Evening Star Newspaper, January 18, 1896, Page 19

IS HE AN ARMENIAN? |i? Svs Heary Norman Says the Sultan is Not a Tork. SHUEP EONUCH ONE OF HIS CORFIDANTS Mow He Treats His Ministers and Receives His Guests. HORROR OF THE PALACE ——e—— . McClure, Limited.) 4iE CHARACTER OF [ the Sultan of Turkey is the most profound mystery of our time. Some of us have seen him. We know his origin and history, ~ wavhate studied his rule in his own 2ant- tal, we are acquaiu.- ed with the facts of bis reign, and we have questioned the few men who during NS > recent years have talked intimately with him face to face But all this affords no clue to the mystery. Here is an Asiatic, first a debauchee and later a religious fanatic; who has hardty seen a civilized city or had a civilized man for his friend; who lives in the strictest se- clusion, fearing imstant assassination; who rules over a people nine-tenths of whom look upon him as a political and religious usurper; who has seen during his reign vast territories detachel from his kingdom; who has been crushed in a great war; who has let a powerful fleet go to utter ruin, and a splendid army totally degenerate; who, finally, was once the ally of Great Britain and France, and Is now without a supporter ameng all nations. Yet he is able to defy Europe; with impunity to outrage the con- science of the civilized world; to trample under foot every solemn engagement that kas been wrung from him; to score one dip- Joma’ victory after another over six of the most experienced and wily ambassadors living; to laugh at the pressure of powers whose battle ships could lay every coast Henry Norman. town In Turkey in ashes in a few hours, and who could set in motion ten millions of ; and, finally, when he has at last been constrained to promise life and liberty to an oppressed people, deliberately set about to exterminate them. This man, I say, is the greatest mystery of our time. Moreover, I do not believe amysody lives who can ex- Sain him. Certainty, 1 make no pretense to do so, but I have recently been studying ham at rather close range, and that I am Pot without some intimate knowledge of his movements is perhaps proved by the fact that I knew, and published im the London Chronicie, his acceptance of the project of Armenian reforms twenty-four hours before anyone else in Earope. Therefore, I may perhaps throw a Hitle light cpon the mys- tery. The Person of Abdul Hamid. Take the outward man first. Abdul Hamid If is short, bent in the back, lan- guid in movement, with occasionai par- oxysms of nervous activity. He has large ears, a large nose, large Kips, large hands and large feet. His eyes are grayish, his hair is thin ard dark, like his beard, his teeth are long and yeliow, and his com- plexion is like parchment that has been rougaly folded a dozen times. That is, ev- erything in his appearance contradicts the idea that he is an Osman—a pure Turk. In fact, he fs an Armenian. fis mother was an Armenian slave, and unless ail tra- dition lies, his father was not the Sultan Abdul Mejid, but the latter’s Armenian gardener. In this fact of his origin is to be found the seeret of the sultan’s intense and unreasonable hatred of the Armenian Tace, and aleo the explanation of many Practical qualities of statesmanship in which he excels the Turk. For the Armeni- ans ere the buyers and sellers, the money lenders and usurers, the bookKeepers, the speculators, the commercial parasites. Thus, though Abdul Hamid If has ptayed with success many a game in which @ Turk would have been utterly worsted, and though he is in name and posftion the thirty-fourth man whe Ras girded on the swerd of Osman in the sacrosanct Mosque of Byoub on the Sweet Waters of Europe, he dees not really belong to that race waich Freeman declares to have produced more great leaders of men than any other that has ever existed. He is fifty-three years old. His Daily Lite. From the man let us turn to his dafly life. On the Bosphorus, a few miles above Constantinople, is the palace of Dolma- baghcheh. It is a dream of white marble, a@ perfect fairy creation, gilttering Nike a row of Alpine summits, so gossamer in de- sign that one is tempted to think a rough wind would blow it away. Within, every- thing is of superlative beauty, and of the purest eastern art. Every rare wood, every beautiful stone, every delicacy of faience, every skill of carving, every con- ceivable luxury, has been lavished upon it. No sovereign in the world has the chance of inhabiting such a gem. Of course, you say, Abdul Hamid lives here. Fer from it. He only sets foot in it once a year, to receive the homage and the al- legiance of his subjects. He lives in a plain white marble building, ef common modern shape, on the highest point of the city—Yildiz Kiosk, “the Palace of the Star,” a name it does not deserve. The ground of his choice is simple, but sufft- cient. At Dolmabaghcheh he would be close to the water, which might bear boat loads of conspirators to his very door, and there, too, the gates of his dwellling would be passed by the crowds, among whom as- sassins might lurk. At Yildiz he is far from the dangerous waters which have drowned so many of those upon whom his displeasure has fallen. . Nobody can even approach his gates, for he surrounds him- self with thousands of troops, the only ones well paid Ip his whole empire, whose loyalty is assured by ceaseless favors and presents. Jf you wish to convince your- self of the reality of his seclusion, walk up the hill toward the gates of Yildiz. You will not have got far before a warning ery of “Yasak—it is forbidden!” reaches you. A second later the gleam of a sen- try’s bayonet and the rattle of the lock of his rifle bids you pause, and if you ap- pear to shew the slightest hesitation the hext morning will probably find you lying stiff and cold in some remote stim of Gala- ta, having obviously been killed in a mid- night brawl by some of the human scum with whom the city swarms—one man add- ed to‘the thousands of unexplained mys- teries of the Ottoman capital. For upper- most in the mind of the sult: moment of day and night is his dread of assessination. The water he drinks is brought frem a safe distance in sealed casks. His food is prepared with unimag- inable precautions and tasted by others before it reaches his lips. He never sleeps in the same place for two nights running. He has a bed room to which he ascends by a ladder, pulling it up after him. = ever he receives a forcigner he wears white gloves, lest infection should be con- veyed by a touch of the hand. Let the chief eunuch but whisper that a certain minister or officer is plotting against his life, and that man finds himself in life- long exile on the confines of the empire be- fore he is much older. I have scen men tor- lan at every | “ PHE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, JANUARY 18, 1906—~TWENTY-VOUR ‘PAGES. eyes as was betrayed by this “ of kings” as he drove through the se! ranks of thousands of saluting soldiers on his way to pray in his private mosque. It was the look on the whom the cage doar it sprung when he is lifted up to the light to be examined. At Yildiz Palace. It is this same dread that has allotted their respective yseg to the three floots of Yildiz. On the ground floor are secretaries and their offices; aboye them Osman Pasha, who held Pleyna so splendidly against the Russians, the grand chamber- lain and the chief of the secret police; in the top story live the sultan and the fa- vorite ladies of his harem. It is not at all difficult to secure an audi- ence—infinitely easier, in fact, than in any other European capital. One condition only is necessary—that you be known as a friend of Turkey and a defender of Turkish rule. Any journalist of position, for instance, who could paint to articles he had wr sympathizing with Turkish views, and yao let it be known that he was prepared to continue on the same lines, would be quite safe to haye his request for an audience granted. More than‘this, if he would send his newspaper—always supposing it to be one which the sultan knew and feared— certain statements of alleged fact and opinion which the sultan would dictate to him, representing them as derived from his 1 jowledge and experience, he could more than an audience. A bag of gold, a diamond brooch for his wife, a Turkish decoration for his buttonhole—he ita only heve to drop a veiled hint and ie Thowwould be done. “But he would be wise to leave Gons{m.tiniople soon after- ward, for seerets are 3t Kes! in ap or tal country, and he would find cold sbu" ders at the club. In fact, Turkish Money smells, and soon betrays its presence in anybcdy’s pocket. Abdal Hamid a Hard Worker. To do the sultan justice, he is a very hard working man. His ministers and creatures are llable to be summoned to Yildiz at any hour of the day or night. For instance, when I was last ‘n Constantiueple Kiamil Pasha nad not been able to secure an au- dience for many days. He had been re- Peatedly to the palace, sent in written re- ports, been kept waiting several hours, and then dismissed with a contemptuous verbal message brought to Aim by a eunuch. It must be borne in mind that whereas pre- viously ministers of state, gathered in coun- cil at the sublime porte, the headquarters of the Ottoman government in Stamboul, A to exercise real powers, the sultan act- ing upon their advice, Abdul Hamid has taken the reins of authority entirely into his own hands and most of the ministers to- day are the merest figureheads, having lit- tle real influence over Turkish affairs than any readers of these lines. They are ap- peinted and dismissed in accordance with petty personal motives, or in order to throw dust in the eyes of Europe. A set ofywax Images could do their work. The sultan does everything aimseif. An acquaintance of mine saw him one day deeply immersed in a voluminous document. A few days af- terward he had the opportunity of inspect- ing the document at the cffice of N Pasha, minister of police. It was the off report upon a scutHe that 5 in a cafe chantant bet Jew. The shadow of God was giving hours of his time to a mise le incident that in London or New York a police ma: would have dismissed in ‘iv2 minutes. The Sultan’s Four Couasellors. There are four people in the Turkish empir2 with whom the sultan takes coun- sel. They are, first, Osman Pasha, of whom I have already spoken, and who sits in the same carriage as his master when the latter is driven, at every Friday's Selam- lik, 200 yards from the palace gate to the private mosque for prayer, while 5,000 trocps fill the streets all around and rend the 2ir with two savage simultaneous shouts of welcome. ‘he second is Hassan Pasha, minister of marine, who has shared with the sultan the peculations which have reduc>d the once fine Turkish fleet to a mass of rusting iron and rotting wood, un- able ever again to leave its moorings in the Goldea Horn. The third is his own body servant, a man of the iowest extrac- tion. The fourth is hts private mollah or priest, a creature of the profoundest ig- norance and fanaticism. Ad the two lat- ter are far more influential than the two former. If to these be added the name of “his excellency, Yef2r Agha, chtef eunueh,” there is nobody else in the whole Turkish empire who counts. I must pay this man the compliment of sayiag that he is the most repulsive object in human shape that I have ever set eyes upon. The Sulien’s Mate Ennachs. There is something at Yildiz, however, worse even than these intriguing keepers of the pearls of the harem. Hidden away fram common sight and hearing are the ™ute eunuchs, rendered also speechless in earlicst childhood. These are the people of the dagger, the pillow, the bowstring and the swift-running river. In the old centuries, when the foreign ambassadors were thrust into the imperial presence with the ery, “Let the dogs come and be fed,” @ cannon boomed from seragilo ments as the strangled corpses of the vic- tims of displeasure were flung into the Bosphorus. No cannon *nowadays an- nounces the tragedies of the Palace of the Star, but they occur all the same. There are plenty of dungeons there, and they have been full lately. Men told in whispers in Constantinople the other day how seven- teen men had been single night. And any you can tell you of a score of men who have recently been summoned to Yildiz and 1 ad taken place een a Greek and a Abdal Hamid. never seen again. Within its walls live the ex-Sultan Murad V, whom the Young Tur- key or constitutional party would set upon the throne; and -the white-faced son of Abdul Aziz end his ravishing Circassian. These know well that the moment Abdul Hamid feels himself on the eve of depost- tion will be their last. They are cut off en- tirely from the outside world, and never a door opens behind them but they expect to hear the horrible imartirulate yelp of the mute executioner, springing upon them wstring in hand. Within the whited sepulcher of Yildiz, at the end of this nine- teenth Christian century, deeds are done of which one dare hardly think, be- side which Sodom and Gomorrah were re- spectable communities. Yet Abdul Hamid II seems to sit firmly on his throne, secure in the jealousies of the great powers, unabie to agree upon the division of his kingdom. One of them will do nothing to Introduce stability or further autonomy into the Balkan peninsula, pre- ferring to wait till the ripe and rotten fruit shall drop into her lap, and the hands of the cthers are thereby paralyzed. And if the sultan loses heart for a moment in the desperate game he is pleying, he can find fresh courage by thinking, as Prof. Gros- venor m his great book has recently re- minded us, that the British embassy stands upon land presented to England in grati- tude for help against Frence in 1801; that the site of the French embassy was given to France in thankfulness for aid against England in 1807; that the shaft among the cypresses in the cemetery at Scutari com- memorates English and French support against in 1867, and that another column on the tells how Russia saved Mahmoud II his empire tm 1833. “You think us weak,” said a Turkish statesman recently to a foreign ambassa- dor, “but in truth we are very strong, for our strength is rooted in your divisions.” HENRY NORMAN. THE From the Heart of Old vernor: rs te nee hte rat iE pkstute uve, tos, Se ereat Sart le. ~ ~ by Will “Allen “§ eyes! Notselessly, dreamily, with that sugges- saiiotey g a tion of charity which always lingers about | Pir ng ‘an’, golly! ‘twuz pritty. ay mt a snowstorm, fell the white down, gta over “ils “cot t Rickers on, the in the armg of the gray twilight. There | p'liceman ez aln’t folks, nielther, 1s was an air pf -degolation ghout the grim | Skinny, let him setflup’ {i a “corner o’ ‘his room down ter Black Bottom. Say, cully, does yéu know the gov'ner?”™ ~~ 5 "¥en; but go on with your story. Fell me pil ghout Skinny ang—his friend,” “Zhe tatters settl&a ‘back ‘into the purple cushions. The firelight played upon the lit- tlé old face, and thezkeat drew the dampness from the worn clothes, enveloping the thin figure in a vapor that might have been a poetic dream-mist but for the ragged reality slowly thawing in the gqod warmth. The bundle of papérs had been lifted from the sunken chest and-placed carefully hy on the crimson and olive rug, while the human bundle settled itself to tell the story of Skinny. “Me an’ him wuz on the pria’n route,” said he, “‘till—yistiddy. Teast, I wuz ther’ till yiatiddy, Riinny tuk this route last year. He begged it fur me when he—come ter quit, ‘ause I ben't ez strong ez—Solermun, you now. Wa’'n’t he the strong un? Solermua r.Merthuslem. I get mixed in them Bible ellers, But ‘twas when we wuz ter the ris’n route I larnt about Skinny’s friend, the gov’ner, you know. First ther’ wuz ole Jack Nasby up an’ got parelized, an’ wa’n't no ‘count ter nobody, let ‘lone ter the state. ‘A dead ex-pense,’ the ward’n said. He suf- ered.orful, too, an’ so'd his wife. An’ one la: inpy s2i¢ he wuz goin’ ter write a postition an’ git all the ‘fishuls ter. sign tt, in’ git the gov'ner tc? pard’n ole Nasby out. They all signed it—one o' the convic’s writ ft, but they all told Skinny ez ’twuz no use, *cause he wouldn’t do it. An’ one day, don’t yer think, when old Nasby wuz layin’ on the hospittul bunk with ‘his dead side kivered over with a pris’n blankit, an’ his wife a-cry- in’ becase the ward’n war 'bleeged ter lock her out, the gov'ner his se’f walked in. An’ what yer reckin be done? Cried! What yer think 0’ that, cully? Cried; an’ *lowed ez how ‘few folks wuz so bad et somebody didn’t keer fur ‘em,’ an’ then he called the man’s wife back, an’ p’inted ter the half-dead ole convic’, an’ told her ter ‘fetch him home.’ Did! An’ the nex’ day if the Banner didn’t tan him! Yer jest bet it did. “an? ther’ wuz a feller ther’ been in twenty year, an’ had seventy-nine more ahead uv him. An’ one night when ther’ wa'n't nobody thinkin uv it, he up an’ got erligion. An’ he ain’t no more en got it, en he warts ter git away fum ther’. Prayed fur {t constent: ‘Lord, let me out!’ ‘Lord, let me out!’ That’s what he’u'd say ez he set on the spoke pile fittin’ spokes for the Tennessee wagins; an’ a-cryin’ all the time. He couldn't take time ter cry an’ pray ’thout cheat’n’ o’ the state, yer know, so he jest erled an’ prayed while he worked. The other pris'ners poked fun at him, an’ tol’ him if he got out they 'u'd try erligion in theirn. Yorter seen him; he wuz a good un. Spec’ yer have heeard "bout him. Did yer heear "bout the big fire that bruk out in the prisin las’ November, did yer?” The governor nodded and the boy talked old state house, as, one hy one, the great doors creéaked the departure of the va- riows occupants of the honorable old pile that overlooks the city and the sluggish sweep of the Cumberland beyond. The last loitering feet came down the damp corri- dors; the rustle of a woman’s skirts sent a ghostly rattle through shadowy alcoves. The goyernor heard the steps and the rustle of the stiff bombazine skirts, and wondered, in a vague way, why it was that women would work beyond the time they bargained for. The librarian was always the last to leave, except the governor him- self. He had heard her pass that door at dusk, day in, day out, for two years, and plwaya after the others were gone. He neyer felt quite alone in the empty state house until those steps had passed by. This evening, however, they stopped, and he looked up inquiringly as the knob was care- fully turned, and the librarian entered. cs if 0 a vord for the lit- ie Suntabasies amotice,® “eke sala. "She is not a bad woman. and her provocation Was great. Moreover, she is @ woman.” He remembered the words long after the rat rr ” That was a strange plea to advance for a creature sentenced to the gallows. He sighed, and again took up the long roll of paper. “Inasmuch as she was sorely wronged, beaten, tortured by seeing her afflicted child itl-treated, we, the undersigned, do beg of your excellency all charity ard all leniency compatible with the laws of the state and the ‘oftier law of mercy.” Oh, that was an old story; yet it read well, too, that old; old petition with that old, old plea—charity. Five hundred names were signed to it; and yet, thrice five hu dred tongues would lash him if he set h own pame there. It was a hard thing—to hold life in his hand and refuse it. Those old threadbare stories, old as pain itself, had well-nigh wrought his ruin; his politi- cal ruin. At least the papers said as muc! they had sneeringly nicknamed him “Ten- der heart,” ard compared him, with a sneer, too, to that old, sterling hero—the governor’s eyes sought the east window, where the statue of Andrew Jackson loom- ed like a bronze giart amid the snowflakes and the gathering twilight. They had com- pared them, the old hero who lived in bronze, and the young human heart who bad no “backbone,” and was moved by a rogue’s cry. Yet he had loved that majestic old statue since the day he had entered the executive office as chief ruler of the state, and had fancied for a moment the old hero was welcoming him into her trust and highest honor, as he sat astride his great steed with his cocked hat lifted from the head that had indeed worn “large honors.” But he had been so many times thrust into his teeth, he could almost wish-— “Papers! Papers! Wanter paper, mister?” A thin little face peered in at the door, a face so old, so strangely unchildlike, he wondered for an instant what trick of on. “Well, that ther’ convic’ worked orfut hard at that fire. He fetched thirteen men out on his back. They wuz suf-cated, yer know. He fetched the ward’n out, too, in his arms. An’ one uv his erms-wuz burnt thet had it had ter be cut off. An’ the pria’n doc- tor said he breathed fire inter his lungs er sumthin’. An’ the next day the gov’ner para’ned uv him out. 1 wuz ther’ when the pains hed tened that knowing face of| pard’n come. The ‘wdrd’n’s voice trim’led @ man upon the misshapen body of a child. | when he read it ter.the feller layin’ bun@led Banter said the executive, “I want aj up on his fron bunk,.,.An’ when he heeard it he riz up in bed an’ysez he, ‘My prayerg is answered; tell the; boys.’ The ward'n bent over "im ¢z he dropped back an’ shet his eyes, an’ tried ter shake him’ up. ‘What must I tell the goy!nev?’ sez he. ‘Tell him, God bless him.’ An’ that wuz the he ever did say topside o” this earth. Whatcher think o’ that, cully? "Bout ez big ez the Banner's growl, wa'n't it?” The executive nodded again, while the little gossip of the siyms talked on. in his quajnt-old way af deeds the very angels must have wept te witness. “But the best uv all wuz about ole Bemis,” said he, rearranging his tatters so that the undried.portion might be turned to the fire. “Did you ever hear about Ole Bemis?” Did he? apout him? he wondered: + Yer see,” said heg!Bemis wue & bankét: @ Teg'lar rich jin. He kiltva man—kilt hit dead, too—an’ yer see, eully, ’tivuz his own son-in-law. An’ 6ne cote went dead against him, an’ they fetched ft ter t’other ‘s'premé,’ or ‘sperm,’ or sumthin’, An’ the Banher said he orter be hung, an’ would we, if the Bov'ner’d let him. Tut, if he'd cry a little, the gov’ner’d set him on his feet again, when the cotes wuz dont with him. But that cote said he mus’ hang, too, an’ they put htm in jail; an’ befo’ they had the trial, the jailer looked for a mob tet come an’ take him out at night an’ hang him. He set up late lookin’ fur it. But, ‘stid uv a mob, the jailer heeard a little pitapat on the steps, an’ a little rattle uv the door, an’ when he opened uv it, ther’ wuz a little leme crip- pled girl standin’ ther’, teanin’ on her crutches, a-cryin’ an’ a-beggin’ ter see her pappy. Truth, cully; cross my heart”—and two small fingers drew the sign of the cross upon the Jittle gossip’s breast. “‘Atter that, folks begin ter feel sorry fur the ole banker, when the jailer’d tell "bout the little crutch ez sounded up an’ down them jail halls all day. The pris’ners got ter. know it, an’ ter watt fut it, a’ they. named uv her ‘crippled angul,’ she was that white and ptitty, with her biué eyes, an’ hair Ifke tumbled-up sun- shiné all around her face, When the pris’- nets heeard the rustle uv her little silk dress breshth’ the banisters ez she clomb up- stairs, they 'u'd say, ‘Ther’s the little angul's wings.’ An’ they satd the jail. got more darker atter the wings went by. An’ when they had that ther’ las’ trial uv ole Bemis, lots 0” meanness leaked out ez -had been done him, an’ it showed ez the. pris’ner wa’n'’t 80 mightily to blame atter all. An’ lots of folks wuz hopin’ the old man ‘u'd be Plum cleared. But the cote said he mus’ hang! hang! hang! Did. An’ when it said so, the angul fell over in her pappy’s arms, an’ her crutch rolled down an’. lay. aginst the judge's foot, an’ he picked it wp an’ helt it all the time he wuz sayin’ the death sen- tence. “An’ the Banner said ‘that wuz enough fur chicken-heart'—an’ said ever’body might look fur @ pard’n nex’ day. An’ then what- cher ireckin? What do yer reckin, cully? The nex’ day down come a little yaller-head- ed gal ter the jail a-kerryin uy @ pard'n. Whatcher think o’ that? Wuz that chicken- heart? Naw, cully, that wuz grit. Skinny safd so. And. Skinny said—he wuz allus hangin’ roun’ the cap’tul—an’ he heeard the men talkin’ ’bout it., An’ they said the little gal come up ter see the gov’ner, an’ he wouldn’t see her at first. But she got in at last, an’ begged an’ begged fur the ole rhan "bout ter hang. “But the gov’ner wouldn't lis’n, till all’t once she turned to-him an’ sez she, ‘Have you got a chile?’ An’ his eyes filt up in a minute, an’ sez he, ‘One, at Mount Olivet.’ That's the graveyard, yer know. Then he called his sec’t'ry man, an’ whispered ter The boy bounded forward, as well as a dwarfed foot would allow, at the welcome “yes,” but stopped midway: the apartment and slowly shook his head at the remainder of the sentence, while an expression, part jubilance, part regret, and altogether dis- trust, crossed his little old-young face. “Don't sell that sort, mister,” said he. “None o’ our club don’t. It's—low-lived.”” ‘Khe governor smiled, despite his hard day with the critics and the petition folks. “What? You don’t sell the Evening Ban- ee the only independent journal in the city?” The newsboy was a stranger to sarcasm. “That's about the size on’t,” he said, as he edged himself, a veritable bundle of tat- ters, a trifle nearer the red coals glowing in the open grate. -~" “And so,” said he, Banner. Why is that?” i “Shucks!” was the reply. “'Tain’t no bee None o’ us Ifkes ft. You see, cully—” he execttive started; but a glance at the earnest, unconscious face convinced him the famiHarity was not intenttenal disrespect. “You see,” the boy went on, “it sez mean things; tells lies, you know, about a friend o” mine. One foot, the shorter, withered member, was thrust dangerously near to the glowing Coalbed; the little gossip was making him- self thoroughly at home. The executive ob- served it, and smiled. He also noted the weary Gtcop of the shoulders, and impul- sively pointed to a seat. Instinetively, he glanced toward the east window. The bronze face wore a solemn, sturdy frown, but on the tip of the great general's cocked hat a tiny sparrow had perched, and stood coquettishly picking at the eae snowflakes that fell upon -the e rim. And so the Banner abuses your friend?” The executive tutned again to the tat- ters, co#tly ensconced in the soft depths of the pistes purple. The old-young head you reftise to sell the “And what does tt say of him?’ He wendered tf it could abuse any one quite so soundty and so mercilessly as it had dealt with him. “Aw, sher!” The tatters, tn state, were growing contemptuous. “It called him a ‘tougwomp! ” The governor colored. It said the same im. “An’,” the boy went on, “it said ez ther’ wa'n’t no backbone to him, an’ ex he wuz only fitten to set the pris’ners loose, an’ to play the fiddle. An’ {t sald a lot about a feller named Ole Poplar—*" “What!” : The smile upon thé governor's lips gave place to a hearty laugh as the odd little vis- itor ransacked the everglades of memory for the desired timber from which heroes are hewn. “Poplar? Ben't it poplar? Naw, cedar— ash, wonnut, hick’ry—that’s it! Hick’ry. Ole Hick’ry. It said a lot about him; an’ it made the boys orful mad, an’ they won't sell the nasty paper.” The tatters began to quiver with the ex- citement of the recital. The little old-young face lost something of its patient, prema- ture age, while the owner rehearsed the misdoings of the city’s independent after- noon journal. The executive listened with a smile of amused perplex!ty. Evidently he was the “friend” referred to, else the journal had said the same of two parties, “Who is your friend?” he asked, vaguely wondering as to what further developments he might expect, w,” said the boy, “he ain’t my friend peraactly. He's Skinny’s, though, an’ ail the boys stan’s up for Skinny.” him. An’ the man sez, ‘Is if wise? An’ “‘And who fs ‘Skinny?’ ” then the gov’ner stood up grat’ like, an’ sez “Say, cully”—his words were slow and em- | he, ‘Hit’s right; and that’s enough.’ Wa’n't phatic—“wher’ wuz you raised? yi Hagw Skinny?" mech hae le executive shook his head. “ nemsboy?" ead. “Is he a “He wuz——" The tatters were still a moment, only a twitch of the lips and a slight choking movement of the throat told the boy was struggling with his emotions. Then the rough, frayed sleeve was drawn across the bundle of papers strapped uctoss his breast, where a tear glistened upon the S newaboy til ystiadye We Bavieg io Be re ist ‘ e buri steady fed uv him Momentary silence was broken onl: by the soft click of the clock telling the run eee x Cs the paseense who spoke : “Am man whom the Bann abuses was Skinny‘s friend?” os “Yes. This here was Skinny's route. I took it yistiddy. Yer see, Skinny didn’t have no mammy an’ no folks, an’ no meat onter his bones—that’s why we all named him Skinny. He was jest b-o-n-u-e-s, an’ ther’ wuz nobody ter keep keer uv him when he wuz sick, an” he jest up an’ died.” © Without the window the snow fell softly, softly. The little brown bird hopped down from the great general’s hat and songht sheiter in the bronze besom of his fluted vesture. Poor little snowbird!—the human waif which the newsboys tad huried-—for him the bronze bosom of charity had offered no Shelter from the storm. The tatters in velvet had forgotten the cold and the pres- ence before him, as he gased into the dream- ful warmth of the fire. He did not see the motion of the governor’s hand across his eyes, nor did he know how the great man was rehearsing the Banner's criticisms. “He cannot hear a gar’s tale Without grow! chicken-hearted and epening the rs to every red-handed murderer confined there who can put Wp a pretty tory.” 2 By ey meray peta 5 atthe window. But this (pm ere Was @ kind of defiance about him; was de- termined to dare the old warrior-statesman, that bully, though? ‘Wa’n’t it? Say, cully, whatcher think o’ that? An’ whatcher look- in’ at out the whdér?” - ‘The shadows hefd te tall warrior in a dusky mantle. Was it fancy, or did Ole Hickory indced life his cocked hat a trifle higher? Old wan hero, did he, too, hear that click of a child’s crutch echoing down the dismal corridors the grim old state house, a8 the Rtfle, misshapen fect sped upon their last hape? iAnd,-in his dréams, did he, too, hear, the executive wondered, the cry of a little pill beesing life of him who alone held it? Di@ he hear the wind, those long December njghts, moaning over Olivet with the sdb ofa dead babe in its breath? Did he a ‘tand the human, as well as the heroif, offi warrior-statesman whose immortality, was writ in bronze? “Say, cully,” thé tafters grew restless again, “does the fitelight hurt yer eyes, makes ’em water? ‘They looks like the pic- ture o' Skinny’s nian When the water's in em so. Oh, but-hit’s a good picture! It's a man, layin’ in béd. Sick or sumthin’, I reckin. An’ his piller’s all' ruffled up, an’ the Kiverlid all white ez snow. An’ his face ‘has got a kind o’ glory look, jest like’ yer see on the face o’ the pris’n chaplin when he’s a-prayin’ with his head up, an’ his eyes shet tight, an’ a streak 0” mshine comes a-creepin’ in through the gratin’ uv the winders an’ strikes acrost his face. That's the way Skinny’s pictare man. looks, only ther’ ain’t no bars, an’ the light stays ther’. An’ fn one corner is a big, big patch 0’ Ligh! *Tain't sunshine—too soft. An’ ‘tain’t mo light—too bright. Hit's jest Nght. An plumb square in the middle of {t is a angul; & gal angiul,-I reckin, becase it’s orful pritty, with goldish hair, an’ eyes ez blue ez—that cheer yer head’s leaned on. An’ she has a book, a gold un; whatcher think o’ that? An’ she’s writin’ down names init. An’ the man in the bed ts watchin’ uv her, an’ tell- in’ uv her what ter do; fur down ter the bot- tom ther’s some gol’-writi?. Skinny fig- gered it out, an’ it said: ‘Write me as one who loves his fellow men.’ Ain't that scrumptious? Yer jest bet. Would: he, ever cease to | Rear’ The ecutive ded, and the tatters, ris aha sinking with yehem- erice, In decord with su threatened to Lath more thah“a single’ mark ‘upon the purple. th, Say, now! did yer, though? An’ did he 160 this here way, an’ set his chin-éo, = keep his eyes kind o” shet, ’s if he feard someun ’u’d see if he cried an’ tell thé tannet 6% ther’ wuz tears in his eyes? Skinny said Ke did. Skmuy ‘didn’t lie, he dian’ ” ch? Raily, now, did yer?” ‘ne spare body bent forward, as if the gharp eyes would-watch the faintest hint of falsehood in the face before him. “Yorter heeard him. Shinny did onct, when h® was "norgrated, yer know. An’ you bet he's ran’, then, on them 'norgrat’n days. He est up an’ dares the Banner. An’ his gpeeches goes this way.” The tatters half stood; the sole of one torn shoe pressed against’ the state's purple of the great eary chair, one resting upon the velvet rug. One small hand HERD, slaaped the arm of the cherry chair, while the other was enthusiastically waved to and fro as the vagabond’s deft tongue told off a frax- ment of one of the executive's masterpieces of eloquence. “Out of the mouths of babes and suck- lings,” indeed, poured the great particle of the great argument that-had swept the old volunteer state, at the moment of its finan- cial agony, from center to circumference: “ ‘The so-calied “state bonds” are against the letter and spirit of the Constitution of the United States, which declares, No state shall grant letters of marque and reprisal, coin money, or emit bills of credit. State bonds! State bonds! I tell you, friends and fellow citizens, that is the name of the enemy that is hammering upon that mighty | platform upon which all social, political and | financial affairs of the country are founded; the palladium of our liberties—the Consti- tution of the United States.’ n't. hs “An’ did yer ever heear him make a! ANTARCTIC POSSIBILITIES. vin! pinks There May Be Borchgrevink PTomrerce THEFE- From the Century. 4 The recent Antarctic expedition ¥& =~ ecmmercial one, and commercially it was a failure, because we did not find the right whale, so veluable for its whalebone. The Abtarctic was fitted out for the hunt of that peculiar kind of whale; nevertheless, I have no doubt that the commercial result of the expedidition would have been much Deiter had wa -worked undey more favor- able auspices. I do not by any means consider the fact of our not having met with the right whaie in those seas as conclueive of their ucn-existence in the bay at Victoria Land. The Antarctic found the right whale at Campbell Island in the winter time; the beats fastened to five of them, of which, however, only one was caught. Now, to me it does not seem improbable that these whales go south to the bay of Victoria Land, where Ross saw them, in the sum- mer, and return north in the winter. It would seem le that a man of sir James Ross’ standing, supported as he was by able scientists and experiefced whalers. shculd have mage a grave error when he said that this valuable whale wes to be found in large numbers in those lati- The ragged shoe slipped from its velvet | tudes. pedestal, the now dry tatters dropped back The difference in the ice of the into the luxuriant softness of the easy.) plue whale, as we found it there, and the chatr. The glow of excitement faded from | right whale in the method of spouting is the little old face that seemed suddenly to grow oMer. The man watching with keen surprise, that was indeed almost wonder, | possibly, had we saw the boy’s Nps twitch nervously. “Say!” he ventured again, “yorter know- that even the most casual ob- so stri seri net easily be deceived. Very fs the large, open bay discovered by Koss in the vicinity of the volcano peaks Erebus e¢ Skinny. He wuz the nicest boy yevver | and Terror, we, too, would have found the did see. He knowed ever’thing, he did. See right whate in great numbers. We saw the gov’ner many a time. Heeard him say | many blue whales, but had not the appli- that very speech I'm tellin’ you ‘bout. ths very house, too, upstairs, wher’ the leg- uslatur sets. I peeped in ‘while ago;.no- body ther’ but the sextent. Skinny heeard the gov’ner speak ther’ though—in’ when the ban’ played, an’ the folks all clapped their hands, Skinny flung his hat up, plumb inter the big chand’ler an’ the low taxers, an’ a p’liceman fetched him out by the cui- lar, an’ when he got out the cop sez ter him, sez he, ‘Now whatcher got ter say? Skinny was a low taxer his own se’f, so when the cop axed him fur his say, he flung his hat up todes the bareheaded liberty woman out ther’ at the frunt door, an’ sez he, ‘Hooray fur the gov’ner an’ the low-tax party! Did. He slep’ in the lockup that night fur it; but he got his holler. He wuz @ good un. “Say, cully! I wisht yer eould see Skinny’s picture anyhow. It’s over ter hunchback Harry’s house now, t’other side o’ Hell's Half. Yer know Hell's Half acre? Awful place. Skinny give the picture to Harry ‘count o’ his not bein’ able ter git "bout much. He set a sight o’ store by it, Skinny did. an’ he didn’t let it leave him ttl the last minit; he just willed it, yer know, to hunchback Harry. When he wuz a-dyin’ he turned ter me, an’ sez he, ‘Skip, hang the gov’ner so’s I can see him.” An’ when I done it, he sez, sorter smilin’, sez he, ‘Skip!’ Sez I, ‘Skinny!’ Sez he, ‘The crippled angul has wiped all the tears out o’ the gov'ner’s eyes.’ Then he feil back on his straw piller and shet his eyes, so; an’ atter ‘while he opened uv um, an’ sez hé—so soft yer jest could a-heeard it, sez he. ‘Write me ez one who loves his fellow men.’ An’ that wuz the last word he ever said on this earth. He had a nice fun'ril, yer bet. Us newsboys made it; an’ the pris'n chapl'n said the sument. We bought the flowers, us boys did; they cos’ ten dollars. Ther’ wus a wreath made tiv white roses, an’ right in the middle, made cut o’ littie teeny buds, wuz -his hame—‘Skinny.’ The flower man said it wouldn’t do, when we told dim ter put it ther’, but we “lowed "twuz pur money an’ our fun'ril, and if we couldn't have it our way we wouldn’t have it at all. An’ he said it might hurt his folkses’ feel- in’s, but we tol’ him Skinny didn't have no folks, an’ no name, either; ‘cept jest ‘Skin- ny.' S80 he made up the wreath like we said, an’ it’s out ther’ on his grave this blessed minit, if the snow ain't kivered it up. Say, cully! Don’t ‘yer be a-cryin’ fur Skinny. He's all right—the chapl'n sez so. The gov’ner’d ery fur him, though, I bet yet, if he knowed about the fun’ril yistiddy. Mebbe ole Pop Hickory wouldn't, ‘but I bet the gov’ner would.” The face of the executive was turned to- ward the fire—a tiny blue blaze shot up- ward for an instant, and was reflected in a diamond setting that glittered on his bossin. A match to the sparkling jewel rested a moment upon his cheek, then rolled down ard lay upon his hand a bright, glistening tear. There was a sound of heavy foot- steps coming down the gray stone corrlior— a creak, a groan, and a bang. “What's that?” asked the newsboy, start- at,” said the executive, “is the porter, closing up for the night.” The -tatters stood as near upright as tat- ters may, and gathered themselves together. Not a paper sold; he had gossiped away the afternoon with right royal recklessness, He remembered it too late. a “Say! yer wouldn’t want a Herald?” it was not easy to talk business where lately he had talked confidence. The executive's hand sought his pocket. 4 “Yes,” said he, ‘‘a Herald will do. What is your name, boy?” “Skippy! ‘Cause I don’t skip, yer kno There was a twinkle in the vagabond’s eye as the maimed foot was thrust forward, The next moment he glanced at the coin the exeeutive had handef him. Se I Rego change a dollar; hain’t seen at much money since the brh burnt.” . Se The execvtive smiled. ‘Never mind the change, and be sure you bring me tomor- row’s Heraid.”” The tatters did stand upright at that, while a look of genuine wonder, not un- mixed with admiration, came into the little old-young face. “Say! who be you, anyhow?” he asked. And the lids did “drop,” as the Banner said, “to hide the tears,” as the great man answered, slowly: “I am the governor of Tennessee, Skip.” - There was a low, soft whistle, a hurricd shambling toward the door, a half-wh'sper- ed something about “Skinny” and “Old Pop Hickory,” and the ponderous door closed be- hind him. When the fire had burned so low he could no longer see the print of the newsboy’s foot upon the velvet cushion of the armchair the governor arose and began to put away his papers. “Inasmuch as she was sorely wronged”— his eye fell upon a line cf the woman-mur- derer’s long petition. Was this a “case for clemency,” as the petition declarzd? The crisp paper rattled strangely as he unrolled it and fixei his own name, together with the great seal of the state, to the few words he had - written. —_—~. LATE SUPPERS. in| ances to take them. As I remarked at the international geo- graphical congress, we found few seals. They increased, however, in number as we worked eastward, and seémed afrald of the land. All of the seals that we met on the shore showed much uneasiness and speedily made for the water, a fact which strengthened my belief in the existence of a large enemy of the sealjon the continent. I do not doubt that the‘seals congregate together in larger numbers at some places on the bay. ¥ conaider the guano beds which we dis- covered of great commercial importance, and they ought to be well worth the atten- tion of enterprising business men. The specimen which I brought back with me contains a large percentage of ammonia. Furthermore, from the analysis of the specimen of rock which I brought baa! with me, the possible and probable presence of valuable minerals on the continent proved, although the lava and volcanic as- pects of the coast line do mot speak fa- yorably for the presence of heavy metals near the surface. —+e+ WARM FEET. They Are Exsential to Health—Proper Covering for the Feet. From the Vocalist. You will never be in good health and never do your best work if your feet are constant- ly cold. Grave diseases of the throat and lungs are caused by cold feet alone, and these troubles are always aggravated by a frigid condition of the lower extremities. If proper footwear does not give relief, consult a physician, for the chances are the system is “run Gown,” and radical measures are necessary. In nine eases out of ten, how- exer, the foot covering is to blame, either because of its shape or its material. Save in warm weather, atid for low-cut shoes, leather, as ordinarily prepared, has serious objections. It lacks two prime qualities— porosity and eapacity for absorption—being in this respect too much like rubber. No foot can remain either comfortable or healthy ff kept in a perpetual bath of its own emahations and excretions. Leather, especially that of the more porous varieties, may be tolerated for the outside, but for cold weather ft should always be lined with woolen cloth, or, better, with wool felt. In fact, for all cold climates, and for winter wear in all climates where there is any win- ter, a footgear fade from all-wool felt ap- proaches thé ideal. According to modern notions, atry fllness in one part of the body may be occasioned by some trritating catise far removed from the seat of the trouble. Just how this is cannot always be clearly explained, but that stch connection does sometimes exist is beyond dispute. In the matter under discussion, if the nerves of the whole body are irritated hy a tight shoe, or the extreme coldness o7 the extremities makes extra demand upon the blood supply, there is neither nerve force nor blood enough left for other functions. ——__—+0+____ Rattlesnakes His Comrades, From the Kansas City Times. Early in the summer a strange-looking craft that had much the appearance of a large Gry goods box floated under the Atehison bridge and @own the river, until anchor was finally cast Just beneath the almost inacceésible bluffs near Oak Mills. The sole occupant was Henry Shupe, “The Rattlesnake King of the Rockies.” All through the summer he lived there, engag- ed in no other business than that of cateh- ing snakes and manufacturing “snake oil,” which, according to his statement, is a dead-sure cure for snake-bite and “rumat- ies.” He claims to be able to charm any snake from its den, but declined to give an exhibition of his wonderful power. Yester- day he pulled up anchor and started down the Missour! river on a journey which will not end until he reaches New Orleans. One- half of his houseboat was literally a den of snakes. They were of all kinds and sixes. On a pennant floating from the prow of the boat were embiazoned these words: “The Rattlesnake King of the Rockies.” oe. Tombstone Oddities. From the Gentlewoman. Here are two curious epitaphs worthy of note for their quaintness. One is on a tombstone in Ulster, and runs thus: “To the menory of Thomas Kelly, =*ho was accidentally shot by his brother as a mark of respect.” The other epitaph Is ¢ more, near Londonderry? “Here Nes the remains of Thomas Nich- olls, who died in Philadelphia, March, 1783. Had he lived, he would have been buried here.” But perhaps neither of these ey carries off the palm from the old one I fear, is atready too well known to come be found at Cui- It is Better to Eat Moderately Before | with any newness: Going to Bed. From the Canadg Lancet. ‘The old tradition that to eat anything just before going to bed is sure to produce indi- “Here lies Dodson, here lies he; Hallelujah, Haltelujec.” penetrated further into | GENTLE ABT OF BEDMAKING. How few persons there are who really ow how to make a bed well. Oui 2 2ne hundred housemaids ninety- nine will thro” ix¢ Pedclothes down oves the foot of the bed, {hoz s77™7™ ‘hem up again in a few minutes. This sagv- be permitted. Every article should be takex off and laid separately over a chair, ang @ strong current of air should be allowe¢ to circulate through the room before the clothes are replaced, The mattress should be turned daily and from end to end, as this insures it being worn more eveniy, and it will not sink in the middle, which spoils the looks of any bed, no matter how beau- tiful its cover. ‘The new fashion of steel chain springs is @ great improvement over the heavy old style spring, which when once taken up stairs was bound to remain there a long time. The careful housewife wi cover the springs of her bed with Mner,.eo that it may be taken off and washed. This saves the mattress all chance of rust marke from the metal. Clean newspapers will answer the same purpose. -It is only the hardiest sleepers who can enjoy their slumbers when, by a scanty sup- ply of sheet, tne blanket scratenes the face and neck. Narrow bedclothing is even worse, especially where the barbarous cus- tom of sleeping two in a bed holds good, One drags the cloths one wi the other exhausts strength in clinging & them for dear life, and neither is comfortabie. A simple remedy for this discomfort is to place one blanket lengthwise across the bed. In this way there is a double advan- tage—less weight on the shoulders and plenty of chance for a firm tucking up. Good housemaids are quite liable, in plac- ing three blankets on a bed, to turn down a great piece, giving you six on your shoul- ders and not one sufficiently tucked !n om the sides. A restless child might be prevented from many a cold if blankets were placed across the bed. It is the careful watch of detail. in home life that makes it differ from @ hotel, and nothing is more satisfactory than a well-made bed. ——__+«+ THE W. Induced a Chicage Woman tous About Her Ha From the Chicage Record. - “This war scare has been a bed thing,” said one man to another on an Alley “L® train. “Oh, I don’t know,” geplied the other, “It’s helped me a great deal.” “I didn’t know it had helped any one.” because you're not a married a curious fact that in the dis- cussion of this Vexezuelan business no one has discovered that the married women are more panic-stricken than Wall street was.” “How's that?” “Why, every married man of fighting age has been telling his wife that if the worst comes to the worst he will have w enlist and go out and fight for his country. As soon as they began to talk war I sprung | that on my wife. I said I hoped the thi would be settled peaceably, but if we hi to fight to maintain our national honor I was willing, for one, to help uphold the flag. ‘What?’ she says, ‘you don’t mean to say that you'd leave me and the chil- ¥ te be kiNed or wounds says I. ‘Some one will she said she hoped there wouldn't be any trouble. I said I hoped So, too, but I was mighty afraid we couldn't fix the matter up without a scrap.” “She believed youp eh?” “Well, you couldn't blame her for being a Hittle worried. She's been asking me every day to promise her to stay at home, no matter what happened. I've told her I simply cannot make such a promise. I be- Neve she’s come to regard me as a very warlike person, and she's half convinced that I'm hable to put on a uniform and leave home any day.” “s don't believe you are very anxious to ight.”” “I should say not. This thihg of going to the front would bother me more than ft would her, but I tell you it’s a great thing to have a war cloud hanging over a house- hold. Why, we haven't had a cross word in our house for two weeks. She has used all of her blandishments to subdue my blood- thirsty intentions. I was out until 2 o'clock New Year morning, and shé nev said a word. Only the next morning she brought up the war question again and wanted me to promise. And I'll bet you that df I di Promise heft She'd lose afl respect for me.” ———_+e- They Got Even With ff From the London Daily News. Our Vienna correspondent telegraphs: A remarkable incident took place on Sunday in one of the elegant restaurants here. A few evenings ago a workman who entered the restaurant and orfered a glass of beer was refused the same, first by a watier and j then by the landlord himself. A group of gentlemen seated at a table near heretipon invited the man to sit with them, and or- dered the beer for him. The landlord then insulted the whole group, and a ftegular scandal followed. On Sunday afternoon 00 workmen entered the restaurant in small groups, and though they ordered only one glass of beer each, they stayed until nicht, occupying every seat and ‘every table, so that no pne else could get a place. Before they Tet? they sang the “Song of Work” tn chorus. The proprietor of the restaurant, to whom this was a lost Sunday, has since leen to the w@rkmen’s paper, and declared that he was ready to give any kind of satisfaction to the aggrieved workman. soe He Got an Answer. From the Christian Advoea’ “You think you never spoke of this ex- eased, do you?” queried the what I answered ‘ow, don’t you know, as a matter of fact,” pursued the lawyer, rising and pointing Lis long flager im voly at him, “that the deceased had been dead for tcn years when these events took place? If you talked to him at all you taiked to his bones. Will you please tell me how you would communicate with a skeleton?” would wire it, sir,” stify rejoined the witness.” said soe Due to Early Rising. From Judge. Chimmy—“Who got de mos’ Chris’mas preserts—you er yer brudder Patsy (olefully)—“Me brudder.” “How kem dat? Youre de Patsy (more dolefully)—“I know it; but he got up first.” gestion and render steep Impossible is now | rrom wunen. happily exploded. It is not good, as a mrt- ter of fact, to go to bed with the stomach so loaded that the undigested food will render one restless, but something of a light, palat- able nature in the stomach ts one of the best aids to quietude and rest. Some phys!- cians have declared, indeed, that a good deal of the prevalent insomnia is the result of an untonscious, craving of the stomach for food in persons who have been unduly frightened by the opinion that they must not eat-before going to bed, or who have, like many nervous women, been keeping themselves ina state of semi-starvatton. Nothing is more agreable on retiring for the night than to take a bowl.of hot broth, like catmeal gruel or clam soup. It is a positive aid to nervous people, and induces peaceful slumbers. This is especially the case on cold winter nights, when the stomach craves warmth as much as any other part of the body. Even a glass of hog milk is grateful to the palate on such ons, but a light, well-cooked gruel is better, and im our cli- mate, during the cold months of winter, should be the retiring food of every woman who feels the need of food at night. FOR INDIGESTION Une Horsford’s Acid Phosph: Dr. 8. P. PECK, Hinton, W. Va., says: indigestion end it has no equal. used it in LZ : DIVISION OF LABOR. 1 have | It 1s not .we business of ducal footmen to clean the family bicycles. The ladles Ermyn trude and Adelgitha have to do it themselves.