Evening Star Newspaper, November 25, 1893, Page 14

14 THE EVENING STAR: WASHINGTON, D. C. SATURDAY. NOVEMBER 25, 1893—TWENTY PAGES. GRAVES OF HEROES. ———— Brave Officers Who Are Buried at Annapolis, THE AMAZING COURAGE OF CUSHING. Story of His Memorable Attack on the Albemarle. THE HEAD OF TECUMSEH. Written for The Evening Star. S THE WESTERN sky is reddened with the setting sun and twilight is settling over the quaint old town of Annapolis a beautiful g-assy point crowned with trees juts into the Severn river and forms a bold relief against the colored sky, while the sun’s last rays show Into whiteness a group of monuments that mark the resting places of some of the tru- est heroes that ever upheld the Stars and Stripes in the vanguard of war and science, for here are buried Cushing and McDon- ough, and here is the cairn and cross erect- @d to the memory of Capt. De Long and those of his crew lost in the ill fated Jean- mette expedition, in search of a route to the north pole. It is a beautiful spot where these brave officers, who have roamed every Sea in defense of the country, are at last laid to rest, with only the light ripple of the’ Severn’s waters against the sea wall to break the stillness. At the extremity of the point, just under the flag he defended so truly and so well, is the tomb of a man the story of whose life reads like a romance, and the sight of ‘whose tomb should be an incentive to every cadet in the Naval Academy a few hundred yards away. This is the tomb of William B. Cushing. He has another monument in the fleet little torpedo boat Cushing, which is at present the only modern torpedo boat im our new navy, and which was named for Clemson Monument. Cushing on accovnt of his courage and bravery in the use of improvised torpedo boats. Cushing was born in 15 in Wis- consia, and at the age of fifteen years en- tered the Naval Academy, where every- thing was in his favor, except his conduct. His venturesome spirit led him into one sckape after another, until in 1861 he was forced to leave the academy. He entered the service at the beginning of the war as an acting mester’s mate, and by a series of minor courageous acts so won the respect of his admiral that, upon the latter's rec- ommendation, he was restored to his rank of midshipman by an act of Congress. He Was assigned to duty with the blockading squadron on the eastern coast, but the Monotonous duty was irksome to one of his spirit, and from time to time he broke out in dashing expeditions that always ended in success, when every chance seamed against it. He became a lieutenant in 1862, and was in command of small schooner in the blockade off the Cape Fear river, when one bright moonlit night he led a small party ashore. They rowed with muffled oars and, landing amid the bushes that lined the shores, stole upon the sentries that guarded the confederate camp and captured them, then proceeded to the headquarters of the commanding officer, Gen. Herbert, and be- fore all could escape captured Capt. Kelly, the chief of the staff, and before the alarm ‘was raised got back to the boats, escaping to the schooner with the pzisoners, while the enemy fired at them from the shore. Cushing said that he chose a bright night. because he knew no one would ever expect such an attack on such a night. But his attack upon the confederate ram Albe- marle was the crowning glory of his life. A Daring Deed. The ram lay at the dock at Fort Lyborn, With torpedo booms out and a strict guard kept, for they knew of the intended attack, when Cushing, in an improvised torpedo boat, with a small crew of picked followers, steamed up the river and steered straight for the ram. They were sighted by the guards on the ram and fire was opened on them just as they struck the boom of logs, which they failed to pass. Cushing’s quick Perception saw that there was but one way to succeed—to back off, get a good start and perhaps force the launch over the boom of logs, in which case there would be almost no chance of escape, for the launch, once inside the boom, could not get out; and in spite of the rapid fire from the ram he suc- ceeded. Hut the launch went down with the ram Albemarle after the torpedo exploded and nearly all the smail crew were killed, while Cushing himself was wounded in one arm. In spite of this, he swam nearly half a mile, and after days of hardship and hun- ger in the swamps surrounded by the ene- my succeeded in getting back to the ships. The torpedo boat was raised after the war,re- paired and sent to Annapolis, where the cadets used it until its boiler burst during & trial trip one day and killed a chief en- gineer and several others. A part of its slender mast is still kept in the old rigging loft at Annapolis, though I am afraid but few of the cadets of y Know its wonder- ful story. Cushii ed in 1876 and was buried on n Point. while the tomb above him has carved upon it his cap and sword and the word The brave men of other nations nized his daring bravery, an the ack of the French torpedo boats upon the Chinese fleet fm the Mimm river, in 1574, ommander of the su f went Into the ationin: fray, remember the brave American, The cairn and cross surmounting it, that are erected in memory those w ashed fa the Jean ette expedition, production of the cross nd cairn € Engineer-in-Chief Melville, United nr and his pasty over th Capt. De Long his comr bodies were discovered in the snow-covered Lena delta. Another Monument In front of the cadet quarters here there ts another interesting monument. It first erected In Washington in memory of the brave officers who fell in the war with ripolt in 180%, but was troyed when the Briti ton in the war of 1812. s were to Heroes. mo: 1 Washir 1 the ple Afterwa collected and put together in the monument at Annapolis, omitting part of the centr: shaft, which gives it complete appear- ance. The center s rated with Projecting prows of boats, which brings v an inte! tomans galley ere they that of the rotted conquest. As away they w ductions, wh Nt headst aged twent seven dey and it won- dered how the exact unknown ed up th 1a be n Of late year ake h rrected. Across k from th metery in the f th aval Academy us stands a ran shaft bearing “Herndon,” and | this sin ment tells another should ever be en i officers at Annapolis. Capt. m of the United States navy, woo was a native of Virginia, the | was in Havana in 1858, when the passenger liner Central America, bound for New York needed a commander to take her out, and the captain volunteered to take the ship to New York with a full quota of passen- gers. While onethe outer edg» of the gulf stream in latitude 31 degrees north, the ship took fire and the crew losing all dis- cipline made a rush for the boats. Hern- don’s courage and commanding presence beat them back and the brave captain saw every woman and child first, then every male passenger in the boats, with most of the crew, while he and a few of the crew perished at their post of duty. The monu- ment was erected at Annapolis by his brother officers to perpetuate the memory of his brave sacrifice and be an incentive to the cadets just starting in their naval career. In the Old Cemetery. In the cemetery are many monuments to cadets who have died at the Naval Acad- emy, and whose classmates have thus done honor to their memory. There are buried here brave men who have perished fighting the fever in the tropics, side by side with those who have frozen near the poles; brave warriors who have died on the battle field, and others who have died in peace far from the sound of hostile arms, and over it all there rests amid the quiet autumn the spirit of the mighty past. But of all the monuments erected by cadets to their classmates, the finest is that one that stands on the edge of the academy campus, overlooking the river aud the bay in the distance. It was erected in 1849 in memory of the midshipmen who hed in the United States brig Somers, that went aground in a gale on the sands off Vera Cruz in 1847. The appropriateness of its design and the worthiness of its object make it a fitting ornament to the place. Then these are not the only monuments, for there is one that is erected in memory of a ship, the old Delaware, that had to be torn to pieces on account of old age, after rs of must honorable service. Many may smile at the idea of a monument to a ship, but a stanch, strong ship at weathers wind and ve and carries the flag tp viclory seems almost a living thing, and the men who serve long upon them sometimes come to like them more than as a structure of wood arid iron. It does not seem out of place to naval people that the old figure head of the good ship Delaware should stand for years on a pedestal in memory of the ship that once bore it proud- ly on her bows through weather fair or The cadets appreciate as they call the figure he @ superstition that : in their ing to “Tecumseh. them as “the plebes’ god,” is only a relic of hazin plebes were made to say their prayers to “Tecumseh” by joking upperclassmen. Surely, if a ship cowld talk, it would not wish to have its figure head kept elsewhere than in this place, surrounded by the bodies of these who made its deck glorious, and the living who giory its proud record. DION WILLIAMS. Hee me DEAD HISTORIAN. Some New Anecdotes of the Late Dr. Francis Parkman. From the Boston Home Journal. Dr. Francis Parkman, the late historian. Possessed an abundance of dry wit. Al though diverging widely from the sparkling humor of Autocrat Holmes and Prince Low- ell, both of whom were numbered among his dear friends, it was in its own way quite as forcible. No historian ever yet had a book pub- lished, it is probable, that he did not re- ceive numerous letters questioning the ac- curacy of certain of his statements. Park- man was no exception to the rule. He once wrote this brief reply on the back of a letter questioning his authority which was sent him and returned it to the writer: “This statement has been accepted as true by historians for the last fifty years. If you knew it to be wrong, you were cul- pable that you did not let the world know about it long before this.” When Lowell was young he was much given to sensational adventures. On sev- eral occasions he got up in the middle of the night and went to a cemetery, where he perched himself upon a tombstone, hop- ing in this way to find inspiration for a L think thi s, When the THE i pelled to rei UNDER LUCKY STARS. How Railroad Employes Become Superstitious. MIRACULOUS ESCAPES FROM DEAE ee Recounting Wonderful Experiences at a ‘Tie and Rail Club” Social. BETTER LUCKY THAN RICH. F THERE IS ONE thing that a railroad employe believes in more than anotier it is luck. No matter how clearly a practi- cal man may ana- lyze a certain odd oc- currence they will Gubiously shake their heads and = contend that it was a case of luck, gvod or bad, pure and simple. For insiance, if oae of their number had been ordered out on a rtain train and through sickness had failed to report and the man taking iis place had been killed, they will, one and all, emphatically declare it a case of lucky sickness for the man ihat was com- in at home. They fail to see the facet thet the Letitule pfoved sent in his duty and had the regula been in his place it was a 100 to 1 chaace that the accident would not have occurred. It is, however, an undeniable fact that there are more strange and weird occur- rences taking place aaily im the railroad man service than in any otver branch of em- ployment. The pox lerous rolling stocs, the swift Hight thro: country, over spi- der-tike bridges, under the earth in lon: dismal tunnels, and in weather varyi from the pleasant to the most trylug, ali tend in the direction of beilefs almost su pernatural. ‘Then, in service is not the kind that calls much for brain as physical equipment. chance does, to a certain the every-day service of train men, aad that they should be superstitious is only fullow- ing natural lines. A Narrow Escape. It is occurrences like the following, details of which come frum Hazleton, that lend a color of subsiauce to a train- man’s belief in luck, When coming into the yard at Weatherly, a small station near Hazleton, with his train, Conductor John McHugh told one of Uie brakemeu to cut the caboose loose at the lower end of the siding and let ihe engine take the train to a point near the western end. Me- Hugh had then been on the road for twen- ty hours and his eyes were heavy for lack of sleep. As ordered, the brakeman a tew minutes laier pulled the pin holding the caboose, ind supposing that the conductor would take care of the caboose, contunued up the track with the cars. He noticed later, however, that the caboose had run out on the main line again and that Me- Hugh had not appeared on the platform. The road at that point is marked by a grade which drops fifty feet to the mile, and to ¢atch the caboose was impossible. ‘Taking in the situation the trainman has- tened to the telegraph office and messages were sent to the different offices below to either sidetrack or derail the runaway c: boose. It was not known whether the con- ductor was on it or not. The operator at Black Creek reported the car by his station and the man at Penn Haven was barely notified when the runaway shot by the wi dow of his station. Down the mountain side the car rushed with the rapidity ot poem. Parkman told him that he would get more rheumatism than inspiration. The historian had a strict idea of jus- tice. A friend met him one day walking along the street leading a street boy with either hand. “What in the world are you dog, Park- man?” asked the friend. “I found that Johnnie here had eaten all of the apple instead of dividing with his little brotner. 1 am going to buy another for the younger voy, and make Jonnuie watch hum while he eats it When #rancis ‘’arkman was only fifteen years he had chosen his career. he was a mere striping when ne was graduated from Harvard. “1 want .o write sumecaing that will live,” he deciared. And he aid. During his coliege career ne spent ten weeks around Lake George. me was very tired one afternoon, having walked many miles alung a country read, When a farmer alone in his buggy overtook him. ‘The griz- zled vid iellow passed bim by without so much as a nod. Parkman hailed him and asked for a ride. He moved along on his seat and made room for Parkman, who of- fered to pay him for the favor. The old fellow straightened up a little and said sharply: “When I get so mean as that I'll walk myself, young man."" Then he changed the subject. “You're from the city, en? You fellers have an easy time of it. You can m: money as easy as rollin’ off a log. 1 can’t understand it Then the old man was silent and Park- man was thoughtful. “Don’t you get along well?” Parkman asked. “Nop. I've been trying to pay off the mortgage on the farm for the last ten year. | Couldn’t raise enough money for the inter- est this time. I've just been to see Jones | about it, and he’s going to foreclose tomor- row. I kin stand it, but it's perty hard on ma. She sets such a sight by the old place. But that ain’t your business, stranger—" the old man wiped his sleeve across his moist eyes—“gee-up, Dobbin. Parkman remained all night at the farm- er’s house. The next Jay he bought the mortgage from Jones, and, better luck over- taking the mortgagee, he was enabled to | retain his home, and in the course of time | to pay off the debt. It was in 1846 that Dr. Parkman visited the remote west and gathered material for | the most charming of his books, “The Ore- | gon Trai He described his guide during | this trip, Lewis Goodkins, a genuine | ckwoods Yankee, in these words: | ndkins did not lack brains, and but for | inacy, coarseness, sel{-suificiency, ar- | an unwavering eye for the main | chance and a few other trivial drawbacks, | he might have been a good fellow. Dr. Parkman lived among the Indians of the Black Hills for many weeks, partook of their fare, joined in their hunting ¢x- peditions and ‘medicine dances. Not until he had mastered every detail and charac- teristic of Indian life did he feel himself able to enter upon the work of his life, tory of the French and Indian wars. The hardships he underwent in the Black Hills resulted in his being taken very ill while among the Indians. Although sick near unto death, he insisted that the chief ist him to mount his horse and accom- pany him to the borders of civilization. The chief obeyed and muttered many times dur- ing their journey: | “Paleface make heap great warrior.” | or African Ingenuity. | From Puck. | ! ‘The equatorial barber has no paint; but he can have a barber-pole all the same. | combination of things not to be met with | coal lightning, while within it sat Coaductor McHugh asleep and oblivious to the dan- ger his nap was incurring. Fortunately there were no west-bound trains started out from Packington and the immense dis- tance allowed time for the operator to set the switches and run the car up the safety track, Other trainmen were distributed along the graded track and as the speed of the runaway caboose decreased as it climbed the hillside one of them was en: bled to board it and apply the brake be- fore it reached the obstruction at the end. When they did so McHugh was found on the bench sitting bolt upright and sound asleep. When aroused and told of the peril- oug ride he had had he refused to beheve it, and only after looking in vain for his train did he come to a sense of the situation. There were a hundred and one chances for that car to either jump the track or crash into another train and kill the sleeping McHugh, but he can certainly be classed with the ones born under a lucky star. The Rule of Three. Few veteran engineers there are who will not tell you that the rule of three has quite as much todo with railroad accidents as it has to do with the theory and practice of proportion. A serious mishap to a train invariably causes a shudder of apprehen- sion among the treinmen the whole road over, for a large number of them are firm in the belief that many days will not pass before a second and third will happen to round out the trinity of accidents which to their minds was foreshadowed in the first disaster. It is no use to laugh at the superstition of the engineer who has run trains at breakneck speed over unseen bridges on dark nights without turning a hair, as he stands predicting trouble with seemingly childish fear. He will quote in- stances, ancient and modern, and tell you that when young and a fireman he himself was an unbeliever, but that by experience the truth of the adage has been proved to him. A social session of the “Tie and Rail Club” was being held one evening recently down at the oil house on Virginia avenue, when an Evening Star reporter happened to drop in. The discussion was warm, and many of the stories told were given as Il- lustrations to substantiate assertions that it is better to be born lucky than rich. An engineer, all rigged out in a suit of blue jean, and who was scheduled to go out on the fast freight, was telling how slight the barrier between life and death may sometimes be and how his lucky star per- mitted him to relate the story at this time. He said: “I was running at a good rate of speed one day, when, as I approached a part of the road about two miles east of Philadel- | phia on the newly built Baltimore and Oh‘o road where there was rather a sharp curvy: and where the road bed was raised about forty feet above the turnpike level,the front wheel on the outward side under the for- ward truck of the locomotive without the slightest warning fell off the shaft and rolled down the embankment. Instantly all the wheels under the whole train—en- gine, tender, baggage car and several pas- Senger cars—were bumping along over the tie: he bumping and jolting was so violent that no one could steady himself prepara- tory to leaping from the cars; all the pa: sengers could do was was to hold on for dear life. After this frightful ride had been continued for about 3 feet, we were | running fully fifty miles an hour, the re- versed engine brought the cars to a stand- still, nobody the worse except for the fright and the jolting. “What do you the engineer, round to h think saved us?” ting an inquiring is companions, all shook their heads negatively. “Merely a ittle one-inch iron bolt nut under the pilot. The nut was brought, when the cars left the rails, against the inner side of the outward rail, and, acting as a sort of flange, served to keep the course of the cars for- ward instead of outward. It was all a asked glance of whom once in 10,000,000 times Held on to the Axle. “Oh, that experience is nothing to Tom Kelly's, the boss of section 17, up near Bowie,” chimed in a greasy-looking loco- motive cleaner. “Tom was walking on the west-bound track one day last spring so as to face trains approaching him, when a wild-cat engine running backward came up behind him and knocked him down. When Tom fell one leg was thrown across the south rail, while the rest of his body rested between the rails. “In that position he was pushed by the moving engine a distance of about 200 feet before he was seen by a brakeman of a train coming south. The brakeman elled to the engineer that they had ru over a man and the engine was quick! stopped. Kelley then got out from un the engine and waiked home. His only in- juries were bruises about the arms and hands, He only in the house a few jays. Tom told me that the first punch he got knocked the breath out of him, so that he couldn’t yell to the engineer, but he kept his senses and clung to one of the ax- les like a drowning man to a plank. He said that the snow and ice on the track alone saved his life, as had his clothing caught but for a moment he would have been cut in two.” “I have only run against one lucky man in my time,” spoke up a gray-haired and whiskered engineer, “but the incident is worth talking about. The man I refer to told me his story shortly after the incident. It seemed that the poor fellow got out of work, and no money coming in, his wife de- serted him. Then he became seriously ill for many weeks and when he was able to walk about life had very lttle charm for him. Then he decided to commit suicide in a novel manner, and as luck would have it, if his plan worked, L was to do the killing. “The awful novelty of the method he se- lected for ending his life was a sufficient indication of the frenzy to which brooding over his troubles had driven him. I was running on the western division of the Bal- timore and Ohio then, and at the time men- uoned was clearing Cincinnati at a forty- mile-an-hour gait. The would-be suicide went out on the Freeman avenue bridge in that city, where it crosses the Baltimore and Ohio tracks. After waiting some time my train swung into sight and he quickly mounted the bridge railing. 1 saw the fei- low, but there are so many curious antics going on about a railroad that he but slight- ly interested me and I let my train speed ahead. Just as we were dashing under the bridge the poor fellow threw himseif head- long to the tracks below As I saw him take the plunge my breath forsook me, as you know, boys, it takes a tough man to Fl» human being without a quiver of re- | morse. | ‘tie intended to throw himself in front of the engine, but waited just an instant too long. Instead of the horril.le fate he had planned for himself hts hody struck the concave side of the engine boiler, glanced off and r side of track. ¢ the had scen the man Some mak> the terrih! whe leap sd to the spot, expecting of course to crushed find | They him a found edly br tel he and bleeding m: at though he w: se and face lace broken and in a fe He came to see c fon in Cincinnati 1d after teiling me his troubles said hic ionce w my engine had completely cured him of sutcidal intentions and that he was ¢ ce up and be a man ump fer him, for. be- sides not killiny him as it should have done. it knocked some sense into~ his foolis!: heal.” me afterwards at Walked OF In THs Sleep. ape Was alm st as lucky as Jim chimed another member of “At the time I speak of Jim was m a through passenger run and on 1 of the heavy traffic had been work- ing about twenty hor straight. Of course he could steal iittle naps off and on thro out the run between this city and iciphia, bat the engmes are big, the doand he tnaly worked himsel! into condiuon. He was coming south on a run that reaches Wash- near midnight and about an hour carder Lada cat puiod cui oL Cmen sta- tion, Balumore. You all Know what it is to get through the big tunnels up there with a heavy trein and Jim worked like a pole horse to keep up a full head of steam. After (ney cleared the tunneis Jim nursed his fire nicely so as to get a ltt rest down to the grades near Severn, “He had nuished wimming up t us and was tarning to creep up into the little resting nook opposite the engineer, when he lost couseious Jim told me after- rds that he imagined he was home in Lis little sitting room and was about going upstairs to go to bed. At the time he was imagining himself cpening his bed room door and was stepping therein he stepped off the side of the engine, which was run- ning fully forty miles an hour and had reached about the worst spot on the Penn- sylvania road—the high bridge over the Gwynnes Falls near the stock yards. At that time the gully sides were covered with small trees and down Jim weat, crashing through these like so much paner to the bottom, a distance of fully a hun- dred feet or more. He was picked up un- conscious and with hardly a stitch of cloth ing on his back, but not a bone broke: He regained consciousness in the hospite ened his eyes, heaved a deep sigh, turned over on his side and slept for ten hours straight. He missed two runs and then took his old place, none the worse for his perience.”” “Well, that was a lucky escape of Jim's, sure enough,” spoke up an intelligent-look- ing engineer who had just come in of of his run from Philadelphia, “but Jerry O'Neill, the traveling engineer, told me of an experience he had last September while on his way east from Chicago that will make you hold your breath and make you all more positive in your bellef in luck. “Jerry said he was coming to Baltimore on train No. 6, the daily world’s fair flyer between Chicago and Pittsburg on the Pittsburg and Western road. The train con- sisted of a baggage car, five Pullman sleep- ers and a dining car, end was crowded with passengers. Numerous little delays threw the train behind time, and when the inci- dent happened that I am about to tell of the engine throttle was wide open and the train was running at fully fifty miles an hour. Charley Parks, Jerry told me. was | handling the engine, and from that I knew he wasn’t guessing ac che speea. ‘Vac cu- gine had just crossed the Pine creek bridge when Charley, Jerry and the fireman were almost thrown from their seats by a vio- lent jolt. To say that the trio was startled is putting it mildly. “Glancing back toward the train they dis- cerned the cause of the jolt. The tender and three cars had jumped the track on the curve and were bounding about between the engine and the rear cars in a frightful manner. Charley at once threw back the lever, but the speed of the heavy train was so great that a sudden halt was impossible. This state of things continued for about fifty yards, when with a lurch that stopped the breath of the three badly frightened men in the engine, the cars plunged on to the track again, making the trucks tremble and creak as they struck the rails. The danger was over, but no one except the men in the engine knew or ever will know what a terrible catastrophe was averted. “Jerry said he went back to examine the rails and roadbed after the train was finally stopped. He found that the tender and cars had left the rails just at the end of the bridge. and striking the ties had bound- ed along for a distance of ten yards, where two deep trenches in another tie showed where they had alighted. Some ten yards further on there is a mill railroad crossing. The wheels of the tender had struck the cross rails and had actually split two of them into pieces. They then bounded into the alr and the inside wheels landed more than a foot outside of the main track,where they eround @hrongh the ends of the ties reducing them to kindling wood. At a sec- ond crossing a short distance bevond the wheels struck the guard plank and made the wonderful leap that landed them again on the rails. “Had the slichtest flaw develoned in any one of the derailed cars a ‘splinter’ wreck wonld have occurred and the Ines of life world have heen something terrible, Terry tel] me he Aidn't heleve there was a nerson on that train who was born In the sign of the crab. coe t HIS CHUM. The Newsboy Had Lost His Best Friend and Would Not Be Consoled. From the Detroit Free Press, A newsboy, small, wiry, with eyes like a ferret and a clenched fist, sat on the curb- stone crying in an aggressive way when a pedestrian halted and laid his hand on the youngster’s shoulder. ‘ “What's wrong, sonny?” “I ain't yer sonny.” “Well, what's wrong, my boy “Ain't yer boy, either. Lemme be.” “Oh, see here now, what's the row? Lost cents in the gutter? “Naw, I ain't—oh, oh, oh!” “Spit it out, then “Me chum’s dead.” “Oh! that’s another thing. How did he happen to die?” “Runned ovel ‘0? Was there an inquest?” nques’ nothin’. He jest hollered oncet and rolled over déad. Ay’ I wish I was dead, too, along of him.” “Cheer up! You can find another chum.” “Yer wouldn't talk thet way if you'd knowed Dick. He was the best friend 1 ever had. There warn’t nothin’ Dick | wouldn't a done for me. An’ now he’s d-d-dead an’ buried. I'm a wishin’ I was, too.” “Look here,” said the man, “go and sell your papers and take some poor little rag- ged boy and be a chum to him. It'll help you and do him good.” |““"Pshaw, mister, where's there a boy wot'd go round nights with me an’ be cold an’ hungry an’ outen doors, an’ sleep on the groun’ like Dick? An" he wouldn't tech a bite till I'd had enuff. He were a Christian, Dick were.” “Then you can feel that he's all right if he was such a faithful friend and good tenn “Boy? Dick a a ragged, , mister—Dicl boy? Lord! Dick warn't good-for-nothin’ human were a dog. coo The Egyptian budget for 1894 shows a surplus of 500,000 Egyptian pounds. It is proposed to further reduce the land tax by 0,000 Egyptian pounds. FADS FOR 1893-94. You Must Rigidly Observe Each of These New Laws of Swelldom. A MORE IDIOTIC STARE. Men May Wear Rings on One of Their Thumbs. HOW TO BE ULTRA SWAGGER. From the New York World. What is good form and what isn’t is the problem which many ultra-fashionables stay awake nights trying to solve. Nor is the solving of this vast question as simple a matter as the unitiated might imagine. In order to understand its difficulties one must realize that there is a phase of so- ciety, in which it is as bad form to carry a cane tipped the forty-second part of an inch too much as it would be to wear a last year’s bonnet. f The cane does not look the trap that it is, and the pedestrian who merely uses it as a support in his constitutional but dimly appreciates the pitfalls it contains for peo- ple who are not in perfectly good form, but try to be. In the first piace, it is bad This is the Way to Shake Hands. form to call a cane a cane. A cane is a walking-stick, Why is called a walking- stick nobody knows, for under no cireum- stances is it ever to be allowed to touch the ground. Then it must be pointed at the end; if not, it is vulsar. Properly carried, itis held in the right hand at an angle of forty-five degrees, with the ferrule upper- taost and furward. But the most serious responsibility con- rected with carrying a cane is the proper time to carry it. A mistake in this and the man 1s marked. Unless cut for a promen- ade, a caae is awfully bad form. The man who carries his cane to business, to church or when out calling is evidently unaware of the enormity of the sin he is commit- ting against society. It is an evidence of great intimacy to carry a cane when calling on a lady, and means that you know her well enough to drop in at any time. If the gloves are car- ried, they nist be in the same hand as the stick, This is very important. It is also very vulgar to carry an umbreila in a case. Then there are a lot of words commonly used which are bad form in the extreme, and mean that you are not thoroughly up in English as it is spoken in England. For instance, “No, I thank you, should 7y C7 Wear Your Hair Like Th be, “No, thank you,” in an affected stac- cato. “Sick” should not be used, always “il” Dress suit should be evening dress, Prince Albert should be frock coat, cuta- way should be morning coat, and in’ speak- ing of rare meat always say underdone. Never say “Don’t you know;” it is extreme- ly proper to say. “Don'tchewknow.” oftener you use the comprehensive expres- sions, “all that sort of thing” and “don’t- chewknow,” and the more frequently you drop the g at the end of a word, the more thoroughly proper you are. Never call your servants by their first names. Never speak of your valet as any- thing but your man. Never say store for shop. This latter should be rigidly ob- served if your father made his fortune in Hold Your Knife a: Fork at the Ex- treme Ends. It is still good form to turn up your trousers whether the sun is shining in New York or not, for, owing to England's changeable climate, it might be raining in London, don'tchewknow. The limit is the ankle, and the more precisely this limit is observed, the better form. That fashion, which probably owes its origin to some indigent English nobleman being unable to replace his summer out- ing shoes with seasonable black ones, is still in vogue, and yellow shoes are very good form, despite the fact that consistent people might have some misgivings as to their fitness on a snowy da Carlyle says a man can be judged by the rings he wears, but failed to add that the ultra-swagger man is judged by where he wears them. When only one ring is worn, under no circumstances put it on the third finger. It is a stamp of vulgarity,and should be placed on the small finger of the right hand. If persenal adornment extends to two rings, the corresponding finger on the other hand may be next adorned. And if the taste inclines to a quantity, which is perfectly allowable, the fingers next to the Hold Your Stick. little ones come in for their share. A par- ticular mark of elegance is a ring worn on the thumb, A man's linen is perhaps his most im- portant fad. A proper man, by the way, is one not in the least inconvenienced by laundry bills, and the fact that his col- lars and cuffs are attached to his shirt holds for him no terrors. By the way, never wear detached cuffs or collars or ready-made ties. No one can do that and be a gentleman, says society. Then, too, it is very, very bad form to walk in Fifth avenue on Sunday afternoon, but with all propriety one may venture on Madison avenue. Broadway at 3 o'clock in the afternoon on any day is positively vulgar, and between 5 and 7 anybody who is anybody should be invisible, the supposition being that at that time all proper people are within the Sanctity of their own rooms making their toilets for dinner. It is good form to do ali one’s shopping in the morning, especially on Monday morning. Why Monday is in especial fa- vot is not generally known and can hardly have any connection with that weekly household function which from time im- memorial has been associated with the day. The night to go to the theater is Friday night, while it is positively common to be seen there on Saturday night. A late fad, and one having the advantage of seeming amiability, is to praise every- body. The sarcasm of several years ago, considered as an evidence of good form, is thoroughly vulgar today, when every woman should be described as beautiful and charming and every man as a good fellow and manly. This latter suggests another and, under The Th; ib Ring. certain circumstances, almost cruel fad. The proper thing today is for a man to go in for athietic sperts. It matters noth- ing whether he has no taste for that sort of thing or whether his chest is no wider than his chrysanthemum. To be proper he muSt go in for athletics. He must take lessons in sparring and be thoroughly up in all the points of the art cf self-defense. Do not spare your sympathy, for there are times when he needs it, poor chappie. Nothing is worse form than to speak of being ill. It does not matter if you are or not, you are to pretend you are not, and a man’s health should never be the subject of discussion. If he receives an invitation -to go out to dinner and happens to be ill at the time, his reason for declining should be another engagement or anything under the heavens except his health, any refer- ence to which his hostess will regard as an_evidence of vulgarity. Then, a new thing in table etiquette is How to Plaster Your Hair. the correct manner of holding your knife and fork. The knife should be taken at the extreme end of the handle, between the thumb and the first finger, and must rest on the second finger, while the fork should be held face upward and never changed from the left hand. All this is extremely awkward, but very swell. It is bad form to have your trousers creased, as though they had been pressed. Every man’s trousers should look, not as if they had been vulgarly ironed, but as though their condition was the result of his man’s care. If he doesn’t keep a man he can obtain practically the same effect by laying his trousers between the mat- tress and the springs and sleeping on them. The proper time to take a bath is at 6 o'clock in the evening. This statement has nothing to do with hygiene, nor is it made for the benefit of the ordinary individual whose bath is a weekly or semi-weekly occurrence. It is directed straight at the Anglomaniac who gets out of a warm bed every morning and plunges into a cold bath to end up very probably with the ague sim- for Athletics. ply because it is English, you know. All that is changed, and it 1s good form now to take a bath at 6 o'clock in the evening, the reason being that the proper person al- Ways dresses for dinner. The proper man, too, has a unique way of combing his hair. First it is made tho oughly wet, then brushed and parted, after which his man swathes his head with linen bands, which he wears until the hair is thoroughly dry. This ts the only method of acquiring the plastered hair, which at present is regarded as good form. It is bad form to go to oratorios and phil- harmonic concerts, as it indicates a_ten- dency to be pedantic. The horse s' is far more proper. The proper way to shake hands is some- thing everybody ought to know. Hands should not be clasped, but caught at the second joint, in the way shown in the ac- companying cut, and two or three decisive little jerks given. The thumbs of the shak- ers should be held up straight and have practically nothing to do with the matter. The old-fashioned method of clasping hands ts very bad form. Cordiality in the street is likewise becom- ing obsolete, and if you can manage to in- fuse into your manner of greeting an air of ennui it is all the more proper. The lady should always recognize her men ac- quaintances first. In walking together a man no longer of necessity keeps to the curb, and he never changes his place in crossing the streets, always keeping the lady at his right. It is very bad form to gesticulate. Never make a gesture. Never show any anima- tion in your face. That is a solecism so ciety will never pardon. The more you re- semble a wooden block the better form you are. It is the height of good form to look at people as though you saw some- thing on the other side of them. Have no hesitancy about staring, but be sure you cultivate the heavy British stare. And don't forget your monocle. Perfumes are becoming quite a fad, and the costly oriental perfumes are the proper ones, The fact that the odor one frequent- ly notices on the street when passing a woman suggests a hot vanilla pudding and was formerly regarded as vulgar has noth- ing to do with the matter now. Strong scents are the very latest and quite the proper thing. ——_+e-___ Aerated Water. From the Engineering Record. The old trouble about water looking like milk has perplexed the citizens of West Knoxville, Ky., according to the local papers. The water is so full of minute bubbles of air that it has the same milky appearance that the water in some of the tanks of Pullman cars has when compress- ed air is employed to lift it into the basins. The water becomes clear in a few minutes and the citizens are probably to be con- sratulated on having a well-aerated supply. In cases where dandruff, scalp diseases, falling and gtayness of the hair appeat not neglect them, but apply a proper remedy and tonic like Hall's Hair Renewer. A PLEASING PLUMPNESs. permanent condition. A very short time after taking celery compound there is an unmistakable feeling of increased vi- tality, clearer brain, stronger powers in every di- rection. : Mrs. Claud Clary, today one of the handsomest * and me com- immediate os to they are women REVOL Not in Mexico, Brazil or Honolulu, in Washington. It began nearly ‘snd has continued with unvarying Present time, thereby verifying the ‘that “Revolutions never go backward.” — Hig but ten iH I FINE READY-MADE CL At 10 per ceat advance on the actual Manufacture was a revelation to the completely revolutioized the clothing hereabout, and now, in recognition of the vailing bard times, we again take the initiative and _j@t another spoke in the wheels of revolution. HENS SUITS. rig That were $18, $17.50, $16.50 and $16, Checks, Aliunde, Shags, Fency Brush Tweeds, &c., than which there are none better, handsomer or more stylish extant, have all reduced to $12.50. ‘With a surgeon's nerve we have sunk the knife deep down into the prices of every line of goods on_our counters. Sack Suits and Three i and Double-breasted ont Poarastton Oona ae ae $7.50. Black Cheviot, Oxford Mixture, Black Diagonal ‘and Fancy Cheviot Suits for Men,” $10.00. it Overcoats, Melton and Kersey, $5.98. ‘Storm Coats, blue, brown and gray, $7.50. Men's Overcoats, Oxfords, Meltons, Kerseys and ‘Tiger Silk Mixtures, $10.00. Boys’ Suits, Double-breasted Jackets, strictly all $2.98. Boys’ Overcoats, Detachable Capes, from $2.50. Boys’ Reefers from M ‘all wool, 4, $4.50, $5, $5.50 and $6 kinds, $2.98. Aren't these prices a revelation? And won't ther Work « revolution? VIGTOR E. ADLER’S Tex Pex Cext Crome Horse, 927 Axv 929 Tru Sx. N. Ww. CORNER MASSACHUSETTS AVE STRICTLY ONE PRICE Open Saturday until 11 p.m. ee18-3m When You Get Married? ‘Foul eed itule help: tn furatahing house. It's more than likely thet you 0 straight to Grogan’s Mammoth Gredit House Lift GROGAN’S MAMMOTH GREDIT MOUSE, $19, S21, 828 TTH ST. N. BET. H AND I STS. WE CLOSE EVERY EVENING aT 7. nol