Evening Star Newspaper, February 3, 1894, Page 12

14> DEATH ON THE RAIL Ar itty Rental Casualties During the Year. A TREMFESOUS ARMY OF EMPLOYS What Should #e Done to Lessen Their Danger. THE CAR-COTPLER LAW N ATTEMPT IS TO be mde by certain railways to secure from this Constess the repeal of the so- called law,” which was Harrison March 2, the country. It requires that by July, 1898, all freight trains shall be equipped with automatic couplers and train brakes and all locomotives with wheel brakes. Some of the railways, objecting to the expense, fough* ‘he bill bitterly when it was before Congress. After its passage they tried their best to secure a veto, and now they will make an effort to have it declared null. They are not likely to succeed, because it is a fact well recognized that 50 per eent of the deaths and 70 per cent of the non- fatal hurts suffered by railway employes are due to the lack of automatic train brakes and automatic couplers. What an enormous number of avoidable casualties is thus represented may be judged when it is stated that every year on the fron roads of the United States 2,500 workers engaged im the business of transportation are killed and 25,000 are injured. In 1892 more rail- ‘way employes were killed in this country than three times the number of Union men slain at the battles of Lookout Mountain, Missionary Ridge and Orchard Knob com- bined. The number injured was greater than the wounded and missing at Shiloh, Antietam and First and Second Bull Run combined. The facts in the case are rendered im- pressive when it is said that more faithful workers on th railways of the United States we » in sudden death during 1892 thar re number of Union men who died . battle of the Wilderness and nearly as many as perished at Spott- sylvania. In the bloody Crimean conflict the British lost 21,000 in killed and wound- ed—not as many as are slain, maimed and mangled among the railroad men of this country in a single year. At the battle of Sedan, which sealed the fate of the second empire, the loss on both sides in killed ard ‘wounded was a trifle more than the killed and wounded among our trainmen last year. At Gravelotte, where the loss was heaviest in the Franco-Prussian war, the Germans lost 20, men. Wellington won Waterloo and Meade Gettysburg with a loss of 23,185 and 23,003, respectively, and the total loss on both sides at Shiloh in the two days’ murderous fight did not reach 24,000. Entitled to Consideration. The railway workers are certainly enti- tled to consideration for their safety end comfort. They number more men than the entire voting population of New Hampshire, Vermont, Rhode Island, Delaware, Florida, North Dakota, South Dakota, Nevada and Colorado—nine sovereign states combined. If they had proportionate representation they would have fifteen members in Con- gress and eeighteen Senators. While un- dergoing such perils and losses, this clear- headed and vigilant army during 1802 han- dled 560,958,211 passengers with so much care and skill that only one in every 1,491,910 was killed and only one in every 173,083 was injured from all causes, includ- ing their own carelessness. This great army of peace, including offi- cers and general office clerks, numbers 821,415 individuals. This means that there is in the United States one railway em- ploye for every seventy-nine men, women and children. It signifies that these work- ers as a body would make a city nearly twice the size of Boston, more than four times as great as Milwaukee, and more than seven times as great as Indianapolis. ‘They would about equal the total popula- | tion of the states of Delaware, North Da- kota, Montana, Wyoming and the Terri- tory of Arizona, supposing that one of the states contained in addition to its popula- tion. as shown by the census of 189, a city the size of Columbus, Ohio. It is impressive to consider that the men employed by the railways of this country constitute a body as large as the active army of Germany, 73 per cent as large as | the active army of France, 53 per cent as large as the active army of Russia, and larger than the active army of Italy. They | @re a bedy larger than the standing army of Austro-Hungary, more than six times as | large as the standing army of Great Bri- tain, and more than thirty times as large 9s the standing army of the United States. The labor performed by this army of work- ers is prodigious to contemplate, the total number of passengers carried in 1892 be- ing 562,958,211. The average journey of each was about 34 miles. This allows a tion more than eight trips for every man, woman and child in the country. During the same year 10 1-2 tons of freight bonny moved for every man, woman and A Tremendous Railway System. It 1s pretty generallly understood that in Fespect to its railway system the United States is not approached by any other country on the face of the earth. Our ter- Fitory is gridironed with more than 170,000 miles of track. This would girdle the globe nearly seven times, or would traverse its diameter more than twenty-one times. It would require nearly four months for a modern fast train, running 60 miles an hour, 24 hours a day, without stops, to travel from one end to the other. A com- Parison of our railway mileage with that of other nations shows that we have more than six miles to Germany's one; more than eight miles to one of Great Britain; more than seven miles to one of France; More than seven miles to one of Russia; more than twenty miles to one of Italy, and nearly ten miles to one of Austria. ‘The locomotives cf the railways of the United States, if hitched with their tenders in a single line, would make a train 357 miles long, extending from Boston in a straight line to a point 36 miles south of Philadelphia. The freizht cars of the coun- try in line would stretch from Boston to San Francisco, from San Francisco back to Boston, and again as far west as Chi- cago—a total distance of 7,028 miles. The greatest loss of life among trainmen 4s incidental to coupling cars. Formerly all of the roads had a uniform system of goupling—the old-fashioned link and pin. There being no uniformity in the height of the draw bars, the latter would often “ride” each other when two cars came to- gether, so that the man was crushed be- tween them. Again, in holding up the pin to enter the draw bar, there was risk of injury to the hand. Mutilations from this latter cause bs were called the “switchman’s mark,” sig- “car-coupler signed by President 1893. This measure was designed to miti- gate the wanton and wholesale sacrifice of the lives of employes on the fron roads of came so frequent that they | THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 3, 1894-TWENTY PAGES Practically all passencer trains are already provided with these appliances. Ferther Safeguards Needed. A freight train not thus provided is a helpless mass when unde wa,. If it overtakes a stopped passenger train, it goes crashing into the latter, its engineer being Powez.ess to stop tt. In this meuner occur the frequent rear-end collisions, which are ameng tue most friphtful of disasters on the rail. So long as it is customary for f><ight trains and passenger ¢ uns to use the same tracks, it is obviously as import- aut for the one to be properly controlled as it '« for the o-her. Furnished with driving- wheul brake and air brake, the man at the helm of the ship on wheels can by a turn of a lev r bring her to a pavse within a short distance, seving his tra.n trem dash- ing in.> an obstruction in frout, or perhaps = falling through a b.ldge. e interstate commerce commission, on its organization in 188i, under the law re- quired the railway~ to report all accidents to empleyes. The figures thus obtained were appalling. Under the old system, which is still in vogue to some extent, freight trains were controlled by brakemen who ran back and forth from one end of the train to the other on the t ps of the cars, jumping from one car to another. Naturally, this met.od involved great loss of life. Even now 500 men lose their lives every year by being swept from the tops of cars. It should be remembered that this sort of work must be performed by night as well as by day—in prairie blizzards as well as in pleasant weather. Some years ago in the legislature of Massachusetts the question was discussed whether the tops of freight cars should not men from falling off. One railway manager actually opposed the proposition on the ground that whenever a man fell and caught the rail, he would wrench the top of the car so as to make it leak. Neverthe- less, railway managers, as a rule, are neither brutal nor inconsiderate. The chief trouble has been that they have been un- able to agree as to what was needed in the way of improvement for safety. The interstate commerce commission thinks it important that Congress should pass a law requiring the blocking of frogs wherever federal jurisdiction governs. In a@ frog, at the place where two rails ap- proach each other, there is a V-sha| opening. Anybody who steps incautiously into this opening is very likely to have his foot caught, so that he cannot extricate it— train has had time to run over him. Many railway employes are killed in this man- ner. Accordingly, some of the states re- quire that blocks of wood shall be fitted into all frogs, thus rendering them harm- less. A shovelful of dirt will accomplish the same purpose, it is true, if it be applied. For lack of two or three shovelfuls of earth thus bestowed three good men have lost their lives within the last year under the very shadow of the Capitol. Danger From the Fogs. Only the other day a distinguished citizen of Massachusetts was passing through a town not many miles from Boston. As he through one of the streets, he noticed a little girl of about five summers sitting on the rails. Knowing that a train was due about that time he-spoke to the child and told her to get up. She made some an- swer, which he at first did not understand, but finaily realized that she said in her im- perfect way: “I have caught my foot, sir!” Going to the child he found her foot tightly wedged in one of the frogs. She Was speedily extricaied from the perilous Position, but only a few moments before a train came rushing along. The matter of blocking frogs, however, comes ordinarily under the jurisdiction of the states. It is the same way with biock signals, guard rails for bridges and the trailers overhead, which, by striking the brakeman on top of a car, notify him that he is approaching a low bridge. Sugges- tions have been made to the effect that cowcatchers on locomotives might be so constructed as to catch people up unharm- ed, or perhaps throw them out of the wa when struck. Unfortunately, when a rail- way engine strikes a man it does not mat- ter much how he is hit. After all, the cow- catcher, though originally intended for a than an ornament. For this re preserved its primitive gorm. It may be safely contended that as much is required and exhibited by the employe in active service as by son it has ever shown than that, recently chronicled, of the locomotive engineer Joseph Lutz? A flue had burst, filling his cab with scaid- ing steam, while his express train was at full speed. He did not jump; he stuck to his post, while the flesh was cooked and peeled from his hands, face and body. Though crippled for life, he stopped the train. Not less noble and courageous was the brakeman of only yesterday's history, whose train became uncoupled and broke apart. He, sorely wounded and thrown to the ground, was left behind with the rear pertion. Knowing that another train was rapidly approaching, he feebly raised him- self on his hands and knees, put a lighted match to his handkerchlef, and waved it over his head just as the on-coming head- light flashed around a curve. — - LANGUAGE OF ANIMALS. They Know How to Warn One An- other of Danger. From Forest and Stream. During the past fall, while hunting with rifle for squirrels in the heavy timber, 1 have at djfferent times noticed that both | birds and mammals seem to have several | ways of warning others, not only of their own kind, but also of different species, of the presence of a supposed common enemy. In fact, the practice might be called the warning system of animated nature. As an illustration, suppose the hunter to be going stealthily through the woods or quietly seated upon a stump or fallen tree, and while there to be seen, as he is almost sure to be, by some of the sharp-eyed littie wood folks. Now suppose the little thing | or sounds peculiar to its species. All at once those sounds will be chanced to others having a. different cadence from those at first given, or as the hunter has discovered the sounds may quickly cease, or even if the little thing was quiet before some sharp note of danger will often take the place of its stillness, and other mammals and birds in the immediate vicinity will under- stand the warning and take up the signals, | until nearly every animate thing for quite a distance around will be apprised of the danger. Then for a while they will act with the utmost discretion until confidence is restored, when the wood life wil! re- sume its normal wa; until some move- | ment of the hunter again produces the same phenomenon. How far beyond the commencing point these danger signais are kept up or extended one may be un- able to discover, but I should judge by what I have observed that they extend in all directions beyond gunshot distance. Should any one, either with or without a gun, while in the woods where wild life is plenty, take note of this system of cau- tionary cries he would find it very inter- esting and instructive. Among the causes that lead to the detec- | tion by animals of a person when still hunting there is one that he seldom or ever thinks about, which is the effect the sight of his shadow has upon them, es- pecially when the sun is low. No matter how stealthily one may be going along or how carefully he may be concealed behind a tree, or even be seated, his long telltale shadow when lightly moving may be a | greater cause of the non-appearance of game than he ts aware of. Still another cause, which, of course, cannot be obviated much, Is the appear- ance of the face and hands in contrast with the clothes of the gunner or with surrounding objects. That often attracts the attention of animals, but more espe- cially is their attention attracted by the movements of the hands while manipulat- ing the gun. One cannot help but notice, should he occasionally take a look behind squirrels and other animals will come up | to him from that direction, while in front | he will see none of them, thus showing conclusively that the contrast made by | the face and with surrounding objects | has more to do with making the hunt other than a successful one than many gunners | are aware of. ——_—_+e+______ rifying the loss of a thumb or some of the | A Thirty-Foot Icicle. fingers. From the San Francisco Chronicle. The railways in trying to itixate this | The icicle at the Rocking Stone Tower is condition of affairs adopted so many differ- ent types of couplers that the number of casualties was ac When the various distinct devices for t man was prett in a short peri statement of ¢ average life of a switchman in a freight yard is now reckoned at seven years. Un- der the “car-toupler law” the cazs on most Failways are bein equipped with a uniform type of coupier approved by railway ail freizht tains m hus equipped, as well as with auto:.+tic train brakes and -wheel brakes fo. the locomotives. ally increased thereby. Te to be Killed or injured That is a pretty situation 4. y July, i8us, ads used fifty or more ‘his purpose, the work- fair The |@n experiment intended to show how Truckee | might get up some attractions for tourists. It is now thirty feet high and four feet in atameter. A thousand lesser icicles cling to the timbers which form the frame work. | tower. it is believed that the co!d nights in January will build up a mass of ice fifty | feet in helzht and twenty feet in diameter. | A stream of water plays on the icicle at ali the spectacle is already worth a trip to the ch, while not perfect, is| times when the thermometer shows freez- m ing weather. Few Californians have ever seen a large icicle, and tourists would go ints ecstasies over such a one as could be fonaed in Truckee. be protected by guard rails, to save brake- | at all events, not until an approaching | was crossing a railway track, which ran} useful purpose, is no longer anything more! the soldier or saflor. Was greater bravery | has before been giving out some notes | him, when quiet in the woods, how near | There have been only a few cold nights, but | A THIEF IN THE NIGHT ‘Tudor Jenks in Harper's Weekly. Miss Abigail sat straight upright in bed. It was too dark to see anything, but she Mstened with all the intentness of a maiden lady’s midnight ears. She had heard something. ‘The roise was repeated. It was the sharp icy crackling made by a diamond cutting glass. Miss Abigail softly slid from the bed, and felt noiselessly about with her bare feet until she touched her quilted and beribboned bed room slippers. Leaning forward, she put them on, and reached out to the foot of the bed for her dressing robe. Just as her hand touched its fleecy texture a sharp brittle crack warned her to lose no time. She put on the robe and knotted its silk cord in front, listening keenly meanwhile for what she knew would be the next sound in the long-expected and often-rehearsed series. A muffied scraping assured her that the burglar, having removed the pane of glass, was pushing back the window catch. “I must make haste!” whispered Miss Abigail. Stepping with cat-like silence across the room, she opened the top drawer of her bureau, and laid her hand upon the revolver in the front right-hand corner. Then from behind a portrait of the adro:ral, her father, she drew forth a small dark lantern. Mean- whole process of raising the window, though it was on the floor below. Two deadened thumps, barely distinguishable at that dis- tance, called out a whispered comment from the lady: “Awkward boor!—he jumped in!” With a sulphur match she lighted the lantern, saw that it burned freely, and then softly drew the slide. The light that had shown brightly for but an instant, became condensed into a single bright ray as she closed the front of the lantern, and disap- Peared totally when the slide was drawn. Miss Abigail then retired to the side of her room furthest from the door, and seated herself in a favorite rocking chair. She faced the door and waited. Cautious foot- | Steps brushed to and fro upon the floor downstairs. , | “He must think I’m a fool if he expects to | find the silver downstairs!” remarked Miss | Abigail, under her breath. She was becom- ing impatient; inaction was a nervous state to her. Presently her brows relaxed in the darkness. She heard the burglar coming up- stairs. He paused at her door; she heard him breathing. Then she felt a cold draught about her ankles. He had opened the door. “That,” Miss Abigail reflected, “shows that he has prepared a way of escape down- stairs. The cold draught shows that beyond a doubt.” A sniffing sound gave her another thought. “He smells the tin of my lantern— and its odor certainly is not pleasant!” she admitted to herself. ‘But it’s no time to be fussy. Here goes!” Then, snapping back the lantern slide and leveling the revolver, | Miss Abigail said sharply, “Put up your hand She had pointed lantern rays and revolver at the foot of the bed, and her judgment had been correct. Lighted as by a calcium | ray, there stood within‘ the {Numined circle |a sallow thin man, closely buttoned into a frock coat, which (as Abigail noted even then) was very shi and lacked two ! buttons. His hands hung at his sides | his mouth was wide open. His jaw dropped. “Put tp your han The and put up y low your brains out” added so coolly that the man’s hands l. “I will do the down. There's a but keep your hands ing Just now. ehair back of you up.” ‘The man backed slowly until he struck a chair with his he ked around to make certain of its position, and then sat down ail had kept both lantern and | revolver accurately ranged upon the mov- | ing figure. The burglar had not been un- mindful of this, as his next question pard’n, m'm—" he began, softly, and see whether he might go on. “But are you Miss Oakley?" “Miss who ves, 'm,"" said th you bust lass bails c And it was done beautif "m, burg y a month ago. . 1 didn’t know dudeed I didn't, or at “Put up your hands “Oh, yes, ’m! [ forg Oakley—if you are M “What weapons have you? ed I did, Miss asked Miss ® ot a bull-dog in my pocket.” il-dog!”” “A bull-do; “Yes, ‘in—a bull-dog rey “Oh! Weil, now I'm g behind you. iver, m'm.” ng to step around Then you get up when I teil you, and march over to the wall, and stand there. Don't you look around. “No, 'm. I know when I'm bi Tain’t t. goin’ to give no trouble, only I'd like to tell you how I come he | “All in good time,” said Miss Abigail, serenely, as she took a wide circle and eame tp behind her prisoner, keeping him well covered. “Now get up and march.” vl burglar arose, still with his arms ex- slowly to the w. “Next, you may fold your arms,” said his captor. “All right, 'm. marked the burg! tentiary racket. “I know it,” what I've hear As the burglar folded his arms, Miss | Abigail touched an electric eution, ana its quivering tinkle was heard coming from the upper floor. | I've done it often,” re- r. “It's the reg'lar peni- uid Miss Abigail. “That is seating herself in had left. “Mean- Is there anything you chair the burglar while we must n to say to m “Only to explain how thought of h 3 If to your silver,” the burglar remarked,without moving. “The fact is, I'm pretty well broke." “Why don’t you get some honest work to u | the | it came that I Don't like it,” said the burglar, very ly. “Never could stand bein’ bossed by another man. I don’t mind a specially when she’s handy with a revolver. “No nonsense, now,” said Miss Abigail, h dignity. “Beg pard’n, m’m; no offense, I hope. I only meant to say that 1 toux to burglary because I enjoy it. I’m not one ef the sniveling kind, anyhow. I'm a burgiar, | and I'm proud of it.” “You haven't much to be proud of to- night,” said Miss Abigail, sharply. “Oh, the night's noi over yet,’ said the burglar, easily. “I've got out o’ worse fixes than this.” Miss Abigail began to be a little uneasy. “iL won't have any nonsense,” she said ab- ruptly. “Don't be disturbed,” said the burglar, reassuringly. ‘L won't hurt you.” “IL should think not!’ responded Abigail, indignantly. “But I mean to get out of this scrape,” said the burglar. ‘Lt don’t mean to do any- thing that will bring me into the electricity chair, mum; but I'm goin’ to get away.” Miss Abigail said no more, but she be- came impatient for the appearance of the maid. She rang the beil again. Footsteps came along the hall, and there was a knock at the door. | “Come in!" said Miss Abigail in a tone of | great relief. The maid entered, and for a moment stood speechless surveying the group of two—the man facing the wall, and Miss Abigail sitting on guard with a lantern and revolver. “Lucinda,” said Miss Abigail, “light the Miss ga: “But——" the maid began. “Light the gas,” repeated her mistress. Lucinda found a match, and in a moment more the rays of the lantern were lost in the general illumination. said Miss Abigail, “this man is a burglar.” . shrieked the maid. “Don't be siliy!” said Miss Abigail, im- | patiently; “but listen. He has a revolver | in his right-hand pocke f you please, ’m,” remarked the burglar, an’t you let me give you the revolver? My arms are so stiff that I—" | “Silence!” broke in his captor. ‘That will come in good time. As I said, Lucinda, he has a revolver, and we must get {t. You go over and iake it out of his pocket, and while her quickened hearing followed the. if he moves I'll—make him wish he hadn't.” “Miss Abigail, I'd like to oblige you,” the maid protested earnestly, “but 1 don’t dare. I don’t—really and truly “Well, then,” said Miss Abigail, irpa- tiently, “what good are you? I can’t keep the man here all night. Suppose you take the revolver, then, and I'll disarm him.” “If I might make a suggestion,” the burglar remarked, with deference, “I would say-—" “Hush!” said Miss Abigail, sharply. “Do you think, Lucinda, you could hit him with the revolver?” ma'am,” said Lucinda. “I know I Why, I'm shaking all over! I cowldn’t hit anything—even if I knew how to fire the gun—and I don’t. Sha'’n't I go for an officer?” “You know, Lucinda,” said Miss Abigail, scornfully, “that there isn’t a policeman within five miles. The burglar knows it, too, I'll warrant.” “Yes, 'm,” the burglar murmured. And/ then he went on, hastily: “I was goin’ to suggest—please don’t stop me, ’m—that I ody no objection to giving up the bull- nadie Bulldog!” Lucinda exclaimed. “Only my pistol, miss,” the burglar weut on. “I have reasons for wantin’ to get rid of it. Now if you'll let me unfold my arms @ minute I'll put my coat on the floor, and the young lady—I mean Miss Lucinda, m’m —she can Pick it up. Have I your consent, m’m?” “Yes,” said Miss Abigail, after a short pause. She didn’t see any way out of the difficulty without some risk. Very slowly, and like a conjurer who demonstrates that all is to be fair and| above-board, the burglar relaxed his arms, took his coat by the lapels and drew ‘t off. He then allowed it to fall to the floor. The revolver proved its presence by a heavy thud as it reached the ground. The burg- lar ther resumed his former position, with folded arms, “Go and get the coat, Lucinda,” said Miss Abigail. Lucinda summoned all her courage, made @ short rush across the room, snatched the coat and scurried back. She dropped the coat at Miss Abigail's feet. “Is that your only weapon?” asked Miss Abigail. “Yes, ’m,” said the burglar. “I don’t mean to give you any trouble at all. I know when a _man—or a lady—gets the drop on me. Now, mum, if you'll kindiy take the bulldog out of my pocket, Ta) rather put on my coat again.” “Lucinda, take the revolver out of the! coat,” Miss Abigail said. “But I'm afraid to touch it,” Lucinda said, timorously. onsense!” said her mistress; “hand the coat to me.” Lucinda lifted the coat, and Miss Abigail removed the revolver from the pocket, lay- ing it upon a small table at her side, Then i Aasthed poy Dey petite the room, and e burglar stooped, picked it up and pro- ceeded to put it on. “Now, mum,” he said, moving slowly around to face Miss Abigail, “I haven't any weapons, and you've got the best of me. If you'll kindly lower the point of your gun, I'll say a few words to you before I £0." He leaned easily against the wall, putting his hands into his trousers pockets. Miss Abigail eyed him for a few seconds, ind then slowly lowered her revolver. She still kept it ready for use, however. “Are you a coward?” Miss Abigail asked, suddenly. “Why did you give up your pistol so readily?” “If you won't get mad, smiling, “I'll tell you. “I can keep my temper, gail, with some reserve. “Proceed.’ “It’s like this,” said the man. “You see, you're a woman. A very spirited kind of @ woman—but still a woman. Now, women are queer. They are always afraid of guns.” Miss Abigail straightened herrelf. “TI don’t wish to offend you, you know, but {t's a fact,” the burglar went on. “I've been knockin’ round the world quite a piece, and women are always afraid of guns. That's why I called you Miss Oakley. It was to kind of give you confidence, and ;make you think I was scared. See? ‘Then |i knew you wouldn’t be taking a shot at me before you thought. I gave up my bull- | dog so’s you wouldn't be scared. I wanted you to have plenty of consid I'm an old hand at thi take a chair if you don’t min. Before Miss Abigail could collect herself he had drawn up a chair and seated him- self. “Sit down, Lucinda," he remarked. Miss Abigail gasped, but Lucinda docilely seated herself on the edge of Miss Abigail's bed. “ZL had a pal once,” sald the burglar, ap- paréntly quite at his ease, “who got shot dy scarin’ a lady like you. ‘She had a gun— just as you have—and plenty o° nerve—same as you. And irstead of puttin’ up his hands, ady requested him (in words to that ; she hadu’t it quite so pat as you, he tried to draw his gun. Well, o° e she pinked him. i im?" inquired Miss Abigail. through the lung. I got him was faingin’, but he became a gardener or somethin’, and died of it.” “But—" began Miss Abigail. “Just a moment more an the burglar “You see, he dida't know how |a, woman with a gun should be treated. Now my way is like I've shown you. If | the lady gets the drop on you, put ip your j hands. Make her think you're seared. Give | her all the rope she'll take, u she is quiet and cool. ist as you are now, mum. Then when you're certain she’s quiet and not a bit scared—why, then you know she hasn’t the heart to fire a gun ‘at a live man, even if he is a professional. So now, mum, being sure you, don't mean to murder a man in cold blood when all he} wants is to get quietly out of the way, I'll bid you a very pleasant—good nicht. And at the word the burglar rose, and! sauntered coolly across the room towar}| the two women. Miss Abigail raised her | revolver from her lap, but the burglar only smiled at her and paused. The revolver droped again. With a nod the burglar went to the door. | opened it, passel through, close} the door again, and then ran down the stairs a3 fast as his fect would carry him. The women remained speechless until they heard the front door close. Then Lu- cinta said: “Why, he’s forgotten his revolver!" “You—gump!” said Miss Abigail. didn’t you show some spirit?” “What could I do?” Lucinda said, begin- ning to ery. “There, there!” remarkel Miss Abicail. “T'm glad he's gone. I didn't know what in the world to do with him, and he I-new I didn’t, the rascal! Oh, who would be a woman?” said the burglar, said Miss Abi- Tl go,” said ‘Why MENS SOCIETY CLOTIIZS. | TO SPEAK ENGLISH The American Vernacularand the English Accent. The Difficulty of Combining the Two— ‘The Coming Era of Pure En- lish in America. Written for The Evening Star. “It was my fortune, not long since to at- tend a lecture given by an intelligent American, who clothed his clever ideas in a nondescript garb, which some might describe as the American vernacular with an English accent. The speaker had evi- dently given some thought and much effort to speak his native language by the rules of English dictionaries, but the result wes as far away from the English standard as if it had been spoken in the “pigeon English” of our Pacific coast. This speaker, knowing that we Ameri- cans almost invariably deviate from the English standard of pronunciation of the letter a in certain words, applied one of its many sounds to nearly all his words that contained that much abused letter. He continually pronounced the word and “awnd,” hand “hawned,” lamp “lawmp.” Reasoning by analogy he would have pro- nounced man “mawn,” lad “lawd,” and so on ad nauseum. He did not know that the sound of the letter a when pronounced ah!” is never “aw,” as in awe, as many seem to think. While I am in sympathy with every one who wishes to rid his speech of faults, yet we all know it is the first duty of teachers to be themselves correctly taught. “There is but one step between the sub- lme and the ridiculous,” and one comes perilously near it when he attempts to change a life-long habit of speech in a day. Especially if he has a feeble memory. One cannot change his native speech as he does @ garment to suit the weather. Had the speaker used his own vigorous vernacular no one would have criticised or wondered; but noticeable failures in at- tempted elegance are alwi ridiculous, and they become mere affectations. Very few people have mental power of sufficient energy after they had lost the plasticity of youth to change the early peculiarities of speech. Few can successfully uproot the mental growth that was seeded down in childhood and nourished through growth to manhood. Yet I have heard that Henry Ward Beecher changed the whole web and woof of his pronunciation in a week's study of the language on his first visit to Eng- land. I remember the first time that I heard him, nearly thirty years ago. It was upon the occasion of an address in the Academy of Music in New York, on the subject of Italian unity, to a crowded house, I was startled by his first sentence, which was: “I am glad to see this enthu- siasm. I had always been taught to say “en- thoosiasm,” and before he had finished his address my vanity was in the rags and tatters of humiliation. At that time I had the arrogance of youth, and I was at that “know-it-all” period of life when one is most particular about the p’s and q’s of speech. Yet I felt instinctively that I was in the presence of a great teacher, and I learned a lesson, which was that I did not know how to pronounce my own language, while I was making great efforts to acquire those of other countries. Thirty Years Ago. In those days many of the clergy ignored the rules set down by our own beloved Noah Webster, especially in regard to pro- nunciation. In the pulpit they would urge us with proper zeal to our religious “doo- ties.” In the service they would recite “en- doo us plenteously with heavenly grace. They would read chapters from the “Sams,” as they did from Samuel, pronouncing the a in each with the same sound. We were piously taught the “beatitoods.” Clergy, laity and teachers all called the public jour- nals the “noosepapers,” and in the next breath they might ask “What's the nooze?” (which rhymes with “snooze,” but which Meant news). While they would correctly pronounce pew end few, invariably they called dew “doo,” and so on. In those days sectional differences in speech were more strongly marked than they are today. Even among educated peo- ple it was easy to classify strangers by their verbal expressions; by the turn of their phrases, as well as by their accent. Then the most intelligent southerner would “drop his r’s,"" as he often does today, but befo’ the wah” it was a mark of elegance! Even an educated Bostonian would some- times express surprise by the eloquent ejac- ulatiow, “I want to know!” and he often said “wunt” for will not. In certain locali- ties, the people would generously give two syllables to words which were monosyll: bles, such as “key-ow” for cow, “gee-url’ for girl, This “key-ind” for kind, ete. ‘as not a mark of ignorance. either, birth. It was a badge belonging to t familys” of the south. I ha heard the word coffin pronounced “kauffin, often, often; doll, “daul,” and some- times God was pronounced “Gawd,” tutor the same as “tooter,” brewery was depriv- e1 of one syllable and became “broory,” bouquet was “bokay,” and hundreds of other changes quite’ startling now, but which was a matter of course then. The American Dialect to Pass Away. There is undovbtedly a growing desire among our educated people to speak their own language with correct accent; and among us we have many young people, the children of our moneyocracy, who have been carefully taught to do so, whose voices are soft, and whose speech is correct. The American accent is only valued at home. It has no export value at all, and here it is In a state of decline, espg- in large cities, among the leisure class who travel. Our accent will pass away with the Yankee dialect and the picturesque speech of the negro and the slang of the frontier. Everything is in a state of evolu- What They Shovld Wear When They Go Out on Plensare Bent. From the New York World. Women generally themsely the “fungtions” of society. often perplexed as to how their hes | bands should be attired. Beyond | that men should not wear evenir before 6 o'clock, t as on masculine garb are vague. 3 they fror have to decide the question of wh. | lords and masters si wise for them to rea wardiy digest th y At 2 o'clock weddings, known as weddings—which 2re about the o festivities to which a man can be d the bridegroom wears d: m: nearl- gray gloves, white four-in-hand, tall hat and big boutonniere. The ushers are + attired, and the masculine wedding who wim to be correct, wear cloth same genera! fashion. though. of c style of their ties,gloves and bout is not prescribed by law. At all fa morning affairs this uniform, with dividual variations, is correct. In the evening, of course, are necessary. This season pres: three-button, plain shirt front, a straiz stand-up collar, either a black cloth wa coat or a double-breasted, four-i white one. No jewelry is worn, gray gloves, stitched With black, sidered in best taste, as are patent !eathoer shoes. nieres | ynable me in- | —__+e-+ ___ The “Trolley Foot.” From the Cincinnati Commercial Gazette. “He’s got the trolley foot,” is the latest expression. Fifty per cent of the motormen on the newly opened electric lines are ufflict- ed with the new malady, and can be seen limping and hobbling about as though they were suffering from acute rheumatism. It seems that the new-fangled alarm gong on the trolley cars is responsible for it all. As everybody has noticed by this time, the alarm gongs, instead of being pulled by a string, as on the cable cars, are rpng by means of a button in the floor of the plat- form, which the mgtorman presses with his right foot. Now, it does not take much pressure to set the tin-pan gong rattling, but the exertion brings new muscles into play, and after the first two or three days on the new cars many of the motormen were so afflicted with stiffness and soreness in the right foot and ankle that when they came to leave the cars at the end of the route they found some difficulty in waiking The malady was promptly dubbed “the tro! ley foot” by the other employes, and prom- ises to become epidemic when the electric lines are extended all over the city, Of course the soreness soon wears off as the muscles of the foot and ankle become inured to the strain upon them, tion and there is no use kicking against the ble; for the survival of the fittest we prepare, and many think that the guage in time will circumvent a crowd out all other languages. >a progressive people. We travel. our native idioms, our pazois, by with the world. Lines of colloquial domarkation are breaking down. Education | obit ou es localisms in speech and broadens view The optimist has abundant food r intellectual levels. mee, universal ‘topian dream, check comes to ow: Universal intel- education was once a but unless some sudden tellectual growth, such station from darker will see the dawn of j ~~ = aed SU ee i “Why is it that a man being shaved looks as if he owned the earth,— while a man having his hair cut looks as if he were aa outcast?” for his faith, All of our people are rising to | A VIGOROUS POLICY One True Source of Personal Force and Courage, Tremendous Capacity for Accomplishing Work-- Vigorous Digestion and Calm Nerves Accomplish All---Paine’s Celery Compound a Remedy that Does the World Good The admiration accorded certain public men is due to their splendid moral courage. Great moral Possible without a sturdy digestion, a healthy liver, and a vigorously nourished nervous system. No one can imagine a Reed, Hill, Cleveland, Rus- sell, or any great champion of his party in parlia- firm, convincing, magnetic, courageous. than on great intellectual power. Paine’s celery compound will take away the sickly, ‘A man of ideas needs sound health to carry them | strength of thousands of out, and a clear, cool brain is better than a shaky | women who cannot |one, however brilliant. The men who can work fects of the | long hours under pressure win success, and fame or | strength end failure depends oftener on a strong stomach,| Paine’s celery compound is the healthy nervous system and plenty of reserve force and nerve remedy that Be well. Get rid of liver and kidney weakness. | working people. Gepressed, unambitious feeling that comes with ment of the governor's I i : aT ik Ke as altg i i if Bes & : the the i a=" MORSE. Paine’s celery compound today sustains the bard worked men anf tae vacations, and feel the ef- ‘unnatural demands made upon their ervous energy. bas ever in the history of medicine come within the reach of plain, baré- Hon. George F. Morse, one of the most promi- council of Massachusetta, ts AN AUTOGRAPH LETTER. dyspepsia, disordered liver and nervous weakness. Paine's celery compound will fill the veins with blood that is red and rich in food for every vital organ. The first noticeable effect of Paine’s celery coinpound is the Immediate improvement of appe- SOME MASCULINE AFFECTATIONS. | The Idiotic Stare, the Walking Stick, Evening Tie and Nonchalance. From the New York Sun. it is said bn excellent authority that the idiotic stare is still in favor among the ex- otic youth of swelidom, and any fashion- able young man who cannot learn how to abstract every atom of expression from the countenance and look on vacancy with an expression of imbecility cannet belong to the select coterie or hold rank in the inner circles. There are other important matters which must be carefully committed if one desires to be in the van of fashion. The first of these relates to the walking stick, ani this involves perhaps the most serious responsi- bility. For the stick must be left at home when going to business, to church or to make calls. The reason of the latter by- law is that, in the language of the stick, to call upon a young lady while carrying a cane implies that the caller is on sufficient- ly intimate terms to look in on her casual- ly any time. What finer subtlety than this is to be found in the intricacies of fem- inine etiquette! governing the carrying of the cane. The correct style is to hold it at an angle of 45 Gegrees, with the ferrule uppermost and forward. Of course, this is the sort of thing no man could possibly discover for himself, for the unsophisticated would rat- urally carry his stick with the point to the ground, and in so doing stand revealed as uninitiated in the supreme refinement of etiquette. No man with a particle of self-respect ani as would wear a made-up evening tie, some men find it quite impossible to learn to tle the bow themselves there has sprung up @ new industry for women. A young woman in London has taken up the unique calling of going about from house to house tving the neckgear of distraught bachelors, who cannot do it for themselves. The cus- tom will probably be introduced on this side along with the other English quirks. Let no man in his conceit assume that when PenAora onenefd her casket women monopolized all the vanity. asesiues, it isn’t good form to be so crit: ical. A nonchalant benevolence, superior and patronizing, ts the latest mode, ind it is not good form te be caustic or pessi- mistic any more. ove of the Bay state's most substantial mann facturers and business men, a veteran of the late war, & popular and conservative citien. His aut sraph letter is of interest to every one. SHE DIDN'T HAVE THE CAR FARR, Bat 5 Had $110 Saved Up and Kept It in the House. “Women are curious creatures,” said one married man to another. “You say that with the air of one who has made an original discovery. “Well, I mean about money.” | moved to Harlem and of course it Then there is a fixed and immutable iow 80 handy to get over with the mon They had been talking about money, says the New York World, and which was the best policy: To make your wife your bank- till you got home again, or to allow her so much every week to run the house with. Married men always get to talking about that problem sooner or later. “About money they are curious creatures, as sure as you're a foot high. I give my wife my wages and she gives me whatever money I want. She has the responsibility of saving and she on it to be a mighty sibility. When ened ate Bh aeat Bo es gone out of the world. The grocer wait and the doctor never did right to his money, at least not that particular $10 bill is in the ban! we lived in Brooklya we opened an with a savings bank there. Then i 4 A § : a ah; ey. 's kept saving till she had $110 laia ‘ou Sught to put that money in bank,’ I told her. ‘Somebody will cli in by the dumb-waiter and steal that and then you'll feel sorry.’ “I know it.” ‘Well, why don’t you bank it? I didn’t have the car fare.” “Now, isn't that a woman for all th world?” g missu! 33 ——_+ e+ -____ ‘The Good Old Times. From Puck. Dryasdust—The bankers of ancient Ven- ice stood in the market place with their money spread out on a bench before them, just like those fruit peddlers of today. Mulhooly—Moy! Moy! Phwat a foine place that town must ‘av’ been fur police men! ——— e+ -__ A Bachelor's Problem, From Life. How to keep in favor with eleven gtris em twelve bundred dollars a year, with ross at © a dozen