Evening Star Newspaper, August 24, 1895, Page 13

RACE DIFFERENCES Life of the American Girl in the Cap- ital of France. PLEASANT ENOUGH TO VISIT ————————e But Paris is Not the Place for an American Home. SOME OF THE DRAWBACKS ge Special Correspondence of The Evening Star. PARIS, August 6, 1895. HE LIFE OF A American girl in Paris differs pecu- Warly from that of the American girl at home in that she has no friends. This central hard- ship does not weigh so heavily on the am- bitious girl art stu- dent, cheered by the rough comradeship of the classes and very much sustained by an unfaltering trust in ber own per- sonal merits. Often it scarcely touches the tourist girl, swept onward in a whirl of change and borne up by theeeasy social triumphs of the table d’hote. And the rich “society” girl may for a time delude her- self and, sitting at the feast of the barme- cide in the American colony, persuade her heart that it is being nourished by the names of things. But there is one kind of American girl ir Paris, the only true one, none the less interesting because people have heard so little about her, who has, I think, a shockingly dull time because she. has no friends. This is the American girl who really lives in Paris. She lives in Paris and must continue. Her father’s business interests are centered in Paris, and Paris has become the family home. In the course of years I have had the privilege to be acquainted with a cer- tain number of such American girls in Paris; have seen their lives and know their views. In every case they have at one time or another said: “If you ever write about it do tell the truth. Do not paint a residence m the gay French capital in too rosy a light. It is not the same for a girl as for @ young man. Paris is charming, but lone- She Began Music Early. ly, arfd—nothing ever bappens—there Is rothing going on!” Sometimes the fair “American has been brought over at such @ tender age that she knows only in a gen- eral way of the life led by the girls at home. Then she is not sure that she would care to go back, for, she 1s neither flesh nor fish, not at all a French girl, with a French girl’s ideas and associations, yet out of touch and sympathy with things American. Sometimes she has been born in Europe and has never seen America—a much more hopeful case, becausé she is then free from any little affectation of superiority, which cannot help but come to even the most hon- est of half-baked Europears. To such a girl America, not Europe, is a foreign country, to be visited with pleasure, and to visit which confers distinction; and the knowl- edge that it is her home, where live her uncles and her cousins and her aunts and all their friends in that free life which is to her—an actual European girl—a dream of wonder and delight, affects her to the point of generous tears and high enthu- siasm. To start with, there are two such girls, and these two girls are sisters. This is how they live. At home the fam- fly would be thought well off, if not ex- actly rich. The girls would certainly have gone to one of our smart colleges after a dizzy and exultant childhood, they would have formed college friendships, have paid visits and received them—not in a cramped Tired of Museums. and decorous third-floor apartment, but in a real house and all their own—have known the pleasures of the mountains and the shore, the city matiness,-the country straw ride, the Sunday school, the dancing class, the Browning, Shakespeare or the Trilby Club, the progressive euchre party, the bi- cycle, ice cream, the flutter of a coming out, tipped with the final glory of a trip to Europe. ‘Tkese girls can never take a trip to Eu- rope. Instead of all these occupations they have passed their lives in learning lessons, being a comfort to their parents, looking at the European panorama through a win- dow pane” Their school girl companions of Switzerland are scattered, some in Rus- sia, some in Spain and some in Greece, each in her home. Between them there have been no relations kept up, such being ecntrery to the jealous and secretive Eu- ropean custom. in Paris, where they have now lived again for the past five years, they count among their friends perhaps Rive families of English and Americans, An Evening at a Park Cafe. - with a speaking and desultory calling ac- uaintanceship among a half dozen more. These people, among whom there are some unmarried girls like themselves, meet on different evenings at home, as the months drag on. Now and then there is a dance, perhaps three times a year, the theater being the parlors of a Paris apartment. There are occasional picnics to Versailles and other notable environs. In the winter there is @ certain amount of well chaperoned skat- itg, which only lasts about three weeks. ‘here are Sunday afternoons at the Zoo, to listen to the music. There are some gvenings at the theater—regularly to bene- it by some well-selected, proper classic at the Theater Francais. _They hear each . new opera at the National Acad of Music—never more than three a year. never leave Paris in the summer, because the seaside and the mountain life has few attractions for unmarried femininity, ex- cept in high, rich, well-connected cirgjes. They do not ride the bicycle because they have no brother to ride with them, also | They Like French Poets to Recite. because their mother does not approve Parisian bicycle costumes, and, thirdly, because they have no time. These girls have thrown themselves into music, as others throw themselves into re- ligion or novel reading. The elder daugh- ter, after brilliant studics, has been ad- mitted to the Paris Conservatoire, an honor of whose greatness we have no just con- ception in America. So many “finish their musical education in Europe,” so few ever passing the most preliminary of examina- tions. Being an eleve du _conservatoire she must start out at 9:30 o'clock four mornings of each week, and, accompanied by her mother, take ‘an omnibus. tour across Paris to the classic shades of that noble institution. ~ Her mother takes a novel or review with which to kill the time of waiting, as a hundred other mothers do. At lunch time the girl is free to take her mother to the chosen cake shop, where they make a light and elegant repast of pate de foie gras sandwiches and cream puffs, washed down with a cup of chocolate. On other morn ings and afternoons there are piano le: sons from private teachers, as the course followed by the young lady at the con- servatoire is in composition only. The younger sister participates in the plano lessuns, spending her industrious days at the devoted instrument. And so the rav- ages of art are visible from month to month. These girls begin to find it pleasanter to chat with professors and celebrated com- posers who have learned the way to their mgthers’ “evenings” than to improvise dances with the faithful Englishmen and Americans, to whom the “Pas de Quantre” is very music. Worse, they have become acquainted with French poets with long hair, who come, recite their unpublished verses, roll their splendid black and vel- vety eyes, and, under the pretext of com- posing words for original music or having original music composed for verses, throw the honest, rugged American and English hearts of oak into the shade. ¢ So it happens that now an Engiish sister takes her wounded brother's side, and there is coolness. Or an American daughter finds it hard to induce her peace-loving papa to be her escort to these gaudy “evenings.” So the circle narrows. And this narrowing of the circle by reason of the essential in- compatibility of French and Anglo-Saxon character is the essential reason why half of the American girls in Parts find life dull because they lack society and why _ the other moiety drift to the French. These girls are sad because the English and Americans drop off; but, nevertheless, they do not see their way clear to exciuding the French language from their salon. They are enthusiastic Americans and look for- ward eagerly to a promised visit soon to be accomplished. When in Amer‘ca they wiil not feel the necessity of French society; but in Paris—well, they find life dull with thelr few countrymen. A husband is a serious thing in Paris, for they do not grow on bushes. And one of the risks of an American girl in Paris is that her young bloom rray ripen into ran- eid spinsterhood. Who is she to marry? An English clerk whose father has paid a premium to get him into an importing house at a salary of $8 a week for the first five years? He is there to learn the busi- ness, his salary is a derision, he lives on an allowance from home. In the commercial class his father and his mother and his sisters all cry out against the foreigner. If he can marry money, good; but with his future all before him ‘and long years of waiting. for’ advancement to be gone through patiently in Parls, he thinks rather of obtaining nice society than marrying. Will she marry an American art student? He regularly has no money and no means of giving an assurance that he ever will have any. Living on a scholarship, sent over by an aunt, or subsisting on his sav- ings as a Sunday newspaper Illustrator, he is willing Indeed to marry any girl who can continue to support him, That states the case, with few exceptions. Or will she have a young American doc- tor practicing in France? There are not many, and they hold themselves high, ask- ing a substantial dot. There are a scatter- ing of American corporation clerks; but they generally come married. Tourists do not count, because they do not meet these American girls who live in Paris. Rich young Americans who come to Paris for a year or more have regularly their program laid out, which includes more night-life than the searching for a wife. STERLING HEILIG. —.——_— THE BABY ALARM. = A New Electrical Appliance and Its ui The newest electric household appliance, and in future no nursery will be complete without it, is the “baby alarm.” It often happens that in a large house, where the infant is sleeping in a room on an upper story, the nurse cannot retire to the ser- vants’ room, which may be on a different floor and too far distant for any to hear the child’s signal that {t is awake. The in- tention of the baby alarm ts to give warn- ing to any required distance when the child ries. A sensitive microphone, placed near the cot, is connected to a battery and an induction coil, and thence by wires to a small electro-magnet at the end where the sound is to be received. When the child cries, the microphone will set up an undula- tory ‘circuit, the electro-magnet will be ac- tuated, its oscillation will close a bell cir- cuit, and @ bell will continue to ring as lcng as the sound of the baby’s voice is sus- tained. As the device is at present con- structed the adjustment of the balance jslever which is set in motion by the electro- magnet {s so delicate that the apparatus has to be handled with extreme care, and any bungling by an inexperienced person is apt to derange it. Suggestions have been made for lessening the complexity of the instrument, and making it a practical and durable means of enabling infants to unconsciously signal to a distance, and thus save much anxious watching on the part of those in charge. SSS A Farewell. My fairest child, I have no song to give you; ‘Ko lark could pipe to skies so dull and grey; Yet, ere we part, one lesson I could leave you For every day. good, t maid, and let who will be clever; BES noble things, not dream them, all day long: And so make life, death, and that vast forever |, sweet song. One grand, swee! CHAREES KINGSLEY. ——_—_+e+ Getting Drank Once a Yenr. From the Cincinnati Commercial Gazette. The oldest temperance society in the world is the abstaining commune in Ach- lyka, in Siberia, all of whose members are strict teetotalers every day in the year cx- cept one. Regularly on the first day of Sep- tember, year after year, all the adult mem- bers of the commune assemble in the par- ish church and every one takes a solemn ‘vow before the altar to drink no wine, beer of spirits “from the morrow” of the follow- ing day for the whole year. The clause “from the morrow” {is Introduced In order to give them a reward for their virtue in the shape of a whole day of drunken car- nival. . As soon as they leave the church they begin to indulge in a horrible baccha- nalian drinking, which continues through- out the day, until neither m&n nor woman in the village is sober. This is naturally followed by considerable physical suffering, and then by mental remorse, whereupon the penitent parish enters upon its twelve- month of model sobriety, and all live like the Kechabites. Some students imagine that this queer proceeding may be a pre- historic tribal custom. —_—___+e+____ In Kansas. From Harper's Basar. First Church Member—“What are the charges agin’ Deacon Jones?” Second Church Member—‘‘Slanderin’ the parson, Said he was as good as gold.” HOW HE EARNED HIS MEDAL. A Heroic Act om the Second Day’s Fight at Gettysburg. From the Boston Globe. The most surprised man in Boston yes- terday morning was Charles W. Reed. After thirty-two years the government had awarded him a medal for “most distin- guished gallantry at the battle of Gettys- burg.” He didn’t know it until he reached his studio and was congratulated by & host of friends. It is only fair to say that Mr. Reed took his well-earned fame with difi- dence; also that he tookethe honor con- ferred and the hearty congratulations to heart, as his tears showed when describing the part taken by the ninth Massachusetts battery on the second day of the fight. What is more, it can be stated that Mr. Reed has never applied for any recogni- tion of his long ride between the confed- erate and- Union ‘lines, supporting his wounded captain. At noon he could only say that Capt. Bigelow had told him years ago “that he intended to have that piece of work recognized, and I imagine he has had a hand in it.” Here is his story of how he earned his medal: “I was only a boy, anyway. Let's see, Gettysburg was fought in '63, and when I went in—that was in ’61—I was seventeen, so I was. nineteen when Capt. Bigelow was shot. The captain was born in Nonantum, and had just graduated from Harvard, and I was just preparing to enter when we started to the front. He was in command of tht ninth battery, and I was a bugler. All you want to know is about the medal business,” continued Mr. Reed, ‘‘and Iam coming right to it. It was the second day of Gettysburg, and the ninth battery was stationed in the ‘peach orchard.’ “Lee wanted to get Longstreet across to the Baltimore pike, and so when Sickles made that charge there was an opening, and the ‘Johnnies’ came for us with a rush, Capt. Bigelow was told to hold his position, and there we stayed until the last shot in our caissons had been fired. I remember well an officer riding up and saying to ‘THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, AUGUST 24, 1895-TWENTY PAGES. 13 THE PROFESSIONAL MODEL. nee jusiness About Which ie is Written. me! From the th; Thes-Star. : “So far as I kngw,d am the only profes- gional model in ,town,” said a model. “There are many, qthers who pose, you understand, but ‘they all have outside sources of incomé. Then there'are those who pose out of Aurtpstty. Society wemen often -pose for artigt friends, too, when they have good figures.’ “Do I like it? Welt yes; as well as any- thing I can do, ¥vu see, I am dependent upon my own exertions; there are not many things I am ¢apable of doing, and out of these posing-is the most remunera- tive’ and least irkgome.” “Do you mind posing nude?” I asked, “and how do you feel?’ “Oh, no; I do not mind it, It'is purely a ‘matter of business, you see. As to feeling, why, I don’t feel at all.” low do you manage about dressing?” “I have a dressing room always, and I leave it with a long drapery about me and slippers, as I object to getting my feet dirty. I go to the platform, step out of my slippers, drop my drapery, and take my pose. When time is given for rest, I re- sume the drapery. I never think of the fact that I am not clothed when posing, but ff, In crossing the room ta or from the platform, my drapery should fall, I would be as much embarrassed as you. You see, like many other things, it is purely a mat- ter of habit.” “Are the poses difficult?” “Some of them, yes, are exceedingly diffi- cult. Iam posing fcr a picture now where Iican only keep the position a minute and a half at a time. It is a flying figure, and I am held up with ropes and bands. I keep the position for a moment, then, after rest- ing about five minutes, repeat the process. The most tiresome poses of all are the class posings, when a group of students surround me, each painting a different view. Every muscle must be held tense, and if relaxed for a moment some. ambi- tious youth calls ‘position.’ Anybody who is not bow-legged or knock-kneed and wtose brain takes a continuous vacation THE GIRL WITH A BROTHER. She Has No Cherished Ideals to Have Spotled in the Honeymoon. From the Queen. The girl who has grown up among girls alone, who has had no brothers and—ter- rible loss of a delightful intimacy—no brother’s friends, is very sincerely to be pitied. Her mind in this case may be whol- ly feminine; in it there 1s no touch of com- prehension of the masculine. Yet she may marry, and have to learn by experience what she might have known by a kind of instinct—that men are not the same as women. It is impossible for a man to real- ize how deeply wounded such a girl may be before she learns to accept facts as they are. Before the honeymoon is over she discovers what she considers an unaccount- able want of sympathy on the part of her husband. In all matters relating to her- self he is still genuinely interested, but the home letters seem to bore him, or he shows frankly that he Is only interested in them because she is reading them aloud to him. He forgets things she tells him about her friends, and is curiously inattentive to de- ils. He even leaves the little pin that she bought as a surprise for him lying carelessly about, and when she makes him up ‘a flower for his buttonhole laughs end asks her if she wants to make him look like ’Arry out for a holiday. She discovers that one of the silk handkerchiefs which she herself embroidered with his initials has been us3d to clean out a pipe. She hides her feetings, but she is so used to erlarging the importance of little things that these seem to betray the fact that her husband does not care for her as he did. When the honeymoon is over and they are settled at home the same want Is apparent. For one thing, the man never says he loves her as he did at first. He may show it in a hundred ways that are far more costly than words, but a woman who is wholly a woman and nothing more wants words. She is elways imagining things. She wants him, and him alone, but he often goes off for a whole day hunting or shoot~- ing and seems to enjoy it, though she is not there. The bitter thought that she is dressed. SWEET MARGARET, THE HOSTESS’ DAUGHTER. (From the German.) There came three students over the Rhine, Dame Werter’s house they entered in; “Dame Werter, hast thou good beer and wine? And where’s that lovely daughter of thine?”” “My beer and wine are coo! and clear— On her deathbed lieth my daughter dear.” They stepped within the chamber of rest, Where shrined lay the maiden, in white robes The first—he drew from her face the veil. “Ah! wert thou alive, thou maiden so pale,” He said, as he gazed with saddened brow, “How dearly would I love thee now.” The second—he lightly replaced the shroud, Then turned aside, and, weeping aloud: “Ah me! thou art on thy deathbed here— The one I have loved for so many-a year!” The third—once more uplifted the veil, Then gently kissed the lips so pale; “Thee loved I ever, still love I thee, And thee will I love through eternity.” And that kiss—-that kiss—with Promethean flame Thrilled with new life the quivering frame; And the maid uprose and stood by his side— That student’s own loved and loving bride. Capt. Bigelow, ‘Get out just as fast as God will let you.’ Then the captain ordered the battery to the rear. The drivers didn’t walt to look for openings in the stone wall, but just took them sidewise, the horses jumping and the guns going over with a tilt on one side and then a crash of rocks and wheels. Capt. Bigelow took the fence, and as bugler I was on his horse’s flank. Then came Orderly J. H. Kelley of Marl- boro’. Just about as soon as we got over I saw the enemy were skirting down the stone wall on our side and called to the captain to look out. The next minute he leaned forward and fell flat on his back in the field. “He.drew himself back to the stone wall and told Kelley and me to go as fast as we could. Kelley was a great big fellow and as strong as an ox. He had been a black- smith. I yelled to him to get the captain on his horse. This he did, like the man he was, and then, holding the captain with one hand and the reins of the orderly’s horse with the other, I started for our lines, which had been reformed about 1,0) yards away. We Started at the stone wall near what is known as Trostle’s house, and had to cross rigat in front of one of our own batteries. The officer in command yelled to us to hurry, but the captain was so weak and the orderly’s horse so frightened that it was all 1 couid do to keep him on at a walk. “Capt. Bigelow was pluck all the way through and said to me: ‘Tell them to com- mence firing, The batteries are fourteen yards apart, and we will try to keep be- tween them.’ Well, we did keep between them; how, I don’t know. Some way we got to an old barn, and there the captain’s wounds were taken care of. He had been shot from his left side right through the body, also through the right hand. To show you how I felt,” said Mr. Reed, in conclu- sion, “when we got in the lines there was a lot of gheering, and I thought-it was on account of a charge until a lieutenant came up, and, patting me, said: ‘You're a brave boy, and they are cheering you.’ I remem- ber saying right there that I wanted ‘to go home.’ What is more, I did. Capt. Bigelow recovered and now lives in Minneapolis. ‘That's the whole story.” During that engagement on the second day's fight referred to by Mr. Reed the ninth battery lost 69 men out of 100, every oificer but one, every sergeant and 80 out of 38 horses. can pose at academies, but for the regu- lar artists it requires a good figure and sufficient intelligence to understand the idea of the artist. “As to prices, they are the same all over town-25 cents an hour for classes and 50 cents for studio work. I have had all I could do all summer. My average earn- ings are from: $6 to $11 a week. One week I made $15, but that was a red letter week; such things do not -often occur. I often pose for four hours in the morning, two in the afternoon and, two in the evening, and, after such a day, 1 am so utterly exhaust- ed thit I lie down, scarcely able to move a hand.” ——_—_+e+— His Religion A} Right. In the “Remintscences of an Emigrant Milesian” is the fqllowing curious anecdote: Stack, formerly of Walshe’s regiment, was among the officers of the;Irish brigade who went on half-pay at its dissolution. He had remained on half;pay so long that he be- came the oldest colonel’§n the army. He obtained his proniotiow to the rank of major general after a soiewhat curious in- terview with the Duke of York, the com- mander-in-chief a@ that .time. Having so- licited the honor of,an audience of his royal highness, he received an intimation that the duke would receive him at the Horse Guards next day... He was punctual in his attendance, and being introduced to the commander-in-chief, was honored by the customary question: y “Well, colonel, what can I do for you? “I perceive, sir,” replied Stack, “that there is a brevet coming out, in which I hope to be included. I am the senior colonel in his majesty’s service.” “True, Col. Stack, but give me ask you of what religion you are? “I am of the religion of a major gen- eral.” ‘The duke bowed, and Stack was gazetted. - ———+e+ Retrespection. leave to From Life. Nuwed—‘‘According. to you, I never told you a single truth before we were mar- ried.” Mrs. Nuwed—“Oh, George, you weren’t quite as bad as all that. Don’t you remem- ber you always used to say you were un- worthy of me?” learning by experience that “a man’s love but a part of man’s life is,” makes her miserable, and if she !s a jealous woman she will end by making every one else in the household miserable, too. But if she is sensible the heartache will dic away; she will get to understand her husband, and learn herself to become self- controlled, and refrain from worrying him about the small matters that up till then have formed her world. She will sain self- control, and her love will teach her the rest. She may feel in her heart that the woman's part in married life is the harder, but sha will accept it, and be braced in both mind and heart. The girl with broth- ers will probably learn her lesson before marriage; she knows that men are differ- ent from women, neither better nor worse, but different, and she wili have no cheris! ed ideals to overturn-in the honeymoon. ———+e+. . A Katydia. a From the Philadelphia Record. A Kalydid—it was a fine specimen of the grasshopper family, innecent of any har n— was crawling along the floor of a passenger coach on the Reading railroad on Thursday night, near the hour of 12. Three young women, who had been enjoying a dance at Washington Park, boarded the train at Bellevue, taking seats facing each other. Then the katydid disappeai In a short time the prettiest damsel turned white as a ghost, and with pallid face gave a shriek as she jumped up on the seat that would have dene credit to a Comanche Indian. As she sprang from her seat her companions fol- lowed suit, the three yelling for dear life. Passengers, brakemen and conductor ran to the girl’s aid, but all she could say .was: “It's crawling!” “What is it?” cried the conductor. And as she gave her skirts a shake out dropped the katydid. ———_—_+e+- A Youthful Conscience. From Vogue. Laura, a youthfwi church woman, aged seven, having examined her consclence with great anxiety, announces to her amazed mother in relation to the ninth commandment: “Well, there’s one thing I never did, anyhow. I never coveted my neighbor's wife.” (The mother expresses no incredulity.) THE BOY LIEUTENANT’S NERVE. He Lost It Once, but Redeemed Him- self in Gallant Fashion. From the Detroit Free Press. Just how it happened no one could ever explain, but the more charitable argued that the boy lieutenant lost his head for & moment. .He was fresh from West Point, gnd only a boy, and had never seen a hostile Indian in his life. He had e dozen troopers with him, and was beating up the country’ along Sunflower Creek when a band of fifty warriors suddenly appeared. It was a complete surprise, and the small troop was somewhat scattered, but the thing to have done was to rally on the bush-covered knoll a quarter of a mile away, and there make a “stand-off.” The horses wou!d probably have been sacrificed, but the soil was soft and the men could have intrenched themselves and held the position against a hundred warriors. The siege might have lasted into the next day, but help from the fort was sure to come within twenty-four hours, The young of- ficer didn’t do the right thing. He gave the order to fall back to the creek a mile away, and reached it to find that it offered no position of defense, while four troop- ers had been shot from their saddles dur- ing the flight. Not a man would have es- caped with his life but for the sudden and unlooked-for appearance of a couple of horse hunters, who were taken by the In- dians for scouts in advance of cavalry. The officer had made a mistake, and sacrificed four men. He had been tried and found lacking in nerve. From that hour he was marked man. No other officer or officer's wife gave him the cut direct, but he was made to feel that he walked in the shadew. Had they believed it was cowardice his resignation would have been demanded within the hour. No, they copld not call it that, but his loss of nerve at a critical moment was almost as bad. There was a splendid opportunity to make a gallant fight and inflict loss on the enemy, but he had ordered a retreat and lost a third of his men. It was too small an affair in those stirring days for a court of inquiry, and so the young officer had to bear his burden. He could not heip but know that he had lost caste with his brother officers, and he could not help but read the same story in the eyes of the enlisted men. Everybody wondered why he did not resign, and though many secretly sympathized with him, he was forgiven by none. ‘Weeks and months dragged away, and then came a fresh campaign against the hostiles. One dey a troup of sixty men was detached from the main command for a scout. The first lieutenant was absent on detached service, and the sec- ond ranked next to the captain, who had never openly censured him, and yet had never forgiven him for the stain on the escutcheon. After a ride of fifteen miles the troopers wheeled about to find that a band of hostiles had crept in between them and the main command. The fight opened with odds of four to one, and in ten mirutes the captain and four men were lying dead, and the little force was being pushed back and surrounded. Every man knew that the boy lieutenant had once upon a time lost his nerve, and as he as- sumed command the lines became unsteady, and a panic was threatened. Then for the first time they heard his voice above the din of battle, shouting encouragement to them: “Stand fast, men, stand fast! Steady down there on the left, and don’t throw away your cartridges!” He could not be seen a dozen feet away through the smoke, but his voice was steady and full of fight, and the fear of disaster was replaced by grim determina- tion. Confident in the strength of numbers and determined to make it a slaughter, the Indians pressed recklessly forward. The lieutenant was down on the left flank when the bullets began.to fly in there, and a ser- geant and ten men were left-faced to meet the danger. He was up on the right flank when the yelling warriors bore down upon it, and a sergeant and ten men were right- faced to drive theth back. Ten minutes later the horse holders were being shot down from the rear, but the Heutenant and a corpora] and four or five privates were quickly there and making every bullet count. “He's a daisy! He's a fighter! He's got the nerve of old Crook himself!” said the troopers to each other as they filled the chambers of their Spencers. After half an hour the fire of the Indians began to slacken. Help might come at any moment to the little band hoiding out co determinedly. There had been no order to retreat—no signs of a panic. The troopers were lying behind rocks and bushes and in rifie pits dug by their knives, and they were shooting to kill. The Indian has pluck, but lacks persistency. If victory cannot be won at a dash he anticipates de- feat. It was so in this instance. Surprised at the fierce defense—fearful of a superior force coming down upon them—dispirited at their losses, which were five to one, they made ready to draw off. Then the exultant, cheering trcopers heard the voice of the lieutenant shouting: “Up, men, and into your saddles! We have stood them off—we have driven the! away—but that is not enough!” > There were forty-eight troopers who f£wung themselves into the saddle and fol- lowed the boy lieutenant as he dashed out at the body of Indians slowly riding away. With ringing cheers, with sabers flashing, the little band drove dewn into the mass and through it, cutting and slashing and shouting defiance under the cloud of dust. Back they came, fighting more like demons than men, and then the Indians broke and fled in terror, and halted not until they were miles away. More than forty of them lay dead and wounded. Of the troopers ten were-dead, twenty wounded. And that night, after the general had complimented the boy Meutenant and every officer had taken: him by the hand, the private soldiers called to each other across the camp fires: “Who lost his nerve? Who's under the ban? Who can’t fight? Well, I guess not —not for Joseph!” He Found the Pin. From the Dublin Mail. At an entertainment in Dublin a thought- reader boasted that he could find a markad pin hidden by one of the audience. The pin was hidden by a Trinity student in an ad- joining room in the presence of the com- mittee, among whom was a confederate. The student, suspecting the man from his looks, slyly took away the pin from its hid- ing place. On his return to the platform the thought-reader gazed into the hider's face, and, putting his hand to his brow, was blindfolded and led the student to the hid- ing-place, but of course could find no pin. He returned, acknowledging his defeat, and looked daggers at his confederate. “‘Now, gentlemen,” said the student, “I'll under- take to say that if this diviner of the hu- man mind will do as I tell him, half the audience, without a single hint, will know where the pin is;” and turning to the thought-reader, he said: “Sit down.” He did so. There was a yell, and jumpipg up the thought-reader hastily pulled from his coat tails the marked pin. eS Women in Germany. From the London Daily News. ns The Berlin University is gracious enough to allow a modest share of its privileges to wemen who work independently in its laborateries. Miss Else Koettgen is busy with physiological optical studies under Arthur Konig ir. the physical department of the physiological institute. Last year she published in Wiedemann’s “Annaler” @ paper on the spectral composition of different sources of light. In the same in- stitute Miss Paula Gunther makes anatom- ical drawings, and is assisting Dr. Benda in a hand atlas of the doctrine of tissues, and her name is kindly mentioned on the title page together with that of Dr. Benda. Mrs. Anna Held and Miss Von Zglincka make drawings for the zoological collection of the Natural History Museum. —-—s00 Temperance Mansion. From Tid Bits. “I see you are building a new house, Mr. Bung.” “Yes, you are right.” “Made the money out of whisky, I sup- Pose?” “No.” “Why, you are a liquor dealer, are you not?” . “Oh, yes! But the money I’m putting into this house was made out of the wa- ter I put into the whisky. Every farthing Was made out of the water, sir.” A Clerical Hint. From Harper's Bazar. “I tell you, my brethren,” cried the rec- tor, ‘the devil does not stay at home; he’s at work—he is abroad.” “I know what's coming,” whispered the head warden to his wife. “He’s going to put in a bid to be allowed to go abroad after him.” DRIVEN INTO HYSTERICS. Frantic at the Sight or Presence of a Cat. From the New York Tribune. At’s a subject that is frequently talked about, but it is a fact that the natural antipathies between certain persone and certain animals furnish fresh food for won- der and conjecture constantly. Every one knows well enough the aversion that the majority of people have for snakes—the horrifying dread that their presence ex- ated completely. She was so sensi is that itive in erscaiar that her family declares pon entering a room, if there were a perth pared anywhere within it, she less it ccme hysterical. In fact joke on her that on = pecans casion, fe this she became absolutely terrified, and, rush- ing up to a young man who was a total stranger to her, seized him about the neck, orae. desperately till the cat was taken The girl was thoroy weakness, as she it, she was absolutely powerless in the mat- told her if @ cat were anywhere near her, @ moment she detected it straightway lost all her self-possession, ———+-er.___— Old English Coal Records. From All the Year Round. There is a record, dated 852, of the re ceipt of twelve cartloads of fossil-coal at the Abbey of Peterborough, and this was, assuredly, not the first case of production and delivery. The deeds of the Bishopric of Durham contain records of grants of land to liers as far back as 1180, in various of the county. In the year 1239 a Was granted by Henry III to the of Newcastle-on-Tyne to dig coal fields belonging to the castle, and it or about this year that coal was first sent to London. Very early inthe fourteenth century evidence abounds of a large con- B levied fines to prevent it. Another charter, or license, was granted to the freemen of Newcastle in Edward llf's time to work coal within the town walls, and in the year 1367 coal began to be worked at Winlaton, in the neighbor- bood where George Stephenson was to evolve the locomotive 400 years later, whije himself a werker at the coal pits. ———_+e2-_____ What Did G. P. 0. Mean? From Notes and Queries, : “One of the most curious blunders of an author was that made by Thackeray, when collecting material for his ‘Irish Sketch Bock.’ Driving along a road, he saw at due intervals posts set up with the letters ‘G. P. O.’ upon them. Overtaking a peasant, he inquired the meaning of these initials, and was gravely informed that they stood for ‘Gcd Preserve O'Connell! Out came the tourist's note book, in which a mem~- orandum wes at once jotted down of the curious statement. In ‘the first edition of the sketches the fact was duly mentioned, but it was suppressed in all the subsequent issues, owing to the tardy discovery that the initials stood for ‘General Post Office,’ peek that the highway was a post read.” It is due to the memory of William Make- peace Thackeray to say that the above -- happened not to him, but to Lord Hadding- ton when riding into Dublin from Kings- town in 1834. See “Private Correspondence of Daniel O'Connell,” by W. J. Fitzpatrick (London, J. Murray), volume 1, page 504. Animal Vision. From the Spectator. There is little positive evidence that the larger quadrupeds, oxen, deer, the felidae er dogs, have much sense of color, and their power of vision in its wider sense varies so grzatly in different species as to suggest that the mentai factor in sight is often so littie exerted for the main pur- pose of discerning objects as to leave its more specialized use for distinguishing color very .imperfectly developed. Domes- tic animals, which see bright colors other than green in large masses more frequently than wild ones, might be supposed to ex- hibit the conscioutness of such differences in the most pronounced way. Yet it is next to impossible to cite an instance in which a dog exhibits curiosity as to color, or identifies an object by its hue. The writer has seen a setter refuse to retrieve a black rabbit because it appar- ently thought its master had shot a black cat. But a house-living dog shows no pref- erence for a red carpet or rug over a blue or variegated one, and expresses no sur- prise or curicsity whether its master wears a red uniform or a black evening suit. Do- mestic cattle are so far affected by vio- lent contrast of white and dark that the presence of a black, white or very clearly spotted animal in the herd sometimes re- sults in calves being thrown of the same color or markings. But though red is said to irritate a bull and to excite hunters by association of ideas, the latter statement rests partly on surmise. They are equally excited by the sound or sight of hounds, or of a number of riders, whatever the color of their coats. None of the cats, whether wild or tame, shows any partiality for bright hues, and among all the stratagems used from time immemorial by hunters, the use of color as a lure for quadrupeds is notably absent. ———— A Million Years. From the Critic, A current paragraph reports Mrs. Thos. KK, Beecher as having concluded a conver- sation on immortality, in which Mark Twain had “taken the agnostic side,” by asking him whether he would confess. his error if he should “meet her in heaven @ million years hence. Mark promised that he would, and sealed the promise by writ- ing appropriate stargas on three stones found on the banks of the Chemung river, the three stones being fragments of t once was a single rock. The “contract” is dated Elmira, N. Y., July 2, 1895, and here are the terms of it: “If you prove right and I prove wrong, ‘A million years from now, In language plain and frank and strong, ‘My error I'll avow (To your dear, mocking face.) “If I prove right, by God His graca, Full sorry 1 shall be, For in that solitude no trace ‘There'll be of you and me, (Nor of cur vanished race.) “A million years, O patient stove! You've waited for this mexsag-. Deliver it a million ycars—, Survivor pays expressage. Proof Thercof. From the Chicago Daily Tribune. “Here is an item,” said Mr, Chugwater, who was looking over his morning paper, “about a man that fell from the thirteenth floor of a skyscraper the other day.” “Did it kil him?” asked Mrs. Chugwater. “Kill him? He never knew what hurt him. “J might have known it,” rejoined Mrs, Chugwater, rubbing her nose thoughtfully, “Thirteen is such an unlucky number!” ——__+o+—_____ Necessary Information. From Life Madge—“I suppose you are happy now. You have the engagement ring?” Marjorie—‘No, my dear. I won't be per- fectly happy until I find out what it cost,’ +00 The Mother of Inveition. From Harper's Bazar. “What be ye pullin’ of the pig’s tail fer, Mandy?” x “Well, you see the dinner horn’s broke, and my voice ain’t strong enough to reach where the hands are, so I hit on this idea.”