Bloomington Courier, Bloomington, Monroe County, 19 April 1895 — Page 3

A LOTOMOOTE HEBO.

tELL. SOTS, IF ' you wish it, I II tell you the story. When -I was a youth of eighteen, and lived with my parents, I had a boyish ambition to become an engineer, although "I had been educated 9- ffl$m-i for loftier pursuits. v f-" During my college vacation, I constantly lounged about the station, making friends with the officials, and especially with, an engineer named Silas Markley. I becarrfe much attached to this man, although he was forty years of age, and by no means a sociable fellow. He was my ideal of a brave, skillful, thoroughbred engineer, and I looked up to him as something of a hero. He was not a married man, but lived alone with his old mother. I was a frequent visitor at their house, and I think they both took quite a fancy to me In their quiet, undemonstrative way. When this Markley's fireman left him, I induced him to let me take his place during the remainder of my vacation. He hesitated some time before he consented to humor my boyish whim; but he finally yielded, and I was in great glee. The fact was that, in my idleness and the overworked state of my brain, I craved for the excitement, and besides, I had such longing dreams of the fiery ride through the hills, mounted literally on the iron horse. So I became an expert fireman, and liked it exceedingly; for the excitement more than compensated for the rough work I was required to do. But there came a time when I got my fill of excitement, Mrs. Markley one day formed a plan which seemed to give her a good deal of happiness. It was her son's birthday, and she wanted to go down to Philadelphia in the train without letting him know anything about it, and there purchase a present for him. She took me into her confidence and asked me to assist her. I arranged the preliminaries, got her into the train without being noticed by Markley, who, of course, was busy with his engine. The old lady was in high glee over the bit of innocent deception she was practicing on her son. She enjoined me again not to tell Silas, and then I left her and took my place. . It was a midsummer day, and the weather was delightful. The train was one which stopped at the principal stations on the route. On this occasion, as there were two specials on the line, it was run by telegraph that is, the engineer had simply to obey the instructions which he receives at each station, so that he is put as a machine in the hands of one controller, who directs all trains from a central point, and thus has the whole line under his eye. If the engineer does not obey to the least tittle his orders, it is destruction to the whole. Well, we started without mishap, and up to time, and easily reached the first station in the time allotted to us. As we stopped there, a boy ran alongside with the telegram, which he handed to the engineer. The next moment I heard a smothered exclamation from Markley. "Go back," he said to the boy; "tell Williams to have the message repeated; there's a mistake.-'. The boy dashed off; in a few minutes he came flying back. "Had it repeated," he panted. "Williams is storming at you; says there's no mistake, and you'd best get on." He thrust the second message up as he spoke. Markley read it, and stood hesitating for half a minute. There was dismay and utter perplexity in the expression of his face as ha looked at the telegram and the long MARKLEY READ IT. train behind him. His lips moved as if he were calculating chances, and his eyes suddenly quailed as he saw death at the end of the calculation. I was watching him with considerable curiosity. I ventured to ask him what was the matter, and what he was going to do. "I'm going to obey," he said, curtly. The engine gave a long shriek of horror that made me start as if it were Markley's own voice. The next instant we slipped out of the station and dashed through low-lying farms at a speed which seemed dangerous to me. "Put in more coal," said Markley. I shoveled in more, but took time. "We are going very fast. Markley." He did not answer. His eyes were fixed on the steam-guage, his lips close shut. "More coal," he said. I threw it in. The fields and houses began to fly past half-seen. We were nearing Dufreme, the next station. Markley's eyes went from the guage to the face of the time-piece and back. He moved like an automaton. There was little more meaning in his face. "More!" he said, without turning his eye. I took up the shovel hesitated. "Markley, do you know you are going at the rate of sixty miles an hour?" "Coal!" I was alarmed at the stern, cold rigidity of the man. His pallor was becoming frightful. I threw in the coal. At least we must stop at Dufreme. That was the next halt. The little town was approaching. As the first house came Into

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view the engine sent Its shrieks of warn iwg; it grew louder still losder. We dashed over the switches, up to the station, where a group of passengers waited, and passed it witho ut the halt of an instant, catching a glimpse of the appalled faces and the waiting crowd. Then we were in the fields again. The speed now became literally breathless, the furnace glared red hot. The heat, the velocity, the terrible nervous strain of the man beside me seemed to weight the air. I found myself drawing long, stertorous breaths, like one drowning. I heaped in the coal at Intervals as he bade me. I did it because I was oppressed by an odd sense of duty which I never had in my ordinary brain-work. Since then I have understood how it is that dull, ignorant men, without a spark of enthusiasm, show such heorism as soldiers, firemen, and captains of wrecked vessels. It Is this overpowering sense of routine duty. It's a finer thing than sheer bravery, in my idea. However, I began to think that Markley was mad laboring under some frenzy from drink, though I had never seen him touch liquor. He did not move hand or foot, except in the mechanical control of his engine, his eyes going from the gauge to the time-piece with a steadiness that was more threatening than any gleam of insanity would have been. Once he glared back at the long train sweeping after the engine with a headlong speed that rocked it from side to side. One could imagine he saw a hundred men and women in the cars, talking, reading, smoking, unconscious that their lives were all in the hold of one man, whom I now suspected to be mad. I knew by his look that he remembered that their lives were in his hand. He glanced at the clock. "Twenty miles," he muttered. "Throw on more coal, Jack; the fire is going out." I did it. Tes, I did it There was something in the face of that man I could not resist. Then I climbed forward and shook him roughly by the shoulder. "Markley," I shouted, "you are running this train into the jaws of death!" "I know it," he replied, quietly. "Your mother is on board." "Heavens!" He staggered to his feet. But even then he did not remove his eyes from the gauge. "Make up the fire," he commanded, and pushed in the throttle valve. "I will not." "Make up the fire, Jack," very quietly. "I will not You may kill yourself and your mother, but you shall not murder me!"

He looked at me. His kindly gray eyes glared like those of a wild beast, but he controlled himself in a moment. "I could throw you off this engine, and make short work of you," he said. "But, look here, do you see the station yonder?" I saw a faint streak in the sky about five miles ahead. "I was told to reach that station by 6 o'clock," he continued. "The express train meeting us is due now. I ought to have laid by for it at Dufreme. I was told to come on. The track is a single one. Unless I can make the siding at the station in three minutes, we shall meet in yonder hollow." "Somebody's blunder?" I said. "Yes, I think so." I said nothing. I threw on coal. If I had petroleum, I should have thrown it on; but I never was calmer in my life. When death actually stares a man in the face, it often' frightens him .into the most perfect composure. Markley pushed the valve still farther. The engine began to give a strange panting sound. Par off to the south I could see the dense black smoke of a train. I looked at Markley inquiringly. He nodded. It was the express. I stooped to the fire. "No more," he said. I looked across the clear summer sky at the gray smoke of the peaceful little village, and beyond that at a black line coming closer, closer, across the sky. Then I turned to the watch. In one minute more well, I confess I sat down and buried my face in my hands. I don't think I tried to pray. I had a confused thought of mangled, dying men and women mothers and their babies. There was a terrible shriek from the engine, against which I leaned, another in my face. A hot, hissing tempest swept past me. I looked up. We were on the siding, and the express had gone by. It grazed our end car in passing. In a sort of delirious joy, I sprang up and shouted to Markley. He did not speak. He sat there immovable, and cold as a stone. I went to the train and brought his mother to him, and, when he opened his eyes and took the old lady's hand in his, I turned hastily away. Yes, gentlemen, I have been in many a railway acident, but I have always considered that the closest shave I ever had. "What was the blunder?" "I don't know. Markley made light of it ever afterward, and kept it a secret; but no man on the line stood so high in the confidence of the company after that as he. By his coolness and nerve he had saved a hundred lives. AUTHORS AND WORKS. Dickens considered "David Copperfield" his best novel. Goldsmith rested his reputation on the "Deserted Village." Emerson said: "I pi t my whoie soul into my essays. They represent my literary life." Robert Browning Is said to have pre ferred "The Ring and the Book" to anj of his other works. Scott believed that "Waverley" waa his best novel and the "Lady of the Lake" his best poem. Washington Irving once confided to a friend that the "Salmagundi" contained his best thoughts. . Longfellow was slow to talk about his own poetry, but from hints given by his biographers It is evident that he considered "Evangeline" as his best. George Eliot is said by an interviewer to have best enjoyed the writing of "Romola." "I wrote it under the inspiration of the scenes themselves." Byron is said to have preferred "Childe Harold" to all his other works. He said it contained more of his hearthistory tlmn all the others combined. Defoe expected his fame to rest on his political writings which form the bulk of his' works, and did not appear to attach much importance to "Robinson Crusoe." Tennyson would not talk about his poetry, but once intimated that he regarded the "Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington" as containing more inspiration than some of the others.

S A GOLDEN QUEEN.

MRS. THEODORE HAVEMEYER AND HER HOMES. She Spends Almost One Million Dollars a Year for Household Expeues Her Charitable Daughter. ' Work Xoungeist (New York Correspondence.) MMENSE GLASS dooits set in frames of bronae and curtained with heavy dull green., velvet, open. and you stand la a marble corridor, a garden of golden genesta 1 A 1 , Vi-.- xx aim pa hub. a lung .ap NW" flight of marble M steps, soft with crimson velvet, lead to Mrs. Theodore A. Havemeyer's drawing-room, seen through a wall of glass. She stands at its entrance, a tall, woman, commanding of figure, with a round, full face, rather pretty, and full of strength and character. Her glossy black hair is parted in the middle, and falls in soft, rippling waves to the loosely coiled knot at the back of her neck. Her full, white throat is seen between frills of black lace. When she smiles her black eyes look straight at you. She bids you a pleasant welcome. Perhaps gives you a gentle hand press, and you pass in to the glittering gorgeousness of Louis Quatorze and take your place beside those invited to one of her evenings with music. There is gold everywhere gilt and the traces of gold. The glass walls are framed in golden bronze. The tall, high-backed chairs, with their rococo frames of gilded carving, are covered with crimson and gold brocade. The gold Sedan chairs, shelved with glass, contain art treasures and dainty bibelots, worth their 1 MlPI km f if

MRS. HAVEMEYER.

weight In gold, are scattered everywhere; There is a glistening look to the assemblage'vvin broadcloth and satin, suggestive of gold. Even the music is burdened with this, or, at least as you listen to the strains of the Boston Symphony orchestra and the vootd numbers of a well-known opera star, you realize the amount of gold the affair has cost, you hear gold, see gold and feel the power of gold. And you understand how it is that Mrs. Havemeyer helps her husband spend $800,000 a year. The music is over. The chatter begins. The guests stroll among golden acacia blooms to the banquet hall, a splendid room in early English style, done In old black carved oak. The sideboard glistens with gold. Pearls are not dissolved to furnish costly cheer; golden champagne in gold-rimmed crystal answers, and choicest delicacies are served on gold. Vases of gold hold cloth-of-gold GENEVIEVE HAVEM.Tf ES. roses at tnis goiuen least of Gotham's gilded gods. Mrs. Havemeyer talks. Every word Is worth listening to, ever word is golden. Her conversation sparkles like burnished gold. Not at the expense, iowever, of that of her gussts. This does not pale beside hers, like tinsel in the daylight; on the contrary, she has the happy faculty of drawing people out, of finding out their particular pet pieces of knowledge, and letting them display choicest samples nf it in a way which puts thtm in the best focus for their admiring neighbors, an ) on splendid terms with themselves. All this naturally constitutes Mrs. Havemeyer a rare hostess and a. womnn nf delicate tact. And still It does not show her as she really is a woman who, notwithstanding a somewhat cold exterior, has a heart of purest gold. It io a very accessible heart to -harity and strug-

gling genius. She does not parade her good works, and although In the list of those donating money to hospitals and other institutions. Mrs. Havemeyer's name is generally on the same line with hundreds and sometimes thousands of dollars, these only represent a small amount of the real good she does. Many artists and musicians have attained reputation through her generosity, and her private charities, of which even her family know nothing, are large beyond belief. Returning to her entertaining, while the role of hostess fits Mrs. Havemeyer perfectly, It is not one that she plays frequently. She is essentially a domestic woman, one whose horizon is bounded by her home, or rather her four homes, as she has that number of establishments her elegant residence at 244 Madison avenue, a country seat near Hempstead, Long island, a farm at Mah Wah, N. j and a summer villa at Newport. Her town house is a large red brick one, dignified by a small strip of lawn, always planted with pansies and hydrangeas in the spring, and a circular driveway to a porte-cochere,

CORNER IN CHINESE ROOM, which, like the high fence walling the whole off from the street, is of wrought iron. The house has square windows all over it at regular Intervals, all curtained alike with looped-back white lace. The plainness of its exterior is atoned for by the richness of its fur nishing. The antique room is especiallj beautiful and contains a rare collectlon of antiquities. Then there Is a Chinese-room, rich with wonderful carvings and exquisite porcelains from the Flowery ""kingdom. The picture gallery contains some of the most notable works of art in this country, painting and statuary, and unlike most rooms of its kind, Is comfortably furnished with all the luxuries needed for the perfect enjoyment of the treasures. Mrs. Havemeyer has nine children, and to them and her husband she is absolutely devoted. Two sons are still in college; the other two, Theodore A. Havemeyer, Jr., and Charles F. Havemeyer, are married. The former married Miss Katherine A. Sands, the latter Miss Camilla Morse. Charles Havemeyer, or "Carly," as he is familiarly called, is a thorough business man and of great assistance to his father In his vast sugar refinery business. Five daughters; four are happily married; one has not yet appeared in society. In dress Mrs. Havemeyer is exceedingly quiet. Her tastes are refined and artistic and never obtrusive. Genevieve Havemeyer, the unmarried daughter is a lithsome, dark-eyed, wavyhaired beauty of 17. She is at present in Europe, the inmate of a French convent, the same one from which Anna Gould emerged to become the Countess de Castellane. But It is not likely that Miss Havemeyer will follow in the footsteps of Miss Gould. When in America last year she took occasion to say to some friends that she abhorred anything European, especially the silly sprigs of decaying nobility. From this it was inferred that she already had received an offer of marriage from that source and that she discouraged it in no uncertain manner. She is worth $5,000,000 in her own right now, and by the never failing laws of Interest this amount will be vastly increased by the time she attains a legal age. Lincoln's Kxorbitant Bill. One of the most interesting "remains" at the recent sale of Lincoln relics, in Philadelphia, was the autograph copy of Lincoln's bill for legal services for the Illinois Central Railroad Company. The bill was for $5,000, and six members of the Illinois bar certified that the amount wis not unreasonable. Another relic was a check for $250, given to Lincoln at another time by the sami company as a retainer. If successful, he would receive a thousand dollar fee. Mr. Lincoln won the suit In the supreme court, and presented his bill for the bala nce. The president of the company w,is absent when Lincoln called, so the latter was referred to the superintendent, who refused to pay the account, remarking. "This is as much as a first-class lawyer would charge." The superintendent was General George B. McClellan.

BLAINE'S FIRST TALK.

HIS DEBUT ON THE STUMP DESCRIBED BY A WITNESS. tt Was the Sixth of July, 1860 He Found a Quotation from the Scriptures for His Text Was a Brilliant Speech, "Yes; Ephraim is a cake unturned, and I propose' to turn him!" The speaker was young James G. Blaine, and as he spoke a roar of laughter, followed by wild and long continued applause, greeted him from the large audience, such as had not been heard in that Town Hall since the days of the Fremont and Dayton campaign. This was nearly one-third of a century ago, in the memorable Lincoln and Hamlin canvass of 1860. It was Blaine's first regular campaign speech. Blaine was only thirty years old. He was not well known even in Maine, and was unknown in other States. He had won some distinction as editor of the Kennebec Journal, as a rising and smart young politician, and as a delegate in 1856 to the Fremont convention which nominated the first republican national ticket; while in the state work of September following, this resulted in electing United States Senator Hannibal Hamlin for governor by over 20,000 majority, he had become potential in the councils of party chiefs, doing yeoman service for the new party; but none of his warmest admirers for a moment dreamed that this young journalist, speaker and exechool teacher, who only this year had ome from Pennsylvania to Maine to make it his home, was predestined to national and even world wide fame. In calling this effort his first regular campaign speech I use the term advisedly. It is true that in the Fremont campaign and in the legislature, where he had now served two years, his voice war. often heard, but that up to this very "Wide Awake" campaign of '60 Mr. Blaine had spoken in public anything which served to give him special prestige outside his immediate region I cannot believe, hence this particular address, which I heard him deliver in the Bridgeton Town House on the evening of July 6, 1860, marked an epoch in the career of the great Republican chief, which also furnishes an interesting personal and political reminiscence. I went to the meeting with only languid curiosity, heard, with rapt interest, the whole of the remarkable speech, and like all the rest of the audience, I was spellbound by the speaker. My hands and feet helped swell the demonstrations of approval which at frequent intervals interrupted the current of his eloquence. In this State campaign of 1860, as in 1856, the eyes of the nation were focused upon Maine, as the "Star in the East," whose September verdict was likely to indicate correctly the general political drift. The Republican candidate for Governor was Hon. Israel Washburn. Jr., one of the famous trinity of brothers who won great distinction as public men. His opponent was Hon. Ephraim K. Smart, Democrat. As a sideshow the "Straight Whigs" nominated Phineas Barnes, who, however, received only 1,735 votes in a total of 124,135, Washburn receiving a little over 70,000 to Smart's 52,350. Unlike several of the preceeding Democratic nominees for the Governorship, Mr. Smart was a lightweight as a man, and decidedly weak as a candidate. Blaine was thoroughly posted as to Smart's weak points, and he made the most of them. This was how his speech opened: "Mr. President and Fellow Citizens: It gives me great pleasure to see so great a gathering of the people here to-night; so many earnest, freedom loving, loyal Republicans; an omen of Republican success so pronounced and so inspiring as to thrill with joy and hope the whole Republican host throughout the length and breadth' of our mighty land from the rock bound bay of Madawaska to the Golden Gate of San Francisco; from the wood fringed shores of Lake Superior to the surf beaten coast of the Gulf of Mexico! (Great applause.) "My remarks this evening will be devoted principally to a discussion of national and state issues in general, and to the life and sufferings of the Democratic figurehead, Mr. Ephraim K. Smart, in particular. (Laughter.) Now, fellow citizens, I trust that I shall not be deemed sacrilegious for no sacrilege is intended if I select as a basis of my remarks, as a foundation for my humble political sermon, a passage from Holy Writ. The words of my text you will find in Hosea vii., 8, and are as follows: " 'Ephraim, he hath mixed himself among the people; Ephraim is a cake not turned.' "Yes, fellow citizens, Ephraim is a cake not turned, but I now propose to turn him!" And such a turning! Point after point, saying after saying, deed after deed, marking the ignoble political career of Ephraim K. Smart was taken up by "Preacher" Blaine, dissected by "Doctor" Blaine and satirized by "Speaker" Blaine. And at the end of an hour or more, as an old gray haired "Wide Awake" afterward remarked: "Blaine hadn't left enough of Smart to carry out on a dust pan." C. O. STICKNEY. From Crabbing to Farming. It is tbe boast of eastern shore Virginians that a man in those parts can with a string, a piece of raw meat for bait, and a broken clam shell for sink 3r catch in a few minutes enough crabs to buy a complete fishing outfit; that with hook and line he can soon catch enough fish to buy a boat, and that with a boat he can in a few seasons catch enough oysters to buy a farm. With a farm any eastern shore man is contented and independent of the world. Natural History. The advance of natural history within the last 100 years has been so great that the science is practically a product of the century. Even as great a naturalist as Linnaeus thought that swallows pass the winter under the toe, and held other beliefs hich may now seem equally absurd.

WRITING SERMONS ASLEEP.

Work That Could Not Have Been Dost While the Writer Was Awake. One of the most remarkable and puzzling stories of somnambulism has re cently come to light. The subject was a young ecclesiastic at a seminary. The bishop of the diocese was so deeply interested that he went nightly to the young man's chamber. He saw him get out of bed, secure paper, compose and write sermons. On finishing a page he read it aloud. When a word displeased hfm he wrote a correction with great exactness. The bishop had seen a beginning of some of these somnambulistic sermons and thought them well composed and correctly written. Curious to acertain whether the young man made use of his eyes, the bishop put a card under his chin to prevent him seeing the paper, but he still continued to write. Not yt satisfied whether or not he could distinguish different objects placed before him, the bishop took away the piece of paper on which he wrote and substituted several other kinds at different times of various Colors. He always perceived the change, because the pieces of paper were of different sizes. When a piece exactly like his own was substituted he used it and wrote his corrections on the places corresponding to those on his own paper. It was by this means that portions of his nocturnal compositions were obtained. His most astonishing production was a piece of music, written with preat exactitude. He used a cane for a ruler. The clefs, the fiats, and thesharps were all in their right places. The notes were all made as circles, and those requiring It were afterward black--ened with Ink. The words were all written below, but once they were in such very large characters that they did not come directly below their proper notes, and, perceiving this, he erase-! them all and wrote them all over again. New York Telegram. THE INQIAN NATIVE. An Enigma to the European or Other Stranger in the Land. "Nothing in Indian life," said the returned East Indian to a writer for theNew York Sun, "impresses the European resident more than the fact that he never comes to be anything more than a stranger to those about him.. He never fathoms the Indian mind, and' never knows more of his servants tham appears on the surface. His boy, for ex' ample, is an enigma to the European. Perhaps the master learns incidentally that the boy has a wife and family; and makes shift to maintain some sort: of family life while seemingly giving: all his time to his employer. The.boyand many of the other servants visl the bazar, and the bazar of the east i the great exchange of gossip 'gup,' as' the Hindustani word is. Every pieceof news, native or foreign, is in the gup of the bazar. Your boy brings homeall sorts of news, which is to be had) merely for the asking. He knows whoamong your friends are ill, in love, int debt. The bazar often has early news of European disturbances; and these mysterious people who ,surround you. and of whom you are curiously ignorant, talk familiarly in the bazar of your private affairs. "It is in business life as in family life; you know nothing of the natives with whom you come In contact. The native studies English only to get a. place where he may earn a living, .and', once possessed of a clerkship . he iscontent to plod on, working with peculiar care and precision, but with theutmost slowness, malingering wheneverhe dare upon any excuse, and constantly, as it seems, concealing his real 'self. The native employe's favorite excuse is a funeral, and he seems to be bereft of some one near and dear every threemonths. It is impossible to iesswhether the excuse is real or fictitious. One is often amazed with the seeming acquaintance of the native with . all sorts of things that belong to . a, .European education, but after a time one finds that it is only lip knowledge.' A TENDER-HEARTED M. C. The Beggar Says "I'm Dumb," and I Believed. There is an Illinois congressman who Is a trifle absent-minded. His friends tells a story about him which exasperates him so that he has threatened to kill the very next person who repeats It. That only proves 'that It Is true, you know. " ' However, this is the story. t , The congressman was walking along a Chicago street one day with a friend, when he was stopped by a beggar., who bore the sign, "Help the dumb." The congressman you know 1 row tender-hearted congressmen are went down Into his pocket He looked at the beggar sympathetically, says the Washington Post, as he handed him half a' dollar. "How long haye you been dumb?' he asked. "Twenty years," said the beggar,. "Dear me, dear me!" murmured the congressman as he walked on. "Isn't that dreadful! Dumb twenty yeaVs!" And then the point dawned on him. COST OF WAR. The cost of the Mexican war was $66,000,000. The total number of men in . the world's navies is 237,000. The engines of a first-class steel man of war cost nearly $700,000. Even little Belgium spends every year 46,000,000 franco on her army. The annual cost of the British army is 17,000,000; of the navy 14,000.000. The army of Bolivia costs the people of that impoverished country $1,800,000 a year. The peace footing of the Russian army calls for the service of 170,000 horses. The Spanish army costs 142,000,000 pesetas a year. Twenty-five pesetas equal $5. At Gravelotte 320,000 men were en-i gaged, of whom 40,000 were killed or wounded. Austria spends every year 15,000,000 florins on the army. Twelve florins equal $5. The estimated cost of both sides of the great civil war in this country was $6,500,000,000. Italy spends every year 14,000,000 lire on her army and navy. Twenty-five lire equal $5. . The spring and autumn manoeuvers of the European armies cost annually oyer $10,000,000. It Is estimated that the world's cannon has cost the world's taxpayers a little over $40,000,000.