Semi-weekly Express, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 4 June 1897 — Page 6

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LOU MTEZ OUT IES1 ¥i

HER LIFE 1* RETIREMENT IN A LITTLE ,T. MINING TOWN.

HOUSEKEEPING AND RECEPTIONS

Horsewhipping an Editor—Calling In Ballet Costume on a Minister—Her Domesticated Bears.. 1

The two stories about the beautiful Lola Montez and her melancholy death in New York in January, 1S61, recently published have been read with interest by a host of old Californians, who remember the young woman when she lived In a raw mining town in Central, California. "I have always wondered what truth there was in the stories that Lola Montez filed alone and in poverty in New York," said John Johnston, an old-time Californian, living at Los Angeles, the other flay, "and that long quotation from the ftiary of a responsible clergyman (the fctev. Dr. Francis L. Hawksi, who was With the woman in her last days, is intensely interesting to many of us who Were neighbors and associates of the fascinating Montez at Grass Valley fortybdd years ago."" Lola Montez capie to pan Francisco in June, 1853, by way of the Isthmus of Panama. The mines in California were pouring out millions in those days, and an army of men had grown from poverty to wealth in a few years. Ban Francisco was a city of some 30,000 people, and it was probably the gayest, liveliest and most extravagant city of its Size in the world. Lola Montez had heard of the golden dollars in the new El Dorado and had sent her manager to San Francisco to arrange a series of dancing performances for her in the large towns of California. No theatrical or operatic Etar ever had the reception in this state that Lola Montez had in San Francisco. For weeks previous the poulation was at fever heat to see the famous beauty who had set the courtiers and some of the royalty of continental Europe wild with enthusiasm by her grace and artful naughtiness. Any one with the reputation of extravagance and beauty of Montez was much in demand in San Francisco in those days. When the steamer bearing the dancer and her party reached the wharf at San Francisco over 5,000 persons were gathered to greet her. For days there had been little talked of except the coming of the most

FASCINATING WOMAN

of Europe. When Montez descended the gangplank from the steamer and was helped into an open carriage, the multitude cheered as if going crazy. Hundreds of men ran along with the carriage when kola Montez was driven to her hotel. For days there were throngs of men constantly in the streets about the hotel waiting a chance to see the celebrated beautv. Seats at the old American Theatre, on the corner of Safl.some and Halleck streets, where she appeared, were sold at prices ranging frofrt "$7 to $20 each. The whole house at the first performance sold for about $4,500. When the dancer appeared to perform her spider dance the audience rose as one person, and shook the building with applause. Many old men, who have since been all over the world, and have seen enthusiastic receptions of actors and opera singers, say they never saw anything that equalled that .given Lola Montez that' night. Lola Montez was the star in a melodrama written in New York for her with a view to .giving her opportunities to perform her spider and butterfly dances. The plot was a part of her own life in Bavaria. There were six performers in the drama. Lola Montez was gorgeously attired that night and in excellent humor, but when the echoes of the tirst extravagant applause had died away the audience was disenchanted. The dancing was given twice, and there were no further encores. Lola Montez saw that she had been over ad^ vertised. *Six more performances to fair audiences were given, and then, there being no further demand for seats, the engagement closed. While she denounced the San Francisco people generally for their fickleness in giving her a rousing welcome and then turning their backs upon her, she had. a dozen intimate friends among the wits and moneyed men in the city of the Golden Gate. She gave costly suppers, ordered champagne from Paris purposely for her table, and kept a retinue of servants. Every one admitted that Montez was a fascinating and beautiful young woman who had had wonderful opportunities to become the brilliant talker she was, but the public looked upon her as

AN ADVENTURESS

who'cared only to harvest a lot of California dollars and then sail away to other climes. Among thfci'tihkmplons if the woman was'a young Irish editor Pat Hull of Ban Francisco. He and She became fast friends*-: She said Hull was the best EtorjNiteller she ever knew. Hull had been a stump speaker in Ohio and Pennsylvania in the campaign of 1848, and president Taylor appointed him to come to the Territory of California and superVise' the census of 1850. Hull liked the country and became an editor in San iFrancisco. He had the proverbial Irish Wit, and his audacity pleased Lola Montez. He was not at all good looking and Was slouchy in his dress. So when it was announced in November, 1853, that he pnri Montez had married there was a sensation in the city. Hull and Montez went to Monterey on their wedding tour, and A few weeks later to Sacramento. It seems that there the bride met an asent sent to California by King Louis of Bavaria bearing a request for the beauty to return to Paris. Hull was angry because of his wife receiving messages from old admirers, and after a war of words liis personal belongings were thrown from the second-story window of the Golden Eagle Hotel in Sacramento and his wife bade him begone. Hull returned to San Francisco and obtained a divorce as soon as the law permitted. At about that time Lola Montez met in Sacramento two old friends, Mr. and Mrs. George Knapp, whom she had known in New York with Whom she came to California. They were living in the raw mining town of Grass .Valley away up in the Sierras, in Nevada county. They invited her to visit them there. The young woman went, p,nd, strange to say, she fell in love with the rude wild town at once. There were but few well-built houses there then, and pot over half a dozen of them had more than three rooms each. Most of the houses and stores were built of rough redwood boards. There were over 2,500 red-shirted men in town and about 300 women. There never was a more democratic community. Every one made money and spent it. In the population were sons of some of the best American and European families. They had come there to 'dig riches in the mountains, were two nephews of Victor Hugo, a son of Senator Foote of Mississippi, a son of Moses GrinneU of New York, and a nephew of Charles Sumner. Graduates from

OXFORD AND HARVARD

associated with ignorant Mexicans and fugitives from justice. This phase of life had interest for Lojia Montez. She established a home theYe that'ls siill pointSd out to visitors In the town." Mrs, Dora Knapp. who recently died at Ortt'ario." Dal-, was.nearer Lola, ^Montez than any »ne else in California. A little before Her lea th Mrs. KAapp'had a" talk with the writer concerning the life of the famous beauty and dancer in Grass Valley. She said: "We knew Lola Montez as the Countess of Lansfeldt the title was conferred on her by the King of Bavaria. She was angry if any one referred to her as Lola Montez in her home, and she said she did not want to be known as Mrs. Pat Hull. The countess was a marvelously beautiful woman. She had snapping black eyes, a wealth of brown hair, an olive complexion, a graceful, plump figure, and the most shapely neck and arms I have ever seen. Her vivacity was infectious. She was quick to anger, and her devotion was as extreme as her hate. The very day the countess arrived in the ramshackle old stage coach in Grass Valley •b* was pleased with th® pl&cc. She

t' Jtf

'never kept anything back that came into her mind, and we knew from her manners that she had come to the very locality she had longed for. The opinion obtains that Lola Montez went to live in

Grass Valley because she was too poor to live respectably in a large city or among fashionable people. While she was subsequently quite poor, it is not true that she was financially embarrassed in Grass Valley. She had at that time at least $14,000 to her credit in New York and San Francisco banks, and I know she frequently had letters from titled gentlemen »in Europe, begging her to come there and live off their bounty. It was simply because she was weary of splendor and the fast living of the people whom she had known for nearly a decade that made Lola Montez turn with such fondness to a life in a mining town such as Grass Valley. Of course, every one in Grass Valley wanted to see Lola Montez dance, and in the course of a week an entertainment was arranged in the old Alta Hall, in the second story of a building that had a large saloon downstairs. The seats were $5 each, and there were a few rows of chairs in front that were listed at $10 each. The whole house was sold in a day, and there was such a call for another entertainment that a few evenings- later the second dancing was given at the same

SCHEDULE OF PRICES

to another packed house. That was the last public performance that the young woman ever gave in California. In the course of a fortnight the countess leased the little Stottenberg cottage on what is now Mill street. It was a cross between a rude •.mountain traii and a country street in those days.'* I doubt if I ever saw a more enthusiastic person about having a home of her own that the countess was when she was unpacking her effects and overseeing the arrangement of the new furniture in the little six-room house. She had trunks full of bric-a-brac and mementos of her European days. I asked her if she never pined for the palace in Munich and the superb balls and banquets in Paris and Vienna. She answered with her sweet French accent: 'Never, never. Ah, you little know, Mme. Knapp, what sorrow and distress every one has in such gayety. I am only sorry that I never before had a little home like this and friends who really love me before I became so notorious—for notorious I have been never famous.' "All the little rooms at the cottage were prettily furnished for those days in a mining town. Gardens were made about the house, and the countess and her manservant went far and wide in search of all manner of strange plants and crazy wild shrubbery from the mountainsides and canons to plant there. The countess herself donned old calico gowns and got down on her hands and knees and planted many a shrub. She was the first person in that region who ever saw grotesque beauty in the cactus. I believe hers was the first Collection of growing cacti made for ornamental purposes among the thousands that have been made in California. After a few months a wooden bear pen was established on the place and two black bears that had been captured were put there. Nothing in Grass Valley interested the countess more than her bears. She never missed a daily visit to the beasts, and usually she went to feed them several times, a day. The countess introduced the evening salon at Grass Valley. She had to be in a whirl of some social excitement all the time, much as she claimed, and at times believed, she really loved the peace and quiet of a secluded cottage. Every one in Nevada county knew about the 'pretty Frenchwoman's fandangos,' as they were enviously called by the hundreds of persons who craved invitations to them. Only a year or so ago United States Senator VV. M. Stewart of Nevada chatted with me about Lola Montez's salon and how he used to count the days between the receptions for he was often asked to join them.

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They were merely evening meetings of convivial, genial, and bright men at the cottage of the countess. There were champagne, brandy, and wine to drink, and all the new fancy drinks were tried there as fast as any one* in the company heard of them. Cake, fruit, and occasionally a pudding or a Spajiish dish comprised the edibles and every one smoked. The Hugo nephews

WERE ALWAYS THERE

and a son of Preston B. Brooks of South Carolina was usually in the assemblage. About a dozen persons looked forwafd every week to the Wednesday evening salon at the countess's home, and every new song that was put, every neat story that was read or heard, every bit of eloquence or scrap of humor or pathos that any of the young men came across, was preserved until the next salon experience meeting,' it was called—took place at the countess's. Sometimes the genial spirits would protract their stay until daybreak, and the music of songs, guitars, accordeons, and violins was always a feature of these, affairs. The countess was the central figure at each meeting, and while the said people oft he town wagged their tongues at the doings at the house, the countess made her receptions only the more frequent and noisy. Sometimes she would arry herself in her old stage gowns and prove to her visitors that she had not forgotten how to dance, and at the close would pass the hat for contributions for the refreshments for the next meeting. One day she had a war of words, with a local editor, named Shipley about an article on some local subject. The next week Shipley published an item insinuating that the meetings at the countess's home were disgraceful. As soon as the countess saw the item she dressed herself in her riding habit, and with her riding whip in .her hand went straight down to see Shipley. She found him near where the American Hotel now stands, and gave him as many hard cuts across the face as she could until Shipley, who was a large man and towered above her, caught the whip and wrenched it from her grasp. Another time she came home and found a man playing with her bears. She ordered him from the premises. He told her to go to Hades, and she ran into the house, and, cominjr out with a loaded musket in her little hands, chased him down Mill street. When one of her bears died she was inconsolable for a few days. Once, when she heard that a Methodist clergyman named Wilson had spoken of her as a 'shameless devil in the guise of a beautiful and fascinating dancer,' she went home, dressed in her old-time dancing garb, with very short, fleecy skirts, and a .low-necked and sleeveless waist, and long silk stockings, and, putting on a .pair of heavy shoes, walked calmly down the street to the pastor's house, knocked at the front door, and asked for the Rev. Mr. Wilson. Mrs. Wilson was paralyzed to have a caller so dressed at her house iJnd could not speak. When Mr. Wilson

CAME IN HIS PARLOR

the countess told him she had come to shqw how really modest the dress of a stage dancer was, and asked him to tell her wherein her deviltry was. A short time afterward she repeated her act and sent good money donation to the pastor's family as a peace offering. There were* some excellent traits in Lola Montez. She was easily moved to help the poor and suffering, and she had devotion for a good woman, who had a mean husband and an unhappy home. She once told me that the noblest thing in all the world was a good mother and a true wife. I could relate several instances of how this charming woman of the world used to go and sit by the bedside of miners in their rude cabins when they were very ill or dying. She was nothing of a nurse, but she did what she could to cheer the poor fellows' lonely hours by her presence and the singing of a ballad. The fact that the miners were dying thousands of miles from their old homes, and that there were sisters and mothers back in the'eastern states who would have given almost anything to be where she was to help the sick and dying, appealed to her powerfully. She gave generously from her purse whenever the hat was passed to bury a miner, for good coffins, used to cost several times as much in the. mining towns in the Sierras as anywhere else. Along in 1856 the countess's money was 'running low. The nephews of Victor

Hugo went back to Franc® the many young men were tired of the salon. All. the songs that the company knew Jn. the four languages that the countess ppoke proficiently had been sung threadbare, the musical instruments had become well worn, and there was not a new story to be told, a humorous or pathetic recitation to be made, and no original Voltes remained t)o be crackjed. The countess plainly was restless to return to her former life of gayety, and the letters she had always received from admirers in iParis and London gave* her reason to believe she might be a-favorite in Europe again. A letter from a friend urged her to come to Melbourne, Australia, where the new gold mines had gathered the liveliest kind of people. So in the winter of 1856-57 -she sold h?r property in Grass Valley and sailed from San Francisco for Australia. I heard from her several times in :Australia, and subsequently in Bombay and Cairo."

ADVENTURES OF A STUFFED CAT.

Lost at Sea, Found by a Clam Baker, and Shelved in a Barroom. Clam rakers are early risers, and they often find queer things in the sand, especially after a storm. The other morning Skipper W7ince Decker of the Great Kills, Staten Island, kicked a dead cat out of his way as he was walking along the beach toward the spot where he keeps his oyster boat. Wince was astonished at the effect of his kick. The cat went whirling in the air, and then squatted about fifty feet in front of him. Wince walked toward it, and suddenly came to a standstill. The cat sat motionless, staring at him with its great wild eyes. '.'Poor puss!" said Wince taut puss never moved a muscle. Wince advanced with extreme caution. He never had much' confidence in cats. Soon he became convinced that puss had no evil intentions. "May I be keelhauled! A stuff, by the Great Kills!" he muttered as he picked the thing up.{ "But I'll give you a job Tom," he added with a grin. ''How Would you like to be a figurehead?"

Tom had no objection so Wince took the cat into his bateau and rowed over to Dave Crocheron's sail skiff. By the skilful handling of a piece of marlin, he fastened the stuffed cat on the stem of the skiff, thereby getting square for some trick that Dave had previously fclayed upon him. Then he rowed off to his own craft, happy as a fiddler crab in the sunlight. Shortly after the skippers had stuck their heads out of their cabins to scan the sky and the sea they noticed the cat. Then there was a roar of laughter such as is seldom heard, even among the ,cl?un rakers. Soon Crocheron arrived, and his indignation increased the fun. Drawing his big knife, he went for that Cjftt, cut it loose, and tossed it overboard in a rage,* while the boatmen laughed loud enough to scurry a school of moss-bunkers. Some days' afterward the cat returned to the beach, and was pidked up by Maurice Fitzgerald of the Excelsior, a hotel frequented by fishermen. Fitzgerald placed it on the stoop to be admired by Mike, the bartender. Mike took pity on 'it, washed its face, removed the eel crass and rockwood from its back, dried it^iu the sun, and gave it a brushing. "When Tom's toilet was made, it ajppearedsto be a rather good-looking roof rounder/ and, judging by its ears, the hero of a hundred fights. Moreover, it bad been somebody's darling, for the little board upon which its paws were securely fastened bore evidence of having at one time supported a glass globe. It was also covered by a piece of sea-soaked satin. Mike placed the foundling on a shelf in a conspicuous position, in the barroom, and Billy Nolte, the Sandy Hook poet, penned some sentimental lines upon a card which he tied with a yellow ribbon to the cat's neck. Among them are the following:

No more o'er roofs and tiles I'll roam And keep late hours away from home, Or join the chorus of the gang That dodged the bootjacks while they sang. My mbusing's played my sprees arepast My wandering^ done shelved at last. But anglers here have my best wish I always dearly loved a fish.

Long have I traveled o'er the deep, With eyes wide open fast asleep. Well, what's the use of all this guff? I'm only, as you see, a stuff.

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Th^re are others.

FAITH AND THE WOBLD.

The world mystifies all the ones who would doubt it, Though good its intentions and bad it performs, If work is assigned you go singing about

And^ smile a brave smile through the sunshine, the storms, If fate seems to frown when you ve hoped to meet laughter.

Pray hide the tear-traces you ve almost confessed Grief reigneth a day sweetest joy cometh after™

Be firm in believing "it's all for the best." "It's all for the best"—bless the ones who can say it

When everything seems to that saying deny. May faith be triumphant, may nothing

a

l|ay

Till hope sets her star of reward in their sky* The richest reward they should sometime be reaping *.«

Who laXigh through their tears of ambition's Unrest, Who pledge- all their plans to his infinite keeping*

And keep 6n believing "it's all for the best." Be firm in the faith through the sun and the shower,

Be hopeful and happy though all should go wrong, Since love is for life, and grief's but for an hour,

Smile on as you sweetly go singing a song. •Tis a kindly old world if we never would it

So soon it will lift up the cares that

Then!nlpray, do not wonder and worry about it, Just keep on believing it all for the best." ....

INVITES SUICIDE.

A Bridge at Paris Where There are 150 Suicides a Year. That spanning an abyss in the park of the Buttes-Chaumont at Paris, is the most noted bridge in the world for suicides. Owing to its reputation in this respect it has got the title of the "Accursed Bridge." From the very day the bridge was finished up to the present time there has been no diminution in the numbers of those who in the course of each year cast themselves from its parapets. For nearly a score of years from 100 to 150 people have annually committed suicide in this way. .The rocks that pierce the shallow waters at the bottom of the gorge are sharp, and the coveted death is certain, once they are over. A sort of terrible fascination seems to hang about the bridge, or about one particular spot about half-way across it—a fascination which is said to affect, more or less, nearly everyone who pauses there and looks downward. Four of the watchmen, stationed there to prevent would-bfe suicides, have themselves yielded to. the fatal fascination of this suicides' bridg?. On an average, about 100 persons commit suicide in the River .Thames arthually* of these some thirty jump from the parapets of Westminster bridge. The avef-affe number of suicides in London is eighthseven per annum per million of Inhabit tants. The ratio of Paris is 422. Th8 lowest figure is in Naples, thirty-four,*"

He H*d Grave Doubts, j-,ts

"I can't help it," said the man In' the back seat. "I can't believe in anything^ I am a born doubter." "Oh, no, brother," began the evangelist. .tif "But I am. There are times when even have doubts as to the superiority of my bicycle."

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v*

Wanted the Earth.

"Why, all the world's awheel!* exclaimed Sprockett enthusiastically. "That's ust like you bicycle fellows," grumbled Grumnv, "Toij w«t the earth."

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HOPE FOR JONSUMPTIVES

CURE NOT IN KOCH'S LYMPH OR OTHER •SPECIFIC, THOUGH.

CONSUMPTION COXFLEI DISEASE

To Be Treated by Complex Methods—The Present Aim of Physicians to Increase the Vital Besistance.

There is hope for the consumptive. The thing to do nowadays is not to let one's self succumb to the tubercle bacilli, but to put them to rout. This takes a great deal of vital resistance .but the fact that the death rate from consumption is being lowered every year in the United States proves that the bacilli are not invincible. There was a time when* a' person, old or young, who realized that consumption bad laid hold of him gave up at once. If the victim had an inherited tendency to the disease he thought it was necessarily fatal to him because it had killed his grandfather and his great-grandfather. People aren't so resigned nowadays, and as a result a great many consumptives are cured every year. After all the talk about this lymph, that specific, and the other advertised sure cure, what new information has been secured about consumption and its cure? When this question was put to Dr. George F. Shrady he said: "The idea that consumption is incurable is absurd. True, no single medicine or combination of medicines yet known to science can be considered a. specific but great progress has been made in applying methods. Consumption is a complex disease, and has to be treated complexly. Almost all persons who have consumption are predisposed to it. It is merely a question of the seed's taking good root in the properly prepared soil. When there is no preparation of the soil by hereditary predisposition or lowered health standard a person may be exposed to consumption day In and day out and feel amply guarded against attack. One's degree of vital resistance Is the real element of protection. There is no disease that has more transmitting power from one generation to another than phthisis. Cancer does not

HOLD A CANDLE

light to it. Much more Is known about the disease -since the discovery of the tubercle bacillus, but it is not yet settled whether this is the cause or an associated condition of the disease, and we can't tell which comes first. One thing is quite certain, however, and that is that the soil is prepared- for the bacillus when it flourishes. It was originally believed that the microbes were the direct active agents in poisoning the system until it was demonstrated that the agency causing disease was due to the chemical product excreted by the micro-organ-isms themselves. Koch first thought that his lymph, which represented the toxin of tuberculosis, would destroy the tubercle baclUUs in the living body, but he was mistaken. No germicide sufficiently safe and powerful to overcome the poisonous effects in the system has been found. Such a germicide would kill the disease and the patient at the same time. Tuberculosis do not affect anybody unless predisposed or in a very low state of health. With pulmonary consumption the dust of the dried expectoration is believed to be the direct medium of infection. When we stop to consider the thousands and tens of thousands who breathe the bacilli everywhere they go—in street cars, theatres, churches, hotels, sleeping berths, even ill their own homes—it w-ould seem that the disease should be almost universal.

It is a satisfaction, however, to know that the chances of infection for a healthy person are so exceedingly small not to deserve attention. But why do healthy persons, with no inherited tendency, often take the disease from nursing a consumptive? some one will ask. Because the health standard is lowered by anxiety and care, and the soli Is properly prepared

FOR THE SEED

which is being breathed every day. This view also throws some light upon the well-established fact, that consumption among the southern slaves was almost unknown, and while few of the emancipated slaves died of it, the Succeeding generations are suffering very much more from tuberculosis in proportion to population than the white people of the same districts. They breathed the same air then as now and it no doubt teemed with just as many bacilli. The reason for this then must be their changed manner of living. They are not so well cared for and consequently have not so great a degree of vital resistance. Tuberculous patients are very bright and intelligent as a rule. Great mental activity is associated with this disease, and often a sufferer remids one of a diamond wearing out its setting. In some families the predisposition extends through five or six generations, and yet eVen this fact should not make the seventh hopeless. Again in other families the disease develops at the same time and if the predisposed one can hop over that period he may generally consider himself safe. This is the result shown by broad biological laws. Even after the disease is developed in a patiejqt it is. absurd to assume that it cannot Jie cured. Think what climate alone does,, in effecting cures the Adirondiicks, the Georgia Pines and Colorado, fdr example. Patients go there or somewhere else, recommended by a physician, and live for years. Some attain old age. This only shows when one's vital resistance is stimulated to the utmost it is possible to throw off the disease and to withstand another attack. A consumptive has to be fitted to a climate just the same as to medicine or a pill. It depends upon the stage of the disease and the, condition of the patient at the time whether he should have a colder or a warmer, a dryer or a more humid atmosphere, and frequently

TWO CONSUMPTIVES

from the same family have to be sent to entirely different climates. The death rate has been much lower In the last twenty years as the result of the disease being treated on broad lines. Long ago we had specifics, and considered that it was only a question of emptying the lung and destroying what was In It. The history of the disease, however, is one of elimination or destruction. One of two things happens when a person contracts consumption. The disease must be eliminated or else it kills the patient. The whole effort these days is to get the patient to throw off the disease and at the same time to raise the vital strength. Wre strengthen the individual and lessen the load of disease. Pulmonary consumption Is essentially of such a chronic nature and attended with such radical organic changes that there does not appear to be much chance of altering the predisposed condition of the soil by actively strengthening any of the purely resisting tendencies of the blood itself ds we do by mesgis of the serum treatment in certain acute diseases. Suppose there is a special soil in the Individual for every disease. If the person takes diphtheria, by the use of antitoxin, all the diphtheria soil seems to.be used up, and that person never has diphtheria again. There is no soil, in whi,ch the, germs of the disease can' take root, and so he is to be 'immune,' or, in other words, is guaranteed against the poisonous influences of the disease. So it is in smallpox. We are made immune by vaccination. But there are acute diseases, particularly diphtheria, which acts very quickly all along the line and kills quickly. Koch's lymph was expected at first to be to consumption what antitoxin is to diphtheria but it is claimed that Instead of mitigating the disease it appeared to scatter it over the whole body. In diphtheria the knowledge ofifs cause brings* a promised means for its cure. In other words, the vital resistance of the blood itself keeps oft phthisis, while in acutely infectious diseases an alteration of the condition of the blood gives immunity. Patients who have phthisis are peculiarly susceptible to re-infection, but nobody now need

111 |P IP

despair who has the disease. In the adaptation of different climates to the cure ot- this disease and other chronic ailments, a new science of therapeutics has been created. The study of the temperature, range, barometric pressure and rainfall of different localities has been as faithfully carried On and with as careful reference to the need of the invalid as the composition and strength of the various medicines composing his other prescriptions. Consumptives should recollect that here under one flag we have all the climates at the world. They should think of our mountains and our wonderful seaboard and also of our different soils. Consumption is prevalent, however. The disease faces us everywhere, and patients will die of it, especially among the poor, who are unable to have the necessary change of climate, combined with skilled medicinal treatment, and, therefore, cannot increase their vital resistance to throw off the bacilli. Death .walks in spite of everything but statistics prove that we arc improving. The disease is complex, and the treatment taust be complex. The increased number of remedies and the raising of the vital standard of the individual, enabling him to throw off the disease and making him immune, make the outlook for the consumptive very bright.

CBOWDED OUT BY THE BABY

Three-Year-Old Boy Leaves Home Because He Thinks He is Not Wanted. There arrived at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Frank Lautz, 1912 North Grand avenue, in St. Louis, the other evening a little stranger, barefooted aiid bareheaded, from Babyland. She was a pretty little thing with big blue eyes and laughing dimples in. her chubby cheeks and they decided to keep her. Relatives and friends were notified and soon the sound of revelry and, music emanated from the place and the whole neighborhood was made glad with the merrymaking. In the midst of it all, however, there was one young man who was downcast and sad over t1»e arrival of the new comer. He was Frank Lautz, jr., and although he has seen but three summers the attentions that were showered upon the tiny mite that lay by its mother's side overpowered hipi with a sense of lonesomeness and every peal of laughter made his young heart bleed afresh. In the general confusion the youngster was entirely forgotten, but while all this was transpiring a desperate resolution was shaping itself in his breast. He decided that h# was no longer wanted and that no self-respecting young man could possibly Intrude where he was not welcome. He determined to leave papa and mamma and the only home he had ever known and' lo|e himself in "the great, busy world beyond tho front gate, where he would give them no more trouble and worry, and not be in the way of "little sister," to whom he bore no particular ill will. No sooner had he conceived the Idea than he set forth to carry It out. While the music was the liveliest and- the revelry at its height he slipped out into the night and no one was the^ wiser. An hour later he was missed and the house was searched, but no sign of little Fr^kie was Visible. He had not been seen anywhere in the neighborhood.- As one after another of the searchers returned with no tidings of the missing child the happiness of fami.ly, relatives and friends turned to fear. The disappearance was1 reported to the police and descriptions of the missing little tot were telephoned to every station in the city. As the hours dragged slowly by and no word came back the father became fairly s|§k with grief and again renewed the qxiest. Two hours later he returned home without his boy and paced the floor apguish. He had taken a few turns when his ^attention was arrested by an exhyltant shout that went up from the street," and by the time he reached the gate several friends approached. leading the lost toddler by the hand. The child had become tired and frightened by the darkness before he got three blocks froni home and lay down in a big iron water pipe on Bacon street to sleep till morning, before stiarting out to win fame and fortune, and was boohoolng lustily because they wouldn't let him. He was given a'hearty welcome home, his tears were brushed away and now he is little sister's warmest admirer and knows mamma and papa love him.

The Joke Was on Him.

There is a certain politician ,in New York who received a shock the other afternoon that he will remember for a long time. He had just left a very handsome woman, -when he happened to meet a friend. "See that pretty girl going up the street?" he said. "Ain't she a beauty? I've made an engagement to take •her to a matinee Saturday and then to a little dinner."

The friend looked' at. -^he retreating form of the woman—his face grew serious—then he said: "Matiue^-dinner. Do you know who that woman Is?" "No," answered the pollt.ciari. "Do y°

u?

"Yes." ff "Who is she?". "My wife!" The politician turned red, then white, stammered, and wished the ground would open and swallow hlm«* "It's a mistake," he gasped: "I was only joking. Come in, here." He dragged his friend into a cafe. "Quart bottle, waiter," he scouted. "Come, drink up, then we'll explain. Here goes. Now, old fellow—I never spoke to that lady—nevgr., saw her before in my life—I-never—'* "That will do," remarked his tfrlend. as he sipped his wine, "I never s&w her before just now myself."

For the Bicycle Girl.

Cycling golf stockings are being adopted universally. At last women are waking up to the fact that leggins are uncomfortable and everything but neat looking after they have been,worn two or three times, and that tho bicycle boot is next to impossible in hot weather. This boot is even warmer than the leggin and destroys a perfect ankle motion, which is the secret of easy riding. The golf stocking is Ijjoth comfortable and good to look at. One oMhe prettiest patterns is a dark brown and red mixture. Instead of having a cuff ^t the top it has a simulated cuff about where a walking boot would come on the leg Then there are quite rich looking plaids and stripes in blues and greens, blacks and browns, grays and blacks, and so on. Golf stockings are all woven of wool, and for this reason man^ people cannot adopt them. For sucftjthere is a footless stocking intended for wearing over the ordinary kind. It has the advantage of not increasing the size p£ the foot.

The Summer Girls' Fads.

Ambng the vanity of vanities worn at the buds' belt this season is a small square plate-glas# mirror, set in a delicate frame of gold or silver, often thick with jewels* attached to the chatelaine among trophies of all sorts. Of course, it's for use as well as ornament. An astonishing sight is the weafing of the silver-mounted rabhit's foot, attached to the purse chain. It is a feature of the shirt-waist period. Jewelers are displaying glittering things in the way of belts, made from gold or silver, -or plated stuff, set with jewels or plain, •as fancy dictates, but they are not ftfr wear with the cotton waist, nor for the shirt waist in any form, the only belts, admissible being those of silk or kid, with more or less plain buckles. For fancy silk blouses these gorgeous belts are all very well, and are "sometimes accompanied by dog collars matching them.

Chief Joseph Owned Himself Bettfen. It is said that a young Wuju»u on™ asked Chief Joseph" if he had ever scalped any one. When the question was translated to him Joseph looked at the fair questioner intently, tlien walked around behind her and viewed the knot of hair only half hitjden by her ibor.ne:. "Tell her," he said to the interpreter, "that I have nothing in. my collec.ti£ri. as line as lhat." T".

uncle lorssnoiic crip

A UNIQUE CUSS OF ACTORS WHICH THF PLAY CREATED IN TIMES GONE BY.

KNOWN AS UNCLE

TOIISST

They Acted in No Other Play and Could.' Take Most Any Pare on Very Short Notice.

"The *Uncle Tom' business," said th« veteran manager, "has been so overdone*' that it would surprise almost anybody to know some of the tricks of that particular trade. There has come to be a certain class of actors known generally aa 'Uncle Tommers.' and they can be hired at very small salaries to play three four parts in the piece. For 515 a week^ a woman can be engaged to play Eliza, Mrs. St. Clair, and the part of one of the 5negresses, and for about the same prfee the rest of the actors can be had. There

j* The Grandest Sijjht. Among the" passengers bound for Ne* York on a New Haven train recently was a jolly resident of Mount Vernon, and this is the sfory he related to soin friends: "I have a cousin," he said, "who re« sides in the interior of Indiana, and wh4 is now here on a visit for the first tlmN He came up to my home the other even Ing, and after being warmly welcome^ he said: 'Cousin John, I've been over ta see the tomb of General Grant. 1 nevej saw such a grand sight in my life, and before I leave Mount Vernon I want yotf to do me a favor/

jiuy the

1

are regular families of Uncle Tommers, with the child to play Little Eva and the other child's part occasionally introfluced--into versions of the play. There are just,'., as many combinations to be made among, the men, and what is technically known as doubling up is a very easy matter in the companies playing this old drama. The actors who have tor years played in nothing but 'Uncle Tom' companies, getto know all the lines spoken in the play,^??r and they are able to step in and do any role that happenjs to be vacant. I have* seen the whole play—that is, so far as-,,-the characters go—given by five people, with the negro singers as the most expensive feature of the company. I

know'f4-

of a man and his wife who were for fif-v] .r teen years in various 'Uncle Tom* com-""., panies. They had played, of course, in that time, every part in the piece, and one of their children played Little Evafrom the time she was 6 years old until1'}. she was IV. Once or twice during the last season in which she played the!child's part, this girl played Eliza Harris as well, and that she always stood: in the wings after her death waiting fopthe 'grand apotheosis,' 'The Gates Ajar,* singing with negroes. The shifts and tricks of

THE UNCLE TOMMERS

are more diverse than those known to:-.~v any other branch of the actors' profes* sion. Of late years the number of these companies has very much decreased, and they have played only in the very ssrtiall towns, not infrequently acting under a tent. The actors in the cheap theaters of the larger cities within recent years have been insignificant features of th» performance compared with the donkeys, dogs and negro singers,. But thay aremarvels compared to the companies that.. travel over the country giving theU\performances in the small townar-pl^ces of not more than three or fourJjtfifldred people. That was the field of the genuine Uncle Tommers, the^actors who for years had confined themselves to thiB one play. They usually acted WtO-winter and summer, yetff in and year-out. but theirs was one -case in which excellence in a specialty did. not bring them any great reward. As I said, their salaries were very smallr and the Uncle Tommers were the cheapest people in the business, They are growing scarcer now, and the diminution in their numbers has nott served to increase the compensation paid for their services. There is no great de* mand for the old piece now compared to that which existed some years ago, so a new generation of these aetors has noi *, grown up to succeed the old. There no likelihood, either, that the Uncle Tom» mer, that unique development of theatric cal conditions of two or three deca.dc* ago, will ever ise with us again. Ther« was permanence then in other than th mere "artistic'—if the word can stand th strain-side of the 'Uncle Tom' of forme*-J years. The same managers clung folji?-,' years to the play, and every season thre^for four companies would start out unde# J, the management of men who had been doing the sanie thing for several seasonsbefore. There are three or four meq connected

WITH, THIS BUSINESS

whose names became prominent simply through the persistence with which the^ clung to the play. A whole literature of anecdotes has .grown up about thii play, and its treatment is one of the most carious thing's in the whole history o\ the stage. Of course when the play wa| given first in 1S52 and during the early years of its success, the feelings against. slavery to Which it appealed made it stirring play and the impetus it got af that time carried it along for years, Then, when its, reputation ceased to bl of much avail and its old claim to suc« cess had entirely disappeared, the man* agersrii^giWVvJt^-talve all sorts of liberties with the old play. No drama was. evef submitted ^tp such indignities. 'Eas1 Lynne' has possibly been played as ofteij as any other play exceptlrig' 'Uncle Tom'/ a in a scheme to make the play dttplex,' ll were, and double the number 'tf::aH th« principal roles. Nobody could, for in« stance, think of two Lady YfrieiflibuA two Topsies, two 'Evas, and .two •Msyrksea were one of the signs that marked the decline of 'Uncle Tom's' real popularity. Never before was the mere nam^ of a play used to cover such a series of extraneous and disconnected exhibitions aa the Uncle Tommers latterly came to give. But they are nearly all gone, and 'Uncle Tom,' as the Uncle Tommers, Is almost a thing of the past. There was always a certain sort of sticking power about Jieso roles. They were hard to shake off when once the actors had taken them up. Cordelia Howard, the original Topsy, played that part for years. Marie Bates, now an old woman actress, was for years a famous Topsy and played no other part for a long time. Similar cases are ine humbler Uncle Tommers described above, who gave up, once they were in the grasp of the play, every other character. Bui they were not persons likely fo have been especially distinguished as a rule In othe# lines of work, and they drifted more og less naturally into the parts which they stuck to—or which stuck to them. In th same way that the managers and th« actors have become confirmed Unci® Tommer's, so have the negro jubilee sing* ers and wing dancers. Season after seat son they traveled about the country, of« ten keeping for years in the same organU zation. There were real negro Topsierf and genuine Uncle Tom's. But they wer^ only incidental features of some of th4 remarkable changes tnrough which *Un ele Tom' passed when he got on th^ stage and had to please public taste if ht wanted to stay there."

!•1»

'What)ls it?' I asked. "Take me out and siiovr me the torn* of George Washington.'

Photographs of Criminals.

A photographic pamphlet is se it ou) from Scotland Yard every month to tUl various police stations thi'oushc.'.t tin country. It is considered a prcc-io ment, only those connected with tho police being allowed to see the ranw. It consists of a few pages descriptive of t..« thirty or forty dangerous individual* whose faces are chronicled in spaces three-quarters of an Inch square tis» diminutive photographs forsnii't, the freat page of the paper every one be&J'frt' a number correspondin» with t:ie &es tion furnished inside.

:j

5. 4