Evening Star Newspaper, May 15, 1897, Page 19

THE LATE ERACLIO. SOLIS, HIGHWAYMAN, BY JOHN HEARD, JR. + ten for The Evening Star. (Copyrighted) Among the many odd tridtes which I have brought home from my travels is a Uttle gold bell, on the table before me’ mow. It was given to me some yt ago as a souvenir by the only highwayman it has been my chance to meet, and often since then I have wordered.what had be- come of the interesting rascal to whom it belonged. A few days ago I received a letter from @ friend in Mexico telling of his death. How vividly it recalled our interview! In the spring of 1834, I was obliged to take the tedious Journey from Alamos to Mazat- lan, in the traditional stage coach—a plc- turesque experience to remember, but an “agony of five nights and four days to en- dure. At the time. I chafed over the slow progress of our civilization, which forced me to travel in a restless, tin-sheathed wooden box; but today the perspective has changed, and I look upon the geographical limitations of Yarkee enterprise, with a decided feeling of satisfaction. There are still some things to do that everybody has not done; some sights that cannot be had for the price of a ticket, some men to Meet outside of offices and clubs. Eraclio Solis was one of these men. He belonged to a species unknown to the railroad freighted Philistine, who naively believes that le is traveling. Two genera- tions hence the race of such men. as Eracilo will be extinct. I had heard much about him, for in those years he was a more important factor in the government of northwestern Mexico than all the state governors combined. In spite of a detachment of cavalry stationed in the neighborhood of Soy Hornitos, Era- clio held up every alternate stage coach, within a mile, more or less, of the same place. The soldiers always arrived upon the scene a few minutes after his band had disappeared, and whenever they es- corted the coach it was sure to be attacked #s soon as their protection was deemed no longer necessary. When we left Alamos, Ben Hill, the gam- bler, called out to me as we drove past his house: “Here's good luck to Eraclio: tell him I'm all right.” whereupon my neighbor asked if I were going beyond Fuertie. 1 answered that I intended to, and then he vesured me that I should certainly make the bandit’s acquaintance. as this was the regular marked trip. Shortly after leav- ing Fuertie my last companion got out, and I was left alone. The certainty of be- ing stopped by the brigand had gradually grown upon me during the past thirty-six hours, and as I sat there suspiciously scan- ning the cactus brush on either side of the coach, my rifle between my knees, and my revolver ready for immediate use, I debated with myself what course I ought to pur- sue. Beyond my arms I had really nothing to lese, and it seemed foolhardy to at- tempt to resist, single-handed, thesattacks of a band of trained highwaymen merely se my Anglo-Saxon prejudices for- {eld without a struggle. 1 risk my life for the sake of . but I rebelled at the idea my hands without making a@ mer rae prejudic holding up » of them. While I was thus cided, the driver by calling to me to irons and climb up he said to me as f the Dox at his sid ve enough. so I may as well lio will stop us in a few vach the top of this e arroyo hondo, and 2 beyond probably the hor: perhaps only Eraclio or heaven's sake, don’t 0 5 * will be thirty leveled frem behind the < and puil the shall be you ever hear now Ben Hill an tell you, eared in the of course, as at Hill jumped the bullets be- &an to A perfect hails m. Three of the mules were dead, besides the whip- ad one of the passengers. As for Hill. us lying on the road with six bullets er his skin—enough to kill an ordinary n—but there he lay, firing away at the with blood running down over his and as mad as though he had nk papashes all the morning. ad a hard time preventing his men from finishing him, but the gambler was an old friend of his, and he kept the j yotes off. “Ben, said he, ‘why did you shoo:? Are at the 1 and 1 stopped, he waved his rifle, Whew! Ho: sake,’ the other answered. now, anyway. Look here, Eraclio, nerous with me. There are 6,000 pesos in my valise, and that ought to satisfy you. But there's my wife, she has ali her jewelry along, and now that J am laid up, I think you might look after her. Can't you tak= her down to Culiacan? I can scrape up a couple of thousand more when I get hom: if you'll do that I'll send them to you welcome. Is it a bargain?” Bah! the other answered, leughing. ‘Friend “Ben, between thieves, the shortest accounts are best. Til take your money for the men—but t ora shall reach Cuilia- safely. I'll see to that myself.” And aid it, Don Juan. He put three of his ‘Tm ide, made me do the whipping, and Srove himself, right up to the hotel, though 4 nough that there was a big lacard on the ‘Two thousand jos for the bi i ve. “You never sew him? Well, senor, he’s caballero, you will see, and I say we ght to have just such a man for gov- ernor. He knows what the poor peopte need, and what is guod for them. Vaya, if he were governor for only one year, they Would make him president the next. The zTeatest man in Mexico, senor, and they are trying to kill him! But in spite of Martin's predictions, and apparently much to his disappointment, we drove off unmolested, across the arroyo a honde and inte Los Harnitos. The little rancho was crowded, and I or- dered my dinner served outside, under the porch, where I sat down alone to wait. jew from my seat was hot, desolate and depressing, typical of our dreary life, “I have a bad name.” vest of the Sterre Madre. To the left stood & broken row of low flat-roofed adobe huts, joined together by irregular cactus hedges, and on the tops of the fluted gray-green columns three or four buzzards perched mo- tionless. On the right by the roadside lay odd-leoking piles of rusty mining machine- ry. relics of some abandoned enterprise, and far, far away, above the faintly purple level of dry bush, the blue sierre stretched along the hortzon. While I sat there, waiting and wondering Wherein lay the undeniable charm of this dreary landscape, a horseman rode up, tied imal to one of the posts, and started to enter the house, but catching sight of me she stopped, touched his hat and came to- Ward me smiling. “Don Juan of the Rochin mine?” he asked ate: I rose, answered that I was nore — = the man's face was totally ‘amiliar to me, and my perplexity was evident, for he said “You are wondering who I am, Don Juan? ft Is true, we have not met before, yet we are hardly strangers.” He-drew a chair up to. the table and said: “T am Eraclio, the outlaw.” “Eraciio!” “At your servtce, senor,” he answered, amazed at my astonishment. “You expect- ed to meet me yonder on the road, yes? But really, it would not have been worth while: I knew that you were the only pas- senger. and that you do not travel with more than a few dollars in your pocket. Garcta’s draft on Mazatlan is of no use to me, for, unfortunately,circumstances do not allow me to go there. As for your rifle and your, pistol—you might have been tempted to use them, and—I bear you no ill will. But, caramba! Why don’t they bring us something to eat?” And spriiging up with an oath. he went t> the house and gave some orders, which were obeyed with eager alacrity. As he stood by the door, one of his men came up and spoke to him. A huge. swaggering desperado, and it delighted me to note the superiority of the graceful, agile and youthful captain over his bulky lieu- tenant Eracilo looked so simple and thor- oughbred beside the melodramatic bandit— he was unmistakably the commander. When le came back he unbuckled his pista] belt and threw it Gown on the bench between us, so as to be much nearer me than him, and as he did so he looked at me mearingly. It might have been merely a trick, and so I prudeatly refrained from following his example, though I liked the man’s appearance, and instinctively felt that I had nothing to fear. He noticed my hesitation at once, and said, with a short, hard laugh: “Do you trust me, Don Juan; well, I don't wonder! I have a bad name, and perhaps if you knew as much about me as I do my- self you would trust me still less. It is not altogether my fault, though. Then changing the subject suddenly, he contin- ued: “I suppose you keep pretty well around up at the Rochin mine? Oh, don’t fancy I am trying to get any information. I know you keep a large amount of silver there, and hive about twenty white men on whom you can depend. Now, suppose I were to pay you a visit—how would you re- ceive me?” “Why, about as roughly as we know how!" =ven if I had fifty men behind me?” “Unless you came with a whole army be- THE SOLDIERS CLOSED AROUND THE OUTLAW. THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, MAY 15. en a a ma See ee Pe eg went back to my books with new ardor.” Eraclio stopped, and for the first time since he began to talk he looked at me. “¥ou wouldn't own up to all this, would you? Would you have catalogued your Virtues and left out the vices? That is an . ‘xon trait, and'one of the meanest of its characteristics. You all think a man can’t have his failings known and still be a man. Shakespeare and Fielding painted their men naked, part good and part bad, true human beings—their men will live while all the sawdust mannikins you put up today will be forgotten tomorrow. I have seen a good many English and Amer- icans, Don Juan, and if I have found them perhaps stronger and more generous as a whole than men of other nationalities, I have found them not a whit less human. The men in your newspapers and the men in your novels are not the same species. You smile? Of course, of course, the theo- ries and criticisms of a Mexican bandit are only fit to be laughed at. But yet you ean- not honestly deny the truth of what I say. However, that is neither here nor there. So, senor, I worked hard and learned some- thing. I traveled and studied both in Eng- land and Germany; then one day 1 awoke os from a dream, and I came home to Mex- ico. “We love our country, Don Juan, in our unintelligent, passionate way, an the jico to me means perhaps evan more than the union does to you. With my knowiedge, my fortune and my will, I felt strong; I felt that I should bezome a great leader, and that my name would be known and loved throughout my couatry. On my way to Europe I had passed a few days in Co- lombia, visiting some relatives, and one night out on the plains, as we sat by the camp fire, one of the older men spoke of Bolivar. I see him now, Don Juan! stand- ing in the glowing lignt, his deep voice trembling with emotion, thundering forth Bolivar’s proclamation of independence 2 + even then, ignorant boy that I was, the scene impressed me profoundly, and the respect, the veneration of his lis- teners, as the old man ended with the in- vocation, ‘Ah, Bolivar—liberator!’—I have never forgotten. Bolivar! Why not Solis! It is a great purpose that makes a great man, and I believed that my purpose was a great one. Throughout the land of Mextco, wide as it is from north to sou-h, Eraclio hind vou,” I answered. “I don't know that the number would make much difference. If you attacked the Rochin mine we should defend it” ood! That is one thing I like about sh and Americans. Odds don't fright- Now, a litle while since, I went to the Rosario and had an interview up with § midt, their superintendent. ‘How 7 he asked. ‘Oh,’ he answer- ed, ‘I have only twenty-four, so walk in | and help yourselv Schmidt is not a co ard, but once he was an officer in the Ger- man army, and there he learned that two men always beat one. Two units always | beat one, that's true, and in large armies the average manliness is at its lowest. How- ever, I'll get even with him,” he added with a somewhai cynical laugh. “I shall take good care to have fewer men than he and force a fight, for I don’t like robbing without some danger or excitement; it is too much like thieving.” “You draw rather nice distinctions,” I said. He frowned, and for a moment seem- ed annoyed: then he went on: “Oh, let us talk of something else; it 1s so rare nowadays out here to have a chance of | passing an hour or two with a man of edu- cation that I must make the most ef it. You have been in Europe, of course? Well, then, let us get as far away from Los Hornitos as possible. Ah, Don Juan, *I ate this life!” he added passionately, and in an instant the whole expression of his face changed. His fists were clutched on the table before him, and his lips were drawn beck over his teeth until he looked more like an animal about to spring for- ward than like the handsome, good-humor- ed young fellow he had hitherto seemed to be. But this expression vanished again as quietly as it had come. He drank off a tumblerful of wine and lighted a cigar, while I reflected on the danger of irritating such a fearful temper. For an hour or two we chatted very pleasantly. He was es- pecially interested in French affairs, and begged me to give him a bundle of Figaros which I had just been reviewing and hap- pened to have with me. I had heard that he waa then of good education, and that he had traveled for a number of years, but I was not prepared to meet one so familiar with French, English and even German beoks as his conversation proved Solis to be. Eventually I expressed my surprise at Fis unusual knowledge, and I asked him how he managed to keep so well informed out in the wilderness. “Do you know anything ef my past life, Don Juan?” he asked in return. “Garcia has told me something,” I an- swered, “but not much, after all. He was @ friend of yours once, was he not?” “He is now, for the matter of that, Solis answered, “at least as far as circum- neces will allow him to be.” For some minutes the outlaw remained silent, looking blankly at the table before bim, his thoughts were evidently far away. When he spoke again he did so bs unmistakable diffidence and hesita- tion. “Our conversation has recalled my stu- dent days—the best period of my life—so vividly, and the contrast between then and now——" He did not finish the sentence, and again for some minutes he smoked on silently, while I sat equally silent and waiting. | “Perhaps you do not know, senor,” he began, presently. “I came of good family. My ancestors came over fromm Spain about the beginning of the last century, which may or may not be true. At any rate, my father was an intimate friend of Gen. Calzado, whom the Juarez government out jawed, and about the time I was ten years old both were captured, executed side by side and all their property confiscated by the state. Nothing except my mother's hacienda, La Perla, was saved from the wreck, and there I was allowed to grow up without education or restraint of any kind. You know what life is onea Mexican rancho, and what qualities of human na- ture are most likely to be developed in such an atmosphere. Well, as a boy, I was perhaps worse than the average. I am ex- tremely passionate, and when [ 4m aroused I lose all control over myself to such an extent that Iam not much better than a wild animal. I ought to have beeu shot or put cut of the way long aso, and, sooner or later, that is the fate I expect to meet. I was only seventeen when I had a quarrel with a friend over a girl we both fancied; we had a fight, of course, and I killed him. I can’t say that I felt much remorse at the time; on the contrary, I was rather proud of my victory. No one had seen us to- gether, so I was not afraid of its being dis- | sion, and I took care not to interr Solis should be a household word. Ha! As it has become indeed! A household word throughout the land, quoted in the annual reports among the cursed of Mexico, on the ges with yellow fever, famine and Solis nad risen from his chair, he was much excited, and spoke quickly, with passionate utterance, and unconscious ges- Uculation. Though he was speaking to me, he had about forgotten my presence, except as an impersonal re: ecnfes- pt him. As he stopped, he leaned against one of the posts of the veranda with his back toward me, and for some minutes loked away over the plain. When he came back to the table he poured out a tumbler‘ul of wine, and drank it down at one gulp. “Ah, Don Juan, I am very tired of it all,” he began again after a short pause. “There is a reward of $10,000 promised for bringing me to Culiacan, dead or alive, and some- times I feel that the best thing I could do would be to shoot myself in the house of some poor devil who needs the money. I will tell you how I became an outlaw—1 have given you the beginning and end of my story, but a good deal lies between. “When I came home from Wurope, 1 ap- plied for a government position, and I was appointed private secretary to the governor. He was an able man, but bad—totally un- scrupulous—the kind of man I might have become if I had remained at home. He recognized the advantages of his office, but not the obligations. He was cstensibly apathelic—really one of the most violent men I ever met, as cruel and vindictive a villain as could be found in Mexix0. It was our joint misfortune to fall in love with the same woman—Mercedes, the daughter of old Homobono Paral. “*You are married,’ { said to him. half icking, one day, ‘and I am not. I have the right on my side!’ ““But might is on mine,’ he answered, smiling good naturedly, ‘and you know that in this country might is right.’ “But it is not love,’ I retorted. ‘I have my right and her love, too. So your might will not help you much in this case’—fool that I was! “I remember the quick start that he gave, and his sarcastic empnasis as he said very quietly: “Ah, Solis, you Mercedes’ lover!’ Then suddenly changing the conversation, he asked for certain papers, and gave me in- structions as to what answers I should send; then he left the room. After he had gone I sat down to write, but our conversa- tion had made too deep an impression. 1 began to fear the consequeaces. I wanted to tell Mercedes herself, so I threw the pa- pers-into my desk, saddled a horse and rode off to Paral’s ranch. It was not a long ride, but before it was in sight sud- denly my horse was tripped. I was bound, gagged, and that night I was carried to an outlying prison, where I passed the next eight months. I was not inscribed in my own name, so it will hence be unknown officially that Eraclio Solis lived behind bars—a remote satisfaction, to be sure! Jt was not until long after my kidnaping that my jailer told me I was accused of Tebbing the state treasury and the gov- ernor’s private safe; my whereabouts were urknown, but it was supposed that I nad left the country with the money. Finally I was tried in secret session of the court. Of course, I was found guilty, and as I was sentenced by default, my mother’s estates were confiscated to repay the governor first and the state afterward out of what was left. It all mattered very little to me, how- ever, for while I was imprisoned my poor mother had died of grip I was told; Mer- cedes had disappeared, not even Homobono had been able to find her. I did not give up all hope of finding her until a month later; but then I learned it was all over— she had died, and ingane.' Eraclio stopped short, but his face ex- pressed more than any word could have done. It revealed such capacity for suffer- ing, that I turned away; to watch his face seemed an impertinence. ue lighted another cigar presently and said: “Senor, I was alone in the world, rr, dishonored, without ties or ‘obligations of any kind, and.I burned to revenge myself, and I took for my motto, ‘An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.’ “There. was my weakness, senor. A greater man would even then have fargot- ten personal wrongs and remembered only nobler purposes, but prison life exerts the most demoralizing influence; a good man. may come out of it as a good man still, but his goodness is no longer a power, it is covered. My rival was out of the way, and I profited by it; then a few days later, satiated and disenchanted, I realized what I had done. So, between fear and remorse and shame, I determined to Jeave the coun- try. “Ah, Europe! Don Juan, that was a rev- elation to me. I had never seen anything of civilization. I saw it first in Paris. For @ few months I lived the Profit- less life of most Spanish Americans-abroad, but at last its shallowness palled upon me. I saw that whenever our people came in touch with intelligent foreigners our in- feriority was painfully evident, and it made me angry to be only second-rate, The rem- edy was obvious. I made up my mind to merely a latent useless quality, not to say @ weakness—even that is the exception rather than the rule. A strong man usu- ally becomes a bad man, and a bad man grows worse. So it was with me—my vital- ity, ™my energy and strength were neither Mee te tee eee planned thy present Fad of oripesaae™ “You may have heard of horrible! a loose, i 3 a3 i Hi it i af NH ] 4 ‘ f i g : f es 4 ik $8 i i i i f us by my former chlef. He was no longer governor when he heard of my escape, and knowing that he hada dangerous foe int me, he fled to the. capital. When I was ready—not so very long since—I raided and destroyed his ranclés, one after another, and in such quick, succession that there was no time to prepare defenses. I killed his men, drove off his cattle, burned his hactendas and wrecked his mines, until-on the verge of ruin, he was obliged to come here himself and attempt the rescue of his property. Then I ttacked him from place to place. Finally I’ captured him at the Descanso. For yeats, Don Juan, I had ex- | ercised all my ingenufty in planning new, unheard of monstrous tortures for this man, but when we were alone, face to face in the big hall of the rancho house—when, after all these years, I saw him in my power—this man whom I hated with every fiber of my being—when it flashed over me what I might have been but for him, what I was because of him, by God, senor, I burst into tears!” Solis paused a moment. He drew his hand over his forehead—he had been talk- ing vehemently—his face was quivering— but almost immediately he stood up and said: “I shot him down like a cur!” He walked away to the end of the porch. He stood there so long that I turned to see whether he had gone. No; he was ap- parently watching the men who were har- nessing the mules. When he came back all traces of emotion had disappeared, but he looked at me as if expecting me to say something. I did not know what to say, and he sat down again opposite me. “Ah, Don Juan,” he began again, “that’s what a brigand is made of. Just a man— wrongly developed. Some day—who knows? —you may hold me up. Come now, tell me honestly, what do you think of me? A ras- cal, eh? An embarrassing question?” His margin was so narrow between good humor and the most violent passion that I hesi- tated at passing judgment upon the fine animal before me. I could only admire. “You have been very unfortunate, Don Eraclio,” I said finally. “I believe you might have been a great man in your coun- try,” and I put out my hand. Solis grasped it eagerly, and he still held it as he said: “I thank you, Don Juan, I shall not for- get you—will you take a little thing to re- member me? My end is not far off, senor, I believe that I am on the down grade. So far revenge was my right, but that is past now, and for the future what can I do? I am not a brigand by nature. If I had something to ve upon, I should prob- ably turn to my books again, for, of course, I can never be a public man now. But as it is, I don’t own 10 pesos in the world, be- sides, I have a duty toward my men, I must stand by them, as they have stood by me.” “I suppose you must, Don Eraclio, unless you were to leave the country—wouldn’t you do that?” I suggested. “Impossible!” he said. “No, no, I can't do that—" but he did not explain. We sat awkwardly for a few moments after our conversation, any other topic seemed out of place—yet silence was embarrassing, 50 it was a relief to see the horses coming ready to start. I rose, tightened my straps and Eraclio asked, “You are going home, Don Juan?” “Yes, by a roundabout route, but I shall come hack here.” “I wish I were going, too,” he said, “but where? If you come back, we must meet again, you may find me a better man—or, if not, a far worse. Vaya!” he cried, pull- ing himself together suddenly. “Today I am at the zenith of my power. Come, drink another glass with me—a big glass this time—here’s to luck!” | At the stage we shook hands again and the mules started on a gallop. The remembrance Eraclio gave me was the litde gold bell—thus it came into my possession. Subsequent events proved that Braclio’s presentiments were well founded, his day was over and from that day for- ward his existence became more and more precarious. His men felt he had lost his grip, and they in turn lost their unbound- ed confidence in him. One day the troops surrounded their camp, and though the majority of the bandits cut their way through the cactus thicket, Eraclio remained behind. When the soldiers came upon him, he was seated on a boulder beside the bodies of two of his men. Cautiously the soldiers closed around the famous outlaw, but he neither moved nor noticed them. Now that escape was impossible, many a man among his captors wished it were otherwise, for Eraclio was @ popular hero, an ideal to many a Mexican heart. He had often defended them against the law, when it was unjustly ap- plied. He had been ‘kind to the poor, and they loved him. Not a few in the line of troopers owed him thanks for some good deed or timely help. “But it was too late. A young officer stepped forward, and, covering him with his revolver, called out: “Eraclio So}is, in the name of the nation, you are my prisoner.” The highwayman raised his head, gauged his captor and smiled. Then he looked around at the circle of soldiers, drew himself up, and, without paying any further attention to the Meutenant, he spoke to them: “Friends,” he said, gently, yet firmly, “the time has come, and I am more glad than sorry; perhaps more glad than any man here. Try henceforth to remember whatever good I have done you, and to forget the harm. You are all sons of Mexico, and I charge you, let that be ever uppermost in your thoughts. Because I forgot the duty every man owes to his flag, I stand before you now an enemy of my country, which no man ever loved more than I. Many of you are my friends, yet I am your common enemy. The good of the country requires that I should die, so let it be here, at once, and at your hands. I do not yield, I command, Salazar, and you, the five next, step forward! Are you ready? Good! Now, when I drop my arm aim low and steady—this is my last re- quest.” . Eraclio looked up at the pale hard sky overhead, and across the ragged line of cactus brush—so typical of his country. Above in the oven-like dome a buzzard, the eagle of Mexico, arched slowly round and round. He followed it with his eyes until it alighted on a tuna near by. Be- yond, the sierra, purple and blue and white, crowned the horizon, and while he gazed with a far-away look over their heads the men leaned on their Winchesters and waited. Ther. the outlaw raised his hat and the locks clicked—a moment later the simul- taneous bark of the six carbines crashed through the silence—Eraclio fell. Salazar alone had understood. The other five with mistaken generosity had shot wild. ——___ Responses. Admit into thy silent breast ‘The notes of but one bird, And instantly thy soul will join In jublant accord, ‘The perfume of a single flower Inhale like breath of God, And in the garden of thy heart A thousond buds will nod. u it's a oe earn bave es wide world, if OO OHANNA AMBROSIUS. The-Cautious Woman. From the Detroit Free Press. “I may be over careful,” said she, as she hid the plated spoons and her curling irons in the bottom of: her trunk before she went out shopping, “‘buti@l diet can't bear to run any risks.’ 1 A - Then she pinned’ fir @old watch to the outside of her dresg byse blue ribbon and went down town, hm @ 1897-24 PAGES. 5 19 THEY FAIRLY SWARM War Correspondents Who Are Very Much in Evidence. WITH GREEK AND TURKISH FORCI Every One is Able to Answer the ~ Eastern Question, - OR HE THINKS HEIS (Copyright, 1807, by S. 8. McClure Co.) Special Correspondence of The Evening Star. ATHENS, Greece, April 1, 1897. HE ADVANTAGE I of international com- plication is the fact that it develops war correspondents, There are now exactly 131 _ correspondents sitting in Constanti- ~nople, Athens and on the frontier. They seriously _ interfere with the movements of the two armies. They cloud the air, LS and officers have to sweep the sky with brooms before they can gain a chance for their field glasses. The only creature that has not been thrown off its natural balance by this invasion is the bold flea of Greece. Even this could not disturb the calm industry of the Gre- cian fiea. These animals operate with drills, which they work by foot treadles, and afterward one feels as if one had been attacked by a fleet of red-hot stove lids. The fleas were superior to the correspond- ent. They continued to lead their un- troubled life of work, and they reaped abcut all the vengeance which Greece was able to get as a nation. The Earl of Perth Amboy, N. J., arrived here lately to represent a New York news- paper. He discovered at once that the Parthenon is too little; that it is far smaller than the American Tract Society building in New York. Then he looked over the eastern question, and said that it was absurd, and departed in a cloud of dust, upon’ which a stereopticon threw fresh details of the increase in circulation of his journal. He left Athens dripping with perspiration and blind and dazed with amazement. The diplomatic corps was particularly prostrated. Upon being in- formed that he was likely to return, the citizens are considering a plan to set fire to the city and retreat to the hills. The English Special. But this American whirlwind is a bottle of beer and a plate of crackers to the Eng- lish correspondent. who understands the eastern question. Of course, one can't throw a stick into any part of Athens with- out hitting three men who understand the eastern question, but the English corre- Yr An tr From the New York Journal, Goodwin is but another instance of his burn money upon all possible eccasions. of his time at a certain hostelry—that 1s ail the description necessary of the place— presided over by a fat, good-natured Ger- man. They had known each other well, and were on excellent terms. about one da’ bill, that Mr. Goodwin disputed an item of $50. In doing so he was morally certain that the indebtedness was not his. host was equally sure on his side of the contrary. The dispute waxed hot and heavy. Scalp ana “See here,” said Goodwin, “I don’t care for a trifling amount like $50. cipie of the thing, ciple of the thing.” dermatology “Der same vay mit me,” retorted the Seek ianl landlord. “I dond’t care me for $100,000." norris burn it than give it to you when I don’t Anneuser-Busch BREWING ASs’N, THE LEADING BREWERY IN THE WORLD. The Faust The Anheuser The Michelod - The Pale Lager Served on all Pullman Dining and Buffet Cars. Served on all Wagner Dining and Buffet Cars. Served on all Ocean and Lake Steamers. Served in all First Class Hotels. Served in the Best Families. Served in all Fine Clubs. Carried on nearly every Man-of-War and Cruiser. Served at most of the : United States Army Posts and Soldiers’ Homes. The Greatest Tonic, ‘‘Malt-Nutrine” the Food-drink, is prepared by this Association, Btw. ap3-s,m&w39t RECKLESS NAT GOoOoDW ion of How the Comedian Has Money to Burn. A story I have just heard anent Nat eckless generosity and constant desire to Nat had been in the habit of passing part It came , during the broaching of a For the Skin, Mine It's the prin- | Just the prin- | Complexion that's all. a Derma’ logist at the John H. Woodbury Dermatological Institute, “Perhaps not,” doubted the comedian. ‘But I'd sooner throw the money away or spondent has an iron-clad and immovable | owe it to you.” ge lle inc hE tape telgiry Sweetie Way of understanding a question which | “An,” exclaimed the German, sarcasti- uple of ether Woodbury’s Facial Soap or reminds one unmistakably of a god. He | cally.’ “You haf money to purn, ch? Vell | Facial Cream, with iilustrated look on Beauty. and is perfectly simple and ingenuous about it. | T dona’t pelieve me dot.” 4 treatment of the skin, mailed on rec Apparently this ability to undersiand the |“ “ts that so?” returned “Well, now. eastern question is given him because he i8] py) tell you what I'll do with you. I'll | 19-46 a British subject. He does not state this fact, but upon looking him over one can see no other reason for his believing that he understands the eastern question. He appropriates a knowledge of the eastern question as blandly as his government ap- propriates an island, or a tribe of negroes. The child-like air with which he recog- nizes his absolute infallibility is something very fascinating to those here who feel that the comprehension of the eastern question is a mouse that sleeps in the mind of the empire of Russia, and if there is a man who knows aught of that mystic thing he is a man with no tongue. Knows the Eastern Situation. A consular officer, who has devoted a number of years to the study of the peo- ples of the east, and the conditions here, was compelled by an obligation of social amiability to listen to a prolonged elucida- tion of the problems of the east by a Lon- don correspondent. ‘The consular officer was not greatly bored, because by this time consular officers are immured to those phe- nomena. Finally, when the London corre- spendent arrived at some phase of the situation to which the official had devoted study and time, the official indifferently gave his opinion. There was silence for a mcment, while the correspondent looked pioudly’ at the official. Then the corre- spendent said: “On that subject I talk with men whose opinions I respect.” He turned his back on the official. His allusion to men whose opinions he would respect caused considerable excite ment here, and first report of it was not afloat by the extremists. Finally, public opinion decided that he must talk in his sleep. “I Am the Only.” But if the London correspondent here has an iron-clad and immovable sense of the divinity of his intelligence, there are also in Athens American correspondents of the type who write to their journals: “I am the only correspondent up to the present time who has been able to pene- trate to the fastnesses of Larissa. During the terrible journey across the desert that surrounds this city I was three times pros- trated by the heat and had five horses die under me. My dragoman, Murpiy, had his ears frost-bitten.” Seriously, people in official circles who are posted in all matters of news say there has not been a report sent from Greece of this whoopetty-whoop description that is not terrifying its assininity. ‘The pity of it is that then the simple-minded people of Europe laugh at the poor correspondents, instead of at the men who are really re- sporeible for this sort of crime. A Bit of Sarcasm, One expects foreigners to have a univer- sal trust in the intelligence of the Amer- ican people in the face of these splendid exhibitions. ‘There was a correspondent here who asked an interview of the king, and because cer- tain people took trouble for him he was granted it. He gave the interview to some of the Greek newspapers also, and then, by a singular juxtaposition of circumstances, he left town. An ald-de-camp was sent to gather the editors of these newspapers, and then an official spent a long time la- boriously dictating the most sweeping de- nials. In delicate situations like an east- ern imbroglio an absurd interview is more than an annoyance. Later the correspon- dent cabled to his acquaintances in Athens to apply to the king for a decoration for him. = In Marked Contrast. It would be deadly wrong not to speak now of the men who in affairs of this kind do their duty simply and faithfuliy, and with no uproar. Tnere is, for instance, an American correspondent here who has crossed Armenia in the midst of the troubles, who bas lived in Crete with the insurgents, and been in all the bombard- ments and fights there, and who is now going to Arta, in the hope of joining the wild band of volunteers who are about to raid into the troop-covered provinces of Turkey. In fact, he has as fine a record as @ man can get out of such a situation. But, of course, no one knows him, nor cares about it. He has no reputation at all, rel- atively. His pay must, naturally, be in the "Today tho king refused him an interview. an A mainly because the wild ass of the desert burn $50 right here before your eyes if you'll receipt the bill.” g0 you vonce.”” took his check book out of his pocket, filled out a check for $50, tore it out, ap- plied a lighted match to until it was reduced to ashes. i cess with buiging eyes, stamp on the disputed bill, signature across it and said with a sigh: aheadt ohf dose actor fellows nohow. Van Buren Was Criticised for Intro- Ex-Presideut Hrrrison in Ledies’ Home Joarual. rooms in the Executive Mansion, though by the use of two dressing rooms and of the | end of a short hall that formerly opened to @ large north window, but has now been closed up to make a small bed room, the number may be increased to eight. There are no suitable servants’ provided are in the basement, those opening to the south are habitable. The north rooms open upon a damp brick area and are unhealthy. One of the base- ment rooms, having a southern exposure, is fitted up as a billiard room, but very plain- credited. It was believed to be a rumor set | ly. the White House was first made during Mr. Fillmore’s term. about the room, and most of them are filled with books—old editions of historical and classical works. the library has not been kept up. the White Hous bles, balls and cues at a cost of $61, paying for them out of his own pocket. President Van Buren was charged by versary and scathing critic first of our Presidents to Ginvover that the The real pleasures of the warm or tepid bath are the Troper accompaniments of a palace life. | !aceandthe For it appears that our former Presidents | imitation were content with the application, when receive necessary, of the simple shower bath. Mr. Van Buren’s critic then refers with high thorough approval to the salutary side of Mr. Adams’ heroic habit of bathing in the Potomac be- | treatment. tween daybreak and sunris Both are as From Answers. proud when they can boast of having a paltry score or two of descendants, but no one seems to be aware of the grounds he has for boasting of the number of his an- cestors. in a direct line? you will be astonished. you have two—father and mother. next step you have four—two grandfathers and two grandmothers. so you have four great-grandfathers and four great-grandmothers. Each of these again has had two parents, so that at the fourth generation back you have sixteen ancestors, at the fifth you have thirty-two, at the sixth- you have sixty-four and at the seventh you have 128. thousands, tens of thousands, and hundreds of thousands, so that, if all your direct an. cestors for twenty generations be added ment, if you leave out Asia. only about 1,200 years, if you were to cal- culate back to the beginning of the world, you simply couldn't find the number of your blood From the Detroit Journal. surprise me. Why, I understood he lived to an advanced age.” ‘ ‘that wasn't in his wife's name.” “By Chiminy!” said the host. “I'll yoost Without another word, Nat Goodwin strips Thom All~ The Monarch has that fly-away-and-leave-the rest quality which makes it the chosen racer of the wisest riders. The Mon- arch Bicycle is a little | | bit the nearest to perfec- tion in every point’ Hear its riders praise it. They know. A catalogue if you ask us. it, and held it The German, who had watched the pro- banged a rubber scrawled his You cand’t “Chumping dividendts! get —0- FIRST WHITE HOUSE BATH TUB. ducing It. Properly speaking there are five bed quarters. Those and only i . Ree forte, It is said that provision for a library for American Watch and Diamond Co., Neat cases are arranged AED Eenaeonnts Aue. There is ro catalogue, and President Adams introduced billiards into purchasing the first ta-; is more thana trade with us, political ad- | It is an art. being the How Many A good as new when done. Not only this, but we tint new laces to match certain shades now in vogue, and without losing the shape and soft- ness of design. Lace Curtains repaired if needed. Lace Curtains stored free of charge. ‘We will call for the package. A. F. BORNOT "5nc'orenu"=™ 1103 G Street, N. W. Blood-Nerve Food Westie og For Weak and Run Down People. 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