Pittsburg dispatch. (Pittsburg [Pa.]) 1880-1923, March 03, 1889, SECOND PART, Page 9, Image 9

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Graphic Description of Those lazy
Lotus Eaters of the South,
Aa Enprogrcssive, but Very Hospitable
Class of People.
rcoKsxsroxD&rcs or via msr atch.i
DA, February 25.
The "Cracker" is
the lowest grade of
the poor whites of
Florida. The de
rivation of the word
seems to be un
known, but a Crack
er he is, a Cracker
Crschtr Cabin.
he always has been, and a Cracker he will
be until Gabriel blows his horn. From its
association the term means laziness, ignor
ance and immorality. What the moon
shiner is to Kentucky, the murderous
political "bulldozer" to Mississippi, the
Cracker is lo Florida. This native loves no
one outside of Crackerdom, but his greatest
hatred is toward the African.
The enmity existing between the negro
and these "poor white trash" of the South
is so intense and so inborn that it is often
the cause of many bitter fends, even mani
festing itself in the prattling children. The
little woolly-headed African playing in the
land hears the taunting "nigger," and with
a contempt that is almost loathsome, quickly
hurls a handfur of sand, along with the
scathing missile "You yaller-faced Crack
To the discredit of this benighted class of
the Caucasian, candor compels the admis
sion that the Southern negro is infinitely
his superior in principle, education and
public spirit. No association can change a
Cracker, his clanish views preventing any
possibility of a reformation, while the negro,
with his love of imitation, models after the
best class of whites, and, although he often
appears in many laughable lights, is gradu
ally making impvroements overthe "old
plantation darkey."
The Cracker, on the contrary, continues
the same sluggish, selfish individual, op
posed to the world's new opinions and pro
gressions, blind and obstinate in the belief
that the ways of his ancesters are better
than the "new fangled Yankee idees," and
'89 finds him less progressive than half a
century since. We find him to-day so inert,
ambition and self-respect, such zero quali
ties in his composition, that he is satisfied
with mere existence. It seems impossible
to make any improvement in his character
and life, and if Dicken's Bumble were to
speak, he would substitute "crackers" for
Cracker SchooUiouse.
"paupers," and say, "What have Crackers
to do with soul or spirit, cither. It's quite
enough we let 'em have live bodies."
Yet with all his shortcomings the Cracker
has his virtues, and unquestioning hospital
ity is a shining part of his simple life, for
whoever heard of a Cracker turning a
stranger away from his door. While his
wife, his nine or a dozen lean, lank, cadav
erous looking children Tind numerous dogs
stand in the background, he gives you the
best his home aftords, which is generally
corn bread, bacon 'and black coffee. Then,
if you talk "no vhiskv" (?) scathe the
"radicals" and praise Florida swamp land,
entertainment is insured lor the season.
The home of the Florida native is built of
logs, the cracks stopped with mortar. There
are generally two rooms, with perhaps a
porch in front, that is used as a storage
place for the farm implements, guns, etc.'
The sallow, careworn looking women do
most of the field or garden work, but they
do it with the same spirit of meekness and
willingness of the Indian squaw, and more
affection and kindliness of teeling exists in
their homes than in many brownstone
fronts. Among these liege lords are many
bloodthirsty desperadoes, but the devoted
women see all the good that learns forth, and
on the principle that "all men have their
faults, and stealing is Bill's," resent like a
hunted tigress any insult toward husband
or lover.
"When ignorance is bliss, 'tis Tolly to be
wise," isxemplified in Crackerdom, when
Corner Grocery in Crackerdom.
one sees the characteristic Florida family
lumbering along. Behold an oxcart, drawn
by two or four lean, hungry, weary-looking
oxen, the cart laden with women and chil
dren, the products of the little sand patch, a
few jugs, .and perhaps, if luck has been an
attending anpol. a liri nlliir-itnr mnxr r.nm.
J5'? the outfit All except the women and
s exenangeo at top nearest town
XOr the Cracker1 TiArtnr nrtA ftmhrntin-.
whisky and tobacoo. No millionaire in his J
coupe. driven by silky-coated horses, sees
more joy in a drive than do our natives on
this momentous drive to "town."
But the brightest, fairest day in all the
yeaV to the Cracker element is the red letter
circus day. This to the simple-minded
Cracker is the luxurious treat jf the year.
How he enjoys the jokes of the old clown,
and how his" heart swells with pride and
glory when the elephants eats peatnuts out
of his "very own hand," and who is more
honored in all the land of Crackerdom than
the successful rider of the trick mule. The
pink lemonade and the indigestible ginger
bread, the games of chance and the side
show, with "the only captured mermaid,"
all apDeal to his soul. It is only until very
recently that .many of these natives beheld
the first locomotive, and then traveled 60
in an oxcart to see this Yankee innova
tion. What this Florida native must think
of the magical changes in the way of prog
ress coming over the State would be inter
esting to know, bnt when the revolution is
wrought bv "radirals and Yankees" the
opinion would be far from flattering.
Few of these people can read or write, and
with the Bible and newspaper minus Quan
tities in every home, morality and civil lib
erty must beunknown terms. In many in
stances the Cracker is wealthy. Towns
spring up, and his land becomes valuable,
but the old way is good enough for him,
and he cares little for the luxury that
wealth might bring him. In politics the
Cracker is always a Democrat; why he docs
not know, unless it is that ail the negroes
are Republicans, and he "just ain't gwine
to vote with them."
Occasionally) in driving through the rural
districts, one sees a palmetto-thatched build
ing, politely called a sjhoolhouse. Here at
rare intervals a teacher has charge, and woe
to him if he teaches anything that won't
reconcile itself to the minds of the patrons.
One pedagogue, during this season, Colum
bus like, ventured to prove to the tow-headed
pupils that the "earth is round like a ball
and turns on its axis," but in so do
ing aroused the ire of a fond parent
who found it easier to convince that if such
were the case, "the water would all run out"
and soon demolished the teacher's theory.by
a childlike experiment placing a bucket
of water on a stump, with.the generous re
minder "that if that ere water was all
spilled in the morning, the chiller might
go on to school," but the bucket kept its
gravity and the Cracker philosopher, with
the consciousness! of a conquerer, said:
"Just ain't gwine to have no such Yankee
stuff put into my chillers' heads," and the
terra cotta, tan-colored urchins are taken
from school influences lo grow up ignorant
and superstitious, like their fathers before
them, and with the proud idea that. "Daddy
is heaps sharper as the master."
There is a field for the missionary and the
book agent and to their tender mercies we
consign the natives of Crackerland.
M. M.
Peculiar Cases Which Come to the Attention
ofa Lawyer.
"It is nonsense to talk as if lawyers had any
sympathy with lax divorce laws," remarked
a Pittsburg attorney. "I don't believe that
a man of any standing in the profession
anywhere, even in Chicago, likes to take up
a divorce case. It's a disagreeable business
at best, and respectable lawyers try to dis
suade their clients from divorce proceedings
.escept as a dernier resort.
"It's queer, though, what ideas people
have on the subject. A woman, in a fit of
pique against her husband, which will pro
bably last but a few days at best, comes to
ae and asks me if she can procure a di
vorce. When I have questioned her and
analyzed her complaints I frequently find
them or the most trivial.character. In such
a case I usually give a liberal amount of
advice, but of quite different character from
what the applicant expects. Nine times
out of ten the woman takes the same view
of the matter as I do, after I have argued
with her, and promises to go back to her
husband, at the same time requesting me
never to mention the fact that she has talked
about getting a divorce. Why.there isone wo
m an I could nam e who has been here seven or
eight times.resolved on getting a divorce. She
is still living with her husband I happen
to know both of them well and I believe
their married life is on the whole about as
pleasant as that of most people."
"Is uniformity' of divorce laws desir
able?" "Certainly it is a good law, which should
be the same in its application in every
State, would ie a blessing to the country.
It may come in time, but not soon, I fear."
Why Tobacco Smokers Are Unnsnally Num
erous In Pittsburg.
"I believe that there are more men who'use
tobacco in Pittsburg than in almost any other
city," remarked a Penn avenue tobacconist
a few days ago.
"How do you account for it," he was
"The Pittsburg toby, so abundant and so
cheap, is chiefly responsible, I believe.
There are few cities in tho country per
haps none, except Wheeling where the
toby, or more properly, the stogy, is so pop
ular. In the East and in the West smok
ing material in this form is almost un
known, and about the cheapest smoke one
can get is a 5-cent cigar, often so vile that a
habitual toby-smoker would throw it away
in disgust. Where one can get four satis
factory smokes for a nickel there is little
inducement to economize on tobacco, and
the consequence is that men and boys al
most all learn to smoke. I believe that
nearly four-fifths of the men in Pittsburg
use tobacco in some iorin, most of them
smoking it.
"Tobacco chewers are not as numerous
here as elsewhere and pipe smokers are
fewer still. The toby has brought about
this state of things. Its consumption is
steadily increasing. Why, there are men
in this city, who are worth hundreds of
thousands of dollars, who habitually use
tobies, not from motives of economy, but
simply because they like them. It's one of
Pittsburg's peculiar characteristics."
Tho Birth ofa Blizzard.
Detroit Free Press. 3
A man in Western Dakota saw a blizzard
bom. It started on the top of a large hill
and was a ball of white fog no larger than
his hat when he first saw it. He should
have carried it home and locked 'it up, but
he did not think of it until too late.
Fashionable Society Inquiring Into
and Taking Interest in
Mrs. Booth and Her Methods Discussed by
HEBE are a good many
of us who fight shy of the
Salvation Army, and
who, from inherited texn
Dcrameni and disability
or fixed habits and tastes,
always must. The drum
and the fife, the poke
bonnets and parad'ng
women rather repel than
attract us, and we can
but look askance at a
worship which seems to
invoke anything but a
quiet spirit.
Yet there is another side to it, and when,
with winning face and persuasive voice,
Mrs. Ballington Booth presents that other
side in the rectory parlors of therEpiscopal
churches and in the fashionable parlors of
the Fifth avenue, it is not diflicult to hear
through all the blare of bugle and beat of
drum the still small voice of human re
sponsibility, human conscience, human
reason the voice of God in the soul of man.
With all the good which the Episcopal
Church has wrought, with all her dignity
of attitude and the decorum other cere
monial, she adds never more worthily to her
dignity and decorum than in lending an ear
to this woman of the slums, whose professed
mission is that of Apostle to the Lowliest.
I cannot think that Dr. Bainsford's parlors
were ever devoted to a more sacred festival;
I cannotthink that the honored name of
Courtlandt or De Peyster ever gathered or
gave a purer radiance than when they lent
the shield of ecclesiasticism and the coun
tenance of fashion to a movement for the
uplifting of a lower stratum of humanity.
It was not indorsing the Salvation Army,
but it was giving the Salvation Army an
opportunity to present its argument and
show itself worthy of being indorsed. The
professed work of the Salvation Army is in
a field so remote, so low, so impossible to
most of us, yet so threatening to all, that it
is of the first imDortance not to discourage
any who are willing to enter it, and to en
courage and sustain and strengthen espe
cially those who are already in and are eager
to continue and to work.
The introduction of the Salvation Army
into ranks of fashion maybe only a fashion
able caprice. The output from that army
ofa young and pretty woman into the
haunts of the Four Hundred may be because
she was young and pretty; but can youth
and beauty be better employed than in
bridging the awful chasm between society
and the slums? If the power outside our
selves has so made ourselves that truth is
more winning from curved and rosy lips
than from hard and harsh or even from un
couth and ugly ones, why not avail our
selves of it and bid truth win, even thus,
her votaries? If society will take up Mrs.
Ballington Booth because of her simple
charm, let us look scrutinizingly at what
Mrs. Ballington Booth is trying to do before
we utterly frown down this social whim.
What says the young woman in the poke
For one thing, that she is going to put the
Salvation Army on a different footing from
that which it has hitherto held as needs
must, if she isthe gentle lady her bearing
indicates; ancnm the other hand she does
propose to continue some of the methods
which have made it to society not only ob
jectionable but impossible. Yet on these
points she is not stubborn, but argumenta
tive. She speaks from observation and ex
perience. She admits that the Army is
theatrical, but pleads that they must be
theatric! to secure their followers. It is
the old ai-jument of the fishers of the mere;
the harmless and the conclusive Pauline
argument to become all thinss to all men
in order that some men may be won.
She looks at her poke bonnet not as a
thing of beauty but of service. She would
like to throw it awav, but it is useful. This
is the argument for beneficent uniform, time
out of mind. We know of old what protec
tion is afforded by the nun's costume both
in the Catholic and the Protestant Churches.
It cannot be gainsaid, and it is the tribute
of the greedy, selfish, war-loving element of
humanity to the power ot love. The Salva
tion Army may plead the same right to its
protecting red and blue as have the Sisters
of Charity to their protecting black and
white. They have the same right as have
the other guilds of the Church Beneficent
and also always militant to whatever pe
culiarity ot form or fashion best beseems
their judgment and their mission, their
safety and their success.
It the poke fitly frames in the yonthful
face and raven curls who has not seen the
nun's fresh color, the Quaker's placid brow,
shining more brilliantly from the quaint
purity of the sectarian garb than it could
have done under never so much ingenuity
of the French milliner's skill?
And alas! the gentle young hand touches
a deeper chord, and I think- touches it
truly. Mrs. Booth lived amid the hopeless,
dreadful misery of the world. She grew up
where she held in sight a community, not
so much brutalized as stupefied 'with
wretchedness. It is he decline of common
sense that while religion is the root of the
work there must be a great deal beside re
ligion to make tho work profitable. First,
it is necessary to get the attention of these
almost but never quite dehumanized human
Mrs. Booth tells us that she has entered
rooms where women were living who never
so much as lifted head at her entrance, or
made any sign of recognition of her pres
ence. Many and many a time has she
rolled up her sleeves, tied a shawl around
her head, taken mop or broom in hand, and
as the ladies of society visit each other with
cards and carriage, broom and mop have
been her visiting cards and her medium of
intercourse in her calls upon her and our
wretched fellow citizens.
Oftenhasshe gone thus her dreadful round
simply helping these dumb creatures in
their hopelessness; helping to scrub floors
and scrub babies without speaking one word
of religion. But she has thus secured her
second position which is of equally vital im
portance to the first; viz., the friendliness of
her beneficiaries. Thus they have been
drawn toward her and have felt once more
the touch and throb and thrill of human
Is it not possible that the cornet and drum
may have something to sav for themselves?
If fate has gone so hard, if living souls have
grown so benumbed with beastly toil that
common curiosity is dead within them, may
not Mrs. Booth be right in affirming that far
off church bells will ring in vain for them?
It must be something near and clear and
loud, which they will hear. Only that
which shocks the ear attuned to melody can
strike the ear deadened by doom to all but
Not deadened to love, for through all the
misery and the squalor the mother love
delves on and.on, as Mrs. Booth incident
ally testifies, simply to provide food for the
children for whom she can provide little
else. v
Mrs. Booth and her miseries would better
be a fashionable fad in Fifth avenue draw
ing rooms than not to be in them at all.
There is a vital connection between the pur
lieus of wretchedness and the palaces of
luxury. It was just this vitality of con
nection which, in regular evolution, curst
into the blood-red blossom of revolution in
the mad days of Louis the XVI. It would
be a sore disgrace to tho nineteenth century
if it should fatuously copy the eighteenth;
if it could find no more excellent way to
cope with its evils than by "uprisings" in
this great and just Republic.
I do not think that such an "uprising"
will ever come, but it will be forestalled
less because Mrs. Davis prophesies it to tho
the silks and velvets of Delmonico, or be
cause Miss Van Etten's blood is stirred to
demand legislation ar.d organization to fight
capital than because Mrs. Booth goqs down'
into the pit with her dressed pinned un
from assail, washes the filthy baby with
warm water, binds up softly, coaxingly, the
burned and suffering boy, thns emphasizing
the sympathy in her soothing tones and
friend"ly words, and bringing back the
dazed, despairing mother into the circle of
human identity.
If Fifth avenue and the rectories will do
something besides make a fad of Mrs.
Boothwill stay her hands as Hur and
Aaron staved the hands of Moses, will fol
low her with money and time.and organiza
tion into her haunts of poverty, will hero
her to send the mother and children, when
ever it is possible, out into the cheap coun
tryside where fresh air costs nothing and
fresh water costs nothing, where rent is low
and work is greatly in -demand; will help
her tj support the poor mother there, will
eke out the labor of her feeble hands with
their own generous surplus till she shall
have grown strong to support her children
or even until her children have grown
strong to support her1 why, it will not be
inexpensive, but it will be less expensive
than a "revolt," less expensive than an
The country villages will noi permit city
paupers to be thrust upon them any more
than "this upright and industrious" Be
public will permit itself to be suffocated
under the failures of the old world. But an
intelligent organization not to "fight capi
tal," but to Christianize and utilize capital
in the equal interests of rich and poor, with
its arms reaching out into the country vil
lages white with harvests waiting for reap
ers might relieve the strain of muscle and
nerve in the too few village laborers and
equally relieve suffering labor, over-swollen
with its own ever-increasing supply in the
Strike after strike comes and goes and
fails or succeeds. But the suffering out of
Light, who'can tell? The anxiety, the un
certainty, the sad certainty, the apprehen
sion, besides the actual privation in inno
cent homes is it not the moral duty of the
rich to prevent this? The laws of business
are, on business lines, inflexible. But
moral laws, did man but know it, are
equally inflexible. It is idle for labor to
run counter to the natural laws of supply
and demand. Men and women must do the
work that the world wants done. If they
persist in rushing at work already overdone,
or in doing work shabbily and weakly, they
must suffer. But it is equally idle for the
rich to run counter to the natural laws of
human brotherhood. If they persist in
looking at the mental powers which enable
them to make money as given merely for
their own pleasure and behoof; if they coldly
refuse to be a brother's keeper and lend a
brother's band, none the less, sooner or
later, the voice of that brother's blood
cryeth from the ground, and tho law an
swers the cry with blood and tears whether
we call it God or Bevolution, or the plague
that follows filth, or the Rebellion that
throws off slavery.
Blow, bugles, blow I Set the wild echoes
flying, and let every echo bear to heaven
our swift acknowledgment that we are
our brothers' keepers; that it is the business
of the strong to help" the weak into the path
of self-help; to prevent the ignorant lrom
becoming the prey of his own ignorance. If
strikes must be, let it be the strong and the
weak striking hands together through the
medium of those who understand both, and
can wisely apply the gcod will of the one
to the great need of the other.
Blow, bugles, blow, if your blast can
pierce the darkness of death I Nuisance
the Salvation Army may be, beneath the
windows of Filth avenue, bufnot so great
a nnisance as the reeking cellars out of
sight, where vice and wretchedness brood
and breed. If the -Salvation Army can
purify those purlieus, blow, bugles, blow,
though every ear of Fifth avenue be deaf
ened with their din. Gail Hamilton.
What a Purveyor In Reading Matter Says
About Peculiar Cuatomors.
"I suppose we have about as many cranky
and peculiar customers as other merchants,
if not more," said a Pittsburg bookseller
the other day. "As a rule we deal with an
intelligent class, but intelligent 'people are
just as apt to be eccentric as any.
"For example, there is a man looking over
a lot of new books at the other end of the
store. You might wonder why some of the
clerks do not go and wait on him. Well,
they don't because they have orders to let
him alone. He is a good customer and his
ways are well known. If I should go to
him and try to sell him something he would
become indignant and intimate that he
knows what he wants and will buy it if he
finds it. He may stand there for an hour
and finally select a book, bring it to me and
ask me to wrap it up; whereas, if I inter
fered, most likely I would lose the sale.
"Other customers come in day after day
and stand and read some of the books, be
coming absorbed in them. One man comes
three or four times a week, never buying
anything until Saturday his payday I sup
pose when he almost invariably purchases
and takes away something.
"Sometimes wc are a good deal amused
by ladies who want novels they don't
know or care what, so long as they are good
stories. Often we are obliged to 'make the
selections ourselves, and then, if the buyer
doesn't like the story, we are sure to hear
from it when she returns. I try to avoid re
commmending books as much as possible I
never urge people to buy, if they have any
taste or intelligence. Once in a while we
see a customer who judges of the value of
a book by its size. If she purchases a 25
cent novel she wants the very biggest one
she can get for that price. Quantity and
not quality is her guiding principle.
"Do people ever steal .books from your
"Very rarely indeed. The people who
buy books are seldom thieves. If a suspi
cious looking person enters we keep an eye
on him, but wc allow most people who come
here to do about as they like. It pays bet
ter in the end."
Ho Objects to Being Mado a Bugaboo to
Frighten Children.
"Half the children on my beat are afraid
of me," remarked a police officer to a Dis
patch reporter.
"Why should they be?"
"They shouldn't be that's the case ex
actly but they are. It all arises from the
foolish practice some mothers have of say
ing to their children when they are unruly
or get into mischief, 'You'll have to look
out or the policeman will catch you.' Now
I'm fond of children I have a family of
my own and I'd rather tbelittle ones, no
matter whom, they belong to, would like
me than fear me. But it's almost impossi
ble for an officer in his uniform to get on
friendly terms with a child, simply be
cause the youngsters are made to think that
the officers do nothing but arrest people and
lock them up. For my parti object to
having children taught to look upon me as
a aonster. , Itjsa't right,'?, - i:
MAEOBT 3, 1889.
Discourses on the Peculiar Things He
. Meets on His Travels.
The Pierce Siege Conducted by Hotel
twnrrrEH tor the dispatch-.
SI pen these lines,
the plaintiff wail
of a brass band
c o me s stealing
through my case
ment I trust that
the intelligentcom
positor will not
strive to set me
right on that word.
I refer to the wail
ot a plaintiff when
he has tried to en
force the payment
of A. bill, and finds that the lawyer has had
it, but cannot really refund it without per
sonal inconvenience to himself.
This music, to which I at first so feelingly
alluded, comes from the volunteer band of
a salvation army. They are playing be
neath my casement for my benefit. They
desire to snatch me as a brand from the
burning, but I am in Michigan, and I
would rather be a brand at this season of
the year than to be outside, making a large
mouse-colored ass of myself.
So I istep to the window and say that
while thanking one and all for the honor
thus paid to me, a comparatively unknown
man, I am entirely unprepared to say any
thing at all suitable for ' the occasion, and
being a poor extemporaneous speaker, seek
ing modestly oplug along the best I can
and support my family, I will once more
thank one and all for this flattering recep
tion, and say good bye.
The leader is a large, red-nosed man, who
weeps easily and pulls out the tremlo on his
voice at all times. He wears a street car
conductor's cap, with a red band around it,
which matches his nose, and as the night is
intensely cold, he wears a pair of ear muffs
which were formerly used by the baby ele
phant, perhaps. Near him.with a bleak
waste ot purple beak, knocking a poor and
defenseless tambourine silly, wearing a
green veil tied under her lower jaw, in or
der to protect her ears, and a pair of her
favorite husband's socks over her shoes to
keep out the bitter cold from her massive
feet, stands a woman with straws in the
fringe of her shawl and a vacant look in her
hard, cold eye. I was just going to say she
ought to be at home with her family, but
all at once it occurred to me that it would
be a great blow to the family. So perhaps
it is better as it is.
The plan of salvation as outlined by the
Salvation Army is too vituperative to be
successful. Life is, of course, a warfare,
and nearly all of us have to fight more or
less, with the exception of the regular army,
but the war made on Satan by the Salvation
Army is too acrimonious, it seems to me. It
makes a good deal of noise and requires a
good deal of foraging, but is really harder
on the surrounding country than it is on the
What is the use of bombarding Satan all
wintar here in Michigan when the chances
are that he is down at Hot Springs?
Why make a personal attack up John G.
Lucifer with a disagreeable brassband.Tiere
in the Northwest, when he is in fact down
at Washington, where he can hear good
As I listen again at the window, I hear
the voice of the Lieutenant Colonel of the
Salvation Army. He is -urging his little
band of Don Quixotes to charge on the
Satanic windmill. He is speaking extem
poraneously and the woman in the large
woolen socks is trying to look pleasant.
This frightens a loaded team, and a cord
a half of dry maple wood expends itself
along the main street with great fury.
The leader goes on again to state that we
are journeying through an unfriendly
world. That a. man may lose his money or
his clothing or his wife and still recover.
But when he loses his soul his name is
Dennis. "Oh, then, let us fight for those
souls, such as they are. Bet us challenge
old Satan and give him only time to train
The Salvation Army.
down. Let us fight him without gloves.
Let us knock his head off. Oh, I have
never saw a better time than now while he
is thinking about something else. Let us
sock it to him now. Let us mutilate his
disagreeable features and send him back to
hades looking like a man in the almanac
who explains the Zodiac and who allows his
works to show for themselves."
The band then strikes up a selection or
fragment of campaign song that sounds so
sacrilegiousjthat it honestly makes the chills
and hot flashes chase each other the entire
length of my being. It is like hearing the
Bazzle Dazzle song over your mother's
The band is composed of six pieces, the
bass drum leading. It is supported by a
colored man, who has joined the band be
cause he is passionately fond of music, can
weara cap with braid around it and enjoy
a season of much needed rest. Coming in
at intervals, there is a croupy bass horn
that has lost its horn voice by'sleeping in
barns throughout the State. There are four
other pieces of music, but their relations
with each other are strained. The players
pause ever and anon to polish their red
sweep of nose with the corners of their
shawls or to agitate their cbillblains against
a brick building, and so it often fails out
that they do lose various notes, for which
their auditors thank them and anon snow
ball them as they are in the act of journey
ing through an unfriendly world.
I have often wondered wha$ sort of lite
these warriors against Satan lead. What is
their home life ? While they are battling
against the powers of evil and advertising
themselves a good deal more than they are
morality and religion, what is their record
as they journey through said unfriendly
-In the extreme left wing of this detach
ment, in front of the hotel, there is a woman
wearing a gray shawl and a pair of red yarn
mittens. She is carrying a little child in
her arms and a small satchel by means of a
strap over her shoulder. Perhaps I ought
to say that, each one carries his own bag
gsge,, ButTwouldJike to know'the future
t i , - II" x . fifl I
of that little child if I could; roosting about
over the country, fighting a straw Satan
with a miscellaneous brass band, with no
home to remember, nothing but the clash of
arms and the bray ot the trumpet, together
with that of the gentleman who does the
speaking for th'e party. But I will change
the subject.
I had a very trying experience last week.
It was painful, but not fatal. I had been
traveling all the night before, and fatigue
and brain fag were fighting for my very ex
istence. I got a room when I arrived, and
retired to seek much needed rest. I had
just retired, in fact, having carefully locked
the door and left the key in the lock, that
the curious could not look in through the
key hole and see me as I lay there asleep
and make a 55,000 painting bf me.
Just then there was a slight rattle at the
door, such as you hear when a chambermaid
attacks it with a pass ke and comes into
the loom to swecn holes in the carpet and
fill yonr lungs full of debris. I smiled to
myself, for my own key was.in the door, and
I said softly as I bathed my blushing
features in the pillow: "Aha! Aha! ye can
not enter now." But she continued to rattle
away with her1 key, and I soon saw, with
horror, that my own was beginning to lose
its grip, and finally it fell to the floor with
a loud report, having been pushed out of
the lock from the other side.
lean hardly describe "the horror of my
situation. I thought of handing my hand
kerchiefs and perfumery over the transom to
her, and begging her, if she had a mother or
any other relatives in whom she had any
confidence whatever, togo away. I thought
of going to the door and telling her that we
William and the Ban Chambermaid.
had better go through life as nearly as pos
sible by separate routes, and that I needed
rest really more than I did society, but I
did not dare to get out of bed for fear the
door would open, and I was wise, for it did
now burst open as I had feared, and a tall
girl in the prime of life, with flashing eye
and distended nostril, came into the room.
With a wild shriek, I covered m head
with the bed clothes, shuddering till my
teeth, which were in a tumbler of water near
by, chattered together.
"Go away, you hateful thing," I said,
"and never, never come back again any
"But I want to change them sheets," she
"Go away," I said, again. "Even your
voice is hateful in my sight. Take my beau
tiful Beth Thomas silver watch, if you will,
but, oh! go away, and heaven will reward
you even better than that"
She then slunk from the room, but it was
a long time before I could go to sleep. Even
then my dreams were troubled and my mind
filled with apprehension. I thought I was
being pursued by a red-eyed, unicorn with a
navy blue stomach and a Chinese lantern
tied to his tail. I tried to shake him off,
but I could notrHe led me down into the
infernal' regionsjf and insisted on showing
me the iron bridge and the high school, and
spoke of the great progress of the place, and
said that they were likely to get a new and
competing road in there this summer; and
he snowed me the library an'd walked me
out to the fair grounds and down on the lake
shore, so that I could take a sulphur bath,
and spoke of the desirability of the climate
for people with bronchial affections, and
wanted me to speak of it in my letters to
the press, and said he would pay me well
for it
Just then I heard a knock on my door. I
was so glad to have anybody knock, instead
of picking the lock, that I asked, "Who's
there ? " A rich, manly voice replied,
"Me." .
I was glad to hearthewelcome voice of one
of my own sex, and so I undid the door for
the gentleman with great "alacrity. Just as
I was bounding lightly back toward my
couch with a merry laugh, the party strolled
into the middle of the room bearing a small
but rare collection of clammy, mucilagin
ous towels. She was a heavy-set chamber
maid, with terror cotter hair and a bass
I do not complain. I do not murmur. I
do not repine. But I say that a chamber
maid ought not to do that way. A cham
bermaid who has a bass voice ought to seek
out some other calling.
Mayor Weston, now of Grand Bapids, be
fore he became wealthy,' was a newspaper
man in Denver, and used to stop at the old
Planter's Hotel. He had a mining deal to
write up for the paper, and connected with
the deal was a Georgetown superintendent
whom we will address as Julius H. Cawyo.
Mr. Cawyo was to furnish the particulars
to Mr. Weston, but early in the day he be
gan to meet old acquaintances and to cement
their friendship by means ofa powerful so
lution known as embalming fluid.
So, at 11 o'clock, Mr. Weston put Julius
H. Cawyo to rest on hisown little bed at
the Planter's and went out to prosecute his
researches in relation to the Hold-up Min
ing and Improvement Company. The old
Planter's Hotel was not' exactly like the
Hoffman House or the Gilsey House. You
could tell the difference almost as soon as
you sat down at the table. If you spoke to
the waiter about the tenacity of the steak or
the longevity of the butter, he would give
you a tart reply and you would have to get
along with that for dessert. One man mur
mured about the stoak and said it was too
touch, so therefore he would not eat it
"You won't eat it?" calmly replied the
loose-jointed waiter. "You say you won't
eat it?"
"I say so because I can't cut it No man
can cut that steak. You can't cut it with
acids. So I won't eat it"
"Well, you will eat it," said the waiter,
reaching around as if in the act of adjusting
his bustle. "You will eat it or I'll wear it
out on youl"
He ate it.
But, among other things, there was a big
alarm bell in the tower" of the Planters',
which was wont to ring for fires, funerals
and other entertainments. The rope hung
in the hall, and when the help of the popu
lace was required in order to suppress a fire
or riot, the first man to the bellrope saluted
the snowy summits of the Bocky Mountains
with this wild alarm.
While Mr. Weston was getting his infor
mation on the streets, the great bell awoke
the echoes in tie fastnesses of the canons 20
miles away, and the excited populace
swarmed to the Planters' to learn what
great calamity had befallen the new city.
Mr. Weston got there at Jastjand.out of
breath, rushed up to his room. In the
hall he found Julius H. Cawyo ringing the
belL His suspenders were draped and
soapsuds were dripping from his chin and
the tip of his Venetian red nose.
"What has happened?" panted Weston.
"What are you ringing the bell for, Ju
lius?" '
"Well, what do you s'pose I'm ringing -the
bell for? I am ringing for a clean
towel or a funeral. If I get the towel there
will be no funeral, but if I fail, youfjust
wait here a minute and I'll give you the
VJ fHNSt -
Bm, NTE.
i ii -rDrouomi
L-.IL- IIIV-Vi lJij
A Legend of
Early in the present century, on a bright
morning soon after the beginning of March,
a small schooner sailed up the Bay of St
Louis and cast anchor off what was then lo
cally known as Magnolia Point There
had been a thin, gray fojf on the air, but the
sun had flung this asidei leaving the water
and the sky blue and dreamily brilliant to
the far horizon of the Gulf.
On the west shore of the bay, not far from
where the little vessel lay, stood a mansion
recently built by Gaspard Boehon and now
occupied by him and his niece with a
numerous household of servants. One or
two other plantation houses, but less preten
tious in every way, were visible here and
there, even as far as to the mouth of the
Jordan river.
The scene was one to please the eye of
poet or artist, and there was an artist on
board the schooner, a young man of leisure
whose love of the picturesque and the
strange coupled with that passion for ad
venture which was more prevalent then
than now, had led him to explore this nook
ot the South where, since the days of Bien
ville, had lingered a trace of that wild life
which made the gulf coast for so long a time
a region of romance and mystery.
Looking from the water to the land the
shores,- which were mostly high white
bluffs, were fringed with a broken and bil
lowy line of woods made up of all the semi
tropical trees, notably pines, live oaks,
cedars and magnolias. A somber duskiness,
as of slumber and deep rest, pervaded the
vistas running back under moss-bung
boughs into the flowery and fragrant wilder
ness. Down to the verge of the white and
steeply sloping bluff-lines the undergrowth,
' ;
set in scattering clusters and wisps, came in
green-leaved and flowering luxury, and on
the air was a fresh and grateful fragrance
It was a place of birds. Overhead flew
clamorous water fowl; along the sandy
beaches and in the rippling shallows the
plovers and sandpipes were feeding and the
tall herons here and there stood stately and
motionless in the marsh grass that fringed
the outreaching points of the low salt
The schooner had come round from the
Bigolets through Lake Borgne, past the
chandeliers, having set out from a landing
on thePonchartrain near New Orleans. All
the way the sailors had been charming to
the artist to whom all this wild region was
as new as it was sunny, luxuriant and stim
ulating to his imagination. He had re
mained on deck all night, waking and
sleeping by turns, the sound of the slumber
ous waves in his ears and the shifting scenes
of shore and sea delighting his half-closed
eyes or passing into his dreams.
In those day's a trace of the buccaneer was
scarcely erased from the southern seas, the
deeds of Lafayette were still fresh in the
memory of living men, while the craft of
the sly smuggler was no uncommon appari
tion cruising about through the intricate
channels and passes of the Gulf coast
There were no railroads connecting the re
gion with the great commercial centers of
America, wherefore so place on earth was
more isolated or more a law unto itself than
was the Bay St Louis country.
Most of the white people were Creoles of
French or Spanish descent, but there were
a few Anglo-Americans of that restless, ad
venturous class whose mark had been left
in every quarter of the globe, and here and
there was a planter from Georgia or the
Carolinas who had come with his
family and his slaves to find the lux
ury of loneliness in the woods. Naturally
a place so out of the world and in which
life was so free and. so easy to live attracted
a number of outcasts of one kind and an
other who sought here a hiding place from
punishment or a refuge from persecution.
Society had no clearly defined basis, of
course, but regulated itself in a degree with
gun, sword and pistol whenever regulating
seemed necessary; still there was a good
measure of peace, and certainly necessities
and even the physical comforts of life were
within easy reach on every hand. The
forests abounded in game, the waters
swarmed with fish and oysters, tropical
fruits grew to perfection and the soil, though
light and poor, produced bountifully under
the stimulus of the warm, generous climate.
Wendell Orton, the. artist and dreamer,
reached this secluded nook just at the open
ing of the fairest season of the year, and as
he looked forth from the deck of his little
schooner over the shining water to the rich,
dark masses of woods, to the flowering
thickets, to the mansion in its embowering
grove and to the scattering cabins of the
slaves, the sense of a new existence and a
new world took possession of him.
He was a tall, strong young man whose
naturally fair face was bronzed with expos
ure, and whose yellow hair hung in curls on
his shoulders, as was the fashion with artists
of the time. He was a figure to remember
as he stood among the Creole sailors, almost
a head taller than the tallest of them, a man
to fix himself in one's mind, if for nothing
more than the expression of superb, over
flowing vitality in his finely-cut face and
muscular frame.
"Which is the place you spoke of, Vic
tor?" he inquired, turning to a small, dark
fellow. "You don't mean the brick house
yonder, do you?"
"Mo Dieu, no," said the Creole, with a
shrug and grimace; "you cannot see from
here. It is back in the woods on the Bayou
Galere, just a little way."
"And the brick house, whose mansion is
it?" continued Orton, pointing. t
"That? Ob. that's the Kochon place.
M'sieu, where the beautiful Ma'm'zelle
lives. " "v7hen you see Her" he winked and.
Bay St. Louis.
f made a wry face, "you will get yonr eye .
put out."
"Is she the wonderful lilyjou spoke of,
the girl for whom so many men have bees
willing to risk their lives in deadly eon.
bat?" questioned the artist, as if some inter
esting thought had returned to him sud
denly. "Is that house your Chateau d
The Creole drew up his shoulders ana
spread out his hands half "comieally. Hi
pipe was gripped between his yellow teeth,
and he spoke with his lips only as he said:
"Certainly. M'sieu, certainly that la
where the Lilv lives the Lily of Boehon
and I tell you she is as beautiful as the
Virgin as beautiful as "
"I'll judge of that myself, Victor, If I
get the opportunity," Orton interrupted,
"but tell me, what flag is that fluttering
among the trees?"
"That's the lily banner, the old man'.
whim. He keeps it there, old Gaspard Bo
ehon does. I suppose he likes it That's
his boat lying in along shore there."
From the yellow flag that played like a,
flame against the dark background of mag
nolia foliage, Orton's eyes fell to the trim
little sloop-rigged craft that rocked at her
anchoring place near a small wharf. The
boat was white with a yellow stern-board
upon which was a blue lily. The young
man saw at once that it was a fast little ves
sel built by a cunning hand.
"That boat, she can fly like a bird,"
Victor remarked, in his soft patois, "and
the beautiful M'm'zelle, how she does love
to sail when the breeze is stiff I Mo'sieu,
Boehon he likes it too, when the wind blows
big guns and the sea is on heavy. Dieu,
but he's a bad one, that Mo'sieu Gaspard
"Chiefly in what is he bad?" inquired
Orton, rather absently, his mind busied
with the picture of the girl in the boat as
suggested by Victor's words.
"Oh, they say, I don't know if it's true
though, that he made his money by the
devil's own means, by all manner of vil
lainies: but then one is not fool enough to
tell old Gaspard that, if one values one's
life." Victor winked and smiled dryly as
he said this, then after a momentVpause, ha
continued, "You going to get acquainted
with him, Mo'sieu Orton. You think he'd
be very good acquaintance, eh?"
"Probablyj'.wby not?"
"Certainly, why not? I say that too,"
but there was an undermeaning to Victor's
flexibility. The shrug of his shoulders'
and the expressfon of his eyes were full of
reservations and conditions.. "You are a
gentleman and he's a gentleman," he went
on, "and I suppose you'll like each other,
certainly. That's all right, you know,
Mo'sien, certainly; but the Ha'm'zelle,'
you'd better be careful about"
The young man turned suddenly upon the
Creole at this point and almost scowled at
him. Something in the fellow's voice, soft
and musical as it was, grated harshly on.
Orton's ear, probably because it broke in'
upon the beautiful vision he had been im
agining. It was his habit to turn all his
thoughts into pictures, and he had bees
sketching in his mind a most enchanting
bit of life and color.
"Yes, Mo'sieu," insisted Victor, "you'll
have to let the beautiful Ma'm'zelle quite
alone. I tell you, for the qld man won't
bear anybody looking soft looks at her."
"Nonsense," exclaimed Orton, "you are
talkine perfect nonsense." Then feeling
the impropriety of the discussion he
changed the subject of conversation, by
ordering his breaktast to be fetched up, that
he might sit in the open air.
He had chartered the little schooner Zozo,
with her crew, and since setting sail for Bay
St. Louis had heard a great deal of the his
tory, or at least the so-called history, of
Gaspard Boehon, the rich and eccentric
owner of Chateau de Boehon, as the sailors
had named the mansion. There was enough
of mystery in the story -to stimulate curios
ity, and at the same time the Creole narra
tors had not failed to dash into it a great,
deal of glow and color which added a pe
culiar charm for a temperament like Or
ton's. Now, as he ate. his fish and biscuit,'
and sipped the excellent black coffee pre-
pared for him, his imagination made the
most of the picturesque mansion, the breezy' '
grove and the legend-like stories he had'
been hearing. Already he was planning ,
the details of a picture he would make, of
which the central figures were to be Gas-'
pard Boehon, the rough and blood-thirsty
retired pirate (or fugitive from the ven
geance of outraged society on account of
other criminal pursuits) and his lovdy
niece, the lily so extravagantly praised by.
the Creole sailors. He was in love with his
art, and therefore was not nursing any'
youthful fancy, or hope, ot any tender ad-'
venture with the maiden, or of any chival-
rous bout with her doughty uncle who
guarded her with such fierce jealousy and
prowess. Sketches, sketches, something
new and striking for his pencil, something
upon which he could wreck hislo ve of color,
nothing else interested him deeply.
Victor, a typical Creole coaster, knew
everybody from the Bigolets to Biloxi, and
with the love of romance common to his
race had absorbed, so to speak, all the-'
legends, stories, anecdotes and folk-lore gen-"
erally enrrent in the region. Heknewweil
how to embellish these and there was no tak
ing dearer to him than to have a pine of-
Cnbau tobacco, a bottle of claret and a good;
listener wniie ne pnea ms-gitt ol storytell
ing. In Orton he had found a charmiag-
subject for his experiments in romance aad V
he had filled the youDg man's imaginatiqat a. -
with nil manner of wild snrl TifotTiyaAT
glimpses ofa new and very strange lift, - r
"I should like to make sail when the U4e)
is on the turn," Victor said, as the artist iH
ended his simple; repast, "and if Mo'siea$f
wants to go ashore I'll take a best aad rew&i
him to the house on the bayou. There's t
great time and it's a good pull aroaad tfeet"!
point ana up. gwg
"All right, Victor feteh. up- my if'',;!
responded Ottos, .riiiDg, "Ae qnkr.er,t4ZI
oeuer ior mi, rer jlhh ouihj to gttiiMl
. V
s SjC-:-i