Evening Star Newspaper, April 13, 1895, Page 16

16 FROEBEL'S BIRTHDAY | In Honor of the Founder of the Kin- dergarten System. THE CELEBRATION IN THB CHY The Pioneer Kindergartener of America and Her Career Here.- LOVERS OF CHILDREN OVERS OF THE Kindergarten system throughout the world will, one week from Monday next, ob- serve in all the large cities the one hun- dred and thirteenth anniversary of the birth of the distin- guished, founder, Frederick Froebel. The event occurred on April 21, but as this comes on Sunday this year the celebration will be held on the following day. , qi On the evening of that day a meeting will be held in the Luth Place Memorial Lutheran Church, Rev. Dr. J. G. Butler, pastor. The anniversary celebration will be under the auspices of the Washington, D. C., Kindergarten Club, of which Henry Bar- rard, LI.D., of Hartford, Conn. is hon- orary president;-Mrs. Loulse Pollock of this city, acting president; Mrs, Mary J. Caisolm Foster of Amsterdam, N. Y.,-and Miss Cor- nella F. Boyden of this city, vice presi- dents; the Misses Susan Sara Katharine Lippincott, Cordelia L. Mays and Rose Catharine Watkins, direc- tors; Miss Amy L. May, recording secre- tary; Miss Ellen F¥ Burden, corresponding secretary; Miss Nellie F. Gisburne, treas- urer, all of this city. The National Normal Teachers’ *Training Class of 1894-5 will give an exposition on scenes from the life of Froebel, in five parts, represented as dreams. The “dreamers” will be the Misses Bertha T. lwin, Washington, D. C.; Sallie H. Moss, Athens. Ga.; Mattie Southerland Pope, Frederick, Md.; Bessie B. Mulford, Georgetown, D. C., and Helen F. McVea, North Carolina. Miss Sara Katharine Lippincott will, by request, sing “Ben Hur” and “Time and Tide,” ac- companied on the piano by Madame Su- sanne Oldberg; Miss Martha J. Robinson will sing Barnby’s “Sweet and Low,” and Miss Grace Bryant will play an_instrumen- iat i “The Witches’ Dance,” by Paga- in: Frederick Froebel, the inventor and feunder of the kindergarten (children’s garden), was born in the principality of ness for children and his singular devices and methods for en- tertaining and in- ‘structing them, he ‘was sometimes called “the old fool.” But Diesterweg, an emi- nent German -edu- cator of that day, on hearing the epithet declared that Soc- rates and Pestalozzi were such fools also! Young Froebel lost his mother previous to his first birthday, and hence never knew what it was to’live within the influence of maternal love, although he believed him- self to have inherited her artistic and im- aginative spirit. His father was a clergyman in charge of several small churches scattered through- gut the district, and was gifted with many of those qualities that win the esteem of children, although in the case of his own son he had failed to bestow that warmth of sympathy and tenderness for which the childish heart so ardently yearns. When the boy was in his fourth year the father married a second wife, and at first it is said that “the new mother re- quited the yearnings of his childlike love,” but her affection was turned almost into hatred when her own son began to claim her maternal care. Under her hard rule little Frederick was not only neglected, but treated with actual unkindness, until, at the age of ten years, his mother’s brother had compassion on him and took him into his own family. - ° This uncle, occupying a post of some eminence in the church at Siadtiln, was a widower, who had lost his only son, and was glad to find an object of affection in “his sister's child. Here the. child, amid plenty and kindness, prospered for five happy years, attended the high school of the town and enjeyed for the first time the healthful compantonship of other children of his own age. ss Close Observer of Nature. Amid these delightful associations his whole nature expanded. He showed no Great aptitude for study except in arith- meti:, but he began to be a close observer of uature. He took great delight in -ya:ch- ing plants and animals, and on account of this inclination, as well as in his «ppre- clation of companionship, lay the source of two of his strong opinions concerning the education: of children. Before he was four years old he lived in a house so built that it was under the shadow of a church, so that no 3unbeam could enter it. He was kept indoors by the housemaid, who was too busy to care for him otherwise. Here his chief amusement at one time was to watch some workrien from a window as they were repairing the church, and his practice was to use what pieces of furniture or other objects he could move fo iinitate them in their build- ing, but he was baffied by their unsuitable character. “It is said that it was the recol- lections of this ungratified instinct which suggested to him, in later years, that chil- dren ought to be provided in their play rooms with materials for building. In hig fifteenth year Froebel was ap- prenticed to a forester. Three years later he entered the University of Jena, where his principal attention was bestowed «pon the natural sciences and mathematics. In his twentieth year he was driven, by pov- erty and disgust, to his home again. The next year his father died, and he <:on- trived to make a living for three successive years afterward as a civil engineer and secretary of several agricultural estates. At length he repaired to Frankfort-on- the-Main to learn the duties of an architect. “Here,” says Hailman, in the preface to tis little work on Kindergarten Culture, “his destiny overtook him.” While wait- ing for an opening he earned his bread by giving private lesscns, became acquainted with the teachers of the Model School, and was introduced by them to its principal, Gruner. In his autobiography, referring to his ex- periences in this school, Fréebel writes: “I met here a number of young men, who en- gaged in cheerful and candid conversation, of which life and its vicissitudes soon formed the burden. I spoke frankly, gave myself as I was; as I knew myself and did not know myself.” “O!" said Gruner, “you must give up architecture; it is not for you. . Become an educator. We need a teacher in our school. agree to It, This propo- sition Froebel at length accepted, and his career as an apostle of the new education was begun. Froebel drew his inspiration from Pesta- lozzl. Gruner hed been a pupil of the great Swiss reformer, and in 1805 Froebel spent a vacation of two weeks in Pesta- lozai’s school at Yverdun, returning full of enthusiasm for the latter. In 1S0S he again went to Yverdun, taking with him two pupils, the sons of a wealthy family at Fienkfert. Herve he studied and taught under the direct influence of Pestalozzi, although rot in his institution. While his sojourn at Yverdun tended to increase his admiration for Pestalozzf, yet it did not make him a blind, contented fol- lower of that great teacher. With an original turn of mind, and unaccustomed to respect any authority except that of clear insight, he esteemed Pestalozzi as the discoverer of new principles and meth- cds of teaching, but he believed that these needed a broader scope and more general application in order to rise to the dignity of a system in the education of human beings. To establish such a system on the basis of morality and reason, religion and hu- menity, became the single object of his life. To fit himself the better for this Plessner Pollock, |. THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, APRIL 13, 1895-TWENTY-FOUR PAGES, : great work, he again went to the univer- sity, spending three years at Gottingen and Berlin. In 1813 he joined a corps of vol- unteers against Napoleon. In 1816 he es- tablished an educational institution at Griesheim, removing it the next year to Keilhan, in Thuringia. Here he was joined ty his friends, Middendorf and Langethal, the three striving earnestly to realize Freebel’s idea. In 1831, in consequence of persecution by the reactionary authorities, he emigrated to Switzerland, where he labored with varying success until 1836, when_he returned to Germany. In 1837 he established an institute at Blankenburg, in his native state. In 184) he opened the first kindergarten, and devoted the re- mainder of his days to the establishment of similar institutions in various places, and to the earnest advocacy of their general introduction. Mrs. Louise Pollock, the pioneer kinder- gartener of America, was born at Erfurt, Prussia, October 24, 1832. Her father, Frederick Wilhelm Plessner, was an ollicer in the Prussian army, who, after winning many decorations in various campaigns, was se- verely wounded at the battle of Leipsic, against the French, under Napoleon Bo- naparte. Retiring from active service, and pensioned by Emperor. Wj devoted his life to literary labors. He took espe- cial delight in direct- ing the education of his youngest daugh- ter, Louise. On her way to Paris at the age of fifteen, French, she made the acquaintance of Mr. George H. Pollock of Boston, Mass.. whom she married two years later in London. Tt was not until 1890—five children con- | stituting the family circle—that Mrs. Pol- ; lock was first made acquainted with the j kindergarten philosophy. Her first work as an educator was in her own family. About this time her husband,: being over- taken by illness and financial reverses, Mrs. Pollock began to turn her ability to pe- cuniary account, and commenced her liter- ary work in earnest, translating a number of works, besides writing for several pert- odicals. In 1862, upon the request of Mr. Nathan- fel P. Allen, principal of the English ‘and classical school of West Newton, Mass., Mrs. Pollock opened a kindergarten in con- nection therewith—the first pure kinder- garten in America. Mrs. Pollock visited Rerlin in 1874, for the purpose,of studying the kindergarten system, as in operation there. Upon her return to America in October, 1874, the family removed to Washington, where her Le Droit Park kindergarten was opened, and the series of, lectures to mothers began. Her sixty ‘hygiene and fifty-six educational rules have been pub- lished by all the principal educational pa- pers and newspapers in the states and in Canada. . The Pensoara Free Kindergarten was opened February 12. 1883. In order to raise the necessary funds for its continuance, a subscription list was started at the sugges- tion of Mrs. Rutherford B. Hayes, who during her life was a regular subscriber. This list had the name of every subse- quent President, with their capinets, and the school has been maintained by sub- scription ever since. Mrs. Pollock is also principal, with her daughter Susan, of the National Kinder- garten, and Kindergarten Normal Institute for the Training of Teachers, over a hun- dred of which are filling honored positions throughout the.country. Three cf her daughters are in the field of education; one, Miss Susan, in Washington, D. C.; Mrs. George Pollock Bush, training teachers in Seattle, Wash., and the third teaching the Orage Indians in Oklahoma on kinder- garten principles. —— — MOVING THE BOOKS. A Proposition to Build an Elevated Road to the New Building. How are the books to be moved? - ‘The new building for the Library of Con- gress is now nearly finished. By the end of next year it will be ready to receive the treasures of literature which now are stored in the Capitol, under Mr. Spofford’s care. Yet the problem of transporting the volumes to their future abode remains today unsolved. It seems most likely—this being the lat- est and apparently the best suggestien— that a temporary elevated road will be constructed to connect the Capitol with the new library. Over this road cars will be run swiftly by steam or electricity, carrying loads of books. By such means they could be. transferred with great rapid- ity and ease. The tramway on stilts would pass directly from the floor of the rotunda to the main floor of the Library building. Mr. Green, superintendent of the new library building, has been slisposed hither- to to favor the plan of transporting the books sthrough the “brick-lined conduit, tkree feet below ground, which is to con- rect the library with the Capitol. Through this tunnel a cable will pass and cars will be run, after a fashion similar to that of the trolleys in dry goods shops, though on a much larger scale. The cars could be utilized for transporting the volumes when the time arrives for the move. But ob- jection is made to this suggestion, on the ground that the books would have to be lowered into the conduit at the Capitol end and lifted again at the other end of the line from the basement of the library to the main floor. Thus, much more time would be consumed and greater labor in- volved. On the other hand, the shift from the rotunda by elevated road would be eacy and expeditious, and the volumes delivered in the great circular reading room may be readily conveyed to the ad- jJacent book stacks. Ever so many schemes for accomplishing the transfer of the books have been sug- gested, and very likely the one finally adopted will be quite different from an: thing so far thought of. The method chos- en by the Boston Public Library in_ its recent move from Boylston street to Cop- ley square was the most primitive imag- imable. The collection, which numbers about 400,000 volumes—a little more than half the size of the Library of Congress— was transported by means of carts and horses. Of course, the labor involved was enormous, How great it was may be im- agined when. it is considered that 400,000 volumes placed side by side would extend for a distance of about seven miles. Equally primitive, however, was the plan adopted not long ago for moving the Royal Library of Prussia, which is the third largest in the world, possessing 1,000,000 volumes. A regiment of soldiers was call- ed out for the purpose, each man being provided with a basket. The men formed a line from. the old building to the new one, and the baskets of books were passed from hand to hand, like buckets at a fire. Maybe the National Guard will be called on to do like service here, but it does not seem probable. The Library of Congress, by the way, has 685,000 bound volumes and 230,000 pamphlets, approximately. ——— Not Surprised. From the Boston Transcript. Bass—“Do you knoW that Fenderson is @ regular lady killer?” Cass—I suspected as much from what he said about the woman in the big hat just fn front of him at the theater the other night.” i ———_+e«+______ Preparatory to Closing. From the Pittsburg Chronicle Telegraph. “Is this where you vote?” said an Ohio voteress to the election officer. “Yes, ma’am.” “Then please cut off samples of all the tickets and I'll take them home and see which I like best.” To her fiance—‘“I was telling papa today of your narrow escape when your dog cart turned over, and he said that Providence took care of drunken men and fools, which was very unkind of him. But I assured him that you were perfectly sober. Then he said he believed you were; and wasn't that nice in him?"—Life. “ to ‘complete her knowledge © of | DREDGING AND DIVING Sweeping the Bottom of the Ocean for Lost Anchors, A NEW ENGLAND INDUSTRY Deep Sea Divers and Their Expe- riences. SIGHTS UNDER WATER Written for The Evening Star. WEEPING FOR lost anchors is one of the curious and re- munerative trades of Martha’s Vineyard sailormen. These Sweepers, or draj gers, as they are oft en termed, are not all residents of the Vine- yard or Nantucket, but a number of suc- cessful sweepers make their homes on Cape Cod; aiso in Connecticut and along Long Island sound. These anchor sweepers go on long voyages, and are frequently very successful. Vine- yard and Nantucket sounds, which sepa- rate the two islands of the same names frcm the mainland, are the most frequent- ed water ways on the entire coast. They are in general appearance wide rivers, at the west end being Gay Head and the boundless ocean, while on the east are the interminable -sand bars of Nantucket and ‘Monomay. On the north is Cape Cod, and on the south America’s Isle of Wight, Martha’s Vineyard. They are midway be- tween Boston and New York. This harbor is a noted refuge in heavy weather, and it is estimated that 30,000 vessels of various de- scriptions anchor here annually, yet it is not especially secure from the influence of northeast winds, and has been the scene of terrible destruction of property. In this locality the anchor sweepers make their homes, and in the harbor are moored the staunch little schooners which are made use of in this business. The sands of aes sound are stuck full of dere- lict anchors. These lost mud hooks bristle out of the bottom, or rest buried in the sand, and it is roughly estimated that there is enough unclaimed iron between Gay Head and Pollock Rip to reconstruct a ravy. Off the town of Falmouth, where the beach sweeps southwest to Nobska light, is one of the best holding grounds in the scund. But the anchors that persist in holding to bottom are lost almost as fre- quently"as those left on bottom by the perting of a cable. The currents of Vine- yard sound rush like the sluice of a saw mill, and with a momentum that has the weight of a torrent. This condition pre- pares an annual harvest for the anchor Sweepers. Imagine a heavy northeast gale coming along the coast with all the fury of a cyclone. There is constant danger of being blown ashore by the parting of a cable, and the strictest watch on the chain and position of the vessel is maintained. In an easterly wind vessels bound to Boston are storm bound, so to speak, for they cannot sail closely to windward, and, therefore, the shoals are given a wide berth till more moderate weather and a favorable slant of wind. Veseels on the way to New York and ports south rarely make a passage during the prevalence of a stiff easterly gale, because the strength of wind and sea and conditions of atmosphere outside can- not readily be forecasted, and during a westerly a dead beat to windward would be required, so the sound fills gradually with coasters while a storm is raging, and "if some one does not have to slip his anchor then it can be set down by the landsmen that the wind was not very brisk. The Anchor and Cha’ An anchor chain or chble is lafd up in sections. Ten fathoms, or sixty feet, from the eye of the anchor, where the cable is bent on, is a shackle of iron, shaped somie- what like a capital U, with a bolt through the open end. The shackle replaces a link. The next shackle is twenty fathoms, and so on, at equal distances, to the end of the cable. The idea is to have a cable that can be easily dislocated in case of trouble. To slip a cable the shackle bolt is knocked out, and the chain runs out of the hawse Pipe, while that portion on the inboard end remains in the chain pen, under the fore- castle deck. Sometimes the cable is buoyed and secured later on, but it requires and skill to do it. ep care The Sweeper’s Outit. By the accepted, tut unwritten law of the sea, the captain who relinquishes an un- buoyed anchor on the bottom has no more claim to it after he leaves the locality than nave the sweepers. These anchor sweepers very much dislike to be styled wreckers, yet wrecking in an honest manner surely is the business in which they aré engaged. Schooners of about twenty tons are made use of in the sweeping business, and their outfit Is of the simplest description. Brains ard good judgment are more requisite than costly machinery. Sometimes an en- gine and winch is installed in the schooner, but beavy tackles fill the bill in ordinary work. A fish tackle is the most powerful in use, and consists of two heavy blocks, each with four sheaves, or pulleys. The upper block is made fast toa rope aloft, and with the other block attached to sev- eral tons’ weight, one man can develop about one-half horse power. The schooner is fitted with a good boat to assist her in groping about for submerged iron, and with a crew of perhaps five men the little craft sets out. When a likely spot is reached the sweeping line is made ready. It is small, about the size and strength of a whaleboat’s tow line, and in the middle two weights are bent, about ten feet apart. One end of the line is fastened to the stern of the schooner, while the other is taken into the boat. Three men step into the boat and pull some distance away from the schooner. Then they range the boat, so she will drift with the tide, with the weighted sweep line on bottom. Schooner and boat proceed at equal speed and ‘the line, between the weights, drags on the sand ready to catch on any projection, be it anchor or rock. The man in the stern of the boat handles the sweep most ginger- ly, and is ever in readiness.to pay it out when it catches on an obstruction. Some- times a mile of water will be swept before the line brings up. Then comes a sudden yank and all hands are on the qui vive. The boat signals the schooner to stop and the vessel*is brought into the wind, so as to lie practically motionless. The crew of the boat back on the oars, while the man in the stern slowly hauls in the sweepline, being very careful not to dislodge it. Foot by foot it comes into the boat as that frail craft draws nearer the schooner, Then one of the weights comes to the surface and a few seconds later the sweep between the sinkers is examined for traces or rust. If the line exhibits the reddish tinge the Sweepers are confident that an anchor has been caught. The utmost care is exer- cised rot to dislodge the line from the fluke or stock of the anchor, for if that accident occurs the laborious work must be re- peated. sei ahh A Maid A ig A eal a eae Raising an Anchor. The men in the schooner have at hand a chain or heavy rope, in »ne end of which is a thimblé or eye. The other, or free end, is bent to the sweep line and then carefully’ pulled down to the obstruction under or around it, and to the surface by the boat’s crew. When this work is per- formed a chain occupies a position former- ly held by the sweep. The free end of the chain having been passed through the eye at its other end, a sort of slip noose, or running bight, ig thus formed. The noose is worked down to the anchor and when the Sweepers are reasonably sure it has fallen to the proper position, strain.is brought.to bear on it and an effort is made to raise the anchor to the surface. If the ancher weighs several tons, it is a difficult mat- ter to break it out of the sand, but by dint of backing and filling the schooner, this is usually accomplished and the ungainly mud hook is raised to the surface and got aboard by means of purchases. If the an- chor is in good condition it can be sold, ac- cording to the iron market, at various prices. There are always at least a hun- dred tons of anchors thus secured, laid up along the wharves and ship°stores here, that should bring 3 cents per pound. en a captain has lost an anchor and must ob- tain another, the agents of the sweepers can generally show him a good assortment. Of course there is more or less of a quibble as to the price, but the agent never re- fuses a reasonable offer. Oftentimes many fathoms of chain are brought up by the sweepers. These chains, ‘f old and rusty, are seldom used in their former capacity, but are available as junk or Professional Divers. . Most of the schooners engaged in the business of anchor sweeping are also fitted with divers’ appliances, and frequent- ly do big salvage jobs on wrecked vessels brought to port. There are many divers who live by picking up odd jobs on their own hook—not more, for the life of a pro- fessional diver is not easy. One would not think s0 to see the cool, matter-of-fact way in which. these men go about their business, donring their heavy, leaden- weighted armor, and dropping out of sight into the briny With apparently never a thought that the slender tube which bears them air and life might be parted and their existence ended in a ite. Curiously enough, the depth: td which a diver’ can descend is wholly nent upon his physical condition, and if he have a cold in his head or anything of the sort -he cannot go in the water at all. Deep div- ing, too, depends altogether. on the man. Some of them—some of: the*best of them— cannot go deeper than 80 or 100 feet. About 120 feet is. the average limit, though there are experts who go as deep as 160 feet, which may be aceounted the éxtreme limit, and there are jreally but few who attain that depth. The work is exhausting, and five hours is considered a géod day’s work, and when oné ‘comes to consider wkat those five hours mean one can well believe that the diver who remains beneath the water for that length of time fully earns his wages: Five hours in pitch darkness and in grewsome silence, breath- ing air pumped through a slender rubber tube at-a pressure ranging, according to depth, from 15. to 45 pounds. Above. water 45 pounds air pressure would kill.the ordi- nary man, but at 60 or 75 feet beneath it is absolutely necessary to sustain life. The Diver's Suit. The diver in armor. is a picturesque fig- ure, with a touch of uncanniness. His suit corsists of a complete rubber casing, with a heavy brass collar and helmet, to which are attached the life line and-the air tube. The life line, used to‘raise and lower and for signaling, is of atout hemp, and the rubber hose, perhaps ‘an inch in thickness, must be strong enough to resist a severe strain, for it is on this and its perfect working that the diver’s life depends. Be- fore ne dons his helmet the diver very much resembles an uimau in costume, but when this big, vy, roomy helmet is. screwed on to the collar, preparatory to descent, he looks Mttle like a thing of earth: ‘ The huge, round head piece, filled with glass face plates on three. sides, makes of him sort of goblin monster. Then about his feet are fitted heavy iron shoes, weigh- ing about fourteen pounds, and about his waist other weights of lead, about eighty pounds, as a rule, are strapped. If he is to go deeper the weights must be increased, to resist the buoyant action of the water. So great is the latter that when the diver is in complete armor, weighing not far from 300 pounds, he is beneath the water so light that he may be hauled up or lowered with the utmost ease. Curiously enough, be- neath the water a diver’s strength is im- mensely greater than above, owing to the lightness of objects buoyed up by the wa- ter. Thus a diver can give a man a shove which will easily send him ten feet. Deep sea diving brings imto. piey the highest or- der of talent, for:the -wovk is far more ar- duous and dangerats, and: the diver often meets with many @ grewaome experience. Deep Sta Si hts. Not long ago a diyer exagnining-a sunken vessel entered the,engineroom ind found one of the firemen>seatetidn a chair, just as when the vesdé! fiad%sunk. The man had evidently found escape impossible and sat down coolly tq,awaif,death. At another time.a diver who had. been; below for some time excitedly: jerked theitife line and was hauled up. When''he reathed the surface he declined to g§ Délow again, swearing that he had seen q ghost." One of his fellow divers afterward 'explainéd the cause of his fright. The man had entered the saloon of the ship and entéuftefefl a large mirror. The reflection froff the dver's armor sum- moned_an apparition oft enormous size, glowing with a dul it, a sight, in’ deep sea, quite sufficient f6 startle a lonesome Prowler. There is daier, too, of becoming entangled in the rigging, not retracing ne’s steps perfectly, and having to wander about imprisoned in tle gloom, and unable to signal for a hofSt) In ‘such a case the life line may be’ severed, but? the air tube is cut there is almost instant Jeath. Some- times, too, ‘the tube’ became clogged or caught so as to cut off tHe air supply. The suffering then is hortible. A man who was caughi thus described the sensation as one of having one's head"between-a pair of jack |' screws. If the man {sfrée and can’ signal, provided he can reach the surface within a minute and a half, he may escape death. Longer than this is fatal. And so great is the air pressure that a man killed in this fashion will be found with features dis- torted almost beyond:recognition. ‘The air pumps are rather crude affairs, supplying the air direct, without reservoirs or sauges. A diver really stakes his life that the ppmp will keep in perfect ‘order, and that the men who man it will keep it going. And after all this hardship and danger, the pay is not large. For ordinary work around docks the pay is usually a dollar per hour, but the men employed by the wrecking companies receive larger wages than this, all the way from $10 to $25 per day, de- pendent on the character of the work and the hazard invclved- Occasionally, when work is slack, a diver will try a “spec"— that: is, go shares with ‘some enterprising capitalist to equip an expedition to some field that ‘seems to’ offer big rewards. Round about New York Hell Gate is a fa- vorite field for operations. So many wrecks have occurred on that treacherous reef that the bottcm of the river is literally strewn with the debtis‘ of sunken ships. The bay, too, is another inviting spot, and all sorts of pickups occur, the main siaple, however, being lost anchors. . —— Laying for a Bargain. From the Detroit Free Press. “Look-a-here,” he began, as he entered a Woodward avenue dry goods store Sat- urgay forenoon with a bargainish look on his face, “you had some wimin’s cloaks here last October fur $1 “Yes, we did,” replied the floor walker. “My ole woman wanted one, but I told her to hold on. About the Ist of Decem- ber them same cloaks was only $12.” “Yes, marked downto $12.5 “My ol2 woman wanted to buy then, but I told her to hold on. About the fust of January them cleaks went down to $9, didn’t they?” “Yes, marked them down again.” “My ole woman couldn’t hardly stand still then; but I tcld her to wait, and they’d be lower. About two weeks ago I saw ’em in the winder, ‘marked down to $i. “Yes. We were willingtto sacrifice rath- er than carry them over “I had to git a rope around the ole wo- man to hold her, but I knowed what I was about. Here's your $5.” _ vhat for?” ap x es ‘Far a cloak « apinst— pack cloth —horn buttons—tep pockets. You've mark- ed ’em down to-@ ct cé@Brse, rather than carry 'em over. [hain’t3s smart as some, but when I kin sive @ stenight $10 bill I'm right thar!” = oftly replied the floor- _ "My dear sir,” Walker as he re! ned, the bill, “I’m sorry NY to inform you tl t a single cloak left.” “That what?” “That we hav Qui From the Atlanta JI There are s¢ / tenal§s on Col. Chess Howard's! afgon in Crawford county who “take the Cake’ when it comes to names. The mother of the household is named Nani Nption Patience Peas Caro- line Corncob Eitzabeth Penny. Her hus- band flourishes’ as King Solcmon’s Wat- kins, and her. favorite daughter bears the euphonious title of *Mitrelicious,” and a younger son’s ‘name “ts: bosom Roc! my sdu! S : galled anything. less than “Willlam Al am’s Bosom. *They’ are very religious pedpie, so another girl is named “I Wilt Arise ony Go to My Fa- ther.” She is called for short. HALL'S HAIR» RENEWER EN dence and patronage ef peuple ized world, who use it to restore hair a natural color. JOYS THE CONFI- all over the civil- te keep the THE TREASURE CLANCEY FOUND] + - BY WILLIAM H. WASSELL. —_>—_— (Copyrighted, i895, by William H. Waseell.) Y. CURIOSITY IN him was first aroused when one morning on the target range I picked: up what I supposed was a letter —it turned out to be an empty envelope. Clancey was a 1e- eruit who had been at Fort Barrenall about two months, and that morning cn the range he had done some very neat shooting at the six-hundred-yard point. He handled his rifle like an old soldier, and when he stretched out on his back— his gun in the Texas grip—and plunked ten successive shots into the bull’s-eye, his captain smiled in anticipation of making tim a sharpshooter. When I picked up the envelope I found it addressed to Thomas E. Clar-cey, esq. I am not curious by nature, neither am I inquisitive, but I could not avoid noticing that the envelope was postmarked New York city, and first addressed to some shire in England, teaddressed to Montreai, Can- ada, and double readdressed to two places in the United States, in the last of which it had finally found Clancey, arrayed in blue blouse and trousers, a rifle in his hand, and, therefore, a soldier of the United States army. Nor could I but notice that ike handwriting was that of a business man; also that the envelope had been opened hastily, and was, therefore, of some importance. Still further, on the envelope was stamped ‘!Due, eight cent: It was almost a month rince the troops at Fort Barrenall had been paid, id the average recruit spends his pay of nine dollars a menth the very day he gets it. Therefore Clencey, having possessed this sun neces- sary to get his letter so long after pay day,” was not an average recruit. But at thig point, not being a detective, my deductions ceased, and I threw away the envelope. Curiosity sometimes benefits the service, as our regiment had found a few years be- fore. We were then serving in another prohibition state, ang, as is usually the case in such states, the guard house was full of drunken soldiers every time the pay- master came around. Where or how they got it was something no one—that is, no one in authority—could find out, but it was plain to see that all a soldier had to have in order to get whisky in this prohibition state was the necessary money. There was at the post a company musician, a mere child, whom every one pitied, because he had no better father and mother than the company squad room. His cheeks were ihe richest red, his hair curling and golden, and his mouth always expressed itself in a beyish smile. The ladies of the garrison made a great deal of him; he was so young and free from soldierly guile, and bis voice—they got him to sing in the chapel services—was as clear and bell-like as an angel's. One pay day it was noticed that the cherub walked up to the pay- master and modestly presented his deposit bock and two hundred dollars, which he wished the government to take care of for h:m. As his pay was only thirteen dollars a month, and four of that retained, !t struck one of the officers present as strange that the lad should have so much morey. An old soldier who could read the cards from their backs might have all the money in the post, but it was not possible for a mere child to outwit men in a strug- gle of this nature. So the lad with the laughing mouth and the angel's voice was watched, and at the end of a week he was discovered dealing in whisky so vile that not even a prohibition state would coun- tenance its sale. For the next few pay days there was no drunkenness at the post. All classes of men enlist in our army, and in ranks the titled but penniless for- eigner may touch elbows with the Bowery pickpocket who has done his term. Mo- uves for enlisting are &s various as the previous occupations of those who enlist. After picking up the envelope that Clan- cey had drcpped, I always thought of it whenever I saw him:. He made a model soldier, always carried himself well and never got into trouble, until one day I saw six men carrying, or rather dragging a drunken man to the guard house. It was Clancey. *‘Let me go, you fools,” he shouted. “I’m all right. I’ve seen a sight that would make any man drunk—let me go!” He was apparently drunk. In the guard house, the other prisoners said he was crazy; but the old sergeant of the guard, who had grown gray teaching recruits how to handle the gun, said that Clancey was neither as crazy nor as drunk as he yas trying to make himself appear. Crazy or drunk, Clancey swore that he was a gentleman, and that as a gentleman he would live once mcre. He raved that money had been his curse, and danced about shouting that money would again make him what he once had been. They lecked him in a padded cell, and he fell asleep muttering incoherent phrases in which “money,” “rich,” ‘bank notes,” were the main ideas. The next morning Clancey was sent be- fore the summary ccurt, charged with be- ing drunk and creating a disturbance in quarters. He pleaded guilty. “But,” said he to the court before he was sentenced, “I ask the colonel not to give me any confinement in the guard house. I've found some hidden treasures and I want to make myself a rich man.” So the court was “thus lenient” and let him dff with a five-dollar fine, but his cap- ‘tain instructed the sergeants and corporais to look after him and regard him as a crazy man. Released from the guard house, Clancey contintved his mad antics. He would not speak to any of the men, but strutted up and down the porch of the barracks with a most consequential air. Sometimes: he would start out along the road leading, from the -post, but seeing other men, he would turn in his tracks and go back to barracks. The more he was watched, the more suspicious he be- came. Sometimes he would crawl out of his bunk in the night, but luck seemed against him, gs he invariably attracted the attention of one of the sergeants, who as*invariably gent him back to his iron bed. All the’ garrison talked ‘about him and wondered what he would do next. Mr. Wagner was one of the Indian agents on the reservation that adjoins Fort Bar- renall. Wagner had been appoigted by the last administration, and was consequently rather new to the business. His bump of. finance was largely developed, and he was not in the west for his health. People who knew Wagner intimately said he was an unscrupulous sharper; people who had merely an acquaintance with him said he was a clever business fellow. Indians who bought shawls and red calico at his store agreed with the first opinion. One day Clancey was in the trader’s store. Apparently he had been drinking, and he was boasting that he would soon be able to buy out the whole store. This was be- cause one of the clerks had refused him a dollar's credit. A sdidier tried to per- suade him to go back to barracks, but this only made Lim worse. Finally Mr. Wagner appeared in the doorway of his private office. a3 “Come here, Clancey,” said he, “I want to see you.” Clancey obeyed immediately. “J’ll keep him here,” explained the trader, “until he quiets down, and then I'll send him back to barracks.”” +A room in rear of the store served as ‘Wagner's private office, also his bed room. After Clancey entered the trader closed the door and produced a bottle of whisky. “Have a drink,” said he. “It will make you feel better.” “That’s what,” said Clancey tersely. “J hear you have been having a hard time lately.” He pushed thé bottle to- ward Clancey as he spoke. “I have a brother who has fits of insanity, but he always imagines that some one is trying to kill him. Crazy people make a great growled Clancey, sul- ly. nN?" sald the trader. “Have another drink, it will do you good. That’s what my brother always says. I try to reason with him. I tell him to show me the man who is trying to kill him, and then I will believe that he is not crazy. I tell him to prove his insane talk and I'll believe him sane, to prove—” “I can prove what I say,” said Clancey. He was to all appearances very much under the influence of liquor, but the trader kept pushing the bottle toward him. “Just how would you prove it?’ asked Wagner slowly. The eyes of the two men met for a second. “Mr. Wagner,” awhile—he was sober then. sald Clancey, after “Mr. Wagner, Highest of all in Leavening Power.— Latest U-S. Gov't Report Royal Baking . | Powder - ABSOLUTELY PURE iam a poor soldier, and if I was to take the money from the treasure house I have discovered I would be robbed of it inside of twenty-four hours. I would also get in trouble, because it is out of all reason for a soldier to have much money. Now, what I want to do is to find a safe place to de- Posit it; then take enough to buy my dis- charge from the army and send for the rest of the treasure when I’m safe in New York city. As it is now, I’m afraid to take it, and I’m afraid to leave it.” “You are talking sense now,” said the trader. “But tet’s talk business. How would it do to have a partner who could handle money without arousing suspicion? Just give me a decent share for my trouble, and I'l the thing for you. I’ve often thought these Indians might have some sort of a rich find cached away some place. What's in your treasure house, as you call it—gold?” 3 Clancey opened his mouth to answer, but no words came out. Then he stood up and smashed his glass on the wooden iable. No,” he hissed, “not gold, but good, solid, United States bank notes, all stolen in the old days—whole stacks of them.” The trader's eyes sparkled. Perhaps there was something in it after all. At any rate, his -investigation cost him nothing more than a few drinks of whisky. . . Seer) 5 . Three days later a small party rode out from Fort Rarrenall—the trader, one of his clerks, Clancey, and another soldier se- lected by the trader at Clancey’s request for fair play. They were mounted on sturdy Indian ponies, Clancey riding ahead, out past the scattering Indian villages, now on one road, now en another, the dis- coverer of the treasure setting them a rapid Pace, All carried their rifles and provi- siong to last two days, as Clancey said it would take one day to reach the treasure house and one day to get back. As they galloped away from the post, all signs of life and civilization vanished, even the soli- tary Indian tepee was seen no more. Over the barren wastes of a sandy desert Clan- cey led them; over country the like of which the trader, in his limited experience, had never pefore seen; past the bleached bones of Indfan ponies that had been turn- ed out to die; past the grinning skeletons of coyotes that never again would make night hideous with their human-like cries. Once they trotted by a village of prairie dogs, the only living thirigs they had seen for hours, but the little creatures gave a shrill bark and quickly disappeared in their underground homes, The ponies had started out at a gallop; after while .they had taken a brisk trot; then they walked, treading gingerly across the wash- outs made by the last rain storms. “This is God's country,” said Clancey once. “Yes,” answered the trader, “if you don’t care what you say.” ‘Toward sundown they reached the edge of what, in former ages, had been a rock- bound lake. ‘The basin was a mile in di- ameter, and its sides were perpendicular, ex- cept where jutting fragments stcod out and hung over the depths below. In the cen- ter of the basin stood a great mass of rock, upheaved and twisted and contorted until it looked like a rude sacrificial altar rear- ed by prehistoric The setting sun threw most of the basin in deep shadow, but played rough and tumble over the Jagged points of the great center piece. “Picket your horses,” said Clancey. “We go down into this thing. And we'll need those ropes, too.” He led them to a fissure in the rocky sides, threw a slip “noose over the nearest bewlder and spat on his hands. “When I get down to the first platform drop me the rest of the rope,” he sald, and then hand over hand lowered himself down between the rocks. The wild desolation of the scene was working on the tsader’s mind. Of the white men in the country, doubtless few had ever seen this spot; probably none had ever explored it. For a hiding place, none bet- ter could be found. Imagination and mys- tery painted fancy pictures before which Wagner feasted his eyes. He was not poor, decidedly not, but with this new treasure, what might he not do? For it had been quite clear to the trader that he, and not the soldier, should have the lion’s share, if the treasure really existed. His word would go far against that of two private soldiers, and besides, his own clerk could be depended upon to swear to any- thing that his employer might say. Then— His dreams were interrupted as Clancey sang out from the darkness below: “Come along, and look out for the sides of the rock.” ‘When they were all on the first platform put his hands on the trader’s shoulders. “Once for all, Mr. Wagne! said he, “once for all, do you mean to play me fair and square in this business?” Clancey’s manner was serious, and the trader mechanically reached for his re- volver. “No, no,”*said Clancey. “Why, of course.” “Then raise your right hand and swear it—ewear it.” Standing in the darkness on the narrow platform, with the evening sky peering dimly through the slit above, the trader solemnly swore that all should be fair and square between him an ncey. ‘Now,” said the latter, “we'll go down the rest of the way.” Once at the bottom, the great centerpiece of an altar was soon reached. When the prehistoric volcano was making this land- mark it must have been very angry, for it had belched forth its molten mass and then pulled it and twisted it and gouged it this way and that way until its fury was spent. The resulting monument looks stronger than the pyramids.and more deso- late than the Great Sahara, with no sign of a tree, ne blade of grass, not even the @ver-present sage bush to relieve its harsh- ness. Clancey led the way around toward the east side and then suddenly stopped, bent over and pushed aside an innocent-looking slab that partly leaned against the greater rock. Without speaking, he pointed to a small opening, just big enough to allow a man to squeeze through, and then, drop- ping down on the ground, he wriggled him- self out of sight, into the heart of the rock. A moment later the expectant watchers heard him strike a match, and, as a glimmer of light came through the nar- row opening, he told them to craw! in. The Indian trader was the last to enter. He wanted time to collect his thoughts, to plan just how he should deal. with the soldier, for he was convinced that the story of the treasure amounted to something, after all. : Once inside the rock he saw a cave as large as an ordinary room. Cut-in the stone walls were narrow bunks with pieces of old buffalo hides on some of them. In one corner was a roughly hewn fireplace, just under a cleft in the rocky ceiling, that would allow the smoke to escape—some- where. An iron pot, smoked and moldy, lay in the ashes. Branching antlers; bones and skins, sticks of wood, all old and cov- ered with dirt,“were strewn over the floor. Clancey button-holed the trader and led him to one of the “corners. Shading his candle with one hand, so as to throw the rest of the cave in darkness, he kicked away a pile of rubbish and disclosed two dilapidated-looking hand satchels. “Open them,” he said to the trader. Wagner stooped down, and, in his excite- ment, tore the first satchel open. Out fell a big, fat roll of paper money, dusty and time-worn, but neatiy held to- gether with a strip of paper, just as though it had fallen from a paying teller’s desk! “If you're satisfied now,” said Clancey, “tell those two men to go outside while we count it.” ‘Wagner could not speak, but, still kneel- ing on the floor, he made a sign with his hand, and the two men understood. When “Answer me.” they had disappeared he continued running bis hands lovingly over the money. Finally he spoke. “How do you cey?” he asked. Clancey turned one of the satchels over, suppose this got here, Clan- and on one side showed him the words, “U. 8S. Army.” There was some more, evi- dently a name, but time and dirt had — it off. * “I suppose some army paymaster passed through this country one day,” said the soldier, “and the Indians held him up, and when they got through with him he had pO more use for. money. So the Indians took it and left it here for us; leastways that’s what I make out of it “Count it,” he continued, “and then we'll make ourselves comfortable for the night. We can sleep well in this old cave, for to- morrow we ride into the post rich men.” He stretched himself full length on one of the rude bunks, while the squat- ted on the floor and began the pleasant task. The flickering rays from the candle showed a satisfied look on his face, ‘How much?” asked Clancey, nervously, as. the trader rose to his feet. “Twenty-two thousand, four hundred.” “That's right,” said Clancey, in a relieved tcne. “Call in the other fellows, and let's have something to eat.” ie Se eee Towards evening of the followixy 7 the money was carefully locked } trader's safe. The soldier would take little ready money as his share—only enough to pay his fare on the stage that would take him to the ratiroad. “You see,” said he, “I’m a soldier, and as I'm feeling pretty good, I'm liable to get drunk. Therefore, I don’t want any money until I strike the railroad.” So the trader gave him a check for $5,000 on the Delman Bank, Delman being on the railroad, eighty miles from Fort Barrenall. He also gave him two notes for $5,000 each, and due in three and six months from date. This left quite a slice of the “find” for the trader, but he counted on far more, ex- pecting with considerable reason that the Proceeds of the check in Clancey’s pocket would get him so. drunk that the notes would be lost for ever. “Well,” said Wagner, as he soldier roze to go, ‘here's how,” and the w! he produced was of a superidf quality to that he had given the soldier before. “Here's luck,” said Clancey, “and if the Papers for my discharge are back, here's a good-bye to the army, and I'll be in New York as soon as possible. Don’t forget to write your bank about this check; they mightn’t want to pay it to me.” “All right,” said the ‘trader, “I'll wire ‘them at once, and if. your papers are back, you can pull out in"the morning. Let me hear from you some time.” But that was the last time the trader ever saw Clancey. Nor did he ever hear from .him or from the two notes he had given: him, . . * . One day a well-dressed stranger volun- tarily walked into a bunco room in New York city. He held his hea@ up and car- ried himself with an important air. “Gentlemen,” said he to the two occu- pants of the room, “I'm your old friend Clancey of England, later of Canada, and finally of this glorious republic. I nave nothing in my pockets except a pair of re- “olvers, and there are three friends of mine on the other side of the street who will play thunder with you if I don’t ap- pear inside of five minutes. You needn't be alarmed, though. I just dropped in to thank you, and to ask you out to have a drink—straight drink. For you see in me a discoverer of hidden treasure, a drunken. madman steering for a victim, and a de- serter from the army. Ive come from the great west by the roundabout way of Mcsi- co. But I can tell you a tale of how a mere kid at the business adapted himself to circumstances, and played a game tha: will make you turn green when you hear it. And this tale all hinges on the counter- felt money I ordered from you last sum- mer.” But Clancey’s nerve was too much for the professionals, and they “both declined to go out to take a drina with him. —_—>——_ The Druggist’s Profits. From the Philadelphia Record. In a West Philadelphia pharmacy last night a visitor who ts on terms of familiar- ity with the proprietor, remarked chaffing- ly to the latter: “I presume you cleared 90 per cent profit on that prescription that just went out.” “Better than that,” re- Plied the druggist. “That prescription called for three grains of powdered alum in two ounces of water. I buy the alum for about a cent a pound and draw the aqua from tRe spigot yonder: The actual - ccst of the mixture was so infinitesimal that it could wee 4 be expressed in fractions | of a cent. Yet I charged thirty-five cents for it, and my conscience. doesn’t reproach mg the least bit. Had I given it to him the probability is that the patient wouldn't have usec it at all, and in any event its efficaciousness would have been. impaired, by the knowledge that its commercial value¥ Wes next to nothing. And there's another side. I compounded a _ prescfiption this morning the rare ingredients of which actually cost me nearly $3. I charged $1 for it, and the customer gave me a look which said as plainly as words, “You're a swindler. ———__-+e+____ ‘The Tragedy of Life. From the London Daily News. Our Vienna correspondent telegraphs: The hard life whieh is the fate of thous- ands in this big city, where their years flow unseen, is sometimes revealed to us by a flesh of lightning, when the circumstances that lead to crime are exposed in a curt of justice. Thus, on Thursday, a young seam- stress, Paula Christ, appeared before the judge to answer to the charge of having pawned linen worth 150 florins belonging to her employers. For four years she had supported her old parents by the work of her needle, and this cold winter the need of fuel prevented her from saving enough to pay the small rent. Her father and mother would have been turned out of doors, so she pawnedl the shirts she had been workirg upon to pay the sum owing. During all the bitter winter this girl had been paid at the rate of a shilling for each doren shirts made.. The judge asked her how long she took to make them, and she said she had to work hard to finish them in twelve hours.- One penny for an_ hour's hard work, and three people to keef out of it! The court considered the theft to have been committed under very hard circum- stances, and sentenced the girl to only.a week's detention. ——_- +e -____ Monaning Pines and Nervousness, Georgia Lette? to Chicago Record. The sound of the wind in the branches and among the slender columns is in- expressibly sad cnd affects some people with .melancholia, and if they are very nervous often with hysteria. I am told that there are invalids in Thomasville who cannot endure the peculiar soughing that rises and: falis as the wind grows stronger or subsides, like the incessant roar of the surf, and one young woman who was recommended to reside upon a “turpentine farm” so as to inhale the odor as a cure for the asthma was com- pelled to return to the city because the peculiar monotone made her frantic. Less impressionable people find it pleasant, and I imagine they soon become so used to it that they miss it when they go away, as one misses the sound of the sea or the swish of the waves against the side of a ship or the motion and racket of a rail- way train. From Life. EASTER MORNING IN THE BARN YARD. mR KE Na helgh ey AES Wtibescnd Ay