The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, August 9, 1896, Page 24

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THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, SUNDAY, AUGUST 9, 1896. : S T X LOUNDON, Excrasn, July EOA—Lond'Onl during the past week has been like a buthouse; even. when the sky wus; veiled and of a dim rose gray the heavy air beat upon the windows like s\_mnght, but for the greater part of the time the sun nias poured down upon an ungrateful worldl and the perspiring inhabitants | theréof. In the studios it has been especially sultry, and dim twilight effects and grace- fully somnolent attitudes have been tem- porarily popular. The flies alone have waxed and grown fat and have shown an increasing cheerful activity. Outside in the great world the streets are alive with people; the season has burst into a second crop of entertain- ments, the parks are pazeants, the thea- ters and the opera ere crowded to the doors. The gowns in the carriages are of an almost tropical smartness, and the flowers .in the hats blaze and bob like lanterns in a high nind. In a few weeks old newspapers will be pressed against the glass doors and win- dows of the houses in Mayfair and Park Lane, and London will settle into a mid- | summer dreariness and desolation. A few | million people will pursue their ordinary vocations with a hollow assumption of | enjoyment, and the daily papers will | chronicle the movements of the distin-| guished at the various watering places. Three days ago my friend Mrs. Whitcha entered the torrid atmosphere of the studio. She brought a wave of freshness with her—a freshness that was partly the crisp coolness of her white gown, partly the roses that flourished in her hat, prin- cipally the breeze that seemed always to flutter her - garments and her hair and her speech. On that day, however, her face seemed inextinguishably radiant. “T've come for you,” she announced, with that calm certainty of expectation | that is a triumph in itself. ‘“We've a lot | of invitations and dances and things and | teas and the opera. That Mr. Thing- | ummy—you remember him, I said he looked like a boiled owl—he wants us to have tea on the terrace.” “What’s the terrace?” demanded Miss Verdantina Grey from an inner room, in which she was improving her opportuni- ties for the cultivation of her mind with a pair of scissors, a great many pins in her mouth and a very deeply absorbed ex- pression. Mrs. Whitehat lifted her angelic eyes to mine with the deepest reproach and dropped four or five ‘invitations and visit- ing cards. “It is something you’ll like,” she re- plied. “You'll love it. It's to go to dinner—to a studio dinner. You know Mr. Langham Graves—it's at his studio; so I accepted for you, of course. 1 knew you'd be charmed. And then—why then we go to Mrs. Jopling Rowe; she's going to give—a fancy-dress ball.” | *‘A fancy-dress!” I echoed. ‘“‘And may Linguire what your fancy dress is to be— | and mine?” | Of course we went. Mrs. Whitehat | had a formidable list of arrangements | which covered every hour of three days between 4 in the afternoon and 1 at night. | We went first to an “At Home.” Mrs. | Whitehat prepared our minds for us be- | fore we reached the house. “Miss Staine is great fun,”” she an- nounced, “‘and so is her sister. She is| very big indeed and awfully musical and literary. They’ll have music and litera- | ture in equal doses. She knows every- | body. They'll have a lot of things to eat, | and I warn you you'd better take advan- | tage of the opportunity. You'll need all | your strength when you get upstairs.” I’ [ | | him, | berries; claret cop. Enter Mrs. Whitehat, The house faced a square and was about as broad as an elevator shaft. Some very ponderous females, evidently British ma- trons, went in before us, and in their shadow two very tall girls, with round shoulders and tight sieeves, whispered to | each other and exchanged sighs and glances of the most profound anguish. “It’s a beast of a place to bedragged to!" Iheard one of them murmur, “nothing but singing and the piano, and the—"" “Gladys,” said the British matron, turc- ing her head solemnly, ‘I hope you’ll listen ‘to Mr. Saville Penup when he recites his own poetry. It’sa great treat to hear 1f you will observe his repose of manner and emulate it when you recite it will give me great satisfaction.” “Yes, mother,” murmured the daughter addressed, and gave her companion a savage pinch. The entry was so microscopic that it seemed almost necessary to press against the wall and enter the tearoom sideways. The tearoom was crowded, everybody ex- | hibiting a ravenous appetite and a shame- less haste about satisfying it. Three neat maids hurried distractedly from one side of the table to the other and kept up a timid flow of nervous interroga- tions, to which we could hear the answers in voice of every range and quality from a mumbling and majestic bass to a mere little silver thread of sound. “Yes, if you ploaase, a little more straw- If you please, alet- tuce sandwich. Yes, I would like another ice, and just alittle more tea. Yes, two lumps, and cream.” We followed Mrs. Whitehat's example (and industriously consumed everything we could reach; then we once more joined | the procession ana sidled up the stairs to greet our hostess. A tremendous blast of sound reverber- | ated in the hall; a stout gentleman with pale red whiskers was asseverating at the verytop of his voice that he would ride away | and be free. We could just see his head | overa crowd of bonnets, and his expres- | ion of agony was a littie like that on a Chinese mask. There was -an ac- companiment of minor chords on| the piano, with a violin obligats that shrieked and ran up blood- curdling wails, but the gentleman was not singing, he was merely reciting. He was evidently laboring under the delusion, this stout gentleman with the beady drops rolling down his polished brow, that he was a young siave in some burning clime and that he ‘was suffering cruel tortures | of love and despair because the almond- eyed houri loved another gentleman with a very fatiguing name for a warm climate. “Let us go in now,” murmured Miss Grey, “I'm stifling. He seems to be over it1” “Wait a moment!"” sighed Mrs. White- hat, **he may have a relapse.” ‘When the tumuliuous applause had sub- sided we presented our cards to the solemn men whose duty it evidently was to an- nounce us. This terrible function was performed with a brutal distinctiveness in which the world was informed thatwe were the happy originals who possessed such names as Miss Wildcat and Miss Hay. My own humble title subsided into a grunt. Mrs. Whitehat entered the room with a chastened expression; her eyes demurely cast down, the graceful gravity of her manner was something to remember with awe. She greeted her hostess with a deep . 9:30—Ye Vision of Beauty. respect, presenting her remarks with a timidity that suggested that these flowers of speech would wilt promptly unless en- couraged. The room was full of the flipflap of fans and disjointed sentences rose suddenly like mild explosives from sudden lulis of conversation, and then after the little pop fell down again into a shockea silence. A few immortals had seats, the rest stood like monuments, silent and very straight and immovable as though their feet were attached to the floor. When anybody sang or recited all the heads moved simultaneously up, down or from side to side like Chinese mandarins, all the eyes were raised in rapture and all the lips widened into an ecstatic smile, Mrs. Whitehat found a corner. Itisa curious and noteworthy fact that sooner or later a shudder of movement1s percept- ible all along the line of solemn young men who support the walls, and that gradualiy they edge along and at last form a solid phalanx around whatever remote Ye “Cleverest Woman in Ye Room” Is Pointed Out to Mrs. W. Strange Lack of Interest Displayed by Her. and secluded spot Mrs. Whitehat has chosen to abide in. She regards -them with a beautiful calmness, each cool and limpid glance impaling one of them as surely as a pin impales a fluttering butter- fly. They exhibit the most praiseworthy solicitude for her comfort, almost pull a chair from under the siowly rising form ot an immortal who has only thought of going. They pick up her handkerchief and cardcase (she is perpetually dropping something), and when she smiles upon one of them with a little murmur of gratitude, he writhes down upon the floor and sits on a stool at her feet, with his own almost dislocated in the attempt to keep them from tripping up the unwary. We go to four teas on this weary after- noon. We begin countless conversations, which we find left on our hands, for the listener has been suddenly and uncere- moniously dragged off to meetsome one else. There may be greater humiliations (I know of none more bitter) than a sen- tence begun in a clear voice with great energy and ending in a swallow in the throat with an expression of intense in- terest in nothing at all and a vague smile addressed to vacancy. The fact that we are Americans is in- 12:30—Ye Total Wreck. sisted upon by every one; that we are San Franciscans meets with a polite, interroga- tory murmur; that we are Californians is theelectric fact that starts a conversation upon Bret Harte and the attractions of a country in which the gentlemen in- variably goat noonday on a mad galiop riding horseback through the streets swecping up gold with one hand and busily firing off a pistol with the other. Any mild suggestion of a less eccentric form of daily labor is met with so poig- nant a disappointment that we finally un- patriotically encourage the love of |To- mance we have begun by attempting to combat. 1 hear Mrs. Whitehat now and then giv- ing descriptions of our wild customs, our gorgeous fruits, our marvelous flowers, which do credit to her taste and imagina- tion. Her stories have a delicately pun- gent flavor; they thrive like wild black- berries and' are almost as eagerly sought for. Bhe receives in return, with a positive radiance of gratitude, advice on every con- ceivable subject and volumes of informa- tion on the manners and customs of the enlightened people with whom she has now the ineffable privilege of associating. After the fourth tea even her enerzy waned suddenly. “I think I would like my supper,” she remarked. “I would | also like solitude. I am suffering from a 11:30—Ye Magnificent Ruin. frightful attack of mental dyspepsia. But isn’t everything a joy? And did you ever—did you ever see such delightful people?’ “I never did,” remarked Miss Grey, with a suspicion of acidity in her weary little voice. “They are so informal and so ready to make your acquaintance and so | humorous.” ° “‘Well,”” said Mrs. Whitehat, superbly, “I wish we could imitate a little of their sauvity:a little of their cordiality when they do know you; alittle of their simplic- ity and generosity and—" Our point of view, I am afraid, was an unstable and most vpersonal one, and shifted with the ease and agility of a weathercock. “Of course,” said Mrs. Whitehat, as we demolished our supper, with more speed than elegance, ‘‘the people we see are not swells at all, they just hang on at the edge. We write home about all the dukes and dukesses we meet, but we really don’t Ye “Prettiest Woman In _Ye Room” Is Next Shown to Her. Entirely Unac- countable Attitude of Mrs. W. powder our letters with titles or nobody at not on familiar terms with thearistocracy, are we? Not that we're not as good as they sre, and a great deal better in many cases, or that I'd walk across the sireet to see the biggest duke of them all!” “Bravo,Madame Independence!” I ex- claimed, for there was sometbing quite Jotty about the poise of her head and the spirited turn of her shoulders. The evening was perfect, like a softened daylight; the trees in the parks were wrapping themselves in delicate veils of mist. We permitted ourselves the delicious ex- travagance of a hansom, and’ were soon one of the innumerable carriages on the way to Covent Garden. * * * * x Mrs. Whitehat did not spare us one de- tail of her programme for the three days she had determined upon. In that heavy and sweltering heat, we attended teas ana dances and the third day we spent ardu- ously arranging costumes for the fancy- dress ball, which was to end this period of festivity., By this time 1 felt ten years older; Mrs. Whitehat had not lost one touch of her inexhaustible radiant charm. The studio to which we were invited to dine was an ideal one, great lofty rooms opening upon an English Jawn, with old- fashioned flowers growing in prim rows along the low stone walls, and over it the sheep grazing under the great trees of an English park. Our bost, Langham Graves, met us with an expression of delight. Mrs. Whitehat was certainly the old picture she had intended to be. Soft curls fell forward over her flushed cheeks, ana a great monument of hair uprose in coils and twists most intricate and ‘‘1emarkable for to see!” She was as demure as a China shepherdess. Verdantina was a Spanish dancer, all in vivid crimson (ah! the tears and despair of that costume!) Our host was as brilliant as a bird of paradise or the macaw that screeched con- tinually and swore benind our chairs. Mrs. Whitehat affirmed he was a “‘sweet bird,’”” but she remained at a respectable distance from him and confided to us afterward that it was very distracting to have that piratical animal squawking be- hind ber. Our host was severely classic; his velvet meet any; nowdo we? Of course we must mantle was worn with a carelessly regal home would be impressed, but we’re really | wrath. | ‘“He kept showing me everybody,” she i i air; his auburn hair was tightly curled and he smiled rarely; his costume did not call for smiles it was all velvet and satin and heavy silver trimmings like a coffin. A Knight Templar took Miss Grey under his charge, and my escort was a melan- choly man in evening clothes, who had powdered his hair and his mustache and wore a wearily polite and superior smile, The fancy-dress ball was a fancy-dress ball—that is to say incongruous figures mingled in the dance, matadors and harle- quins and fairies and Turkish ladies and Swiss peasants flirted and danced. Mrs. Whitshat pursued her triumpbs to the last; the door was always blocked with acrowd of clowns and monks and courtiers of the last century who pressed forward to see her dance. Dancing in England means a breathless whirl in one direction and then a pause, and then another whirl, “madly, wildly, passionately.” Langham Graves danced with his royal mantle and Mrs. Whitehat, he seemed unwilling to discard either—both testified mutely to his glory. The furious envy with which he was regarded he ignored with solemnity. And Mrs. White- hat returned after each dance, as did little Miss Grey, and we compared notes. My melancholy escort fell a victim at |last and led Mrs. Whitehat through a funereal quadrille. She returned to me in explained in enraged tones. ** ‘Do you sece that woman with her toes tarned in?’ he would ask, ‘that is the cleverest woman in the room! Do you see that woman with the Turkish costume and the gold beit— that is the most beautiful woman in the room!" I never knew such an idiot!” Langham Graves compensated for everything; he danced with a grace and speed that Mrs. Whitehat affirmed were divine. ‘‘He dances like a white man,” she explained and led him back like a lamb to the sacrifice. Poor Mr. Graves was a hero; he went on and on, his knees knocking together at last, his hair first uncurling slowly and standing up straight all over his head and then collapsing into damp strings. His mantle was a crumpled velvet heap in one corner. Between the dances he would go out and gather strength at the buffet, which was decorative and varied in the extreme; or wander out into the garden, in which the Ohinese lanterns swunz gayly, and the weird figures passed between the trees and over the smooth lawn like gay and grotesque shadows. At midnight I suggested tim- idly that it was time to go home; little Miss Grey had been crippled early in the evening by a determined Spanish bull- fighter, who danced as though he were killing & bull. My escort had grown more and more gloomy and had ended by re- lapsing intoa sardonic silence. And still Mrs. Whitehat danced and danced and danced. Fially Miss Grey and I rose solemnly; we were about to rebel. We placed a hand on Mrs. Whitehat's arm; she looked down at us,and her lovely smiie and her unimpaired freshness was some- thing to marvel at. ‘“Home? Why, cer- {ainly!” she declared, and then in a whis- per, ““It’s been a little of a bore, don’t you think?” A carrilage was called and our melan- choly escort prepared to see us home, but as the carriage turned we could see Mr. Langham Graves sink into a chair under a bobbing Chinese lantern, dripping tallow tears, with his head forward and his arms hanging listlessly at his side. I think,” murmured Mrs. Whitehat, “this has been a dance Macabre!" Vax Dyck Brown. GOLD MINING BY POOR MEN The publication in TuE CarrL of last Sunday of an article stating that any man | willing to work could make a living at | gold-miming with the old-fashioned cradle or sluicebox has attracted a great deal of attention from men interested in such | subjects. Many business men have de- | clared that they have advocated gold- | mining as a relief for hard times ever | since the industrial depression started. | The general opinion is that men can do petter in California than in Alaska. The opinions of different men have been most varied. Many old miners have | declared that the amount stated by Tue | CALL as possible for a man to earn is| much too low; others declared it was just | abouv right. Several other men, not miners, declared that the whole idea was vnreasonable. They said they had tried | it and found that it wonld not work. But | questioning of these men showed that they had not tried it as suggested in THE CALL. They had expected to make a fortunein a few hours, and finding they could not gave i it up as useless. < A man giving his name us Herbert Green | said that he had tried ita few weeks ago in Yuba County. He was completely dis- gusted. He said he worked for an hour in the hotsun and took out only 3 cents’ | worih of gold. Mr. Green, however, 7ailed to consider that if he had worked twelve hours he would have taken out 36 cents’ | worth, even thongh he had no better luck | than he had the first hour. This small | amount would have been enough to! have bought all the food he needed for the day, and another day’s work might have | brought him in a large amount. In fact, he might be considered to have b-en in | pretty good luck, and had he kept on he : would not now be walking the streets of San Francisco and attempting to live on a good deal less, such as he can obtain by aifferent methods. But, of course, he had to work there, and he doesn’t here. Inquiry at the State Mining Bureau as to what was the best locality for a man to work with a cradle so as to make enough to live on brought the information that any of the canyons of the Bierras where gold was known to exist were good. al- though the Mojave Desert seemed to vromise the greatest returns at present. It has been estimated that millions of doliars’ worth of gold are contained in the sands of the mountain sireams of California, and all that is necessary is for a man to work in order to get some of it. There is many times more gold in the mountains thaa has ever been taken out, and there is room for 100,000 men to work at getting it, A man who contemplates this work will do best if he will go deep into the moun- tains. Strike for any ot the small towns and find out where men are at work isa good plan. Or follow any of the rivers.up into the mountain s and investigate the gravel beds, But, of course, he must find & place where there is water. It is best for a man to spend several days prospecting before setting up his rocker. It costs very little to go prospecting, and a man may happen on a ledge of good ore at any | time. There are just as big fortunes wait- ing for finders as there ever were, only they are a little harder to get at. Many old miners who were visiting the Mining Bureau were greatly interested in the idea and expressed surprise that more men were not taking advantage of the op- portunity to earn a living. They knew of many men in the mountains who were working that way aud said there was room for many more. One case mentioned was that of Frank Cobb, who is working on a branch of the Kaweah River. He works early and late Old-Fashioned Cradle and Dipper That e Made for About 25 Cents. Can | | i | | | PATTERSON’S MINE, ON THE Four years ago the owner of began to wash toe and a tent to live in. Now he has extensive little plant that nets him a very neat income. Some Suggestions to Those Searching for Work and spends very little money. He has a comfortable cabin and always keeps his rifle bandy for game. It is said that in six years he has takgn out $5000 worth of gold. But, of course, Cobn’s case is an excep- tion. The fact thata man named Patterson was working a mine on the ocean beach, a few miles below the Golden Gate Park, was mentioned at the Mining Bureau, and it was claimed that be had been making about $250 a day. A CALL representative visited Patterson and came away witha confused idea as to the real facts of the case, so the reader will have to judge for himself. Patterson has been at work in his pres- ent location for nearly five years, and Modern Sluice-Box, to Be Used Where Water Is Scarce—Cost About $2. BEACH, BELOW THE PARK. this now sperous mine on the San Francisco beach sands with a ernd!r:lnicebox and only a few dollars capital a comfortable residence and quite an when be first went out there he declared to the representatives of the different San Francisco papers that he had only a few dollars. His plant consisted of a sluice- box and a hole in the ground, where he caught seepage water. His habitation was a very poor tent. Patterson used to dig his sand from the hillside near by, throw it into his sluice-box and dip the water out of the seepage hole with a dip- per of the crudest description. Contrast that with his present surroundings. He has two good houses and a workshop. A windmill pumps the water into tanks, so that it is under his control at all times. His washing machinery is nearly all homemade, but it is quite elaborate and capable of handling considerable sand. ‘When seen by a CaLL man Patterson was very uncommunicative. He admitted that he was taking outa little gold, but was disinclined to -talk at all. Some of his neighbors say that he is making big money and others say that he 18 not mak- ing anything, That is the way the case stands, but the fact that Patterson has in- creased his plant so would seem to indi- cate that he has been making something. It is known that there is plenty of gold in the sand on the ocean beach, but it is very fine and hard to catco. A man could hardly be advised to try his luck on the sea shore, but men are going ta doit. J. Eastwood is putting in a small plant not far from Patterson’s and several others will soon be started farther down the coast. THE CALL's article has called forth in- quiries from several inventors who have machines that they think will turn the gold out by the ton. They figure that if a man and a cradle can make a dollar a day their machines can make ten times that much, if they can only go to the same place. But all of the machines ex- amined had some “if.” One of them needed a big stream of water and a flume; another weighed seveial tons; it could do as much work in one day as a man could in three weeks. As many of the gravel pits will not keep a man busy a week it will be seen that the machine would have to be moved two or three times every day. Notone of the machines would fill the place of the man and the cradle. The accompanying drawings will give an idea of the construction of the cradle and sluice-box, Any man can make them of a few boards that can be cut to the re- quired shape and then carried to the mining country., The idea of digginga hole for the water to run into after it has vassed through the machine and then using it over again isa good suggestion for places where water is scarce. Itis by this method a few barrels of water will wash several tons of sand. The larger box can only be used by men who have the money to buy a large amount of quick- silver—that is, about $4 worth. But it will hoid a large amount of gold, making it necessary to “‘clean up” not more than once a week. s Miss Kissam—You seem depressed to-night, Mr. Dexter. Mr. Dexter—Yes, 1 am. Iwent toa fortune- teller to-day to find out my fate, and was told that the girl I loved wguut MAarry me. Miss Kissam—But, Mr. Dexter, no fortune- teller is authorized to speak for me.—Detroit Free Press. 5 Aged, helpless, friendless and starving, in the midst of a great City of wealth and culture—this is the condition of Arthur Kelly, who, according to his own pathetic story, has rich relatives and ungrateful children. Once he was rich and a power in the lana. In his day he has held im- portant ecivic offices, has been a man of | affairs, and was one of the wealthiest mer- chants in Oregon. Now he is penniless and deserted and on the verge of starva- tion. “For three whoie days I have been with- out food,” he told a CaLr. man. “Then a kind-hearted baker sent me a biscuit.” His is a pitiful tale. He is known as Captain Arthur Kelly, and at present is occupying a room in a ten-cent lodging- house on Oregon street. That he is there is due to the kindness of heart of tbe land- lady, as he has no money to even pay his rent. Nor has he had for two weeks. Al- though the landlady can give him a room at a great sacritice to herself, she is too poor to give him food. She makes very little money, and has a family of her own ARTHUR KELLY IN HIS ROOM AT THE OREGON HOUSE. ‘Mr. Kelly is one of the California Pioneers lgou'gu.l‘trult and prominence and e he is permitted this kind-! destitution and on the verge of i here to remain aEyan earted to turn him into the streets and at different times has occupied official has been very wnlthfid He is now in in a lodging-house in simply because the proprietor is too to die. A PIONEERS PITIFUL TALE Captain Arthur Kelly Is Starving in San Francisco to provide for. But, unable as she is to keep him, she hus not tue heart to turn the old man out into the street to die. Kelly is a stranger to San Francisco, although he was a California pioneer of '49. He came here from Portland, Or., about three weeks ago in search of wealthy relatives, as he became too old to work and his sons and daughters turned him out. Since he has been here Kelly has been through an experience such as few men have to pass through, particuiarly old men. With his age and infirmities it seems a miracle that he is alive. “John Kelly of the banking firm of Donohoe & Kelly was my brother,” said the old man while seated in his dingy room. “The first Mrs. Donohoe was my sister, and we all came to California to- gether in 1849. John, who became the banker, remained in this City, but I stayed only a few years and then deter- mined to try my luck in the Sound coun- try. From the first luck came my way. I had large interestsin the lumber busi- ness, owned a couple of small ranches and a steamboat, and was really pros. perous.” Th additionto working for his own in- terests Kelly, according to his own story, has worked for his country. He distin- guished himself in the Indian wars of 1855 and also in 1856, When Governor Chadwick called for volunteers he was one of the first to come forward. It was he who, single-handed and alone, captured one of the most beiligerent of the Indian chiefs and so ended the trouble and brought about peace between the Oregon authorities and the red men. . Officially Arthur Kelly has served six- teen years as Sheriff in different parts of Oregon. Part of the time was spent in Multnomah County and part at The Dalles. He also served as deputy sheriff at The Dalles under James Crawson. Until about fifteen years ago things came Kelly's way. He was prosperous and his children were all doing well. At that time he was worth nearly $100,000 and in the best of healtn. Just what was the start of Kelly’strouble he does not remember, but he knows that after a certain lawsuit his money bezan to go. Gradually he had less and less, and his children wanted to have less and less to do with him. When he had nothing at all they turned him out to shift for himself, For the last five years Kelly has, he says, managed to earn his own living, although he was compelled to live in cheap board- ing-houses. His sons and daughters were all married, but they would have nothing to do with him. They would not even board him unless he paid in adyvance. Once be got sick and not one of them came to see him. They said they had enough to do to take care of themiselves without having to look out foran old man. This i3 the story as Captain Arthuy Kelly himself tells it. |

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