Newspaper Page Text
14
A STUDY OF A COMEDIAN,
BY
ALPHOSE DAUDET.
Copyruht.
That evening; Bloueou-t. the eon. was
to make his first appear; nee on the stage
to Chatterton. The pie* e whieh, though
not forgotten, hid dropped out of sight
and for some years had titled a narrower
sphere in the quiet appreciation of home
reading, now excited on its first night, al
most the interest that a great novelty
might. Those who were familiar with it
without having seen it played, were curi
ous to assist at its interpretation, a process
la which certain beauties of work, especi
ally the most subtle points, disappear, are
scattered, voatilized, as one may say, in
the heat of the foot lights, while others
burst unexpectedly into view through the
medium of voice and gesture.
Those who had been present at former
performances of the piece were happy to
bring hack again two hours of their youth,
and to glow once more with the warmth of
their first artistic emotion. In a word, the
old play, reappearing as it did in the midst
of the commonplace trivialities of the
day, rejuvenated the whole audi
ence, and aroused it to enthusiasm.
It must be admitted that it would be
Hnpossißle to conceive? of a more perfect
Chatterton than young Bloucourt made.
30n and grandson of comedians, the
youth had the blood of a true artist in
his veins, and he was evidently bent on
proving it to us that evening. In the
rumult and excitement of the applause,
in the midst of the hundreds of Pj ,irs ° f
eyes and hands that were exclusively con
''grmng themselves with the stage,
danght a glimpse, from time to time, of a
handsome face which looked out. pale
and set, from the darkness M 'he back
of the house. It was Bloucourt, the fath £
who had come to be present at the triumph
•f his son. Evidently deeply moved, he
would frequently chnng • nls place, arid
Would appear in all the different parts ot
♦he theater; sometimes in the midst or the :
brilliant display in the boxes, and at 001- ;
Jrs almost lost In the crowds In the gal- ,
lerles It was as If he wished to measure ,
on every side this splendid success. In
be also had a share. The audience
recognized him ar.d pointed him out to
each other "Lock at papa Bloucouri |
Isn't he happy to-night, though. And ■
some of them, while applauding, would
turn in his direction as though to include
the great artist in Uie triumph of his
child and pupil.
It- is a fact that no fame is so short
lived as that of a comedian, once he
drops out of the public gaze It Is all
over with him; no one gives him a fur
ther thought. His is the fate ot the
spoken word which, however beautiful,
ft carried off In air; of the musical chord
which vanishes as soon as the notes are
struck. But In this case, thanks to his
eofi, Bloucourt could escape the terrib e
destiny which awaits comedians. He was
welcoming anew glory which was unshig
at the failing of his own, and would fin
ish out his artistic career with another,
full of hope and promise. So the poor
man's emotion was deep and strong; I
could see that his Ups occasionally trem-
Med< and his limbs twitched with ner
vousness. Between each act he roamed
about In the lobbies, drawing near the
different groups to overhear what was
being said; and when hand-clasps and
felicitations were pressed upon him, he
blushed and shrank away with the awk
wardness and embarrassment of a dilfl
dent youth.
Passing close by him at one of these
moments, I could not restrain the sym
pathetic impulse which drew me toward
this deep, silent Joy. “You ought to be
a very bappy man." 1 said, shaking his
hand, ‘‘lt's an Immense success."
The hand I took In mine was cold and
moist, and It drew itself sharply, almost
angrily away. It's possessor smiled
grimly as he looked at me. "So you
compliment too. do you? Isn't there a
single soul to understand what I am
suffering? Ah! come! I am suffocating,
let us go out of here!'' And he dragged
me with him out into the street. An
Icy wind was whistling round the corners,
but the old comedian appeared not to
notice Us rigor.
' “Ah, that is good, good!” he exclaimed,
drinking in the cold air with delight. “I
thought I should go crazy Inside there.
For two hours I have endured their ap
plauding and their stupid congratulations
which are a mockery to me. You are
istonished that 1 say this to you? Well,
H Is so, I am jealous—l am Jealous of my
own child—fairly green with envy of him!
That Is a frightful thing to say. Isn’t it?
But why did he take my part away from
tne? It was mine, I was to have played
it; It Is exactly in my line, and Vigny
himself promised It to me. A week be
fore he died he said to me: 'Bloucourt,
when they put on Chatterton again. I
qount on you to play It,' and I was wait
ing* with such impatience for them to
bring it out. Paris was beginning to for
get me in the long period 1 had been in
active, and I had hoped this creation
would confer a second youth uron me, a
renewal of past successes. I studied hard
night and day; finally I was ready.
“One morning the boy came running
to me and threw his arms around my
neck. ‘Oh, father, how happy I am; I
am going to play Chatterton!’ He knew
as well as any one the promise had been
made to me. but in his Joy he had for
gotten it. Children are so selfish in their
happiness! This one dealth mo the blow
with a laugh. He told me that they had
first thought of me for the part, but I
Iras too mature, too marked—ah! there
is enough in such a disappointment as
that to mark one. Indeed! I am sure that
in five minutes twenty years passed over
wry head. If the boy had
uttered a word of regret or
tenderness, I should have simply have
said to him. ‘Do not play that part, you
will kill meV and I am sure he would
not, because with It all, the child loves me.
But pride bel<l me back. We talked of the
part; he asked my advice about it; it had
keen lying on my table for two months,
so now we read It together. I gave
him my conception of how It
ought to be played. From time to time
ho would break completely away from
me and study a line out for himself, and
■with a surety of insight into the tastes
of the public which I no longer possess,
he would find a point to be made where
I saw none at all. Positively, one would
have to undergo it himself to know what
I suffered during that interview; but it
was all as nothing to the martyrdom I
have endured this evening.
“Oh! I ought not to have come, but
I could not stay away. I was Irresist
ibly drawn by curiosity and perhaps—l
am ashamed to say it—by the secret hope
of surprising among the bravos a regret,
a remembrance for me; of hearing some
one in the audience say: ‘Oh! if the elder
Bloucourt were playing that” But no; I
have heard nothing, not one word: they
have had all they can do to applaud. But
really, the boy does not act well; he Is
actually tad; I certainly thought they
were going to hiss when he came on; he
can’t even walk well; he has no idea of
stage deportment. In all that great
complex part, has he made a
single original effect? No, he has simply
thrown hint self headlong Into it with all
the heedlessness of youih. Impetuosity
Is made to do duty for talent. For In
stance, in the great scene with Kitty,
when Chatterton—*' and here the poor
man began to Illustrate to me in detail
his eon s defects, imitating his intona
tions and his gestures. From the point
of view of the science of acting, it ail
struck me as being very profound; very
just, and I was- surprised to find so many
false notes in the harmonious whole that
had so pleased me. Ail of which did not
alter the fact that we were interrupted
every few moments by the sound of loud
applause—like the pattering of hailstones—
that reached us from the auditorium and
was intensified In saaiorlty by the quiet
empty street.
“Go on, applaud!” said the unhappy
comedian, turning pale at each outburst.
“Applaud! He is young. To be young,
that is everything. I am old; my age is
written on my face. Ah! how stupid it ail
is"' Then in a low voice, as if talking to
himself: “IVhat I feel is almost incom
prehensible. Here is a boy who hns stolen
everything away from me, my name and
my glory; who has not even waited for
me to die to step into my shoes; and In
spite of it I cannot help loving him. He is
my son after ail. 1 have nourished him,
cared for him. taught him, and when I
hear them applaud him 1 feel a movement
ot gratified prme in spite of myself. There
are some clever touches in the young
scamp's work! The mistake was teach
ing him my own calling. 1 sould have
diverted his talents in some other direc
tion. then 1 could have been proud of
him to my heart's content! I should not
have had the sorrow to see my thirty
years' successes wiped out by his first
day of triumph!’’
At this moment the crowd commenced
to pour out of the theater. It was over.
The street so cold and deserted a little
While ago. was now bright and warm. A
murmur of approbation, an atmosphere of
success passed from group to group, and
by way of the silent streets, was going to
communicate Itself throughout ail Paris.
The old comedian was leaning on a pillar,
his ears strained to catch the commen
taries of the last straggling spectators.
All at once he gave a spring. “Good
by!'' he called out to me hurriedly in a
hoarse, changed voice that frightened me.
1 tried to hold him back. "Bloucourt: Blou
court: where are you going." He turned
his convulsed face toward me. his eyes all
gllstenemng with tears.
"Where am 1 going? To hug the boy, 1
parbleu!"
ABOUT BLOOD HOUNDS.
The Mongrels of the South Not the
True Illooil Stock.
From the New Y'ork Tribune.
Tho English bloodhound Is in many re
gards the most attractive dog that Is
bred, and. notwithstanding the race In
dog culture and the rage nowadays for
anything phenomenal In canine flesh of
either home or foreign origin, the blood
hound, with his Inspiring facial charac
teristics and nobility of character and
kindliness of disposition, preserves his
proud pre-emlence, and stands unrivalled
on the pedestal of canine greatness as the
finest example of the dog breeders’ art.
Unlike most other varieties, there is a
peculiar and dignified grandeur and In
tensely sage severity in the phenomenal
head properties of the autocratic blood
hound. His calm ancient breeding and
lordly association. His deeply wrinkled
brow, his weary, mournful gaze suggest u
sphinx in meditation, calling back a long
forgotten past. Though very much has
been written about the history of this in
teresting dog, his origin has not been
clearly traced. Probably he is the product
of a cross betw’een the St. Hubert hound,
on animal Imported into England by the
Normans who came with William the
Conqueror, and the talbot, a hunting dog
used by the Saxon nobles before their over
throw. This theory is strengthened by
the resemblance which exists even now be
tween the St. Hubert and the English
bloodhound.
In the days when the armies of the
world used bows and arrows this dog was
most valuable in warfare; later he was also
used to track fugitives and criminals.
This latter use was continued till late in
the last century, and to some extent even
into this, in England, but the telegraph
and the steam engine took his detective
occupation away. Since then he has been
bred chiefly as a companion, and the type
would have perished entirely had it not
been that In some noble families a kindly
sentiment preserved the dogs and saved
them from extinction. Within the last
half century, and especially since the Inau
guration In England of bench shows for
dogs, careful attention has been given to
reviving the interest in this wonderfully
sagacious family. It may be that some of
these dogs were brought to this country in
the colonial days, and it may be also that
in the mongrels which are called blood
hounds In the southern states there may
be traces of this blood, but there are no
records to confirm such a supposition.
So far as attainable records show there
were no importations of the purely bred
English bloodhound until 1S8&, when Ed
win Brough of Scarborough, England,
brought over several palps and exhibited
them at the Westminste* Kennel Club
show In Madison Square Garden. These
dogs w’ere left with J. L. Winchell, now
president of the English Bloodhound Club
and from them and several more recent
importations made by him and by Dr.
Lougest of Boston, have sprung all of the
genuine bloodhounds in the western world.
There has grbwn to be a great demand for
these dogs, and unprincipled dealers have
not scrupled to palm off any mongrel dog
of the hound type upon anxious purchas
ers. A dog with a slight propoition of the
bloodhound blood In It is sure to be worth
less and disappointing, and Is apt to be
dangerous also. Such dogs, thought by
their owners to be bloodhounds, tend to
confirm the disrepute under which these
animals already rest, and which they
never in the least deserved.
This disrepute. It may be remarked, was
the outgrowth of misapprehension and
misstatement, together with a sentiment
that to hunt men with dogs was cruel
and barbarous. This sentiment was
created in the days when the cruelties of
negro slavery were much talked about
and Was intensified by the dramatic ren
derings of Mrs. Stowe's “Uncle Tom s
Cabin.” In the play the so-called blood
hounds, which, by-the-way, were not ac
tually introduced In the book at all. have
always been very important members
of the dramatis personae. For the stage
In this play it seems to have been agreed
that dogs were required of hideous and
ferocious appearance and therefore
neither the hound that Is used in the
south nor the English bloodhound would
at all answer the purpose. The acts of
these mongrels off the stage have con
tributed to the misapprehension of the
nature of the bloodhound and so the dis
repute has grown until the dog had the
worst kind of a bad name. Indeed the dis
repute succeeded in receiving several
years ago statutory recognition, for the
legislature of Massachusetts prohibited
the keeping of bloodhounds within the
Commonwealth. The moving cause of
this prohibitory legislation was the at
tack of an “Uncle Tom's Cabin” mon
grel on some children. Asa matter of
fact there had never been a genu'ne
bloodhound in the state until four years
after this law had been enacted. When
i the legislature was put In possession of
1 the facts the law was repealed.
THE MORNING NEWS; SUNDAY. FEBRUARY 10. 1805.
The purely brnl bloodhound Is as good
natured as It is possible for a dog to
' be. Here is an Instance that occurred
several years ago at Mr. Wlnchell's house.
' Hi son. then six years old. was In the eit
ting-room alone with a bloodhound that
was lying on a rug In front of an open
; tire. The boy playing with the dog sat
down on it and rhen took it into his bead
that the hound's ears needed trimming.
1 A pair of scissors were conveniently
I near. He se'zed them and began a sur
gical operation on the dog's ear. The
dog appeared to realise that If he shook
ihe boy off the child might be thrown
into the fire, so he remained quiet and set
up a piteous howl of pain, which soon
brought one of the family to his rescue.
Here was something very like hnman !n
--telliger.ee and human faithfulness, and as
difterent from savageness as possible.
binder different circumstances, however,
the bloodhound will resent Injuries, and
there is nothing that offends him more
than any assault upon his dignity. Some
time ago a man was painting a fence. A
dog in curious mood went up to the fence
and put his nose through the pickets. The
workman jabbed the paint brush on the
hound's nose, covering It with the sticky
paint. The dog resented this with anger
and would have attacked the man if he
could have got over the fence. The work
man laughed at the futile efforts of the
hound to get through or over the fence,
and at last the dog retired to clean him
self. Now, this dog was a most gentle
and affectionate animal, but he could never
be made to forget and forgive the insult
to his dignity, and the succeeding ridicule
of the man who had insulted him. When
ever this man appeared the bristles rose
on the dog's back and he began to growl.
Though months passed and the man tried
In numerous ways to apologise, the dog
seemed implacable. At last It was deemed
w'ser and safer that the man should find
other employment. It is a tolerably Well
known fact that all dogs of spirit resent
ridicule. Cares* a dag and he Is your
friend, laugh at him when he Is uncom
fortable and it will be long before he
will again have confidence in you.
Mr. Winchell frequently entertains visi
tors with man hunts. This he does to
show the sagacity and wonderful trailing
capacities of the dogs, and also to expose
the fallacy of the Idea that these dogs
are savage and ferocious when they come
up with their quarry. One of these visi
tors furnishes this description of what he
saw on such a hunt, together with some
other observations. He says:
"With us we had three dogs, Rosemary,
Belhus—both Imported from England—and
Victor, a fifteen months’ old puppy, born
at Mr. W’incheil’s place. Rosemary Is both
blind and deaf, blit she is a noted trailer.
When the perpetrator of the Whitechapel
murders so successfully baffled the London
police. Mr. Edward Brough, tl.e breeder
of Rosemary, at the Invitation of the
ch’ef of the London police. Sir Charles
Warren, took her and several of her ken
nel companions to. London to experiment
in following the trail of men. This ex
periment was made in Hyde Park, and so
long as the trail was In the Park the dogs
followed It without difficulty; but on the
hard pavement of the streets, where mul
titudes were continuously passing, they
were soon at fault. Of these dogs Rose
mary, with all her senses alive, and in
her early youth did better than any of her
companions.
Now we were to see her on the rough
Vermont hills, without eyes and with
out ears, and with only her nose to
guide her In following a trail over rough
places, through water, over fences and
walls, through forest and swamp and
thicket. It seemed incredible that she
could do It. When the men had well-nigh
completed the course the blind bitch was
turned loose. These men whom she was
expected to follow had come from the
kennels, and of course, from the place
where Rosemary was unleashed thero was
a trail each way. I fras curious to see If
she would not take the back track. But
only for a moment did she hesitate, and
then carefully she went off on the trail of
the men, her nose close to the ground. At
the first fence she hesitated a second and
th n climbed over, and to the very end
was not at fault for a moment. This was
unquestionably u very hard test of the
scenting power, lor there were many dif
ficulties in the trail, and she was obliged
to overcome all impediments by the use
of her nose alone. When she was almost
at the finish Belhus was let loose. He was
at fault for a few minutes at the first
fence, on each side of which there was
water; aftpr that at a terrific pace he fol
lowed the trail without a blunder. When
Belhus had disappeared in the woods, Vic
tor, the American-born puppy, was let
loose. He was even faster than Belhus,
but the fence and water bothered him.
He lost the trail and circled around to
find It, and then came galloping toward
us In the back trail. This was disap
pointing, but Victor Is very young yet,
and had only been out a few times. For
him, then, an easier trail was made, nnd
he followed this with much accuracy and
caught the men before they could go any
considerable distance.
"I was curious to sec exactly what the
dogs would do when the game was found.
There was certainly nothing savage in
their demeanor. There was only a frisky
manifestation of satisfaction that the
chase hud been successful. Even Rose
mary, who In losing her sight and hear
ing also parted with some of her amiabil
ity, showed no desire to bite or take hold
of the men, She merely stayed by them
and waited for Mr. Winchell to come up.
Two misconceived notions will have to
be abandoned; The blood hound Is not
savage or treacherous, and he will not
harm his game when he catches It. It
would be as strange for him to do so as it
would be for a pointer, after finding a
bird, to jump up>n It.”
HOWELL OSBORNE DYING.
He Is the l'ounsr Chap Who Conldn’l
Lire on 15,000 a Year.
From the Baltimore News.
New Y'ork, Feb. 2.—Howell Osborn is at
the point of death. He has been confined
to his bed for some time, af
flicted with grip, complicated with
other troubles. Dr. Janeway, who
wus called to the house In consulta
tion yesterday, told Mr. Osborn's friends
that it was almost useless to hope for his
recovery.
Mr. Osborn is only 36 years old. He
has been one of the most discussed men
in the city nearly ever since he came of
age. He has had an enormous Income, but
he has never found it quite sufficient to
satisfy his expensive tastes.
He first became the subject of gossip
through his infatuation for Alice Bur
ville, an English actress, who appeared
here in Billee Taylor, a comic opera. He
married her, and the elopement occasioned
no end of talk. She was bought off by his
father for $12,000. He squandered enormous
sums of money on other minor actresses,
and finally began to look higher, and wor
shipped Lillian Russell, Fay Templeton
and others. He was reported to have
married Miss Russell at one time. Fay
Templeton seemed to be an ideal mate
for him and he ran off with her. They
lived together in Paris for some time.
His mother left him a life interest In her
estate, but made the inquest conditional
that it was to be forfeited if he married
an actress or public singer.
In Paris he maintained an elegant es
tablishment at 108 Boulevard de St. Pier
re, where his lavish hospitality made
him u prey for scores of persons whom
he could net get rid of and who had to be
bought to go away. His equipages w-ere
noted, and to those he liked he gave lav
ishly.
AN UNDERTAKER'S TRIALS.
HE IS ALWAYS A\ IS WELCOME
PROFESSION AL Gl EST.
Dealing With ihe Poor-Laws Which
Annoy Him— Reforms Introflneeii
hy ihe I nrlertakers* Association.
I' rom the New York Tribune.
One avenue of trade has not yet been in
valid by women, nor are they likely ever
to invade It. That Is. the business of
burying the dead. “The day will never
come when.a funeral will be conducted by
a woman,” prophesies a prominent New
York undertaker. ‘"T.s something like
the management cf martial affairs; peo
ple’s sense of the fitness ot things will al
ways flout the idea of petticoats at the
head of an impressive procession. Women
will be efficient employes, however.” he
goes on to say. “In fa there are many
of them In the ranks of cmbalmers now.
as the list of pupils at the school of em
balming will show, and several stand high
in the profession. There is much In our
business that they could help about, but
the personal conduct of a public funeral
they will never assume."
Undertakers, like other business men.
have their annoyances and perplexities.
“What can I do but agree to give the
funeral when a poor woman comes in here
and cries and moans about her dead
mother or sister or husband, or a working
man asks me to bury his child?” explains
an East Side undertaker, in one of the
poorer districts. "I furnish the coffin and
get the carnages and attend to ail things,
even when 1 know I may get no pay for
my outlay. Then, maybe, I get 15 or $lO,
and they promise to pay the rest, so much
every month, and that Is the last I see
of them. I hear people say the under
takers are extortionate, and that they
coin money out of the poor. The news
papers, too, are altvavs drubbing at us,
but there are few large profits In my
trade if they did but know It. So many
of the working people out of employment,
too." he adds disconsolately, "and they
always want finer funerals than they can
pay for. 1 tell It to them not to get so
tine a coffin and nor to have but few car
riages. but they are not satisfied; and If
a man were to leave the house whore there
was a body he was asked to bury on ac
count of finding cut there was to be no
pay, there would be th? biggest hue and
cry, and tils business would be ruined be
cause they would say he was so heart
less a man. In any other business if the
seller finds out that the other party Is not
solvent, he refuses to let him have the
goods, but In our business we have no
such liberty.”
There is a, melancholy difference In
the appearance of shops and offices in va
rious portions of the city. Those in the
poorer districts make no attempt to veil
sJie grewsome character of their wares
or impart other than a spectral air to
their surroundings. The sable coffins in
tiers, one upon the other look stark nnd
bare and awfully suggestive of the nu
merous occupants for h!ch they will be
needed. There is only the most meager
arrangements made for the transaction
of the necessary business. On the other
hand, entering an undertaker’s shop in
a fachionable quarter of the city, one
sees no slightest object to remind h.ra
of the proprietor’s calling. The room is
light and airy. Rich carpets mat the
floor. Ther ■ are palms and exotica grow
ing In great Jars aoout the place, and
tasteful engravings adorn the walls. The
uninitiated may r.dmire ihe handsome
mirrors which panel one side of the apart
ment, and then the secret is out. The
proprietor touches a certain spring and
one of those long, slender mirrors comes
down. Jutting way out Into the middle
of the floor. The mirror forms the bot
tom of a stand upon which Is displayed
a handsome casket costing s2o'i or 4300
covered externally with elegant sable
plush and lined with the rirhebt quilted
ivory satin.
“I a'wavs let my customers pick out
the kind of casket they want,” says this
caterer to the rich, “and I tell them ex
actly what it is going to cost, so that
there can be no misunderstanding. Oc
casionally I meet the grief-stricken who
profess themselves shocked that I should
mention money matters at such a time,
blit I tell them that it fs a matter of
business with me and that I mean no
offense, and I generally, have no trouble.
“When I undertook the business," he
resumed, “I used to be very easy with
everybody, but T soon found that that sort
of thing wouldn’t do. Now I can hold my
own even frith military companies and
ministers who llko to dictate to-the under
taker and interfer with his plans. I had
the conduct of a big public funeral not
long ago,” he continued. “The funeral of
a man whom every one delighted to honor,
and which I was particularly anxious
should go off without any hitch. After all
tny arrangements at the house were com
pleted, I sent to the military to know
wlint their plans were in order that they
might coincide with mine or mine with
theirs. Their reply to my polite request
wms that their plans were their own busi
ness, I sent back word that unless 1 re
ceived definite and timely Information as
to the programme they intended to pur
sue I should have nothing further to do
with the funeral arrangements. A mili
tary friend of the dead man who was
visiting the family at the time, learned
of my position and telegraphed the gover
nor, asking him to instruct the military
that the funeral was under my manage
ment and that they must communicate
their plans to me, in order that matters
might he properly adjusted. The milita
ry authorities, on hearing from Gov
Flower, sent an aid up here to ronfer
with me, and the result was that all the
pomp and circumstance of a great man's
funeral passed off with order and pre
cision, something that doesn’t often hap
pen. I attended both Gen. Grant’s and
Gn. Sherman's funerals, and they were
both botched in the most bungling man
ner, owing to this reluctance of the mil
itary powers to confide their preparations
and purposes to the undertaker in charge."
A glimpse into the cabinet which an un
dertaker takes with him whan he goes to
perform the solemn offices of his calling
Is a revelation to one who bestows lit
tle thought on such matters. First and
foremost there are two immense glass
jars of fluid stuff which Is injected into
the veins for embalming the body.
“No one Is put on lee now,” ex
plains the undertaker. “Embalming is
so much more convenient. The old ice
boxes were clumsy and troublesome, and
when It came to getting them up into
narrow flats they were, a nuisance. Chem
ists keep on Improving the fluid for em
balming, and now they have got it just
about perfect.”
Besides the Jars of fluid necessary,
pipes, pumps, etc., there are velvet-lined
cases qt' delicate and cosily instruments
seemingly as many,* as minute, and as
varied as the implements of a surgeon
or a dentist. These are for taking up
arteries, making inelslons, rutting the
tissues that lie below the skin which
would oppose the current of the fluid.
There are rolls of linen, ointments to be
used for discolorations and brufses, and
soaps of rare virtue that will prevent
the undertaker experiencing mishaps if
he have upon Anger or hand a cut or
bruise likely to be Inoculated w !th in
jurious matter. There is line white spool
silk for lying arteries, minute yet con
venient shaving apparatus, ail put up in
the smallest compass possible.
Th undertaker, like the doctor, lesrns
many secrets !a his profession. “I can
tell from the appearance and condition
of a corpse the kind of life the man or
woman led." he affirms “The reins of
high livers, of those addicted to continu
ous w:ne drinking, are surcharged with
a peculiar kind of blood or fluid which
has to be pumped out before the embalm
ing process can be successful.”
"What do you consider the successful
requisites for ihe business of an under
taker?”
"Tact, a certain dignity. Integrity, bus
iness ability, and above all. education.”
was the answer. “We have hod carriers,
coal heavers and all In the profession. A
man gets a Job to sweep out a church,
and the first thing you know his sign
Is up as an undertaker. Education Is as
necessary In this l.ne of buslftess as In
any other; for an undertaker is oftfn
thrown with people who cannot tolerate
a boor about them. Often he Is called
in where, owing to distressful circum
stances. all is chaos and confusion, and
he must go ahead and use his own judg
ment, order the house, take charge of
the servants and all.”
"Have you ever been called to a sup
posed corpse and found life not extinct?”
"No. never. Old men In the profession
tell blood-curdling tales about a foot
kicking out unexpectedly, or a hand ex
tended In a startling manner. These
th do take place bat they can all be ac
counted for. Asa sick person lies In bed
the body is somewhat In a semi-circular
position. The head up. the heavy part
sunken, the feet a little higher.
When the body is straightened
out on a flat board it is natural that the
feet or head should in a measure rebound.
But it Is only during the first hour and
a half that the muscles are apt to act
In this eccentric manner. All the ac
counts that so frequently come out In
newspapers about people not really being
dead who are treated as If defunct are
investigated separately by a society who
make a record of their information. In
variably the peculiar cases mentioned are
treated In some fictitious or out of the way
place where It Is Impossible to obtain ac
curate information. In other words, the
stories are utterly false.”
When there Is a death in New York the
undertaker is the first person informed.
He getß a certificate from the attending
physician and applies to the board of
health for a permit of burial. The board
of health has only one office In the city.
That office was iormerly in Mott street.
It Is now In the criminal courts building,
at Center and Franklin streets. The of
fice is not convenient to either the ele
vated. cable cars or any other cars. Tho
officers of the board of health are only
to bo seen during their office hours, from
7 a. m. to 6 p. m. on week days, and at
stipulated hours on Sundays. It Is against
the law for an undertaker to remove a
body from the place where death oc
curred until the board of health certifi
cate has been obtained. This arrange
ment, as things stand now, and have stood
for some time, gives rise to peculiar com
plications. For instance, about two
weeks ago a woman, whom was in the
central portion of the city, went up to a
street somewhere in the hundreds to
visit friends, with the view of being
present at an entertainment,
which those friends were to
give that night. Suddenly, with
out any symptoms of previous Indisposi
tion, the woman was seized with an at
tack of some kind which terminated fatal
ly. The death took piece about G
o'clock In the afternoon. The occupants
of the house summoned the nearest un
dertaker, explained that all arrangements
were made for their party-giving, and
begged that he remove the body Imme
diately, take it to the horns of the dead
woman down town. A physician had been
called when the woman was attacked
w ith the fatal stroke, but he had gone
away without making out a certificate
of death. The undertaker appreciated
the urgency of the case, but explained
that by the time he hunted up the at
tending physician, gotten his certificate
nnd made his way down town to the
board of health office, that place would be
closed for the day. He told the party
giver that there was no way of having
that body removed before the next day
without breaking the law. “Then break
the law!” they urged. “A law so un
reasonable ought to be broken." The
undertaker declined to yield to their en
treaties, and they secured the services
of another undertaker, less scrupulous,
who removed the body of the woman and
got the board of health certificate the
following day.
The board of health has made this rule
prohibiting the removal of bodies without
a permit, for obvious reasons, in order to
prevent the spread of contagious diseases,
etc. Conscientious undertakers affirm
that,* although this regulation is often
infringed upon, the law breakers seldom
have to pay the penalty unless the de
ceased W’as a person of such notoriety
that the minutest details of his death
become public, and naturally come to the
notice of the bureau of records. The fine
for removing a bods’ without a permit is
$250, but only once In five years has an
undertaker who dared to violate the law
paid for the offense. The case was that of
a well-known mind-reader who died un
expectedly just after an entertainment
given by a prominent social club In New
Y'ork. The friends of the dead man natu
rally desired his remains removed to sur
rounding more suitable than a banquet
hall, and the undertaker they employed
consented to forget the law. Not long
ago a woman died suddenly while enjoying
a play at the theater in company with a
party of friends. Her. ease came under
the law. so the body had to be left In an
ante-room of the theater during all the
performance, the grief-stricken friends
having to listen to the applause and laugh
ter, the music and gayety of a scene so
little In accord with their feelings.
The Undertakers' Association has had a
bill before the legislature for three years,
petitioning that a law be passed to pro
hibit any man going into the undertaking
business who is not thoroughly acquainted
with sanitation. The advocates of the
bill say that through sheer ignoran-e
an undertaker may do no end of mischief—
perhaps carrying an Ice box used amid con
tagious surrounding directly into a house
where no such dangerous conditions ex
isted until transmitted in some haphazard
way. The bill was thought commendable,
and passed both houses twice, but was
vetoed by the governor. The association
congratulates itself that It has brought
one or tW’O things to pass, through its
earnest efforts, that have directly beneflte 1
the public. It was through its Interces
sion that the railroads were Induced to
carry dead bodies on their very fastest
trains, instead of making them wait over,
as was the custom formerly, and Its ap
peal to the authorities, protesting aeainst
the practice of carelessly piling baskets,
bundles and packages on top of the box
containing a corpse, has had the effect of
abolishing that atrocity. The box contain,
ing a dead body is now left undisturbed in
a special corner of the express car. It
seems to have been the general impression
ever since the Undertakers’ Association
was organized that it was a sort of trust
company, formed for the mutual benefit
of the members and the direful disadvan
tage of their patrons. Members of the
order protest that in their meetings the
subject of “fee” or any attempt to fix
charges has never been broached. "Our
business varies too much with the re.
quirenr nts and means of our cust mers
for us to be able to arrange any scale of
prices,” they say, "and fair-minded peo
ple who bestow any thought on the sub
ject will judge that we speak the truth
The objects that we are trying to.attain
are as much for the convenience of the
public as for our own accommodation
but the public never thinks of the subject
at all until they are brought Individually
face to face with it and need our services ”
SURVIVED A LYNCHING.
MAN WHO ACTED AS CORPSE TELLS
HIS STORY.
Krmarlinble Experience of ft Cin
cinnati Man in the \\ e*t—One Who
Has Tried It Telia How It Feela
to lie Hanged—Saved in the NleW
of Time by the Friend for AA’hoae
Crime He Wu Suffering;—Yarrow
Escapee From Death at the llnuils
of Indiana.
From the Chicago Times.
Sandusky, 0., Jan. 22.—1 met a unique
and picturesque character In a hotel read
ing room here this evening—a man appar
ently 65 years of age, tall and uscular,
with a weather-beaten face and grizzley
gray beard. He wore a buckskin shirt,
breeches of the same material, and coat
and vest of rough gray stuff. Across the
back of the chair In which the man sat
lay a wolfish overcoat, from the collar
of whtsh hung three tufts of long, wiry
hair that looked like portions of a horse's
mane or tall, but which was in reality
the scalploeks of Indians, trophies of the
valor and bravery of the man whose over
coat was decorated with them. The man
was William Eastman, who was born in
Cincinnati, but the greater portion of
whose life has been spent on the frontier.
I had learned that Mr. Eastman was one
of the few men who had experienced the
sensation of being hanged and had lived
to describe bis feelings, and It was for
the purpose of getting an account of his
experience In that respect that I had
sought an Interview with him. In re
sponse to a question, Mr. Eastman Said:
“I came up from Cincinnati to-day, after
having spent a couple of days there with
friends. That was the first time I had
been In the town since I left It In the
winter of 1860-51. I had been running on
the river several years prior to that date,
and when navigation closed in the winter
of 'SO I decided to quit the water and go
west. The gold fever was at Its hlght
then, and, In the spring of ISSI I joined a
party of prospectors and started for the
coast and for many years led a wild, ad
venturous life. I was twice captured by
Indians, but managed to escape—the sec
ond time, however, receiving wounds
which came near making an angel of me
and the scars of which I shall carry to my
grave. But when I look at the topknots
that ornament the collar of my overcoat
I always feel a grim satisfaction In the
thought that badly as the red cievlls treat
ed me, I quit winner three times when the
stakes were human life.'"
The closest call that I ever had for my
life, however, was neur what is now
known as Skull Valley, a small town In
Vavapai county, Arizona. I had beep
up near there where the village of Burnt
Ranch is now located, in Crook county
Oregon, and while there I fell in with a
man named Robert Wilson, who was
originally from near Louisville, Ky. I
knew him when I was running out of
Cincinnati on the river, and I was sur
prised and delighted to meet him in that
western country. He and I at once be
came firm friends, and were companions
for years after. He was a typical plains
man, rough of exterior, but a genial,
whole-souled fellow, who lived in his
saddle by day and rolled himself up In his
blanket and slept on the plains wherever
night chanced to overtake him.
He had been a guide in that country for
a long time, and knew the whole territory
like a book. There was only one trouble
with him. He used to get the blues once
in a while, anil when he did he was in the
habit of drinking heavily. His whole
nature was changed by drink, and in all
my experience among rough, lawless char
acters in the west I dont think I ever saw
a man who would compare with him for
pure and unadulterated devilishness when
under the Influence of liquor. He was
remarkably handy with his gun. and his
disposition to shoot, especially when In
liquor, and the fact that he was in that
condition at the time of whieh I speak
resulted in a lynching, in which I played
the leading role as the corpse. One day
while Wilson and I were In Aqua Fria
valley, In Vavapai county Arizona, we
met some parties who were en route to
Skull Valley, In the same county, and they
told us that a ranchman near the latter
place wanted to hire some herders. As
Wilson and I were out of a job, we decided
to go and apply to the ranchman for work.
Upon arrival at the ranchman’s plrfee we
found him to be a coarse, ignorant sort
of a fellow, a half-breed Mexican and In
dian, who, as we afterward learned, had
been compelled to fly from his native place
in Mexico to escape punishment for a
crime. He was a sullen fel'ow, with stiff,
bushy hair, swarthy complexion, and
black, piercing eyes. I distrusted and dis
liked him the minute I saw’ him, and so
did Wilson. We hired out to him, how
ever, and went to work the next day.
We were not long in finding out the
kind of a fellow’ our half-breed boss was.
We had been at work only two days when
he gave Wilson a tongue-lashing for al
lowing some cattle to wander away. Whefl
I heard the ranchman open up on Wilson I
expected to see the latter shoot the fellow
without further talk. But he managed to
control himself, and that night when we
went into our hut on the feeding grounds
he told me what an effort It had cost him
to keep from killing the fellow, and that
nothing could save the ranchman's life if
that sort of thing occurred again. A few
days afterward a party of prospectors
passed that way, and unknown to me
Wilson procured from them a bottle cf
whisky and at once proceeded to trke
several generous doses of the liquor, wh ch
speedily arc-used everything mean in his
nature. He became reckless, and allowed
the cattle under his charge to roam at will,
and the result was that some of them
strayed away, a fact which the boss was
not long in finding out, and when he did
find it out hfs rage knew no bo-unds. When
I saw him ride across toward Wilson, and
saw him gesticulating wildly, with his
heavy whip In h's hand, I knew that
there would be a funeral or, that ranch,
and the boss would figure as the corpse'
While I sat watching the men I saw the
boss raise his whip as if to strike Wilson
Instantly a pistol shot rang out, a little
puff of smoke arose above the boss’ horse
and the ranchman fell from the saddle'
He was as dead as a doornail when two
of the other herders and myself reached
him. The instant the shot was fired Wil
son put spurs to his horse and started
across the prairie like the wind. A couple
of the herders gave chase, but he had too
much the start of them, and they soon
abandoned the pursuit. I noticed that
after the shooting some of the herders
gave me loks that indicated that the act
of my pardner had, perhaps, prejudiced
them against me. The matter didn't wor
ry me any, however, and I thought no
more Of it after I reached my hut that
night. I was then the only occupant of
the place.
“I had been in bed probably three or
four hours when I was suddenly aroused
from sleep by a strong grip on my arms
and found them pinioned and a revolver
pointed at my head. I didn’t understand
at first what was the matter, but I soon
found out. My assailants were a couple
of half-breeds—favorites of the dead boss
and I realized at once that they proposed
to wreak vengeance on me for the act of
Wilson. One of the fellows forced a ga~
into my mounth and made the strings
MEOtCAL.
| LUtLPH fudir .a. r . M
disea -e. 1 Tl*in4 ’ • •
a **7 tb# beat f net.iomi * *
\ determli.ed to __ - ! 1
On four mirths l|jJ| * •
J ur e <\. TheUßj Jr.. •
)m *one. not a §l*?. .f It * '• t .
f lit ip. ftirt 1 l*aVu nov?rV‘
• return of tu ditea. I My
I reco-nnier.de 1 #1 II II .. " -
> Sks 535 5 HILDHQQQ!
> HHH zssxsxtEsrx n •
f SES&sttl? 4
CO . Atlanta, f.,. <
fast at the back of rr y neck. It w .. „ " 3
to kick. I was clea.-ly overpowered _??
Just simply made up ry mind thaM i?.J
to go. It was pretty tough to lx- m ‘ d ,“J
on account of what Wi son had done i
thc-re was no help to • it. The ,‘7,
tied my legs together at the knees .HI
ankles and then can-led me out an ! - h ,
me across ihe bacL of a horse a , W
veyed me to a ti ee about eighty
Horn the hut. Ore end cf a rope
tened around my neck and the Jf
thrown across a iiir.b. and the scoumwl
then pulled me up and made th.- int
end of the rope fast to the tree I *
member that I suffered intense pain ta
my neck and back, and my head
to be bursting. Then I began to Cct
sciousness and experienced a sensation ic
floating; I knew nothing after that unm
1 found myself at the side of a , m „n
stream. In a thicket, with Wilson „un d
Ing over me. My Utroat was i0 ,- 0 7 w
that I could not utter a sound, my
seemed to be bursting from their socket?
and my back ached f tarf ully. \Vii son
bathing my face and n ?ck, and when r
came to a realizing sense ot what
happened he told me that when he dashlc
across the prairie after shooting t ?
boss he had a presentiment that h.rm
would come to me lor his act, simnlv h?
cause I was his partner. He hsd thmu
fore, ridden back to the ranch undercov
of darkness and gone to my hut fond
it empty, and while leaving it had hraM
voices In the direction of the tree wh-rel
was strung up. He ‘ overheard enouch
to satisfy him of the condition of affair,
and he laid low until the scoundrel? l.ft
the scene and then ha cut me down h
was several day3 before I recovered fi-tra
my rough treatment, but Wilson stood
right by me, and I pulled through in
good Shape. We got out of that country
as soon ns we could, and a few months
latAer Wilson was kll'eri in a quarrel o'a
a fanch in Northern Texas and I havs
since been roving alicut the west. I m
going to New Y’ork state now to settls
down and spend the remaining vear- of
my life in peace anf. quiet.”
XITRO-G LYt EIII \K L A STS.
A Workiugrnuic's [Experiment M ; lt#
an Old Belt Hat Strainer.
From the New York Sun.
"Nitro-glyeerirte can not be annihilated, t
said a man of long experience in petroleum
operations in the Pennsylvania oil fields,
“and from the reckless manner in which
the deadly explosive has been handled
ever since It came Into use in the oil
country, it is a wonder that there Is a
town left standing there. Everybody knows
how terribly explosive this compound la
by concussion, but few know Its lasting
properties and how Impossible it is ta
destroy them.
“In manufacturing nitro-glycertne oni
of the processes Is the straining of i{
through felt, usually through the crowns
of old felt hats. After these crowns have
served their purpose us strainers of the
liquid explosive they are burned to place
their saturation with the nitru-slycenne
beyond the possible doing of damage iu
the possession of careless und thouglulesi
persons. At a nlitrcviclycerlne factory is
the Hradford oil li sld once an employe
thought he would put the life and vigor
of the explosive to a test. He took a hat
crown that had been used as a strainer,
washed it thoroughly and then treated
it with strong alkalis. He placed the felt
away on a shelf out ,of reach, and knowl
edge of any one else In the factory, to dry.
Then he forgot about it for two years,
but one day happened to recall the cir
cumstances and took the felt crown to
complete his test.
"Workmen in nitro-gjyoerine factories
and in handling the dangerous stuff about
Veils are notoriously reckless, but the
most careful anyl timid man would scarce
ly have had any fear of this two-year-old
strainer that ftad been so thoroughly
cleansed. The w orknran who had taken
It upon himself to make the test had to
idea that there could possibly remain
in the felt even the slightest susp’cion
of danger, and to show how the stuff had
been annihilated by the treatment h
put the felt on the ii“on arm of the tin
ners bench, where the cans for holding the
nitro-glycerine are soldered, and struck
It with a hammer. The result was a sur
prise in that factory. An explosion fol
lowed the blow thalt broke both of th
mans arms, stunned three other men,
hurled the heavy iron arm through a two*
foot brick wall and wrecked the tinning
shop.
Color of Dogs.
From Macmillan's Magaziijs.
As to color, Xenophon shares our ir.o3*
ern prejudice; he dktlikes whole colored
hounds, all black, all tan, all white,
prefers the colors mixed. With the st.af*
aforesaid, good color, good nose,
plenty of tongue, yt>u can make a good
pack and hope to ki ft a hare. Breed yo®
puppies in the spring;, is Ills advice, and is
not overfeed them; train them hy taints
them out in a leas.h to follow the l i*
hounds on a line of ifcent: and if you “ 4V _
a spirited puppy, do not let him go &*'*•
in view of a hare, or he will over?*® 1
himself and do himself an injury.
Would the reader like a list of Gre
hound names? Xenophon will furß *
him with a catalogue of forty-seven. tr
of which flow naturally Into an Er.g.
equivalent, Active, Bustler, Ravager, R *
eler, Cheerful, and the like.
hounds short names. ' he says, ' ! ; a ...
may be easy to call them.” Accordm* •
the names which he leaves to us * re B
out exception dissyllabic; for the g
ear was not alive <0 the merits
dactyl In hound nomenclature, ano
look In vain for suc-h a name as Mg'
But we find, at all events, Hebe inns
a name which, after 2.000 years, still
duty in pur English kennels.
A Mlmolster Writes:
After ten years of great suffering from
indigestion, with great nervous pr -
tion. biliousness, disordered kii.ne>s
constipation, I have been cured .
Mozley’a Lemon Elixir, an i atj\
well man. Rev. C. C. Davis. Ud. ■
Church South, No. S& Tatnall street,
lanta, Ga.
From n Prominent InilT-
X have not been gblo in two
walk or stand without suffering t
pain. Since taking Dr. Mozley t .
Eiixir I can walk he.lf a mile w ““ g.
faring the least incopvenier.ee. -' lrs -
Bloodworth. Griflin, Ga. .
Fifty cents and SI at druggists.
fnkf n®
lie—X saw several person. 14
their hata in the thieater this e
She—Of the gentler sex? . . VorH
He—Ves; they were men.-.
Sun. . . I