Indianapolis News, Indianapolis, Marion County, 9 February 1895 — Page 9

BOV DU NAUR1ER WRITES.

*hk jtrrnoM -TWi nv” talks OP HIS L1PK A\U WORK. Bl« Plr«»«nt Home nnd Hla Kamilj — Tfc« Plot of M Trllbjr M Omce ORcred By Do Maurler .. V* Heary Jaaiea.

Ooprrtfbt. im. by S. % McClure. Limited. Aa I cvoaMd Hampstead heath I pasoed a group of devout people to whom, (standing among them a Salvation Army girl, with an Inspired face, was preaching with ardent fervor. I did not stay to listen to her, for George Du Maurler had appointed me to meet him at his house at 3 on that Sunday afternoon. But as 1 went my way, I heard these words: -Never you envy even those who seem most to be envied In this world, for in even the happiest life • • • ►■ a nd that was all. Du Maurler's house Is in a quiet little street that leads from the open heath down to the township of Hampstead, a street of few houses and of high walls, with trees everywhere and an air of seclusion and quiet over all. The house stands on the left hand as one walks away from the heath and is in the angle formed by the quiet street and a lane which leads down to the high road. It is a house of bricks overgrown with ivy, with angles and prolusions. and in the little garden which is to the left of the entrance door stands a large tree. The front door, which opens straight on the street. Is painted white and Is fitted with brass knockers of polished brilliance. As one enters the house one notices on the wall to the left. Just after the threshold is crossed, the original of one of Du Maurler’s drawings in Punch, a drawing concerning two mil-" Uonairesses,” with the text written beneath the picture in careful, almost lithographic penmanship. ‘•That was where 1 received my training in literature,” said Du Maurler. “So Anstey pointed out to m<> the other day when I told him how surprised 1 was at the success of my books, considering that I had never written before. •Never written!’ he cried out. ‘Why. my dear Du Maurler, you have been writing all your life, and the best of writing practice at that. Those little dialogues of yours which week after week you have fitted to your drawings in Punch have prepared you admirably. It was precise Writing, and gave you conciseness and added Du Maurler, ”1 believe Anstey was quite right, now that I come to think

of It.”

Yenus de Milo Enshrined. The waiting-room or hall is under an aith, to the right of the passage, which leads from the door to the staircase, a cozy corner on which a large model of the Venus De Milo looks down. -There Is my gfeat admiration," said Du Maurler, In the evening, as he pointed to the armless goddess, and went on to repeat what Heine has said, and mentioned Heine s desire for the Venus's armless embrace. It was in his study that Du Maurler received me, a large room on the first floor, with a square bay window over-' looking the quiet street on the right, gnd a large window almost reaching to the celling, and looking tn the direction of the heath, facing the door. It is unded this window, the light from which was toned down by brown curtains, that Du Maurler’s table stands, comfortably equipped and tidy. On a large blotting pad lay a thin copy book open, and one coulcl see that the right page was covered with large, round handwriting, whilst on the left page there were, in smalles, more precise penmanship, corrections, amendatlons, addenda. In a frame stood a large photograph of Du Maurler and on the other side of the inkstand was a pile of thin copy books, blue and red. “A fortnight’s work on my new novel,” said Du

Maurier.

A luxurious room it was, with thick carpets and inviting arm chairs, the walls covered with stamped leather and hung with many of the master’s drawings in quiet frames. In one corner a water color portrait by Du Maurier of Canon Alnger, and from the same brush the picture of a lady with a violin on the wall to the left of the decorative firedace. from over which. In the place of .ionor, another smaller model of the armies* Venus looks down. To the right is a grand piano, and elsewhere other furniture of noticeable style, and curtains, screens and ornaments. A beautiful room, in fact, and within It is none of the litter Of the man of letters or of the

fainter.

Du Maurler’s Appearance. It was jhere that I first saw Du Maurier, a quiet man of no great stature, who, at the first sight of him. Impresses one as a man who has suffered greatly, haunted by some evil dream or disturbing apprehension. His welcome is gentle and kindly, but lie does not smile, even when he Is saying a clever and smile-provok-

ing thing.

"You must smoke. One smokes here. It is a studio.” Those were amongst the first words that Du Maurier said, and there was hospitality in them and the

Free Masonry of letters.

“My full name is George Douls Pamela Busson du Maurler, but we were of very small nobility. My name Pamela was given me in souvenir of the great friendehip between my father’s sister and the Duchess de Pamela, who was the wife of the Portuguese ambassador to France. Our real family name Is Busson. the ‘du Maurier’ domes from the chateau I.e Maurier built some time in the fifteenth century,’ and still standing In Anjou or Maine but a brewery to-day. It belonged to our cousins, the Auberys. and in the seventeenth century it was the Auberys who wore the title du Maurler, and an Auberv du Maurler who distinguished (himself in chat century was DouU of that name, who was French ambassador to Holland, and was well iiked of the great King. The Auberys and the Bussona married and intermarried, and I can not quite say, without referring to family papers—at present at my bank—when the Bussons assumed the territorial name of du Maurier, but m> grandfather’s name was Hebert Mathurln Busson du Maurier, and hts name is always followed in the papers which refer to him by the title mientilhomme Vender,” gentleman glassblower. Jfor until the revolution, glassblowing was a monopoly of the ’genultoommes/ that is to say that no eommonen might engage in this industry, at that

time considered an art.

Aot Promt of HU Ancestry. ~ It may be added that the Busson ge-

nealogy dates from the twelfth century, and, again, that Du Maurier cares nothing about descent or noblesse. “One is never quite sure,” he says with the shadow of a smile, “about one’s descent. Bo many accidents occur. I made use of many of the names which occur In the paper* concerning my family history in

•Peter Ibbetson.’

**My father was a small rentier, whose Income was derived from our glass-works In Anjou. He was born In England, for his father had fled to England to escape the guillotine when the revolution broke out, and they returned to France in 1818. My grandmother was a bourgeoise. Her name was Brunatre, and she descended from Jean Bart, the admiral. My grandfather was not a rich man. Indeed, whilst he was In England, he had mainly to depend on the liberality of the British government, which allowed him a pension of £30 a Year for each member of his fair4 By. He died in the post of schoolmaster

Tours. _ „ ^

••My mother was an Englishwoman, and was married to my lather at the ferltlsh Embassy tn Parla, and I was born In Paris on March 6. 1834, in a lUtle house In the Champs-Elyseea. It bore the number 8) It was afterward sold by my father and has since been pulled down. I often took at the spot when I am in Fart* and am walking down the ChampE1 vines, and what 1 most regret as such limes are the pine tree* which in my

I

childhood used to be there—very different from the miserable, stumpy avenue of today. It la a disaliuston which comes upon me With equal force at each new visit, for I remember the trees, and the trees only. Indeed I only lived in the house of my feirtb for two years, for in 1836 roy parent*

THE INDIANAPOLIS NEWS’SATVUDAY,' FEBRUARY 8. 1898.

0

removed to Belgium, and here I remember with particular vividness a Belgian man servant of ours called Francis. < bllttlsli Ha 11 net unt Ions. ”1 used to ask him to take me In his arras and carry me down stairs to look at some beautiful birds. I used to think that these were real birds, each time that 1 looked at them, although in fact, they were but painted on the panes, and 1 had been told *o. Again I remember another childish hallucination which possessed me again and again. 1 used to sleep In my parents’ room, and when I turned my face to the wall a door in the wall used to open and a charbonnier, a coal man, big and black, used to come and take me up and carry me down stairs, a kmg. winding staircase. into a kitchen where his wife and children were, and treated me very kindly. In truth, there was neither door nor charbonnier nor kitchen—it was an hallucination, yet it possessed me again and again. “We stayed three years in Belgium, and when I w f as five years old I went with my parents to London, where my father took a house, the house which a year later was taken by Charles Dickens, in Devonshire terrace. Marylebone road. Of my life here I tieat remember that I used to go out riding in the park on a little pony, escorted by a groom, who led my pony bv a strap, and I did not like to be held in leash this way, and tried to get away.

(*y H/Mrsrntj . DU MAURIER AT 30.

One day, when I was grumbling at the groom, he said I was to be a good boy, for there was the Queen surrounded by her lords, and he added: ‘Master Georgie, take off your hat to the Queen and all her lords.' And then cantered past a young w’oman, surrounded by horsemen. I waved my hat. and the young woman smiled and kissed her hand to me. It was the Queen and her equerries. “We only stayed a year in Devonshire terrace, for my father grew very' poor. He was a man of scientific tastes, and lost his money in Inventions which never came to anything. So we had to wander forth again, and this time went to Boulogne, and there w-e lived in a beautiful house at the top of the Grande Rue. I had sunny hours there, and was very happy. It is a part of my life which I shall describe in one of my books. “Much of my childhood is related in •Peter Ibbetson.’ My favorite book was the ’Swiss Family Robinson,’ and next ‘Robinson Crusoe.' 1 used to devour

these books..

A ••Late Speaker*’ Ily Birth.

“I was a late speaker. My parents ust have thought me dumb. And one ly I surprised them all by coming out Ith a long sentence. It was: ‘Papa t alle chez le boucher sour acheter de viande pour maman,' and so astonished

erybody.”

George Du Maurler has recently again tonlshed everybody in a similar way, mlng forth bold and articulate and rong, after a long silence which one ncled was to be forever prolonged. ‘We used to speak both French and iglish at home, and I was brought up both languages.

DU MAURIER. FROM A RECENT PHOTOGRAPH.

'"rom Boulogne we went to Paris. I t to school at the age of thirteen he Pension Froussard in the Avenue Bo is de Boulogne. I am ashamed to that I did not distinguish myself at x>l. I shall write my school life in new novel. 'The Martian.* At the of seventeen I went up for my •hot.’ mv baccalaureate degree, at the jonne, and was plucked for my wrltLatin version. It’s true that my nose an to bleed during the examination that upset me. and. besides, the proof who was in charge of the room got an idea into hla head that I had iggled a ’crib’ tn. and kept watching so carefully that I got nervous and ried. My poor mother was very vexed i me for my failure, for we were very r at that time and it was important t I should do well. My father was i in England and shortly after my omfUure he wrote for me to Join him •e. We had not informed him of ray are. and I felt very miserable as I ised because I thought that he would very angry with me. He met me at landing at London bridge and at the it of my utterly woe-begone face, saed the truth and burst out into a • of laughter. I think that this roar ■roghter gave me the greatest pleasure r er experienced In all my life. Literary Passions, fou see my father was a scientific . and hated everything that was not nee and despised all books, the classnot less than others, which were not ntittc subjects. I. on the other hand, , fond of books, of some books at t When I was quite a boy, I was mslastic about Byron and used to 1 out the Galour and Don Juan to mother for hours together. I knew shipwreck scene in Don Juan by heart recited it again and again, and ugh my admiration for Byron has sed, I stilt greatly delight in that jnlflcent passage. I can recite every' •d of it even now. Then came Sheiiey, whom my love has lusted; and then mvaon. for whom my admiration has er wavered and will last all my life, ugh now I qualify him with BrownSwinburne was a revelation to me. en his ’Poems and Ballads' appeared, vas lltreally frantic about him, but t has worn off. - _ My father, then, never reproached for my failure in the bachot examlnaA i indeed, never once allvfded to it. He l’made up hi* mind that 1 was inded for a scientist, and determined to ke me one. So he put me as a pupil the Berkbeck Chemical Laboratory of iverslty College, where I studied cherny under Dr. WilhamsOn. I am afraid t I was a most unsatisfactory pupil, I took no intwest at all in the work, I spent almost ail my time in drawing Icatures. T drew all my life, I may , It was my favorite occupation and time. Dr. Williamson thought me a y unsatisfactory student at chemistry.

but he was greatly amused with my carl* eaturos. and we got on very well together. Amhlfloua To Be a Mimlclnn. “My ambition at that time was to go in for music ami singing, but my father objected very strongly to this wish of mine, and invariably (discouraged it. .My father, I must tell you, possessed himself the sweetest, most beautiful voice that I have ever heard, and If he had taken up singing as a profession would most certainly have been the greatest singer of his time\ Indeed, in his youth he had studied musiq for some time at the Paris Conservatorie. but his family objected to his following the profession, for they were Legitimists and strong Catholics, and you know in what contempt the stage was held at the beginning of this century. It is a pity, for there were millions in his throat. We were all musical in our family, my father, my sister, the sister who married Clement Scott, a most gifted pianiste, and then myself, I was at that time crazji about music, and used to practice my voice wherever and whenever I could, even on the tops of omnibusses. But my father always discouraged me. I remember one night we were crossing Smithfield market together, and I was talking to my father about music. ‘I am sure that 1 could become a singer,’ I said, ‘and if you like I will prove it to you. I have my tuning-fork In my pocket. Shall I show you my A?‘ “ ‘Yes,’ said my father, T should like ta hear youf idea of an A.’ So I sang the note. My father laughed. ‘Do you call that an A? Let me show you how to sing it.’ And then there rang out a note of music, low and sweet at the outset, and swelling as it went till It seemed to fill all Smithtleld with divine melody. 1 can never forget that scene, never: the dark night, the lonely place and that wave of tiie sweetest sound that my ears have ever heard. Sometime later my father relented, and gave me a few music lessons. I won him over by showing him a drawing which I had produced in Williamson’s class-room, In which I was represented bowing gracefully in acknowledgement of the applause of an audience whom I had electrified with my musical talents. Music has always been a great delight to me. and until recently, I could sing well. But I have spoiled my voice by cigarette smoking. Hi* Father’* Heath.

“My poor father, I may add, as I am speaking of hts musical powers, died— In my arms—as he was singing one of Count de Segur’s drinking songs. He left this world almost witi^ music on his lips. / “f remained at the Birkqeck Laboratory for two years, that is to say till 1854, when my father, who was still convinced that I had a great future before me In the pursuit of science, set me up on my account In a chemical laboratory in a Bard's Yard, Bucklersbury, in the city—the house Is still there: T saw it a few days ago. It was a fine laboratory, for my father being a poor man naturally fitted it up in the most expensive style, and with all sorts of Instruments. In the midst of my brightly-polished apparatus here I sat, and in the long intervals between business drew and drew. The only occasion on which the sage of Bard’s Yard was able to render any real service to humanity was when he was engaged by the directors of a company for working certain gold mines in Devonshire, which were being greatly boomed, and to which the public was subscribing heavily, to go down to Devonshire to assay the ore. I fancy they expected me to send them a report likely to further tempt the public. If this was their expectation, they were mistaken, for. after a few experiments, 1 rtent back to town and told them that there wms not a vestige of gold ln4he ore. The directors were, of course, very dissatisfied with this statement, and insisted on my returning to Devonshire to make further investigation. 1 went and had a good time of it down in the country, for the miners were very Jolly fellows, but I was unable to satisfy my employers and sent up a report which showed the public that the whole thing was a swindle, and so saved a good many people from

loss.

Adopt* Art A* a. Profession. ■My father died in 1858. and, at the age twenty-two, I returned to Paris and nt to live with my mother in the Rue radis-Poisonnlere. We were very poor, it very dull and dismal it was. Howsr, it was not long before I tered upon what was the best ie of my life. That Is. when ving decided to follow art as a profesn, I entered Gleyre’s studio to study iwing and painting. Those were my ous Quartier Latin days, spent^ in the irmlng soo'.erty of Poynter, Whistler, mstrong, Lamont and others. I have icribed Gleyre’s studio in ’Trilby. For >vre I had a great admiration, and at it time thought his ’Illusions Perdue’ a •itable masterpiece, though I hardly nk so now. My happy Quartier Latin » only lasted one year, for in 1857 we nt to Antwerp, and here I worked at > Antwerp Academy under De Keyser 3 Van Lerlus. And it was on a day in n Lerius’s studio that the greatest iredv of my life occurred.” he voice of Du Maurler, who till then 3 been chatting with animation, sudilv fell, and over the face came an ininable expression of mingled*terror and eer and sorrow. _ I was drawing from a model, when Jdenly the girl’s head eeemed to me to dndle to the size °f a walnut. I pped mv hand over my left e>e. Ha<t jeen mistaken? 1 could see as well as er. But when in its turn I covered my ht eye I learned what had happened. left eye had failed me; it might be al■•ether lost. It was so sudden a blow it I was as thunderstruck. Seeing my imay. Van Lerlus came up and asked > what might be the matter, and when told him he said that it was nothing, U he had had that himself, and so on. id a doctor whom I anxiously consulted it same day comforted me and said it the accident was a passing one. >wever, my eye grew worse and worse d the fear of total blindness beset me

istantly.

“That was the most tragic event of my life. It had poisoned all my existence.” Du Maurier, as though to shake off a troubling obsession, rose from his chair and walked about the room, cigarette in

ilium. - . “In the spring of 1859 we heard of a great specialist, who lived in Dusseldorf, and we went to seen him. He examined my eves, and he said that though the left eye was certainly lost, I had no reason to fear losing the other, but that I must be very careful and not drink beer and not eat cheese, and so on. It was comforting to know that I was not to be blind, but I have never quite shaken off the terror of that apprehension. “In the following year I felt that the time had come for me to earn my own living, and so one day I asked n»y ynother to give me £10 to enable me to go to London, and told her I should never ask her for any more money. She did not •want to let me go, and as to never asking for more money, she begged me not to make any such resolution. Poor woman, she would have given me her last penny. But it happened that I never had occasion to ask her assistance, on the contrary, the time came when I was able to add to the comforts of her existence. •My first lodging in London was in Newman street, where I shared rooms with Whistler. 1 afterward moved to rooms in Earl’s terrace, in the house where Walter Pater died. 1 began contributing to Once a Week and to Pumii very soon after my arrival In London, and shockingly bad my drawing was at the time. My first drawing in Punch appeared iiv June, 1860, and represented Whistler and myself going into a photographer’s studio, where one smokes and is ct r!r * “My life was a very prosperous one from the very outset of my dehut in London. I was married in 1883, and my wife and I never knew financial troubles. My only trouble has been my fear about my eyes. Apart from that I have been very happy.” As Du Maurier was speaking, his second son, Charles, a tall, handsome youth of distinguished manners,, entered the room. > fine S»m An Actor.

“Ah, that is the ’Murmer,’ as we call him.” said Du Maurier. “Charles is playing in ‘Money’ at the Garrick and doing well. He draws £3 a week,” said his father, “and that’s more than my eldest son, who is in the army, is earning.” “Most of the jokes in Punch are of my own, but a good many are sent to me, which I twist and turn Into form. But Postiethwaite, Bunthorne, Mrs. Ponsonby Tomkyns, Sir Gorgeous Midas and the other characters associated with my drawings are all my own creations.” “I have made many Interesting friends during my long life In London, and the lectures which 1 have delivered ail over England contains many anecdotes about them. I never met Charles Dickens to speak to him and only saw him once,

that was at Leech’a funeral. Thackeray I also only met once, at the house of Mrs. Sartorls Mrs. Sartoris, who was Adelaide Kembal—and Hamilton Aide, who knew of my immense admiration for Thackeray, wanted to introduce me to him, but I refused. I was so little and he was so great. But all that evening I remained as close to him as possible, greedily listening to his words. I remember that during the evening an American came up to him--rather a common sort of man—and claimed acquaintance. Thackeray received him most cordially and invited him to dinner. 1 envied that American, And my admiration for Thackeray Increased when, as it wds getting late, he turned to his two daughters, Minnie and Annie, and said to them: ‘A lions mesdemoiselles. il est temps de s’en aller.’ with the best French accent I have ever heard in an Englishman's mouth. “Leech was, of course, one of my intimates, my master, I may say, for to some extent my work was modeled on his. I spent the autumn of the year which preceded his death with him at Whitby. He was not very funny, but was kind, amiable, and genial, a delightful man. An Affecting Scene. “I shall never forget the scene at his funeral. Dean Hole was officiating and as the first sod fell with a sounding thud on the coffin of our dear, dead friend, Millais, who was standing on the edge of the grave, burst out sobbing. It w'as a signal, for the moment after each man in that great concourse of mourners was sobbing also. It was a memorable sight.” Then, going on to speak of his literary work, Du Maurier said: “Nobody more than myself was surprised at th# great success of my novels. I never expected anything of the sort. I did not know' that J could write. I had no idea that I had any experiences worth recording. The circumstances under which I came to write are curious. I was walking ona evening with Henry James up and lowm the Higbt street in Bayswater. James said that he had great difficulty in finding plots for his stories. ‘Plots,’ I exclaimed, T am full of plots,’ and I went on to tell him the plot of ‘Trilby.’ ’But you ought to write that story,’ cried James. T can’t write,’ I said, ’1 have never written. If you like the plot sc much you may take It.’ But James would not take it; he salt} it was too valuable a present, and that f must write the story myself. “Well, on reaching home that night, I set to work, and by the next morning I had w'ritten the first two numbers of ‘Peter Ibbetson.’ It seemed to flow from my pen, without effort. In a full stream. But I thought it must be poor stuff, and I determined to look for an omen to learn whether any success would attend this new departure. So 1 walked out intq the garden, and the t'ery first thing that 1 saw was a large wheelbarrow, and that comforted me and reassured me, for, as you will remember, there is a wheelbarrow in the first chapter of ‘Peter IbbetSOH.’ “Peter Ibbetnon” Accepted. “Some time later I was dining with Osgood and he said, T hear, Du Maurier, that you are writing stories,’ and asked me to let him see something. So ’Peter Ibbetson* was sent over to America, and was accepted at once. Then ’Trilby’ followed, and the ‘boom’ came, a boom which surprised me Immensely, for I never took myself au serleux as a novelist. Indeed, this ’boom’ ratber distresses me when I reflect that Thackeray never had a ‘boom.’ And I hold that a ‘boom’ means nothing as a sign of the literary excellence, nothing but money.” He works at irregular intervals and in such moments as he can snatch from his “Punch” works. “For,” he says, “I am taking more pains than ever over my drawing.” And, so saying, he fetched an album, in which he showed me the elaborate preparation in the way of studies and sketches which was the preliminary fo a cartoon which will appear in a week or two in his paper. One figure, from a female model, had been drawn several times. There was here the infinite capacity for taking pains. “I usually write on the top of the piano, standing, and I never look at my MS. My best time Is just after lunch. My writing is frequently Interrupted, and 1 walk about the studio and smoke, and then back to the MS. once more. Afterward I revise vecj' carefully now, for I am taking greaY pains with my new book. ‘The Martalns’ la to be a very long book, and I can not say when it will be finished.” A summons from Mrs. Du Maurier to the drawing-room, where tea was served, here interrupted the conversation. A comfortable room, with amiable people, whom one seemed to recognize. Over the mantel three portraits of Du Maurler's children by himself. . “Les Viola,” he said, not without pride. Above these a water-color picture of the character of the drawings in “Punch.” “It has been hawked round all over America and England,” said Du Maurier of this picture, “at exhibitions and places, but nobody would buy it.” At HU Best After Forty.

Over the fire in the comfortable room the conversation touched on many things. “Every book which is worth anything,” said Du Maurier, ’‘has had its original life.” And again, “I think that the best years in a man's life are after he Is forty. So Trollope used to say. Does Daudet say »o, too? A man at forty has ceased to hunt the moon. I would add that, in order to enjoy life after forty, it is perhaps necessary to have achieved, before reaching that age, at least some success.” He spoke of the letters he had been receiving since the “boom,” and said that on an average he received five letters a day from Amerloa of a flattering description. “Some of my correspondents, however, don’t give a man his ‘due,’ ” he remarked, with the shadow of a smile. Du Maurler speaks willingly and enthusiastiioally about literature. He is an ardent admirer of Stevenson, and quoted with gusto the passage in “Kidnapped,” where the scene between David Balfour and Cluny is described. “One would have to look at one’s guests,” he said, “before inviting them, if not precisely satisfied with one’s hospitality, to step outside, and take their measure. Imagine me proposing sfuch an arrangement to a giant Hke Yal Prineep.’’ The day on which he is able to devote mast time to writing is Thursday. “C’cst mon grand jour.” On Wednesdays he is engaged with a model; a female model comes every Friday. It Is characteristic of the man that he should work with such renewed application at his old craft. In spite of the fact that circumstances have thrown wide open to him the gates of a new career , He reminds one as to physique and in certain manifestations of a very nervous temperament of another giant worker, whose name is Emile ZolaBeit he is altogether origina and himself a strong and striking individuality; a man altogether worthy of respect; a man altogether deserving of his past .„d present^g^XsHERRABD.

BOAT’S FOR WRITERS. The Writer. Don’t fail to write your name and address at the top of the first sheet of every manuscript you send out. Don’t fix a price on your manuscript, unless you are famous enough, or independent enough, to be able to dictate your pwn terms. Don’t bother editors with inquiries. They don’t hunger for more letters than they get. Most of them gave up watching for the postman long ago. Don’t get discouraged. Read, observe, and think, as well as write, and if you have the talent in you. with perseverance you are certain to succeed. Dou’t fail td note the approximate number of words in the manuscript—or the number of lines if it is a poem—at the right hand top of the first page. Don’t let a good manuscript lie idle because two or three editors have rejected it. If you feel sure that it is good, keep sending it around till it is either accepted or worn out. Don't omit to have your address either .written or printed on -the corner of every envelope that you send through the mails, so that if your letter is not delivered, it ■will be returned to you. Don’t buy a typewriter if you can’t afford it. You can get your manuscripts typewritten in the best style for 8 cents a hundred words. But don’t fail to buy a typewriter if you can afford to pay the cost. Don’t overlook the fact that most of the manuscripts submitted to editors nowadays are typewritten, and that unless your handwriting is particularly legible, your manuscript needs to be typewritten also, to stand an even chance of success.

Success attends etery baking with Dr. Price’s (’ream Baking Powder, oacause it's absolutely pure.

CLOTHES MEN WILL WEAR.

INDICATIONS OF THE COMING SPRING STYLES.

OpportunHie* For Novel Combinations of Color—Modification* of the Frock Coat—Changes In Cutaways and Sacks.

New York Sun. Count Castellane walked down Fifth avenue one afternoon two weeks ago with some clothes that attracted attention. In Paris the Count Is familiarly known as the "Powder Puff.” because of hls blonde hair and mustache and pink cheeks. He wore on Fifth avenue a bottle-green frock coat, not a quiet suggestion of a green tinge, but a real bottle green. The lapels of this coat were faced with green satin, and they were open, showing a bottle-green double-breasted waistcoat. His trousers were also green, and so was hls scarf.

CUTAWAY COAT AND BUSINESS CUTAWAY.

*

Count Castellane's remarkable clothes imve been talked abov^t In the clubs ifthere he has been entertained. They are (fcnsidered eccentric and extreme, but In Rie color of his frock coat he was carrying out the suggestion made by London tailors at least six months ago. The John J. Mitchell Company in their spring and summer fashion plates, which will be Issued this week, indicate that browns and aavens and attractive mixtures of these ■mndatlons will prevail in men’s clothes. The changes in the style of men's clothes are Just marked enough to make last spring’s pronounced fashions noticeably but of date. i The best tailors will make an effort this spring to tone down some of the absurdities into which they were led last spring. Of course this applies only to tfie clothes that are made for men who desire to be abreast of the fashions or to lead them. To satisfy this desire the tailors were led to construct double-breasted frock coats with ample skirts that flapped against the calves of their wearer’s legs. They evolved the long-tailed cutaway with skirts that tapered down, and which was known aa the “Dove.” That Is a thing of the past. The extreme dovetailed cutaway will be as much out of style this spring aa would be the old scoop waistcoat of half a dozen years ago. The fashions, as indicated by the best tailors, are much more sedate and sensible than they were a year ago. There are certain standard styles for men who depend entirely on the Ideas of their tailors fur their clothes, and these Mr. Mitchell has outlined. Speaking of some of these styles, Mr. Mitchell said yesterday:

SOFT-ROLL SACK SUIT. DOUBLE

BREASTED SUIT.

already relegated to the everlasting bowi wows. The fabrics of which It will be j made are the finest that were ever manuA _ factored; ail Us lines will be graceful; it j will not offend the eye by angles; its shoulders will be of natural width; its sleeves will have a slight but graceful elbow curve, and. whether bound or stitched on the edges, its finish will be plain, neat and pleasing. To be definite, its back lengths, for a man of average bight, will be 18 and 38 inches, and the length of the roll will range from 5U, to 6 inches. The fronts will be cut away to show one button of the vest, will only suggest an angle, and will be slightly curved to midway of the skirts and then rounded so as as faintly to define a narrow bottom. For business wear the suit will generally be of one material, and the fabrics that will be chiefly used are heather mixtures, bronze and green effects, etc., and dark blue grays and oxfords iniworsteds and chevi-

ots.

"For general business wears a new style of cutaway suit was introduced in the latter part of last season which will have some admirers. It was suggested by and is a modification of a hunting suit, and the coat, vest and trousers are made from the same material—fancy cheviot, Scotch tweed, whipcord, etc. The most genteel and artistlo style of the coat will average from 19 to 19Vi Inches waist length, with a full length of from 33 to 34 Inches, 19 and 34 being preferable. The back will be the same as for a three-but-ton cutaway, but the fronts will be cut close to the waist, where they will be a trifle scant, so that they may be slightly curved from the second lowest button into the skirt, which will be boldly rounded from the waist seam to the bottom.” There are to be some slight changes In the suits that well-dressed men will wear.

The double-breasted sack for a man cf average hight will range from 31 to 32 inches In legnth, and the popular ma-

average

will range from 31 to 32

terials will be mixed cheviots and Scotch goods in plaids. The short business cutaway promises to become popular also. This coat has been worn more or less for

several years, and English tailors have tried to make it popular. The skirts of such a cutaway are very little longer than the skirts of a sack coat of the average length. Fat men will be permitted to cling to the one-button cutaway. “The styles for evening suits," said Mr. Mitchell, “are about as they were a year ago, and the same fabrics will be used. The favorite style for the coat will have peaked lapels and a long roll, with skirts tapered to a narrow bottom, but not to a point, and the swell thing will be to have the collar and lapels silk, covered to the edge, and not to show the collar seam. Equally correct, however, will be a roll silk-faced to the holes, with the collar of the doth. The velvet collar, which was tolerably well liked last season, will not be seen, for it is too warm in effect

except for fall and winter.

“The lengths will average 18 and 39 inches; the edges will be finished plain, as a rule, for very soft fabrics, but for all others they will be bound narrow, to imitate cord, or be corded. With the plain edges the sleeves will have threebutton vents, but with <he others imitation cuffs, closed with three buttons.

COAT. STRAIGHT SACK COAT.

FRONT

“The vest, generally of the same material as!the coat, but sometimes of white silk.or marseilles. will have a pronounced shield-shaped opening, with or without a collar—generally. with, will close with three or four buttons, and will average 25V4 inches in length. When made of white material It will sometimes be double-breasted, opening nearly as low as tha single-breasted style, and closing with three buttons. “The trousers will average 18% inches at the knee and 16% to 17 at the bottom, and they will have a slight spring. The side-seams may show a self-woven stripe, or b- braided narrow, corded, or ornamented with tracing or coutache braid or with both. “The most popular fabrics will be dullfinished creps, dress vicunas, dress granites, dress worsted broadcloths, dress corkscrews, shtln-flnished worsteds and raised worsted twills. “The Tuxedo, or dress sack, will be made from the same fabrics as the dress coat, and will be the same in the back a.1 a regular sack; but the fronts will be slightly cut away, and will have a shawl roll of medium length, silk covered to the edge. This sack is a dress negligee, but not a dress coat. It can properly be worn only on seml-ceremonlous occasions, when the rest of the costume is correct for evening dress.” However much New York men may disclaim It, their fashions are largely led by those of London. This is particularly true as regards scarfs, gloves and linen. The latest English overcoats that have been sent to this city indicate the popularity of velvet trimming* for cuffs and collars on all coats where they may be worn.

"Our indications of the coming styles are based on observation of what has been done In the past and on suggestions made by leading tailors and men who have the reputation of dressing well. “Except In the materials used there will be but little variety in overcoats, and tha Chesterfield or fly-front oversack will be worn by an overwhelming majority of the well-dressed men of the world. This overcoat deserves the popularity it has enjoyed almost without interruption for nearly a quarter of a century, and, like the evening dress coat, is not hkely to go out of style so long as men continue to wear clothes fashioned according to the ideas that now prevail about the com* blnatlon of utility and art In dress. Both of course, will change in details; they will grow long and short, and take upon themselves at different times the various expressions they have heretofore assumed* to be again discarded, and now and then will, as they always have, evolve some new effect that will add to their beauty or convenience, but they will remain essentially the same. The only other style of overcoat that will be much worn is the nine-lived covert coat, whose death has been prophesied season after season for many years, except, of course, for the purpose for which it was originally intended—horseback riding.” The Chesterfield overcoat will be considerably shorter than it was last season, a trifle looser at the waist, and somewhat more ample, at the bottom. The covert coat for a man of average hight will range fi'om 34 to 35 inches in length, and it will not be worn except with a sack oj a short business cutaway frock coat. It will be a half-box with a whole back. The double-breasted frock coats are to be made shorter, so that the skirts will not fall below the knee. The skirts will have what is known as a decided French press; that Is. they will be indented at tha side plaits, which extend from the hip buttons down, in a pronounced manner. The edges will be single-stitched for all soft materials. A few months ago the old Beau Brummel skirt was in favor, but# this spring. although the skirt will be cut full at the bottom, they will not show an extravagant amount of bottom width. The waistcoats for these suits w'U generally be of the same material as the coat, and single breasted. T^e double-breasted waistcoat, however, with cut off. well peaked lapels, closing with four buttons during the spring and three buttons during the summer, will also be worn. Waistcoats in fancy patterns and in colors are matters of individual taste. Mr. Mitchell said of the cutaway frock suits: "The three-button cutaway suit, except for general business wear, will be more admired than it ever has been. Every objectionable feature of the coat will have disappeared. The abbreviated, broadbottomed skirts that once gave it a dumpy and poverty-stricken appearance, will be conspicuous by their absence, and the long, attenuated, trowel-shaped ones that made It absurd as one tans last ysar, are

DOUBLE-BREASTED FROCK COAT. BACK OF CHESTERFIELD OVERCOAT.

The butterfly tie has had its day. The latest ties from London are perfectly straight. For evening wear, the tie is rather broad, and, instead of being plain. It has small and almost invisible squares or checks. The old-time Ascot or puff scarf has again established Itself in popI ular favor. The four-in-hand that ties in j a small knot and flares broadly below it, J has already become a back number. FourI in-hands are now tied loosely and with the i ends hanging straight down In a somewhat 1 straggling fashion. These ties come in a i broad, long band, so that the wearer must | fold them to suit himself. White doublet breasted waistcoats have lost none of j their popularity for evening dress. In I fact, they have become the proper thing, 1 and they have crowded out black waist- | coals at all of the recent dances where i fashion and style play an important part. ! The opera hat that was scoffed and I characterized only a few years ago is now( i almost a necessity for evening dreks. A heavy white glove, almost a* heavy as a I dogskin glove, has been Introduced, and i has found popularity for street wear with I evening dress. It is probable that, fol- ! lowing Count Castellane’s example, some I of New York's younger men. who are ; striving to lead In dress, may evolve some startling effects in greens and browns, and thus find happiness.

San Francisco’s able chemist. Dr. W. T. Wenzell, declares Dr. Price’s Baking Powder absolutely pure.

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SCIENTIFIC MISCELLANY.

The Dally Activity of Animals. A method of recording the dally activity of animals was described at the late meeting of the American Physiological Society. A circular cage, rotated by the slightest movement of the animal. Is used, and the motion Is automatically recorded on a moving strip of paper. Rats, mice and squirrels have been made to report their periods of activity and rest by this means. Rats and mice divide their time into about twelve hours of rest during the day and twelve hours of intermittent work at night, short intervals of work in the latter period being interrupted by nearly equal rests. The squirrel, in winter, works steadily for twenty minutes to two hours early In the morning, and is sometimes active for a few minutes late in the evening, resting nearly twenty-two hours a day. Food has a decided Influence. Diet rich in proteid induces great activity, fat having the opposite effect, and reducing the actual work of rats and mice from six| or eight hours to a few minutes. No uniform effect of alcohol could bo demotlstrated. The activity of animals is increased by high barometric pressure.

tensity of the sun’s rays passing through It. In July, 1886!. the great eruption of Etna filled the air in Ks vtoirvity with an impalpable duet, which fell gently, and gave the smi a slight reddlah tinge. On a cairn, cloudless day it was found that 28 per cent, of the heat tranemitted by pure air was intercepted by this dust. Copper As Plant Food. In German experiments, copper has been found to prolong the existence of leaves on potato plants.and increase the number and size of the tubers. A 2 per cent, solution of sulphate of copper tn time water was sprinkled on the plants.

Elephants la Enrope. About 120 elephants are now living In Europe, according to Mr. C. J. Cornish, Nearly all belong to the Indian species,, less docile African elepjiants numbering only about a half dozen. A Near Giraffe. A new species of giraffe, of a bright chestnut color, with almost Invisible white stripes, has beet discovered In Somaliland, by Major Wood, of the Brit* ish army.

STEEL HAIL STREET PAVING.

Food Effect* of Cooking. The refinements and changed conditions of modern civilization are transforming man into quite a different creature from that of a few generations ago. The latest suggestion is that we are bringing upon ourselves a degeneration of the intestinal tract. An eminent French surgeon declares that a certain American instrument for intestinal use is too large, leading the London Lancet to ask whether the intestine among the French is really smaller than among Americans, and. if so, how' fur French cooking—notoriously the best in the world—Is responsible for the difference. Digestion being made easy so to speak, is it the case that a partial arrest of development has been the consequence? The magnificent teeth of savages have caused dental decay to be sometimes looked upon as a product of civilization dependent to a great extent upon knives and forks; and it may be worth while to inquire whether the human race has any reason to dread analogous deterioration as a result of elaborate cookery, and whether dainty dishes are a physiological mistake. Strnetnre of tlie Are Light. The formation of the electric arc between carbon rods has been exhibited by Prof. J. A. Fleming In a Royal Institution lecture. Experiment has proven that the arc can not be started unless either the rods are first brought into contact or the insulating power of the Intervening air is broken down by an electric spark. In a magnified image of the arc it is seen that the positive carbon is most Intensely hot at the extremity, and is hollowed out into a crater, from wdilch about 80 per cent, of the light Is emitted. The negative carbon is less hot.’ The space between the two, the true arc, is filled with carbon vapor, which has the violet color of Incandescent carbon, while outside this is an aureole of carbon vapor of a golden color. The light, being due chiefly to the incandescence of the carbon In the crater. Is most intense in the direction from which the lagest area of the crater can be seen.

The Air A* n Hock Carrier. The air has received too little credit as a geological agent, in the belief of Prof. J. A. Udden, of Augustana College. It is 813 times lighter than water, and exerts wave motion on the earth’s surface, the erosive effect of wind, therefore, being important only In regions Of abrupt and broken reliefs under a dry climate. Rock material can be transported by the atmosphere only as fine dust, the largest quartz particles an ordinary strong wind can sustain being about 1-250 of an inch in diameter. The carrying capacity of air for smaller particles Is great, being estimated to be, at a velocity of five miles an hour, abouth l-]000th of that of an equal volume of water. The whole atmosphere over the Mississippi valley, If the wind blows ten times as fast as the water runs, may transport 1,000 times as much dust as the river.

New York System Suggested Fo* Chicago Thorough fu res—PI an. Chicago Record. It Is proposed to pave Chicago witty steel rails. W. W. Garland, of this city, has laid the system before contractors, who, he says, have looked favorably upon It, but have not made any arrangement to use It. The pavement consists of steel rails, T* shaped, which are laid two and a hall inches apart, and spaced by dividing blocks of either wood or cast Iron. The spaces between the rails are filled witty concrete, asphaltum or some such mateJ

rial. The webs of the rails rest updfn wooden stringers, which are laid upon a foundation of crushed stone. The webs are tapering, so that the rails can be removed easily when repairs are to be made below the surface. The asphalt or concrete between the rails serves to give footing and also deadens the sound of travel. It Is claimed that this paving will endure forty years. The approaches to (he Pavonla ferry, the wharf and pier In New York, ara paved with the rails, and Mr. Garland declares that If a single block of street downtown or a single bridge were paved with the rails, there would be a general demand for It. He claims that the cost a square yard would be 12.21.

AN ELEC TRIC CANE. A Very Handy Article Made By « Vienna Novelty Finn. A Vienna electrM supply house has Just introduced a canP containing an eleotrio incandescent lamp. It Is made of ebonite. The upper half can be taken off, and con-4 tains tn the head of cut glass the lamp, connected by wires with three small platlna-sink elements. The strength of

V/4 ^ ^ .0. THE ELECTRIC CANE.

A Low Temperature Anomaly. Cotton and other substances, regarded as bad conductors of heat, have been tested under great cold at M. Raoul Pictet’s laboratory. At temperatures lower than about 80 degrees below zero C., the substances behaved like perfect conductors of heat radiation; and copper cylinders cooled to 170 degrees below zero (274 degrees below zero. F.) rose in temperature quite as rapidly when Ineased with a layer of cotton wool twenty inches thick as when naked. At temperatures higher than 80 degrees below zero the influence of the packing became perceptible, and the rate of warming varied with the thickness of the layer. t

A New Fiber Process. A new process for manufacturing paving blocks, building materials and other objects from wood fiber is reported to have been patented In Switzerland and other countries. The fiber is first rendered antiseptic by treatment with vitriol, corrosive sublimate, etc., and is then mixed with a suitable agglomerant, having mortar as a base. 'Hie plastic material so obtained Is pressed into molds. The objects made are light, porous and tough, bad conductors of sound and heat, and can be safred, nailed and otherwise treated

like wood.

A Man Dissolved lu Acid. In a recent terrible accident in a chemical factory at Mulhouse, Alsace, a man was literally and completely dissolved in sulphuric acid. An explosion of nitrobenzol seems to have blown him Into a large trough containing sulphuric acid to a depth of about three feet, and the discovery In this trough of hts rubber respirator. with some porcelain buttons and other more or less insoluble articles, was the only evidence of hts fate. Artificial Whalebone. Artificial whalebone is made from leather by a German Inventor. The material is soaked for three days in sul-

current is four amperes, tension six vo)ta« To fill the battery the lower part Is flue4 with a fluid patented by the Inventor, Mr, vohwinkel, and the two parts are then firmly joined. When the head of the can3 is lowered or Inclined, the lamp emits » brilliant white light which may be kept un for about two hours. While the cane is carried upright no material Is wasted. Thn fluid can be easily replaced, and anybody! can refill the reservoir. The weight o« th« cane Is a trifle more than a pound.

JAPANESE IDEAS.

Japanese officers are more Ilka thf French than the German type. Their discipline is kindly, and they live on famillaF terms with their men. Japan Is almost the only instance known of an aristocratic government deliberately overturning its cherished Institutions and forming a modern limited monarchy. Above the doorway of the Gankiro Music Hall, in Yokohama, years ago, wag printed in English: "For the amusement of foreigners. No dogs or Chinamen admitted.” Oki, or Oki-no-Kuni, consists of twe groups of islands off the Izumo coast. The Ok! people boast of having the purest blood in Japan, and tfley are nearly all Shintoist*. The Japanese trace descent only from the father. Thus, when an aristocrat mar« rles a plebeian wife, their children are bis equals and quite her superiors, and ara ept to look down upon her. The Ralju, the thunder animal or lightning, can not pass through a mosqulte curtain. Hence, during a thunder-storm, you will see a whole family squatting is the middle of the floor and covered with « mosquito netting. Of course, the educated people do not believe such rubbish. The little insect known as the deathwatch, from tts ticking sound, is called tn Japan Blmbo-mushi, the poverty Insect, and its presence in the house is held to prefigure the coming of Birabo-gaml. the God of Poverty, whose servant Bltn-bo-musht Is. So he also has to be cast out by putting a coin in an old blow-pipe and throwing it out of the house.

phate of potassium, then stretched on a frame, slowly dried, exposed to & high temperature, and aiterward put under heavy pressure. Genuine whalebone Is eoaroe, and good Imitatidba will find

abundant uses. Atmospheric* Dnst.

Investigations by Prof. A. Bantoli have proven that atmospheric dust exerts a very oonslderable influence «n the in-

'Not Hls Fonlt. Boston Budget! Mrs. Newrich—Suzanne, tell Robert, th* butler, that if he must smoke In the kitchen to use better tobacco. Suzanne—I did tell him, but he eesa they’re the best cigars master has. Price’s Cream Baking Powder has ad* taiaed perfection. It’s absolutely pi