The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, November 24, 1895, Page 24

THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, SUNDAY, NOVEMBER- 24, 1895. \ e ———— WHAT BIG FOLKS FORGET. | Did you children ev what alot of thing: grown people neve For instance, th games children co without: en to think | Know that klin, aux, Buck. been repeating that every quarter of the i en for hun- iy supposed it le, without one of those somehow fallen Now children hav group of words world where I areds of years meaning at peculiar men who into the babit of thinking about things they see ana hear went to work to find out what it was all about. & thinking man happened to be learned, too, and to know ecially about history and langu He studied the matter very carefully, and was able to form an opinion, not only of the meaning of those words and of the strung together, but even of th English history when they were first said or sung. Ever since the days when the Bad King John, who died in 1215, put to death b innocent nephew, the young Prince Ar- thur, English-speakir Idren have been unconsciously mo 1t John—he who was dubbed John Lack with jingles that were invented to de him. Just remember, little folks, when you 3 e re-! peating words th ssed in } anger against a o dared to put | children to death. g folks alw forgot, or perhaps they did not dare breat treason. BSo the words ve been handed down from child to c even heard by their elders. There are lots of absurd superstitions that children have and laugh at them- selves that used to be regarded solemnly by learned judges iu powd wigs, by lords and ladies, even by the kings and ueens themselves. If vou handle toads you will have warts on your hands. What child doesn’t know that, and what | { | grown person that hasn’t been aead five | “« AND AS HE WEPT WRETCHEDLY TO HIM AGAIN, bundred years ever heard of it? [ And if ‘you do ¢ \ust steal | a bean, split it, bury lose the other when you don't Every English-spéaking ch knows that, while plenty of le fessors have forgottenit. Wt a tooth pulled you must bury it, or some- | thing dreadful will be sure to happen to | you. Isn’t that so, children? There are hun- dreds more of those superstitions of chil- dren, and the funny part of it is that all | | n the fairy tales and ghost storiesand absurd | nonsenses generally, the things that every- body used to believe to be afraid to passa graveyard at night, any- way—all those things children for a few hundred years they are thrown away altogethe: There is one comfort for the small folks, | though. In some remote, tucked-away | corners of Eneland, Scotland and Ireland | there are, or were, on ars | ago, plenty of g ieve | in ghosts and fairie: of the children do good country for superstitions somehow, but if the children were to give them up whatever would they do for secrets to tell before | cach other and alweys hide away from the | . grown-ups? e It A THANKSGIVING STORY. Turkey and pumpkin pie? Not a bit | of it. Adao bad never even heard of those things in all his ten years of life. Could you have believed that of the little “native son,” who loved California as he knew it with all his heart? Even Thanksgiving day was hot among the sunny foothills, where Adao helped at | herding sheep the long year through. ‘With Jako, the faithful shepherd dog, | watching the grazing sheep for him, Adao | lay, his_elbows on the ground and his | cheeks in his palms, thinking, thinking, | till the slow tears rolled down between his | Beyond the brown hills a soft blue haze | hung over the valley, as it had hung for | many months. When it had rained the | air would be clear and Adao could see | again the beautiful town far off in the valley, with its clustering groves of green, and beyond thata something, gray some- times and again bluer than the very sky— | scmething that old Jose said was the sea. | Would the blessed rains never come this | year? If Adao had known how to pra he would have prayed for rain—not to lay | the choking dust that sifted everywhere, but to start the green feed that would | bring comfort to the weary herd A&so ddved the sheep, too—loved them as even the roughest and stupidest herds- man learns to love the fiocks that have grown i{rom lambs that be has perbaps carried long miles on his sboulders when they were too young and weak to follow the herds. The sheep were dear beyond a doubt. But that picture of the valley that would come again after the rain! Jose and Manuel and the other herders went to the. town sometimes, one after another. Adao had never been—that is, | Jose said so, and Jose was very old and | knew a great deal. Jose said that Adao’s mother was dead; that she had died when Adao was a baby. He said, too, this dreadful old man, who had only curses and blows for the child, that Adao was his son and must work for him forever, Adao worked, with fear and trembling; he cooked the rough camp meals; he tended herds and fed the little lambs. His | clothes were rags; and of books, of love, of | the comiorts that you children have always thought were a simple matter of course— of these Adao had never even heard. His language was a foreign lingo he had learned from “the other herders, his bed was a pile of ill-smelling - sheepskins, - his |in her arms, th only friend was Jako, who helped tend the sheep. Wien the men thought Adao was asleep they talked sometimes of the sea, of mothers, of all sorts of strange things the child knew nothing of. Looking up at the him | | stars Adao dreamed sometimes, and often he was quite sure that he had dreams | en he was not asleep. Once when he had led the sheep to the highland for fresh feed Adao slept at night under the rustling fragrant pir And whet he was asleep or not Adao could not tell, but only that he dreamed a dream—a dream so sweet that after that black-eyed Georgie, your little playmate. “They lived in the country on a large farm, where there were a great many beau- tiful oak trees, and oh, what fun that little boy did have! “In front of the farm ran a long, gray dusty road. he little boy spent many happy hours, perched on one of the large cate posts, watching this road and thinking of the busy town to which it led on one side, and the cool, beautiful ocean, where it ended on the other. “Well, one bright morning papa drove | the two fine bay horses'to the front door, quickly, I tell you, and drove back as fast as he could. e picked up the buadle and found that it was his own dear little boy. “Oh, what a funny dust-covered little boy be was, with such a pitiful, tear- stained, dirty face, and how he was kissed and petted by both mamma and papa; but best of all, he sat for the rest of the way on mamma’s lap,where he could watch the horses and help papa drive.” *‘Didn’t he get hurt, papa?” _“Not one bit, for he lived to be a great big man, and tell this story to a sweet little boy, just like you.” e Sl BTG SUGAR-COATED GEOGRAPHY, ‘Wouldn’t it be charming to have your geography lessons administered painlessly, like taking a sugar-coated pill? Ihave been thinking of a little lesson in the geography of California which might give THE CaLv's great big family of chil- dren, scattered all the way from San Diego to Siskiyou a great deal of pleasure. As you cannot all be acquainted and pay each other visits, suppose you write some nice letters telling all about the part of the country where you live, what the climate is like, what the crops or products are and just all about your homes. ~ Send the letters to the “Geography Ed- itor of Tug CarL.” and if you take pains to write good ones you will be sure to see them in print the very next Sunday in the Snn. of the paper that belongs to the chil- ren. One small girl has already written her letter “‘by special request,” and it is so bright and clever that it will almost do for a model of whatis wanted. Here it is— and now jet us see how many boysand Ku’tlts can send letters that are ever so much etter. ““VENTURA-BY-THE-SEA. ‘“‘Ventura is the county seat of Ventura County, and itis the old mission town that was named San Buenaventura. ‘It is so warm here that bananasripen in winter, and it is so cool that it is never too hot. The town is on the hills that look away to the sea, and if it was not for the Santa Barbara Islands that shelter the coast the wind would be too fresh. Flowers grow everywhere here. People trim their geraniums that grow up to the roofs of the houses, and they throw the trimmings of those and other plants and shrubs down the banks toward the sea. And what do you think? Lots of the plants have taken root there, and there is the funniest kind of a garden just growing wild. “We have a wharf here, and_ships are loading all the time, mostly with things 10 eat. . They carry away dried fruits, nuts and olives.; jBut most of all they are loaded WAS COME HIM WALKED THE LADY FOR STRAIGHT DOWN OF HIS DREAM.” —r A J o THERE ADAO THOUGHT HIS PLEASANT DREAM THE: ROUGH TRAIL BEFORE life was alway! In a garden where saw himself pla; And down the steps close by a lady came | in Adao’s dream. | The lady was singing to herself, and her | skirts rustied as she waiked ha sound | s sweet and full of hope. like that of the night wind among the | what to do. She brought out the little | in the valley of F pines. She picked the little laughing child up is lady with the big, soft | | eyes, and in a swingiug hammock under the trees they lay down together, rocking and singing, After awhile the child of Adao’s dream | was sleepy, and the lady kissed him, and | saying she would come back again she went aw That was all there was of the dream. But after that, when the men used to laugh at Adao because he had never seen a woman, the chiid only smiled and told nobody that he had seen one, and she would come back to him Lying under the oak trees this bot giving day Adao thought of all | hese things and wept. The town beyond in the valley was the city of his dream. He knew-that. And he so tired of waiting. the little, lonely to see its pretty spires and towers again. And as he wept wretchedly there Adao thought his pleasant dream had come to him azain. | For straight down the rough trail before him walked the lady of his dream. In an instant Adao knelt at her feet, calling her “‘mother” in a language that came to him from that beautiful land of dreams, B And what do_vou think that Lady of Dreamsdid? Why, she just went down | on her knees, too, right in the middle of | that dusty trail, and she just gathered that little boy up in her arms and hugged him and kissed him and cried over him, just exactly as anybody. else’s mother would who hadn’t seen her boy for seven long years. How did it all happen? Well, seven years before that hapoy Thanksgiving day Adao, whose mother called him a name not at all like that, was sleeping in a ham- mock at his pleasant home in the valley town. A drunken sheepherder passed that wav, and seeing the child asleep he carried him away, hiding him among the wool-sacks he was carrying home in his wagon. Mamma thought that grandma had taken baby away, and so when he was really missed nobody thougit about the sheephrerders, who were already far on their way to the mountains. Everybody thought the child had wan- dered down to the river bank, and that he had been drowned and carried out to sea. How did mamma happen to come down that trail? Why, she had taken a friend | who was not weil to camp out among the pines. The party was on its way back to town, and mamma, who thought she only wanted a drink of water, but who m-ust have been guided by the finger of fate, had wandered just afew steps away from the main trail to where her lost boy waited for her. —_————— DONALD SERIES—NO. IV. FOR TINY BOYS. “Please tell me a story, papa,’’ said tired little Donald one evening, ‘“’bout the time when you were a little boy.” “‘All right,” said papa, and this is the story he told: *‘Well, once upon a time (my, how little boys do like stories to begin with ‘once upon a time’) there was a mamma and a papa, and a little boy about as-old as little and how glad the little boy was, because some pine trees grew Adao | they were harnessed to the spring wagon ving—a happy little child. | and that meant going to town. “‘At last all were read, there was only one seat; for mamma and papa. “What did they dn? ; but, oh, dear, ust room enough Ah, mamma knew boy’s tiny rocking-chair and set it in the bottom of the wagon behind the seat. “Then she took a bright red worsted shawl and put it on her little son, crossing it in front and tying it in the back, to keep him nice and warm. “Papa then lifted the tiny fellow and placed him in the chair, helped mamma with corn and beans that grow on what we call the “succotash farms.” | “Grain, livestock and potatoes are i shipped from here, too, but most of all {tis | beans, beans, beans. The chmate is just | right for beans, and there are not many | places where they do so well as they do Tueneme, which, by the way, is pronounced Wyneeme. Y will tall you more another time. “Harerier M. J—." i B Alfred, aged 4, has already learned that the necessities of life areregularly supplied him, although the luxuries are frequently in, climbed up himself, took the reins and away they went. “It was a long ride. Papa and mamma were so busy talking that they forgot all about their baby boy. “The little chap got so sleepy he could not keep his eyes open. Pretty soon he went fast asleep. “The road was a httle rough, because there were a great many ‘chuck’ holes in it, made by the heavy wheels of the large wagons which were used to carry all the hay and wheat and wood to town. “*‘Suddenly the wheels ran into a ‘chuck’ hole, and’ jolted the wagon so hard that it knocked the litle chair over so far that little chair, sleeping boy and all tumbled right into the dusty, dusty road. **My, how frightened the little boy was— so frighteued he couldn’t even scream. ‘“After a while mamma thought of him and looked back to see if he was all right, but there was no little boy there. *‘She cried out with fright. Papa and shie looked back, and away down the road they saw a small red buni le, and it was moving. “Well, papa turned those horses pretty withheld. Pondering long upon these things the lad at last announced with great gravity, “Mamma, I need a goat!” Lillian Russell’s Banting Sermon. She usually gets up in the morning at 9 o’clock and breakfasts lightly, avoiding all fattening foods, like potatoes, wheat breads, sweets and milk. _Her morning work often begins with sglppxnf a rope. Clad in a loose gymna- sium bloomer suit she jumps the rope for twelve minutes in installments of two minutes, with a minute’s interval for rest- ing. A strong-armed maid then gives her mistress a vigorous rubbing, which is followed by a resting spell of an hour. . Then -a ‘bicycle ‘costume is donned, the light nineteen-pound wheel is carried out- £0ing on a spin through Central Park. The ride lasts butan hour, and on her return her maid gives her a vigzorous mas- sage treatment, and the hard work of the day is over. Miss Russell eats guardedly and avoids stimulants. — Cincinnati Tribune, ’ 5 side, and a minute later Miss Russell is. NOTES ON THANKSEIVING: How It Was Observed in the Good Old Days of Puritanism, WITH PUMPKIN AND TURKEY. The Gould, Vanderbilt and Whitney Weddings — Glances at New York’s Noted Clerics. NEW YORK, N. Y., Nov. 14.—Time was (in my boyhood) when New York City, with its residential area all below Union Square, looked askance upon Thanksgiv- ing amenities and pleasures and seemed to adopt the New England institution with more or less hesitation. New York fifty years ago was more or less provincial, and bad its jealousies, and chief of these was Boston and its Puritan Thanksgiving be- quest to the Union. But as the city be- came cosmopolitan its comprehension of events broadened and Thanksgiving day grew into favor. In that far-away timea Thanksgiving holiday came too soon after New York’s peculiar local holiday, Novem- ber 25, anniversary of the day when the last of the British troops sailed away and Washington marched into the city. Evacuation day discounted the quickly succeeding Thanksgiving, and robbed it of novelty and holiday attraction. But first the Mexican and then the Civil War made New York forget its revolutionary patriot- ism, and this year Evacuation day will scarcely be remembered. And now the citizens, relieved of the incubus topic of the Marlborough nuptials and election skeletons, are vreparing far in advance to do honor to the coming Thanksgiving. So are the 175 clergymen of the city who seleet the day for displays of oratory. So are the marketmen, who with Gladstone discuss the affairs of turkey. Also the piemakers, who, without understanding the philosophy of Ralgh Waldo Emerson, adore his memory be- cause be always ate pie for breakfast and deified it with his rhetoric. Also the pub- lishers, who _have of late years added to Christmas, New Year’s and Easter Thanks- giving day as an occasion for book presents. Also the newspaper men, who promise Thanksgiving stories and Thanksgiving ictures. Likewise anglers, who find good uck in catching fish upon a Thanksgivin% day, or the sportsman intent upon quai and venison, or the Germans eager to seek Indian summer quarters under serried leafless trees and there to foam beer and also foam their language. Did ever any one stop to consider why, when we puta German in the above plural, we add an ‘‘s,” but unlike—as in French- men and Irishmen—do not turn the end- ing man in the plural of men, but do not write Germen? ~Yet is recorded of Noah Webster by his intimates that when refer- ring to the Teutonics in the plural he al- ways wrote Germen. Your perfect Teuton snaps at a holiday as a horse snaps at a lump of sugar, and here in New York he now vies with the New Englander in celebrating Thanksgiving. How many pumpkins do you estimate visit New York during the week preceding the festival? I asked a large dealer in vegetables. “Nigh upon a hundred thousand,” he said. I addressed a wholesale poultry-dealer a kindred question as to turkeys, and he re- sponded with about the same number. But the gentlemen described over Po- Jonius in the play of ‘Hamlet” as_ an “excellent fishmonger” sur- rised me at his Fulton Market (the New York Billingsgate), by saving that in anticipation of Thanksgiving that ancient and fishlike place would in shell and skin fish display forty varieties. Observing my look of incredulity hereminded how coast- ing steam facilities and railways brought to him_this variety from the Pacific and the St. Lawrence, the fresh water Western lakes, the Caribbean Sea and all the won- derful species which abound in the West- ern Hemisphere. He complimented Pres- ident Cleveland for his prowess as a fisher- man, and in referring to the bluefish that the Whitehousen best affected called that sea dweller, “'the chicken of the sea.” It is an apt and poetic alias, because the boiled b?uetish and the boiled breast of a chicken are marvelously alike in look and taste. The first Thanksgiving day I have been able to unearth was one proclaimed by the Archbishop of Canterbury after the battle of Porchers, and_his message ran to this effect, “all over England for eight days.” In 1606, November 5 (Guy Faux day). was made a day of Thanksgiving for the Lon- doners, and so continued to them until 1833, when the statute wasrepealed. Hudi- bras referred to the event, doubtless, when he wrote of a hero thus: Thinking he had done enough to purchase Thanksgiving day among the churches. The Mayflower Pilgrims had their first yearly Thanksgiving in November, 1621, and a menu of a dinner then—to be read in the Boston library—referred to oysters, wild ducks, wild turkeys and wild geese with venison—‘‘all procured from the In- dians.” But New York never had a public Thank day (as the Dutch records express it) until August 12, 1654, when the Dutch Governor proclaimed one for the peace be- tween the Netherlands and England. Our first National “Thank” was proclaimed by the Continental Congress for December 18, 1777, in commemoration of the victory over Burgoyne. The tirst Federal Coneress in 1789 under- took to proclaim a National Thanksgiving, when the South Carolina members pro- tested that Congress had no such power. That early did the Palmetto State begin her historic constitutional growls, which have continued down to this Tillman era, But Washington compromised by himself issuing a Presidential proclamation for November 26 of that year. He issued an- other in 1796 and then ceased. Nor was there another Presidential proclamation for Thanksgiving day until 1815, when Madison acted upon the peace of the naval war. No President took the matter ur—]enving the designations to Governors of States excluswel%—nmil Lincoln made August 6, 1863, a Thanksgiving day for Gettysburg, and made yet another in No- vember. The Nation had a summer's Thanksgiving day when President Grant prociaimed it for July 4 in the National Centennial year of independence. Since then Presidents and Governors together proclaim, and even some ambitious Mayors of cities air their rhetoric in imitation. May I, in anticipation of the coming universal holiday, contribute a song verse to ;‘.he tune of the “Star-spangied Ban- ner’’: Ah! the Thanksgiving day, when from East and from West, From North and from South, come the pilgrim and guest, ‘When the gray-haired New Englander sees 'round 18 board 0 The old sundered links of affection restored; ‘When the care-wearied man seeks his mother once mor ore, And a worn matron smiles where a girl smiled before, Then what moistens the lip, and what brightens eye, What calls back the past—like the rieh pumpkin Even dngFenl verse can faintly remind of the poet laureate controversy now pro- ceeding in England. That automatic poet is Ixxeli to be appointed it seems. He may be described as a cbaip into whose slot the Queen or Prime Minister practi- cally drops a yearly stipend, and either one presses a knob, which opens a drawer that reveals poetry sympathetic of a-royal birth, a royal ené)ouul or a royal death. It seems that the English cannot agree upon any one for poet laureate; and the contro- versy does not even admit of a dark horse coming into the arena. The Queen and Premier might compose the strife by se- lecting an incumbent from this side of the ocean ferry. We have no heavy-weight poet who can grind out a ““Light of Asia.” but we have light and pleasinz weight champion poets. Are there not Aldrich, Stedman, Stoddard, Frank Stanton, Riley, for Queen Victoria to draw upon? But she would have to bid higher than the yearly pipe of wine that all the English et laureates received as a fee down to Wordsworth’s time, when the wine that paid for the poet’s royal whine became eq]unled with pounds, shillings and pence. met at Juncheon to-day a worthy mem- ber of the St. Thomas Church, where the ducal wedding occurred, and he whim- pered: “I fear I shall have to desert that dear cld church in which, when it was three miles lower downtown than it now is, I was christened. Last Sunday, as I approached the sacred edifice, I seemed yet to see the matinee mob outside of it; and as I entered my accustomed pew, I seemed still to see the gorgeous floral decorations thatcommemorated the march of Mammon into God’s dominions, and still to hear operatic strains from the orchestra that played in the loft while the Marlborough- Vanderbilt wedding proceeded. I heard it throughout the service tauntingly.” The use of a church for secular pur- oses—and a fashionable wedding in New Y ork is of such—is apt to dim its religious atmosphere afterward with memories. Was it not N. P. Willis who, remembering such a function, satirized it in verse? Irving has been with audiences and ap- plause as successful as usual during his engagement here now closing, but has been roasted by several of the critics and at two dramatic clubs. Some months ago a managerial actor who had attention witn Irving in London sought to organize & conspiracy in this city among the pro- fession and newspaper critics against Sir Henry. One of the latter, whom this con- spiring manager has in his pay, wrote most %iuer notices of Irving, and in a home newspaper, too, of large circulation. One or two other critics went to the verge of trite personalities in-attacking Irving. But such approved critics: as _W&nter, Wheeler and Meltzer came to Irving’s re- lief. The whole thing of attack was due to the jealousies of the actor-manager in question, and of somé of the male stars who wish no interferences from English actors. The social event of the past week was the horse show—a term that wasa mis- nomer, because really it was a show of toilettes and dudery, and the horses in the ring might be regarded as the real spec- tators, oiten remarking neigh to the osten- tation around. The equine part of the affair was not as excellent as heretofore. And how thoroughbreds will fare here- after depends upon the fanaticism of men in our Legislature, who, in their eagerness to put down racing, pass laws irksome to the maintenance of studs and stables. And if the horseless vehicle fad and the bicycle craze become supreme, horse shows may become merely historic. 1tis greatly to the credit of the Whit- ney-Paget wedding—which was as reason- ably private as such an affair could be, considering the fame of the bride’s father, his wealth and social position, and the family of the English bridegroom—that it did not take on the ostentation of the Gould and Marlborough nuptials, nor:in- vite a rehearsal'of the final church scene, Such a rehearsal in _a church is more or less a burlesque. “It prevents blunders,” say its advocates. But it is the little con- tratemps of the ceremony when thev oc- cur that give it zest. ‘When Mr. Bestman forgets for a moment in which pocket he has placed what bachelor cynics call the fatal ring, or when the ring is about to be slipped on the wrong finger, or when the bride in sweet embarrassment extends the right hand, or the minister, in his confusion over the pretty bridesmaids before him, mixes a bit of the christening with the marriage ser- vice in his repetition, or when the groom 8t00ps to pick up the dropped bouquet at the moment of promise and the best man also simultaneously stoops for the same purpose with a crash of heads, and feu de fOle of giggles around, when even such ittle blunders occur they are set down to the naturalness and poetry of the occasion. At the Marlborough wedding the remark was current, ‘‘Oh, all this has been pre- viously done in dumb show.” But it was the general remark at the Whitney wed- ding, “How impressively simple!”’ Society has issned a card that it will be very a la mode through the winter to patronize church. There is a great variety of pulpits for fashion to sit beneath. There is that' of the handsome Father Ducey of trembo voice, who is the family chaplain of the sugar apostle, Havemeyer; of St. Paul Parkhurst; of Boanerges John Hall, the persecutor of Dr. Briggs; of Dr. Greer, who is clergyman in ordinary to Cornelius Vanderbilt; of Dr. Huntington, whose mellow voice consorts with the great organ of Grace Church, in which million- aires worship; of Morgan Dix, at Wall- street Trinity, who occasionally launches anathemas at fashionable folly and vice; of Heber Newton, at All Souls’ Church, who often makes his Bishop’s hair stand on end with eccentricities of doctrines: of the Rev. William Lloyd, an imitator of De Witt Talmage, in a church near lower Central Park, where he chooses for a ser- mon such a topic _as “The evolution of a hero, or the kind of Christian Davids to meet and slay our modern Goliaths’’; of High Church Father Ritchie, who irri- tates Bisnop Potter by practicing cere- monies that would logically carry him into the bosom of Cardinal Satolli, 1if, the father only had the courage of his convic- tions; of St. Peter’s, where Dean Hoffman (who owns and _controls the hotel named after him, that is anything but a relicious temple) ofien officiates; or of the Univer- salist Fifth-avenue Church of the Divine Paternity, where he announces for the sea- son such subjects as “‘The fin de siecle man, woman, marriage, literature, music and art; and fin de siecle religion.” He makes the best bid for the attendance of the 4000; although the Revs. Thomas Dixon and Madison C. Peters—the sensational dominies par excellence of the city—are not far behind him in the bid with such subjects for sermons as ‘‘Shall the three R’s, Rum or ‘Righteousness or Rascality, rule New York?” 1f New York society can make church attendance the fashion, Chicago can no longer jeer at New York as a modern Gomorrah. ~ A. OakEY HALL. The percentage of unemployed in English trade unions making recurns to the Board of Trade for September is lower than at any period since 1891. e :z»»»»g»i'i’»v»: Is An Artist said Jones, “it draws so well I’ It was a NEW g EST[{ELLA" finest of Key West Hav- ana Cigars. Have you noticed the fine colors of the NEW crop? Even the dark- est are mild andof delicate flavor. 2 for 25¢.—T10¢.—3 for 25¢. & Every Cigar Banded e SRR R T % . NEW TO-DAY. AT TS Sl i Bt s LA S “FOR THE BLOOD I$ THE LIFE.” “THE HEALTH” “AND VIGOR” “OF AN INDIVIDUAL” “DEPEND UPON” “THE QUANTITY AND QUALITY” “OF THE BLO0D.” “IF THE BLOOD IS DISEASED” “THE BODY I8 DISEASED.” “RADAM'S MICROBE KILLER,” “‘THE GREAT BLOCD PURIFIER,” I8 WARRANTED TO CLEANSE THE BLOOD FROM ALL IMPURITIES, FROM WHATEVER CAUSE ARISING. THOU- BANDS OF WONDERFUL CURES HAVE BEEN EFFECTED BY IT.” Radam's Microbe Killer - Is pleasant to the taste and guaranteed free from anything injurious to the most delicate constitution of either sex, from infancy to old age. The pro- prietors solicit sufferers to test its value. Sold in bottles, $1, and gallon jugs at §3 by special agents in almost every town, or at all druggists. Pamphlets free on applica- tion, with history of Microbe Killer and Testimonials. RADAM’S MICROBE KILLER CO, 1330 Market Street, SAN FRANCISCO, CAL. BRANCEES: 360 Morrison 8t., Portland, Or. 825 Third St., Seattle, Wash. 67 West Santa Clara St., San Jose, Cal. PHILADELPHIA SHOE CO MEANS STANDARD OF MERIT. '827 West Fifth St., Los Angeles, Cal. STAMPED ON A SHOB 1 WE WANT YOUR TRADE. You we are_always advertising bargains. ot cour::ywe are. We are mlkmf special efforts 10 secure your trade. We need it in our business. That SPRECKELS FENCE is still up, and to do business we must_ofter inducements, and so each week we offer certaln lines of Shoes below the wholesale price. Don’t you believe it? Well, call and see for yourself. Look at the prices marked on Shoes In our show windows or come Inside. Our Clerks are polite and aftable and will show you our stock. You will not be compelled to buy, but simply call and satisty yourself that we are really offering bargains. This week we_are offeri in in Tadies’ Shoes. We have 500 pairs of Ladies’ Extra Fine Dongola Kid Button Shoes, with either Cloth or Kid Tops, straight foxed vamps; medium, square or pointed toes and V-shaped Patent-leather Tips, which we will sell for PL75. This Is a genuine hargain, as these shoes are well ‘worth at least $2 50, but we recognize the fact that we must offer extra iInducements, and so0 we ha- Dlaced this extra fine line on_sale at such & low Price. Widths C, D, E and EE. $2.50. Ladies, call your hus- bands’ attention to this: Men’s Fine Patent-leather Shoes, in Congress, Laca or Button, medium broad toesand hand-sewed soles, very stylish: every shos guaranteed. Price re- = duced from $7 to $2 50. 75c. Child's and_ Misses’ Pat- ent-leather Strap Sandals, with spring heels, in per- fect condition: very neat; latest styles; a bargain. Child’s, sizes 8 to 10/ Misses’, sizos 11 163" 75c. 0 75 100 Child’s and Misses’ Solid- wearing Grain-leather But. :on Shoes, with solid soles, sole-leather tips and spring \ heels: guaranteed for wear, Jonna's, sizes 8 to 101 18075 S 100 $3.00. We are sole agents for the cele- brated Alaska Seal Shoes, Prepare for winter. made in Congress or Lace; guaranteed waterproof. Price... $3 00 Alaska Seal Sh with Cork Soles..., 3 50 " Ladles’ Storm Rubbers, 40c: 3 Rubbers, 250; Men's upbers. §0c. Youths' B Calt Shoes, sizes 11 to Boys' sizes, 314 to 51 WE HAVE NOT MOVED. A&~ Country orders solicited. A%~ Send for New Illustrated Catalogue. Address : B. KATGHINSKI, 10 Third Street, San Fraucisco. - PHILADELPHIA SHOE. o, Regular $1 10 135