Evening Star Newspaper, January 9, 1897, Page 15

THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, JANUARY19, 1897+24;PAGES. WHEN GREEK Written for The Evening Star. Thrice ned that hath his quarrel Jast.”* igs alee Hard of Avon four times be who gits his ble" in tus = " —Josh Billings. “Bu Captain William Belchior was more than a martinet. He was known as “Bucko” Belchior in every port where the British langvage spoken, having earned this prefix by the earnest readiness with which, in his days as second and chief mate, he would whirl belaying-pins, heavers and hard-spikes about the decks; and by his success in knocking down, tricing up and working up sailors who displeased him. With a blow of his fist he had broken the jaw of a man helplessly ironed in the "tween deck, and on the same voyage, armed with a simple belaying-pin, had sprung alone into a circle of brandish- ing sheath knives and quelled a mutiny. He was short, broad, beetle-browed and gray-eyed, of undoubted courage, but with the quality of sympathy left out of his nature. During the is ten years in which be had been d, he was relieved of much of the ex » work that had made him famous when he sieod watch, but was al- ready to ratify his reputation as a \] friction with the crew oc- BY MORGAN ROBERTSON (Copsright, 1897, S. S. McClure Co.) LOVE, Ww Sf, MEETS GREEK, cS ‘ y skylight, he shouted: “Steward, bring up my pistols. Bear a hand. Lower your Weapons, you sccundrels. This is rank mu- tiny.” A pistol spoke and the captain's hat left his head. ‘There goes your hat,” said a voice; “now for a button.” Another bullet sped, which cut from his coat the button nearest his heart. “Come down from there— ome down,” said the voice he had heard. ‘Next shot goes home. Start, while I count three. One—two—” Captain Belchoir descended the steps—“‘hands up same as the rest.” Up went the captain’s hands. Such marksmanship was beyond his phil- osophy. “‘Pache,” went on the speaker; “go up there and get the guns he wanted.” The steward, with two bright revolvers in his hands, was met at the companion hatch by a man with but one; but that one was so big, and the hand which held it was so steady that it is no matter of surprise that he obeyed the terse command: “Fork over; handles first." The captain's nickel-plated pistols went into the pockets of Pache’s coat, and the white-faced steward, poked in the back by the muzzle of that big fire- arm, marched down to the main deck and joined the others. “Go down that place, Pache, and chase out any one else ye find,” called the leader from behind the crowd. “Bring ‘em all down here.’’ Pache descended and reap- peared with a frightened cabin boy, whom, with the man at the wheel, he drove he- fore him to the steps. There was ro vind and the ship could spare the helmsman. “Now, then, gentlemen,” said the tall wer of his officers to cope leader; “I reckon we're all here. Keep yer “HANDS UP!” His ship, the Wilmington, a sky- rated by sailor men as the “hoite ft under the American flag, and Cay himself w: en of by c¢ and com far and near. man peculiarly unfor- ction of men, fo never but that he was up as one or more heavily- sed-up members of his officers were, it defend: the language of one “o" the same breed o° could or would sign s crews were inya. iy put stream, or at anchorag>; . Drunk when coerced by ers into signing the i t drunk until délive * no sober men able to run would join . they were driven or hoisted up the like an!mals—some in a stupor from rink or drugs, some tied hand and foot, t ng and cursing with returning Ty and reason yupped thus the Wilmington, bound Melbou discharged her tug pilot off s Hook one summer morn- fresh quartering wind and ded for the southeast. The nt in getting her sail on, and king into shape” of the men as nd. and with ing day was in the fast z recovered their senses. Oaths and n les flew yout the d knock- downs were frequent, and b; nt bells in the even when the two mates chose the watches—much as boys choose sides in a ball ga the sailors were well ccn- Vinced that their masters lived aft. Three men, lo: red fellows, sprawled hatch, helpless from sea-sick- > left to the last in the choosing, ed into the light from the door to be examined. They gged from the forecastle at call for “All hand urselves able seamen, I suppose,” with an oath, as he glared into he said their woe begone faces. “No, pard,” said the tallest and oldest of the three, in a weak voice, “we're not seamen: we don't know how we got here, neither.” the ear that sent the man headlong into the scuppers, where he lay, quiet. Say, ‘sir’ when you speak to me, you bandy-legged farmers,” he snarled, glow- ering hard at the other two, as they lean- » water tank.’ “I'm pard to made him no answer and he turn- ay in mpt. “Mr. Tomm,” he want these Ethiopians in’ your id the second mate; “I don’t They're no more use than a np.”” D' Til make ‘em useful fore I'm done with forrard—you three. Get the bile o’ yer gizzards "fore mornin’ ’f ye er good looks.” He delivered a ous kick at each of the two standing men, baw! Relieve the wheel an’ | looko do the watch,” and went af crew the seasick to three bed- nd died away awakened in asickness gon omber and om! th during the the morning and appetites nous Was tl y silently ate of the breakfast in with rave astle and stepped out on deck in answer to the mate S spread dunnage.” Hav but what they wore, they toward the windlass and con- ogether while s and bags were on deck and overhauled b: for whisky and sheath kniv they found o? the former, they ed, and of the latter, tossed over- th 1 drivers,” demand- ate, e ised his head t chest re are our seasick who s all night—what— ter of surprise. n three eight-inch avy Colt revolvers, cock- ed and held by three s-owling, sunburned men, each of whom was tucking with dis- engaged left hand, the corner of a shirt into a waistband around which Was strap- ped @ belt full of cartridges. “Hands up.” snapped the tall man; “hands up, every one of ye. Up with °em— over yer heads. That's righ The pistols wandered around the heads of the crowd and every hand was elevated. “What's this? What d'ye mean? Put those pistols down. Give them up. Lay here, some o’ ye, and call the cap- blustered the mate, with his hands held high. Not a man stirred to obey. The scowling faces looked deadly in earnest. “Right about, face,” commanded the tall man. “March, every man. Back to the other end of the boat. Laramle, take the other side and round up anybody ye Now, gentlemen, hurry.” Away went the protesting procession, and, joined by the carpenter, sailmaker, donkey-man and cook, “rounded up” from their sanctums by the man called Laramie. It had reached the main hatch before the captain, pacing the quarterdeck, was aware ‘With Captain Belchoir of the disturbance. to think was to act. Springing to the cabin and { ne mate's answer was a fist blow under | se sailors must | se men had been | ii night, bear- | hands up. We'll have a pow-wow. Pache, stay up there, and you, Laramie, cover ’em from behind. Plug the first man who moves.” He mounted the steps to the quarterdeck, and, as he replaced empty shells with car- tridges, looked down on them with a serene smile cn hfs not ill-looking face. His voice, except when raised in accents of command, had in it the musical, drawling, plaintive tone, so peculiar to the native Texan—and so deceptive. The other two, younger and reugher men, looked, as they glanced at their victims through the sights of the pis- tols, as though longing for the word of per- mission to riddle the ship's company with beliets. “You'll pay dearly for this, you infernal cutthroats,” spluttered the captain; “this is piracy. ‘Don’t call any names now,” sald the tall man; “"tain’t healthy.. We don’t want to hurt yet, but I tell ye seriously, ye never were nearer death than ye are now. It’s a risky thing—and a foolish thing, too, gen- tlemen, to steal three American citizens with guns under their shirts, and take ‘em so far from land as this. Hangin’s the fi and proper punishment for hoss stealin’ but man stealin’s so great a crime that I’m not right sure what the punishment is. Now, we don’t know much ’bout boats and ropes—though we can tie a hangman’s knot when necessary; but we do know somethin’ "bout guns and human natur’--hefe, you, come "way from that fence.” The captain was edging toward a belaying pin, but the speaker's voice had Icst its plaintiveness, and three tubes were looking at him. He drew in board, and the leader resumed. “Now, fust thing, who's foreman o’ this eutfit? Who's boss?” captain here.” ou are? You are not. I’m captain. Get up on that shanty.” The small house over the mizzen hatch was indicated and Captain Belchior climbed it. The tubes till looking at him. ‘Now, you, there—you man who hit me lest night when I was sick, who are you and what?” late, d— you.” *p with you, and don’t cuss. You did a cowardly thing, pardner—an unmanly thing. You don’t deserve to live any longer, but my darter back here at school thinks I've killed enough men for one lifetime, and “Dance! dance, coyote,” growled Pache. ye white-livered mebbe she’s right—mebbe she’s right. Any- how, she don’t like it and that lets you out —though I won’t answer for Pache and Laramie when my back’s turned. You kick- | ed ‘em both. But I'll just return the blow.” The mate had but straightened upon top of the hatch house, when the terrible pistol spat out another red tongue, and his yell followed the report, as he clapped his hand to the ear through which the bullet had torn. “Hands up there,’ thundered the shooter, and the mate obeyed, while a stream of blood ran down inside his shirt collar. “Any more bosses here?’ The second mate did not respond, but Pache’s pistol sought him out, and under its influence, and his guttural “I know you; get up,” he followed his superiors. “Any more?” A manly looking fellow stepped out of the group and said: “You've got the cap- tain and two mates. I'm bosun here, and yonder’s my mate. We're next, but we're not bosses in the way o’ being responsible for anything that has happened, or might happen to you. We b’long forrard. There's no call to shoot at the crew, for there’s not @ man among "em but what ’ud- be glad t see you get ashore, and get there himsel: “Silence, bosun,” bawled the captain. But the voice of authority seemed pitifully- ludicrous and incongruous, coupled with the -captain’s position and attitude, and every face on the deck wore a grin. The | dark-faced, leader noticed the silent merriment, and said: “Laramie, I reckon these men 'll stand. ‘You can come up here. 1'm gettin’ ‘long in years and kinder steadyin’ down, but I s’pose you and ‘Pache want some fun. Start yer whistle, and turn loose.” Up the steps bounded Laramie, and with a ringing whoop as a prelude, began whis- tling a clear, musical trill, while Pache, growling out: “Dance, dance, ye white- livered coyotes,” sent a bullet through the outer edge of the chief mate's boot-heel. “Dance,” repeated Laramie between bars of the music. “Crack, crack,” went the pistols, while bullets rattled around the feet of the men on the hatch, and Lara- mie’s whistle rose and fell on the soft morning air. The sun, who has looked on many scan- dalous sights, looked on this, and hid his face under a cloud, refusing to witness. For never before had the ethics of ship- board life been so outrageously vivlatel. A squat captain and two six-foot officer: nearly black in the face from rage and ex ertion, with hands clasped over “ier heais, kopped and skipped around a narrow stage tg the accompaniment of pistol reports harmoniously disposed among the notes of a whistled tune, while ballets grazed their feet, and an unkempt, disfigured and sore- headed crew iooked on and chuckled. When the mate, weak from loss of blood, fell and rolled to the deck, the leader stopped the entertainment. “Now, gentlemen,” he said in his serious voice; “I'm called Pecos Tom, and I've had considerable experience in my time, but this is my fust with human creatures so weak and thoughtless that they'll drug and steal three men without takin’ their guns away from them. And so, on account o' this shiftless improvidence, I reckon this boat will have to turn ’round and go back.’ ‘They rolled and kicked the two mates to the rail, lifted the captain to his feet, and said, significantly: “Give the right and proper order to yer men to turn this boat ‘round.’ With his face working convulsively, Capt. Belchior glanced at his captors— at his eager, waiting crew—at the wheel without a helmsman—at a darkening of the water on the starboard bow to the southward—up aloft, and back again to the three frowning muzzles so close to his_head. “One hand to the wheel—squarz in main and cro’-jack yards,” he called. He was conquered. With a hurrah which indicgted the sin- cerity of these orders the crew sprung to obey them, and with ofa tat braced to starboard and head she/s flat the ship Wilmington payed off, re around and, bringing the young brzeze on the port quarter, steadied dowf to a course for Sandy Hook, which the captain, with hands released, but still under the influ- ence of those threatening pistols, worked out from the mate’s dead reckoning. Then he was pinioned again, but allowed to pace the deck and watch his ship, while the two officers were kept under the rail, sometimes stepped upon or kicked and often admonished on the evil of their ways. Barly passengers on the East river fer- ry boats were treated to a novel sight next morning, which they appreciated accord- ing to their nautical knowledge. A lofty ship, with sky sails and royais hanging in the bunt lines and jibs tailing ahead like flags, was charging up the harbor before a humming southerly Breeze, followed by an elbowing crowd of putting, whistling, snub-nosed tugs. It was noticeable that whenever a fresh tug arrived alongside little white clouds left her quarter deck and that tug suddenly sheered off to take a position in the parade astern. Abreast of Governor’s Island topgallant halliards were let go, as were those of the jibs, but no clewing up or hauling down was done, nor were any men seen on her forecastle deck getting ready lines or ground tackle. She passed the battery and up the East river, craft of all kind getting out of her way—for it was obvious something was wrong with her—until, rounding slowly to a@ starboard wheel, with canvas rattling and running gear in bights, she headed straight for a slip partly filled with canal boats. Then her topsail halyards were let go and three heavy yards came down by the run, breaking across the caps, and, amid a grinding, creaking and crashing of riven timbers and a deafening din of ap- plauding tug whistles, she ploughed her way into the nest of canal boats and came to a stop. Then. was a hegira. Down her black sides by ropes and chain plates to the wrecked and sinking canal boats, some with bags or chests, some without, cam: sailor men, who climbed to the dock and, answering no questions of the gathering crowd of dock loungers, scattered into the side streets,while three men appeared on the rail, who shook their fists and swore and shouted for the police, cailing par- ticularly for the apprehension of three long-haired fellows with big hats. In the Ught of later developments it was known that the police respoaded, and, with the assistance of boarding-house run- ners, gathered in that day nearly all of this derelict crew—even to a cautious boatswain—who were promptly and severe- ly punished for mutiny and desertion. But the later developments failed to show that the three dark-faced men were ever seen again. SS A LOST MINE. How the Old Hunters Keep Attention Alive to Their Stories of Hidden Gold. From Lippincott’s. A usual feature is that a particular In- dian (sometimes with a companion or two’ used to return from the west every year at a certain moon, ostensibly for the purpose of honoring the graves of his fathers and to us again his ancestral right of hunting the deer and bear among the wild but ver- durons hills; yet gossiping tar-heels hold that, really, the visits were for the purpose of opening again the concealed mine of lead and silver, whose rich spoil the sons of the forest have been seen bearing off in their packs. Another form of the story relates that a certain old hunter (always “won't teil,” or “now dead,” or ‘moved west’) got all the lead for his bullets from the foot of a mouniain above a cove on a certain creek; or an old counterfeiter (now “in the pen: tentiary” or “fied” into unknown parts) used to coin quarters and halves of good silver (still seen in circulation), yet was never known to buy silver in any form. Weeks and months wer2 spent every year in searching for these secret treasures. Oc- casionally the enthusiasm would mount to the height of sending far off somewhere to fetch back the “old hunter.” More than once such a one has been persuaded that there was more richness in his bullets than he had supposed; and, regretting vainly the many pounds of good silver that he had shot away at deer, coons, geese and other game, he had been brought back to iis old haunts. Then, with many a keen eye track- ing his goings with his persuading friend, weeks would be spent in bush beating, cliff climbing and laborious search along rocky shores, about cavernous hills, in fens, bogs and dismal dens in the deep woods, but only to the utter disappointment of all their fond anticipations. The “old hunter” finds that time has obliterated his way marks; bush and tree and rock and rill lack the famiiiar aspect; and he, whose confused recollections formed the basis of vast schemes of gain, returns to his distant home dispirited and dishonored. ies See What Would My Captain Say? From Harper's Round Table. Frederick the Great of Prussia used to tell a laughable story of an experience of his own. During one of his campaigns in Silesia, he made it his habit to stroll through his camp in disguise at night, to come more in touch with his soldiers. One night he was stopped by a seniry, but, giving the proper password, was permitted to proceed. Instead of ‘loing so, however, he endeavored to tempt the sentry into accepting a cigar, saying that a smoke would solace his long watch. “It is against the rules,” said the sol- dier. “But you have my permission,” said Frederick. “Your permission!” cried ithe soldier. “And who are yo “I am the king. “The king be hanged!” said the incor- ruptible sentry. “What would my captain say?” : She Knew What to Do. Frow tie Cleveland Plain Dealer. ‘3 He had Hstened to her upbraidings for two hours by the down stairs ciock. “My love,” he said mildly, “don’t you think it is about time for you to adjourn sine die?” : She knew her Cushing’s manual like a “I shall adjourn sine die presently,” she coldly remarked, “‘and then—I will at once, call an extra session.” And the poor henpecked husband rolled over with a hollow groan. * OLD-TIME ALMANACS Curious. Lore Diseemninated in These . Ancient Publications. aetna QUAINT ANECDOTES: AND, WOOD CUTS aa ib Interesting Chat ‘by 4 Collector About Some Rore ‘Copies OF COLONIAL! TIMES Written for The Evening Star. HE HISTORY OF I almanacs, should it ever come to be writ- ten, ought to prove both interesting and amusing. The cur'- ous nature of these Publications, the seri- ousness with which their authors . took themselves, and the credulity of the pub- ic which accepted their predictions for gospel truth, are all Ma.crs fo: .urewd comment. In the possession of the writer is a large and varied collection of old almanacs, chiefly American, and extending back to a period far anterior to the revolution. They are yellow with years, thumbed and dog- eared, veritable mummies of the ephemeral literature to which they belonged. The hands that held and the eyes that scanned them are dead and dust long since; but these little brown pamphlets remain to amuse collectors with the quaint conceiis and simple vanities of eur forebears. The word ‘almanac’? comes from the Arabic ‘‘Al Manah,” namely, “the sun dial." Friar Roger Bacon of gunpowder fame would appear to-have first used it in his “Magnum Opus,” Anno Domini 1267. The earliest printed almanac “was that of the astronomer and astrologer. Purbach, pub- lished at Vienna in 1457. Continuous cal- endar almanacs were inaugurated by Engel of Vienna in 1491, and to Nostrodamus, the notorious “magician,” is due the’ discredit of having introduced so-called “prophe- cies” as an essential part of these publica- tions. -in England, until 1779, almanacs were the monopoly of the Stationers’ Com- pany, and miserable-impostures they in- variably were. Which brings one to the United Siates, their predecessors, the “North American Colonies,” and the many quaint and curious almanacs thereunto ap- pertaining. ‘The earliest American almanac was pub- lished at Philadelphia in 1687 by William Bradford. It long remained the most pop- ular work of its kind until in 1732 Benja- min Franklin’s famous Poor Richard’s Al- manack began to oust it from its supre- macy. Ofher notable old almanacs of ¢o- lonial Awerica and the United States were Watson’s Almanack of Connecticut; Roger Sherman's Astronomieal Diary and Aima- nack, printed at New London by T. Green; Nehemiah Strong’s Alfianack of Hartford, Conn.; Beers’ Almanack, alsg of Hartford: the Connecticut Pockgt, Almanac. « Roger Sherman’s Altaanack. It may be of interest’ to glance through one (by no means the oldest cr quaintest) of the quaint old ajmanags, or “alma- racks,” now at the writer's elbow. It’s antique cover bears the follwing lengthy inscription: it a “An Afirenomical Diary, op an Almanack for the year of our Lord Christ, 1753, being the first after Bissextile or Leap Year; And in the Twenty-sixth year of the Reign of our most Gracious Sovereign! King George Il. Wherein is contained ‘the Lunations, Eclipfes, Mutual Afpects of the Planets, Sun, Moon's Rifing & Setting, Hifing, Set: ting & Southing of the Seven Stars, ‘Time of High Water, Courts, Obfervable Days, Spring Tides, Judgment of! the weather, &c., Calewlated for the Lat. of 41 Deg. North & the Meridian of New Lendon in Connecticut, by Roger . Sherman. New Hato Printed and Sold by T. Green, 33. The almanac begins with a calendar of the months, each month being headed with a ouotation, opposite or otherwise, “‘col- lected out-0f Mr. Pope’s Effays.’ Eclipses are duly “prognosticated,” and storms of rain or snow are prophesied twelve months off with a cocksureness which the United States weather bureau well might envy. The quotation for August runs: “Brittanta's Freeborn Sons. How happy they! Under a Gecrge’s mild and gentle sway. A king whose Godlike mind is big with joy Must have required a considerable stretch of the imagination to ascribe to George II a “godlike mind. The “‘almanack” ends (how does history repeat itself!) with an editorial upon the currency question, which, it seems, was a subject of much fiery discussion in New Hampshire, Rhode Island and Connecticut just then.’ Roger Sherman roundly condemns Rhode Island and New Hampshire for allowing their bills of credit to depreciate. The Currency Question Even Then. “In the year 1756," he says, “those bills currently paff’d at the rate of 54 shillings old tenor, for an ounce of silver; but _now G4 shillings is the least sum that a Span- ish dollar can be purchased for, which weighs but about 17 pennyweight and an half, at which rate an ounce would cost 73s., so that the depreciation that has been since 1750 will ammount to £176,000 old tenor up- on the whole of what has been in the hands of the inhabitants of Connecticut. Is not that a large tribute to pay to those two governments, for which they have received ho benefit? Honesty’s the best policy!” Nehemiah Strong was, by his own ac- count, at least, an important personage. He first published his ‘“Almanack” at Springfield, Mass., from the shop of Edwin Gray in 1794, a year which he describes as “from the creation 5743, and the eigh- teenth of American Independence.” The learned author is set down as “N. Strong, late Profeffor of Mathematicks and Natur. al Phylofophy in Yale College.” In 1709 Strong moved his “Almanack” to Hartford, Conn., where Elisha Babcock became his publisher. He still remained “late Profess- or of Yale College.” Twenty years later in 1319) Strong continued to be “late Pro- fessor, ete.” and to publish at Hartford. The contents of his work are much tke same as those of Sherman’s. One of the quaint zodiacal charts of the human body— a rude woodcut—figures on the first page. The quotations over each month are from a doggere! poem entitled “The Monk and the Jew," and one is amused to recognize therein the old joke ‘of forcible conversion and subsequent Srownihe prevent re- lapse, which is still qéing guty in comic song and vaudeville ekgtph. Lists of courts are mingled with an esfand sprightly verses—the latter’ satirjzing, ladies’ head- dress in church and et iby the way— close the almanack for {74° Strong grew more staid in his issug,pf 1¢ Prophecies of Bhen‘Watson. . “9 Eben Watson’s Regisgigr aga Almanac of Connecticut (1776) desis im astrological prophecy. Over the moth of June Watson writes: “America is governed by Mars, Great Britain by Venus; this same Mars and Venus have a meeting this month in the sign Gemini, but as Mars was never subjugated to gunarchial power, 't!s to be hoped he will brave it ene ae every, id tif to cireumvent him.” tthe almanac gives a list of the “gallant officers” of Connecticit who had par ticipated in the glorious campaign of 1775;" and among them one finds that of “Colonel Benedict Arnold”—destined a few years later to become an _ ex- ecrated traitor. “Andrew Beers, Phil- omath,” was another important almanac maker. “His United States Almanack,’ Published: Hartford, first’ by Nathaniel Patten,. ang after by Hudson and Goodwin, was a popular affair. His first effort, in 178, .bearg an-imposing address on’ astronomy, and an appeal! to the “Courteous- Reader.” He “As for astrolcay. cdl : I have this apology. however, To hit on’t (not gn’t) has been my intent, =? ete & If Tso hit the day, it's a mistak in the “A tabla of the weight and value of coins as they now do pass in New ‘England, New the Weathow, ° York and Penrsylvania,” includes the guinea, pistole (£1—2—-0), moidore ¢1—16—0), single Johannes ¢8—0—2), doubloon 4—3— ®), English shilling and miiled dollar. Geographical Deecription of the World” i: forms us that “in Africa are these prov- inces, viz.. Egypt, Barbary, Biledulgerid, Ethepia, Nubia, Congo, Atysinia, Mono- motopa, Guinea,” etc. * Birth of the Dialect Joke. In 1802 “Andrew Beers, Philomath,” had greatly improved his almanac. He even ventures a little dialect satire in a skit called “Mine Atverdishement,” wherein a Dutch farmer notifies the public that he has lost his “large plack horse, apout four- deen hands hie. “Whoever vill pring him Pack shall pay five tollare revard an ax no questions.” The almarac is liberally sprin- gled with jests and anecdotes, in many of which one perceives the parent germs of one stili doing active service. A satirical ae on “Rum” closes Mr. Beers’ pamph- et. ‘The almanac makers took themselves very seriously. Watson, in 1780, publishes @ poem, in which he sings: “While others dwell.on mean affairs, Their kings, their councils and their wars, Philester dwells among the stars. And Nature—waiting at his call, His book in vogue with great and small— Is sought, admired and read by all!” In a table of curiosities published by the same writer for 1780 occurs the following: “In the northern part of Pennsylvania is a creek which empties into the Allegany river. It issues from a spring on whic: floats an oil similar to the Barbadoes ta from which a man may get several gallons a day. It is good for rheumatick com- plaints.” The ancestors of John D. Rocke- feller probably read that notice in their farmhouses without thinking of what the future had in store for petroleum and their descendants “Poor R.chard’s Almanack” for 1769 gives @ lst of his majesty’s packet boats plying between Falmouth and New York: “The Lord Hide, Goddard; the D. of Cum- berland, Robinscn; the E. of Halifax, Bol- Gerson. Mails for North America are made up at the general Postoffice in Lon- don the second- Saturday in ev'ry monzh, and the mail fo: England is made up at the Postoffice in New York the second Satur- Gay in ev’ry month also, and dispatch’d without delay.” In many cases the editorship of almanacs Gescended from father to son. ‘“‘Allen’s New England Almanack,” for instance, was first issucd at the beginning of the century by “Anson Allen, Philomath,” and published year after year by him’ until -about 1835, when his son, A. B. Allen, editor of the American Agriculturist, took hold of the work. “The New England Al- manac and Farmers’ Friend” was publish- ed by Nathan Daboll, A. M., in 1773. Da- boll’s son, Nathan, jr., a member of the Connecticut House of representatives, suc- ; ceeded to the editorship in 1818 and con-{ tinued the almanac to 1863. His son, David Austin Daboll, senator and member of the Connecticut house, succeeded, and kept on the line of almanac makers. Nathan Beers Was succeeded in his almanac by Charles Prindle, who continued it down to recent times. The old Farmers’ Almanac of Rob- ert Baily Thomas, published in Boston in 1793, was continued by him down to his death, in 1846, and subsequently continued by his heirs. During the war its place of publication was transferred to Hartford, Conn., that city of aimanacs. “Piratical and Tragical Almanac.’ Among the miscellaneous almanacs of America are many curious specimens. “The Piratical and Tragical Almanac” for 1846 is a notably gory work—chock full of awful episodes by sea and land—and il- lustrated with wood cuts depicting mur- ders, robberies, shipwrecks and Indian Massacres to a degree calculated to give its readers the nightmare. An odd coin- cidence may be found on page 23. a Every one recalls the fierce Doones of Bagworthy, that cclebrated family of out- laws in Blackmore's ‘Lorna Doone.” The Piratical and Tragical Almanac telis of a race of Doones or Doanes, English ref- ugees, settled in Bucks county, Pa. They Were tories during the rebellion, and served the British as spies, until an alter- cation over a woman caused one of them, Levi Doone by name, to shoot a British officer. Their depredations along the banks of the Delaware are vigorously described, and prove them to have been worthy name- sakes, if not, indeed, descendants of Black- more's Doones. ‘The Comic Almanac, printed by Elton, No. 98 Nassau street, New York, in 1843, is @ somewhat crude and coarse publication, fearfully and wonderfully wood-cutted. A. specimen of the “pvetry,” affixed to the portrait of a gentleman ‘hanging himself, runs in this wise: “Oh, Sally Snivel To Bilk me ingo—how could you serve me so? So soon—arter going to Pearce’s fine | _sitloon, Up there on Divislon street, where you know I Without rindi 1 nt minding what ‘iwas costing, on splen- difero ‘s from Bosting, ss And jujube paste tocure your cough— Won't "have me, hey? Well, then, here's off. (Hangs himself.) But the list of endless. In glancing over the ragged relics ot this cr last century's almanacs one meets in faded handwriting entries by the farmer owners, such as: “Mary married this day,” “This day my good wife died, after forty years of happiness.” More frequently the scrawled eniry refers to some event of farm life, such as: “The dun cow calved this day,” or “Bought trotter from Joel Thompson.” The honest farmer's trotter has paced his last these score of years, The dun cow's calf has been made into veal or beef long since. But the quaint old almanac remains, foolish, laughable or eccentric, but still possessing that subtle touch of pathos inseparable from relics of the past. . these odd almanacs is ——-—+00- MOST POPULAR WOMAN IN MEXICO. The Wife of the President is Beloved by Every One. From the New York Times. Mme. De Diaz, the wife of the presflent of Mexico, is not only the first lady of the country, but is the most popular wo- man of the republic. Senora Dona Carmen Romero Rubio de Diaz is known among her people, from the mansions of the rich in the brilliant capital to the humblest hut on the frentier, as Carmelita, meaning “Our little Carmen.” Her popularity ever increases, for each year sees a larger num- ber of gocd works dispensed by this gen- erous won an, who uses her power to im- prove the lot of a long-oppressed and un- happy people. Madame Diaz is often ap- pealed to on behalf of some one or other sentenced to long imprisonment or death. Official pardon is a delicate power for any one to hold, and the president’s wife is naturally careful for the justice of her case before she goes to her lord to plead for executive clemency. But the president himself is of a forgiving nature, and not infrequently the pardon is granted. Neither the president nor his wife attends the bril- liant but brutal bull fights, and in every way they use their influence against the degrading spectacles. It is certain that the president will entirely prohibit them as soon as public sentiment gives any hope of upholding his wishes. “Carmelita” is the second wife of Gen. Porfierio Diaz, and is in ker thirty-third year. She stands as a type of advanced Spanish-American womanhood, and among other accomplishments speaks English and French almost with equal fluency. She is remarkably well informed on current events, end her advice is often sought by her husband. The president is sixty years old, and is very proud of his fair young wife. When their marriage took place, in 1884, they took their wedding tour through the United States. Her girlish grace and simplicity of manner well match her beauty. Her ancestry dates far back into the nobility of old Castile, and the evi- dences of long culture are easily marked. It is plainly apparent that a considerable part of the republic of Mexico and the desire of the people to keep President, Diaz in office are due to the general es- teem for his lovely wife. ROYAL The absolutely pure BAKING POWDER. ROYAL—the most celebrated of all the baking powders in the world—cel- ebrated for leavening strength purity. It makes cakes, _ biscuit, its great and your bread, etc., healthful, it assures you against alum and all forms of adulteration that ¢go with the cheap brands. They Were Uncle Joe's Hand and He Took the Pot From the Man With Four. From the New York Sun. I was a conductor on a trunk line rail- road in the flush days thst immediately preceded the close of the war and prevail- ed for a few years after the close. Money was plentiful, morals were rather lax, and as yet it had not been made part of the railroad conductor's duty to stand guard over the pocketbooks of credulous travel- ers or those whose cupidity ran away with their reason, and consequentiy those were the halcyon days of traveling card players abroad for what was in their profession. I used to like a quiet game of draw my- self, and indulged my liking whenever my duty gave me opportunity. This, of course, placed me in sympathy with others who played, and one day I got into a pretty stiff game on board my own train, while in the actual discharge of my duty, and yet with- | out holding a hard. I had been on the rcad but a week or two, and was not yet acquainted with all its patrons. In go! through the train collecting fares this « I speek of I came to four passengers wno were absorbed in a game of poker, a news- Paper spread on their laps to play on. “Fares, please,” I said. People didn’t bother much about buying tickets in those days, and a large propor tion of the fares were paid on the trains Three of the men handed over their money The fourth, who seemed somewhat excit- ed, sai i “Conductor, can’t you come round a little later?” I told him I must have his fare then and there. He looked at his companions, hesi- tated a moment, and then said: “Will you let me take a little rake off for my fare, fellows?” “They declined to do so. “Conductor,” said he, holding up a hand- ful of gunwads, “them stands for all the money I got. I'm goin’ to bet ‘em on this here hand, and the mischief of it is I'll have to call before I've done it justice, This is the hand.” He passed it up to me, shielding it care- fully from all other eyes. It was four aces. I became interested at once. I had $60 in my pocket. I reached in and ‘ook cut $20 and handed it to the holder of the big hand. “Go ahead!” said I, “‘bet that on it, too!” He did so. Two of the other players dropped out. The fourth stayed, and 1 passed my remaining forty dollars to the nan with the four aces. That was my pile and he had to call. He hated to, he said and I hated to have him do it, with a hand like that, but there was no help for it, He called, The other man showed down a straight fivsh! He got my money and the money of the man I backed, and I hadn't even got the man’s fare! 1 stopped the train and put him off, and that was all the satisfacticn I got out of it. The next station was the end of my run. That same evening I saw the man I had backed and put off the train and his three companions board an east-bound train. “Do you know any of those chaps?” I asked the station agent. “Know ‘em!” he __ replied. They're fcur of the slipperest c on the line of the F., G. and V They had initiated me, that was all. A great many drovers traveled on the railroads during the war. They carrisd plenty of money, and were generally eus and profitable game for the professional card players. Some of the drovers, though, had the reputation of being very nandy with cards themselves, and bragged of it. I used to hear of Uncle Joe Reddy, Big Ike Sloat and others as among the quick-witted “Rather. ‘d sharps drovers who were said to be able to take | ives against the tricks of | care of them: the sharpers. One day I noticed among my Passengers a noted card sharp, known fa- miliarly as Jersey Jerry. At a way sia- tion, a little old man, gray and wrinkled, but still active and spry, got aboard the train. He was a very loquacious old gen- tleman, and gave me the impression that he had been indulging overmuch in apple jack, that being a belt of country famous for that insinuating and iingering tipple. He talked to everybody within hearing, and finally expressed a Willingness to play any one a game of old sledge for a quarter a corner. Nobody paid any attention to the garrulous old fellow for a long time, and then Jersey Jerry began to take an inter- est in him. This surprised me, as the old man seemed to me to be rather small game for that far-reaching individual. At any rate, before long Jerry was busy playing him old sledge for a quarter a corner, and the old man was winning every game, much to his apparent delight, and in the | process of putting away and producing Ms stakes he displayed a wallet the piethora of which explained the interest Jersey Jer- ry was manifesting in him. After a while, in going through the train, I noticed that the game had changed to poker, and that Jerry had evidently led 1s | intended victim along until they were play- | ing a pretty stiff! game; but the old im: was winning, and he was elated beyoad measure and more garrulous than eve stopped to watch the play. It was Jerry's deal. I knew somehow that now he had worked up to his game, and that the | climax was at hand. I felt sorry for the old man, but it was not my affair. He had paraded himself too much, anyhow. As Jerry tossed his opponent's cards to him I caught a glance of each, and would have sworn that four of them were kings. The old man took them up cautiously and held them clese. He seemed to gloat over the | possession cf them. Jerry drew one. The old man was game, and came »ack at Jerry without a quaver. Four kings was a tremendous hand, but I knew that Jersey Jerry had given himself a better une es well as I knew I was there. By and by there was more than $300 in the pot, and the old man seemed satisfied. He called. “What 'a ye go’ ‘Four aces, po} said Jerry. at’s all!” “Ye hain’t got enough on ’em, Jerry!” ex- claimed the old man, and Jerry started to hear his name called. “Ye hain’t cot enough on ‘em, "cause I got five on ‘em myself!’ And the old man, with a grin that meant a great deal, and a look in his eyes that meant a great deal more, spread five aces on the newspaper they were playing on, and coolly raked the money in and stowed it in his wallet. To the utter amazement of myself and every one else who sap it, Jerry got up without a word and went into the next car. The old man only. grinned the more, and in less than five minutes was sound asleep in his seat. “I wender who that man is?” said I to the head brakeman as I went out, pointing back to the seat where pa i} passenger was asleep, is thrown back. The head brakeman knew “Who, him?” said he. “Why, that’s old Unele Joe Reddy, the drover.” He drew no cards. Then they began to Let. | He Has Tricd Suicide in Many Ways, but Sill Lives. From the San Francisco Examiner. Frank H. Cheesman, thirty-eight years old, living at 2227 Ohio street, South Berke- ley, breaks the local record for sui effort. Eight times has he attempted to ferry the Styx, and on his last call to the grim boatman s ot old Charon’s sullen attention persistence in seeking a ready exit f the stage of life is e tent with varied methods of his lethal exp Some of his failures were unique. when he futerrup’ the circuit of a Cheesn bly, ive elec= tric wire and survived the deadly volta of an alter eB current of inn ohms. He has also swallowed poison, jumped from the seuthern Pacific pro nenade ferryboat. 1 he shot himself th deck of narr ough the lunes we ly missing his heart, and the doctors | di e his symptoms as fatal. | man’s first attempt on his life was | sensational. He threw himsel | OPP ‘tery window in this city himself in two possibilities of | successful le. He hoped in the first instance to ish on the wires of an electric light in- tercepting his de t to the ement, which he imagined would mangle him suffi. ¢ if the wire should break. It hap- pened that the wire was tenaci and | Chessman was r His next ady lunge from @ , Teck puchern T e to achieve bis pur- But Ch an could not sink. It is the custom of ihe Sou penis wee oe turn boats and -m to th This wa ure on this oc but Cheesman, waile on his station, drew a knife from hi stabbed himself three or four times in the neck. This time his lack of precision as an anatomist saved him. After hi unds were dressed locked Cheesman in a cell, and half later he was found hanging by hi ers to the grating in the ceili When he had recoverad his br j ciently to explain, Cheesman said he want- | e2 to die because Effie Lambert would not marry him. A few months later the old craving came upon him again, and he poisoned himself in the basement of his p: nts’ home Again the doctors interfered, this t with the pump, and Cheesman came up smiling jonce more out of the Valley of the Shadow. But Cheesman was still unsatisfied. His desire for death may even be regarded as insatiate. A little while after the poison- ing episode he climbed upon a wind loftier than those at which his pr ot La Mancha ti ing himself an } leaped head fore: into space. Death at this time was inevitable, but a big dog passe] opportunely and Cheesman landed safely on the animal's back The object of these evidences of an in- sane regard, thus emphatically importuned, concluded about this time that Che thunderbir man was in deadly earnest, and that he meant what he said when he averred that he would not live without her. Consequently, on September 28, 1892, Frank H. Cheesman and Effie Lambert were married. In books the romance of life usually ends at the altar, but in real life it Is different, and the Cheesman traged: S no excep tion to the rule of realism. He began a new series of tragi> episodes by trying to shoot his wife. Failing to do so he knotted a handkerchief about his neck and in the presence of his wife tried to choke himself | to death, M esman summoned as- sistance and her husband made record of his seventh failure. His wife then left him and Ci came to San Francisco, where he found a | Woman whose throat he tried to cut. He Was arrested and sent to the Ukiah Insane Asylum. He was discharge x months later, and shipped on a man-of-war. - serted at San Dies nd return He had a lucid interval for s during which he worked at the trade of house painter ir Oakland. He was paid off last Saturéay might and went to his home in South Berkeley. He carried hi tendency with him, and with a re for the cighth time, attempted his life. en mon or, Rowell was called and located the inlet in Cheesman’s lung. The doctor says the wound is serious. os New York Street Cle: =. “A Call for Home Patriotiem” in the January Century. New York car now be looked to with | profit by other cities for guidance in the work of good city government. The two | years of her reform administration have | accomplisted one remarkable result, and mary others that are valuable. The one success which overshadows all others is that of Colore: Waring in the street ciean- ing department. For the first time in the history of the country we nave a great American city whose ‘streets are as’ well cleaned as those of any other city in the ; One of the most common and most ating charges against munic this country is thus wii | so far as our chief city is concerned. In securing this advance for us Coloncl War- | ing has done something even more import- | ant than to clean and keep clean the } ave- ; ments of New York streets. He has | shown the whole country that the most | efficient kind of public service is that which | has no “politics” jn it. Every great city | in the country had for years a street clean- | ing force under the control of politics, but | in no city were the streets cleaned. Colonel | Waring constructed his force on new prin- | ciples; he def.ed politics and politicians; | was obliged to face bitter opposition and persistent misrepresentation because of his defiance, but he won in the end, and suc- ceeded in doing what no “practical politi- cian” had ever done. Herein was a vic- tory for the “theoretical reformer.” which ; no man can gainsay. Furthermore, while | doing this he organized a force which has become a caus of public pride. Before his advent ro public servant was more despica- ble than a street sweeper. Now he is a self-respecting member of a uniformed force which marches in annual parade through 5th avenue, and ts displayed with the fire department to distinguished foreign visitors as one of the institutions in which the city takes pride. The men feel that they are their own masters, that they hold their positions because they are fit for them, and that se long as they do their work well no political boss can harm. them. In other words, freedom from political in- terference has made men of them, and do their work like men, and not like sla ——__- ++ —____ Ambiguous, From Life, “I am sorry to hear that you have lost your wife, Cicero.” “Yes, pahson, bat de Lawd knows wot'g bes’ foh us.”