The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, December 8, 1895, Page 15

THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, SUNDAY, DECEMBER 8, 1895. "KARAMOJAKS," OR THE BIG BOOK-MEN OF THE GALLINAS, BY BRANSCOMBE ASHLEY. Seldom as we hear now of “the school- master abroad,” among the tribes of inter- | tropical Africa_such functionaries under | the name of “Karamojahs” are not only | rumerous, but they enjoy very high ana | distinguished rank. The doctrine that | knowledge is power prevails in these re- | gions as well as elsewhere. Here, how- | ever, l_hc Koran—regarded as a treasury of | knowledge i If—enables the student to | take his own degrees. Public opinion | grants him his diploma, and as a Kara- | mojah he is something more than the | schoolmaster, he is a book man, a pro- | fessor of everything; and as old age is everywhere held in veneration his progress in life, as well as his progress in knowl- | edge, constitute the “sliding scale” by | which he rises in knowledge to the higher | rank of a @Big Book-man, whether profes- | sionally or not. As more humble pre- | ceptors, however, of reading and writing in | the earlier stages of their career, the ira- ternity of Karamojahs devote much time | to copying particular passages from the | *‘Sacred Book,” and they are celebrated for | the neatness of their writing and the taste | of their initial capitals, which are fre- quentlv illuminated with gaudy colors, es- pecially blues and reds. Shorter extracts also are in constant demand to be sewn in | leather cases and worn as charms, or| amulets about the person. Hence| the fraternity of the ‘‘Garangays,! or leather-workers, acquire distinction | also; and hence, again. distinction settles n another numerous class, who, as wan- | ring religions mercha well stocked vith amulets and gree-grees, and cunr in making them—simuiate sanctity a charm_in itsel i drive a charming | i king upon the fears and cre- r numerous victims. The ’ is famous for its natural and the “dry”’ for its crops, ment and_pro- | ere await a Kara- | legrees. no imaginary fie- actual fact: the best entertai come, found respect everw mojah who has taken he following story but a narrative of be Gallinas’ ern | coast, as well known to the heathenish | verstition of 1ts inhabitants as for its| Im oil orits speckled poultry. Hi: hero has worked his way as an i st, doctor, law trader or ter, taking everybody into his con- | ce and cajoling everybody in turn, now the turn of the chier, by whom 0 ably entertained, and who isa | ype of those peity rulers in the coast icts who exerci; kind of patriarchal yver a few families and personal | nal preaiiections d character of | intercourse than the le: s aspirations of t he interior. Th white man’s sav They 1 blindman or puncheons of rum, f tobacco and runa laves, rejoice in a super- al uniform coat or cocked ed upon themina‘ e, as f a diplomatic mission from mes with the brevet ‘nmlzi hor sobriquet white man’s in that men b they grope ds ty is the our host. al 1 the other, with the advantage, f ibeing converted into numerals; d” Number One! On the ss the contest is not less loose, rusty, blue cotton robe, Jolen cap upon his orbicular head, lace of alligator's he outward and visible fers ease to dig blue robe al arms dangling fro. f to his wrl i uilcap, m his neck and af- | nd long v cheekbones, , aquiline ost insinuating mouth and small, | s dignity to ease. 1 soul of supersition, | knows it. He is, by 3 reserved, and the tates; mysteriously affeble, and reciprocates; now troubled in with an aching heart, and the commiserates. come; s the old man, but heis wrapped as he speaks—to himself—of | the fruition of his hopes when | ‘The chief pricks his ears. s on the temporal benefits rees, and the relative nuine and the spurious. remarks naturally tend to enhance value of the particular gree-gree he | upon his *‘good friend” asa ke his heart lie down_ easy.” | nows full well how rebellious the heart is; he knows how prone it p up and ~‘dance’”_till it is tired; € also that this is an inter- ed period of the chief’s existence. 1 1 is about to think so himself— heart must get up and dance! i his peopie have all been | nd are all dancing, while their | nging the praises of the Big | h we have not the slightest evi-L it, not even a transient gleam of | jovousness reflected upon his im- | » countenance, it may be questioned | or the heart of the great Book-man | f is not at least indulging in an allegro | vement, if not a decided jig; and this | » much in unison with the popular | iration or the yocal sounds as with own mental enumeration of all the grees he has already disposed of,while he glances at the heaps of corn and rice he has to carry away with him whatever else may represent their convertible value. No wonder that such a man should have moments of abstraction; that his pagan host should reverence such conclusive evi- dence of a great mind, or thatsach a mind, ch calm imperturbable gravity, such a dignity, such a_something which the chief cannot_yet quite comprehend, should in- | spire ideas of super-superlative eminence. | It is that something which most puzzles | m. “Whatcan it be?” He hasseen the reat mman draw a, mysterious paper from | the folds of his robe, soread it before him | and pore over it with the deepest solici- tude and conceal it in haste when con-| scious of being observed. The chief’s cu- riosity has however kept pace with his ap- | parent caution and obtained a glance at it. | It is very beautiful; it must be a big gree- gree!” But here he is wrong, and his| guest tells him so. | It 1s wholly a private matter, my good friend, and has nothing to do with this world—nothing!” And yet such is the ververseness of hu- man natme, this announcement only makes the old man importunate to haveat Jeast anotber look at it; he acknowl- edges to having seen “a lilly bit.”” : “You bave!” exclaims his companion with simulated surprise. “Do you really mean that?” “Yes,”’ replied the chief, “my eye catch | lilly bit; my heart hungry for lilly more; come, come, you let me see him, eh?” The other deliberates—that charming mouth of hisis practicin, Athgapnsmodxc s¢le of vexation—the chief is:the more sent. “You no call me good friend,eh? sks persuasively. “Weil, well, I suppose I must tell you what i3 is, but’—he pauses and looks round suspiciously — “‘the truth is, al- ough it cannot possibly concern you [ ought not to shéw it to anybody, asa friend I so much esteem, I may trust you—yes, I think I may. ief, exalted in his own opinion of he | his heart, as his companion now produces, smoke. pipe; try lilly| . himself by such confidence, earnestly as- severates his observance of secrecy. “You must know, then,” continues the Book-man, *‘that an ancestor of mine be- queathed me—and it is this that makes me happy apart from what Ican do to make others Lappy. 1 have, indeed, little to dis- turb me here, and I have more than I need hereafter.”” The eyeballs of the old chief dilateand his breath is checked by 2n acute throb at but without yet unfolding, the precions document. “Well, then, resumes his guest with greater solemnity, “this ancestor of mine [he here taps upon the mysterious paper with his forefinger to give emphasis to his words]—this ancestor of mine, I say, was a izroat man—a good man, too—and a great Book-man, and when he died he bequeathed me 1 SEVEN LOTS IN HE. ! And secured them to me by this book— this big book.” The chief is paralyzed with amazement. His eyes gloat upon the folded paper, while a convulsive action of his throat checks for a while his utterance. “‘And may I no see him?” he at length exclaims. And they are duly selected and handed over to the Big Book-man. The old chief now looks for his title deed and the conveyancer looks puzzled. d “I find on consideration, my friend, that 1 am likely to make bad ‘business of this; very bad business. I no see clear road in this matter befors, but now I see it will bring trouble, and —"' “Trouble!’” exclaims the old man, ‘you no tell me no trouble lib in heben ?’ “That’s quite true, my friend—we all know that—but what I mean. is, my an- cestor, who lives on the next big farm and bequeathed those lots to me may not like my disposing of any of them. I see I have done wrong, very wrong, in showing you my book,but my friendship got the bet- '{)er of my prudence. I must not spoil this 00k.” The old man is bewildered. Will he zet back his seven slaves, or has the Kara- mojah bewitched them? This, for the moment, 1s the leading idea in his mind, but the faculty of speech seems to have left him. Not so his companion, who, now rising from his seat, continues, as he takes deliberate steps backward and forward : “Of this I am quite certain: My great ancestor would not like my sending two or three strangers to sit down alongside of him. He dislikes strangers, and so do I; so, my good friend—"" His good friend simply waves his hand, which indicates a desire to ‘“cut the pal- aver”; despair has overtaken him; his heart, “too much hungry for heaven,” now. like the vulgar stomach, seems to reject the food it coveted; his vis mentis, | sustaining a collapse, or crushed in some dark corner within him, sends up a hollow sepulchral sound, which, with a _gasp, | escapes his lips in the following words: His guest shows some reluctance—a “Why—you—call me—jriend ?"” “KARAMOJAHS,” OR THE BIG 15 this; Ino see this before; there is gree- gree in this book, you no see, eh? “Come, eome, my good friend,” again expostulates the merciless Book-man—*T no like spoil your neart, come let’s try make this palaver cool.” The old man looxs uf), but he speaks not. his eyes and ears alone seek the cooling process of his skill- ful expositor, who now drags, rather than leads, the feeble mind of his patient over the intricate boundaries nf his seven celes- tial lots, of which we must here introduce an outline, with the side lots numbered, for the guidance of the reader. ou no see,” he continues. “if you pull this lot (1) and this lot (2), I spoil book down here and farm up there? You no see that makes me two books, and I have no road to this lot (3). Youno see all the same, 'spose you pull this lot (3), and that lot (2), I'spoil book down here and farm ug there, for this lot (1), and have no road from my t'other farm? You no see that, eh? Verv well—you no seeall the same t’other side (4, 5, 6), them three lots all the same—that not true,eh ?” The old man groans, but answers noth- ing; the other proceeds: “Look t’other way, my good friend; s'pose you pull this lot (1) ‘and that lot (4) and t'other side, then you have no road to catch both farms— all the same, s’pose you pull this lot (2) and that lot (6), and s’pose you pull this lot (2) and that lot (5)—ah! ah!” He here startles the old man with an exclamation of surprise—*‘‘Here's gree-gree! you no see, eh? You nosee? S’pose you pull them two lots (2 and 5), vou make seven books, all bad books, down here, and seven bad farms up there! 1t can’t be, my friend; it can’t be—I must not spoil this book—this Big gree-gree book! I nosee that before.” The old man groans again; his seventeen slaves are by this time at Calabash Creek, and he, poor mortal, as far from Leayen as ever. Sull, stricken by despair as he is, with all hope of relief fled, he has a friend and counselor by his side—priest, doctor and lawyer in one—to wean him back to reason; to solace him under his afflic- tion; to revive his crushed spirit and again to chcer his heart. He has ‘“discovered’’ a new road; solved the mystery of the “'big gree-gree,” and is now enabled without further difficulty to make good title, good conveyance and “good roads” io all the farms without “spoiling | book!"” Nothing more easy now he sees it! though he must make a furiher sacrifice to serve his “*dear friend” and secure him, BOOK-MEN OF THE GALLINAS. struggle between bis scruples and his kind- lier teelings; but he presently, with great unfolds and spreads before the won- 1z eyes of his credulous host the tan- ing title deed to heavenly property, the surveyed plan of the domains (of course on a greatly reduced scale, but beautifully colored), free from all “‘con- tingent remainders” or incumbrances whatsoever. With their foreheads now brought nearly in contact they pore over the wonderful book, and our hero proceeds to expatiate on the transcendent sources of unalloyed happiness in store for him; to explain in glowing terms the merits of the several lots so _clearly defined by settled bounda- ries. Fe refers particularly to the center of the middle lot as the location of his | own house: “Fine house there, very fine; tine piazza: fine hammock, too; close by that cotton tree—all them palms—and that fine river; plenty gold in that river." **ARh!” exclaimed the chief. “Plenty, plenty!” reiterates his ex positor; ‘‘no alligator there, no sharl there.” He now enlarges on the exuberant fer- tility of the land; tihe never failing crop of rice and corn. and cassava and yams; the perpetual serenity and purity of the atmosphere— “Hab tobacco dere?” asks the old man; ‘“rum, too?"’ “F-i-n-e t-0-b-a-c-c-o0! fine, fine,very fine! too much rum, too much!” is'the ready o tornado there,” he continned. *“No ;agcv sea; no thunder, no lightning, ro | thi no quarrel, no fight, no slaves.” “What!” exclaims the chief, interrupt- ing him again, “‘No slaves?”’ “Slaves? N *No want slaves there; no work there; no trouble there; no witches; no grifies; no ‘punah’ and ‘red water’ there; no wicked wangka there; Mumbo Jumbo no come there; no want fetish and gree-gree there; 21l happy there. Nothing, nothing like what we have down here.” The poor old chief is nearly driven to ecstatic madness. One idea, now, alone, absorbs his mind. If he could only obtain one of those lots—only one! But the glow of hope, which is acting as a powerful diaphoretic, is suddenly checked by the anguish inroad of despair, as he sees, with almost idiotic stupor, his companion again folding the previous allotments, replacing them within his robe and coolly leaving his *‘zood friend”” to his meditations. The Karamojah now makes preparations for his departure, he has important mat- ters to attend to elsewhere,and he begs his dear friend to lend him a few slaves to carry his merchandise to Calabash Creek, where his canoe awaits him. “Karamojah, do him friend lilly fabor, too?” asked the chief, with faltering voice. *To be surel” replies his companion; what will I not—that I can do to serve one I so much esteem. I know what vou wish for and you shall have it!” The countenance of the chief brightens. “You want another gree-gree?” “No, no—no want gree-gree,” exclaims the old man, very despondently. “Kara- mojah let him hab one?ot in heaven—only one—or part of one, just for a bunyah (a present).” No wonder the Book-man isastonished at such a request. He shows 1t; he delib- erates and then with profound gravity observes: “Really, my friend, you make my heart lie down with grief. I ought not to have shown you that big book. I would gladly serve you in any way, but, it's very pro- voking, you ask too much—too much. But I shall see you again soon and then—"" What a moment for the chief! The question which he cannot suppress at once hurries into utterance— “Why, then you no sell me one lot—only one!”’ “Well, perhaps I might do_that, though I would rather give you one if I could, and | as it is I cannot really take the full value from you.” | “Tell me, tell me bow much?”’ impa- | tiently cries the chief. The Book-man med- itates’ and counts his fingers in debating | the question with himself. ‘‘Let me see— | yes—I think I might manage to do so”’—he | panses—‘“‘the old man has been very kind, | very”—he pauses again—the old man sighs. “It is quite a sacrifice,” he continues, *‘cer- tainly ; but—yes—I suppose I must.” “Well, my worthy friend, if I do let you | have one lot, T ought not to have less than | ten good slaves ithe chief is staggered], | but, as I really feel in your debt and wi to oblige you, I must say seyen, though ’tis a great sacrifice, certainly.”’ “Seven good slaves is a great deal,”” says the chief. ; “Yes,” rejoins the Karamojah, “down here, not up there—don’t want slaves there.” re you quite sure of that?”’ says the old man doubtingly. “%;lite, quite sure,” is the prompt reply. “Well, well; ves, yes,”’ vehemently ex- claims the chief, “you shall hab seben.” | his double chin acting as a “buffer.” .” he emphatically replies. | | “Well, and are you not my friena?” | asks the Book-man; “and am I not your friend?” “Why—you—call me—stranger then?— stranger no friend.” “I see, I see,” observes the wily Book- man,'‘you mistake my meaning. ¥You are no stranger to me, but to my ancestor you are; still. as my friend, he will be rejoiced to see you—quite delighted, I'm sure—but he would not like one or two other stran- gers, nor would I; and you, too, as a chikf, would not like it—of course not. Don’t | you see?” No, the old man sees nothing; his eves are closed and his head, surcharged with witchery, has fallen upon his chest, v}im The Karamoiah is a liitle bit disturbed. ‘“Come, come,” he expostulates, patting his ‘“good friend” on the shoulder, ‘I | make good sense of this. 1 make your heart get up! Come, hear what I say!” | The chief’s head gets up first; his eyes | open, his mouth opens and his ears are no doubt open also, to receive as conductors to his heart the assuaging unction. “You no see my big book?’ asks the Big Book-man. “1 see him—I see lum goed,” responds | the chief. “Very well, then. You no see them three Iots one side my big lot—them three lots, all the same, t'other side?—all seven lots make one very big farm. You no see, s'pose I sell you one small lot, I spoil book, and spoil farm, too? And s’pose I sell t'other two lots to make good book and good farm, I make three small farms, and have one or two strangers alongside of me? My ancestor make them seven lots | one farm, he don’t like small farms, and, I tell you again, he don’t like the stran- gers! " He would like you_as my friend no | doubt. You nosee I speak true, eh? 1mno pult you to this palaver, my friend—you pull yourself?'’ The mental vision of the old man is new susceptible of this new light, and hope, not quite extinct, in making a rallying effort to revive, prompts him to exclaim as his *‘friend”” seems about to depart: . “Yes, yes; I see, I see; stop lilly while, stop!” He pauses to take breath, and the I{urum(g‘uh pauses to tell him he must be off. *“S'pose,” he continues, “L buy two lots, eh! that nosmall farm.” “Very true,” says the Karamojah, “yes, that would make a very good farm—fit for a chief; but there would stiil remain one small lot, and I must have one stranger. Unless, indeed, I only sold two instead of three. I might do that; but no, my good friend; no, no; I see, I see—"" “Yes, yes! come, come! now good friend, now!” exclaims the old man im- ploringly. “You let me hab t'oder lot, eh!—come, come!"” “Well, really, you qunite embarrass me. 1shall not reach Calabash Creek before sunset. I suppose I must oblige you; but I am making a great sacrifice.” Let me see—ten ‘and ten are twenty, and seven and seven are fourteen. I snall lose six— ves, actnally six. I must not do that; I must split the difference. You must give me ten slaves for this second lot, and I shall then be loser of three.” “Ten,” exclaims the chief, ‘‘ten. Oh! no, no; seben, seben. Say seben, same as t'oder fot?” But the Karamojah is obdurate. Ten more slaves are now added te the others and the whole seventeen are loaded with his traps, to proceed with him to Calabash Creek. 'They are jubilant. They do not know which to admire mos, poor, simple- minded people, the magnificence of the chief in giving his guest seventeen slaves for bunyah, or the extraordinary merits of the Karamojah who could deserve so much at his hands. They carelessly say farewell to their old master and are gone. “*And now, my friend,” says the Kara- mojah, “I hope I have made you happy; your heart now Jie down easy; trouble no more come, eh ?'’ *‘No,” replies the old man, “no care for trouble now—when you gib me book—no trouble up dere.’” g “Well, then, come!"” responds his com- panion, drawing the precious ‘‘book” again from under his robe, and sFrending it carefully before the eager eyesof his *‘good friend.” “You see my house live in this middle lot, and I shall sit down dere. Now tell me which two of them other lots. you like?”” And while he speaks he draws irom a sheath susyended from his waist a sharp-pointed knife, or d-zger, for the purpose of severing the lots seiected. The chief scrutinizes the six lots with the deepest interest, speculating, no doubt, on: the local advantages of those he may decide upon; but the more he speculates the more is he puzzled. The ‘‘convey- ancer,” too, seems puzzled. “Very odd,” he exclaims; “this bad business; you no see I can’t pull them two' lots?” Poor old man, a dizziness hascome. over his brain. There is something wrong,/ he knows, he cannot “imagine what. ‘‘Come, come, my friend,” continues the Book-man; *no go tle your face that fashion; let us try make some sense of too—as a neighbor hereafter. His dear fricnd is, ot _course, rejoiced to hear it, though not quite prepared to be- Heve it. His mouth is wide open to re- ceive the spoon-meat of convalescence, and the Karamojah feeds him with the solu- tion. He must let him have three com- plete side lots! This will exclude strangers and place his ancestor, his “‘worthy iriend” and himself in a beautiful gradation of rank as con- tizuous neighbors. “Don’t you see, my kind friend, how comfortable that will be for us all, eh? I think I now make yon happy. Them three lots make fine farm; fit for a chie! our heart now lie down v, and to show you how anxious I am to vou as a friend I must give you aves for bunyah!” “Ah that true, that true?” exclaims the chief, “‘and give book, too?” “QOf course, my friend, and give book, too—book for three lots!” What a thrill of delight now sparkles in the eyes of the old man. He sees three of his slaves com- ing back from Caiabash Creck—that is, in his mind’s eye. Anothcrsuch exaltation or two from grief to ecstacy would assur- edly kill him. ‘‘And.” continues the Kar- amojan, *‘I shall only take for thislot the same as for the first lot—seven!” Trembling, confused with fragments of hope and joy, fear and doubt, disapvoint- ment and expectation, hishead swims with giddiness and he holds it with his two hands spread abroad, his elbows on his knees, as if it were a tottering wall that needed shoring. “I—I--no hab—no hab—seven—no hab- few—more slaves!”’ “Well, well, my good friend,” argues the Book-man, ‘‘and why should you have? What do you want with slaves if you have this book? You cannot live long; why should you with three lots in heaven! I shall sell all my slaves when I am as old as you, as my great ancestor did, and don’t you see! if you go first, you can sit down comforta- bly,in my great house, 1f you like, and look after my farm, as well as your own, t1ll1 I come!”” His reasoning is encourag- ing and conclusive. It has served to tickle the old chief into a more complacent mood. The big book is again before him, the knife is again produced, the three lots, severed from the rest, are duly ‘“‘conveyed” to the purchaser, and within a quarter of an hour the Big Book-man, attended by seven slaves, is muking the best of his way after the seventeen that have preceded him to Calabash Creek. A CHILD TRAVELER. Half Around the World Alone and Only Eight Years Old. On the steamer Dora, that recently en- tered San Francisco Bay on its return from Alaska, was one wee passenger who has quite a history for a small girl. Her father, Richard Beasley, was ship’s clerk on the warship Pinta, and some years ago sailed from New York to Alaska. He left his wife and child behind, expecting to send for them. After he had been gone some time Mrs. Beasley died, leaving Jennie, then a baby of 4 years, alone. This wee mite was tagged, put on a train and started for Yukatu, Alaska, where her father had taken charge of a trading store. She arrived safely, and for four years was the only white child in_the vil- lage, but was perfectly happy with her native playmates. Her father has now decided to send her to Brisbane, Australia, to live with an uncle and go to school, as the missions in Alaska are not very advanced, and this child, not yet 9 years old, has started on her long journey. If she reaches her des- tination in safety she will be the greatest traveled person of her age now living, having journeyed half around the world in a westerly direction and one-third of the way around in a southerly course. She is not a bit afraid of anything and thoroughly enjoys life, taking all the good that comes her way. — HAYWARD'S BRAVE RESCUE. Though Pulled Under by a Drowning Buy He Swam Under Water. in 8t. Peter’s Church schoolhouse, in Brockville, Canada, near Thousand Islands, Paul de Witt Hayward, an eight-year-old Chicago boy, was publicly presented re- cently with the bronze medal of the Royal Humane Society for saving human life at the risk of his own. Brockville stands on a bluff overlooking the Bt. Lawrence River at a point where there is considerable bathing, though the river is two miles wide and 100 feet deep. Last September a 14-year-old boy named John Howard Curran, unknown to Paul, went into this place to swim, got beyond his depth and was drowning. He was seen by little Paul de Witt Hay- ward, who was much smaller as well as younger, but who at once swam out to Tescue him. Tne Curran boy at once Ernppled Paul and dragged him under, ut even under the water Paul swam with him to shallow water and brought him out. When brought ashore the Curran boy was unconscious and blood was flow- ‘ing from his nose, and'for two weeks after- ward he was confined to his bed. Paul was unhurt.—From the Chicago Tribune. ——————— In Great Britain and Ireland from every quarter fox hunters are raising their voices }n a pitiful protest sgainst barbed-wire ences. 3 AT THE NATIONAL CAPITAL Description of Secretary Carlisle’s Lovely Home and Its Inmates. MRS. CARLISLE AS HOUSEKEEPER The New and Fashionable Habitations of Senator Hill and Others. ‘WASHINGTON, D.C., Dec. 2.—While acretnry Olney is at the head of the Cab- inet, Secretary Carlisle has probably been Jonger in high official life than any other well-known man at the capital. Hishome is a quiet one on K street, and in the im- mediate vicinity are the residences of the Attorney-General, Senator Gorman, Sen- ator Hoar and other prominent men. ‘The house is a plain, red brick, but the vines have made a pretty covering all over the front. Within the parlor is furnished with exquisite taste and is full of handsome pictures, dainty tables covered with deli- cate ornaments, while the polished floor is bright with rich rugs, At the back is the snug little dining-room, where the mahog- any is loaded with shining glass and gleaming silver. The whole house is a model of neatness and the care that its mistress exercises is so constant that everything runs in apple-pie order with- out a bit of friction. Mrs. Carlisle is nothing of a ‘‘new woman” in her views, but she is a woman of great force of character and lives up well to her opinions. She is liberal in her ideas, but does not approve of the adop- tion by women of the branches which have before been monopolized by men. It is Home of John G. Carlisle. said that she isa recent convert to the bicycle craze and spends much of her time spinning over our smooth streets. Her married son, William, lives in Chicago, and the only grandson in the family is his boy, young “John G,” who is the pet of his namesake, for the Secretary is wrapped up in the little fellow, who is about 8. Senator Hill of New York has taken a big, red brick house on Jackson square, and is to move in on the 12thof this month, his servants being its only occu- pants at present. The house was leased by Senator Doiph’during his term which expired last winter. Itis just diagonally across from the White House, faces a pretty park, and all aboutare homes of wealthy people. Brice’s house ison the next square, and so is the yellow home of the Secretary of War. The front of the mansion is plain and not attractive, but it is furnished in exquisite taste. First there is a large parlor, which has in each corner opposite the door a beautiful bookcase of richly carved wood, and the mantel is wrought in the sawme artistic style. Pic- tures and antique chairs and curios from Pompeii make attractive ornaments, and the whole apartment has an air of easeand luxury. The adjoining chamber is the back par- lor. The walls are in pale blue, the chairs, which are richly carved, are in that tint, and even the drapery on the mantel is of the same shade. A beaytiful cabinet of precious wood is in one corner and before the fireplace is a dainty screen ot tapestry, the design being thatof a Numidian horse- man spearing a lion. Back of the second parlor is the dining- room, which is all in a dark tone. About Master John G. Carlisle. a cozy, round table are grouped chairs of massive make upholstered in brown leather. Some bright pictures on the walls make a dash of color in the room. Above on the next floor is the library, an im- mense apartment, in the center of which is a square, carved table littered with books and a droplight. There are about twenty rooms in the house, and as there will be only the Sen- ator, his private secretary and servants, the most of the mansion will be unoccu- iea. The house is owned by the Rath- gnne family, Colonel Rathbone being the gentleman who was with Lincoln on the night that he was shot at the theater. f ust before leaving for their summer outing, the Olneys purchased a new home, having previously occupied that of Sena- tor Edmunds, a house which is now occu- pied by Mrs. General Grant. It was May when the family moved to what was then' known as the Bellamy Storer house, as the member from Cincinnati had lived there during the last session of Congress. The home of Secretary Olney is in the center of the mqst fashionable part of the city, ina neighHorhood which is full of the resi- dences|of famous people 2nd the mansions of foreign Ministers. Just opposite is the pretty, red brick home of Mrs. Sheridan, widow of General Phil Sheridan, and with- in a few blocks are the houses of Thomas Nelson Page, the author, Hegenmuller, the Minister from Austria, and a dozen other celebrities. Z The Olney home is an odd-looking one, but most attractive because it is not the conventional square brick. It standsona corner and is narrow in front, while run- ning back for some distance on the side street. The entrance is low, being of the English basement kind, and the first or ground floor is occupied by a pretty little qtl‘leerly shaped hall and a broad stairway that leads to. the parlors above. The first parlor is one of the most artistic apart- ments in town, not from the elegance of its furniture, but from the taste displayed on every hand. There is nothing luxurious in its appointments, but its tone 1s one of Home of Mrs. James G. Blaine. chaste simplicity. The room is rather long, and one end is almost entirely taken up with a huge bay-window, whose dainty white curtains soften the light that warms up brightly the pink sofa run- ning around the curve. Several bookcases of white wood are about the rooms and filled with choice novels, while the creamy walls are brightened with pretty pictures, and about on shining tables are number- less little dainty ornaments and vases full of blooming flowers. The general air is one oflight and coolness, combined with a cultivated and exgnisite taste. Across from this parlor is another small room, whose polished floor is covered with handsome rugs and whose furnishings are mostly of antiques beautifully carved. There is an- other apartment, then one comes to a huge square chamber, with a very high ceilig, what must have once been nsed as a ball- room, but which is now furnished in pretty chairs, sofas full of colored pillows, tables full of books and silver writing material, pictures and other ornaments. This apart- ment is large enough to entertain the whole diplomatic corps. The 1s¢t day of January will be the one on which Mrs. Olney will enter on her new duties, and her labors on the New Year are by no means light. By half-past 10, she must be dressed and at the White House to assist Mrs. Cleveland in her re- ception, which lasts till after 12. She must_then hurry home and meet all of the diplomats and their families, all of whom are expected to be entertained at a sumptuous breakfast. The diplomatic corps is a large one, as there are a great many attaches or secretaries, and Mrs. Olney will find her house, large as it 1s, considerably crowded by the foreigners. There will be the traditional foes to meet on pleasant footings, and the Minister from China will hobnob with the gentle- men from Japan; the representative from France will talk to his German cousin, and The German Embassy, on Massachusetts Avenue. the Turk and the Englishman will take Suffll’ from the same bowl. The diplomats will be arrayed, like Solomon, in all their glory of foreign decorations, gold lace, swords and court dresses, and the min- gling of the uniforms of gaudy colors will make a brilliant spectacle. The family of the new German Embasa- dor, Baron von Theilman, are domiciled in the legation on Highland Terrace and there are two pretty children in the circle. The Baron is a handsome man with a fine figure and an intellectual countenance and speaks English fluently. His wife has charming manners and has arranged the old house into a lovely home. The Min- ister from China, Mr. Yang Yu, is still ab- sent in France, and the Embassador from Russia will be here within a few days. The Minister from Austria has just settled with his wife and two little girls into a new brick on Rhode Island avenueand the wife and daughters of the Embassador from England are at home again after a trip abroad during the summer. Tom Reed is living at rooms in the Shoreham Hotel and his wife and daughter are with him. Mrs. Reed is a small woman, rather plump, but with a refined face and a pleasant manner. She is very quiet in her taste and dislikes to appear in the papers, but is very proua of fier husband’s fame. Young George B. Mc- Clellan, son of the Urion general of that name, is now in the city, a member from New York, and has a pretty honie in a fashionable part of town. He is a bi athletic fellow and his wife is correspond- ingly frail and delicate. His mother is now traveling in Europe. McClellan has no children, The old Blaine mansion is now inhabited by the family of the rich Mr. Westing- house of Pittsburg, who has rented the place for the winter. The house is a mag- nificent one, and occupies the front of a small square. It was built by Secretary Blaine, and was rented for some years by the Misses Patton of California, but for the last two years it has been the home of Mrs. Blaine. It will be one of the gayest houses in town this season, for the Westinghouses are immensely rich and give gorgeous en- tertainments. Mrs. Westinghouse is a handsome blonde and dresses in expensive style. There isone bog in the family, and the husband gives his wife unlimited means to gratify her tastes. Senator Quay is back in town and his big house, which was completed last win- ter, is being handsomely furnished. Quay has three daughters, one of whom is but a schoolgirl. Quay has been on a short trip to Florida, as his health was much im- paired by therecent tight in Pennsylvania. Miss Jane Fuller, daughter of. the Chief Justice, will make her debut at a tea given by her mother on the 18th of this month. rs. Fuller’s health is very poor and she has been for some time under the care of a doctor. Mrs. Aubrey, one of the Justice’s married daughters, is living with her father. The French embassy has' just been _painted a bn’?he yellow and fitted newly throughout. The ~Embassador and his wife, who was a Miss Elverson of Phila- del 'hia, are back at the lepation from their country home, near the city. Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett is not ex- pected back for some time, and it is prob- able that she may not come to America this winter. Dr. Guzman, the Minister whose post! has been _abolished by his Government,’ that of Nicaragua, expects to devote his time in the future to the practice of law in this city. His wife is an American. LION HUNTING EXTRAORDINARY., A Gun Without a Stock Which Went Off Semi-Occasionally. Many stories about hunting the Cali- fornia lion have been published, but the following vouched for by a correspondent of the Los Angeles Times, beats the record, so far as the amount of danger involved 1n the sport is concerned, for in this case the hunter had to fear his weapon quite as much as his game. The hero of this adventure is B. F. Kelso: of Juniper Flat. Juniper Flat is away down in Riverside County, in a nest of tangled, brush-covered hills. between Lake View and San Jacinto. Kelso is a big, burly, bearded man, with a good-humored smile and an honest face. He makes his living by digging manzanita and grease- wood, which he hauls to Riverside and sells for §7 a cord. One day last week he had his load all rezay to start on his weary drive across the plains, when the family heard the dogs barking up on the hill back of the house. Kelso went for his gun. Now this gun of Kelso's is a fearful and wonderful weapon. It had once been a single-barreled shotgun—but it had the misfortune, some time in the misty past, to have the whole stock smashed off. The hammer was left, it is true, but it wouldn't stand cocked under any circumstances— and everything abaft the hammer was gone! Some of my brave readers, who are not afraid to pull a trigger, may think it an undesirable job to hold up the hammer of Kelso’s gun with the thumb, stick the whole thing out at a safe distance from the face, shut one eye, take_aim—make ready —and let the hammer slip—bang! Not so with Kelso, however; he took his fragmentary relic and strode away through the brush to see what the dogs were raising such a row ‘about. He has three dogs. One is a young, long-legged hound; another is a middle-sized dog, and the third is a little ynpging vste. They sing tenor, alto and treble, and the way they were making the rocks ring was a caution. The rocks on the top of this hill are huge cubes and rectangular blocks as big as houses fresh flung from the hand of God. The dogs were barking about the crevices of one of these. Kelsoclimbed laboriously to the top of it, so as to look down and find the wildcat or whatever it might be, when, as he scaled the crest, a giant moun- tain lion made a rush past him, close enough to touch, and stood glaring down savagely at the yellow dogs, switching his tail with an uneasy, nervous energy. The lion made a spring down among the dogs, struck them off to right and left, and went in great leaps down the steep moun= tain side that slopes toward San Jacinto. The dogs pursued and aiter them flew the excited Kelso. Down, down they went, for a mile or more, through brush, over rocks that would have cost the life of any one but s mountainer. Atlast the big cat, harassed and con- fused by the following dogs, took refuge in his lair, a cave among the rocks some distance above the Pico spring, and when the man arrived the dogs were fiercely barking into the mouth of the cavern and the lion was at bay. Kelso pushed in among the dogs, in the thick of the fray. Suddenly the middle dog shot like an arrow at the lion and seized him by the throat. Ata word from his master, the hound rushed in and seized the great cat by the jaw, and the fyste followed suit by worrying his prey in the flanks. The scene was indescribable. Fur and blooa, yells, growls, howls, snarls, de- moniac cries and shrieks filled the echoing cavern. Kelso held up the hammer of his ancient shooting iron and pointed the muzzle in toward the fearful din; he crept in till he was actually standing on the lion’s tail. As the great brute raised his head above the struggling dogs the hame mer was released—for a wonder the car- tridge exploded, and the whole top of ihe lion’s bead was blown to smithereens. NEW FIELDS FOR LECTURERS. Anstralia, New Zealand and South Africa Offer Inducements. New York Sun. Mark Twain’s success in Australia hag been much discussed by the horde of lece turers and entertainers annually let loose upon this country. Even the small cities of the Union are less and less profitable from season to season for the one-man ea- tertainment, and those that once reaped the rich harvest of this field are eagerly seeking new territory. New fields have been opened within the last few years in Australia, New Zealand and latterly South Africa, but they have usually offered large inducements to celeb- rities only, not to the ordinary hack lec- turer. Archibald Forbes, who was not especially successful in this country, because he was not an orator, made a snug little fortune from a tour in Austras lia and the Cape. David Christie Murray made little mark here, but was popular in the Antipodes, and Krederick Villiers ig making the same round with like success, Max Q’Rell did extremely well both in Australia and Cape Colony, and Stanley made large sums 1n Australia and New Zealand. Henry George, whose lecture tour in Australia was a part of his propa- Fanda of the single tax, not only drew arge audiences in Australia and New Zea- land, but was feted socially in many cities and towns. A curious feature of the lecture busis ness in Australia is the fact that it is the monopoly of a single Australian man- ager. Furthermore, he is luckier than American managers, in that he is able to engage his attractions without the large uarantees that have made the lecture fiuuiness a ticklish enterprise in the United States. The canny Australian simply becomes the partner of his lions, Thus far the system has worked satisface torily all round. - Remarkably Old Animals. The Greenland whale is said to somes times reach the almost impossible age ot 400 years. Two tortoises of the East Indian variety in the Zoological Gardens in London are known to be over 200 years old, and are still in the prime of life. In a well-known museum in England is a stuffed bird named ‘‘the old swan of Dun,” which diea in 1823, at the ripe old age of 200 years—a fact attested by authens tic documents. The king of beasts in his native wilds often lives for 100 years. A lionin cap= tivity in the Tower of London lived there seventy years, and his age was unknown when he was captured. Ajax, the Greek warrior, is said to have capiured an elephant from an Indian King. He had a brass plate, inscribed with the 'story, fastened to the beast. Three hundred and fifty years later the el,eghunt was again seen with the plate still in its place. Precocity. “Miranda,” said Mr. Proudpaugh, ‘‘we must put some money by every month ta pay for the education of our boy.” “‘Yes, indeed,” was the reply. “I want him to have a chance to lear things in a practical way, as well as fro books.” “Do you, dear?” “Of course. I mean tbat he shall travel, s0 as to geta clear idea of what he reads about; that he shall, by personal contact, actéuire ‘knowledge that1istoo commonl and confidently assumed to be communis cated by mere theory.” “I understand, George. And Iam sure he will take kindly to that metbod of edu- cation. - Look at thelittle dear this minute, ir the coal scuttle studying mineralogy!" ‘Washington Star. No less than eight. Fersons have coms mitted suicide in an old Brooklyn builds ing since 1856. The house has recenu, been torn down. = Y