The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, January 9, 1898, Page 23

THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, SUNDAY, JANUARY 9, 1898. Z3 G777 777717777777 LY, | tentious house, at the ; and Washing- r, half hidden the : ive shops ington; above the door a large | cing that the Sal- | v has within a Shelter for | 1at is all the passer-by sees | ong in the bustling day. small, u Only a light burn- white cloth and throw- p the hospitable words; only a | n speaking fe harborage to homeless woman in the pitiless and something else. e that the door is never Do you realize what that means, ye | own comfortable e, in the streets of ss, without food, | r a soul to hold misfortune or your | you to this pass makes i virgin or fool- es warmth, food 't craves human soul sickens for hu- And you can find s give you T manner, provide you with so the harbor, per- atisfactory refuge of | v, your glance rests on n / No mat- t the hour, it still shines with 7, hopeful light. You have only 1at door, ring the bell, and 1SS to the inner side. Without ques- tion or reproach, you will find shelter rest and food, kindly women faces wel- '}»x'ninz you, kindly women-hands retched out to succor you. 3 sl [ “I remember being called down once | two children,” said the matron, | | | | beacon. Iy going over her reminiscences, The eldest looked scarcely 14. ‘Can | take this little girl in for the | * she asked. I brought them up-stairs. ‘Now what is the trouble?’ She can’t go Home,’ the eldest ex- ained. ‘Her father’s too drunk. I 't know her. I only met her going {0t ‘an errand, and she asked me if there was anybody who would take her in for the night. I only knew of Your place, so I brought her here. Will ¥ou keep her? “Of course, T kept her. A nice girl, she had n keeping house for her ather ever since the mother’s death, 3 rs Dbefore. He was a good ve workman, earning comfortable wages, | and a good father when sober. But | that night he had come home very drunk, smashed everything, banged the child nd the poor little t tened that she ran and had been since 5 o'clock. t evening we took her father would sered up by that time and i21d be as good as gold again; it was the drink that upset him.” But where would that child of pacing- the sireets at midnight, ive been save for the matron's shel- ng arms At the best under police rotection, with the vagrant’s brand pon her. At the worst—well, society ng there eve Ne i.” wpuld have had one more little human wreck to answer for. To the credit of the police be it said that they are keenly alive to the ad- vantages of the Women's Shelter. A & policeman, after all, is but a man, de- spite his baton. He knows, better per- haps than any of us, the sorrows and temptations of the homeless woman, and he is ready to give her a chance | when he can. ! “Thought I'd better bring this poor | creature to you,” said a burly blue- | coat one night, thrusting a young, sob- bing girl into the shelter; “landiady | called me to arrest her for disorderly | behavior, but I don’t believe it | was her fault. A couple of drunken | brutes had pushed their way into her | room and wouldn’t go out, though she | was crying her eyves out about it, and | of course the landlady sided with the | men; they always do.” “What do you suppose would have | happened to her after arrest for dis- | orderly e€onduct?” continued the | matron. “You see, there are no decent | houses for girls out of work and al- mos$ penniless; the only lodging- houses they can afford are vile. Oh, | she is not the only one the police have girls they would otherwise arrest for vagrancy, or girls strolling the streets in bad company, but not evil-minded— they can tell them at once. And then there are the drunks.” I stared. ‘on earth do you do with them | She smiled: “Would you like to see? ‘We don’t put them with the others, you know, but I think the quarters are fair- 1y comfortable.” Judged by the standard of police hos- pitality, I should call the quarters ex- ceptionally comfdrtable for drunks. A lofty room with two rows of beds staged round it like ship’s bunks, com- fortable, clean beds, with good mat- trasses. Stretched across the ceiling was a curious arrangement of ropes, which T eyed inquisitively. “Conveniences for fumigation,” ex- plained the matron, “if you saw the state of some of them when they come in, you would understand.” *Oh,” Indeed, the said state must be pretty bad, for, after the prelimi- nary bath, which is a condition of ad- saved through us; they often bring us | “Drunken women? What | in luxury, who had fallen & victim to drink. She became such a hopeless case that her husband turned her out of doors without a penny. Her own people could do nothing with her; she was practically in the gutter, so they brought her here. We kept her, ac- quired an influence over her, and taught her to work. That's the great thing, you see. She's now earning her living and is greatly valued by her em- ployers. We teach them all to work, and sometimes it's rather difficult.” Then, for the first time I learned the real object of the home, which is not a “refuge” in the usual acceptation of the word. The ordinary ‘“rescue” cases brought in are only kept for the night and then passed on to the army’s Beu- lah Refuge. The ‘“‘casuals” handed in by the police are treated, according to circumstance, as may seem most de- sirable. But the true work of the shelter is preventive, not curativa; it aims at providing a home for the working girl, both in and out of em- ployment, but more especially the lat- ter. Its object is to save her from the discomfort, degradation and temptation of the low lodging-house, to provide her with cheap bed and board, to find work for her, if necessary to train her and to keep a hold on her affections | so that she need never feel friendless | and uncounseled, whatever her after- | lot. It is for these that the shelter has been specially organized. Here they are taken in at the cheapest lodging- house rates; here they are taught that to the woman intended for a wife and mother there is no degradation in household ministration, that the art of making a home comfortable is as hon- orable as the art of dressmaking and millinery, that the good washerwoman and ironer is as worthy as the account- | ant or counter-server. Here they are | taught to cook, to scrub, to sew, to | wash, to iron, and, when qualified, em- ployment is found for them in private | families or otherwhere. E “But what about the girls with no money to meet your charges?” I asked | suddenly. “Oh, most of them have no money; we just let them run a bill.” “Indefinitely ?” “Of course. That is, until we find | suitable employment. We have two | | scales—the five cent and the ten cent. A girl chooses for herself and stays at | that rate. Once they are in work they | | pay us back gradually; many of them | | have months of arrears, but they al- | ways work them off and generally look | | upon this as home. Those who have | | daily employment often like to stay on | | with us.” | After seeing the rooms I was not sur- | prised. Most of us have a pretty good | idea of what a ten-cent lodging is like. | | There was, for instance, the “Countess | an abundance of soft, gray curls and | her real name—had been a quarterly‘ cent payer, who takes her ten-cent meals in a special dining-room. The five-cent cubicles are less tempting, Wwith their three little beds and lack of furniture. But the beds are as com- fortable and clean as the others, and plentiful five-cent meals are served on a long shelf in the corridor. “We try to make it self-supporting,” said the matron, “but just now our ex- penses are very heavy and help is need- ed. This is practically a new home, only just opened and not yet in work- ing order. We were burned out of our old Shelter last June, and have only now been able to start the new one, and things are not yet as we like them to be. When we are settled we can house twenty-eight girls.” A thought struck me: “What about the casuals, the girls or women who do not stay for training; can they always pay you?” “Oh, no, but we have the spare tick- ets. You see, we work by the ticket system, and we go out to sell our tick- ets. Many a man will buy a dollar’s worth and then hand them back, say- ing he doesn’t know any poor girls. So we have them to use.” ROSE DE BOHEME. ODD CHARACTERS Around the BANK OF ENGLAND UBLIC institutions the world | over are all more or less in- fested with cranks, but none of them can boast a more inter- estingcollection of human oddi- ties than the Bank of England. I am not referring to the casual eccentrics whose visits are of daily occurrence, but to certain characters who, because | of their long continued reappearances atstated times of the year, have grown | to be regarded by the bank employes as “institutions.” Most of these notable characters, in the days of my service, were women, and women of very uncertain age. of Windsor.” The “Countess” was a short, spare little body, with a drawn, pale face, an ever-present smile, which would | have been pleasant to see had its ex- | istence been called forth by reason. | Her ladyship—nobody seemed to know visitor to the bank as long as the old- est employe could remember, and was | invariably treated with the utmost | courtesy. Her other regular haunts | were the Foreign Office at Whitehall | mittance, the “patient” cannot some- times be allowed to put on her own | raiment; the house has to provide her th clean, wholesome attire. r reclaim any of the here it means one chum. spring mattres panes, a dai looking-gilass, 3 There was one very > that we had staying with us for many months, a sad case, too; woman brought up in comfort, almost | bedroom, this Most of us would not be elated at the prospect of sojourning therein. haring a cheerful, well lighted and well ventilated cubicle with Two neat iron beds, with and snowy counter- “hest of drawers and ash stand, and, a | short, the appointments of a cozy little is what awaits the ten- and Somerset House, to the officials of which establishments she was equally well-known. Her history, involving a | domestic tragedy and the sudden loss | of a large fortune, wvas told with so | many variations that it was impossible | to ascertain the true one, but that she | was of gentle birth was patent at once, notwithstanding the curicus and alto- But in gether out-of-date mode of coslume‘ she affected, the main features of which were an old silk gown of bril- liant green and a bonnet like a coal scuttle. The particular bee within that alarming headgear was a belief that a grateful House of Lords had, in con- sideration of certain services rendered by her late husband, voted the little lady a slight monetary award, a trifle of some ten millions sterling. This vote had been passed, in her poor old head, long before the brown curls had turned to silver, and, notwithstanding the fact that she had never been able to collect a penny, she never seemed to lose heart. It was all a question of time, she would assure you—time and signatures. My first interview with the “Count- ess,” of whom I had often heard, took place at the bank’'s branch temporarily established in the Law Courts build- ing. She came tripping up to the counter early one morning and, as I advanced, greeted me with a courtly bow. “I am the Countess of Windsor. I presume you are acquainted with my affairs?” she said pleasantly. ““As regards the vote?” I suggested. “Exactly,” replied her ladyship. “I think you will find that the documents are now perfectly in order.” So saying she withdrew from a shab- by reticule the most fantastic-looking instrument possible to imagine. It was a parchment roll setting forth the imaginary facts of her case in elegant sonipt, signed (?) by an incongruous crev.d which, I remember, included the Quecen, Salisbury, Harcourt, Irving and Bradlaugh, and decorated with a blue ribbon to which was attached an enormous tin watch case, burlesquing the great seal of State. I learned afterward that some of the idle youngsters of Somerset House had manufactured this document, and it seemed to me a sorry joke. “Of course, I don’t money down,” explained the little woman, as I examined the wonderful sheet and wondered how I was going to get out of the situation creditably. “I am afraid, your ladyship, that you have overlooked an important—" “I know what you're going to say,” interrupted the “Countess.” “I ought to have the Duke of Westminster's signa- ture. One of my Government friends told me that, and I actually forgot all about it. T'll attend to it at once.” ‘With this she smilingly rerolled the document and began to put it back in its rusty bag, her trembling hands showing in many places through a pair of well worn gloves. As she turned to g0 I managed to slip a coin on the counter. “Your ladyship dropped think,” T ventured to suggest. ““Oh, dear, no,” she replied, while eye- ing the money longingly. doesn’t belong to me.” “Nor to me, nor to the bank,” I said. “Won't you take it—on account?” Her face brightened instantly, and she pocketed the coin, saying: “Then you will please charge it up, sir,” and with another gracious smile went off to see about the Duke’s signature. this, I IN THE EARLY STAGE OF HIS EXISTENCE 1 \'}CEEATA}N ON nr Aoy 2T ANE.DOE s Hippocrates is honored as the founder of medicine, s0 John Doe is esteemed as the apostle of litigation. Paeans to his praise have been sung with equal fervor by legal acolytes in Justice Courts and by the high priests of the law, who in its greater tempies, keep the fire of litigation, like vestal flame, forever burn- ing. How many suitors, under the inspiration of this hon- ored name, have been incited to deeds of litigation, and either partially ruined by losing a case, or completely ruined by winning one. For is it not recorded that when the intelligent but litigiously inclined citizen hesitateth as to the expedien of paying a lawyer $10 for the possibility of collecting $5, and the probability of losing $15, what name is more efficient wherewith to conjure his unwilling purse, or whet his almost blunted purpose, than the name of the revered Doe? What though a grateful but impecunious bar have failed to erect in his honor stately columns and figures of marble, his name shall ever endure in the grander columns and figures of the bill of costs. What wonder that the names of those reporters who have recorded his occasional triumphs and manifold de- feats, the names of Jewb & Syme, Golbolt, Skinner, and de Gex & Smale are as household words upon our lips? ‘What law student who has ever read for the first and like- wise the last time those legal treasures of the past can fail to recall the leading case of John Doe v. Omnes, an action of ejectment, brought by John to recover posses- sion of the earth, with damages for its use and occupa- tion? Perhaps the most succinct and interesting report of that entertaining case is in Bacon’s extracts, though many prefer Pond’s extract. Quoth Bacon, in the former trea- tise, “After hearing the argument in this case, the Court as usual, divided; but the Judges, while they fail o agree upon every other point involved, were unanimous in the conclusion that plaintiff should be amerced in damages by way of costs.” Thus Doe established the great prin- ciple of law, which has since stood as the very corner- stone of its temple, viz., the liability of unsuccesstul suit- ors for costs. An author, whose name is, to the speaker, unknown, in his “Commentaries on the life of John Doe,” a worz which is not yet in print, informs us that prior to the age of eight years John Doe gave no evidence of the possession of extraordinary ability, and that he never gave such evi- dence afterward. From which circumstance he argues that in the early stage of his existence. Doe was slow to rise. However this may be, it is certain that the days of his youth were full of minor events; and that he spent most of his time in courts, rather than in alleys. The first unreported action wherein Doe appeared as e litigant was in the celebrated case of Doe v. Kid wherein it appeared that the defendant promised tnat he would whip him, the said Doe, as soon as he caught him coram non judice, or outside of court. The defendant kept his word, and Doe sued him in trover for keeping it when he had given it to him. In that case the court held, by a bare majority, that if Doe got well he would recover. — In the equally important case of Doe on the demise of Buck v. Winchester, one of the most important rulings in the history of litigation was made in the Court of King's, Bench, but what that ruling was I have now forgotten. So strong within him was the spirit of litigation that when, upon one occasion, he suffered almost fatal injur- fes in an affray, not satisfied with the damages he sus- tained, he immediately sued to recover more damages. ‘When this illustrious man instituted an action in eject- ment it was customarily entitled “Doe on the demise of A or B” v. So and So. The word “demise” as here em- ployed means lease. I make this explanation for the benefit of undertakers, reporters and law students, who have héretofore supposed, from the pse of this wpd “demise,” that Doe never sued a defendant until some one had died. Cities have made rival claims to the birthplace of Ho- mer, but nations have vied with each other in claiming to be the fatherland of our illustrious subject. Italy, the land of music and of sor3z, through its great Neapolitan writer, 11 Dago, asserts that Doe came of a musical fam- ily of note, and that his progeny was Do of the musical scale. The Feejee Islands have made a persistent but ill supported claim, as the scene of his birthplace, but some of the greatest biographical writers uf the age have exploded this claim by proving that no native of the Fee- jee Islands ever had a suit. Ireland has claimed him as her own. A great Irish historian, whose name I cannot pronounce, records that Doe's real patronymic was Do- herty, which subsequently degenerated into Doe when he was naturalized in New York; that among his ancestry was the well-known ‘“Against,” who begat “Forninst,” who begat “Versus,” who begat “Doe.” The muse of biography weeps to record the fact that much of the honor erstwhile associated with the name of Doe has, in modern times been dimmed, from its dishon- orable use by perpetrators of crime, and petty offenders against justice; for, while in ye olden time this name ap- peared only in civil suits, it now finds its greatest public- ity in the criminal news of the day, wherein we read that John Doe was found drunk on the streets, or that he had :urglarized a church, or garroted a citizen, or haa beaten is wife. It is, indeed, a sad reflection upon the law that the name of the great apostle of litigation shouid be thus des- ecrated with impunity; for while the law, in theory, af- fords a remedy for every wrong, in practice it often re- sults that its remedies, like those in medicine, fail to ope- rate. % At some date about which the mists of historical doubt still linger, John Doe seems to have weaded Jane Doe. This union was fruitful of suits, but it is not known that it was productive of children. While John Doe was suc- cessful in raising issues of law, he never seems to have developed an issue in fact. The domestic life of the Does, both of the male or buck Doe, and of the remale or doe Doe, seems to have been unruffled by litigation between themselves; at least, no report records any divorce suit instituted by John against Jane, neither did the latter ever sue him for separate maintenance, nor was John ever compelied to saw wood in order to pay alimony. The lawyers, in referring to this distingutshed couple, delight to call them “John Doe et ux,” which means, not that John fed on ux, or ate ux, or even liked ux; for ux is the Latin for wife. Posterity weeps to recall the many defeats which John Doe suffered in his bouts with the law. He tested every known method of getting out of court; the relentless demurrer, the deadly non-suit, the fatal verdict and the dismissed appeal. As the law writers of the olden time expressed it, he was frequently “cast” in his suits, which means that he was unsuccessful, and not as is popularly supposed that he was melted down with his clothes on, or run through a foundry furnace. Of the personal appearance of John Doe, but little has been written. The art galleries in the bar associations of the country, which, at the present time, contain more galleries than art, furnish us no counterfeit presentment of his illustrious features. As long as litigation shall continue to embitter the hearts and lighten the purses of litigants; as long as it shall serve to furnish honorable occupation and plethoric salaries to the incumbents of the judicial bench; as long as legislation deluges us with conflicting statutes and in- karmonious laws, as long as divided courts multiply con- flicting decisions, and as long as the names of Plaintift and Defendant shall be heard throughout the land, so long shall the name of John Doe endure. Let us trust that posterity, in contemplating his life, his character and his services, shall say of him, in the words of another: “Tet us remember his virtues, if he had any; and forget his vices, if we can.”—Judge Hunt, in The American Law Journal. MYSTERIOVS JORA DOE- THE'APOSTLE OF LIT16ATION? aH1s EFFECT ON THE LiTIGIQUSLY, INCLINED QTIZEN want all the | “No, sir, it Another notable bank character was an elderly man who, unlike the poor little Countess, was thoroughiy illit- erate and of humble origin, but who, like her, had a vague idea of rights to untold wealth. His name was Joe Wal- lace. Regularly four times a year Joe would show up at the private drawing office and present a check in rough manuscript for some fabulous sum. ‘When informed that the check was worthless except as a curio he would feign the greatest astonishment. “Is this ’ere intended as a joke?” he | would ask defiantly, and being assured to the contrary would stalk out of the buiiding muttering vague threats. On the following day a letter would be re- ceived by the chief cashier from the irate Joe. The bank museum contains several of his effusions, all couched in some such terms as these: Bank of England—Sirs: I rite to say as my father as you no left wun millyon pounds for me in youre koffirs, but wen I cum to draw a cheq to-day they clarks woodent pay up. Please send me sum as bisniss is pore and oblige, yours obedient, JO WALLACE." P. S.—This aint no idel thret. The solemn warning regularly con- veyed in his postcript for the past twenty years had never even led to Joe’s exclusion from the bank, though full inquiries were instituted in his younger days, when it was found that he was a respectable and hard working, if crazy, cobbler, and perfectly harm- less. Perhaps the star crank of the bank— certainly the best known in its various departments—was Mother McCabe. The form of this good lady's eccentricity was religious, and she endeavored to combine business with pleasure by drawing her quarterly ample dividend in life annuities and looking after the | spiritual welfare of the bank clerks. | She would bring with her, from her country residence, two stalwart men servants loaded down with New Testa- ments and a queer collection of hymns | of her own composition, wretchedly printed and bound in covers of cheap wall paper. The meter of these out- pourings of the saintly old lady was too fearful and wonderful to admit of de- scription, but I remember that each effusion terminated, as by way of a trademark, with: Amen—A. M. Amelia McCabe. God's Appointed. G. A. ADAM. —————— Favorites of Fortune. A commercial traveler, journeying | through France, visited Monte Carlo, and, fascinated by pleasure and play, | lingered until he had lost at the tables all his own money and some belong- ing to his employer. Greatly embar- rassed, yet reluctant to return until he had retrieved his losses, he resolved to risk the remainder of his master’s money—<£40—on the color most strong- | Iy suggested to him on the morrow. Next morning while walking out he found a red morocco diary; later on a | child gave him a red rose; he also | met several ladies robed in red. He went to the tables, placed all he pos- sessed on the fateful color, and had singular success, winning back all he had lost and a very substantial sum in addition, after which he wisely de- parted. A Manchester merchant, by reason of a “corner” in cotton, found himself in serious financial straits, and des- perately needed £2000 to enable him to turn around. He was not a man of sporting proclivities, but for three nights in succession he dreamed that a certain horse had won the Derby. Swayed by a sudden impulse he re« alized all his available cash, amount- ing to £700, went to the Derby and laid the entire amount against heavy odds on the horse of which he had dreamed. The horse proved an easy winner, and the elated merchant re- turned home richer by £5000. Singu- lar to say, neither before nor since that occasion has he ever made a bet. Some years since, before the Dunlop type had attained iis present popular- ity, a company was being established in its interests, and a friend of the writer was invited by an acquaintance to take a hundred £1 shares in the concern. He hesitated as to the wis- dom of so doing, but finally decided it by tossing up a penny. If heads won he would have the century of shares. Heads won. He took the hundred shares, and a few years later they were worth £30 each, realizing a profit of nearly £3000. A city clerk who had saved some money was eating his luncheon in a restaurant one day when he overheard two brokers at another table discuss- ing the affairs of a certain New Zealand mine. “Rubbish!” exclaimed one. “You are right,” responded his com- panion. “I have 1000 shares in that concern I would sell to-day at a shil- ling each.” Impelled by an impulse he could neither control nor explain, the clerk followed the brokers to their office, broached the matter of the New Zea- land shares, and, after some conver- sation on the subject, agreed to take the 1000 shares for £50. Six months later a boom in the said shares placed them at £7 108 each, and by promptly selling out the lucky clerk realized over £7000. —_—— “Wish't He Had a Mudder.™ They were children of the slums, and their conversation was overheard by a. visitor from a charitable society, who was taking them some substantials. It was a half-grown lad who asked his little sister what she was reading in a scrap of paper. “Suthin’ about poppin’ swered the child. - “Kin you read it out loud?” “You bet I kin. It’s about some folks -l corn,” ar« that was settin’ roun’ a nice hot fire—" “Oh, my! Wisht it was us,” inter< rupted the boy. “An’ their mother, she put some corn in de popper an’ shook it over de hot coals, an’ it popped out white, just like dey was flowers. Den dey eat it all up, an’ dere mother told dem nice stories.” “My, don't I wisht for some popcorn to eat dis very minit,” said the boy. “Wese ain’t got eny popper,” wailed a shivering infant of stunted growth. “Nor no corn.” “Nor no fire.” Then a sick child lying on a bed of dreary rags in the corner opened his eyes and said peevishly: 4 “I don’t keer for «e popper, nor de corn, nor de fire—not *:much—but I wisht I had a mudder’ioh, golly, I do!” e Dreams are illusions; therefore when a girl's complexion is a perfect dream, well, you can draw your owam conclusior