Evening Star Newspaper, February 8, 1896, Page 18

(Copyright, 1896, by Bacheller, Johnson & Bacheller.) PART I. The master of the Sarah Jane had been missing for two days, and all on board, with the exception of the boy, whom nobody troubled about, were full of joy at the circumstance. Twice before had the skip- per, whose habits might, perhaps, be best described as iriegular, missed his ship, and word had gone forth that the third time would be the last. His berth was a good one, and the mate wented it in place ef his own, which was wanted by Ted Jones, A. B. “Two hours more,” said the mate, anx- jously, to the men as they stcod leaning against the side, “and I teke the ship out.” “Under two hours’ll do it,” said Ted, peering over the side and watching the water as it slowly rose over the mud. “What's got the old man I wonder “I don’t know and I don’t care,” said the mate. “You chaps stay by me, and it'll be good for all of us. Mr. Pearson said distinctly the last time that if the skippe: ever missed his ship again it would be hi: last trip im her, and he told me afor: the cld man that I wasn’t to wait twc minutes at any time, but to bring her out right awey.” “He's an old fool,” said Bill Loch, the ether hand; “and nobody’ll miss him but the boy, en’ he’s been looking reg’lar wor- Tied all tLe morning. He looked so worried at dinner time that I give ‘im a kick to cheer him up a bit. Look at him now.” The mate gave a supercilious glance in the direction of the boy, and then turned away. The boy, who had no idea of court- ing observation, stowed himself away be- hind the windlass, and taking a letter from his pocket, p2rused it for the fourth time. “Dear Tommy"—it began—“I take my pen in ‘and to inform you that Ime staying here avi can’t git away for the reason that I lorst mi close at cribage larst night, and my money, and everything beside. Don’t speek to a living sole about it as the mate wants my birth, but pack up sum close and bring them to me without saying nuth- ing to nobo The mates clothes will do becos I haven’t got enny other soot, don’t tell im. You needen't trouble about soks as I've got them left. My hed is so bad I must now conclude. Your affectionate un- cle and captin Joe Bross. P. S. Dont let the mate see you come, or else he wont let you go.” “Two hours more!” sighed Tommy, as he put the letter back In his pocket. “How can I get any clothes when they're all locked up? And aunt said I was to look fter "im and see he didn’t git into no mis- chief. Ho sat thinking deeply, and then as the crew of the Sarah Jane stepped ashore to take advantage of a glass offered by the mate, he crept down to the cabin again for another desperate look around. The only articles of clothing visible belonged to Mrs. Bross, who, up to this trip, had been sail- ing in the schooner to look after its mas- ter. At these he gazed hard. “Tl take ‘em an’ try an’ swop ‘em for some men’s clothes,” said he, suddenly, snatching the garments from the pegs. “Sie wouldn't mind;” and hastily rolling them in a parcel together with a pair of carpet slippers of the captain's,he thrust the lot into ar old biscuit bag. Then he shoul- dered his burden, and, going cautiously on deck, gained the shore, and set off at a trot to the address furnished in the letter. It was a long way, and the bag was heavy. His first attempt to barter was glarming, for the pawnbroker, who had just been cautioned by the police, was in such a severe acd uncomfortable state of morals that the boy hastily snatched up his bundle again and left. Sorely troubled, he walked hastily along, until in a small by-street his glance fell upon a baker of mild and benevolent aspect standing be- hind the counter of his shop. “If you please, sir,” said Tommy, enter- ing and depositing his bag on the counter, “have you any cast-off clothes you don’t want?” The baker turned to a shelf, and, select- ing a stale loaf, cut it in halves, one of which he placed before the boy. “{ don’t want bread,” said Tommy, des- perately; “but mother has just died, and father wants mourning for the funeral. He's only got a new suit with him, and if he can’t change these things of mother’s he'll sell his best ones to articles out on the counter, r’s wife, who had just come shop, inspected them rather fa- Poor boy, so you lost your mother!” she 'g the clothes over. “It's a good * said Tommy, dolefully. she die of?" inquired the arlet f2ver," said Tommy, tearfully, ioning the only disease he knew. “Sear— Take them things away!” yelled baker, pushing the clothes on the floor 1 following his wife to the other end of the sho} “Take "em away, directly, you ce was so loud, his manner so imperative, that the startled boy, without stopping to argue, stuffed the clothes pell- mell into the bag again and departed. A farewell glance at the clock made him look almost as horrified as the baker. “There's no time to be lost,” he muttered, as he began to run. “Either the old man'll have to come in these, or else stay where he is." He reached the hovse breathless, and paused before an unshaven man in time- worn, greasy clothes, who was smoking a skert clay pipe with much enjoyment in front of the door. “Is Capt. Bross here?” he pan “He's upstairs,” said the man, with a “Searlet fever,” said Tommy. leer, “sitting In sackcloth and ashes—more ashes than sackcloth. Have you got some clothes for him?” “Look Lere.” said Tommy. He was down on his knees, with the mouth of the bag open again, quite in the style of the prac- ticed hawker. “Give me an old suit of clothes for them. Hurry up! There’s a lovely frock!” “Blimey,” said the man, staring, “I've only got tuese clothes. Wot d’yer take me for? A dook?” “Well, get mo some somewhere,” said Tommy. “If you don’t the cap’n'll have to im these, and I’m sure he won't like ‘I wonder what he’d look like,” said the man, with a grin. “Hang me if I don’t come up and see.” = “Get me some clothes,” pleaded Tommy. ae ee you clothes, no, not for fifty pun,” the man, severely. “Wot d’yer miean wanting to spoil peo- pleasure in that way? Come on, come and tell cap’n what you've got for ‘im; I want to ’ear.what he ses. He's been ewear- ing ‘ard since ten o'clock this mor~ing, but bs ought to say something special over this. : He led the way up the bare wooden stairs, followed by the harassed boy, and entered a small, dirty room at the top, in the center of which the master of the Sarah Jane sat to deny visitors, in a pair of socks and last week’s paper. “Here's a young gent come to bring you some clothes, ct.p’n,” said the man, taking the sack from the boy. “Why didn’t you come before?’ growled the captain, who was reading the adver- tisements. The man put his hand tn the sack, and pulled out the clothes, “What do you think of "em?’” he asked, expectantly. The captain strove vainly to tell him, but his tongue mercifully forsook its office and dried between his lips. His brain rang with sentences of scorching iniquity, but they got no farther. “Well, say thank ygu, if you can’t say rcthing else,” suggested his tormentor, hopefully. “f couldn't bring nothing else,” said Tom- 'y, hurriedly; “all the things was locked v I tried to swop ’em and nearly got locked up for it. Put these on and hurry The captain moistened his lips with his tergue. ‘The mate "ll get off directly she floats,” ntinned Tommy. t these on and spoil Ss little game. It’s raining a little now. Nobody’ll see you, and as soon as you git aboard you can borrow some of the men’s cloth That's the ticket, cap’n,” said the man. “Lord, lumme, you'll ’ave everybody fallin’ in love with you.” “Hurry up,” said Tommy, dancing with impatience. “Hurry up.” The skipper, dazed and wild-eyed, stood still while his two assistants hastily dressed him, bickering somewhat about details as they did so. “He ought to be tight-laced, I tell you,” said the man. “He can’t be tight-laced without stays,”’| said Tom know tha ‘Ho, can’t he?” said the other, discomfited. “You know too much for a young ’un. Well, put a bit o’ line round ’im, then.” “We can’t wait for a line,” said Tommy, who was standing on tiptoe to tie the skip- per’s bonnet on. ‘“‘Now tie the scarf over his chin to hide his beard, and stitch this veil on. It's a good job he ain’t got a mustache.” The other complied, and then fell back a pace or two to gaze at his handiwork. “Strewth, though I ses it as shouldn't, you look a treat,” he remarked, complacently. “Now, young ‘un, take hold of his arm. Go up the back streets, and if you see anybody looking at you, call him ‘mar. The two set off after the man, who was a born realist, had tried to snatch a kiss from the skipper on the threshold. Fortunately for the success of the venture. it was pelt- ing with rain,and though a few people gazed curiously at the couple as they went hastily along, they were unmolested, and gained the wharf in safety. arriving Just in time to see the schooner shoving off from the side. At the sight the skipper held up his skirts and ran. “Ahoy!” he shouted. “Wait a minute. The mate gave one look of blank astonish- ment at the extraordinary figure, and then turned away, but at that moment the stern came within jumping distance of the wharf, and uncle and nephew, moved with one im- pulse, leaped for it and gained the deck in safety. “Why didn’t you wait when I hailed you?” demanded the skipper, fiercely. “How was I to know it was you?” inquired the mate, surlily, as he realized his defeat. “I thought it was the Empress of Rooshia.” ‘The skipper started at him dumbly. “An’ if you take my advice,” said the mate, with a sneer, “you'll keep them things on. I never see you look as well in any- thing afore.” “I want to borrow some o’ your clothes, scornfully. ‘You ought to “Here's 2 young gent come to bring you some clothes, cap'n.” ing him steadily. ed the other. “I don’t know,” Kipper. “I was took with a fit last night, Bob, and when I woke «1p this morning they were gone. Somebody must have took advantage of my helpless state and taken ‘em.” “Very likely,” said the mate, turning away to shout an order to the crew, who were busy setting sail. “Where are they, old man?” inquired the skipper. “How should I know?” asked the man, becoming interested in the men again. “I mean your olothes,” said the skipper, who was fast losing temper. “Oh! mine?” sald the mate. “Well, as a matter o* fact, I don’t like lending my clothes. I’m rather pertickler. You might have a fit in them. “You won't lend "em to me?” asked the skipper. “I won't,” said the mate, speaking loudly, and frowning significantly at the crew, who were listening. “Very good.” said the skipper. “Ted, come here. Where's your other clothes?” “T very sorry, sir,” said Ted, shifting uneasily from one leg to the other, and glancing at the mate for support, “but they ft for the likes of you to wear, sir.” the best judge of that,” said the oper, sharply. “Fetch ’em up.” “Well, to tell the truth, sir,” said Ted, "m like the mate. I’m only a poor sailor man, but I wouldn't lend my clothes to the queen of England.” “You fetch them clothes,” roared the skipper, snatching off his bonnet and fling- ing it on the deck. “Fetch ’em up at once. D'ye think I'm going about in these petti- cuts?” Bob,” said the skipper, e: ow = ‘y’re my clothes,” muttered Ted, dog- |, then, I'll have Bill's,” said the in ut mind you, my lad, I'll make you pay for this afore I've done with you. "3 the only honest man aboard this Gim’me your hand, Bill, old man.” "m with them two,” said Bill, gruffly, as he turned away. The skipper, biting his lips with fury, turned from one to the other, and then with a big oath walked forward. Before he could reach the foc’sle Bill and Ted dived down before him, and by the time he had descended sat on their chests side by side confronting him. To threats and appeals alike they turned a deaf car, and the fran- tic skipper was compelled at last to go on eae again, still incumbered with the hated skirts. PART IL. “Why don’t you go an’ lay down,” said the mate, “an’ I'll send you down a nice cup o’ hot tea. You'll got histericks if you 0 on like that.” “I'll knock your ’ead off if you talk to me,” said the skipper. “Not you,” said the mats cheerfully; “you ain't big enough. Look at that pore fel- low over there.” The skipper looked in the direction indi- cated, and, swelling with impotent rage, shook his first flercely at a red-faced man with gray whiskers who was wafting in- numerable tender kisses from the bridge of @ passing steamer. “That's right,” said the mate, approving- 3 “don't give ‘im no erp ne ere Love The skipper, suffering severely from sup- pressed emotion, went below, amd the crew, after waiting a little while to make sure that he was not coming up again, made their way quietly to the mate. “If we can only take him to Battlesea in s trying to make a suit out of a old sail or something. If we can only take him to Mr. Pearson like this, it won’t be #0 bad, afte® all.” While these arrangements were in above the skipper and the boy were be; with others below. Various star schemes propounded the skipper for obtaining possession his men’s attire outh as unlawful, impracticable. For @ couple of hours they discussed ways and means, but only ended in diatribes against the mean ways of the crew, and the skip- per, whose head ached still from his ex- cesses, fell into a state of sullen despair at length and sat silent. “By jove, Tommy, I've got it!” he cried, suddenly starting up and hitting the table with his fist. ‘Where’s your other suit?’ “That ain’t no bigger than this one,” said Tommy. “You git it out,” said the skipper, with a knowing toss of his head. “Ah, there we are! Now go to my state room and take those off.” The wondering Tommy, who thought that great grief had turned his hinsman’s brain, complied, and emerged shortly after- ward in a blanket, bringing his clothes under his arm. 5 “Now, do you know what I'm going to inquired the skipper, with a big smile. ‘No.”” ‘Fetch me the scissors, then. Now, do you know what I'm going to do?” “Cut up the two suits and make 'em into one,” hazarded the horror-stricken Tommy. “Here, stop it! Leave off!” ‘The skipper pushed him impatiently off, and laying the clothes on the table took up the scissors and, with a few slashing sirokes, cut the garments into their com- pound parts. “What am I to wear?” said Tommy, be- ginning to blubber. “You didn’t think of that.” . vhat are you to wear, you selfish young pig,” said the skipper, sternly. “Always thinking abou: yourself. Go and git some needles and thread, and if there’s any left over and you're a good boy I'll see whether I can make something for you out of the leavings.” < “There ain't no needles here,” Tommy, after a lengthy search. “Go down the foc’sle and git the case of sailmakers’ needles, then,” said the sktp- per. “Don't let any one see what you're after—and some thread. “Well, why couldn't you let me go in my clothes before you cut ‘em up?” inoaned whined = “You sce what comes of drink and curds.” Tommy. “I don’t iike going up in this blanket. They'll laugh at me.” “You go at once!” thundered the skip- per, and, turning his back on him, whistled softly, and began to, arrange the pieces of cloth. “Laugh away, my lads," he said, cheer- fully, as.an uproarious burst of laughter greeted the appearance of Tommy on deck. “Wait a bit.” He waited himself for nearly twenty inutes, at the end of which time Tommy, reading on his blanket, came flying down the companion ladder and rolled into thé cabin. “There ain't a ncedle aboard the ship,” he said, solemnly, as he picked himself up and rubbed his head. “I’ve looked everywhere.”" “What?” roared the skipper, hastily con- a the pieces of cloth. “Here, Ted! Te : ‘Ay, ay, sir!” said Ted, as he came be- low. “I want a sailmaker’s needle,” said the skipper, gliblye “i've got a rent in this skirt.”” “T’'ve broke the last one yesterday,” said Ted, with an evil grin. “Any other needle, then?" said the skip- per, trying to conceal his emotion. “I don’t believe there’s such a_ thing aboard the ship,” said Ted, who had obey- ed the mate’s thoughtful injunction. thread. I was only saying so to the mate yesterday.” The skipper sank again to the towest: depth, waved him away, and then getting en a ccrner of a locker fell into a gloomy reverie. It's a pity you do things in such a hur- Se a Tommy, snifiing vindictively. made sure of the needle before you spciled my clothes. There’s two of us going about ridiculous now.” The master of the Sarah Jane allowed this insolence to pass unheeded. It is in moments of deep distress that the mind of man, naturally reverting to solemn things, seeks to improve the cecasion by a lecture. The skipper, chastened by suffering and di pointment, stuck his right hand in his pocket, after a lengthened search for it, afd gently bidding the blanketed urchin in front of him to sit down, began: “You see what comes of drink and cards,” he said, mournfully. “Instead of being at the helm of my ship, racing all the other crafts down the river, I’m skulking down here like—like—" “Like an actress,” suggested Tommy. The skipper eyed him all over. Tommy, unconscicus of offense, met his gaze se- renely. “If,” continued the skipper, “at any time you felt like taking too much, and you stopped with the beer mug half way to your lips, and thought of me sitting in this disgraceful state, what would you do?” I dunno,” replied Tommy, yawning. “What would you do?’ persisted the skip- rer, with great expression. “Laugh, I s’pose,” said Tommy, after a moment's thought. The sound of a well-boxed ear through the cabin. “You're an unnatural, toad,” said the skipper, don’t deserve to to look after yeu. “Anybody can have him for me,” sobbed the indignant Tommy, as he tenderly felt his ear. “You look a precious sight more like an aunt than an uncle.” After firing this shot he vanished in a cloud of blanket; and the skipper, hastiiy abandoning a hastily formed resolve of first flaying him alive and then flinging him overboard, sat down again and ilt his pipe. Once out of the river he came on deck again, and, ignoring, by a great effort, the smiles of the crew and the jibes of the mate, took command. The only alteration he made in his dress was to substitute his scu'wester for the bonnet, and in this guise he did his work, while the aggrieved Tcm- my hopped it in blankets. The three days at sea passed. like a horrid Jream. So covetous was his gaze that the crew in- stinctively clutched their nether zarmcents and looked to the buttoning of their coats as they passed him. He saw coats in the mainsail, and fashioned phantom trousers out of the flying jib, and, toward the end, began to babble of blue serges and mixed tweeds. Oblivious of fame, he had zesol ‘ed to enter the harbor of Battlesea by night; but it was not to be. Near home the wind dropped, and the sun was well up before Battlesea came into view, a gray bank on the starboard bow. Until within & mile cf the harbor the skipper held on, and then his grasp on the wheel relaxed somewhat, and he looked reund anxiously for the mate. “Where's Bob?” he shouted. Hee very ill, sir,” said Ted, shaking his ran ungrateful little fiercely. “You ve a good, kind uncle head. “Til?” gasped the startled skipper. “Here, take the wheel a minute.” He handed it over, and then, grasping his skirts, went hastily below. The mate was half lying, half sitting in his bunk, groaning dismally. “What's the matter?” inquired the skip- per. “I'm dying,” said the mate. “I keep be- ing tied Il in knots inside. I can’t hold ‘The other cleared his throat. “You'd better take off your clothes and lie down a bit,” he said, kindly. “Let me help you off with them.” ‘No—don’t—trouble!”” panted the mate. ‘It ain’t no trouble,” said the skipper, in * No, Ti keep” “No, 1' “em on,” said the mate, faintly. “I’ve always had an idea I’d like to die In my ne It may be foolish, bi ll hay wish some “You’ ive your & fear, you infernal Tascal®” shouted “tie over-wrought skipper. “You're sickness to take the ship into (ee BA shouldn’t you take her In?” asked the mate, with an air of innocent surprise. “It’s your duty as-cap’n. You'd better get up above now, The is always shifting.” skipper, } it 8 mighty effort, went on deck again; and the the crew. He wi spoke reclingieee. e obedience men owned their superior officers, and the moral obli- gation they were under to lend them their trovsers bei hieid required them. He He Dwelt on the Awful Punishments Awarded for Mutiny. dwelt on the awful punishments awarded for mutiny and proved clearly that to al- low the master of a ship t9 enter port in Petticoats was mutiny of the worst type. He then sent them below for their clothing. Tkey were gone such a long time that it was palpable to the meanest intellect that they dil not intend to bring it. Meantime the harbor widened out before him. ‘There were two or three people on the quay as the Sarah Jane came within hall- ing distance. By the time she had passed the lantern at the end of it there were two or three dozen and the numbers were stead- ily increasing at the rate of three persons for every five yards she made. Kind- hearted, humane men, anxious that their fricnds should not lose so great and cheap @ treat, bribed small and reluctant boys with pennies to go in search of them, and by the time the schooner reached her berth a large proportion of the population of the port was looking over each other's should- ers and shouting foolish and hilarious in- qviries to the skipper. The news reached the owner, and he came hurrying down to the ship just as the skipper, regardless of the heated remonstrances of the sight- seers, was preparing to go below. Mr. Pearson was a stout man, and he came down exploding with wrath. Then he saw the apparition, and mirth overcame him. It became necessary for three stout fellows to act as buttresses, and the more indignant the skipper looked the harder their work became. Finally he was as- sisted, in a weak state, and laughing hys- terically, to the deck of the schooner,where he followed the skipper below, and, in a voice broken with emotion, demanded an explanation “It’s the finest sight I ever saw in my life, Bross,” he sald, when the other had finished. “I wouldn't have missed it for arything. I've becn feeling very low this week, and it’s done me good. Don’t tatk ner sense about leaving the ship. I wouldn't lcse you for anything after this, but if you lke to try a fresh mate and crew you can please yourself. If you'll only come up to the house and jet Mrs. Pearson see you— she’s been ailing—I’ll give you a couple of Pounds. Now, get your bonnet and come.” |, (The end.) eS A Model Dialogue. Stephen Leacock tm ruth. In which is ‘Shown how the Drawing Room Juggler may be permanently cured of his Card Trick. The drawing room juggler, having slyly got hold of the pack of cards at the end of the game of whist, says: “Ever see any card tricks? Here's rather @ good one; pick a card.” “Thank you, I don’t want a.card.” “No, but just pick one, any one you like, and I'll te!l which one you pick.” : “You'll tell who “No, no; I mean, I'll know which it is, don’t you see? Go on, now, pick a card.” “Any one I like e: ny.,color, at;al?”" “Yes, yes, “Any suit? “Oh, yes; do go on.” “Well, let me see, I’ll—pick—the—ace of spades.”” “Great Caesar! I mean you are to pull a card out of the pack.” “Oh, to pull it out of the pack! Now T ur- Gerstand. Hand me the pack. All right— T've got it.” 3 “Have you pickéd one?” " “Yes, it's the three of hearts. Do you "how it?” “Hang it! Don’t tell me like that. You spoil the thing. Here, try again. Pick a card.” “All right, I've got it.” “Put tt back in the pack. Thanks. (Shufile, shuffle, shuffle—flip)—There, is that it?” (triumphantly.) “I don’t know. I lost sight of it.” “Lost sight of it! Confound it, you have to look at it and see what it is.” ! You want me to look at the front of course. Now, then, pick cut a card.” “All right. 1} (Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle, flip.) I've picked it. Go ahead.” counfound you, card back in the pack?” “Why, no. I kept it. “Holy Moses! Listen! Pick a card—just one—Icok at it—see what it is—then yut it back—do you understand?* “Oh, perfectly. Only I don’t see how you are ever gong to do it. You must be awful- ly clever.” (Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle, flip.) “There you are—that’s your card now, isn’t it?”—(this is the supreme moment.) “No; that is not my card.” (This is a flat lie, but heaven will pardon you for it.) “Not that card! —nation! Say-—just hold on a second. Here, now, watch what you're at this time. I can do this cursed thing, mind you, every time. I’ve done it on fath- er and mother and on every one that's ever come round our place. Pick a card! (Shuf- did you put that fle, shuffle, shuffle, flip, bang.) There, that’s your card.” “No. [am sorry. That is not my card. But won't you try it again? Please do. Perhaps you are 4 little excited—I'm afraid I was rather stupid. Won't you go and sit quietly by yourself on the back veranda for half an hour and then try? You have to go home? Oh, I'm so sorry. It must be such an awfully clever little trick. Good night!” ——-+e+— A Warning to Stout Persons. , From the German Medical Weekly. It seems to be clearly proved that we cannot make ourselves thin with impunity. Nature creates the fat and the lean, and it ts the part of wisdom for one and the other to resign themselves to their condition. But just here humanity seems to fail, and it is ‘to be feared that the most serious dis- coveries, as well as the most dangerous ad- yertisements, will fail to prevent people ho are too fat from making themselves thin, no matter how. Why did mt Prbf. Eulenboursg, instead of discovering the dangerous chemical proper- ties of the remedfes for obesity, try to dis- cover that pee was graceful, and more beautiful than the opposite state? Upon this condition alone would his advice be heeded. And, after all, who can prove the aesthetic superionity of the thin over the fat? That's,but.a matter of fashion, the re- sult of a new taste, that may change from one year angther. Is it not time to honor the ‘ancieht ideal of fat beauty? Would ic naf prevent the disastrous effects of all the remedies for obesity? 0+ ______ The Hygiene of the Face. From the Medical Press. Apart from indigestion and constipation— two potent factors in the ruin of a natural- ly bealthy complexion—there are a variety of forms of mismanagement which conduce to blotchiness and pimply deformities. Among them must be ranked the ‘practice of washing the face with hot water, a wide- spread form of self-indulgence ‘in cold weather. The hot water, especially when reinforced by @ Coarse or unduly alkaline soap, removes an unduly large proportion of the natural fat of the skin, leaving it with a roughened surface which is very liable to excoriate or “chap,” and requires more frequent washing to keep it clean ewing to its catching the dust. Nothing probably does so much to age the skin as too frequently repeated ab- lutions with hot water, and this may ex- plain why the dainty Frenchwoman pre- fers to smear off the grime with the cor- ner of a handkerchtef steeped in knowing by experience that go soap and water, is, in the long mental to the run, detri- Perservation of a Youthful Academy, French. Accidents and Emergencies. Agricultural Statistics. Alaska, Statistics of. Altitude, Greatest in Each State. Ambassadors of the U. 8. American Cup Record of. American Indtans. Anniversaries f Important Events. Antidotes for Poisons. Appropriations by Congress, Areas of Countries. Army and Navy. Astronomical Phenomena. Atlantic Steamship Lines, ~ Attorneys General. Australian Ballot. ees Banks, Bar Associations. Base Ball Records. Battles of the Civil War. Bible Statistics. Bishops of Relig. Denomtnations. Boat Races. Bridges, Largest in the World. British Government. British Customs ‘Tariff. Building and Loan Associations. dercnivtptete Seo Cabinet Officers. Calendar. Capitals of Principal Countries. Catholic Hierarchy. Cay nd ‘Trademarks, Chinese Empire. Christianity, Statistics of. Churches and Sunday Schools. Cities, Population and Statistics. Civil Service Procedure, Rules. Coins, Value o- Foreign. heesetaeteetentecdente orton LLL PE IEIASEIEEEEPISEEPODE IEP ES Soateateetestoaloateesetodteeteeteotenteetectedtonteetect THE EVENING STAR’S Almanac AND HAND-BOOK FOR 1896 Is Now Ready! Larger and more complete than ever before. 416 pages of solidly printed national and local statistics, records and other general information, and treats $ fully of the relationship of the District of Columbia and the National Government, the duties of the Dis- trict Commissioners, the District’s sources of reve- nue. Information and statistics regarding its finan- cial, commercial, charitable and religious institu- tions, points of imterest, &c. A Mine of Useful Information. District Government. Earth, Interesting Facts About, Eclipses for 1895 and 1896, Faster Bundays. veational Statistics, Election Returns. Electoral Vote. Epocks an Executive penditures of the Government. Exports and Imports. Federal Courts. Federal Government. Federation of Labor. Fire Insurance Statistics, Freneh Repeblic. Germans, Government of. Governors of Grand Army of the Republic. Great Britain; Her Dependencies, Historical Societies. Homes for So'diers. Horse Racing. Immigration. Interest Laws «nd Tables, Interior Departincat. Internal Revenue. Interstate Commerce. Iron and Steel, Production of. A Partial List of Contents. Colleges, Statistics of. Commerce, Foreign, Domestic. Congress, Members of. Consuls General and Consuls, Cycles of Time, Indiciury. Labor Statistics. Languages. Legal Holidays. Memorable Dates, Mexico, Republic of. Military Academy. partment. Monetary Statistics. Nations of the World, Naturalization Laws, Navy Department. Negro Population. Newspaper Statistica Official Directory. Parks of Washington. ae Pauperism ard Crime, Pension Department. Places of Interest. Population ‘ables, Postal Information. Tost Office Department. Debt of the United States, Publi Pugilistic Pecords. Racing Records. THE OSTRICH FEATHER INDUSTRY. Interesting Facts Concerning the Col- lection and Treatment of Them. From the Philadelphia Times. As is well known, feathers, especially those of the ostrich, are used more from year to year as garniture for hats and dresses. The color scale of the Paris syn- dical chambre glitters in all the glaring colors of the rainbow, ‘and a number of changeable tones were incorporated like- wise, all of which are applied to feathers. Vienna and Berfin strive with each other for the control of the ostrich feather mar- ket. The Vienna manufacturers are adepts in the art of imparting an excellent ap- pearance to even the worst raw material. Even the so-called spadoanas, tne hairy tips of the tail feathers of the young cs- trich, which are of an inferior value, they understand how to beautify by dyeing ard plating as if they were prime No. 1. By plating means the patching togeth: single pieces, to obtain a full feather, and almost every feataer, eve costliest, is plated. This applies ‘principal- ly to the feathers of Vienna “manufact- “The Berlin ware, however, Is still horest, and for this reason its manufacturers have a difficult strife with those of Vien Berlin manufacturers thorougaly stand the bleaching, dyeing, steai ng and curling of the feathers, and besides they use a superior raw material. It is astonishing to read the quantity sed in the civ- of ostrich feathers annually ilized world. Newspaper art speak in exalted terms of the rococo time, with its extensive use of feathers used by rich and noble ladies, but the total amount used at that time fades from view when compared to that used at present. The Gata of the six annual auction saies held in London in 1894 show that in all of them were disposed of 308,774 pounds, at a value of £584,000. Boiled Water and Impnrities. From the Philadelphia American, It is generally believed that the most im- Eure water can be rendered pure by boil- ing, and that in this we have an absolute safeguard against the dangers of water containing disease germs. Now, while it is true that boiling will kill the germs of disease, yet the fact has been brought to our notice by so high an authority as Dr. Charles M. Cresson that, while boiling kills the germs of a particular disease, it yet, in reality, renders the water more impure than it was before, because, by the very death of these germs, dead organic matter is allowed to remain in the water, which it pollutes by putrefaction. Hence, while boiling is @ most excellent precaution against the occurrence of typhoid fever or similar diseases, when we have occasion to think the germs of these diseases exist in the water that we drink, yet we must re- member that this boiling does not purify the water; it simply removes from it the specific power to produce a specific disease. ————+e+___ Unaccounted For. From the Detroit Free Press. “I understand that Dobson, the million- aire, was once employed in a livery stable?” “So? That must have been where he got his horse sense.” } ou. Latituce and Longitude Tables, Life Insurance Statistics. Mails, Domestic and Foreign. Manufactures, Statistics of. Marriage and Divorce Laws. Minerals, Production of, Mortality in the United States. Patent Office Procedure, Popular Vote for President, Qualifications for Voting. Railroads, Statistics of. . 25¢e. a Copy. To be had at The Star Office, Cor. mth & Pa. Ave., at Ne by mail upon reorigh of ws Stands, or sent price. EVENING STAR NEWSPAPER COMPANY. Rainfall and Temperature. Religious Statistics. Revolutionary War, Rivers, Longest in the World. Rowing Events, Rulers of the Chief Nations, Bunning Records. Salvation Army. Savings Banks. Scientific Associationr. Single Tax Statement. Societies, Secret and Fraternal. Solar System, Elements of. Sporting Events. State and Territorial Statistics, Statutes of Limitation. Storm and Cautionary Signals. State Department. Tariffs, Hist.ry of. Trade of the District, 3 ‘Treasury Department. Turf Records. ‘United States Senate. Universities and Colleges, Vice Presidents. Vital Statistics, Walking Records. War Department. Washington, History of. Weather Bureau. Weights and Measures. ‘Whist and Duplicate Whist, World's Fairs. Yachting Events. Yale and H-:vard Boat Racing. ‘Young Men's Christian Association. Ridiculous Practice in Otherwise Well-Ordered Houscholds. From the Providence Journal, Mr. Ernest Hart, D. C. L., is lecturing in London on the “Art of Living.” He thinks that at the end of 5,000 years very few of us understand the elementary principles of comfort and health, and then treats what seems the not too complicated subject of going to bed. The management cf the bed room and the art of going to bed would seem to be very simple matters, as to which some rational principles and com- fortable and healthy customs might be ex- pected to prevail. Let us see if this is so. ‘Take the case of the ordinary well-to-do Englishman. He leaves in the winter a warm, well-lighted, and perhaps sumptu- ‘y furnished room, and he ascends through a cold staircase to a room of which the temperature is not determined and is very apt to be below 60 degrees. In how few of our homes are the passages and staircases warmed by a basement stove or a base barner. If he is thoughtful and what is called self-indulzent, he will have the room warmed by a coal fire or a gas stove. This is, however, by no means a umversal rule, and is frequently reserved only for the heads of the cstablishment of for what are called delicate people. The room is rarely well or conveniently lighted, and the fittings commonly are centuries be- hind our modern knowledge. It is only here and there that hot and cold water are laid on, or that the lighting can be without effort shifted m the dressing table to the bed head, and controlied from a convenient place near the bed. The clothing is then removed, and the unhappy person then puts on something which is called a “nightgown,” a sort of linen or cot- sack with sleeves, which leaves the lower limbs and feet more or less uncover- ed, and at once makes a man an uncom- fcrtabie and ridiculous object. It is the clothing of the primeval savage. If a ridiculous situation is needed for a farce it is commpnly created by a night alarm ‘at which t3> sleepers appear in this ridicu- lous guise at the bed room door. The bed is a ridiculous contrivance, hav- ing the worst of ail coverings, linen sheets, the foster mothers of rheumatism, and the worst of all materiais for contact with the skin. To counterbalance its defects and increase the miseries a heavy superabund- ant mass of blankets and quilts is imposed, and to prevent any comfortable or free movement of the limbs these are “tucked in” around the edges, constituting a huge set of swaddling clothes such as only sav- ages now employ even for children. The fire now is generally allowed to become ex- tinct, if ever lighted, and those who have passed their days in warm rooms often spend the night in a chamber in which the temperature is not much above freezing Point, and to mitigate which a complete re- clothing of the body is required. The rea- sonable practice would require, first, that for the present hideous and ridiculous nightgown pajamas of various degrees of warmth or thinness should be provided. The present bedstead and bed clothing should be altogether discarded, and two light_elderdowns like the Indian resai or the Japanese fulon should be substituted. Night socks should be worn of a texture suited to the season. Near the couch should be provided a book shelf with the favorite books. For myself, I select old and well-known favorites, Montaigne, es- says, Pepys’ Diary, Brown's Religio Medi- Seateste Sostestents «4 Saeeeetetetntntetetentente te eteeteeteegete = a —————— ci. Pickwick, Burton’s Anatomy of Mel- ancholy, a handy pocket Shakespeare and Milton, with Virgil, Everybody will make his own selection of well-known and well-worn, and therefore not too exciting, authors. The couch should be supplied with a convenient headrest, Which falls forward at a touch. By the bed should be one lever which controls the sas, fire and temperature, and one which controls the light, either a Byepass bed light or an electric light, as may be most convenient. The room should be kept at a temperature which never falls below 60 degrees and in another part of it should be placed a long “deck chair,” with cush- fons, to which, if the sleeper grows 1 less, he can easily transfer himself and re- pose at any angle. That is how to go to bed rationally, healthily, prepared for the emergencies of the night, whether of sleep- lessness or household eccident, Homer and Horace. Southey. From Temple Bar. It is a curious fact that Southey holds no place in the hearts of present lovers of poetry, yet in his lifetime no one was more honored than he. It may be that his personality, rather than his poems, at- tracted the admiration of his contemporar- ies. New, no one knows him. Who in the present generation has read ‘“Thalaba.” that “wild and wondrous song,”* or the “Curse of Kehama,” as wild, as strange, as fascinating? Why were these pocms the ht of the age which saw their birth nd are yt forgotten now? To who in my childhood lived upon them, this must ever remain a myster so They Only Differed in Opinion, From the Philadelphia American. Paul Louis Courier, when bitterly assail- ed by a French professor, quietly remark- ed: “I fancy he must be vexed. He calls me Jacobin, rebel, plagiarist, thief, poisoner, forger, leper, madman, impostor, calumi- nator, libeler, a horrible, filthy, grimacing ragpicker. I gather what he wants to say. He means that he and I are not of the same opinion, and this is his only way of putting it. ———__+ e+ —___ Outbragged. From the Indianapolis (Ind.) Journal. Aard Knox—“’Fevver I hit you once they won't be nothin’ left but to ring fer de amb'lance. Tuff Muggs—“Is dat so? See dat mitt? Well, de autozities don’t allow me to wear gloves on de streét, cause it would be @ case of carryin’ concealed weapons.” . \