Beware Yc
Bellefonte, Pa., Sept. 2,1898.
mm———
AN ELEPHANT ON HIS HANDS.
(The “Elephant Song” from “Wan z,"” adapted
to fit the possible annexation of the Philippines.
Oh, there once was a king,
As minstrels sing, .
Who a herd of elephants had ;
And a man next door,
By no means poor,
He wanted an elephant bad.
So the very weak king
Did a very sly thing
By giving his neighbor one;
And sky blue ruin,
At once began brewin’
For that luckless Jonathan ;
For the elephant ate all night !
And the elephant ate all day!
Do what we could
To furnish it food,
Its ery was still, “More hay !”
Till he tore his hair in wild dispair
And piped his lachrymal glands.
Oh! he was sad because he had
That elephant on his hands.
—Harper's Weekly.
IN CORPORE VILI.
When a man has enough money and not
enough to do, and the gods have not given
him discretion, he sometimes takes to play-
ing parlor providence. It isa pretty game,
but not safe. My excellent friend Fen-
wick, of Fenn Hall, used to be very fond
of it, and this is why he has given it up.
Dobson was a high church curate in a
slummy parish, very conscientious, very
hard working, not very strong, and none
the stronger for the early morning services
which he went through fasting. He be-
lieved in celibacy for the clergy, and plenty
of communication and confession for the
laity ; he was the customary victim of
every idle drunkard and every gossiping old
woman in his parish ; he had little faith in
vicars, and less in bishops,and least of all in
the privy council. Inall this he was quite
the ordinary high church curate. Where
he was extraordinary was in being a most
eloquent speaker, not only in the pulpit,
but even where there was a chance of be.
ing answered.
One day last year I bethought me sud-
denly that Dobson was a friend of mine at
college and since, and that I had not seen
him for sometime ; also that he was just
the man to make a_speech that I wanted
made at a certain coming meeting in which
I was interested. So I girt up my loins
and made a pilgrimage to his parish, which
is far in the wilderness of the Surrey side.
On his doorstep I found Fenwick, who
greeted me with an unusual effusiveness.
“My dear boy,’ he said, ‘‘you’re the
very man I was wishing for;’ and he
shook me warmly hy the hand. “You
have influence with Dobson ; you will
persuade him to do what I desire ?’’
‘Speaking from my own experience, Mr.
Fenwick,”’ I replied, ‘I should say that
your only chance is that what you desire
should be something he particularly dis-
likes ; then he will probably do it. But
have you rung?”
“Twice,” said he. ‘“They are not out
for I hear someone shouting inside ; per-
haps that’s why they don’t hear.’
At this moment the door was flung wide
open and Dobson’s small but energetic
maid servant appeared, pinioning by the
elbows a very large and very drunk wom-
an, whom she endeavored to push out of
the door. The woman was resisting to the
best of her ability, because she had not yet
finished making some very emphatic re-
marks to Dobson. He stood with his pipe
in his hand, and on his face an expression
of mingled anxiety for his servant and grief
for the verbal excesses of her opponent.
Perceiving us, he forgot them both, and
ran to meet us.
‘‘Hallo, Jones, old man, you’re a stran-
ger. Very glad to see you, Mr. Fenwick.
Come in, both of you. Very regretable,
this very. Really, Mrs. Cookson, you
know—"’ .
But at this point I took ad vantage of a
favorable chance and pushed the woman
off the steps into the street, where she fell
into a rather confused heap, but never
stopped cursing for an instant. That don-
key, Dobson, actually ran down to pick
her up, but was anticipated by a police-
man, who led her off with some difficulty.
Dobson took us inside, apologizing.
‘Some of these people are rather troul-
lesome,”’ he said, “and the only way is to
be very firm with them, but patient, al-
ways patient. You let your care for me
carry you away, Jones, I’m afraid.”
In his room, which seemed to he fur-
nished chiefly with a crucifix and a big
table littered with papers, were two or
three other parishioners, apparent] y sober,
but in an aggressive condition of boredom.
Dobson submitted with the patience of
which he had spoken to be bored about the
parish magazide, the young men's foot-ball
club, the mission hall harmonium, and the
coming Sunday school excursion. I flatter
myself I made his martyrdom appreciably
shorter by glaring savagely at the tortur-
ers. When the last had dragged himself
away, the victim dropped into an easy
chair (so called ; it was a wretched thing
of wicker work, and that he considered a
weakness of the flesh), lita pipe, and turn-
ed with a sigh of relief to rational conver-
sation. It soon appeared that Fenwick’s
object in coming was to get Dobson to stay
at Fenn Hall for a few weeks. I have sev-
eral reasons for standing well with Fen.
wick, and there appeared nothing treason-
able in his desire, so I backed it up ; and
as Dobson could not help feeling that he
was really in need of country air and rather
less work, he finally consented to a tem-
porary exchange of duty with the curate at
the village church, who was anxious to see
a little of a London parish. When I had
likewise booked Dobson for my meeting,
Fenwick and I departed together.
As we went out of the door, a sheepish,
half-grown boy and an acrid old woman
* went in. . Fenwick called my attention to
them.
“That’s the kind of foolishness that’s
working him to death,” he said, ‘‘that
and the fasts and the early services, and a
dashed lazy vicar who takes none of the
work. I’m fond of the boy, and I mean to
put a stop toit.”’
‘‘Indeed,’’ said I, “but how ? Dobson,
You know, is as obstinate as a pig, especial-
ly about these things.”
“I know, but my theory is that the
whole thing rests on this absurd celibacy
idea. If he had a wife she’d make him go
slow and not knock himself to pieces ; and
she’d feed him properly and keep him
warm, and he’d be another man in six
months. Besides, he’s not fit for a Lon-
don parish anyhow, and he has great talents
which are wasted here. No, sir, I have
my plan.”
‘‘Indeed, Mr. Fenwick,” said I, ‘“‘you
interest me extremely.”’ And so he did,
for I began tosee what he was after. ‘Pray,
what is your plan #’*
“Simply and sufficiently this. Yon
know my niece, Amy ?”’
I answered that I knew the lady very
well—as indeed I did, though not so weil
as I wished.
‘“Well, if three or four weeks of Amy's
society in a country house don’t make him
change his mind about celibacy, I'm a
Dutchman. The stupid fellow has hardly
spoken to a nice girl since he went to
school, I believe. Half these young don-
keys are women-haters out of mere ignor-
ance.”’
‘A most excellent idea, no doubt, for
Dobson. But how about your niece ? Is
she disposed to assist?’
‘“Well, you know,” said Fenwick ‘‘it’s
not really necessary that she should. It
will be quite enough to cure Dobson if he
falls passibly in love with her ; then if she
rejects him, or even if he never proposes,
he will go and marry someone else. They
always do. But why shouldn’t she, you
know? Girls are generally ready enough
to take a curate, and you know he’s a very
fine fellow.~ Then I would make him rec-
tor of Fenton, and he should write a book
and be made a canon and his preaching
would soon bring him to the front.”’
“You have it all cut and dried, I see.
Well, I wish you every success, but I think
it’s rather ticklish.”
‘‘Not a bit. You must come to the hall
and help me, though. Come on Thursday
week, won't you !”’
To this I consented, and we parted.
I knew Dobson, and I knew he was not
the man to carry out Fenwick’s plan by
falling passably in love with anyone, least
of all with Amy. I was much more than
passably in love with her myself, though I
had never found opportunity to inform
her, or Fenwick, either, of that fact.
Either Dobson would stick to his prin-
ciples and succeed in resisting her attrac-
tions, or he would fall very much in love
indeed, in which case I believed, he would
be a dangerous wooer. I did not, there-
fore, look with any favor on Fenwick’s ex-
periment, but if it was to be tried it was
in every way better that I should be pres-
ent.
It was half-past 11 and Fenwick yawn-
ed, got up, stretched himself, and intimated
his intention of going to bed. He said he
was not accustomed to London hours, and
he went off, leaving Dohson and me in sole
possession of the smoking room at Fenn
Hall. Fenwick was a little disheartened.
When he formed a plan of any sort, par-
ticularly a plan for arranging the destinies
of his fellow-men, he used to set his heart
on it, and he was not much pleased at the
total apparent failure of his designs on
Dobson. Dobson saw a good deal of Amy ;
he even talked to her more than to any-
one else, but that was simply because she
was the only person in the house who
would listen to the kind of talk he loved
best. It isa solemn fact that he used to
discuss with that poor girl the persistent
unity of the church of England and the
degree of authority to be attributed to an
Ecumenical council. She used to listen to
him with the utmost gravity, and with a
sort of timid pleasure at hearing about
such big and wonderful things ; but how
much she understood I never attempted to
guess. Now, when I had a chance of talk-
ing to Amy, which was not seldom, it was
not with that kind of conversation I en-
tertained her, and I did not believe that
Dobson would have done it either if he had
been in love. Nor did his style of talking
vary when they were alone together, as far
as I could make out; and I took several
opportunities to come upon them sudden-
ly, quite by accident, in the midst of these
interviews. Dohson nevershowed any dis-
pleasure at being interrupted, and there
was no sign of any change of subject. I
was, therefore, fairly easy of mind ; and
my disgust may be conceived when he
turned upon me, some forty puffs after
Fenwick had left the room, and began to
make confidences.
He began, parsonwise, on generalities.
He said he had lately been considering the
subject of the celibacy of the clergy, and
had come to the conclusion that the practice
of the church of England was wiser than
that of the sister church, which he had
hitherto preferred. He held as strongly as
ever that celibacy was the ideal condition
for that highest kind of character which
can devote itself wholly and without re-
serve to an abstract cause ; but he believed
that such characters were rare, and that he
had heen committing the sin of spiritual
pride in reckoning himself one of them.
Here he paused a little, and then went on
to speak of the help and inspiration in
clerical duties which a lower kind of men
might derive from a good wife. He was
really very eloquent—I could not help
noticing that—hut it was wonderfully like
a sermon ; and I should have been inclined
to go to sleep if I had not felt so vexed at
the fellow for falling in love with Amy,
and so amused at the queer way he took
to tell me of it. The funny part was that
he was perfectly in earnest, and quite be-
lieved that by contemplating Amy his eyes
had heen opened to a number of important
spiritual truths. I have heard lay lovers
talk in something the same way, but for
my part I never found that kissing Amy
opened my eyes to any truth except that
she was very nice to kiss.
I thought he would never come to the
point, but at last he did.
“And I love the girl,” he said, ‘‘and I
am afraid to speak to her. Partly it is
herself I am afraid of, because she is so
simple and yet so wise. But then again I
know nothing about the conventions and
the customs ; I might frighten her ; there
are right ways and wrong ways of speaking,
and I know nothing.” And be went on to
appeal to my worldly wisdom, of which he
always had a great opinion. Once Dobson
tried to convert me and failed ; he had
borne me no grudge for it (which is rare),
but had made a division in his own mind,
I believe, by which I was to be wise in the
things of this world, and te be left to the
‘‘uncovenanted mercies’’ of Providence in
the next. And now it was the wisdom of
this world he wanted. So I gave it to
him, thus, with a grave face.
“Dobson,’’ said I, ‘‘this is a delicate
matter. I donot helieve Miss Fenwick
has any conception of the feelings yon en-
tertain for her. Nor doI imagine that she
has ever asked herself whether she enter-
tains any such feelings for you. It is not
the way of women todo so until a man
has spoken much more plainly than you
have done. An abrupt declaration would
startle her and might be fatal to your
chances. What you must do is to proceed
slowly and gradually, letting your feelings
be seen by degrees, so as to accustom her
tolook on you rather as a lover than as a
teacher.”” And I further instructed him
in the same sense ; to all which he listened
with much docility, and at the end of it
shook my hand and said I was a true
friend ; and I went to bed to think it over.
The advice I had given him was not only
excellent in itself, it had the further merit
of leaving a clear field for me. It was
quite true that Amy was by no means pre-
pared to hear any declaration of love from
him, but she was quite prepared to hear
one from me, and I was sure she must have
asked herself the question whether she
cared for me, though I was by no means
sure whether she had yet answered it. I
should have preferred to wait awhile and
let the fruit ripen, but I knew that Dob-
son’s notion of gradually proceeding was
not one that would allow me much time.
If I spoke first and was rejected, then the
field would be clear for him ; but if he
spoke first, whether he was accepted or re-
jected, I knew Amy would be so much dis-
turbed and agitated that I should have no
chance for the rest of my visit, and anoth-
er opportunity might never come. And I
was by no means sure that he would be re-
jected, for although she certainly did not
love him, women have heen known to
marry out of admiration and pity before
now, and particularly parsons. Then both
parties are unhappy. So I felt I should be
acting in the best interests of all three of
us in speaking as soon as possible.
And so I did. I met her in the garden
next morning, and there, on a rustic seat
under a laburnum, I told her of my love.
There are some scenes too sacred for the
public gaze, and I shall not attempt to
paint the pretty shame-faced air with which
Amy responded to my declaration. But
when we had once more begun to talk more
or less like reasonable beings, the first
thought that crossed my mind was Dob-
son. He really was a sort of old man of
the sen ; I was never allowed to be free of
him. But having conquered I could afford
to be magnanimous, and I resolved to make
the thing as little unpleasant both for him
and her as could be.
‘‘Dearest,’’ I said, *‘I have a piece of
news for you that will surprise you.” She
looked up at me in such a sweet, confiding
way that I had to kiss her before going on.
‘Do you know, I am not the only man
who has eyes to see. What would you
think, now, of old Dobson 2’
‘Yes, yes, yes, Dobson, and no other,”’
Isaid. “Funny, isn’t it, but true. He is
not so far away up in the sky as you think.
He will come down to say something very
particular to a little mortal maiden, and
before many days are up.”
*‘Oh, no, I do hope not,’’ she exclaimed,
‘Are you sure?”
“Quite certain; I have watched him
with you, and I know old Dobson through
and through. Now, when he does speak,
love—as he certainly will, and you must
prepare yourself for it—don’t tell him
about me. It would pain him. You will
know how to refuse him without hurting
him more than you must. My little girl
is very wise.’
I am afraid she was more frightened than
wise for the next few days, and I'm sure
she tried to prevent Dobson speaking at
all. But he never noticed her little de-
terrents. His method of carrying out my
instructions was to hang off as well as he
could for two days, and then, in the effort
to show a little of his feelings, to blurt out
a declaration. It must have been painful
to Amy ; she was quite done up after it,
rather hysterical, and went to bed with a
headache. Dobson went to London the
same afternoon without a word to anyone,
and I told Fenwick he had received a tele
gram about an outbreak of small-pox in
his parish. I knew he would write to Fen-
wick, but only in general terms ; and so he
did, and Fenwick hardly looked at the let-
ter because he was afraid of infection. I
had a letter myself which was rather a
curious document, and which explained
fully ; but I never showed it either to Fen-
wick or Amy.
Fenwick, some few days after, took oc-
casion to observe :
“I think that fellow Dobson must be
made of cast-iron.”’
I thought I would administer consola-
tion and get out our secret at the same
time. and I said :
‘No ; but Dobson, you know, is a man
of very penetrating observation, and also a
man who would never think of obtruding
himself, and when he came here he saw at
once—— 7’
‘What?’
“Why that Amy was, as it were, en-
gaged.”
‘As it were engaged ! What on earth do
you mean, Jones? She was not engaged.’
‘She was not ; hut she is, Mr. Fenwick
--to me.”
* * 3* * w* #*
Fenwick is really a reasonable man at
bottom. He came round very soon, and I
have noticed that he has rather given up
arranging other people’s affairs for them.
As for Dobson, he found himself restless
in London, and he went with seme mis-
sionaries to Smyrna. Before he started
Amy had a letter from him. over which
she cried a little, though I couldn’t see any-
thing to cry over. It was a very proper
letter, and spoke confidently of her future
happiness with me. When he had been a
little time in Smyrna he unfortunately
caught a fever and died. I was sorry. He
was a good fellow, and, as I said, a capital
speaker.— From Black and White.
Over a Million Pensioners.
In the forthcoming annual report of the
Commissioner of Pensions, H. Clay Evans,
it will be shown that on June 30th, 1897,
there were on the roll of the Pension Bu.
reau 976,014 pensioners. To this must be
added 6,852 original claims granted but
not recorded, and 762 restorations which
were not entered at the time on the books.
Commissioner Evans granted 63,648 origi-
nal claims during the past year and restor-
4,089 pensioners to the benefit of pensions.
The pensioners now aggregate 1,040,356.
More pensions were granted last year
than from any time from 1869 up to 1880.
There is absolutely no means of even ap-
proximating what the claim will be under
the recent war. The pension office has
done nothing with the claims that have
been filed up to this time. They do not
aggregate 100, and for the most part are
claims of widows and next of kin for the
soldiers who fell before Santiago.
Before a claim can be perfected it must
contain the full record of the soldier’s serv-
ices, and this information has not yet been
compiled by the War Department. When
this is done the claim will he speedily tak-
en up. The majority of claims will be for
wounds and sickness, the latter leaving the
soldier more or less disabled.
No additional legislation will be requir-
ed to deal with the cases arising from this
war. The present laws, the authorities
say, cover ail that is necessary, and claims
will be adjudicated on the same lines as
those of the Rebellion.
We have grown so accustomed to pleas-
ant surprises in the career and conduct of
Admiral Dewey that scarcely anything
now from that resourceful sailor would
make an American raise his eyebrows or
rub his eyes. ‘“That’s just like Dewey,’
we would say and dismiss the incident as a
matter of fact. He has done much already
to win the gratitude of his countrymen, but
the distinct beauty of all he has done is
the direct, self-forgetful, modest and thor-
oughly scientific manner in which he has
accomplished the work. Each act has has
only made him readier and apter for each
successive act.
Disgraceful Treatment of the Men Who
Fought at Santiago.
Conditions at Montauk Point Which Secretary Alger
Considers Satisfactory—Distress Even in Wash-
ington Relieved by Charity.
The correspondent of the Philadelphia
Ledger writes from Montauk Point, L. I.,
August 25: Secretary of war Alger has
been a visitor for two days past to this
camp. He came, as it is stated, as the re-
sult of various journalistic and personal
criticisms of the care given to our soldiers
here. He has, if the morning papers are
to be believed, furnished an interview to
the press, in which he announces that he
finds matters much better than he expected,
and in which he intimates that the situa.
tion is, on the whole, satisfactory.
Camp Wikoff, located at the extreme
eastern point of Long Island, is a camp of
invalids. Fourteen hundred officers and
men are in hospital. Nine-tenths of the
remainder in the various camps ought to
be under nurse's care. Here, within the
past four weeks, have been assembled the
remnants of the army of Santiago, sick
from the trenches and large numbers of
troops from southern camps in this ~ountry,
decimated with fevers and weak from lack
of proper food. It was chosen as a camp
for convalescents and well chosen.
The facts briefly stated respecting the
camp at Montauk Point are that the hos-
pital accommodations are grossly insuffi-
cient, the medical supplies inadequate, and
the food for the men, a very large propor-
tion of whom are invalids, of a character
which the most robust constitutions would
find it difficult to digest. Privation, suffer-
ing and fever have worn most of the men
to skeletons. The hospitals are packed.
Every cot is filled. Scores of new arrivals
are lying on the floors, deprived of the
commonest comforts of the sick in garrison.
Each arriving transport brings in additional
cases of care. The surgeons, put to their
wits’ end to provide facilities have been
seizing vessels and turning them into hos-
pital ships. The ambulances form one of
the most important features of the land-
scape, but the ambulances only carry such
as cannot drag themselves about. The
scenes at the wharf where the troops are
unloaded are pitiable in the extreme. Half
of the regiments which disembark look as
if they should be placed at once in hospit-
als. Only the most desperately sick are
afforded that privilege, while the remainder
drag tkemselves wearily through the sand
dunes to the camp selected for them. Near-
est of all the camps to the wharf is the de-
tention camp, where the troops as they
arrive are isolated from three to five days
before joining the cavalry and infantry
camps beyond. There is no lack of tentage
or of water, either in the detention camp
or in the cavalry and infantry camp. But
there is a lack of medica) attendance, med-
ical supplies and proper food in every camp
at Montauk Point.
PITIABLE SCENES ON ALL SIDES.
A personal visit to the various camps
shows that with very few exceptions a ma-
jority of the men are invalids. They are
wrecks of their former selves, weak and
exhausted. They shuffle as they walk
through the company streets, their eyes are
hollow, their cheeks sunken. Many walk
supported on either side by comrades. But
they are said not to be ill enough to be sent
to the hospital. They can stand on their
feet and move and are therefore not sub-
jects for the already crowded hospital tents.
There is no room for them where medical
attendance might alleviate their sufferings
and a change in diet from the army rations
enable them to assimilate food. Their of-
ficers are powerless. Many are as ill as
they are themselves, sleeping as they do on
the ground and living on the same rations,
repugnant to a weakened stomach. The
flower of the regular army is at Montauk
Point, but so faded and drooping that it is
scarcely recognizable by those who saw it
in its vigor and bloom four months ago.
LACK OF PROPER FOOD.
The universal complaint is of lack of
proper food. There is an abundance of a
portion of the army rations. The ware-
houses near the tracks are full of salt pork,
of beans and hard tack. For men with
strong stomachs the ration is sufficient and
ample. But the camp at Montauk Point
is tenanted with sick men, weakened by
successive attacks of fever, with their Sys-
tems poisoned with malaria, and who need
other than that on which they have sub-
sisted in the camps and trenches behind
Santiago. They crave for fresh vegetables,
for milk, for eggs, for something different
than they have had, and, while they do
not complain and are not complaining, it
is heartrending to listen to the remarks of
officers of the regular army about the con-
dition of their men and their utter inability
to improve it. The Ledger correspondent
witnessed men fall in the ranks at guard
mounting. through sheer weakness, and
passed through an infantry street in which
six privates making their way to the rear
were being assisted from the ground by
comrades. When he asked why the men
were not sent to hospitals, he was informed
that the hospitals were full and that it
would be of no use to send them there; that
medical supplies were too short for the
proper treatment of the men in camp, and
that a large proportion of the continued
sickness was due to the lack of proper food.
The tears filled the eyes of one of the officers
who had led the charge up San Juan hill,
and who, weak and exhausted, sitting on
a camp stool in front of his tent, demanded
to know why, within 100 miles of New
York city, the men who had suffered such
privations as had his command, should be
compelled to endure the same privations at
Montauk Point as at Santiago.
An officer needing a slight surgical op-
eration upon his hand was informed at the
hospital that he had better apply for sick
leave, repair to his home and employ a
surgeon at home, because the resources of
the hospital at camp were already over-
taxed. There was universal complaint of
lack of medical supplies to treat men in
their tents, for whom accommodations
could not be found in the hospitals.
It isa situation in which starvation is
playing its part, not because there is not
an abundance of a certain kind of food
present, but because itis of a character
which cannot be assimilated by sick men.
The volunteer regiments in camp have heen
fortunate in their nearness to home. Visig-
ors and friends have noted their needs,
and supplies in abundance have been sent
to the Seventy-first New York, the First
United States volunteers and Second Massa-
chusetts. It is the regular army, which
comprises nine-tenths of the troops in the
camp, who are suffering most severely.
The mouths of officers of the regular
army here are sealed. They have been
schooled to suffer and be silent, to accept
criticism without reply and to decline to
afford information which might compro-
mise superiors. They cannot and will not
speak for themselves.
Here, in a camp of invalids, the hospi-
tals cannot furnish cots for the sick, and
hundreds only less ill than those lying on
the floor in the hospitals cannot secure
needed medical supplies. The surgeons at
|
Camp Wikoff are men of great
ability, and are exerting themselves to the
utmost. Colonel Wood, in charge of the
| hospital, is known as one of the best exec- |
| utive officers in the medical corps. He
| has been unremitting in his labors and per-
| sistent in his requisitions.
| be said is that the supplies do not come,
{ and the sick can not be properly treated
without medical supplies.
| It must be said for the commissary offi-
| cers of the camp that it is not their duty to
carry supplies to the different commands.
i This is the function of the quartermaster’s
| department, and for a week past there has
| been a wretched lack of transportation.
| Stores have laid by the railroad for days
| because no wagons were available to carry
| them to the camps.
| The plan for the hospital service was ap-
parently conceived in ignorance of the
[awful condition of the troops in Cuba to
| be sent to this camp of convalescence. All
| the officers here present in charge of the
{ camp, have, I believe, done their full duty.
{ They cannot be held responsible for a con-
{ dition of affairs which it was the business
| of the war department in advance to be
| fully acquainted with, and which it was
| its duty to amply provide for. Had it not
| been for the efforts of the Red Cross society
| and other kindred organizations, the suf-
| fering would be much greater than it
now is.
—————————————————
Appropriations by Congress.
The Total of the Last Session was $917,405,271.
The volume of appropriations, new of-
fices, etc., required by law to be prepared
at the end of each session of Congress, un-
der direction of the committees on appro-
priations of the House and Senate, has just
been completed for the session of the Fifty-
fifth Congress by P. T. Cleaves and J. C.
Courts, chief clerk respectively of the Sen-
ate and House committees,
A summary of the appropriations shows
the grand total to be $893,231,815.
The details by bills are as follows :
Agricultural, $3,509,202 ; army, $23,193, -
392 ; diplomatic, $1,752,208 ; District of
Columbia, $6,426,880 ; fortifications, $9,-
377,494 ; Indian, $7,673,854 ; legislative,
$21,625,846 ; military academy, $458,689 ;
naval, $56,098,783 ; pension, $141,233,830;
postoffice, $99,222,300 ; sundry civil, $48,-
490.212 ; deficiencies, including various
war appropriations for fiscal year 1898 and
continuing to December 31st next, $349,-
772,389 ; miscellaneous appropriations,
$6,560,301 ; permanent appropriations,
$117,836,222.
Of the amount $61,859,927 are to meet
expenses on account of the war with
Spain.
In addition to thespecific appropriations
made, contracts are authorized to be en-
tered into for the construction of new bat-
tleships and other new naval vessels, five
dry docks and various other public works,
requiring future appropriations by Con-
gress to the amount of $24,173,656.
The total number of new offices and em-
ployments specifically authorized amount
to 301,383, at a cost of $53,691,911, of
which number 274,909, at a cost of $43,-
240,380 are for the military establishment,
and 25,966, at a cost of $9,544,109, for the
naval establishment, on account of the war.
Adding other war increases of clerical force
in several of the executive departments,
and deducting the offices and employments
abolished, 269 in number, at an annual
cost of $288,580, the net result shows no
substantial change in the number of offices
and employments provided for the fiscal
year 1898.
The number of salaries and compensa-
tions increased is 206, of which 179 are for
the military establishment, and 11 are for
the diplomatic and consular service. The
number reduced is five.
A comparison of the total appropriations
for 1899, excluding the war appropriations,
with the total appropriations for 1898
shows an increase for 1899 of $2,636,608.
ee ———
Great Surrenders of the War.
The great surrenders of the war were
few. The first of note was the surrender
of the Union garrison of Lexington, Mo.,
to Gen. Price, Aug. 20th, 1861, by Col.
James A. Mulligan. The garrison num-
bered 3,500, including non-combatants.
On the 16th of February, 1862, the gar-
rison of Fort Donelson, Tenn., numbering
12,000 to 15,000, was surrendered by Gen.
Buckner to Gen. Grant. At Harper’s
Ferry, Va., Sept. 14th, 1862, Col. Dixon 8.
Miles surrendered to Gen. ‘‘Stonewall”’
Jackson a large quantity of arms and
military supplies, and the garrison of about
12,000 men. Sept. 17th, 1862, Col. J. T.
Wilder surrendered the Union forces at
Munfordyville, Ky., to Gen. Bragg, who, at
the head of a large army, was invading the
State. Wilder had about 4,000 men.
At the fall of Vicksburg, J uly 4th, 1863,
Gen. Pemberton surrendered to Grant 31,-
600 men, 60,000 muskets and 172 cannon.
The most remarkable capture on the bat-
tle field was made by Gen. Hancock, at the
‘Bloody Angle,” Spottsylvania, May 12th,
1864. Gen. Edward Johnson with a divi.
sion of Ewell’s corps occupied a salient, or
angle, and was surprised at daylight. The
greater part of the division, numbering 2,-
800 men, and all the officers, including the
commander, were made prisoners on the
spot.
The final surrenders were as follows :
Appomattox, Va., April 9th, 1865, Lee
to Grant, 28,000 ; Greensboro, N. C., April
26th, 1865, Johnston to Sherman, 37,000 ;
Citronelle, Ala., May 4th, 1865, Gen.
Richard Taylor to Gen. E. R. S. Canby,
10,000 ; Tallahassee, Fla., May 10th, 1865,
Gen. Sam Jones to Gen. E. M. McCook,
8,000 ; May 11th, 1865, Chalk Bluff, Ark.,
Gen. Jeff Thompson to Gen. G. M. Dodge,
7,500 ; May 26th, 1865, Gen. Kirby Smith
surrendered the Trans-Mississippi army in
Texas to Gen. E. R. S. Canby. The Con-
federates in that department numbered
about 20,000.
Camp George G. Meade.
Pennsylvania Railroad Trains Stopping at the
Camp.
For the accommodation of persons desir-
ing to visit camp George G. Meade, near
Middletown, Pa., the Pennsylvania rail-
road company has arranged to stop the fol-
lowing trains at the camp :—
Westhound, weekdays: Trains leaving
Philadelphia at 4.30, 7.00 and 8.30 a. m.;
2.40 and 4.35 p. m.; also trains leaving
Lancaster 9.45 a. m. and 2.35 p. m. Sun-
day trains leaving Philadelphia 4.30, 7.00
and 8.30 a. m., and 12.25 p. m.
Easthound, weekdays: Trains leaving
Harrisburg 6.40, 7.15, 9.10 and 11.40 a. m.
2.55, 3.25, 4.50, 5.10 and 7.00 p. m. Sun-
day trains leaving Harrisburg 2.35, 325
and 7.00 p. m.
—*‘I used to wonder why the world
was made one-fourth land and three-fourths
water.”’
‘‘Well—why is it 2”?
‘So that battleships can have a place to
chase each other around.”
——
All that can |
professional |
FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN.
Every indication
this is to be a fancy
millinery world.
points to the fact that
feather season in the
The smartest toques and turbans for the
| coming season flare well back from the face,
but this will be a favorite model for all
shapes.
The small hats and bonnets will be made
of fancy braid mingled with velvet or felt.
Quills, wings, bird’s breasts, fancy plum-
age, and soft feature feathers will be used
in greater profusion than they have heen
even this summer, when no hat was com-
| plete without them.
La Bergere, or the shepherdess shape, of
the summer appears again in felt, but it is
not so attractive in the heavier materials
as in the light Tuscan straw.
Velvet will be the height of vogue not
only to make toques, turbans, and hats,
but to a great extent for trimming.
The fancy spangled effects in wings and
quills have been so popular that they will
| last well through the winter.
Brim edgings, hat crowns, and crown
bands in fancy braids are a novelty that
will prove decidedly taking.
Many of the most stylish hats will be
seen adorned with huge fanciful bows,
If you have a full puffy ‘“Tam’ crown
in your fall hat from last season, don’t
change it, as they will be the thing for this
year, too.
Many shades of blue are much in evi-
dence for fall millinery—dark fleur-de-lis,
bright forget-me-not, royal iris, China and
lavender blue, and blue grays and peri-
winkle are all equally popular.
Pleated Japanese hat braids, silk fibres,
grenadine, satin and chiffon are some of
the most desirable stuffs used in the com-
position or adornment of the ‘‘sweetest’’
things.
A new shaped crown, round and bell
shaped like a diver’s bell, is a develop-
ment of the fall of ’98.
The rage for cording reaches almost an
alarming stage. Where the bows and
rosettes of the past summer had one and
two wires corded, the ones on the winter
hats will hardly fall short of a dozen.
A great deal of fur will be used on hats
this winter, as fur is to be Dame Fashion’s
fad for everything for the cold weather.
The poke shape of our grandmothers is
heralded again, but ‘‘fox’’ in this regard
has been cried so often, the season remains
to prove the stability of this rumor.
To clean black silk. When a thrifty
French woman wishes to clean black silk
she brushes it thoroughly and wipes it with
a cloth. Then, after itis free from dust,
she lays it flat on a board and sponges it
with hot coffee which has been strained
through muslin and freed from sediment.
The silk is sponged on the right side, al-
lowed to become half dry and then ironed
on the wrong side.
The coffee removes every particle of
grease and restores the brilliancy of the
silk without giving it the shiny appear-
ance or the crackly and papery stiffness
which results from beer, or indeed any
other liquid except ammonia and water,
which last does not freshen the color and
gloss of the silk as coffee does. The silk is
much improved by the process, and the
good effect is permanent.
Silk should never be ironed with a hot
iron put directly on the silk. Always lay
thin wrapping paper, such as is used by
our best dry goods stores, over it, and iron
through the paper.
When stitching thin silk, or, indeed,
any goods flimsy enough to draw in the
machine, lay paper over it also and stitch
through. The paper will tear away easily
along the line of perforations made by the
needle.
Preparing house plants for winter. The
first week of September is the time to pre-
pare the house plants, says the New York
Tribune. All plants designed for window
culture must receive treatment now. The
young slips should be put in pots in a shady
place and sprinkled each night, after the
sun has set. Before plants are ready to
remove to the house they should have a
steady, healthy growth; buds must be
plucked off as soon as they appear, and the
dead leaves carefully clipped, while every
caution should be observed in the protec-
tion of the foliage from insects. A solu-
tion made of a pint of water to a spoonful
of strong tobacco will be found an excellent
remedy. The old plants, which after many
seasons of blooming are likely to ‘‘run
out’’ and become quite useless if not cared
for early in the season, must be looked after
also. The flowering begonia is a beautiful
winter window dresser, and if put in boxes
and carefully tended early in the fall will
bloonr all through the winter, and when
arranged with geranium slips and ferns one
can have an artistic garden inside. There
is no picture more cheering or homelike
while the snow beats against the window-
pane than to see flowers smiling in a cozy
room.
Physicians do not think that plants are
healthful in sleeping apartments, but they -
do not object to them in other rooms. A
great physician once said that a little flower
blooming in winter seemed like a silent
benediction on the household.
Jackets fitting like one’s skin. Have
you heard about the fetching little jackets
in which we shall be keeping warm pres-
ently? One thing, there'll be no trouble
in having them glove-fitting, since they're
actually made of suede! And one can’t
say enough for the elegance of suede. Hav-
ing always been partial to it as a hand
covering, we shall adopt it for a whole
jacket with delight. We shall cease to be
the puppet of our tailor and rise superior
to the yards of whalebone with which he
has been in the habit of disguising our
true lines, for the exquisitely soft suede
will cling to every curve and give every
characteristic hone the ‘deference due.’
However, we have already found one thorn
on our rose ; those of us who have not heen
abroad to inspect the models are in desper-
ate fear lest the sleeves should have to be
worked on like gloves. If this be thus it
will be nothing to the agony of getting
them off again. You know how it is with a
glove after the hand has become warm.
But sufficient unto the day is the evil
thereof.