The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, December 20, 1896, Page 21

THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, SUNDAY, DECEMBER 20, 1896 19 Features of the City's Big Night Schools as They Appe [GHT schools are of greatest impor- { 4 tance to bread-winners, particularly | those who ifrom childhood have to orry how and where to procure the means necessary o fill that vacuum nature most abhors—an empty stomach. How does| Francisco provide for those who must work in daylight and study at San night, il atall? Let us consider. The Lincoin Night School has 1400 pupils enrolled, ranging in age from 12 to 60 years and engaged in every con- | ceivable employment, from cashboy andi servant-girl upward. Classes are graded as in the day scoools, with the exception that there is not yet a senior High Scnool class. The teachers number thirty-five, | including the ovrincipal, Alexander H. | McDonald. Besides the common branches of education instruction is given in me- chanical and architectural drawing, Span- ish and phy - The clever mechanic who can be hisown draughtsman is invaluable to his em-! ployer, and the opportunity is here of- fered to the ambitious, and is already em- | braced by about ninety voung men. For | the department of physics a laboratory is farnished, where the students experi- ment. Monthly & lecture, with illustra- ions, 1s given by some professor from the of California, on subjects such Through Medieval England,” e “‘English Schools” and *‘The adult class is an old man who an example of indefatigable earnestness. He is 60 vears old and was at one time a schoolteacher in Germany. Emigrating from there in the '70’s, he set- | tled ic Dakota, where he invested his| money in real estate and then lost it. | Seeking empioyment, he found his lack of lish a serious bar, so he courageously set our to surmount it. Now he is a pupil at the evening class of the Lincoln School, | | i | | | | and here one sees him plodding and stri with as much trustfulness as if he were yet in the bright springtime of | life. Among the boys under the guidance of Mrs. Brownson one may find much of the stuff that great men were made of. One little fellow whose happy smile would make you think he basked in perpetual sun- | shine, and whose eyes—‘‘such uncommon | eyes, they looked somehow as they made | him feel nosow’’—tell of great longings. | He arises about 5a. M. and works until 6 | P. M. in a restaurant, washing disbes, | cooking ‘and waiting, and is content to | study hard from 7:30 to 9:15 o’clock every | evening. He says he may be proprietor of | 8 restaurant some day, and indeed he | v be. Another leaves his home 1n the | vicinity of the Five-mile House in the | “sma’ wee’ hours, carrying his lunch and | supper with him, laboring al y, attend- | ing evening school and arriving home at | 10:30 o’clock every night. ! A sad case of unpardonable neglect is | that of a boy 16 years old, a molder by trade, born and raised in this City, who three manths ago knew nothing of his alphabet, but who now, thanks to his own efforts and tnese same night schools, is able to read from the second reader. The police court in this schoo! where the student-judge pronounces sentence on the tardy ones, the absentees and- the unruly | is often crowded. The culprits plead guilty or not guilty, as the case mav be, and offer in defense sometines good but oitener flimsy excuses. One stripling had the remnants of a black ‘eye to plead for absence. He was | asked if he had been fighting, . { ““No, sir; me and Bill were only fooling; had a training match.” *“Well, where is Biil?” the judge ques- tioned sterniy. “In bed, sir.” | | T; e 2 i 2ooaeppinG (LRSS Sentence was deferred and court ad- journed. Woman wields the scepter at the Wash- ington Evening School and succeeds in maintaining perfect discipline among 500 | scholars. Miszs P. M. Nolan, the first woman ever made yrincipal ot a night school, is in command here. Thi stitution is extremely cosmopoli- tan. The native son, the German, Ital- ian, Spanish, Servian, Slavonic, negro, and even a native of the Fiji Islands sit | side by side and labor together for a com- mon aim. The motto of the school, which has been beautifully engraved by one of its younger members, is *“We work to win.” Two teachers, both linguists, have charge of the foreign classes. One of these tells what may seem an improbable story yof a French woman who had lived through seventy summers and was in her class for a year and a half. When she ap- plied for admission she could neither read nor write English and could speak it very slightly. She had been well educated in her own langunage, and aithough living in San Francisco for thirty years had asso- ciated only with French people. Her husband died, leaving her to conducta large business with her son. Then she began to feel the need for an English edu- cation, which she sought and found at the night school. 3 A case which ought to bring success, if early rising, hard labor and diligent study will bring it, is that of a boy who at in the morning starts out on his milk route. He breakfasts at 6 A. ». and by 7 o’clock is at bis post in a butcher-shop, where he remains the rest of the day. In TOREIGNERS ALQUIRING | . THELANGUARGE the evening he goes to school for two hours, where he tries to keep awake and fill his brain with knowledge. Many other praiseworthy examples of youthful struggles are to be found in the night schools of San Francisco. Money—how to make it, where to de- posit it, how to expend it, and, perhaps, best of all, how to keep it—is knowledge craved by many and possessed by few. A thorough business training is the surest means to the attainment of this knowl- edge. And to furnish at least the rudi- ments of this there is the work of the Business- Evening School on. Bush and Stockton streets. Fifteen rooms are oc- cupied nightly by tyros eager to grasp any information which will assist them in the busy mart. Very little theoretical work is taught, but the latest improved practi- cal methods are used in typewriting, ar to A stenography, penmanship, bookkeeping and banking. The principal and teachers engaged for instruction in these studies are, with the exception of five lady teach- constant intercourse with some of the best firms and banking establishments in the City. Studying stenography and typewriting | there are about 250 pupils, who are given | dictation and copy for two hours every eveninz. The standard in stenography is eighty words a minute, though many are able before completing the year’s course to take over 100 words. Taeir speed, for the shortness of time devoted to the work, is remarkable, The six departments devoted to book- keeping, under the supervision of the principal, are in a flourishing condition. ers, men whose daily life brings them into | Do the Lost Walk in Circie rtist and Reporter For the first half year the bookkeeping is entirely theoretical. In the second half commences the practical work, and before the year is concluded the pupil has had dealings with thirty-two firms, each ina different line of business. The greatest proof of the success of this institution 1s that many of the leading business firms of this City make applica- tion to the principal for typewriters, stenographers, clerks and bookkeepers. ‘What js the benefit of the night school? It gives the honest, ambitious working population, who are the backbone of every nation, a chance to surmount difficulties that tte uneducated sink before. Above all, it fosters in them a spirit of true inde- pendence and encovrages them to paddle their own canoe and to fight bravely the battle of life. EL1ZABETH ANN. “01d Glory.” See in the banner’s splendor, bright, The crimson, white snd blue unite, And 'mong the unduiating bars Gleam honor’s light, the twinkling stars, Till blest 10 sight and pure as gold, The flag, +Old Glory,” is untolled. O’er all the land, on every sea, F.oats high this ensign of the free, And guilded by its lembent light, Our young Republic, in the right, Leads ever onwazrd, siern arrayed, And wielding freedom’s bartle-blade. WILLIAM LIGHTFOOT VISSCHER. Why the Lost Walk in Circles. To the Editor of the Call—DEAR Sir: In ‘the issue of your valuable paper of the 6th inst. I noticed an article headed *Why "’ and con- cluded to answer the final question. In- 1858 I was teaching in what was then Washington Territory. In a treeless in- closure across the road from the school- house there were several miich cows. After several days they became quite a nuisance by their continual beliowing. My attention was called more ciosely to them, and I noticed that they would hold up their heads and sniff several times, and then, lowering their heads, they would start to walk, and, walking rapidly, they would soon strike a circle, when they woujd shortly repeat the performance. At noon I questioned the children, and | the older ones said the cattle wanted water from the creek, but had eaten a veg- etable which destroyed their sight temp rarily—the same as the rattleweed in Cali- fornia destroys the sense of horses. A quiet, gzentle horse eating rattleweed. be- comes idiotic and will neither lead nor drive. After a few days the cattle would recover their sight, but it takes a year or more for a horse to recover fromw loco. Since that time I have often used what I learned from the blind cows. On the Spokane plains and elsewhere I have often blinded my horse at noon, and.if well done he could not get off an acre of ground in a half day. ‘With all animals that walk single- footed, they turn to the right. A pacing horse may turn to the left. Most all right-handed persons turn to the right if blindfolded, and most of those who are left-handed are also left-footed; but some right-handed persons when ready to jump, rise from the left foot, ana vice versa. In myv judgment, these facts point toa general law which would be easily verified or disproved by a test. Yours respectiully, B. F. C. Ross, Raymond, Cal ——————— From June, 1791, to November; 1813, the French Government enrolled 4,556,000 men, nearly three-fourths of whom died in- battle, of wounds or of diseases con- | tracted in the field. Life Romance That Chilled the Blood of Listeners at a San Francisco Dinner Party ILLIAM THOMAS of the law firm of Chickering, Thomas & Gregory | is one of the most grapnic story- | in S8an Francisco. Gifted with n exquisite felicity of ianguage, possess- ing a strong sense of the dramatic, prac- ticed in public speaking and of fine ap- | vearance, when he tells a story he makes an impression whic: even those inimit- able after-dinner orators, Horace G. Platt | and Chauncey M. Depew, may well envy. Not many evenings ago some of the most cultured and accomplished men on the coast, members of a Greek-letter so- ciety which her2, owing to the etiquette of such organizations, must remain name- less, were sitting around the festive board. Wit and repartee, pathos and humor, all had their play; the eioquence of Horace | G. Piatt nad glittered; and in the hazy atmosphere of memory the whoie com- | pany once more breathed as boys and | were boys in spirit, so that any laugh was infectious and itself was a humorous whnole, unmarred by the past and un- menaced by the future. Then up rose William Thomas with a story of life experience, full of adventure, full of the unexpected, replete with pathos—a classic in all respects. He spoke in the first person. 'He was the one pringipally concerned. His voice some- times trembled, his eyes seemed to dim and blur, but perhaps that was caused by the smoke wreaths rising from many fra- grant cigars and perfuming the air. Vis- ibly he was affected. His heart was touched with the memory of what was pathetic. His mind grasped and repro- duced, with marveious fidelity, the small details of landscape, and even words which were of the long ago. His auditors listened ‘as the life story grew upon them, and the denouement found them with bated breath, with looks of surprise in their eyes, and they con- sidered Mr. Thomas with new interest. Then the certaintydawned on them that Mr. Thomas had pioneered the way in club life to a new and delightful form of after-dinner entertainment. Precipient Burtons felt within them the germs of romances airy as the dreams contained in the “Arabian Nights” orin Grimm’s im- mortal book of fairy tales. Stimulated by the king of after-dinner story-tellers, iheir minas were grateful to him, for while the domsin of romance is infinite the set re- sponses to set toasts about *‘fair Harvard” or “Yale, our Aima Mater,”’ after a time become difficult. So, when the applause echoed and re- echoed from all around the board of amity, iribute was at once paid to a story-teller and a discoverer. Truly the life story told by Mr. Thomas was a moving tale. It began with the time when Mr. Thomns'wu a young law- yer ia his father’s office in Nev{ \ork_a_nd, consistentiy, struck its roots into litiga- tion in which Mr. Thomas' father was concerned as an attorney. According to his own story, Mr. Thomas was not con- sidered to be much of a budding lawyer by his father. It appears that he had done in college much as other students might. He had a good time, studied some, was ‘:omeffmnx o an aiblete, to which his ercct figure W / — teliers now bears eviderce, but he had his career what would happen next and- being en- as a lawver all ahead of him. It was necessary to find a witness in East Ten- nessee. William Thomas was instructed | to undertake this mission. | Passing over the details of the law case, | which were in themselves of some inter- est, being peculiar, young William Thomas may be considerad to have taken his jour- ney from New York and to have arrived in East Tennessee and to be riding through a thinly peopled country. The people were singular in some respects, especially so the farther be pushed forward into the heart of the mountains. Their mien was intrepid but kindly. He soon searned to appreciate them for their true worth. It was now night in the Tennessee for est. Aftera long and hard ride of a day, Mr. Thomas’ horse was unable to go farther. The rider had hoped to reach his destination that day and so had driven harder than he would otherwise have done. The disablement of his horse and the gathering darkness gave him a natural feeling of uneasiness. He could do noth- ing but push on. The house where the witness was supposed to be was some miles distant. The chance of meeting any one who could direct him exactly grew less with the loss of daylight. However, as he journeyed on foot be met a Tenriessee mountaineer who knew the man for whom he was searching. From him young Mr. Thomas received instruc- tions and pushed along. The woodchop- pers had piled up fuel throughout the for- est and made many trails as they tramped to and fro with their heavy boots. It would have been difficult by daylight to keep the main trail. 1t was now practi- cally, impossible. : Walking rapidly the traveler traversed many miles, passing the cottage which he sought without knowing it. He wasabout discouraged when a gleam of light was seen. This widened out as progress was made until it was seen to be a rather large campfire. About it armed men were mov- ing. Other armed men were lying prone on the ground. Here was a mystery, sure enough, and Mr. Thomas went toward the fire—not to investigate, but to get in- formation; or, failing in this, to get food and a piace to pass the night. Suddenly Mr. Thomas fell to the ground. An o utpost of the men around the fire had come upon him unaware and had knocked him down with the stock of a gun or some other weapon. 7 ““That scar,’’ said Mr. Thomas to his after-dinner audience, “I carry to this day. I was struck on the back of my head and the hair has never grown on that spot since that night.” For a time he was unconscions. When he regained his senses his position was sufficiently unusual to be interesting. He had been taken up limp and helpless and tied to a tree. Now he was surrounded by ‘rough men, whose minds were full of sus- picion. Whether they were “moonshin- ers,” counterfeiters or other outlaws'they bhad no desire to make his acquaintance, He was clearly an unwelcome guest. One of the border ruffians advanced to- ward him, drawing from the leather belt around his girdle a long, sharp knife. Mr. Thomas heid his breath, not knowing tirely helpless. The knife was raised and fell on his left biceps, which still bears the scar as a souvenir of that memorable night. This attack seemed to satisfy the moun- taineers for tne present, but the indica- tion furnished concerning their intentions by tHis preliminary onslaught was not particularly reassuring to a man who could not move hand or foot. surrounded by dusky figures; and in the forest, which in the darkness penetrated only by the flickering firelight, seemed illimitable. He mused on the perilous | and singular position he found himself | placed in, and naturally wondered what the outcome of the adventure would be. “Say, stranger, what really brought you here and what do you want?”’ The gruff voice he heard came from the sentry, who had drawn near him. ed the backwoodsman. *'I came to ind —, who is wanted asa witness in a law case. Do you know him?” g A strange expression came over the facé of the man. “Why, yes,” he said, “that is I did know him; in fact I killed him a week ago.” “Killed him!” 5 “Yes. You see he was abusing his daughter Mollie and I interfered. Then Yy S e S BOUND TO A TREE AND A KNIFE' THRUST AT HIS HEART. The fire crackled sullenly among the logs and twigs heaped upon it. Gathered around the fire were the mountaineers, who consulted concerning him. They drank deep potations of “mountain dew’” and seemed inclined to be quarrelsome. But they made no further move to molest him that night. One by one they dropped off to sleep, leaving only one man to stand guard. Mr. Thomas did not sleep. There was a strange fascination in the sight of the fire, ‘Before he could answer, the sentry saw on the young lawyer’s coat a society pin, indicating bhis membership .of the Greek letter society. “Where did yoll get that?" demanded the sentry. 3 «I am a member of the society,” re- sponded the lawyer. To his surprise the lawyer found that the sentry was a member of the same fra- ternity. “But what are you doing here?"’ insist- he came for me, and I had to shoot him in self-defense.”” - Mr. Thomas looked carefully at the man and was satisfied he was teliing the truth. There was no use remsining any longer in that neighborhood, and as the sentry cut him loose helost no time in departing and in a few days he was back in his father’s office in New York. Time took the edge from this adven- ture, but the young lawyer’s mind natu- rally was inquisitive and he sometimes ) wondered what the young girl in the Ten- nessee mountains, who had been protected by the young mountaineer, really looked like and what had happened to her. The wounds on his head and biceps healed after a little. Months passed and, after a while, Mr. Thomass emigrated to Cali- fornia and engaged actively in the practice of law in this City. One day, years ago, a letter was de- livered which bore a postmark showing that it came from Tennessee. Mr. Thomas’ thoughts traveled speedily back- ward until, by the time that he had the seal broken, he was, at least in memory, back in the Tennessee fastness, with the firelight making the trunks of the trees about it ruddy at midnight and a half- drunken crew of backwoodsmen and mountaineers sullenly watching and discussing him. The letter added another chapter to the romance, for it contained a card announc- ing the marriage of the man who had acted as sentry to the girl whose father he had murdered for her sake. She had been ‘through a period of mourning, not un- mixed with bitterness, but the slayer of her father, admiring her, had presented himself as a suitor for her hand and she had agreed to marry him. Glancing at the date on the wedding card, the lawyer saw that the bappy event had already taken place. On the card were written the words: “‘She asked me.” “He asked me.” The first inscription was in a man’s handwriting and the otherin a woman’s. Mr. Thomas hastened to extend his con- gratulations and the customary wishes for happiness and prosperity, and also sent the bride a present. “Gentlemen,’”’ said Mr. Thomas, “I have not told this story in many years, and then only to my wife. But to-day, as I was walking along Montgomery street, I met the man who that night set me free in.the Tennessee woods. He is a well- known and prominent man now on the Pacific Coast, and has lived here with his wife, the heroine of this romance, for some years. Itold him that I wouid tell his life- story here to-night. At ‘first he said ‘no,’ but then said ‘very well.” So I have told it; and, gentlemen, you all know him!” Then the story-teller sat down. The as- sembled fraternity men paused for a moment and then heartily applauded the narrative, which bad all the earmarks of truth. But it wasnot true. When it was ap- parent that all the company had been fooled, Mr. Thomas announced that the story was pure romance, invented by him and carefully worked out as to details, to furnish something new. It was new and the fraternity men unanimously voted it to be a success. e ———— Duties of Prime Ministers. 1etus consider for a moment what is the real, as contrasted with the theoreti- sess the confidence of a majority of the House of Commons. He forms his Cabi- net by asking certain members of the two houses to hold the great offices of state. He might do tHis one day and without consulting any one. As a matter of fact, what usually hap- pens is this: As soon as the commission to form a government has been received, the Prime Minister takes into his con- fidence the two or three men who will hold the chief offices, and they together talk over the other names. When a man is decided upon, he as a.rule joins the conciave and helps to consult as to men and places, and so the Cabinet gradually evolves itself. No doubt, as generally happens in this world, the Prime Min- ister’s choice is never really free. Certain men must be in the Cabinet whatever happens, and hence they may be said not to be chosen by the Premier, but to be Ministers in their own right. In spite, however, of this, the fact that they are asked to serve by the Premier makes them feel his superiority.” When the Cabinet is made the theory of the un- written constitution is that the Cabinet governs. In reality it seldom does any- thing of the kind. Each Cabinet Minister has very great power in bis own depart- ment, but the Cabinet as a Cabinet can do little. Since, however, it knows every- thing, or almost everything that is going on, it can exercise a great deal of indirect power. The previous knowiedge that the majority of the Cabinet would like or dis- like a particular policy bas a great influ- ence, but still the Cabinet does not rule. ‘Who, then, teally rules? The Prime Minister—but Jimited in a way which we must describe later. What gives the Prime Minister this power? In the first place, he summons and presides over, and so largely controls, the Cabinet meetings., Next, if a vacancy ~occurs he fills it up, and so can promote men from the lower to the higher offices. Then he can and does confer with his colleagues in regard to the business of their departments and 50 has a hold upon the whole machine of government. Sir Robert Peel saw every member of his Cabinet separately every day. Again, if there is a difference between two other members of the Government the Premier decides. If there is an irre- concilable difference between himself and a Minister it is the Minister and not the Premier who resigns. Lastly the Prime Minister can, by resigning himself, dis- solve the whole Ministry. These things, small in themselves, taken together make the Prime Minister’'s position what it is. He makes and can unmake a Cabinet. He presides over it, and he has the right to advise in regard to every department, though this right is, of course, -seldom exercised, and he has secured to him beforehand.the support of the rank and file of any Cabinet, if it comes to & struggle between him and a colleague, because the rank and file know that if the Premier is beaten, he has it in cal, position of the Prime Minister. Inthe first place the Prime Minister, as a rule, makes his Cabinet. He is commissioned his power to upset the whole machine of government. Hence the yoices of those who want to keep in office are always by the Queen to form a Cabinet, because | found on the side of the Premier.—Londom he is the man whom she considers to pos- ! Spectator.