Evening Star Newspaper, October 13, 1894, Page 22

22 THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, OCTOBER 13, 1894A-TWENTY-FOUR PAGES. | LAUNT THOMPSON The Blighted Life of the Designer of the Scott Statue. CAST DAYS IN AN INSANE ASYLUM A Career Begun in Success and With Bright Prospects. - OF A VICTIM DRINK de th who pn stands in the grounds of the died about the Ist of the month in nl at Middletoy “yo ment of ihe death of says the New Yerk signified to the general public merel the man who made the celebrate] & trian statue of Gen, Burnside in Provid the ott statue in Washington and many other well known pieces of sculpture, dead. To many New society people, innumerable artists host of Bo- hemians in the literary rtistic world it was the ending of a sad story of one whom they had once delighted to honor, of Launt Thompson. & brilliant genius whose fatal craving for strong drink had brought him to the depths of degradation, and finally to a paretic’s grave ‘The matter for surprise in Thompson's @eath was that he had lasted so long as he did, for he lved to be an old man. Many ef the friends who had known him in his better days died years before Thompson. Mahy of the older artists, however, remem- ber him at the height of his powers and popularity, before his one failing had over- tered him. Launt Thompson came to New York from Albany as a young man in the year 195% He was twenty-five years old, full of hope end ambition. It was ubout thirty-five years ago that he opened an atelier in the studio building in West Ith street. He was u jovial, genial young fellow, with Just enough of his Irish nature cropping out here and there to make him a ready wit and a companion to be sought for. He | made friends quickly, and kept them. Be- g to New York he had spent nine years"in study with the Albany sculp- astus D. Palmer, who first induced him to give up his intended profession of medicine and devote himself to art a ial Favorite. Thompson soon became known in the best of the city. He was of vod breeding, al courteous Even in the da after career the fineness of his manners | would show forth at the most une | He so a brilliant and charm-{ ker, nexhaustible fund of tion and his clever way of express- ing his ideas in Jangua wey graceful and original, but never affected. In consequence of his conversational | ability, his fondness for social enjoyment and his Jing talent, which was attract- more and more, Thompson h sought after and a good | People of the highest social him. At Astor became ure, and for on intimate With the members of the Astor Among th Ithy folk with ne daughter, to whom and whom he marrte is arrival m several sons, of whom one was at t Episcopal clergyman. He is now op of New York. Mis Life Abroad. of Thompson's friends can remer ber when the fatal fondness for drink b gan to devel they cannot re- Lotos and Century clubs, and mate many friends in the theatrical profession. Amor was Edwin Booth, remained m’s firm friend until his own leath broken-down n of the expenses when ad given out he sculptor’s bust Booth in the character of Hamlet known All this time Thompson's fame was grow- ing ap: He found time to do a & deal of excellent work, which soon bro him recognition. He was made member of the National Aca sign the year after he came to and soon afterward his bust of per” and was married. After two years of w and study in Italy he returned to Ameri but in 1875 be went back to Italy another stx years. In the interval, while he was in New York, he had been elected nt of the academy and Yale onferred upen him the honorary de- gree of master of arts. His series of his- torical end pertrait statues and busts had alreaty been commenced. The well-known statue of Gen. John Sedgwick at West Point was completed in 1869. In the two following years he made busts of Stephen H. Tyng. Charles W. Elifott and Samuel F. B. Morse. While in Italy he received a commission from the United States govern- ment for a statue of Winfield Scott, and he returned to this country to execute it. Separated From Hix Wife. After his return from Italy Thompson's habits had begun to tel materially upog his health and state of mind. His separation from his wife occurred soon afterward, and she continued to live im Florence, where she has remained until the present time. ‘The separation, which never took the form of a divorce, was made by mutual consent. It had become simply impossible for Mrs. Thompson to live with him, and he realized it as well as she. Mrs. Thompson wrote to her husband frequentiy during the years preceding his complete breakdown and in- carceration. Their three children, two girls and & boy, are still living with their mother. The son, who ts the eklest, Is now nearly twenty-four years old. Thompson Was utterly incapable of man- aging his money affairs after his return from Italy, and realizing this, he gave a power of attorney over all fin: 1 mat- ters to his aid friend, Samuel Lawrenee. Thompson was now on the down grade, though still able to do good work. His periods of two weeks’ sobriety and industry Would be followed by three of dissipation and drunkenness. At the clubs where he had long been known he became obnoxious. When under the influence of Hquor he was boastful. quarrelsome and destructive. in his w He would upset crockery and mirrors, and co ¢lab room fn short order. Deprived of his club short time made his hea bles, smash arters ly had to request him to absent himself. Besides hig noisy and offensive conduct, his mind had begun to be affected by his long would enter a course of dissipation. He Restaurant, and before orde ing breakfast He wanted to fight with everybody who came Id clean out a Thompson for a at the Hotel Glenham, but the management final- | would send for a gin cocktall, which was his favorite beverage. After drinking it he would sit thoughtfully for a time and then order another drink. This he would keep up all the forenoon, in forgetfulness that he The Scott Statue. had had no breakf: At other times he would order and eat a hearty breakfast, and jn an hour forget all about it and order another. With the general collapse which was ap- proaching the man's appearance had alter- ed. He became emaciated and his face took on a fiery hue. This fact, with the manner in which he trimmed his moustache and imperial, gave him a Mephistophelian look. When ‘one of his friends remarked this resemblance Thompson agreed with him, and set to work to make a bust of himself as the devil. ‘The Last Days. After the completion of the Burnside statue Thompson refused absolutely to do any more work and gave himself up to de- bauchery. A Scotch nobleman came to him for a portrait bust to be placed in the uni- versity at Edinburgh. Thompson was told that he could name his own price for the work. ‘This offer and a number of others he declined peremptorily. During the past four years he was several times placed under arrest, and at one time he was sent to Blackweil’s Island. Finally, in 180, he was removed to a private asy- lum. But he became so violent that he was transferred to the hospital where he died. There was no communication between Thompson and his friends in New York after he was sent away; but when the money which he had was used up they sent enough to Middletown to pay his expenses. Artists and clubmen were almost beginning to forget that there was such a man as Launt Thompson when his death was an- nounced. There were a few sighs over poor Launt Thompson's fate and things went on the same as before. When the dead sculptor was laid to rest in Hillside cemetery at Middletown there Was not a mourner to attend his body to the grave. His New York friends had not entirely forgotten him, however, for the burial expenses were met by them in the last remittance which they will ever be called upon to make for the benefit of the famous but unfortunate Launt Thompson. Seer a Respect for the Dead. From the Utica Observer, He sat in a bar room chair dead. The idlers and the curious ogled him and asked how he died, but the barkceper could tell nothing, for the object in the chair had sat down and dropped asleep. How or when sleep ended and death began rone could tell. The wansfer was made as quickly as darkness follows light. The undertaker had been sent for and the corpse sitting in the | chair had the atttiude of the rest of the crowd that lazily awaited his coming. Dur- ing life the man was a mechanic, but poor | health had him to drink, drink robbed | him of his little strength and’ made him un- fit for any kind of work. ss invited | him to saloons, and from one tc another he Hy Ul charitable death took him in. pennil he undertaker car in, opened t on the floor, raised the head—and stopped. man’s “He's net worth a bf, j matter of fact tone; “if we bury him we don’t get a pay. We've done it before jn that famil He looked around, but no one volunteered to pay. “is ness, know,” sald the un- | dertaker again.’ “He's not worth a cent.” | .Am insurance agent looked in. Said he: ‘Well, he was not worth a cent as iong a, but that body is geod for s different,” quoth the un- | wed the body in the box, foldimg the hands and straightening | ied-up limbs with astonishing ten- | } | he repeated, scre the differenc: erence betwee: ng down | on know— the quick and the dead. cee As You Go Th eh Life. Don't look for the flaws as you go through lifes And even if you should find them, It ts wise and kind to be somewhat blind, leok for the virtue behind them; hint of light F sto nd and Jet it gu o'er ‘The world will never adjust itself To suit your whims to the lette go wrong your whole life long, ma know it the better; It ts folly to fight with the Indui Aud go under at last in the wrestle The wise shapes into God's good ‘plan As the water shapes Into a ve ELLA WHEEL coe They All Do it. Yrom the Chicago Record. Abasuerus Hubbard had an appointment at bis office at 10 o'clock, but he awoke carly andl so it happened that at 8:30 he had finished his breakfast and read his morning paper. He went out onto the door- step with his bat on, and having nothing to do, walkel lelevrely over toward the cabie ine. It was a twelve minute ride to the ottice. He had, therefore, over an hour and @ quarter to sp: A crowded cable car came along, the passengers hanging onto the seat handles and wedged together on the platforms. Just behind was another t and behind that still another, almost empty. The first car did not slacken speed at the crossing where Ahasuerus stood. And then Ahasuerus Hubbard, with sev- enty-five mirutes of time at his disposal and a chance to ride downtown in comfort a few seconds later, made a rush for the crowded train, missed his footing, hurt his | ar. and was finally dragged on board bruised and breathless. When he got to his office he waited an hour in idleness. Will some psychologist kindly ascertain and describe the cerebral action which im- pels Ahasuerus and several thousand other esteemed citizens to do this sort of thing every dey in the year? ee The Spanish King's Boy Battalion. From the London Times. The King of Spain, sceomparied by the queen-regent and the court, held a review last Wednesday at San Sebastian of his boy battalion, which has been recruited from the youthful members of the chicf families cf Spain. The regiment has been orgar.'zed, armed, and drilled by Col. Ortega in strict military discipline. When the royal party arrived on the narade ground, the young soldiers P shonersgey arms, while the buglers blew a flourish of trumpets and the band played the royal march. The boys then went through their drill and maneuvers, marching, countermarching, Goubling, and charging with fixed bayonets with a dash and precision which surprised the specta- tors and delighted the king, who was en- thusiastic in his applause. Afterward, amid a solemn silence, the king and the queen-regent passed up the ranks of the regiment, inspecting with due formality the arms and uniforms of the boys. Finally the queen-regent gave the command for the battalion to pile arms, and, as the boys stood at ease, her majesty went among them, caressing some and praising the mar- tial bearing of all; the king chatted with his own playmates, the sons of Gen. Pola- vieja and the Duke of Seralaes. A CHEROKEE CLAIMANT, se FANNIE E. NEWBERRY IN MUNSEY'S BRAS Se ae The sun was setting, as for weeks past, in a hot, merciless glare, which made its disappearance a distinct relief. It cast no long afternoon shadows, for between Lucy’s eyes and the far horizon stretched only a rolling sea of prairie grass, browned to a stubble. The prospect to the east was as monotonous, and northward no less so, though the thought that Arkansas City lay in that direction gave it a certain interest in Lucy's eyes. Behind her, to the south, Snake creck crawled its sluggish way through her father’s grain fields, now rarched to stiffness under the brassy sky. Lucy sighed, and turned back into the cabin. Crossing its floor of baked earth, she lifted the lid from a rusty kettle sim- mering on a rustier stove, and gave a look at the uneasy potatoes within. “D'ye see anythin’ of pap asked a querulous voice from the squeaky wooden rocker near the back door. 'No, be isn’t in sight yet, ma. Shall I put over the coffee?” “Might’s well. Hope he won't forgit th’ dried apricots, and th’ med’cine.” “And the mail,” added Lucy beneath her breath, jerking a table of home manufac- ture a few feet ftom the wall. “Mayn’t we have a table cloth tonight, ma?” “What’s th’ sense? Jest makes extry Washin’. Kain’t ye wipe th’ tabie off, if ‘tain't clean? “Oh, I can." Lucy's pretty lips. curled scorntully, straightening her dimples into hard, unlovely lines, as she caught the coarse dishes from their rude shelf, and shoved them into place with a vehemence which brought a sarcastic “Save the pieces, Luce!” from her mother. She did not answer, but turned again to the north entrance, called by courtesy the front door. “He's coming,” she answered half sul- lenly, after a moment's outlook; then in a brisker, brighter tone, “How easily Bonnie Belle makes it! You'd think she was on her first mile, and I'll wager my new hat pa's kept that pace the whole six. Bless ine pretty creature!” Her mother gave a cackling Jaugh, pleased at the girl's inore cheerful tone. She re- sented fretfulness in another. That w her prerogative, born of years of “ailing, and youth and Lucy had no business with ha thing. She's a fine mare, Luce. There ain't many in Kansas slicker, ‘less it's Charlie Maynard's rcan”—with a covert glance. “1 ‘low his may be faster, but not much. Well, ef youll dish th’ murphies I'll git th’ butter an” sass, hey ?"’ ‘All right. Hello, father! Back again? How’s Bonnie Belle?” “Chipper’s ever, Luce. See her reach fer ye, darter. I vow, shes got more sense’n Some humans! Supper ready? How's ma?” “Better, and supper'’s dished. I'll unsad- die Belle—you go in. Aren't you tired?” “Oh, some. It's derned hot an’ dusty, Here, I'll tote in thet bag o’ truck; it's heevy. 1 got yer shoes, Luce. Pail fer ‘em, too! Thet ole Swanscot guv me a V on thet debt. They're nice, Luce!” “Thank y father; they're beauties! And the mail? i “Wall, now, they wan't ary letters, Luce,” the farmer said, carefully abstaining from even a glance at the girl's averted face. “Leastways, I didn’t find none—them mails is so dern keeriess, ye know. Mought hev a dozen lyin’ round loose fer all we kin tell. But here's the paper. My Jerushy, but it's lively times down in Arkansas City! Boom- ers till you kain't rest, an’ you don’t hear nothin’ but th’ chinnin’ ‘bout th’ Cherokee strip, an’ th’ ride fer it, nex’ Sat'day. They’s settlers pilin’ in by every train, an’ cowboys, an’ thimble riggers—an’ it’s my ‘pinion they ain't much chance fer th’ honest chaps. Yes, ma, I’m comin’."”" He entered to the impatient invalid, and Lucy led her blooded mare to the shed sta- ble in the rear. Stolidly she removed the Mexican saddle and holsters, substituting a rope halter for the clumsy bridle. Then, while the hungry mare began upon the few kernels of corn left in her rude manger, the ‘irl suddenly broke into a dry sob, and leaned against the pretty creature s sleek side, Bonnie Belle turned Ler beautiful eye: sympathy upon her mistres er, and broke out: “Oh, why don’t I hear? It can't be that little of who pressed Where is ne?} thing at the dance. I | hate Jim Curti: passionately—“I only | went with him because—because I didn’t | care to show J preferred Charlie, when they came up at the same minute. peen so marked! Why couldn't he under- stand? Men are such idiots! Half laughing, half sobbing, she gave her pet a gentle rub down, adding food, drink, and a Jast caress. Then she turned’ toward | the house, stopping an instant to note the fast darkening line of smoke fringing the | Southwestern horizon—that line of dread | and danger of which the prairie settler sel- dom wholly loses sight during the long months of drought and heat “We need rain awfully!” she sighed— 5 much as we need money. Oh, what life! Work, work, work, and for what? it isn't grasshoppers it’s fires, and if it isn't those it is sand storms and cyclones, "Ss no use trying to get ahead in this God forsaken country!” With a desperate, disgusted gesture she entered the cabin from its r + stopping to drive a couple of too familiar ens from the doorstep. “Go to your own roost, you silly things! It seems as if even the fowis couldn't be lke themselvas in these parts. That speckled hen would stay up all night if I'd let her.” “What you mutterin’ over, Luce?” called her father’s big voice from the table, where he was at work upon his fourth plateful of bacon and potatoes. “Come in an’ hear th’ news, kain’t ye? An’ ye mought read th papers to ma, ef ye will. I've been a tellin’ her, but they’s lots I forgit, an’ th’ papers is full of it.” “Of what?" said Lucy obliviously. “Why, wasn't I a tellin’ ye boom, an’ th’ guv'ment's givin’ out th’ Cherokee Jan's, and all. I swan, ef | was a younger man, an’ not so stiff In th’ j'ints, I'd make a race fer {t myself. I know Bon- nie Bell could do tt. She come from th’ city Unight in forty minutes, an’ never Po ‘ata hair. She could do it, an’ 1 know t Jt would have | it| Of th’ “Of course she could, father, but it's near- ly twenty miles to where the good lands are, isn't it?” “Yes, but she could do it!” he repeated, pounding his knife handle emphatically upon the bare table. “Don’t ye want no supper, Luce?? “No, father, I'm not hungry.” He studied her shapely young head, now bent over the paper till her face was hid- den, and his honest countenance, burned to & coppery hue by the ceaseless winds of Kansas, took on a worried look. Ye oughter be, down a tremendous he murmured, gulping mouthful, and shook his head slightly, as if he had no remedy for the situation. Lucy, meanwhile, having easily found the leaded headlines she sought, reat began to read of that vast irruption of the stranger and “tenderfoot,” which was transforming the small prairie town above them into a noisy, blustering, open all night, fakir rid- den city, nearing its sixty thousand inhabi- tants; the better portion intent upon claim- ing a home at the opening of the govern- ment lands, while the remainder were as in- tent upon plunder, lawlessness and deviltry. Lucy read listlessly for a time, then with growing excitement. ° “It'll be a wonderful sight, pa, that ride! How I wish you were younger! How I wish we could get a town lot at Perry, and make a home there! I could teach, then, for I had a good schooling up at the city, and id perhaps start a mill again, father, and we'd give up fighting the storms and bugs on this old ranch. If you only could! “Yas, darter, but I couldn't. "T’ould be blessed change, I ‘low, but thar ’tis! How’: @ man to make sech a run when he kain’ move his bridle arm 'thout a pain ketchin’ him? "Twouldn’t do, Lucy, my pretty, *twouldn’t do! Pa too old an’ clumsy, ye see. An’ now, le’s git to bed, soon’s I've tcok a look off fer fires.” He disappeared outside, while Lucy and her slow-stepping mother let down the bunks and stowed themselves away within their narrow confines, to sleep. At least, the mother slept. Lucy, snug behind her calico curtains, heard her father re-enter, mutter something about ‘no need to worrit ef th’ wind don’t change,” and lazily pull his boots off. Soon his heavy snores shook the cabin, but the girl lay with wide open eyes. far into the night, thinking, planning, resolving. It was nothing unusual for Lucy to ride over to Arkansas City for a visit. She had schoolmates there who were always glad to see her, and possibly other interests drew her in that direction. It was the town Charlie Maynard called home, between long business tri satisfactory as the bits of t hand between the thick slices of dry bread with which he was too familiar at, fajlway restaurants. Here Lucy had met hi often, during the past two years of her school life, and here she see! ly, irrevocably of- fended him by one of those sudden, girlish freaks so inexplicable tp the male lover. It was at a parlor not a month be- fore. He had arrived , but his bright blue eyes quickly it her brown ones, and he was hastily making his way across the desert of red and green Ingrain carpet- ing that separated the-gfoup of expectant girls from the bashful lfne of boys, when dapper Jim Curtis of Tape & Twist's dry goods “emporium,” advanced at exactly the same instant from tBe opposite end of the row. == “May I have the pleasure, Miss Reade and “Will you give tpis dance; Luc: were whispered slmullangously Into the two pink ears of the bewildered girl. She hesitatingly rese, and, womanlike, took the arm of the man she hated, leaving the man she loved to glower after her in a stupor of indignation. "That was their last meeting, for Charlie left the house almost immediately, and she had neither seen nor heard from him. since, Her father, who dearly loved her, noted the cessation of cer- tain frequent letters and the sadness in his darling’s eyes and longed with all his great, blundering heart to comfort her. When she asked, the next morning after his return on Bonnte Belle, if she might spend the rest of the week with Jennie Miller in Arkansas City he was gldd to answer: “Why, sartin, Lucy, sartin! T ain't needin’ th’ mare now that things Is at sech @ stand- still, an’ yer ma seems quite chipper over th’ new medicine. Only look out a little fer bummers and roughs—th’ kentry’s full of ‘em.”" father, I'll be there before noon, “Yes, and you know I'll be safe with the Millers, Wouldn't you like to live in a town, pa?” “Wall, I ain't sayin’ I shouldn't like it— but what's th’ use in chinnin’? Here we've squatted, an’ we couldn't scrape up th’ dust to git, ef we wanted to, Shell I cinch up th’ mare?’ “No, father, I can. You fix it up with ma, please. That'll be the toughest job!” He smiled broadly in answer to her roguish look, and disappeared, to coax and wheedle the peevish, half sick, wholly dis- couraged mother into a reluctant consent to her daughter's absence. Lucy found that her father had not exag- gerated the state of things at Arkansas City. She was obliged to check Bonnie Belle to a walk as she steered her way through the teeming streets to the small frame house of her friends, the Millers. But she gave little time to wonder or questionings. Mr. Miller was an attorney, and after a brief response to his daughter’s glad wel- come, Lucy said briskly; “Jennie, dear, I came on business. 1 want to see your father—where is he?” “He's home now. It’s dinner time. I'll have brother Joe unsaddle Belle—come right into the dining room; we're all there.” After the noon meal, which consumed Iit- ue time, the good natured Miller led his guest into the gloomy parlor, sacred to silence and obscurity, except on Sunday nights. Here, after a struggle with a re- fractory window that he might admit some much needed air, he turned with a twinkle in his shrewd eyes. - ‘Well, now, to biz! What can ‘I do for you, Miss Lucy? Anything about regis- tration of claims, or—" “Yes, sir, that’s just it.” “Hey?” Mr. Miller was evidently not a little astonished. “Yes, sir. I'm going to ride for a claim at Perry, and I want you to tell me just ee to do to make everything safe and legal ““Whew-w!” the attorney replied, drawing his chair closer to gaze intently into her brave young face, pallid with resolve. “It’s a ride that will tax the strongest man, let alone a girl like you. You'll simply be run down and stamped to death in the rush. You're crazy to—" “I'm a good rider, Mr. Miller, and Belle is sure-footed. I'm going to take up a town site claim at Perry. Father's too old and too—too easy. You know all about him. I’m not afraid. I don't hold my life so very dear, anyhow. What have I to live for on that dreadful, burnt up prairie? Don’t try to dissuade me, but let me know exactly what to do. I tell you I will make a go of “By gravy! I believe you will,” he sal after a long, intent look. “Well, liste and he proceeded carefully to set forth the legal forms and requirements necessary, without interposing a single word of fur- ther remonstrance. The next two days would have tested the resolution of most men, and did sap the strergth of many, as thty stood in packed les under that blazing Kansas sun, blis- tered with heat, parched with thirst, gritty and blind with ‘the penetrating dust, wait- ing for their slow turns at the registration booths, But Lucy was a determined girl, and used to hardships. She had ridden many a day from dawn to gloaming perched upon the wheat drill or corn dropper, ani trudged hours picking up the “murphies her father hoed out of theered, black earth. She had galloped miles over the sun-swept prairies, once hotly pursued by two drunken Indians; she had slept more than once with no roof above her and no couch beneath, and she knew what endurance meant. Today she was dressed in a loose blouse and skirt of thin, cool flannel, with a man’s sombrero crowning her close-braided blonde hair, whose short locks curled naturally about her forehead. A sharp machete wa thrust into her ieather belt, and within the blanket, rolled into a tight bundle and strapped to her saddle bow, was hidden a Lottle of cold tea, some lemons and a paste- hoard box filled ‘with food. She had come 1 you she also hid in her pocket icks of gum, do not be disgusted. knew that chewing often relieves thirst by exciting the salivary glands to greater and she only intended to resort to ur remedy when cold tea and lem- ons failed. . All day she stood in line. At night she ate and drank, then wrapped her blanket about her, and gazed up at the stars. Some- thing in ‘her quiet, self-contained manner prevented approach or insult, and several decent-looking men, with more than one woman, were in her Immediate vicinity, so she felt no fear. In fact, all physical feel- ing seemed in abeyance. She had started on this mad scheme in a mood of strained excitement. Her lover's continued silence, her hateful, monoton- ously barren existence, her festering dis- content with all her @rroundings, only in- tensified by her school years away from bome—all this had wrought her feelings to a pitch where almost any act was possible. Physical limitations seemed overcome by sheer brain force and nervous tension. She hardly thought of food or drink, and she bore the heat and crowding of the weary wait, only half comprehending their fuil measure of suffering, s0 deeply was her mind disturbed by thoughts of her estranged jover, and of the dreary Hife stretching before her, year upon year, as the prairie stretched before her door, wave upon wave, to the furthest limits of earth and sky. If she gave a suppressed groan, now and then, it was because of mental suffering only; and if her face, beneath its grime of dust and sweat, was drawn and pallid, it was because the brain above never ceased from tensest thought. Nor did the strain loosen till her registration was accomplish- cd, and she knew that she was enrolled as a land claimant. Then for a time tired na- ture succumbed, and she dropped into ,a sleep which knit up the raveled tissues once more, and made Saturday's awful ride a possibility. Our beloved Uncle Sam's method of dis- tributing his largess is certainly open to criticism, though it may not be casy to suggest a better way. It only affords an- other proof of the fact that a law which cennot be backed by main strength only hampers the honest citizen, while giving every opportunity to, the knave. The de- crees enforcing registration before found- ing a claim, and forbidding the ciaimant from setting foot upon the government lands before the signal at noon of the 16th of September, were intended only to keep out “sooners” and blacklegs; but they occasioned great delay and suffering to the honest settler, without accomplishing this intent, and caused a shameful, bloody struggle, which could only end in defeat for the better element. To make the dis- tribution fair, there should have been a cordon of soldiery surrounding the Chero- kee strip for a week’s interval, at least, but that was deemed impossible. So the “sooners” hid in every clump und jollow, screened by dead leaves and branches, to spring into the best places after the signal, and seize their dishonest claims long be- fore the law-abiding settler upon his swift- est horse could enter the boundaries of his promised land. That brave race for homes, with its en- durance and agonies, ending too often i frightful tragedy, as nature's fiery m and man’s flercer passions conspired to tor- ture and kill, has passed into history. If older nations shake their heads and smile over the “generosities” of our great govern- ment, can we wonder? It was five minutes to 12 on that brassy, sand-swept Saturday, and Lucy Reade, mounted on her brave chestnut, stood with many thousand others in that mighty line of battle, ready for the charge. It was a charge where speed and pluck were the weapons, chicanery and greed the enemy, and where victory meant a home! Lucy’s teeth were set, and her breath came in gasps. Was her courage to fail her now? In the midst of these rough, profane men, informed by the dominating senti- ment of greed, was she to . fail? No! She bit her white under lp to redness, she drew herself up to her full height, the reins more firmly in her gauntlet hand. Hark—a gun! The flag at the military bar- = yonder drops to the ground. It is signal! Instantly, as if moved by one wild spirit of freedom and defiance (for the carrying of firearms has been strictly prohibited), there is an answ volley from hun- dreds ‘of revolvers di: rged into the air. Then amid the roar, the smoke and the yells from thousands of thirst-dried throats the line of battle started forward—not at a walk, not at a quickstep, but at a run! Lucy is nearly paralyzed for an instant, but Bonaie Belle is not. She is off like the bolt from a catapult, pounding through the dust and straining at her bridle. For a moment it {s all a daze, a delirium, to the girl. Then her senses come back, her nerves steady themselves. The dust- filled whirl about her resolves itself into hazy forms of hors> and rider at highest tension, of ungainly prairte schooners lurching wildly by after their galloping horses, of a figure or two thrown, with bit- ter cries, into the very midst of the melee. She sickens, and fixes her gaze between the mare’ ears, resolved not to look, though every now and then a howl, an oath or a hoarse laugh will break in upon the steady roar of the numberless hoof beats. Bonnie Belle, slim, quick and grace- ful as a woman, and with the female genius for persistence, seizes every opening. After a time, during which Lucy has veen simply swept along, as easily and with as little conscious volition as are the plan- ets through space, she finds herself among a still rougher element in this strange race. She has outstripped the honest householder and reached the reckless cowboy, leading the train. As she perceives this, and notes the motley crew pressing her closely on every side, for the first time a womanly» tremor thrills her breast. She knows their lawlessness well, and gives a quick, anx- lous glance about her at their swerthy, careless faces. Ae the same instant they greet her presence among them with rough cries of gallantry, which make her heart beat thick and fast. If she had only stayed in the safer crowd behind! But Bonnie Belle is quite beyond her control now. She has settled to her gait, and has no thought of anything but first place in this heat. She has known cowboys before, carried them, too, and she proposes to keep her po- sition with them now! ° Lucy ts half ashamed of her tremors, but they are acutely real, nevertheless. It is a horribly lonesome thing for a girl to be rid- ing, unattended, over the open prairie amid such a crowd of irresponsible men. If there were but one friendly face in sight! She turns her head uneasily for a glance back over her shoulder, catches one swift, hazy glimpse of a face that is famillar in spite of its dusty disguise, and before she has time to wonder hears the sudden ex- clamation—“Lucy!” The next instant the other rider's horse is at her side, his hand .{s touching hers, and for one bi{ssful minute she cannot see for tears as she murmurs: “Oh, Charlie, I'm so glad! It is the only explanation necessary. The glance, the tone of perfect trust, are enough for the most exacting heart, and from that moment the hard ride is for both but a swift rush for Eden. At first Bonnie Belle resents the big rean pressing her flanks, but as a wet sponge is passed swiftly between her frothing jaws, bringing relief and refreshment, she ceases to fret, and the two pound along side by side, a well-matched pair. Side by side, with now and then a low word, brief but full of meaning, the two riders leave the seventeen miles behind them, and their good steeds, reeking with foam, but still sound in wind, bring them to the govern- ment quarters which mark the center of Perry just sixty minutes after the signal gun. Lucy drops to the ground in a little heap, nearly spent, while Charlie, flinging her both bridles, has quickly staked out two de- sirable claims, which will soon be worth their hundreds. Meanwhile the helpful girl has pulled herself together, and 1s caring for the noble beasts as best she can, when Charlie stations her beside him to hold their own against the rush. It was a wild, tumultuous moment, but they are close together, and his hand clasps hers, while he bends closer. “Lucy, dearest, you can give your claim to the old folks—mine is for you! There'll be a minister along pretty soon, and my tent is coming by the first train. Why should we wait? Let us be married, and begin right here—together. Will you, dar- ling? And clear amid the yells, the shooting, the mad rush of incoming settlers, half crazed with thirst, fatigue and excitement he plainly hears her honest answer, “Yes, ———+ee. Watching. In childhood's season On many a balmy, vonless summer night, White heeled Ue lghtbouse arms of dark and bright, Far through the bumid air, How patient have I been, Sitting alone, a happy Mttle maid, Walting (to see, careless and My father’s boat co Close to the water's edge, Holding a tiny spark, that he mi (So dangerous the landing, far a: Safe past the ragged ledg. I had no fears—not one; ‘The wild wide waste of water leagues around Washed ceaselessly; there was no human sound, And I was ail alone. But nature was so kind! r friend I loved the loneliness; My heart rose glad as at some sweet caress When passed the wandeciug wind. Joy to hear ess sounds grow clear at last, nd of creaking mast, voices drawing near. “Is't thou, dear father? Say What well-known shout resounded in reply, As loomed the tall sail, smitten sudden With the great lighthouse ray! I will be patient now, Dear Heavenly Father, waiting Lere for Thee; I know the darkness holds Thee. Shall I be Afraid, when it is Thou? On Thy egernal shore, In pauses, when life's tide IS at its prime, I bear tue everlasting rote of Tine, Beating forevermore. Shall 1 not then rejoice? Ob, never lost or sad should child of Thine Sit’ walling, fearing lest there come no sign, No Whisper of ‘Ihy votce! —CELIA THAXTER, ——-+e-+______ Amerie: Orchid: From Harper's Weekly. Many will be surprised to learn how many orchids we have among our wild flowers. It is a rich and unexplored field for the collector arid the student, and the search is itself a delight, for our orchids love shadowy woods and quiet meadows, and are usually found in the neighborhood of stream or lake. Few know what really dis- tinguishes an orchid from other flowers. Many orchids grow in northern or temper- ate climates, are not alr plants, and have small, insignificant blossoms—insignificant as to color, though always quaint and fan- tastic in form. A child’s definition of an orchid—“a flower that makes faces"—is very good, for its distinctive feature is the twist- ed petal or lip, which is often vividly col- ored and grotesquely marked. Its length reminds one of those who “shoot out the Mp in derision,” and easily gives the fancy the impression of a mocking look. Mr. Bur- ridge says the lips of some orchids “waggle about in ludicrous fashion. ‘A few of our orchids are, however, beau- tiful in color and of striking appearance. Best known of all is the lady’s-siipper, with its queer local names—the whippoorwill’s shoe and the moccasin flower—suggestive of its broad and clumsy shape, so unlike a slender Parisian boot. Its color is a dell- cate rose purple, and its airy, slender grace, poised in attitude of flight, is seen in deep woods or along cliffs and waterside. The yellow lady’s-slipper has long, wavy petals lady’s shoe. like the unfastened ribbons of Mrs. describes it as standing with alert, startled air, sentinel-like, on some mountain slope. The orange orchis, with spires of clustered and fringed blossoms, burns with vivid color through bog and marsh, as if aflame with August sunshine. —r90 From Life. od “Hii! Fellers, T've found a place where it’s Anton Fischer, ¢ 906 G St. over my new rubber boots,’ Shoes Given Away. Bvery Gay one of oor customers ts Presented with a pair of Shoes PRES FO, etaten we out tr $2.65 Shoes which will cost you $3 or $3.50 It is a unique sight to view at Carls- bad the motley row of drinkers of all nations, languages, manners and costumes burrying down in single file to the Dolling Sprude] Spring with an eacthenwace mug in their hands, or slung by & strap rouml the neck ot over the shoulder, and patiently waiting their turn to sip of the precious fluid. For three cen- turles or more sorts and conditions of men, from the king to the tramp, have pilgrimized hither im search of new ilfe or relief from pain. But we cannot in these competitive days afford the | time and money to travel so far afield, so it ts | brought to your doors bottled in {ts natural and original form at the Spring. or in powder eva porat- | ed on the spot, and so well known as the Carlsbad | Sprodel Water, and Carlsb: Sprudel Solt. signature, “EISNER & MENDELSON ‘ew York,” is om every bott of imitations. Ladies’ Botton Shoes, sizes 1 to 3% (which used to sell for $2.50 to $4), Only $1.50. The Warren Shee House, 42d GED W. RICH, 919 F ST. SOOROOOSOOOS oe 00008 ©0., Sole GRATEFUL—COMFORTING og age itch 9 In Hair Switches. Epps’s Cocoa. $2.50, Was $5.00. BREAKFAST—SUPPER. $4.50, Was $6.00. “By a thorough knowledge of the natural laws whk the th f digestion and sutri- on, nbd oy ‘careful application of "ae ‘ro $6.5¢, Was $10.00. erties Reaiay eau Secu near y 0 7 wi many ‘heavy’ doctors’ bili It Ie. by articles of diet thet a constitution In all shades; also largeree ductions in Gray Switches. use of Foal eter tendency 16 incase Husdreds ot Hair Dressing, Cutting mans Day's, fal at tenet Seezland Shampooing in best ithea “frames” Ciel Service Gasette "| manner by competent _ =, Se or — A | rti: ts t Satan CO., Lid. Homocopathic Chemist, | AF CISTS &! ta, S. Heller’s, 720 7th St. Our Low Tarif Prices Talk of the Town. New fuvoices arriving dally, Thousands of sults, all shades, all grades, all styles Strictly all wool. Low tariff price, $7.50 a Suit. ‘Thousands of Suits, Single an@ Double breasted Backs, Silk and Serge-lined, Long+ cut Regent, satin and Italian Ming. Strict> Jy all wool, All tho newest shades. All DERUNKENNESS OR THE LIQUOR HABIT Post. tively cured by administering Dr. Haines’ Gol- = Ss. FLW, under my12-tu,th.s6m* PRESSES ES SSS J-GFRG AG FS loves That Fit, jImprove the ap- pearance of the LATEST FRENCH SHADES jiand, while poorly, cut gloves give tl hand the appear- NEW SHADE MODES. THE NEW TANS. sured of getting lew riff price, ithe FITTING ee Gloves when =) $10.00 a Suit. CHILDREN’S SUITS. Strictly all wool, two and three plecss. Low tariff price, $2.00 a Suit and Upward. BOYS’ SUITS. Strictly all wool; ages 18 to 18 years. Coat, ‘Vest and Long Pants. Low tariff price, $2.50 a Suit and Upward, VICTOR E. ADLER’S to Per Cent Clothing House, 927 AND 920 7TH ST. N.W., Cor GOLDEN BROWNS. buy here. Our Gloves are all well made and reliable.) We have cont) dence enough =X to try on PLAIN AND EMBROIDERED, them every pair at ours own risk, aud) \quarantee | them. jPrices sult as well)> ‘fas the gloves. All the new — fainss ishades, HIBBERT’S GLOVEEMPORIUM, 606 11th St. GLA AND SUEDES. 8-BUTTON MOUSQUETAIRES, Opposite Woodware & Lothrop’s. y Millinery CUUSETTS AVE. STRICTLY ONE PRICE. Open evenings until 7. oc2-3m IT’S A SHAME! People who deprive themselves of Furs niture or Carpets simply because they haven't the cash to pay in a lump make @ grievous mis- ” take. Lots of people who COULD pay cash as well as not buy here on credit—because there are Saturday until 11 p.m, “SNAPS” One lot of prett: Trimmed ee Quality Low 19-inch Colored SUK Velvet. a Colored Silk Ribbon Vel- vet—all_numbers—regularly IOC sold at 5c. yard... 4 ° s Quality now HATS. he Monumental, flections of fashion’ = NELIMME|D ta-eo assortment “Fashion Leaders in Fine MiDine latest. fancies --Hats. mg —_ Bes 939 F Street. oa other ways in which their money can be em i Yasin ~~~! | ployed to etter advantage. BULBS = |CREDIT Than Ha! Price, Don’t risk buying worthless bulbs at auction when we can sell you “heautics” for considerably less money. Tulip Bulbs, $1 per 100, or 2c. don. Hyacinth Bulbs,$2.50 per 100,or 25c.doz, WITH US IS ONLY ACCOMMEDATION. ‘rocus Bulbs, 50c. per 100, or Ie. dex. ‘We have but one price—cash or eredit—anq Narcissus Bulbs, $2.50 per 100, or S5e. doz. | that price is as low as simflar qualities are sold For peccent. pleats oie eros, ace | for ANYWHERE. We don't ask anybody to Fawn Ginss Bed of nest ‘quality © | sign a note—or to pay any tuterest—we're satie- fied with a plain, honest promise that you will pay us a little money weekly or monthly. Gan you imagine auything EASIER than that? PLUSH OR HAIRCLOTH PARLOR SUITES- CHOICE, $22.50. SOLID OAK BED ROOM SUITE, $13. SPLENDID BRUSSELS CARPET, S0c. PER YARD. RELIABLE INGRAIN CARPET, 85c. PER YARD. MADE AND LAID FREE OF COST. SOLID OAK oo F. W. Bolgiano, 1341 14th and 717 15th St. C7 WEATHER STRIPS, to keep out winds and rain, from 25c. to 50c. per window. L.H. Hopkins, 933 FN.W: eelét-lm Cut Glass Bowls, Half Price. $3 Cut Glass Bowls, $1.50 $3.50 Cut Glass Bowls,$: 35 $3-75 Cut Glass Bowls, $1.87 don’t but one, as we want some of the after: Wilmarth & Edmonston, Crockery, 1205 Pa. Ave. We Clean se) Lace Curtains GROGAN’S MAMMOTH GREDIT MOUSE, (810-821-823 7th Street Northwest, Between H and I streets, Are You a Tea Drinker? ‘Then ‘Meuen Tho, febeie, mes mee Ey Goods called for and delivered. Drop us a