Willmar tribune. [volume], May 03, 1905, Image 7

About Willmar tribune. [volume] (Willmar, Minn.) 1895-1931

Image provided by: Minnesota Historical Society; Saint Paul, MN

                
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ROMANCES WHIC HAVES
TAKEN WORL BY EARS
Rose Harriet Pastor* a Jewish Maiden of the
Ghetto, and Anna Bennett, a Pretty Tele
phone Girl, Win Wealthy Husbands.
FASCINATING DETAILS OF THE TWO LOVE STORIES
John Graham Phelps Stokes. Millionaire Clubman.
Settlement Worker and Municipal Reformer, and
E. R. Whitney, Wealthy Montreal Lumberman,
Find Strange Affinities—Queer Pra.nks
Which Cupid Has Played-
New York-City.—What queer pranks
Master Cupid plays at times! He draws
his bow and lets his arrows by, and lo,
and behold, all the world pauses to look
and to listen. Love is such an old, old
story, and Cupid has been so long en
gaged in his magic archery, making two
souls content with but a single thought
and causing two hearts to beat as one,
that the ordinary, commonplace love af
fair causes scarcely a ripple on the vast
sea of life as it rolls on to the eternal
shores. But occasionally Cupid quite
outdoes himself. Apparently he becomes
impatient with simply performing the
expected, and twang, twang goes his
bow, and swish, swish go the Meeting ar
rows, and the unexpected has happened.
The rich, and the poor, the high and the
low, the gray hairs of winter and the
fresh bloom of summer are brought to
gether in charming harmony, and at
such times the world likes to pause and
gaze on the romantic picture. It de
lights to study the roseate hues, the
warmth and fullness of coloring, the
striking contrasts, the brilliant lights
that glint and flash through the picture
and then it likes to wouder in soberer
frame of mind if there will be any darker
shades which the years will paint into
the picture to destroy the first flush and
glory of Cupid's daring work.
Cupid knows that love has a universal
language, and that it is potent to over
come every natural barrier. He knows
that love pauses not to reason why, but
that it dares to do. and even die. if need
be, in its assaults on the strongholds of
the human heart. He knows that there
are no race or class distinctions, nor so
cial conditions or barriers which love
cannot with apparent reckless ease
sweep aside. And because Sir Cupid
knows all this full well, he dares to draw
his bow and send his dart cleaving the
heart of a young man whose wealth is
counted in millions, whose social posi
tion is of the highest, a Yale graduate,
//vmpy/sj/mr msrones
and a club man. and the heart of a poor
Hebrew maiden, a Russian Jewess,
whose life has been spent amidst the
world's humblest, and who has rolled
cigars year in and year out'that the
mother and five other children might
have bread and shelter. Cupid has
strangely linked the proud name of John
Graham Phelps Stokes and the unknown,
yet euphonious name, of Rose Harriet
Pastor.
Cupid's Double Play.
But Cupid has done more than this.
He has made in New York what might
be called a double play, and from one
end of the land to the other his strange
pranks are interesting and fascinating
the reading public. A wealthy business
man of Montreal, a man of mature years
as well as of great riches, has fallen vic
tim to the charms of a "hello" girl.
Cupid has discovered an affinity between
a Mr. E. R. Whitney, capitalist, and sage
of 70, and Miss Anna Bennett, telephone
operator, and winsome maiden of some
20 summers, and this is the second re
markable romance which is setting the
tongues of the gossips to wagging and
giving the publicsomething else to think
about besides Standard Oil wickedness
and "tainted" money, the beef trust in
vestigation, or the Hyde and Alexander
fiasco.
What the Lovers Say.
Of Cupid's work, Mr. Stokes says:
"We are not two we are one in spirit."
And Miss Pastor echoes alike sentiment
when she says: "Life is a riddle, of
which love is the answer. Oursouls met
and we knew that we belonged to each
other."
The gray-haired lover steps forward
with the spring of youth and says: "See
here, I'm not an old man. I've never had
a day's illness in my life, and the insur
luiecreomvanics have accepted me for all which was brought out last vear.
the insurance- that I can carry, St
gard myself as the most fortunate of mm
—I wouldn't change places with any
body in the world. 1 expect to be su
premely happy for the rest of my days."
And the blushing maiden demurely
adds: "Our wedding will be a very
quiet one, and after that we are going to
Europe." And a whole fairyland of a
new and big world opens up before the
vision of the girl whose horizon has been
limited to one land, and to the noisy
whirl and bustle of a big city.
How romantic it all is! What fascinat
ing reading! It is just as if the charac
ters of some charming novel had stepped,
down into real life and were enacting
a roll of which the boldest romancer ia
his most extravagant flights might have
conceived. A double bill. Two ro
mances in real life which are stranger
than fiction.
Humble Origin of Rose Pastor.
Twenty-six years ago Rose Harriet
Pastor was born in Augustovo, Suwalk.
Russia, a child of the peasantry Tolstoi
and Gorky have told the world about. Of
this period of her life Miss Pastor says:
"I was only three years old when 1
left Russia, but I think I can remember
a little about it, just a very little, faint
shadow of remembrance. Then there
was London, where we lived in'White
chapel, and were very poor, indeed."
A chapter in her life which had its be
ginning in London in those early years
had an interesting sequel in New York
city recently, and reminds oneof the fact
that Pastor is not the real name of the
young Jewess. Her father's name was
Jacob Weisslender, and about a year
after their removal to London he was di
vorced from her mother, and all trace
of the man was lost.
Finds Her Father.
Mrs. Weisslender married a man
named Pastor, and Rose took her step
father's name. He died several years
ago, and the support of the family fell on
Rose, the eldest child. When she moved
to New York, about two years ago, and
obtained employment on the Jewish
Daily News, she set about to find her
father. Her friends assisted her, and
about1&months ago Bennett ideberman,
who worked with her, discovered an old
cobbler in a little shop on Scammel
street. The name on the sign was Yan
kel Weisslender." Weisslender was
Rose Pastor's father.
Mrs. Pastor and her daughter sought
the Scammel street place. The old shoe
maker had taken unto himself a young
wife. Mother and daughter never again
revisited the place, and they have, kept
their secret. A short time after the visit
Weisslender sold his shop and left the
city. He is now believed to be in Scran
ton, Pa.
Early Struggles.
Of her early struggles and ambitions,
and her successful overcoming of ob
stacles and hindrances, which would
have overpowered the average person,
she says:
"I learned to read there, and when I
was nine years old we came to America.
We lived ill Cleveland, and when I was
11% years old I went to work in a to
bacco factory, rolling tobaccofor cigars
always that for 12 years.
"When I first went to work, a man
came in and sent me home. I did not
know why then, but I do now. Itwas be
cause I was too young to work in a fac
tory. But it was not long until I was
back at the work. I was not unhappy. I
am never unhappy at work.
"One day a boy lent me 'Les Miser
ables.' That took hold of me in a won
derful way. That boy was the son of the
owner of the factory. His father sent
him through Yale. He went back to
Cleveland, opened a law office and while
waiting for clients wrote 'The Fugitives,'
S
„:.•„:*-,- Brighter Bays^$£
And while John Graham Phelps Stokes
was preparing for Yale, and leading the
life of the rich, the Jewish girl, with the
eyes of the dreamer and the hair of Ros
etti'a "Blessed Damosel," sat year after
year at her bench, rolling the endless
rows of cigars and dreaming, ever dream
ing.
'After 11 years her dreams found ex
pression. She began to write Bits of
verse, and found a market for her work
with the Jewish Daily News, of this city.
A position was offered her on the paper,
and she came to New York, relying on
her own salary of $15 a week to support
her mother and six younger children.
Five months after her arrival she was
sent out on her first interview. To the
shy, reserved ,girl it was a difficult task.
She was sent to interview J. G. Phelps
Stokes, of the University Settlement.
Only a month previous Mr. Stokes' sister
Caroline had startled the social world
by marrying young Robert Hunter, a set
tlement worker. Rumor had it that they
were to establish a rival settlement to
the University, and that Phelps Stokes
would join them.
Beginning of Remarkable Romance.
Miss Pastor was sent to get a state
meat from Mr. Stokes, and here is the
beginning of the remarkable romance.
Her simple, modest statement of this
incident and what it has meant to her,
is as follows:
"It will be two years next July since
I came to New York and soon after I
came I went to work on the Jewish
Daily News. The first interview to
which I was assigned was one with Mr.
Stokes. I did not want to do it. I
pictured him as old and stiff. My edi
tor insisted. When I was told that he
was out of town I was delighted. 'You
will-have to go again,' said my editor.
"Again I received the same informa
tion that he was not in town, and was
relieved. An interview waa arranged,
however, and as I went to keep the ap
pointment I met Mr. Edward King, and
induced him to accompany me.
"When I met Mr. Stokes I said: 'Oh,
I did not know you were like that,'
and we fell to talking of many things
that interested us both. In showing
"me around the building we stepped out
onto a balcony, and, as we stood look
ing down to the people. I noticed his
expression, and thought how much he
looked like Lincoln—the same kind of
beautiful homeliness.
"As we have come to know each oth
er we have simply planned our lives
together. That is all there is-to it. I
do not expect to change my way of liv
ing in any radical way. We will get
an apartment on the lower East side,
if we can find one there with light
enough. That is the only luxury we
shall insist upon."
No Claim to Beauty.
What is there about this child of the
Ghetto, this young Russian Jewess
which should have taken'the eye and
captured the heart of the quiet, re
served, thoughtful social worker and
reformer, J. G. Phelps Stokes? She is
simple and cordial in her manner, and
she seems to expect the same qualities
in those with whom she talks.
She is not beautiful, but there is
that in her face which attracts and
holds attention and interest as mere
beauty would not. Her hair is the
most striking thing as one first looks
at her—auburn, and full of waves and
lights. She parts it, emphasizing, her
low, broad brow.
Her eyes are brown, and her face
lights up in a wonderful,manner as
she talks. Quite at her ease, without
embarrassment, apology or boastful
ness, Miss Pastor talks of her past life,
of her meeting with, Mr. Stokes, of
their subsequent acquaintance and the
development of their attachment and
of the coming marriage on the anni
versary of her birth, June 18.
The Man in the Case.
And Mr. Stokes views the circum
stances in the strange alliance in the
same, matter-jof-fact way. He seems to
think nothing unusual in one of his
birth and position and wealth finding
a bride whon life and training have
been so different from his own. Mr.
Stokes is a young man who, since the
completion of his college course, has
been interested in settlement work and
social reforms. He is a member of one
of the oldest and proudest families of
New York, and is said to have inherit
ed 110,000^000 from his grandfather.
Years ago he voluntarily relinquished
his social position with all its attrac
tions, and the brilliant ^business pros
pects which his wealth and training
opened up for him, and dedicated his
money and his life to work among the
poor, and in the ghetto of New York
he has reared an imperishable monu
ment to himself and incidentally won
for himself a, bride, who in spirit and
purpose is at one with him.
Miss Pastor's View of the Ideal Man.
It is interesting to know what his
bride-to-be thinks of the man she is to
marry. She draws the picture as fol
lows:
"Mr. Stokes is a deep, strong think
er. His youthful face takes by virtue
of its frank, earnest and kind expres
sion.
"One glance at his face and you feel
that Mr. Stokes loves humanity for its
own sake, and as he speaks on with
the sincerity that is the keynote of his
character, you feel how the whole
heart and soul of the man is filled with
welt schmerz. You feel that, meta
phorically speaking, he has 'sown his
black young curls with the bleaching
cares of half a million of men al
ready.'
"Mr. Stokes is very tall, and I be
lieve, six foot of the most thorough
democracy. A thoroughbred gentle
man, a scholar and a son of a million
aire, he is a man of the common peo
ple, even as Lincoln was. He is a
plain man and makes one feel perfect
ly ai ease with him. Nor does he pos
sess that one great fault that men of
his kind generally possess, the pride
of humility. He does not flaunt his
democracy in one's face, but when his
democracy is mentioned to him, he ap
pears as glad as a child who is told by
an appreciative parent, you have been
a good^boy to-day."
The Romance of Another Type.
Such are the man and woman, and
such is the network of romance which
has woven itself into their lives and
bound them together. As we turn to
the Whitney-Bennett romance we find
a very different type of love story. It
savors more of the purely sentimental.
Mies Pastor and Mr. Stokes speak of
affinity, and find the ordinary expres
sions of sentimental love crowded out
bv the deeper currents and purposes of
life.' The Christian and the Jewish maid
en' have lost sight of all class, race and
social conditions, and each has recog
nized in the other the complement of self,
that something, that Inspiration, that
sympathy, which will enable them both
more surely and completely to realize
their ideals in serving humanity.
But in the case of Mr. Whitney, of
Montreal, the millionaire lumberman,
and Miss Bennett, the pretty telephone
girl, it is entirely different. Their ro
mance Is written all in love's most senti
mental characters. A sweet voice float
ing over the wire, a pretty face seen
afterwards, a lonely old-widower with a
susceptible heart, a courtship in which
flowers, and jewelry, carriage and auto
mobile rides, theater parties and dainty
and elaborate suppers figure prominent
ly. These are the elements we find in
this charming story, and to many a read
er it will prove the more interesting and
readable of the two.
Her Sweet Voice.
It chanced that E. R. Whitney, a cap
italist of Montreal, came to New York
last year for,a long stay. He took rooms
at the Astor house. One day he called
up a business friend at the Grand Union
hotel. There was difficulty in getting his
party on the wire. But it wasn't "Cen
tral's" fault.
Instead..of imitating the. rather, hasty
tones of Mr. Whitney, as does the aver
age Central, or giving him a "Busy!" this
operator on the other endof the lineTeal
ly tried to get the call for Mr. Whitney.
So sweet was her voice and so charming
her manner that the impatient business
man at the other end was much im
pressed.
He got his party, an appointment was
made and next day found Mr. Whitney
at the hotel to transact his business. The
interview over, again he sought the tele
phone. At the switchboard sat a charm
ing young girl. Mr. Whitney, gave her
the number he wished, and when he
heard her ask "8100 Cortlandt" over the\
wire, great light came over him.
Her Pretty Face.
At once he recognized the voice—it
was the voice of the day before, when he
had been so courteously treated over the
wire. If the voice had pleased him, the
sweet-faced girl who gave him his call
delighted him. Mr. Whitney is 70 years
old, but he hasn't forgotten the gallantry
of youth. In the twinkling of an eye he
had recalled the incident of the day be
fore, and the blushinggirl owned up that
it was her voice that he had heard over
the wire.
Now, Mr. Whitney is a man of decis
ion. He admired the pretty telephone
girl and he decided that it would be a
saving of time if he could be nearer
her when he wanted to use the 'phone.
It isn't necessary to recount right here
that perhaps there were other influ
ences that caused his decision.
At any rate, on the very next day
there appeared on the register of the
Grand Union the name "E. R. Whit
ney, Montreal." He took an expensive
suite and the Astor House knew him
no more.
Devotion Itself.
Every day found Mr. Whitney at the
"Central" office of the Grand Union ho
tel. Nobody could satisfy his wants as
could Miss Bennett. They chatted
pleasantly enough while he was wait
ing for his calls and finally the day
came when the elderly millionaire ven
tured to ask Miss Bennett if he might
take hef to the theater after her day's
work.
"If you meet my father and mother
and they are willing," she said, very
frankly, y
"Nothing better," responded Mr.
Whitney heartily, and that evening
found him a caller over in Greenpoint
at No. 213 Nassau avenue.
It was no mansion that he found.
Instead, Miss Bennett's home proved
to be a very modest little three-story
wooden flat-house.
The Bennetts—father, mother and
three sisters—lived on the top floor at
that. Mr. Whitney found further that
Miss Bennett's two sisters, Alice and
Jennie, like herself ,were telephone op
erators, and that T. V. Bennett, the
father of the three sweet-faced girls,
was foreman in the Fleischmann yeast
factory at Greenpoint.
The First Theater Party.
There was a very pleasant call, and
at ten p. m. Mr. Whitney went back
to his hotel in Manhattan. Next even
ing a hansome cab dashed up in front
of the modest flat-house, and out'of it
stepped Mr. Whitney. Now, cabs are
not over numerous in Nassau avenue,
Greenpoint, and the neighbors won
dered. They didn't have long to won
der, because out of the house came
pretty Miss Bennett In her daintiest
dress and was handed into the cab by
"isn
STVr
the gallant Mr,. Whitney. There was
a] delightful theater party for two in
Manhattan, a little tete-a-tete supper
afterward, and then'the cab took, the
pretty telephone girl back to Grece
polnt.
With this as a,beginning, the rest
was easy. There came an automobile
sometimes, and as often other han
soms'. Messenger boys delivered flow
ers and notes. Occasionally a jeweler's
clerk brought something in a tiny vel
vet box to No. 213 Nassau avenue,
Greenpoint. where jeweler's clerks are
seldom seen.
Then the'Proposal.
Of course, all this attention meant
but one thing—a proposal. Last week
it came, and on Saturday evening whttt
Miss Bennett put on her hat and wraps
at the end of the day's work she noti
fied the hotel management that she
had done her last day's work.
"I am to be married," she added.
"That very same Saturday Mr. Whit
ney went to the office of the Grand
Union hotel and asked for his bill. He
paid it and,,calling a cab, drove over
to the Hotel Astor, Forty-fourth street
and Broadway, where be took suite
No. 305. There he is now, getting
ready for his wedding.
.::... ...,.-':.'Ikoyal.. to. Old Friends.
In her prosperity Miss Bennett has
not forgotten her less fortunate friends
of"-her "hello" days. The bridesmaid
at the wedding is to be Miss Ida
Schwindt, another telephone operator
who presides at the switchboard of
the Park Avenue hotel. Mr. Whitney
has handed her a handsome check to
provide herself with a bridesmand's
gown But of this or. of her elderly
fiance's wealth Miss Bennett will not
speak.
Telephone Gossip.
There are certain things which at the
other telephone girls in New York have
heard, but which none of the interested
parties will confirm. Call up any "Cen
tral," and she will tell you the gossip.
These are, that Mr. Whitney has already
settled $100,000 upon Mr. Bennett and
that he and her father were present at
the sighing of the papers that her wed
ding gift will be a $9,000 automobile
that Miss Schwindt has received $500 for
her bridesmaid's dress and a diamond
cluster ring (or a souvenir, and that Mr.
Whitney himself is one of New York's
new unknown millionaires.
Mr. Whitney doesn't look his years.
He is powerfully built, more than six
feet tall, and has apparently many years
yet to live. He is as sprightly and at
tentive as a man half his years. He
made his money in asphalt and lum
ber.
NEEDS NO COAL OR WATER
Locomotive Ordered for Chicago Bail
road Which Will Revolutionize
Transportation.
Chicago.—Threethousand miles with
out a stop, and at the rate of 100 miles
or more an hour, is the capacity of a
new type of locomotive Wuich has been
ordered by a railroad making its head
quarters here. If it does all that its
makers promise for it, this locomo
tive, which is a revision of the Dissel7
engine, will revolutionize transporta
tion.
The locomotive, or, really, power
house on wheels, is entirely different
from anything now in use. The cost
of operating it will be less than one
naif the cost of operating the present
type of steam engine. Fuel oil, costing
but three or five cents a gallon, is the
only fuel that has to be purchased, and
there is no necessity of erecting and
maintaining an expensive water tank
or coal chutes. The machine is what is
known as the four-stroke cycle. There
is a compressed air reservoir,i from
which the power is obtained for start
ing. This gives the piston its first
strokes when it takes the air.alone at
atmospheric pressure and temperature.
The second stroke compresses this air
and raises it to a temperature of about
1,000 degrees Fahrenheit The third
stroke is practically an expansion, with
stroke. The oil is sprayed into the hot
air, the amount being regulated by
governors,. During the first part of this
stroke the combustion of this oil is car
ried on at a constant pressure for a
period that is regulated by the amount
of oil sprayed. The second part of the
stroke is practically an expansion, with
transference of heat, and the fourth
stroke exhausts the gases.
Good Literary Taste.
"The Gospel of Common Sense" was
the book a thief of Glasgow elected to
steal from a public library in that city.
*v
The Bad Boy Writes to His Chum from
London—The White Chapel District
and the Craze for Gin—Gives His
Dad a Scare in the Tower.
BY HON. GEORGE W. PECK.
(Ez-Goveinor of Wisconsin, formerly pub
lisher of "Peck's Sun," author of
"Peck's Bad Boy," etc.)
(Copyright, 1904, by Joseph B. Bowles.)
London, England.—My Dear Chum:
I received your letter yesterday and
it made me homesick. Gee, but if I
could be home there with you and go
downi to the swimming hole and get in
all over, and play tag in me sand, and
tie some boy's pants and shirt in'knots,
and yell that the police are coming,
and all grab our Clothes under our
arms and run across lots with no
clothes on, and get in a barn and put
on our clothes, and dry Our hair by
pounding it with a stick, so we would
not get licked when we got home, life
would be worth living, but here all I
do is to dodge people on the streets and
see- them look cross when they step
on me.
Say,«.bpy, you will never know your
luck in being a citizen of good old
America, instead or a subject of Great
Britain, because you have got to be
rich or be hungry here, and if you are
too rich you have got no appetite.
You have heard of the roast beef of
old England, but nobody eats it but
the dukes and bankers. The working
men never even saw a picture of a
roast beef, and yet we look upon all
Englishmen as beef-eaters, but three
fourths of the people in this town look
hungry and discouraged, and they
never seem to know whether they are
going to have any supper.
I went aown to a market this morn
ing where the middle class and the
very poor people buy their supplies,
and it would make you sick to see
them. They buy small loaves of bread
and a penny's worth of tea, and that is
breakfast, and if a man is working he
takes some of the bread to work for
lunch, and the wife or mother buys a
carrot or a quarter of a cabbage, and
maybe a bone with a piece of meat
about as big as a fish bait, and that
makes supper, with a growler of beer.
Say, the chunk of meat with a bone
that an American butcher would tnrow
at a dog that he had never been intro
duced to would be a banquet for a
large family over here.
I have been down into the White
Chapel district, which is the Five
Points of London, and of the thou
sands of tough people I saw there was
not a man but looked as though he
1
Si.e,_^
DAD GOT INDIGNANT.
would cut your liver out for a shilling,
and every woman was drunk on gin.
What there is about gin that makes it
the national beverage for bad people
beats me, for it looks like water,
tastes like medicine and smells like
cold storage eggs. A£ home when a
person takes a drink of beer or whisky
he at least looks happy for a minute,
and maybe he laughs, but here nobody
laughs unless somebody gets hurt, and
that seems to tickle everybody in the
White Chapel district.
The people look mad and savage
when they are not drinking, as though
they were only looking for an oppor
tunity to commit murder, and then
when they take a drink of gin, instead
of smiling and smacking their lips as
though it was good and braced them
up, they look as though they had been
stabbed with a dirk and they put on a
look of revenge, as thougn they would
like to wring a child's neck or cut holes
in the people they meet.
Two drinks of gin makes a man or
woman look as though they had swal
lowed a buzz saw. I always thought
drinking 'liquor made people think
they were enjoying themselves, or that
they took it to drive away care ami
make them forget their sorrows, but
when these people drink gin they seem
to do it the way an American drinks
carbolic acid, to end the whole busi
ness quick.
At home the drinker drinks to make
him feel like he was at a picnic. Here
every drinker acts like a suicide, who
only hopes thathe may commit a mur
der before the gin ends his career.
And there are hundreds of thousands
of people in this town who have no
ambition except to get a bit of bread
to sustain them till they can get a
drink of gin, and gradually they let up
on bread entirely and feed on gin, and
look like mad dogs and snarl at every
body they see, as much as to say:
"What are you going to do about it?"
A good square American meal would
give them a fit, and they would go to
a hospital and die if the meal could
not be got out of them.
Gosh, but I was glad to get out of
the White Chapel district, and I kept
looking back .for fear one of the men
or women would slit me up the back
with a butcher knife, and. laugh like
an insane asylum inmate.
Do you know, those people who
drink gin and go hungry are different
from our American murderers. Our
murderers will assault you with a
smile, rob you with a joke on their
tongue's end, and give you back car
fare when they hold you up, and if
they murder you they will do it easy
and lay you out with your hands
across on your breast and notify the
coroner, but your Whito Chapel mur
derer wants to disembowel you and
cut you up into chunks, and throw
Vrf-
your remains head first Into something
nasty, and if you have money enough
on your person to buy a bottle of gin,
your murderer isv as well satisfied as
though he got a roll. Some men in our
country commit murders in order to
get money to lay away so they can live
a nice, respectable life and be good
ever afterwards, but your slum mur
derer in London just kills because bis
stomach craves a drink, and when he
gets it he is tame, like a tiger that
has eaten a native of India.
DAD TURNED PALE AND GOT DOWN
ON HIS KNEES.
interfere ana have the- confounded
place burned down and grass sown on
the site and a park made of it.
The tower covers 13 acres of ground,
and there are more things brought to
a visitor's attention that ought to be
forgotten than you ever thought about.,
I remember attending the theater at
home and seeing Richard the Third
played, and I remember how my sym
pathies were aroused for the two little
boy princes that were murdered by
Richard the Third, but I thought it
was a -fake play, and that there was
nothing true about it, but, by gosh, it
was right here in the Tower of Lon
don that the old hump-backed cuss
murdered those little princes, and dad
and I stood right on the spot, and the
beef-eater who showed us around told
us all the particulars. Dad was in
dignant, and said to the beef-eater:
"Do you mean to tell me you stood
around and let Richard kill those
princes without uttering a protest or
protecting them or ringing for the po
lice? By the great- hornspoon, you
must have been accessory to the fact,
and you ought to be arrested and
hung," and dad pounded his cane on
the stone floor and looked savage.
The. beef-eater, got red in the. .face
and said: "Begging your pardon, don't
you know, but h'l was not 'ere at the
time. This 'istory was made six 'un
dred years ago."
Dad begged the man's pardon and
told him he supposed the boys were
murdered a year or two ago, and he
gave the beef-eater a dollar, and he
was so gratified I think he would have
had a murder committed for dad right
there and then if dad had insisted on
it.
You feel in going through the tower
like you was in an American slaughter
house, for it was here that kings and
queens were beheaded by the dozen.
They showed us axes that were used
to behead people, and blocks that the
heads of the victims were laid on, and
the places where the heads fell on the
floor. It seemed that in olden times
when a king or a queen got too gay,
the anti-kings or queens would go to
the palace and catch the king or queen
in the act, and take them by the neck
and hustle them to the tower, and
when a king or queen got in the tower
they went out on the installment plan,
and after being 'thrown in the gutter
for the mob to recognize, and walk on
the bodies, they would bring them
back in the tower, and seal them up in
a pigeon hole for future generations
to cry over.
All my life I have had in our house to
look at a picture' of beautiful Anne
Boleyn, and here I stood right where her
THE BEEF-EATERS' STAMPEDE.
head was cut off, and I couldn't help
thinking of how we in America got our
civilization from the descendants of the
English people who cut her head off.
By ginger, old chum, it made me hot.
I didn't care to look at the old armor, or
the crown jewels, which make you think
of a cut glass factory, but I reveled in the
scenes of the beheading. I never was
stuck much on kings and queens, but it
seems to me if they had to murder them
they ought to have given 'em a show, and
let them fight for their lives, instead of
getting into a trap, like you would entice
a rat with cheese, and then cut their
heads off.
I suppose it is right here that we in
herited the desire to lynch and burn
at the stake the negroes that commit
crime and won't confess at home. When
anything Is born in the blood you can't
get rid of it without taking a dose of
patriotism and purifying the blood, and
I advise vou never to visit the Tower of
SSf^ff-
You may think this letter is a solemn
occasion because I tell you about
things that are not funny, but if you
ever traveled abroad you will find that
there is no fun anywhere except In
America unless you make it or buy it. away with an insane laugh.
We are taking in the solemn things
first in order to get dad's mind in a
condition so he can be cured of things
he thinks ail him. I took dad to the
Tower of London, and when we got
out of it he wanted to have America
:a3%£®SS5 5i#-
London, unless you want to feel Ilk#4''^rf,
going out and killing some one chat
tied up with a rope. '_
Hearing of these murders and seeing 'H^Wi
the place where they were committed V^-Hjp**!
does not give you an idea of fair play
and you don't feel like taking some one
of your size when you fight, but you get
to thinking that if you could catch a
cripple who couldn't defend himself you
would like to take a baseball club and
maul the stuffing out of him. You be
come imbued with the idea that if you
went to war you would not want to
stand up and fight fair, but that you
would .like to get your enemy in a bunch
and drop dynamite down on him from a
balloon, and kill all in sight, and sail
Gee, but another day in this tower,
and I would.want to go home and mur
der ma, or the neighbors.
-TJje only thing we have got in Amer
ica 'that compares with the Tower of
London and its associates is the Leut
gert sausage factory in Chicago, whera
Leiitgert got his wife into the factory,
murdered her, and is alleged to ha\e
cut her up in pieces and made sausage
of the meat, given the pieces with gris
tle in to bis dogs, boiled the bones until
they would run into the sewer, dissolved
the remnants in concentrated lye, and
sold the sausage to the lumber Jacks in
the pine woods.
I expect Chicago will buy that sau
sage factory and make a show of it, as
London does the Tower, and you can go
and see it, and feel that ytfu are as full
of modern history as I am of ancient
history, here in London".
I could see that dad was getting ner
vous every time a new beheading was
described to us, and I thought it was
time to wake him up. In going through
the room where the old armor was dis
played the beef eater told us who wore
the different pieces of armor, and he
said at times the spirit of the dead came
back to the Tower and occupied the ar
mor, and I noticed that dad shied at
some of the pieces of armor, so when/
we got right into the midst of it, and
there was armor on every side, and dad
and the beef eater were ahead of me,
and dad was walking fast in order to
get out quick, I pushed over one of the
pieces, and it went crashing to the floor
and the noise was like a boiler factory
exploding, and the dust of centuries rose
up, and the noise echoed down the halls.
Wellryou'd a died t6 see dad and the
beef eater. Dad turned pale and got
down on his knees, and I think he began
to pray, if he knows how, and he trem
bled like a leaf, and the beef eater got
behind a set of armor that Cromwell
or some old duck used to wear, and £aid,
"Wot in the bloody 'ell is the matter
with the h'armor?" and then a lot of
other beef eaters came, and they
thought dad was the spirit of King
John, and they stampeded, and finally
I got dad to stop praying, or whatever _,
it was that he was doing, and I led him
out, and when he got into the open air
he recovered and said, 'Ennery, "hi
have got to get out-of Lunnon, don't
you know, because me 'eart is palpi
tating," and we went back to the 'otel,
to see if our invitation to visit King
Hedward had arrived.
Say, we are getting so we talk just
like English coachmen, and you won't
hunderstand us when we get 'ome.
Yours, with a, haccent. __JENNERY.
ZADKIEL OF THE ALMANAC.
Richard James Morrison Was a Kan
of Brilliance in Service of
England.
The original "Zadkiel," an English
man, was an interesting person. His
name was Richard James Morrison,
whose father is described as "a gen
tleman pensioner under George III,"
while his grandfather had been a cap
tain in the service of the East India
company. Entering the royal navy the
year after Trafalgar as a first volun
teer, Morrison saw much boat service
in. the Adriatic, and afterward shared
in "a brilliant and single-handed vic
tory" gained by his ship "over a
Franco-Neapolitan squadron." After
having served as lieutenant and mas
ter, he entered the coast-guard in 1S27,
and for rescuing life from shipwreck
in 1828 the Society for the Preserva
tion of Life from Shipwreck—the par
ent of the present Royal National Life
boat Institution—presented him with
a medal, which he appears to have
amply deserved, since he had to retire
from the coastguard in 1829 through
ill- health induced by exposure on the
occasion of this rescue. It was he
who, in 1824, presented to the admir
alty a plan subsequently adopted in
principle for registering merchant
seamen and engineers, to know that
ia 1827 he suggested another "lor pro
pelling ships of war in calm." For
his plan (1835) to "provide an ample
supply of seamen for the fleet without
Impressment" he received the thanks
of the admiralty. Sir James Graham,
then first lord, adopting his arguments
in the house of commons and partly
giving effect to them by adding 1.000
boys to the navy. Meanwhile "Zad
kiel" had in 1831 brought out the
"Herald of Astrology," which after
ward became the "Astrological Alma
nac," and subsequently "Zadkiti's Al
manac," whose enormous circulation
brought him a competence.
German Army Discipline.
Discipline is severe in the German
army and the treatment of privates is
sometimes unjustifiable. At Dessau a
sergeant who had been drinking to ex
cess insulted two young women who
were-escorted by a couple of men in
the ranks. The privates protested to
the minor officer, who drew his sword
and attacked them, in his drunkenness
wounding one of the girls. In the af
fray which followed the sergeant was
disarmed and felled to the floor. All
three were put on trial. The sergeant
was sentenced to prison for five
months, while the unfortunate privates
were condemned to five years behind
the bars at hard labor, were dismissed
from the service and were deprived of
their civil rights. Service as a private
in an army so regulated cannot be a
cause of pride in time of peace.—N. Y.
Tribune".
The Gas Engine.
The gas engine, which is one of the
newest fads of the day, and a very
useful and important one, dates back
at least to 1820. In that year an in
ternal combustion motor was shown
in operation in Cambridge, England.
It is said to have been invented by
Rev. W. Cecil, of Magdalen college.—
London Engineer.
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