The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, January 3, 1897, Page 23

THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, SUNDAY, JANUARY 3, 1897. 23 REVEALED ON THE CITY FRONT Denis Kearney Learns the Rare History of a Strange Lo WO of us went dowi to the City front to look at the ships. My com- n was a French exile, who had shed from his native land during 2 of Napoleon 11I. Being a re. be disliked that monarch. . be thought, was not big enouzh h of them. Either one or the must go. t my friend was not alone, hers of his way of thinking. king-haters g ther and from behind the ramparts of and the barricades . er things at the its minions. He soon found, or him it ‘was the guillotine | ment, and he chose the latter. | is a cultured gentieman, of nice | There is fond of good books and fine His abode is on Telegraph Hill, { to the summit, and his high-up | overlooks the beautiful bay and the | s around and about it. In therearisa garden that is marvelous to look at. The patches are all laid out in terraces that have been cut in solid rock, and are made to blossom in the summer, and in the winter, too. Posies, daisies and roses grow here v side with lettuce, rad- dishes and I But what of the cellar, with its e, and 1o spare? Shall I des I won't, for we now more. ck bull and tall taper- ones being very high, re rigged on every mast. very sharp But the acht-like bows, are was never built for a sailing urning to a thick, stubby an whose face resembled the porcu- bristles and color. He had on an "wester that looked the worse for and an oilskin coat that was full of tches. He must be a sailor, I thought, fr the cut of his and that's why my remarks were addressed to him. “Not at all, mon,” he answered, speak- | with a cockney accent. “That there | used to be the French mail boat | gr meself | aster in the early '60’s. She | new then and made regular nd New York.” s statement had a | upon my friend from He acted as one who re- den stroke of paralysis, and image that was glued an, and a Frenchman ed by the simple mention of rer’s name was indeed a curiosity, the proper place for him would be ments could Commissioners, 1 out there in ellback T effect legraph Hill. ved le with the to stand him up e between Bardwell's clock g's picture as a curio worth see- and it him. He in French, unintelligible to me. sped on recovering his arelic of the fraudulent ous speculations which w the me of the Second E But,” I inquired, “what has that got h the shock which came so near you Bardwell’s curiosity- todow Soall | hered themselves to- | they | | in | when ng Black Hull Acting on his suggestion three of us went on to her topgallant forecastle, when the old sailor loaded his pipe and sat ona coil of rope that lay abaft the cathead, while the exile leaned up against the capstan and delivered the following bit of French history : “Two noted schemers,” he said, *‘were born in Bordeaux in the early part of the present century. Their names were Jacob and Isaac Perier. They were educated at Simon, and with the knowledge thus gained they worked on the simplicity of the French people and becume rich. 1t was this ill-gotten money that made Na- poleon ITl's coup d’etat possible. As a recompense the Government ot that monarch gave to these two corruptionists very valuable concessions, among which | was the authorization to establish the Credit Mobilier. They puteverythinginto | shares, mostly fraudulent, and this worth- less paper was given to the French people in exchange for their money. An era of wild speculation tollowed which lasted for fifteen years. Shares of the Credit Mobilier went skyward. In March, 1856, they were quoted at 1982 francs, or $396 per share. In October, 1867, they had fallen to 140 francs, or $28 a share. In 1868 the concern was thrown into bankruptey, declared by the court to be a robbery and the liquida- tor was ordered to pay each shareholder $20 a share for hisstock. Of course the shareholders were ruined, but not so with the brothers Perier, for their fortune at | the end of the collapse was estimated to | be $32,000,000. ‘‘It was when these shares were at the highest that the Periers advised French- men to buy, telling them at the same time that it was the safest and most profitable investment for widows, orphans and fathers of families. “The headquarters of this brace of wor- thies was in Paris, It was there they cut | their widest swathe. They engineered | immense schemes, built great boulevards, some of which they had named after them- | selves. Back roiches were turned into fine front lots that taced on these boule- This ship was a part of one of | schemes, and the rivets in her must | have cost our family one franc apiece. ‘Isaac Perier was anxious to becomea member of the Chamber of Deputies, and 1863, with the full consent of the man of Sedan, he offered himself as a candi- date in the department of Pyrenese | Oriental and was elected, but he never‘ took his seat, as the election was ques- tioned on the ground of fraud, for he had, through his agents, bribed most of the electors who voted for him. Tn 1869 Na. | voleon III induced him to try again in another department, which he did, and | was successful, but his election was also | annulled, for the proof was established | that the voters had been corrupted.” | My friend was very excited when deliy- ering the foregoing statement, but it ex plains in part the shock which unnerved | him. Here be was in the presence of a ship whose name brought back memories of relatives ruined for daring to be re- publicans and called up in hisown mind the sorrow which he experienced st the time he wes banished irom the land of his | | fathers to wander amongz strangers in a strange land. All these things combined | would have upset most any man under similar circumstances. Though ciose on to 60 years of age the old centleman still celebrates the fail of | stile as if he were but 20. But all the same he is a patriotic American, for he came here he brought the re: | publican ideas that he imbived in bis | youth with bim and he has stamped them | on his children. Dexs KEARNEY. phenomena sometimes t intervals of such different length 1d seem to be a random dis- tribution, only that the annals of the past disclose uniformity in the irregularity. The opening year is rather an interval of non-occurrence than otherwise, to Pacific Coast observe: or are inevita- general especial the two solar eclipses, which ble phenomena every year, neither is total and one is el visible here. There unar eciipse. The planetary con- one exception, are im- ports ur in daylight. The few occultations of interest avoid the evening Mars will not be in opposition. ther Jupiter nor Saturn will be in par- ticularly favorable positions for observa- tions. The _succeeding constellations will spangle the evening firmament in due sea- t it is pot known that any large comet will sweep over them in itslumi- ght; nor is it even certain that the grexpected shower of November me- will brighten the decline of the year. s is the n tive side, in some respects t to the years preceding'and fol- d il be two annulareclipses, the sun’s disi extends that of the moon, encircling it | ous ring. This occurs when not of sufficient apparent size ure the sun, though pass. 7 over itsdisk. At such times vy at or near apogee. The f February 1 being invisible here, 1i be the chief astronomi- ¢h annular toobservers in 2 linecrossing Mexico and the ocean, in | this more nort latitude it will be merely partial -half of the disk being eclipsed at the time of greatest obscura- tion. = As first contact takes place shortly alter sunrise, and last coutact before 7 M., the entire phase will occur while the sun is near the northeastern horizon. Though the same scientific value does not ach to it as to & total eclipse, it is al- 1 worthy of observation, utiful plavet Venus, now in the will continue to be star until the end of April, after which be a morning star until the end of the year. In the coming months ample opportunity will be afforded the great telescopes of the world to reveal or fail to reveal the definite shadings seen on its surfuce by the observers of Flagstaff, Until the beginning of September, Jupiter will continue to illuminate the evenings, being in opposition on February 23. It will be in conjunction with Mars on July 24, and both may be seen in the west after dark, seven minutes apart, like a ide double star whose components are flerently tinted. An occultation of some of the Pleiades will take place past mid- night Augnst 19 end 20, when the waning hulf-moon, then in the eastern heavens, will wander near the group. They will also be occulted by the gibbous moon in fhe early morning hours of November 10. i uxmuwmxj | purpose of correcting the lunar tables and | are of sufficient interest to repay the effort | to observe them at umnseasonable hours. | These are the few astronomical events that will awaken popular interest during | the year, but for telescopic astronomy the | irmament always affords unending scope for interest and observation. RosE O’"HALLORAN. ]"levfleasor\ed It Out. “How was the play ?” “It was very gocd,”’ replied the man with a gentle disposition. “I am glad you enjoyed it.” “Idon’t mean to say that I enjoyed it, I merely said it was very good.- I base that opinion on the fact that tne lady with a large hat who sat in iront of me laughed audibly several times during each act.”’— Washington Star. | reproduction DENIS KEARNEY LEARNS SOME INTERESTING FRENCH HISTORY. ‘W. GREER HARRISON'S MINIATURE THEATER How He Arranges the Stage Settings for His New Drama Which Miss Kathryn Kidder Will Produce Shortly in New York ATHRYN KIDDER writes that she s applying herself to the study of “A Fixed Idea,” the comedy writ® ten for her by William Greer Harrison. She expresses herself, after a first reading, s much pleased with it, but suggests a little more fun-making as a possible im- provement. In the meantime Mr. Harrison bad rather anticipated the suggestion and bhad already sent another writing of it, in which gleams of sunshine had been more plentifully scattered. For ‘A Fixed Idea,” comedy that it is, teils a rather serious story. Mr. Harrison is having a good deal of fun with the play himself and in adyance of other people. He has that right, of course, it being his 8 Sidney Chidley, the well-known artist and stage carpenter, has built for Mr. Harrison a mimature stage—an exact of that of the California Theater—with all the ropes and pulleys, he gridiron up above; sky borders, tor- mentor, wings, foot and top lights, and all the rest of it. The stage is four feet wide and three feet deep and the grid- iron three feet above the stage. All the scenery necessary for pro- duction of “A Fixed Idea” has been painted and prepared, including decorated ceilings for the interior, ‘‘working win dows” and doors. Furniture for complete settings of the several scenes has been manufactured or purchased, all to abso- lutely correct scale. Nor has the drop- curtain been forgotten. It is of silk, on which is spread a marine view with Roman galleys in the foreground. All this has been prepared under the direction of Mr. Harrison’s chief lieutenant in-the business, George Adams, who assists in its manipulation, now that everything is ready. All the characters of the play have, of course, been built with the same care as to details in dress and color of the eyes and hair as conceived and described | by the author. The toy theater was first set up in Mr. Harrison’s office on California street, but it attracted so much attention and there| was such a crush of deaaheads who in- sisted on getting behind the scenes and puiling the ropes and disconcerting the actors, that Mr. Harrison bad the theater, the company and all hauled out to his house 1n an express-wagon. There in the quist of his own bedroom almost nightly may be seen—or rather, except by the invited few, may not be seen—in panto- mime and miniature, the performance of “A Fixed Iaes.” As Mr. Harrison reads the lines Mr. Adams moves the figures, causes Mr, Fer- ris or Mr. Lake to come or go, places Beatrice and John on the red plush sofa to make love, has the major to throttle the villain at the cry of *“Coward,” and causes the staiely doll who is Queen Mab to fall at a critical momrent in a fainting spell in the center of the stage well toward the footlights. All this has afforded Mr. Harrison and his friends much entertainmeat. Mr. Harrison says he is going right along writing plays until one of them is distinctly stamped as great. He may quit them or not, just as the sensation that comes to him under the influence of such success may suggest. In the mean- time his stage will serve its purvose. He is even now writing a musical skit and in- tends its early production in this fashion with musical accompaniment before a selected company of his friends. The theme in “A Fixed Idea” is a rather bold one and its treatment is neces- sarily so, although, of course, artistically inoffensive, as might be expected from the author. Queen Mab—the star part—a delicate, high-strung woman, a widow, goes through the four acts of the play under a spell wrought by Felix Ferris, tue villain, who has hypnotic powers. Ferris wasa friend of Queen Mab's late husband, and since the latter’s death Las laid desperate siege to her affections, but without win- ning them. Before the opening of the play he had resort to his occult power, and while she remained under its influ- ence he tried to ruin her, but failed. He leit the impression with her, however, that be had done so, and this is the “fixed idea” that gives the motif to the play. In the last act the villainywhotias fallen a yietim himseli to a plot he laid to ruin financially Maud’s other and favored lover, Major Standish, comes seeking the favor of “a few hundred” to put him on his feet again. In this consideration hie allows Sam Lake, a young doctor who has been practicing hypnotism, to experi- ment upon him. He suceumbs to the in- fluence, and then in the presence of Queen Mab and the major and all the rest of them he reveals his secret—that Quezn Mab has been suffering an hallucination, and is pure, as all her friends had ever thought her. The play has two endings as written, and Mise Kidder has not signified which of them she prefers. Mr. Harrison pre- fers that, in the fullness of her joy at this discovery, she rises up and dies in her rue lover's arms. This is made easy by a beart that flutters overmuch all through the play. The other ending is that she rices up and lives in her lover’s arms. The author thinks that to die is more artistic, but admits that audiences, the country over, may prefer that a good girl, such as Maud is proved to be, should live and im- prove in health and get married. The play is full of bright things. For instance, these epigrams in the mouth of the villain Ferrs, in the first act. Fiorence Wilmott has been reading the lines of his hand and giving him a rather bad charac- ter with ultimate misfortunes. Florence—If I may be permitted to advise you, Ferris, your hand suggests thata prac- WILLIAM GREER HARRISON'S MINIATURE THEATER. Such phenomena are often of value for dhe 1 tice of virtue might mitigate your threatened misfortune. Ferris—My dear Miss Willmott, virtue is & mere qualify of the blood. Some have it and lose it,and others, mot having it, cannot lose it. Keene—You're wrong, Ferms. Virtue isits own reward. Ferris—Add and its “only” reward, ana I'll agree with you. Lake—Virtue is acondition not dependent upon reward. Ferris—Extremely proper, my dear fellow, but scarcely logical. Tom~—Well, define virtue for us, Mr. Ferris. Ferris—Oh, virtue is a prolonged Lent. In the third act is a scene between Queen Mab and Major Standish and El. sie, Queen Mab's little girl, which, Mr. Harrison thinks, under the charm of Miss Kidder’s “‘business,” will catch the peo- ple. The scene also offers a sample ob Queen Mab’s disposition to say things that are aimost forbidden. The little girl does most of the talking. The others have left Queer Mab and her daughter alone on the stage. Elsie—Now, mamma, if you are a good girl I will tell you all about my new doil. Queen Mab—What doll, dear? Elsie—Major Stanaish’s. Queen Mab—What, did Jack—Major Standish —send yon 4 new doli? Elsie—Yes; but it is not a soldier doll. It is just a girl doll, with great big eyes—lovely eyes like yours, mamma. Queen Mab—My little sweetheart! and kisses her.) ‘. Enter Jack. Queen Mab—Ah, major! I find you. have been winning my little girl’s heart. Jack (softly)—If it were only her mother’s. Queen Mab—Oh, get & doll big enough and— will you come and join the family circle? Jack (to Mildred as he settles himself on the grass)—Won't you kiss me, dear? Eisie—Yes ; for you are my new doll’s papa. (She puts her arms about his neck and kisses him. Queen Mab looks on d¢lighted.) Queen Mab—Isn't she lovely? Isn’t she sweet? You could 1ove her, Jack. Jack—I dolové her, Edith. (To the child) How large & family have you? Elsie—Six. Jack—What, six? That is a big family. Queen Mab—This is a domestic lesson for you, Jack. We, Elsie and I, do not' believe in tne new mode of—oh, well, it is t00 compli- cated & subject for Elsie, Jack—Tell us all about your family, Elsie. Elsie—Well, there is Boy-blue. He is a very g00d boy, but sometimes he won’t go to sleep. Jack—And what do you do to him? Elsle—Just sing to him ana tell him I wor’t love him if he won't sleep. Then there is Beatrice. Oh, she isa terror. She won'’t do a thing unless I let her have Boy-blue all to her- self. Jack—She is good then ? Elsie—Oh, she is lovely then. And there is Edith; she’s a dear, sweet girl—she is no trouble. And then there is the Fairy Prince; he 1s very odd and wants all the others to_wait onhim. ButIjust turn his face to the wall until he's good. Then there is Rags, ana Rags—well, he is just Rags. Jack—And your new doll, dear. What have you called her ? Elsie—Oh, Queen Mab. She is just like mamma. You love Queen Mab, don’t you ? Jack (heartily)—That I do with all my heart. Queen Mab—I am afraid your new doll, dear, will make you forget poor little Rags, of whom you were so fond. Elsie (after thinking)—Mamma, if the dear God were to give you another little girl would you forget me ? Queen Mab—No, no, my darling, no, no (kiss- ing her). But come, show your doll’s papa how expert a little mother you are. (Here Elsie begins to undress the doll, ex- plaining each part of dress toJack. Queen Mab is laughing heartily all through the per- formance—jollying Jack, who is much emba rassed). Elsie—You see, I take off her bonnet care- fully, 50 &5 to not muss her hair, for she hasa party this evening. Then I take off her cape and fold it neatly—there. Now we take off ber frock—so—and hang it up. She hasn’t too many frocks, so I mustn’t rumple this one. Now I take off her little petticoat—isn’t it sweet, Jack? Ah (taking off the one remain- ing bifurcated garment and holding up). Look at them! Are they not justtoo pretty for anythig? Don’t you wish you could wear such nice things? And now I put her nighty on. Now that’s the prettiest dress she bas. Justlook atit! Jack—It's beautiful. What & clever little woman you are, and what alot you know. Elsie—Yes, Jack; I know everything. And now we must put Queen Mab to bed—that is, my Queen Mab, you know. Say, Jack, my Queen Mab is betfer than yours ‘cause she can’t taik back. IfIwere you I would have only & doll queen. They’re much less trouble than real live gueens. The play will probably see its first pro- duction in New York City. (Bends The Dangers of India. India is a dangerous country to live in, as the following tigures showing the deaths from wild beasts and snakes dur- ing one recent year will testify. Ia one twelvemonth snakes killed no less than 19,740 persons. Tigers killed 1063 persons and 27,517 nead of cattle; bears, 126 per- sons and 315 cattle; wolves, 177 persons and 4087 cattle; hyenas, 17 persons and 2748 cattle: elephants, 56 persons and 4 cattle; while other wild beasts, such as jackalls, buffaloes, boars, crocodiles, etc., ‘were responsible for the deaths of 969 per- sons and 2165 cattles TOLD OF STREET MENDICANTS How Gasual Passers-by jl’;ré]- Oft Deceived by Appearances ‘ARKrnml drear as was the night; cold as was the wind which blew rudely against the passer-by; few and faint as were the stars that looked through the breaks in the low-hanging clouds, still she was sitting at the corner asking alms. She was a frail little creature, and now and ti.en she shivered slightly and leaned back against the lamppost. The biack Quaker bonnet which she wore made:a fitting frame for the white pinched face, from which stared forth two sightless eyes. 1n her hands—small and well- formed, but almost blue with the cold— she neid an accordion. Would ste never stop playing? As fast as she pumped the cold air nto the rheus matic instrument she freed it again with weird little gurgles of sound that had no relationship with each other nor with the world into which they were born, and they sank back into nothingness with a wail, like a protest against being forced into an unwelcome existence. ‘‘Are you cold ?"” Shie stopped playing, more at the sound of the coin which was dropped into the tin cup at her side than at the words. “Not very,” she said faintly. Then she leaned forward, and it may have beena raindrop, but it seemed like a tear that splashed down on the back of her hand. “I am tired!” she said, and her lips trembled. “‘Have you received much to-day ?"” *During holidays people are generous,” she replied. “A cold night, madam,” and a man stepped in frout of the little woman and looked at me with a pair of cold gray eyes, that were enough to send a chill clear through a Christmas sealskin. And at the sound of the man’s voice the woman began the béllows-like movement, and with a sigh of resignation the instrument belched forth another mouthful of dis- cord. But the man! What a typical villain! No doubt he compelled this poor creature to sit there and play while he spent the profits of his heartless scheme. He was not coarse-looking. His face had a deathly palior; his gray mustache dropped grace- fully over his thinly chiseled lips, and un- derneath the old and queerly shaped hat was an abundance of iron-gray hair. His overcoat was shabby and he had a peculiar walk, as though he was hardly able to lift his feet; but the watch he kepton that frail little woman was catlike. From the other side of the thoroughfare Isaw her stand up, put the accordion under her shawl, pick up her little campstool and turn her face toward Montgomery street. Curiosity overcame me. 1 followed. Down Montgomery street and on, ve:y slowly, for her steps were unceriain, until she had passed the crowd, and then she paused in answer to a low whistle and leaned against a lamppost. From the darker side of the street a man appeared. He had on a faded over- coat and a queerly shaped hat and he walked with difficulty. He took out a large bandana handker- chief and held it spread out in his hands. “What did you get?’ I heard bim ask. For answer she gave him the little tin cup. He emptied the contents into the Xkerchief and.tied it up carefully, then put it into his overcoat pocket. “It must be four or five dollars,” he said. ““That’s'good!” Then be took her arm, and they walked on slowly—very slowiy—up the hill to Broadway. A younz woman was stand- ing at the corner with a child in her arms and a shawl wrapped about them both. ““Who are they?”’ she said. “I know them. The old man’s spine’s been hurt, and he can’t do nothin’, an’ the woman’s blind. She plays atthe cornersdowntown and he stays near to look after her. You never see one without t'other. They got hurt in a fire, I think, or somethin,” she went on. “The woman they live with told me. They had a little girl baby, an’ she died, and the mothber can’t see her picture, so the man takes it an’ tells her all about it every night. The walls are thin, you know, and they can hear every- thing. An’ then, she says, the woman cries an’ takes on so an’says she don't want to live. Poor things! But they say in Alms-Seekers the mar’s good and patient. He ain't like the .others round here, then,” she added, sharply, as a man rushed past her and looked at her insolently. *If the rest of us was blind it might be a good thing.” Where was the villain? The story was a fairy tale now and the faded coat wasa prince’s garb and— But the woman weep- ing in the darkness! No wonder the ac- cordion uttered a protest—no wonder there was no music in her soul. It was not yet late, and I hurried back and passed through the California Market. Some one near by tapped on the walk with a cane. No doubt you have often seen him, tiis tall wreck of a man, so pitifully blind, for be still bears about him the unmistakable signs of former good fortune. “My name,” he said, “what right have Ito have a name? My name and place in this world were jost years and years ago? : His voice quavered and it was high- pitched, but he was pleased to talk, He leaned against the side wall in.an uncon- scious pose, and some way it reminded me of Samson—shorn of his strength yet bearing withal some impress of what had been. - “Years and years ago—l don’t know how many. I don’t even know how old.I am. We tell the passing of the time by the changes of light and darkness, and when it is all darkness then it is one long night. “How did I lose my sight? I was in the prime of life then. They said I was handsome, ana I know I was strong. I was superintending the builaing of a house in Oakland, and was looking up when a block of wood fell and struck me in the middle of the forehead, and I have never seen the light since. “How does it feel to be blind? Like be- ing shut up in a damp dungeon, for no matter how warm it is nawrally your soul feels cold. “Why am I kere? Well, at first friends were kind and pitied and cared for me, but a strong man suddenly bereft of his strength is weaker than a child who never had any, and one by one they have all left me. I have no business to live,” he said, “and yet I do not mind it so much. Ifind a little pleasure’’; he shivered; *I would not want to die. “Tuanks for a kind word,” he said. “I’ll get something to warm my blood with this,” and hoiding the coin in his haud he passed out of my sight. On Geary & large man with a wooden leg leaned against a lamp-post, sawing away on a fearfully tuned instrument, with flourishes which might have graced the playing of Ondricet. The wail of his violin was borne with unpleasant distinct ness by the wind—it sounded like the grieving of some stray, lonely spirit—only perhaps epirits even when alone wouldn’t grieve to the tune of “Just Tell Them That You Saw Me,” with discordant vari- ations. A crowd of urchins was standing in the gotter staring up at the man’s strange convolutions. Presently each one began sawing on an imaginary fiddle, for all tha world like smaller editions of himself, and atthesame time sangin wretched rhythms: Come to me, sweet Ma-rie, Sweet Ma-rie, come Lo me. At the end the man leaned hard against the post, and looked with the large, inno- cent eyes of a trusting gazelle at the pass- ers by. “It's pretty cold.” “Ah! Gott in himmel! mine little ones. Dey bat got notting to eat. Achl you know not how one haf to suffer!” It was beginning to rain, and he took the coin I gave him with many protesta- tions of gratitude, assuring e that now his children need not starve. Poor fellow, and a cripple with the poor little ones waiting for bread this cold night! Turning back, thinking to find out his abiding place, I was just in time to see him hobble across the street, and— yes, it was no mistake, across the bril- hantly lighted threshold of the corner saloon. And if children there were, no doubt they are waiting vet, for after an hour had passed he had not come forth. Jeax Mornis. Grieve we when the sun is setting? Mourn we when the night is done? Find we time for vain regretting Single circuits of the sun? Why then simulate a sorrow For the passing of a year? Go to-day or Come to-morrow, Time and God are ever here. Time that never had beginning; Time that knows no coming end. Down the past the years are spinning, Up the future more ascead. ‘Vaster, ever vaster growing, Looms the vastness of the past; Minutes, days and years are growing, Yet no first there is, nor last. Present! But a finite fleeting Point too small for man to see; Place where Past and Future, meeting, «Was" is joined to “Is to be.” Men are being born and Hving; Men are dying; corpses rot; Time is taking, Time is giving; New is learned and old forgot. Plowing, planting, tending, reaping: Summer i®llows after spring; Autumn harvest; winter sleeping; Time, there s, for everythiug. Thus the eyele of the seasons Aching with its measure’s span Proves the law and hides the reasons Working for the good of man. Yesterday, to-day, to-morro Parts of time and parts of life. Coming, going, joy and sorrow; Ever present daily st 3 Hopes evanished, yet succeeded By the newer hopes ihat fall 2 Like the others. Gone unheeded! Future is the ail in ail. - Was there aught of worth recorded Tn the Iatest tweivemonth gone? Aye! Forscience has rewarded Research with another dawn. Roentgen rays, with potence beaming Through the dark of living clay Rob the surgeon of his seeming Doubt and shows his knife the way, That is all. In opposition To the good is greater ill; Rays to guide the blind physician Met by newer ways to kill, | Greater cannons, mightier agents Hurling death through miles of space} Wars that or.ce were only pageants Bode dest:uction to the race. Has the race grown worse or better? Which of faith or douht increased? Have we burst the chains that fetter Higher soul to lower beast? No! The brute in man is seeking Power over soul and mor Power over right and wreal Horrors in & ruthless war. What of Cuba? What despairing Cry of helpless murdered men Rang like this beforz, declaring Nations cowards? Where and when Have the liberty-defenders Begged a word of cheer in vain? Justice-lovers! Weak pretenders! Coward patiens! Fear ye Spain? ng Love you yet the year aeparted?s Freedom killed; the world to blamel ‘What then of the craven-hearted Powers held in silent shame? While Armenians—Christian brothers— For the merest mercy prayed, Martyred men and babes and mothers Bled beneath the Turkish blade. Turn the page—its fairer writing Fades beneath tbe purple hlot. Ages hence a sage reciting Of our t1me will falter not, Telling “History repeated Proved the race had not progressed Passion, carnage, fear, defcated All the better things possessed.” S e Ringing, ringing, merry ringing! Peal, ye New Year beils, and say: “Time to come is surely bringing Better days than yesterday ; Greater purpose; nobler people, Fearless, merciful and just.” Ring, ye bells, from yonder steeple! «Future hope is future trust.” EDWARD CLARKE. San Francisco, Jan. 1, 1897. e e The King of Greece delights in taking recreation in the fields. He can plow, cut and bind corn, milk cows, and, in short, could, at a pinch, keep a farm gong | single-handed.