Evening Star Newspaper, January 4, 1896, Page 19

THE PARIS SEASONS Features Characteristic of Different Periods in the Calendar. WHEN THE TCORISTS VISIR THE CITY Sources of Amusement and Recre- ation Availab SUMMER DULLNESS Special Correspondence of The Evening Star. PARIS, December 23, 1895. PTTAHE PARIS YEAR begins with stress, for the old year Is still ending. The house is full of flow- ers and bonhons; complimentary _let- ters continue to be received by every mail, but master and mistress are preoccu- pied with graver matters. It is the period for settling financial accounts. ‘The crea.i system is much mere in vogue in France thar in America, and one of its features is the running of bills through- cut she year. The first two weeks in Jan- wary are spent by every one in calling in money, scrutinizing b'lls, in disputes, de- mands, excuses and recriminations. Paris ‘tself at this season lies in a blue- Kray haze, which {s beginning more and more to resemble the London fog. The is damp and the cold 1s raw. Snow will scarcely fall till February, and there is reg- ularly Little ice, but the low temperature such ss :t is makes itself felt strongly. ‘The crow‘ls who risked pneumonia to stroll the Boulevard at Christmas time and see the Chr’stmas fair no longer stroll. The people hurry, even on the great Main street of Paris. Hot air, laden with the perfume ©f sauerkraut, Frankfort sausages, on‘on Venen Bills Come In. soup, boiled crabs and “American grogk,” bursts forth from the swinging double doors cf brasseries; hot air, laden with the aroma of coffee, brandy and tobacco,bursis, forth from the swinging double doors of cafes In side the brasseries and cafes it is a frequent thing to find no seat. The great crowds s't there huddled in thelr wraps and overeoats, the ladies and the gentle- men together, sipping hot drinks, playing <tominoes or cards and chatting, the ladies h their feet on Ettle wooden stools to he protected from the cold draught of the flocr. The theater is the main topic of con- ¥ersition, for in the theater you also keep warm and forget the somber blue-gray fog. ‘The theaters are old-fashioned, dingy, un- carpeted, stuffy, ill-ventilated; in most of them boys in unifcrm sell candy, oranges and newspapers between the ac erying them and marching through the aisles af- ter the fashion of hucksters) The drop curtains are blocked off inte advertising On the Ice. space, ond the buffets, cramped promenad- ing halls between the acts, smell stale and strong. Yet every one is snug in a Paris- jan theater, packed tight between his neighbors, and the smell of leaking gas and orange peel and perspiration, violet powder and damp clothes exhilarates. ‘The masked balls of the opera begin in Jenvar d coatinue en till March. One is a military ball of most surpassing splen- <or—not 2 masked ball—and all lady tour- ists ought to see it. Now ‘s the great sea- so, of such establishments as the Paris and the Meulin Rouge. ve the'r little masked halls week nd week ont, on Thursday Satur- day nights throughout January and Febru- In Rainy Wenther. And every night their great halls > a really brilliant crowd. The reason t far to seek. Such immense prome- places, enlivened by color, lights, th, perfumes, music and drink make | again in the bleak, dismal winter that gregarious, flirtatious fe with which Paris ispense and which in autumn, spring and summer !s found in the parks, the boulevards and streets. No one need ke lonely in Paris, even though he have no friends and be bankrupt in reputation and unfit for pleasing. The {I- fusion of companioship to the fullest ex- tent is to be found by day in the cafes and by night in these resorts. Not to attempt to mention the thousand and one small concerns of the Latin Quarter and Mont- martre, there are eleven great ones scat- tered through the capital, where thousands mingle, as at a great fair, night after night. In all, the promenade is the true feature. As to the outdoor Ife of February its THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, JANUARY 4, 1896~TWENTY-FOUR PAGES, marks are skating in the Bois and the not tco gay festival of Mard! Gras. The weath- er is too disagreeable for the latter, and its gayety is put off unt!l the 12th of March, the Mi-Careme—mid-Lent. The weather has been horribly wet in March, with what they. call the “giboulee”—a species of light, as- sorted storm of mixed wind, rain, sleet and great flakes of soft, quick-melting snow. ‘tne Dog Show. M:-Careme really marks the spring. Paris breathes again. The people throng the street. This mid-Lent carn'val, favored alike by the present atheistic government and the Paris weather, is a landmark of the Paris year, like Christmas. The morning begins with stir and jollity, swells at noor to a triumphal municipal feast, with the parade of Paris washerwomen and Latin Quarter students, bursts into a second splen- dor in the afternoon and early evening witb At the Race Course. the confetti throwing on the Boulevard, and culminates at night with the last masked ball of the opera and masked balls in all the smaller prumenade establishments. Now spring has begun—technicaliy on the i9th of March. The marks of Paris from tow until the end of April have to do with the open air. The round of the suburban fairs has begun. The ham fa‘r, the ginger- bread fair and the Montmartre fair draw all Paris to their cheap delights. These fairs are rclics of a time when all the quar- ters of Paris were independent suburban villages, cach with its feast week in the spring, such as ovr operagoers know in “Martha.” Now that Paris has grown around them and they are swallowed up in the great city, the quarters still assert their ancient rights to turn their streets into a Pandemonium upon the consecrated date, and so attract the money of all other quar- ters to them. In a more aristocratic order of ideas—al- though the aristocrats are the first to run to Wine Shop Keepers. thes2 cheap fairs—the battle of flowers of the Bois de Boulogne, the dog show and the Rose-Croix and the -independent salons fill the time till May 1, when Labor da; is in the minds of ail. Easter has brought out the first hints of spring coquettishness of ladies’ dress, though it is not the great date as with us for hats. In Paris the great bloom- ing of spring toilets bursts upon the world in May, with the opening of the two great salons. Easter is a_present-giving feast, almost as great as Christmas, the presents being ser-t out in large papier-mache Easter eggs that oven in the middle. April 1 is the day of fools, as with us, the favorite trick being to send to innocent strangers of your acquaintance tickets of admission to “enter the interior of the ob- elisk.” Indeed, it is one of the sights of Paris to stand near that solid granite mon- ument of the Place de la Concorde on April 1 and watch them all come trooping up to “enter.” The crowd of inwardly couvulsed loafers around the obelisk a: 3 to deceive tne Innoagnt hearers of tickets. They Hustle through importantly, ticket in hand, ap- proach one of the four policemen aiways there on guard on April Fool's The reliceman looks at the ticket gravel ‘an’t enter new,” he explains. ‘The int does rot On May 1, Labor di in every quarter. The de trie of the Avenue of the Champs with all the new pictures of the its gre a barracks. The garden of the Tuileries and parts of the Champs Elysees are for- bidden the putiic, and stacked rifles take the place of childre: The Place de la Concorde is patro! of police, ndus- lon, has 1 interior court made ror one nigh’ Election Customs. and everywhere throughout the streets groups and gatherings are dispersed. The active demonstrations of the police in this respect have been much commented on of late years, many people thinking that these alleged guardians of the peace—certainly : among the more advanced impres- the most offensive, cowardly and teasing police of Europe—do more to fan the’ em= bers of popular discontent than all the elo- quence of revolutionary journals. x May is marked by the two great picture shows. Everyone in Paris 1s a_ partisan,’ either of the revolted salon of the Champ de Mars or of the more conservative salon of the Champs. Elysees. The varnishing day of the latter is certainly the more bril- lant of the two, everything contributing to this result, situation, habit and the set- tled taste of the smarter set of people who are not, necessarily, in too great sympathy with the beauty of ugliness which flour- sionists. These two salons mark the burst- ing into bloom of the brilliant spring sea- son of Paris, the most charming of all sea- sons in the gay French capital. There are those who prefer Paris in the autumn, when the leaves of the parks and boulevards are coloring and fluttering, when the streets are filling after the dull’ sum- mer, when the stails are full of tempting, new, yellow-bound books. But no one will dispute the triumph of the spring. Sum- mer does not begin technically until the 20th of June. And May and June are the two months in which to visit Paris. Un- fortunately for the tourist—or for Paris these two months are the everywhere. best months Italy is charming still in May, Vieuna blooms like the rose in June, Switzerland is in its glory, and it is just the time to visit Berlin. One cannot be in two places at once, and so the tourist, who is obliged to have a settled route, is sure to bring up in Paris in the less interesting month of July, or in the deadly month of August, when the town is given over to him to explore and think that he is seeing Paris. Paris is Paris in May, at the time of the salons and the carriage parades of the Allee des Acacias, in June at the Grand x and the right feast at the Jardin de Paris, when the dogs are clipped, when the ladies throw off their. cloaks, when the Neuilly fair is at its helght, and when the strawberries and asparagus are coming in. July is still not so bad, although the smarter people have already quit the town. Indeed, for the smaller people, the great population of lower-middle-class Paris, it is a month full of importance. Now takes place the distribution of prizes in each school, government and private. School vacations will soon be beginning, and it is now the examination month. Considering the astounding importance made of school certificates with respect to the future of the youth of France, July is the most im- portant month of the year for a large sec- tion of the population. The public competi- tions at the Conservatoire are made of great account in particular. In the ex- terior and visible life of the capital the cul- mination of July is in the national fete, the 14th of the month, the anniversary of the destruction of the Bastille. It is a day that resembles_as much as possible our own glorious Fourth, and if its souvenirs are uot so clean and dignified, they are the best the French republic has. The 14th July has the reputation of being the great day té get drunk in. The low- class Paris wine-shop Keeper is always rep- resented as a stout, brutal, heavy jowled person, with a stubby, black mustache, al- ways in his shirt sleeves, and generally First of May. with his sleeves rolled up. He has a prom- inent abdomen, which he walks behind, gravely, and frequently wears a heavy | apron, which has a kangaroo-like pocket | for the reception of a half dozen bottles | when he brings them up from the cellar. ‘The 14th of July is the great day for this ; type—“mastroquet” or the “bistro,” as the | vulgar call him. The Parisian, as a rule, } does not get very drunk and how ith of July is an exception. However tipsy one is on that glorious an- niversary, there is little danger of being ar- rested. The police look upon such aberra- tions as the result of enthusiasm for the present system, and an encouragement of themselves and what they represent. And so the tourist will see more drunken peo- ple—all of the lower classes—-on this one great fete day than he could chance on in the whole year should he stay in Paris. I say the tourist, because the better class of Paris residents escape from the capital on the 14th of July, as they would from a city striken by the plague. ; Avery one is gone by August 1, when there are only about 2,250,000 of people left in Paris. The Boulevard des liallens, the Rue Royale and the Avenue of the Champs Elysees are transferred from Paris to Trou- ville and Geauville. The great theatrical and operatic stars, and in particular those of the cafes-concerts, make their appear- ance on the chic and tiny stages of the ex- sive casinos of the Various seaside re- rts. The race horses and the jockeys do the same. And by the sea for a month the wealthy and the fashionable live over again the life of Paris in the spring. Strangely | enough the month of August, when every one is away from Paris, is the one regular- ly fixed for the general elections. Henceforth to the end of September oc- cur the real Paris dog days—and the days | in which the American tourist invariably comes to the gay capital. The streets are torn up and dirty. The smell of boiling tar is in the air. Dust is everywhere. The foliage of the parks and streets is parched. The great theaters are closed. The opera is given over to a season of debuts, regulariy uninteresting. The big shops are trying to get rid of their surplus, shelf-worn sum- mer stock. The avenues are deserted by the chic, and the Boulevard has become a wilderness of forelgners and disinherited stay-at-homes. The Moulin Rouge and the Jardin de Pa- ris, however, are in full Llast—a special season for them. In thefr promenades the tourist has the pleasure of looking at a moss of other pronienaders who are regil- larly tourists, ke himself. Every one is and the | drinki too much Munich beer, ery one is eating too much fruit. Ev one is thinking what a doleful place this Paris is. “What season do you prefer in the country?” “The’ autumn, suret “And why?’ Becau then we cor School Begins, That is supposed to be the right sentiment. And in October the great movement is certainly toward Ps gain; although the aristocrats and the great ones of ‘ republican society” will not come straggling back for several months. This is the season for new books, the Paris publishers, as a whole, having the practice of bringing out the majority of their novelties in October and November. The theaters reopen, the private carriages are again to be seen on the avenves and in the Bois, the students reappear in the Latin quarter, and the Boulevard begins to he lf again. The air is crisp and bracing, unlike ihe damp dreariness of the winter, | and every one and everything takes on a look of hope and confidence and crispiness. November sees the reopening of the gambling clubs, the betting over billiards, the most brilliant season of autumn rac- ing. The great date, however, is the 2d of November, which is the Day ‘of the Dead. Then the tourist, if he be lucky enough to find himself in Paris, may get a queer flavor, perhaps heretofore undreamed of, certainly surprising, of the Paris charac- ter. On the Day of the Dead every Par- isian, or, what amounts to the same thing, gome member of every Parisian family, solemnly purchases a black and purple bead wreath and takes it to the cemetery | ot | passed by a state legislatur 19 where his dead lie buried. Not only this. In ‘every cemetery ‘there is a ‘great central- column, or gétéral monument. Those whese dead lié ‘btrted in distant grave yards, in other countries or in other cities, Place thelr wreathssaround this column “‘of the common <a} ’ For three days this visiting of the Cemfteries goes on, figuring into the hundreds of thousands of persons and wreaths. Awound every cemetery for several blocks half the litile retail shops stop all their other, trade to deal in mourn- ing emblems. " ~* It is now the*full Paris winter season. The theaters have all their new winter niec , each thegten one new piece which it will endeavor ®,rup until the beginning of February, at leaSt,'to the exclusion of all Military Ball. others. Bicycling, which had been aristo- cratic in the spring, to become the mark of the clerk and stay-at-home in the sum- mer, now resumes Its fashionab!e sway. The winter has begun, with its 5 o'clock teas in every household with the slightest pre- tention to gentility, with the great soctal functions and the smoke-laden cafe after- noon and eventng recreations of the poor. Christmas will soon be at hand, with Its toy fair on the Boulevard, and New Year, with its flowers and calls amd cards—and bills. STERLING HEILIG. A CONSTITUTIONA IMPOSSIBILITY. Ex-President Harrison Thus Cha: terizen Secession From the Union. From the Ladies’ Home Journal. “Our government is not a confederation of states, but as stricily a government of the people as is any state government,” writes ex-President Harrison, discussing “This Country of Ours.” “It is true,” he continues, “that the vote upon amendments is by states, in state conventions or in state legislatures, and that in various other ways the states are recognized and used In the administra- tion of the national government. It could hardly have been otherwise. But the con- struction of Mr Calhoun and of the seces- sionists that our Constitution is a mere compact between independent states; that any state may withdway from the Union for any breach of the conditions. cf the compact, and that each state is to judge for itself whether dine compact has’ heen broken, has no support, either in the his- tory of the adoption of the Constitution or in the text oj instrument Itself. “The Constitution,and laws of the United States (ake hold‘of and deal with each in- dividual, not as_a citizen of this or that ate, but as a chtizdn of the United States ach of us owes allegiance to the United States—io obey and support its Constitu- ton and laws; and no act or ordinance of any state can absolve us or make it law- ful for us to disohay the laws or t the authority of the United Sinies. We owe another .allegiance, cach to his own state, tg support and obey its constitution and ldvs, provided these do not conflict. with the Constitution: and laws of the United States. r “The question ‘whither an act of Con- eres is unconstitutional, or whether an act ny officer of the Unite States, done officially, is unauthorized, must, of course, be decided by theseourts of ‘the United States—in the last resort by the Supreme Court. A power In a state court finally to declare a law of the United States in- valid would be destructive of national au- thority, and, indeed, of the national ex- istence. There can be, in a proper con- stitutional sense, no secession and no war Letween a state and the United States, for no ordinance repudiating the national authority or organizing resistance to it can have any legal sanction, even when —s IN ANCESTORS, A STUDY Result of Following Up, or Rather Down, the Family Line. From the Chicago Record. A South-side man tells a good story on himself. He comes of revolutionary stock and his family for several generations back has been prominent in New York state, but he has rever worried much about his an- cestry, having beén too busily engaged in trapping the unwary dollar. His wife comes of good old Virginia stock and knows all about her lineage. She has frequently in- sisted that her husband make some effort to trace his family history, of which he could give no earlier account than that one of his uncestors moved from Massachu- setts to Connecticut about 1760. As the family name is thoroughly English she be- | Heved it possible that this ancestor came in direct line from some old Pilgrim settler. At last husband yielded to ler persua- sions and wrote to a “specialist” in the east to find out what he could about the family in Massachusetts prior to 17. In the course of a few weeks he received a letter reporting progress. The man who i up family histories said he had ob- tained 2 clew. He had learned from early records that in —, Mass., in 1685, one James had been sentenced for six hours in the stocks for public intoxication, and that in the same town, the following year, this aforesaid James —— enjoyed the unique distinction of being the first isoner to occupy a newly built jail, the arge against him being the theft of a cask of rum. “My dear,” said the husband, wife, “we haven't got far enough along to prove that James was a relative of ours, but I think we can do it with a little more research.” “The investigation nas goue far enough,” said she. Now when she tells of her husband’s family history, she is content to dwell on the revolutionary period. + A LONG THROW. What Can Be Done on a Kentucky iStream, From the New York $yn. , The New York, drummet was leaning gracefully on the bar talking. “You may not ‘hélfeve me,” he sald, “but when I was dowfi_ip Kentucky, in October, I stood on a bit af bigh ground in Breathitt county and threw a stone into the Ken- tucky river, then, without moving my feet, though I .urned my: body slightly, I thre! one s miles down the river. interpolated a party who had heard drummers’ ‘stories before. “It's a true bill,” insisted the narrator. “It was just scven, miles from where the first stone struck the water to where the second one hit, and I'm not a base ball player either.” ">"! After some discussion the drummer held up his hand and swore to his story, and then explained that at Jackson, Breathitt county, the Kentucky river swings around a bend for seven miles and comes back to read the report to his horri-} within sixty-eight feet of itself, and a man, standing on the narrow ridge separ- ating the waters, can easily toss a stone into the river to the right or ?eft, thus making a throw of seven miles up or down the river, as the case may be. ‘This is the true state of the case. aS Traly Shocking. From the Fliegende Blaetter. “Mme. Hulda does not sing as well as she did three years ago.” “She does not? What a shock it must be when a singer discovers that she has lost her voice.” “It is still more shocking when she does not discover it.” ONE~ DASH HORSES BY STEPHEN CRANE, Author of “The Black Riders,” ete. Se ee (Copyright, 1895, by Bacheller, Johuson & Bacheller.) (Continued from Fr'day’s Star.) Synopsis. Richardson and his Mexican servant, Jose, arrive, as evening falls, at a Mexican hamlet, where they put up at a small inn. The saddles are brought in and both lie down to sleep. They are awakened by the music of a dance in the adjoining room, and Richardson overhears two Mexicans quarreling as to his robbery and possible murder. One of them—a fat, round-fazed fellow—enters the room; with a torch, fol- lowed by several companions. Finding Richardson on the alert, revolver in hand, they beat his servant, hoping to provoke him to an attack. He remains calm. Just then the voices of the girls are heard call- ing the men to the dance, and the Mexicans gradually withdraw. PART It. As stim white sheets, the black and silver of coflins, ail the panoply of death, aifect us because of that wh.ch they hide, so this bisnket, dangiing before a hole in an adobe wail, was to Richardson a horrible embiem, and a horrible thing in itseif. In his pres- ent mood R.charison could not have been brought to towch it with nis tinger. The celebrating Mexicans occasionally how.ed iu soag. The guitarist piayed with sped aud entuusiasm. Richardson longei to run. But in this © ang threatening gloom, his terror ed him that a move on his part would be a signal for the pounce of death. Jose, crouching abjectly, occasionally mum- bied. Slowly and ponderous as stars the munutes went. Suddeniy R.chardson thrilled and started. In s.eep his nerveless fingers had allowed £8 re.oiver to fali and clang upon the bard floor. He grabbed it up hastily, and his glance swept apprenensively over the room. A chill blue light of dawn was in the place. Every outline was slowly growing; ueinl was following detail. The dread blanket did not move. ‘The riotous com- pany had gone or necome silent. Richardson felt in his blood the effect cf th.s cold dawn. The canlor of breaking day brought his nerve. He touched Jose. “Come,” he said. His servant Ifted his -ined yellow face, and comprehended. Rich- ardson buckled on his spurs and strode up; Jose obediently lifted the two great saddles. R.chardson hed two bridies and a bianket on his left arm; in his right hand he held his revolver. They sneaked toward the door, The man who said that spurs jingled vas snsane. Spurs*have a mellow clash—clash-- clash. Walking in spurs—notably Mexican spurs—you remind yourself vaguely of a telegraphic lneman. Richardson was inex- pressibly shocked when he came to walk. He sounded to himself like a pair of cym- bals. He would have known of ihis if he had reitecte3; but then he was escaping, not reflecting. Hé made a gesture of despair, and from under the two saddles Jose tried to make one of hupe2iess horror. Richard- son stooped, and with shaking fingers un- fastened the spurs. Taking them in his left hand, he picked up his revolver and they slunk on toward the door. On the threshold, Richardson looked back. In a corner he saw, watching him with large eyes, the Indian man and woman who had been his hosts. Througnout the night had made no sign, and now they ne.th- Yar R.chardssn thought ne detected mek satisfaction at his depar- ture. Tue street was still and deserted. In the eastern sky there was a lemon-colored patch. Jose had picketed the horses at the side of the house. As the two men came around the corner, Richardson's animal set up a whinny of welcume. The little horse had dently heard them coming. He stood ing them, his ears cocked forward, his het with wele Richardson made a frantic gesture, but the horse, in his happiness the appear- ance of his friends, whinnied with enthu- siasm. The American felt at this tima that he could have strangled ais weil-beloved steed. Upon the threshold of satecy he was being betrayed by his horse, his frieni. He felt the same hate for the horse that he would have felt for a dragon. Ani yet, as he Sianced wildiy about him, he could see nothing stirr.ng in the street, nor at the @oors of the tomb-lixe house: Jose had his own saldie girth and both bridles buckied in a mc ni. He curled the p.cket ropes w.th a few sweeps of his arm. The fingers of Richardson, nowever, were shaking so that he could ily buckle the g.rth. His hands were in invisible mittens. He was wondering, calculat hoping about his horse. He knew the little ani inal’s willingness and courage under all cir- c.mstances vp to this time, but then—here it was different. Who could tell if some wretched instance of equine perversity was not about to develop. Maybe the little fel- low would not feel like sinoking over the Plain at express speed this morning, and so he would rebel ani kick and be wicked. Maybe he would Without fecling of in- terest, and run listlessly. All men who have had to hurry in the saddle know what 1t is to be on a horse who does not under- stand the dramatic situation. Riding a lame sheep is bliss to {t. Richardson, tum- tli_g curiously at the girth, tiought of these things. rresently he had it fastened. He swung into tne saddle, and as he did so his horse made a mad jump forward. The spurs of Jcse scratched and tore the flanks of his great black animal, and side by side the two horses raced dowh the village street. The American heard his horse breathe a quivering sigh of excitement. Those four feet skimmed. They were as light as fairy puff balls. The houses of the village glided past in a moment, and the great, clear, silent plain appeared like @ pale blue sea of mist and wet bushes. Above the mountains the colors of the sun- light_were like the first tones, the opening chords of the mighty hymn of the morning. The American iooked down at his horse. He felt in his heart the first thrill of con- fidence. The little animal, unurged «and quite tranquil, moving his ears this way and that way with an air of interest in the scenery, was nevertheless bounding into the eye of the breaking day with the speed of a frightened antelope. Richardson, jooking down, saw the long, fine reach of forelimb as steady as steel machinery. As the ground reeled past, the long, dried grasses hissed, and cactus plants were dull blurs. A wind whirled the horse's mane over his rider's bridle hand. Jose's profile was lined against the pale sky. It was as that of a man who swims alone in an ocean. His eyes glinted like metal, fastened on some unknown point | ahead of him, some mystic place of safety. Occasionally his mouth puckered in a little vnheard cry; and his legs, bended back, worked spasmodically as his spurred heels sliced the flanks of his charger. Richardson consulted the gloom in the west for signs of a hard-riding, yelling cavalcade. He knew that whereas his friends the enemy had not attacked him when he had sat still and with apparent calmness confronted them, they would cer- tainly take furiously after him now that he had run trom them—now that he had con- fessed to them that he was the weaker. Their valor would grow like weeds in the spring, and upon discovering his escape they would ride forth dauntiess warriors. Sometimes he was sure he saw them. Scmetimes he was sure he heard them. Continually looking backward over his shoulder, he siudied the purple expanses where the night was marching away. Jose rolled and shuddered in his saddle, per- sistently disturbing the stride of the blac! horse, fretting and worrying him until the wnite foam flew, and the great shoulders shone like satin from the sweat. At last, Richardson dr his horse care- fully down to a walk. Jose wished to rush insanely on, but the American spoke to him sternly. As the two paced forward side by side, Richardson’s little horse thrust over his soft nose and inquired into the black’s ecndition. Kiding with Jose was like riding with a corpse. His face resembled a cast in lead. Sometimes he swung forward and almost pitched from his seat. Richardson was too frightened himself to do anything but hate this man for his fear. Finally, he issued a mandate which nearly caused Jose's eyes to slide out of his head and fall to the ground like two silver coins. “Ride behind me—about fifty paces.” “‘Senor—" stuttered the servant. “Go,” cried the American, furiously. He glared at the other and laid his hand on his revolver. Jose looked at his master wildly. He made a piteous gesture. Then slowly he fell back, watching the hard face of the American for a sign of mercy. Richardson had resolved in his rage that at any rate he was going to use the eyes and ears of extreme fear to detect the ap- proach of danger; and so he established his servant as a sort of an outpost. As they proceeded he was obliged to watch sharply to see that the servant did not slink forward and join him. When Jose made beseeching circles in the air with his_arm he replied by menacingly gripping his revolver. ‘S Jose's Moans and Cries Amounted to a University Course in Theology. Jose had a revolver, too; nevertheless, it was very clear in his mind that the re- volver was distinctly an American weapon. He had been educated in the Rio Grande country. Richardson lost the trail once. He was recalled to it by the loud sobs of his ser- vant. Then at last Jose came clattering for- ward, gesticulating and walling. ‘The little horse sprang to the shoulder of the black. They were off. 5 Richardson, again looking backward, could see a slanting flare of dust on the whitening plain. He thought that he could detect small moving figures in it. Jose's moans and cries amounted to a university course in theology. They broke continually from bis quivering lips. His spurs were as motors. They forced the black horse over the plain in great head- long leaps. = But under Richardson there ‘was a little, Insignificant, rat-colored beast, who was running apparently with almost as much effort as it requires for a bronze statue to stand still. As a matter of truth, the ground seemed merely something to be touched from time to time with hoofs that were as light as blown leaves. Occasion- ally Richardson lay back and pulled stoutly at his bridle to keep from abandoning his servant. Jose harried at his horse's mouth, flopped around in the saddle, and made ‘his two heels beat Ike flails. The black ran like a horse in despair. Crimson serapes in the distance resem- bled drops of Mood on the great cloth of plain. Richardson began to dream of all possi- ble chances. ‘Although quite a humane man, he did not once think of his servant. Jose being a Mexican, it was natural that he should be killed in Mexico; but for him- self, a New Yorker— He remembered all the tales of such races for life, and he thought them badly written. The great black horse was growing in- different. The jabs of Jose’s spurs no longer caused him to bound forward in wild leaps of pain. Jose had at last suc- ceeded in teaching him that spurring was to be expected, speed oF no speed, and now he took the pain of it dully and stolidiy, as an animal who finds that doing his best gains: him no respite. Jose was turned into a raving maniac. He bellowed and screamed, working his arms and heels like one ina fit. He re- sembled a man on a sinking ship, who ap- peals to the ship. Richardson, too, cried Madly to the black horse. The spirit of the horse ~esponded to these calls, and, quivering and breathing heavily, he made a great effort, a sort of final rush, not for himself, apparently, but be- cause he understood that his life’s sacri- fice, perhaps, had been Invoked by these two men, who cried to him in the universal tongue. Richardson had no sense of ap- Preciation at this time—he was too fright- ened—but often now he remembers a cer- ‘ain black horse. From the rear could be heard a yelling, and once a shot was fired—in the air, evi- dently. Richardson moaned as he looked back. He kept his hand on his revoiver. He tried to imagine the brief tumult of his capture—the flurry of dust from the hoofs horses pulled of suddenly to their The Fat Mexican Fairly Groveled on His Horse's Neck. haunches, the shrill, biting curses of the men, the ring of the shors, his own last contortion. He wondered, too, if he could not somehow manage to pelt that fat Mex- ican, just to cure his abominabie egotism. It was Jose, the terror-stricken, who at last discovered saf@ty. Suddenly he gave a how! of delight and astonished his horse into a new burst of speed. They were on a little ridge at the time, and the American at the top of it saw his servant gallop down the slope and into the arms, so to speak, of a small column of horsemen in gray and silver clothes. In the dim light of the early morning they were 4s vagu: as shadows, but Richardson knew them a ence for a detachment of ruraies, that crack cavalry corps of the Mexican army which polices the plain so zealously, being Auntic—“Well, wea Ne you seen your EMe—“Very much, ti you, Auntie.” Auntie—“And I suppose mamma was there to jook after you?” Effie—“Oh, no! mamma and I don't belong to the same set!”—Punch. of themselves the law and the arm of it @ fierce and swift-moving body that knows little of prevention, but much of vengeance. They drew up suddenly, and the rows of great silver-trimmed sombreros bobbed if surprise. Richardson saw Jose throw himself from his horse and begin to jabber at the leader of the party. When he afrived he found that his servant had already outtined the entire situation, and was then engaged in tescr b+ him (Richardson) as an Ameri- can senor of vast wealth, who was the friend of almost every governmental poten- tate within 200 miles. This seemed to pro- foundly impress the officer. He bowed gravely to Richardson and smiled signifi- — at his men, who unslung their car- ines. The little ridge bid the itsuers from View, but the rapid thud of thelr horses’ feet could be heard. Occasionally they yelled and called to each other. Then at last they swept over the brow of the hill, a wild mob of almost fifty drunken horsemen. When they discerned the pale- uniformed rurales they were sailing down the slope at top speed. If toboggans half way down & hill should suddenly make up their minds to turn around and go back, there would be an ef- fect somewhat like that now produced by the drunken horsemen. Richardson saw the rurales serenely swing their carbines forward, and, peculiar-minded person that he wes, felt his heart lap into his throat at the prospective volley. But the officer rode forward alone. It appeared that the man who owned the best horse in this astonished company was the fat Mexican with the snaky mustache, and, in consequence, this gentleman was quite a distance in the van. He tried to pull vp, wheel his horse and scuttle back over the hill, as some of his companions had done, but the officer called to him in a voice harsh with rage. howled the officer. “This senor is my friend, the friend of my friends. Do you dere pursue him, ? =] 4 These lines represent terrible names, all different, used by the officer. The fat Mexican simply groveled on his horse's neck. His face was green; it could be seen that he expected death. The officer stormed tensity 3 ? Finally he sprang from his saddle, and, runnirg to the fat Mexican’s side, yelled: “Go”"—and kicked the horse in the belly with all his might. The animal gave a mighty leap into the air, and the fat Mexi- can, with one wretched glance at the con- templative rurales, aimed his steed for the top of the ridge. Richardson again gulped ‘n expectation of a volley, for—it is said— this is one of the favorite methods of the rurales for disposing of objectionable peo- ple. The fat, green Mexican also evidently thought that he was to be killed while on the run, from the miserable look he cast at the troops. Nevertheless, he was allowed te vanish in a cloud of yellow dust at the ridge top. Jose was exultant, defiant, and, oh, brist- ling with courage. The black horse was arcoping sadly, his nose to the ground. Richardson's little animal, with his ears bent forward, was staring at the horses of the rurales as if in an intense study. Rich- ardson longed for speech, but he could only bend forward and pat the shi silken shoulders. The little horse turned head and looke back gravely. (The end.) “An Engagement,” the first story written tr Robert Peel, son of the late speaker of the house of commons, will begia next Monday. —_—__+e-+- GOOD MATERIAL FOR CAVALRY. Very Many of Our Young Men Are Good Riders. From the New York Times. _ The foreign-born citizens who have been engaged as riding instructors at the various riding schools in and around New York and elsewhere have not been hesitant in their disparaging remarks on the Amecrican cavairy. While the United States does not boast of a large standing army, we have no hesitancy in saying that the few regiments of cavalry who have seen service on the Plains will not only compare favorably with the mounted men of other nations, but that for the particular kind of work to which they have been trained they are without equals in the world. We have had no rea- son to keep men in training; but. if put to the test we could certainly raise a magniti- cent army in @ very short time. Uniixe the early days of the recent rebellion, we would have plenty of horsemen to call upo: Whereas in earlier days cquestrianism was unknown, comparatively speaking, it has in latter days become so genera! as a means of exercise, recreation and health that old and young are fairly coo1 riders. The various sports of polo, huating and racing have served 10 stimulaze Interest in equitation. The militia troops formed throughout the country—nozebly swnadron A of New York—are also factors. All of these sources would be -irawn upon for officers rather than for privaze soldiers. They do not represent a large number in comparison with the forces necessary to cope with a foe, but they would certain prove a valuable nucieas on which to brild. The argument is used against us that the citizen soldier would stand no show with the trained and disciplined soldier of Great Britain. We must admit that the odds would be against us at first in the same ratio that maintains in any contest where the amateur meets ihe professtonsl. Huw- ever, .we thay find :onsola.ion in tke fect that the general average of iute!licence would prove a weighty advantage in our favor, when once we had set our minds and bodies to the task of bes>oming professional, a se --—__ What He Needs. From the Cuscago Post. “What I need,” said the statesman in speaking of his work in Washington, “is a good private secretary to look after | my correspondence so that I can give more lime ‘to affairs in the House” “What you need,” returned his constit- uent earnestly, “is a real good man to edit your speeches, while you attend to your correspondence, It would be foolish to haye your letters more concise and better written than your public addresses.” party last nigatz” with magi nificent in-.