Evening Star Newspaper, January 12, 1895, Page 13

——— THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, JANUARY 12, 1895-TWENTY PAGES. “18 ne POETS OF PARIS! The Curious School of Versifiers Known as the Decadents, MORE ECCENTRIC THAN POETICAL How They Manage to Secure the Publicity of Print. SCHOOL OF SYMBOLISM Correspondence of The Evening Star. PARIS, December 25, 1894. HE DECADENT? poets of Paris. It is easier to read about them than to see them It is easier to see them than to hear them recite their poetry. It Is easier to hear them recite than to hunt their poetry up in the book shops. The reason is | that they have writ- ten little, though Mi a they have talked much. Thus ft Is easier to describe them than define them. What ts a “decadent” poet? To every one outside of France the name has come to be applied to these young poets who are better known for their eccentricity than for their poetry. Properly, a “decadent” is a youth who follows vaguely in the trall of Paul Verlaine. Labels are plentiful in France; and sometimes {t is easier to found a “school” than to write anything at all. As to belonging to a “school,” that is the easiest of all. You only have to Say so. So the “decadent” is the grandnephew of the “Parnassian” and cousin in the twelfth degree to the “old Romantic.” He is the son of the moderniste, The grandson of the idealiste, And has a dash of the realiste. And so you can work it out for yourself. But as some footnotes ought to go with every gengulogy, it may be stated that the A Poetical Conference. “decadent” Is a young poet who, being un- able to elevate himself, is more or less re- signed to stay on earth. He rather likes the earth; he prides himself on liking it. And that is why he calls himself decadent. It is not necessary to have either personal- ity or origirality; but it ts important to use certain words and to cultivate a cer- tain look. It ts well to talk of Schopenhauer and Darwin. He adopts these names because they are so little known in France. As a cold fact, the “decadent” does not know Schopenhauer, and he has never studied Darwin. But he proceeds tolerantly from Maxeville beer to green absinthe and from hot “grogk Americain” back to the beer again. Afar off the “decadent” imitates the manner of Baudelaire, who got some inspiration from our Edgar Poe, but mixed his own dirt with ft. So the “decadent” has had his despairs, his disgusts, his ran- cours. Yet im his ears ring golden bells, and his heart is full of bitter h2roisms. These often stietch to blasphemy and the unmentionable. The bitter heroism of Jean Richepin, when he was a younger man, brought him to Jail. The Hairy Fellows. At that time a subclass of the decadents, “hirsutes” or “hairy fellows,” were lifting up their voices. They took that name from Richepin, who possessed a splendid head of bristling black hair. Others called them “hydropaths,” because their temperament was so surcharged with heat that only fce-cold baths could bring them down to normal. It was also a gentle satire on their distaste for water as a beverage, be- cause the second in importance of the band was Racul Ponchon. While others grew more serious and still more fell away to sing no more, Raoul Ponchon has re- mained through years, and still remains as bee er drunken poet of the drunk- Tho third of them fn fmportance, also, Maurice Bouchor, was at that time not a vegetarian, to say the least, although he has since bloomed Into the mystic, hieratic poct-prophet of the Marionette Theater, Which attempted to revive the mysteries of Isis. And now, today, this very week, to how Wow evolution causes souls to turn and squirm, this very Maurice Bouchor has written songs for little boys and girls. The minister of public instruction opened a public competition some months ago for the best words adapted to forty melodies gathered from the common peopie in the rovinces by one of the librarians of the ‘onservatory of Music. These were to @erve as songs in the state primary schools. Not a Sympathetic Soul. Maurice Bouchor won the competition! His songs are sweet and pure and pretty, on Subjects like “The Brave Men of Old,” “Ss: G 7 and “The Christmas Reveillon. eveillon” is the midnight ser on Christmas eve, when children @re permitted to sit up. une armoire au dore; e I’ on va bolre igt de vin sucre! nin a closet a certain gilded believe that we shall drink a wine.” And Mouths are watering at the gcose and chestnuts!” Crank Twangers of the Lyre. e tone of the unpleasing “hydro- ation of decadentism was ex- Un a “T have s ike; and I then “our thought of pathic” v Pressed by Richepin in a single liner “I boast of it. I hate the good, and evil charms me."* It will be easy to see that the adding ef blasphemy to nastiness is a feature ef some of the latest of the “young” poets also. Richepin, who fs now passing Middle age, and who was a decadent in fact before the word “decadent” had away, has expressed in recent volume—‘'Mes Peradis"—a half re- ‘et for some of these hot follies of his uth. Outside of France {t tf enough to bunch phere people all together and call them cadents.”” But you will scarcely find an tual person who Will take {t simply. The | he crank twangers of the lyre today Tung up, who remains such now that @ word is passin have seen a dozen of their genus come and £ in just as many years; and of their ordes there are packs not yet known. Where do all these squabbling, sobbing and hair-pulling poets of the gay French capital come from? I have sald that it is easier to read about them than to get to see them; though it is easier to get to see the great majority than find their poems in the shops, where the booksellers regularly have never heard of them. Each year some young man who appeared to be like all the others shoots up into fame or no- toriety, as Catulle Mendes and Jean Riche- pin shot up years ago, true poets. But the great majority content themselves with bock and absinthe and appearing in Re- views. Here the true secret les of their fertility and barrenness at once, the habit of establishing Reviews. How They Get Into Print. The French are, above all other peoples, lovers of literature for its own sake. It is one of the happinesses of their language that it is at once so narrow and so cultl- vated that common and uneducated people speak well, write well; that is to say, they cannot help it. And so they cannot help but feel the charm of style. The average French youth cannot help but have a taste for literature. And his beginning 1s, as it must always be, in poetry, which is easier to write than prose. The next thing is to get his verses pub- lished. The regulation way is for half a dozen of his kind to put their cash together and bring out a new Review, which never pays. But each can see himself in print. The avowed object of these Reviews of “the young” is to reform literature. The little leatlets appear and disappear, beneath the arcades of the Odeon Theater,where the book stalls are. The poets of each Review adopt a name. They recruit their ranks. They hire @ hall in the Boulevard quarter, where they de- claim or sing their works, or they iInaugu- rate a new “artistic tavern,” selling beer at a good price and giving recitations of their poems free. Of all these the “Chat S was the most celebrated; and it still These poets wear tall hats of a pe- shape, with broad, straight brims, or felt hats, depending on the nature of their poetry. They wear long hair. They Are So Young. As soon as ever a group becomes noto- rious the papers take them up—the daily papers. Then a real poet is found among them. In default of this they attach them- selves to some celebrity already known. And so you have the succession of “schools” which attract the amazed atten- tion of the world. The late lamented Renan summed thom up as sont des enfants qui se sucent le pouce.” (They are children, sucking their thumbs). But all of them are nice, good-natured fellows, who in any other land less blessed with literature would be looked on with reverence. I have for an acquaintance one of these “young” poets, and I meet him weekly. He recites his peems—weekly. But we like it. There is a charming American family in Paris, with two of the prettiest daughters! two girls so pretty that you feel like wav- ing the American flag each time you see them. They are both devoted to the art of music, the piano, at which, as a German friend of theirs has_pictur- esquely put it in his struggling English, they are indeed “highly distinguished dab: Their music brought to their salon @ young composer. The composer brought the poet. What was the joy of that art- loving family when it was made known that the composer of music and the poet were working in collaboration on a “lyric comed. but of a special type, whose like has never yet been known. It ts under- stood that this poet is not at all a ‘de- cadent.” He is a poet of psychological analysis. But he is not tainted with Ib- senism and he scorns Maeterlinck. Their “lyric comedy” is to move upon the stage with triple unity. Spoken words are to be accompanied by the singing voice, and both are fixed to in- terweave themselves among the harmonies of a greit orchestra. Both composer and poet smile at the affectation of those “sym- bolists” who sought to find a five-fold unity, of words pronounced, words sung, the orchestra, and colored lights and per- fumes squirted at the audience, all going on together, like a circus with five rings. The triple unity of singing, speech and o1 chestration is sufficlent for them. They are so young, you wonder how they do it. ‘The poet ts but twenty-four and the com- poser is but twenty-three. But there the fact is—they have done it. I have heard the lyric comedy a dozen times—at the piano, understand—for it has never been produced yet In public. School of Symbolism. My friend is not a “symbolist,” although @ suspicion of symbolism might attach itself to his three-fold unity, when it is looked at by mere careless, thoughtless people. The dramatic portion of his com- edy is a real tragedy, although its horror and its pathos is concealed by a set of Under Adverse Circumstances. ful love. The subject is “The Youth of Don Juan.” “And now,” the poet says to me, in explanation, ‘you admit that Don Juan is a type?” “Why, sure.” “Well, then, what does he typify? Is it not some- thing thus far unexplained? The world has never understood it! Here is a man with two outrageous characteristics—the desire to win the affection of women only to betray it, and—this Is stranger yet—you note that he can do it! How? Why? Don Juan must first have loved and been be- trayed! By whom? Why, naturally, by a woman! You have ft there! So I have put it. From whom did he learn all the se- crets of the female heart? Why, evidently from this woman who betrayed him.” That is not symbolism. As it proceeds you see that it is pure analysis. The sym- bolists are deep, but In another way “sym- bolism’” among French youth dates from 1884, on the appearance of the “Revue Independante.” Curiously enough, Its head editor all through was the hatchet-faced Felix Feneon, tried and acquitted as an anarchist but a few months ago. It was in the Revue Independante that such men as Verlaine, Moreas, Mellarme and young Maurice Barre—now the political editor of the sensational ‘“‘Cocarde”—worked to re- act against the “naturalism” of Zola and others of the old school. But in_accord- ance with {ts name this revue also pub- lished articles from Zola himself. Here literary anarchism also bloomed and many theories which were not of literature pure and simple. The anarchism was looked on as a disease of youth, for many of these geniuses were poor and shabby. They Know How. The Idea of “symbolism,” which now be- gan definitely to prevail, was to put more ideas into verse than the mere words would hold. Stephane Mallarme, its leader, is a very plain man, earning a precarious live- Ihoed by giving lessons in English. But his poetry {s net plain. Indeed, he has won more reputation by his conversation than by his poetry. A publisher on hear- ing him describe his “Afternoon of a Faun” offered him a carriage for the plece. He took it and he published ft, but, as an afterthought, he told the poet he had not defined the kind of carriage, so he thought ft wise to buy a donkey cart, which Mallarme accepted. Another pub- lisker heard him going on in a drawing room one day about a vase of flowers, and, on the spot, he promised him a_round jum to write out for his review what he ad just been saying. But when the poem came to hand it could not be used. The school of Mallarme has poets who have written nothing. They can sit around cafes all day. Their conversation is de- Ughtful. They know how a@ poem should be written, and the idea fills them with such joy they cannot spare the time to write. must exalt our sentiments,” says ‘@ must give @ symbolic consecration to our impressions,” replies another. “As for me,” goes on a third, “whenever I have an appointment to meet a pretty girl I choose a church. The incense, the fea ba arches heighten with a somber splendor my emotions of love.” yhen I think of the woman I love,” goes on the fifst,“I see rising on the horizon of my thoughts a lily unfolding its miracu- lous corolla in the midst of the sacred si- Tence of a lake lost in the solitude of im- mense forests.” Waiter, four beers. Drinks Only Rum and Water. The great chief of the first “symbolists’” was the curious Greek-Parisian, known as Jean Moreas. He himself has lately swung off to another school of his own founding, but he was long known as a bona fide sym- bolist, the “Passionate Pilgrim.” They were all passionate pilgrims, and many of them still are, for symbolism flourishes today. “Passionate pilgrims,’ exclaims a “sym- bolist decadent,” a revolter, to a reporter When Phoebus the Sinks Beyond Horizon. of the Echo de Paris, “pilgrims without a pilgrimage, and passionate—oh, no! No one has ever met two of these pilgrims upon the same route.’ Yet the “Passionate Pilgrim’ of Jean Moreas is a volume cf note. A sample of his earlier styie will show his tendencies ard those of all symbolism: At the Four-roads crossing the mysts Trace pentalphas. And their mitres Admire the retrograde moon! Jean Moreas drinks only rum and water, unless he has changed lately. He used to come into the cafe at the head of his dead- broke or hard-up disciples and say to them: “Here, you young poets ought to drink cof- fee and milk. Paul Verlaine and myself are the only ones permitted to drink rum.” Poor Paul Verlaine, an old man among youth, and the real poet of them all, gulps his rum down and more and more. But to Jean Moreas the rum is only decoration and to show originality. He admires himself in the glass, talks patronizingly of the great modern poets of France. Americans who knew Waldo Messaros can form a good idea of Jean Moreas. But Moreas, in his quality of a Greek, speaks even slightingly of the great Greek poets of antiquity. “I am jealous of Pindar, I admit,” he once said. “I pardon him only because he is a Greek, a fellow countryman. Let him stay Greek. You've got me also, haven't yeu?” For all that, the French poetry of Moreas is not to be laughed at. STERLING HEILIG. ——— eee MORE GOLD THAN EVER. An Increase in Production in Almost Every Gold Region. From the Boston Herald. The world’s gold product for the present calendar year will surpass that of any year in its history. The production of last year exceeded that of all previous years, and was reported by the mint bureau at $155,- 522,000. ‘The production for 1894 seems likely to be not less than $175,000,000, or a gain of near- ly $20,000,000 over the figures of 1893. The principal gains have been in the United States, the Witwatersrandt region of South Africa, in Australia and Russia. It was evident last summer that mining activity in Colorado and other western states would carry the product of this country for the year from $35,955,000 In 1893 to $42,000,000. It now looks as though the total would reach $45,000,000. Director Preston has checked and pruned the estimates from the great mining states, but even with large reductions they indi- cate an increase of $4,750,000 in Colorado, $2,000,000 in California, $1,000,000 in Mon- tana, and $800,000 in Idaho. Large gains are also reported in Oregon and Washing- ton, for which exact figures have not been obtained. ‘The increase in the production of the Wit- watersrandt region has been steadily main- tained for five years. The production of 1890 was 494,869 ounces, at about $17.50 an the production of 1891 was 729,238 of 1892, 1,210,868- ounces; of 1893, 1,478,475 ounces, and the estimated produc- tion for 1804 is 2,200,000 ounces. The com- plete figures have been received up to the close of November, and every month shows an enormous increase over the correspond- ing month of 1893, with an advance during the present year from 149,314 ounces in January to 175,309 ounces in November. The value of this product was about $26,- 000,000 in 1898, and will be about $38,000,000 for 1894. Other portions of Africa are ex- pected to show slight gains, but they pro- duced in the aggregate last year only about $3,000,000 worth. Australia, which showed a production in 1893 of $35,685,600, 18 credited with an in- crease of $3,000,000 in 1894. The Russian empire was credited in the last mint report with the same production in 1893 as in 1892, which was $24,806,200. Official figures since received show an in- crease in 1893 of about $1,500,000, and it is thought that this will rise to $2,000,000 for the present year. These gains alone will swell the world’s Production by $26,000,000, and would make an aggregate of more than $181,000,000, if no losses were indicated in other ccuntries. It is expected that such a loss may occur in China, where the product of 1893 was $8,426,000, on account of the war with Japan. Even a large loss there would leave the world’s production above $175,- 000,000, and would exceed the most san- guine estimates made by Director Preston in his last report on the production of the precious metals. Mr. Preston {s endeavoring to keep his estimates within conservative bounds, for he does not wish to make a larger claim than the facts will finally warrant; but it would seem that his estimate of a few months ago of an aggregate production this year of $170,000,000 was certain to be largely exceeded. ———_-~cee. Poverty a Prerequisite of Success. From the Boston Traveler. I overheard a conversation between a little group of Boston men the other even- ing. The subject of discussien was the youth of the rising generation. All agreed that twenty years of poverty and struggle in early life was the sine qua non for suc- cess. All the speakers were millionaires of national repute for mercantile sagacity and self-made men. —_—___+e+____ At the Portrait Exhibit. From Truth. Jovely picture!” Mrs. Suddenrich—“Yes, us Be proper Iss Suddenri ““O) Co make me! oF really onel” dear, but it look at it through your lorgnette, ma pleas want memma, see this LIGHT FOR ‘TRAINS Experiments That ‘May Lead to the Adoption of Elégtricity. THE INDEPENDENT STSTEM NECESSARY : = It Will Contribute to the Safety of Railroad Travel. OARING FOR EMPLOYES Written for The Evening Star. EXPERIMENT N z made in the last year va on a southern rail- \ road promises to rev- a | olutionize the lighting of railroad trains and to assure travelers a Greater degree of safety than they have jy—~ ever known before. Heretofure the com- mon cars have been lighted with oil lamps, the finer cars Bae ) . With gas from tanks and the very finest cars—those which run on the limited trains of the greatest rail- roads in the country—with electricity. In the case of the last named, the light has been obtained from a current furnished by a dynamo in the combination car at the head of the train. This ts still the source of light on all of the limited trains in the country except one. On that one train the stcrage battery has been introduced in such a way as to make each car independent of every other one. The result is, as I have said, what promises to be a revolution in train lighting. There is no reason why every car running on the big railroads of the country should not be illuminated with electricity in the near future, giving the passengers an almost perfect artificial light and increasing the safety of travel in a considerable degree. There were many objections to the dyna- mo system. In the first place, an expert electrician was needed on the train. In the second place, unless the cars were made up as a train the eletcric lights could not be used. Thus, if a sleeping car was cut off at a junction, the porter had to light the lamps, because the dynamo had gone on with the train. In the third place, the dyn- amo used up a great deal of steam which was needed, perhaps, for the pulling of the train up a heavy grade; and the electric current had to be kept up or the cars would be thrown into darkness. Accumu- lator batteries were used for storing a certain amount of the fluid, so that the dynamo was not used all of the time; but running it was a nuisance. When it was proposed to use storage batteries with the cars for the purpose of illuminating them the expense was considered the chief ob- fection. Conts Little More Bhan Gas. Independent {Ilumiri&tion “for the railroad cars was unquestionably the most effective; but the question was, wwoult it not be too costly? Storage batteties Nave been built with horizontag plateg and Stored under the cars. The weight of-a battery depends on the number of lights to be used. A sleep- ing car, which requires.the greatest amount of illumination (there- are about twenty~ four lights to each ‘ear), Called for 4,000 pounds of storage battery. The day coaches and the dining cars requf¥ed much less. This 4,000 pounds of battery will furnish current enough to run the lights on the sleeping car for thirty-six hours. On a din- ing car, where the lights are used for a comparatively short time each day, it Is possible to go for ten days or two weeks without recharging the batteries. ‘On one road a train carries with it enough electricity to illuminaté each of the cars while the run fs made, for example, from Cincinnati to New York, making allowance for all possible delays. At Jersey City the cars are taken to the shops and the bat- teries are removed to be charged again. It takes twelve hours to charge each of the batteries. It has taken a long time to prove what the cost of this system of lighting is. But an expert examination made recently by a railroad journal for the benefit of its read- ers has shown that the cost is very little more than that of the gas with which the finest cars on some of the great lines are lighted. All of the latest sleeping cars use this gas, which is carried in storage tanks on top'of the car. It 1s used also on the Broadway line of street cars in New York city. The actual cost of the independent electric lighting {s one and one-third cents per hour for each lamp of sixteen candle power, Taking into account the amount of illumination furnished, the cost ts really less than that of the apparently cheaper illuminants. Then the railroad company saves $400 a month in the salaries of elec- tricians. At least, that 1s what one road saves. On roads which run limited trains the saving would be much larger. From the time the cars leave the shops until they re- turn to them there is no connecting of wires and no running of dynamos. All that is to be done is to turn the button at the end of the car and set it aglow. Contributes to Safety. The advantages of electric lighting on railroad cars are many. Chief among them is the additional degree of safety afforded to passengers. The car stove and the car lamp Jave caused an enormous loss of life in the history of railroad transportation. Nowadays the perfect train is heated by steam and lighted by electricity; and if a car should roll down an embankment there is nothing at all to set fire-to it and roast its passengers alive. If you are in a car that does any of this ground and lofty tumbling, and you are not crushed by the fall, you need not be at all afraid of death. An electric bulb, it is said, has set fire to the impalpable dust that fills the air in a flour mill, and not long ago a fire was re- ported to have started from a pile of paper on which a lighted bulb was lying. But ordinarily an electric bulb can be broken with impunity, and the mild current which comes from a storage battery would not set oe te woodwork even from an uninsulated wire. The convenience of the independent bat- tery Hes in the fact that a car can be cut off an express train and stand on a side track all night and the electric lighting is not Interrupted. Then there is never a question of the electrician wanting steam when it is needed by the engineer. Every railroad man admits that the independent system Is the ideal system if it is cheap enough to be practicable, and the experi- ments made seems to have proved that it is economical. Caring for the Employes. I had a conversztiog!.with’a rallroad of- ficial about the saiety $f finyde slecle trav- eling a short time =go. Helis like many other railroad men of’ nce, a gradu- ate of the school of ‘ex; nce. It was not many years ago that he th n an engine and afterward he became master me- chanic, and then he fodk arge of the motive power and rolijpe,stgpk of a road. “The safety of the ‘trav ig public to- day,” he said, ‘“‘deperfis as much as any- thing on the way a railroad company treats its employes and looks after their morals. It was not so many years ago that a railroad man’ had nb place to go when he was off duty, except the saloon. If you remember the East St. Louis of a few years ago you will recall what sort of a hole it was. Engines stopped there then and the Bridge and Tunnel Company’s en- gines hauled all trains over the bridge into St. Louis. There was actually no place in East St, Louis for @ trainman to 0 except the many saloons which flour- {Shea in the town. And many a time I have seen an engineer hoisted to his seat in the cab in such a condition that it was only a providential dispensation that car- fled hig train and its passengers safely to the end of the run. How would you like to know that the man who {s sitting in the cab of the engine, which is hauling his train tonight, had been ding the tter part of the day in a loon? J see that the Chicago and Alton d has much criticised recently for enforcing a prohibiting its men going into pe- joons. The rule is by no means new. It is & force) on sims Cie! feet clase reall e count oday, ‘00 ud) lepends on the sobei ofa vaijroad trainman or switchman. Not alone the property of the railrcad company, but the fives of its pas- sengers are at stake. Our employes are forbidden to frequent saloons. If one of them _disobeys the regulation he is warn- ed. The third warning usually means dis- missal. We have a court of inquiry which tries charges against a man, hears both aces of the case and determines if he is 10 BO. “Instead of the saloon, the company furnishes most of the capital needed to establish Y. M. C. A. halls at the princi- al points along the line. There the mefi lave reading rooms and lecture rooms and in some cases sleeping rooms. Lecture halls are provided and the company sends lecturers to deliver a talk to the men on some interesting topic. Four or five years ago there were fourteen saloons in a row near the railroad yards in one town. To- day there are four. In consequence, the men are self-respecting and they are trust- worthy. I would not have a man under me whom I could not trust. The company trusts its employes and they in turn trust the company. During the last great railroad strike not one of our trainmen went out. On the contrary, the men pass- ed resolutions of confidence in the com- pany. We had trouble with a few switch- men, but with that exception we did not feel the effect cf the strike in any place. Our trains went through on time and we were never uneasy for a moment.” TELLING TIME IN THE DARK. It Needs 9 Little Calculation and Reg- ular Habits. From the Chicago Record. “What time is it?’ “I think I can tell you without looking.” He drew out his watch and held it up close to his ear and slowly turned the stem winder. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight,” he counted, and then he sal ‘hat means seventy-two minutes. I wound the watch up tightly at 3 o'clock, and so the time ought to be ahout twelve minutes past 4, Let's see how near I came to it. Well, it’s 4:18—I was only six minutes off.” The other was regarding him with amazement. “Do you mean to say that you can tell the time of day by winding up your watch?” “Not exactly, but I can come mighty near It; usually within ten minutes, and it’s very simple, too. All you have to know is how long one tick in winding up will run the watch. I'll explain to you. Suppose that at 3 o'clock I wind up my watch until it is tight, as we say; that is, until another turn of the winder would ap- parently break a spring. At 6 o'clock I wind the watch again, and find that the winder clicks twelve times before the watch is wound up to the place where it sticks. Then you know that twelve clicks will run the watch 120 minutes and that one click represents ten minutes of time.” “What good Is It to know that?” “Well, suppose you go to bed at 11 o'clock ‘tonight, apd on retiring wind up your watch and put it under your pillow. During the night you wake up and wonder what time it is. You don’t want to get up and light the gas. All you have to do is to pull that watch out from under the pil- low, hold it to your ear and count the ticks as you wind. If you count eighteen then you know that the watch has run down 180 minutes since 11 o’clcck, and that the time must be very near 2 o'clock. To be sure, you can’t tell the exact time, but you can generally get within a quarter of an hour of it.” ~ “Wouldn’t the sam? rule hold good for a clock, or wateh which is wound with ey?" “I dare say 1t would, but I never tried it on anything except a stem-winding watch. I know a blind man who always tells time by winding his watch and counting the ticks. His sensa of touch is quite delicate, and he can wind up his watch three or four times a day and then calculate within ten minutes of the correct time.” WHAT A BABY LOOKS LIKE. Its Fancied Resemblance to Father or Mother Snid to Be Imaginary. From the Popular Sclence Monthly. Nothing {is more remarkable than a com- parison of the same-sized profile views of the same person at six and at thirty years of age; the growth of the nose and the de- velopment of the forehead are so great that the jaws appear to have diminished in size; and this is really what the jaws have done, in proportion to the whole face. It is a fond delusion with visitors and nurses that the baby .s just like its father or mother. No one who has had that sci- entific training necessary to proper ob- servation could make such a statement. It is a gross libel, sometimes on the baby, scmetimes on the parents. Properly taken photographs show that the proportions of nearly every feature in the face of a baby and gn adult are entirely different; but the greatest difference exists in the size and shape of the nose and the size of the jaws. If, when adults, we had features like our babies we should have a countenance of a negroid type. Unless positive evidence be available it would hardly be credible that the small-jawed, long and prominent- nosed individual with high forehead was in babyhood prognathous, short and snub- Fosed. with a remarkable receding fore- ead.’ The difference resulting from the change during life, as shown by two pho- tographs reduced to the same size, not the tame proportion, is greater than the differ- ence between many species; yet the very fact of such metabolism and the possibility of its earlier transmission from generation to generation may be the basis of specific mutation, without calling in the aid of natural or sexual or physiological selec- tion to account for that phenomenon. The prognathism of a child ts less no- ticeable than {t should be, because such prognathism, owing to tho disposition of weight, alters the whole carriage of the head; and the difference in the method of carrying the head obscures the prognath- ism to a certain extent —___ +e+___ CAN DRESS RAPIDLY. The Recerd Made by a Man in Getting on Evening Attire. From the New York Tribune. ‘The man who thinks he fs a rapid dresser was in a cafe at Broadway and 26th street with half-a-dozen friends at 6 p.m. He was in afternoon dress. Being invited to stroll down the street, he answered that he was afraid he did not have time, as he had a 7-o’clock dinner engagement and must go home “in a few minutes to dress.” “I should think,” said one of the party, “that if you had far to go you would be late to your engagement as it is.” “Oh, no,” answered the other. “It’s true that I shall have to go to 6th street to dinner, but I havé ample time.” “Well,” said another, “if I had a 7-o’clock dinner engagement I certainly should not be sitting here at 6. I'd be home dressing.” “T'll tell you what I'll do,” said the rapid dresser. “I live at 5th avenue and 27th street. I'll bet you that I leave here now, go home and dress, come back here, take a drink with you all, walk to the nearest elevated station—three blocks; go to 58th street, walk two blocks to the house where I dine—all within ten minutes before 7 a 1S ll not take the bet,’ was the reply, “put I don’t see how it can be done. Why, you will need half an hour at the least to dress. I require nearer an hour.” “I'll make you another proposition, then,” said the “lightning-change” man. “‘I’ll bet you that I walk home from here, dress, come back here and join you before*twenty- five minutes past 6 o'clock, and it’s now eight minutes past the hour.” “Done!” cried the other, and the rapid dresser immediately left the cafe. “ guess I've won that bet,” sald the taker, glancing confidently at the clock. “I guess you haven't,” said another one of the group. “Jack can dress in ten min- utes, ona pinch, It will take him not more than four, possibly only three, minutes for him to walk to his home, and back here. Give him four for walking and eleven for dressing, and he still has a leeway of two minutes. Wait and see!” At twenty-three minutes past 6 o'clock the fast dresser strolled into the cafe. He was in full evening dress, his hair care- fully and smothly plastered, his tie fasten- ed and set to perfection, and his whole ap- pearance that of a man who had a lot of time to kill. “Guess I won the bet,” he said coolly, drawing a chair to the table and removing his gloves. —+o+—____ A Year of Alpine Accidents, Mountain climbing in Switzerland was attended last summer with an unusual number of accidents. Since July 1 there have been fifty-two deaths and thirteen cases of serious injury. These figures do not include four climbers who have disap- peared, leaving no trace behind, and who probably have also been killed. MR, THIMBLEFINGER AND HIS Se ere QUEER COUNTRY, ——— WHERE THE THUNDER LIVES ——-——_- _ + BY JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS. (Copyrighted, 1894, by Joel Chandler Harris.) Mr. Thimblefinger settled himself com- fortably and began: “Once upon # time—I don’t know how long ago, but not very long, for the tale was new to me when I first heard it—oncé upon a time there was a little girl about your age and size who was curious to know something about everything that happened. She wanted to know how a bird could fly and why the clouds floated, and she was all the time trying to get at the bottom of things. “Well, cne day when the sky was cov- ered with clouds the thunder came rolling along, knocking at everybody’s door and running a race with the noise it made, the little girl listened and wondered what the Thunder was and whée it went to. It wasn’t long before the €hunder came rum- bling along again, making a noise like a four-horse wagon running away on a cov- ered bridge. ‘While the little girlgwas standing there, wondering and listening, an old man with a bundle on his back and a stout staff in his hand came along the road. He bowed and smiled when he saw the little girl, but as she didn’t return the bow or the smile, being too much interested in listening for the Thunder, he paused and asked her what the trouble was. “I hope you are not lost?’ he said. “Oh, no, sir,’ she replied. ‘I was listen- ing for the Thunder, and wondering where it goes.” “Well, as you seem to be a very good little girl,’ the old man said, ‘I don’t mind telling you. The Thunder lives on top of yonder mountain. It is not so far away.’ “Oh, I should like ever so much to go there!’ exclaimed the little girl. “Why not? said the old man. ‘The mountain is on my road, and if you say the word, we'll go together.’ “The little girl took the old man’s hand, and they journeyed toward the mountain wher the Thunder had his home. The way was long, but somehow they seemed to go very fast. The old man took long strides forward, and he was strong enough to lift the little girl at every step, so that when they reached the foot of the mountain she was not very tired. e “But, as the mountain was very steep and high, the two travelers stopped to rest themselves before they began to climb it. Its sides seemed to be rough and dark, but far up on the topmost peak the clouds had gathered, and from these the Lightning flashed incessantly. The little girl saw the flashes and asked what they meant, “Wherever thé Thunder lives,’ replied the old man, ‘there the lightning builds its nest. No doubt the wind has blown the clouds about and torn them about and &cat- tered them. The lightning is piling them together again ant fixing a warm, soft place to sleep tonight.’ “When they had rested for awhile the old man said it was time to be going, and then he made the little girl climb on his back. At first she didn’t want the old man to carry her, but he declared that she would do him a great favor by climbing on his back and holding his bundle in place. So she sat upon the bundles, and in this way they went up the high mountain, going almost as rapidly as the little girl could run on level ground. She enjoyed it very much, for, although the old man went swiftly, he went smoothly, and the little girl felt as safe and as comfortable as if she had been sitting in a rocking chair. ° “When they had come nearly to the top of the mountain the old man stopped and lifted the little gfrl from his back. “I can go on farther,’ he said. ‘The rest of the way you will have to go alone. There is nothing to fear. Up the mountain yonder you can see the gabie of the Thunder's house. Go to the door, knock and do not be alarmed at any noise you hear. When the time comes for you to go you will find me awaiting you here.’ “The little girl hesitated, but she had come so far to see where the Thunder lived that she would not turn back now. So she went forward and soon came to the door of Mr. Thunder’s house. It was a very big door to a very big house. The knocker was so heavy that the little girl could hardly lift it, and when she let it fall against the panel the noise it made jarred the building and sent a loud echo rolling and tumbling down the mountain, The little girl thought, ‘What have I done? If the Thunder is taking a nap be- fore dinner he'll be very angry.” “She waited a little while, not feeling very comfortable. Presently she heard heavy footsteps coming down the wide hall to the door. thought I heard some one_ knock- ing,’ said a hoarse, gruff voice. Then the big door flew open and there, standing be- fore her, the little girl saw a huge figure that towered almost to the top of the high door. It wore hedvy boots, a big over- coat and under its long, thick beard there was a muffler a yard wide. The little girl was very much frightened at first, but she soon remembered that there was nothing for such a little bit of a girl to be afraid of. ‘The figure that seemed to be so terrible at first glance had nothing threatening — it. ‘Who knocked at the door? it cried. “Its voice sounded so loud that the little girl put her fingers in her ears, “Don’t talk so loud, please,’ she said. ‘I’m not deaf.’ “ ‘Oh,’ cried the giant at the door. ‘You are there, are you? You are so small I didn’t see you at first. Come in!’ “The little girl started to go in, and then paused. ‘Are you the Thunder?’ she asked. “Why, of course,’ was the reply. ‘Who else did you think it was?" “I didn’t know,’ said the little girl. ‘I wanted to be certain about it.’ “Come in,’ said the Thunder. ‘It isn’t often I have ccmpany from the people be- low, and I’m giad you found me at home.” “The Thunder led the way down the hall and into a wide sitting room, where a fire was burning brightly in the biggest fire- place the little girl had ever seen. A two- horse wagon could turn eround in it with- out touching the andirons. A pair of tongs as tall as @ man stood in one corner, and in the other corner was a shovel to match. A long pipe lay on the mantel. “There's no place for you to sit except on the floor,’ said the Thunder. “I can sit on the bed here,’ suggested the little girl.’ “The Thunder laughed so loudly that the littie girl had to close her ears again, ‘Why, that is no bed,’ the Thunder said when it could catch its breath; ‘that's my foot- stool.” “Well,” said the little girl, ‘it's big enough for a bed. It’s very soft and nice” “I find it very comfortable,’ said the Thunder, ‘especially when I get home after piloting a tornado through the country. It is tough work as sure as you are born.’ “The Thunder took the long pipe from the mantel and lit it with a pine splinter, the flame of which flashed through the windows with dazzling brightness. “Folks will say that is heat lightning,’ remarked the little girl. “Yes,” replied the Thunder; ‘farmers to the north of us will say there is going to be a drought, because of lightning in the south. Farmers to the south of us will say there’s going to be rain, because of lightning in the north. None of them knows that I am smoking my pipe.’ “But somehow in turning around the Thunder knocked the big tongs over, and they fell upon the floor with a tremendous crash. The blow itself appeared to forth a sound like a drum, only a tho! times louder, and, although the littl had her fingers in her ears, she could hear the echoes roused under the house by the falling tongs go rattling and rolling down the mountain side and out into the valley beyond. “The Thunder sat in the bigs armchair smoking and listening with legs crossed. The little girl appeared to be sorry that she had come. “ ‘Now, that ts too bad,’ eald the Thun- der. “The Whirlwind in the South will hear that and come flying; the West Wind will hear it and come rushing; and they will drag the clouds after them, thinking that I am ready to take my ride. But it’s all my fault. Instead of turning the winds fn the pasture, I ought to have put them in the stable. Here they come now!” “The little girl listened, and, sure enough, the Whirlwinds from the South and the ‘West _came rushing around the houso of the Thunder. The West Wind screamed around the windows, and the Whirlwinds ERIT, HONESTY. When any article is found in use in all parts of the civilized world, it is proof positive that such an article is necessary and does its work well and effectively. Especially is this true when the article is only purchased because the buyer believes it is not wise to longer do without it. Such an article is WARNER’S SAFE CURE. A remedy that can be found in the bazaars of India, at the fairs of Russia, on the equator at Sing- apore, in the far north at Stock. holm, under the Southern Cross of Australia, and in every city and hamlet in Europe, Canada and the United States, must possess re- markable power for the healing of the nations. WARNER’S SAFE CURE is a medicine with a history. It has revolutionized the treatment of Brights disease, and today stands without an equal for the cure of all kidney, liver, urinary and female diseases. The inhabitants of the civilized world say so. Offices and laboratories are estab- lished at London, Eng.; Rochester, ¥.; Melbourne, Aus.; Toronto, Ont.; Paris, France; Frankfort, Germany; Dunedin, N. Z.; Kreus- lingen, Switzerland; Bombay, India. You make no mistake in buying and using a medicine which bears the stamp of the world’s approval. from the South whistled through tho cracks and keyholes. “I guess I'll have have to go with them,” said the Thunder, rising from the chair and walking around the room. It’s the on- ly way to quiet them.’ “Do you always wear your overccat?. the little girl asked. “*Always,’ replied the Thunder. ‘There's no telling what moment I'll be called. Sometimes I go just for a frolic, and some- times I am obliged to go. Wii you stay until I return?” “Oh, no,’ the little girl replied; ‘the house is too large. I should be afraid to stay here alore.’ . “I am sorry,’ said the Thunder. ‘Come and see me get in my carriage.” “They went to the door. The Whirlwinds frcm the South and the Winds from the West had drawn the Clouds to the steps, and Into these the Thunder climbed. “Good-bye,” he cried to the little girl, ‘Stay where you are until we are out of sight.” “There was a flash of light, a snapping sound, a rattling crash, and the Thunder, with the clouds for his carriage and the winds for his horses, went roaming and rumbling through the sky, over the hills and valleys.” Mr. Thimblefinger paused and looked at the children. They, expecting him to go on, said nothing. “How did you like my story?” he asked. “Is it a story?” inquired Buster John. “Well, call it a tale,” said Mr. Thimble- finger. “Hit’s too high up in the elements for ter suit me,” said Drusilla, candidly. “What became of the little girl?” asked Sweetest Susan, “When the Thunder rolled away,” said Mr. Thimblefinger, “she went back to where the old man was waiting for her, and he, having nothing else to do, carried her to the Jumping Off Place.” ———+e A Chicago Anti-Cigarette Crusade. From the Chicago Times. Alderman Coughlin called at the office of the Civic Federation yesterday to enlist co-operation for his anti-cigarette crusade. He explained the scope of the ordinance he will press upon the council at tomorrow night's meeting, arguing that it was a very commendable reform for the federation to engage in. “I am in the fight to the finish,” the alderman said, “and will not let up until the cigarette traffic at every strect corner has been curtailed and the deadly articles have been put out of the reach of the city’s youths. Some people seem to think it a joke, but my efforts are earnest.” The municipal committee was in session when Alderman Coughlin called, and was anxious to hear of the matter. At the in- vitation of the chairman he went before that body and explained the deiails of the proposed crdinance. SS A Knowing Dachs! From Fliegende Blatter.