The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, November 14, 1897, Page 21

T HE SAN FRANCISCO CALL VEMBER 14, 1897. 1d pistols and and f ew they el sure ure. i of one ole awa - the- way- wn. Whether w a T y or whet . in | eir they | be yself in as ey tramped avs sent | d I won- n were by | tand and in the | under- | seemed to | i1 would watch dy the and got unnies than aid d them at | reciate nature, I | amateur taat I that in a e day of however, ghly satisfy a longing my mind, I had often urred friends, but the efforts in m ended Ore memorable day a friend showea me a photograph of a dog taken by a little girl. i to m re opened possibi eye 1ce seen realized. T e story of the trials and tribulations photographer have been 1d again, so that part.oi the will pass over to rieved my first real picture of a | mine when I for blood | pted to draw some of my | tearing up the paper. | the day | rl I wondered why | rabbit as he sat crouched in his form. The | range, vet 1 alone succeeded 1n stalking delight of a boy over hls first dead bird, | even the keen pleasure of the experienced hunter over his big elk with its branching antlers is asnothing when compared with saw the developing bath the picture of that little bring out unnie. I have since that eventful day photo- | graphed animals and biras of all kinds, | even to a big erizzly bear standing at bay, yet I have never feit such an exquisite thrill of delizut as came over me when | that rabbit made his appearance on the ilm. It was the key which unlocked the pleasures of the wildwood to a woman. It | was the shot that secured toa girl game | that will keep forever without the shed- | ding of blood or the taking of life. 3 summers and four winters have | been nt in the wilds of the United States, British Columbia and Mexico, and | ile a friend of ours boasts that he has | | secured 3000 skins of wild animals, 1 boast | of 2000 pictures-of life, photographs taken | under every bit as thrilling circumstances | as any attend killing of big game by my friend the blood hunter. He has skins in boxes and bundles, with the | exception of a few which have made beau- tiful rugs, while all of my trophles are in | that was in | compunctions of conscience over a mur- | ‘riends. As I write my feet rest upon a splendid grizzly bear rug, but I do not value it near | as bighly as I do the photograpn of the same bear as he stood in a little opening in the woods just before he received the bullet from my husband’s rifle, and I firmly believe that my hand was just as steady when [ leveled the camera at this, | my first bear, as was his when he aimed | inis big Sharp’s rifle and sent the bullet crashing through bruin’s body. Away up in the mountains in British | Columbia we had hunted for weeks for a sight of a mountain goat, and found how extremely difficult it was to get within close enouzh to one to get a shot and my photograph of him as he stood on an almost inaccessible ledge was the only trophy that we brought back. There was another time when we saw a band of mountain sheep, or big horns, such position that they were almost impossible of approach, yet the camera gota beautiful shotat the lone sentinel who guarded the others while they fed, and the pictured horns in that photograph were the only ones secured on that trip. There was another excursion in the mountains of Colorado, wherein my hus- i band secured several magnificent sets of elk antlers, yet I am sure he does not ex- | perience half the pleasure in looking at ttem or in the recollection of the long day's tedious work in getting them that I do in the memory of the hours spent stalking the big fellow whose photograph lies before me as I write. There is blood on the horns that we brought back, but | tke buck that I *'shot” still roams the forest, and my trophy brings with 1t no der committed. These are but incidents which will give an idea of the great possibilities that may | | | A SEi\'TlNEL OF “THE S HICLS, be accomplished by the use of a camera. It must not be supposed that all the pleasure or even a great part of it that1s to be derived from the free lif: of the wildwood, camera in hand, come from the hunting and photographing big game. There are a thousand and one incidents, adventures and experiences that bring the keenest pleasure t0 a woman us she feels the freedom and exhilaraiion that come | from the close contact with nature. While it must be confessed that the ele- ment of danger that enters into the quest of a bear or mountain fion adds zest to the adventure it is also true that there is just as much excitement attending the effort to get close enough to a squirrel to catch him with a snap-shot as there is in stalking a deer or crawling up on a family | of wildcats av play. I have pictures of quail on the wing, sea gulls fignting in midair, lonely cranes standing by the water's edge and a magnificent eagle bear- ing a rabbit away to bis nest. To get these took quicker work than is necessary in the use of a gun, and while I may not get as many shots as my husband I get trophies that are more lasting and more | interesting than those which he exhibits | with so much pride. 1 have a further advantage over him | with his gun, in that I get much game | upon which he would not waste cartridges, and in many of our rambles I have been | the only one of the party who has brought into camp visible results of thetrip, Ire- member one perfect little stroll taken 1n the forests of Mexico. It was entirely ac- cidental and unintentional, yet it con- tained more of interest than many of our regularly planned hunts. We were going in a stage from Tepic to San Bias through that dense tropical forest that skirts the western shore of the repubi when a fallen tree across the road necessitated a delay of the coach for about two hours. Owing to the heat we had started at 2 o’clock in the morning, expecting to reach the coast before the sun had much chance to make things uncomfortable, and 1t was just at the dawn of day when the coach stopped. My busband’s guns were safely packed away, but my camera was, as it always is when traveling, at my side, and as we started to walk aheaa I got it ready for quick work. Nor was I disappointed, for we had gone but a few rods when a covote | sprang directly in front of us, not more than twenty ileet away. He stopped, startled, for just an instant, but it was long enough for a snap shot, and al- though he bounded into the dense under- brush unharmed I have a beautiiul photo- graph of him as a souvenir of his unex- pected visit. We walked four miles that morning before the coach caught us, and in that walk [ secured pictures of the sforementioned coyote, an eagle, a group of parrots quarreling on a treetop, a flock | of pigeons, two cunning little paroquets, | a white heron and a snake that was fully ten feet long and as big around asa man’s arm. There was one day, away down in the mountains of New Mexico, when I con- cludea to investigate the neighborhood of a ragged cl.ff of rocks near our camp. At night we could hear the caterwauling of a family of witdcats, and we were sure, from the noise, that the family consisted of sev- eral half-grown kittens as well as papa and mamma kitty. I had long since learned that there is no danger in roam- ing the woods alone, and felt no other fear as I made my way up the side of the mountain than that I might faii to get a picture. 1 took full two hours in ap- myself behind a convenient log. There was not a sign of wild life, and I had almost gone to dreamland as I lay quietly listening to the soft soughing of the wind in the tops of the pines. Did you ever notice the peculiarly affec- tionate tones of a mother cat as she talks to her little ones? It'is as distinctive as is the cooing of a human mother to her babe. This was the sound that reached me as I lay with thoughts carried far away by the surroundings. I scarcely breathed for fear that I might startle the family which I felt certain was coming out of one of the many crevices in the rocks. Ihad placed myself in such a po- sition that I could raise and use the cam- era without exposing myself, and after I felt satisfied that the kittens were playing about in front of the den, 1 slowly elevated my head and took a peep cver the log. There, directly in front of me and not twenty feet away, was the most interest. ing group that I had ever seen. Papa cat was stretched at full length in the sun on a ledge of rocks just above the mouth of the den. Mamma kittie lay with half-shut try when we both (urned at a slight noise coming from the forest. About 200 yards away from usand com- ing toward us we saw a group of animals tbat we at first supposed was a flock of goats. We knew that sometimes the Mexicans brought their goats up there in | summer, and while it was out of the ordi- nary we thought they might have wan- NOBLE GAME FOR eyes watching the antics of four of the prettiest little kittens imaginable. Papa was asleep and mamma was looking the other way, so I carefully raised the cam- era, took good aim and touched the but- ton. There was little noise—so little, in fact, that the cats must have haa the acutest ears in the world to have heard it, yet the click of that bution seemed the signal for a general disappearance, and quicker than it could be told the whole family had scurried into their house—but 1 had the picture, and it is one of the best in my whole col ection. There was just once when I had such an attack of—what shall I call it—stage fright or buck fever? I'll tell the story and the reader can enter judgment. My | husband and I were walking along the edge of an immense precipice in the Ji- corilla Mountains in New Mexico. We had left camp early in the morning, he with his gun and I with my camera, and had reached a portion of the forestthat we had not visited before. On one side of us was a sheer declivity of about 500 feet. On the other side the ground ranona level to the edze of the forest, about 100 yards away. Between the precivica and the forest were a few straggling tress, but there were not enough of them to afford shelter. We had been enjoying the beau- tiful view that stretched away from the mountains, and had almost forgotten that GUN OR CAMERA. dered farther than usual. As we idly watched them one came out of the wood and then we saw that it was a grizzly bear. Our wonder increased as one aiter another they all came out until seven of them made their appearance in the open and we were sure that more were still among the trees. Ihad my camera and my husband had his gun, but for once in our rambles neither fora moment thought of using them. I am sure those bears would have made a fine picture, but there was a deep precivice buck of us and seven or more bears in front of us, and all we thought of doing just then was to keep so quiet and still that we would not be noticed, and we stood like statues until every bear had passed by and disap- peared beyond in the woods. Then we looked at each other and with- out word started simultaneously after the bears. We felt braver when they were out of sight, and both of us hoped to get close enough for a shot, but a bear in his ordinary travel through the woods goes so fast that it is impossible to catch up with him, and that was our last oppor- tunity, so far as that particular group was concerned. Of course we knew that the bears would have hurried away had they seen us, for bears will not attack un- less they are wounded or have young to defend, but we thought discretion the better part of valor in that particular in- proaching the cliff, and finally ensconced we were in the wildest part of the coun- stance and thus lost the finest picture, so | fearlessness | march to the far-away sea. far as groupsare concefned, that was ever presented to us by Dame Nature. With a camera hunting game in the wildest parts of the country a woman be- comes a new being. She learns many things about animals that were as sealed books to her before. She finds that there is little or no danger of attack, even at night, and reaches such a condition of that she will wander alone where she knows that all sorts of strange things may be met. She learnsall this, and more. She learns that nature loves her lovers, and takes them all to her heart and gives them li‘e ana health. The pictures taken are not all. If you love music lie under the trees and listen. H that breeze softly rustling among the topmost boughs! Is it notthe most ex- quisite music? Down it comes trom the tops of the hills standing sentry over the sleeping valley, On it leaps from crag to crag ard along a bit of rockland; down in cool deluge it tumbles, winding among the serges and shaking the rushes and lily-pods where the frog lies drowsily winking his lovely | golden-brown eyes in the sunlight, and all the while there is a continuous mon- otone of the little stream, rushing hur- riedly to join 1ts companions on their Musicl What are man’s futile efforts beside the sounds that come when that grand old harper, Wind, gently caresses his harp of pines. Then, too, there are memories of beau= tiful vistas of mountain and plain, seen through the sheen of quivering atmos- phere, There are the memories of the pleasures of camp life; the hunter’s fare of camp bread and venison, washed down with black coffee, sipped from a tin cup which served both for making and dis- pensing; the rest ona bed of aromatic spruce boughs, lulled to sleep by the soughing of ‘the wind among the needles in the pines cverhead. The ashes of the campfires may be scattered by the winds or washed away by the rains, but there always remain the pictures in the mind’s eye and the fixed shadows that were taken before the substance faded. One earns to understand the great soul that developed in Captain Jack Crawford, and feel a responsive chord for his love of nature, so intense that it found in poesy the only outlet. You can feel with him, as he says: the westérn border; ir: up in rough disorder; birdsa singin’ pine trees wavin’ )’ in their gladness: elk a feedin’ in the glen; Not a trace of pain or sadness, campin’ on the trail of men. Brooks of crystal clearness flowln’ o’er the rocks, and lovely flowers, In their tinted brauty, growin’ In the mountain deils and bow Fairer piciur’ the Creator never threw on earthly screen, Than this lovely home o’ natur’, whar the hand of God fs seen. Bessie MorGAN. THEY HAVE P n who announces to the lic that “In Gay New York” provement upon the attracuons have seen of late, and who we d for telling the truth, also an- that an Francisco was all ' I ventured, wondering if he profiting by Mr. Frohman's ce and sweetening the theatrical that more and better-humored swallow it. ad to read a single manu- n here.” uscript stories. When the Red Robe” was here they “Under told me they had a play handed in for in- spection entitled Jnder the Yellow Robe.” The Alcazar people claim to have choice collection this week, based on “The Ugl Duckling” and variousl titled. *The Cbicken in the F end “The Featherless Bird,” which is certainly a tale of a captured ostrich, are samples of the effusions ttey claim to have received. Iresent the im- putation cast upon local writers. “Iv’s a fact,”” the gentleman went on. I baven't had to read one ‘In Gay Frisco.’” Now, in one city I had to read three ‘In Gay Philadeiphias.’ ' And whatdid they found the play on?’ Nothing—the malterial most wri ers he answered with cheerful aggrava- seriously,” he went on, oblig- throwing aside a cigar and placing smooth hand table, *'a nia er no sooner arrives in a city than b ried beneath manu:cripts. 1 have ,‘In the Gay Klondike,’ wt i v to say was written by the d at home. ‘In Gay Bos- bit too salty, but ‘In Gay not very bad, although rd the $256 tme author on the he w nt on, I really pity the ce a show with a hor- title. They of thinzs. All that T reference to a sort of prevail- tl Iam led to believe that rid 1s gay. be said, smiling gayly, #You e a word I say. Honestly, I ven me, I'm afraid s a good thing and besides I want to suffer the fate of some peo- who do not want to be bothered.’ “In New York, theatrical psople have a bodyguard of importuning playwrights. Your best Iriend counldn’t get at you un- who ad ary or the w Now,” V't te re less be deliberately planned an onslaught on the dead quiet, ow Et1dis Foy, the comed t 10 be troubled. He was rebe; ud he was deter- mined toa s and swudy his lines when not at the theater. He got to Chicago without any erious damage 10 LAYS TO SELL. his constitution and there was boldly at- tacked by an individual who said he had the greatest thing that ever was written, “That’s a very bad sign 1o begin with, and Mr. Foy desired mightiiy to escape. He told the writer that the greater por- tion of his time was being laken up by rehearsal of the buriesque with which he was engaged and he couid not read the wor The man was not to be outdone by trifies, and he cheerfully proposed to wait | round and read the play to the actor in his disengaged moments. “Mr., Foy explained that that was im- possible, for his mind was not infallible, | and between studying one set of lines and hearing another set read he was liable to | gei the two confused when the perform- | ance came at night, and a true burlesque of the role would r-sult. *The writer left reluctantly, but re- turned a number of times during the next | few days and sent his card to Mr. Foy, | both at the theater and the hotel. Finally at the conclusion of a rehearsal Mr. Foy stepped around to the hotel and was greeted by his playwriting friend, who grasped him by the arm, walked him into the elevator and announced to th- come- dian and 'he other occupants that his play would never know a frost. “‘“That might be preferable to a roast,’ Mr. Foy murmured. The man waved the manuscript majestically and assured | the fellow-passengers in the upward flich that his play, ‘In the Heart of Alaska,’ was one which would be joyfully -eceived, and which Mr. Foy had to listen to. “So he was told to call at7 that evening, ‘he man did not come back that night, and Mr. Foy, elatea at his escave, went to bed to dream swest dreams, and to be rudely awakened by peculiar shuffling sounds outside of his door, at the un- earthly hour of 7in the morning. He raised himself up, and looked toward the door and observed that the tran-om was being ovened, and pre-ently the head of his nemesis thrust itself through the opening and the arms and manuscript followed. The writer gazed at the discon:olate jury and remarsed smilinzly that he was glad the actor was awake, as he would have | hated to aisturb his slumbers, but it wasa | ca:e of lile or death. and wondering not slip, but being too slcepy to fully ap- preciate the ludicrousness of this episode, the actor propped himself up with pil- lows and prepared to see it through. “The play bad six acts, seventeen scenes ana a prologue. ©“That makes eighteen scenes,’ said Mr. Foy sieepiiy. ‘I don’t wan® to listen to le:s than two dozen.’ +But the author was not to be disturbed in his elevated stand and he remarked | and the comedian locked himself in his | “‘Hoping it would be death and soon, | if the stepladder would | {sagely that he had written it that way l'and would not have it rev Fally an | hour passed with but seven of the scenes | and each scene had a more astonishing limax and was given with more in- tensely dramatic gestures through the narrow transom to this man in bed. “The story was of love and a desperate, wcked rival. In the eighth act the char- aciers came together in a typical mining- camp music hall, where the lovers were exhibiting a trained polar bear, having been driven to that means of livelihood by the persecutions of their enemies. And the nanghty villain was attempting to al the bear. Here Mr. Foy saw hisopportunity and was not slow to take advantage of it. ‘My friend,” he said, ‘I see that your polar bear cuts a big figure in the per- | formance, and I might suggest to you a change of grave importance, which is to the effect that some sort of other animal will have to be introduced, for were the play to be presented 1n Texas it would be quite impossible to readily secure one of these amimals’ The trick worked. ‘I will go at once,’ said the’ author, ‘and make the neces- sary changes, and will return here to finish the reading of the play.” He then got down from his high position |23 | playwrights | needless to sa. in general. It Is almost y that Mr. Foy lived incog- | nito during the rest of his stay in that | city, an | never heard what became of the principals and the polar | eighteenth scene of the play of ‘In the | Heart of Alaska.’” Mr. Wheeler of New York smiled again and remarked that San Francisco was “all right.” “But,” I said, “what were the hotel attendants doing while the ladder was | leaning against Mr. Foy’s door?"” “That was in Chicago,” he replied. JEAN MoRRIS. Mark Was Not There. It is to be recretted that Mark Twain was not present at the christening of the Duke of Marlborovgh’s infant in the Chapel Royal at St. James Palace the other day. He would have done justice to the ceremony, and for a few weeks life would certainly be worth living again. | Tne spectacle of the podgy Prince of Wales—the last and least gentleman in Eurove—standing sponsor o a pudgy bube; of the empty-headed and hewvy- faced Duke, to whomx fathernood gave the tirst semblance of dignity and manhood ; and of ola Vanderbilt, attired in his Sun- day clothes and fearful that he was mak- ing himself conspicuous in such *‘gen- teel’” soctety, must have been a sight cal- culated to make even a hypochondriac luugh. When Vanderbilt was not think- ing of himself e wis doub:less thinking of the Prince and his son-in-law, whether either or toth of them woula ask him for and left the comedian thinking hard of | bear in the | LITTLETOLEDO strange one. The Camilios are Italians. “he mother of the family, dr.ven insane by abuse, has been sent to an asylum, leaving her brood of separated. ifound the family with the assistance of Miss Wainwright, the prin- cipal of the Silver Star Kindergarten. That kind and sympaibetic lady went with me. The two eldest Camillo children attended her school, Toledo and Jeddo. Sad as 1s the story of Mrs. Caaillo, a rosy light is thrown over the family annals the age of eicht years, was the chief wage- earner of the family. in a little alley way off Broadway. A young girl of about seventeen opened the door to our knock. ‘‘Pepita was one of my first pupils,”” Miss Wainwright said. | of white teeth, each as perfect as though | carved by a chisel. | The room was scrupulously clean. The | unfortunate Mrs. Camilio had evidently not neglected her household even when reason had fled. Through the open door could be seen a still smaller rodm where a master hand of ingenuity had succeeded | in crowding two mattresses and a chair. | Alittie baby and a. girl of about five sat |on the floor looking at a picture book. The baby crowed gieefully every time the older one turned a page. Pepita worked on a fish net which she had evidently just | put aside to let us in. In and out, the cord | jairly flew through the shuttle, guided by her long nimble fingers. “I told Toledo I would stav with Jeddo and the baby until he came back. You know rich Italizn lady come and adopt other boy Tony.” Her tongue worked as rapidly as her fingers. One almost lost breath trying to follow ber. “When do you marry your fisherman ?" Miss Wainwright asked. “The day before Christmas” —stopping ber weaving for a sccond. “We rent these two rooms when these children are gone. You know they go to San Jose to- morrow to the sisters. He can make enough mon’ selling the fish for me. I getting too old to wait. 1f I had plenta mon’ I would take care of these children myself.”” Between Miss Wainwright and Pepita 1 pieced out Mrs. Camillo’s life. Here and there a block was missing. Perhaps they had been the gay-colored spots in her life. I hope so. Those that we found were of a sad and dismal hue, Then I heard the story of brave little Toledo—who, when the father neglected tle family and star- vation stared them 1in the face, would go downtown after kindergarten was over and sell papers, alwavs bringing the few cents thus earned Lome :0 h.s mother. And then one day came the golden oppor- wunity of his life. He was playing in s The story of the Camillo family is a how picturesque he looked, when Chris little children to be by the heroism of little Toledo Camillo, who, at The Camiilos live Pepitasmiled, showing twogleaming rows ,THE BOY MODEL Jorgensen, the artist, spied him, was cap- tured by his beauty and determined to paint him. Mrs. Camillo was constlted; her con- sent was gained, and in order to have bhim go to Mr. Jorgensen in all his picturesque- ness Miss Wainwright gave him a new suit of clothes. When he came in the morning with all tne aristic effect scrubbed off by his well-meaning mother Miss Wainwright took off the new clothes, dressed him in his old tattered garments, and after letting him play on the street for half an hour sent him to the artist with a clear conscience—for Toledo looked as ragged and dirty as when Mr. Jorgen- sen first saw him. Other artists saw the study in Mr. Jorg- ensen’s studio, and Toledo sat for them, sometimes bringing home hesides his 50 cents a parcel of goodies for the babies, But often in the nights the neighbors would hear shrill cries of anguish from the Camillo home, and, in the morning, the black lines under Mrs. Camillo’s eyes would be deeper than ever. All this had its effect. Then came a day when Mrs. Camillo recogmzed neither Tony nor Jeddo nor the baby; nor did she even smile at Toledo when he gave her the money he earned that day. And then she was taken away and the children | were told that ‘mamma had gone to the country to get well.” +Camillo? Hub!” her lips in fine scorn. *I bope he burn for his wickedness forever. Ah, Dio mio! how wicked I get! What would the father say ?” Just then the door opened and Toledo entered. “Were the children zood?"’ he asked in a motherly way that sat oddly upon his eight years. & Then he noticed us, and when Miss Wainwiight kissed bim he burst inio a pertect torrent of tears, whereupon the younger children, bound to imitate Toledo in everything, set up a howl that took our united efforts to subpress. ledo, knowing that he was to go there. “There are pretty flowers, bushels and bushels of them, and green grass, and there are trees to ciimb, and the sweetest birds are there. You will be so hapoy with the kind sisters.” “But Tony will not be there”’—looking at me gravely, his beautiful eyes filling with tears again. “The good lady who has taken Tony will bring him down to see you, I am How unswer him? “Some day, when you have earned enough money, mamma will be well and And Pepita curlea | ©1t is lovely in San Jose,” I said to To- | now?’ and he drew himself up to his full height. Suca a beautiful figure lighted by the setting sun. The tattered clothing, the proudiy set head, thick with dark clustering riuglets; the beautiful eyes, with a beautiful sou! shining tiirouzh; the round cheeks, showing a rich, deep scarlet where the tears bad washed away you can all live together again.” the dirt; the full crimson lips, with their | & loan and how much it was likely to ke. | front of the kindergarten, all unaware of| “Doa’t you think I'm almost bigenovgh | pathetic downwazd curve, | *member us by. «Father Paolo says I must pray every night and morning. Do you think I will be heard. I'm giad voudo. See, Igota man to punch a hole in this cent. I'm going to give it to Tony to-morrow to On, say, will there be any art men in n Jose that will want to paint my picture? I could begin saving right off,”’ NANcY Lem