Evening Star Newspaper, January 20, 1894, Page 14

14 A COOKING LESSON) se ris. Stage Dinners That Are Real and Made in One’s Presence. ————-—_ CULINARY MYSTERIES UNVEILED The Experiences of a Reporter Who Learned to Cook. ’ AN EMERGENCY DINNER ever a time when a man feels the saying that it is not good to be alone it is when a cruel edi- sent him single-handed to report @ codking lecture. ‘The feeling of utter loneliness that comes over him as he gazes on the overwhelming ere is of The stage setting for the cooking lecture is unique. A regular cook stove stands at the middle of the back, with the stove pipe meandering out of an adjacent window in the good old ‘way. Down nearer the front is a gas stove. A “property” table loaded with utensils stands at the left, while foremost it is the patent kitchen table, incognito,the marvel of the age;a kitchen table warranted to contain | more drawers, shelves, hooks, spoons,spices, kettles and coffee mills than anything on / earth, and keep up appearances as a neat little office desk. The stege kitchen melts into a fringe of evergreens on the left. On the right is a dining room, separated from the kitchen by @ clothes line trimmed with asparagus. ‘The table is set, but as the company is Gang The Teacher. large, the refreshments are handed round instead, and the dining room is only looked at These details of the scene are not ab- sorbed at first; they leak into a man’s mind, So to speak, in the course of events. At first he only sees the neat high priestess of the Order of Good Cookery at the pat- ent table, and has an indistinct recollection of being a boy in school and a severe young teacher making him sit with the girls to punish him. The Emergency Dinner. ‘The reporter nad selected the emergency dinner as being the one that would contain least difficulties for himself and most all- around usefulness for the public. Every one knows how trying it is to have com- pany drop in unexpectedly just before din- ner, with nothing in the house to eat byt # cooky and a sad-eyed egg left from break- it. But the menu the teacher proposed to evolve from the contents of the average Pantry in just one hour was not such a simple thing. A puree of green peas, a salmon souffle with potato balls, there being no meat in the house, some macaroni au gratin. Surely no one need starve on that diet, and even a dessert, snow balls, with lovely foamy sauce on them. All in an hour. And this is the way to do it: For the The Sable Assistant. Puree you take a can of green peas, and add some milk and salt and things and boil it some. While they were doing that nother man came in, and that arrival and the soup on the stage reminded the re- porter of the two oysters that met in a church stew, and the first oyster says to the second oyster: “What do they want with both of us, I wonder.” But it was a fatal moment, for by the time he had collected his thoughts the soup was all made, and they were getting ready to cook the macaroni. Macaroni au gratin (so called because you grate in the cheese) in this case was made from spaghetti, because, for an emergency dinner, you must do it in a hurry, and e@paghett!i is smaller and cooks faster. Macaroni and also rice must be put in boiling water and kept on a jump. Never stir it under -any circumstances, and the harder it boils the better. Rice ought not to be washed—it takes the starch out—and nothing is more unpleasant than rice not starched stiff enough. For purposes of ae rub the rice in a piece of cheese th. Knows It All.” While this was being explained the Spaghetti had been all broken up and put to boil; the teacher had taken up a tin mold of peculiar shape and painted the in- side of it with a nice little brush dipped in melted butteg; the assistant had shaken the stove and stirred the soup and moved all the properties around, and had been back and forth through the evergreen hedge into the pantry a dozen times. An Interruption. Now the lesson was interrupted to show & dish made at a previous lesson, a German salad, with sardines in it. This was sent Found in the audience to be admired. ‘The little jeilified sardines all had their tails one way, and nice little pieces of red beets between them, and looked very natural. THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, JANUARY 20, 1894—TWENTY PAGES. all brought forks? No; no one and the salad went back on the stage intact. People who go to cook- ing lectures ought to know enough to bring Suddenly we find ourselves in the puree again. A cooking lecture lacks continuity. Can cooking a dinner really be like that? Can’t a man think about jellified sardines @ minute without missing the vital point about pea soup? It will curdie and make an awful time if something happens; how- hens if you take it off the stove it is all right. Matters were now getting complicated. It was 4:30, the corrpany were ready. Things were in the state which in the ordinary emergency dinner gives the cook a duck fit. Not so with this. Calmly the teacher explained that as things were supposed to be prepared in haste the salad for the din- ner would be lettuce, which was to be dress- ed on the table, and through the row of Christmas trees at L. U. E. came the as- sistant, unblushing, with a dish of undress- ed lettuce in his hand. The salmon souffle and the macaroni au gratin were now in a close heat with the chances on macaroni, but the absorbing topic was cream sauce. The recipe for snowballs for dessert had been given out, but they were to be made later. The cheese for the macaroni must always be melted with the butter and milk and poured over the macaroni; that pre- vents the possibility of getting helped to a large tract of plain macaroni, while some other fellow gets all the cheese, a disap- Pointing experience to all lovers of the gratined article. American Women and Sauce. When the question of sauce came up again the teacher said the French have a saying that American women cannot cook because they know so little about sauce. Probably the sauce has been diverted from proper culinary channels heretofore. | At all events the sauce explained at this lecture was purely edible. White sauce was selected because it is easier to make. Brown sauce is similar, but darker complected. A teaspoonful of butter, one of flour and a cup of miik, cream or stock makes a sauce, but the flour must be dumped in all at once and the whole stirred assiduously. No one can write an essay on pagan philosophy and make sauce Bechamel at the same time. All attention must be centered on the stirring, and on no account salt the thing until it is off the fire, else it may curdle and spoil everything. But the sauce was not made straight away like this. The sal- mon had to be patted into a mold and put to steam in just so much water. A potato was denuded of its skin and then a little tool like an exaggerated mustard spoon was jabbed into its side, twisted viciously and jerked out again with a helpless little potato ball, which was immediately drown- ed in a bowl of water. A potato which has been subjected to this process for some time becomes badly pockmarked, but may be utilized for mashed potato still. The Problem of the Egg. Preparations must now begin for the snow balls. The assistant takes three eggs and undertakes to separate them. He breaks the shell and gets a gob of albumen suspended over a dish. Breathless with suspense for fear the yolk will tumble out the reporter, bewilder- ed by the rapidly succeeding events of this | dramatic half hour, is shocked to hear that the sauce, that everlasting sauce, had got- ten too thick by standing and must be thinned a little. This does not rattle the cook, however. Suddenly, one hardly knows how, the din- ner is done. The soup has presumably been served, the teacher says, meaning that the bowl is,somewhere in the back benches slowly making its circuit among the audience. A very tasty soup. ‘The macaroni comes out of the oven and starts the rounds. And the souffle. There on a platter lies a fish that never swam on sea or land. A_piscatorial freak, but a culinary triumph! Fat, pink “and tooth- some, in a bed of potato balls, and lo, the sauce, smooth, creamy and delicious after being so terribly stirred up awhile ago. So should the hostess come out of the trying ordeal of preparing a dinner for unexpected company. Taking Notes. It had grown late and toothsome smells do not make a substantial dinne- after all. The audience melted away like drawn but- ter before they had half learned the snow balls, but the whirr of an eggbeater had an- nounced that the eggs had been successfully separated. There was a young lady there with a lead pencil in her hand, and a face framed in a big collar of crinkled astrakan. She wore an air of knowing how to revive the foamy qualities of sauce that has ceased to foam, also an orchid in her button hole. If she had been seated in the rear of the hall the reporter might have been able to guess the reason why baking powder must always go into the batter the last thing, in- stead of having to go round the next day to find out it was because it had alkali in it. As it was he came away with a yearning to buy a kitehen table that would lead a double life, and a lot of aluminum cooking dishes. soe Innocent Sarcasm. From Life. Little Willie—“I wish I was you, Mr. Selfmade.”” Mr. Selfmade (who has come to dinner)— “and why, Willie?" Willie—““Cause you don’t get your ears pulled for eating with your knife. eo Looked Like a Fake. From Puck. Editor—“Here’s a dispatch about a Mis- sissippi lynching, but I don’t believe it’s genuine.” Assistant Editor—“Why not?" Editor—“Because it doesn't say that ‘his body was then riddled with bullets.’ ” OVER THE MOUNTAINS A Christmas Morning Ride With a Railroad Engineer. {N THE CAB OF NO. 106. Watching the Dawn Going a Mile a Minute. WEIRD, INTERESTING SCENES. Written for The Evening Star. WANTED TO BE [[snaken up, excited, aroused! I wasn’t bilious, neither was I despondent, but I felt the need of stim- ulus, and my theory is that my condition was the result of having been contin- uously in the city of Washington from the 6th day of last Au- gust until the coming of the holiday recess. Even the charming capital city of our country becomes sluggish and uninterest- ing under certain conditions. And so it happened that at 2 o’clock last Christmas morning, as the “F. F. V. train” over the Chesapeake and Ohio railroad was approaching Charlottesville, Va., I was— according to my request—aroused by the porter of the sleeper on which I had been & passenger since leaving Washington with “We'll be in Charlottesville in about twenty minutes, sah."* The cause of this midnight alarm’was a bit of official paper in my vest Pocket, signed and countersigned, granting me the privilege of riding on the locomotive from Charlottesville to Clifton Forge, 100 miles, at the head of a solidly vestibuled train of nine cars, and .that, too, over the peaks and through the gaps and valleys of the Blue Ridge and the Alleghanies. I had run logs on the “drive,” I had shot | the rapids at Salt Ste Marie, I “did” the Brooklyn bridge when it was but little more than a couple of ropes with a single board swung between them, but I had never rid- den on a locomotive; I had traversed the canyons of the Grand, climbed up most of the “Robinson Follies” and down a ma- jority of the “lovers’ leaps” im the land, and yet I had never seen the Blue Ridge or the Alleghanies of the Virginias. It was a test in every way that I long had coveted, and I was happy. I am fond of the sociability to be found at the railway station in a small city. It is So spontaneous and honest. Somehow the station agent, the baggage agent and the telegraph operator—it is better even when he is all three in one—look upon the stranger who jumps off the train to stretch his legs, as a personal friend and patron and—“It would talk; Lord! how it talked!” Within five minutes after I landed at Charlottesville I had learned that ‘“Monti- cello,” the home of Thomas Jefferson, was “away over there on the mountain,” and that I had just passed through “his birth- Place at Shadwell, ‘bout four miles back;” also that Presidents James Madison and James Monroe, Lewis and Clarke, the ex- plorers, the late United States Senator Rives and his no less famous granddaugh- ter, Amelia Rives Chanler, had been well- known figures on the streets of Charlottes- ville in times past. “I reckon this is your first visit in these parts,” ventured the sta- tion agent. “You should go up and see the University of Virginia before you leave. That's here, too, and it’s the greatest of all the universities of the south.” On No. 106. Here, Conductor Jones, coming from the telegraph office, said he guessed we had changed engines by this time, and so I ac- companied him to the head of our train, when I was introduced to Henry Johnson, a clean-cut, quiet-mannered young man,and engineer of “A-Hundred-and-Six.” Then I noted that we were to have a tandem-team with 106 as the leader, and 128 just back of her as helper. The sight did my soul good, because I felt that there was no chance of getting stalled going up the mountains. So, climbing up after Mr. John- son into the cab of 196, I was introduced to F. Mahaney, the fireman, a young man who wore a clean face, a well-kept mustache, and, between his teeth, a newly lighted cig- arette—a combination which, when I looked at his soot-stained cap and blouse, amused me. As the engineer curled his right leg up on his narrow shelf of a seat and, putting his head out of the window, looked toward the rear of the train, the fireman fixed the leathern cushion on his bench for my oc- cupancy. At the same time he explained, apologetically: “We don't pull out for a minute or two, and so I’m taking a sort of farewell whiff.” Fortunately, for me, No. 106 had a real cab with four or five feet of clear space be- tween its furnace door and tender instead of the high, twin-stall sort of arrangement gineer and fireman were perched, as it were, on the very quarters of their steed. And so it happened I could see all of the bdit heads And seams, all the levers and gauge cocks, I could— Just then the call of the conductor is heard, the fireman grasps a sagging black cord above his head, and, as the bell rings, the engineer gives a short, steady pull on the throttle with his left hand, and a great hissing screech shoots out upon the night as though telling of an awful hurt to some- thing that has a soul. Little white tatters of steam struggle up through spaces between us and the tender,the heavy rumblings of the drivers mingle with the lesser but more spiteful noises from some- where out there amohg the rods, pipes and cylinders, and—our ride is born. On to the Blue Ridge. It ts fifteen miles across the valley from Charlottesville to the Blue Ridge, miles marked by the orchards, fields and build- ings of as well-housed a community as may be found in the Old Dominion; homes which, while they were less shrouded by the clouds of battle than were their neighbors during the civil war, were shelters alike to the men under Jackson, Sheridan, Shields and Ewell, and the store houses of the most prolific grain fields in the confederacy. Across this picture in the perfect glory of a Christmas moon—a brilliance that was a midnight dream of day—we rolled and rum- bled over little bridges, around wood lots, by the side of turnpikes, along brooks and it was during that ride that I learned two facts: First, that the alleged unbroken, in- teresting and comfortable conversations carried on in locomotive cabs between engi- neers and firemen while making a run are— well, they do not take pl: fairly well in tales entitled. Special,” “Leaps on the Limited,” and the like, but nature has such a comprehensive estimate of the seriousness of railroading, that she prohibits successful cab conversa- tions while under way in her own fash- ion. The other revelation was that a loco- motive, answering promptly to every varia- tion in grade or line, leaves the matter of retaining one’s seat on the surface of a shiny, slippery leathern cushion wholly to one’s own ingenuity In this respect I obtained the shaking up I sought. In other ways was I excited, but as yet I had not been startled. The strict devotion to his charge on the part of the engineer was exciting. There he sat with his eyes to the front, one hand on the brake lever and the other on the throttle, ready to pull either, his only variations being an occasional touch on the whistle lever and now and then a turn on the sand with a very heavy load. Up-hill work is usually somewhat stupid, but in a locomo- tive cab and to a visitor it is very exciting. It is a race between the fireman and the steam gauge. We had 150 pounds on record when we left Charlottesville, and all the way to Greenwood at the foot of the ridge the fireman worked with his shovel against the continuous up grade. It was an inces- sant alternation of noises and light. First would come a rattle of latch and chain, then the cab would fill with light and heat, the tumbling hurricane of black smoke over our cab would change to great rolling, wooly fleeces of brown, and simultaneously @ shovelful of fuel would go into the roar- of the larger engine, No. 128, where the en- | the tiny | under the shadows of hailf-grown bluffs, and | white-hot mouth of the furnace. “Now we've got a climb that’s a whale!” shouted Mr. Mahaney, as we began the as- cent of the mountains, and for the hun- dredth time I glanced at the pointer to see it fixed at the 150 point and was contented. A Mountain Climb. There 1s nothing exciting, so far as speed is concerned, about a mountain climb on a locomotive. On the other hand, I am con- vinced that there can be few scenes of more thrilling beauty than were the color studies shown on that very early Christ- mas morning. The mountains close at hand were black or brown or gray, accord- ing as the moon concealed or revealed her- self. The foot hills—now showing them- selves to the right and then, dodging be- hind our train, to look up at us from the left—were alway blue, but with a gauze of gray deftly laid across their charms. The sky was a vast continent of blue, showing upon its surface great ranges of fleecy mountains with wonderful perspective ef- fects, ever changing and always new, be- cause of their subtle caperings with the stars and in the moonlight. New plowed fields and old, old turnpikes lighted to the last degree seemed changed into pretty shining lakes and winding streams of water. Down the hill sides came solid pha- lanxes of blue-black forests—on their way to join other follaged hosts who filled the sagging gaps away over against the hori- zon. The farm houses and barns seemed thatched with wisps of silver light, and re- membering that it was Christmas morning, I was prepared to see at any turn our jolly-faced old Santa Claus and his weird roadsters waving a cordial good morning to us as we met. Hard Work. Just then, however, I heard the engineer soliloquizing: “If she hangs on a hundred yards further we'll make it, and I guess she will.” Then I appreciated the fact that our speed was greatly lessened, while the heavy pantings of the two locomotives told that the work was a hard one. Then I saw a tiny white flame away up ahead of us where our track merged into a single line of light apd next 1 noticed that our gauge still showed 150 pounds of steam, and that the face of our fireman was covered with perspiration. But our team was a “stayer” and, as the engireer predicted, “she hung on.” We reached the lttle light and directly ahead of us was a wall of rock a hundred feet high, with a little black spot at its base. Shut went the windows of our cab and the next instant we plunged into a universe of darkness. We were in the tunnel, which ex- tends a distance of seven-elghths of a mile under the summit of the Blue Ridge. I heard a voice saying, “Our blower’s off, but you can wager those chaps in 128 are breathing hard!” I couldn’t hear the voice with half the distinctness I could feel the pitchy blackness and so I felt pity for those who were in the cab just back of ours. It wasn’t for long, however, because,pres- ently, like being plunged headlong through the vampire trap at the pantomime, our engine leaped out into the light and we were with the world again. And what a world! Far across the valley of the Senan- doah were the peaks of the North moun- tain and to the north and south as far as could be seen, were o1 » fields, homes es, Down Grade. Here was my opportunity! I was to be startled, and that’s what I was there for! Gladly did I hear the four blasts of the whistle which called in the flagman at the rear end of the train—now that the tunnel had been safely passed—and longingly did 1 view the miles of down grade between us and Waynesboro’. Then we stopped for water. Having finished our errand at the water tank we started on the race to Waynesboro’, a wild rush for miles down a ninety-foot grade. The engineer sat with his left hand on the throttle, and pulling her open as our bell sounded an answer to a friendly little toot from the helper, we were off. I noticed that the fireman closed his fur- Race door with a smile as he looked up at the pointer, and the next instant I realized that we were beginning to fly. The leaning telegraph poles were more frequent as they seemed to straighten up and salute us as we passed. Our bottle-shaped smokestack nodded this way and that as though recog- nizing old friends; the cry of the whistle echoed across the free side of our narrow pathway. great shoulders of rock jutting out close to the rail fairly opened their black seams with laughter as they drew back to let us make the turn; the sleepy Christmas morning candles blinked at us from cabins on the hillsides and in the val- leys; the villages sent long plumes of pure white smoke high and straight up from the chimneys into the clear, cold air. Then, striking a straight stretch, our thorough- bred trembled and throbbed as she covered it in a breath. The stone indicators of cul- verts and cattle guards flashed before our eyes like flying sheets of white, the long sagging wires of the telegraph hurried themselves into short and proper pinkings, and it was a race for your life! Could 128 catch us? That seemed to be her aim, and she had 62-inch drivers against ours, which were six inches less. No, the short legs of 106 were nimble. They even challenged the moon to a test of speed! Afraid? Afraid of what? On such a track, and on such a road-bed, neck-and-neck with everything in sight and all going at their very best pace? There's no time for fear! Fright is not-the feeling for such a time and place. How the moon hangs on to that spot at the upper edge of the window frame; how | Elliott's knob—miles away across the valley |—ties us at every point in the race; even | the clouds unroll their soft, silvery fleeces ‘to spin themselves out into long silken rib- | bons of white, waving applause for our ef- forts, Calmly our driver sits with his hand on the-sand-brake, and as we bend our train around a horse-shoe until the last car |seems determined to meet us, head on, he observes: “We're doing a mile a minute now.” | Here it is that the moon and stars, as though at play, leap madly to the right or {left of our course, always at our throat- jlatch, never gaining and never losing—as ‘though a hundred feet through space each | second were mere reczeation. It is to be a dead heat I fancy as the great globe of | silver rolls itself behind a floating bulwark of snow, changing it to a cold gray promontory of ice, but no, the next in- stant as we double around a narrow shelf of rock she reappears in a sea of perfect blue, royally resting in the center of a bed of gray, purple and gold—a dazzling halo lof colors blended into a crown of glory. Why should she mock us with her affiu- ence? The race is not yet ended and just just here a little white light beckons at us far away down the track. It leaps up at us and we draw a breath or two inside a world of blackness. ‘Then, with a bound, we clear the tunnel and are in the light again, to cover, in a flash, the length of a twenty-car freight train as it stands on the siding in wait for the glimpse which proves our safety. We do not halt. The peaks to our right as we whirl close to the smokestacks of a tannery, just below us, and by the side of a small brook, fly around our front as though to stop our flight. ‘Then they are to our left and finally as they race around to our rear we dart through another eye in the mountains—an eye that winked at brink of a bluff that hinted at eternity. It was a bluff, however, in anothe: sense, for, like the ponderously moving set plece in the theater, a long smooth incline wheeled itself into view and away we go over a beautiful stretch of track with the moun- tain at our left, and farms and houses, barns and sheds, fields and roads scurrying back up the valley as though fearful lest Then the stars began to show more feebly, the clouds wrinkled themselves more closely together, and we had wiped Waynesboro and Staunton from off our train sheet. Was it a thrilling ride? Yes; but not sensational. It was exciting because of its impressive character. And why not? At the head of a retinue of gigantic caravans at play with nature, witness to a stately |parade of power where ideas ruled, with steam and electricity as royal regents, in the van of a marching host which had for its pioneers the souls of Newton, Watts, Franklin, Stephenson and Morse. Such an experiet ce sensational? The term is cheap! Too cheap for use in the presence of the shadows of Buffalo gap, too weak to wipe out the fact that it was a case of must! “If” had no part in the situation! It must be safe! Such were my reflections as we sped our way through Goshen, as _we picked our passage over the saddle of Panther gap and along Cow Pasture river, with Royal moun- tain away off to the right, showing the trunk, head, shoulders, back and rump of a sleeping mammoth clearly against the sky. “Did you ever ride on a locomotive be- fore?” asked Mr. Johnson, and as I nodded in the negative, he shouted back: “It don’t require much nerve, except as nerve is needed to perform hard work.” And I agreed with him. ‘Then another slide in the magic lantern of the morning was pushed in place, and there, to the east and south, set down in the deep angle of “Iron Gate’’ and shimmer- ing beneath a shower of blue, purple, pink, red and orange, the head waters of the James river greeted the breaking of the holy day and—we had reached Clifton Forge. Cc. 8. HATHAWAY, us suggestively and sent us toward the | they be caught disputing our right of way. | BLOWS THAT WIN | One of Seven May Make Corbett or Mitchell Champion. Where Hard Hitting is a Science— The Coming Combat Will Be an “In-Fight.” Prof. Mike Donovan in the New York Herald. At the outset I will say that I do not wish to express any opinion as to whether Mitchell or Corbett will win the fight. If I were on the grounds on the night of the fight and could see the men when they entered the ring I believe I could name the champion. Anyway, I believe it will be one of the finest exhibitions of boxing ever seen, and I am sure that it will last at least ten rounds. Both are scientific men, too scientific al- together to wear themselves out seeking to deliver a knock-out blow. Sullivan, who depended so much upon forcing the fight- ing, was not so scientific as either Corbett or Mitchell. It will be purely a fight of en- durance and skill. Both are all-round men, and there isn’t a blow in which both Mitchell and Corbett are not experts. The man who has the most determination and endurance will win the fight. aes a4 aot) 1—Straight Left-Hand Blow for the Nose. I cannot agree with those who believe that Mitchell’s age will count against him. He ts just at the fighting age. From the time that a man is thirty until he is thirty- five he should be in his prime. Experience counts for a great deal in boxing. One's eyes should be better trained and he should be better able to judge time and distance at thirty than he is at twenty. I shall attempt to explain, by means of photographs representing a pupil of mine, Mr. Alpheus Geer, and myself, a few of the most effective blows, one of whiqh may settle the battle at Jacksonville or wher- ever it takes place. . 2-Left-Hand Swinging Blow for the Body. Figure 1 (straight left-hand blow for the nose).—This is the most punishing blow you can hit. It is the blow Corbett hit Sulli- van, and which, more than anything else, demoralized Sullivan. -It shocks the whole nervous system of your opponent and dazes him. It forces the head of the opponent back and gives a chance to follow with the right. But it will be remembered that Cor- bett stepped back instead of following up his vantage, as he would take no ‘ (eft-hand swinging blow for the ).—This is a favorite of Corbett's. It is a good blow against a man who has a high guard, but an inadvisable one against a man who has a good body guard, as you are very Mable to hurt your hand on your opponent’s elbow. The blow is made by feinting vigorously for the head with the left and then striking for the body with the left hand by a half-circular motion; when the opponent attempts to land you can duck or receive his blow on the forehead. Corbett generally follows this blow with a swinging left-hand blow for the head. 3—Right-Hand Body Blow. Fig. 3 (right-hand body blow).—This is a blow Mitchell hits with great force. | Fig. 4 (swinging right-hand blow for the head).—This is made by feinting with a ; quick forward movement of the left foot, as if you were going to make a straight left-hand lead for his head or body. If the opponent is disconcerted, instantly spring | forward with your left foot inside of his ‘left, and, in the same instant, swing the right arm, with the weight of the whole , body, in a half circle for the point of his jaw. This is the most likely to be decisive of any blow in the art of boxing. It seldom | fails to knock an opponent out, if it lands on the point of his jaw. Hend. Fig. 5 (right-hand upper cut).—It is in- flicted by swinging the right arm in about @ quarter circle, and striking upward when your opponent ducks well and you quickly anticipate him. The shoulder, body and hips should swing with the arm, and it be- comes virtually an upward swinging blow. Fig. 6. (cross-guard blow).—Draw out your opponent by throwing your head slightly forward, giving him an apparent opening | to strike at your head with his right or left, and if he does either, step forward instantly | with the left foot, throw the left forearm | across the face, about eight inches from it, the knuckles turned slightly inward, a po- sition that gives you the strongest guard; at the same instant strike with the right ‘for his short ribs or the pit of his stomach. | This blow can be used most effectively. =z 5—Right-Hand Upper Cut. There will probably be a great deal of in- | fighting, as Mitchell is pre-eminently an in- | fighter, and I believe he will force the fight- | ing. I copy these principles on in-fighting | from my book on “The Science of Boxing:” “A thorough knowledge of in-fighting is | invaluable, should you be forced into a cor- | ner close to a wall or the ropes, and may enable you to turn the tables upon your opponent just when he appears to have you ata disadvantage. In that position he will generally lead with his right; should he do so dash out your left for his face. “If you see that you have stopped him in- stantly follow with your right for his jaw. This will very likely lead to an exchange of @—Cross Guard Blow. Bend the knees, brace the body against -his hug, change your attack from his head, and hit as rapidly as you can, alternately with your right for his short ribs and left for the pit of the stomach. These blows should be aimed slightly upward, and the swing of the body thrown into each. A few such blows, well delivered, should effectual- ly wind him. “Instantly change the point of attack from his body to his head, swinging half- arm blows alternately, with left and right for his jaws. These blows must be hit with extreme rapidity. Under such punishment he is sure to give way. As he does so, you can end the bout with a blow on the jaw. “Concerning the pivot blow, I would like to say that when it is properly ‘hit it is a fair blow, although it has been often de- barred, and was debarred at New Orleans. The pivot blow is struck by standing well away from your opponent and feinting as if you_would lead for him with your left; instead of doing so wheel around, making a pivot of the ball or heel of the left foot, extending the right arm so that the heel of the hand will strike the jaw or neck. ponent Hugs. It is contestants are clinched, and the referee has ordered them to break away; and also foul under any ces if with the elbow.” —+2+—_____ FAMOUS METEORIC STONES. The Largest Weighs 50,000 Pounds and Was Found in Greenland. From the San Francisco Call. A meteoric stone, which is described by Pliny as being as large as a wagon, fell near Aegospotam! in Asia Minor in 476 B. C. About A. D. 1500 a stone weighing 1,400 pounds fell in Mexico and is now in -the Smithsonian Institution at Washington. The largest meteoric masses on record were heard of first by Captain Ross, the arctic explorer, through some Esquimaux. These lay on the west coast of Greenland and were subsequently found by the Swedish exploring party of 1870. One of them, now in the Royal museum of Stockholm, weighs ever 50,000 pounds and is the largest speci- men known. Two remarkable meteorites have fallen in Iowa within the past twenty years. Feb- ruary 12, 1875, an exceedingly brilliant me- teor, in the form of an elongated horseshoe, was seen throughout a region of at least 400 miles in length and 250 in breadth, lying in Missouri and Iowa. It is described as “without a tail, but having a flowing jacket of flame. Detonations were heard so vio- lent as to shake the earth and to jar the windows like the shock of an earthquake,” as it fell about 10:30 p.m., a few miles east of Iowa. The ground for the space of seven miles in length by two to four miles in breadth was strewn with frag- ments of this meteor, «varying in weight from a few ounces to seventy-four pounds. On May 10, 1879, a large and extraordi- narily luminous meteor exploded with ter- rific noise, followed at slight intervals with less violent detonations, and struck the earth in the edge of a ravine near Esther- ville, Emmet county, Iowa, penetrating to a depth of fourteen feet. Within two miles other fragments were found, one of which weighed 170 pounds and another 32 pounds. The principal mass weighed 431 pounds. Ali the discovered aggregated about 610 pounds. The one of 170 pounds is now in the cabinet of the state university of Min- nesota. The composition of this aerolite is Peculiar in many respects, but as in nearly all aerolites there is a considerable propor- tion of iron and nickel. It is generally held that meteors at one time or another formed integral parts of a comet. The meteor enters the earth's at- mosphere from without with a velocity relatively to the earth that is comparable with the earth’s velocity in its orbit, which is nineteen miles per second. By the re- sistance ‘it meets in penetrating the air the light and other phenomena of the lumi- nous train are produced. Many small me- teorites are undoubtedly consumed by this fire, caused by friction, before they reach the earth’ urface. ———-+e2+—____ Written for The Evening Star. Love and Hunger. (Campion’s Measure.) I On the earth, that, Round the sun in course elliptic, Whirls with all her kindred planeta, And her little silver sister, Next to fiery Mars, 1 Many spirits, Ever active, sway the peoples, Till they sink into her bosom, From the frozen regions Arctie To the burning South: mI . Spirits potent, 4 Governing with force tyrannie: x Envy, Hatred, Fraud, Ambition, Hope and Fear, Despair and Malices 5 ‘These and many more. Iv But, among them, There are two whose power is greater: None, or high or low, escape them, Bich or poor, or wise or foolish— All, they sway them all. v One is Hunger, Pale, and gaunt, and much devouring; Daily we must do him service, Else be works us cruel tormenta, And at length he kills. Love the 5 Beautiful and full of promise; Hope and joy are his attendants; Yet when scorned, despised, neglected, He brings evil, too. var Love and Hunger— ‘These are earth's most mighty rulers: Love the soul claims for his province: Hunger dominates the body; Both, obeyed, bring peace. Vit If their subjects Should dety, rebel agatust them, Like her sister, earth, @ desert Waste, would, tenantiess, go whirling Joyless round the sun. —W. L. SHOEMAKER. Satisfied With Her Lot. From Puck. Mr. Pinks—“My wife has no sympathy with this female emancipation movement. She says woman’s sphere is the home.” Mrs. Strongmind—“When were you mar- ried?” Mr. Pinks—“Last ==" THE GREAT BOSTON Senator Blackburn Talks Interestingly of That Famous Horse. tT H it z THE pecker, Boston, Eclipse, i ; & i i g g Fr il E HT F i i ! | § i i il ett | | j : j eek | 2 & i 5 if : Hi il z i g tk i . i f i! i858 i iu fH | se g e is it i I; Pa] E E i i i j i i HE H | i ghee ERGGke é 4 i i ' fe H i : } ed i | i F ee i i | | | q i fi a At i iy itt E A i i i i 2 i i i : | if | : i i i f i Bea & £ Es ru if z i i # ; $ § i ¢ i i i i i 3 i HH ! 4 ue at dis lig : i : F i Hy] H mH ig z Ps i i s e 3 1 F r Hu | i it 7 Hy i E §R i spe 4 35 , g is st $5 A Hi i i i a i i | ik t g j Er iY iu | i ue I i : i t ij the elements. My injured by it, but tf ti : £ z it Monahan--“Phat’s the been in, Horgan?” Horgan—“Oi wor at Dempsey’s weddin’, rs begorra! Monahan—“An’ ye had a ruction there, Oi sippose Horgan—“Faith we had! They tould me Casey was the best man; an’, av coorse, thot was more than Oi cud shi begob, be was”