The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, February 28, 1897, Page 18

18 THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, SUNDAY, FEBRUARY ¢2s. T8 - Pen Pictures of the Gleam and Gloom in Picturesque Old ¢, NARROW beach, shifting and | * sandy, on which the blue waves | T break with a srlash rather than a roar; Ik cliffs, dazzlingly white; hard- beaten roads, on which invalids m and out of carriages and chairs are dracged or | drag themselves; avenues of pines, with | branches interlacing overhead, and sharp shadows, like a mosaic underfoot; the | precipitous streets of a smart, shoddy litle town, full of hotels bustling with people and tourists and little do bi- | cycles Hlashing everywhere; carriages, at- ing to avoid them, heading for the | pleasure gardens or the pier, where the inevitable military band fills the air with exuberant, stirring sound—there you | have Bournemouth on a iresh, keen, cold, | sunny day. A white s mournful averues of drenched and dripping trees, under which lone rows of unoccupied invalid chairs find dolorous shelter; rivers of mud in the silent streets; a sea drowned in mist; cliffs on which an occasional policeman stalks in solitary grandeur; there, alas, you have Bournemouth, 100, on a wet, white, cold and sunless day. 1f at one time the little city by the sea fills the | mind with memories of Cannea or Nice or Monte Cario, reserved and dignified and without color by contrast with the vivid south at another it is as melancholy and still as & deserted village. The shops are empty; an occasiona) footman with books from a lend library; a professional nurse hurrying to a chemist’s; housekeep- ers with skirts hitched up above stout and stouter boots; cab-drivers, postmen and beggars seem to be the only ible populatioa. In- the'south the charming little towns dre peopled by a picturesque, biehly col- oréd amusement-1 people. The vis- | itors, who flock there in such numbers that:it is like one of the great movements nistory, are either invalids or seekers after diversion. Pleasure in . Russians, Ital- Englishand Amer- | A BOURNEMOUTH NURSE. | entirely cheerful one, ii the | nues are guiltless of a fallen leaf or flutter- | | the little sharp ting of the bicycles warn- icans jesile and elbow each other on the | promenades, in tbe gaming-rooms. Every- thing is gay, a litile valgar, mfinitely varied and brilliant. Bournamouth is peopled by an exclusive aristocracy of retired civil service and army officers, or by thcse who have the mournful and not uncommon distinction of weak lungs. The iittie town nas two seasons. *in summer,"” says Kate, the chamber- maid, “the jolly people comes; in winter them as wants to get well.” At present, to judge by appearances, it is the delight or the depth of the winter season and the people who “wants to get well’” are very evident indeed. The first impression of the place is an weather 1s Tue long shaded ave- | bright and clear. ing bit of paper; alorg the cliff, scveral | hradred feet above the sea, the promenade | iscrowded by pedestrians and chairs drawn by microscopic ponies or littie donkeys with spindling legs. Children in bright red coats and stockings hop about like flamingoes: the air is full of the jingle of the little bells on the heads of the horses; ing the unwary. And everywhere theglance and gleam of the sun in a glare on the white rozds, like a green flame in the trees, bringing into vivid light the white, yellow and red roofs | of the villas, and in the water an intoler- able biinding radiance. And then there is a cough, a little strangled sound, and as if by a preconcerted signal, as an orchestra answers to the leader's baton, there is a pathetic chorus—children with the whoop- | ing cough, old men with the asthma and children and young girls and men and | women, oid and young, with that little dry, hacking cough thatis so unmistak- ably consumptive. Bournemouth itself is entirely sophisti- cated, recent, modern. A little stream gives it its Anglo-Saxon name—burna, or bourna, a smali stream, and muth, mouth, Around it, however, are some of the most 1nteresting and ancient ruins and pastoral scenery, as yet unspoiled by the | tourist or the advent of the railroad. | Priory of Christchurch is an | miles, ax ) | and moss-thatched villages which we read | of in delightful_story-books or see in old | pictures by Wilkie or Gainsborough. Wilkie himself might have used iford fo a background for his little painted come- dies of rural life; a cluster of quaint cot- | tages, puilt as close as though the great | common, with its ancient beeches and oaks ana widle, gruss-grown spaces, were | not immediately benind reflects the white houases with latticed windows and great discolored, leaning | roofs. | InBournemouth we have suburban arch- | itecture, one feature of which is a sign in | the gateway that there are furnished apart- | ments to be let with or without board. | Villas built in imitation of houses in Cal- | cutta by men who have brought wealtn | and ill health from the rich and attractive | Indian city; villas like London houses— | straight, tall, stiff; villas light, gay, fan- | tastic as those on the banks of tie Med | terranean; villas grotesque and weird as the diseased imagiaation of their owners, | but all standing in spacious and weil-kept The | . A little stream | ening in distance to the artist’s color, a curious, deep, mistv purple. The pleasure gardens and the cliff walk divide the town. To those who are strong enough the pleasure gardens form the | ereater attraction. There is the far-famea | Invalid’s Walk, where all the convales- | cents meet and regard each other with | that curious misgiving, that kind of mu- | tual defiance, that unfortunates so ffe- quently have. Nevertheless there is a kind of melancholy cameraderie between | some members, chiefly the more ad- | vanced in years, who meet and discuss | symptoms and relate anecdotes of others similarly afflicted. It was tothe enterprise of an adven- | turous gentleman with a passion for walk- ing that Bournemouth owes its founda- tion. He bought a vast tract of heath and pine so as to be able to take his walks un- molested. Curiosity led him to explore tuis district, and on the edze of the wast", running down to the sea, he came upon this sheltered valley of unusual beauty. | He called it his “treasure valley,” built a villa and gradually invited a few chosen friends to follow his examule. It was in 1836 that the first hotel, the Bath Hotel, | was started, and from that Bournemouth has grown like a mushroom. The cliff walk has a faint resemblance A VILLAGE SCENE NEAR BOURNEMOUTH-BY-THE-SEA. the faint sound of the waveson the beach, and a soft rustle and rush of the wind in | the tops of the pines. It would be a curicus and not uninter- of life expressed by these gaunt and hollow-eyed victims of an inexorable fate, Only a few of them care to express them- selves, There is one old lady who has lost the use of her lowdr limbs, whose enormous bulk overfills the chair from which she regards the passers-by with little bright | blue eyes full of a kind of sharp and acrid animation, tinues involuntarily, long after she has ceased speaking, in a seri:s of diminisn- ing growls, like an echo in a cavern. She has a maid who trembles before her and who answers her contidences by shakes of protest or horror like an automaton, evi- proper motion. The wheezing, astbmatic voice is audi- ble at twenty yards; infrequently an- | other invalid, a littie wasted old woman, with snow-white hair, sits near her; on | this occasion the ‘‘zeneral,”’ as she has | been irreverantly yelept, reverberates to | some purpose. She shouts the details of strains of military music from the pler, | esting experiment to listen to the views | She has a voice that con- | the head in affirmation or sympathy or | dently hopinz she will have used the | | | "‘FPh.T’ }, gardens, with a broad sweep of drive for carriages and a narrower footpath for the | humbte. The little town covers a wide area, strag- | gles over the great bills, fills the valley with a confusion of shops and churches | and the pleasure gardens,climbs up precipi tous heights to east and west cliffs, where pines and firs that fill them. Long piers were run out into the water, to the Cliff House walks at home; away to | her illness into the ears of this slightly the west are the “*Old Harry Rocks,'’ a gi- | deaf and hapless iavalid, who stares, with gantic stone island, against which the waves break and send up fountains of spray. . The younger people sit at the benches reading or walk in little groups the pre- | seribed aistance, while the inmates of the eets and walks ramble at the will of the | chairs follow their movements with eyes | what her parents are thinkine of. | of envy. Professional nurses, with the | suniight on their fresh caps and aprons, faded eyes, passionlessly up into the trees. “See that girl,’ growls the old | 1ady, “the tall one with the red cheeks; | her sister was just like her—was here three | years ago, dancin’ anl singin’ and ridin’ | horseback. Died last year. Doa’t know This | one ridesa bicycle; zoes everywhere; and ‘hu th3 galloin’ consumption, mark my the dry yellow sands and the mighty cliffs | walk with their patients or sit next to | words. In her grave next year. Hear separatinz them, and bebind them a | their carriages, readingaloud the books or“ that now!"” background of pines and hills covered | letters that have arrived by the morning The girl chokes overa canay. a ‘“‘sweet,’” with heather arid bracken and gorse, deep- | train. Softened by distance, there are the | as they call it here, goes off in a fit of | laughter and splutter and coughs. The general has an air of fierce triumph. “That old man’s goin’ fast,’ she con- tinued, turning ber attention. *“I warned him last vear his doctor didn’t understand his case. Isaid to him, ‘major,’ I said”— and here the medical details are over- whelming, and we rise and walk in, to be ourselves the nextvictims, we are assured, to be buried within a year, with all due ceremony and great cheerfulness by the wgeneral.” If th.e general has a delight in mortuary details the “‘philosopher’’ ignores them entirely, except in regard to himself. The “philosopher” is a little, swarthy child with wild black eyes like those of a startled animal. He is a South American, he tells us, in a pdlite, very much bored little voice; he has been at school; his mother is dead; his father is in Bantiago; his nurse takes care of him, but he thinks that very soon she will be able to go back to South America.” 3 “Will you go with me?” she asks, in Spanish. “No,"” be dead. He says “‘dade,” and the nurse does not understand. ; T speak English,” he continues, “‘she is very foolish about it. It is better to be ‘dade’ than only hali alive.” We are { walking slowly up the precipitous sireet at the side of his little donkey-chair. A row of women selling flowers come for- ward as we pass and the air is full of the he replies, in English; “I shall | Bournemouth-by-the-Sea freshness and fragrance of the sprin sus and hyacinths. One woman. a big, cheerful Italian, moves with didiculty | She has two babies strappe 1 to one shoul- der and a basket of violets to.the oiher. “A penny a bunch!” she remarks, and it is difficult to know to which bunch she | refers. The philosopher langhs behind the little black pateh on his mouth. uShe looks strong” he says in a judicial voice, without a touch of envy, and tnen suddenly something like a wave of spair convulses his little dark, pas: face. “I wish I could hurry up aad be ‘dade!’” he says, and throws himseif back in his pillows and turns his face to nat, | utter. Such moments are rar | for he is quite calm and frank illness—on most occasions ready to t. and grateful for the opportun. “Most people think they are going to get better when they are as I am, but seems silly. They pretend, I hear th talking, and the people who talk to th pretend, and they tried two pretend w:t me, but I kaow. I've been here vears, and sometimes they go aw often they stay. 1'm going to I funeral here. lsn’t that a nice boy herun? Did you ever see a circus? Even his philosophy cannot mike me find Bournemouth a very Va hat ONLY A PENNY A BUNCH. California Seqfiel to an Incident at Vicksburg's Siege MEAD of this City bas | his possession a cane whose N historical associations make it of extraordinary value. It commemo- rates two occasions when fraternal feel- ings were aroused in the breasts of for- | mer foes. The cane, however, is not with- | cut intrinsic.vaiue, as it is of ebony and d with gold. On its head are in- | scribed a few words that tell in part its history. Just before the surrender of Vicksburg | the Tenth Michigan Regiment was sta- | tioned before the invested city on its bluffs | beside the Mississippi. The particular day | which partly led to the existence of the cane now so proudly treasured by Mr. Mead was one of particular gloom 1o a | little band of discouraged and disheart- ened officers of the Coniederate army, who were he!d as prisoners by the Federal soldiers. Colonel Lum, an uncle by marriage of Mr. Mead, was then in command ot the Tenth Michigan snd a brigade encamped in front of the besieged city, and he took pity upon the forlorn condition of the offi- cers of the Southern army and, koping to lighten, for a little while at least, their: burden of sorro nvited them to dine with him. That was a ainner whose his- tory has never before been written. The gracious colonel of the Union forces proved a most admirable host, and during the progress of the banquet which he spread before them he made his prisoner guests forget their troubles. All the deli- cacigs for the table possibly procurable at the time he spread before the hungry Con- “federates, and kindly toasts were proposed and drunk in sparkling champagne. At the conclusion of the feast the Southern prisoners arose from their seats and gave three hearty cheers for their Northern host and their captor. It was the cane which Mr. Mead carries that brought this story to light. In all * the histories and narrations of the war it had never been written; like many an- other touching incident of the Civil War it lived only in the memories of those who participated in the incident. Historians bad not recorded it; bards Lad not sung of it, and it was oniy through a coincident * that happened here in San Francisco that the present narrative is written. When tho Tenth Michigan Regiment was mustered out of the service its officers and men presented Colonel Lum with the cane Mr. Mead now carries. The colonel in his declining years gave 1t to Mr. Mead. One day the latter was talking to his friend, Dr. Ernest, when the doctor re- marked the beauty of the walking-stick, and taking it into bis hands read the in- scription. Dr. Ernest fought for the Con- federacy; wasat the siege of Vicksburg, and the inscription on the cane brought back to his memory the story of the din- ner which Colonel Lum bad given to his foes-in-arms held as prisoners during the siege of the Mississippi city, and he re- lated it to Mr. Mead. A few days previous to this Mr, Mead | had received a letter from Colonel Lum in which he was informel that the colonel's old regimental surgeon, Dr. Parsons, was about to visit this City. Dr. | Parsons had also been at the siege of Vicksburg, and when Dr. Ernest told the story of the dinner given by Colonel Lum to the Confederate soldiers it occurred to | Mr. Mead that it would be pleasant to | bring these two—who bad served in the | same capacity with the opposing forces, and who were so closely associated with the memories that clustered about the | cane he so proudly carries—together in friendly intercourse. And so it came about that when Dr. Parsons reached the City he dined with the man who had attended to the wounded within the Confedcrate lines at | Vicksburg, while he ministered to the sufferings of the Union soldiers injured during the si and with the cane presented to Colonel Lum by the soldiers of the Tenth as a text they, in kindly®words, fought and won fields o’er again. The incident iy rendered more striking because of the fact that so far asis known, it was Mr. Mead who first suggested that the graves of the soldiers oi the South and of the North should be decorated on the same day. Mr. Mead has been for years the San Francisco correspondent of the Nevada City Transcript, and on one Deco- ration day he wrote an article for that paper advocating the decoration of the graves of Confederate soldiers as well as those who fought for the Union, on that same sacred day. It is probable that in this article the idea that led to the buila- ing of the Unionist monument at Chicago was coaceived. Volumes That Go Unread. This is the season when the different cities of Europe and America exchange bound volumes of their annual reports, and almost every mail brings to the Mayor’s office a book containing the sta- tistics of Knoxville or Denver or Quebec or Halifax. The Mayor's messenger ‘is engaged in arranging these reports in the archives of the city, where they are likely to remain for an indefinite period, because life is too short for the average New Yorker to pay any attention to the internal affairs of Kalamazoo or the im- provement of New Bedford’s water front. An examination of these volumes, how- ever, gives some instruction. It shows, for instance, the vast expense to which the Canadian cities go in the preparation of these sample volumes. When the Montreal reports came in the other day the appearance of the volumes astonished Cierk Burrows. “If we went to such ex- pense as that here,”” he declared, *a Sen- ate committee would be investixating us next week.” Cincignaii has sent the most handsome volume turn d out by any city in the { Union. Ttis bound in Russia leather, has 2612 pages and contains almost all the ge of the beleagured city, | | possible information tainable, even toa list of the prope owners who have failed to pay their ents for opening streets and building sewers. Hartford, Conn., appears to have run riot in art. From the volume sent from that eity to Mayor Strong it would seem that the citizeus of that mun‘c pal ity judge their public officials by appes ances. Photographs ot all officials from the Mayor to the dog-catcher are pre- at the city ob® than any other official beld re:ponsible.” Poetic and literary Boston sends one of the biggest and most prosaic volumes. The only wonderful feature about it is the ing map, which when spread rooms adjoining the Mayor’s office. The large map seems to be calied for be- | cause of the crooked streets of Buston, and the difficulty strangers have of finding | their way throuzh them. Accompanying | the reports 1s a minor volume giving the | work of Boston’s Rapid Transit Commis- | sion, which, untike New York del very prosy reporis, but the driest of all | came fiom Richmond City, whose volume | is & mass o1 statistics. New York sends out nothing that either music extends to animals and in- | | sects, great and smcll, has just taken | | music, but the sound of discord fiils his mind with horror and he flees from the noise as from the wrath to come. It is likely that about the last of all | | N MEETING OF BLUE AND GRAY DURING VICKSBURG'S SIEGE. sented: the Aldermen and the members of the different boards or ¢ mmissions are presented in p ates, and the public build- ings from the City Hall to the fire-houses £ill pages. Nothing like the valedictory adaress of Alph Desjardins, the outgoing Mayor of Montreal, could be heard in the United States, as can be seen from the Tollowing paeagraph: 3 be Mavor of this city reigns like a constitutional king, but, contrary to the king, whose ministers are alone responsi- ble, he who has no ministers and enjoys no control over the Aldermen, is more j dazzles or attracts, but it swells the rev- enues of Uncle Sam by exchanging bound copies of the City Record, which paralyze the recipients by their immensity.—New York Sun. . By an Italien law any circus which does not perform every act promised in the printed prosramme, or which misleads the public by means of pictures, is liable to a fine of £100 for each offense. —————— Each year about £10,000 is expended in sprinkling the streets of London with sand 10 prevent the horses from slipping. ' things to be thought of as being appre® | ciative of music is the spider. Legend has given him a reputation for patience and experience has shown him to be frequently vicious and sometimes dangerous, but as to music—that is an accomplishment which none have ever dreamed of credit- ing him with. The rough, bairy creature one sometimes looks at beneath the mag- nifying lens of a microscope seems to be of that guality to wkich discord would be music and music discord. The spiderat Coldwater, Mich., bowever, who has first made the musical taste of bis species those of bis kind. The remarkable qualifications of the , anpears | place at Coldwater, Mich., where a spider | Michigan spider first became evident at a to have done something practical. Pnila- | has deveioped musical talent of surprising | renearsal of the Apollo 3ale Quartet at hia and Indisnapolis have sent in |force. Notonly does he keep time to the [ Coldwater, the members of which are, with one exception, residents of the town. The first tenor is Professor Harriman, teacher of sciences in the Lansing (Mich.) bighschool. Mr. Bailey, the second tenor, is the editor of the Coldwater Star. Mr. Graube, first bass, is a dry-goods merchant, and Mr. Keene, second bass, is one of the staff of the Coldwater Sun. All these gen- tlemen are willing to vouch for the mu- sical taste of the spiaer, because they all saw what he did. freak. It so happened, not many evenings ago, that the quartet was holding its regular rehearsal. not found wanting, and the members of il was prospering. Another song was begun, when Mr. Bailey noticeda large spider who dangled in u visibly excited manner in front of the music-rack, just about five fe€t from the floor. It was “Down in the Cornficld” that was beingz rendered and the singers—Mr. Bailey hav- ing called their attention to the spider— observed that ttie insect went up and down with the variation of the scale. first they thought it was accident, that a draught of air of their own lung-power swayed the tiny insect. Still, the time the spider kept was perfect, and it soon became eviaent that it was a draught that Wwas moving 11—it was a musical draugbt, indeed. This state of affairs naturally interested the quartet in great degree, and they be- 8an to try various airs for the sole purpose of noting their effect upon the seemingly Lighly interested auditor. They also ob- served that the slightest evidence of dis- cord in their rendering of a song pro- voked violent indignation on the part of the spider, who on such occasions would osciliatein a manner both vigorous and vicious. Further tests showed that the spider would ascend or descend abouta foot for every octave. The voice of the singer might be the highest tenor, or the heaviest bass, the spider never swerved from the absolutely correct movement. The time he kept was as creditable to him as the most finished technique to the di:- cipls of Paderewsk. Presently the quartet sang *'The New Bully.” When they came to the line “I'se looking for dat bully and he mus' be iound,” the spider nearly went beside himself with glee. It seemed as if he not only appreciated the very catchy music, but the import of the song as well, and could in his mind’s eye view the rolling gait and emphatic appearance of the original singer. Then there was an abrupt transition. The quartet sang *‘The public, seems to be possessed of all the Bridge.” The spider kept time mourn- Compared to him the | educated flea is an ignoramus and the fly | that performs carious antics simpiy a | Music Hath Influence Over half the area of oune of the | - Even the Spider and Its Species §NE of the most striking illustrations | attributes of the virtuoso, and it may be | fully, and looked as if the change from oi the fact that the appreciation of | is an impresario high in the estimation of | the ridiculous to the sublime did mnot tried “Way The spides agree with him. Then they Down on the S8wanee Rive: | was not a beat behind, and apparently as | end of hi: | | Song after song was tried and | | the organizution were in high glee that | At | | to be a glance of sorrow and wrath, fled fresh as when he began :o dangle at the Iken thiead, By this time it was difficuit to say whether ihe quartet was most interested in patural history or music. The spider zently swung to and fro and waited for more. Just to test the extent of the spider's experience the quartet sang “White Wings.” The spider kept time with an effort. “Just Tell Them That You Saw Me'’ restored bim to his former vigor, while “I Want You, Ma Honey,” cheered him so that he kept time as en- thusiastically as an audience applands when it is highly pleased. Then the quartet began to try other experiments. A medley was sung. This kept the new conduetor very busy, and in the absence of a baton he sw was out of time for an in of efforts were made to ¢ im napping or to trip him, but he was equal to theu all and each and every one tell flat. At last, however, the quartet, wiih malice prepenss, gave vent to one of thosg discords that would have made ‘*‘The Harp That Once Throuzh Tara’s Halls” die years hefore 1t diq, if it had ever heard them. This was too much for the spider with the musical ear. He hesitated for a moment, and then, witi wbat seemed up the line of web and aisappeared from view. Farther singing had no eiffect. His musical ear had evidently been wrecked. These things seem odd enough for a fairy tale to the majority of the people, and therein lies their value. When four reputable citizens of Michigan assert that statements of this natare are true, thero is no room for even a doubting Thomas to enter a protest of disbelief. Michigan potato patch scheme is not the only thing which will make her famous. Sbe has a musical spider. Tears as Medicine. Human tears are not recognized as a specific against disease in any other coun. iry but Persia, and there only tears shed at a faneral are supposed to have any carative qualities. Inthe country named the custom of bottling tears is quite an important feature of the funeral cere. mony. Toeach of the mourners present the master of ceremonias presents a piece, of cotton, wool or sponge, With which 1; wipe away the tears. ‘Ihe contents of th wool or sponge are afterward squeezed) into a bottie and these tears are preseryed as a powerful and certain restorative when all other medicines have proved useless. ——————— A broken-winded horse is rarely seen i Norway. The fact is accounted for by the statement that a bucket of water is always placed within reach of a horse when he s feed ing, and the animal aiternately takes a wouthrul of hay and a sip of watzr. blossoms, jonquils and violets and n.lrc\r) |