AN ANCIENT KIDDLE.
Adam, God umde out of dust,
But thought it hcHt to make me firet.
Bo I vi as mad® before the man,
To answer God's most holy plan.
My body God did make complete,
But. without arms, or legs, or feet;
My ways and acts he did control,
put to my body gave no soul.
A living being I became.
And Adam g&vo to me my nAmc ;
J from his presence then withdrew,
And more of Adam never knew.
I did my Maker's law obey,
Nor from it ever went astray;
Thousands of miles 1 go in fear,
But seldom on the earth appear.
For purpose wise, which God did see.
He put a living soul iu me;
A soul from me my God did claim.
And took from me that soul again ;
For, when from mo that soul had fled.
1 \\ as the Baine as when iirst made;
And, without hands or feet or soul,
1 travel on from pole to pole.
1 labor hard by day and night,
To fulleri man I give great light,
Thousands of people, young and old,
Will by my death great light behold;
No right or wrong can I conceivo,
The Scriptures I cannot believe ;
Although my name in them is found,
They are to me an empty sound.
No /ear of death doth trouble mo,
Ileal happiness I shall never see,
To henvm 1 shall never go,
Nor to the grave or hell bolow.
Now. when these lines you slowly read,
Go. search your Bible with all speed,
For that my name's recorded there,
1 honestly to you declare.
THE EXHAUSTED POET.
BY DWIGHT BALDWIN.
MY vitality is ex j
This, in disheart- |
ened, almost de
spairing tones, pro
faced, rather intel
lect u a 1-1 ook ing
young man who had
walled basement
room in the heart oi
metropolitan Ch i
1 %)| fj{- He paused and
turned liis back to
the open fire-place, where were burn
ing, in lieu of coal, the last fragment?
of a board partition which had once
divided the apartment in twain, am 1
looked searohingly around.
Excent for a rough table, three wood
en chairs and a lounge, all venerable
with age and rickety from usage, th
room was unfurnished.
It was not untenanted, though; fai
from it. Each chair had an occupant;
three more were seated on the lounge,
while a seventh was reclining upon the
table among a mass of papers, ciga
stubs, ink-bottles and pipes.
Not wishing to invade the domain oi j
the inquiry column ami propound
conundrums, we will explain the situa
tion. The dismal place was a verita
ble literary don. Two of thoso present
—the one on tlie table and the occu
pant of one of the chairs—edited a
publication, and did all manner of
hack-writing there, while, with the ex
ception of a gray-bearded limn, an ex
banker, the remainder were genuine
literary Bohemians.
"Yes, Mr. Jacob." the pale-faced
young man proceeded, seeing that no
attention had been paid either to his
announcement or himself, "my vitality
is exhausted!"
"No?" responded the senior member
of the firm, that paid the rent of the
den, or "stood the agent off," which
amounted to the same thing, so far as
concerned the happy-go-lucky assem
blage that rendezvoused there.
"l'es, Mr. Jacob. Adverse circum
stances have formed an offensive coali
tion with the natural weakness of my
physical constitution, and collapse,
total, overwhelming collapse, threat
ens all the functions of ray overtaxed
body. Last night, in the deathlike
solitude of my chamber garret, I
should say—moved by a breath of that
divine afflatus which, whatever scorn-,
ers may say, still pervades the earth,
I flung my inspiration into verse,
ragged you will no doubt say, but a
true soul-fruit:
"For days my heart did mcditato a song—"
"Four days from now we will listen
to it," interrupted the man on the ta
ble, rising to a sitting posture; "that is
if your vitality holds out so long."
"Have you tried moxie ?" asked Ja
cob, with a serious face.
"And asafcetida?" spoke up the ex
banker; "that's the Btuff for you, Gall.
Not very toothsome, but a wonderful
bracer for the nerves"
"Bah!" cried the poet, a look of in
tense disgust sweeping his mobile feat
ures. "How little you know how far
you arc from understanding my needs
and yearnings."
"How about Browning and How
ells?" queried one of the occupants of
the lounge.
"Bah, again ! My vital forces have
retreated to tlieir last citadel." He
paused and laid his hand upon his
"MY VITALIIY IS EXHAUSTED."
heart. "They will never again emerge
to engage in conflict with an unappre
cintive world, unless "
"Unless what?" asked Jacob, as tlio
poet paused.
"Unless my system receives proper
treatment 1 I must have beefsteak !"
"Come, nowl" cried Jacob, with
some warmth. "Haven't J given
loaned you, 1 mean—a dollar every
day for a week past, and that for the
express purpose of getting you into
condition V"
"True, Mr. Jacob, but it has barely
sufficed to keep me alive, and left
nothing to restore the ravages which
weeks of fasting have wrought in my
naturally delicate system."
"A dollar a day will buy four good
meals, Gall," declared the ex-hanker,
with a vehemence that attested his
knowledge of the subject of cheap
eating.
"Meals!" repeated the poet, scorn
fully. "Could I, a graduate of Yale,
the son of the poetess laureate of the
great State of Khode Island, enter a
lunch-room? Would you expect to see
seated before a di-Ji of that mysterious
compound, vulgarly denominated hash,
one whose great thoughts need only
vitality to project them upon an ex
pectant world in the form of meshes of
wild song; a man who, by reason of his
published verses, is entitled, among
the living poets of his native land, to a
front rank ?
"The moon, ■with cold and silvery beams "
"Hold on!" rudely interrupted Jacob.
"We'll concede tlieir rankness. What
"AND I'LL DIVIDE THE FOURTEEN DOLLARS
WITH you."
disposition have you made of the silver
case-dollars I have loaned you from
day today?"
"A porter-house with mushrooms, 60
cents; coffee, 10 cents; glass of wine,
15 cents; cigar, ditto."
"Whew!" cried the seven auditors in
a breath.
"To your sordid souls, 4121 miser
able little grains of dross seem a vast
sum to pay for a meal in which may
lurk the nucleus of a second 'Paradise
Lost' or the still unwritten 'Great
American Novel.' I am, happily, cast
in a different mold. My soul rebels
at the thought of free lunch, my
stomach revolts at the sight of red
hots, while what little gorge there is
within me rises up at the bare men
tion of bologna sausage."
"And have you subsisted upon one
meal a day?" asked Jacob.
"Except for a few trifles specially
prepared for me by the woman whore
I room, and which I sometimes eat
■with veal relish."
"She has been trying to build you I
up, that you might pay the bill you j
owe her, I suppose ?"
"I trust poor human nature is not so
debased. No, sir. She has provided |
me with a few inexpensive dainties be
cause she repects genius, admires true
poetic fancy!"
"Then she shall not remain unre
warded. You have often expressed a
desire to earn your bread—beefsteak, I
mean, by writing."
"I yearn to do it."
"At some little trouble I have se
cured you work. Mr. Samuels wants
an article of two thousand words on
the drainage question, for which he j
will pay six dollars, while the Broad-
Axe will give eight dollars for three j
columns on the dock saloons."
"They are low and vulgar subjects,
Jacob, and will lead me "
i "To your room. At an expense of
half a day's time 1 have collected all
the necessary points. You can write
them up by to-morrow evening and got
your fourteen dollars the next morn
ing. They will keep you until then."
"They" proved to be a pair of silver
dollars, which Gall hastened to pocket,
while he looked in a hesitating way at
the memoranda which had accompanied
them.
"Well?" queried Jacob.
"The fact is that my vitality "
"Oh, bother your vitality! Go along
; and get to work, and when you're
through with that, I'll iiud you some
more."
"Time may restore my shattered vi
tality, but at present I have a
proposition to make you, Jacob."
"Well?"
"You take the memoranda and write
up the articles and I'll divide the four
teen dollars with you."
There was a roar of laughter, during
which the vitality-exhausted poet vau
ished from the Bohemian den.
Jealousy.
An anecdote which shows to what
lengths jealousy may be carried is re
lated by T. A. Trollope: We took, one
morning, a iittlo excursion to Tuscu
luru, on which my wife rode a donkey
belonging to a very competent guide.
This man knew every point w here it
was desirable to draw rein in order to
enjoy the lovely and varied views. The
donkey, who, no doubt, knew all these
halting places as well as his master,
once turned aside from the path, in a
very business-like fashion, and planted
himself before a gate from which a
I specially pleasing outlook was to be
j seen. My wife, thinking to please the
| man, said:
| "How well your donkey knows his
business. He enme of himself to this
J lovely view, just as if he enjoyed it."
But the effect of her words was very
startling. The man became suddenly
and furiously angry.
"No, not he! I—l know how to make
ladies and gentlemen see the views,
and all that is to be seen. He!—he i
an ass, and knows nothing. I—l am
the guide!" he cried, again and again.
| "The beast is an ass, I tell you! He
' knows nothing I"
In short, he was furiously jealous of
his donkey, and bitterly resented the
compliments paid to the beast's saga
city as so much taken from his own
praises. This is an extreme case, but
jealousy in its mildest form is a mad,
unreasoning impulse which should be
strangled at its birth.
A Chance for llis Fat Iter.
! "Pop, I know how you can make a
thousand dollars and beuelit me be
sides."
"You know how, Bobby? Well, I'd
like to know."
" How much do you weigh ?"
"About 125,"
"Just the figure. Well, there's a
fellow in Boston who will tight any
man of that weight for $1.(10(1, and I
[ thought since you don't win anvthing
J whaling mo you might like to close
with him." — Philadelphia Times.
Nice Mathematics,
j "And now, children," remarked
Professor Hailes in one of the public
schools the other day, "if a family con
sisting of father and mother and seveu
children should have a pie for dinner,
1 how much would each one Receive V"
| "Why," remarked the bright boy,
each would get an eighth."
I "But there are nine persons, you
1 must remember."
| "Ohl I know that; but the mother
i wouldn't get any. There wouldn't be
enough to go around."— Albany Jour
| nal
SOMETIMES we find cross roads in the
J midst of a smiling landscape.
BRIDGES OF CHICAGO.
THEY ARE NUMEROUS, BUT THERE
IS NO BRIDGE OF SIZE.
Tli* Peril to Life and Limb WMcli Tliey
Involve—People Who lluve Walked Into
th* Open Draw—What Is to Ite the
Remedy?—An Op|>ort unity for Inventors
A lagged Ital
ian fruit vender
was pushing be
fore him a hand
cart well filled
with bananas, ap
ples, and oranges,
| for the most part
in a somewhat
doubtful state of
preservation. He
was near the abut
rnent of one oi
_ Chicago's swing
ing; bridges, and
-/fill thinking perhaps
j/jj of the blue skies
°f hut own sunny
land, was trudg
//\ ing along, all un-
I mindful of the cir
eumstauce that,
since he last raised
his eyes, the ])on
§s derous bridge had
N. opened to admit
° le assa^e
3i cried the police
—————————J officer whose duty
it was to guard the approaches to the
enormous swinging structure.
Upon the briuk of the abyss the
thoughtless fruit peddler paused and
looked back, lint the warning had
come too late, the wheels of the cart
had begun to descend. The man
might have saved himself at the ex
pense of his cart and stock in trade.
He did not stop to reason, he had no
time for that, but with the instinctive
love of property clung to the handle of
his truck and went down with it into
the dark, ill-smelling waters of the
Chicago River.
Thanks to a tug-boat which was in
the act of passing and the bridge-ten
der, the unfortunate man was rescued
and resuscitated. The matter was
briefly mentioned in the daily papers
the next morning and the event for
gotten. The occurrence, however,
▲ DASH TO DESTRUCTION.
j suggests tlio dangers and nuisances
peculiar to cities intersected by a river
provided with movable bridges.
Few of the large cities of the conn
try are altogether exempt from this
difficulty. As, however, the nuisance
varies with the frequency that a bridge
is opened, it follows that Chicago, with
its enormous lake commerce, must be
tho most alltictcd of all.
| |The present metropolis of the West,
and, as most of her citizens and many
outsiders as well lirmly believe, the
prospective metropolis of America, was
originally founded at the mouth of a
small and exceedingly sluggish creek,
which was crossed by its few inliabit
i ants on a single plank that could bo
| removed to admit of the passage of an
\ occasional canoe or skiff, tho only kind
of craft then plying upon tho Chicago
ltiver.
I As tho embryotic "Queen of the
j West" giew in population and impor*
I tance, the value of the river began to
i be more and more appreciated by hei
j enterprising inhabitants. Gradually
! it was broadened, straightened and
deepened to allow of the passage ol
' vessels of larger and still larger ton
: nage.
When tho west and north divi
| sions of the city began to be quite
; largely settled, the river was no longer
regarded as an unadulterated bless
ing, and complaints were numerous
and bitter. As emigration from Eu
rope and the older Eastern States was
attracted by the marvelous reports
from the city by tho lake, the nuisance
became more pronounced, the mur
murs and protests louder and deeper.
The "city fathers," wisely conclud
ing that business was desirable, even
at tho expense of inconvenience on the
part of tho people, discriminated in
favor of commerce, and gave vessels
the right of way, compelling teams
and foot-passengers to wait for vessels
to pass the bridges. With a view to
lessening the pressure and diminishing
the difficulty, additional bridges were
constructed. These merely had the
effect of preventing the trouble from
greatly increasing, since tho city,
known now throughout the world as a
synonym for push and progress, more
than kept pace with the improve
ments, and crowded them, as fast as
completed, to their maximum capacity.
The panacea for tho growing evil
was believed to have been struck in the
idea of tunneling the river. This was
soon acted upon, and at an enormous
expense two tunnels, each for wagons
and pedestrians, were constructed un
der the river, connecting the South
with the North and West Sides.
At iirst these were very popular;
but before long the people wearied of
them and returned their patronage to
the bridges. Then an ordinance was
passed regulating the opening of the
bridges and limiting the time for them
to remain open to ten minutes. At
present, much to the disgust of tug
men and vessel owners, still further
restrictions are imposed, and during
the time —morning and evening—when
the great mass of clerks, laborers,
artisans, and business people gener
ally are going to and from their work,
no bridge is allowed to swing.
Many schemes for the abolition of
the "bridge nuisance," as it is popular
ly called, have been and are still be
ing proposed. The most feasible of
tliem seems td he the one which vi'o
poses to build docks, protected by
breakwaters, along the lake shore, and
close up the river entirely. Emptied
of its foul water, the channel could be
filled np, thus adding a large acreage
▲ CLOB:: CALL.
to the city in its most crowded por
tions. Or it could be used as an ap
proach for railroads, thus rendering
possible one enormous union passen
ger-depot in lieu of the half score now
in existence.
The great objection to this plan is
the enormous damage the property
owners who have vested rights in the
way of dockage along the entire length
of the river would sustain. The World's
Fair may give Chicago such an impetus
—"boom" is perhaps the better word
as to bring this about; otherwise it
will bo a long time before we see it ac
ooniplinhed.
In the meantime, as stated in the
outset, the swinging bridges are a con
tinuing menace to the lives of most of
those who are compelled to cross them.
Patrons of North aud West Side street
cars, except of those which pass
through the La Salle street tunnel,
seem in peculiar danger. Of late, on
most lines crossing the river, the con
ductors are compelled, after a certain
hour in the evening, to run forward
and ascertain from a personal inspec
tion that everything is right, after
which they signal the drivers to come
ahead.
ltailroad tracks run on the north and
west sides of the river in the down tow u
portion of the city. These are, in all
cases, crossed by viaducts. In some
instances the top of the viaduct is ■
higher than the bridge and quite a
sharp descent must be made to reach
the latter. It is hero that there is the
greatest danger of accidents. Not j
many weeks ago a street car ap
proached the Clark street bridge, the
horses on a keen run to acquire the
momentum necessary to carry the
heavily loaded vehicle up the sharp
incline. Like a number of others, this
bridge is swung by an elevated steam
engine, and opens with extreme rapidi
ty. The driver did not observe that it
was already in motion until within n
few yards of the precipitous wall of
stone. By a miracle almost he was
enabled to stop the car and save his
half hundred passengers from a fearful
plunge, which would have meant death
to the majority of them. His strong
muscles and rare presence of mind
saved them, but it was a close call.
Not many years ago a carriage con
taining three children, who wore being
driven to a South Side depot to meet
an expected relative, was driven over
the approach to the Harrison street
bridge, which unfortunately was open,
and all three perished. While the
vehicle was upon the long viaduct
which crosses the numerous railroad
tracks a locomotive whistle beneath
SAVED IIY THE BHIDOK-TKNDEU.
sounded shrilly, the spirited horses
took fright, became unmanageable,
and, despite the best efforts of the
coachman, who narrowly escaped with
his life, dashed 011 to death and des
truction.
Fires are not the only dangers that
menace the men whoso business it is
to extinguish them. The open bridges
are their constant dread. The horses
are driven at the highest possible speed
attainable, and are given, universally,
the right of way. Dashing along, fre
quently in the dead of the night, with
a storm raging overhead and icy pav
ing-stones beneath, what wonder that
accidents frequently happen. Many a
"fire laddie" has found his way into
the river, and it is miraculous that
many lives are not lost through those
gateways of death, the open bridges.
Not long since a hose-cart was driven
where a North Side bridge was sup
posed to have been, and the horses
were drowned.
But not runaways, darkness or icy '
pavements are to be chai geable with ail
the disasters and losses of life by rea
son of open bridges. During a busy
time of the day, or when a 1 rssel is
Ituck in the channel so that the bridge
cannot be closed for some time, quite a
throng is certain to collect upon the
approaches. Curiosity is about the
strongest of human motives, aud many
people under such circumstances will
stand upon the extreme verge of the
abyss, the better to command a view
of the river, that they may see and
announce to those loss favorably situ
ated what is going on, and the chance?
for the closing of the bridge. In suck
cases, a sudden quarrel, a fright, or u
pickpocket may cause a commotio j |
and a movement on the part of the 1
closely packed throng which will crowd I
the adventurous ones upon the abut- j
ment over iuto the river. This lias
frequently happened in Chicago, but,
although the occurrence is reported iu ;
the papers, 110 one seems to profit by
the example, and the very next day
icores of people expose themselves to
sxactly the same fate.
Many people become so absorbed in
their thoughts as to reach a state of
oblivion as to their surroundings. Such
persons are always in danger iu a
largo city, hut at no time is their
peril so great as when approaching an
open bridge. The fact that they have
crossed there many times in safety re
Lieves their minds of all anxiety, and
tliey frequently walk straight into the
river, many feet below.
By far the greater portion of such
disasters have occurred during the
sight, and since the bridges were
lighted by electricity they have nota
blv diminished.
The list of fatalities chargeable to
open bridges is by no means so large
as might reasonably be expected.
This is due to the fact that the bridge
tenders are always on the watch for
catastrophes, and are thus able to ef
fect a rescue. Many of them are pro
vided with long poles, armed at one
end with a steel hook with which to
catch and draw people from the water.
It is to the disgrace of Chicago that
the dangerous condition of the bridges
■K not obviated. That this could readily
oe done, no one with the smallest por
tion of mechanical knowledge can doubt
for a moment. Many plans, some of
them no doubt feasible, have been sug
gested ; but so far none of them have
ever been adopted. What is wanted
is an appliance which, as the bridge
swings open, will automatically close,
and that securely, the open gateway to
death which at present menaces hu
THE ABSENT-MINDED I'KItKS I 111 AN.
man life. The inventors of the West
ought to think of and solve this prob
lem. In doing it successfully, they
would not only receive an ample re
ward in money but confer a lasting
benefit U]>ou humanity.—Dwightßald
i win in Chicago Ledger.
Tlevii's bake.
Devil's Lake is the name of a body
of water in North Dakota which has
from time immemorial bqen held in awe
by the copper-colored aborigines whc
live in the vicinity. The Indians be
lieve that the lake is inhabited by the
evil spirits and the name Minnewakan
(Devil's lake) was given it hundreds of
years ago. Weird tales of the doing?
of supernatural beings supposed to
people it are numerous aud the truth of
many fictitious stories told about it
have until late years never once becD
doubted. Civilization is, however, get
ting in its work in the neighborhood
and is rapidly dispelling the feeling of
awe in which the lake has been held by
the Indians.
There is a modern story of Devil's
Lake, however, which vies in super
stitious fancy with those of abnormal
times. Not alone the Indians, but tli€
soldiers at Fort Totten, which is situ
ated on the northern border of the lake,
have a firm belief in the existence of a
2>hantom steamboat which is said tc
ply the waters of Minnewakan. Some
weird tales are told of how this airy
creation goes pufling up and down the
silent lake in the darkness of snmmei
nights, its spectral fires gleaming on the
black water and the beat of its screw
keeping up a rhythmic motion that bo
comes suddenly silent on the approach
of a mortal.
The first appearance of the phantom
steamboat was early in the 'Bo's when
it was witnessed one night by a party of
soldiers who were crossing the lake.
Many people have since claimed to
have seen it go pulling up and down
the lake in tlie darkness of moonless
nights, its fires making trails of light
011 the water, while the throbs of the
ghostly engine weie distinctly heard.
Luxurious Spider.
The New York Ledger tells how a
spider provided for his comfort on the
road. The insect cannot be suspected
of having taken a hint from Pullman,
but it seems as though some ingenious
j person might contrive to apply the
spider's plan to the lessening of human
fatigue while making long journeys.
[ A doctor desired to send a fine speci
men of the spider tribe to a medical
friend who was exceedingly curious in
the study of such matters. As the
readiest means of transit, he inclosed
it in a common wooden box, and dis
patched the tiny traveler by express.
The box, however, was too roomy for
the spider's wants, and as he seems to
have disliked the jolting incident to
traveling, he h id recourse to a very in
genious remedy.
When the box reached its destination
and the consignee opened it, he was
equally surprised and delighted to find
that liis insect charge had spun for
himself a superb hammock, securely
hung from the four corners of his
prison house, in whiffh he had couched,
111 sailor-fashion, as softly as he does in
his native lair
UlTief Mllie.
A lady who, by the perversity of
fortune, is forced to live at the top of
an uptown apartment house where
communication with the surface of the
earth is chiefly through a speaking
tube, was not long ago called to the
tube by an energetic ang. She was
greeted, in answer to her intimation
that she was listening, by the ques
tion :
"Are this the top flat?"
"Yes," she answered.
"Put," persisted the voice of her un
seen interlocutor, "isn't there another
suite above you?"
"No," was the instant answer, "none
but the sweet by-and-by."
There was a confused and mumbling
■ound from beneath as of one overcome,
and then the caller Bpoke no more that
day.
The Appropriate Costume.
Mrs. Brown—lsn't that Mrs. Dasher
going down the street?
Mrs. Bobi 11 son—Why, I thought it
was she, and it is.
Mrs. B.—Mercy me, I was told that
her husband died last week!
Mrs. 11.—So he did.
Mrs. B.—But don't you see she's in
second moaning.
Mrs. It.—"Well, he's her second hus
band.
LITERARY WORKERS.
NEW YOIIK WRITERS WHO HAVE
ACHIEVED FAME.
Literary Clubs In tlie City and the Rela
tions Wlilcli Exist Detween the Various
Organizations—Personal (iossip Concern
ing Well-Known People ami a Glimpse
Into Their Sanctums and Libraries.
Mrs. Mary M. Dodge, the conductor
of St. Nicholas and the author of I
t"H an s Br inker," |
does not go verv
often to the office,but
does her work in her
own library, in her
fine flat on Fifty
ninth street,says the
New York Herald.
Mrs. Dodge gives
some of the largest
> literary receptions in
Jfi-s Ne w York.
George Wil 1 i a m
Curtis, who has the ideal literary
man's home in New Brighton, S. 1., is
genial as man can be during the social
hour. He is a capital host, and in
conversation, as in his writings, has an
allegorical way frequently of putting
things which has a decided charm. All
the children round about know him,
and many a kind word and pat on the
head he has for the little folk as they
run after him while he is on his way
home in the afternoon.
Itichard Watson Gilder is one of the
youngest men to be classed among the
literary notables.
Yet he has not done Vvv'*' ~
much work, and A
none whatever that fSw itr
I know outside of Unf
his verse. But his N-.
verse has a flavor 4L
as distinctively itsfflnitr-.
own as the honey /Mi
has that is gathered //Yv^k/Ky
on the thyme slopes '/p \ Wi
of Hvmettus. Some,. , A[/, I
of his lyrics are RlcV>,vi "arsouGiUen
very beautiful. It is as chief editor
of the Century Magazine that Mr.
Gilder is most popular.
Henry M. Alden, the successful ed
itor of Harper's Magazine, lives at
Metuchen, N. J., where lie has a tine
house, with woods and iields about
him. Here he has collected a number
of art treasures, valuable books, and
all that sort of bric-a-brac with which
a cultivated man likes to indulge him
self. Here he' brings the hundreds
upon hundreds of manuscripts which
are constantly pouring in from all parts
of the globe. He reads and pronounces
upon all matter for the magazine,
sometimes conferring with another per
son upon a manuscript which he may
not he sure about. Sir. Alden is genial,
lint like the other Harpers' editors he
has no room to entertain callers at his
office. There is barely room for him
self, his desk, and his manuscripts.
John l'oord, editor of Harper's
Weekly, combines with the best lit
erary tastes a quality but too rare
among literary men, namely, a thor
ough journalistic sense. Mr. l'oord is
a Scotchman and a member of a very
old and aristocratic family.
W. 1). Howells gets, it is said, SIO,OOO
a year from Harpers for his depart
ment in the Magazine. Charles Dud
ley Warner still grinds out his monthly
allowance for Harper's, for which he
is handsomely paid, but the oritics all
say that his old-time humor has put on
wings and flown away.
The man best
V— known to the liter
f ~ ary student is E. C.
/Ty Stedman, who has
been called the
jjßjSsr*'Tja, "banker-poet," be
jEnjlgßf cause he has con
tinned his banking
affairs while busy
<tiC pr jSi with verse,criticism,
XamttnaCbwKfcWmm- biography and gen
eral literary work. Mr. Stedman is
not much past his prime. He is light
footed and active as a boy, and his eyes
are as bright as when he surprised the
money-dealers by issuing"l'au in Wall
Street."
Mrs. Margaret Elizabeth Sangster,
always studious, always fond of writ
ing, achieved success before she took
the editorship of Harper's Bazar. She
has held various literary and editorial
positions, and was a valued contributor
to the Harper periodicals before taking
her present position. She is a well
prcsorved and handsome woman of
ahout middle years. She is a pains
taking editor, and under her manage
ment the Bazar shows good judgment
and a thorough instinct for selection.
H. C. Hunner, editor of Buck, does
not devote his life to joking and read
ing manuscripts. He is oonstantlv en
gaged on verse and fiction and is highly
esteemed by Scribner's people and
other magazines.
Edgar Fawcett, who is a great so
ciety man, is a member of the Union
Club, but entertains his sp/P
literary friends at his 1
Hat. He is a hard Vf I
worker, and there is no G*
sham about him. He ri
is par excellence the so- V
ciety writer, and he
merciless with his lance. "fW
He seldom gets less f ' \
than from $2,500 to J !b , 1 y
SO,OOO for the serial dT&JrlsWfTl''
publication of a novel,
and every new literary vonture first
goes to him to secure his name. For
some reason hard to fathom he is the
object of more spiteful paragraphs
than any other author in New York.
Bronson Howard, the author of "The
Henrietta" and other plays, is a careful
workman. He is a keen observer, and
when he gots an idea for a play he
works it out from every conceivable
point and lives, so to speak, in the idea
till his work is done. He is a social
favorite and his literary gains have
been great.
Literary life in New Y'ork is curiously
divided up.
First come those who write books or
devote themselves to essay work in the
periodicals. These may be said to
form in a general w ay the "upper crust"
of literary Bociety.
After these come the free lances, who
are glad to be able to sell copy any
where. t
"To becomes member of tlieAutliors'
Club is of far more importance in the
eyes of the tyro than to be able to write
a grammatical or readable paragraph
in English," said an authority to me.
There aro now close upon 150 authors
in the club and its capacity has recent
ly been enlarged to 300.
There is no marked cordiality be
tween the Authors' Club and the new
Fellowcrnft, of which It. W. Gilder is
the chief spirit.
Keeping Step.
Many years ago, said a well-known
writer lately, I visited two families in
the city of Now York. The first was
Mr. Ledger, a professional man of
moderate"m6ans. He had a wife, two
daughters and a son, who visited in a
circle made up of people who all pos
sessed large incomes. The Ledgers,
however, from time to time gave halls
and dinners as nearly rivaling their
• wealthier neighl ors as their income
would permit. The girls wore costly
jewelry and laces and gowns made by
fashionable dressmakers.
"It is foolish, perhaps," said their
I mother, apologetically, "hut we must
keep step; we must keep up with the
procession."
The second house to which I went
was also that of a poor professional
man. His family had gathered about
them friends who had culture and re
iinement, but who set a just estimate
on money and fashion. They were not
ashamed of being poor, and made no
pretense of wealth.
The morning after I arrived I found
the mother and daughters busy packing
a Christmas box which was to go to a
school for colored children in Alabama.
Each member of the familv brought
something; the father had bought
books, the girls had dressed dolls, even
the children had mended their old toys
and eagerly packed them.
"Sarah has not yet brought her
share," said Mrs. Blank, At that mo
ment the old eoloreil cook came in with
a bag of cookies which she packed in a
box with many smiles and triumphant
nods.
"Sarah would he grievously hurt if
she could not keep step too in the good
ivork," said Mrs. B , when she had
gone out.
These very different ideas of "keep
ing step" interested me. I followed the
fortunes of the two families.
As the years went on the father in
j the first one died, and the girls, with
j expensive tastes and sordid ambitions,
were thrown upon the world, almost
penniless. They had learned no art,
science or craft thoroughly. They
opened a boarding house, anil are still
hanging on the outskirts of a fashion
able circle, boasting of intimacy with
people who care nothing for them and
fancying vainly that they are "keeping
up with the procession."
The children in the Becond familv
also have scattered. Some are married,
others are earning their own living,
none are wealthy. But wherever you
meet one of them, yon find an earnest,
cheerful, friendly man or woman, who
is intent on making the world better
and happier and who expects you aud
everybody else to keep step in that
work.
Not a hoy or girl or young man oi
woman who reads these lines is walk
ing alone. Each is striving to keep
step with some leader, to march tc
some goal. What is the goal? Who it
your leador?— Youth's Compan ion.
They Swore.
/V ' BLEND of mine
/ \ has two little
sons, aged respec
r\WMwl\ lively three and
1 iwh 7 five years. They
have been most
carefully trained,
and especially
y T-ifl Y f warned anil
l/TPM TJ guarded against
Jf \ r-j profanity. But
if \| W one day the little
if uM fellows arose feel-
II ing irresistibly
impelled to do
something naughty, and, the nursery
door being open, we overheard the fol
lowing :
"Let's swear," proposed John, the
i elder.
"Well, letli," lisped wee Charlie.
"Go ahead," said John, encourag
ingly.
"You thwear lirtlit," replied Charlie.
A moment's hesitation and John re
sponded, emphatically:
"I swear!"
"Tho do I," asserted Charlie, sol
emnly.
And that evening before saying their
prayers the little sinners penitently
confessed that they "has sweared" in
the morning.
Nothing 1 Foreign Wanted.
Dealer—You say you want to buy a
lamp for your son?
Customer —Yes.
Dealer—ls he a student ?
Customer—Y'es, he burns a good deal
of midnight oil.
Dealer—Then why not get him a
German student lamp? .fust the
thing.
Customer (with decision) —No, sir.
I don't want any of your foreign con
trivances. Give me an article of home
manufacture.— Yankee Blade.
Hints to Tlic Sleepless.
How many hours sleep do you re
quire? No rule can be laid down.
Jeremy Taylor thrived on three hours,
and so does Cardinal Newman. Many
centenarians are contented with five
hours, but some of them require eight
or nine. But there are two rules of
sleeping which everybody may adopt
without hesitation. 1. Never let your
self be aw akened by anybody else, but
wait until you have slept out your
sleep. 2. Get up as soon as you are
awake. If you follow these two rules,
the hours of sleep will very soon regu
late themselves. If yon read yourself
to sleep, you should rend a heavy book,
not a light one. A dull book is good,
a stupid one is better. Some persons
recommend a cup of beef-tea—just to
amuse the digestion.— Sl. James Ga
zette.
Are tonsure Ton "Know Your Age'!
One of the commonest mistakes made
is by people in answering a question as
to their age. You meet a young man
who announces with an invitation to
come and "smile" with him that he is
"21 years old to-day." In nineteen
case-' out of twenty he is, as a matter
of fact, but 20 years of age. He dates
his age from his birthday, not from its
anniversary. I have no doubt that
thousands upon thousands of young
men have marched to the polls under
the impression that they had reached
tlic requisite 21 years und were entitled
to vote, who were lacking of citizenship
by a year or the greater part of it. -
St. Louis Globe-Vemocrat.
The Unseen Mote.
Doctor—l am sorry, sir,but your case is
hopeless. You are suffering from nerv
ous prostration, from palpitation of tha
heart, and from a cancer in t.ie throat,
all brought on by your excessive smok
ing of cigars.
Journalist—ls there no remedy?
"None whatever! But I interrupted
you; what were you writing when I
came in?"
"An editorial on the deadly ciga
rette."— Puck.
A DENTIST of Philadelphia puts in
false teeth so naturally that they look
and ache exactly like the originals.