legislators one hundred years old which can show such a clean legislative record as can the United States Senate and our House of Representatives. No, polities are not growing worse. They are growing better.” A Country Life for Boys. “You were brought up on a farm, general. What do you think of farm life for boys? Would you advise a boy to be born upon a farm?” “I don't know,” said the Vice President, with a laugh. “If a boy could decide where he is to be born, the farm is as good place as any. I sometimes think it is be ter than the city. A farmer's boy com: Into close contact with nature. He gets strength by having to fight against the cle- ments. Pure air and hard work give him good muscles, and he starts life with purer Stevenson at Thirty. went back to Bloomington and studied law, and when I started to practice I had just $25 worth of books and very little else. My first law case was before a justice of the peace, and my fee was $5. This seems very little now, but it paid my board bill for two weeks, and it was two months before I | got another case. I managed, however, to make more than my expenses during my first year at the law, and had I continued to practice from that time to this T would be much better off in pocket than I am.” What a Vice President Can Do. The conversation then turned to the United States Senate, and I asked the Vice President whether there was not some way ‘in which he could control its debates and prevent such a situation as has been in existence a greater part of the fall. He re- Plied: “I receive numbers of letters asking me that question. Some men want to know why I do not stop the silver discussion. | Editors send me marked copies of news- | papers directing me how to act. They do! Not understand my position. My power 1s clearly outlined in the Constitution and in the rules of the Senate. The code which prevails there is made up of laws and pre- cedents which extend over eighty-seven years of legislative procedure. These are no more to be changed by me than are the | laws to be changed by a judge of a court. | Suppose a judge should say ‘I don’t believe that law is right, and I won't allow that| statute to enter into this case?’ It would he the same if I should attempt to act in the Senate irrespective of law. To do other- wise would be revolutionary. I took an oath to administer the laws of the Senate anf I have to act according to them and to nothing else. A Word for the Minority. “Again,” the Vice President went on, “it is a question as to whether the people are not unreasonable in their demands upon the Senate. These men represent great states, and they have to do what they honestly be- eve to be right for both their own people and the Union. I believe they are honest. The Senate is a conservative body, and it is fair that the minority should have a show. It is, as Senator Turpie calls it, the ‘asylum of the minority,’ and one of the safeguards of legislation Hes in that fact. | It is a large body. There are eighty-eight Senators, and each has the right to speak, and when great questions like those we are now discussing come before it it needs the combined wisdom of the whole to decide them.” This Senate Compared With Those of the Past. “How does the Senate of today compare with those of our past history?" blood and better brains. As to his char- acter, this depends more upon his home training than anything else. If he has the right kind of family surroundings there is little more danger of his going astray in the city than in the country.” Silver and the Tariff. I here asked Vice President Stevenson to give me his ideas as to the tariff and the silver questions. He laughingly referred me to his letter of acceptance, in which he said his views had been expressel in full and approved by more than five tnillion voters at the time of the late eleczion. His position on both questions is well known. He believes in tariff reform, ani he thinks that there should be a dollar's worth of gold and silver in every coin that is marked with the name of a dollar. He unques- tionably would like to see both wold and silver used as money, and he believes that every dol'ar in the United States, whether | gold, silver or paper, should be an honest dollar, and that all of our dollars should be of equal and exchangeable value and of equal purchasing power. FRANK G. CARPENTER. Weary Raggles—“I_ want a drink of whisky, right away! If I don’t get it, I'll take—" Farmer Hayseed (suddenly appearing)— “Well, what will you take?” “I think it is equal to any we have ever Weary Raggles—‘‘I'll take water, sir—just plain water!” A SUCCESSFUL MAN. Wm. C. Whitney Has Taken No Backward Steps IN POLITICS OR IN FINANCE. Brilliant Character Sketch of an Able Leader. WHAT WILL COME NEXT. Correspondence of The Evening Stai NEW YORK, Nov. 3, 1893. GROUP OF MEN who are well known both in business and political life were gathered in the Fifth Avenue Hotel the other evening. They were discussing suc- cessful men and the causes of their suc- cess, President Cleve- land and half a dozen men who have won national fame in a very short period of time were talked of. While the discussion was going on one of the bystanders, who had been listening silently, suddenly iater- rupted the others. “There,” he exclaimed, pointing to a man who was passing through the room, s the most successful man in the coun- , all things considered.” try The other men looked in the direction in- dicated. They saw a quiet-mannered man who looked to be anywhere from forty-five to fifty years of age. He was dressed in semi-mourning, but his dark clothes were faultless in fit and make and of rich mate- rial. The man himself was above the mid- dle height and well built. He wore no beard save a mustache. As he lifted his hat in response to the salute of some ac- quaintance it was seen that though the hair was scant on the frorftal part of his head it was still dark. A pair of eyeglasses rested upon a strong nose. His face was long and keen, and his jaws were those of a man quick to act and firm to persist in any enterprise upon which his mind was and ex-Secretary of the Navy William C. Whitney, and a man who will bear watch- ing both as a man who is making his mark in the business world, and also as a man who is about the best and most available piece of presidential timber in his party.”” “Ten years ago,” the speaker went o*, “that man was comparatively a poor man and a politician of no especial reputation outside of New York city. Today he is | worth millions and has a national reputa- tion in politics. If that isn't success, then I'd like to know what is.” The aker quotei was a trifle strong in speech, but in the main his utterance could not be denied. The career of Wil- William Collins Whitney. liam C. Whitney during the past dozen years has been wonderfully successful. The rise of President Cleveland in politics has been of course remarkable. But it grew in a sense out of fortuitous circum- stances. Mr. Whitney, starting his career as a poor boy in a lawyer's office, became a leader in his profession, a leader in poli- ties, a leader in financial circles, and a leader in society even, of the most ex- clusive sort. A man who can achieve these results, while he is yet on the sunny side of fifty, is far from being a common man. In politics, Mr. Whitney occupies a posi- tion that is unique, to say the least. He is a friend of President Cleveland and he is on good terms with Senator David Ben- nett Hill. He is popular with Tammany Hall and also with those who are opposed to it. In short, he stands between all the factions, and as a_ candidate for office, could count on the support of all. It is a position held by no other man in New York state and the results may yet be import- ant. A Demoecrtic Man. Mr. Whitney {s not seen so much about w York as he was formerly. The death of his wife was a sad blow to him, for it was she who brought him not only most of his prosperity, but much of his popularity. Mr. Whitney has shunned the public since his wife's death and has given all of his time to business. Associated with him has been Daniel Lamont, his friend, and who like himself and Senator Hill, was a protege of that rare judge of men—Samuel J. Ti den. The business success of these two men has been a marvel to much older and more experienced men. When Mr, Whit- ney entered Presideng Cleveland's cabinet he was far from being a rich man, as rich men go now-a-days. He had money, of - S. Lamont. course, but was not considered rich. But he had resources. His wife was the daughter of Henry B. Payne, the Ohio millionaire and Standard of) magnate, and that keen judge of men was not slow to recognize the talents of his son-in-law. He became the banker of Mr. Whitney and the young man did the rest himself. He gave up the law. It was too slow. It may be that he had considered as sound the statement of old Commodore Vanderbilt, that the business for bright young men in | this country was not law,but “railroading.” At any rate Mr. Whitney took up raiiroad- ing. In company with Lamont and some other bold spirits he started in to get con- trol of the surface railroads of New York. He succeeded so well that at present most of New York's best paying roads, including the enormously profitable Broadway route, are dominated by the Whitney-Lamont syndicate. From a comparatively poor man Mr. Whitney has become a very rich one, his wealth being placed by conserva- tive judges at over $6,000,000 and rapidly growing. Mr. Whitney ts as busy a man today as he ever was. He is one of those keen, active men who are unhappy when idle. Since his wife’s death he has given his whole tim. to business. He scarcely misses a day from his desk, being as tire- less in this respect as his friend and part- ner, Daniel Lamont. Mr. Whitney is one of the most demo- cratic of men, just as he was when in Washington. He ts a very busy man, but he is always willing to see any visitor who may have business with him. He has none of that air of frozen dignity that public men sometimes affect, but is easy and cordial, but at the same time keen and incisive where business is concerned. He does not affect the pleasures that many of New York's rich men do. He is not a horse- man like James R. Keene or Robert Bon- ner, or a yachts man or a patron of athiet- ics. Horseback riding is a favorite ex- ercise with him when he feels the need of relaxation. The theater and the opera he finds pleasure in, but does not indulge his teste in this direction as he did when Mrs. Whitney was alive. He is a prominent club man, being a member o* half a dozen or more ot the best of New York’s social organizations. Like most of the success- ful men of today he is singularly temper- _ ae pleasure quietly as a wise man ould. Since his entry into President Cleveland's cabinet Mr. Whitney has not taken any active part in New York state or city poli- tics. He has been called upon, now and then, to use his undoubted tact to bring peace between warring factions, but that has been all. National politics have re- ceived his attention. To him more than any one man President Cleveland owes his last nomination. The knowing ones have it that there is a coldness between the President and his former friend. Mr. Whitney, being a discreet man not over given to talking, says nothing about this, With reference to his friend Hill and his position toward the President, Mr. Whit- ney maintains the same reserve. His posi- tion is that of a mutual friend. If through their differences he should float into the White House himself, well and Just at present he is “brer fox” and “he lays low.” His Position in Social Life. It was a loss to New York society when Mrs, Whitney died. She was among the brightest of the leaders and her husband spent money lavishly, making the Whit- ney receptions and balls marked events The Late Mrs. waitmey. each season. The splendid mansion on 5th avenue, opposite the new home of Cor- nelius Vanderbilt, has been dark and silent since its mistress died. Its splendid ball room has remained unused and its fine apartments untenanted to the unutter- able sorrow of those who formerly enjoyed its hospitality. This will be changed soon. Mr. Whit- ney’s children are growing up. His eldest daughter is past eighteen and has already appeared in society informally. This winter the Whitney mansion will be thrown open again and Miss Whitney will reign in the place of her mother, whom she much re- sembles. There will be no doubt as to the Position she will oceupy. That held by her mother, who introduced Mrs. Cleveland into New York society, was such that her daughter will at once take her place in the front ranks. There are also two boys in the Whitn: family who are still at school, They are William and Howard. One is sixteen and the other fourteen. There is also Dorothy, a lass of six, born in Wash- ington when Mr. Whitney was Secretary of the Navy. Mr. Whitney is as devoted a father as he was a husband, and with his Great wealth it is certain that his elder daughter will be able to reign like a queen this winter, for Mr. Whitney is not a man who does things by halves. In one thing Mr. Whitney has followed the policy of his friend and mentor, Sam- uel J. Tilden, and by his famous contempo- rary, John Kelly. He likes young men about him and he likes to help them along when they are capable of being helped. Young men hold the most responsible po- sitions under him. “They have the vim and the go in them,” he will say. All you have to do is to know how to handle the reins over them. Keep a sharp eye on the colts and don’t let them think you distrust them. They go all to pieces if you do. Young men and colts area good deal alike.” In politics Mr. Whitney always follows the same policy. He had a small army of bright young men who followed him and he could do wonders with them. Mr. Whitney never posed as an orator at the bar or in politics. He says that what- ever talent he has lies in the way of organ- ization and the handling of men, and in this those who know him best say that he is right. Men who attended the last demo- cratic convention saw him accomplish more in five minutes’ conversation than all the loud oratory of Bourke Cockran and others could bring about. No one that I know of ever saw him ex- cited or angry. The proverbial icicle or cu- cumber is not more cool. His very appear- ance seems a protest against violence. Al- ways faultlessly dressed, well groomed like a thoroughbred racer, without being loud in any way, you are impressed by the man without knowing exactly why. His man- Miss Pauline Whi ner is perfect as his dress. His voice is low, well modulated and pleasant, and if he is no orator he certainly is a very charming talker on any subject. Always suave, bland and smiling, he still impress- es you as being genuine and sincere. He resembles Senator Hill in the sense that he regards a promise in politics, made pri- or to an election, to be kept inviolate. It was this very trait in his character that was shown in the somewhat notorious case of Van Alen, Mr. Cleveland’s much talked over minister to Italy. The pre-election bargain with Mr. Van Alen may have been open to criticism. But the bargain was made and so the goods should be deliver- ed. So held Mr. Whitney. A Practical Politician, Mr. Whitney is not a theoretical politician any more than he is a theoretical financier and business manager. He holds that mon- ey is needed to carry elections. He holds that partnership fs necessary in the work of keeping a great political party together. It is his belief that there should be rewards, in the way of small offices, for the rank and file as well as the cabinet offices for the staff officers. He expresses these beliefs openly. They were the opinions of Tilden and dther teachers in the school of politics in which he was trained and he regards them as good ones. They won in fights be- fore and it is Mr. Whitney’s opinion that | they will again. Yet it was told of Mr. Whitney that when he was Secretary of the Navy he was most kind hearted in his treat- ment of old department employes who had seen long and,honorable service. It was the young warriors who were open foes of Mr. Whitney's party and who invariably got leave at each national election to go home to vote that Mr. Whitney bore down on. “What is offensive partisanship for the goose is the same for the gander,” said Mr. Whitney oracularly. “Those who will fight must bear blows,” and so far as he could order it they did. And yet he did his own work so thoroughly, he labored so earnestly in improving our navy, that even his political opponents gave him credit for great ability and singleness of purpose in the performance of executive duties. As has been said, Mr. Whitney is now laying low and putting money tn his purse. Political cards are going to be shuffled in a very lively way in New York state at no distant day and Mr. Whitney is watching the game with greet equanimity. Tt ts mot licy just now to take a hand in eee FOSTER COATES. THESIXTH“REGULAR” By H. O. Leland. Written for The Evening Star. I used to drop in at Henry's quite often of a night on my way home from n:edical lectures. Henry's sign read: “Heinrich Loeb, restaurant. Imported and domestic beer. Oysters in season.” Henry himself was a clean, fresh, red-cheeked German and he kept a clean, fresh little place, with @ talented old negro cook from Baritimore, who understood the oyster as do only Bal- timore cooks. It was not long before I began to notice the frequenters of the place and found that I could count on seeing the same half dozen faces any nignt in the week between 10 and 11 o'clock. There was also a float- ing and changeable custom—the very young men with their assumption of the dissi- pated air, drinking down their beer at @ gulp—the belated married men who dropped in for the propitiatory “dozen fried in a box” to carry home to tired and waiting Wives—an occasional colored man, treated with scant courtesy, however well be- haved—and, rarely, an old rounder or two. The coming and going of these transients, however, had no effect on the regulars ex- cept to give five of them once in a while @ topic for taik. There the five sat, even- ing after evening, sipping an occasional mug of beer, eating an occasional pretzel or cheese sandwich and talking politics and religion and the news in the evening paper. I say five of them, for the sixth never talked. He sat apart, tasting a glase of white wine, sometimes reading @ paper, oftener gazing at the wall and slowly smok- ing a good cigar. He was a well-dressed, Prosperous looking man, a little beyond middie age and with a rather refined face. Very naturally I assumed that this soli- tary habit on the part of number six was self chosen—that his exclusiveness was the result of self-esteem, and that such a man should have no better place to spend his evenings piqued my curiosity. I made no inquiries because there was no one of whom I could inquire. I did not wish to know the other regulars and Henry did not seem to know his name. One Saturday night, however, the Kittle Place was full. I was tired and hungry as @ bear and not at all inclined to go further up the street, where I wasn’t sure of the cook. As I stood looking for a seat the unknown and silent regular took his over- coat from the chair beside him and beckoned me to take it. I thanked him, accepted and naturally made a remark about the unusual influx of transients. Instead of the gentle- manly but rather stiff reply which I expect- ed, the man beamed and answered in the most friendly manner and a little incon- Sequential chat followed. He seemed rer- fectly avid to talk, but at the same ume listened well, and there was even a touch of the deferential in his manner which was delightfully new to me in a man of his age and rather imposing appearance. 1 lingered over my pan roast that night and even drank a glass of his favorite hock with him, and finally went home a half hour later than usual, much pleased and sul more curious about him. The acquaintance progressed. Whenever my oyster appetite turned me in at Henry's door, 1 came habitually to seat myself at the little table and to talk current benings and a little history and literature = Mr. — He gave me his card on our second meeting, and on my remarking on his evident French origin, Judging from his name, he replied that his parents were French colonists in the West Indies, and changed the subject. I found him to bea man of wide reading and of a highly cull vated taste in books. He seemed well in- formed in whatever direction the conver- sation took, and yet I never found him trying to lead the talk toward any particu- lar topic. One night in the late that the five regulars in the evening paper, whether I had ever toxicology. time 1 was and iinally, after a moment's hesi- tation,suggested that if I would step around the corner with him to his rooms he would show me a very interesting atlas of tropical boisonous plants. 1 accepted with pl and we put on our overcoats and started. the house which we entered with his latch key was a handsome brick and the interior glimpse was prepossessing. As we passed enihe Stairs a door opened below and « feminine voice said: “Oh! Is it you, Mr. Le- sros?” I glanced down and saw that it was a handsome colored woman, well dress- ed and evidently the mistress of the house, i was dumfounded, and as we entered Legros’ bachelor quarters on the second floor I could not keep back the extremely impolite question, “And are you living in a house with a family of negroes?” He turned toward me and there was @ strange dogged look in his face. “Why, sir,” he said, “I myself am what you would call a negro! I fairly gasped for breath. found the scholarly book-lined room, I looked again at the clear-cut features and white skin of the man who stood somewhat defiantly before me, started to apologize, saw how utterly futile as well as unmean- ing an apology would be, stammered, start- ed to leave the room, stopped and sat down overwhelmed. Neither of us spoke for some minutes, and there came over me with a rush a deep sense of the injustice of this man’s evident proscription. His thin trace of negro blood must have been known to others and his isolation from white companionship must have been due to this knowledge. iso- lation from the society of blacks was evi- dently due to his own choice. And why should {t not have been so? Here was a cultivated, well-read man whose blood was nineteen-twentieths Caucasian and whose tastes and mental characteristics were all Caucasian, forced to associate with a peo- ple to whom he was related by only the slightest bond or to live alone. T'stayed with him until late that night and he told me of his life; how, born a slave in Mauritius, he had been sold into this country when a boy. Set free by the war, he had gone north and tried to conceal the fact of his tainted blood. It was found out, however, and, cut to the quick by the con- tempt with which he was regarded by those who had considered him their equal, he had fled the town, only to undergo the same ex- nce elsewhere. Pet frst his ambition was almost crushed, and he thought of accepting the situation and seeking associates among the negroes with whom he was thus arbitrarily and un- justly classed. But his distaste for the race, inherited from a long line of white ancestors, restrained him, and he had finally schooled himself to a quasi-content in a souitary life. ; His rooms he rented from a wealthy ne- gro family because he could get. none else- where, but his life was that of a recluse. His office occupied his days and his books his evenings, except for the hour which he spent at Henry's sipping his lonesome glass of wine and watching the coming and going of the varied types of humanity which frequent such places. He ha@ thought of going abroad and of taking life in a country where a slight trace African blood would not outweigh ter, education and refinement; but here came in, as it seemed to me, the pointing element in his character. He postponed it to save money enough to able him to live comfortably abroad, 4 when that time came he had become accustomed to his ife of solitude, so bound to his daily routine, that he stayed on an@ on, growing old in his loneliness, and yet, \ strangely enough, not altogether unhappy. Desire for human companionship was largely lost; he lived in the world, but as an onlooker, and his real life was among books. "p graduate’ that spring and took up the practice of medicine in another part of the city, and saw nothing of Legros during the three years following. One evening I saw a notice of his sudden death in the papers, and that night, as I sat in my study, thought long about the man, and I fol- lowed out in my mind an interesting par- allel between his life as it really was | what it might have been had it not been weighted by that accident of birth. The refined tastes, the educated intellect. the scholarly habit were all there. In @ country free from prejudice his name might have been one of those honored tn the land. As it wrs—I alone, save for the neero family with whom he lodged, followed him to his grave next day. FOR HEADACHE AND INDIGESTION Use Horsford’s Acid Phosphate. A prominent physician of Buffalo, N. Y.. says of it: “T have severe headaches. and it relleves them Tam fond of the pleasures of the table. and as @ conseqnence of mr Inaulgence there, I have to pay the penalty. It divides penalty with me. Indeo# Mt ts an indispensable article to me.”