Evening Star Newspaper, July 27, 1895, Page 16

16 * GIRLS WHO WORK Small Pay and Long “Hours for Parisian Wage Earners. HOW WOHEN ARE EMPLOYED All Grades From Washing Clothes to Government Places. DOMESTIC SERVICE Special Correspondence of The Evening Star. PARIS, July 15, 1895. HANKS TO THE French working girl, the streets of Paris become, for the stranger as for the denizen, a never-fall- ing Eden of sur- prises, and the heart bounds at every turn. Yet the bounding heart does not cause the Parisian to has- ten, full of gratitude, to aid these bright, courageous crea tures chivalrously. Nowhere within the Pale of modern civilization do girls and wo- Ten do so much work and for so little pay as in the Paris which thelr gayety and co- quetry adorn. Of all the factory workers, those in the employ of the French government itself— the hands of the match and tobacco mo- Nopolies—have the worst lot. The pay in each case !s a derision. The tobacco work- ers have 50 cents a day, the match workers have (0 cents a day; the 10 cents difference in favor of the latter Is intended to make up to them the ruin to their health which is accomplished by the phosphorus. It is true that the cotton factories of the sub- urbs pay their spinners only 30 cents a day, and that weavers think they do well to et 40 cents, ave always ruined women and small chil- dren in all lands. These factory hands are but these great industries the real proletariat, the most miserable easy-soers of debauch beneath their pa- rents’ eyes. Morality {s scarcely known to them. They do not furnish pleasure to the eye; but as they dwell apart in quarters which are hardly Paris but in name, they are ignored by all well-thinking people. Factory working is not picturesque—not even picturesque in Paris. It is a very different corps of working women in which Parisians take pride and interest. ‘The washerwomen of Paris num- ber 94,000 souls, and all are thought to be loud, gay, hard drinkers and hard workers in their middle age and fine and flirting in their young. Trilby was a blanchisseuse de fin. Each year in mid-Lent Paris has a great parade, and one which takes the place now of the carnival. It is the washerwomen's pa- rade, joined in by all the students of the Latin Quarter. The laundry corporations of all Paris join in it, electing one great queen (who regularly is the daughter of a large proprietor) and several subqueens, to ride in glory, with gold crowns upon their heads. Among the laundresses there are degrees of social standing. The lowest is that of the’ washerwoman pure and simple, but who is neither pure nor simple. She never does her work at home, but brings her bundles of soiled clothes to the river lavoirs, or washing places, there to spend her days in mingled riot, drink and work. The work is very hard, ‘and there are constant fights to get good places. The poor women, al- though middle-aged and strong, find the damp, heavy work a true hip-breaker, and §0 they must resort to drink, which makes them gay. Their pay is from 60 to 80 cents a day, plus a 5 o'clock tea (which is com- posed of a glass of absinthe, taken at 3 P-m.,), invariably offered by their employer. But all is owed or drunk up in advance. Badly viewed by her janitor, detested by the neighbors, dreaded by the grocer and the butcher, scolding and violent, the femme de lavoir is pushed back on all sides. Her rare vigor of body alone permits her to continue such a life. ‘The real blanchisseuses are clean, coquet- tish, frequently nice and often pretty. Their work is not so much washing as ironing, as they work only in their shops, and often give the soiled clothes, especially the heav- ler parts, out to a lavoir. They make 60 cents a day, in a congenial atmosphere of chat and laughter, fortified by a real lunch at 3 p.m., given by the patron. Beiow higher ranks of working women, those employed in making clothes, there are artificial flower makers, workers in gold and silver lace and fancy trimmings, burn- ishers, shoe sewers, bead workers, book stitchers, and compositors in printing offices. Of these the gold and silver braid and lace makers undergo the longest ap- prenticeship and lead the honestest lives. Their pay is from seventy cents to a dollar a day. A good flower maker receives from $1 to $1.20 a day, but work can only be had during four or five months a year. How many other little professions the working girls of Paris exercise after this painful fashion, never finding steady employment throughout the whole year, is one of the great scandals of the capital. The actual sewing girl is more in view. In dress she follows the fashions, wears a hat instead of going bareheaded like other working girls, and regularly wears some tastefully selected imitation jewelry, and, if her underclothes are often badly cared for, and her shoes run down, her skirt will nevertheless be hung with ele- gance. And, though she may not wash her neck and ears with regularity, she always is well braced up in her corset, and has her face made fragrant with cheap violet bsg This is the sewing girl employed y Worth and many dressmaking estab- Ushments of equal chicness in the environs of the opera. Among the younger the most privileged are the trottins, who are permitted to carry home the gowns to those who have them Psi rich ladies sure to give a handsome ip. Aged from fifteen to seventeen years, she trots through the city, making long stops before the jewelers’ windows, cracking nuts with her teeth, or biting into a green apple, lending a pretendedly indifferent ear to the offers of the vieux messieurs, and taking frank delight in “pasting” them, or, as the word is, “sending them to the swing,” Le., to thrcw them down. Despite their affecta- tion of bonne tenue, the sewing girls of Paris are of but indifferently regular con- duct. As to the real salary of a good sew- ing girl, the maximum, taking account of the dead season, it cannot average over seventy-five cents a day. This is good pay for a skillful sewer, not of a cutter or a fitter. These latter, being artistes, may hope to gain as high as $3,000 a year with Worth and other houses of the first class, and Sys Shae to $1,600 in houses of the second class. In the best houses, such as thoge in the Rue de la Paix, patronized by American ladies on their travels, a premiere, who is @ specialist for skirt and corsage, makes from 31.20 to $1.60 a day, and cutters, who are really skillful, yet not artistes, receive 4s high as $2.50 to $3 and even more a day, but they are all exceptions, and exist but in small numbers. Fine lingeres, who work in hand-made ladies’ underclothing, earn 4s much as eighty cents, but more often they have forty cents and thirty cents, while those who work for exporting houses receive as little as a quarter of a dollar for a day of rine hours. The pelgnoirs, chemises and other adjustments in linen sold at the Louvre and Bon Marche for $5.50 apiece are given out by those great stores to head sewing girls, who get twelve cents apiece for them, do a part of the work, and give the rest out to assistants, whom they pay but eight or nine cents apiece. Three peignoirs a day give these unhappy creatures twenty-seven cents, and for it they must work till late at night. The modistes, or milliners, hold the first rank in the aristccracy of Parisian sewing girls. Artistes, they bring into their ways the disorder and insougiance habitual to all artists; they form in Paris a body of abcut 8,000 werkers, and by their talent realize five millions of dollars a year in the one industry of feminine hats. The ingen- fousress of the mcdiete is without limits; almost dally she creates exquisite combina- tions new to sea or land. The form, shade and garniture of the hat are the three piv- ots of all these variations, around which turn the ¢ternal weathercocks of style. It is only by ar. incessant renewing that the commerce of modes successfully exists. If the ladies bought but one or two hats a year the ruin of these little warkers would be swift and cruel. After two years of ap- prenticeship, during whieh time the little Mediste ‘s a trottin in the more exact sense of the word, she will receive some 60 cents a day, with the hope of rising almost surely to a dollar a day, while premieres get $600 a year and even more. And after this, because she has artistic temper- ament and style, she will set up a littie shop quite all her own. The second division of the working wo- men of Paris is formed of the class of setl- ers and shopkeepers which excludes the demoiselles and employes de magasin, or the salesladies of the great shops, and all the magasins de nouveautes. These latter, constitutirg a great class by themselves— a class of recent origin—resemble too much the saleswomen of great shops in every lard to be particularly picturesque.’ Their peculiar mark is to be fed and often lodged by the establishment, and to take a great part of their pay in their commissions. A position in a great shop is almost as diffi- cult to obtain as a place under the govern. ment; and once in none resign’and but few die. Their salaries vary from $8 a month to $1,600 a year. The truly picturesque Parisian ‘sellers’ are of lower rank. And first of all comes the great tribe of ambulantes, all those whose voices, more or less harmonious, help to make up the symphony of Paris the morning. “Green pease! Green pease “Harong qui glace!” “I have cherries, chei ries sweet!” “Valence, ‘the beautiful - Val- ence!” These brave women, with their voices and their barrows, take the place in Paris of London's costermongers. They sell fruit, fish, vegetables and flowers, being authorized thereto by tke administration. Some six thotsard in number, they make their provisions every morning at the cen- tral markets, where they must arrive at 4 o'clock for bargains at the auction sales. By crying all day they make 50 cents, but have this advantage, that they often are well nourished, for the soup pot takes what Little remnants they have left unsold at night. With the brave ambulantes there is an approach to the ciass of fakirs in the sell- ers of mechanical toys, woolly dogs that bark and lambs that bleat, lead bicyclists careering rcund a leaden”track, wooden acrobats, firemen who pump real water, tin jumping monkeys and gay wiftdniills with fine arms of colored paper. They who sell in little shops are faithful still to the old style of Parisian commerce. The provisioning line has not been touched by the new spirit of the grand magasin, and nowhere are salesladies heaftier and solider than in the pork butchers’ little boutiques. The pork butcher girl is: ‘rot pretentious, like the demoiselle de magasin, and leads a cleaner life. She receives’ a better salary than dressmakers or the clerks in candy stores, and is continually nourished with rich food. She is almost always a fresh end appetizing person, a Pleasure to see throned among her sau- Sages and pates, for the French eat sau- sage, pudding and pressed pig's head with the same avidity as Germans. Savory, clean-handed, blooming, she knows how to slice deliciously the slenderest slips of ten- der pink-white ham and wrap up fole gras in a double paper, spotless white. She gains a dollar a day and has the confi- dence of her employer. Rosy, fat, peace- able, passive, honest and happy, she gives her heart with her fancy; her life is mo- potonous, but rich, and from the seven- teenth century she has always been la belle chaircutiere, the beautiful flesh cut- ter. It Is a tradition. The retail cheese business is eminently proper; and the neat bonne of the retail egg, milk and cheese shop (for the three are sold together) has a pleasing place in life. The noisiest and easiest-going of the whole battalion of these little sellers is thd Paris bar maid. If she be the wife of the proprietor and still wait on the bar— the zinc bar of the little marchand de vins, @ grade below the cafe—it is a sign that hse is able to take jokes and compliments. There are a hundred other types of little shop keepers of Paris, of which the sell- ers of imitation jewelry, toilet articles, rib- bons, underclothing, gloves, corsets, per- fumers, stationery and umbrellas are con- sidered the most lucky, though the profits of all small businesses have of late years been falling off alarmingly, beneath the competition of the giant magasin. Girls in such little shops can seldom rise above $8 per week, including their percentages. Their hours are long, and many, in ac- cordance with the ancient custom of the French republic, must be present Sundays as on week days. Still they smile and make great eyes, their fragrant necks be- ing tied around with a silk ribbon and their hair done to perfection. What charm and wit they have and what vivaeity, what treasures of tenderness and bursts of feeling they are capable of showing, may be known only by the well-to-do, but by them I think it may be learned readily. Let us be thankful that our system in CTRIPERIE | —— America, so far, has stumbled on a differ- ent way and that our sisters may be trust- eal wall tosmiwus ae auepennor ceed they fear to do so. For this and many other reasons it is the flerce desire of every mother who must have her daughter work in Paris to secure her a position more retired. A government employment ‘2, -above all, most desired. “Ladies of the administration!” The phrase has a bizarre sound to French ears even to this day. To many it suggests the gay old creatures who are employed to sweep the streets by night, the guardians of the chalets de necessitie, or the match work- THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, JULY 27, 1895—TWENTY PAGES. ers In: the factories of The state. Neverthe- less they form a new and numerous class, which is. increasing yearly. They are not even the buralists, the state tobaccontste, who sell by virtue of appoint- ment by the government the cigars and cigarettes made by the government. These latter, known to every tourist, seldom have the actual appointment in their own right; they are merely paid to do the work by ladies of the great world, high in politics, who in the present regime of equality ob- tain appointments ‘as tobacconists, and draw three-quarters of the profits. Or the buralist is a wine merchant's wife, who can obtain votes. All the girls who sell to- bacco are mere clerks of there more fa- vored dames, and have their food and lodg- ing, with $10 a month. It is not this gov- ernment employment, which careful moth- ers solicit for their dear ones, to sit dally dealing out the crapulos and infectados, and “two sous of smoking” or one sou of snuff. Of modern French government employ- ments for women the lowest is that of lay nurse in hospitals. These employes are of two kinds, who live together in continual war, the “girls of the halls,” who do the work of sweeping, cleaning and bed mak- ing, and the “surveillantes,” who are real nurses. - The female post office and_ telegraph clerks, who, during the past three years in Paris, have been replacing men so gen- erally, are of a very different social class. They are girls who have passed successful school examinations in the higher branches and are furnished with the highest moral recommendations. After three months of Working without salary they begin with $180 a year, to arrive, after ten years of experience, at a salary of $900 a year, which thereafter never increases. It is a post of of this kind that the anxious par- ent desires for her child, and all the in- fiuence of a family will be employed in getting it. Lay echool teachers have rath- er better pay, and their places are even more desired. In general it is the ten- dency to throw open more government places to women yeurly. Already the great majority of emall clerical places in the ad- ministrations of tohacco, postes and tele- graph, state railways and state savinxs banks, are given up to women. This is the highest mark; and until there are wo- men policemen, women cabmen, barbers, tailors, firemen and dog catchers, it must stay so. Domestic service need not be taken ac- count of in this notice; it is a peculiarly feminire occupation, and it will always appeal to those who are feminine enough to embrace it. After Icoking over the whole ground of women’s work in Paris the writer {s more struck than ever with the desirability of being a bright, well- dressed femme de chambre in a rich fam- ily. If the private servant of madame be pretty, intelligent and tasteful she may make of her place what she wishes. She will have easy work, continual tips, may be always washed, perfumed and freshly dressed, will live always in an atmosphere of wealth and ease. Compared with the dragging life of a shop girl and the brain- splitting calculations of a post office clerk, the bright young woman, who plunges resolutely into the tide of upper-class do- mestic service—not as a “companion,” but as a “maid” openly and frankly—chooses wisely. STERLING HEILIG. ——__ GREATNESS OF LINCOLN. Hlow the War President Impressed Senator Voorhees. “Abraham Lincoln,” said Senator Voor- hees, while conversing with a Star writer one day during the last session,“was known to me long before he ever came to the White House, or I dreamed of Congress. I remember him when I was a young man as a tall, angular figure, with a shagzy shock of dark hair, who used to ride the circuit as a lawyer, and whose business occasion- ally brought him as far as my bailiwick in Indiana. Even in an early day Lincoln had considerable fame as a successful trial lawyer. He told stories as effectively then as he did in after years, when, as a Presi- dent, his stories were bound to be a suc- cess. He was a singularly good talker to juries, and had that convincing gift which few men possess of talking with his audi- ence rather than to it. Most speakers talk ‘to’ an audience. Lincoln talked ‘with’ his, and that with his homely rhetoric, through which ran an eternal current of sentiment, was the real secret of his victories. “Few lawyers cared to meet Lincoln on even terms. Even when he had a weak case he was dangerous. Douglas once said of him: ‘When Lincoln is right you can’t beat him; when he is wrong you must be d—4 careful, or he’ll beat you. This makes a strong man of Lincoln.’ Douglas was right, and the history of his later collisions with Lincoln on the stump, and final great contest with him at the ballot box, might go a long ways toward proving it. “Lincoln was a man of tremendous phys- ical strength. He had long, gorilla-like arms, and was as powerful as an ogre. In his younger days he had great fame as a wrestler. It was the common practice of lawyers in that day to put in the noon hour in wrestling, leaping and running. The members of the bar were as well known for- their wrestling as for their strength before judge and jury. Lincoln was unquestionably the champion: wrestler of his time and circuit. No one ever suc- ceeded in getting him on his back. With Lincoln's strength and facillity for physical exercises, it should be no wonder that he was a famous rail splitter, “Mentally Lincoln was a much more pow- erful man than men of his time were will- ing to credit. It {s significant that in the most trying time in our history there never was an occasion so great but Lincoln was greater than the occasion; never a crisis so formidable but what Lincoln was powerful enough to dominate it. I have often thought of the labors of this man during his four years of civil war, and wondered what some of our later and ‘overworked’ Presidents would think if they had been in Lincoln’s place. If, in addition to the or- Ginary business of the government, they had had a navy in every water of the globe and an army of 2,000,000 of fighting men in the field. “I was in Congress while Lincoln was in the White House and saw a great deal of bim. He was a man who knew nothing of physical fear, and while men about him used to tell him stories of possible assassi- nation, and the necessity of care, Lincoln never seemed to pay much heed to them, He was often seen walking about the streets, or making frequent excursions to the forts.and camps and other points about Washington. I don’t think he was afraid of anything on earth. “With all his care and with all his work, she always had time to listen to or tell a good story, and I can picture him now as he used to walk up and down his office at the White House, rubbing his shaggy head with one hand, while he held the other against the small of his back, and laughed delightedly at some story which was being told. Lincoln always laughed as hard at his own stories as he did at yours, so he had a great many laughs in the course of a day. “Gccastonally he would seem wrapt in a fashion of sentimental gloom. The war pained him exceedingly in a personal way. The thought of the slaughter of men and the sorrow and trouble of their families would worry him as much as if every sol- dier who was killed was his long-time per- sonal friend. Now and then somebody wko had deserted, or in some other fashion vio- lated military law, would be sentenced to be shot. Lincoln never failed to pardon every one of them if the case was brought to him. He would not let one of them be executed. One day he said to me, when I was visiting at the White House: ‘Voor- hees, don’t you know, it seems strange to me that a man of my nature and my for- mer surroundings should have been brought to a place like this, Dcesn’t it strike you as queer that I, who never had heart enough to kill a chicken, and whom the sight of blood never failed to make sick, should be placed in this position, with riy- ers and torrents of blood flowing all about me, and be obliged to take pat in it, and live In it year after year?” “Lincoln was certainly a great American, and an abundant type of the American of his time. Ages which come after us wiil call Lincoln a greater man than we do.” |. devils, HE FOUND GOLD Col. Morrison Relates His Experience as a Forty-Niner. cas THE TRIP AGROSS THE PLAINS He Made His Little Pile and Then Came Home. SOME POLITICAL VIEWS (Copyright, 1895.) ILLIAM R. MORRI- the House of Repre- sentatives, father of the “horizontal” tar- iff bill, member of the interstate com- merce commission and possible nominee of the democratic party for President of the United States, has the reputation of being a difficult man to _ interview. That is probably due to the fact that Mr. Morrison is at times a little crusty. If you ask him questions about things he does uot wish to discuss, he is likely to reply in a way that to a stranger’s ear would suggest biliousness and a chronic dissatis- faction with the works of the Creator. But with a little pleasant persistency it is not at all difficult’ to get below the surface with Col. Morrison, and when you do get below the surface you find a conversa- tional capacity which is as surprising as it is agreeable. That develops when you get really acquainted with Col. Morrison, for to a stranger he has little if any giib- ness of tongue. Some things Col. Morri- son does not talk about, even to his friends, and one of those is the possibility of his remination by the next democratic na- tior.al convention for President of the United States. His name has been discuss- ed in connection with the nomination for @ great many years by those who regard him and not Mr. Cleveland as the origi- nal teriff reformer. Mr. Morrison does not believe that Mr. Cleveland will be a can- didate for the nomination, but he does not say that Col. Morrison will. The Gold Fever. - “I had been in the Mexican war,” he said, when I asked him about his experi- ence as a "49er, “and after that I was not ecntent to settle down to farming. When the gold fever struck our country I was ready to go and I joined a number of young men from my section who were anxious to go to California. We were like the ‘hundred days’ men’ in the late We were afraid there wouldn't be any gold left by the time we got there. We had started for St. Louis with ox teams; but when we reached the city I cencluded that the ox team would not go fast enough for me and I sold ft.and bought a one-fourth interest in a mule outfit that three Louisi- ana fellows had. They, seemed like wild and I thought they'd get there pretty fast. We took a boat up the Mis- sourl to Independenee—mear where Kansas City now is; there wasn’t any Kansas City then. From Independence we started across the plains. Indians were pretty thick, but we didn’t see any and, I don’t know that we were ever in danger. About twenty- eight or thirty of us started together, and We had nine or ten wagons. All;the other: peope were from Missouri. A good many of them are living,in Missouri now, and !I see them sometimes when I'm in the west. : “It took us about a, hundred days. to cress the plains. We lived on bacon and hard tack principally, and did our own eccking. When we started we hadia little flour and we used to mix it.with the bacon fat and a little salt and fry it or bake it. Eut the flour gave out after a time and then we had to ive on hard bread. Oh, yes, I did my share of the cooking and the camp work. “We went to Sacramento first and then struck off into the mountains. I was out nineteen or twenty months and in all that time I never saw a woman or a child.” “Were you ever in a shooting scrape?” I asked. Order Without Law. “No,” said Col. Morrison. “I have seen them, though. Wherever there was a bar there would be one or two gamblers, and they used to get into quarrels sometimes and. do some shooting. But take it alto- gether, that mining camp in California was the most orderly ecmmunity I was ever in, not excepting Washington. There was no law there and a quarrel meant the risk of a life. People didn’t get into fights unless there was a pretty good reason for it. Be- sides the men who went to California in 1849 were as a rule good men. It took $300 or $400 to get across the continent in those days and there was no opportunity for loafers to get to the diggings. After a time some lawyers got into the camp, and then we had arbitrations sometimes. But as a rule the lawyers had very little to do and it was because they had nothing else to do that they got together at Sacramento and framed a state constitution. They had no more right to frame a constitution than you had, but their constitution was the one on which the state of California entered the Union. “We only scratched the surface in those days. Each of us had a little rocker and we got gravel out of the crevices and washed the gold out of it a little at a time. The business of mining quartz and break- ing it up with machinery to extract the gold from it we knew nothing about. That all came afterward. Still we got a good deal of gold together. I brought $10,000 back with me in two years, apd that was a good deal of money for a farmer boy.” “How much do you think you took out of on ground in that time—$20,000 or ‘Oh, more than that,” said Col. Morri- son. ‘Our expenses were very heavy. Many and many a time I have spent half un ounce of gold dust—that was $S—for a drink of whisky. And whisky was pretty cheap in those days. There wasn’t any tax on It, and I suppose it was worth twenty or twenty-five cents at the still. But when you paid the freight on, it overland or around by Panama, and then brought it on pack mules out to the mining camps, its value increased enormously. During the winter months we were shut off from sup- plies and we had to live along toward spring on bacon and hard bread. Whisky and pickles and sardines were a luxury,and the first trader who got across the moun- tains found a good market. The trader would come into camp, get some timber and put up a rough shanty. A log would be the bar. If he was the first trader to reach the camp he could get almost any price for his stuff.” His Gold Lesson. “Why didn’t you stay in the gold coun- try and make your fortune?” I asked. “I wanted to get back home,” sald Col. Morrison, “I didn’t go out there to stay. I went simply to get some gold. The thing for a man to have done, though, was to have stayed. I came back by way of the Panama isthmus. There were pretty slow boats going down the coast to Panama in tose days. When we reached Panama, we gave a man an cunce aplece for the privi- lege of riding his mules across the isthmus. He had a black man, who went with us. The black man walked,.and when we got to the end of the journey, he took charge of the mules and drove them back. The road we had to travel was the old Bolivar road, and it was paved with uncrushed macadam. Some of it in little pebbles and some in bowlders twice as big as your head. There had been a good deal of rain, and the stones were very slippery. I rode my mule a few miles and had a number of falls. Finally I became disgusted, took the mule to ong side of the road and tied him to a tree, E have never seen him since. walked as far as the Chagres river, and there we got a boat, which took us to the mouth of the river, where we took a sall- boat for Havana. “I had paid for my mule in gold dust,” said Col. Morrison, “and when I got among those yellow devils in Cuba, I found that my gold dust was just as effective as it had been in California or Panama. That is the way I got my first tdeas of sound money, I think. You see, in the mines we had no medium of exchange at first but the gold dust, and each of us carried a little pair of scales in hig pocket—they looked ae much like a pair of spectacles as anything else—and when we wanted to trade, we got out the scales and weighed out so much gold dust in place of coin or paper. An ounce was recognized worth $16. After @ time some people in California began to ccin the gold in doubloons, and these con- tained an ounce of gold and were recog- nized as of $16 value, though they had no government stamp to guarantee them. The doubloons were no more valuable than the ounce of gold dust of which they were composed. The gold was simply in a more convenient form for handling. If I had hed one of those gold pieces in Havana, it would have been worth as much there as it was in California, or as my loose gold dust was. And so I learned that gold is worth just as much in one form as in another. Now silver, when coined into a dollar, is worth a dollar simply because the government will exchange it for a dollar of gold. The silver dollar and the gold dollar and the paper dollar are worth the same amount because the government will ex- change any one of them for. any one of the others. But there is a limit to the abil- ity of the government to give gold dollars for silver or paper ones.” Im the Old Whig Days. Colonel Morrison got to New Orleans in a sailing vessel and came up the Missis- sippi river on one of the old-time river boats—the Missourl. He was more than a month getting back to his home. When he got back there he did not take up farming actively again, but supervised the work on the farm and studied law. Then he got into politics and into the legislature. “I began to take an interest in politics when I was seven or eight or ten years old,” said Colonel Morrison. “My father had been a prominent man in our com- munity. He had been a member of the leg- islature, school commiss‘oner and county judge. I suppose I became interested be- cause he was, but I know that when I was very young I knew when election day came around, and as soon as I was able to ride a horse 1 used to ride to the voting place on election day. I knew what was going on, too—knew something of what the election was for, and knew that there were two sides—my father’s side (and mine) and another. In those days the two parties were the democratic and the whig parties. I had been brought up under democratic rule. I was three years old when Jackson was elected, and he served eight years. Then Van Buren was elected. During this time I got it in my head that if a whig was to be elected President the bottom would drop out and the coun- try would go to the dogs in three days. When Harrison was elected, then, I fully expected the order of the universe to be changed, and I was much surprised to find when I got up the next morning that the sur was rising in the east in the accustomed ou have learned to be a little more tolerant of the other party by this time, I suppose?” “TI have learned that there is not very much difference between the parties,” said Colonel Morrison. ‘Most men are dis- satisfied with certain things in -he policy of their party. But I don’t believe that for that reason a man should go off and vote against his party ticket. If there is any reforming to be done let him begin in his own party. If Tammany, for ex- ample, is so bad as some people think, turn Tammany upside down. But stick to one party or the other. If your own party is too dirty and contemptible to nominate a decent ticket leave it and go into some other party. A man who does not stand by his party loses his influence, for the people of the United States believe In party polities.” Terms of Public Officials. I asked Col. Morrison if he had had any idea of running for Congress again. “I could have run once or twice since I left Congress," said he, “but I would not care to go back unless 1 could have the place guaranteed to me for a time. You know I wouldn’t be likely to sit back and take no interest in things; and just so soon as I did take an active part in them, I ¥.ould step on some fellow’s toes ani then I'd have a fight on hand in. my district. In a close district the cumpaigning is contin- ual and I would not care to go into it again.” “Then do you think that the term of a Ccngressman should be extended?” Col. Morrison shook his head. “I am be- ginning to think,” said he, “that no cne ought to be elected to office in this country for more than six months. And moreover, I believe that every office In which the peo- ple are Girectly interested in this country should be elective. Senators? Why not? But beyond that, I would have the Supreme Court put where the people could get at it." “Are you thinking of the income tax de- cision?” I asked. “Not at all,” said Col. Morrison quickly. “I did not have that in my mind. But I think {t is‘absurd that the highest tribunal in the Jand—the last resort in interpreting our laws—should be compused of men who are beyond the reach of the people—who are appointed by one man, and who hold office for life.’ “Don’t you danger courts?” “Not at all,” said Col. Morrison. ‘sYour politics is as good as anything you have in this country ‘Then the colonel put on his long-tailed gray coat and went out on the street. It was after 6 o'clock and dinner was waiting for him at histhotel. Hotel life is the best Col. Morrison has known for a great many years. As the White House is called some- times the Nation's Hotel, probably Mr. Mor- rison would feel very much at home there. GEORGE GRANTHAM BAIN. aes Reward. From the Chicago Record. Noblest words have not been spoken For the greatest throngs to hear, But are breathed in accents broken Into lonely sorrow’s car. Noblest thoughts have not been written And embalmed by printer's art, But have soothed one mind, sore ‘smitten, Are engraved on one sad heart. Noblest vict’ry ne’er has hovered Where the grass drank rain of But has crowned mistakes recove: Or reproachful words unsaid. +e A Question of Identity. The proprietor of a small summer resort hotel in Virginia, as a Star man was told, has more or less trouble with his colored neighbors, who have their weaknesses, us who of us have not? One day Uncle Sam came up with six nice chickens to sell. “How much are they?” inquired the landlord. “One dollar fer de lot, boss.” The landlord looked them over carefully, not to say suspiciously. “Ain’t these the same chickens I bought last week?” he inquired. “Not dat I knows on, boss,” replied the old man, just a little disturbed. “Has you been losin’ any poultry here lately?’ “f have, and I lost these. Did you steal them?” “Fo’ de Lawd, no sah, boss; ‘deed I didn’t.” The landicrd was not in an argumenta- tive mood. “Well, all I've got to say is they are mine, and you can give them up or go to jail, whichever you choose.” “But I didn’t steal dem pullets, boss,” insisted the old man. “You heard what I said,” was all the landicrd had to say. Uncle Sam laid the chickens down on the ground and began scratching his head. “I didn’t steal dem chickens, an’ 1 doan’ wanter go to jail,” he said with great de- lberation. The landicrd waited. “I spec, boss,” he proceeded, slowly, “you better done take um. Hain’t no tellin’ how I come by um. Dey wuz out in de wood shed when I got up in de mawnin’, an’ I never axed um no questions; jes’ picked um up an’ fotched um ‘long wid me. Dey's a pile er riggers ‘round here wot makes it powahful hahd fer a po’ ol’ sinnah like I is ter stand ag’in der shovin’ an’ scroughin’ an’ keep in de middle ob de road; ‘deed dey is, boss. -Good evenin’, boss,” and as the old man slipped areund the corner he kicked himself for taking the wrong lot of chickens from his collec- tion. ink there would be some in mixing up politics and the “Our landlady,.says she likes to see her boarders have good appetites.” “Well, I'm not surprised. Some women are naturally cruel.”—Life, A DETECTIVE’S STORY. A Little Deal Which a Pawnbroker Negotiated. “Once upon a time,” said a western de- tective to a Star writer, “I had a friend named Jo Swartz. Jo was as crooked as a dog’s hind leg. His specialty was paint- ing diamonds. Jo could take an ordinary salt crystal and by the time he had got through with it you would think it was the Kohinoor. But it was not about Jo's diamond painting I was thinking, it was another little trick he turned. “Jo lived in Kansas City and does yet, if his residence has not been changed to the penitentiary. Down in the Bottoms, below the bluff, in this city by the Kaw, there abode a Polander by the name of Wit- kowski. Witkowski was from Warsaw, and doubtless his ancestors shrieked when Kosciusko fell. After the family alarm at the fall of Warsaw's last champion had subsided, they evidently emigrated. At any rate, their descendant, as stated, had business and social existence in that part of Kansas City known as the Bottoms, As @ way to live he kept a pawn shop, and he knew Jo Swartz. “ “One day Witkowski came to Jo and ex- plained how ignorant he was on the sub- ject of watches, and he also told Jo he had frequent opportunities to loan money on watches, and if Jo were willing he would like to form an arrangement of a friendly sort, whereby he could bring these proffer- ed watches to him and learn their value before he loaned money on them. Jo thought deeply. Jo, too, kept a great, big pawn shop and second-hand jewelry store on Main street, in Kansas City. After knitting his brows, he advised Witkowski not to lozn money on watches, but in every possible instance buy the timepiece out- right. Jo advised—as Witkowski had him- self suggested—that as a primary step, he bring all watches to him. He would tell Witkowski their exact value and just what he could afford to pay for them. Wit- kowski returned. “Jo had about two bushels of cheap sil- ver watches which he had bought from some Connecticut company outright to make a part of his stock. These watches had not been a good sale. They were a very cheap silver-plated sort. The next day Jo, through an agent, not known to Witkowski, sent five of these watches to be sold. Witkowski deferred purchasing until the next day, meanwhile insisting on being allowed to bring the watches up- town to be valued. The man said he had several hundred of them. Jo looked at them and told Witkowski he could easily afford to pay $15 apiece for the watches; that he, Swartz, would take them off his hands at $17.50 and buy all he could of them. Witkowski was delighted. He went back and invested all the money he had and bought some ninety odd watches at $15 each. He was to make $2.50 profit on them by selling them to Swartz for $17.50. This would be a nice thing for Witkowski. He slept well that night. “The next day he went up to see Swartz and told him he had purchased about two pecks of these watches and paid the man $15 each for them. He now stood ready to transfer them to Swartz at an advance of $2.50 ver watch. Swartz said hé would be glad to get them, and that it was all right. * ‘But,’ said he, sinking his voice to a whisper full of gloomy forebodings, ‘since you were here some detectives have been in here looking over my stock. They report a big robbery of watches in the east. They sey that over a thousand silver watches were stolen from a factory in Connecticut. They have left the numbers of the watches and description. I hope none of these watches you have bought are a part of this robbery; but we can very soon tell, as I took a list of the numbers from the de- tective.” “Witkowski felt a little chilly after this, and chillier still when after investigation it was discovered that Joe had the number of every watch in his possession. It was indubitable proof to Witkowski that he had been buying stolen goods. Jo told him that he must wash his hands of the tran- saction and could not possibly buy the watches at any price; that he was afraid he would get into the penitentiary if he touched them. Witkowski rung his hands and tore his hair; he was ruined. At last Jo, pretending great sympathy for Wit- Kowski, and because, as he confessed, he had ways of working them off that Wit- kowski didn’t possess, and could therefore handle them with more safety, concluded to risk $5 a watch. “It thus transpired that Jo gave Witkow- ski about $500 and ‘recovered back his own watches, which the day before he had sawed off on Witkowski for $1,500. When the matter ended the sage Joseph had his watches again and about $1,000 of the money of the trusting Witkowski. Warsaw had fallen again.” ——.__ WHISKERS AND WIND. A Fu: ther Contribution to the Litera- ture of an Interesting Affinity. From the Indianapolis Journal. “That feller,” said the man with the ginger beard, as the smooth-shaven new settler drove by, “that feller, when I knowed him out in Kansas, had a set of gcat trimmin’s that would discount Peffer. And he lost ‘em in the funniest way.” “Got ’em shaved off?” asked the grocer, trying to be sarcastic. Much to the surprise of the man from Pctato Creek the man with the ginger beard replied: “That's jest the way. Exactly.” When the man with the ginger beard had enjoyed the grocer’s surprise he continued: “Course, he didn't have to have ‘em shaved off, but after the way they took to actin’ he allowed that was the best tling he could do. You see, they was a cyclone come along acrost his place. He seen 'er a-comin’, an’ by the time he got the cow and the dog and his wife an’ chil- lern in the cyclone pit they was so little room that he had to leave his head stickin’ Purty soon along comes ol’ Si—’* Id Si who?” asked the grocer. ‘It might have been old Si Hubbard, but this time it happened to be ole Si Clone. Weill, that there wind took them flowin’ whiskers and wrapped ‘em round and round his neck, and durn night choked ‘im. “And he ‘lowed after that it would be safer to go smooth, I suppose?” asked the man from Potato Creek. “Hardly. Ketch any Kansas man takin’ off his whiskers fer any sich frivolious reason. But the ellicktricity, ‘er some- thing, had sot "em so that they wouldn’t grow no other way than jist round and round. I tried to persuade him to leave ‘em that way. seein’ as how he had the firest neck cdiforter ever a man had in them whiskers, but he was too dadwormed high-minded,- an’ keeps ‘em cut clean off now.” The man from Potato Creek slowly gath- ered up the two burlap sacks that served him as a saddle, put them on his yellow mule and rode homeward, pondering, pon- dering. —_+e+_____. Her Suspicion Aroused. From the Louisville Post. She got off the Indiana train with a big bundle that she could hardly manage, and as I had nothing to do I took pity on her and offered to carry it to the ferry dock, in which direction she seemed to be going. She acquiesced, and we went to the dock. On arriving she took out her purse and handed me a dime, with the remark that it was not much of a walk, but she thought it was worth a dime. I thanked her, and told her that my services would be free, at which she asked me what I carried her bundle for if not for pay. “Oh, I thought to do you a favor,” I re- ““"Taingt natural, ‘tall,” she replied. swell can’t take your money,” said I. She sudied a minute and said: “1 can’t make out whether you intend to pick my pocket or steal my bundle. Young feller, you'd better stop your bad ways or you'll go to the bad place.” “I'll do it,” I replied. “That's right,” she said, “do it, and when you come over to Indiana you jest inquire for Mrs. Jones, and I'll give you a good din- ner. If I ever hear of your gettin’ hung T'll tell folks that you had a good streak in you, anyhow.” Se She Smelied Burning Paint. From the New York Despatch. First Debutante—“My cheeks are all on fire.” Second Debutante—“I thought there was @ emell of burning paint!” Not the Correct Color. From the New Haven Union. Mrs. Newed—“I have brought three of these eggs back to change them. Grocer—"They are quite fresh, ma’am.” Mrs. Newed—“‘No doubt, but the shelis are brown, while my new eggcups are blue.” Z SAVE THE BABYS LIFE Babies Take Lactated Food With Evident Relish, Safety for Pale, Weak, Sickly Ba- bies in Hot Weather. A Perfect Substitute for Healthy, Vigorous Mother's Milk. ‘To the thoughtful parent hot weather brings the consclousness of increased care and forethought regarding the diet of the little ones. it is appall- ing to anycne underatanding the subject to see the carelessness of parcuts and nurses in the matter of infant fe With cholers infantum raging as it is east and West this summer, these facts capnot be put to Parents too plainly. ‘This mortality is not a necessary evil, for, as eve le writer on ti i Font Dr, Routh, to Woon esa arias fale advice, down to the honest m. student, whose opinions see light in the medical journals) from the ead agrees, it arises princi; feeding of children. ai vit Sying 10" ute calle dren. Is he cross, fretful or peevish? Is he trou- bled ym rrhoea? Is Vatch your baby’s actions at this season of the yeur so constipation, colic or dia sleep or roken ibe it, intelligent it, moder p Ned healthy PP sadness that it keeps away for using lactated food; iso very economical, costing less than five cents a quart, sizes. ‘The small by the manufactur- Hichai £"'0o.. Burlington, Ve Te Ist hasn't ft in stock, do not let the sun go down before you red some. save the baby's iife. ‘The mother's milk in the summer is affected the bent, und is often dangerous for the infant. ers, Wells, your druget by It 48 much ‘safer to wean the child and put it upon ble food that is always the same. a WHEN WALES WAS HERE. The Future Ruler of England and the Governor of Missouri. “Gov. Stewart,” said Representative Hatch one day toward the close of last ses- sion to a Star writer, “was, when I was a boy, one of the great characters of Mis- souri. He was the brightest and best of the political talkers of the day, and on the stump nobody was a match for Stewart. He was governor of the state when the Prince of Wales, as a boy, visited this country, and there is a story often told of how Stewart, at the reception in St. Louis tendered the Prince of Wales, became exu- berantly happy. “In those days everybody drank, and so far from being uny exception, Gov. Stewart rather emphasized the rule. ‘hey had got- ten up a grand ba?! in St. Louis in honor of the prince, and Gev. Stewart attended to add grace and glory to the occasion. The opening of the festivities found Stewart and the prince on a raised platform at one side of the hall, while the valor and beauty of St. Louis and the regions round about swept by the brilliant procession. “Both Stewart and the prince Aad not forgotten to take «n occasional drink, and both were feeling sood—the governor es- pecially so. At one crisis Stewart’s admi- ration of the scene, as weil as his entire satisfaction with his own position as gov- ernor of the state, was evidenced by his suddenly bestowing upon the prince a re- sounding slap upon his royal back, which almost knocked him off the platform into the midst of the festivities. “ “Prince,” remarked Stewart hilariously, ‘don’t you wish you were governor of Mis- souri?’ “The prince said he did, and it in no wise amazed Stewart, considering how he feit himself, to find a man who-would willingly resign the crown of England to rule at Jefferson City as the governor of so great @ commonwealth as “Old Missouri.” “As I have remarked,” continued Repre- sentative Hatch, “men did a great deal of drinking in the days of Gov. Stewart. Dur- ing one of Stewart's campaigns he had en- tered upon a series of joint debat2s with his opponent, and being a much better de- bater, and more brilliant orator than the enemy, he was getting away with him. I was a boy in Hannibal at the time. I recol- lect very well how the Stewart opposition of my town put up @ job on Stewart, which they thought would save their candidate from annihilation at his hands, when they met in Hannibal. “They picked out three of the best drink- ers in town, all of whom were ucquaint- ances of Stewart. Their mission was to be at the hotel by seven in the morning, and ™meet Stewart as soon as he got in. Of course, they would drink. They were to keep on drinking, and as Stewart was never known to decline a libation, nor set a glass down which wasn’t empty, they argued that by 1 o'clock, the hour set for the joint debate between Stewart and his opponent to begin, the dangerous Stewart would be @rowned in drink. Well, the Hannibal drinking committes met Stewart all right, and they drank unceasingly. “But, unfortunately for the plans of Stewart's opposition, when it fell 12:30, two of the committee were helpless, in a back room of the hotel, while the spectacle was presented of Stewart tenderly assisting the third to his own room, where he was to be safe until Stewart returned from the meet- ing. This gentlemar. was an especial friend of Stewart, at least so Stewart said, and he Wanted to continue his visit with him when he got through talking. Stewart's oppo- nent had the first hour at the meeting, and talked from 1 o'clock until 2. Stewart sat there on ‘the platform as rigid and decorous as a judge. When it came his turn at 2 o'clock, he was never in better shape to make a speech ir. his life, and he simply tore the opposition to pieces. The plot fail- ed, and Stewart was triumphantly elected." ——__. Written for The Evening Star. On the Potomac. Far off the golden sunlight fell Across the forest’s tender green; ‘With breezy shadows thrown between ‘The sunny woods of hill and dell. Above the sky was filled with dreams And fraught with many a downy cloud; ‘The wild-birds warbled sweet “and loud In shadows brown, or golden gleams. The waves were whisp'ring soft and low, And singing to the inner heart; Songs from the world of care apart— Of golden days of long ago! ‘The day had changed from gold to brown: Down on the river's bosom-heaves ‘The hours like a shower of leaves Of day’s brief autumn drifted down! ‘Then twilight crept across the day, And touched the utmost reach with night; The river in the fading light In allv’ry shadows slipped away! ~ANNIE JEANE PERKINS, —_._—_ “First Water” Diamond. From the Chicago Record. “What do you mean by the expression ‘first water?” “The expression ‘first water’ when ap- plied to a diamond denotes that it is free from all traces of color, blemish, flaw or other imperfection, and that its brilliancy is perfect. It is, however, frequently ap- plied to stones not quite perfect, but the best that the dealer has, and they may be of only second quality. It is almost impos- sible to value a diamond by its weight only. Color, brilliancy, cuting and the gen- eral perfection of the stone have all to be taken into account. Of two stones, both flawless and of the same weight, one may be werth $600 and the other $12,000. Ex- ceptional stones often bring unusual prices, while ‘off-color’ stones sell from $6) to $100 a carat, regardless of size. The poor qual- ities have depreciated so much in vaiue that some are worth only from one-tenth to one-fourth what they were worth twen- ty years ago. This is specially true of large stones of the second or third qual- ity.” ——+e+______ He Took It With Him, From Pearson's Weekly. Scene—A chemist’s shop in Holborn. To the assistant eriters an Irishman. He points to a pile of soap. Assistant—“Well?” Customer—“I want a lump of that.” Assistant—“Thank you. Will you have it scented or unscented?” Customer—“I’ll take it wid me.”