The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, September 29, 1895, Page 14

14 ‘THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 29, 1895. I CHILDHOOD'S REALM, Brief Stories for the Little Ones of the House- The Moral Fi | A story with a moral at the end? Hor- rible! Who could enjoy the daintiest morsel that was ever served up if he knew it bad to be followed by a dose of some- Not any of TrECaLr's 11 be bound. s are ail very well in their , only they mustn’t getaround in other Jle’s way so much that “the wrongful- of sinning and the rightfulness of t” gets so mixed up that it looks like the rightfulnessof sinningand the wrong- ilness of right.” There seems to be a moral in “A Camp- ing Out Story,” though it isa story that really happened not so very far away from here, and the moral j i the story. Determinas obstinacy is a 3 Ways so easy to draw the line between the two er. But perhaps it is always determined if we are quite sure t} we are standing on and starting from is the right ground—true and firm. i a1 ping-Out Story. “Boys, I tell you this is the way back to mp!” vbody laughed at Walter’s vehem- ause everybody knew that Walter vas wrong. Ridicule didn’t soothe the ’s alreadv ruffied temper, and, turning upon his heel, Walter strode away in what | he believed to be the direction of the camp. ompanions called after the boy, sing him good-naturedly not to make a fool of himself, and warning him that he | would be late to supper if he walked over to_Arizona first. Walter deigned no reply and walked over | the cattle trail he had chosen to follow. | Five hundred people were camped in one of the noble sequoia forests of the Sierra | Nevada. They were refugees from the heat of the valley, and merrymakers - every one. | Rough log cabins and white-walled tents | were their homes, and these were gay with | flags and spoils of the woods. ‘When the morning broke and every man, woman and child in all the camp knew that Walter had not returned there was general consternation. “The boy was everybody’s friend, in spite | of the independence which sometimes be- | came obstinacy. He had no relatives in | the camp, but in spite of the boy’'s self- | reliance there were those who felt respon- sible for hi fe return to the valle, Search parties were hastily o and soon the men were abroad among the bills, some on horseback, some on foot. The women, too, climbed to the hilltops nearer by, and even the little ch helped each other to climb upon the rocks, | where they waved their wee hands and | called: “Walter! Walter! Come home! | Come home!” | It was Tuesday evening when Walter | turned his back upon the camp. In the eariy morning hours he suffered with cold, and thought the night alone in the woods would not have been so very | dreadful if he had only worn a coat. Hun- er made him more sensitive to the cold; ut Walter knew that but one cartridge re- mained in his gun, and his cartridge-belt was empty. He did not dare fire at the ground-squi rels that crossed his path frequently. Even if he did not miss, how could he cook the game? The boy had not even a match to light a fire, and his knife had been loaned the day before. When the sun was higher in the heavens Walter refreshed himself by drinking and by bathing his feet av a spring of cool water. His craving for food seemed almost un- endurable, and his feet were already swollen and painful. Chmbing to the top of a hill, his heart | would beat high with the hope of seeing asign of life, some cattlemen’s camp or hunter’s cabin on the farther slope. And so with alternating hours of hope and dis- appointment the day wore away. hen darkness came again Walter lay prone upon the ground, face downward, feeling himself a mere speck of quivering, euffering humanity among the cold, silent, eternal hills, The loneliness the boy felt was keener than the pangs of hunger, more chilling than the night breeze. So weary was he that with all his misery ‘Walter slept—how long he never knew. {t was a death-like sleep, dream!less, hope- ess. A hot breath awakened the sleeper; a heavy body pressed against his. Seizing his gun Walter sprang up and flew, with a wild cry that must have frightened bruin, since he seemed not to follow. A deer came down to drink. He looked at Walter with unfrightened eves and the boy’s heart sank at the thought that he had wandered into the mountain’s fast- nesses, even beyond the track of the hunte The deer watched his visitor long and his presence was such sweet company for alter that he was silent too, like the still creature of the woods. “If only he would come close and let me stroke his face! If only he could sPeak to me and let me tell him I am lost!” At nightfall Walter found a hunter's cabin, beautiful as heaven to him when he saw it on the hillside, and hoped that friends were there—a mockery when it proved to be deseried and as lonely as the gulches where rattlesnakes hissed. Saturday’s sun went down on the little town in the San Joaquin Valley, and still no hurrying horseman had comé to say that the banker's son was safe. Kind hands led the anxious father from his loneiy vigil at the street corner. Scarcely a word had he spoken all that day, but his strained lips parted then to say, “if my boy's mother were alive this would kill her.” The old man watched no more for a message, but a horseback party was sent out to learn the truth, and with orders to find the boy, alive or dead, if every man in the county had to be called upon to join the search. Just as the hands at Colton’s sawmill were setting down to breakfast Sunday morning Walter James smfigercd in at the v.{lu'nrwuy and fell on the floor in a dead aint. It didn’t take long to revive him, and itis said that he found the men’s breakfast of bacon, coffee and hot biscuits quite to the king's taste. You may be sure that the messenger on | trouble, if | of the timid quail, horseback was started for the valley with- out loss of time. When Banker James had heard the story to the end the strained look faded out of his face, and his pale cheeks took on a de- cided flus “The worst phase of the matter seems to me at present to be that the rascal is too big to spank!” said he. But there was a strong suspicion of tears in the old man’s eyes when he said it. MaRrY CALKINS JOHN: The Dog That Had the Last Bark. You've doubtless heard of children— perhaps you may be personally acquainted with some of them, who always insist, no matter what happens, on having the last word. Well, now I shall tell youabouta little dog who had the last bark and what befell him. His name was “Wig-wag,” after a very funny fashion he had of wag- ging head, tail and body all at the same time. The family he favored by residing with had but just moved into their new home, which was located very prettily near the base of some rolling . “Wig-wag” was not “a thoroughbred” by any means, though he thought he was, and that, you know, sometimes makes a good impression on outsiders. However, he had some dis- tinction in his claims to some of the blue blood of the Japanese pug—he was most pugnacious, at any rate, and had grown mto such overbearing ways. by persisting in every eventon having the last bark, that he was shunned by all and any dogs who might otherwise have proved firm friends to him, and these would-be acquaintances n new home might have saved him from the consequences of his own foolish- ness. But no! Master Wig-wag held his snub nose high in_air, curled his curly tail all the tighter and barked sneeringly and impudently at every dog who showed any plebeian politenes: Now, off among the hills, behind Wig-wag’s new home, there dwelt a very naughty and tantalizing Echo, who was always ready to get some one i h athing was po: he (of course it was a he) heard a hunter crackle and snap dry twigs when in search il, Mr. Echo wouid crackle and snap dry twigs just ahead, so the poor deluded man woula fire into the brush, wasting his shot and scaring away any game within sound, which proceeding vastly pleased the mischief-maker, and once when & little brother was searching for his little sister this miserable Echo so mimicked his calls that he came very near giving up in despair, though he finally did find her taking a nap under 2 manzanita One rather windy night V chose to become angry at the wind, and he thought himself personally insulted by its whistling and mosanings, £o as he knew no | other way of revenge he began barking in Now, as there were so icho had been quite idle an insolent way. few dogs around | for some time, but Ican tell you the in- | stant he heard that saucy bark he grew wide awake and answered back with all his strength. Go to,” said Wig-waz. “How ridicu- los of any dog pretending to_answer me, and have the last bark; I'll show 'em,” and again he barked. Echo answered, and it was ‘“bow-wow, bow-wow, wow-bow, wow-bow,” for about half an hour till Wig-wag’s throat became so dry that he wandered off to the water bucket and re- turned refreshed, and, as he said, deter- mined to fight it out on this line if he had to be barked entirely. So again he tried “Bow-wow,” very prolonged—answered “Bow-wow,” more prolonged. “‘Strange,” said Wig-wag; “I should think the impudent thing would be tired; how dare he bark up to my bark? Does he not know that my ancestors have looked upon the holy peak of Fujiyama, that I am I? and not only does this wretched cur answer me, but he actunal mimics my tones,” and he was so enra; that ;he sounded an indignant “ki- which “ki-vi”’ was dutifully returned the teasing Echo, who hadn’t had so muy fun for an age, and was just enjoying him- seif immensely. When Wig-wag first began his barking his usual pertness was plain to be seen, his nose high in theairand histail well curled, but as time wore on, his nose came down a eg or two, and his tail began to uncurl ike a girl’s bangs in the fog. He tried all yarieties of barks, even some that he’d heard were imported. He gave the “High Jap” and “Low Jap,” but was determined he’d never give up the game. He tried barks in tenor, barksin bass, even barks in falsetto; still useless. All his great artistic attempts were ‘‘returned with thanks’’ every time. After awhile Wig-wag grew very tired (I know of some people near by who were tired too), but Echo never got weary, and was delighted as he returned barks that grew hoarser and hoarser. Poor silly pug. Helay down panting to rest awhile, his tongue lolling out and his throat parched. If his obstinacy had oniy been in the proper direction, we should have called it determinationand praised him accordingly, but here, as it was, he could not unger- stand that it was his own foolishness that had tired him so. He thought it was the other dog’s fault all the time, and after a little rest he stag- gered to his feet exhausted, but still cling- $g to his hopes for the lest bark, Could he have noticed, he would have seen that that tail of his, once the pride of his heart in its bewitching curliness, was sticking out straight, stiff and forlorn, as though there were no curling irons in the wurf;d. But he never looked behind him, but barked with all his streneth and was an- swered as usual. “I'll not_give in, never,” and he sat on the ground and barked very feebly. Still the last bark was not his, the other dog had it. Once more a feeble bark, feebiy answered; he rolled over on bis side and moaned a bark, so faint that Echo heard it not, which was the only reason he did not answer it. So though Wig-wag’s proud spirit was gratified, his strength was gone, and with one little sigh he died; a victim to his own conceit, and the next morning when the poor worn body of the once im- portant Wig-wag was found (and I know somebody that was not sorry) they all won- dered what could have been the matter, and didn’t have the sense to see that the foolish pug had died rather than give up his right to the last bark. Mary WooDpwARD EDWARDS. Petaluma, Cal. THE BUSINESS OF AUTHORSHIP. That peculiar personage, the author, is | keting to a certain extent, bu t it is obviou about the only established producer who has no regular method of marketing his productions. The parpose of this writing is to suggest a plan by which this lack may be met. This supposes the author to be the pro- ducer of a commeodity for which there is a reasonable demand. It is not necessary to inquire whether the fabric of his loom is a necessity or a luxury, for in either event the question of a means of marketing would be the same, The essential principle affecting produc- tions of whatever character is a division of labor. The producer is not expected to be a merchant. If he is a good producer he is not likely a good merchant, and if he is a good merchant he is not likely a good producer. The trouble with the author is that no merchant stands ready to buy his goods and present them to the consumer; that is, there is no merchant who stands constantly between the producer and the consumer of literature in the full sense of merchants standing between the producers and consumers in other established lines of production and consumption. The nearest a; proach to this is seen in {he case of a newspaper publisher, who buys the product of writers and sells it to the public for whatever profit he can secure. In the broader sense the news- paper writer is an author, and, being an author, in order to be successful in that occupation it cannot be expected of him that he could be successful as & publisher. There may be cases where he is, but they are too rare to affect the rule. Authorship in its more restricted sense means the production of written matter not required in the ordinary course of human affairs, but still demanded and in possession of a very extensive market. In this respect it is removed from journalism, a staple product, and classed with those ornamental services and products coming under the vague definition of *‘art.” The poet, the writer of fiction, high-classessays and the like finds no regular derhand, no established method of marketing his wares. Therefore, he is forced to be both pro- ducer and merchant, and this leads to the most lamentable results. There may be some litterateurs who will be offended to see the matter placed on so cold-blooded a business basis as this; but s0 long as it is noticeable that few if any of them are working for art’s sake and they are glad to get all the money they can for their efforts they have no right to com- plain. They themselves are following a cold-blooded business principle in their own crippled, foolish, floundering way, and they ought to be grateful for a hint which might enable their cupidity to be more effective. As the author is both producer and mer- chant, he is heavily handicapped. The tales of really able ana even brilliant young authors who are unable to market excellent wares of their own production are told in infinite number and variety. Probably the best that is written is never published, under the operation of the | simple rule that the best producer is the poorest merchant. Such an author must take what chances are offered in sending his work to this or that publisher of books or magazines. The chances are ten to one that, lacking the instinct of the merchant and knowing nothing of the general or { specific market, his production is declined. Bravely he tries again; a similar experi- ence greets his effort. Then likely he abandons the hopeless task, arrives at the conclusion either that the world is ungrate- ful and vnappreciative or that he has mis- taken his mission, and so becomes a quiet and respectable clerk, or else falls into drink and then into the bay. A book of these undiscovered tragedies would make strong reading. Approximations to the establishment of a market have been made, but they all lack the vital principle of business in- volved. Thus, so-called ‘‘syndicates’” have come into existence. They buy the work of authors for a small price and peddle it out among newspaper publishers at what- ever profit they can secure. These *‘syn- dicate’” companies, by exercising great care, have established a reputation for good judgment in the selection of matter, and s0 they are trusted to a considerable extent by publishers to furnish suitable matter. Meanwhile, the author gropes blindly. Not having the facilities enjoyed by the “syn- dicate,”” he has no idea of the state of the market. He must be something of a recluse, at least to the extent of cultivating innate tastes and graces, and this must keep him away from business sufficiently far to force upon him a measurable ig- norance both of the condition of the market and of the ordinary business rules for the conduct of his simple affairs. ‘Why, then, should there not be a mer- cantile literary establishment analogous to the newspaper? Inthat case we find a shrewd, able man who has mastered the business of marketing at a profit the productions of persons capable of producing murketable written matter. The factor of advertisements here intervenes, but it does not destroy the mercantile relation between and the publisher. Let us imagine the business of the author to be bandled on the following plan: A man makes a study of the literary market. He observes what is popular and profitable in the way of books and inf orms bimself concerning the leanings, policies, tastes and all that of many periodicals. More than that, be becomes the broker between the writer and the periodical publisher and the maker of books. He might come to enjoy the same confidence between these and writers as exists be- tween “syndicates’” and some newspaper publishers. But in order to have a regular and established market he must know his writers, must have them under control and must be able to utilize their services to the best advantage. He cannot do this under the system of the ‘‘syndicate,” which selects from whatever is submitted and which has no control over its workers. ‘Where the “‘syndicate” and the publisher of pooks and magazines must read hun- dreds of articles before finding one suit- able for any purpose in view, the authors’ merchant will direct the operations of his workers, secure immediately and directly what he desires and lose no valuable time. In order to do this he must employ his writers as newspaper publishers employ theirs—on a saiary. It istrue that many newspaper workers do not receive salaries, but are paid by the piece. There are three principal kinds of newspaper writers who work by the piece. One 18 the exception- ally brilliant writer, who does not confine himself to any newspaper, but who can make more money as a free lance than otherwise; another is the writer in whom the instinct of freedom is so strong that he prefers a skirmisbing life with less re- muneration than a steady one on salary, and a third is the writer who has not yet established a value for brains or reliability that would entitle him to a trusted posi- tion with an assured income. These writers, particularly the first class mentioned, have learned the trick of mar- the producer and the merchant—the writer ! that their achievement in this direction is narrowly limited and is virtually based on personal acquaintance with editors and the confidence that ensues from that relation. Taken out of their restricted environment and cast into some other city, and they would be almost helpless. Such writers as these would receive a special benefit from the scheme herein suggested. From the very nature of things authors belonging to the artist class are generally erratic, sensitive, often unreliable, and quite ready to quarrel with the conditions which invest them. But they are none the less amenable to discipline. That is to say, if the way is made smooth for them they are likely to be cheerful and con- tented, and those of them who are willing to sabmit themselves to advice, guidance and authority must, other things being equal, have within them the stuff from which the best things,are made. This brings us finally to a statement of the plan in full. It is for a manager to employ on szlary such a number and variety of authorsas may be needed for his purposes. These would be limited only by the limitations which the manager places on his business. As the produc- tions of authors, unlike those of newspaper writers, may be copyrighted, and thus prepare tie way for profits in addition to the amount originally received in some cases (as matter for transient publication in periodicals) the manager would have an opportunity for offering to the author, in addition to his salary, a prize in the shapeof possible copyright profits, divided between manager and author on an agreed basis. This plan would accomplish a number of useful purposes. It would supply the one great lack which the author suffers, an in- telligent and established means of market- ing his productions. It would give him an assured income, thus producing a men- tal peace that would leave the mind clear and the spirit unhampered. It would give the author the immeasurably valuable sat- isfaction of seeing that his work is read and appreciated, and this uld tend further to spur him to finer efforts. And finally it would tend to the elevation of authorship as a profession and to the quality of its product. The proper handling of such an enter- prise would require a very much higher order of brains than is needed for the con- duct of the average metropolitan news- paper, but that should serve only as an in- centive to exertion on the part of some person for whom the concerns of life and business bear no terrors. NOT FEARFUL OF ABREST, Mr. Huntington Will Not Allow That Stone Pass Affair to Worry Him. He Considers General Hubbard Fit to Be President of the United States. From Truckee westward Collis P, Hunt- ington’s train made lively time yesterday. It shot down the hill at a rate not war- ranted by the time schedules, dashed through Sacramento and pulled mto Oak- land pier about 3 p. M. Mr. Huntington was greeted by a number of friends on the ferry-steamer, and then went direct to his house on the hill. He was ready for business immediately, He is always that way. “Nothing gives me more pleasure than to go to my work,” said he, in the course of a haif-hour’s chat with a CALL reporter. He was as ready to talk and give advice and crack jokes as if he had not just had a 3000-mile spin across the continent. He was as epigrammatic, as keen in dodging the point of questions, as shrewd in his re.ponses, as kindly in his manner, as sturdy in bis bearing, as he ever was. Years numbering over three score and ten rest lightly on his shoulders. ‘When the topic of that famous interstate pass of Frank M. Stone’s was brought up and he was told that the matter was to be revived, he looked annoyed. “I've heard no reports that I was to be arrested,” said he,"* and it isn’t worrying me a bit. Ilet the affairs of the day take care of themselves. I never cross bridges until 1 come to them. Idon‘t know what Mr. Stone said on his examination in court. Ididn’t read about it. I was too busy. Mr. Stone is a very nice young man, and I'm sorry 1f he is offended at anything he thinks I said. I think [ must have been misquoted in the dispatches, but there’s no use denying things. I remember a story of the Fremont-Buchanan cam- paign.” It was charged.that Fremont was a Catholic, and a great many people thought Fremont might like to come out and deny the charge. At this the Roches- ter Times, a Republican organ, said ‘James Buchanan is an ass. If heisn't, let him come out and deny it! “I think the labor unions make a great mistake. They might be a tremendous power for good. They might teach men to be better and to do better. But do they? They oufiht to teach economy and saving and teach men to work with an honesty of purpose. When I was a boy and workad on a farm up in Litcixield County, Conn., 1 used to work from daylight until it was too dark to see and felt’ I was doing only what was right. Now men try todo the smallest amount of work for the greatest amount of money. “I've often told manufacturers that if they would make the best article they could for a dollar they would acquire a fortune, but if they make the poorest thing they could for a dollar they would be buried by the town in the end. “‘Arte there many changes contemplated here following the arpoinement of Mr. Kruttschnitt as general manager? Idon’t know of any, but we let those things come along as seems best. Mr. Towne was a charming man—a charming man, and 1 nad hoped that he would come to be the manager of both systems. He died before we had arranged that, so we appointed Mr. Kruttschnitt, who is an able fellow. I'veno idea that Mr. Morse is to come here, or that Mr. Kruttschnitt's appointment means that tlmy other consolidation of offices is to fol- ow. “I've noticed, of course, the recent re- duction in our grain tariff ordered by the Railroad Commissioners. It isn't right, but I've no idea that anything but justice will be done. The Supreme Court of Min- nesota has said that a generai scaling of the tariff in that manner was equivalent to a confiscation of property, and I've no idea that anything of that sort will be per- mitted in this country just yet—not so long as the strong judicial arm of the Govern- ment is able to maintain itself. I cannot say whether or not the request for a breakwater at Santa Monica will be considered by Congress at the coming session. Congress attends to those things. There’s no question as to which is the better harbor down there, and the Con- gressmen know it as well as I do. ‘“True, the Government engineers have reported something about San Pedro. They have a nice little lagoon at San Pe- dro, where whaleboats used to rnn in at high tide, but the harbor is unquestion- ably at Santa Monica. I don’t know whether it really needs a breakwater, for I'm told there hasn’t been a time since our wharf was built that deep-water ships could not come right up to it and discharge without the slightest difficulty.”” .And at this cheering thought Mr. Hun- tington lolled back in ill chair and pulled his skulicap down so farover hishead that it nearly covered his ears. After this he showed a stronger tendepcy than ever to epigrams, and to give reminiscences of his boyhood and how he bad saved money. He was only called back by the interjec- tion of several questions which it seemed almost sacrilege to propound. Mr. Huntington tried to conceal the fact that he is perturbed by the excellent progress made in building the San Fran- cisco and San Joaquin Valley Railroad. . “The San Joaquin Valley road,” said he in response to a question, “is a toy, I suppose. I have no interest in it as yet. Claus Spreckels is a good man, I rather like bim and his boys. He has'lots of money, and he’s putting some of it into that road. It will never pay and they don’t expect it will. Our roads don’t pay —we never declare any dividends.” At this statement, which was intended to be a clincher, Mr. Huntington looked especially benign. When it was suggested that the reason no dividends were paid was generally understood a shadow of a frown chased over the lower line of that skulleap. “Over $20,000,000 of money has gone into our rcads in this State,” he added, ‘“‘yet they don’t pay to-day, and we have to work hard to keep them up, whilte other roads all over the country are 1n receivers’ hands.” ‘When asked about the rumor that Gen- eral Thomas Hubbard had been chosen as heir apparent to the Southern Pacific’s presidency, Mr. Huntington smiled grimly: “I've not chosen my successor yet. I told my wife the other day that I thought T'd retire in about twenty-five vears and give the boys a chance! But you needn’t put that in the paper. ‘““General Hubbard is a fine man, fit for any position. He’s fit to be President of the United States. As to my nephew, he’s been with me for over twenty years. I don’t promote him. I don’t promote any- body. They promote themselves. ‘“‘There must have been some mistake about that remark of mine that was wired overland in which I was somewhat pro- fane. I don’t recollect saying it, although Tadmit I have aknack of using words that give emphasis to a remark. I was emphatic about that report that one of our trains between here and Ogdenis to be taken off. We have not yet decided on such a move. Itis to be talked about, and if we find two trains a day don’t ay one may be taken off for the winter.” In the Huntington party are Mrs. Hunt- ington, Miss Carrie Huntington, a niece, and Miss Campbell of Texas, a friend of Mrs. Huntington. ‘Whether Mr. Huntington has heard the rumor or not it is an undoubted fact that steps are to be taken immediately charg- ing Mr. Huntington with a violation of the interstate commerce act in having is- sued 2 pass over Southern Pacific lines to Mr. Stone. The latter has said recently that he never used that sinful pasteboard outside of California, but an array of wit- nesses have come forward recently who promise to dispute Mr. Stone’s statement. At the examination in the Federal courts last December Mr. Stone testitied : It (referring to the pass, which he produced) is as good in Texas as it is_in California, over any line where a Southern Pacific engine runs, and has been given me for the past ten yeard by C. P. Huntington personally. There is nothing issued 10 me in any other way. NUNYON'S GHALLENGE. Te Makes a Bold Proposition and Newspapers Will Inves- tigate. 20,000 VIALS OF MUNYON’S RHEUMATIC CURE Will Be Distributed Free From the San Francisco “ Chronicle’” Office, Be- ginning 9 0’Clock—The Follow- ing Letter Explains Ttself, Monday Morning at To the Fditors of San Francisco Newspapers: Having discovered a positive and speedy cure for thenmatism I address you in the hope that vou will give publicity to my claim. Iam well aware that in making the bold assertion that I have discovered a positive cure for rheu- matism there will arise a strong doubtin the minds of the public as to the truth of this statement, and that a large majority of the people will class this new discovery with the | Koch lymph failure and the Brown-Sequard elixir-of-life delusions. It is to overcome this prejudice that I invoke the aid of the press. I court the fullest inves- tigation under your direct and personal super- vision. Iwould suggest thatthe fairest and surest way to test the efficacy of this remedy would be for me to send 20,000 trial bottles to the Chronicle office, there to be given out ‘‘ab- solutely iree” to all persous sfflicted with rheumatism, that the name and address of each person who accepted the remedy be en- tered in & book, and at the end of one week a reporter to be detailed to interview the parties who have taken the medicine, and that the results of each case be published (with special permission) in the San Francisco newspapers. By this means there can be no deception or fraud, and the value of this remedy will stand or fall upon the testimony of those who have tried it. Improbable as this statement may seem to youor to those who have doctored for years with the most skillful physicians without benefit, yet I afirm and am prepared to prove by over 200,000 people whom we have cured that this remedy will cure acute or muscular rheumatism 1n from one to five days. It never fails to cure sharp, shooting pains in the arms, Jegs, sides, back or breast, or soreness in any part of the body. It is guaranteed to promptly cure lameness, sciatica, lumbago, stiff and swollen joints, stiff back and all pains in the hips and loins. It seldom fails to give relief after one or two doses, and almost invariably cures before one bottle has been used. We do not claim this remedy will cure rheu- matism where the limbs are twisted out of shape, or where the disease is complicated by a scrofulous diathesis, but by a careful record we find that this remedy fails to cure in only about 4 per cent of the casesin which it has been tried. One of the strongest recommendations for this remedy is that it is absolutely harmless and that a person can take the whole contents of a bottle without the slightest ill effects. Un- like the medicines used in crdinary practice for the cure of rheumetism, such es iodide of potash and ealicylic acid, which irritates the stomach and kidneys without effecting a cure, this remedy acts as a strong tonic and s in- valuable in building up weak and debilitated people. Believing that there is no cause so holy and inspiring, no vocation so lofty and ennobling, nothing so sure of man’s gratitude and God's blessing as an honest effort to relieve suffering humanity, I beg to remain yours truly, JAMES M. MUNYON. Free distribution of Munyon’s Rheu- matism Cure commences Monday morn- ing from the San Francisco Chronicle Office. i Let all interested be on hand. L x | NEW TO-DAY—DRY GOODS. ISUNABLE OFFER NEW FALL GOODS PRICES THAT GREATLY FAVOR THE BUYER! Although we have always been noted as LEADERS IN LOW PRICES we have n:ver before been in position to offer such EXTRAORDINARY VALUES as have crowded our store with buyers ever since our MAGNIFI- CENT NEW' FALL S10CK was first placed on exhibition, for this stock embraces ALL THAT 1S NEW, STYLISH AND DESIRABLE, and every- thing is offered at figures that are illustrated iu the following samples of THIS WEEK'S SPECIAL ATTRACTIONS ! v; MEN’S FURNISHINGS! At 18% Cents. 175 dozen ALL-SILK WINDSOR SBCARFS, in solid colors and neat fancy figures, reg- ular price 25¢, will be offered at 12}4¢ each. At 15 Cents. 62 dozen MEN’S ALL-SILK TECK AND FOUR-IN-HAND SCARFS, satin lined, regular prices 25¢ and 35¢, will be offered at 15¢ each. At 25 Cents. : 112 dozen MEN’S MEDIUM HEAVY UNDYED SANITARY WOOL AND CAM- EL'’S-HAIR SOCKS, regular price $4 20 a dozen, will be offered at 25¢ a pair. At 5O Cents. 72dozen MEN'S EXTRA HEAVY SANITARY MERINO UNDERSHIRTS AND DRAWERS, silk finished, regular price 75¢c, will be offered at 50c each. At 75 Cents. 3 32 dozen MEN’S FULL-FINISHED HEAVY VICUNA UNDERSHIRTS (odd sizes), regular price $1 50, will be closed out at 75¢ each. GLOVES! GLOVES! At 80 Cents. 40 dozen LADIES’ 6-BUTTON LENGTH MOUSQUETAIRE CHAMOIS SKIN GLOVES, in white anid natural color, regular value $1, will be closed out at €0c a pair. 3 At 85 Cents. : & 550 dozen LADIES’ BIARRITZ KID GLOVES (special purchase), in dark and me- dium colors, former price $1, will be closed at 65¢ a pair. At BO Cents. HOOK XKID GLOVES, improvea Foster hook (special out at 650 dozen LADIES’ 5 AND 7 G 0 purchase), in colored and black, former prices $1 25 and $1 50, will be clos LACE NECKWEAR! At $1.50 Bach. 3 CHIFFON, MOUSSELINE DE SOIE AND BRUSSELS NET RUFFLES, with rib- bon ends, value for $2, will be offered at $1 50 each. At $51.75 Hach. LACE AND RIBBON COLLARETTES. yoke of ribbon and insertion trimmed with lace, regular value $2 50, will be offered at $1 75 each. At $2.50 Each. LACE COLLARETTES, Vandyke points, trimmed with Net-top Point Venise Lace, regular value $4, will be offered at $2 50 each. At $2.50 Hach. BUTTER POINT VENISE YOKE COLLARETTES, with epaulettes of lace, value $4 50, will be offered at $2 50 each. At £$2.00 to €8.50 Each. ELEGANT ASSORTMENT OF YOKES, COLLARETTES, BERTHAS, RUFFLES, etc., in velvet, 8atin, chiffon, net and lace, the latest novelties, will be offered at UMBRELLAS! UMBRELLAS! At $1.85. LADIES’ SILK UMBRELLAS, 26-inch paragon frames, acacia sticks, will be offered at $1 25 each. At B1.75. LADIES’ SILK UMBRELLAS, 26 inch, with elegantly assorted Dresden handles, will be offered at §1 75 each. At S$1.50. GENTLEMEN’S SILK UMBRELLAS, with steel rods, natural handles, will be offered at $1 50 each. At $2.00. GENTLEMEN’S SILK UMBRELLAS, with steel and natural rods, in celluloid and natural handles, will be offered at $2 each. HOSIERY AND UNDERWEAR! At 15 Cents a Pair. CHILDREN’S FINE RIBBED BLACK COTTON HOSE, double knees, heels and toes, warranted fast black, regular value 25c. . At 2B Cents a Pair. LADIES’ FINE MACO COTTON HOSE, high-spliced heels, black and assorted tan shades, gnaranteed fast colors, regular price {i per dozen. At B3Y% Cants a Pair. LADIES’ BLACK LISLE-THREAD HOSE, high-spliced heels and toes, onyx fast [ black, regular value 50c. At 25 Cents Hach. LADIES’ JERSEY RIBBED EGYPTIAN COTTON VESTS, high neck, long sleeves; drawers to match; regular value 35¢c. At 85 Cents Hach. LADIES’ JERSEY RIBBED WOOL MIXED VESTS, high neck, long sleeves; draw- ers to match, white and natural color; regular value 90c. At $1.00 Hach. LADIES’ JERSEY RIBBED NATURAL WOOL VESTS, high neck, long sleeves; drfwei“ tglxgsatch; aiso extra large sizes; warranted non-shrinkable; extra good value for §1 25. At $51.00. LADIES’ JERSEY RIBBED WOOL MIXED UNION SUITS, high neck, long sleeves, warranted non-shrinkable, white and natural color, good value for $1 50. CORSETS! CORSETSI At B2.OO. 100 dozen LADIES' GENUINE FRENCH CORSETS, long waist and high bust, good side steels, embroidered in colored silks, black and drab, former price $3 50. Rl OSTRICH FEATHER COLLARS AND BOAS! BLACK OSTRICH FEATHER COLLARS, 18 inch, all prices. BLACK OSTRICH FEATHER BOAS, 36 inch, 45 inch, 54 inch, all prices, JET DRESS TRIMMINGS! JET EDGINGS AND INSERTIONS, in all widths and all prices. JET VANDYKE POINTS, in all widths, large variety patterns and all prices. JET CHAIN ORNAMEN IS, YOKES AND BLOUSES, newest designs and all prices. COLORED YOKE AND CHAIN ORNAMENTS, COLORED SPANGLED AND BEAD TRIMMINGS, in a large variety of styles and prices. NEW DRESS BUTTONS! : NEW RHINE STONE BUTTON! JUST RECEIVED. ONS, PEARL, GILT AND FANCY PATTERNS MURPHY BUILDING Marka! Stosel, corner of Jongs SAN FRANOISCO. 1/,