Democratic Press, Volume 1, Number 27, Decatur, Adams County, 18 April 1895 — Page 3

VENGEANCE BY VERA ROSEBERY' A Story of a Briton in American Society. Written for This Paper by A. Oakey Hall.

CHAPTER V. But summer vacation to the courts soon ensued, and **hat time Wall street went into ffFasshoFperish speculation, and Fifth avenue uncurtained its windows, and mirrors sbrank behind Hollands, and when citizens rushed from the chat* Bering of street sparrows to the biting buzz of rural mosquitoes, Carson took his fortnight holiday. Did he select for its celebration that Vichy of America, the Saratoga Springs, because Vera and her mother were to be at the same caravansary where he could also take rooms? But Carson, as the unrevealed brother of a duke, while democratic in many of his methode, was a Tory, and loved conservative ways. Saratoga had ancestral and traditional fame like his own family. Among its century of pilgrims from the ranks of fashion or of invalidism, all the Presidents, all the statesmen, leaders of society from all the metropolitan centers, and from farms and plantations as well, had made the resort famous. “Age had not withered it, nor custom staled its infinite variety.’* The odor of its pines and hrs, the mellowed air of its mountains, the dazzle of its hotel life, the romance of its lakes and parks, the bangles of its schemers or time killers, and the charm of yearly reunions yet, and perhaps will for centuries to come, win yearly worshippers. who alternate praise in the Saratogo temples with their hammock swing ing in the wildernesses or their loitering at the sea side. g, Carson arrived a few days before Vera and her mother came over from the cosiness of cottage life where Indian Holyoke adjoins towns of English nomenclature that reminded him of the Berkshire hills that he had last beheld from the northern heights of London, whore Whittington heard the prophecy of Row bells. Carson soon learned the traditional program of Saratoga life. The 9 o’clock arising. and the bath of native waters, the saunter to th<» springs, and the first imbibing of the tonic waters. the matutinal gossip of the piazza, the compounding of plans for the coming hours, the grill of spring chickens for breakfast, the reading of the morning papers yet damp from city presses, the linger over luncheon, the drive to the lake or the realization there of the old song, “Oh, Lightly May the Boat Row That My Young Laddie’s In,” the sumptuous dinner, when* the “six hundred” charge upon menus that equally delight guests from all latitudes, the watching of twilight shadows, the evening flirtation, the feast of vesper music, the ball, the novel, and the embraces of Morpheus—the only god of mythology that every human agrees to worship. One morning when the omelette aux fine herbea proved unusually tempting, and the butter on th«- rolls uncommonly appetizing with its yellow sweetness, he found places reserved beside his own place for Miss Vera and her mother. Then they had arrived. What magic in ranis shuffled over the ink stand of a prosaic hotel clerk. The heart of this blase Englishman actually beat a break fast tattoo. He insensibly hummed a fTennysonian “She is coming; She is coming.” How gladly he saw the alight flush ■■Hr on Vera’s chek as he arose to thrust aside the officious waiter at the bark of her chair who was hungering for a silver coin while Larson was hungering for a tone of her voice. The usual talk about mutual movements ensued. They had not arrived at the intimacy of even formal correspondence. Were the delights of a “my darling.” or “my precious,” and of a “yours, with fondness’’—addresses and superscriptions dear to the eyes of generations from the time of Heloiae to this time of Saratoga loverdom— never to join in correspondence the names of Charles and Vera? Yet. for all her incipient flush of the cheek, be fount! her. not cold, exactly, but under strict bounds of etiquette, with a mother as strictly on guard as the almost immovable horse guard by the archway of the Whitehall street in L<ni don that he loved in youth to haunt. Her raillery was again busy. Had the sight I of so many celebrities at Saratoga fired I his abmition yet? Had any purpose of I life yet interested him? Was Saratoga I life worth living? Had the waters quick- ■ ened his blood or given him an incentive? | Had he met with a paragon of a flirt, f etc.? “No.” he gallantly answered, while he merely went through the pantomime of a slight shiver. “There be none of beauty’s daughters with a magic voice like thine.” "Please don’t quote. I hate quotations. I once took vengeance on a man who edited a book of poetical quotations.” “And pray what was the form of vengeance?” “I learned a great lot of his own selections and fired them off at him like paper torpedoes or Chinese crackers, and made him wince and wince again. But how did you like our Fourth of July celebration? Did it make your heart sink to remember that at Saratoga came the first rebuff to you Britishers when Lord North was trying to coerce the Irish?” “Take pity on me. Miss Vera. We shall never agree on English politic®.** “Shall we, or do we, over agree upon anything? You are as far below my enthusiasm as—as”—she faltered a moment for a figure like a bashful collegian in a cotillon. He gaily interrupted, “As you are above my want of heart.” “How happy an idea; as if so purposeless a gentleman should confess to that lack.” He sighed. “Are you choking with a mushroom. Mr. Carson, or was that a groan at my audacity? I beg pardon, perhaps I wound your amour propre, if you carry such a thing about you.” < And »o her raillery proceeded, until he metally asked himself: “Would she be so cruel unless it was an intention of I kindness, or showed an ounce of interest?” Sood bevies of guests began to stream 1 out, and many, recognizing the belle of 1 three seasons, paused to greet her, and to 1 give fresh cause for Carson’s admiration < of the woman who could, like a juggler, i keep several balls of conversation spin- I ning at. one time. 1 “She often speaks of taking vengeance. 1 It is her pet phrase,” he th night to him- 1 self when alone with his Partagas on the i smoking piazza. "What vengeance would i she inflict on me were I ass enough to i propose under our present circumstances? < Vera’s vengeance!”—and he repeated the i phrase as if in it there was a tender i sound. Yet why not? The vengeance i

of Venus herself was often sweet, and the ■ arrows of her son often gave delicious pains. He saw’ nothing more of her that day until dinner time. There are a score of les petits soins de la vie—a phrase very imperfectly to be translated—in the life of every woman that demand instant at- i tention. There was wardrobe to be looked I after. Porters had played football with . the luggage wherein the tenderee.t lace ’ and the most exquisite dresses reposed. There were cards and letters to be overlooked ami notes to be written. But at dinner he was vexed to see seated between mother and herself a stranger, who was certainly distinguished looking. He had escorted Vera with graceful skill through the knots of plunging waiters in the mammoth dining room, and with great ease of manner had attended to the etiquette of seating ami the proper opening of serviette. He possessed a finely modulated voice, and not yet over-braided, so to speak, with affected tones. Was this to be a rival? was the phrase he swallowed with his first spoonful of Mexican gumbo soup. The thought seemed to flavor it with a soupcon of cayenne. Vera seemed to take especial interest in what he said, for he took especial interest in selecting his topics, which ran through the gamut of the day’s events, and touched epigrammatically all the news and the current gossip. Ail this gave occasion for her best comment and repartee, to which Carson listened with delight and admiration, yet with a certain pang of that selfish disappointment which is the first ushering in of jealousy. Moreover, while Vera addressed some observation now’ and again to him it was with a far-away look on commonplaces. And no introduction took place. Before dessert really began to be served he made a remark half-begging to be excused and half-apologetic at having to miss the benediction, as it were, of the menu; but not before he had heard her lightly say, in echo of some remark from the distinguished stranger: “Oh. mother knows that if I ever wed it must be with a hero.” “Ah.” he thought, as on the piazza he sat down to listen to the band then, playing a sensuous waltz of the ancient and almost forgotten Gungl. "What hope is there that I should ever become a hero?” "Ah. Carson, saw’ you at dinner, and envied you. dear bhoy—so near to the divine Vera and her cousin, the Governor of that Western State, and one of the most rising statesmen among the Rockies.” This was the salutation of Wallace Berry, the buck of all the Saratoga piazzas, as he sauntered up where the one addressed was seated. Mr. Berry was in immaculate evening dress. It was the effect of his fifth toilet in twelve hours. Time was never money to him. If it had been, what a spendthrift he would have proved; for certainly six hours of each day at the watering place were passed in making changes of dress. He sauntered to the wells in plaids, selecting every day a different suit. He breakfasted in a suit of gray, adorned with butter plate buttons. lie read the papers while clad in a brown coat and Palmerston checked trousers. When he tooled In the afternoon behind a fast stepper his ponge *s were ala Turque. If he went boating no hero of a Tom Bowline in Dibdin’s songs sported a tinier tarpaulin above what he called his brains, or nattier marine toggery. And for dinner dress his cravat was marvellously wide, and tied with the immaculateness of Beau Brummol’s time. Every one of these suits paid duty upon the invoices of Poole, who in Tendon ito men what Worth in Paris is to ladies—that is, condescending to allow other tailors to work upon his measures and cutting, but at sweating prices; with his own magic name duly inscribed on the tags of the garments. Mr. Berry had a museum of shoes and hats. He was obliged to double the wages of his valet, because of that functionary’s toil. “Take a chair,” said Carson. “And so that gentleman was a statesman?” “I can’t sit down, dear bhoy. for I am not wearing my sitting down trousers. And he was her cousin. Owns no end of silver mines, and is expected next year to buy a Senatorship from his Legislature.” "A lover, mayhap?" “Naw,” drawled Mr. Berry. “He don’t come from Utah, dontyerknow. more’s the ill-luck for him. because he has a wife. There she is now by the window, near the group of youngsters in execrable coats and vilely wrinkled white ties.” “Oh. married,” rejoined Carson, with a sigh of relief. "But that wouldn’t stop another wedding if he wasn’t sweet on number one, because really in his State divorces are as easy as putting my horse over four bars. Otherwise, dontyerknow. he might marry his cousin. By the way, people say you are getting sweet on the girl yourself. Tidy settlement you could gut. But. au revoir. I see the girls looking around for me. See you later, as my old law preceptor. Sam Tilden, used to say.” R; one part of the buck’s vaporing, Cason felt relief. Next came a revulsion :js he remembered the words, “but only a hero.’’ CHAPTER VI. The advancing night was balmy and inviting of strolls, so he descended into the street to walk in the direction of the Hi! ton Park. He had not passed many turn- I ings before a bright flame shot from the i second story of one of a row of brick j houses near by that were divided into j apartment flats. Very quickly burned f the window frames, and the flames al I ready began to lick at the copings above. | ’ Listlessly he turned toward the conflag ration that seemed to threaten dangerous destruction. He was not long in joining the .gathering crowd that was already 5 welcoming escaping inmates and anxiously expecting the arrival of firemen with ’ apparatus. Some of the terrified tenants were bemoaning the loss of valuables left ’ behind. Several of these rushed through the blinding smoke in search of property, 1 but one who wore the cap of a nurse sud- ( denly cried out in a pitiful shriek, “the 1 child—the child?” At this juncture the ‘ firemen arrived to whom she began hys- 1 terically to narrate how. in her fright, she < had forgotten her charge, and where it <‘ had been left. A dozen men now sprang 1 toward the door, and, among them, a gen- 1 tieman in evening dress. As they rushed inwards, sudden volumes of smoke pour- ‘ ed from the hallway outwards, and the I impulsive rescuers w ere forced to come : < running back to the pavement. All but t the gentleman in evening dress.

“He will be suffocated.” cried one. “He I will be burned,” vociferated another. I While above the din of working engines and the placing of ladders and the shouts of lookers on, louder and louder came the shriek of "the child—the child! and iis . mother is at the ball!” At this moment shouts and din seemed to cease, for at a window out of which j came almost solid bursts of smoke, the blackness of which was curiously ting«*d | with reflection of flame, and all forming a background to the man in evening dress, with a white handkerchief tied oddly over his face, as he w as holding a baby. Amid the momentary hush at the weirdlike sight came his commanding voice: : "Hold your coats, some of you! At least | let us save the child.” Before the latter part of his cool words | was entirely spoken cheer upon cheer arose below at his undoubted presence of mind and sang froid, while a dozen men had stripped off their coats, and, standing elbow to elbow’, had formed a species of bag below. Then the cheers ceased, and a new hush of expectancy w as frit. “What would he do? Could be throw the babe safely, or was it going toward certain death?” were questions that every fireman and on-looker mentally asked themselves. Still newer hush and fresher expectancy from below, as he was next seen to sit on the w indow sill, and, steadying his left hand against the shutter, made the motion of a toss with the other hand. Double hush and triple expectancy from the crowd below, when, with the strength of an athlete, the quickness of a swordsman and the precision of a bowler at ball play, the figure from out of the blackness all around him parted with the infant. A white parcel now descended, amid the deepest hush of all, and then fell with result of perfected aim into the center of the extemi>oriz<*<l receptacle. The child for an instant bounded upward, but on its second and minimum fall was skillfully caught in the arms of one of the stalwart firemen in the rescuing group. But the brave man? Was he to perish? He was presently seen at the next window, having reached it by a masterful ami flylike crawl on a coping under both windows. “Ladders! Ladders!” was the new cry. These had already been prepared, but as the longest touched the walls beneath where the unknown man in evening dress stood, it proved too short, while, as that conviction was forced upon the firemen, flames began to pour on the top rounds out of the window below the place where the fire beleaguered hero stood, seemingly j et undaunted. A visible wave of horror seemed then to pass over the throngs. The most experienced fireman appeared to be at a puzzling loss of plan. But cheers again arose as the threatened man—still with the handkerchief over his face—was beheld moving over yet another coping—grasping the sills with tenacious clutch—occasionally hidden by the dense smoke that became denser when streams of water blunted the force of the fire behind him. What was his aim? What his pTirpo.se? What his destination? Sooner or later he must fall into the vortex of flame behind him or on the pavement below. "He is making for the water pipe,” cried the chief engineer. “He has grasped it already.” added a foreman of an engine. “What coolness!” thought all, as like a sailor descending a rope hand over hand he managed to reach the side bar of a ladder raised against the pipe; and amid cheers that could have been heard far into the village ho reached the ground. Reached it only to b<* surnmnded by a cheering mob who sought to take him by the hand, and who fought so confusedly that in the semi-melee he, through some dexterity, had disappeared as unknown as he had at first emerged on his self-im-posed task of mercy. But the crowd found his hat and picked up a cambric handkerchief. The hat contained no card. The kerchief had nothing of identification, except two finger holes that had made peep apertures for his eyes. Evidently he knew how to fight fire. The local papers on the next morning 1 narrated the romantic incidents of his deed through columns of commanding description. One paper headed its account “An Unknown Hero,” another paper put forth this headline: "Modest Savior of a Babe.” All gazettes exhausted rhetorical praise for the unknown in his coolness. athletism and modest bravery. Miss Vera and her party came into the breakfast room earlier than usual. Contrary to divers sermons she had many times delivered against the plebeian practice of newspaper reading at restaurant service and thereby preventing digestion w aiting upon appetite, she was now paying more attention to the morning journal than to her savory omelette. Her face was glowing with honest enthusiasm as she perused the thrilling account of the fire and of the almost miraculous rescue. Her running comments were of a sympathetic and eulogistic character. As Carson leisurely sauntered toward his seat at the table and nonchalantly wished everybody a good morning in the very midst of her enthusiasm he was greeted with an "Os course, you heard about the fire of last evening?” He looked positively uneonevrned, and she continued: "But I beg your pardon, such minor affairs don’t interest one of your cold blood.” “Oh, yes; my dear Miss Vera. I heard of it. My man Mivins was there and told me something about it.” “Os course he then saw the brave rescue?” “Rescue? Fancy! Was there a rescue?” he asked, as he became apparently absorbed in his cup of case au lait. "Wax there a rescue indeed?" she i scornfully demanded, and with positively ' the intonation of almost contemptuous indignation: "Why, look down the table! Everybody is reading the newspaper account. Here it is; almost a tale, that ■Wilkie Collins might have penned.” “Oh, fancy!" he almost draw’led, “I shall read it by and by on the piazza with great delight, since you commend it.” "You provoking man. 1 shall tell it to you myself.” "Shall be charmed to hear you. I’m sure.” And he. with all who listened to her rich voice, was charmed, for she con- i densed the rei>orter*s version into sentences crisp and piquant as an Addisonian article. When she came to the dramatic point of the tossing of the child downward, she turned toward her mother and exclaimed: "What a hero! I really believe I could accept such a man for a husband.” "Fancy.” he said, still stirring his case, “perhaps this unknown hero was an acrobat or a circus chap—one of the fellows, don’t you know, who saw the air with trapezes.’* Miss Vera, crumbling her newspaper in

her hand, arose in manifest indignation, and as she proceeded to quit the table, added: “I declare I could take some vengeance upon you for such habitual stolidity in the fa<*e of such bravery.” Before she could quit her place—pausing to adjust her Shetland shawl—a gentleman passing out abruptly stopped to look intently at Carson; then exclaimed: "It must be! It is! Arc* you not the gentleman who last night was the hero of the rescue? Yes.” and again he was seized by the hand—“l saw you plainly, for I was there under the very water-spout that yon descended, and I obtained a full view of your face!” The features of (’arson thus so abruptly appealed to, became instantly flushed with surprise; and his manner as he still stood in the intended act of bowing out Miss Ve.-a at once told her how accurate was the identification. Her face whitened; she became nervous, almost hysterical; and, forgetting all etiquette or maidenly reserve, she grasped both of his hands, shook them heartily, and said: “You modest hero. How w’retchedly I have misjudged you!” Ho bent toward her and whispered: “And you have said you could marry such a man. Will you? Or for my boldness will you take vengeance?” Before an hour had passed his name was on every tongue* in Saratoga. Photographers hunted him in his bed-room lair. Autograph seekers chased him from every side. Reporters gave him no peace nor freedom. And at every mineral spring his health w as drank by young and old. When at nightfall he* was compelled to journey back to New’ York he* w*as cheered ! at the station and his departure really made triumphal. All of which the reporters and press agents duly narrated; and sent by wire into remotest hamlets, but they did not obtain a copy of his note that Mivins duly placed in the hands of Miss Vera’s maid, and that in substance ran: "Au revoir, and let me beg pardon for my boldness if it has offended. But if not, may I resume my privilege of seeing you 80011?” When h«* arrived at his apartments another newspaper surprise awaited him in this paragraph: “By the shipwreck of the yacht Petronella during the terrible simoon in the Indian Ocean its owner, the Duke of Pemberton, and his two sons, who accompanied him. were drowned; and only some of the crew ” He read no further. He dropped, dazed, on the seat as he involuntarily exhumed: "Ami I am the heir!” Vera 1 jly took her “vengeance.” It de- | scended .* the* heads of as many suitors as Penelope had. and in time it also descended on the* head of the new’ duke* by her consent to become not only a Mrs. (’arson, but to add another American duchess to the British peerage. New York society declared, with the usual bitterness, that the title, and not the man, had won a bride. But all who witness their increasing happiness at their castle home dismiss the libel at once, and admit that if revenge is sweet there is often as sweet a “vengeance.” (The End.) [Copyright. All Rights Reserved.) HIS FIRST ENCOUNTER. Russian Tells of His Initial Experience with the English Language. A Russian gentleman told rue a funny story of his first encounter with the English language. The day after his arrival in London he made a call on a friend in Park lane and on leaving the premises wrote down in his notebook what he supposed to be the exact address. The next day. desiring to go to the same place again, he called a cabman and pointed to the address that he had written down. The cabman looked him over, laughed, cracked his whip, and drove away without him. This experience being repeated w’ith two of three other cabmen the Russian turned indignantly to the police, with no better results. One officer would laugh, another would eye him suspiciously, and another would tap his head and make a motion imitating the revolution of a wheel. Finally the poor foreigner gave it up. and. with a great deal of difficulty recalling the landmarks which he had observed the day before, found his way to his friend’s house. Once there and in company with one who could understand him. he delivered himself of a hot condemnation of the cabmen and police of London for their impertinence and discourtesy. His friend asked for a look at the mirth-provoking address ami the mystery was solved. This was the entry; : 546 : ; RING THE BELL. The Russian had with great care copied character for character the legend on the gate post, supposing that is was tlie number of the house and the name of the street.—New York Mail and Express. The Beiii Msara. My caravan contained some half-doz-en wild mountaineer mule drivers, handsome, fair men of the Beni Msara and surrounding tribes, bright, amusing fellows, active as chamois and always laughing and gay. Terrible rufI flans they are to look al. ami very different from the stately Arabs, with their short brown jelabs reaching to the knee ami just showing the lower edge of their embroidered drawers, and a length of exquisitely-formed leg below’. On their shaven heads they wind a yard or two of scarlet cloth, with a gold band across it. and literally hang their bodies with arms. A flintlock gun with a barrel some six feet in length, a sw’ord in the roughly embossed brass sheath, a couple of daggers, and innumerable leather and silk bags of powder. shot, wadding, etc., add not a little to the ferocity of their appearance. Ami ferocious they are when on the warpath, but at other times easily led and gentleness itself, speaking in low. refined voices, with a manner that cannot fail to charm one.—Blackwood’s Magazine. Most men’s jokes fall short owing to the stupidity of the interlocutor.

THE JOKERS’ BUDGET. JESTS AND YARNS BY FUNNY MEN OF THE PRESS. Twin Thoughts--The Reason--A Hopeless Case--Explained, ate., etc. TWIN THOI GHTS. “In the spring the young man's fancy Lightly turns to thoughts of love —’’ And to thoughts of hpw his ulster Up the spout he soon will shove. THE REASON. Class teacher—How is it that it is so warm in this room? Smart boy—The professors have been making it hot for us all the morning. A HOPELESS CASE. She—l would never get married, if I had to ask the man. He—And you mightn’t if you did. MEANS HER “VEB.” “She’s not so hard to understand,” | |He said with tenderness. “She very seldom means her 'no,’ But she always means her 'yes.’” EXPLAINED. Bobbie—How was it that TommyJones reached the head of the class and you didn’t? Dickey—’Cause he got to guess at all the questions ’fore I did. NOT EASILY SCARED. Carleton —What happened when the mouse ran across the floor—did she faint? Montauk—Great Scott, no; don't you know she’s a widow? A SURE SIGN. Sneeze, sneeze, sneeze, Till the tears to our eyes ’twill i bring, But then it’s one of the surest signs ’ That we’ll soon have beautiful spring. WAS ALL HE THOUGHT. Tom—So your engagement with Miss Flirty is declared off. I suppose she isn’t all your fancy painted her. Dick —Worse than that, she isn’t : all she paints herself. WHAT HE FOUND OUT. He—Since I have been studying palmistry I have examined the hands of over fifty young ladies. She—And what did you find out? He—That they all had negative temperaments 111 I’o’w HE WAS A TERROR. Bulkets —Don’t you think your sister will be awfully sorry to marry and leave a nice little boy like you? The Pet—Gosh! yes. She said : she'd ’a’ got married a dozen times over if it hadn’t been forme. THE OLD STORY. Old friend —Did you and the count finally become reconciled through the medium of the children? Countess —No; principally through the medium of exchange. SHE WOULDN’T RISK IT. Dr. Texter—Why doesn’t your husband come to church. Mrs. Goodworks? Mrs Goodworks—Well, he’s a somnambulist. and I don’t want to take any chances with him. so I make him stay at home. ACCORDING TO CIRCUMSTANCES. “Good morning. Mr. Bosensmalzer Do you do a cash business here?” “\ ant to buy goods or sell some?” ! “1 want to buy.” “Ve do a cash pizness.” KNEW HIMSELF. lieggy—What do you suppose a fellow's chances are for getting a good wife? Tom—l should say they were about equal to the chances of his being a good husband. Beggy—By Jove 1 then I guess I won’t marry. A BIG PROVISO. Algernon—Do you believe in love ' in a cottage? Araminta—Certainly, provided the ; cottage is at least three stories high, \ with all modern improvements and situated in a fashionable neighborhood. AN ANSWER. Sloe Poak —Why doesn't, this trolley go faster down grade? I’ll be late for school. Rev. Physics—My son, the ear is going down, but the conductor is ringing the fares up, and as the car is crowded, it detracts considerable from the speed. Qt'ITE FRANK. “I suppose you will be out again to-night,” remarked Sportington’s wife, severely. ‘ J will.” he replied with feeling, “unless I manage to hold better hands than I got lasi night.”

INCONSISTENT GENDERS Little Bob—What’s the gender of cow, mamma ? Mamma —Feminine, dear. Little Bob—What gender is boy ? Mamma—Masculine. Little Bob (who has been pondering)—Then how can there be cow> boys? A SAD CASE. Hostess —My dear < mt. you must pardon me, but 1 have such a very poor memory of names, it’s a real 1 affliction. I have forgotten yours. The Count —You shoult gonzult a ; specialist on mendal diseases, my tear madame, you really shoult. My name is Kashowowskischniffingioski. INCO M P ATI BILIT Y. “No,” said the “emancipated” young woman. “Harold and 1 will not marry. The engagement is broken off.” “What was the trouble?” “He does not agree with me in polties. and I am compelled to believe that his ideas about housekeeping are hopelessly crude and chaotic.” “CLEAR SHIP FOR ACTION.” Getting Ready for Battle on a Man of War. “Clear ship for action and be handy, oh!” say the words of the old song in which Jack still sings of the glorious victory of the Constitution over the Guerriere in the old 'l2 war. and a veritable clearing ship it is, when the trumpet’s harsh notes or the sharp rattle of drum, mingling with the shrill whistles and rough voices of the boatswain’s mates and the noisy clanging of the electric gongs, call the crew to general ! quarters. Hard work and brisk work it is, stirring and exciting even in piping peace times, and the decks throb with the rush of hurrying feet, ! as the men, swarming up out of the • hatches, hasten to their stations. I The gun crews cast loose the great ! guns, the murderous rapid fire and i revolving -.annon, hastily donning j equipments, filling sponge buckets, ! and, in many cases, stripping them- ' selves of all superfluous clothing, i laying bare brawny torsos, often tattooed all over with devices dear to | the heart of man-o’-war Jack. : Hatches are covered, hose laid and | pumps rigged, ladders torn away and the decks turned topsy turvy in the i twinkling of an eye. Rifles, cutlases and revolvers are served out from the armory, the marine guard falls in and topmen scramble nimbly aloft to secure anything which, hit by an enemy's shot, might fall and injure those on deck below. j Down come the rails; out come I davits and aw ning stanchions; every- ; thing movable —lockers, chain, anyi thing and everything that might in- | terfere with the work of battle —is stowed away or secured. The magazines are opened, and stewards, ward room boys, cooks, and yeomen rig the tackle over the ammunition hatches ready’ to hoist shot and shell for the guns, while the water tight doors are closed and bilge pumps I made ready for use in case of a blow below the water line. The doctor and his assistants prepare for their work of succor for the wounded—lint, bandages, anesthetics, and all the dread paraphernalia of surgery are laid out in the sick bay, most inconveniently situated way forward in the very eyes of the ship, there having been seemingly’ but little attention paid by the designers of our new ships to improvement in quarters for the sick. Un the New York, for instance, when she cleared for action : in Rio harbor last year, a temporary ‘ operating room was improvised in the ward room. Below, in the officers’ mess rooms, tables and chairs are : hastily laid aside, if, as is usually , the case, entrance to a magazine is required, and even the captain’s sacred cabin is invaded “on the jump” , by the crews of the after guns there. Second Story Sidewalks. A plan has been proposed by George D. Boulton, of the First Nai tional bank, at Chicago, for increasing the sidewalk capacity of that I city. Mr. Boulton had in mind pari ticularly the sidewalks on Wabash avenue, but after carrying the plan to its logical conclusion he became j convinced that it can be put into effect on other down town streets. The plan provides for a continuous duj plicate walk above the present side- ; walk, on each side of Wabash ave- ■ nue. from Lake street to Congress, thi walk to be constructed of glass and iron, ornamental in its character, and to be level with the second • story’ of the buildings adjacent there- ’ to. The advantages claimed for it are many. A few of them are: I’er- ! sons using it would be absolutely’ i free from the many’ dangers that I now threaten them, and from the dust and dirt encountered on the I lower level; in bad weather the upper sidewalk would afford shelter from the rain or snow, making the covered way underneath under such conditions most desirable; the owners of buildings would have two main floors where they now have one, making them more valuable; the retail business of the city would be carried on ion the upper level; patrons of elevated railways would be enabled tc transact their business without de- : scending to the lower level. Mr. Boulton says that unqualified approval has been given by those tc whom the plan has been -submitted Overheated Houses. One of the greatest offenses ot Americans is the overheating of their houses. ■ It produces all sorts of ills, and the skill of the best doctors inot enough to counteract its evils.