Evening Star Newspaper, July 23, 1898, Page 14

THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, JULY 23, 1898-24 PAGES. ar repo! L very army im- and they get result When they | tween can see y is far different. | » naked eye, a man larger than a | listinguish, ac ! a horse, twelve | there is best kind of any ¢ uires the to rom cavalry. | dre the hun ot that fabric pr explained a nd while there are many | nt tim: dealer to a} are made better at the rb Star re things spoken of as lost arts, they are not | included cesses of cloth, mu or cotton making. Besides that there never Was a period in the world’s history when what are classed as goods were sold so cheap hey are It was not many years ago whi the commonest gra¢ of calicoes, th est of ali woven goods than really good ry ng silks. There are, of course, | ks that bring as high a | id, but these are | nerally sold or | they could be probably the ut is, if light- legend in the in has been is true of e though t ten yards yard wide, weighed but thr h oun It could be passed ‘ha small finger ring. It was made now than for service, as may be *#* eR * is an uncertain period of word is very much used,” such matters to ast r reporter. amount of t , a great deal on th for if he marries very | between his birth and that | ingly brief. In| correspor s, however, it is saf thirty-three and on to T a even mor count though, rations in a cen- | the people marry | therefore, more genera- others. For the same generations in southern countries r ore frequent than in northern | $s applies to the extreme sec-, he United States, as | | A generation, much shorter period than a generation in Maine or Ver- Ta) es ss “There is a new table berry on the mar- ket this year,” said a market dealer to a Star reporter, “which proves that there is Scmething new under the sun after all, at least in the berry business. The newcomer fs called the wine berry. 1n shape and color it is not unlike the raspberry, though It is @ trifle smaller in size. In taste and flavor jt is a combination of the raspberry and the old-fashioned red currant. It 1s su- perior ther of the berries from which it sprung, either nd has an advantage over that it ships better and lasts It is a graft from the raspberry ne Tesult of considerable study and | nt. It gr every respect like | aspberry, 2 as prolific. Those e ent to market so far this do Ww up as well as they should for azon that there has be but very n this section of the country for the two he re as that of the months, when ihe | ail price is about raspberry.’ jeved that violin, were made out of ned a teacher ut I have ever was a ut of a cat is no e than that of a estigation goe olin strings s, but princi- The secret is in | h has always been the finer and bette There are, erns in this country has alw exy rter, “ at there curing t kept in It turn out musi trings, and they make a very good grade, though they do not com- as yet with the Italian strings. All who have sang of the musical of the cat were wrong. Even re, who was phenomenally cor- | perience to a dot. | cum of flatt | And the young student who hz | him j iti | talkin’ much else these day: | by | human lif the prevailing error, probably did not take the trouble to look into the matter and accepted the general opinion. The various metallic or wire strings are improving constantly and are used in very large quantities and by the best musicians. They have one advantage over the skin strings whe ed out of doors in that cted by the weather. In in or gut strings, as they named, are affected very much, and, notwithstanding all the tight- ening, they very frequently flat in tone. The wi es that influence, because he though t! iS a certain effect, a timbre, tec peaking, that can be got out of ing that no wire string yet made will give yo * e+ + “There is one pursuit captured by wo- men,” said a Washington lawyer the other day, “that has hardly attracted any atten- That is the selling of law books. tion. TI There is a boundless field of opportunity for the sex in this line of work. The multi- plicity of courts, the rapid increase of business and of lawsuits, and the ever- swelling host of young lawyers, together afford an excuse for a yast amount of printing. There are a dozen or more large publishing hou running at full force on new law books which must be sold. Some of them are Indispensable and every good lawyer must have them. But a large pro- n are reports of the decisions of out- way courts, collections of cases in 1 lines of practice, or digests of all et obiter law in y petty court d. Of course the only way to sell tuff is to put traveling salesmen cut ne Toad to get right at the profess! the cram books down the lawyer's Nearly all the publishing ho employ han¢ bright, quick-witted wo- men to do this part of the work. Some of then are young and attractive and du not w their charms to drive away busine t of them, are middle-ag: men who hav od deal of ¢ im business and know human na- They invade the lawyer's their thorough knowledge of e, te with a knack of ling out a modi- le a fellow into ul or two of wood epskin that he had publisher's cellars. greatness, fame and fortune by the throat, he fal an easy prey to the lady lawbook agent. One way she does it is to get hold of a pro- sor or some bright student, and from rn all about every class in the va- rious law schools. Then she sizes up each man and knows just who Is likely to be en y victim. It is ay that where there was one law book sold in the prim- e and class times of Daniel Webster Henry Clay there are twenty sold now. ery two-year-old practitioner in the couniry nowadays has more books than Webster and Clay ever dreamed of own- ing. The lady book agent is largely re- sponsible for it.” ee ESSMAN-AT-LARGE. = tur Hing good s eribi Ip, lamp black and s! far better let rot in the anc A CONG The Result Was That She Preferred to Stay ut Home. “On one occasion,” remarked the veteran statesman and oldest representative in Congress, Galusha A. Grow, congressman- at-large from Pennsylvania, “during the ampaign previous to my coming to the Ecuse the last time, I was riding along a road through one of the remoter valleys lying at the foot of the Blue Ridge moun- tains, when I came to a farm house, which looked if tt might afford a luscious rink of cool water from a fine well in the yard. A tidy-looking weman, not especially handsome or of superior Intelligence, re- sponded to my appeal and while I. drank the cooling draught she talked to me. “‘] presume there is no dearth of politics in your neighberhood at present? I said at a venture, “Yes, my as husband and the boys ain't “‘Doesn’t it interest you? “No, I don’t keer who gits elected so | long as we can git along and keep out of ebt with a little to lay by fer the chil- dren.” ““Phat's good enough polities’ for any- bedy, madam,’ I said with a bow which made her blush in embarrassment. ‘It's the only kind I know, good er bad,’ she said apologetically. “"Do you ever have any of the candi- dates up this way? Not right here, but they come down to the store half a-mile across the valley.’ ‘Do you ever see any of them “ ‘Not this year, but I have other years.’ “‘Why not this year? Are you losing your interest in the great statesmen of Pennsylvania?’ “No, not that,’ and she hesitated aw! wardly, ‘but they say there’s a congr mun-at-large this year, and I thought may be it would be safer fer me to stay pretty close around home till after ‘lection and they took him in.’” —_—_+——_ MAKING CLOTHESPINS By No Means the Least of American Industries, “There are probably very few people out- side the trade who know anything con- cerning the vast number ,of clothespins that are annually required to supply the millions of ‘housekeepers throughout the United States,” said a wholesale dealer in such goods in New York to the writer yes- terday. “It is estimated that as many as 50,000,000 dozen, or 600,000,000 single pins, are manufactured in eastern and western factories every year. The product 1s su- perior in workmanship and finish to any- thing of its kind turted out anywhere in the world, and is shipped lacgely to all parts of Europe, where ‘t can be sold cheaper than the rough and poorly home- made article. “Clothespins are made in this country principally out of beach and maple. Blocks of this wood are fed to a very ingenious and exceedingly rapid-running machine, which has three separate compartments. One of these cuts a block of wood up into a dozen or more pieces, each of which Is suitable for forming a pin. It next selzes and cuts the ‘crutel,’ or place that {1s to grip the wash on the clothesline, and the final operation turns the neck and head of the pins and smoothes and finishes them oft by the bushel, ready for use. The pins are then packed into boxes, each contain- ing 720, and the boxes are then nailed up another labor-saving machine, ready for the market “There are two grades of clothespins, firsts and seconds. The best quality are worth 85 cents and the inferior ones sell for 25 cents per box wholesale.” ei eevee If the mission of a soldier 1s to destroy it would appear to be an ab- surd mistake to prohibit the enlistment of rally In his productions, fell into scorchers—Kansas City Star. W@opyright, 1898, Life Publishing Compauy.) DEEP ENOUGH ALREADY. Jones (who can't swim and is walking ashore on the bottom)—“For God's sake, don't weep into the river or I'm lost! : GEN. GRAHAM'S KIND HEART Gen. William Montrose Graham, in com- mand of Camp Alger, is called plain “Billy Graham by regular army soldiers. He is a fine, able, flint-headed officer, who has always tried to impress the soldiers serv- ing in his commands that he was also flint- hearted, but he never contrived to make this stick. The artillerymen have generally been able to penetrate “Biliy’ Graham's very thin armor of austerity, and when they have deserved anything at his hands, they have always got it. An old soldier, now living in Washington, who put in a three-year trick under Graham, was speak- ing of that officer to a Star man the other day. “When I first went to the Presidiv of San Francisco,” said he, “I had been out of the service for a couple of years, and I had for- gotten some of my lines, I suppose. Othe: wise, I wouldn't have Janded in the clink s soon as I did. I joined one of the bat- teries of the 5th Artillery, of which regi- ment Graham was colonel, and I settled dcwn *o comfortable soldiering in the finest post in America. But the first pay day sort of got me going, and—well, when I woke up I was in the guard house. I knew I was likely to get a worse dose than a re- cruit would get under similar circum- stances, for I had already put in ten years at soldiering, and ought to have known better. “I thought I was in more than fairly good luck when the summary court-martial only gave me ‘a month and a month’—that is, a month’s confinement in the guard house and the loss of a month’s pay. 1 say ‘coniinement’ in the guard house, but that is hardly the right term. A man who gets a guard house sentence in our army has got to work out his time. He 1s set to work at fatigue call right after breakfasi, and “he doesn’t get rid of the sentry at his back—who, by the way, is under instruc- tions to shoot him dead if he makes the faintest effort to get away—until recall from fatigue sounds late in the afternoon. The guard house prisoner’s work consists of post-policing altogether —picking up scraps, sawing wood, shoveling coal, and ali that. I happened to be the only prison- er in the mill at this time, and the post provost sergeant received me cordially, for it was in the spring season, and the vost sergeant wanted the post whitew ed I was set to work whitewashing the Presidio—that is, all of ine sheds, barns, outbuildings, chicken coops, pavilions, and soon. It wasn’t dead easy work, not by a good deal. I hadn't done any hard werk while I was out cf the service, and this heavy whitewashing job told on me, and 1 wished I had been good. I aad to use brushes of all sizes, some with twelve aud filteen-foot poles, to reach up to the tops of barns, and brushes with no handles at all. My hands became blistered from h: dling the brush handles, and the lime got into the broken blisters, and my, sentry gave me the laugh, and I wished more than ever that I hadn't been bad. I worked bard, though, and at che end of eighteen days I had about fi whicewashing the pest, and made a ratt good job of it, teo. I had become pretty friendly with the provost sergeant, and he feit sorry to see my hands in such shape. They were waddled in bandages, and they were just out as badly bunged up as they well could be. When I tur into the guard house after finishing work on the eighteenth di monta, the provost Tgeant came into my cell, and said he: ay, I've got no more work around for you to do, and there won't be anything to speak of to do for # couple of weeks yet, and by that time I'll have hal? a dozen prisoner: I'll just get you out o' this.’ “J gave him the iaugh. I had been sol- diering too long not to know that coldiers in the clink don’t get their guard house terms remitted unless they're about to ercak. “*Yep,’ went on the old provost sergeant, who had soldiered alongside of ‘Billy’ G ham for a good many years, ‘I'll con th old man into turning’ you loose tomorrow merning.’ Well, the next morning the provost ser- nt saw to it that my Lands were fairly ered with great bandages. They locked as big as boxing gloves. Then the provost sergeant told the sentry to take me up in front of Col. Granam’s quarters to rae the grass that had been cut by an extra duty man the day before. I was taken up there, and TI grabbed a rake and begon with difficulty, on account o the condition of my hands, te rake grass on the colonel’s lawn. By and by Col. Graham appeared at one of his front windows, smoking a cigar, with his hands stuck in his pockets, He sized me up, and tren he chucked up the window. “ ‘Look here, boy," zaid he, as the dickens, ‘what ails your Hands’ “I told him they were just a bit splat- tered up and burnt by lime from white- washing.” “What did you do to get guard house?’ he asked me. ‘Canteen,’ said I. ‘And you an old soldier,’ said he. ‘Why can’t you leave that sort of fool business to the recruits?” “Then he slammed his window down, and in a minute I heard him ringing his teie phone bell. The telephone ran to the guard house. In five minutes the sergeant of the gvard appeared and iold me to take my blankets out of the guard house. “Old man’s turned you loose by ‘phone,’ said he.” - ‘ough as ourself in the ee A POET OF EAR! G POWER. He Drew His Pay in Proportion to What He Wrote. His hair was not long nor were his eyes in fine frenzy rolling; neither was there ether visible or tangible evidence of his identity, so that when he stepped up to the literary editor and announced that he was a Pegasus down on his luck, the editor did not know whether to believe him or not. He was sure that he was down on his luck, but the Pegasus part did not necessarily follow. All poets may be poor folks, but all poor foiks are not poets. “You say that you are a poet and need money?” qucried the editor. “That's it exactly, sir.’ “How much money do you want?” “From twenty-five cents up. I haven't had a good, long drink since Schley licked Cervera with Sampson’s fleet.” “But how am I to know that you are a poet? : “Make me an offer for a poem and if I don’t write you one to order then fire me for a Spaniard,” “That's fair enough, and I'll tell you what I'll do, if you will write me something good on ‘The Witchery of the Stars,’ I'll pay you a dollar a stanza for five four-line stanzas or less.” “In the same proportion ‘In the same ratio.” “That's what I mean; I get my pay ac- cording to the work I do? “Yes.” The poet borrowed a pencil, a sheet of ae a chair and a desk, and taking off is coat and hat proceeded to his labors. In about five minutes he gave a sudden start as if the divine afflatus had hit him in the neck and he dashed off a line, which he handed over to the editor. “What do you think of that?” he asked with confidence. The editor read this line: ‘The siren si- lence of the stars."’ “That's fine,” he said; “go on with the balance: “Good enough’ for anybody’s money, isn’t it?" said the poet, taking the sheet again. “Quite,” said the editor sincerely. The poet rose from his desk and put on his coat and hat. “Pay me my proportion,” he said with a frown. “What do you mean?” exclaimed the edi- tor. “There isn’t any proportion to what you have written.” “Oh, yes, there is. You said a dollar a stanza of four lines, for five stanzas or less. One line is less, and as the Great and Orly One Line American Poet, I demand my twenty-five cents. You can finish the poem and keep the remaining four seventy- five. I'm generous, if I am poor. Whack up. the quarter or there'll be a row,” and to prevent an impulsive Pegasus from paw- ing up the Axminster carpet or kicking the bric-a-brae off the ormolu escritoire, the literary editor handed over the quarter and took us much of the poem as that amount called for. Sa Sen “Why did you discharge the bartender?” asked the director. “Because,” replied the manager of the excursion boat, “the chump turned the beer glasses over and drew beer into the bottom instead of the top.”"—New York Journal. American: “You're a fins lot, anyway. You did a great deal of talking before the fighting, but what else have you done?” Cuban: “Caramba, senor, haven't we given your people a chance to cover tham- selves with glory?’—Cleveland Leader. MUSIC. ON -A@ RIVER BOAT “When it cote to% piano on an excur- sion boat, and ‘the music thereof, I pass,” said a Washington man who recently did all of the honof® herdipouts for a party of western N. E. A.’s Who were visiting his wife during thé°convéhtion. “A trip that I took, with my‘ party, in close contiguity -and juxtapositifh to dnd with a steamboat piano, as it wefé, like*to have used me up. The piano wa$ naif€i down aft in the saloon, and we’ Sat of the after deck, be- cause It was coffer th¥re. The boat hadn't pulled out of hér sli before the piano be- gan to go. A“young' fellow with a red, white and blue’ribbén around his straw hat was the first to tdke the stool and hit up the piano. He knew two chords, um- tum-tum, tum-rum-rum, and he surely ad- mired that brace of barber shop chords a whole lot. He let us have them with heavy pedal variations for fifteen minutes, and then he looked up for tumultuous applause. He was edged off the stool by a little girl who knew the first part of ‘The Little Fisher Maiden.’ She played it seventeen times, and she kept ‘both of her feet on the hard ‘pedal all the time. The Httle girl was in her turn succeeded by a young wo- man who was familiar with the first nine bars of the ‘Miserere, and this young wo- man went into a trance when she started to play her nine bars, and @jdn’t come out of it until she had da capo-ed on it for fully fifteen minutes. “Ta, ta, ta ta ta ta, ta ta,’ it went until we were commencing to figure if the water was cold. When she emerged from her dream, a man that looked like a plumber’s apprentice ‘figured himself to be next on the program, and he did a left- hand obligato—he couldn't do business with his right—by playing, twenty or thirty times, the last bar of ‘Rocked in the Crauie of the Deep’—tum, tum-tum-tum, tum, tum, tum, daw—way down on the lowest notes. Then he started to bawl that last bar— ‘Rawked awn thaw cradle awv thaw aeep.’ When he tumbled to it that there was an Indian file of waiters for the piano behind him, he reluctantly got up, and gave way to the inevitable man who knows how to hammer enough chords to accompany his whistlings. This man whistled any old thing in a piercing tone, and although he tried hard enough, he couldn't succeed in drowning the whistling by his left-hand pounding on the piano. “The whistler retired in favor of the man who knew enough chords.in B flat to keep himself going while he hummed ‘On the Banks of the Wabash.’ This man started the song three or four times in the wrong key, and his voice wasn't mated to his hand-work at all, until one of his pals called him down.’ Then he got into tue key, and hummed ‘For the moon is fair tonight along the Wabash,’ when, to our great relief, he gave ji-up, saying: Aw, I can’t sing tonight; me pipes are frozen.’ The next was the girl who always plays four bars of Rubinstein’s melody in F, and then jumps up and says she’s forgotten it, and she's out of practice, anyhow. Then a fat, oleaginous duck, with a confident grin, sat down and hammered ‘Narcissus’ to jig-time, and took the ‘Oh, so lovelys!’ of the young women in the saloon like so much catnip. He was so much encouraged that he switched to ‘Ma Angeline,’ and Standin’ on de Corner Don’t Mean no Hawm," and ‘I Hope-a These-a Lines Will-a Find You-a Well,’ alternately whistling and then buzzing them. He tried to throw coon dialect into ‘his buzzing, and it was about as like as a Fiji Islander spinning Russian. But he thought he was a pretty good thing for all hands, and his performance lasted for fully half an hour. ‘Then he gave way to the girl who learn- ed her — one: sernary _plece—‘Mon- astery Bells,’ I think ff was—so thoroughly that she'll never forget it. She ‘didn’t play anything else without, Her music,’ she said, but she surely played That one plece a-plen- ty. She spread‘herséff on the few little simple runs in'it, aid she succeeded in making them look tertffically hard, and fin- ished strony. “By this time!We were almost too numb- ed to protest evén to each other, but when a little bald-he#aed than in a’hot black sult sat down thée*piano with a good deal of awkwattess #hd began to inspect the gilt-lettered’'namé" of It with a great deal of curiosity; oné of the ladies in my party safd: 4 “Now we're #difig Bo have some piano- forte musie by a'fnan’fwho apparently never even saw @ plaid before. “Oh, for a lodge in some wilderness,” "ete “Then the 1tt#é ‘beldtheaded man in the hot: black suit wade@%h, and the tender, beautiful fashion withowhjch he played the ‘Moonlight Sonata’ was ‘serély a caution. He just simplyknew the piano both ways from the middie ‘A,’ and his music was like white cups of joy bursting upon south- ern shores. ~ He didn’t peek around for any applause when he finished treating us for a good half hour, but disappeared down the saloon ladder. “He was a master, and a. surprise into the bargain, but he’ didn’t compensate us for what went before, by a whole houseful.” ———— MAIL IN WAR TIMES. How President Lincoln Franked an Envelope fora Soldier. “Let this go. A. LINCOLN.” When the army was encamped in Vir- ginla, near Washington, in 1961-62, Presi- dent Lincoln franked a letter in the above manner for a youthful soldier named Frank King of Fond du Lac county, Wis., and the envelope fs still held as a sacred treasure by the family of the soldier lad, who lost his life at Gettysburg. Capt. Thomas Jones.of the penston office related the story in this way to « repre- sentative of The Star: “The boys who have gone to the front now Imagine they haye a difficult time get- ting their letters to home folks ané loved ones, but they have things dead easy com- pared to what we had in the war of the rebellion. Paper and envelopes were hard to get, and stamps were almost as scarce as diamonds. Soldiers who were fortunate enough to be near Washington had their letters franked by senators and represen- tatives, and you may imagine that our na- tional lawmakers were kept busy with their pens. President Lincoln was even known to help the boys out occasionally. On one occasion Frank King, a private in a Wisconsin regiment, encamped near Ar- rgton Heights, got ‘a package of envel- opes, and, with a friend, Harry Dunn, went to the White House’ and asked Mr. Lincoln to frank the envelopes. It was easier to see the President then than it is now, and at certain hours of the day a soldier could reach him as easily as could any of the high officials. When the Presi- dent knew what was desired of him he asked: ‘Why don’t you get your congress- man to frank these envelopes? I am very busy.’ “The folks at home would like to see your name on the envelopes,’ replied young Kirg. Mr. Lincoln smiled; then, taking a pen, he wrote on oue of the en- velopes: “Let this go. A. Lincoln.’ He carefully blotted it, and, handing it to King, with the reniainder of the package, said: ‘Now, my boy, take the rest of these to your congressman, Scott Sloan, and tell him I said to fix them for you. I want you both to be Ve, soldiers; and, shak- ing the hands of ren Dunn, hé bade them good-bye. King ‘Wrote to his parents that night, and ificloged the letter in the envelope franked_ Mr. Lincoln. The young fellow was killed at Gettysburg, but that envelope is refi@idusly and lovingly prized by the surviving members of his family. Dunn, who: was- with King when Mr. Lincoln franked he envelope, called at the White Hose two years later and asked to have Mpmé—epvelopes franked. ‘Mr. Lincoln remmbered him, and when told that King killed his face sailing now al work of the their behalf ts 4 clated by them. it 2 ce) letters, and the Department in t properly appre- wore a look of eee, “Yes, the boyst ba’ Saas easy Frem Life, Parker—“My Bant Ideas of econon Harker—‘How $0?” “She sent me q telégram last week while I was in Philadelphia“that cost me a dollar pat a pals, just because acy = only ree of my stamped envelopes left.” 4 the most extrava- xo t_your money in that ht Ss let you in on the they eventually landed me % Ee, eR Ee bemy wife?’ ~ jhe—‘‘The idea! Don’t ‘be ridiculous.” He—"Yes, I know, ft sounds ridiculous; ‘but then I'm not so particular as some THE BERTILLON SYSTEM “Although it appears that the alleged murderer Funk has not been corralled after all, it does not seem possible to me that he will be able to hide himself for any great length of time, so elaborate is the description of him possessed by the po- lice authorities all over this continent,” said a gentleman connected with the en- listment division of the War Department. “Had {t not been for the data on file in the War Department, the Washington po- lice authorities would not have been able to furnish a description of the man, even approximating that contained in the cir- cular for exactness. The police authorities, knowing that Funk had served im the regu- lar army, of course had ace to this data concerning his physical make-yp—data tak- en at the time the man was examined by the surgeon for enlistment in the army— and, of course, this absolutely exact de- scription of him, from the soles of his feet to the crown of his head, was used in mak- ing up the police cir . The Bertil- lon system of measuring soldier who pass the examination for enlistment in the United States army has been used with censpicuous sucess for more than ten years, and there is no likelihood of its ever being abandoned on account of the work its thor- ough operation causes the examining of- ficers of the medical department. When a man goes through the examination for the regular army, and is accepted, the meas- uring process begins. It takes not so much account of ordinary measurements as it does of physical peculiarities, and ihe strongest point in the Bertillon system i the complete account given of a man's sears, birth-marks, moles, etc., all over his body. For example, the examining sur- geons of the army are furnished blank charts of a man standing in a state of na- ture, and two of these, a front view and a back view, are made up for each man taken into the army, The cards are about a foot in length by about eight inches in width. The examining surgeon goes over the front service of the accepted recruit s body anc marks on the chart every scar, mole, tattoo mark, etc., that he finds,with a closely-written description of unusual markings over the spots on the chart where the markings are entered. Then he takes his rear-view chart, and makes a perfect picture of the recruit as he stands in that positicn. When these two charts are made up, the recruit’s physical peculiarities are down in black and white to a T. If the man _has got a tattooed anchor on one of his forearms, the anchor appears on the chart, and so on. One of the reasons why sailors in the navy are gradually giving up the practice of having themseives tattooed is that the markings render it too simple to identify them in case they happen to get into trouble. A great number of regu- lar army soldiers who have got into s after leaving the service have been identi- fied by means of the Bertillon charts on file in this department. The Bertillon sys- tem is employed by the police departmen:s of many American cities nowada; it has ccmpletely knocked profe. criminals out of their oid-time habit of tattooing themselves. In fact, many of the criminais who have been Bertilloned, have gone to the pairs of trying to have the tattoo marks, and even other natural marks, removed by the electric needle. The needle always leaves evidences, in the shape of scars, of this attempt, however, and it doesn’t do. Somc of the criminals pick out their tattoo marks with tooth picks dipped in milk, and this is a better way than the work wita the electric needle, but it leaves a bad scar in pizce of the tattoo mark all the same. Jf a man deserts from the United States army, and re-enlists ‘mder another name, ke is very liable to be dis- covered and punished for fraudulent en- listment, as well as for deserting, not long after he takes cn the second time. The sec- ond time he culists, the two charts, front and rear view, are sent on to the War De- partment py the examining surgeon, and there are men always comparing the old charts w.in the new ones in the depart- ment. © men are bound to run across the pair of charis made of the soldier waen he first enlisted, and the exact similanty of the charts is bound to result in the fraudulent enlister’s being detected.” : peer au SOMETHING WORTHY OF HIM. When It Came to Fighting He Want- ed the Real Thing. He was a big, strapping fellow, with the fearlessness and flavor of the wild and woolly permeating his rerson, and the po- lNcerran. who found him stretched on a bench in Franklin Park at 5 o'clock in the soft summer morning had some doubts about making any advances without rein- fercements, but upon consideration he ap preached him cautiously and shook him up. The westerner was amenable to treatment and yielded without a murmur. He was the picture of a Spanish cruiser after a Yankee attack when he sat up and got his eyes pulled open. “That's all right, Mr. Officer,” he said, geod naturedly, “I'm guilty. What's the price of lodgin’ in the park,” and he reac’ ed for his pocket. “Being it's you," smiled the officer, “we'll call it square if you'll go hom ‘I will soon’s my train comes. ‘What do you mean by that?” “I mean that I stopped off of a bound fer the west from New York yester- day afternoon, I suppose, and didn’t seem to know much about it till I landed in this park some time in the night. I'm trying to git to Colorado.” “What's the matter with your face; have @ wreck on the road?” “Oh, no. I got in a difference with one cf them New York policemen.” “What did you do that for?” If you wanted to fight, why didn’t you enlist and fight the Spaniards?” “D'jou ever see one of them New York “Didn't? Well, you ought to. Seven feet tall; face on ‘em like an Eyetalian sunset in a red undershirt; hands Ike a octo- pus; mustache like a Santiago barbed wire fence; legs on ‘em like a sawlo; shoulders like the stern end of a steamboa’ and Irisher than a bagful of potatoes. That's them.” “Yes; but—" “Well, you don’t have to make no re- marks on the situation,” interrupted the gentleman from Colorado. “You don't s’pose a man like I am’s goin’ clean down to Cuby to fight them little snips of Span- niards that takes feur of ’em to fit In a men’s pants, when I can git something right here at home to fight with like them New York coppers, Go you? Well, I guess not. Maybe I ain’t a hero, and maybe I won't git a pension for shedding my bi on my country’s altar, and so forth, don’t you forget it that when it comes to fightin’ I know what the real, ginnuine oid stuff is, I do. Come and have one with me for the boys in blue. Wretched-looking Messenger—“‘Beg par- don, Mr. Brown, it’s come at larst! I’m entirely dependent on myself. My wife’ © JOHNSON» Afternoon. The morning-glory hours ago gave up and diea away, But patient four-o'clocks bloom out to tell the time of day; And where the sunlight strikes the gravel path, again unfold long and mingling shadows of the phiox and marigold. The idle hovering butterfly has paused with weary wing; The bird has hushed the melody it loved so well to sing, For they feel the gathering darkness which must shut them soon from view As they hold their posts, all waiting for the laddie dressed in blue. The The morrow’s sun will find them faithful as he left them there, With a step so proud and hopeful and a face so gently fair. The hollyhocks are standing in a line all prim and plain To make their salutation when he’s march- ing home again. The fragile morning-glory takes fresh cour- age with the dawn; The four-o'clocks still strive to take their places when they’re gone, And the phicx and marigold are ready, stanch and true— But it's weary, weary waiting for the Jad- die dressed in biue, * ever * * A Mitigating Simtie. The young woman who expresses herself strongly was commenting on the social at- tentions suggested in connection with the presence of Cervera in this country. “I think it’s perfectly disgraceful!” she exclaimed. ‘Dear me,” “I wouldn't take it so to heart. very agreeable personal: “Supposing he fs! He's a Spaniard.” “Yes. But he’s going to be good from now on.” “Are you one of those women who are so fascinated by a title and a uniform that He may be they don’t stop to discriminate as to the wearer?” “I won't confess to that much. But I must say a distinguished man is always interesting. Do you like olives, dear?” “Of course, Ido. You're trying to change the conversation.” “No, I'm not. It has occurred to me that perhaps a Spanish officer is like a Spanish olive. It’s very objectionable in its crude state, but not at all bad after it has been bottled.” * * * The Meaning of the Word. Mr. Erastus Pinkley was very much out of breath. He sat down on the rickety | front doorstep and let his head fall back against the panel behind him with a bump which brought a large and sable woman around from the side entrance to see what the matter was. “Was dat you rappin’ on de do’ asked. “I warn’ rappin’ a-purpose,” he an- swered. “I didn’ mean ter come visitin’, "case I ain't got no callin’ kyahds wif me. “Den spose you jes’ moves ‘long.” ‘Lemme ketch my bref.” “I ain’ nebber heard much "bout yoh be- in’ in a hurry. Dis mus’ be somefin’ mos’ partic’lar.”” “Oh, jes’ been walkin’ a little fas". showed my speed yit.” Whut you been runnin’ away f'um?” ‘One er-uh—one er dese hyuh immunes. You's been runnin’ away f'um a p'lice- man. Dat’s whut you been runnin’ away ‘ vais Ann Matilda, does you know whut an immune is?” dunno’s I could expressify tt wif exact- she lain” ness ‘Well, an immune is one er dese hyuh people dat ain’ I’ble ter ketch nuffin’, an’ dat’s whut dis p’leeceman is.” * ** Self-Satisfaction, Oh, a chimpanz2e In a tropic tree Cast a telepathic eye On a scientist Who his way had missed And by chance came wandering by. And they stopped to converse and relieve the tedium With thought-transfer as the simple me- dium. And the scientist, With a haughty twist Of his head, remarked, “ E’en a chimpanzes To be wise like me, If he had the gift of speech. But you can’t make even a lame apology At articulation or etymology.” Thought the chimpanzee “That is why I'm fre2 From each quibble and crafty game. Even a scientist Oft the truth has missed ‘While the wrong man gets the blame. ‘When we rise, it is due to our own capacity And not to a vulgar and cheap mendacity.” ‘Thon the scientist Turned and shook his fist At the ape who sat aloft, While the chimpanzee Grinned in silent glee At the learned man who scoff2d. Each left with a look of calm authority And a sense of serene superiority. * * * Reading Up. ‘There had been silence for almost an hour in and about Crimson Gulch’s leading place of resort. Alaska Joe, who was tend- ing bar, had pulled his chair out under the awning which caused his establishment to rank as an abode of luxury. “What em I runnin’ here?” he inquired, rather discontentediy, as he saw the array of newspapers. ‘‘A red Hquor shanty or a lit'ry society?” “Shut up,” rejoined Three-Finger Sam. “The mail’s jest in an’ we want to read about this war before it's over. It’s the first news wi There were reproving looks at the pro- prietor from a long line of leading citizens who were busily reading. "a teach been and got a separation order!"—Punch. “Excuse me, gents,” he exclaimed, diplo- said Miss Cayenne gently. | “I didn't m But if there's ¢ p to be in it. If a nugget lin | no more'n Ist Dan, who was a danger of being 4 | “Of course, it is there.” “What fur? “Fur the reasen that we're a ci tion. We've got to do everythin’ to law, an’ we ain't much m rstan’ touchy governme about it.” now?” ringer Dan, with great I was tem; But the t life-like, an” stories I ever run’ across. wonder, an’ no mistake. anythin’ kin stop ‘im. 7 furgit exackly what trib — thought they had ‘im cornered. He show ‘em a trick that'll last ‘em a week or two. You remember that mule that was killed at Matanzas? Well, when he fou yd stole hi ns he grabbed some of that mule’s skeleton an’ jumped in and smashed their ma’ 1 r own heads like al! you read it out of?” in- they was so much tint “Is this the pape quired Broncho Bob. “Yes; an’ it’s a fine paper, too. I'll bet that one tells the truth about its circula- tion.” “Of course it does. An’ the story you got hold of is true enough. But it ain't the same Samson. ( ma with a p. You've got hold Sunday school papers sends out here every spells his name them hat the tract s ce in a W * x * The Probabilities. The publisher of fiction in paper covers le was not feeling very amiable when the | young lady novelist called on him. The | trurh wes he had been going over a lot of bills, and had been tem to his wife ond daughter: | would not b: Ve the coura | der circurrstinces where they “I called 0 see about my st the yourg lady novelist. “Oh, theone which is entitled ‘Mariet Marriage, or a Life Cigarette Pane “Yes; tha: “Well, it’s a pretty good novel. must bear in mind that, we're responsible for th public to a certain degree. We must not be too improbable. Sometimes you have to be a little improbable, now and then, in order to fascinate your reader, but you can be reasonable a good deal of the time. “But if you try that, isn’t your reader likely to become unfascinated?” she in- quired. Not if you're judicious. Now, the only objection I have to your story is the inci- dent which r presents the heroine as jump- ing out of a third-story window onto an awning over a meat store in order to escape the abductors who are on her track. It's too much to risk on an ewning. And, besides, it’s more than likely any abductor who knew his business would have a con- federate posted outside to catch her when she bounced off. Of course, you've got her cornered, and she’s got to get away some- how. But I must say it doesn’t sound quite artistic to me.” She had been thinking while he talked, and she remarked: “Suppose we fix it this way: She was on her way home from the milliner’s, where she bought the most fashionable hat in the window. She was walking through the park when she saw her pursuers on her track. She knew she must act quickly. Without a moment's hesitation she took off the hat, laid it on the ground and then crouched behind the bunch mammoth hyacinth blossoms, which the milliner had told her would cost $17 extra. How she rejoiced that she had not carried out her threat to go without, rather than pay so much! The men who had so often abduct- ed her before were foiled at last. They came within a few feet of her hiding place and one of them paused, but only to re- mark that he had never before seen a flower bed and shrubbery in that part of the park. Marietta was saved! And the publisher nodded his head ap- Provingly and exclaimed: “Now, there’s some sense to that.” pes (Copyright, 1398, Life Publishing Company.) i to write things which he e to express un- reply, a's Story From a Book of s it.” But you litteratoors education of the as “Shay! think m'wife’ll know I've been ~ drinkin’ 2” : “Not ‘nless she’sh min’ reader, ole man.”