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New York, Nov. 26.—One of the fin
est and most interesting collections of
colonial furniture, old Sheffield plate,
English glass, clocks, historical blue
china, etc., ever seen in this city is
on view at the American Art Galleries
in New York. The lot, which is from
the residence of John Jay Gilbert, of
Baltimore, is particularly interesting
from the historical point of view. In
this connection one notes six Chippen
dale chairs, once the property of Lord
Fairfax; two mahogany tables that
have the distinction of having belong
ed to Thomas Jefferson, a Hepplewhite
chair that was once in the possession
of Chief Justice Taney, of Maryland,
and a colonial sofa, once owned by
Chandler Eland, also of Maryland.
One other gem of the collection is
the “Ditchley” sideboard from the Vir
ginia homestead of the Ball family.
This last is a fine piece of Sheraton in
perfect preservation. But for that mat
ter, everything in the galleries is in
.!!!! without exception as it came from the mellowing hand of time. In another class, but
French offlrcrs at tho timo C i, at ° nS ’ 1 1S . a ", cincinnati plate ” from the original service presented to Washington by the
French officers at the time he was elected first President of the Order of the Cincinnati.
“THE MORGUE” IN
MUSEUM OF ART
PLACE FOR DEAD PICTURES
WHERE THOUSANDS OF UNFIN
ISHED CANVASES ARE JLAID
AWAY.
Copies Whleli Students Have Begmi
and Left Behind Disgusted With
Their Own Bad Work—Acre* o?
Cun vans Wasted In Copying Fft 111 -
own Pictures—Half Humorous and
Half Pathetic Side of Art Life In
New York. *
By Mary Ella Drake.
New York, Nov. 26.—“ We call this
place the morgue,” said an art stu
dent who copies pictures at the Met
ropolitan Museum of Art, in New York,
as he showed 'a friend into a room in
the basement of the Museum.
In this room the copies of famous
pictures which have been begun by
students, and left at the Museum un
finished, are stored. There are stacks
of them, leaning up against the walls,
or placed ndatly in the racks, or flung
in piles upon the floor.
“How many are there here alto
gether?” the student was asked.
"Hundreds thousands nobody
knows how many!” he replied. These
dust-covered, half-finished failures are
hardly ever claimed. Many of them
have been here for years. I suppose
in every case the artist started the
work with high hopes, but got dis
couraged and disillusioned as he—or,
more likely, she—went on. Then the
tired, disheartened soul left the canvas
here, meaning to return next copying
day—and never returned. Something
may have happened to her, but more
probably ahe Just felt that she couldn't
face her own bad work ‘again.
“I remember, one morning, as we
were getting out our paint boxes and
selecting the lightest stool and the
steadiest easel to carry - up four long
flights of stairs to the galleries, an old
lady came fussing into this room and
turned over canv*as after canvas. She
•aid she wanted to find her half-finish
ad copy of Rosa Bonheur’s ‘Horse
Fair,' but looking for it seemed to be
an endless task.
“ ‘When did you leave it here?’ " she
was asked.
“ ‘Oh. it was a long time ago,’ she
replied.
” 'How long?’ ”
” 'Well, let me see! It must be
about four or five yetars since I quit
working on it.'
“At last she spied her canvas at the
bottom of a lot of broken frames, and
pounced upon It with a cry of de
light.
“But, alas! somebody, during those
five years, had needed a small piece
of canvks, and had simply cut a square
out of the corner of her picture. I
shall never forget the disappointed
look on her face when she took up
the canvas and quietly gazed at it
without uttering a word of com
plaint.”
Among the copyists at the Metro
politan Museum, us In all big picture
galleries, there are some qualm types
to be seen.
"There la an old woman who comes
here nearly every day when copying
is allowed," said one of the attendant*.
“I have noticed her scores of times,
but 1 never yet saw her working. Hhe
trots up and down the galleries with
her easel under one arm and her paint
ing materials in the other hand, but
■he never takee her stand before a
picture and starts to copy It. Khn In*
ftpeets the picture* of the greatest
Painters with a critical eye, ae if she
is wondering whether they are really
worth white wasting time over. I sup
pose there is aurh e wealth of mate
ria I her* that ehe cannot make up her
mind what to copy. Hhe has been
a hers regular iy for years, Pul 1
the cj*&n>
• ■•'''’ — y. .^| 4
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THE THOMAS JEFFERSON TABLE.
doubt whether she has copied a single
picture.”
A year or 90 ago there was a copy
ist at the museum who caused a good
deal of interest and amusement to his
fellow-workers. He was a little old
man of the conventional artistic type,
so far as appearances went: but he
was an undertaker by profession.
He had made money in that grim
line of business, but all his thoughts
were centered upon art. As soon as
he could afford to do so. he retired
from business and devoted his leisure
to painting—or rather, to dreaming
about painting.
Month after month he visited the
museum on every copying day and sat
before a famous religious picture. Yet
he made but little progress 4s the days
passed. He always seemed to be mix
ing his paints or sitting in a rapt at
titude. gazing in adoration at the
beautiful picture upon the wall.
Other artists, as time went on, would
want to copy the same picture. The
museum authorities only allow one
copy to be made at a time.
“When do you think you will get
your copy finished?” one of them would
ask him, growing impatient.
“Aren't you tired of your task?” an
other, more sympathetic than the first,
might say.
The dear old man would turn to
them with a look of pity, and with
that melancholy smile which had
earned for him his reputation and
money as an undertaker.
"Don't you know that the great
masters never hurried with their
work?” he would reply. “Did not
Leonardo da Vinci take twelve years
to paint his masterpiece?”
During last winter two copyists who
were quite out of the usual run work
ed at the Museum. They were sweet
faced nuns from a Western convent.
The elder, about thirty-five years of
age, chose for her subject Gabriel
Max's “Last Token of a Christian
Martyr,” which represents . a young
girl In a den of tigers. This is, of all
pictures, the one that a nun might be
expected to copy and take back to her
Western convent to hang upon the
walls there in order to teach the les
son of resignation.
The younger nun, a girl of about
twenty, with 'a Madonna-like face and
a sweet, low voice, chose for her pic
ture one on the wall directly opposite
to the “Last Token”—Bouguereau's
"Brother and Sister.”
These nuns attracted considerable
attention from the copyists and visit
ors because they applied themselves
with diligence to their task, which the
average copyist seldom does. The
way those t'alm. intelligent women
copied the pictures in six weeks' time
was a marvel to all who observed
their work. Their drawings were ab
solutely correct and their colorings
clear. Those two copies are conceded
to be about the best ever made in the
Museum.
An American woman now copying
pictures in Paris has a curious life
story. Her husband was formerly a
wealthy American business man. They
sent their son to study art In Paris,
and he developed tulent and speedily
became successful.
His mother was fired by his exam
ple. She was forty-five years old. but
nothing would suit her except to go to
Paris and become an artist herself.
So she left her husband and family,
and has lived away from them for
many years.
The old man has lost most of his
money and lives a shiftless, homeless
life. Now and then his wife revisits
him, but she cannot be persuaded to
return and live in this country and
make a home for him agaip. Yet she
has never attained any success In her
art. She makes wretched copies of
tine pictures, and contrives somehow
to sell them to Americans who know
nothing about pictures, but who think
that she must be the real thing be
cause she work* In Parts.
"Do you see that old woman over
there?” asked a well-known artist, aa
he was walking through the galleries
of the Museum with a friend. "When
I was s young student, twenty years
ago, ehe used to com* here and copy
picture* on ‘student day*.’ A* you
nee. ehe te still copying picture*, and
ahe ha* never managed io advance a
step In all these twenty year*,
“Her case is typical. Koine time* ae
much as one whole year will be spent
by some incapable oopyiat, who wilt
SAVANNAH MORNING NEWS: SUNDAY. NOVEMBER 27. 1904.
strive day after day upon one small
canvas, and in the end will remove
what he or she thinks is a perfect
copy, but which in reality is a rude
failure. And so they will go on, year
after year, with their useless work,
often wasting an entire lifetime.”
Where do the copies go? Nobody
seems to know. If you ask a reputa
ble dealer whether he has any copies
of famous paintings for sale he will
reply in the negative, and add that he
has no call for them. But if you ask
the copyist, you will always get the
proud reply: “I am doing it on a
commission.”
Success seldom comes to the copy
ist. Indeed, there has only been one
really distinguished American copyist
—the late J. Wells Champney. He did
some ambitious work as an original
artist, but his fame rested mainly upon
the excellence of his copies of famous
pictures. Many better artists than he,
however, have failed when they tried
to copy.
“Copying, as it is done in public
galleries like the Metropolitan Muse
um, is Just a big waste of time." said
a successful and experienced painter.
“The way the copyists work makes
it impossible for them to succeed.
They cannot learn anything. They
are always being watched by the pub
lic, and under such circumstances It
is impossible for any artist to do prop
er work. They are much too self
conscious. as they cannot help being
when they are stared at.”
The subjects chosen by the average
copyist are most unsuited to his or
her small modicum of artistic knowl
edge and talent. With many of the
best paintings in the world to choose
from, she—for the copyist is usually
a woman—will select some- wretched
little still-life picture, a bunch of
grapes or a posy of flowers. If she
does not do this, she will try to copy
one of Velasquez’ pictures. Velasquez
is the subtlest of all painters, and the
beauty of his work lies mainly in his
wonderful handling of light and shade.
The best artists would not dare to try
to copy him, but a young girl who has
had a dozen lessons at an art school
has no qualms.
Rosa Bonheur's “Horse Fair” has a
strange fascination for copyists.' It is
no uncommon thing to see a tiny lit
tle woman who stands about four feet
ten and weighs about 100 pounds copy
ing this huge picture and dashing the
paint on the gigantic canvas very much
as If she wore a man with a white
wash brush: while a tall, corpulent
lady will be perched alongside of her
on top of a pair of steps, making a
copy of a tlnv picture of a bunch of
flowers. The copyist invariably se
lects a slcture which Is the absolute
antithesis of her personality.
You never see an artist of repute
making copies in the galleries. Some
times you may meet one there who
has been a good man at his craft, but
who, for various reasons, has come
down in the world, and is now glad
to m’ake his bread and butter by any
kind of hack work. Such a man
usually feels degraded by going to a
public gallery to make a copy. Right
ly or wrongly, he believes that he has
reached the lowest rung In the pro
fessional ladder.
An ’artist who is now successful and
well known once worked for a firm of
picture dealers who brought and sold
paintings literally by the yard. He
was a quick worker, and would turn
out as many as fourteen or fifteen
landscape* In a day for a dollar apiece.
He used to paint on an "endless roll"
of canvas, and then cut the pictures
apart with a pair of shears.
If ho had applied himself to the
business, he could h'ave made good
money; but he had some remnants of
professional pride. He would work
for a couple of days, and then take
the rest of the week to think over
what he might have been. One day
the firm asked him to go to a public
gallery and make some copies. He
thought that w*as a much lower class
of work even than that which he was
doing, so he threw up his easy em
ployment and resumed his old strug
gle to become ■ really successful ar
tist.
There are several firms til New
Yoik who turn out pictures by the
thousand to be sold In Ih* small cities
and country towns to people who
know nothing about sit, hut dkui im-
mire gaudy coloring and a massive
gilt frame.
The men who make these pictures
work in cellars by gaslight for a pit
tance of about $lO a week. Most of
them have been good painters in their
time, and they are good copyists.
They copy from anything—old prints,
steel engravings, paintings, and even
illustrated papers. Sometimes, their
employers send them to the Metro
politan Museum to copy well-known
pictures. The copies are put in big
gilt frames and taken out to the
smaller cities.
A hall is hived, and the pictures, re
splendent in their gilt frames, are
hung amidst gorgeous red plush, with
eleotric lights artfully arranged to
give them tones and shadows to which
they have no just claim. They are
offered for sale by auction and people
flock to buy. Usually, these buyers
know nothing about art, but think it
is due to their position to make a
bluff at knowing. In the result, they
very likely buy a picture that has cost
the firm $1.50 for anywhere from $25
to S6O.
Vesey street, New r York, is the cen
ter of this peculiar kind of art. If
you happen to walk through that
street at noon time you can see the
ten-dollar-a-week copyists coming up
from their cellars for lunch. They
are haggard, unshaven and ragged;
but they still cling to the artistic tra
dition of wearing long hair. If they
have the price of a glass of beer they
saunter to the nearest free lunch coun
ter; if not, they stand in the street
and munch a loaf of bread. This may
seem to be an overdrawn picture, but
frequenters of Vesey street know that
it is absolutely true.
THE WORKING*CHILDREN
OF THE WORLD.
VL
The Singing Girls of Cores.
One of the attractive personalities en
countered in Korea is the singing girl.
At the social gatherings and festivals
of the wealthy she serves the guests
and then sings, plays the guitar and
recites.
These girls, although from the hum
blest order, are well educated from a
Korean point of view', and their ser
vices are in great demand.
They can be hired singly or in num
bers, according to the needs of the
host, and they enliven many a feast
which, except for their presence, would
be simply an excuse for gormandizing,
most Koreans being gross feeders.
As religious and social festivals are
occurring constantly in Korea, the
pretty singing girls are kept busy, no
entertainments bein.tr thought worth
while without their presence.
A RARE COLLECTION
OF MANUSCRIPTS.
New York, Nov. 26. —The Boston pub
lic library has come into possession of
more than 1,000 manuscript letters of
some of the most prominent New Eng
land scholars, statesmen, clergymen
and writers of the last generation,
from the estate of the late Charles W.
Folsom of Cambridge, through Mrs. C.
Norton Folsom. Mr. Folsom during
the period when most of these letters
were written, between 1830 and the
Civil War, was with the old University
Press, in Cambridge, as a member of
the concern and literary adviser.
He was evidently held in very high
esteem by the distinguished men of
the period, including Dr. Holmes,
Ralph Waldo Emerson, Webster, Sum
ner, Everett, Longfellow, Sparks, Hil
liard, Griswold, Parkham, Wendell,
Phillips and Channing.
IN A “PAINI.ESS” DENTIST'S SHOP.
From the Brooklyn Daily Eagle.
There was tremendous excitement
shortly before noon to-day in a “pain
less” dental shop at the corner of Ful
ton street and Nostrand avenue, for
one of the patients went crazy as soon
as his tooth was drawn and tried to
get at the operator who had robbed
him of his molar, painlessly, accord
ing to the man, who did not feel the
operation, by the throat. The patient
was Benjamin Kling, a sturdy man of
30, or thereabouts, whose home, as it
was afterward learned, is at 1868 Pa
cific street.
Mr. Kling seemed to be the mildest
mannered man in the world as he
stepped into the chair, but then he was
in agony from a bad tooth. S. J.
Adams, the operating dentist, had no
notion of trouble, as he went about his
tooth destroying labors, for the eyes
of Mr. Kling were gentle and he was
plainly In great trouble. The wrench
that landed his tooth in the prongs of
the forceps seemed to stir up in him
all the antagonism in a well nourished
system.
Adams was admiring his handiwork,
as dentists will, when they have the
tooth in the air. when Mr. Kling let
out a yell that could be heard down in
the street and which chilled the blood
of an assortment of. may be. twenty
women and men who were waiting to
have their teeth attended to. The
office is nicely partitioned with little
offices, with much glass work In the
flimsy walls. Nobody had any no
tion. of course, of what was going on
behind the screen whence the awful
yell came, but everybody was on the
qul vivo for more trouble, for there
was an awful thumping and a bumping
from the inside of the "office.” where
the deadly thing, whatever it was,
was happening.
Mr. Adams, the doctor who was
handling the tooth so freely and with
such "aplomb and savoir faire," as the
policeman afterward put tt. was hav
ing the time of his life. The man in
the chair did not get at the dentist's
throat, but he made a break for it that
was full of enthusiasm. He landed on
the floor, instead, and once there, be
gan flopping around and foaming at
the mouth. He groaned a good deal
and with close simulation of the bark
ing of a dog that the dentist had a
shocking fancy the man had hydropho
bia.
Kling began banging, after a while,
at the next partition, where another
of the force of dentists was working
on a patient. The work was suspend
ed, for the time being, and the other
patient was alarmed, much more so
after the madman on the inside had
slammed his way through the parti
tion. He was on all fours in a minute
and kept running about the offices
much in the same way as the bang
about corked comedians of the vaude
ville play monkey. Mr. Adams and
the other people who had their wits
about them finally caught the excited
patient and sat on him until a police
man could be summoned. The officers
were in no hurry to ge< there, but
when they came they proved to Mr.
Kling that It was not at all necessary
to fight any longer.
Then came the ambulance from Kt.
Mary's Hospital, and with It Dr. Ha
belle, who did not know what to make
of the patient. He wsa taken to the
hospital, where It came out that Kling
was merely suffering from a case of
hysteria brought on, probably, by pain.
This afternoon Kling, In the hospital,
was In the coma that follows such an
attack of hysteila. The doctors who
liad charge of him say this trouble will
hr alt over, when he regains conscious
ness. and hr will be well enough then
to go borne. But the people at the
painless shop will not forget In g bur
-Iry tbs awful riprrirjtu of tbs day.
LAST OF ENGLAND’S
OLD SEA DOGS
AT THE AGE OF NINETY-FIVE.
ADMIRAL KEPI'EL IS SHOOTING
ELEPHANTS IN BORNEO.
Life In London Too Slow for Title
Nonegc nnrian—He Sat In Nelnon'e
Chair W hen He IVas a Yonngeter
and Entered the Navy Before He
Waa Twelve—linjt Fought Slavers
and Pirate* In Many Seas, and
Ha* Had Enouglt Adventure* to
Fill Half a Dozen Boys’ Books—He
NVa* an Admlrnl When Japan
Regenerated Herself, and He
Helped to Open lip China to For
eign Trade.
By Bassett Staines.
The other day Admiral the Hon.
Sir Henry Keppel surprised England
by suddenly announcing that London
life was altogether too slow, and that
he was going out to Borneo again to
shoot some more elephants. He pack
ed his steamer trunks and went here
a few weeks ago.
Admiral Keppel is rather over nine
ty-five years of age, but he still feels
equal to shooting elephants in Bor
neo, sailing his own yacht, or doing
anything else; for he is the last of
England's tough old sea-dogs, and he
dates back to the times of the “wood
en walls.”
There have been Keppels In the
British Navy from the days of Eliza
beth. Every generation of the family
produces a distinguished captain or
admiral. It is a proverb in India that
if there was only one loaf in the whole
of that vast empire, a Rivett-Carnac
would get half of it. Similarly, if
there was only one ship in the British
navy, the odds are that a Keppel
would command her.
The greatest Keppel of them all
was the famous sailor whose services
to his country were rewarded by the
title of Earl of Albemarle. He ranks
in history along with Nelson, Lord
Howe, and Rodney. The present Ad
miral Keppel, doyen of the British
Navy, is his great-grandson.
IJke a Hero of Marrynt,
Throughout his long life, this tough
old eea-dog has had as many adven
tures as ever fell to the lot of a hero
of Marryat's novels. He has boarded
slavers, sunk pirates in three different
oceans, fought with Russians, Malays,
Chinese, Japanese, and many other
peoples, weathered typhoons and hur
ricanes and squalls, and shot an in
credible number of elephants, tigers,
bears, lions and other big game.
His adventures began as soon as he
was born. After he had been placed in
his cradle, his mother and the rest of
the family thought that he was dead,
and the undertaker was sent for. But
as that grim person entered the room,
with a tiny coffin under his arm. an
old nurse suddenly exclaimed:
“Why, the poor little thing is breath
ing!”
This was found to be the case, and
the undertaker was speedily hustled
out house. The baby grew well
and strong, and when he was chris
tened the great Lord Holland acted
as his godfather.
Charles .Tames Fox had been the
godfather of his elder brother. This
fact alone shows W'hat a remarkable
link with the great past the old Ad
miral is.
As the boy grew up, he had, of
course, only one idea in life—to go
into the British navy at the earliest
~gEtT-nNa MSP Cochrane |||
possible age. His favorite reading
consisted of the old Naval Registers
and Dibdln's sea ballads, all of which
were full of references to the great
deeds of his own ancestors.
Trained for a Middy.
At an age when most American
boys are beginning to emerge from
kindergarten, he was sent to the Royal
Naval College at Greenwich to be
trained for a middy. In those days
England took her food for powder
young. It was not at all uncommon
for boys of eleven and twelve to serve
aboard ship as middles and “powder
monkeys.” Keppel himself went aflefat
before he was twelve.
But before then he had an experi
ence which any English boy would
covet. He was allowed to sit in Nel
son's chair, which is still preserved
at Greenwich Hospital. It is easy to
imagine what dreams of glory he
must have bad as he sat there, and
remembered that his own people had
done deeds on the high seas almost
as great ua those of the peerless Nel
son himself.
One of young Keppel's first adven
tures was taking part in the chase of
a slaver. The frigate on which he
was appointed a middy was sent out
to the West Indie* Off the coast of
Kan to Domingo, *he Righted a low,
black. raklKh-looklng schooner, which
hoisted Portuguese color* and tried
to edge sway.
The captain's tmapidons were
a roused and he chased her. Before
he could overhaul the ersft. one of
the sudden calms peculiar to tropical
waters took the wind from bit sails.
He ordered out the boats, and little
Keppel went In on* of them, irmwl
with • cutis** almost se big as him
self.
When they reached the Portuguese
•hip her •dfstseter wee plain. They
were received with 1 bruedstds of
“langrange”—which means that the
guns were shotted with rusty nails,
bits of scrap iron, and anything that
came handy. Several of the tars were
killed and wounded, but the rest pull
ed on with redoubled energy and
boarded the slaver.
Met by Yilluinon* Cutthroat*.
They were met by a crowd of vil
lainous cutthroats, the offscourings of
the seas—Portuguese, negroes, Greeks
and halfbreeds of a dozen different na
tionalities.
For a few minutes there was a des
perate fight. Keppel shot his first
man—a burly negro who was about
to cut down a brother middy. The
Slavers had no chance against the
discipline and courage of the British
tars, and those who were not killed
were soon in irons. When Keppel’s
ship reached port they were hanged.
Soon after this adventure the boy
had an experience which ranked in
his mind hardly second to that of sit
ting in Nelson’s chair.
While his ship was lying at a South
American port, the flagship of the
Brazilian navy sailed in with the fa
mous Lord Cochrane on board. He
was high admiral of Brazil at that
time, and was unquestionably the most
famous sailor then living. He boarded
Keppel’s ship to pay his respects to
the captain, and when he heard there
was a middy named Keppel on board
he immediately asked to see him, for
he had served with his father and
grandfather in the days when he was
the most dashing frigate captain Eng
land possessed.
So Keppel had the distinction of
shaking the great man’s hand. He
has frequently declared since that not
one of the many honors showered
ADMIRAL KEPPEL, LAST OF ENGLAND’S OLD SEA DOGS.
upon him when he became an admiral
himself ever gave him half as much
pleasure.
A Life Fall of Adventure.
The next twenty years of Keppel's
life were full of stirring adventures.
His old log-books show that he play
ed as many pranks as the average
middy, and was often punished by
being mast-headed or being confined
to his ship. Nevertheless, he proved
himself to -be a good officer, and was
promoted from one rank to another
until he first came into public notice
by being given command of the Naval
Craft
'PNiS
IN NELSON S CttAlH
Brigade which co-operated on land
with the British army during the
Crimean War. He took part In all
the operations against Sebastopol. In
cluding the desperate charges on the
Redan. He performed brilliant deeds
of valor again and again, but they
were put In the shade by the remark
able deed of a young lieutenant under
his command.
A burning shell fell Into the rand
bag battery which this young lellow
commanded, and the sailors of the
Navel Brigade who were working the
guns In the bsttery fleid, helter-skelter,
for the shell was liable to burst In
a moment.
Hut (he lieutenant did not run. He
calmly pi- ked up the shell and hurled
It with all his strength far outside
the wall of the battery. It burst In
the alt he lore |l touched the ground,
lie woe given Ihe Victoria t'roes on
the i• oinin.ndstlon <H K>-ppe|, and
hie •< pi genet ally considered to he
her aides -decamp alter he se pro
the bravest of all the brave deeds that
have won that coveted distinction.
Mitde an Admiral.
After the Crimean War Keppel com
manded several ships, until at last ha
was made an admiral. AVhile still a
captain, he became a great favorito
with the late Queen Victoria by telling
her the truth bluntly on one occasion
One of the lieutenants on his shio
was Prince Victor of Hohenlohe. a near
relative of the Queen. When the <=hio
got into Portsmouth, Prince Victor in
vited his skipper to pay him a visit
at “my rooms at Osborne Castle.” H e
did so. and while he was skylarking
with his host in the grounds one day
the Queen and the Prince Consort sud
denly came upon them. The captain
had got the lieutenant down on the
ground and was rolling him about on
the grass.
The Queen had a merry twinkle in
her eye, but she affected not to notice
the incident. When Keppel picked him
self up, very much flustered, she said
gravely;
“Good morning, Capt. Keppel. How
do you like the new service uniform?”
She referred to an undress uniform
which had been introduced into the
navy a week or. two before.
“I don’t like it at all, madam,” Kep
pel replied. “Only yesterday a man
mistook me for a railway porter.”
The Queen looked at the Prince Con
sort and laughed heartily. After
wards Keppel discovered what he had
been previously ignorant of, namely,
that the uniform had been designed by
the Prince Consort himself and that
it was one of his pet hobbies.
Aide-dc-Camp to tlie Uneen.
The Queen made the captain one of
moted to the rank of admiral, and he
remained one of her closest friends
up to the time of her death.
Asa captain and an admiral on tho
East Indian station, Keppel assisted
in the establishment of the indepen
dent state of Sarawak under the rule
of that wonderful man, Rajah Brooke.
Keppel and Brooke were close friends,
and together they suppressed piracy
among the Malays, after many san
guinary tights and desperate adven
tures.
Keppel always had a short way with
pirates. If they escaped the bullet
and the cutlass, they were certain
to be claimed by the yardarm soon
after they fell into his power. His
drastic methods were very effective.
He cleared the Malay seas of pirates,
with the help of Rajah Brooke, and
made them safe for the shipping of
the world, -which they had never been
before.
After he had finished this work, he
was made admiral in command of the
China squadron. His particular qual
ification for the post was his ability
to deal with pirates. He cleared the
China seas of them, as he had cleared
the Malay seas. His favorite trick
was to disguise his ships as peaceful
merchantment, wait for the pirate
junks to creep upon them, and then
unmask his guns and sink them.
A Terror to the Chinese.
His name became a terror to the
Chinese. This was the time when
China was being opened up to the
world's trade, and “foreign devils”
were even more detested than they art
to-day. Outrages upon Englishmen
living in China were frequent, and
Keppel always punished the guilty
parties with a heavy hand. He
thought nothing of sending a force
inland from his ships to burn a vil
lage where an Englishman had been
murdered, arid he did not always wait
to get permission from the authori
ties at home or the British ambassa
dor at Pekin.
Admiral Keppel left the navy in
the seventies. Since then he has dis
tinguished himself as a great hunter
ot big game, and as the founder of
the dependency of British North Bor
neo. What Cecil Rhodes was to South
Africa, Keppel has been to that coun
try.
—"l’m afraid he don’t mean more'n
half wot he says.” "Well, dat's a
whole lot fer a guy to mean when he’s
courting a goil, you know.’’—Puck.
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