The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, December 25, 1895, Page 20

20 THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 25, 1895. afhe in The name of Junipero Serra is the most mous in the fascinating history of those ble men who first brought the of the Master whose natal day we are now celebrating to the wilds of | Alta California. | He gave up the presidency of the mis- | sions of Lower California in order to take that of the missions about to be estab- lished in Alta California This venerable Franciscan pioneer was a man in every respect worthy of the work | he undertook. He showed a wonderful faculty for attaching to himself the affec- | tions of the natives and s®med by his | presence to charm them into a new mode of life. It is szid thateven before culti- | vated audiences he would hammer his breast with a stone and hold his tlesh in | the flame of a candle to show that pain | bad no terror in view of the love of Christ that filled him. | In traveling, which he usually did on | foot, though lame from a chronic ulcer on | his leg, he wore sandals and no stockings. | The visidor-general’s proposal for an ex- | pedition to the north of his desolate field | in Lower rnia chimed exactly with his desircs, and G ez himself did not more urgently strive than he to make the | undertaking a success. When he came up to Governor Portala’s rendezvous, on the Lower California fron- tier, to start for San Diego, he was so lame | from his long ride, which had exaggerated ] the inflammation of the ulcer on his leg, | he could scarcely mount and dismount from his mule. Portala gave ordersfora | litter to be made for his conveyance, but the tender-hearted father would not hear | of burdening the Indians to carry him. After a prayer that this cup might be | spared him, he called one of the muleteers | and asked him what to do for his sore | foot, but the muleteer modestly demurred that he was no surgeon and was only1 equal to curing the sore backs of beasts. “Then consider me a beast,” said the | father, *‘and my limb as his back.” The muleteer, under shelter of this fancy, ventured upon the cure and applied to the ailing limb a salve of mashed herbs and tallow. The next morning he was in excellent condition and, mounting his mule, rode off apparently as well as the rest. So ardently was he inflamed with the desire of gaining people to Christ, that after his settlement in San Diego, the first mission established if Alta California, every day scemed an age to him till he | made his first conquest among the natives. Of those who frequented the mission was | a youth of tender years and good disposi- i tion. Him the father made use of toob-| ta first subject for baptism. Having ! iformed him of the importance of the sacrament and the adventage resulting | therefrom, he urged him to go among his | own people and obtain the consent of some of the parents for the baptism of their in- fants. The boy, either with the view of | pleasing the father or from a holier mo- | tive, perhaps a mischievous one, pro- ceeded to the execution of his commission, and before long reappeared accompanied by a number of his kinsmen and & child whose parents gave the missionary to un- derstand it was their wish it should be baptized. Father Serra’s gratification at | this prosperous issue was unbounded. Now he was to reap the first fruit of his labors; now the first conquest was to be made among the children of error. Fall of this holy and pious idea he ordered the baby to be clad and invited the soldiers and civilians to be present. The preliminary rites were gone through to the joy and edification of all; already the moment had arrived when the little one was to be enrolled among the faithful. Just as the father was about to pour water on its head, the Indians, prompted, no doubt, by the suggestion of the evil one, | grabbed eagerly at the child, tore it from the godfather and rushed precipitately | away. o great was the sorrow which the vener- able missionary felt at this unexpected re- sult that for several days grief was visible in his countenance. Even in subsequent years, when relating the circumstances, the tears would come to his eyes, but how- ever sorely he may have felt the disap- pointment, the loss was afterward amply rewarded, for by his subsequent labors he ® [ UNPCrO C ALlFflRNlA gained to the church at this mission alone | as many as 1046 souls. | Under the direction of this father presi- | dent the establishment of missions was | pushed zealously forward; zealousin plans, incessant in toil and devout in life Father Junipero founded and superintended eleven missions prior to his death in 1784. | When & new mission was to be estab- | lished he would take a couple of priests, | an escort of soldiers and a train of mules, | packed with necessaries for a journey and | the furniture for a church. Then wander- | ing over the mountains and peering into i all the pleasant valleys, until he found a | place to suit, he would hang bells on the | trees and himself lustily pull the rope, while he shouted : “Hear, hear! Oh, ye gentiles! Come to the boly church!” Then, having set up the church tent, | blessed and dedicated it and appointed a pastor, he would go out hunting for | parishioners. | What a wonderful sight the first mass at | Monterey must have been! It was on June 3, 1770, that the dedication cere- | monies were performed. A great booth of | bright green branches sheltered the white | altar. Bells were hung on the trees and | the celebration commenced with loud and vigorous chimes. Junipero, in alba and stole, then advanced and invoked the | blessing of heaven upon the kneeling con- gregation. The hymn, “Veni, Creator Spi ” was chanted and a great cross elevated and adored. Then the mass was said. In the absence of the usual instru- mental music the mass was accompanied | by repeated salvos of artillery and mus- ketry from ship and shore. The relizious | observances were concluded with the | singing of the *‘Te Deum,” led by those on shore and echoed by voices from the white-sailed ships in Monterey Bay. A remarkable exhibition of Father Serra’s faith occurred at one of the | religious services he performed during the | tatter part of his life. It appears that in | some manner or other the wine used in | taking the sacrament had become poisoned; and Junipero soon after drink- ing it was seriously affected. He would have fallen to the floor had he not been canght by an attendant. Being at once removed to the sacristy, one of his family came with an antidote. But the father refused to touch it, and for this refusal the only reason he had to give was that as the bread and wine ne had taken had been converted into the body and blood of Christ, how after such divine food could he be expected to swallow any- thing. He believed so implicitly in every- thing that could be considered a part of his religion, in comparison therewith he had no thought or consideration for his own comfort or even his life. Some years previous to the death of Father Serra Father Palou had been ap- pointed his principal assistant. He was devoted to his superior. For many years they had been bosom friends, having been novices to tne Franciscan order at the same time and in the same place. It was during these early days that Father Junipero first confided to Father Palou his desire to become a missionary. From him Father Palou became imbued with the same desire; but that was a time when missionaries were not wanted, and it seemed doubtful whether they would re- ceive a call. It happened shortly after that the College of San Fernando in Mex- | ico required recruits and enlisted thirty- | three Spanish priests for labor in America. Of these when time for embarcation ap- | proached, five became frightened at the | prospect of crossing a.stormy ocean, and upon their declining to proceed the places of two were offered to and gladly ac- cepted by Junipero and Paiou. It was to Father Palou Father Junipero confided his last instructions. For two years subsequent to the death of Junipero Father Palou was president of the missions of California. Much against his will he was called upon to fill the less glorious but more prominent position of superior of the College of San Fernando in Mexico. The hiography of Junipero Serra by Palou | was the first book written in California. Father Crespi was one of Father Juni- pero’s devoted friends and chief aids. | Though Serra founded the n ion at Mon- | terey the first cross was raised there by | Crespi. He had ascompanied Governor | Portala on his first expedition in search of Monterey. Though they camped on the | very spot they were looking for they did not recognize it. The extravagant de- | scription given by Viscaino, whose chart they were following, misled them. Before leaving the camp, however, Father Crespi set up a cross. Later on, when Monterey was an established mission, the Indians loved to sit under the dark Monterey pines and tell ghostly stories of how the crosson Father Crespi’'s breast shone as he first passed there, and how the great cross he bhad planted there would grow at night, would lengthen its arms and seem to beckon to them, while it would grow in height till its point. was lost among the stars, which would melt together and form a great blaze of splendor that outshone the sun. When their superstitious dread of it had worn off they had approached it and planted arrows and feathers in the earth around it and bung strings of sardinesand their choicest offerings on its arms. Portala’s party, inciuding Father Crespi, continued their search for Monterey, leaving it and going northward. To this error we owe the greatest of Father Crespi’s achievements — the discovery of the port of San Francisco. Climbing the mountains adjacent San Pedro, where they were resting, Father Crespi saw a vast inland sheet of water, whose connection with the ocean was bidden from bis view by the hills upon which have been constructed the fortifica- tions lying behind Fort Winfield Scott and commanding the Golden Gate. Near that water a mission must be founded, he said. Then he remembered that when Galvez had suggested the three names that were to be given to the three missions Father Junipero had exclaimed, with much grief in his ccuntenance “But is there no mission for Father St. Francis?"’ Galvez had replied, ““If 8t. Fran a mission let him show us his port will put one there.” . Father Crespi accepted the token. Good 8t. Francis had guided their errant foot- steps and brought them to this port, so he named it San Francisco. Recently it was asserted by a contributor wants d we to a scientific magazine that the California redwood was discovered by a German scientist. Father Crespi's record dis- proves this assertion. In a written ac- count of his travels, which is still to be seen in a college in the City of Mexico, he mentions a strange tree of uncommon symmetry, beauty and size, unlike any he | had ever seen before, and on account of the red color of its wood he named it palo colorado (red tree, or redwood). That was long before the scientist had seen it and long before it was given its alien and in- appropriate name, sequoia. A strange legend is told of Father Felipe, who had charge of San Bernardino Mission, whichb was not far from the Mission of San Gabriel. Father Felipe was killed in his church by the Chimihueva Indians. According to the legend Father Felipe was the first one to know that gold ex- isted in great quantities in California, buv be did not know where it was to be found. Chief Cabazon, head of all the tribes in that partof the country, had a great frier.d- ship for Padre Felipe. He brought him gold nuggets from a pouch made from & rabbit-skin, but he resolutely refused to tell where he found it. Father Felipe had a great ambition and that was to have the altar in the chapel of his mission decorated in the gorgeous manner that was customary in his own land. Hitherto everything had been of the cheapest and crudest description. The sacred utensils were of base metal, the censers of common earthenware swung by strips of rawhide and the crucifixes of wood rudely fashioned. All this grated on the sensibilities of Father Felipe. While zealous in saving the souls of the gentiles, his heart burned within him to obtain the means for appropriately fur- nishing the sacred precincts. He urged his friend to bring him all the gold he coula. Among ths soldiers was a man who had been a goldsmith in his own country, and to him the fatherintrusted the task of con- verting the gold into vessels for altar ser- vice, Finally Cabazon announced to Father Felipe that the gold was all gone, but not before he haa brought enough to provide the most valuable set of ecclesiastical fur- nishings nossessed by any of the missions. Father Felie and his military gold- smith kept their counsel. When the father president made his next visit the ambitious padre had decided that he would proudly marshal the golden vessels before him; but before that time the precious vessels were to be kept carefully stored away. A soldier from an outpost some thirty miles down the valley came badly wounded on horseback to tell Father Felipe that the Chimehuevas had descended upon that place the previous night and had spared none. The messenger himself had been knocked on the head and left for dead. He bhad gathered from what he could un- derstand of their dialect that they in- tended next to attack San Bernardino Mission. Should he allow the sacred vessels to fall into the blood-stained hands of the heathen? Rather let every Spaniard in the mission perish. Father Felipe pon- dered silently, Then he summoned the soldier who had acted as goldsmith, With his help he wrapped all the golden vessels in cloths and packed them in leather sacks. These were fastened to the backs of burros, there being ample to load two of the animals heavily. Starting out a straight line was made for the north, where the chaparral was thickest. In it they were lost to sight. Then they frequently changed their direc- tion. They finally halted close to theedge of one of the cienegas whose waters kept the grass green for some distance about* Near at hana was a grove of noble syca- mores. The father examined the trees closely and seemed attracted by three which appeared to form a triangle. Hav- ing carefully located the spot he called bis companion, and together they exca- vated a hole of considerable depth. In here they buried the treasure. Then they covered the spot with branches, so that all signs of the ground having been disturbed | were hidden. Hardly had the sun peeped over the mountains next morning when Father Felipe and his goldsmith returnea to the mission. That night the [ndians came in overwhelming force. A week later a party from San Gabriel rode up to the mission. In the chapel not far from the altar lay the body of Father Felipe and not far from him was that of the faithful goldsmith. On a whitewashed wall just above the father's body the fol- lowing words were traced in blood, which looked as though they had been written with a besmeared finger: ‘“‘La plaza verde—the golden altar-vessels —buried by three sycamores that—"" But the people of San Gabriel did not know of any such place as Plaza Verde, and as the mission was not known to pos- sess any golden altar-vessels they conclud- ed the words had their origin in the fevered imagination of the dying priest. ** Honesty Is the Best Policy.” All day long and far into the night we were retreating from the frenzied Utes into Camp Lookout. Our regiment was shattered, and plunged wildly forward as the night grew darker. The firing had al- most ceased, and with the exception of an occasional bark of a carbine all that could be beard was the rush of swiftly moving feet and the curses of the surviyors of our regiment. Like a living column we wavered and fought with our fronttoward the lava beds during the day, but the withering fire of the Indians had swept our right and left wings until but a bare bandful of trappers remained. On our right lay the tangled mustard fields, to the Jeft the low pass, where three days before we had camped, and straight abead, directly across our path, the bed of a dry creek, Far away through a vista in the hills we could see the watch-fires of our reserve glimmer and flare up in the night. Would it be possible to reach them before we were swept from the field and killed like our comrades? Overhead the night was per- fect. A million stars twinkled and looked down on the bloody scene. Not a breath of air stirred and the atmosphere sweltered over us like melted lead. Our lips were parched and dry with the heat and not a dozen men of those remaining had water in their canteens. Those who had found no time to drink it. We were moving rapidly toward the creek, but just as we reached it another volley of balls from our pursuers tore the ranks and about thirty men fell as they ran. I was just step- ping down into the dry creek when suddenly I felt the tingling sen- sation so well known to a soldier as a ball plowed through the fleshy part of my neck. I fell with the wounded and dying, and lay there bleeding as a small detachment of booted feet trampled over me. Idrew two or three bodiesaround me as a protection and covered my head with my arms. For a few moments after my own comrades had passed over me I lay very still, until I heard the patter of moceasined feet. [ knew the Utes were coming then, and almost immediately afterward the air was filled with the stench of their perspiring bodies as they swarmed over me by scores. Their howls of derision and yells of satisfaction drove me mad, and I was almost on the point of rising and running a few of them through with my bayonet, but in a few seconds they were gone, and the sounds seemed to drift away into the night, A death-like stillness settled over the batch of prostrate men, and I touched several of them with my nand. None stirred. Were they all dead? The blood had dried upon their lips almost assoon as it ap- peared. I raised mysell up on my elbows and looked in the direction of the fleeing soldiers. A thin streak of light shot up- ward into the bot sky,and in a few sec- onds the crack of a carbine rolled across the sand. 1 figured they must be a mile away. Painfully I rolled over on my side and looked into the faces of those around me—into the faces of dead men. A terrible thirst came upon me and I looked for a canteen. Finally I succeeded in turning over on (the left side, and my heart bounded as I saw one within easy reach. I seized and raised it to my lips. It was half full. Before I had tasted a drop of the precious stuff I looked down at the soldier from whom [ had taken it. His eyes were wide open and he was look- ing at me. I handed it back and pressed it to his lips. He drank long and deep, while his face indicated his gratitude. I offered it to him again, but he slowly shook his head and a faint smile escaped his bloody lips. It was only then that I took a long drink myself and felt its refreshing influence as it gurgled down my parched throat. Presently I observed that he was pointing to his knapsack, as though he wished me to open it. I found that it contained about three pounds of salt meat. This was a gift from heaven. 1 had not tasted food for nearly fifty hours and was faint from lack of nourishment. [ offered him a piece which I cut off, but he refused. I ate a portion of it myself and then turned to his care. His face steadily grew whiter, and before I could find his wotnd he stiffened in my N WRITTEN FoR : e 7 7 nrms and I heard the death-rattle in his ) throat. His jaws set and another soldier passed to an honorable aischarge. 1 closed his eyes, picked up the remaining piece of salt meat and was about to place it in my » knapsack when a great darkness settled down upon me, my brain reeled and I sank heiplessly among the dead. I do not know how long I slept, but I| was awakened by some one tugging at the piece of meat in my hand. I opened my eyes ard was amazed to see Corporal Hendy of my own regiment standing over me. He drew back hastily and muttered: “I thought you were dead, sergeant.” “And why?’ I replied, getting on my feet aiter a great effort, “Because your eyes were closed and there was blood upon you."” “May not a wounded man sleep?” “Yes, if he is a fool, for do you not know that the Utes will be back here before noon to strip the dead and wounded of their arms and kill those who yet linger. Last night when the parting volley of deadly bullets samg through the ranks I was hit in the shoulder and fell, but at dawn when the sun came up and the day grew warm I managed to get up and was seeking emong the knapsacks of the slain for food. Ifound you with that piece of sait meat in your hand and the frenzy of hunger came upon me. It seems that you were not dead, as I supposed, but merely sleeping. Sergeant, for God’s sake will you share your food with me?” There was a wild hungry look in his eyes. I hastened to cut the meat squarely in the middle and handed him half. He devoured the greater portion of it likea man who had not seen food for some days and I made way with part of mine. I then shared my canteen with him, and both of us, though still very weak, were somewhat revived and a consultation was held. We concluded to head for a pine forest on our right, about a mile distant, and there take refuge until we were able to get into a safe camp. Together we leaned on each other’s shoulders and started across the hot plain. The heat was terrible, and in the whole expanse of sulphur sky above us not a single cloud was visible. The sun quivered in the molten atmosphere, and its rays seemed tipped with fire. Our eyes were unable to stand the glare upon the sand, and we staggered toward the forest like two drunken men. Twice we fell, and lay panting for breath, while around us the spiral waves of heat coiled up from the desert into the melted air. Each time we drank a little water from the canteen, and managed to struggle along. Finally, after nearly an hour of agony and suffer- ing, we staggered, arm and arm, into the edge of the jungle, and fell exhausted under a low, shady tree that was partly concealed from the plain by tuits of thick grass. Not a breath of wind stirred to temper the hot air, and long before noon it seemed as though the sun was dripoing fire from the sky on the desert. We must have laid here some hours when my attention was attracted by a long cloud of dust rising from the plain in the direction of the lava beds. I communicated my dis- covery to Hendy and we watched it anx- iously, hoping it might be relief. Nearer it came. The Corporal was right. The Indians were returning. They swept up to the spot where the vo}ley of bullets had done such deadly work the night before and stripped the slain of all their equip- ments. After this had been accomplished they came toward the woods and disap- peared, about two hundred yards above where we lay half dead and exhausted. Slowly the afternoon wore away. A wild locust hummed and buzzed around as though it were the only living thing in all the world. Lazily I followed it with my bloodshot eyes and watched it for nearly an hour. Itssteady, winding flight made me drowsy with sleep, and as the sun neared the horizon it sped away into the jungle and I turned my half-closed eyes toward the sky. There, far above me, I made out the forms of three vultures sailing gracefully around over my dead comrades, and with each flight they cir- cled nearer the earth. They crossed and recrossed and I grew dizzy with watching. Slowly my heavy eyelids fell, and as the sun went down and the birds came nearer, my brain spun round and round and I passed inlo a deep and heavy sleep. What was that sound? I awakened with a start. It seemed as though I heard alow whine. Iraised myself upon my arm and listened. Nothing came to my ears and I fell back again to sleep, I closed my eyes but hunger gnawed at my vitals, and I feit-for the small piece of meat that was left. It was gone. I searched in every pocket but it had disappeared. Corporal Hendy was sleeping some twenty e G ENDY'S REPT E-_DAVIS‘./ steps from me. I turned and called to him, but my voice died on my cracked lips and sounded like a thick breath escaping from a dry throat. Again I tried but with a like result. My voice was gone. Nifht had come upon us, but I was yet able to make out the forms about me. I started to crawl toward my companion, using the butt of my carbine to assist me. I had just found it possible to move when I was startled by a low snarl that seemed to come from the edge of the woods. This time there was ro mistake. I lay flat upon my stomach and searched the gloom silently. I could distinctly hear the sound of pebbles falling on the sand, but was un- able to discover the exact spot. Suddenlyv two balls of fire were turned toward Hendy, and I saw plainly enough a young panther crouching flat upon her stomach and lashing the ground with her tail. With' catlike tread she came nearer to him, sniffing the air. Her eyes g'owed and her tail brushed the pebbles aside, and they struck the earth like rain falling in the dust. Slowly she raised her massive paws, and each time they came down she was a foot nearer the sleeping corporal. I tried to cry out, to warn him, but no sound escaped me. The animal soon came near enough for a spring, and her eyes danced and trembled as she drew her lithe body up to prepare for the bound. My carbine was still in my hand and I cocked it. The three clicks of the lock escaped her, and I placed the weapon to my shoulder and waited for her to spring, so that I could get a ball fairly into her breast. Suddenly and without further warning she dipped her massive head and rése from the ground. I was ready and fired full at her heart. She received the ball while in midair. and with a frightful snarl, followed by a roar, dropped be- side Hendy. In her agony she reached out her massive paws and in an instant tore open his breast and throat, biting the grass and earth as she rolled over and over. In a few moments her snarlings ceased and then the proud and powerful creature turned over and died, whining like a child. The excitement of the moment nerved me to action and 1 succeeded in going to Hendy, who was beyond help. I bent over him and opened his shirt to better in- spect the wound. As Ipulled his coat back the remainder of my piece of salt meat feli out and mingled with his own blood. I was astonished beyond description. As I stood looking at his blood-spattered face I heard the sound of horses’ hoofs striking the sand behind me, and looking up I saw a relief squad of my surviving comrades. They were searching for strag- glersand had been attracted by my shot, and brought with them food and water. Poor Hendy was beyond desire, and they carried his body back to camp and safety. He was buried as an honorable soldier, and itis probable no one ever knew that the piece of rancid meat concealed in his breast was what the panther was sniffing or that it belonged to me. HILL’S SAD EXPERIENCE. David B. Hill's experience proves that when a man is on the toboggan the people have little interest in him.—Toledo Blade. The failure of Hon. D. B. Hill to draw as a lecturer is but another indication of the decadence of his pull.—Chicago News- Herald. &, o ‘/} -~ ~ g Pierre Pinard was a failure. At least that is the conclusion he came to on Christmas eve as he sat, lonely and ‘de- pressed, in a corner of a little French saloon on Jackson street. There had been a time when the choicest spirits of the Latin quarter met in that little den, with its old-fashioned low ceiling, sanded floor, oak furnishings and numerous colored prints—each depicting the French soldier in various striking yet doubtless authentic actions. was long ago, and reverses had since come to the fat old proprietor, proving that even saloons are not superior to the laws of change and fate. The ceilings and walls were now grimy and yellow, the furnishings had long lost | their polish and the prints were so covered | with flyspecks that an imaginative ob- | server might mistake them for bullets and wonder whether there remained a single soldier to shoulder musket for the glory and defense of France. f R _ bfl CLAS Sr‘fif WarTeEd e, But that | : - Pinard was 30 years old before he added that experience to his stock in trade, and the affection he had for the woman who was to add digmty to his humbie calling | was pure in the extreme. But the fates | had their own ideas of what wes best for | him, because, before he had progressed very far in his love affair, she-was Jaid to rest in the great cemetery of Pere la | Chaise, where, soorier or.later, the good God gives the greater part of Parisan op- portunity to expiate its many follies. And, seeing that she was one with death, our good for naught came to think kindly of death itself, which, as you must own, is a sign of great progress and wonderful breadth. As he sat thinking of her, slowly sipping his absinthe and watching the spasmodic twitchings of the proprietor’s head, he suddenly became aware of a pair of black eyes watching him intently. Looking up hesaw a tattered little match-girl stand- ing in the doorway, half afraid, yet long- ingto come in. The child’s cheeks were thin and pale, as though the wind from the great wings bad already touched them. Telling her to come in he took her upon his knee, pushed the hair from off her fore- | bead and asked her who she was and what | she was doing there. “Sellin’ lights,”” she | answered. “My namc's Susie, but the kids call me Sue for short. Breath comes | high where I iives. D'yer want any lights? | Give yer all them for a nick. Don't yer | smoke 2"’ Something in the child’s eyes reminded Pierre Pinard of Pere la €b:. Fishing | a dime out of bis pocket he placed it in | ber hand and told her it was Christmas eve and that she was to keep itas a pres- | ent from him. | “You're a sport, sure,” said the child, placing the coin in a dirty piece of rag | along with two or three.others. *“The kids was tellin’ me about Christmas and | all the toys some folks gets. Iseen’em | in the shops and guess it's true or they wouldn’t be there, would they? Them Christmas trees is what catches me, though. Think of them big ones on the Plaza, where the China. kids plays, all lighted up with candles and candies, and us ones jumpin’ about and gettin’ things off ’em! “Las’ night I dreamed about 'em. All Then, again, few people came in to sip | their evening cognac or absinthe as they | did in the old days. wTrade had been | gradaally moving uptown for the last ten | years, and the enly regular visitors to the | the trees was a way up high, and the stars was hangin' on the branches; and pretty soon out comes one o” them angels vou sees in church—all whité and pretty— aud she hands down and gives me a chunk old saloon would be a few Ttalian fisher- men, an occasional tramp—fierce of mus- tache, but pitifully weak of stomach—and the humble but highly obnoxious rat. This Christmas eve the proprietor had | dosed off, his chin reposing upon an ex- pansive but dirty shirt bosom, and his heart, perhaps, in the glorious vineyards of Southern France. So Pierre Pinard had the place all to himself. A few doors off somebody was singing an old French song | to the accompaniment of an accordion, and the music sounded very sweet to him, | because it took him back to the ‘days of his boyhood—over forty years azo—to the streets of Paris and his little house in the Rue San Sebastien. Was 1t really forty years ago? The man passed his hand across his wrinkled forehead and began to count up the years, using pieces of broken matches to tally them off with. Yes, it was forty years ago; and to-night —on Christmas eve—he satalone in a little saloon, without friends, with nothing ac- complished—a complete failure. Life to him in the commencement had seemed so bright, success so easy of ac- o’ cake with snow on it,an’ a doll like a dear litile baby, only it didn’t squeak any, an’ a pair of shoes, an’ a picture book, an’ | a ticket for the chutes, an’ a—" But Pierre’s heart was hurting him and | he did not want to hear the child tell how her dream had faded away when the cold, gray morning crept into the little attic, | and hunger drove her on to the street with her sack of matches again. He pressed her to his heart and told her to wait while he finished his drink and he | would carry her home. | (R It was warm in the’little barroom, so Pinard did not hurry. Before he got | through the child was fast asleep. I do not know what God tells the children in their dreams, but it must be something good, because the look of premature wisdom slowly faded from the child’s face and she even smiled. Pinard noticed it, and wished that with men it were the same— well knowing that to sleep, with most of us, is often less desirable than to be awake. But the child’s apparent happi- ness pleased him, and he waited until it . = was nearly 10 o’clock before he aroused her. The proprietor looked_ wonderingly at him as he passed out, bearing her tenderly in complishment, that it seemed terrible to | be sitting there all alone on such a night. He remembered how, asa gamin, }e had | readily acquired the rudiments of that knowledge which should haveenabled him to do great things. At 20 he was a master, able, had he so wished, to initiate his fol- lowers into the secrets of the higher edu- cation. But in his line, as in every other, attainment had made him selfish, and so he preferred to keep above them, accept- ing their praise, but carefully guarding those arts by which he elicited it. As his thoughts reverted to the past Pinard grew bitter. It was not given to every one to do what he had done. Flute- playing is in itself an accomplishment; his arms, and then began to close up for the night. The child drowsily told him where she lived—some little alley in the neighbor- hood of Telegraph Hill—and then fell fast asleep again. Her weight, together with | that of her matches, soon began to tax | Pinard’s small stock of strength, but as he | took his way through the foggy streets the | remembrance came to him of an old legend he had once heard while tramping through Brittany. The legend was that in the days of long ago a ferryman took a belated tray- eler upon his shoulders and carried him | | | but when one operates upon it by means ! of a higher agency than the mouth, viz.: | the nose, as Pinard did, then it becomes a | gift of the gods themselves. And when | one adds thereto the art of making excru- | ciatingly funny or pathetic faces while so | across a stream—the boat having gone adrift. When they came to the other side the traveler was none other than the Savior of Men and great blessings were be- stowed upon the strong ferryman, who, after death, was known us Saint Chris- When Senator Hill becomes a married man he will soon understand why people don’t care to listen to lectures.—Kansas City Journal. Dayid' Bennett Hill will now favor us with a beautiful poem, entitled ‘When the Frost Is on the Lecture and the Statesman Gets a Shock.”—Chicago Dispatch. e A CAT THAT CAN BOX. Besides Detectives Cook and Bcott, the nephew of ex-Detective John Hobbs, In- spector Williams, has another assistant, who is probably closer to him than the others, says a St. Lounis paper. Thisim- portant persecn is a tabby-cat, who, in her particular line, has as much ability in the deiective business as any other member of Chief Desmond’s staff and is a valuable addition to the police department. Besides keeping the detec- tive end of the Four Courts clear of rats this cat is the only one in existence able to box in the true manly art style. It puts up its ‘‘dukes,” pulls in its claws, and parries and deals blows in a manner scientific enough to turn Corbett and Fitz- simmons green with envy. ———————— Too Much Glory. A noted college football player recently sent an order to a press clippings burean for all newspaper references to himself. The charge for the clippings was 5 cents apiece. At the end of two weeks the famous youth countermanded his order in a note, stating that he had no idea of the extent of his fame, and bad discovered that his glory exceeded his income. doing, as Pinard did, then one’s art bor- ders on the supernatural. Moreover, he could blow upon his hands and draw music from them equal, if not superior, to that of the conch shell or calliope. He could crack every one of the joints in his fingers. He could imitate anything from the grunting of a pig to the rhetorical declamations of the most popular Deputy in the Chamber. Not that there was much difference between the two, as Pinard wouid tell his audience, only the pig, by some beneficent decree of Providence, was kept in happoy ignorance of the fact. By the aid of a small piece of soap and numer- ous contortions in the gutter he could give a realistic portrayal of a man having a fit; or, if s endeavors had been sufficiently rewarced, he would even go sofaras to give his masterpiece—an exaggerated at- tack of delirium tremens. This always succeeded in bringing in business to the house, and, occasionally, the police. And yet, after a lifetime spent in educa- ting the leisure classes in the largest cities of Europe and America he had been abso- lutely unable to lay anything aside for a rainy day, and found himself, on Christ- mas eve, a transient guest in a lonesome saloon, with little hope in his heart and less cash in his pocket than is considered annisite to insure happiness on Christmas ay. * x * o= It is not to be supposed that a man of Pierre Pinard’s ability and general tem- permament should be proof against the allurements of the gentler sex. Love laughs at locksmiths only because he is a safe-cracker of no mean ability himself, and colder men than Pierre Pinard have had their heart's walls broken in by his nimble fingers. There is, moreover, no man so unfortunate whose life at some period or other has not been mellowed by one woman's influence. That influence may blossom into love for him in this life, or, if he be not wholly worthy of it, it may remain in the bud to blossom for him in some other. But it makes itself felt just the same, and life would be pretty dreary without it. * topher. Lcoking down upon the sleeping child, Pierre Pinard wondered if his burden, too, might not be the Savior in disguise; then, with firmer steps, he carried her home and laid her, still asleep, upon her litule rag bed. The other occupant of her attic, a with« ered old beggar woman, paid no attention to him whatever, so he slinped quietly out and hastened to the nearest grocery-store, Upon investigation he found he had enough money for two or three days and a little over besides, so he bought a piece of plum cake and some candies and re- turned and laid them by the child’s bed- side. Tnen he put a 10-cent piece on the cake—*‘for the chutes,” as he whispered— kissed the child and went out into the fog like—like a man who still feels upon his lips the kiss of his long-lost love. Lincoln and an Athlete. Governor Hoyt tells an excellent story illustrating Lincoln’s interest in muscle and his involuntary comparison of himself with any man who showed ireat strength. It was in 1859, after Lincoln had delivered a speech at the State Agricultural Fair of Wisconsin at Milwaukee. ‘The two men were making the rounds of the exhibits and went into a tent to see a -‘strong man” perform. He went through the or- dinary exercises with huge iron balls, tossing them in the air and catching them and rolling them on his arms and back, and Mr. Lincoln, who evidently had never before seen such a thing, watched: him with intense interest, ejaculating under his breath every now and then: “By George! By George!” When the perform- ance was over, Governor Hoyt, seeing Mr, Lincoln’s interest, asked Lim to go up and be introduced to the athlete. He did g0, and as he stood looking down musing- ly on the fellow, who was very short, and evidently wondering that a man so much shorter than he could beso much stronger, he suddenly broke out with one of his quaint speeches. “Why,” he said, “‘why, I could lick salt off the top of your hat!”— McClure’s Magazine. “a