Evening Star Newspaper, August 29, 1896, Page 18

THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, AUGUST 29, 1896--TWENTY PAGES. “Organ nders have routes,” answered one of the wheeling piano players in reply to a question, “as well defined as the routes in other lines of business, and have their regular customers also. There is now and then some interference in the business, but the street music players are as careful not to interfere with each others’ rights and customers as are the ordinary street peddlers or arabs. There is very little music played on the streets just now as more than three-fourths of the machines ere being worked in summer resorts or seaside cities. In a couple of weeks the street masic players will have returned for the fall and winter season. Though the spring and summer season is the best for street players the fall season is profit- able in some sections of the city, and es- pecially in the west end. The best ma- chines are used in that section, too, while the old or wornout ones are used on the back streets and out-of-the-way _ places. The street pianos which return through Philadelphia ere furnished with new mu- sic. That city is the headquarters for the street piano players as far as the east fs concerned. In the west Chicago is the headquarters. The street piano cosis all the way from $10) to $350." pes +s though just nuw a in “The Knelpp cure, fad in some section New York,” observed a well-known phys cian, “is by no means a new thing or a new idea. The theory of the cure is that it equalizes the condition of things and for that reason is specially beaeficial for rheumatism and similar affections. Of course, exposure to the damp grass would ful if ¢ 1 on to any great ex- ooted romp in the grass is beneficial to al- walking about on and especially ing fect and bare yath:ng so. beneficial, ual bathing in the wa- person com2s in con- round too sedan for per- ke the ave person In ance. F t they wear ext they walk on con- r brick foot walks. Of unknowing! iif th ion emoy ed on the 1 roads. My idea is t pp cure will work just as as in the early morn- on which it is bi anda ne we @ bene- fited « 5 in direet contact with the *# + industry has sprung up of late, a clerk in one of the upper de- } sure fs ‘s it should be cleaned, Here is where ate and ans the chane 1 cents. he | ng rk well, of a week ustomer. It ation to the and, r is well supplied with the h enables him to | cases where the and ac new for I cee te ons were never more plentiful son, ard ne in my said a grower who re- river, from which coun- ts its largest supply, “but market for them is Hard times, I think, is the cause jt, and the thousards who bought a srmelon as religiously every Saturday asht and often dur the week several pught the other market- buying them now. The result | not pay us to ship them. | y thousand melons } along Cone ri ock or allowe el of them, and ripe about the » than the stock experience better, sides on the Con y this somehow or other th not goo: of very hot or boiling a talkative knight of the thought the razor was impro + hot water removed ce which c 1 on it. »vel, but not for the reason und out that a razor z best tem- razor was Siven. It or other fir lat > boiling point of when a razor is water it gives it a new old-fashioned barber though he did not kno right.” eee * Y rse power as spoken of In machi ery,” remarked an experienced and well- informed engineer, “is to some extent a misnomer these da Watt, who first ex- perimented and wrote on the subject, as- certained by long study and experiments that the exact force exerted by the strong- €st horse in the London breweries was st cient to raise 33,000 pounds one foot high in one minute. ‘This he called the horse power. Thus, an engine of two hundred horse powes would be the power of two hundred horses each lifting 33,000 pounds one foot high in one minute. Horse power S$ understood now refers more to the size of the cylinder than to the power exert } The value f the unit has been thus cha sed, at now at is spoken of as horse po: ay mean anything, one or a hali-dozen horses ev * * & & & “The darker the night the gre ficulty there ts in locating a fire, member of No. 1 fire company. of the miscalculation {s the Intense bright- ness of the fire In contrast with the dark- ness. I remember one night last fall a man came running into our engine house, ring that there was a big fire, which he | aid was two or three blocks away. He said it was In the locality of 12th and R ts. Just as he was telling us about it larm came in, and we siarted. He was a mile wrong, for the fire was out near Howard University. And yet that man supposed he was a good judge of dis- | tances, and in fact was one of the army engmeers at the District buildings.” eee EK “Gen. Lee sald to me once that there was @ general misunderstanding of the reason why the confederate soldiers were uniform- ed In gray,” said a prominent officer of that army. “We never understood the rea- Son ourselves, though we were in the war at the start and the finish. Gen. Lee said the real reason was that there was less @anger in uniforming soldiers in gray than in any other color, for the war ex Tonences of Europe for hundreds of years ad been that the Austrian gray was the past fatal in battle. The experts in war ertained that_under the same fire Titles were: Red, 12; rifle green, 7: . 7; dark blue, 8, and the Austrian bluish gray but 5. He said these statistics had more to do with the gray uniform of the confederate soldier than any and all things combined, it matters not what was | they would not said or thought to the contrary. Gen. Lee further explained that the reason why the fatality of the Union ctficers was so large —entirely out of proportion to that of the soidiers—during the first two years of the war, was because the Union officers wore dark blue overcoats and could be readily picked out from the soldiers even at long distances by that mark, and, as the policy of war is destruction, the confederates, when they could, always shot at the dark- er coat for the reason that they knew its wearer was an officer. It was their desire, of course, to kill as many officers as they could.” ek KK * A neighbor has a little boy, and he is the owner of a wagon drawn by a goat. His mother during the past hot days has forbidden him to ride without an umbrella over him. The little fellow concluded that if heat was bad for him it was not good for the goat; so he searched through the house until he found his sister's parasol, and after cutting off the handle succeeded in fastening it so that it protects the ani- mal from the sun. The goat with the para- sol has attracted a good deal of attention in the neighborhood through which he is driven. He makes no effort to get rid of i, seeming to appreciate what it is placed there for. — HOW HE SAVED HIMSELF. A Check on a Bank Drawn by a Mil- Hionaire Which Was Not Honored. It isn’t often that a Star reporter is on chummy terms with a real live millionaire, but there are times when even that sort of luck happens, and on the occasion referred to this reporter was not only chummy with the millionaire, but he was drinking cham- pagne with him. It was, indeed, an auspicious moment. Need it be mentioned who was paying for the same? A3 the conversation ran smoothly along, the reporter asked the millionai-e if he had ever been held up or otherwise despoiled of his hard-earned savings. “Do you know,” said the rich man, se- riously, “that there is a good deal of dis- comfort on that score In the possession of great wealth? I presume I am worth a couple of millions, which, of course, in a general way is supposed to be twenty or more, and it 1s at that figure that I pose in the minds of those cranks who make men sign big checks at pistol points, or make them whack up the cash on pain of dyna- miting. Five years ago, when I made a million on a lucky rise, it occurred to me that I might be made a victim, and as one precaution I instructed my bankers to pay no check of mine that called for more than $100, and to arrest the party presenting it. I did my business in three banks and car- vied blank checks on them all. Well, one day it came, and sitting in my private office two men popped down on me, and be- fore I could make any outcry or even get out of my chair they had me covered y their revolvers. My office force con only of a typewriter and stenographer, and he was out for an hour, so the thieves had it all to themselves. Indeed, they had been waiting for the ch: . because my sten- ographer took an hour off every day at the same time, and they hed evidently ac- inted themselves with the fact. In any there 1 was and there they were, ith the door locked and two guns staring at me, I had little chance to do otherwise than as I was bidden. I trie1 to parley, vould not permit any monkeying, so they informe] me, nelther would they give me ninety days, as it was a strictiy cash trans ion, and I'd better They ran h my desk and and found no money, and at once de- manded a che iz the amount of thelr own free will at $11, so that overdraw my account nor by making an amount in und numbers. I had $20,000 or more to y credit and told them so, but they were afraid I was putting up a job on them, and said that they weren't hogs, and would be satisfied with the amount they had se- lected. I drew up the check and signed it as they suggested, and then one of them took it and sald he would go to the bank and see about it while the other would re- main and see to me. I hadn’t quite ex- pected this, and didn’t know what might happen, but I braced myself and waited. The man with the check locked the door, and as the bank was only half a block away, he said he would be back in ten minutes. It wasn’t that long, but it seem- ed to me like a month, and when I heard that key rattling in the door I became so nervous I could hardly sit in my chair. When the door opened, however, I was easy in a minute, for instead of the thief were two bank detectives, and before the gen- tleman waiting with me could offer an ob- jection they had him collared.” “But how did they get on?” inquired the reporter, whose wits were slightly dulled by the novelty of his contents. “Easy,” responded the millionaire. “The bank clerk knew something was crooked when he saw that big check, and without any disturbance at all he gave the tip to the men on watch, and they had the fellow at the window before he knew he was even suspected. The rest of it was easy, for my office key with its number was in his pocket, and they had had experience enough to know what the layout was and how to finish the game to win.’ ge ALL HAD ACES, excite suspicion An Exciting Game of Poker Played ia a Saloon. “The most exciting game of poker I ever played,” said a reformed gambler to a Star reporter, “was in a saloon in Cincinnatl. Accompanied by two friends, I entered the place, and we seated ourselves at a table, upon which lay a deck of cards. A game of poker was proposed, and the man to my left dealt the cards. I glanced over my hand and found four aces, which, as straights were barred, was invincible. I raised the unte, the dealer followed sult, and after several raises the ante alone was a good-sized pot. I saw that the other two had good hands, and stood pat for fear they would think I had fours if I drew a card. The others did the same, and I play- ed one for a full, the other a flush. “We all had a good deal of money with us, and betting ran high and exciting. Finally one said: ‘I've got you all beaten, but I'll have to raise it only ten for a show down.’ “The money went up and I shouted, ‘Four aces.’ The man to my right pinned the money to the table with his knife. ‘Four aces here.’ ‘And here,’ shouted the other, as he drew a revolver. “‘Shentlemans, dondt shoot,’ called the proprietor. ‘Go on de sidevalk if you vas goln’ to fighdt. Vat de dhroubles vas? “ ‘Somebody's been cheatin’,’ I cried, ‘and it is not me. Three hands have four aces,’ ‘Yah; das vas von peanuckle deck,’ and the saloon keeper laughed,while we divided the pot.” Not a cowardly attack upon an unprotect- ed lady cyclist, but merely Tom giving his heart's idol her first lesson.—London Punch. ‘ ART AND ARTISTS The statue of the late Senator Kenna which the state of West Virginia will place in Statuary Hall in the Capitol before long is the work of Mr. Alexander Doyle, a New York sculptor. Mr. Doyle has com- pleted the clay medel, and it has been placed in the hands of the stonecutters. The figure is about seven feet six inches in height, and will be carved from the highest grade of Italian marble. On ac- count of the size of the figure a perfect block of stone the required size is rather difficult to obtain and three blocks have already been rejected. The statue is to cost $10,000, and will be a handsome piece of sculpture, being an important addition to the ranks of soldiers and citizens in Statuary Hall. * ok OK Mrs. F. G. Doubleday {s summering in Binghamton, N. Y., and has been following up much the same line of work as she does in the winter. Instead of devoting herself entirely to outdoor sketching, as many artists do while they are away, she has been doing considerable studio painting. She has been busying herself with a num- ber oZ study heads, and some of the still- life pleces and flower subjects with which she is so successful. * * OK Miss Anna M. Hunt has been working under William M. Chase in his school among the Shinnecock Hills. Miss Hunt's portrait’ of herself, it will be remembered, won for her the prize of $200 offered in the spring by the Society of the Friends of rts. * * Ok Anfiong the many good studies that Mis! Perrie has made this summer is the int2r- for of a wheelwright’s shop out on the Silver Spring roud. The study is in gouache, and executed on a grayish paper, which tones down all the brighter colors and helps to give the dingy, smoky appear- ance of the shop. A young fellow dressed iu ais working clothes, is seated at a bat tered old desk in one ‘corner looking over the books. Lying upon the work bench one sees planes and other tools, and the discolcred walls of the shop are hung with all sorts of implements in picturesque con- fusion. Miss Perrie is now hard at work in East Gloucester, Mass., and expects to sketch there for several weeks longer. * * Ok At the new Corcoran Gallery the parquet flooring is being laid, and great piles of pasteboard boxes containing the little oak blocks of which the floor is made are to be seen throughout the entire building. The blocks are set in a glue preparation, and when they have become firm the floor is smoothed off and polished. By far the largest part of the flooring@of the gallery is to be of this durable, as well as highly ornamental sort. The heavy plate glass through which the basement is to receive its light, has been laid on the first floor, and the inner rcof of ground glass over the picture galleries is also in position This double roofing of glass i in order that the glare of the mic sun- light may be excluded, and in order that the light for the pictures may be plentiful, though tempered and softened. The work- men have also been busy with the railings around the picture galleries, and the heavy oaken rods are now in place in_ their brackets. What still remains to be done is mostly finishing work of this character, and ail signs point to a speedy completion of the structure. x % Miss Jane Bridgham Curtis has been spending the summer in Buckland, Va., and has been dividing her time between health- ful recreation and sketching. Mrs. S. M. Fassett has recently made a portrait of Alexander Graham Bell and one of Alexander Melville Bell, both of which likenesses are now at the Volta Bureau in Georgetown, an institution which was founded by the bounty of the two men for the purpose of teaching the deaf. The por- traits were painted for and will eventually adorn the iibrary which was donated by the Bells to the town of Bradford, Ontario, where they at one time had their home. It is probable that Mrs. Fassett will make duplicates of these portraits for Kendall Green, x OK Miss D. B. King has just completed a second bust of Mrs. Graham, which is larger and more elaborately worked up than the first one. Besides several small heads Miss King has been working on the partly nude figure of a little boy. She is always very successful with children, as is wit- nessed by a small quick sketch in clay which she calls Morning. It shows a litle tot tugging at its father’s beard in order to arouse him, and is a very suggestive lit- ue study. Religion, by Baur, one of the large fig- ures that surmount the piers in the rotunda of the new Congressional Library, was put in place recently. The figure of the woman is entirely draped, and both arms are out- stretched, her right hand grasping lightly a branch of fruit. Paul Bartlett’s statue of Law was placed in the library a short time before this one, and there fs now but one statue lacking to complete the circle of figures, the one of Poetry, by Herbert Adams. Some time ago the scaffolding in the upper part of the dome was removed, revealing Blashfield’s decoration of the collar and also of the crown of the lan- tern, and now the scaffolding has been re- moved from the west main entrance of the brary, disclosing many new beauties to the eye of the visitor. ED THE SYSTEM. What the Young Man Told His Girl About the Electric Cars. “You see,” said the young man on the front seat of an electric car, explaining to his best girl how the electric current was made to serd the car flying along the rails, “the motcriman turns that thing a little to the right, and that connects the car with the electric current carried along in tho wire down in the conduit under the track.” “But how does it make the wheels go around?” questioned the little miss. “Why, the motorman just gives that thingumbob a half turn to the right, and that lets on just so much of the whatdo- youcallit, which connects the car with the thingamajig that is hitched to the little plow and runs along the dinkeybob down under the center of the track. That is con- nected with the electric wire down under ground by little rigamajees at intervals, and the wire furnishes the power to the jingaree that pushes the car along.” “How perfectly lovely,” chirped the Ittle miss. “But I don’t just see how the elec- tric current gets to the wheels.” “Well, there’s a little jimjammer that runs from the grip or plow to the axles, and the current runs through little what- youcallems and is connected by some kind of jimcranks to the wheels; when the man turns on the electric current it shoots through those kadoogins, and the tankey- tour starts the wheels. “Oh, yes; I understand. stop the car?” “Just snakes that jigamaree around to the left, tight up against the whatisit, gives the brake a twist, and there you are.” (Then they got off at the corner drug store. But how does he ——_>—_—_. THE EXACT LOCALITY. But at the Same Time He Thought the Street Names Were Queer. “Dere vas anoder man shot last night,” said the German driver of a milk wagon as he was measuring out a pint of milk for a lady customer on Capitol Hill last Sunday morning. “In what part of the city?’ questioned the lady as she handed him a milk ticket. “I shust heard a doctor tell der bolice- man it vas between der duodenum und dot ilium—up in der northwest, I subbose. Vat kveer names der Commissioners are giving dose new streets up dere, aind id?” é And He Got Left. From the Detroit Free Press. “Did you get a nice change and rest at the resort, Bulkey?” “No; my daughter got most of gay change and my wife got the rest. HEARD IN SOUTHERN MARY- LAND. She was tall and lank, Sth an aquiline nose protruding betweenZ@imy eyes deep set ja a pale face. Her ir, like frosted strings of rusty wire, s@i¢k close to her wrinkled forehead, and Her lips—just yel- low lines over a toothless/mouth—shut and opened eutomatically. Her \voice was slow and drawling, with the sjpg-song tone of southern Maryland. = “Mornin to ye, ma'am,’ mornin’,” she ducked her head shortly/¢gnd pausing be- neath the spreading tree gazed curiously at a number of oranges we had placed beside the basket of sandwiches. Her eyes wan- dered to our old sorrel feeding on the banks of the near stream. “So ye brought your critter along, an’ ye bein‘ to go all the way to Charlotte Hall? Been a-ridin’ ever sence early mornin’? Well, now, 1 do declare! Is them your chilluns, ma’am? Well, now, your gal looks nery a bit ycunger nor you, an’ my! but ain’t she light complected! An’ yo bcy, ma'am; well, he is a tine one! His eyes ar like my boy’s eyes, ma'am; mebbe ye didn’ know as I hed a boy, too, ma'am; a grea’, big, strappin’ lad, ez han’som ez ye please, ma'am, though ye mightn’ think on it to look at me. My boy’s somewer's, he is, but I ain’t heerd on him fer goin’ on nigh twenty years. : “He got kind o’ tired o’ stayin’ on the faim, an’ his fether—oh, well, ye knows these Germans when their chilluns cross ‘em any—so my boy he up an’ went, an’ I ain’t heerd on him fra that day to this. Be ye fra Washin'ton, ma'am?” The drawling voice became ‘painfully eager. “Yes? Well, now, that’s sing'lar. My boy, he war down thar a bit; did ye catch sight o’ him, ma’am? Mebbe he done chores fer some 0’ your neighbors; mebbe he passed right in front o’ your house! Ye don’ remembers?——-’ The woman seemed dazed with disappointment. iz! ain’t never been thar, ez my boy ha: ma'am. I ain’t never been out of Charles, ma'am, an’ yonder a bit in Saint Mary’s. Ye look, ma'am, ez though ye hed ben aroun’ right smart. What is it? Travel y I it? That's it, travel. Well, now, it dees seem ez though some folks is born to travel an’ some folks is born to trouble. Here ye hev seed towns lke Washin'ton, an’ others mos’ like, whiles 1 hev been ail my life down here in Charles; born here, ma'am, went to school here, worked here an’ married here, an’ kep’ on workin’ here, all the time, ma’am, all the time. She paused, but brightened at a question. “Hev I hed much schoolin’, miss? Well, no, nery ez much as you hev hed, miss. I went ez fer ez the sccon’ grade an* then my father he took me away an’ put me out to service in a farm in Saint Mary My father he sent my sisters to the sem- irary, boarded ’em, ma'am, at a whole $12 a menth, whiles made me work aroun’ farms fer board an’ clothes. What he do it fer, miss? Wel, now, I'll tell ye, I vas had. One day was my cher’s birth- E an’ all the schol: war fer givin’ her presents. all exceptin’ me, an’ it made me feel jest terrible, miss. They was a garding.helonging to a lady near the school house, an’ they was beautiful flowers in it, all sorts on 'em, miss. I sneaked in an stole a lily. I warn’ more nor eight years old; still, I reckon—yes, I knowed— as I knowed better. “I gived the lily to my teacher, an’ she smiled right sweet at me, and thanked me pretty, but jest then in come the lady I hed stole it from an’ tegan io scold my er right awa ved the k to her she locked right sad-at me an’ wrote a letter to my father, lookin? at me so till I thought ez she hed tears in her pretty 1 teoked the letter home, an’ my : was madder than 1 ever hed seen He was fer sera’ me right off on, but mother she dn’ send me thar, but said ez I should work out! an’ never come home no more He wouldn't be fer feedin’ an’ fer lovin’ thieves an’ Largs. That very night I s nt off fer to work on a neighbor farm. ‘My teacher he heerd cn i an’ she was awful sorry ez she letter, but she couldn’ do nothi afterwards, wrote that with my father, he v too set in sow said ez I was bright an’ oyght fer more schoolin’, but it didn’. eip any. miss, farm folks’ was felt kinder bat} fer’ me, allowed to go heme. Sometfmbs they'd let me a horse, aR I. would to she my mother. I wonld’ tie the horse inthe weods ar’ wait my ¢harce; then I’d run n my father W&& gone out to @eld. her vias godd to gne! But, ye see, mothers ain'’tino righis té nothin’, not even their own ch@luns; so she couldn’ help me much. When ghe died I hed’n any more he to me; the: gn’ ez To wasn’ a friend. a “I never weut home, exceptin’ to her funereal, an’, oh, miss, ye never see such a ‘All the eullid folks ter miles an’ miles aroun’ brought flowers. Lilies ma’am, an old, old roses, ye hev see: ‘em, ma'am? And, Why, those niggers cried ez hard ez we ‘uns, fer they loved my mother, too, an’ hed gcod cause, fer my mother hed tock care o’ them an’ their chilluns in winter an’ hed kep’ ‘em_fra starvin’ ma’ an’ many a time. They knowel ez would never hey such funcreal! the: ether kind friend. It was sad, miss, oh, it was sad! My father he merried again, of course, an’ the twelve chilhins all scat- tered, all exceptin’ my little haby brother, “He growed up an’ wrote to me once, an’ T got a voung girl fer to answer an’ tell him all about his cwn real mother, an’ how she died, an’ how the peoples loved her. 1 told him’ ez I would send a wreath fer him to put on her grave from me. It was a sweet, pretty letter, cryin’ sort of, too, but my stepmother, she answered St herself, tellin’ me to min’ my own business an’ not to be a puttin’ of idees into my little broth- er’s head. Dead people couldn’ help him ny, she says, an’ the less said about 7em the better. That Jetter cut me bad, an’ never again hev I heard fra home, though ri st five miles across the river. “Well, miss, I merried, myself, three years after that, though’ the Lord only knows what fer. My husband, he was head dairyman over to Calvert's, an’ he's dead now, an’ my boy, my only boy, is gone somewers, I don’t know where. Please, ma’am, won't ye look fer him when ye gocs back to Washin'ton? Jest ye tell him ez his ma is waitin’, ready an’ glad to see him if he'll only come back to her. These here fer me, ma’am? Oh, thank ye. Ye cal ‘em oranges. I never hed any befor With knotted, shaky hands, she tenderly placed the fruit in her apron. “Who would ha’ thought that when I started out this mornin’ ez I was goin’ to get some- thin’ to eat all the way fra Wash- in‘ton! Who would ha’ thought it! Strange things happen in the world, strange things, ma’am! All is as is ordered by God A’mighty, an’ we never dreams when we gets up in the mornin’ as when we should be goin’ over to Smoot’s fer the washin’ ez such things would happen! Well, now, I’m keepin’ ye, an’ ye ar’ goin’ to Charlotte Hall today. My boy—ye won't forget my boy, ma'am? Good day, good day.” The thin, hollow face, with its life story so plainly written there, turned from us; the tall, gaunt figure ‘strode away through the woods and disappeared in a bend of the road. —. Why She W From the Detroit Free Press. ~ He—“When you see my faults I fear you will cease to love me She—I shall never see them.” He—Why not, dear?” She—“Love is blind.” ee Not. w. From Fliegende Blatte is Absent-Minded. bi ‘The absent-minded professor walked until he could go no further. Finding himself on the top of a new building, he said to the mason: “Beg pardon, but perhaps you could firect me to University street?” A DETAIL. By Stephen Crane. The tiny old lady in the black dress and curious little black bonnet had at first seemed alarmed at the sound made by her feet upon,the stone pavements. But later she forgot about it, for she suddenly came into the tempest of the 6th avenue shop- ping district, whére from the streams of. people and vehicles went up a roar like that from headlong mountain torrents. She seemed then like a chip that catches, recoils, turns and wheels, a reluctant thing in the clutch of the impetuous river. She hesitated, faltered, debated with herself. Frequently she seemed about to address people; then of a sudden she would evi- dently lose her courage. Meanwhile the torrent jostled her, swung her this and that way. At last, however, she saw two young wo- men gazing in at a shop window. They were well-dressed girls; they wore gowns with enormous sleeves that made them look like full-rigged ships with all sails set. They seemed to have plenty of time; they leisurely scannéd the goods in the window. Other people -had made the tiny old woman much afraid because obviously they were speeding to keep such tremend- cusly Important engagements. She went se to them and peered in at the same She watched them furtively for a Then finally she said: Excuse me!" The girls looked down at this old face with its two large eyes turned toward them. “Excuse me, but can you tell me where I can get any work?” For an instant the two girls stared. Then they seemed about to exchange a smile, but at the last moment they checked it, ‘The tiny old lady's eyes were upon them. She was quaintly serious, silently expect- ant. She made one marvel that in that face the wrinkles showed no trace of ex- perience, knowledge; they were simply lit- Ue, soft, innocent ‘creases. As for her glance, it had the trustfulncss of ignorance and the candor of babyhood. “I want to get something to do, because I need the money,” she continued, since in their astonishment they had not replied to her first question. “Of course, I’m not strong and I couldn't do very much, but I can sew well, and in a house where there was a good many men folks I couid do ail the mending. Do you know any place where they Would like me to come?" ‘The young women did then exchange a smile, but it was a subUly tender smile, the verge of personal erief. “Well, no, madam,” hesitatingly said one of them at last. “I don’t think 1 know any one.” A shade passed over the tiny old la face, a shadow of the wing of disappo' ment. “Don’t you?” she said, wi struggle to be brave in her voic ‘Then the girl hastily continued: “But if you will give me your adc , I may find some one, and if I do, I w ely let you know of it.” ‘The tiny old lady dictated her address bending over to watch the girl write on visiting card with a little silver pe Then she said. “I thank you very much. She bowed to them, smiling, and went on down the avenue. As for the two girls, they went to the curb and watched this’ aged figure, small and frail, in its black gown and Curious black bonnet. At lasi, the crowd, t numerable wagons, intermingling changing with uproar and riot, suddenly engu ——— MAL INSTINCT. AH ef How It Upset the Sound. riety of a Deacon. A Star r the other day had a very interesting talk with a horse ra from Kentucky, in the course of whic! the Kentuckian told this tale of the in- stinet of animals: “When I was a your * he said, “I lived in a highly respectable blue grass town with an old uncle and aunt, who were seeing to the proper bringing up of their only and well-beloved — nephe Among their possessions were two horses and a negro boy, who took care of them, 1 those 1} Sand that bey were my especial delight. After my first winter in town, and when the weather began to soften in the pring, the bey and 1 were accustomed to ride Sto 4 pond to Water, which was of a mile fre distance was through the town. 0 me our custom when the ho had hed drinking to let them go full ult for home, and the speed they attained was half of whic! It startling, so fast, in fact, that we soon had to take to the alleys and run them to the stable that way. I suppose we had been keeping this up for three months, and the horses had got so that they wouid searcely wait to drink before they wanted to be off, when one Sunday my uncle and aunt concluded they would go to meeung in the country—my uncle was a staid and severe deacon in the Presbyterian church nd for a change they rode the horses in- stead of driving them. As luck would have it, they came back to town over a road tering time as y . and let the horses drink. aunt had perfect confidenc their ‘critters,’ and were not expecting any de orstrations, but as soon as those hor: 1 taken a good long pull at the water and lifted their heads to take a look around it seemed to cecur to them all at once that that was the time to cut and run for the stable. ‘And they did! My eye, how they did. Down the road for the first quarter of a mil i the houses of three deacons in opposition churches, with their families sit- ting out on their galleries in the cool of the evening; then on past the minister’ house they went like the wind, my uncle doing all he could to hold his beast and my aunt frightened out of her wits by the unexpectedness of it, doing all she could to hold herself on her ho back. Uncle’ hat flew off as he turned into the first alley, or rather as the horse turned him Into ‘the alley, and four boys with three dogs got hold of it and came howling af- ter. My aunt's horse always made his spurt at this point, and as her skirts flew at the mercy of the wind, he a wild plunge and dashed ahead of my uncle. As they sped up the alley people on the streets where the alleys crossed hurried out of the way and gazed in awestruck wonder as the deacon and his good wife along on clattering hoofs. The usual Sun- day quiet had prevailed, and the noise of the racing steeds seemed to fill all the town, and people soon began to run out on the streets and inquire what was going on. At last the horses reached the stable, and there, without any trouble at all, they stopped and waited to be let in, as’ usuai. I don’t know what would have happened to me when my part, though wholly unin- tentional, in the affair became known to my uncle, had it not been for my aunt, who had an eye for the ludicrous, and she got me off with only one application of the hickory, while the negro boy got twice as much. My uncle wasn't on pleasant terms with me for several months, how- ever, because he was jollied about his horse race for a long time, and every fresh jar he would get on it would react upon me. I may say, in conclusion, though, that my aunt did not stand by me when he said that Jim and I would suffer severe pains and penalties if there were any more rurning of the horses.” —..-—-— A NORTH CAROLINA HA’NT. The Man Did Not Relieve in Ghosts Except in His Own Family. A crowd was gathered in the cabin in North Carolina where I staid all night, telling ghost stories, all of which were suf- ficiently vivid and seemingly well authenti- cated. At last my host had the courage to speak his convictions. ‘I don’ b'l’eve in ha’nts nohow,” he said, “Don’t b'l’eve in "em? was echoed by several. “Waal, of course I've seed a few, but they didn’ never do no hurt. Thar hain’t half as many as folks let on.” “fd like to know ef yo’ own dad didn’ cum back?" indignantly replied a neighbor. “Yaas, but he jess kep’ a comin’, till I foun’ out what he wanted. Yo’ see, we buried "im jess behin’ the peach orchard. The ole man knowed I wanted a well worse kin’ an’ he kep’ comin’ every night till I epened th’ grave ter see what war wrong. Thar I foun’ it full o’ water. Th’ ole man knowed I wanted th’ water, an’ he wa'n't comferble in it, so he cum back. I dug a well thar an’ moved his coffin, an’ he hain’'t never "peared no mo’. Thet couldn’ be called a ha’nt.” = FOR RESULTS OF EXCESSES Use Horsford’s Acid Phosphate, Dr. R. H. PEPPER, Huntington, W, Va., eaye: “In nervous prostration from excesses, I fad it par excellence.” } ishme: IN HOTEL CORRIDORS “The worst affliction I ever knew any one to have,” said C. R. Annore of Duluth at the Cochran, “is that of a young man in my city. His skin has become dead in seme way, and all of the coloring matter is gone, leaving the cuticle perfectly trans- parent. The result is that all of the veins and arteries are plainly visible, and he leoks like an animated anatomical chart. The case baffles all physicians, and the only remedy would seem to be to graft new skin over the boy’s entire body, which, of course, would be impracticable, if not im- possible. His skin was unusually clear and transparent when he was a baby, and, in- stead of growing thicker and having more colcr as he grew older, what color it pos- sessed left: it, and by the time he was twelve years old he appeared at a distance as though all of the skin had been re- moved.” “I have frequently heard it said that Washingion has the most gentlemanly street car conductors in the country,” said A. P. Thompson of Staunton, Va., at the National, “and J learned the reason for it teday. On one of the cars I met a friend of mine whom I knew as a lawyer. He has been a conductor for several weeks, and expects to remain in that capacity for three or four months, when he has been promised a good position in the line of his profession. He told me that there are sev: eral university graduates, lawyers, physi- cians and teachers employed as street car ccnductors. ‘They come to Washington to obtain good positions. They have in many instances several months to wait, and meanwhile they accept the only temporary employment that offers.” “I was suddenly cured of chronic rheu- matism last night, and I do not think it will ever return,” said A. L. Smith of St. Louis at the Arlington. “About ten years ago 1 attempted to do a little simple re- pairing on a coat. Like most novices at this kind cf work, I held the needle in my mouth while 1 secured thread, and I swal- jowed the needle. I felt no pain for several aa! when ii suddenly made its presence felt in my side. Physicians tried to locate it, but in vain. The pain finally sed. A few weeks iater my arms swelled up and became excecuingiy painful. The doctors Caled it rheun.ausm and treated me for At moved aiong my right side head uown, then back again, then across my body. Physicians aiways treated me lor either rh sm or neuralgia, and a. had made up my mind that I would never cured, but did not blame the needle. r the past week I have had a severe at- of neuraigia, and last night felt a sharp pau in my mouth, 1 put my finger on my tongue and was rewarded by finding the long-lost needle, which J easily removed, and 1 have not suffered since.’ “There is sometim about accidents,” said ville, 20, a strange fatali E. Sloan of Kno: enn., at the Howard. “Two years I wes driving along a ste+p road that ran parallel with the Clinch river, My horse became frightened and ran for half a mile, when he dashed down the recks to the river, breaking the buggy and bru, me considerably. I su ceeded in patching up the vehicle and getting home, when I found that a gold Watch prized very highly was missing. returned to the place where the accident ovcurred, but could Let find the watch. A month ago I passed over the same road, & Z, however, in the oppos | flock of gee: experie.ced another runaway. I was thrown from the buggy and fell in a clump of bus 1 was sumewhat s succeeded in getti aston- turned from Logen and MeDowell counties, W. V said B. M. Hartman of Baltimore, the Raleigh, nd tind that the vival of the ‘K m Jlion acres of la of the most interesting points about it is connections of a survey made by the immortal George Washington principal matters o! pute, say they will leave their homes, as the case has been heard, th been agaiest them. It is that the final h weeks, and both s.des troubie. At one time, tives built a fort. r “I have just. rv at ple are expecting a About a ved, and one re expected will be had in a few tor are preparir King’s repre his will be in reac Se of a fizht, and the mountain- eeisy who were prevented by the counsel of their attorneys from opening bush- whacking war last year, are weil sapplied with rifles and ammunition in case they lose their cause.” a “It would be rather remarkable if a fath- er could be found who did not believe hi small child said the brightest or withest things ever uttered,” said L. A. Collier of Columbus, Ohio, at the Re, ent. ‘A man who aS a three or four-year-old tot at home is a bore, and he cannot help it. ‘The most ordinary remark is transformed into the brightest wit by the fond parent, and he will even stop discussing the silver ques- Ucn in order to tell what his baby s: To illustrate what I mean, I have a four-year- old daughter at hom: Her mother, when any one apologizes, 1s in the habit of using the ph e “Oh, don’t mention it.’ My litde girl was very naughty one day and her mother id to her: ie, what will God thnk wh-n you tell bim tonight how bad you have been today?” * *My mamma,’ ie, ‘he will say ‘No who has a littie child he goes to relatin; » Whenever I tell this story to a man lot of silly things his girl or boy has s Men have ne judgment about w bright-in their children when they are ue.’ “I have been surprised that trainers of animals pay so much attention to mere tricks and none to what might be termed actomplishments,” said C. T. Hull of To- peka at the Shoreham. “Almost all ani- mals are judges of music and susceptible to its influences; horses dance to it, snakes are charmed by it. It is even said that lion can be soothed with it so as to rend the king of beasts harmless. I do not know how that is, but I do know dogs not only enjoy music, but are sometimes good judge as to its quality, and I believe they could be taught by competent trainers to play coerrecuy on musical instruments. I have one that was partially trained that way. He is very fond of the music of a violin; he does not attempt to follow a tune, ‘but keeps time on quick pieces with short barks, while when picces in minor chords are played he @saws long plaintive breaths. If I introduce a false note, which I some- times do on purpose, he will howl, and three or four such errors will make him leave on a run, He can detect a false note even more quickly than I can.” “Wild honey fs usually found in tro sald F. P. Randolph of Tuscaloosa, Ala., at Willard’s, “and it finds a realy market, being preferred by most people to that of domestic bees. Down the Warrior river, a few miles below the city where I If a discovery has been made that beats all of the trees yet found. There bas always been a series of small caves there, probably twenty in number. They were never ex- plored, the openings being quite small. A hunter noticed that bees were swarming about these caves, and he investigated. To his astonishment he found them all packed with honey. ‘he stone was of a soit porous nature, easily removed, and it Gic not take long for him to make a deal by which he became the owner of these sin- gular hives. Then the bees were smolred out, the caves opene-l and enovgh houcy secured to more than pay for the farm upon which it was found.” “The appellation of ‘the boy orator of the Platte,’ bestowed upon Bryan, is not very complimentary,” said W. L. Adams of Omaha at the Howard. “In the first place, Bryan was nearly as old as Henry Clay when the latter was elected to the United States Senate, before he ever saw the Platte river, so was rather old for a boy. Then the Platte river is peculiar for its shallow- ness. It is long and wide and looks ma- jJestic, but it can be waded at high water by cattle, In fact, as a rule the water is not deep cnough to float a skiff. The title ‘boy orator of the Platte’ was not bestowed by Mr. Bryan’s friends, but as ridicule, both as to his age and the character of his speeches, It sounded well, however, and those not familiar with the Platte river used it as a complimentary term, until {t has been generally adopted by supporters and opponents alike. ANN ELIZA ON POLITICS We heard tell o’ some talk about free silver an’ the rest, but everybody ‘round Middleway is so everlastin’ busy all the time they can’t set around the stores an’ talk politicks, which is all the better for the place than if they did. A neater look- in’ town an’ more prosperous farmin’ community ain't to be found in the state, an’ I'm proud of it. if 1 do say it myself, bein’ as I live right in the town, an’ own one o’ the best farms for miles, I'm privi- leged to say it. Well, as I was a sayin’, we was all a workin’ so hard we couldn't spend much time a growilin’ over the hard times, an’ the low price o’ wheat, but, land sake after harvest I went on a visit to my s ond cousin, Obadiah Jenkins, up in Park- ton deestrict, an’ all I heard there was politicks—politicks from mornin’ till phan night—an’ before I left I got sickened out 0’ the very sound of it. Bein’ cf the patriotic stock that I am (Bassetts are dreadful pairiotic), as soon as I heard Obadiah say what an awful crysis threatened 0) was country I struck of a heap an’ druuk in eve I could on the subjeck, an’ nta little, for Obadiah is ‘a powerful talker, ‘specially on free silver and hard times. It do beat all, the growlin’ that man does. Says I to myself, in a reproachful tone, “It was a good thins you left home Eliza Bassett, with all this miso: hanging over’ your beloved land, down at Middleway knowin’ nothin word Why, we was all that busy keepin’ up our fences, an’ a-white-washin’ an’ raisin’ gar- den truck, an pouliry, an’ h ayin® up a penny for a rainy day, that we couldn't take time to reflect on the dis- aster overwhelmin’ this broad land,” an’ I wrote right off to Elier Snively an’ ‘Squire Mott an’ told ‘em as how Parkton was all on fire with patriotism, an’ for them to stir up the flame down at Middleway Then I sot out to read the pap Oba- diah had most a wheelbarrer loa! come every day, an’ it through ‘em, but I st seen how powerful interested 1 was comin’, he jest spread himself, that man did walk, ull betwixt him an’ the papers, I got so bemuddied I did't know what to think. Obadiah is most over this thing. H was a job to w ack to it, an’ when he how endous worked up pends most 0° his time in Parkton talkin’ it over. The very first thing after breakfast off he starts, an’ Stays often Ull plum night. Then he ~omes home with a bundle o” papers nigh as big as he is ,an’ down he sets an’ reads tll Obadiah rever was no fricnd to work, even in his y days, an’ he don’t improve with ag: iful earnest "bout © curin’ of “em, an’ fn #0 to rack an’ ruin about the place w he's a waitin’ for them good times to come I don’t mean no h to Obadiah, but it do seem to me that a man ought to keep his But my Cou: iy thinkin’, lie goin’ nothin’ till times ¢ bewer. He say me, wavin’ his arms | a weather ‘Look at the price o' wheat enough to beggar a man to at the price 0” corn; a farmer ain’! way to make a livin’ these day wheat was two dollars a bushel, t! times, them w: ’ money I but when we git free silver, mon flowin’ free, an’ no man need run in “Land alive, Obwlish, farmin’, too, you ain't runnin’ into « © eat is low; an’ I can’t se the life of inc how free silver is goin’ us a be pric for that. Them ff ents no as much as one 4 ten years Everything’s low n “You women ain je to understand this question,” says diah, in a lofi as if men folks had 2 mo: which they haven't. It considerable that spoech, when I my own business ¢ With a good deal ter results dces So I took off my s ii then T put ‘em b ik him ti a ‘em. ch at my look after my wade He steady gaze a stead: the li o” my n’ I'd hea’ much ©” free an’ groani the hard times, with him join’ that three miles back an’ forth every of nis life to Parkton, tin’ "ro Post niin’ to know enuff to ran errment, which ain't so bad m'ght be worse. An’ his who! shifuess lookin’ to n, my own relation. I had started out to investigat ard cons with a sovi on fire with “my dear, my native land,” an’ a; wish to help her in her hour of read myself nigh blind, nevse of it, an’ I had fis! ull I was fit to b up my mind that hin him, who can’t ran ti got right to atte ir ent. til not meanin’ no to Obadiah, I Jest opened my n give him im Views, seein’ as Td listened {he had to set an’ t em, cote | big_ familey, I'm dan’ gone . PManarsy, though he thinks may be * out o” the # eett hard-earned 1 7 How to Handle a Hone, ney. Prem the Billy 8) Central Park me menting with the « ant keeper has be in the nh eype the hose. The elephant hot weather how to handle a } very good effect, until now he bathe himself all over and thus secure ief from the heat. Tom sometime fills his trunk from the end of the hos end sprinkles hizscf in that way. Me is able, however, to take the hose and put i part of his body. He some. jtimes varies this program by turning the hose on Billy, his keeper, much the amusement of the children. —$—$o-______ Annoyance. Prem Puck. She—"These reporters are so carelesst This paper says I have been ‘for years one of the handsomest women in socivty. He—"Well, my dear, what ts the objeo- tion to that?” She—“Why, I never said anything about ‘for years.’ je His Living That Way. “Where did Herr Pretzel acquire his won- derfully unique gestures?” waiter once.”