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PART TWO.
‘•BAB’S” WOMANLY SPICE.
XT BRIGHTENS FEMINiNE TRUTHS
OF MANY KINDJ.
Why Women Are Like Monkeys— How
Some Women Wash—Apropos of
Oscar Wilde’s Family—Lady Wilde’s
Voice Was Strong—How to Reform a
Drunkard—Ahead of the Keeley
Cure—Woman in Man's Favorite
Plac9—A Woman Who Likes Big
Men—Reserved For the Men—A Mod
ern Ten Commandents.
(Copyright.)
New York, Feb. 27.—The effort to be
beautiful has come like a wave over all the
women in this country. There are shops
that call themselves temples of beauty, that
announce wondrous creams and liquids that
will make ordinary, every-day women
modern Venuses, and there are men, wo
men and so-called doctors who are going to
recreate womankind. They little know the
subjeots upon which they have to work.
WOMEN ARE LIKE MONKEYS.
Woman Is naturally like a monkey. Bhe
does not take gracefully to cleanliness.
With her it as much of an educated taste as
olives or truffles. Hhe’d rather worry over
some nasty smelling mess to make her skin
look white than go in for taking a bath
every morning, and she’d rather fiddle with
somo vile grease to work wrinkles off her
face than cultivate a happy temper, which
is really the ouly sure preventive of the
marks of time. Somebody says that bard
hesrtedness, which Is an absolute giving
up of all emotions, will stop the wrinkles,
but I doubt this. I know women
bard enough, as far as their hearts
are concerned, to serve for millstones, and
yet the unamiable marks come just under
their eyes. A woman will gush over a
beautiful complexion, and yet she is en
tirely too lazy to cultivate it; she will take
a bath one morning, then stop for three,
and when she is shamed into being abso
lutely aid perfectly clean, it is usually be
cause she has got married and the man has
been the cause of it. There are five or six
truths in this world, and this is one of them:
Men are a thousand times more cleanly than
women.
HOW SOME WOMEN WASH.
The average woman’s idea of washing is
to take a towel, dip the end of it in some
water, rub some soap on it, then dab it
round her face and neok and trust that the
rest won’t show. 1 tell you, and I am speak
iDg ex cathedra, that when women learu to
tub, to scrub, to use big sponges, big towels,
plenty of soap and buckets of hot water,
followed by showers and sprays of cold,
then they will all have beautiful complex
ions, and, best of all, good tempers. Of
course, there are dirty men.
APROPOS OP OSCAR WILDE’S FAMILY.
I don’t know why dirt always suggests
the Wilde family to me, Oscar was big and
clean looking. To be sure, he did not say
that “Dust is the bloom of time." In that
case a deal of it must have bloomed on his
late father, from the stories they tell in
Dublin about him. It is said that one night,
at a dinner at the castle, a man who was
looking very dragged out had boon telling
that he had just crossed the channel, and
that was the reason for bis appearance.
Another man said to him; “O, you must
have had a very bad time of it!” The
traveler answered; “I neversawsuohadirfy
night in my iife!" A voice from the other
end of the table said: "Did someone men
tion Sir William Wilde?” I trust the Ameri
can nation does not need a key to this joke.
HER VOICE WAS STRONG.
Lady Wilde Is a very tall woman with a
very deep voice, and Brough, the comedian,
says the funniest experience he ever had
was at tho theater when Oscar Wilde took
him to introduce him to his mother. Iu his
sweet, low. velvety voice, the apostle of art
murmured, “Mother, I want to have the
pleasure of introducing Mr. Brough to you.”
A deep, sepulchral voice announced, "I am
glad to meet Mr. Brough,” and frightenod
him so that he almost fell over. However,
Lady Wilde was the only woman in Dublin
ho had anything that compared to tho
Baloons run by tho literary women of New
York; those diabolical entertainments
where everybody does something.
THE EXPERIENCE OF A YOUNG CHAP
at one of these was very funny. He had
come from his country place to spend a
week or so in Dublin, and was invited to
Lady Wilde’s, and, being very polite, be
went. Ho was announced with great dig
nity—well, we ca l him Mr. Roscommon.
His hostoss was dressed in tarletau, flounced
to her waist, each flounce being a different
hue, so that she looked like six feet of rain
bow. Sho said to him. “Mr. Roscom
mon, d> you sing?” With a regretful
bow, he said, “No madam.” “Mr. Ros
common, do you reoite?” Another regret
ful bow and tho same answer. Then in an
irritated tone his hostess said: "Mr. Ros
common what can you do?” An Irishman’s
wit wouldn’t forsake him at the oofflu of his
grandmother and this ouo proved no ex
' option to the rule, for iu answer to the last
question he bowed very low and said: "I
can only admire a beautiful womauand ex
press that admiration by kissing her hand.”
He said afterward it was a pretty hard
uose but the fanlily reputation had to bo
kept up.
HOW TO REFORM A DRUNKARD.
By the by, somebody said not long ago
ttiat women were intellectually timid. I
u°n t think they aro. The way they
wrassle” with tho most abstruse subjects
snows au intellectual courage greater than
, t beautiful physical one credited to J.
Lawrence Sullivan of Boston. The ques
tion they are tackling now is how to reform
arunkards. And they are perfectly willing
j) prescribe anything from the faith cure to
rsVs * Have a little theory of my own
the subject, and I am going to give it to
ny woman who has, ns an attachment, a
usband inclined to get drunk. It is worth
ntmg down in your prayer book, or your
ary , whichever you look into the oftenest:
AHEAD OF THE KEELEY CURE.
’Be as amiable as possible: put ice on his
M and don’t mind a little thing like a
of ,j t runn >ng down his back, because
will help cool him off. Bandage his
c . P ut l ave,| Har water, bay rum.
mpbor and everything you oan think of
w . m ' ? ut * w Hcu he objecis, go quietly
i, D y°u have the moral courage to
out P y , ollr Houd against the door as you go
ism’, 8 ? 11 a Hig hump or a black eye. the
with 19 yours - Come in the next morning
call 8 Kluss of iced millL
.... b‘m your poor darling ana
l. , feel that he is the worst
that* Wltb tbe lar 6<*t before him, and
. . you are the dearest woman iu the
von , be refers to your bruises, say
a I,tti ° U -r at Her not talk about it and cry
it Jr?; i9ay someone is comiug to paint
An,i° * ,° shan’t bo any goß9ip about it.
Rredually it will dawu on his half-sick
He bit you, and theu—well, you
aot descended from Mother Eve unless
booj, ° wu fHat man, body, soul and bank
thhiol 11 1,19 “jab?” Well, I haven't any
unvsLn? 9ay about it. because 1 don’t know
tiini,? v about it, and I am intolloctually
huvl about touching it. However, when (
until th sßll n, cur ’’ * w >n believe in it, and
un ‘U then I'll let it alone.
§oj)e IKflfmnjj Jfctmg.
WOMAN IN MAN’S FAVORITE PLACE.
We used to think we were very fortunate,
we women, if we had a man in love with
us. That’s all changed nowadays. You’ve
got to have au adorer iu the shape of a
woman. She mutt wear your picture lo
her watch, she must take you to places of
amusement, send you flowors, permit her
self to look hidaoue iu the color that suits
you; in short, it must be the old story of
Romeo and Juliet, only both the lovers
must wear bangs. I number among my
acquaintances an old woman who has very
strong opinions, and so I concluded I would
ask her what she thought about Ibis state of
affairs. To say that she snorted is putting it
mildly. She said: "A friendship between
women, when it means pleasant compan
ionship, sympathy ia joy or sorrow, and a
good, sisterly love, is all right. But a
friendship that writes love letters, quotes
very nasty writers, that talks about love
suoh as mortals never knew before, and
which makes fools of women, in a sign of
not only mental but physical decay iu the
race. It oomes largely from tho fact that
men are beoomiug effeminate, or else
women wouldn't laugh at them when they
put ou tulle skirts and do a skirt dance.”
A WOMEN WHO LIKES BIG MEN.
Until the American man is physically
bigger, women wili, it is likely. commit all
sorts of follies. Ido not believe in woman’s
suffrage; what Ido believe in is that fools
of women, and unfaithful women, should
each have a sound whipping in the pubilo
square. Goodness gracious! If this were
carried out, there would bo no getting past
Madison square, and the druggists round
about would make fortunes from salves to
cure, not wounded honor, but bruised flesh.
This old lady would be a splendid one to
train wives, but, like all people with de
cided opinions, she has decided fads.
The chief one is for big men. She
carries this to suoh an extent that she
goes to a church where the parson is 6 feet 2,
for she gays she wants to listen to a man
who, she feels, can knock the devil out
physically as well as mentally. She doesn’t
oven care for small women. Her only ex
cuse in her heart for my existence is, that
X Inherit my size from my grandmother,
and, consequently, couldn’t bo blamed for
it. I once pleadod with her for a small but
delightful creature, and, although I quoted
that a woman should just reach to a man’s
heart, I was silenoed by her look, aod tho
information that she ought to be on a level
with bis brains, and so be some sort of a
companion for him.
RESERVED FOR THE MEN.
What a deal that companionship means!
That companionship between a man and a
woman, that grows sweeter and stronger
and stiller as the months go by. I say
stiller because, as two people learn to know
each other and to read each other’s hearts,
they do not need to speak every word; a
look tells. And this companionship is no
more possible between two women than it
would be betweon two parrots. It is formed
of a man and of a woman. lam very con
ventional, my friend; I hope you are, too.
I couldn’t love any woman in the world as
I could a man, and I couldn’t sacrifice
for any woman in the world what I would
sacrifice for a man. The good God
made us that way. He didn’t make us
to waste our love letters and our oquetries
and our hearts on other women; no, indeed;
they were intended for men. Sometimes
the man takes the heart and cares for it and
loves it until it beats with pride and joy and
love for him; sometimes ho takes it and
slights it and forgets it and hurts it, and it
beats with love for him just the same: and
the brain that belongs to it comes and says
to it, "He doesn’t think, he doesn’t know,”
and the heart excuses, and grows broader
and more charitafcle and kinder; and some
day, when it ceases to beat, everybody
knows then what a dear, loving heart it
was, and most of all is its loss felt by
THE MAN WHO NEGLECTED IT.
You think your heart would rebel against
this—this submission, this sublime bravery?
It might, hut what would you gain by it?
You would be no better and no happier
woman If you opeued your heart and said
to the multitude, "Come and look at my
hurts!” How many would put oil on the
bruises and how many would put vinegar?
Keep your hurts to yourself, my friend;
it’s decidedly tho best way for the world at
large, and it makes a better and stronger
woman of you.
After this you may be surprised to hear
me ssy that I don’t think much of sermon s .
Well, I don’t. Not as they go nowadays.
WOMAN’S IDEA OF A SERMON.
My idea of a sermon is one that lasts
about five minutes, and in whioh I am told
to be less quick tempered, and you are told
how to be less sulky, and somebody else is
told how to be more generous, and still
somebody else is told how to honor his father
and his mother. I don’t want to hear ser
mons about creeds. I don’t v aut to hear
sermons that tell the 2,500 different mean
ings of one line in the Old Testameut; I
want a sermon that’s going to make you
and me better in a pra tical way. I like a
sermon that takes the Ten |Commandments
and reads between the lines.
A MODERN TEN COMMANDMENTS.
I. Tbovasbalt not worship thy dinner.
11. Thou shalt not fall down and worship
brandy, burgundy, or any wine in bottles,
for the sins of the father will descend upon
the children unto the second or third degree
of them that are drunkards.
111. Thou shalt not speak lightly of that
which thy neighbor honoreth.
IV. Thou shalt not make the Sabbath day
one of horror, but, instead, gladness aud
good will.
V. Thou shalt not make light of the weak
nesses of thy father or thy mother, for age
and weakness will oome to thee some day.
VI. Thou shalt not hurt Ly word or deed
any living thing.
VII. Thou Bhalt not defile thyself with
mean thoughts or words.
VIII. Thou shalt not long for, with an ill
will, that which is the possession of thy
neighbor.
IX. Thou shalt not talk scandal.
X. Thou shalt not speak of love to tho
wife of thy friend.
When I began to write this I thought it
might turn out a song; instead of that, it
has turned out a sermon. Well it’s pub
lished on Sunday, or close unto it, so read,
learn, aud Inwardly digest the wisdom of
Bab.
Snakes Chsrm Fish.
Tho water was perfectly clear and not above
two feet deep, the day calm and bright and the
proceedings below the surface easily observed,
says a writer in the .4met'can Angler, lathe
deepest part of the poo! a solid phalanx of lit
tle fish (If I may so call it) was swimming
around and around in a ring of about two feet
in r. iameter. the band being about two inches
wide aud apparently two or three lay rs deep.
Around and around they went, at the least
motion on our part breaking ranks, to resume
their circus at once when we were quiet again.
We were interested, of coarse, and puzzled, and
we tried for half au hour or more to learn the
cause of such unumal movements.
Our talk, for we did talk, did not disturb them,
from whion we inferred that they could not bear
us: our slightest movement did, from which we
inferred they could see ns.
Carefully crawling a little nearer, we discov
ered the center of the moving circle was a large
water snase. coiled. qu!"t and watchful Orni
thologists bale told us in unreliable school
books that snakes can and often docharm birds,
and some have in their more elaborate w orks
tried to substantiate that theory. I never be
) eved it. and I certainly never heard of snakes
charming fish; but what were these shad doing?
Were they charmed? ,
Reason! Beecham’s Pills acts like
magic.— Ail.
SAVANNAH, GA., SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 28, 1892.
CHILDREN ON THE STAGE. :
THEIR PARSNT3 ACT AND THEY
TRY TO DO SO.
Eow They Play Theater—Little Miss
Puesell's Piano Leseons Francis
Wilson's Children Have a Theater of
Their Own.
(Copyright.)
New York, Feb. 27. AU actors and
actresses, it would seem, delight in making
known their most private affaire, yet one
rarely sees an interview with a well-known
actress on the subject of her children.
Actresses conceal their maternity from
the public, because they fear that theater
goe;a lose interest in a woman who is the
mother of a big, fat, bounoing boy, and,
indeed, it dees spoil the romance of a love
scene to suddenly call to mind that the
eoubrette, who does not look a day over
16, has a half growu son or daughter at
home.
A CONTRAST.
Rosina Vokes baa several grown children,
but she leaves them in England and rarely
mentions their names iu America. Quite
different is Mrs. Kendal, who glories in the
fact that she is to bring out her eldest
daughter during the coming season in Lon
don.
Lillian Russell, however, would not dis
claim her little girl for all the praise crit
ics oan bestow. Miss Russell and baby Lil
lian Uve together iu one of the most
sumptuously furnished bouses in New
York—that is when the child is not at the
Sacred Heart convent, where she is being
educated.
She oomes home every Friday night and
remains until Monday mornlug. Treated
liks a little princess, she and mamma dine
at the great mahogany table, while liveried
servants stand behind the chair of each.
After dinner Miss Russell always spends
half an hour at the white enameled piano
practising her voice, and when she Is
through baby Lillian climbs upon the stool,
her little fingers pass gently over the keys
and the childish voice trills the song just
sung. All goes well until the inexperienced
fingers strike a false note. Tho sensitive
soul of the child is trouble! at the discord,
she tries again, and if she again meets fail
ure this little bundle of nerves is apt toslide
from her seat and burst into tears.
TOO BEAL
John Drew, Augustin Daly’s leading
actor, lives with bis wife and mother in u
commodious fiat on Fifty-fifth street. He
is the father of a very pretty little girl, 9
years of age, who at home is called Bebee.
She is an affectionate little creature, pas
sionately fond of her father, aud saves her
money to see him act every first night of a
new plaj. Should Mr. Drew himself have
a night off ana wish to take his little girl to
see the others perform he would have to ask
Eirmission to even go in the gallery, for Mr.
aly never allots members of his company
to appear in the body of the house.
Bebee has a play room where she enter
tains her young friends. Their usual game
is “playing stage,” and during the many
seasons that the nursrey has beau utilized as
a theater no tragedy has ever been enacted
on its boards.
A few nights ago the child stood iu the
wings of the stage watching her mother
aot. Never having seen the whole of the
performance she did not know that lathe
lafit act there is a scene where "Marton”
(Miss Russeil) visits her home, and is cast
adrift in the snow by her heartless sister
and uncle. With breathless interest little
Lillian watched the progress of the scene.
To her it was real, and when mamma fell
sinking in the snow the audience was
astonished to see a little girl in short dresses
fly across the stage and u childish form fall
prostrate upon the prima donna.
“Mamma! mammal” rang through the
theater, and down came the curtaiu.
BEBEE DREW.
“You know,” said the little girl, “our
family lave been comedians for many gen
erations, and I would not like to he the one
to break the record.”
Bebee has traveled rather extensively for
such a little girl. She often goes to Europe
with her father. Possessed of a remarkablv
restive memory, she has picked up French
and a smattering of other continental lan
guages. Her French she still speaks flu
ently.
*‘J ack used to write to me when I was in
Europe,” remarked the child, with a queer
llt.le twinkle in her bright blue eyes.
"Who is Jack?”
"O, cousin Jack Barrymore. He is just
two years older than I, out he is a splendid
fellow, and wo don’t quarrel—very often!”
COUSIN JACK.
Jack ’is Mrs. Georgia Drew Barrymore’s
11-year-o!d boy. She aud her husband.
Maurice Barrymore, have two other chil
dren—Ethel, a girl of IS, and Lionel, their
first born. Tho boys are at school at (Jrauge,
N. J., and Ethel is at a convent in Phila
delphia. Mrs. Barrymore declares that her
mother never would hare forgiven her had
they been born elsewhere.
When the children are all at home the
house is too small for them. Ethel and Jack
usually write the plays performed by the
little family of comedians.
Ethel is a beautiful girl with a sweet olive
face and great brown eyes; her soft, si.kv
hair is of tho same shade. Lionel, the
eldest, is about 14; he is a manly, dignified
fellow and already a companion to his
father; an artist to the tips of his Angers,
he can make up as well as any member of
the family.
Jack Is the picture of his fatter and is of
a generous, warm-hearted disposition. He
takes special pride in his little cousin Bebee,
no is his constant playmate and compan
ion.
A taeatkr of their own.
Francis WUson turned benedict many
years ago. It is fully a deoada since ae
married one of tbe Barra sisters, who forth
with retired from the operatic stage aud
turned her attention to rearing a family,
with such success that she is now tbe fond
mother of two little girls—Frances, aged 7,
and Adelaide, 5.
Frances is a quiet, demure little soul and
takes after her mother, except when she and
her sister repair to tbe little theater* their
father has built them in tbe attic of
his bouse in New Rochelle. Here Miss
Frances puts aside her dignity aud dances
as gracefully as though she were brought
up on the stage. But it is Adelaide who is
the comedienne;like her father in face,form
and feature, overy movement of h6r head
or word she utters convulses bor audience
with laughter. Together these two romp
and play at acting ail day long. They have
often seen their father on the stage and
usually select one of bis operas for produc
tion, which tboy rehearse until they con
sider themselves letter perfect in the roles
assumed by Miss Jatifeu and Mr. Wilson.
Then some bright morning papa is invited
up stairs to witness a dress rehearsal.
HELPING ALONG.
Once these tots had a box at tho theater
and when the oomcany sang they j ined in,
to the delight of the audience, who were
charmed with tbe manner in which tbe lit
tle volunteers led the opera. Of course
they never repeated tbeir performances, for
Mr. Wilson, after considerable argument,
oonvinoed them that an audience does uot
wish whit it has not paid for.
"But they anchored us more than they
did you, popper,” said little Adelaide, as
she nestled mors closely in her father’s
arms—and Mr. Wilson ceased to argue.
"so unladylike.”
Marion Manola mnst have married Mr.
Mould when at a very tender age, for her
daughter Adelaide Is nos a healthy girl of
some 12 years. Adelaide promisee to be
even more beautiful tban hr mother; ter
graceful brown hair falls in luxurious folds
about her oval face, and the large, dark
eyes shine wl:h animation es the discusses
her mother, who is always her constant
friend and companion.
“I never like mamma to play boy’s parts,”
she once said, "because, you Know, it it so
unladylike. Mamma rarely allows me to
go to the theater for fear that I shall be
come stagestruck; but I always go to sse
her. and when we oome home 1 tell mamma
ail her faults. She says I am ber best cntio
and the ouly one the pays any aitentiou to.
Home day, if mamma thinks I will make a
good actress, 1 shall go on tho stage, but I
am sure mamma will never think so, for she
does not wish me to be an actress.”
Adelaide is a charming little dancer aud
inherits stroiig*dramatic ability. She aud
her mother live in a pretty oottago at
Larchmont during the suraaer, but m
winter Adelaide goes to a private school in
New York and Marion Mam la goes on the
road.
A HARD SEPARATION.
Mrs. Leslie Carter, as every one knows,
has one eon, Dudley Carter, a manly little
chap of eight summers. I remember several
years ago, when she was first exiled from
him, she spent the winter at St Augustine.
A life eizs painting of her boy bung in her
room, and she would kneel before it for
bourn at a time, gazing iuteutly at the can
vas and softly repeating endearing epithets
sho had onco bestowed upon the original.
The divorce came shortly after this and tho
mother parted from her boy for the balance
of his young life, and turned to the excite
ment of the stage as a me ms of support.
She is still as proud of her boy as ever,
and he is loyal to her. A few months ago
he passed through New York and presented
his mother with a eailor cap with long rib
bons stamped with American flags. He is
a patriotic little fellow, aud insisted that she
sew little flags on her Jncket, whioh she did.
The two romped all day until late in tho
afternoon, when little Dudley was taken
away, and ever since Mrs. Carter has worn
that jacket and cap all day long. People
about the hotel who do not know the loyal
story of those little flags call her eccentric,
but sho only remembers how delighted her
little Dudley was when he hel)>nd her on
with that jacket, and the glad look of sur-
Erise that came la to his eyes as be clapped
is hands and exclaimed:
"Now you are one of the boys, mamma,
and as long as you wear that we will be
comrades, won’t we?”
Edward iiarrlgan, tho actor manager, is
the head of a numerous family. His first
boru, named after himself, came into the
world when Mrs. Harrigan was just 16
years old, and is now a youth of 14. He is
at the head of his class at the public s'-hool.
and at home is aocounted quite a performer
on the violin. Fond of the drama, he bas is
study all to himself, where he writes plays,
aud already his father consults him on tho
taking quality of the scenes intended for
his own plays, for young Edward keeps
well up with all that is going on at tho va
riety theaters, and is often able to lend bis
father valuable ail in his compositions.
Some day,Mr,Harridan says,they will col
laborate, but he does not think Edward will
follow him on the stage, as ha is too tall for
an actor and bis tastes lie in a different
direction.
THE FAVORITE.
It is plain to the casual observer that
golden haired David Brabam Harrigan,
just 6 years of age, is the idol of his father’s
heart. On him Mr. Harrigan builds all his
hopes and expectation of tho perpetua
tion of the family name upon the Americau
stage.
David is a remarkably pretty boy and
fond of imitating everything he seas. Pos
sessed with the voice of a nightingale, he
sings his father’s songs with greateffeot and
is never so happy as when permitted to visit
the theater aud go on the stage with the
chorus.
Adelaide is the only daughter of the fam
ily. She is a healtby-looking little gypsy
of about eight summers, and inherits' her
brilliau coloring and dark brown tresses
from her mother. A comedienne by nature,
sbe declares that she will soou be old enough
to take a soubrette part and support her
father in his plays. An ardent little musi
cian, she practises many hours a day. Her
10-year-old brother, Tony Hart, ishormost
congenial companion, and they often study
together. XoDy is a pupil at St. Francis
Xavier’s.
OTHER STAGE TOTS.
De Wolf Hopper is the father of a young
ster just (5 years of age. He is an affection
ate little ebap and anient in hie demonstra
tions of love for his giant father. His name
is Jack Allan and he is very fond of music.
He sings most of bis father’s songs, much to
the delight of that gentleman.
Fred Solomon, the comedian of the
Casino, has one child, a boy, 4 years of age,
who can sing anything his father chooses to
teach him. However, Mr. Solomon refused
to speak of him, on the ground that he Is a
“domestic affair.”
There are other actors and actresses who
are parents, but they keep theii children so
in tne background that it is difficult to
substantiate any rumor tnat may creep out
about their existence.
In a Chicago Hotel.
He was from a country town and stopped at
the Grand Pacific hotel and was assigned to a
commodious Inside room in the northwest cor
ner of the bouse, near La Salle street, says tho
Chicago Pott. He was not satisfied. The noise
and rattle and tumult of the streets reached
him and made him yearn to look out on the
busy scene whence they cams. The strokes of
the big board of trade clock resounded through
tho corridors and this young man desired to
gaze on the tower where the clanging bell hangs.
So he went to the office, sought Sam Parker and
spoke thus:
• Kay mister, I don’t like that room you gave
me. I can’t see anything but tho walls of a big
building and some sort ot a place with a glass
floor. ” He meant the court in the center oil the
hotel
"Why. cert’nly," said the obliging, accommo
dating Parker. "What kind of a room would
you like!”
“O, I’m not particular. Anything where lean
see something outdoors. ”
“Want a bath with it?”
"Well, I dunno. Iha l a good wash just be
fore leaviug St. Louis, and ”
“I mean do you wish a room with a bath
room attached?"
"O, I don’t care if it’s next to a l ath room. I
won’t kick about that so’s there don't too many
people have to go through my room to the bath
room."
“How would a nice room around here on the
Clark street front suit you?"
“First rate."
"Front, change this gentleman from 902 to
87#."
"How far apart are these rooms?" queried the
6t. I/juis man somewhat anxiously."
"About $1 60," replied Ham.
"1 mean l.ow far In 'istanoe? How far will
I have to carry my valise?"
"Just about two blocks." said Sam. making a
mental survey and topographical plat or the
second floor of the Grand Pacific.
"Great gosh all hemlock! i want to stay in
the hotel," protested the man from tho bridge.
"O, you can walk two blocks without getting
ont of this house," said "lr. Parlor. "If you
gel lost tell your troubles to a policeman."
President of Gas Company—What was that
bright light in the north part of the city last
night!
Employs—The aurora borealis.
President (with haughty firmness)—Have
some aurora borealis metoni put iu at once.
Chicago Tribune.
NEW YORK GOSSIP.
SOM* BRIGHT FEATURKB OF MET
ROPOLITAN LIFE.
Charity and Notoriety—Fashions and
Their Origin Fifth Avenue Va.
the Bowery—Pen Bketchee of Noted
Men.
(Copyright, 1898. by the United Preu.)
New York, Feb. 27.—Mora money it
given to charity in New York than iu any
other city iu the world. Between 5,000,000
and $6,000,000 are annually given to chari
ties that are more or less public, that is tbe
gifts are recorded iu tbe newspapers.
How mucb is given in private charities,
of which the public know uothing, there is
no means of finding out. An appeal for aid
for a sick or starving family It uever made
iu vain. While thero is a popular belief
that tbe rich give very liberally in a private
way, still there is muoh ostentatious charity
in New York. Au uppeal through theuewe
papere always meets a liberal response and,
In most cases, the donors give their names.
A workman who fainted while at work
at the ruins of the burned Hotel Royal,
said he was weak with hunger, but was
trying to keep his fsmily from starving.
The newspapers promptly look up his case,
because it was pathetic. Tbe man said he
otilv wanted temporary relief for hit family
mid a chance to work, but a generous public
gave him SSOO In money, food and clothing
by the cart load, and he was offered more
than a score of go< and positions. The news
papers had mado him a hero and there was
a rush to contribute,
WHY FATHIONS CHANGE.
Men and women who set tho fashions in
dress strive to keep ahead of the masses of
the people, and shopkeepers know this to
their cost. When a bonnet or a garment,
onoe stylish, bas been copied by everybody,
the dealers who servs fashionable people
must invent or discover something now.
A dealer's newest designs are a part of his
stock in trade, and often very valuable, and
this is especially true of tho millinery trade,
aud when a i ew bonnet is placed on exhibi
tion iu tbe window of a Fifth avenue shop,
a stalwart man is employed to guard it.
His po-ition it on the sidewalk In front of
the window, and it is his duty to keep away
sketch artists and kodak fiends.
The enterprising dealers on tbe Bowery
employ artists to watch these Fifth avenue
windows and get pictures of all the new de
signs. Some of these artists are women
who carry pocket kodaks concealed under
their wraps, and the watohmeu in front of
tbe shop windows must be constantly on tho
alert.
A now bonnet will not sell uptown to
fashionable customers when the same design
Is on exhibition in the windows of tbe Bow
ery shops. Tliis keeps fashions changing
very rapidly aud the fashionable dealers
who fail to keep their newest designs secret
until they have served their own outtoraers,
are sure to lose valuable busluess,
MINDED HIS OWN BUSINESS.
An old man was found dead In bis room
in this city last week, and the newspapers
gave several columns each to tbe story of
bis iife. The only thing be bad ever done
to make him famous was to mind his owu
business.
He had lived very quietly and made few
acquaintance- because he never asked ques
tions or meddled in other people’s affairs,
ad declined to take servants, boarding
house keepers and curious persons into Ills
c mfldeaoe. He was not eccentric and oer
taioly not Insane, yet when he died the
newspapers made him famous because he
had gone through life attending strictly to
hit own busines-.
If be had keen a talkative, meddlesome
man, taking every one Into his confidence,
aud intruding on their private affairs in re
turn, a 3-line funeral notice would have
been all tbe newspaper mention he would
have received when he died. Moral—lf
you want a good obituary notioe, mind your
own business.
MEN YOU READ ABOUT.
Strolling about tbe corridors of the Fifth
avenue hotel in the early evening may be
seen one of the most remarkable men iu
Now York. His faultless dross aud aristo
cratic bearing will attract attention. He is
a dude iu dress, and his cane, which is the
very latest style, is always carried at a cor
rect angle. A stranger would put him
dnws as a rich man about town, with no
aim in life beyond training tbe crease iu his
trousers. Hut this well-dressed man, who
is always at bis case, is one of tbe most
successful and one of tbe busiest men in
Now York.
He has been a member of congress, he Is a
brigadier goneral in the state militia, be is
one of the Four Hundred whose dinners are
works of art, be is a writer of ability aud an
editor of world-wide fame. This well
dressed, well mannered man is Gen. Lloyd
Brioe, editor of the North American lie
view.
A man who strolls on upper Broadway at
rare intervals, attracts more attention thau
any other person on that crowded thorough
fare because so many people know turn aud
stop to shake his hand.
lie is well dressed, but he is not a dude.
His clothes are always of the best material,
they are cut in tbe latest fashion and fit
him perfectly. But they are never loud in
color and he wears no jewelry except a
plain gold band around hie dark colored silk
tie. This man is tall and straight as ar.
arrow.
He is graceful in overy movement, and
his buiiil is that of an athlete. As he strolls
leisurely along, his big gray eyes read at a
glance every face that passes. Millionaires
stop to shako hands with him.
Policemen raise their helmet when be
passes, men about town, prominent aotors
and leading actresses bow aud smile at bim.
Politicians of national reputation always
have a pleasant word for him. Strangers
turn and look at him until be is out of
sight.
Who is this man so well-known and so
popular? Inspector Thomas Byrnes, chief
of the detective bureau of the metropolitau
police.
There is a man who is oceassionally seen
strolling on Fifth avenue or riding in the
elevated trains, at whom men and women
always look a second time, because they all
recognize him by his great resemblance to
the newspaper pictures of him.
He is not handsome, and is rarely well
dressed, but there is an air about him that
says plainer than words, "1 am perfectly
satisfied with myself.” This man always
looks straight ahead, and tbe movement
with which be strokes bis iron gray mus
tache and goa’ee. is one that is always ac
quired by years of practice.
Persons who are not in his social set
alweys smile when they look at bim. Then
they nudge each other end in audible
whispere is/, "Know him?” Of;e:i he cannot
avoid seeing these smiles and I .earing the
questions, but be is never offended or dis
turbed.
He never forgets his position and the dig
nity that attaches to it. Auy one who tins
seeo a newspaper oictureof him will readily
recognize Ward McAllister, leader of New
York’s 150. Curtis Kinglakb.
A Rabe Chance—Art Patron—Look there, a
Rembrandt at fix) francs, and signed, too! What
a rare chance'
His Fri-ud— What does tbe picture represent!
Art i'atrou—Tbeta-iugof Sebastopol.—JCvhe
mere Lomiyuc.
DRY GOODS.
ECKSTEIN’S
Great Sale Embroideries
The Best at sc, 10c, 15c, 25c
15c GREAT SALE OF 15c
Handkerchiefs Continues.
50c HALF HOSE AT 25c,
In Black, Solid and Fancy.
Best Yard Wide Bleach sc.
Best Standard Prints sc.
Pine Apple Tissues Bc.
$1 TURKISH MOHAIRS 60c.
Wool Cheviot Checks 33c.
THIS WEEK BRAND SALE
OF EXTREME NOVELTIES
IN SILKS AND DRESS GOODS
GUSTAVE ECKSTEIN k CO.
... JAL ?L_ . ——
CLOTH mo.
Closi Ont Rail M
—O 3J 1 —
WINTER SUITS,
OVERCOATS,
PANTS.
W***P*P* MWWHHiIPW WBWHliill>U!li lnL JIIUJUII I
IL-CA-T-S,
FURNISHINGS,
SHOES,
Id Order to Male Ron for Our Soria? Stock.
t l
Children Cry for Pitcher’s Castoria.
PAGES 9 TO 12j
