Evening Star Newspaper, May 28, 1898, Page 23

THE EVENING STaR, SATURDAY, MAY 28, 1898-24 PAGES, VOTING IN FRANC Not Much General Interest is Taken in the Elections. NO GREAT QUESTIONS ARE INVOLVED Efforts That Are Used to Get Men to the Polls. RATHER A QUIET aS AFFAIR Reims Correspondeace of the London Daily Mail. The town Is parti-colored, but calm. ‘The walis are placarded green and yellow, blue and red. Nothing is spared save the cathedral. Even the statues which adorn the city and their plinths are liberally decorated with the names of the candi- dates. and with the insults which they exchange during the campaign. As yeu walk thrcugh the streets the as- pect sug: that the battle is being fought with the bitterest animosity. Here M. Mirman, the radical socialist, assures you (in large Jettess) that he will permit no equivocation, that, despite all contradic- tion. he is still a candidate: there M. le Comte de Montebello, prudently suppress- ing the title, reminds you that his op- Porent is a friend of Clemenceau, a client of the late Baron Ge Reinach, and there- fore pledged not only to corruption, but to the revision of the ineffable process. Noth- ing is omitted that might arouse the pas- sions of the electors. The journals declar- ing. in the largest type, that today their readers are summoned to exercise the su- preme right of citizenship, implore them to go to the polls in their thousands. But they decline to be aroused, and they trickle to the Mairfe or the school house in their twos and threes, silent, indifferent and un- perturbed. The slow, vacant Sunday wanes in the afternoon, and the citizens, who should be mindful of 1789, walk in the Champs de Mars or sit in their cafe, interested in all save the election. By 6 the balloting is over, and after a delay of some hours, for they manage these things expeditiously in France, the result is announced. Then for &@ moment one division of the town is gal- vanized into excitement. Good Stange Management. Flags are unfurled, processions are form- ed. and M. Mirman, being returned by more votes than are polled by ail his five oppo- nents, is triumphantly carried from the office of the ‘“Franc-Parleur” to his hotel, a duly elected deputy. .The mob shouts, a window is thrown open, and M. Mirman, with a dining table and champagne bot- tles for background, appears on the bal- cony. Instantly a horny-handed working- man steps forward to present the Inevitable bouquet. and the new member, in a ‘‘vi- brant voice.” explains that the triumph is not his, but the republic's, and that the victory belongs to the honest workers of Reims. ‘he little scene is admirably stage managed. and as the curtained windows are closed, you feel that the hotel, with its picturesque sign, La Plume au Vent, is for the moment a center of enthusiasm. Mean- while, in another corner of the town, under the shadow of the cathedral, fresh results are flashed upon a phosphorescent siate. But the crowd receives them with apathy, and is never dense enough to impede the passing tram. Indeed, a French election may best be de- scribed by negatives. There are no car- riages to hasten the anxious voiers to the poll, there is no procession of exultant can- Gicates, there is no beer, there is no armed discussion at “the street corner. Only a blinding mass of crude placards and the rancour of the daily press. No Real Interest. The ruth is that few men are sincerely interested, save the candidates, and they are pi al politicians, whe assail each other with the most scurrileus abuse, be- use b sit of their class. he is easily explained. In » properly defined par- ties: loctors and journalists who appe nor for votes represent neither men and merely for them- selv mselves repub- licar can radicals, or even they have no am he law or of chang- ing the governm They are therefore driven back upon personal criticism, and instead of discussing the future of the state —always a barren theme—they beiabor their opponents with staves of satire and abu: To a fival in the anci scandal of Par ama still appears the strong of arguments, and a sound politician will demand the support of his fellows for no bet Teason than that somebody else has been nm to conver: With a noterious Jew or passed a suspecié check through his bank ten long years ago. Engaging Candor. In all the many placards which at the Present moment cover the face of France there is scarce a hint of political doctrine or proposed reform. A few “well wishers are anxious to point out that this candidate was connected with a disreputable journal, er that another candidate sits greedy hoard of direction, and noth » more ironic than the trast between the violence of nonchalance ef the ted citi- None the less, one cannot but a ud the engaging candor of the combat- 3. and it is a conclusive proof of the vailing good humor that insults without rancor and paid \ currency. are ex for in while the Candidates are merrily as- sailed the citizens abstain from voting. They excuse their apathy on various grounds: this man declares that politics do pt i st him, that viher that he cannot touch pitch and remain undefiled. And it is not only the “respectable” classes who de to exercise their privilege. At Reims. for instance, M. Mirman does not Tepresent the wealthiest division of the town, yet more th ooo voters of his circumscription remained silent. Of course there is no reason why every man should concern himself with what he only partial- ly unde and the happily for them, have a thousand interests which are wholly unconnected with politics. Be- sides, where all the parties are so closely merged in one that the views of all might be covered by a single sheet of paper, where. moreover, six candidates frequently stand for one seat, enfhusiasm is dif and indifference justified, 1f not meritorious. To Enforce Voting. less the republic fs strangely at the rejection of the. privilege ich it has conferred u all its citizens without fear or favor. Many schemes have th perturhs bee devised to compel the reluctant ones to come in and vote. As Mr. Bodley has sinted out in his interesting book upon rance alties have been proposed and fines suggested; while. in the last report, the unrepentant citizen has been threatened that if he will net vote when he is asked to vote the unesteemed privilege shall be taken away from Mim now and forever. But it is not_a matter of serious import: the chamber gets itself elected and even if {t does not represent the nation’s finest in- telligence. it contrives to transact the na- tion's business. For the rest no more need be ssid than that while the Briton ts a Voting animal, the Frenchman (or 25 per sent of him) is not. And maybe the French- man has chosen the better part. Missed the Pageantry. Yet it is curtous that the French, with Bll their gentus of pageantry, should have missed the pageantry of politics. Even a public nomination might throw a flash of olor upon this drab ceremony. But there $s no nomiration, so ever; izen is a po- tential candidate, and the voter may choose to sapport whomever he will. Moreover, at Retms, at any rate, the polling booths were hidden away in unsuspected corners, and Would not easily be discovered, did not a mob of men, “wearing on their hats the names of the candidates, stand at the door to intercept the passer-by. It is their busi- ness to distribute white slips bearing the name of their patron upon them, and the voter not already provided with a paper duly inscribed and folded will choose the slip of his candicate and drop it in the ballot 6 For once he enters the polling place the citizen is not perturbed by any ceremony. He sets his mark upon no form, he spoils Ro voting paper; if he does not use the slip freely given by his candidate, the name of his choice is written before he displays his elector’s card at the portal. In brief, every- thing is arranged with perfect simplicity, and it is only man who is vile enough to stay at home. But, while one dictator can confer universal suffrage, all the legislation in the world cannot drive the apathetic citi- zen to vot *TWILL BE A TASTY ARMY. Dooley Airs His Views om the Subject of Appointments. From the Chicago Journal. “Well, sir,” said Mr. Dooley, “I didn’t vote fr Mack, but I'm with him now: I had me coubts whether he was t’h gr-reatest mili- tery janius tv th’ cinchry, but they’se no question about it. We go into this war, if we iver do go into it, with th’ most fash’n- able ar-rmy that iver creased its pants. "Twill b> a daily hint fr'm Paris to th’ crool foe. : “Other gin’rals iv th’ r-rough-house kind, Uke Napoleon Bonypart, th’ impror iv th’ Frinch; Gin'ral Ulis S. Grant, an’ Cousin George Dooley, hired coarse, rude men that wudden't know th’ diff'rence between golut an’ crokay, an’ had their pants tuck>d in their boots an’ chewed tobacco be th’ pound. Thenk hivin, McKinley knows bet- | ther thin to sind th’ likes iv thim abroad to shock our frinds be dumpin’ their coffee into thimsilves fr’m a saucer. “Th’ dure bell rings an’ a futman fn liv'ry says: ‘I’m Master Willie Dovs>Ibery’s man an’ he’s come to be examined f'r th’ ar-rmy,’ says he. ‘Admit him,’ says Mc- Kinley, an’ Master Willie inters, accompa- nied be his val-lay, his mah an’ pah an’ th’ comity iv th’ goluf club. ‘Willie,’ says th’ Prisident, ‘ye ar-re inthering upon a glory- ous car-rer, an’ ‘tis nic'ssry that ye shud be thurly examined so that ye can teach th’ glories iv civilization to th’ tyr-ranies iv Europ: that is supported be ye’er pah an’ mah,” he says. ‘"I'wud be a turr’ble thing,’ he says, ‘ii some day they shud meet a Spanish gin’ral in Mahdrid an’ have him y to thim: “I seen ye’er son Willie durin’ th’ war wearin’ a stovepipe hat an’ tan shoes.” Let us begin th’ examinashion,’ he says. ‘Ar’re ye a good goluf player?’ am,’ says Willie. ‘Thin I appint ye a lift- rant. What we need in th’ ar-rmy is good gcluf players,’ he says. ‘In our former war,’ he says, ‘we had th’ misfortune to Lave men in command that didn’t know th’ diffrence between a goluf stick an’ a bee- cycle, an’ what was th’ raysult? We foo- zled our approach at Bull K-run,” he says. Mr. ‘Ar-re ye a mimber iv anny clubs? he says. ‘Four,’ says Willie. ““Thin I make ye a majcer,’ he says. ‘Where d’ye get ye’er pants?” he says. ‘Frm England,’ says Willie. ‘Gloryous,’ says McKinley, ‘I make ye a colonel,’ he says. ‘Let me thry ye in tactics,’ he says. ‘Suppose ye was confronted be a Spanish ar-rmy in th’ afthernoon, how wud ye dhress?" he says. ‘I'd wear a stovepipe hat, a long coat, a white vest an’ lavender pants,’ says Willie. be night?” he says. shoot an’ go out to meet thim,’ says Willie. *A thuro sojer,’ say McKinley. ‘Suppose th’ sceiable lasted all night?” he says. ‘I'd sound th’ retreat at daybreak an’ have me brave boys change back,’ he says, ‘to suit- able appar'l,’ he says. ‘Masterly,’ says Mc- Kinley. ‘I will sind ye’er name in as a brigadier-gin'ral,’ he says. “Thank Gawd; th’ r-rich,” he says, ‘is brave an’ pathri- otic,” he says. ‘Ye will jine th’ other boys fr'm th’ club at Tampa,” he says. ‘Ye shud be careful iv ye’er equipment,’ he says. ‘I have almost iv-rything r-ready,’ says Wi!- ‘Me man attinded to thim details,” he “But I fear I can’t go to th’ fr-ront ’ he says. ‘Me pink silk pijam- arrived,’ he says. ‘Well,’ says ‘wait f'r thim,’ he says. ‘I'm an fous f'r to ind this hor’ble war,’ he ‘which has cost me manny a sleepy night, . ‘but ‘twud be a crime f'r to sind a sojer unprepared to battle,’ he says. ‘Wait fr th’ pijammas,’ he says. hin on to war,” he says, ‘and let ye’er watchword be: mimber ye’er manner: * he says. ‘They’se a man out here,” says th’ pri- vit sicrity, ‘that wants to see ye,’ he says. ‘An if th’ attack was ‘He's a r-rough-looking charakter*that was in th’ Soo war.” he says. ‘His name is 1 Fiteum,’ he says. “Throw th’ stiff Mack. ‘I seen him in Pennsyl- isterdah r-ridin’ in a sthreet ‘Ah, Willie, me boy,’ he » ye Know what throuble I sojers with pants Give me a goold- ed cigareet an’ tell me whether shir s is much worn in New York this we'll put th’ tastiest ar-rmy in th’ ficld that iver come out iv a millinery shop. ‘Right dhress!’ will be ordher that'll mean = somethin’, Th’ ar-rmy'll be followed by spec pendints fr'm Butthrick’s Pattherns an’ Harper's Bazar, an’ if our brave boys don't gere an’ pleat th’ inimy ‘twill be because th’ inimy’ll be r-rude enough to shoot in arny kind iv clothes they find on th’ cha wlin they wake up.” es GERMANY’S RULER. we inm Has Made Himself Extremely Unpopular in the Fatherland. From the Coutemporary Review. Personal liberty is at a lower ebb in Ger- many now than it is in very Russia. Even letters received from Germany show signs of extreme caution. The Germans have al- ways been a timid race, though never lack- ing in courage to fight for their liberties in a defensive way. They are so overawed by the police and by military despotism that the great thinkers, the scholars, the mil- lionaires, the rising geniuses, are little bet- ter than a pack of skulking school boys with their eyes furtively turned up at the master’s cane. In Russia, God knows, the arm of government is evident enough, and fin the hands of indiscreet officials often be- comes tyrannical and unjust; but there at least we have ignorant masses to deal with, and a conscientious, paternal master. Alexander IIL was one of nature’s gentle- men im feeling and sympathy, in loyalty and in honor. icholas 11 has also, so far, comported himself with a prudence and cor- rectness which compel respect. If the czar's agents occasionally fail him, it is not al- ways the fault of the czar, nor even of his ministers. At least the government strains every nerve to improve the position of its shaggy flocks; no question of personal van- ity, craven submission to foreign allies or family pique comes in. As in the case M. de Witte, the humblest Russian may aspire to become a ruler. But the Emperor of Germany can only preserve even public respect for his personality by confiscating ue of Kladderadatsch and imprisoning sors for lese majeste; he scarcely ever opens his mouth publicly but that an amused smile spreads all »ver Europe. There is little or nothing of the true hero in him. He estranges his relatives, gives away his imperial dignity and ts apt to make the actors upon the stage which he directs feel thoroughly ashimed, both of their own parts ana of himsel?. — A Famous Pawnbroking House. Frem the New York Herald. The first pawnbroking establishment was that of Freisingen, in Bavaria, open- ed in 1198. In 13%) there was one at Salins, in Franche-Comte, and in 1361 one was opened in London. None of these was, however, successful. The present Paris Ment de Piete was established fn 1777, in the same street where the head | omic now is. From 1777 till the year 1804 the interest paid by the Monte de Piete for its capital varied between 3% per cent and 5 per cert. Later cn it once rose as high as 18 per cent, only, however, to fall again quickly. Since May 1 iast it has only been 2% per cent. The rate charged to borrowers has been 7 per cent since 1887. Besides Paris, forty-six - French cities possess Monts de Piete which charge interest varying from 4 per cent to 9 per cent, except the cities of Montpelier, Gren- oble, Lite, Nice and Angers, where no in- terest at all is charged on loans, me ee —____ A Russian Dainty. From the Hong Kong Telegraph. To most people a tallow candle appears more in the way of a necessity than a luxury, but the Russian bluejackets who are enjoying shore leave just now from the Rossia and the Admiral Nakimoff ap- pear to find in assimilating candles of the Chinese make as much gusto as an English child would have fn eating a sugar stick. ‘Ihe other day a party of stalwart Musco- vite bluejackets were to be seen going along the Queen’s road, and the avidity with which they polished off joss candles was a sight for the gods. Some of the men, wha were evidently petty officers, elected to dine off candles as thick as one’s arm—regular No. 1 joss pidgin® arrangements — and streams of grease trickled from the cor- ners of each man’s mouth. British and American Jacks like their beer and rum, but they draw the line at. Chinese-made tallow candies, ; HAUNTS OF MR. PICKWICK Traces of the Great Man That Are Still Left in Bath. A Stately English Town Where Faith Strong in That Famous Personage. From the St. James Gazette. Bath is a stately, dignified old city, and its parades, pump room and the rest are haunted by ghosts of sntique personages who ruffled it there in the last century. Boz, too, has done much to kindle interest in the place; Pickwick, ths immorta), con- taining a better description of the tone and manners of the place in the thirties than Miss Burney o> Smollett has given of their eras. In his account there is an air of faded gentility, old fashion and old cus- toms; for then the ceremoniousness and state of society was barely lingering on, and was presently to disappear. In Bath the faith in Pickwick is strong, as, indeed, it is in the half dozen or so Pickwickian towns, Ipswich, Rochester, Bury—thai is, Mr. Pickwick has grown into a sort of historical p2rsonage, who actually visited the places and stayed at the old inns, where they invariably show you his particular rooms. American guests often ask for the privilege of “sleeping in Mr. Pickwick’s room.’ Lately a Bath gentle- man of shr>wd sense was at the Great White Horse at Ipswich, and was perfectly beguiled by the faith of the waiter, who spoke of the changes that had occurred “since Mr. Pickwick was here.” The White Hart, at Bath, wher the great man put up, has iong since been pulled down. Queen square, a charming old world square, was where Mr. Bantam, the M. C., resided—at No. 14. Bantam was drawn, with some disguise, from a well-known Col. Jerveise who lived in this very house. The place where the famous Bath footmen had their immortal swarry—a biled leg of mut- ton with the “usual trimmings”—has been ascertained beyond doubt. In Princes street, a f2w doors down, and turning out of the square, there is a rather murky looking public house known as the Beaufort Arms, much fallen from its former style, where one could imagine knives and forks of vari- ous-colored handles being borrowed for oc- casions of stat2. This is remembered as the actual house of ‘call for the “swell” foot- men, and here they had thejr meetings. Some recaf, in the palmy days of the Octa- gon Chapel, the whole posse of the Bath footm2n attending in their splendid regi- mentals, velvets, gold lace, epaulets, canes, etc.; attendants who dared not say their masters, but their employers. The house is no doubt described as a gr2en grocer’s, but Boz, as was his custom, did not wish to be too minute and particular in his descrip- tions. Mr. Pickwick and his friends went into furnished lodgings in a house in the beau- tiful and unique Crescent, Mrs. Craddock being his landlady. It has been ascertain- ed by our Bath Pickwickians that there were only one or two houses in the Cres- cent thus let out, the rest being private mensions. Mr. Pickwick must, therefore, have been either at No. 15 or 16 or 14, the houses in question—a comfort to know, s0 far as it goes. Something more distinct would have been desirable, but it is really as near as one can get. It is hard as you leok up to the stately first-floor window not to think of the animated scene—the in- furiated Dowler shouting, the sedan at the door, and Mr. Winkle in his dressing gown flying round the Crescent. Charles Dickens the younger, by the way, objects te this phrase of his sire’s, who, he insists, was confounding it with the circus; but you ‘an run round a semi-circle—that is, turn ck at the top with a sweep—or it may be at tne ground in front was open and without a railing. ‘Phe old assembly rooms are there still, with the tea rooms and card rooms. So is the old theater, with its venerable sto} front; and the baths still abound. Every- where we seem to meet Mr. Pickwick walk- ing about or going up a hill—after taking his tumbler (with a flavor of warm smoothin’-irens)—which was certainly Mil- som street. Phe oc Was the u fon of Dickens’ 3 visit to Bath of speeches which Lord Jchn Ru: was making all over that ecuntry his contest in 1835. He had just defeated Sir R. Peel's government. ‘The energetic Boz had come down with his fellow reporter Beard—both being on the staff of “The Morning Chronicle.” He :red himself in no point, deterr d to secure the best results for nis employers. They were at the Bush Inn, Bristol, in May, arranging the “expressing” of speech frcm Bath and other places. The Bush, in Corn street, which was the house to which Mr. Winkle fled from the angry Dowler, was pulled down some thirty or forty years ugo, and a bank, the Wiltshire and Dor- set, stands on the site. At Bath, Boz con- trived to take in a great deal. There is a quaint inn in Walcot, most curious as a specimen of the old carrier's inn. It has a tablet dated 1713; and here he put up. There are some in Bath who recall him and his persevering efforts to cross the littie court, his candle being blown out, he re- turning with much perseverance to have it lighted, onlys to be blown out once more. A most interesting, piquant monument this, only to be matehed by Johnson's White House at Edinburgh. The pump room is exactly now as it is described in “Pickwick""—even “the Tompion clock” is in the same place; £0 Is the statue of Nash, and there is the open book for those who wish to put dewn their names. It 3 during this election, in the Janu- ary of the same year, that Boz went to Ipswich and witnessed the humors of the Eatanswill election; for though he brings his characters later to Ipswich under its proper name, he could not venture to deal with the parliamentary abuses so freely as he did without some disguise. — He Should Have Saluted. Frem the Detroit Free Press. The ordinary sezman’s respect for rank and station when not connected with his beloved vessel, is decidedly meager. When the president of the United States visits one of our men-of-war he is received at the gangwey by the admiral, commanding officer, and all of the officers of the ship, in full uniform, the crew at quarters for in- spection, the marine guard drawn up with the band on the quarter deck, the national flag is displayed at the main, the drummer sives four ruffles, the band plays the na- tional air and a salute of twenty-one guns is fired. The same ceremony also takes place on his leaving. On one occasion the President visited one of the ships informal- ly, dispensing with the salute and cere- mony, when one of the men rather indig- nantly asked another who that lubber was on the quarter deck that didn’t “douse his peak” to the commodore. “Choke your luff, will you,” was the re- ply; “that's the President of the United States.” “Well! ain't he got manners enough to salute the quarter deck, if he is?” “Manners! What does he know about manners? I don’t suppose he was ever out of sight of land in his life.” ——- +e. ‘we of Coal. From the St. Louls Globe-Demoerat. ‘The amount of coal consumed by a vessel during a voyage depends very largely up- on the speed, for the consumption of coal increases almcst in a geometrical ratio to the speed. There are many ships which burn from 100 to 300 tons of coal ver day, the lowest consumption being when the vessel is sailing at a moderate rate. Our men-of-war do not consume so much in proportion as swift passenger steamers which ply between Europe and America, for, unless in an emergency, they are not driven at the highest attainable speed. The ocean passenger steamers often burn from 2,500 to 3,500 tons during a voyage lasting six to seven days, though, of course, as already stated, the amount is largely dependent on the speed. + +«—____. Queen’s Splendid Memory. From the London Telegraph. A remarkable instance of the excellence of her majesty’s memory was given a few days ago. A copy of the memoir of the late Thomas Best Jervis of the Bombay en- gineers was presented to the queen at Cimiez by the author, who ts conservator of the museum at Turin. Her majesty ex- pressed her pleasure at the presentaticn, and —— ated Poor: he model of Sebastopol made lonel Jervis, and exhibited by him at the war office as far back as 1865. RANDOMO VERSE, —or— The First Regiment, D. C. V. Written for The Evening Star. ‘The flower of Washli 's manhood Has gone down into ia south To wait for the call shall take them ‘To fight at the cannén’s mouth. ‘They went, our brother#’and sweethearts, Charlie and Will and Jim— We said good-bye to otf darlings With eyes that were-sad and dim! You were saddened, we know, to leave us, And we hated to sce:You go, For back from the fields of battle Some never will come, we know, Perhaps far down in thp: tropics Charlie will find his grav. Or Robert or Jim or William ‘Will die the death of the brave! ‘Though our hearts are almost breaking Because you have gone from oar sight, ‘We would not ask you to tarry, For we «now that your cause is right. Your hearts were sad at the parting; But, of, you will always nd The ones who most keenly suffer Are those who are left behind! The flower of Washington's manhood Has gone at the call of duty; ‘The brave and the loyal hearted In the prime of your strength and beauty! If you rise to the dawn of giory Or sink to the night of the grave— Whatever the fate that befalls you, We will know you were true and brave! —LANDRETH. ees Why We Fight. Written for The Evening Star by Anna M. Laise. Why does our flag so proudly wave Over the land and the sea, Cheering our hcsts #0 true and brave, Making the bondmen free? What spirit prompts our boys in blue ‘To share in the bettle’s brunt? Why are loved ones, loyal aud true, Rushing on to the front? Our flag floats in the cause of right, And her stars, like God's, shine out, Turning the darkness into light, Banishing sin and doubt. . “Tis not love of glory or gain That sends our sons forth to fight, Nor yet because the good sbip Maine Was sunk that awful night. A nobler cauve than that of hate, ‘The canse of humanity, Has called brave men from ev'ry state To fight on land and sea. For a tyrant hateful and black Has fastened his ciuel chain On weak and helpless onea who lack The might to baffle Spain. "Gainst wrong we fight—please God, we'll win— ‘Truta and right the day shall see. Our flag shall float mid canuon’s din, And Cuba will be free. cs —_-+—__— Spat From Byron's Childe Herold. Here all were noble save nobility, None hugged a conquercr’s chain save fallen chiv- alry. Such be the sons of Spain, and strange the face— They fight for freedom who were never free! A kingless people for a nerveless state, Her vassals combat when their chieftains flee, True to the yeriest slave of treachery. Fond of a land which gave them naught but life. Pride points a path 8 aed to liberty, Back to the struggle, Daifed in the strife, War, war is still ¢ knife! Ye who would more of Sijain and Spantards know, Go read whute'e> is wht of bloodiest strife. Whate'er keen vengeance urged on foreign foe Can act is acting there against man’s life. From flashing scimeter to secret knife. Wer moldeth there each weapon to his need, So he may guard the sister and the wife, So may he make each curst oppressor bieed, So may such foes deserve the most remorseless deed! - Flows there a tear of pity for the dead? Look o'er the ravage of the reeking plain; Look on the hands with female slaughter red. ‘Then to the dogs resign the unburted slain; ‘Then to the vulture let each corpse remain. Albeit unworthy of the prey -bird's maw. Let their bleach'd bones ard blood’s unbleaching stnin ‘ Long mark the battlefield with hideous awe, Thus only may our sens conceive the scenes we saw. ery—war even to the Meredith Nicholson in Harper's: It Is a presence sweet apd. rhre, A something oft attaind by Art, Yet oft possessed. all undware, By folk of simpie mind and heart. And be that has it canhot pass ‘The secret on with gold or name; It vanishes like dew on grass, Or heat that hovers over flame. In books that man but ttle s Neglected or forgottea long. This living essence dwells, and speaks In happy rhymes of denthless song. The +ubtlest of all mystic things, ‘Tis strange indeed that it should be, When worn by poets, beggars, kings, Twin sister of Simplicity. And you that seek it never find, And you that have it never tell; Ard all that strive to catch and bind Can only startle and dispel. = cece Dual Homesickness. Edith M. Thomas in the Century. Whilst I tn ®ld-World capitals sojourned— In storied cities, rich with Time A pilgrim from our wide, unsto: or me through each Atlaatic sunset burned My homeland dawn in braver splendor dressed, The bird divine that sang from bosky nest, Beside my brown thrush scanty tribute earned. But now, when T once mcre sit down at home What fond perversity my soul pursues! She roves afar, beyond her native pale, And slips Manhattan Isle to pace through Rome; Or leaves the brown thrush for the winged Muse— For moonlit Cadenabbia's nightingale. peat ee A Song for the Fleet. Clinton Scollard in Leslie's Weekly. A song for them ene and all, he sister-shtps of the Maine, They have sailed at a nation’s battle-call ‘To save a laud from a tyrant’s thrall That Las struggled long in yain! ‘The coming days whall speak -Thé praise of our valiant tars! No fear they will wanting prove or weak, When proudly flutters from every peak The gicrious stripes and stars! ‘Then a cheer for the flag unfurled On the dawn of that Sabbath day When the shot that the gallant Dewe: Crushed the hopes of the Spanish world Iu the far Manila Bay! ale cheer oe the Ligases) 10 are yirt for the it Where the tropic fidence, swirls aud runs Under the frown of the Morro’s guny— And God be with the right! pela lee ee ‘The Dream of the Spanish Admiral. AD. 1541. Samuel Dorman in the Spectator. In slumber as the morning broke ats wae oe Hoes waLa ares Ea Spain) sthought I guve a parti ‘A World beyond the main: hurled At the New Worid ‘The shores were low, and soft, and faint, Half purple mist and half firm land, On which the sunbeams seemed to paint ‘The semblance of a foamy strand, I dreamed I saw @ hundred ships Where not a sail had glanced before, And for chained end livid Itps T heard a uew-bori-poople roar. To every wast a fag was{nalled No lion crest bat band 3 And deep into the saa sailed ‘To wrestle with u¥jidldvin wars. ‘They clove oun ranks, they, clomb thé towers ‘Our loftiest gallegys -pagedly bore: They, efruek with mo Ain mortal powers, 1 Spain herself, ‘strike no more, And down the wind Ye ditted far, And to the shore ogr° were blow! sea was thick ith inst and spar, And Spain was sites fom her throner And louder than the?w! brine, ‘And louder than tie "8 roar, I heard a voleey** mine, ‘Wongeatice I recompense for evermore!" Mand nny’ the caves of Spelt” cavadlers Sall on and conquer-whouovthey will, “And teach ‘ne ating ‘devam Was'vatD. 7 A Chatge $f Ambition. John. Kendrick Bangs ig: Hatyer's Weekly, Horatius at the and he Who fought at old ‘Thermopylae; Great Samson and hie potent bone By which the Philistines were slone; Small David with his wondrous aim ‘That did for him of giant frame; J. Caesar in bis Galiie ‘That made him lord of "Steer chaps; Sweet William, called the: Conqueror, Who made the’ Briton sick of Wa King Hat the Fitth, A And’ thiwetied the too at ; ou te, and Washington, ~ And x and Weliingion, Decatur. Nelson, ting Joe, A thousand other heroes I Have wished I were in days gone by— Can take their laurels from my door, For I want ‘em any more. trath will out; it can't be hid; donghty deed that Dewey did,” In that tar distant really good Petre ae oe sea, = ‘for 0 * Bowwey doar HIS PLACE IN HISTORY Gladstone's Work Was Always Worthy of Interest and Attention. A Political Career That Had Little to to New Ideas. Justin M’Carthy, M.P., in the Independent. It 1s, of course, too soon as yet to attempt to mark out Mr. Gladstone's distinct place in history, but there are, at least, some qualities of his life and his genius on which the judgment of history may with con- fidence be anticipated. Gladstone has tak- en his place among the greatest of English statesmen; his name is written down in the list of England's greatest orators; as a parliamentary orator he ranks with Boling- broke and Pitt and Fox. For many years back no European atesman, except Prince Bismarck alone, occupied so much of the attention of the world; end it must be remembered that Prince Bismarck was the prime mover in events which compelled the attention of the world to a degree such as no career of domestic reform can often hope to rival. Peace, no doubt, hath her victories no less renowned than war—‘hat we are all fond of saying, and it proves itself a truth in the long run; but the vic- tories of war attract more of the world’s attention at the time, and the war trumpet is often the loudest trumpet of fame. Mr. Gladstone's political career had little or nothing to do with war. There was only one great war during his time in which England was ever concerned, and Gladstone ‘was not one of the promoters of that war, and its military honors were shared with otker powers, and the whole Crimean struggles ended in little or nothing, after all. Not once during the whole of Glad- stone's long career was England put !n anything like the national peril which Bis- marck had to meet for Prussia, and Cavour had to risk for Sardinia. Therefore, it Is something to say that Gladstone divided among statesmen of the European conti- nent the attention of the world for many years back, with Bismarck, and to say it is but to say the truth. Gladstone had to do with domestic legislation and domestic reforms almost altogether; he never had to encounter even such a crisis as that which Canning encountered when he called in the new world~to redress the balance of the old. Yet the attention of Europe, of America and of all civilized states followed Mr. Gladstone's movements with as close and intense an interest as though he were a man likely at any moment to surprise the world, as Napoleon III did more than once, by a new and unexpected policy of war. Every one can understand the keen anxiety with which the movements of Lord Pal- merston were at one time followed by the populations of continental Europe. Palmer- ston was but the foreign secretary or the prime minister of a constitutional country; and he could not, as Louis Napoleon might, make war of his own good will and pleas- ure. Yet he was always disposed to an utterance that seemed warlike; and people never knew when Palmerston might not say something which would sound like a provocation to war. Gladstone’s whole temperament turned him away from war, except as an inevita- ble necessity. The policy of brag and bluif and bluster he always regarded as merely vulgar or else absolutely criminal. There- fore, when he drew on himseif the atten tion of foreign populations it was only be- cause even strangers felt that the work he was doing for his own people was such as to be worth the interest and attention of all civilized beings. Gladstone was often charged by his political opponents with having frequently changed his opinion. Gladstone, in fact, was not only a states- man, but a man of genius; and he soon found that a priori convictions are not the best means of dealing with the ever-chang- ing conditions of our social system, The admirers of Gladstone are constantly re- minded by their opponents that Mr. Glad- stone in his early parliamentary days ad- yecated this or that measure which he afterward came to oppose, and opposed this or that measure of which ie afterward became the most strenuous advocate. One is calmly reminded of these facts, just as if he were not already quite aware of them, just as if he did not regard Gladstone's openness to new ideas and to fresh evi- dence and to the convictions founded upon them as one of his chief claims to the grat- itude of posterity. ———++ THE DECLINE OF WHALING. Almost Complete Failure of the Eng- Mish Catch This Year. From the London Globe. With the return of the Davis Straits ves- sels it is possible to estimate the resuits achieved by the Scoteh whalers during last season. The catch on this ground is worth £14,040, of which £12,000 represents the so- called “whalebone” and the balance oil. On the Greenland Sround tne season was an almost complete failure, one vessel (the Balaena) having caught only oue fish which gave twelve hundredweight of bone and sixty tuns of oil, worth in all £2,300. In order to fill up, in defauit of whales, the ships turned their attention to Franz Jo- seph Land, where walrus are plentiful, and the Balaena captured a round six huudrec, whose skins will bring in £6,00U. So far as this one whaler is concerned, last seasen’s operations do not involve a loss of money, but we doubt if the Diana’s eighty walrus and seven bears, the Active’s seventy wal- rus and forty seals, and the Polar Star's 351 seals and two bears, will bring in sufli- cient money to compensate for their several outfits. T> any one acquainted with the past history of the whaling industry, these results are saddening. As compared with last year, the Davis Straits return shows an increase; but both grounds have yielded less than in 1894, when from Davis Straits the ships brought home 285 tuns of oil and 12% tons of bone, and from Greenland 102% tuns of bottle-nosed whale and seal oil and 1% tons of bone, worth in all about £31,600. The introduction of steam forty years ago marked a new era in whaling, and enabled better results to be obtained. But, unfor- tunately, by that time the number of fish in the sea—“right” whales in the north and sperm whales in the south—nad cegun to thin, and the use of steam in the cap- ture of the cetaceams has only served to decimate them the more rapidly. In the ten years prior to 1858 (when steam was employed for the first time) the average annual number of whales taken by Peter- head, Dundee, Aberdeen and other Scotch ships was 110, which yielded 2,360 tuns of oil and 72% tons of bone, worth between them £124,000. It will be seen what a fall- ing off there has been between 1857 and 1897. But go further back, and the con- trast becomes far more pronounced. Dur- ing the four years 1814-17 the number of voyages made from Scotland was 194, and the total catch was 1,682 whales, which yielded 18,684 tuns of ofl and 891 tons of bone. English ships in the same four years made 392 voyages, and the total catch of whales was 3,348. The average of the Davis Straits fishers was about two-thirds of this, and the gross value of the freights of the two fleets (in- cluding the government bounty of 30 shil- lings per ton), with oil at £82 and whale- bone at £80 per ton, exceeded £700,000 for the one year. Whalebone today is worth £1,800 per ton, and ofl £20 per tun. The price. of oil has diminished, owing to the progress of gas and other illuminants and to the substitution of mineral oil in manu- factures. But the value of bone has ad- vanced for over seventy years past, and, as no really effective substitute has yet been found, the price bids fair to go up still higher in propertion as whales become oe Se, ee iperm whaling is in even worse case than “right” whaling. A few small schooners go out from colonial ports after that variety, and the American fleet spend some part of the year in the Pacific looking for it. neither can boast of much success. We in this country were long behind the men of New Bedford and Nantucket in for the “spermacetty,” and we went out of it long before them. But it is to the enter- prise of an Englishman that the nations Were indebted for the sperm whale fishery having been opened out to its greatest ex- tent. An attempt made to establish this 23 land Islands. Before Samuel Enderby no whaler seems to have thought of passing out of the Atlantic either by way of Cape Horn to the west or the Cape of Good Hope to the east. In the autumn of 1788 Enderby’s vessel, the Amelia, under Cap- tain Shields, rounded the Horn, and after nine months’ absence, returned to London with 139 tuns of sperm oil. Immediately there was a rush for the Pacific of both English and American vessels, and by the end of 1791 the import into Great Britain had quadrupled. Afier decimating the Ocean on the Peruvian and Chilean coasts, these ships spread northward and west- ward. They met with much success off New Zealand. In 1803 some of them had got as far north as the Moluccas. Had they Denetrated a little further, they might have anticipated Enderby’s second enterprise. In 1819 that man fitted out the Siren, a vessel of 500 tons (the whalers of those days seldom exceeded 300 tons), and sent her to look for whales off Japan. This Second triumph was greater than the first. The Siren came home with 34 tuns of sperm oil—the “record” cargo, and, ashe- fore, whalers were dispatched post haste for the new ground, in order to obtain a share of the spoils. New South Wales took a hand, and for the first time in 1821 ship- Ped some of the product to London. ———— 2. TIMIDITY OF CHILDREN. To Shield a Child From Fears is a Sacred Trust. From the Woman's Home Companion. “The first natural duty of a mother is to Protect her young; to create around it a shelter, in the midst of which the tender thing can grow, secure from shocka and seeing and hearing only what is good for it to hear and see. * * * By learning the signs of fear In a young child, and knowning how to distinguish true fear from willfulness, they will be able to exert a soothing and protecting influence at the right moment, and avert danger whose consequences are serious almost beyond belief in the case of our highly organized, excitable, modern children. “It is the mother, rather than the father, who is called upon to secure the blessing of a sound imagination to her children. She ought to begin away back in the be- ginning—with the very first surroundings of the new-born infant. Let it find its early life peaceful, quiet and unhurried. And when infancy merges into that older period when young faculties are springing for- ward in rapid development, and each day the little one takes on more of the hue of its larger fellow-creatures, let her be dou- bly careful that no untimely scare stunts its intelligence. It is said that to be afraid of shadows is an inevitable passing expe- rience of childhood. Yet I know one small toddler who never has shown any such dis- position, but whose great delight is to play with her own shadow and other ehadows, when the lights are brought in each night. She is a peculiarly sensitive, sympathetic litue thing, and could easily be made timtd by unwise treatment. But, under the shel- tering care of fond and judicious parents, she is remarkable for ‘not knowing what it is to be afraid;’ and although she is giv- en to unpleasant dreams, a3 many young children are, and often awakened with a start, a low word or touch soothes her into serenity. Happy above others is the little child who thinks of his mother as a verita- ble refuge from trouble, a bulwark against danger and a sympathizing presence.” —-——--s00- Making the Best of It. From Harper's Bazar. In a recent cleverly written novel one of the characters remarks: “Success is the art of impressing people with the idea that you have got what you wanted in Hfe, and failure is the weakness of crying out on the house-tops that you have missed getting it!” There is wisdom in this idea in many di- rections. It is an ordinary experience that successful people are rarely satisfied peo- ple. When we have got what we struggled for in life we usually find it was not quite what we expected It to be. Perhaps it had drawbacks we never suspected. Perhaps we had changed before we reached it. At all events, it was different, not so satisfy- ing. So the success may become a failure to the man who has reached it, only to sit down and bemoan himself that it is not what he expected it to be. But who is to know of these hidden dis- satisfactions if we do not proclaim them? We may make the success a failure by la- menting its deficiencies, or we may make the failure seem a success by persistenUy displaying its good points. So is it not bes to take the good of our success and cover up the heartache which we have earned in getting it? There is good, much good, in an accomplished aim, and it is only when we, persistently use this good and ignore the bad that we get the most of anything in iife—even of an unsuccessful success. Perhaps weghave won money, and lost our health in“getting it. Perhaps have won fame, and the one we wanted it for is not here to share it; or perhaps we asked for sympathy and companionship of life, and life has denied these, but has sent other gifts—freedom, money, ability to travel or other good things which have their uses. Is it not the best way to get the utmost good and pleasure out of what we have and bear, with what philosophy or re- ligion we can, the loss of what has been de- nied? Success is relative. When we get wha? we aimed at we want something more or something different. What you would val- ue I would not care for. What I would be willing to choose before all the world might be worthless in your eyes. But each of us finds something, and to show our appreci: tion of what we have is worldly as well as heavenly wisdom. If we are not quite as successful as we hoped to be, at least let no one suspect that it is so. =e ee Our Own Shoe. From Harper's Bazar, There is a common saying to the effect that every one knows where his own shoe pinches. This is true, but it is also quite as true that each man’s shoe pinches just where he can best endure the pinch. For it is a merciful arrangement of Providence that, in spite of many causes of grievance which each of us fancies he possesses, we would rather bear the trials er troubles we new possess than exchange our lot for that of any other person—if we had to take all the vicissitudes connected with that lot. When one fancies herself particularly ag- grieved, it is a salutary practice to look about and see if there is really any one in whose shoes she would rather stand. The verdict will, in nine cases out of ten, be: “I do not like my shoes much. The: pinch; but they fit me better than my neighbors’ would.” ep ee A impse of Real War. From the Buffalo Express. As the blue-brown line of the 65th came down the street a woman with a child in her arms stepped out from the curb and held ap the baby to one of the soldier boys for a last good-bye kiss. Almost imme- diately a hulking policeman, who could never“havé.“had a wife or child of his own, caught her roughly and pushed her back on. the ‘curb. ‘The line went on amid the cheers of the crowd, the waving of flags and the in- spizjng. music of the bands. It was much Ike a parade, after all. But in the tear-stained face of that poor woman and the great, wondering eyes of her little child, those who watched the in- cident saw’a first real glimpse of war. — se _.= ~ Ancient Records. From the St. Louis Globe-Democrat. ‘The authentic records of the Chinese race began. about.4,900 years ago, though the traditional history extends back much fur- ther” As ‘a matter.of-fact, however, the re- liable record of China does not go back fur- ther than 2205 B.C., and it is believed by chronological ‘aathorities that the Chinese annals do not antedate those of Egypt. The earliest dynasty of China, that of Hen, dates from 206 B.C. to 220'A.D., and the long ligt of preceding dynasties is be- Neved to have little better foundation than in the imaginations of the Chinese his- George! That's even worse! ever marry © oookt” LIFE IN THE TROPICS —_—_.—____ Of the Three Seasons One is All But Perfect. BU? THE OTHER TWO ARE DIFFERENT Never a Question as to What the Weather Will Be. VEGETATION RUNS RIOT > From the Chicago Times-Ferald. To those Americans who are to take up their residence in the Philippine Islands and have never expertenced the tropical “rains,” as the wet season, lasting from June to October, fs laconically called, a few remarks on the “lovely climate” may not be deemed impertinent. “Lovely climate” is the generte epithet one hears appliéd in a vague way to the remote region around Manila by amateurs, There are three seasons in the true trop fes—the “cold weather,” the “hot weathe and the “rains.” The climate of the first is like t of paradise; that 6f the sccond like a very different and antipodal terri- tory, which shall be nameless in this polite article, and of the third—weil, if there is a climate that 1s a combination of a steam bath, a warm poultice and blue mold, the “rains” is lke that. In other words, from the middle of No- vember till the middie of March every day is like one of our most beautiful June days, with a cold morning and evening thrown in, ‘the thermometer marking @ degress, Perhaps, at noon, at.d 4) degrees or a trifle lower even at night. That is the very per- fection of weather; it is “weather as is weather,” and no mistake. Hot and Dry. From the middle of March till early in June the heat grows gradually terrific till it gets to be unbearable. This climax hap- Pens about the middle of May; then you go on bearing It two or three weeks longer. The heat files about in zigzags, the ground flies up to meet it, and together they make your head swim. Hot and dry, dry and hot; no rain, yet not a drought, because it never does rain, and can't rain at that time of year. It doesn’t know how. In the hot weether it is only hot. In the rainy Season it only rains, There are no posi- Ponements on account of the weat be cause there fs only one kind of weather—at a time. There are no sudden changes, for the same m. There is comfort in these thoughts. You put your umbrella away in camphor in September, knowing that you will not require it ag: in for eight months at least. And you “tr ur ribbons, silks and kid gloves hermetically in May, away from mildew, knowing that you will not see them again before October. There are no barometrical surprises for the dweller in the tropics. There is no starting on a picnic in the distant woods, full of life and spirits, at # o'clock in the morning, in a ight muslin dress and straw hat decked with roses, with a teeth-chattering return at 4: lock, the muslin soaked with rain and then frozen on you, rills of pink from the saturated roses adorning y nese. You may come home in Manila your gay blue muslin faded out white, it has not been rained or snowed on, your feet are drier and hotter than w you set forth on them. But then, you d g0 much on picnics in the tropics many snakes. When the Ra But the hot weather, being prepared for can be got through somehow. Wet sail pth on the top of the brougham, a ser- an umbrella whenever you move, built to keep cool in, wita high ceil- nd punhabs, and no movement re- quired ot you and no dressing for falls in the thermometer, and no burdening oneself a bs with wraps h drops—which is one reason why we suffer so intensely bere When nture out of sight of home—all ppliances and immunities make it to gasp through the stifling hot A day or two of cremation, a lot of dark clouds, and one day, oh, re- freshing remembrance, “a few big, round, solemn drops” are heard to slap the baked earth smartly, then more and more, a hard shower, and the monsoon has burst. The rains have come. Hug well the first few hours of delicious relief, for there comes a time when an ¢ tra raindrop breaks the camel's back, you are as overborne with we Were with dryness. But at first! earth relents end begins to allow the wa- ter to soften its surface; the earth sex up a grateful fragrence, which you drin in with deep breaths; the shrubs shine open thelr leaves and hold up their heads to the welcome downpour. How Ured they get of their exuberance later, when, soak- ed and water logged, they sometimes lie sprawling and sullen over the turf, no one knows, but just now they are greeting the preserver of their lives, Too Mach of a Good Thing. When your gates and fences sprout, two months later, and you have te rush to the looking glass every few hours to be sure you have not grown a tender shoot of green from your ear, yourself—when your boots mold over night, and nothing that you touch is free from clamminess—when trenches are eattn through the hearts of your books, and the covers are nibbled and “chawed” and otherwise defaced by nite ants—then you ask yourself how you ever could have stood at a window drink- ing in the scent which the earth exuded and throwing out your hands to catch what Austin Dobson calls “spurtles of rain.” Oh, “spuriles,” indeed! Waterfalis, cataracts, deluges, Velop into. It does not rain every minute in the rains, but it is likely at any minute to do sc. In this way, hoping yet fearing, you staten drives. And it sometimes rains ct night and gives ycu a dey fair and serene. If it rains all day, you have to take your drives, if you want any air, at night. But there is no dzi‘ger of your coachman’s leaving or “giving warning” if you feel like starting out for ten miles after dinmer, which means 11 o'clock cr so. Your coach- man takes your order to get his horses harnessed at midnight with the same equa- nimity with which he receives a similar be- hest at midday. And he doesn’t like it at either time, A Wealth of Green. Yet the vegetation and the verdure at this season—no words can describe their leafy glories. Trees growing to reach the sky, and throwing out arms below as weil as above and cn all sides. Ivies covering the trees, grass of the richest emerald and thick as velvet, shrubs and ferns in abso- lute profusion, the difficutty being to re- strain them from growing, instead of coax- ing them to grow, as one does here. The beauties~of the tropics in the rains are beyond conception. Who minds a tarantula or two on-the towel horse, or spiders weighing an ounce? Who objects to a slight datty‘coating of-mildew, or a fun- gus growing out of the hat he has not worn for a week, if he can see bambvoos waving their delicate traceries lke rare old Isce egainst the sky, and banyan trees dropping a hundred shoots into the ground, end all sorts of inventions and miracles in green growths? they ‘soon enough Ge- co- Russia in a Ni From Harper's Magazine. In a sentence, Russia is a huge farm, comprising a seventh of the land surface of the globe, and a twenty-sixth of its total area. It has half a dozen men to manage it—according to the policy of one of the six—and the people are divided into ten millions of men and women of the more or less comfortable, more or less educated and -shell. i i | z i & t a l L : i i :