Evening Star Newspaper, April 6, 1895, Page 16

THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, APRIL 6, 1895—TWENTY-FOUR PAGES. THE MEASURING ROOM. POLICE METHODS A Visit to the Central Station House or Depot. CROWN OF FRENCH DETECTIVE SYSTEM Hardships and Tyranny of Life in Prison. -THE BILL OF FARE + Special Correspordence of ‘The Evening Star. PARIS, March 20, 1896. HE POLICE VAN, which we call the “Black Maria,” is the “panier a salade,” according to French slang. It is the “salad basket,” be- cause it gathers up from the police posts such a variety—men, women, girls, chil- dren, vagabonds, rob- bers, tricksters, pick- pockets, the inno- scent and guilty, mothers and families and “drolesses,” rag- ged men, and men in good black coats. The Police poste differs very slightly from the American “station house.” It has its large central room, the “desk,” the telegraph in- strument, the “blotter,” the benches, the side rooms for the polfcemen to sleep in, and, back of all, the corridor containing cells. To be put into a cell over night is to be put into “the violin case.” You might think you were in America, were it not for the language. The women in the corner cell chat, chatter and chaff all night, in- terrupting their volubility by frequent snatches of song. The drunkard grunts beside you, the nervous man paces five steps up and five steps down, the joker is continually calling out to the women, and the sullen prisoner is continually grumbling at the nolse. Kick against the door for a glass of water. When will it be morning? In the morning all your things are given back to you; and you are marched a few blocks through the open streets of Paris to the comraissary’s office. On this prome- nade, attended by your agent (policeman), you may stop at the tobacconists and buy @ pack of cigarettes. Ah! the air of Paris in the morning! Take a cup of coffee also, if the bureau of tobacco be a wine shop, as it usually is. You may need the coffee after you have seen the commissary. For on the commissary, who is not exactly a ccmmitting magistrate, but something more and something less, your future comfort for some days depends. He has the power to let you go free, but must still make his report. You will be on bail without having given bail. Or he may send you back to the police poste pending inquiries about you. Or he may send you to the depot. This latter is the Valley of Jehosaphat. If the commissary is the committing magistrate, then the depot is the central station. Everybody comes to it, from Charles de Lesseps down to the scald- heeded ttle bey who has run away from his parents in Nantes. Through the kind- ness of the commissary of the Rue de Prov- ence I am enabled to give a correct de- scription of this astablishment, which has become irteresting in the past few months from having received so many gentlemen decorated with the ribbon of the Legion of Honor. The French police van differs from the one we know at home jn that it is divided into tiny compartments or cells, scarcely large enough to hold @ man. During their ride to the depot prisoners are not thrown together, but each is isolated in his little box. The wagon creaks along the streets of Paris. Everyone makes way from it. It raises ugly thoughts. It is a blot upon the bright streets of the brightest city of the world. The last block of its journey is beside the river Seine, beside the fragrant, brilliant flower market. Past the historic Conctergerie and the Clock-Tower, past the lively students’ boulevard of St. Michael, the wagon turns and groans into a stony court.- A great door slams, and you are at the dreaded depot. Despite the politeness of the higher class of French officials, I cannot say anything but fll of this estab- lishment, which seems to be a scandal to the French republic. Henceferth imagine yourself a prisoner awaiting examinaticn at the Paris depot. You are somewhere in the great mass of buildings called the Palais de Justice, situ- ated in the center of the city along the south benk of the river. You are within a stone’s throw of the Sainte-Chapelle, the towers of Saint Loufs, the prison cell of Marie Artoinette, and all the tourist haunts—the “Parts” of the guide-book-read- ing visitor, and yet how differently, situ- ated. “Herz it is not Paris,” says the wretch. “Serrez-la! Move up, Allez, allez! Stand in a line, crowd up, answer to your names, but will you move up, you, I mean you there! Serrez!’’ the red-faced “guard- jans” sccld at the new arrivals. The guardians tremble with rage, they are ex- Bedtime. cited. When they get more leisure they will be simply mocking, teasing or coldly brutal. Quickly the greater criminals are weed- ed out from the lesser ones. All kinds of robbers are served first. They are called out of line, measured, described in a book, searched and ered into cells. Of the miserable regiment there remain only beg- &ars, suspected foreigners, drunkards, in- Bulters of policemen, men who have been Spree oe committers of all man- The women have al- ready been hustled in packs to their spe- cial section of the depot, under the charge of a Sister cf Charity (strictly speaking they are Religieuses of the Order of Marie- Joseph). The men stand in their line at- tentive. It is a vast and gloomy hall. “Take off your shoes! Take everything out of your pockets! Put everything in your hats! Be ready for examination: Men talk in this tone to dogs, but not to horses. “Put your money in your hats as well! Put everything in your hats. Do you hear? Take off your. stockings also! One by one the prisoners are called. “Vasseur!” “Present.” “Name of pipe! respond by giving your first name!’ ‘“‘Al- bert." “Take your hat, shoes and stock- ings to that corner room!” “Bompard?” Augus ‘The corner room searcher. Your money is taken from you, the amount {fs noted in a ledger, you sign the entry, and receive a numbered ticket Paris Policemen. against which you may draw (as if it were a check book) at the “cantine.” The chief things looked for in the prisoners’ belong- ings are incriminating papers, weapons and all printed matter. The taking off of shces is now understandable. You are gearched completely. Everything except your money, printed matter and weapo! is given back to yor “Put on your shoe: you put them on. “Now march!” lively, yet decorous, manner) to another corner room, which gives on the great hall. Here every one sits down and waits his turn. “Take off your hat, I tell you, but take off your hat!” That is for respect. Respect for authority is the mainspring of French justice. “Zobel:” Present, Anton.” The fellow jumps up briskly. “‘Stand.here, your head against the wall. So.” An em- ploye is by the measuring board, slides down the arm, marks the man’s height, dismisses him and calls the next. allez, par-la, I say par-la, la! My ~God, yeu do not wish to understand! There, in that room. Take off your hat! I say take off your hat!’ The prisoner stands before “Your name and surname, father’s Tame, mother’s maiden name, your age, married or single, nationality, birthplace, and how long have you been in Paris.” It is written down. The bookkeeper glances at the prisoner searchingly. He notes his physical appearance and his clothing. “Black mustache, brown eyes, full face. Brown vest, black velvet coat. Now go.” The prisoner sits down again. When all the company are entered at the greffe (registry) in this way, the word comes, “Stand in line! There, two by two. Now marche!” In effect, as the French ssy, you march. March from a gloomy twilight into lighted darkness, through ‘lcrg corridors, and down stone steps. The air is cold, the tramp of feet resounds. Right, left, right, left. “Allez, allez!” It is understoed that after being searched you put your veluables, except your money, printed matter and your weapons, back in- to your pockets. Now you have a chance to take them out again. © It is a bath rcom. » “Take off all your clothes, I tell you, take off all your clothes. Au poil! But won't you take your clothes off? My God, that type will not take off his clothes! Sick? I say take off your clothes!” And then, empty your pockets into your hats, put everything into your hats. Here, take this number. It is your number. It is the num- ber for your clothes. Hang {t around your neck. I say, hang it around your neck!” The baths are cells partitioned off in wood around a large room in these subter- ranean regions, where the floor is concrete and the ceiling stone. The wretch ts shiv- eriug as ke casts a last glance at his ward- robe. He presents a pitiable spectacle,with his tag suspended from a rope around his neck, as he steps gingerly into his stall, into a tub which looks like the sawed-off end of a barrel. He stands upright. Whang! The shower bath strikes him, and he is gratefully s1 to find it warm. It is a good bath, and the only good thing at the depot. In thirty stalls the water falls, and thirty. men are standing in them, being purged of their accumulated grease and dirt. Here, this is soap, wash your hands and feet, I say take a handful of this scap?” It {s soft soap. And while the prisoner is being freshened up his clothes are being fumigated. To speak correctly, r You “marche” (that is, you step in a Entering the Depot. they are “passed through the steam.” When they come back they are red hot, smoking and extremely damp. Being dump- ed upon the floor before you they have a chance to catch up all the dirt that may be there. “Put-on your clothes, I say, put on your clothes!” Once more you put your valuables into your pockets from your hats. Again you march. The curving trip, from vault to vault, upstairs and down, leads you at last to a steep tower with winding stairs. Up, up and up. You think it 1s the Eiffel tower. Here you wtll make acquaintance with the crown and jewel of the depot and of the French detective system—the “service an- thropometrique,” according to the method of M. Bertillon. No one escapes it. The innocent are meesured with the guilty. M. Bertillon has dreamed that in time his sys- tem of absolute, unmistakable and perma- nent identification may lead to great bless- ing, to “the establishment of anonymous condemnations which will satisfy the of- fended majesty of the law without throw- ing dishonor on the name borne by a whole family, without putting any obstacle in the way of the future of the offender.” For the present—inasmuch as these measure- mens are now transmitted to every city of rance—-the result is to cast a stigma and an actual danger on each Frenchman who is measured. “Take off your shoes and _ stockings. Take off your coats, vests and pantaloons, stand in your shirt and drawer: What! You have no drawers? Then keep your pantaloons, I say, then keep your panta- locns!” It is another weary waiting while each prisoner, in his deshabille, steps into the bright laboratory. The Bertillon system consists in a noting of measurements and marks. The employ- es, being men of science, are polite. ‘Will you please stand against that measuring beard?” A more exact measurement of your height is taken. “Now spread your feet apart a little. So. And stretch your arms straight from the shoulders as far as you can.” You are like one crucified, or like an owl nailed to a barn door. At the tips of your fingers the measurements are taken. “Now put your foot upon this biock. Lean forward. Rest the weight of as much 2s possible upon the So.” With the strain thus on the muscles the length of the foot is meas- ured. ‘Now sit down.” A pair of delicate compasses is applied to your head, the skull being measured for its length and breadth. There is a measurement of the fingers, a measurement of the ears. All the time the measurer has been calling out to the bookkeeper, who writes the date on a stout, stiff card, which bears your name and all the rest. Then he proceeds to scan your face. Nothing escapes, color of eyes, shape of eyes, shape of nose, face, mouth, ears, according to fixed ideals or types. The hands and arms are examined for moles, permanent spots and scars. So also the breast and stomach are examined; and it is finished. March! It is down again and through the vaults until you mount again and come tnto a round hall, where a pyramid of tin bowls, called “‘gamel'es,” stands up against the wall. Each prisoner is given one; and he perceives that it is filled with beans. Bean salad. You are also given 2 loaf of bread; and that will be your only food till 7 o'clock mext morning. ; March! The prisoners carry their bread with them. But they march in two direc- The Salad Basket. tions now, and in two companies. Those who are well dressed or fairly well dressed go to the “petite salle,” the “little hall,” the dirty, ra: and diseased go to the “grande salle.” This latter ts, above all, abominable, horrid and revolting. The petite salle is better—by comparison. Imagine a long room, some sixty feet by twenty, lined with bunks that fold up in the daytime like the couches of a sleeping car. So folded, they reveal a long and narrow bench on each side of the room. ‘here is no other furniture. Three lan- terns, burning gas, are suspended from the ceiling; and they burn all night. 4 pile of the dirtiest possible straw mattresses stands in one corner of the salle; but they may not be touched until 9 p.m. And all the prisoners may do is walk, chat and smoke. A certain fraternity reigns. Tobacco is given to the tobaccoless. Even ham,bought from the cantine, is offered, with a gener- osity which ts really touching, to the mop- ing miserable, to uplift his spirits. You are allowed to smoke; and you are not only permitted to buy ham, but also wine! Think of a prison with wine freely sold and drunk in it® Thus as twilight steals on and the gas ts lit and weary backs are waiting for the dirty bunks to be put down, everyone takes out his ticket (which is his receipt for all his money) ind makes out his order for the following iay’s sup- plies. The ‘“‘cantine” bas its tariff, which is curious enough to quote in full: ‘Two pounds of black bread, 4 cents; ditto white bread, 6 cents; two pounds of cold boiled potatoes, 3 cents; two onions, 1 cent; beans boiled in lard (per portion), 3 cents; ditto en salade, 3 cents; salad, 3 cents: butter, 3 cents; salt, 1 cent; pepper, 1 cent; chocolate, two tablets, 2 cents; black lico- rice, 1 cent; smoked herring, 2 cents; sar- dines, 2 cents; sausage, 2 cents; jelly (this is a dab on a piece of brown paper), 1 cent; mustard, figs and prunes, 1 cent; eggs (two), boiled, 4 cents; omelette, 6 cents; milk,e3 cents; cheese, from 2 to 3 cents; ham, 3 cents; fruits (following the season), 3 cents; oil or vinegar, 1 cent; coffee, 2 cents; wine, 3 cents; sugar, 1 cent; ragout (beef, veal or mutton), 6 cents. The official and prescribed “ dred ragouts” is as follows: 30 ; Potatoes, 40 pounds; onions, 2 pounds, pounds; salt, 1% pounds; fresh lard, 2 pounds; and a small quantity of salt © SThis would a1 hf ‘This would seem well enough for pris22,' would it not? Yet it ts: vile. With each leaf of bread, with each panntkin of wine and each small slab of salty ham, there is an insult from the guardian. “Hurry there, now; I tell you, hurry, depeches-vous donc, mais depechez-vous!” And, “Here, I tell you, take that bowl; do you think that I am your domestic? Take that bowl!” And, “You can’t drink all your wine at dne gulp? Then leave it, and I'll throw it out. Do you a you're at Pon cae Riche?” And “Now, you type there, listen; s sittin; up and bothering me all night . Night comes. The bunks are spread, and When the Men Are Searched. all lie down upon straw mattresses. Your degree 6f discomfort will depend upon the number in the salle. The smoking is con- tinued. Whispered conversation succeeds sto loud remarks. Snores succeed to whis- heart disease is slowly pacing the hall in his stocking feet. He dare not lie down yet. It is morning. Every one 1s sore and every one is coughing. There is a scramble to pile up the straw mattresses. The guar- dians begin their eternal insults.- tten- tion, there, I-say attention, there! Now form a line; why don’t you form a line? Now march It is more the tone and the look than the words. Marche! Here comes the great disgrace. It ts an outrage to France. These prison- ers, many insufficiently clad, some without stockings and with holes in their shoes, il fed, feverish, shaky, rheumatic, depressed in mind and body, are led at 7 a m. to a cold, sunless stone- paved yard or court, fn the open air, where they must remain until 3 p.m. That is eight hours in the raw open air, and they were doing this at the time I saw them, the 10th of March, 1895, when the cold was still almost bitter. To a man without an overcoat it means danger of death. I think no other civilized country has such a mon- strous cruelty in its practice. Appeals on behalf of miserable fellows utterly stricken down, lying limp on the cold iron benches, are answered only by jeers from the ai tendants. The day is long out fn the open court. There Is nothing but to walk and smoke and talk. Views are exchanged which can do no good to any one. Seeds of political ideas are sown which will fructify until some outburst, like a commune, sees their fruit. Each half hour hears the calling of some name. The bolt is slipped, the door opens, and one of the company leaves for his inquisition before the juge d’instruc- tion. In a few hours he returns and hence- forth @nust._ away to Mazas, with a week’s sojourn there, pending his second examina- tion before the juge d’ instruction, that se- cret and powerful officer who fs at once detective, accuser, grand jury, judge and witness, all rolled into one, capable of ask- ing you to sign a paper which you have not read, able to free you instantly or keep you down below three months before your real trial in an open court. $ STERLING HEILIG. ———_+e+ Popular Song. From Truth. a I don't want to play in your backyard. LITTLE TRAV. BY IOUISE B. BAKER. ens ee Seeks Written Exclustrely for The Evening Star. Little Trav steod on the depot platform, turning his trdin-cap meditatively in his hand. Before’ him lay the track of the narrow guage, railway, and beyond waved the prairie grass, not green and shimmer- ing, as it is after a doucing rain, but brown and short, the véry poorest kind of feed for the ranch cattle, But little Trav, although he was thinking, was not giving his atten- tion to anything so trivial as the prairie grass; in fact, he-was trying his best to as- sume his usual good-humored expression and to keep back the tumult ‘naturally keaving within him, to forget the vanities of the*world, its petty jealousies, its pride and spite. But all this was very hard to do when the new brakesman walked past him and swung himself upon the step of the waiting car. “Don't you mind it, little Trav.” A friendly hand was laid on the boy’s shoulder, and just -for an instant Httle ‘Trav’s shoulder rose and fell without the will of his broad mind, then he looked up anda smiled bravely at the fast engineer. “You're golt? on the engyne along with me this mormin’,” continued the fast en- , cheerfully. “Jed’s laid up with the chills. We're gunno git to the- border *gatinst pec cr my name ain’t John Smith. I’ says "to ‘em in the depot thar, ‘Tm after a man that'll fill her up in a hurry, 4 reckon the engyne's gunno do her part in sittin’ even the fast enginair to the bull fight on time. Yes,’ I says to ‘em in the depot thar, ‘I’m after a man that'll fill her up in a hurry.’ He laughed in, his hearty way, and little Trav smiled slightly at the repetition of the word “man.” Yes, surely he was a man, nineteen years of age that very 7th of January, but in stature and weight he was a boy; this was the trouble of little Trav’s life. For years and ‘years ne had made his home, as it were, upon the train running out from Benavista every morning and re- turning each evening of the following day. He had cried “Oranges!” and “Peanuts! and “Tomales” to the few passengers, and he had helped energetically at the break- fast and dinner stations along the route. “The Narry ge," said the fast engineer, “woul@ be. clean: lost without little Tray.” Trav's father, dead, occupied a position ahead of all the‘ Narrow Gage’s engineers, he had died at his engine, died under his engine, smothered in the sands, when by jumping, although he might bave saved his own life, he must haye risked the lives of his passengers. Little Trav felt a grzat pride’ in his father, net only because he had been the one engineer rimming over the Narrow Gage to die at bis engine, but also because he had been the tallest and broadest train man In Texas. It had been iittle Trav’s ambition to grow tall and broad like his father, and ever since he was ten years old he had sighed to serve at least as brakesman on the “Narry Gage.” The trainmen nad urged him on to grow. ‘Yas, grow and you'll git thar,” said the slow engineer, “grow strong enough to work the switches and big enough not fer to shame the road, and’ while you're at it, Trav, grow big- enough not fer to shame aa eee ttle Trav, ligtening respectfully to the slow engineey,,had believed that time alone = necessgzy p work. this transforma- jon. ad ot But time that.gent the brush springing up all over the prairie where grass was need- ed instead, fefused to give iittle Trav broad shouldersjand to raise him in height even to the avgrage man. “How it come about I dunno,” said the: fast enginees, shaking his bead gravely and giving his opinion to the slow engineer as they met at, Lgne Station, “but it might a-ben the ites » little and weak,” and then he wht: ed, “half Mexican, feared.” - “He stood'bixifeet five'in his stockings,” said the slow-engineer, referring to little Trav's fathém “end laugh—1 b'lieve on my soul you. cowld: febeared him clean ’tother — Sd = prairie.” "a ss “The little feller,” said the fast engineer, lhughitig softlyoand pityingly, “he ain’t quite give upiyet) i catched him aforé da) Stretchin’ higgeif.on the nigger’s trapeze. But on “hé@ morning that the new brake: man appeared in Mis train clothes, the fast Péngineer did not laugh. “E:ghteen year old,” he said sadly ‘to himself, “witht a face like @ full moon .@nd #, reg’lar glant body. Strappin’ and proud and, pleased with Bub Finch all over. Lord! some things in this world doesn’t seem quite fair no matter how a feller Iccks at 'em.”” But the fast engineer laughed so heartily as the train swept over the-road that he made it merry in the cab. Even the new brakesman, rushing along In an important manner, almost envied the good time little Trav and the engineer were having with nothing but the engine to look after. “Lord! life in itself is a blessin,’ said the fast engineer, with his blackened hand upon the throttle. “I've ben runnin’ this train off and on fer eight year, runnin’ her swift and ketchin’ all the breezes, run- nin’ over a ccndemned road, too! Lord!” he cried with another laugh, “the Narry Gage has ben condemned fer five year!” And then the, fast engineer told- again the story of the great railway magnate whom he had rushed over the Narry Gage. “He declared it were all humbug about the road bein’ unsafe,” said the fast en- gineer, “but he were pale as a spook. I made the old gal git up fer him and we landed him at the border by 3 o'clock. Ef he. were a prayin’ feller, I reckon he said his prayers mighty good that night. We split three rails, but never knowed it till next mornin.” Better authority than him,” added the fast engineer, “has condemned the road, but, T ain’t afeared o’ the Narry Gage condemned or no. She wan't afeared o’ the greasy Mexicans—.” Then he. stopped, but little Trav laughed; he didn’t believe the tale of his mother being half Mexican. “They'll kill you fer two bits, that’s what people-say,”, he said, “‘and they'll die fer you, if they keer fer you, that's what they say, too.” “I wouldn’t Hke fer to trust “em,” said the fast engineer. If little Trav had been selling oranges and peanuts on the train he might have made a great deal of money that day, but he stuck faithfully to his work of filling the engine, and felt no longing whatever to cry his wares through the cars, where probably he would jostle against the new brakesman, with his moon face, and his giant stature, and his brand new train clethes. He let the Mexicans board the train at the stations with calls of “Hot coffee!” and “Tomales!” The fast engineer split two rails on the way to the bull fight, but he delayed his engine for a very short time to lay tor- pedoes on the track to warn the slow en- gireer, and he reached the horder by 4 o’elcck to the minute. But merry as was the crowd that went over to the border with the fast engineer, a still merrier crowd came swinging back from the bull fight. The matadore had dene his duty like a man, twice he had come within-an ace of being gored in the presence of the cheering populace, and he had not so much as moved an eyelash. The passengers praised the matadore over their cigars and brandy, and little Trav spoke well of him to the fast engineer as the train beunded recklessly along over the condemned road. “He were brave fer a Mexican,” acqui- esced the fast engineer. “He were a good stick and active a8 a wildcat.” For fifty miles the narrow-gauge track ran along petween the brush of the prairie. Now, and then a coyote might be seen plunging through the chaparral, and every once in a while a great horned bul- lock would toss-its head and plunge off wildly into the brush. Then the mosquite and huiSache faded from view and the nar- row-gauge road lay straight along in the sands. On the day that the fast engineer ren his trainsback from the bull fight there was a dust storm. Dust lay thick upon the sills of the closed windows of the pas- senger cars, and thick upon the seats, and upen the passengers’ garments, and the dust swept riotously through the engine cab. All along where grew the brush that was an eyesore to the thrifty Texan the dust blew up from the brown ground. The fast engineer ceased talking when the train reached the sands. But luckily thete were no drifts across the track, they were piling up further away. The boy in the cab looked out with a momentary solemnness at the sands. - Eleven years before his father had been smothered deep down under a drift with his engine on top of him. It seemed rather a cruel thing for an engine which @ man had tended faith- fully to crush the life out of him, as that certain narrow-gauge engine had crushed the life out of his father, for an engine seemed almost a living thing to little Trav as he looked steadfastly out at the sands. But the feeling of sadness passed away from him and that joy in the heroic took its place. ‘His father had died doing his duty, had Tm MILLIONS OF MICROBES. The Real Cause of Every Known Disease. THEY CAN BE ERADICATED BY RADAM’S MICROBE KILLER. 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As a matter of fact, it makes very little differesite whether physicians be- Uleve in the efficacy of Radam's Microbe Killer or net. So long as the remedy cures, the people who take it do not care very rach about theories. They may not even care to understand why it cures all manner of diseases, though the reasons for this are very simple. Years age Mr. Radam discovered that disease in plants was caused by fermentation, and the fer- menting matter was alive; he found out that all the diseases of plant Iife were due to this one thing; that the rust on rose leaves was nothing but fermentation, the result of the action of mi- crobes; that the rotting away of the woud of plants was fermentaticn. Mr. Hadem also no- ticed that plants inherited the seeds of microbes. On many occasions he preserved the seeds of a yellow-looking Arbor Vita’ that was sickly, and sowed them: The result was a growth of sickly- looking yellow plants, which very soon elther died or never amounted to anything. 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Finally, when he be- Heved that his remedy was perfected, it was given to other peopie, and from that time to this its sue- cess has been remarkable and continuous. It is not a medicine for any one particular dis- ease. It is not a medicine at all in the general Acceptation of the word. It is exactly what its name calls it—a killer of microbes. There 1s no disexse that is not caused by microbes. They may be of one form or another, and so may show their Presence by different symptoms and by disorders in various parts of the body. The symptoms may be called consumption, or eczema, or dyspepsia, or paralysts. It docsn’t make any difference what it is called—the cause is always the same. Under a powerful microucope the blood of any one suffering fromany disease will be shown to be full of mimte -guimal Ife—microbes. If these microbes or germs can be killed the disease ts cured tmmediately, Because the cause of St 1s destroyed. It makes no difference what*your doctor says is the matter with you. If you will make a test of Mr. Radam's “Microbe Killer’? you will have no more trouble. All the theory and argument that could be crowded into 2 whole library would not do so much to con- vince you of the wonderfal properties of this rem- vdy a6 & trial of it will do in less than a month. A fitty-page book, giving full particulars regard- tng this wonderful medicine, also testimonials of cures, mailed. free. Addrees, The Wm. Radam ‘Microbe Kiliet Co., 7 Laight st., New York city, or ACKER & KENNER, 1429 Pennsylvania ave., or “SCHELLER & STEVENS, Sth and Pennsylvania ave., Washington, D. ©. died with his hand on the throttle. Little Trav’s head sank into his-arms on the cab window. He could never put his hand on ‘the throttle with the feeling that it had a right to be there; he was not tall enough and broad enough -for the train service; he must be a boy crying oranges to the few passengers or he must give up life on the train. It almost seemed to lit- tle Trav that he would be giving up life itself if he gave up the train. And yet how could he keep on doing boy’s work! Think of growing into an old man ard doing boy’s work! The Mexicans might do it and be content, but not a Texan, not a fellow whose father had stood six feet five in his stockings and who had dic1 on the road. He gave a gasping sob and Jook- ed_up suddenly. The fast engineer was regardingyhim kindly, and the sun had come out im the heavens ahd. there was no dust blowing anywhere. The boy went to work again, feeding the engine fire vigorously, looking far ahead along the track of the na:row gauge. Then he drew in his breath, started back from the fire and cried out sharply, “Look at the bridge!” > Yes, there was something unusual about the brfdge, a side piece had blown off in the storm, a particular side piece that meant the bridge was ready to give way in the center. The was traveling «t a wonderful speed; it would he impossible to stop before reaching the bridge. The fast engineer his lips tightly to- gether. The bridge was not a long ore, and it stretched only over a gully, but the depth of the gully seemed a terrible thing to the fast engineer as he deftly reversed the engine. A fierce determination showed Itself in little Trav’s face, shining out luminously from his dark eyes. ‘‘You’re to jump,” he cried to the fast engineer. John Smith looked at the boy “dumbly; then he half laughed. “You’ve got a family,” said little Trav, and his voice was the voice of a man. “You must think of your famil. “And leave them people fast engineer. “Yes, and leave thém people tome. I may be able to save ‘em; you don’t know how.” He seefed suddenly to have grown strong. There was weight in the hand he laid upon the engineer’s arm and mastery rang in the voice that bade John Smith “jump.” The fast engineer, scarcely knowing what he was doing, only realizing that the train was getting nearer to that ugly gully, turned at the boy’s bidding and jumped. Suppose the engine cleared the bridge, the freight cars would break through sooner or later and drag the people down to their doom. The fast engineer stood beside the track and called himself hard names. “And I let a boy do it,” he cried mock- ingly; “a little bit of a feller, no bigger'n a@ Mexican.” Then the eyes of the fast engineer be- came transfixed upon the engine as it stopped right in the middle of the bridge. He saw the slight figure of the boy emerge quickly from the cab, step upon the back of the engine; he saw him stoop down at the back of the engine, and understood that he was pulling out the coupling pin. ‘The first freight car stood firm upon the track on the brown prairie. The boy raised himself from his stooping position; the coupling pin was In his hand; all lives had been saved. The fast engineer, running forward, gave a tremendous cheer, just as little Trav lost his balance, and Instead of springing forward went back and down, down, down with tne engine as it shattered the condemned bridge and turned about in the gully. The passengers came piling out, wondering and clamorous. It was the fast engineer who gave them the details of the wreck, but not until flerce working had gone on down in the ugly gully, not until he had uncovered and got safe in his arms the body of litle Trav. Then he turned with blazing eyes, angry with the whole of Texas, fyriously angry with himself and the great strong people immediately surrounding him. “Yes, Pll tell you what has happened.” he cried loudly. “The Narry Gage has given way at last. It were condemned before a fool of a railroad president rode over it and {it’s given way at last. And thar you all stand, safe to an cyelasii and not saved by the enginair, who ought a-knowed how to do it, but didn’t; you've ben saved by little Trav. He weren't dig enough to wear the blue coat and buitors of a brakesman on the Narry Gage, not tall enough and broad enough fer that; he were only big enough to take a six-footer by the shoulders and shove him 2ff his own engyne; only big enough to sop the engyne in the place o’ danger and stand hisself in the place o’ danger, while he took questioned the “Don’t Be where it will dono good, the “ground floor.” walks everywhere. Trees set out on every Piped throagh the streets. Electric light or power can be had at ‘be completed to Washington before July passengers. A new depot will soon be built, and a A large school house and town hall is vantage of the cheap minutes—fare, 4 cents. of “ST. ELMO” and whole front of this not give us the s properties, we have FOR SALE. - This is old, but nevertheless it is good advice. Do not hoard your money in a “tea-kettle,” but invest it where it is safe, and where you are reasonably certain of a profit. If you had bought a lot at “ST. ELMO” or “DEL RAY” six months ago you would have made 20 per cent, for that is the increase in values at these WONDERFUL SUBDIVISIONS, and we expect to continue these improvements, and if you are not too slow Only a few months ago these little towns were two beautiful meadows. vided by over eight miles of streets, with side= Over forty houses are completed. “Cameron Run” water, the purest water furnished avy corporation in the world, is ‘The Mount Vernon Electric Railroad runs directly through the property, suf will Five steam railroads pass the properties aud thirty-two trains each day stop for s00n to be and two more are anticipated this summer. Although there are three or four stores on these subdivisions,. there is the additional ad- markets of Alexandria, which can bereached by electric cars in five We could go on enumerating the advan paper is filled, but they will pace, so we will content our- selves with the above and a cordial invitation to you to goand see for yourself at our expense. Although we have sold over 75 per cent of these Prices, $100 to $180. SAA ite el: a Clam.” neither will it increase, you can still get on Now they are subdi- lot. 1 Dost office is to be established this spring. commenced. Oe ehurch is completed “DEL RAY” until the some very choice LOTS and $1 weekly. No noies. Don’t Miss No mortgage. taxes. We insure your life for amount of your purchase, so you cannot lose your investment. No interest.: No We will take you to see these proper- ties any time which the B. & erties, call on WOOD, HARMON & CO., 525 13th Street N. W., PEREEEEITEEEEEESEEEREE et The Opportunity. you prefer fag can go any Sunday by . Depot, 6th and B Streets, from which we will run an excursion every Sunday until further notice at 2:45 p. m. information and circulars describing the prop- may suit you, but if coming to For further City. ; Spehohohshehehshshsherhrhshehshshshheelferhrfshshchchshshh Arh hhh hhh ht Ahhh ALAA A Reh hsh out the pin that a rollickin’ crowd o° hig Texas men might git home to their fami- lies. No, he weren't big enoush to serve in any place wuth havin’ on the Narry Gage, he were jest big enough to die fer the Narry passengers and the Narry Gage trainmen, and that’s all about it.” The fast engineer was knee deep in the debris of the broken engine as he told the story, and his face quivercd all over as = aaied, that light burden above his ad. ‘The new brakesman was half way up the bank, his train suit was soiled with the work in the gully. He came hack again. “I'll be bound, the Lord didn't say be weren't big enough fer heaven,” he said hoarsely, and reverently neld out his arms. ——_—_. STUPIDITY OF MAN. How He Tried to Help Three Poor Giris. From Macmillan’s Magazine. When she came in this afternoon I saw the way she-hovered about my chair before sitting down that something was on her mind. She wore a red dress, much like that which she had on the first day I met her at Mme. de Ratz’s garden party. She struck me as prettier than ever, and her charm- ing figure was a joy to my eyes as she lay on the sofa or leaned over to read my last poem. Theré is about her something suave- ly womanly, which acts like a charm on man. She has that fragrance of body and soul which makes me feel as though fe is really worth living when she is at my side. “I am decided to marry Jacques,” she said, as she poured me out a cup of tea. “At last! Allow me to congratulate you,” I remarked, with a vast assumption of in- terest. “No!-I am very miserable,” she sighed, as she passed me the cup. “Why?” ‘Because I don’t love him enough.” ‘Why marry him, then?” “Because, because I am lonely, Regi- rald,” and her expression was piteous as she repeated, “Oh! so lonely!” “Did you love Monsieur de Canaples?” “No; I was too young.” “Have you ever loved any one?” I in- quired airily, after a pause. She jumped to her feet like a startled deer and confronted me with burning eyes. “Yes,” she said fiercely. ‘Yes!’ “Was he married?” She shook her head. “Dead?” “Why don’t you take him then?” She slowiy answered with downcast eyes: “He doesn’t love me.” “Are you sure?” She looked up at me. “Yes!” she said. “I am quite sure.” “Well, then, try and make him.” “I have!” she retorted sharply. “Without success? You astonish me! I was only just thinking how fascinating you are.” She blushed. “There is some- thing about you which particularly appeals te man. We are all such vain creatures that any woman, particularly you, with a few smiles might reduce the most indiffer- ent of us to a desperate condition.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Have you tried everything with him?’ She turned on me curiously. “Now, real- ly, what do you suppose I have been doing? Does a woman ever give up anything but a losing game?” She laughed a trifle sardon- ically and repeated wearily, as she let her- self fall back on the sofa. “Yes, I have tried everything. Reginald, dear, every- thing!” “You have even told him you love him?” “Certainly not.” “Try that.” “But,” she answered, turning round on me, “I have insinuated it. And if he won't see it, ‘tis because he can’t love me, and doesn’t wish to trifle with my affections by raising false hopes.” “A rare gertieman, if such ts the case.” “You approve of him, then?” . “Don’t we agree in everything?” Yes,” she answered sadly. And then began to cry like a child, violent, hot tea: of rage and grief. My whole soul swelled to sympathy. I took her hands and softly kissed them. Perhaps I am a little in love with her; at least, I thought so at the time; but, then, I know women’s sensi- tiveness too well to allow my love to burst on their unhappiness. Perhaps my kisses were a trifle-pessionate, for she turned pale and pushed me away, her eyes bril- liant and gigantic, as she looked at me astonished. “Don’t, please don’t, Regi- nald!’ she pleaded. “I beg your pardon.” She smiled, and I continued eloquently: hb was not such a fool. If he only ‘knew what a fine creature you are; if he only understood you as I do! Tell me his name? I will become his most intimate friend for your sake. And you know between men we have so many means of conveying an impression, exciting a curiosity about-some woman. I am sure that I could make him fall in love with you, my dear, without his guessing that I even knew you, except as @ casual asquaintance.” With toth hands upraised to the Scolar she laughed outright, as she flung hersel! out of the room, exclaiming in a voice that I shall remember to my dying day: “‘The stupidity of man!” I am afraid that her verdict on my sex is just, though I may flatter myself that there are a few exceptions. ——+e-___. ‘Written for The Evening Star. Light and Shade. ‘When smiles my love, the skies are clear E i | i i F k i i i F i i E ? ! I fit if f t i i i 4 I E 5 855 i i af gtk f : ip | BE % H Fi i iD Hi : E R aff iz gE is i 5 ik | i H & 5 if H bf | ! b AE z r] q Enough From the Chicago Dafly Tribune. The Rev. Mr. Psalmjones was not feel- ing as well as usual, the church was cold and some of the big boys near the door un- dertook to enliven matters by coughing in chorus and throwing in now and then a startling imitation of a sneeze. The preacher stood it patiently a few minutes, and then paused in‘ his discourse long enough to say: “If I hear any more of that noise back 3 e 4 i the young men, I'll walk you out of this buildffz, one by one or all in a bunch, I ain't very particular which. Pve had deal- ings with fellows of your stripe doze: times, and I know how to manage, "ean, fow you quiet down might there'll be trouble.” if bese ey leath-like stiliness _perva: church. “He waited a moment to Tot fe tans “I know I'm a Uttle dry this mi brethren,” he said, ‘but I'm not so dry ‘YI ly can ratt me. in the third place,” &c. ee ——_-e+—___ Capital and Labor. From Puck. . Weary Ragegles—“Got any terbacco, Dusty?” Dusty Rhodes—“*Nuff fer one chaw.” Weary jles—“Let’s who'll anaes i neti Dusty Rhodes—“Wot's ther use? I know og got it—an’ you know you hain’t got Twenty-Five Years a Sufferer. Complete Recovery—A Simple Remedy. Prom Advance Argus, Greenville, Mercer Co., Pa. With feelings of uncertainty’ Mrs. Wilt’ began the use of Dr. Kennedy's Favorite Remedy, Di today it has no better friend than she. Mrs. Wilt is well known here, for she has ved for ears within w ailes of Greenville. The fol- lowing lette dressed: to Kennedy, will reading for many a sick person. : For 25 years I have been troubled of, bervous headaches, so bad that ¢ thne I was utterly prostrated. I tried many medicines, but they falled to do me Ford Last spring iny son was using Favorite Remedy, and he insisted on my trying it. I did so, and used less than a bottle, and found it was just the medicine I needed, for I have not had a ache since. has also benefited me in other wa; heart was poor and it acted as a ti this letter will reach the eye of some poor suf- ferer, for I know if they will only try Favort Remedy they will be thankful for it. Yours truly, Mrs. Lizaie ¢. Wilt, Greenville, “Penn."* uch a mark of comm tion wes the value of this medicine, ate — = rr. Davi Kennedy's vorite Remed nounced by physiciins as the superior of all blood medicines and nerve restorers. It cures rheu- for my I hope matism, neuralgia, nervous and biltous headaches and nervous panei Rie specific for scrofa 1 erysl pepsia troubles ur to female system, = ty