Evening Star Newspaper, February 22, 1896, Page 20

ize OVIAAVA aut NTY-FOUR PAGES, THEY. STUDY ART Glimpses of Life in the Ateliers of Paris. PREPARATIONS FOR THE CONTEST? Some of the Requirements for Ad- mission to the Beaux Arts. THE GRAND PRIZE —__+—__ Special Correspendence of The Evening Star. PARIS, February 11, 1896. O BE A PARIS ART I student is the least definite thing in the world. The subject may have no great talent or application. Yet he will find plenty of ateliers open to him for his money. To be a stu- dent of the. Paris Beaux Arts, on the other hand, means something very defl- nite indeed. ‘The school of the Beaux Arts ts the French State University of painting, sculpture end architecture. ~ ‘To be “of the Beaux Arts” is a proud positien for any young Frenchman. In- stead of paying for his tuition he knows that he has gained it in a public competi- tion. He is taught free, and kas the right to try for prizes, honors and recompen He knows that his school—the state school —sets the pace for all those private schools which make Paris the art center of the world mission to this government university of the fine arts fs difficult, 1f only by reason of competition. Any one—-you or I, who are not even art students—may ebtain permission to follow the lecture corrses. Aspiring students of very ordi- nary ability, so that they he over fifteen years of age and under thirty, may come ft -— €rilby Consolatrice. with a@ certificate from any respectable C are “fit to undergo and have them- he office of the secre- the right to fre- at lectures, to their joy the criticisin of rome, as he passes hall. Dry, nervous, ry-looking, M. Ger- - and seats himself be- » Who rises with pect. etch that seems to ces the master, marking of the figure with his Yet,"" he continues, piti- “it is really bad. You are losing Us to the neglect of the begin terribl; & school daily, the tent, and e ter like G. wari Gene Astray. “My fa’ er?" stammers the unpromising @hetcher, “he Is a drugagi “Very well, my friend, if you continue to design after that fashion, you had better go back to your father. Gerome fs not a man of compliments. ig ecncillatory “Hum!” coupled with a mile and the advica to “continue,” is sufficient to fill the worthy with a high degree of ecstasy. ‘These youths who copy in the Hall of the Antique are not “students of the Beaux Arts, perly so called.” They aspire to be students. Their m2ans do not permit them to pay for outside lessons or draw from the life in @ pay-atelier, or they May think themselves strong enough to ractice alone at drawing until the next alf-yearly examination for admission to “the school properly so called” takes place. Admission to the Beaux Arts. In the real school of the Beaux Arts tho mumber of students is limited. Some years the lists will be more crowded than others, nd the announcement will be made that only forty or fifty new students will be re- ceived. Three hundred may try for ad- A Vision. Mission, but only the first forty or fifty will be accepted. At other times eighty may be let in at once. Six tasks are mark- ed out by the rules of the institution. (). A Gesign in anatomy, to be executed in two hours; (2). An exercise in perspective, to be executed in four hours; @). A writ- ten or oral examination.in general history; @). A figure from nature and a figure from the antique, each to be executed in twelve hours; 6). A fragment modeled after the antique and executed in nine hours; (6). An elementary study in architecture, exe- cuted in six hours. Tke youths who fail have their full right to go back to the antigue-in the Hall of the Antique, and so they become “antiquar- fans." The majority ccentinue studying in the private art schools frem which they actually came to have a shy at the Beaux Arts competition. They may try again. I Earning Money to Continue. know one American painter who, in his youth, tried six times and was received at last. If they be foreigners they will not be so likely to continue trying as the Frenchmen, for only Frenchmen may go in for Beiux Arts prizes and recompenses. re likely they will become attached to this or that master teaching in a private school The chesen youth, “le nouveau,” comes bright and early on the first day, his heart full of corfidence, and his eyes full of pride. He salutes the marble busts of Pu- get and Poussin with a respectful and familiar, “Bonjour, brothers!” He Is about to be officially received. And soon the people will say as he passes: “He is a student of the school!” Other art students will ask him, “Where are you?” He will answer, ncnchalantly, “I am of the Beaux Arts!” They will say, carelesssly, “Oh, you are with Gerome and Bonnat. He will answer, “ Then they will commence to blaspheme Bonnat and Gerome, like hon- est partisans of their own private schools and chosen masters. But he will not mind it. The Initiation. He is abcut to be received, and the | thought suddenly troubles him. Received? dd. mocked! Other students have al- dy noticed him mounting the stair. “A new one!’ “A new one!” they cry. A student takes him by the hand and S him to the others very politely: eurs, a new one.” your name? Speak louder! Write on the wall! Does your family have name? Have you a sister? Is she let him tell his name!” it that pretty? Silene! A more important looking student comes up to pretect him It is the massier, the head of the cla: elected by universal suffrage; the dercsitory of the executive power and the common expense money. “Have yeu seen the boss (patron)? "Yea." “Goo ception. Now we will proceed to your re- A Critical Inspection. The massier contir.ues, turning to an old student: “Monsieur, the phrenologist! Will you be good enough to examine monsieur, and verify his worthiness to become one of us?” ‘Astonishing!” begins the phrenolosist, a short examination of the new one’s What protuberances! What prom- Never in my long career have I seen the bump of color so pronounced! Mes- sieurs, I dare predict that the most ra- diant paintings of Delacroix will be gray fogs compared with the future productic of this young man. Feel him, gentlemen This feel these two bumps in particular. er boy is the dromedary of colo! The procession commences around the head of the unfortunate. “And the bump of the line? Has he that also? Imperturbable, the phrenologist goes on: “Prodigious, incredible! The butte Mont- martre of drawing! Remember what I pre- dict, gentlemen! This young man will have no more rivals among designers than he will have among colorist: “And as to compos tion?” “He has everything, make Dore and Kaulbach forgo’ hair, which seems to the unob: the refuge of infinite dandruff, @ most characteristic hrenological moun- ives approach This able new man feels the iron fingers, the contemplative ear-twisting and the thoughtful hatr-pulling. AM is done so leisurely and decorously that the horror of the situation is increased tenfold. But he must bear ail good-naturedly. “His head is all right" is at last dée- clared, “but genius is not sufficient for a man. Have you muscular force? Will you be able, in case of need, to assist in defend- ing the honor of the atelier?” Undress! Undress! ‘Put aside your ve The Closing Ceremony. ‘The new one dares not hesitate. He knows that they will strip him if he does not strip himself; that they will paint him from head to foot with Prussian blue if he struggles. Nude and ashamed, he stands a pitiful figure on one of the classical pe- destals “Get out! You're ugly! Dress yourself!” is happy, indeed, if the seance ter- minates so quickly. Much depeads upon the humor of the students at the moment. Ugly tricks are offen played on the naked yeuth. At other times he is allowed to @ress quickly and finjshes his troubles by standing on a table and singing @ song. “Bravo! Put him out! Encore! Stop him! Until the massier approaches him more kindly, and makes a little speech, in which the mockings and deceptions he has just undergone are shown to be salutory sym- bols of the deceptions and infamies of the real world outside, and terminating with the demand: “Does not monsieur feel the desire to offer something to his new com- rades who have just received him with such seautiful er thusiasm?” “eiGertainly. How mech ought I give?” “Oh, what you please. If you are rich you may permit yourself to offer the atelier a breakfast at Cubat's. None of these gen- tiemen would be so rude as to decline. If you are not rich we will accept a glass at corner groggery Grdimarily $3 1s the sum which the poorer fellows hand over. “Gentlemen, our new and generous com- rade insists on offering the drinks; he has just put in my hards the enormous sum of $3." * “Whoop! Glot to nabobs!" Calculations. “Weare forty strong. Each one can have a 3-cent glass of wine, a 2- cent cake and two cigarettes. The head of the class will have double rations.” He has earned them. Yelling and gesticulating like s0 many apes they make a break for the stairway, rush through the hall of the An- tique, out into the courtyard and street, and fetch up, 2 howling mob at the corner wine shop. “To your glory!” which in their jargon means: “Here's looking at you! ‘And so they trincue, which is the French to take a drink. About Atelier Life. The student is now “of the Beaux Art: He may, at his option, enter the ateller supervised by M. Gerome, or that of M. Bonnat, the two great masters of painting ef the schol, or he may work in an out- side pay studio, getting the benefit of still other masters and oniy sending in hls work to the semi-annual competitions. At the precent time the former course is oftenest chosen. If you are of the Beaux Arts you work in a Beaux Arts atelier. Despite the great Iberty enjoyed by the students the atelier life is regular enough. ‘The model arrives at 8 a.m. in winter and at 7 a.m. in summer. The students them- selves decide the model's pose, from which discussion and interminable quarrels arise. During the first hours of work, which pass in relative silence, everyone is occupied in “planting his figure.” Models looking for ergagements enter silently and sit around the stove. The choosing of models takes place at recess. One by one they undress and go through their repertoire of poses. It is hard, but imperative to send away the needy but undesirable. In the atelier the work continues al- ways. They have finished “indicating” the figure on their canvas; they commence sketching it roughly; they prepare their palettes and begin to lay on their colors. Cigarette smoke mounts to the ceiling, while here and there a quarrel generates to cause diversion. “You are only a Delacroix who has miss- ed fir ~ “You! You can’t draw!” = Some are all for*color, while others for the dessin before everything. These quar- rels of painters are not for us. In general it may be said, hcwever, that art students come to Paris, because they know that they teach drawing in Paris. And it is undoubted that the school of the Beaux Arts has established and maintains the high standard of Paris in this respect. “Why don’t you paint ladies with gloves on their hands, as they do in Munich? i recently heard a lady tourist ask of a Peris artist, “‘they paint gloves beautifully in Munich.” “Because I am able to draw ee hands,” replied the Parisian proud- re On Wednesdays and Saturdays the “hogs” makes his appearance. Gcerome or -Bon- nat, according to the atelier. It is the proud right of the head of the class to receive the great man and humbly re- eve him of his hat and cane. Turn by turn he sits beside each student, correct- ing, explaining. When he shows himself particularly interested the other students group around the- fortunate canvas. The happy sketcher, elated, seeks to retain in his memory the slightest hint or sugges- tion. He is resolved to perfect the sketch for the exposition at the end of the year. What rating may he not expect at the next semi-annual competition? . Day of Examination, These semi-annual examinations of the Beaux Arts are of the utmost significance. ‘They determine the right of each student to continue to be a member of “the school properly so-called;” and the rating attain- ed in them brings not only immediate hon- ers and recempenses, but also brings per- mission cr refusal to try for the Prix de Rome, the great ambition of youthful French genius, as well as many a prize of lesser but still important value. On the day of the concours d'esquisses, zs it is called, a hundred and more stu- dents assemble before the door of the hall of loges. These loges are little partition- Not Content With It. ed-off compartments like the cells of a prison, or, more correctly, horse stalls in @ stable, because their fronting on the center hall is open. The furniture of each is simple—an easel, a stool, and a table. The uniformed guardians arrive; the door is opened; the students rush into the great room, choosing their stalls; then. they amuse themselves until the inspector brings the program. From a far corner comes the plaintive “Suwanee River,” played Ly an American, who has brought his comb and a picce of tissue paper with him; here an Irishman is dancing a jig. In another corner they organize a hippodrome, with a giant Russian for the horse and a brisk and slender Parisian for a rider of the haute ecole. Outwardly they are uproari- but inwardly they are troubled. he program! the program!” Members of the Jury. Slowly the Inspector breaks the seal of the envelope and reads (say) “The death of Timophanes.” centinuing with a short, anecdotal account of the event. “Timophanes having unjustly put to death a number of Athenian citizens and openly declared himself tyrant, Timoleon, deeply affected, endeavors first to gain his brother over by persuasion. Failing In this, he takes with him his brother-in-law, Eschy- lus, and a soothsayer, to make a last effort, the three conjuring Timophanes to abandon his {mproper projects. Timophanes receives them with laughing scorn. Then ‘Timoleon stands aside, weeping, while the two others draw their swords and kill the tyrant on the spot.” “Grecks! A dead body! amateurs of the antique. The majority find the subject hateful. “Timophanes! Who's he? Ohe! Timoieon! Ohe!” At Work on the Subject. The inspector walks out, dignified, leav- ing the pfogram with a guardian. The first work of each student is to copy it for his guidance. His next act {s to retire to his stall, digest the subject and consult his tm- figination. Some seek !mmediately to put their composition on the canvas, marking it out with great pencil strokes; others, nore prudent, make study after study on paper. The house of this ugly Timophanes. An open square. An interior lends itself to Bravo!” cry. the Brings It to “The Master. hangings, furniture, and a lamp that might give curious effects. On the other hand, to Place the scene in the open air means the sky of Greece, the iaurel roses and the white facades of temples. The text is not precise. Each chooses after his fancy. Half-past eleven! It is iunch time al- ready. They rush to the cantine, leaving their half-finished sketches—Timophanes scarcely sketched out, with a well-finished Timoleon weeping over him—Timophanes, correctly draped, caught in the arms of a shadowy Timoleon—Timophanes, Timoleon, THE EVENING TAR) SATURDAY, FEBRUARY' ¥2,”iso6—TWENTY Eschylus and the soothsayer correctly grouped in pencil, wittt not a color yet laid on them—a Timoleon-Wwith eight arms, like the suiciding girl in “Huckleberry Finn.” Three o'clock! Alreatiy? Diable! ~The singers cease to vocalize, the smokers drop their pipes. sfirt Quarter after four!’ ‘Oily fifteen minutes left! Will the monst: "Timophanes ever have time to die? “Mis¢#itdrde! And blood? Have you forgotten ‘the blood, Gustave? ‘Then it's not a murder, but death by apo- plexy! Toc! Toc! A beautiful splotch of carmine! A la bonne Héure! What butch- ery, my children! rg ¢ The Prizes. The seals are on the compositions, and the students are in the street. Fighting over tke subject, the groupg go to their late din- ner. Then the poorer ones, who have no fire at home, will spend their qvenings in the Beaux Arts library. The riches ones will go to the Brasserie d’Harcourt or Mueller’s to chat with the Trilbys and drink beer. Will such a one come cut well in the list? Will he be allowed to continue in the schooi? Prix de Rome! The matter is of special importance only to the individual. The general interest in the class centers on the great ones, who are thought to have a chance for prizes. Each student pursues or neglects, as the spirit moves him, the Beaux Arts lecture courses; seneral history, anatomy, perspective, mathematics and mechanics, descriptive ge- ometry, archaeology, history of aesthetics, crnamental design, decorative composition, literature and the rest; each gains or fails to gain, at some time or other in his youth- ful career, a first or sccond-class Beaux Arts medal, be it for design, composition or painted sketch, in concours open only to Beaux Arts students; each has his try for first, second or third-class medals in the yearly Beaux Arts public competitions, where the Beaux Arts students must com- pete with students of the private schools. There is also the annual struggle for the great medal of the Beaux Arts, to which outside students are also admitted, and the competition for the great medal of emula- tion, There are prizes and mentions in anatomy, perspective and what not. “En- couragements” in money, varying from $25 to $10, are granted to the deserving. Prizes of outside foundation, varying in value from $00 to $500, some open to outside students, some reserved to Beaux Arts students alone, are distributed yearly. All these, valued as they are, sink into smallness in comparison with the dream of every young French painter—the winning of the Beaux Arts Grand Prix de Rome. Out of three hundred who try each year for these three great prizes, which take their winners to Rome, there to be supported at the expense of the French government for four years, one hundred and thirty to one hundred and fifty are always students of painting. Out of the hundred and fifty who enter the first trial competition, only the first twenty may enter for the second-trial competition. Of these twenty only ten may enter the last and definite competition. STERLING HEILIG. SS THE COMING SPORT. FLYING Genuine Open Air Exercise, Says One Who Has Tried It. From the Aerouautical Annual. One can fly loug distances with quite sim- ple apparatus, writes Otto Lilienthal, with- out taxing one’s strength at all, and this kind of free and safe motion through the air affords greater pleasure than any_other kind of sport. From a raised starting point, particularly from the top of a flat hill, one can, after some practice, soar through the air, reaching the earth only after having gone a great distance. For this purpose I have hitherto employed a sailing apparatus very like the outspread Pinions of a soaring bird. It consists of a wooden frame covering with shirting (cot- ton twil). The frame is taken hold of the hands, the arms resting between cushions, thus supporting the body. The legs remaln free for running and jumping. "The steering in the air fs brought about by changing the center of gravity. This ap- paratus I had constructed with supporting surfaces of ten to twenty square met The larger sailing surfaccs move in an in- cline of one to eight, so that one is enable to fly eight times as far as the starting hill is high. The stecring {s facilitated by the rudder, which is firmly fastened behind in a horizontal and vertical _ position. machines weigh, according to their size, from thirty-three to fifty-five pounds, In order to practice flying with these sail- ing surfaces one first takes short jumps on a somewhat inclined surface, till he has ac- customed himself to. be borne by the air. Finally he is able to sail over Inclined sur- faces as far as he wishes. The supporting capacity of the air is felt, particularly if there is a breeze. A sudden increase in the wind causes a longer stoppage in the air, or one is raised to a still higher point. The charm of such a flight Is indescribable, and there could not be a healthier motion or more exciting sport in the open air, The rivalry in these exercises cannot but lead to a constant perfecting of the apparatus, the same as, for instance, is the case with bicycles. I speak from experience, for, al- though the system of my sailing apparatus remains the same, it has gone through num- berless changes yearly. The apparatus which I now employ for my flying exercises contains a great many improvemeats as compared with the first sailing surfaces with which I commenced kind of experiment, five years ago. The first attempts in windy weather taught me that suitable steering surfaces would be needed to enable me to keep my course bet- ter against the wind. Repeated changes in the construction led to a kind of apparatus with which one can throw himself without danger from any height, reaching the earth safely, after a long distance. The construc- tion of the machine is such that it re- sembies in all its parts a strut-frame, the Joints of which are calculated to stand pull and pressure, in order to combine the great- est strength with the least weight. An im- portant improvement was to arrange the apparatus for folding. All of my recent machines are so arranged that they can be taken through a door about 61g feet high. The unfolding and putting together of the flying implemertts takes about two minutes. ‘A single grip of the hands is sufficient to attach the apparatus safely to the body, and one gets out of the apparatus just as quick- ly on landing. In case of a storm the flying sail 1s folded up in half a minute and can be laid by anywhere. If one should not care to fold the apparatus he may await the end of the storm under cover of the wings, which are capable of protecting twenty persons. Even the heaviest rain will not damage the apparatus. The flying apparatus, even if completely drenched, is soon dried’ by a few sailing flights after the rain stops®as the air passes through the same. with great specd. ‘The latest improvements of the flying ap~ paratus which I use, for practical experi- ments refer to gaining of greater stability in windy weather. i My experiments tend particularly in two directions. On the one side I endeavor to carry my experiments in sailing through the air with immovable wings to this extent: I practice the overcoming of the wind, in order to penetrate, if possible, into ‘the secret of continued soaring flight. On the other hand I try to attain the dynamic flight by means of flapping the wings, which are Introduced as a simple addition to my sall- ing flights. The Silver Lining. From the Eldora (Iowa) Ledger. Excited American Freshman—“Did I pass my examination, professor?” Professor, with proud scorn—“No, sir!”* Off dances Freshie, radiant with smiles. Professor—"You misunderstood me; you failed, sir!’” a Incorrigible Freshman—“Ah, but I won a bet, you see!” Professor staggers. jee It Was Evident, From the Chicago Post. “I see some skates are talking about a six-year presidential term, an’ sayin’ it's a good thing,” said the fat man. “Well, we wouldn't have so many cam- paigns in that cese,” returned the little man. “That's why I favor it.” “Do you favor it?” asked the fat man, scowling at the little one. “Certainly.” “Well, I don’t know who you are, but I'll bet -a ten-dollar bill to a copper cent you're not in the saloon business.” into it. Moral: secret. exceptio: Ayer’s. O20 S20 a big ‘best’? on the bottle. we'll decide for ourselves about the best.” these modest sarsaparillas say: Have faith in the label.” 3; One sarsaparilla that has mo secret fo hide. If you want to know what goes into Ayer’s Sarsapa- rilla, ask your doctor to write for the formula. satisfy yourself that you get the best of the sarsaparilla argu- ment when you get Ayer’s. ‘Any doubt left? The It kills doubts but cures doubters. Address: J. C. Ayer Co., Lowell, Mass. @ SOOO SSeS eSocaooeeese Ins and Outs of It. If you get best wear out of a coat best work must have gon You can’t get good bread out of poor fivur. You can’t get the best out of anything unless -the best is in it; and the best has to be put in before it can be taken out. Now, we have a rule to test those sarsaparillas with “Tell us what’s put in. you and That’s fair. “Oh! we can’t tell. Stop! Get the “Curebook: SESHSSSGOOO ae a Nall ad Ck at! But It’s a There’s one It’s Then you can ELECTRIC SHOCK VICTIMS. A French Authority Prescribes a Formula of Treatment. From the Medical Record. One of the contingencies of modern civili- zation which is almost entirely new and is wholly dependent upon the development of modern industry 1s the treatment of acci- dents from electric shock. The matter has been discvssed quite thorcughly by physi- cians in this country, but It has been worked out perhaps more systematically by Dr. D'Arsonval of Paris, who has recently made a report to the Academie de Medecine of Paris upon the method of treating per- sons injured by electrical shocks. D'Arson- yal states that electricity causes death sometimes directly by the disruptive and electrolytic effects of the charge on the tis- sues. This death 1s final. It sometimes, however, causes death indirectly by arrest of respiration and syncope, caused by stim- ulation of the nerve centers. Under these circumstances a person may be revived if proper measures are applied. The formula for reviving the victim of electric shock is this: The person so dis- abled should be treated like one drowned; in other words, he should be laid upon the back, and artificial respiration performed in the way that is ordinarily prescribed. Some further practical advice, however, is given to those who are called at once to the scene of the accident, and at the time when the person is perhaps still in contact with the wires. Of course, the first thing to be done ig to stop the current or break the contact. In doing the latter, one should not touch the victim on the face or hands, or any naked part of the body. It Is better to lft him by the coattails or to throw a blanket over him and pull him by this. Nothing that is wet should be thrown upon him, and if his clothes are wet, the hands should not be put in contact with them. A piece of dry wood chn be placed under the body and he can then%be lifted. The furth- er treatment of the case is the familiar cno applied in attempting to restore the drown- ed. The arms are worked, and the tongue is kept drawn out; the body may sometimes be rubbed thoroughly with a cloth or brush in order to increase the circulation of the blood. Oxygen and perhaps a stimulant may be employed. THE LAST JUROR WAS WON. HOW ‘The Lawyer Saw From His Face That He Was Unconvinced. From the Ohfcago Chronicle. Dr. Robert D. Sheppard, business agent of the Northwestern University, relates a story of how he once won a lawsuit which illustrates the manner in which lawyers sometimes adapt themselves to their juries. “There was no question,” said Dr. Shep- pard, “but that I was in the right of the case. The evidence was conclusive, the law was on my side, and when my at- torney arose to make his opening address he thought he had the case won. briefly reviewed the evidence, stated the law in the case, and was about to close his argument when he noticed that one of the jurors, a stolid old farmer, did not seem to be with him. The other eleven men had already decided the case in their own minds, but the farmer had a slug- gish, set expression on his countenance which boded no good for me or my case. Again the lawyer reviewed the evidence, addressing his remarks entirely to this one man, but no impression was made. The same stolld expression still occupied the man’s face, and he seemed as little likely to be moved as the court house in which the trial was taking place. The attorney tried all kinds of arguments, and finally, when he was about giving up in despair, a happy thought struck him. He repeated again the bare facts, and when he came to a place where the person op- posing. me had made an egregious error in judgment he leaned over io the old farmer and said: “‘And I went to tell you, my friend, that e's where he dropped his watermelon.’ ‘he old farmer's face lighted up, and from that moment the case was won. The jury was out less than five minutes, and pa back a verdict for all that I had asked.” —_+e-+—____ After Carlyle. From the London Echo. ‘Though wardering in a stranger land, Though on the waste no altar stand, ‘Take comfort! thou art not alone While Faith hath marked thee for her own. Wouldst thou a temple? Look abo ‘The heavens stretch over all in lov A book? For thine evangel scan ‘The wondrous history of man. ‘The holy band of saints renowned Embrace thee, brotherlike, around; ‘Their sufferings and their triumphs rise In bymns immortal to the skles. And though no organ peal be heard, In harmony the winds are stirred: And there the morning stars upraise ‘Their ancient songs of deathless praise. —____+e+____ Entirely Superfluous. From the Chicago Tribune. “Papa,” sald Mr. Kajones’ youngest, leaning over his chair and stroking his iron-gray hair, ‘“‘you’ve bought bicycles for the others, and I ought to have one. I'm nough to ride it now.” vig fii exclaimed her father, “how many machines have we in the family?” nly four.” “Only four, hey?” replied Mr, Kajemes. “Only four! Do you know, my dear, there is nothing in the world quite as useless as @ fifth wheel?” LIFE IN JOHANNESBURG. More About the Metropolis of the Transvaal. From the Home Journal. The Transvaal and its wonderful cosmo- politan center, Johannesburg, are just .ow of greater interest than ever. Emigration there from all enterprising civilized is still on the increase. The rallway journey from Cape Town to Johannesburg of about three days is through a seemingly endless, sandy coun- try, with range succeeding range of d tant mountains, all alike, and strikes a greater sense of vastness and desolation than an expanse of naked ocean itself. First and second elass have sleeping ac- commodation, the third being kept for blacks and the lowest class Dutch. Well, we reach Johannesburg, which has wot even yet, with all its wealth, a covered-in railway station; while; by way of conirast in the “progress of the place, just across the road is a huge club, with tennis, cricket, foot ball and cycling grounds, gymnasium, | military band, halls for dancing, operas, oratorios, ete., which will bear compzrison with any you please. Its members are mil- lionaires and clerks, lodgers and their lodg- ing house keepers, ‘all equal there; for we have left behind caste, cliques and cathe- dral cities, and are cosmopolitan, or, in a word, colonial. An institution like this gives us the state of society there in a nutshell, for, as wages are very high, any one in anything like lucrative employment can belong to it; and the grades in society are determined by money, and money on Johannesburg,the London of South Africa, which nine years ago barren velit, eight years ago a miners’ camp, is now the center of some one hundred thousand in- habitants, and increasing about as fast as bricks and mortar can be obtained. It is situated directly on top of the gold, and, on looking down from the high ground above, it looks to an English eye like a huge, long-drawn-out mass of tin sheds, with its painted iron mine chimneys run- ning in a straight line all along the quartz gold reef as far as you can see in either direction. The largest or main reef runs for thirty miles uninterruptediy, gold-bear- ing and honeycombed with mines through- out. This, even were it alone, could speak for the stability and continued prosperity of the Transvaal gold trade. On a mail steamer arriving only a few days ago fmm the Cape was said to be between 230,000 and £400,000 worth of gold, and the news- papers show that usually about £100,000 worth is consigned by each mail boat. To young fellows going out with a few hundreds to try their luck, the old Aus- tralian's advice, I think, holds good for Africa, namely, to: put your money into safety for a year, and not go into business or speculating until you know your coun- is try. Johannesburg business morality certainly not London business moralit and leading business men at the formcr place will tell you themselves that honesty is not expected there. For those who go to earn thelr livelihood, or to make money, I would say, do not go out without a fixed trade or handicraft, or money to start upon, or a good introduction to some friend al- ready there. But remember that the Trans- vaal 1s a veritable paradise for the work- ingman who knows his business. All the heavy part of the labor is put out; the Kaffirs do it, directed by him in a few Kafir words and generally many English expletives. Wages are paid monthly. Miners make thelr £25 or £30 a month, if first rate, and the blacks drill their holes for blasting where and as they order them. Carpenters, blacksmiths, masons can get about the same; and, whenever a billet is lost or cannot be obtained, a short tramp along the mines generally brings success. ——+e+ A GALLANT COCK GROUSE. He Landed in a Barnyard and Charm- ed All the Hens. A big cock-ruffed grouse came plumping down in the barnyard at Seth Colby’s near Bear Creek, Pa., the other day, and strut- ted about among the hens, giving himself all sorts of airs. The rooster that had charge of this flock of hens gazed at this impudent intruder in astonishment for a few seconds, and then bristled up and started in to show the grouse that sole au- thority in that yard was vested in himself. The rooster was as big again as the grouse, but the gamey Interloper from the wilds put himself in shape and treated Mr. Rooster to something that was a surprise to him. The grouse was so quick and tierce in his fighting that after three lively rounds the rooster turned tail and retreated to a far corner of the barnyard. The vic- tor couldn’t crow, but he jumped upon a mound of straw and looked the surround- ings over with such an imperious air that it spoke louder of his triumph than a crow that could have been heard a mile. After thus gloating over his victory the wild cock came off the mound and strutted about amorg the hens with more assurance than before. The hens did not conceal their admiration for the audacious gallant, and huddled around him, ignoring scorn- fully the presence of their rightful lord, beaten and humiliated in his corner. For half an nour tne grouse enjoyed his pleas- ing triumph, and then whirled away to his wooded haunts. “And them hens,” says Seth Colby, who witnessed the remarkable exhibition from the window of his hay mow, “looked sor- rier than a widder when that dandy phea- sant left ‘em, and they kept it up so long that they didn’t recognize the rooster for more’n two days.” ~ : nations { TRAINS RUN UPWARD. The Straight U and Down Runs of Certain Down-Town Expressex. vom the New York Press. ‘All aboard—seventh floor first Stop.” This cry greeted a reporter yesterday as he stepped into a down-town office building and faced a half dozen elevators, He wished to go to the ninth floor. He stepped into an elevator over which was the it : sign: ‘Express—tirst stop, seventh floor.” In it there were three men and a middle- aged woman. The starter said “All right,” and the elevator man grasped the throttle of pre It was the usual cable rope, and as the man pulled it began Its journey upward. The lone woman passen ger gave vent to a slight “Oh!” and held her breath, Floor after floor was passed at a speed of an hour, When the sixth about eight miles floor was reached the woman wanted to get off, but was informed that she was onan express, and it was against the rules to Stop an express until its de: reached. The elevator arrived enth floor on tme. It took e: seconds to make i eighty-five feet. announced tha dag 100 feet above, cording to the directory, was th ‘our- teenth, and the elevator flew upward oene » arriving near the roof a few seconds actly eig the upward journey The ele¥ator ‘man of : then t the next stop would be the The top floor, ac- “We can make a round trip in f, ni u in forty-five seconds, inciuding short stops, said the heer of the express, “but we hav € e made it in about forty without stops. There two express elevators and four rezulars that we call way tr: y iat vy Stop every floor and for everybody who sh Often I get pa: nt to get at the sixth or tenth floors, They get med too, when they are told they must go up and take another elevator down, ‘The uther express makes no edia during the busy how at all How San From the Spectator. Hills Grow, A sand hill is not “made” so much as planted. Wherever a patch of “marrum erass' takes root there the sand blown from the great bank gathers round it. As the sand spreads, the grass grows thr it, until the hard, dry blades ough form the nu- cleus of thousands of tons of “hill Near Holkham bay there tay not for! y years ago a wet “lake” inside the high sand. There the “gunners” used to hide for curiew, digging holes and filiing them with “mar- rum grass,” to make them dry and com- fortable. This grass took root, the sand gathered round, and where the “lake” lay is now umultuous mass of rounded hil- g twenty feet above high-water the “marrum grass” from ‘evel—built by the surphis driftings of the mighty sand. a as Why Cycling Exhilarates, From the London Tru An enthusiastic cyclist tells you that the effects of excess in cycling are very much the same as excess in drink. And I feel very little doubt that the doctor is right. Cycling, I suppose, because it acts as such @ powerful stimulant to the heart, pro- duces, in the first Instance, a feeling of ex- hilaration, which is in itself a pleasure, especially to the owner of a fagged brain or jaded nerves. Anything that produces this effect is naturally “craved” after when once tasted. This exhilarating effect, tov, overcomes the consciousness of fatigue and consequently prevents the cyclist from judging accurately when he (or she) has had enough—another dangerous point of re- semblance to alcohol. —__——+o+-— Repariee. From the Chicago Record. “Kitty,” he said to his wife, “you're clever, but you can’t touch my mother at making beaten biscuit.” “Of course not,” she said; “the woman that brought you up had to have a good fist.” ————_ Two College Gra From Texas Sittings. Rev. Dr. Discord—“Why, dear Jack, T am glad to see you. You are looking so well. Wha: have you been doing?” Jack Scraggs—"Pitching for a league club at $5,000 a What are you doing Discord: ing for a chapel at $500 inter. soe Right Up-to-Date. From the Filegende Biatter. Young Miss (to suitor who has just pro- to her)—“I cannot promise you just now, not feeling any love for you whatever as yet, but, er—you may call again—say, in an hour's time.”