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23 fr set Volume XX2 Helena, Montana, Thursday, August 23, 1888. No. $\c 111 ccltlii cralil. R. E. FISK 0. W. FISK *• J- NSK. Publishers nnd Pioprietors. Largest Circulation of any Paper in Montana Rates of Subscription. WEEKLY HERALD: One Year. (In mhanrej.............................S3 00 Hfi Months, (In advance)............................... 1 75 Three Months, (In advance)........................... 1 00 When not paid for in advance the ra»e will be Four Hollars peryeail Hostage, in all cases, Prepaia. DAILY HERALD: f*ity Subscribers,delivered by carrier Si ,00a month One Year, by mail, (In advance)................. SO 00 Hi* Months, by mail, (in advance)............... 5 00 Three Months, by mail, (in advance)........... 2 50 If not paid in advance, 812 per annum. [Entered at the Postoffice at Helena as second class matter.] 46#"A1I communications should be addressed to FISK BROS., Publishers, Helena, Montana. OUTLIVED. I often hear it spoken now, the name That once had power my inmost soul to thrO, To kindle all my face with sudden Uamo, And all my heart with secret rapture All. I listen calmly to it, wondering Where vanished they—those old time hopes and fears That used to blanch my chock, or swiftly bring Before my sight a blinding mist of tears. I meet the eyes now, tranquil, unconcerned, Where once a single frightened glance I stole— Those eyes that long ago a pathway burned Into the inner temple of my soul. 1 hpar the old, familiar voice, unmoved. Whose faintest tone was music in that day; No quickened pulse proclaims the]voice beloved, My quiet heart goes steadfast on her way. No bitterness, no shadow of regret Comes up to mar my peace with secret doubt; I would not live the past again, nor yet Be quite content to have it blotted out. Wan mem'ry, hovering near the far off grave Of our young love, calls (jack, across the waste, That all she finds is cold and lifeless save The few pale mourning flowers herself has placed. Bleep on. thou short lived love; thy grave is deep; Thy life was bitter, but tbj rest is sweet; Though o'er thy burial place none pause to weep, It is approached by none save unshod feet. RETROSPECT. I see again the sudden fleck Of sunshine on her dusky hair. The round young curves of throat and neck. The faded gown she used to wear. I feel her timid hand grow cold Within my own, and hear again Her shy, sweet whisper os of old: "No. Dot good-byf Auf Wiedersehen.'" The gnarled, gray apple trees, astir With little winds, let fall a rain Of pinky bloom all over her. Home stepping thro' the long green lane. The thrush pipes noisily, and seel She pauses with a wistful smile To wave a last farewell to me, Still lingering by the trysting stile. Ah, sweetheart! that was years ago, And Time soon taught us to be wise. To laugh at Love's poor, painted show, And look at Life with clearer eyes. I joined long since the cynic crowd, You in a palace overseas, A silken beauty, pale and proud, Have no such memories as these. And yet, somehow, I'd like to be A fool again, and just live thro' The days when you believed in me. And I, poor lad, believed in youl -M. E. W. THE BEDOUIN'S PRAYER. Allah . oeg not that thou slay My foe; that thine eye shall keep My sword untarnished while I sleep, >• Allan ! And I will find the way To pierce such dog, such Christian slave, And send him to Mahomet's throne Unharmed; where dark eyed houris frow* On any but the warlike travel Allah ! I ask not that thy power Shall spare me from the doom of death, A thing light given—light ta'en Is breath. S I ask not one extended hour To draw the vapor, such as steals, * 'C And gives the palm a mute caress; But, Allah, out of nothingness » ** Lift thou me when the hot brain reels. To meet my death as Bedouin should, *5 At point of lance, 'neath starry skies— To meet the glance of tender eyes, Still mottled with the battle blood— To make from out cold lethargy, '**-596 Thrilled to the soul by her soft kiss, * Whose liquid fire shall wake by bliss ' Through all uuspaced eternity 1 —Martha Eileen Holqhan. MONOSYLLABLES. Mine be the force of words that tax the tongue But once, to speak them full and round and cleer. They suit the speech, or song' and suit the ear, Like bells that give one tone when they are rung; Or bird notes on the air, like rain drops flimg, That pour their joy for all who pause to hear. Their short, quick chords the dull sense charm and cheer, That tires and shrinks from words to great length strung. Strong words, of old, that shot right to the brain, And hit the heart as soon, were brief and terse. Who finds them now, and fits them to his sling, ßmooth stones from brooks of English are his gain. Which shall make strong his thought, In prose or verse, Wills he with scribes to write, of bards to sing. —William C. Richards In Harper's Magazine. LOVE'S WHISPER. Bomeh»>dy whispered to me yest're'em Somebody whispered to me; And my heart gacd a Cutter, and flew awa deaa As somebody whispered to me. And the rose, that 1 fond in my tangled hair. Was a token o' love, I ween. An alrm gaed roun' my waist yest're'en, Jfr t An alrm sae sträng an' true; '^Bu An* I laid my heid on his breast yest're'en, For what could a puir thing dot | Jil An' my heart is his forever mair, Çk® An' nac thing will come between. —Donald Ramsay. Too Mach Dralnwork. Country Editor (to wife)—This writin* «■tutorials for the paper is killin' me, Maria. It's too muà brain work for one than, an' not quite enough for two. Wife—Well, why don't you hire a boy to help you, John?—Harper's To fumigate a house, burn in it sulphur of tar; then whitewash and paint CAPT. BODEN. Lying on a shelf above tho roll top desk in the office of a South street merchant, with a lot of letter and bill files, etc., on each side of it, is a bound volume of The London Mercantile Marine Magazine. A slip of red ribbon serves as a book mark in it. It is not customary for merchants to keep old magazines among their pa pers, and a friend of the merchant asked niiti yesterday if there was any special reason for doing so. "Yes," said tho merchant, "it contains a reference to my first voyago to sea. Be sides, I like to show it to Capt. Boden when ho comes in to see me. Capt. Boden is a prosperous Long Island farmer now, living near Northport, but twenty years ago he was the master of the New Haven schooner Pandora. I was a lad of 1G then, and made my first sea voyage in the Pan dora. So the captain and I are old friends." By this time tho merchant had got rid of the dust on tho outside of the maga zine, and had opened it at tho book mark. On one page, in Wack faced type, was tho heading, "Rewards and Testimonials," beneath which was tho statement that her British majestry and the board of trade had awarded various articles as prizes to sailor men for humanity and bravery, as stated in tue paragraphs following. One of these paragraphs had a black pencil mark around it. It was as follows: "To Capt. Isaac Boden, of tho schooner Pandora of New Haven, U. S., a gold chronometer, in acknowledgment of kis humanity to tho master and crew of the brig Fannie Douglas, of Nassau, N. P., whom he rescued from their vessel on June 27." "The entire crew of tho Pandora," con tinued the merchant, "were Northport citizens, neighbors and friends, you may say, at homo and at sea as well. Tho mate, Ezekiel Norton, was the captain's brother-in-law; both men owned shares in tho schooner, and both were good seamen. The second mate, Daniel Clement, who wa3 about fifteen years older than either, was acknowledged to bo the best sailor man hailing from Northport. That he was a second mate instead of a captain was duo solely to his taste for liquor. "With such a crew as this it is not sur prising that discipline was somewhat las. Alan o' war discipline never yet got over the rail of a coasting schooner so far as I know, bat I rather think that we had more slack rope to ours than is generally found even in the coasting trade. In spite of this, however, the men had a sailor pride in the craft, and it was not too much to say that the Pandora was handled and cared for as well as any vessel in the trade. "We were on the return trip from New Orleans for Fall River with cotton, and had just brought Hatteras abeam when there came a piping gale out of the north west that liked to have ended us then and there. The wind came in a squall, and we lost tho maintopmast while taking in the flying jib and foretopsail. Then we hauled down the jib and lowered the fore sail on deck in a hurry, after which, find ing the wind increasing constantly, we closo reefed the foresail and furled the rest of the canvas, and so lay to and let her drift. Of course we got the wreckage cleared away as soon as we had snugged her. "Well, tho Pandora was a good sea boat, and after drifting for three days and losing nearly 100 miles the storm blew itself out and settled into a westerly wind that promised to make up partly for what wo had lost. We were all anima tion in getting the canvas on her again to take advantage of the breeze, the more so as she had had a much slower passage up to the time the storm came on than usual, on account of light winds. As soon as we got the sails set Mr. Clement and one or the men began blocking out a new top mast from a spruce log that wo had car ried for such an emergency. Clement was a good ship's carpenter, and had saved the Pandora a great many dollars for minor repairs. "While at work at this, and somewhere about 10 o'clock in tL# morning, the man at the wheel saw a wreck a long way off to leeward. It was plainly a brig, for, although both topmasts and tho bowsprit were gone, the lower masts remained. When the wreck was reported Capt. Boden came on deck and took a long look at her through the glass. " 'She's British,' he said, pretty soon. " 'See anybody on herT asked Air. Norton. " 'Not a soul. Take a look at her yourself.' " 'I'm mighty glad of that,' Bald Air. Norton, tailing the glasses. 'We'd lose half a day of this wind if we had to run down there.' "With that Air. Clement got rid of a large chew of tobacco, and 6aid with emphasis: " 'If we had to run down to her! Ain't ye going to run down anyhow?' Air. Clement had been twice picked off of floating wrecks like the one wo were look ing at, and each time it was after seei»g a number of vessels pass very close to windward without paying any attention to the wreck. He was sensitive on the subject, naturally. No one made any re ply to his question. After looking the wreck over Air. Norton said: "'British she is for sure. The squall must have caught her all standing. It blowed the canvas clean out of her. I can't see enough flapping about her for a dishrag except that piece of the spanker at the end of the gaff. There's nobody aboard of her, for thera isn't any sort of a signal to be seen fore nor aft.' «■ Mr . Clement snorted rather than said: 'Give me the glasses.' "One glance was enough for him. " 'There's nothing like shares in the vessel to blind tho eyes of a skipper,' he said. 'Piece of the spanker, eh? At the end of the gaff, eh? Can't see no signals, eh? Don t know no difference between tarpaulins and the end of a gaff for signals and a piece of a spanker, eh? Don't want to see» any signals, do ye? Some folks are mean enough to leave their own mothers on a wreck rather than lose a capful of ^"The more Mr. Clement said the more excited he got, and from "bat I have re peated he went on to worse untU tbecajk tain got so roiled over the taunts of the man that he hauled off and knocked him down. But he didn't stay down; ]bewas on his feet again in an instant and grab bed for a puffip brake in a rack at the mainmast. A pump bra ^f_ ^ handy weapon. It is usually made of ash and is about thirty inches long and two inches thick at the biggest end. Capt. Boden grabbed a brake at the same time. Unfortunately Mr. Clement tried to pull it out the wrong way and the captain got ahead of him, whereupon Mr. Clement expecting a blow, jumped back and drew a sheath knife, and asserted that a cap tain who would leave sailors to die on a wreck for the sake of saving a dollar or two was a cowardly dog who deserved to die, and die he should if ho came a step nearer with that pump brake. Then Mr. Norton took a hand in to subdue the wrathful second mate. "Now by this time tho wreck was pretty well "abeam, and her broken spars were plamly visible, but her hull was so low in the water that nothing on deck could be seen. Our men could see tho piece of a spanker (for such it proved to be, and not a tarpaulin, as Mr. Clement said), but they believed it to be a tar paulin, and that it was a signal of dis tress. So when Air. Norton started in with the captain to club the second mate into submission, three or four of them in terfered. One of them remarked that if tho Christians wouldn't 'do their duty to ward distressed fellow bein's it's about time for tbo devil to make 'em do it.' The captain was a deacon in tho Alethodist church at Northport, and this made him wince. Ho began to think, too, what his neighbors would say when the story of a wreck being passed in that way got around, and turning to the man at the wheel he ordered him to put it up. Then the sheets were eased off, and wo were soon running down to tho brig. That ended the fight. "In less than half an hour tho captain, who was looking at her from the topgal lant forecastle, began to got excited. He was a warm hearted man, and was as eager to make a rescue as any one when a rescue was to be made. " 'There they are, there they are,' he said. 'No wonder we saw no signals. They're all under the fo'gallant forecastle, and the stern's breaking all up. The water's making a clean breech across amidships. One, two, three—there's five of 'em all huddled together, and not one able to stand up, I'll warrant ye. Clear away the boat. ' "There was a rush aft by all hands and the boat was soon ready. Then we waited to get near enough to drop it. Every body wanted to go in her, and there was almost another fight to see who should have the privilege. But the captain, who was a master hand with an oar, said that he would steer and that Mr. Clement and two others onlv should go along, and it was settled that way, though much to Mr. Norton's dissatisfaction. "Ranging close up to windward of the wreck, our yawl was eventually dropped into the sea, and was soon under the lee of the wreck in spite of the cross sea that was still' running and in apite of a lot of the brig's cargo of timber that was float ing' a boat. Her« Mr. Clement and the captain boarded the wreck, and after a lot of labor got the five men into the yawl. "Meantime we had run tho schooner as close under the lee of the wreck as we dared to do, and so the yawl rowed down to us, and we took them all aboard. The five were all that remained of a crew of fourteen, the rest having been lost when the masts went over the side. The saved included the captain, the first mate, the cook and two men. "Off Sandy Hook about fifty miles we transferred the wrecked crew to a pilot boat bound in. When we reached Fall River wo found the papers had been full of tho story of our rescue of those five men. We were all mentioned by name, and the fact that the captain himself had taken the steering oar of tho yawl was made much of. Captains, you know, wi dern do such a thing as make a rescue personally. The captain of tho brig, in his gratitude, had really exaggerated the danger we ran. "Of course tho British consul was told all about it, and he wrote a letter to Capt. Boden, thanking him heartily and tho crew as well, and saying that the case would be laid before her majesty tho queen. The outcome of it all was that instead of the gift of binoculars which her m.'ûft'ty usually makes in such cases Capt. iWUn got a gold chronometer. "All His time, of course, nothing was said about Capt. Boden having been forced into running down to look at the wreck. There was ngt a man on board who yoirid breath a word about il to another in tnÔ forecastle, let alone blab it about North port. The papers said that when Capt. Boden was called into the Maritime Ex change one day about six months later and found himself before the British con sul and more than a huqdred brokers, who were cheering him with character istic enthusiasm, he broke down entirely, and couldn't say or do anything but rub his eyes with the back of his hand, as if he was trying to get a better sight at something. So they had to put the box holding Ins chronometer into his pocket for him. "As I said at the beginning, Mr. Clem ent was in no way thrifty, having too strong a liking for liquor. But he had a smart wife, who, by dint of hard work at whatever offered among the people of Northport, had managed to buy and partly pay for a neat cottage, with half an acre of ground facing the bay, and in the southerly outskirts of the village. But the mortgage of something over $300, with the interest, troubled her greatly. I happened to be in the house the next morning after Capt. Boden got tim chro nometer, and she was just saying she wished the queen had given him the money value instead, for then the captain would have been man enough to divide with the crew, when in walked the cap tain himself, without knocking. The cap tain was plainly excited. " 'Why, captain,' said Airs. Clement, 'what's the matter? Is Sarah or any child sick?' " 'No, no,' said the captain, as ho fum bled for a big envelope. 'No, we're all as well's common. Here's a letter for ye. I reckon it's from the queen of England, and if you'll ask Dan about it he'll tell ye.' "Then he went out and 6lammed the door. The letter was a release of the mortgage on the house. The captain knew that to Air. Clement was due the credit of the rescue of the crew of the bilg, and while he could not refuse to take the gold chronometer, he was deter mined that the Clements should have more than the value of the present. New York Sun. The Acton-Faulkner wrestling match will foi™ place in San Francisco on J uly 2L The fwfph is genuine, for $500 a side and $1,500 added by the Olympic Athletic club of that city. ---- TIIE OLD HULK. Aly father was captain of the English coast guard service for the district, so on this account, that he might be near his men, we lived on the water's edge, near the barracks, and when I had been very good he would give mo in change of Bres lin, the old pensioner, who would row me about the harbor and tell me strange stories of the sea. Then wo would row over to the old black hulk of the Bellona, which was chained there in the harbor many years before I was bom. The masts were gone long since; the tall sides were dented with the marks of battle and the neglect of years, which is still more de structive, and Breslin would tel! me how this vessel had been with Nelson and the Victory at Trafalgar. He would hobble up and down tho deck, talking loudly and pointing out to me the beauties of the old man-o'-mar. Here, on this spot, the cap tain had stood; over there was the place where the shot came through that killed him—and I would fall on my knees and begin looking to see if there yet remained any of the hero's blood that tho rain and time had not washed away. Breslin would take me forward and hold me over tho bows so that I could ad miro tho figurehead—a beautiful lady, with gold eyes and blue hair. The nose had gone years ago, but there seemed a certaiu majesty in tho look even then. What a piece of art it was! Breslin agreed with me fully that there had been nothing like it since. But, indeed, with Bresliu tlie good old days were long passed, and he would have placed the decadence of the English navy with great exactness at 1840—the year lie left it and got his pension. Yes, it was pleasant to row about the old ship and listen to the old sailor's stories of her—stories of the times when she sped through the waters like a swan, with a merry crew and her white sails set in the breeze, a terror to the enemies of England wherever met—poor thing! sho was so helpless now. But even now there was some mystery connected with the Bellona, as she lay, a broken and useless old hulk, chained in the harbor. Breslin hinted strange things. It was known throughout tho town that my father had given strict orders that no one should go on board except Breslin and myself. Vague conjectures were indulged in by more than one village gossip. There was some mystery, no doubt an awful one. Each time I had visited the ship I had noticed the hold full of long black bones, all stamped with the government seal. What the cargo was I would have given my ears to find out. At length I could contain myself no longer and so made known my suspicions to Breslin as we sat together on the quay one sunny afternpod. "Whj don't people go on boar»' the Bellona? ' I asked. "Is it haunted? Please tell me." But the old sailor puffed at his pipe very sagely for a moment or two and ventured his opinion that he had no doubt that there were ghosts there, no doubt whatever, such things were natural, most natural. Had I never heard the story of the "Flying Dutchman?" And thereupon he began to relate a tale of such a horri ble and bloodthirsty nature that I was frightened near to death of the phantom ship and the ghosts who had to appear by night and as misty forms set the airy sails and clear the deck for action and act over the fight again until some kind mor tal would release them from their dread ful task. It seemed to me an awful story, but Breslin said it was true, for he had sailed once with a man who had seen the Flying Dutchman and the'phantom crew. What more proof could I ask? That evening I went home in a strange state of mind. At dinner my father noticed my silence and asked me where I had been. I told him, and he inquired if Breslin had left his pipe on shore, a ques tion which seemed to mo at the time to be most singular, and only strengthened my belief in the old sailor's tale of the ghosts. Aly father knew the facts, too, then; but what relation could there be between ghosts and pipes? Did he wish to turn my thoughts from so terrible a subject? Truly, I must learn more about ghosts. To-morrow I would ask the çooji, who was an authority on the sub ject. That night I went to bed early, but not to sleep; visions of cloudy spirits haunted me continually. All the terrible stories of Breslin came unbidden to my mind. I began to count a hundred in hopes of bringing on sleep; it was useless. The village clock began striking the hours as I lay there awake. Eleven—twelvel I arose timidly and approached the window. There in the moonlight stood the old ship; a slight mist seemed hovering around it. My breathing on the window pane had hid it a moment. I looked again. No; I could make out nothing. Perhaps the clock was not right; perhaps the spirits were invisible except from the deck of the ship, Truly, it was a hard, hard task to see them—so I went to bed full of great ideas for the morrow. Next morning I arose rather early and immediately sought the. cave of the sibyl —or, in plainer words, the kitchen. The cook seemed rather astonished at my question. "Did she know of ghosts? Faith, why shouldn't she? She was a lowly Chris tian woman, and her own sister's hus band, Alike Doogan, had seen ghosts often, till Father Tom McGonigle wint out and laid them." I had sought the right shrine. "How did he lay them?" 1 asked. "Faith, I dunno; but he tuk two blissid candles an' some howly wather and spake in Latin, and they just were laid and nivir throubled the family from that day." "What did he say in Latin?" "Begorrah! I'm no schollard. Shure, isn't Latin Latin, and isn't it all the same, the only thing the divil can't un derstand? And if he can't understand one Latin, how will he know another?" The logic was irrefutable. Any Latin, then, would do. I wouldget my "Cœsar," which I proposed to take up soon, and read that. The great question was at last solved. Now I had some idea, I don't know from what source it rose, that Sunday, being a day of holiness, would be better fitted for my undertaking, so made my preparations accordingly, but with great secrecy and care. Two wax candles I stole from my adviser, the cook. My Latin ''Cesar" never left my pocket, and one afternoon, just at dusk, I peeped cautiously into the old Catholic church upon the hill and, finding no one there, filled a small bottle with holy water from the font near the door. Now I was perfectly equipped. For tho next two or three days I alter nated between feelings of doubt and fear, but at last the Sunday came. O! how tri umphant I felt as I looked around in church and thought of what a hero I was soon to becomel How people would want to notice me then and not be blaming me for everything that took place, as they did now. Failure in the great attempt never entered my mind. At supper I was very quiet. I obeyed implicitly and refused the third piece of cake which was kindly offered to me by my mother, a circumstance never known to have happened before. Aly mother was considerably astonished, and more so when I announced my intention of going up to bed and kissed her a fond good night. As I lingered on the steps I could hear her make some kind remark, to which my father very cruelly answered, "Bosh!" and went on with his reading. Ten o'clock struck on the church clock. I could hoar them about to go to bed; now they were coming up the stairs ; now they had gone into their room. Here was my opportunity, so I stole softly down stairs with my boots in my hand, looking more like a thief than a hero, a fact which T ac knowledged to myself as I came face to face with tho mirror in the hall. To un lock tho side door was short work; to run down to the summer house in the garden and get my candles, water and matches was tho next task. Then 1 went to where my father's small boat lay under the gar den on tho rocks. Tho rope was easy to undo and the tide pretty high, so I was soon rowing out to ward tho black mass in front. The spirits at last would have their rest. That I was frightenedJI will not deny, but the night was so clear and tho moon seemed so friendly that I took courage, and besides, it was only half-past 10 and nothing would appear until 12. I had nearly two good honrs yet. Tho old man-o'-war seemed very lonely when I approached it. The figure head appeared to regard mo with a less friendly glance than in day time, but I did not care. I got up to tho deck slowly and with great quiet. 1 could hear my heart beat as I looked around and realized for the first time my utter loneliness. Could I bear to meet the ghosts if they should appear? Clearly I could not. And it was getting later, too; what if anything white should come before midnight? Why, it would be terrible I My courage was fast failing; I wouldn't have stayed there until 12, not even to be Lord Nelson him self. But stay; something might be done, even in my absence. A brilliant idea, and a safe one! I went to the center of the ship, trembling in every limb. I lit my two candles and set them down, and then, in a voice broken with fear, I began slowly to read the opening chapter in "Cœsar," "Gallia est omnis divisa in partes très" —and so I kept up until I fin ished the first page, and laid the book down open at the place. Then I poured the holy water around in great profusion. "Now," thought I, "what more can I do? Hero is everything ready, all the materials at hand, and if the ghosts come and want to get released let them go through tho ceremony themselves. The candles are lit, my 'Cæsar' is at their dis posal—I shall say I lost it; and now I'm going home." And thereupon I ran quickly to my boat and rowed as if a thousand fiends were following me, no longer a hero, but a much frightened boy. As good luck would have it I got in Bafely. I gained my room, undressed, and then, with a feeling of great restfulness, took my position at the window. Twelve o'clock struck. Nothing could be seen on board the Bellona, but I had no doubt that strange things were taking place there. I watched carefully, I was getting sleepy—so sleepy—and finally, without my knowing it, I dropped on the floor asleep. "Great heavens!" what was that?" The whole house seemed to rock and sway and a mighty noise as of thunder sounded in my ears. I rushed to the window. There where the man-o'-war had been a mighty sheet of flame burst forth. It was a frightful sight. Tho villagers were crowding on the quay in abject terror. Aly father rushed down and called out in anger: "Breslin, some miscreant has fired the gunpowder stored on that old hulk. See that no one leaves here to night." I saw it all now; gunpowder had been the mysterious cargo, after all. That was why my father had asked about pipes. My candles had done the work. The old Bhip was gone; the ghosts had been laid! And I hid my head under the sheets and made no movement that night, and in the morning, when every one was talking about the explosion, there was one young gentleman who had no theory and who had slept through it all—and that young f entleman was myself.— "J. E. S." in 'hiladelphia Times. "Endurable life" for Children. The Lon Ton Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children has, after several years of careful study of the needs of street children, prepared a bill for their relief. It makes it a penal offense to send a child into the streets to beg, directly or indirectly. That is, no child must sing or play or sweep crossings to attract char ity, under 14 years of age. The principle is that every child "shall have an endur able life." The old common law principle that a father owns his child is about worn out. The state has stepped in to interfere and act as a supreme protector. The little victims, when they are done for, after a brief career of suffering to support their parents, are to be fonnd "suffering and dying on floors of attics and cellars or in hospitals." Tho tale of beggar children is too terrible to be told. It is murder of the worst sort. It is high time law stepped in everywhere to pre vent the pauperizing of children and to protect "even the children of tramps."— Globe-Democrat. A Powerful Empire. Harlem Teacher—Tommy Traddles may tell us what the greatest empire in the ■world is. Tommy Traddles (captain of his nine)— Fugerson; he's de greatest empire.—New York Sun. On a Pinch. Air. Vanderbilt is said to be suffering from dyspepsia. If this is the result of employing a $10,000 cook, we shall try to worry along without employing such an expensive domestic assistant.—Norris town Herald. ACTORS AND WRITERS. GOSSIP ABOUT TWO CLASSES OF SO CALLED BOHEMIANS rite Wages of Actors—Is Acting a Healthy Occupation?—Prices of High Kicker*. Grant's Stenographer anti His Valuable Historical Collections—Money in Rrains. [Special Correspondence.) Washington, July 5.— «1 chatted last night with one of the leading theatrical managers of the United States. The subject of actors' salaries came up, and the manager told me they are on the in crease. "All classes of persons connected with the stage." said he, "are getting higher salaries now than they have ever had before, and I think that many of our actors are paid too much. We have to pay $200 a week for any kind of a leading man, and a good second is worth $150 a week. If actors would save their money they would make as a rule more than the managers, and there is no reason why great actors should not amass fortunes. Look at Patti with $5,000 a night! Note the extravagances of Sarah Bernhardt, and you can see where the money goes tol There is too much competition in man agement, and it is this competition that raises the price of salaries. I have had actors at $200 a week who were dear at that, and who were paid $500 a week by another manager, and I have had actresses whom I paid $150 a week taken from me by other managers, who would offer them $300. " "Are tho managers as a rule making money ?" "Some are, but not many. I don't think more than one-third of the manage ments have come out ahead during the past year, and if these have made an av erage of over $20,000 apiece they have done well. As for me I will come out be hind, and I have a very fair troupe. "' "What women of the stage get the best salaries?" "The great singers, of course, though a great actor of any kind is well paid. I judge that Scalchi gets at least $5,000 a month, Campanini $8,000, and you know that Patti recei^ps $5,000 a night by con tract. Look at the immense sums taken in by young Joseph Hoffman. But an actor or actress is worth just what she or he will bring. If she will bring $7,000 or $8,000 a night she is always worth $5,000, and if she is only the side light to a big play sho may not be worth $50 a week. The average theatrical salaries run, I judge, from $30 to $75 a week. Rose Coghlan used to get $350 a week. Miss Jewett had for a time $300 a week and Emma Abbott started out with $1,000 a year, and now gets $100 a night for a concert. Ger ster gets $1,200 a night, Sembrich can make $1,600 a nigHfc and Airs. Langtry has gotten a big fortune out of her beau tiful face. Modjeska has her own troupe and usually does very well. Alaggie Alitchel^ makes lots of money and saves it, and Kate Claxton is always a good card." "How about the ballet?" "The high kickers are, of course, paid well, but the ordinary ballet wall flower gets barely enough to support herself. The wages range all the way from $6 a weeK upward and a good utility woman commands about $40 a week. As to the ballet, I think the days of great dancers have past. You should have seen Fanny Ellsler when she made the tour of this country. She set the people wild with her dancing, and it was so with Taglioni in Europe. Jennie Durand died in Den ver about four years ago, and she was one of the first ballet dancers of this country; she was a great favorite in the mining towns of the west, and she made a great deal of money. Taglioni got $6,000 a year as a salary, but she was not a money maker and she retired from tho stage when sho was still in her prime." "Do you think stage life is a healthful occupation?" "It depends on how it is used," was the reply; "many of the actors of the past have lived to a good old age. Macready died at 80, and Charles Kemble, the father of Fanny and Roger, lived to the age of 79. John Brougham died at 70, and Char lotte Cushman had passed her 70th year when she died. Kittie Clive reached the age of 74, and Fanny Ellsler, the noted dancer, lived to bo 74. Sarah Sid dons died at 76, and the Wallaek9 are of a long lived race. Henry Wallack, one of Lester's uncles, lived to be 78, his father was 73 years old when be died, and his grandmother died at 90. Thomas King, the original Sir Peter Teazle, lived to be 74, and the noted Colley Cibber lived to be 87. There is no reason why an#ctor should not live as long as the average man, provided he does not drink or en gage in other dissipation. It is true his life is an exciting one, but he has his summer vacation, and lie has as much time to rest as has the ordinary man, and it is the same with actresses." » * • I met Professor N. E. Dawson here yes terday. He is the man who acted as Grant's private secretary during the writing of his book, and it was to him that Gen. Logan confided many of his papers. Mr. Dawson has the confidence of more public men, perhaps, than any other man in the United States. A quiet, slender man of about 40 years of age, he has for years been connected with the statesmen of the country in a confidential capacity. He has acted as private secre tary to more men than any other stenog rapher in Washington, and he has a col lection of historical notes which are sur passed only by those of Bancroft. He is possessed of remarkable literary ability, and his scrupulous integrity has giipn him access to matter which other writers could not obtain. He has been gathering all the material he coaid find about public men for the past decade or so. He gets a full biographical sketch of each man of note he meets, asking the man to furnish it to him, and he also has an interview with each public man about such other K ns of note and about such periods as s been acquainted with. He gathers this material in personal interviews as a rule, and takes down in short hand the data from the men themselves. In doing so, he promises not to make public the in formation given until the person giving such information authorizes it. Mr. Daw son's reputation is such that he gets all he asks for and he has now packed away enough shorthand notes to make several dictionaries. He files and indexes all his matter and he proposes in the future to use it for historical and biographical pur poses. lie had interviews with Mr. Conkling before he died, and he has S acked away stories by nearly every lead l g senator in Washington. Mrs. Grant has dictated to him her remembrances, and he says the Grant papers which are still unpublished are voluminous and valuable. The immense amount of money already received for Grant's book is bound to bring a number of valuable papers to the front. Tho money in literature is causing leading men to look carefully over their papers, to see whether they have not the material for a book It was Grant's suc cess that started Logan and Sheridan to work, and I know of a score of statesmen who are planning volumes I know of many who work for magazines, and I know of an instance of one senator who was asked what amount he would charge for a short article on the tariff In reply he said he could not do it for less than $500, or about ten cents a word I know of one senator who got $200 for a snort article for Tho Forum, and tho newspaper men of Washingt on have gone into the magazine field and are making money out of it. George Kennan has made a good reputation and a nice pot of money out of the Russian articles, which are being pub lished in The Century. I have already told you about the goose that lays the golden eggs for John Hay and John G. Nicolay, and.I know of another magazinist who is also a newspaper man who has thirty-three articles in the hands of maga zine editors, for which ho got from $100 to $300 apiece. The leading newspaper syndicates will now pay from $1(1 to $25 a thousand words for good matter, and the literary demand seems greater and greater every day. I have been collecting for some time items in regard to tho amount of money made by authors. It is very fascinating work, and it is interesting to knew that George Eliot received $50,000 for "Ro mola;" that Scott got over $3,500 foi "Waverley" and $40,000for "Woodstock." Wilkie Collins' "Armadale" brought $25, 000, and poor Goldsmith only got $300 foi his "Vicar of Wakefield." "Rasselas" brought Samuel Johnson only $500, and Dickens made about $50,000 a year during his latter days at his writings. The fort une received from Grant's bo*k, which was a sort of a history, looks very large beside the $50,000 which Gibbon got foi his "Decline and Fall of the Roman Em pire," and Scott was paid $90,000 for a •'Life of Napoleon" which no one now ever hears of. Will Carleton is said to get $125 for a short poem, and Bret Harte had, you know, a contract for $10,000 s year for whatever he might write, and this was shortly before he went abroad as consul. Byron received $21,000 foi "Childe Harold," and he got $15,000 foi "Don Juan." Victor Hugo made a fort une out of his writings, and W. D. Howells must certainly get between $10, 000 and $15,000 from Harper Brothers. He receives, I am told, $2,000 and up wards for a 6hort story, and nis books ought to bring him in a great deal ol money. As to tho great American writers of the past, Washington Irving was the best paid author of his day, though he made nothing like the amount of money that similar talent would bring in today. Fanny Feru received high prices for her works, and Harriet Beecher Stowe cleared $40,000 on "Uncle Tom's Cabin " Still, when she wrote it she would have beeD satisfied with a silk dress in payment for it. Tho book still sells, but whether she receives a royalty or not I do not know. Bayard Taylor made a pot of money out of his books of travel, but he did not leave much when he died. Alark Twain makes perhaps as much as any writer of today. He has business faculty allied to remark able literary ability of the kind the mar ket demands, and everything he touches seems to turn into gold. He has written some beautiful things, as well as some remarkably funny ones, and it is hard to realize that the same pen which wrote "Innocents Abroad" penned "The Prince and the Pauper." Of all American writers, I should judge that Mark Twain was the most read abroad. You will find his books in every country where the English language is spoken, and many of them have been translated. Mark Twain's humor gave him his start, and humor is one of the best pay ing commodities in the l'terary market. Petroleum V. Nasby left a fortune of a million dollars. Josh Billings died rich, and Bill Nye is making lots of money out of his lectures and his books, as well as receiving a royal salary from The New York World. One of the greatest suc cesses pf today in bound books has been Lew Wallace's "Ben Hur," and it will be astonishing to many of the highly philo sophic readers of this letter to know that the best paid novelist in the United States perhaps is E. P. Roe. Roe's novels sell in a half dozen different editions and they go everywhere. The editions are run out by the hundred thousand copies, and many of his stories having rru through a big edition in cloth have had equal suc cesses in paper covers. As everybody knows Ijy this time Robert Louis Stevenson's story, now being pub lished in the newspapers, was sold to them for $10,000, and this provides for the newspaper use of the story alone. Air. Stevenson will make a greater amount than this out of its sale in book form after it has been completed. Anna Catharine Green, who, by tho way, writea about the best detective stories of any American writer today, thftiks $2,500 is a pretty good price for a serial, and she has, I understand, written one which will shortly be published. As to Washington journalists a num ber of them also have books in hand or in press and the standard of Washington literary work among newsjwper men is, it seems to me, advancing. Mr. John S. Shriver, tho editor of The Home Journal, at Baltimore, and much noted for his in teresting stories about the White House while he was in Washington as tho cor respondent of The Baltimore American, is writing a novel. Perry S. Heath has a book of travels in press which is quite interesting. William E. Curtis will shortly publish a book on F.assia, I know of a men who has a book on duels ready fox publication, and there are numbers of ther department people who are engage»*, in. literary work. Spofford, the librarian, air ways has his hands fulL George Bancroft picks up his work occasionally, but he does not write as regularly as in the past, and Professor Jouy, who was sent by the government to Corea as a naturalist, is preparing a book upon that country. Sun set Cox is doing no writing at present. Frank G. Carpskter.