Indianapolis Journal, Indianapolis, Marion County, 17 October 1886 — Page 2

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GRANT IN PEACE. Ill* GENERAL ADAM BADEAU. NO. XX. Grant In Society. Written for the Indianapolis Journal—ropvrielited. Grant was a plain man, but those are greatly mistaken who suppose that he was a common one. His early life he haa himself described as hat of plain people at the West fifty or sixty years age. lie received, however, the advantages of West Point and its associations, and officers of the array in those day& were considered eligible to any company. At St. Louis he married into a family that held itself as high as any in the old society of that semi Southern city; a society which was undoubtedly, at that time, provincial and narrow; its members had seen or known little of any world but their own, but the feeiing they had that their position was equal to any gave them a certain distinction of bearing that nothing else could-confer. It was not a highly educated society, and resembled in some points the squirearchy of England that Macaulay describes; elevated in feeling though contracted in acquirement, and if oTer-cautious of its own consequence, nevertheless never meeting anybody of more consequence than its own members. In this circlo Grant obtained a knowledge of the sentiments and prejudices that are by some supposed to be characteristic only of gentlemen. Many of those ho shared by nature, others he acquired, hut others he always repudiates. Ho was, as all the world knows, simple in bis tastes and habits, and at one time unacquainted with many of the etiquettes and requirements of an artificial society: not a few of which, indeed, he disliked after ho became familiar w*h them. Forms and ceremonies wore always distasteful to him, and though ho complied with such a3 his position rendered unavoidable, he escaped from them in private as speedily and effectually as possible. But the very simplicity of taste and feeling, the plainness of manner that he preserved in his extraordinary elevation, were proof of a native genuine refinement. When ho arrived at tHe capital to receive the command cf the armies he was shy and reserved in general company; of course novor timid, but he was aware of his deficiencies in social knowledge, and the consciousness made him constrained and sometimes .awkward under the honors and congratulations that were heaped upon him. But this awkwardness in the Conqueror of Vicksburg had a certain charm. It indicated an absence of conceit, a lack of pretense and a modesty almost unexampled in a man of his achievements, and showed how sweet and gentle a nature lay beneath the sterner qualities which had wen his battles and his fame. He always desired, however, to conform to the requirements of whatever place he was called upon to fill, and was now quite willing to per form his social duties. I accompanied Mrs. Grant when she made her first visit to the White House, over which sho was afterwards to preside, and General Grant was greatly pleased to have the visit paid. It was an afternoon reception of Mrs. Lincoln’s, and Lincoln himself was preseut. The President had never mot Mrs. Grant before, and at the first ho did not catch her name and was allowing her to pass with the customary bow that every one receives; but I repeated. ‘ Mrs. General Grant, Mr. President,’’ and the tail, ungainly man looked down upon his visitor with infinite kindness beaming from Jljs ugly, historic faco; then placed both his hands on Mr-3. Grant’s and welcomed her more ihan warmly. lie asked about the General, and himself presented her to Mrs. Lin colu. The mistress of the White House was also gracious: she invited Mrs. Grant to visit the conservatories, and desired ino to show them to the lady who was destined herself to dispense the courtesies of the Nation in the same executive chamber.

On our way out several groat political women seemed inclined to patronize the Western General’s wife; not. of course, offensively, but still they acted as they would ]iardly have behaved among or toward themselves. But Mrs. Grant at once detected the suggestion of superiority in tbeir courtesies, and asserted herself delicately and skillfully. When they wanted to introduce fine ladies to her in the lobbies of the White llouso, she regretted that her carriage was waiting, but would be happy to receive the ladies at her hotel; and when they offered seats in their boxes at the play, evidently in order to be seen with the wife of the General of the Armies, she politely indicated that a box had already been secured for her; .and for this she afterward selected her own company. Her influence, of course, affected her great husband. lie bad constantly the suggestions of a woman who understood other women, and who knew instinctively what would be said of him and to him. as well as what she wanted him to say and do in return. Naturally, she was anxious about the appearance lie madoin what he caiied “society.' Ho had been ushered all at onco into the most distinguished and exacting circles; he would bo watched and criticised as well as woicomed and admired: and with a feminine insight ehe comprehended both tho petty craft and the important ambitions that underlie so many of the ceremonies of official iife .at Washington as well as in aristocratic capitals. When Grant was over-modest or willing to let himself bo passed by. was always the mentor to cau tton. and urge, and stimulate, and advise; and sometimes the mentor was needed. 1 recall au instance in which I contended for awhile against Mrs. Sprague, the daughter of Chief-justice Chase. Everybody in Washington, Cabinet ministers, foreign envoys, Senators, even the judges cf tho Supreme Court, hurried to call on General Grant after his brilliant successes in the war: the ordinary Washington etiquette was broken down for him. But the Chief-justice did not call. Ho considered him self tho second person in the country, the next after tho President in position, as under ordinary circumstances he certainly would have been. Besides this, ho was an aspirant for tho presidency and unwilling to admit Grant’s precedence in any way. Mrs. Sprague spoke to me of the matter at a dance at General Grant's house. She, as a Senator’s wife, had caiied upon Mi’3. Grant, but she thought General Grant should call on the Chiefjustict. I, however, tried hard to keep the General from paying the first visit. Like all staff offlesrs, I magnified the consequence of my chief, and 1 was younger then and had not seen the preposterous regard for precedence at European courts; perhaps in such matters I was not so good a democrat as studying aristocracy has made me since. At any rate, I put every obstacle in the way of the visit But one afternoon General Grant was driving and stopped to pll on the Chief-justice. The visit was instantly returned, and the General and Mrs. Grant were asked to dinner; so Mrs. Sprague triumphed. I always suspected that the General made the visit with malice prepense, for he ofteu

THE INDIANAPOLIS JOURNAL, SUNDAY, OCTOBER 17, 1886-TWELVE PAGES.

used to say: “Badcau, you think too much of these things," and he would pretend to scold. Once or twice he was in earnest, when he thought matters were carried too far. Nevertheless he conformed to many observances which at first be found irksome as well as unusual. It was some little while before he consented to wear an evening coat, and the white tie especially was a disagreeable novelty. But he soon iscovered that he made himself more conspicuous by avoiding the dress that others wore than by adopting it: and when he ascertained the importance attributed to visits in the official and high political world in which he lived, ho became anxious that they should bo paid and returned punctiliously. In time it was he who urged Mrs. Grant to make her calls, and those who did not know would hardly believe how particular he grew about placing people at dinner. Not that he regarded these points as important, but others did, whom he was unwilling to neglect or to offend. So, too, about his parties. He was always willing to open his house, and wanted no one left out whom it was proper to invite. He had in .Iced a genuine liking for society; not only because wherever ho went he was thechief and the idol, though this might make any one fond of the world; but he was social by nature. He not only had a pleasure in the company of his intimates, and enjoyed the conversation of important men, but he liked to look at pretty girls and to listen to the talk of clever women. For a long time, however, he was not ready in replying; he had little small taik. and could not make conversation without a theme; but he observed closely under his ma3k of silence, and I always relished his criticisms of people and manner. He gossiped very genially, and observed little points of behavior and their significance a3 acutely as many of long experience in what is called ‘‘the world." I had a great deal to do with his early social career. I was very much at his house and his labie before he became President; I disbursed the invitations to bis receptions, and went with him to dinners and parties innumerable in half the cities of the Union; stood by him at public receptions when thousands shook him by the hand, and every man put ail his ebthusiasm and all his patriotism into a single grasp, until Grant’s arm became swollen and lame for weeks, and the newspapers published a caricature of “the hand wo shook so often." Sometimes in the crowd the aids-de camp thrust out their hands and saved him many a squeeze. He possessed the “royal” memory of faces, and when at his own house or hoadquarters any of the millions called whom ho had met before he always remembered the names which we who had stood beside him were ofton unable to recall. For years his unwillingness to make a speech was curious. When bo was nominated for the presidency he declared that he had neither the power of public speaking nor the disposition to acquire it In the long series of ovations that followed him everywhere after the close of the war, not more than two or three words were ever extorted from him in reply to encomiums and even adulation such as sow men have had addressed to themselves. I was once traveling with him by railroad during the height of his early popularity. Wherever the train stopped it was surrounded by ardent and patriotic throngs. His silence had now become celebrated, and a woman iu the crowd cried out: “I want to see the man that lets the women do all tho talking.”

At another time his youngest son. Jesse, then a boy of only seven years, came out on the plat form when the cries for a “speech” were loudest, and his father was as silent as tho Sphynx. The lad looked first at the mass of enthusiastic people before him and then at the great soldier by bis side, and inquired, “Papa, why don’t you speak to them?" But Grant remained mute, and Jesse at last cried out: “1 can make a speech, if papa can’t.” Tho shouts instantly went up: “A speech from Jesse! A speech from J.esso!” Then there was a hush, and the child began in his treble voice, but without a shade of the embarrassment his father would have felt: “The boy stood on the burning deck—” Jesse made another speech during the same summer that was even more feiicitious. Grant and his family were at the farm near St. Louis, where Mrs. Grant’s father resided, and one hot day, after the 2 o’clock dinner, when everybody went out on the lawn. Jesse mounted a haystack and exclaimed: “I’ll show you how papa makes a speech." Grant himself laughed, and we all went up to tho haystack. Then Jesse made a bow. (which his father would not have done), and be gan: “Ladies and gentlemen: I am very glad to sea you. I thank you very much. Good night.” Every one laughed, but Grant blushed up to tho eyes. I don’t think he relished the imitation at. all: it was too close. But Jesse was the habv, and we talked about something else. Years afterward I thought of this scene in Missouri when I heard Grant at a great table in the Guildhall at London address a brilliant company in felicitous language that evoked cheers of admiration from the finest critics of eloquence in the world. For he certainly acquired the art of putting one or two appropriate thoughts into fitting language on such occasions iu as high degree as any one I over listened to. His replies were models not only of terse and modest expression. but of epigrammatic force and fluent, wit, timely in suggestiveness, personal in application ami almost always conveying a wise as well as graceful sentiment. Indeed, the shyness and awkwardness that were so apparent at the beginning of his career had passed completely away before the end. Perhaps a little lingered until he became President, but the sense of tho greatness of his position that came to him then took away all shyness. lie was not only the first wherever he went, but the chief of the State, and he felt that the government was upon his shoulders. There was no personal vanity implied in maintaining or even in asserting such a dignity. In small things as well as great this feeling was apparent. He never ontered the street cars while he was President, though often before he had mortified his staff and his family by using this democratic conveyance. He was careful whom he visited, and regarded etiquette scrunulously in this matter; ho selected the company, and arranged the precedence at his dinners, frequently disappointing relatives and intimate friends, who saw themselves displaced on public occasions for public dignitaries, though in his private life he returned to his former associates. During the first year of his presidency I spent eight months on duty at the executive mansion, where, although I was no longer the official secretary, I had my own room, and saw him with much of my old intimacy. I revised with him and for him his first annual message to Congress, and Cabinet ministers came to mo to have passages inserted which they did not venture theniseives to propose. Thus I watched the growth of the new manner. I observed a greater dignity of feeling, a conscious and intentional gravity, an absence of that familiar, almost jocular mood which once had been so frequent. And yet he did not forget, much less repel, his former friends. They were what they had always been to him, just ns worthy, perhaps just as intimate as ever, and the very few were certainly as dear; but he was the President. The great changes, howevor, were moro apparent later. In tho second year of his presidency I was made consul general at London, and only saw him afterward on two or three occasions during a short visit to this country until the close of his last administration. In this interval had come ali storm of calumny that burst upon him, all the anxietie3 of the last sad year of his official life, ali the falsity of friends, the attacks upon his honor, the injury he received from the association of those who used and abused his name and his friendship for their own purposes. Besides all this there was, of course, the increase of years, the long occupancy of tho highest place, the weight of national cares, the familiarity with authority. 1 met him on the stoamer that brought him to Liverpool, and saw him first in the captain's cabin, where he was waiting for me, alone. lie threw his arms around mo — and I kissed him. He was my chief, my general, my friend. From that moment dated a new intimacy, closer than the old. I was with him incessantly during his stay iu England, lie wrote at once a telegram to the government asking that 1 might be permitted to accompany him. but I changed the message and put it in my own name, so that he who had been President should not be placed in the position of soliciting favors from bis successor. But with all my intimacy I noticed now a broader man in manner and character. He was far more conscious; he understood himself better; he knew his powers; he knew what he wanted to do and say under all circumstances. He was a greater man than the one I had left in America seven years before. I was especially struck with his poise in the new situations into which he was thrown. No one had anticipated the great popular enthusiasm that welcomed him everywhere in Eugiand, but he was as calm and

undisturbed as of old, ready to receive and acknowledge the ovation, for such it was; gratified deeply, but not elated. His fluency of speech amazed me. He had learned the art since I had met him last. In his association on more that equal terms with the most distinguished Englishmen, at the dinners with Dukes and Prime Ministers he was always first; in the company of Princes and of the Queen, he preserved his composure. The etiquette was of course unfamiliar to him, but he advised himself of it in advance, and then conformed just so far as he thought proper aDd dignified in his position, but no further. He was in no way neglectful of ceremonies, far less offensive, but he did not forget that he was a republican, nor that he had been a President. He said everywhere that the compliments paid to him were meant for the nation that he repre seuted, which was a very proud sort of humility. But it was no assumption in him to assume that he represented America. He remained as simple as ever in his bearing, and still almost plain, but he was never awkward or embarrassed now. He was able to criticise Queen Victoria's manner, and declared to me that he thought it uneasy. He said her Majesty seemed too anxious to put him at his ease, and he implied that the anxiety was unnecessary. With the President of the French republic, Marshal MacMahon. he was on delightful terras. They walked up and down the Champs Elysees arm in arm, Grant talking English and MacMahon French, for each understood the other's language, though unable to speak it. He roceived tho first visit from the King of the Belgians, and asked, as any one else might have asked with an equal, when he and Mrs. Grant could pay their respects to the Queeu. I was present at the interview and thought of Galena and the neighbors there of this man who was exchanging visits with sovereigns. On this occasion he was exact in bis etiquette; ho went himself to the door of room, but directed me to wait upon the King to liis carriage. But his Majesty would not permit this attention and said peremptorily that i must not descend the staircase. 1 remembered the story of Louis XIV and Lord Stair, and replied that when the King commanded I could only obey. Grant approved my behavior. Adam Badeau.

FASHION’S FANCIES. Hats of soft beaver have brim and crown of different colors. Feather turbans are trimmed with bands of pheasants’ or eagles’ feathers. Jewelry of etched, oxidized silver and in Indian design is very fashionable. Blue felt hat3 trimmed .with red silk cord, are worn with red and blue costumes. Ilats are not as high as formerly; the straight arrangement of trimming, however eeemingly increases their altitude. Felt bonnets have brim and crown outlined by woolen balls or beads, sometimes in the same tint as the bonnet and often in strong contrast. Rod is a leading color for hats and bonnets in felt and bouelecloth. Beingfrequently trimmed with black it gives a Mephistophelean aspect to tho wearer. The newest buttons arc large balls of wood highly polished and showing the grain. P.eans and seeds are employed as buttons. Etched ivory buttons show fine designs. The nopular sloeve is plain and close fitting, and often without trimming. Various innovations in the way of trimmed and puffed sleeves are permitted for evening wear of fanciful fabrics. Fabrics with special trimmings, such as borders, bands or stripes are in high favor. The underskirt is usually trimmed with tho bands, while the upper part of the costume —the polonaise. redingote, or tunic and basque—is madeof the plain material. Basques continue to be made very short at the sides, pointed in front, and, in most cases, have postilion backs. Pointed backs are seen, but are not as popular as the postilion, except in polonaises. The crossed waist or surplice style is very pretty for evening wear. Only a few round waists are worn. Many of the black bonnets and round hats displayed are trimmed with loops and folds of the same material, relieved with two or three long loops of velvet of a vivid color. Many women are afraid to venture upon these distinct shades, and elect for those in paler or neutral tint!, a degree of dowdyness being frequently thtrr?*Sult of that timidity. A great advantage realized in the present methods of combining colors by home dressmakers is the ease with which they obtain materials to make over a partly-worn or an outgrown garment. To exactly match goods is very difficult, but one is almost always able to get a fabric similar in tone, or it may be a por feet contrast is best liked, anil contrasts are still fashionable. Fall Styles in Eair Dressing. New York Mail and Express. “I do not think there is as yet much change in the dressing of the hair," said a hair dresser the other day. “It is rather early for winter styles, which are guided very much by the fashions in bonnets. If the bonnets are broader this season than last, the hair will be dressed to correspond, and it is the same in tho matter of the coil at the back of the head. Last season's bonnets were cut up at the back, and many wore a false coil of hair to protect the tender part of the back of tho head which the mode in hats exposed. Small braids of hair or coils are always in style; Dutch braids they are called—that is, simply three strands. These braids are pinned close to the head, and are pretty and becoming to most shaped heads.” “How about the front hair?" “It is worn short. The Russian, orV bang, is just now meeting with favor—that is, cut low on the forehead and worn back on the temples. It is pretty for young, fresh, round faces, but will make a lone, oval contour still longer." “Then bangs are not going out?" “Oh, dear, no! Soft effects are the style, and there is nothing softens and tones down the face like the short, fluffy hair falling over it iu waves. I am glad to say that short hair is no longer iu style. Why women, whose attractiveness ofien lies in tho abundance of soft tresses, should cut it off short is a mystery. I feel sorry often times to see the sacrifice some women and girls make in following so senseless a fashion.” The Whirligig of Time. The old man he carried a hod, His son he got rich in molasses; The grandson a scholar he grew, And took the first place in his classes. A statesman, he rose to high rank. And he left a great name and much riches; His son took to dealing in stocks And lost everything but his pantaloons. And thus goes the old whirligig— Tho son of this illigant gold ! un Spent his money in bumming around— Now he carries a hod like the old ’un. —New York Journal. An Interview with the Pope. New York Special. Charles L Webster, of the publishing firm of Webster & Cos. (Mark Twain being thecompany), has just returned from Rome, where ho made arrangements with the Pope for the publication of his memoirs, which have been prepared by Dr. O’Reilly. Mr. Webster gives rather an in tercsting account of his interview with the the Holy Father. Tho conversation was carried on entirely in French. All knelt until requested to stand or be seated by the Pope. The Pope was dressed in a long, white cassock, and wore a white skull-cap. His hair was silver white, but short, and combed up behind the ears. His figure is tail and thin, and his complexion very pure aud light. “1 am a Protestant,” added Mr. Webster, af ter giving these particulars, “and if anybody may be said to be prejudiced I would naturally be one of such; but I will say that from my impression his Holiness is a very able man—indeed, of wonderful executive ability—and that he is a very good man. He has a beautiful face, and I don’t believe a man with such a face could do a bad act. I really fell in love with him.” A Willing Man. Burdette, in Brook'yn Eagle. The papers make a great deal of talk because young George Gould works ten hours a day. Huh! If we could make as much at it as he does we'd work till after midnight. P. S —We do anyhow. flow Long a Wife Remains a Bride. Washington Hatchet. She becomes a bride when she is married She remains a bride so long as hubby gets up first and makes the fire. After that she becomes “the old woman,"

AN EARLYFRIEND OF SLAVES A Visit to the Home of a Once Famous Indiana Advocate of Abolition. The “Underground System” of Helping on Fugitive Blacks in Their Flight for Freedom—A Great Debate on Slavery. The other day a Journal representative, making a brief visit in the western part of Dearborn county, was invited by a friend to take a drive. “Come with me.” said the friend, “I want you to see a man who, at one time, was more talked about than any person in southeastern Indiana—one who, in his time, wa% great and strong, a man of unflinching courage and indominitable will. He was a compeer of Elijah Coffin, of Cincinnati, the famous manager of the uaderground railroad in the days when, to be an Abolitionist, in this section, brought with it an obloquy more weighty than attaches to anarchists to-day, and persecution more severe and unrelenting than we can now conceive.” Going over three miles of up-and-down road the Journal man and his escort came at length to the village of Old Milan, in the hilly eastern edge of Ripley county, and stopped in front of an old-fashioned two-storied frame dwelling, with a porch built into the house, and not extended from it, the supporting white woodon pillars staring in the sun. In its* youth this patriarchal house was considered a great mansion, the finest house between that of Omer Tousey, at Lawrenceburg, and Indianaplis. It was and is the residence of Stephen S. Harding, who, grasping the visitors’ by the hand, bade them welcome. Mr. Harding is seventy-eight years old and blind, but his mind is yet clear. He has a grandly poised head, with a heavy shock of wavy gray hair—such a head in strength and symmetry, such a face, with its lines of character and firmlv-set jaws, such a nose, beaked like an eagle, as painters delight to copy. Ho was Governor of Utah in 1802-3-4, afterwards Chief-justice of Colorado and is full of memories of tho men and deeds of those heroic days, having been on specially intimate terms with President Lincoln and Salmon P. Chase.

“My great regret,” eaid the old man, “is that lam unable to read. I want to know what is going on in tki3 great world, and 1 have to depend wholly upon others. You want to talk about tho underground railroad? There was one line run through this part of the country. Irv those days 1 was young and active. 1 had more business enterprises going than any man hereabouts, for, besides attending to a law practice extending over many counties, I run two large saw-inilis and had other irons in the fire. To be an Abolitionist in that, day was an exceedingly unpopular thing. The fugitive slave law laid a fine of SSOO for every breach of that infamous enactment. I have helped many a fugitive slave on his way to freedom, but I never had but one brought to this house for concealment. That was a fine mulatto fellow. He was brought here in the dead of night and carried up'that stairway, where a physician was called in to see him. It was no light risk that doctor took, for the fugitive slave law left even the commonest instincts of humanity out of account.’ Thirty-seven duck-shot were taken out of the poor fellow’s back. He was terribly mangled. We cared for him until he was able to be moved, and one night we slipped him out and sent him on to the Quaker neighborhood, to the north of us. You can have little idea of the close fraternity and confidence that existed among the Abolitionists of that day. All gave freely of their store in the great cause. Many a time Gersham Richardson has come to me and whispered that he had some ‘boarders,’ and asked if I would lot him have a ham. My smokehouse door was open to all such demands, and the dusky sons of Ham, on their way following the north star, were welcome to iny bacon, if it would ‘save their bacon.’ There was old Ezekiel Meader. who, when a trusty friend would bring him word that a party of fugitive negroes were coming along, would fervently say, ‘God bless them’ and then hasten to prepare for their comfort. I had an old horse that could have told many things of those days, of many a night ride, if he could have spoken. I have seen him with-darkeys on his back from his mane to his tail. One load I especially remember—a darky woman and her four little oues. I kept the old horse as long as life had anything for him and then mercifully had him shot, I told the boys not to shoot until I got out of hearing distance, and then stopped my ears.” A tear rolled down the old man’s cheek and fell upon his hand. “I knew,” he continued, “that damnable thing could not last, and with the eye of prophecy saw the end long before it came. I was once attending court at Vernon, and a number of citizens there insisted I should make a speech from my stand point on the slavery question. A few bills were printed and stuck up. The speaking wa3 to bo at tho courthouse. A friend came to me privately and told me to forego the speech, as he had discovered a movement on foot to give me some rough treatment; that some mischievous fellows were gathering rotten eggs and I might, in addition to this ovation, receive more serious injury. I was firmly resolved upon making that speech. A groat, crowd had gathered at the court-house. I got up into the judge's stand, and hardly had begun my speech when I stepped down upon the floor. I felt the fearless lightning moving through my veius. I said I understood there were men there to egg me. I asked that audience to look at me, to look at me all over, from head to heel, and take note whether 1 was a man who would submit to having showered upon his sacred person the offal of a poultry-yard. ‘lf any one here is resolved to do this thing,’ eaid I, ‘he will assuredly meet his God. green in his sins, for that man shall die. Nothing under heaven can prevent me having the innermost drop of blood that courses in his craven heart.’ “The American people like backbone. My audience began te cheer, and I went up into the judge’s stand and made my speech undisturbed, in that speech I predicted that in twenty years from that time the twelve hundred million dollars invested in slaves would not be worth a dollar. More than twenty years after that a man came to me who said he had met a Kentuckian who, during the war, lived in Missouri and was in the rebel army. 'I beard a man named Harding make a speech in the court-house at Vernon, Ind.,’ said he, ‘who predicted that slavery would go within twenty years. Somehow I thought, a groat deal about that prophecy, and as time went cm t thought more and more about it. Nineteen years had gone by when Lincoln issued his emancipation proclamation, and in twenty years, as he had said, all the slaves in the United States were ‘not worth a dollar to their masters.’ “About 1850 a man on horseback, at 3 o'clock in the morning, stopped in front of this house and hallooed. I went to the door in my nightclothes, and he handed me a letter. It was from a Quaker merchant at Greenfield, inclosing a challenge from a Methodist preacher named Kavanaugh. I had never heard of him, but it seems that he was a pro-slavery orator and professed to argue from the Bible that slavery was a divinely-established institution. The challenge, in effect, was that he would show that the Bible justified the relations of master and slave as much as it did husband and wife, parent and child, etc. My Quaker friend was anxioua for me to accept the challenge, the debate to take place in a large Quaker meeting-house near Knight3town. ‘Friend Stephen,’ as they called me. did accept. God bless the Quakers. In that day they were the only alleged Christian people who stood by the colored man; and how brave they were, with all their unruffled quietness. Those dear old mothers in their white caps, and those cautious but fearless men in their shadbelly coats. I prepared myself for the encounter as for a law case, and went through and through the Bible until I had everything bearing upon the subject. The day came ou. The great meeting-house was filled with people, for they come from near and far. 1 had to open the dobate, and we were to speak alternately, I to have the close in a half hoar's speech, I believe. Kav&naugh was a handsome roan, with a finely modulated voiue, graceful in gest-

ure, brimful of authorities, and a persuasive and convincing delivery. The discussion began at 9 o'clock in the merning and continued straight on through the noon hour, then on through the afternoon The great audience stayed. Nobody thought of dinner. I never before or since saw such eager, devouring attention. I felt that I was in the right, and it gave me power. I soon put the laboring oar upon Kavanaugh. and the burden was greater as the debate went on. I had reserved some force for the conclusion. I held for my climax those lines from ‘The FireWorshippers' to apply to my adversary, a minister of God, upholding the most iamning iniquity ever perpetrated. 1 never shall forget that moment I felt my veins on fire, and words came to me as they never did before. Fixing my eyes upon him. and pointing slow and unmoving, upon him I quoted “ ‘Just Allah, what must be thy look, V hen such a wretch before thee stands, Turning the pages of thy sacred book V ith most denied and blood-stained hands. And drawing from its text divine A charter for his blood and crime.’ ” The oid man rose as he spoke these lines, and the energy and force with which he delivered them made him a grand figure. He continued: “You should have seen Kavanaugh. He clenched bis hands, and his face became bloodless, while he shook like a leaf. Shout after shout rose in that old meeting-house. I felt that the right cause had conquered, and many and warm were the handshakings that were given me. Kavanaugh went South and became a bishop of the Southern Methodist Church, &u upholder of slavery and rebellion.”

AX OLD-TIME TRAPI'ER. The Abnndance of Game of All Kinds About Indianapolis Less than Forty Years Ago, “I suppose,” said George W. Pitts, “that I am about the last man who ever did any trapping that counted for anything in money here round about Indianapolis. I came to this town from Centerville, Wayne county, where Governor Morton came from, and was born there in the same year that he was. I commenced trapping about this town with my father in 1838, as a boy only fourteen years old, and made a business until 1549 of hunting and trapping. I used to take my traps and float down White river, staying out until the streams froze up. I knew all the hollow sycamores along the river, and many a night have I slept in them with a big fire blazing out in front. I trapped muskrat, mink, 'coon, otter and fox. 'Coon skins paid the best. I gave a cow and calf to old Josh Hinesley in 1810 for a ’coon dog. He was a good ’un. Many a time in one night I got enough ’coons with him to pay for that cow and calf. Tho skins were fetching a dollar apiece. He was the best dog I ever see, and never lied. “I always went alone trapping, as I never cared to givo any man a chance to get on to my inenhod. I made my living trapping. When I was going to school to the old Marion County Seminary l kept un my trapping on Fall creek and on the river as far as McCarty’s farm. I made enough moi >y outside of school hours to pay my schooling and something over. During tho winter, while going to school, I caught one night, in Pogue’s run, near its mouth, three otter at one slide, and one about where the Belt now crosses the run. Along in '45 I cleared as high as SOO a week trapping between this town and Waverly, down the river. The river was better than Fall creek, because the bottoms were wider and the settlements couldn’t get so near to the haunts ot the animals. 1 think I caught the last otter ever trapped in Marion county. That was in ’49. upon Fall creek, about a mile north of tho fair grounds. I got<sl2 for the skin. There are a few otter down about Worthington yet, and I think I’ll take my traps down there one of these days. “In those days wild turkeys were plenty all round town, especially north of town along in the Full creek bottoms. I have shot gobblers weighing twenty-two pounds when cleaned. I used turkey to bait for 'coon and mink; parsnip is the best for muskrat. In 1847 1 killed a deer, a big buck, on the river twelve miles below town. Around Crown Hill used to be, along about '4O, a splendid place for turkeys and squirrels; somo deer there, too. Any man who could shoot at all could calculate on getting fifteen or twenty squirrels in an hour or so in the afternoon. I often used ’em to bait with. They were a groat pe3t to the farmers. In 44 or ’45 they came traveling through here from the North, scores and scores, of thousands of ’em. I have seen them swimming the river in groat droves, and stood on the bank with a club and killed them. They would some out right at one’s feet exhausted, and hardly try to get away. They were very lean, and seemed to have been starved out. They were tho oldfashionod gray squirrel. Fox squirrels were rarely seen then, but about '45 they began to appear, and soon drove the gray squirrels out.” Thomas McClintoek, aged seventy-four years, who had been listening, here Interposed to add his testimony to the fact that the squirrels were great posts to the farmer. “They were ruining my corn, and I proposed to Andy Smith and Bob Duncan that if they would come out to my farm and kill squirrels one day, my wife would get them up a good dinner. They came, aud in that one day Andy killed ninety-four or ninetyfive, and Bob over ninety. Bob suspected Andy had borrowed a few squirrels of a hunter who was shooting near by, and, I guess, proved it on him. Anyhow they saved my corn.” Mr. Pitts continued: “There was no end of fish in the streams about hero in those days. I went up to McCormick’s dam, four miles above town on the river, one day, and sat down at a chute that had broken out, and where the fish were running through. There were wagonloads of fish, and l threw out with my hands eighty-seven bass, ranging in size from one pound up to five. My hands were badly jagged but 1 got the fish. The hoys used to 6hoot fish then, Indian fashion, with bow and arrow, the arrow being secured with a string so that it wouldn’t be lost."

A MASTER OF MUSIC. A. Ernestinoff Turned by a Terrible Fall from Naval Warfare to Musical Instruction. Among the best known and most prominent of the musicians of this city is one who bears the long and sounding appellation of Alexander Oswald Nicolai Ernestinoff Ivrestowsky. There aro two or three peculiarities about this grand polysyllabic aggregation that would faintly suggest it to be of Russian manufacture. Such, indeed, upon investigation, proves to bo .he fact, for A. O. N. E. K. wa3 born in St. Pete -sburg in the year 1853. The double name, ErnestinoffKrestowsky, is borne by his family to distinguish it from another family of Ernestinoffs, but when he came to this country and called upon a sign painter to put the name upon the door he was compelled to chop off some at each end and take a chunk out of the middle, 60 that all now remaining is Alexander Ernestinoff, and the concluding syllable had a narrow escape from going off with the other discarded sections of the name. M. Ernestinoff was not intended by his family to have a musical education, though his father, mother and sisters were all musically accomplished. At twelve years of age he was given a place in the navy, and from the school-ship was made a midshipman on the war-ship Alexander Newsky. While on this ship, during a thunder storm, as lookout on the mainmast, the lightning struck the mizzenmast and young Alexander fell into the ratlines. When taken out ho was found to be badly shocked, beside which his eyesight seamed to have been seriously injured. He was in the hospital for six weeks, unable for most of the time to see at ali, and at the end of that time his eyesight was considered to be so seriously impaired as to unfit bun for seaman•hip. His eyes were, in a measure, slowly restored, but he ha3 ever since been extremely near sighted. Returning home, at the age of fourteen years, his parents determined that be should have a musical education—the best that could be ob-. tained. He was sent to the conservatory of music, at St Petersburg, where he graduated at the age of seventeen. Even then he did not look upon his knowledge of mime as to the means of gaining a livelihood, but merely as an

accomplishment and recreation. In 1870, as a sort of a frolic, he came to the United States. He was well provided with cash, and resolvsi upon having a high old time.. He spoke German as fluently ae Russian, and bad a slight knowledge of English, which, with Russian facility at acquiring language, he soon added to, so that with the exception of the inevitable accent, ha soon spoke with sufficient ease to be able to go anvwhere in prolonging his “high old time.” He left New York and traveled South and \. est over great stretches of country. His cash running low, he took the leadership of the German Opera Company, which was then at St. Louis, and traveled with that organization for fourteen months. He then engaged with th® Pappenheim Opera Company, and while with that organization, about 1874, visited Indianapolis for tho first time. Soon afterward he took charge of a singing society in St, Louis and became a teacher at the Beethoven Conservatory in that city. From there ho came to this city and became director of the Mivnnerchor. After a year, he again returned to St. Louis to take the leadership of a German opera company. This enterprise proved to be short-lived, and went to pieces before the first pay day. He came back to Indianapolis, where he was made director of the Indiana Smngerbund, which proved to be a great success. He is now leader of the Lyra, which Is constantly increasing in membership and popularity, and is a teacher of vocal music. ALF TAYLOR AS A BOY ORATOR. Taking Ills Father’s Place in Feneuil Hall; in 1804, When Only Fifteen Years of Age. Washington Special. * It is not generally known in connection with the gubernatorial contest in Tennessee that Alf Taylor, the Republican candidate, developed high oratorical powers on the stump at an age when most boys were at school. It seems that in 1860 Mr. Taylor, sr., stumped Tennessee in behaif of the Bell-Everett ticket, and made himself so objectionable to the opposition that be was compelled to leave the State, taking refuge in New England. Mr. Taylor spent his time during the war in lecturing on behalf of the Union sympathizers of his native State. Upon one occasion, in 1864, he was billed to lecture at Faueuil Hall, but was prevented from appearing at the last moment on account of sickness. In order that the crowd might not be disappointed, young Taylor, then a boy of fifteen, was introduced by Mr. Everett and delivered the lectur® himself. The following extract from the Boston Journal, of June 15, 1865, refers to another and somewhat similar occasions “On Monday evening lectures were delivered at Odd fellows' Hall, Norristown, by Wm. Lloyd Garrison, the great champion of human freedom, and Master Alfred, Taylor, the youthful orator and refugee frona East Tennessee. Master Taylor is only sixteen, years of age. His lecture, referring to th® situation, condition and prospects of East Tennessee. and the sufferings during the war of the loyal people of that section, was very graphic, delivered with excellent oratorical effect, and was listened to with breathless attention.”

An Elephant in a Bar-Room. Philadelphia Special. After the performance to day of “Eighty Day® Around the World,” at the Walnut-street Theater, the trick elephant, seven feet tall and weighing several tons, was taken by his keeper for a walk. The keeper stopped at Rudolph’* liquor store, on Ninth street, below Walnut, and while be was taking a drink the elephant appeared at the door. Upon entering the place he made several stamps with his fore foot, evidently to ascertain if the floor was strong enough to bear him, and then walked in. The room was crowded at the time and a general stampede was the result. The elephant made a bee-line for the lunch counter and in a twinkling swallowed all that was on it, including bottles of vinegar and catsup. His manager gave him a bucket of beer, which was followed by an equal quantity of whisky. Before leaving the place ho devoured several pounds of cracker® and swallowed a number of oysters that had just been opened for a customer. A Sumptuous Head-Gear. London Truth. The Bishop of Lincoln, who has revived tho mitre as a practical portion of the episcopal cos* turne, has just been presented with a now one. It is, apparently, a fairly sumptuous piece of head-gear. The ground work is cloth of gold “richly diapered with gold thread.” The orphrey* —I take it for granted every one knows what an orphrey is—are lavishly decorated with amethyst, pearl, topaz and chrysolite, set in silver. The crockets (of course, no bishop would be seen in a mitre without crockets) are of silver gilt. If the bishops generally are as impecunious at) they protest, they will hardly bless Dr. King sots setting the fashion to this tune. Disappointing. Merchant Traveller, “Hare is a book mentioned in this paper, entitled ‘Hints on Husbandry’” said Miss’Smiggle. “I think I’ll go down town and buy me a copy.” Her brother, to whom th? remark was addressed, smiled and said nothing. That evening at the supper table ho inquired: “Did you get the book you spoke of to-day, Miranda?” “Ye-es,” was the somewhat reluctant reply. “And how did you enjoy it?”. “Well. I. reckon its a good enough book, but the title is kind o’disappointin’.” A Matter of Tasto. Boston Record. A modern Athenian, who is willing to tell a story at his own expense, relates that on one oc* casion he was drivine with Bayard Taylor, when that gentleman broke out into a warm eulogy upon the German national dish, which he pronounced to be the most delicious viand known to man. “Sauerkraut!” exclamed the Bostonian in disgust. “I never could see how any white man can eat it. I’d as soon eat compost.” “Had you?” returned Mr. Taylor, very coolly. “Well, every man to his taste. I prefer sauerkraut.”

A Carefully Worded Announcement. Albany Journal. There is some originality in the appended paragraph. which is culled from a letter announcing to a prominent young Albanian the birth of a niece: “I will answer your last question first. Julia is doing splendidly to day. She was somewhat used up yesterday, and last mcht especially, in attending and participating in the birthday exercises of our oldest daughter, a lovely girl, whom I think you have never raGt.” Quite Expensive. Milwaukee Sentinel. The Knight? of Labor convention in session at Richmond will prove quite expensive to the members of the order who stay at home and work. The expenses of the delegatee are paid by the order, and a Richmond letter says they are not less than $3,000 a day, which, for th® two weeks’ session, will amount to $70,000. Whether that amount of benefit will be derived by the members at home from its work remains to be demonstrated. The Laboring Alan’s Friend. Omaha World. Mrs. Wiegers—Dear, dear, I’m most dead, but I’ll have to go chop some wood. Mrs. Miggers—Chop wood, indeed! ‘‘Oh, he never has time to do anything. lie writes in his study an hour every day. and has to rest after that." ‘‘Humph!’ What’s he writing?’’ “Another book on the labor problem." Where Noah Had the Bulge ou Us. Great joy in Noah it begat When he came down from Ararat; No duffer gray Was there to say, He’d seen a far worse flood than that. -Tid Bits. The Heathen Turk. Norristown Herald. “Turks never drink intoxicating liquor, never abuse animals, are polite to womeu, and invariably kind to children.” The efforts of the missionaries to civilize and Christianize the Turk seem to have been a failure. Advantages of a Divorce. Boston Transcript. Lawyer—But why don’t you apply for a divorce'? Your husband will be obliged to support you. 111-treated wife—Will he? then I'll do iti. He he has never supported me siuce w* married.