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NEW YORK'S SHOP WINDOWS.
They Are Filled With Daintiest and Airiest
Fabrics.
When It itr V\ omen nny Froo’in-Tlif
Them—hmu Jtchl'* tevv*"*! Gown*
Actresses in Dressing—'Othei
(Copyright, 1596.)
New York, Feb. 26-While the air is raw
and’ cold and the ground still showing
traces of the beautiful enow', as it is
known In New York, the shop windows
are filled with the daintiest, airiest and
Jflnest of fabrics—wonderful embroidered
muslins such us were brought years u,>o
from the mysterious countries beyond the
peas, printed muslins such as Mary \\ ash
lngton wore, wonderful contrasts in eoor
tn the dainty cotton materials that seem
to. have belonged to the days of Marie
Antoinette and Petit Tr.anon. And va.li
It all they are so cheap! When our mus
lin gowns were brought by some traveling
cousin from China, they were really worth
their weiight in gold. When domestic
manufacturers were unknown, a cotton
frock was almost as expensive as a wool
en one. But nowadays, when clever
American girls draw' the designs, when
wonderful American looms weave the ma
terial, the beautiful, artistic fabric is
within the reach even of the woman who
has to economize.
is the wise woman who buys her
cotton frocks while It is yet winter. W hy .
Because she has her choice of designs
and because she can get her material
while It is yet fresh and before it shows
the efTect of passing through many hand*.
Then, getting the material so early, the
wise woman can devote plenty of time to
choosing her decorations and to selecting
the modes in which her gowns shall be.
Perhaps she ha3 chosen a dainty white
muslin with little dots thickly embroid
ored upon it. She goes to no pattern
bouse for her design. A month ago
there came to her from Paris some pho
tographs of famous French beauties in
their summer toilets, and It Is these she
will imitate. Her dotted muslin will be
made after the fashion of that worn by
Mile. Yahne as she emerges from be
tween two velvet curtains. The skirt
is finished with three tiny ruffles, whife
the bodice has a tucked yoke and a cor
sage decorated with frills of Valenciennes
lace and insertion. The sleeves are glove
fitting, but trimmed with the lace, while
the crush belt and soft collar are of
white silk. Chic? Immensely so. And
yet while it is in the style it does not
after a servile fashion imitate the gown
worn by Dorothy'. Gwendolen or Cynthia :
Another cotton is made after one of
Anna Held's newest frocks. This shows
a decoration of the dainty ruffles, edged
with narrow lace, while a big white para
sol is made—in the photo, at least—to
seem a special part of the toilet. But
it is her jacket of which the wise woman
is produest this spring—the jacket over
which all Paris ts raving. It is the
dainty little coat worn by that wonderful
beauty Marsy in her last new play. It is
of bright red cloth, showing lapel facings
of white, but the coat itself is so cut that,
though it fits the figure, there is a certain
laxity to the front which is an ingenious
compromise between the bagging of the
übiquitous blouse ami the severity of the
classic jacket. Surely the wise' woman
could not choose three tx'tter models than
those pictured, for the French actress,
even on the Btage, never goes to an ex
treme and always sets the mode. In Eng
land and America the actress imitates tlie
ladies of ihe great world. In Paris the
most artistic dressmaker brings all her
genius to bear upon a toilet for ihe stage,
since she is sure that it will be extensively
copied by the most fashionable women.
Asa natural sequence the French actress
seldom overdresses, and she takes a spec
ial pride In suiting her toilet to the exact
time and place. When she is supposed to
be the daughter of poor, but honest par
ents, she does not come on the stage wear
ing a Felix dinner dress, but she thinks out
what, under such circumstances, would be
proper, and she assumes it. Who of us
hasn’t seen the exact opposite on the Eng
lish speaking stage?
By the bye, to leave the stage, which
few people are willing to do, do you realize
that Just about now everybody is taking
to Delsarte again, and young women are
blqck and blue from tumbling up gtair
and tumbling down stairs and learning
how to decompose themselves? Thai’s an
abominable word. But it’s a received one.
Decomposition, you must know, is the
ability to become suddenly limp and then
just as quickly to use whatever part of
your body you wish in the most graceful
way. One of the best Delsarte teachers
announced before a class the other day
tht she could tell a Southern woman the
minute she entered a room and sat down.
She olaims for her that she sits naturally
and her limbs fall In easy poses. It seems
unnecessary to say that after this was
told I blushed. But at the same time I
credited it to my natural Ac
cording to this teacher, the great trouble
with the woman of to-day is that sho hur
ries. Every movement expresses Iter
haste, and there Is no time for grace. You
know you can get to a place as quickly by
walking well apd evenly as by trotting
and stumbling. It’s funny how the novel
of the day talks about the bearing of the
women. At the time that Mr. Henry
James novels were believed by some peo
ple to have a certain amount of interest
all the women in them were "standing
round.” He made them stand ami stand,
with occasionally the privilege of leaning
on a mantleshelf, until they fell into mat
rimony because they were so tired. Now
Ouida very complacently and very kindly,
too, lets her heroines among piles of
cushions, while the hero, s bring to them
good things to eat and drink. In reality
they are thoroughly at their ease. Miss
Draddon had rather an inclination that
way, too, though her majestic young
women occasionally got up and walked
across the room and served somebody with
tea and so displayed their "well shaped
hands and flashing rings.” The Duchess
Invariably made all her young women
wave large feather fans, which calls for a
certain amount of muscular strength, and
then she used to let them "sway” wher
ever they might be going.
This reads delightfully, but when *ycu
bring it down to absolute truth don’t you
think that u swaying young wopian would
look a little bit like one who was 100
full of—enthusiasm? The namby-pamby
young woman who nestles on somebody’s
shoulder and takes the stiffening out ef
his collar went out of vogue with Thack
eray's Amelia, while as for the heroines
of the various so-called religious nov. Is,
they imply walk Into a room and sit
down on the settee. I have often wonder
ed what a settee was. Probably it will
be like a comfortable sleepar In a parlor
car. I’ll discover It some day.
I have never been able to get over the
conceit of the man who wrote "Ben-Hur.”
Means She Adopts for Selecting
—The l*lan Followed by French
■ Matters of Sp cinl Interest.
He said that Dickens would be forgotten
because Ids |>eople are common! Why,
whn "Ben-liur” is being used to wrap
up slate pencils people will be loving J.lt
tl • Nell, admiring David Copperfleld. ap
plauding the heroism of Sydney Carlton
and adoring tile sweet womanliness of
Bella Wilfer. I don’t lrelieve Charles
Dickens and Thackeray talked that way
about poplt who wrote books when they
lived, yei here's a man who happened to
make a hit with a book that had history
as its foundation, and he throws
mud at men who possessed the
great gift of touching the heart
iftrl of drawing the pictures of
living, breathing souls. Brother! Conceit
may push a book, but it won’t make it
, -ivc toy. ver. It may advertise it, but it
can’t make us love ’ it. Each one of us
I may- read It once, but when the heart is
sad we don’t go to it to be cheered up as
j we do go to those living, breathing peo
ple created by the two masters of novel
i writing in English. I never did see the use
1 of writing novels to improve people. A
I novel, a good one, is like a beautiful piece
J of sunshine—it’s g&ing to bring joy to you.
If you are well In mind and body, you ap
-1 preciate it keenly; If you are ill, it comes
to you just like the golden ray that peeps
I through your shutters and, brightening
your abiding place, makes everything
around you gladder. Ho who con write a
good novel lias done more thnn any other
man to bring happiness to men and wo
men. And a good novel isn’t one that has
300 pages devoted to what the writer thinks
about some much vexed question and 100
to the story, but it is one that tells its
siory easily, carefully and in such a way
that it is like a series of pictures. It must
lie the panorama of life, and for the time
you are the looker on.
; The immoral novel is one of the unde
, sirabie products of to-day—the novels that
I analyze faith into nothing, that comlemfi
1 man until one wonders how It was possi
ble that God made him after his own
image and exploit and make of worth a
fool of a woman who considers it her bus
iness to remodel the world. I’m tired of It.
This Is a very good world if one will only
take the trouble to look for the good
things in it. I don’t blame anybody for re
fusing to honor and respect such women
as are pictured in the analytical novel of
to-day. They talk, talk, tnlk, until you
think that Is the only mission they Wave.
They regard motherhood as a burden,
faith as a folly, humanity as a fraud.
They complain of unfaithful husbands, of
wicked children, of unsympathetic friends.
But what have they done to deserve any
thing better? Thank goodness, most of
these women are in books! Only a few
of them are In the every-day world, and
those few are not popular. Women can
write advocating anew kind of woman,
but it’s the old kind, the loving, sympa
thetic, gentle woman, who is popular.
Men are wiser than they look, and they
realize that if the heroine of the analyt
ical novel were desirable as a companion,
she would have been discovered in Solo
mon's time. Instead, as the centuries
have rolled by, men have gone on loving
and choosing the gentle, womanly woman,
and she’s the woman he’ll continue to se
lect. I’m sure of this. Generalizing, he’s
honest and brave and kind, and he looks
for a woman who will be congenial and
who will bring into his life ail the pleasant
little womanly ways that he would miss
if it were not for her. Oh, yes, I’ve so
much belief in man that I know he will
choose the right kind of womun!
Parenthetically, though, I must beg of
him not to disappoint me and so go Lack
on the good character vouched* for him
hy Bab.
STORIES ABOUT WOUNDED MEN.
Things Tlmt Interested and Dazzled
Officers or Surgeons.
From the Chicago Inter dfeean.
"Wounded men,” said the Colonel, "were
often misunderstood. Gen. Fuller of To
ledo told me that he never expected for
giveness foij one harsh judgment of his. In
the midst of a battle he was trying to stop
the flight of panic-stricken men. One man
came stumbling along, not heeding a word
that was said to him. Indignant and im
patient, Fuller, as he came near him, lean
ed from his horse and touched the man
with his sword, saying sharply: ‘Go back,
sir!’ The man looked up with a look that
said as plain as words: ‘I am looking
for a place to die.’ He opened his biouse
and showed a great, gaping wound in his
breast. Then he dropped to the ground.
The General dismounted as soon as he
could, but almost as he took the man's
head in hia arms the poor fellow died.
“Some men when struck showed no sign.
I remember one little fellow who was
struck three times in as many minutes.
The first shot struck his right arm, and
he proceeded to load with his left. The
next shot struck him in the leg. and
brought him to his knees. He had his left
arm up, ramming home a load, when a
buliet struck that arm. Then he looked
up and said quietly, "They have a par
ticular spito against me. I guess I’ll quit,’
and he dropped down.”
“We had one man in our company,” said
the Sergeant, "who was shot through the
body at Shiloh. He was carried off in an
ambulance, and the boys supposed they
would never see him again. But three
days after the battle the regiment went
into camp not far from the field hopsital,
and that afternoon the men were sur
prised to see the man who had been shot
through and through w alk into camp, us
ing his rifle as a cane. He announced that
he had had enough of the hospital and
wouldn't go back to it. The regimental
surgeon swore a good deal, insisting that
the wounded man should return to the
hospital, but in the end agreed that the
plucky fellow should l>e cared for in the
company’)? quarters. The boys took great
care of him. He improved rapidly, went
on duty as soon as he was able to walk,
and wsa with the company to the end of
the service.
“Other men who eoudn’t bear physical
pain w< rc greatly troubled by flesh wounds,
and received less sympathy than they de
served. The hardest wounds to bear were
those from spent balls. These were more
painful than the wounds from the hnrd
hitters, but men struck by spent*bullets
received no sympathy at all. For some
reason it was counted disreputable to be
hit by a spent ball or a splinter from a
rock, and many men worried along under
the most painful wounds without going to
the hospital or without even consulting the
surgeon. Some of these fellows carry the
marks to-day and say nothing about them.
"The official report of the capture of
Lookout mountain,” said the major, "stat
ed that Gem. Walter C. Whitaker was
wounded, but that he didn’t leave the Held.
That is a!l true, but it is only half the
story. Whitaker was one of the most Im
petuous, driving officers in the army. He
was a regular old storruer. He was push
ing things in great shape in front when he
was struck by a rifle ball. He became
THE MOILMNG NEWS: SUNDAY,.FEBRUARY 27, 1898.
deathly sick, and it was supposed at first
that he was fatally wounded. The sur
geons and some of his associate officers
gathered about him,anxious and nervous.
A surgeon opened the General’s coat and i
vest looking for the wound, which seemed
to be In the vicinity of the stomach. He
found between the vest and the under
clothing a ritle ball that had not broken
the skin.
"He said quietly, ’A spent ball.' The '
General opened his eyes and looked up j
wrathful and indignant. ’What’s that? j
What's that? Somebody hit me with a
spent ball? X won’t stand it. Bring me
my horse.’ And fairly throwing aside all !
the people about him, he sprang to hia feet,
climbed on his horse, and with his cloth
ing In disarray and his hat banged on his
head,started for the front,swearing at the
man who had hit him with a spent ball.
But the old General after that probably
had more sympathy with the men who
were struck by boils that seemed to fall
from the air or that came with as little
force as a stone thrown by a vicious boy.
Sometimes these would strike a man on
the foot and fairly craze him with pain.
Sometimes they would drop on his hack
as he lay face down on the ground kicking
up his heels, and he would writhe as
though he were in the agonies of death.”
"Cases of malingering were so common,”
said the doctor “that surgeons were sus
picious over wounds that had any rays,
tery aaiout them. Sometimes a man would
come from the battlefield pretending to be
dazed or unconscious, and would shrink
from the touch as though he were sore all
over. There were so many cases of fraud
among the men who acted in this way
that surgeons were In danger of doing In.
justice to severely wounded men.
“One day a man was brought back who
seemed in great agony, but upon whom we
could find no wound. couldn’t talk
coherently, but he pressed his hand con
stantly to his right side. Close examina
t;on showed that he had been struck by a
fragment to shell or a piece of rock so
largo as to make a bruise two or three
inches across. It was. In fact, one of the
most difficult cases to treat that came un
der my personal notice, and the man suf
fering for weeks was intense. And yet
probably no mark of a wound is on that
man’s body.
'While I was in charge of one of the
hospitals at Nashville the most difficult
cases to handle were those in which the
soldiers were influenced by hallucinations
or superstitions. The patients were ar
ranged in a large hall, the cots In long
rows, extending the full length of the
room. One night a patient about half
way down the hall died. The next night
the man coming next in the row died and
the next day the third man in order died.
Immediately Nos. 4, 6 and 6 insisted on
being moved from the row and they were
so wild about it that they hpd to be
moved.
"No. 7, I noticed, was a quiet, uncom
plaining man of equable temper, and, feel
ing that I must in some way stop the
panic and break the line of superstitious
dread, I went to him and led up to the
point by asking him if he had any super
stitious notions. He said he had not.
Then I asked him if he would be satisfied
to remain as he was, and explained that if
he did not insist upon being moved I could
quiet the excitement. He smiled and said
he would trust himself in the unlucky row.
Trifling as this circumstance was It had
the greatest influence on the patients in
the row. They watched that man for two
days with unflagging interest and it was
a great trial for him to see, whenever he
was lifted up by the nurse, a dozen wild
eyed men looking him over to see whether
death was on him or not; but he stood
his ground and stopped the panic. He re
covered and has been as hearty as a buck
ever since.”
THE YANKING OF JOE VAIL.
Maybe the Victim of a Deer, Maybe
Only a Prevaricator.
From the New York Sun.
“It Is puzzling me like everything,”
said John Gilbert, the traveling grocery
man, "trying to think It our whether my
old friend Joe Vail is lying, or whether
he is simply the Innocent victim of pecu
liar circumstances! I’ve been trying for
two weeks now to make up my mind, and
I can’t, and it worries me like fury.
“Once a year I go up to spend a few
days with Joe during the season of pick
erel fishing through the ice, ’and this win
ter I didn't get up there until late. I had
sent word to Joe that I would be there on
a certain day. It is a six-mile drive from
the railroad station in to Joe's place, .and
Joe always meqts me at the train to drive
me in. This tjme, though, Joe wasn't
there, but a man that works for him was
in his place. After we had got started a
ways I said to Joe’s man:
" 'Where’s Joe? Why didn’t he come in?’
•* ’Why.’ said the man, ’didn’t you hear
about it’
“ ’Hear about it?” ‘No. Hear about
what?’
’’ 'About Joe,’ said the man, looking at
me as if he was surprised that I hadn’t
heard about it.
“ ’No,’ said I. ‘What about Joe?’
“ 'He's yanked,’ said the man.
“ ’Yanked?’ said I. 'What do you mean?'
“ ‘I mean he’s yanked!’ replied the man,
somewhat postively. ‘A deer bit or
hooked him, or kicked him, os sumpin’ or
other like that, and Joe killed it. Itmight
a been tn the season for deer to bite or
hook or kick Joe, but it don't seem to been
in the season for Joe to kill the deer for
doin’ of it, and so they yanked him. That's
what I mean.’
“ ‘Arrested him?* I asked, puzzled and
worried.
“ ‘Yes,’ replied the man.‘Took him up.
Yanked him.’ And it looks to me as if
they was goin’ to sock it to him. too.'
“ ‘lsn't in jail, is he?’ I asked.
"No,’ said the man. ‘Leastways, not yit.
But it looks to me as if they was goin’ to
sock it to him, and if they sock it to him
I don't see but what he’s jist as good as in
jail.’
"This wasn't very pleasant news to a
man who had come out for a couple o£
days’ sport, but I thought I wouldn’t coax
nny more Information from Joe's pessimis
tic factotum. I would wait until I heard
Joe's story. That might put an entirely
different face qp the matter, I thought.
“When we arrived at Joe’s place Joe
came out to meet me. I saw at once that
he was despondent. After greetings, he
said:
■' 'Well, I s'pose you heerd I was yank
ed ?’
“I told Joe I had heard so.
“ ‘What be we cornin’ to,’ said he, ’when
a deer kin come and chaw you, and rip
you, an jump on you, and do anything else
he durn pleases to you to make your wife
a widder, and, it the moon or the season
don't happen to be Jtjst right, you got to
lay there and take It without raisin’ your
hand ag'in the deer, unless you want to
git yanked and be held for the grand Jury?
What be we cornin’ to?’
”1 told Joe 1 didn’t know; and asked for
particulars of this difficulty he seemed to
have got into.
’’ ’How did it happen, Joe?" I asked.
“ ‘lt happened the aggravatinest kind!'
said Joe. ‘You kndw Bushmiiler’s Pond,
don't you? Well, I went over there yister
da.v to git some pickerel. Say, John! I
never see ’em bite so! I had only had
ten lines in, and them pickerel bit so fast
I had to pull out five o' them line 'cause
I couldn’t git around to any more quick
enough to haul out the fish. Tip-ups in
the air all the time, and keepln’ me on
the run for more'n an hour.
“ 'The way it was goin' X see that U
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RHEUMATISM
them pickerel didn’t let up on me I’d be
so tired I’d never git home so I jest pulled
up all my lines and quit. You ought to
been there and seen the stacks o’ pick
erel I had layin’ round there on the ice.
I see there wasn’t no kind o’ use o’ me
thinkin’ o’ sluin' anyways nigh a quar
ter of ’em home by backin’ ’em in so I
was startin’ for honv to git Sam an’ the
ox team when I heerd a noise behind me.
I looked back over my shoulder, and there
I see a slammin’ big buck cornin’ right
to’rds me. There was a lot o’ snow on
the Ice, and the old feller had good foot
in’. First along I thought he han’t seen
or sniffed me, and was only crossin’. the
pond. I didn’t want to be run down snd
walked over no deer, and so I turned
square around and hollered at him. Now
what had that consumed deer ought to
up and done? Accordin’ to the generT
idee of the natur’ o’ deer, that buck ought
to been scared half to death then and
there, and turned and flounced away like
a gale o’ wind. Did he do it? If he did,
I hain’t heerd of it yet. No. sir, he didn't.
Inste’d of turnin' an' boundin’ away, like
a real, law-abidin' deer ought to done, he
riz up the bristles on his neck till they
stood five inches high, and givin’ a snort
like n mad bull, he come for me like a
locomotive.
“Here,” I says, "That buck acts to
me as If he had an idee o’ doin’ some
hookin’.”
'That’s what he had, too, and as he
come tearin’ where I stood I jumped to
one side. The deer was goin' so fast that
he went on by me more’n fifty yards ’fore
he could stop and turn. I didn’t calculate
to stand there and be hooked into shoe
strings by that buck, and away I dug
for shore, hopin’ to git there and climb a
tree ’fore the buck could ketch me, if be
was rantankerous enough to foller me.
He was rantankerous enough, all right,
and lie follered me, but I didn’t climb the
tree. I have always kind o’ looked up to
deer, John. I’ve always sot deer down as
bein' critters that was high feelin’ and
wouldn't stoop to do anything iow.
” ‘But I want to tell it right now that
I'm dlsapp'lnted In deer! They ain't what
Iwe always cracked ’em up to be. If that
buck had been of the natur’ I've always
sot deer natur’ down to be I'd a dumb
that tree. But he wasn't, and jest as I
had grabbed the trunk o' that tree and
was goin' up It like a red squirrel, that
buck reached up and fastened onto me
with his Jaws jest below where my hind
gallus buttons is hitched to my trousers,
and sloshed me down ag'in so quick that
I can’t never tell you now which end o’
me hit the snow first! Fastened onto me
jest as if he was nothin' more than a
sneakin', snarlin’, sniffin,’ sheep-stealin’
dog, insted of a bold and boundin’ roe
buck o’ the mountains! Dlsapp’lnted? I
was never so disapp'inted in my life!
“ Then what does that deer do? Noth
in’ only chuck me clean back on the pond
ag’in, and come a folle’rin' me as tight
as he could come. He came so tight that
he stubbed his toes on me, and went all
in a heap on the ice himself. I was up
'fore he was, and I want to tell you I was
mad.
■“"This is a-goin’ a leetle too fur!” I
says. “I hain’t got no objections to you
havin’ the hull o' that pond to yourself
if you want it,” I says, “but there hain’t
no deer ewer lived kin sneak up and bite
me like a darn onery sheep-stealin’ dog
without me a hittin’ back!
“ ‘The deer was a-oomin' for me head
on ag’in and I knowed from the way he
looked that he was p’intin’ to hook me
down and then churn the innards out o’
me. I’d a turned and dodged him and got
up the tree this time if he hadn't bit me
t'other time. That was more’n I could
stand, and when he come a prancin' up
to me with his head down to scoop me, I
ketchcd him by the horns, whopped him
over on his back, and run my knife across
his throat ’fore he ever knowed what he
had run ag’in. Did I? Well, do you
s’pose I’m goin' to let a deer bite me and
then set down and let him hook me and
stomp me into hash besides? Not this
year!
“Well, sir. the first thing I knowed this
mornln’ Gabe Sawyer, the constable,
comes over here and says to me;
Joe,” says he, "I’ve got a warrant
for you, and I’ll have to yank you."
“ * "Yank me!” I says. ‘‘What fur?”.
“ ‘ "Killin’ deer outen season,” he says.
“ ‘I was so took back that I couldn’t
say a durn word till me and Gabe got down
to the ’squire’s. Then I up and told ’em
jest how it all happened, but if the ’squire
didn’t bind me over to ’pear ’fore the
grand jury, you kin have my hull blame
clearin'. Now, I jest want to know what
be we cornin' to? If the day o' the month
ain't right you’ve got to lay down and
let deer chaw and horn and stomp the day
lights outen you, and leave your wife a
widder or else be held for the grand Jury!
I got that durn sheep-stealin’ dog of a
deer's carcase hangin’ out here in the
barn. Come and see it.’
“I went out to the barn. The deer was
a big one ami no mistake. I wondered
how in the world Joe could have whopped
it on its back so quick. By and by, in
looking the carcass over I found a hole
in its side, just behind the left shoulder.
The hole was fresh and I could put my
forefinger all the way in it. The hole was
a bullet hole, sure as guns.
“ 'Why, Joe,' I said, there's a bullet hole
in this deer.'
"Joe came around and looked at it. He
stood a minute as if dumb with amaze
ment. Then he,struck hts fist against the
side of the barn and shouted;
“ ‘l’ll give $29 this here very minute to
know who plunked that bullet in that
deer. No wonder that deer bit me. No
wonder he wanted to hook and stomp the
daylights out o’ me. I take it all back.
That bullet's what done it. Some prowlin’
bushwhacker socked that bullet in that
deer, and the pain o’ the wound jest sot
him crazy, and he turned in to spit it out
on me. And here I been yanked and held
for the grand Jury and jest es like as not
they’ll sock it to me. I’ll give S2O to know
who fired that bullet. Here, Sam. Take
this here doer down in the cellar and we ll
cut It up and salt It down 'fore It spiles.’
“I caught a nice lot o’ pickerel, but I
haven’t been able to make up my mind yet
whether my friend Joe is a liar or simply
the victim of peculiar circumstances and
it worries me.”
—Putting Into Practice.—Mauima—Doro
thy, do you know who ate my raisins?
Dorothy (turning over the leaves of her
book more rapidly)—Mamma, you told me
yesterday some things are better left un
said. Isn’t that one of them?—Judge.
—Miss Beacon—" Wasn’t It Admiral Por
ter who said, 'Take no quarter from the
enemy?”
Mr. Lake—"Naw, it couldn’t have been—
or, If it was, he's the only porter that ever
said suvh a thing."—Truth.
ROUTE TO THE KLONDIKE.
HOW TO GET TIIKItE BY ONE WHO
HAS MADE THE THIP.
When Yon Know How, It I* Not So
Very Hard. Though the Way Is
Beset With Dangers—The Articles
Necessary In an Outfit.
•New York, Feb. 20.—Getting to the Klon
dike is easy if you start at the right time.
Getting to the North Pole is another mat
ter because the weather is never very good
at the pole. But at ceriain seasons Alas
ka is soft and beautiful and those who
have for years gone there on an annual
summer pleasure trip testify that they
never found anything better.
The time to go is in our summer. This
begins the middle of June and lasts
through June, July and August. During
this time it is summer in Alaska as well
as here.
But in making the start, you must re
member that you must leave your home
long before the first of June or you will
not get there in time. The trip, if you go
from the California coast, will take you
surdly twenty days, and then there is an
other Journey of two weeks before you
strike the gold country.
To be sure, Alaska is all of gold forma
tion, and consequently all gold, but the
near by claims are all staked out and tak
en, and now you must travel further be
fore you reach undeveloped, unowned goid
fields.
If I were going to take the trip again I
would start now. The first of March
would see me well on my way, and by the
middle of April I should expect to be pretty
near the Yukon. During May X should be
staking out and building, and when the
freshets of June came I should stand ready
with my tools to catch the first wash of
gold through the gold-laden rivers. I
should also be getting ready for the melt
ing of the snow inland where the great
nuggets lie unseen, but waiting for me.
It is foolish to think that Alaska is
all hardship. If you go in March and re
turn in September, giving yourself only
two months in the Klondike, you escape
all the rough weather and can perhaps
pick up enough to last you all the year.
But this is chance. Gold must be worked
for by the sweat of the brow and the
roughening of the hands in Alaska, as well
as here, and you can’t walk in and come
out with your hands full. There are too
many there before you.
The question was asked of a steamship
agent if there was gold enough in Alaska
for all who will go there this spring.
“There is,” said he, “and I can speak dis
interestedly because every passage on my
line is taken for every trip until Septem
ber. But I can surely promise that any
man who goes to the Yukon, will come
home full in pocket unless he gets quar
relsome and takes to drink.”
The most valuable claims lie along the
Yukon. This river you must seek at once,
and when you find it you can cry "Eure
ka!”
This is the important river of Alaska.
It runs through the gold fields past Cir
cle City, Forty Mile and near Dawson. It
has its mouth at St. Michael’s, where a
flat-bottomed steamer must be taken, and
it terminates in the interior of the Klon
dike gold fields.
The favorite trip for those going to
Alaska is the water route from St. Mi
chael's to Circle City. This takes about
ten days and one travels over about 150
miles.
But this water route right to the heart
of the nugget country is possible only for
ten weeks of the year. The Yukon is the
coldest river known to commerce, and
from September it is frozen over. It thaws
out in June, and then for a few weeks it
is ideal. Its basin is filled with clear,
fresh water made by the melting of the
icebergs and snowdrifts in the hills, and
through this swollen stream experiment
ers can easily sail.
After the middle of August the Yukon
gradually shrinks, until the first of Sep
tember it is dry in places and you hear
of vessels getting stuck in its bed. Then
the ice begins to form, and the unhappy
vessel that has ventured up the river is
held in the ice until spring, while its crew
is fortunate if rescued.
The Yukon trip is the cheapest, and the
most comfortable way of going, but If you
get to St. Michael's later than Aug. 1
your chances are pretty poor.
Remember that to get to the Yukon
steamers you must travel from Seattle for
fifteen days on a Seattle steamer, and
thus you lose two weeks’ time, for which
you must allow.
This is one chosen by persons who go to
the Y'ukon in March before the river is
open, and who want to be on hand when
the warm weather arrives.
To travel overland you follow well-beat
en routes, yet so wild and snow-covered
that they seem as If fresh from nature’s
hand.
At Juneau you take a steamer up the
Dyea river. This is the pleasantest part
of the journey. The trip up to Dyea takes
about ten hours, and you find yourself In
a very active little settlement. Here you
can purchase nearly everything you want.
Y'ou can buy provisions, furs and a sled,
and with these you start to travel through
Dyea canyon. This is the hardest part
of the trip, for, though you pass only
about five miles of ascent and as many
more of descent, you find you have the
struggle of your life. Through the waters
of the canyon you can get in about a day;
but then you begin to toil upward, and you
suddenly find that you must ask assist
ance of the Indians or give up. These
worthy fellows have either been previously
hired by you or are waiting around ready
io be hired; and now for $3 per day you
find that they will get you up the moun
tain, down on the other side and to Lake
Lindeman without too much difficulty.
The strangest devices have been tried by
the Indians to get their charges over the
pass, for it is probably Chlikoot pass you
have tackled, though there are three moun
tain routes, but the Chlikoot is the most
W MERCURY
No potash—no mineral—no danger
—in 8. 8. S. This means a great
deal to all who know the disastrous
effects of these drugs. It is the
only blood remedy guaranteed
Purely Vegetable.
S. S. S. forces the disease out
through the skin—does not dry up
the poison to decay the bones, like
mercurial mixtures do.
•• I was almost a physical wreck, the result ot
mercurial treatment
for blood poison ;S.S.S.
is a real blood remedy, ®f"RI
for it cured me per- HV/ lßk
manentlv.” -Henry wk “‘Jtk
Roth, l&4BSouth Ninth LHk H k A
Street, St. Louis, Mo.
-Books free; address. Swift Specific Cos, AUm*4
| A LITTLE.STUDY"
of our Cook Book will su^eest
1 WfWi? *SY 06
jgag" .J many delicate dishes to be made
.. with Liebig COMPANY’S Ex-’
tract —the genuine “blue sig-
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yy jj Bend a postal for this Cook Book,free to every house
keeper, to Liebig Cos., P. O. Box 2718, New York. I
JPr\[]®lG m !
tf 1 jit ffr tracer Beef Ig ‘
SMMiiQton’s Washday o jW Jf]
never allowed the Father of His Country .‘l I
to dance with Joy at the sight of a well- f t j
laundered shirt, cuff, or collar, because ha
w'asn’t initiated into the secrets. Those
who live in Savannah know a good — -*C : _
thing when they see it, though, and the * s
finish, color and perfect work done on their Star ■ Bn faK
linen is our best advertisement. mS yj&r V
Our facilities for scouring and pressing • K.-7 \A
men’s clothing are the best in the city. ■ M& -AyfgaaS-
Suits, $1.00; pants, 25c. _P-
BEOH6IA STEAM LAUNDRY,
MCDONOUGH & BfILLfINTYNE,
iron Founders, Machinists, a if.
Blacksmiths, Boilermakers, manufacturers of Stationary and piSSpSj
Portable Engines, Vertical and Top Running Corn Mills. . i
Sugar Mill and Pans. SHAFTING, PULLEYS,' etc. BjaMfci
TELEPHONE NO. 123. & I
popular, from the fact that more people
have traveled over it. On one occasion,
when they had worn-out women to trans
port, the Indian guidee climbed to the
summit and there attached ropes to the
provisions and sleds. These they lowered.
As the provisions went down on one side
they pulled up on the other side a precious
cargo of women who were unable to climb
to the summit.
There iB another overland route from
Mount Wrangel, and the British govern
ment is spending $40,000 on another, which
lies between Juneau and Mount Wrangel.
The principal point is to start at the right
time with the right provisions and the
right guides.
That is the important question with
those wanting to go to the Klondike. If
you have somebody to get you ready this
may be answered with “not much.” For
$175 you can get a ticket on a good steam
ship line to take you ifrom San Francisco
to Dawson City by the all-water route;
and though the journey may be slow it
will be agreeable. You will be transferred
several times, but, of course, you do not
suppose you are going to journey to Eu
rope on the Etruria when you go to Alas
ka.
Moccasins are necessary, made at home
from an Indian pattern, also several bar
rels of provisions, as it is cheaper to take
them than to buy. Take staples—flour,
oatmeal, salt—things you can not raise in
Alaska.
Take woolens, too, and all the skins you
can find. Get a carpenter to arrange a
tool box for you; and don’t forget a set of
miner’s implements. Take a small tele
graphic instrument and a supply of elec
tric wire. If you can possibly transport a
small dynamo and the means of working it
you will find it of inestimable value.
Don’t go alone, for one man is helpless
when it comes to building a tent and sled.
Neither can be done properly alone, and
the people you meet may or may not be
congenial.
Once there you will find yourself at this
time of year, in a country fairly well
stocked with game, berries, some vegeta
bles and magnificent sunshine. In June
the sun rises in Alaska in the morning and
does not set until nearly 11:30 p. m. This
gives you twenty-two hours of sunshine.
Don’t get them. Travel along the best
you can until you start out from Juneau,
if you go overland, or from San Francisco,
Seattle or St. Michael’s if you go by wa
ter, and then purchase a single trip fare,
for you will change your mind a thousand
times. It is like traveling in any strange
country. Y'ou can buy better after you
get there.
The most important thing in going to
Alaska is to keep your tamper as well ns
your money. Don’t expect civilized trav
eling accommodations, for you won’t get
them; and don’t get out of temper when
you discover that the only windbreak has
been appropriated by another party. Trees
are valuable, and you are not allowed to
take their protection away from the one
who has found them.
Don't be too Jealous of your treasure.
Pack It as the others do and trust to luck.
Remember that you can’t send a check
home to your bankers, but that you must
cart it overland by hand to Canada or the
United States. Follow beaten tracks, be
! friendly and ’’white” and others will be
| the same to you.
Don’t meddle with other people's prop
| erty, for in the Klondike they shoot, just
as they did in Frisco in ’l9, and you must
i remember the “thine” of the law.
I Save your money. Sew it in your shirt
1 and guard every cent, for should you want
! to stay all winter you may need it. Though
you have ever so much goid you cannot
live in the Klondike for gold along the
Y'ukon buys nothing. You must have
money in order to talk!
Elton Rogers,
For tlp-ee months a dweller in Forty-Mile
Camp.
—lt Is said that earrings are coming in
again, but few women nowadays will be
found willing to have tlioir ears pierced
and disfigured with pendants, says the
Chicago News. The custom of wearing
earrings has come down from the earliest
time. Among the Athenians it was a sign
of nobility to have the ears pierced.
Among the Phoenicians the wearing of
earrings was a badge of servitude. The
Egyptian women wore bangle hoops of
gold In their ears, which were regarded
as the wearer’s choicest possessions and
were parted’from only under direkt stress.
The golden calf was supposed to have
been made entirely from the earrings of
the people. Among the Arabs the expres
sion "to have a ring in one’s ears" is
synonymous with "to be a slave" and to
the present day an Arab who has been
conquered by another places a ring j
through his ear as a token. The wearing \
of earrings was so general in Rome and
the jewels were so heavy that there were
professionals known as ear-healers, who
tended the ears of ladies who had torn or
injured the lobes with the weight of the
pendants. At one time Roman men wore
rings In their ears, while in Greece the
children wore a ring in the right ear only.
Ocean Steamship Cos
FOR
New York, Boston
AND
the east.
Unsurpassed cabin accommodations.
All the comforts of a modern hotel.
Electrio lights. Unexcelled table. Tickets
include meals and berth aboard ship.
Passenger Fares From Savannah
TO NEW YORK—Cabin, S2O; Excursion,
$32; Intermediate, sls; Excursion, s2l;
Steerage, $lO.
TO BOSTON—Cabin, $22; Excursion, $36;
Intermediate, sl7; Excursion, S2B; Steer
age, $11.75.
TO PHILADELPHIA (via New York)-
Cabin, $22; Excursion. $35;
sl7; Excursion, $27; Steerage, sl2.
The express steamships of this line are
appointed to sail from Savannah, Central
(90th) meridian time, as follows:
SAVANNAH TO NEW YORK.
TALLAHASSEE, Capt. Askins, MON
DAY, Feb. 28, at 1:00 p. m.
KANSAS CITY, Capt. Fisher, TUESDAY,
’March 1, at 2:00 p. m.
CITY OF AUGUSTA, Capt. Daggett,
FRIDAY, March 4, at 4:00 p. m.
CITY OF BIRMINGHAM, Capt. Burg,
MONDAY, March 7, at 7:00 a. m.
GATE CITY, Capt. Googins, TUESDAY,
March 8, at 5.00 p. m.
TALLAHASSEE, Capt Askins, FRIDAY.
March 11. 9 a. m.
KANSAS CITY, Capt. Fisher, SATUR
DAY, March 12, 7 p. m.
CITY OF AUGUSTA. Capt. Daggett,
MONDAY, March 14, 12 noon.
CITY OF BIRMINGHAM, Capt. Burg,
TUESDAY, March 15, 1 p. m.
GATE CITY, Capt. Googins, FRIDAY,
March 18, 2 p. m.
SAVANNAH TO nOSTON DIRECT.
CHATTAHOOCHEE, Capt. Lewis,
THURSDAY, March 3, at 4:00 p. m.
CITY OF MAOON, Capt. Savage,
THURSDAY, March 10, at 7:00 p. m.
CHATTAHOOCHEE, Capt. Lewis,
THURSDAY, March 17, at 4:00 p. m.
CITY OF MACON, Capt. Savage,
THURSDAY, March 24, at 7:00 p. m.
CHATTAHOOCHEE, Capt. Lewis.
THURSDAY, March 31, at 2:00 p. tn.
Steamers leave New York for Savannah
E p. w. daily except Sundays, and Boston
for Savannah Wednesdays at 12 noon.
W. G. Brewer. Ticket Agent, 39 Bull st.
Savannah, Ga.
E. W. Smith, Con’t Frt. Agt., Sav.. Gfc
R. 0. Trezevant, Agt.. Savannah. Ga.
E. H. Hinton, Traffic Manager.
Jno. M. Egan. Vice President.
For Bluff ton and Beaafurt, S. *C,
Steamer Doretta will leave wharf foot
of Abercorn (Ethel’s wharf) street at 3 p.
m. for Bluffton daily except Sundays ant!
Thursdays. Wednesday’s trips extended
to Beaufort, leaving Bluffton Thursdays
at Ba. m. Returning same day.
FOR BLUFFTON AND BEAUFORT
Steamer Clifton leaves from foot Bu i
street Sunday. Tuesday and Thursday ai
10 a. m., city time.
U. S. WESTCOTT, Agent.
M Cilflbfitflr'n Ensllih Diamond
W Orleinl nnd Only Genuine. a
safe, alwnyfi reliable, la Dice Urupti*.
n for Chic hater’a English Diamond /?rana in JJnkN
fand Gn'd metallic boxes, sealed
- \y
<*4PS2> ru’ntUutions and imitation s. Ai v
7 “ ilr nrugjjist*. or set<l 4r,ia sumps for particulars.
W timonialsand “Kelieffor Ladle*.**fo *)
V* Jl) return Mall. IG,MO Testimonials. A’aiPP*
fr (llilcbffilterChemialOoHHa'llionliQaKrJi
Sold by all Local Drugglsti!. |'IIILAI>
Sold by L. N. Llrunjwig. Wholesale Druggist, Netr Orlnuid*
PLUMBING. STEAM AND GAS FITTIMi
By Competent Workmen at ReasonuOid
Figures.
L. A. fcicUARTHY.
All work done under my supervision.
A full supply of Giobes, Chandeliers,
Steam and Gas Fittings of all the latest
styles, at 46 DRAYTON STREET.
J. D. WEED & CO.,
Agents Hoji’s Leather Belting.
Rain row ,•-... a. m...
and ECLIPSE SECTIONAL RAINBOVI
’ GASKETS.
BEST RUBBER BELTING.
DEER LESS PISTON PACKING.