Galveston Tribune. (Galveston, Tex.), Vol. 17, No. 72, Ed. 1 Friday, February 12, 1897 Page: 5 of 8
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THE GALVESTON TRIBUNE.
THE STORY OF fl POISONED ARROW.
JhE EPOCH OF lx>
{he wheel.
Saw Her
to
.. J
Wl
■
1
her
Mme. Melba.
night.
Up-to-Date.
WAYLAID BY THE SAVAGES OF GUIANA.
fteg
‘‘Alec was Wounded by an Arrow from an Arecoonah Blow-pipe.”
“Nina,
said,
side him.
I
at the
Of
shower of blow-pipe darts rained
she
r
gesticulating on the platform.
of the only Dutch cheese remain-
re-
•h.ig it
A GOOD JUDGE.
NOT A -BIT CONCEITED.
if
Hen
in-
Who was
r ■.
JflLK OF lx
<ki Jhe play.
cut off the
schools have
idea of a
positively
I turned,
arm,
six inches
We no
stream
how many
the proper
and an
of the
o’ Tv
Her lips
but with
She half
“For my
IS
First Worthy (who is nn*
that he is in a fit conn-
■wife)—Say, John
an’ tell me
Seco1
£
only,
to a
death.
Others keep their hands constantly
closed, so that, in time their nails grow
through the flesh, or they hold their
hands always above their head.
w
trundling along the road revolving sp ond hand.
"L-\ S r-. w. ? >-8 zx ttt 4* zx z-» i rmi1 we irm Yi i" In 1 Gj . T) 1 TY1 OT*.
neighbor in a trade, or brooding over b*
his unprosperous business, and this is
■gwas
s
when he,
the 1
..
. '
i^iii
WH
& >/
Dreadful and Worse.
Mrs. Dusenberry—It’s dreadful to be
disappointed in love.
Mr. Dusenberry—There is something
a great deal worse than that.
Mrs. Dusenberry—What, for
stance?
Mr. Dusenberry—To be disappointed
in marriage.
\’T.
He—Who was the best man at your
wedding?
She—The man I wanted,
the best man at yours?
He—I was.
* A Wonderful Clock. .
Baron Ferdinand Rothschild posseses
an old “grand-father’s clock” that orig-
inally cost over $150,000. The mechan-
ism records the day of the week, month
of the year, the phases of the moon,
and strikes each hour. The quarters
are chimed with a different bell, and (a
rare thing with these clocks) it has a
...2 1____The case was made by
kheimer, and stands fourteen feet
; ! It was originally the property
XVI.
inches since 1879 by the growth of a
blue gum tree.
The “Fungi Journal” tells of a mush-
room that lifted a London paving-stone
which weighed 500 pounds, and which
was wedged in on all sides by other
stones.
f yOll> '■
wi’.
“The Wheel” is one of the modern in-
stitutions which have “come to stay.
This ought to be obvious to any
thoughtfully observant man, though
there are many who still think it merely
“a fad,” the devotion to which will
Boon pass away. It may be no doubt
Will be—that the form of the wheel now
used may be changed, even, in some
cases, to providing it with different
morning, I can hear the high-pitched,
strident feminine voices half a dozen
blocks away, and if I close my eyes,
do not know if there are men in the
party till they are close by.
A woman may live for years amid
the incessant clangor of city streets,
yet not acquire the habit of loud, stri-
dent talking; but the moment she
mounts a wheel and_ has occasion to
speak to any <?ne, ’she develops a
scream. Nbw and again a man shows
the same tendency, but it is only occa-
sional among them, while it is general
among women. There is no more rea-
son for it in one than in the other, any
more than there is for round shoulders;
yet if you take pains to observe where
a throng of wheelers pass by you will
find it nearly always as stated.
Here are two things to be looked
sharply after. The wheel is, on the
whole, one of the wholesome develop-
ments of the day, but it is certainly
not desirable that it, or anything else,
should develop a generation of round-
shoulderefl men and loud-talking,
screamy women. There is no real rea-
son fois^uch a result in either case; yet
the prospect is that it will come in both
cases, and the inevitable consequence
will be a reaction against the use of
the wheel, notwithstanding its benefi-
cial effects in other regards. There is
an unconquerable admiration for well-
squared shoulders and erect carriage in
man, and the world is not yet prepared
—pray heaven it may never be!—to
pronounce Shakespeare in the wrong
j,e) by implication, condemned
loud-talking woman.
Strong; Plants.
The power of grdHRttg vegetables,
plants and trees is something wonder-
ful. At a place in South Australia a
small church has been moved eighteen
“I’m done for, old chap!” he said bit-
terly. “It’s poisoned!”
Dropping the paddle, I lost not a mo-
ment in tearing a strip from my shirt
and twisting a tight bandage round
the upper part of the wounded limb;
while Simiri, who loved Alec with a
dog-like fidelity, extracted the dart and
carefully sucked the wound.
But the effects of curari are deadly
beyond belief. Before we could reach
the Lokono village, where, safe from
the baffled hostiles, we could camp in
peace, my poor friend had sunk into a
deathly torpor, from which it seemed
impossible to arouse him.
We carried him up and laid him in
a hut. All night long we worked, mak-
ing hot drinks, hot poultices, trying
everything we could possibly think of,
but all seemed vain. It was quite be-
yond us to stir him, and he lay mo-
tionless, with bluish face and con-
tracted limbs, breathing heavily, his
pulse at times almost imperceptible.
Simiri, who had had much experi-
ence of the working of this fearful poi-
son, gave up hope. The Lokonos seem-
ed amazed he had lived so long.
And so the dreary night wore by.
The sun rose, and Alec still lived. He
was even sensible at times, but seemed
now to have lost all care whether he
lived or died. If only I could awake
in him some desire for life! Seven,
eight, nine o’clock! The blazing sun
was high in the sky, and I, worn out
with grief and fatigue, sat huddled on
the floor of the tiny reed hut beside
Alec’s rough couch.
And then, while I watched in dull
despair, occurred a truly astonishing
thing. The apparently dying man sat
suddenly bolt upright, and, gazing,
straight before him, spoke up strong
and clear:
“Nina!” he .said, “Nina, dearest,
don’t look so troubled; I tell'you I will
come home to you!” Then he lay back.
Horribly afraid this was but a flicker
before the end, I got up and stood be-
He turned to me with quite
a natural smile.
“Don’t worry, old man!” he said;
“I’m better. I’m going to get over it.”
And the extraordinary thing is that
he did! From that moment when, in
this remarkable fashion, the desire of
life was rekindled within him, Alec got
steadily better. He took brandy and
broth, his face lost that dreadful blue
tinge, and, to the absolute stupor of
the friendly Indians, was that same
evening, although still very weak, able
to get up and be helped outside the
hut.
Tortures of the Fakirs.
Among the Indian fakirs self-torture
is held to be the most excellent .feature
of religious life. Some of their perform-
ances are very horrible; others ludi-
prnim thpfpIv
Numbers of them stand on their
heads for hours at a time, while others
turn somersaults along a route extend-
ing hundreds of miles. One sect, the
Yogas, hope to attain a beatific estate
by looking at the point of the nose
while contorting the body into eighty-
four different positions.
Many stand for hours on one foot,
gazing straight into the sun, while
more zealous ones stand on one toe
Others have themselves chained
tree, where they remain until
Love’s Spirit Wafted Across Sea and Land
Sweetheart’s Danger and Called to Him
Live — Two Dreams.
A Novel Proposal.
A Dublin merchant proposed in a way
that was certainly very original. A
man of exceedingly retired habits,
chance never seemed to throw an eli-
gible partner in his way until he, two
years back, engaged a lady as short-
hand writer and typewriter. She had
been in his employ a little over a year,,
when, touching the bell jwhich sum-
moned her into his presence—note book
and pencil in hand—he proceeded to
dictate the following letter:
“Dear Madam—Events having recent-
ly brought us so much together, I
have formed the opinion that you
would honor me by becoming my wife.
If you have formed an equally favor-
able opinion of myself, I shall be ex-
tremely pleased by the favor of your
earliest reply. Yours very sincerely,”
“And the address?” murmured the
fair shorthand writer.
“Kathleen E. O’Reilly.”
It was the typewriter’s own name,
and the reply was given on the spot.
In the Fen Country.
“Jones was “wanted” for burglary.
Policeman Smith was entrusted with
the warrant for his arrest. Flaving
spotted his man, who, suspecting his
errand, bolted, he closely followed in
pursuit. Jones led the way across a
marsh, and, getting within hailing dis-
tance, Smith shouted:
“It’s no use your trying to get wray;
do you know I’m Smith the runner?”
Going straight at the marsh dyke,
Jones shouted:
“Do you know I’m Jones the jump-
er?”
And he was over and away, leaving
Smith on the other side (fumfounded
and discomfited.
HI.
Since wre have been home, and Alec
and Nina are married, his wife has told
me the' story of her dream.
She declares that in the dream she
found herself standing at the end of a
grass couch on which lay her sweet-
heart, ill, and apparently dying,
me or any other surroundings she was
quite unconscious—Alec’s form was all
she saw. That she burst out crying
and implored him for her sake to get
better and come home to her. That
then he seemed to revive, sat upright,
and answered her, though in what
words she was unable to say.
Allowing for difference of longitude
and time, her vision and Alec’s sudden
revival must have occurred, as far as
we could make out, at almost the iden-
tical moment.
Is it possible, think you, that in spirit
she really visited him, and so saved
the life that was and is so much to
her?
plays have been of the order known as
“skits” and farce comedies, but they
have been clever and diverting, with
real dramatic forces underlying them,
and their fun has been logical and un-
strained, even when exaggerated. One
of the secrets of the hold his plays
have obtained is that every act ends
with a laugh. They have differed en-
tirely from the attempts in imitation
of them with which the country has
been flooded in consequence of their
success. Mr. Hoyt’s methods are to
some extent analogous with those of
Mr. Howard. The play is thought out
in every detail before pen is put to
paper for' its actual writing. I have
mentally witnessed, so to speak, a play
by Mr. Hoyt months in advance of its
production. I have heard from his
lips the story of a play from beginning
to end, with the characters, scenes and .
situations graphically described, and
with even much of the dialogue, before
a line had been actually written, and
have seen it afterward across the foot-
lights with almost no material altera-
tion.
* * *
The merry war over German opera
has broken out again in New York,
although in a milder form than when
it was. waged so fiercely a few years
ago. It has all been caused by the as-
sumption of taxing Wagnerian roles
by certain prominent singers, chief of
whom is Mme. Melba. It is contended
by some that the rendition of the
music written by Wagner is a severe
strain upon a singer’s vocal apparatus,
and may even end in the ruin of that
delicate organ. This is vehemently de-
nied by others, among whom are the
De Reszkes, who ought to know some-
thing about it, if experience counts for
anything. But the anti-Wagnerites
have something the best of it just at
present. Mme. Melba essayed the
role of Brunhilde, but it proved too
wearing, and she very reluctantly de-
cided to leave Wagnerian roles alone,
for some time to come at least. She
has been Very ill, though not directly
as a result from this experience. She
caught a very bad cold in Brooklyn,
and the strain she had put upon her
vocal cords undoubtedly contributed to
the seriousness of its consequences. It
may be added that her decision to
abandon Wagner was arrived at before
her illness, and directly supports the
contention of the anti-Wagnerites
among singefs and musicians. In spite
of all, however, the merry war contin-
ues, although this time it is not, as
before, a question of the greatness of
Wagner’s avt^It is not this time a
question of music, but one of hygiene.
LINCOLN.
no small part of its benefit. It forces
the rider to free his or her mind for
the time at least of the “perilous stuff”
of brooding. It is the enemy of mental
despondency, as well as of headaches,
the secret springs of which are in the
stomach.
On the whole, the fashion is one to
be commended for reasons indicated
and for others of a kindred nature.
But this does not mean that it is en-
tirely free from evils or above criti-
It would be something more
It is
Making Tilings Clear.
An old Peebles worthy and an Eng-
lish lady were one day recently oc-
cupants of a railway carriage in an
Edinburgh-bound train. The train had
been waiting long at a certain station,
and there was no appearance of its
starting, when the worthy rerharked:
“They’re a gey taiglesome lot here.”
“I beg your pardon,” said the lady.
“I’m sayin’ they’re an awfu’ daidlin’
squad here,” said the old fellow.
“I really beg your parddn, sir,"
rejoined.
“I’m remarkin’ they’re a vera dreich
lot here the nicht,” the old gentleman
further ventured.
“Really, I must again beg your par-
don,” said the lady, with marked em-
barrassment, “but I do not comprehend
you.” ■ .
“I was just tryin’ to say the train
was late,” he finally blurted.
“Indeed, sir it is very late,” agreed
the lady.
And the conversation collapsed.
: Mr- ''KT
f t-
lIW
right-hand bank, a couple of hundred
yards away, silent and still as statues,
stood some twenty splendid savages in
full war paint!
No need for a word. Paddles were
dipped, and off we flew. With a yell
the hostiles followed down the bank.
What they w~ere after was plain. Here
we were out of arrow range; further
down, where the stream narrowed in
the rapids, their darts, poisoned with
the terrible curari venom, could easily
reach us.
For a time we kept w’ell ahead. There
was no path along the bank, and so
long as the river was fairly straight
arid unobstructed we were safe. But
we knew there was a great curve round
a hill further down, and dreaded lest
our foes might cross the neck of the
bend and catch us at the rapids. Our
one chance was to forestall them, un-
less we were to abandon our orchid
treasures, canoe and all, and take to
the forest on the left.
Never shall I forget that terrible
afternoon. Down the clear, wine-col-
ored stream, swarming with fish and
turtle, past long points of rock and
islands of pure yellow sand, where
clouds of butterflies, blue, yellow and
red, sucked the moisture at the water’s
edge, we drove along, rhe yells of our
pursuers, now close, now distant, spur-
ring our flagging efforts. Then a deer
drinking in some secluded bay would
throw up his head and bound away as
we shot into sight; again a flock of
green parrots screamed overhead
Monkeys chattered at us from the tall
ceiba trees, and once a great snake
leisurely swimming across dived has-
tily at our approach.
Silence Was Heard.
In a well-known bank in Edinburgh
the clerks are presided over by a rather
impetuous manager, whose violent fits
of temper very often dominate his rea-
son. For instance, the other day, he
was wiring into one of them about his
bad work.
“Look here, James,” he thundered,
“this won’t do. These figures are a
perfect disgrace to a clerk! I could get
an office boy to make better figures
than those, and I tell you I won’t have
it! Now look at that five, it just looks
like a three. What do you mean, sir,
by making such beastly figures? Ex-
plain!”
“I—er, beg your pardon, sir,” sug-
gested the trembling clerk, his heart
fluttering terribly, “but—er, well, you
see, sir; it is a three.”
“A three?” roared the mana'-
“why it looks just like a fivel”
Its Use.
A school inspector, having a few
minutes to spare after examining the
school, put a few questions to the lower
form boys on the common objects of
the schoolroom.
“What is the use of that map? he
asked, pointing to one stretched across
a corner of the room; and half a dozen
shrill voices answered:
“Please, sir, it’s to hide teacher’s bi-
cycle.”
II.
“No, Frank, we can’t have a fire to-
Tomorrow, with luck, we ought
to be clear of this Arecoonah country,
NEW YORK, Feb. 4—He had read
of the immense sums of money gath-
ered in by the successful playwrights
of today, and he was fired to emulate
them. Not that he hankered after
fame, but he did not despise money,
and in his mind he saw a quick and
easy way of securing a plethora.
He had heard that there was a book
on the art of .playwriting, and after
a long and diligent search through the
bookstores he found a copy. It was
certainly a mine of information, and
he took it to his room and gloated over
it. He found that plays were ranged
in classes, and that these classes were
divided and sub-divided almost to in-
finity. He found explained the differ-
ence between a comic opera
opera comique, and learned
space that yawns between a comedy
drama and a romantic drama, while
further he delved from the author’s
mass of erudition what a melodrama
really was. Not that he understood it
all, but there it was before him on the
printed page, and it did not matter
whether he understood it or not, for
this was not the practical part of the
affair. He did not care a rap whether
he turned out a melodrama or a farce
comedy, so long as the resultant was
a flow- of shekels. Presently he came
to the meat he wanted. He learned
how many wrords, including dialogue
and business, are comprised in the
play of average length,
words to the minute, and
proportion of minutes and words to
He read the book through three
times, and felt a fortune already in his
grasp. It was as good as done. . He
went out and bought a fountain pen,
a ream of manuscript paper and a bot-
tle of red ink with -which to under-
score stage business. These he ranged
carefully on the table when he re-
turned to his room, drew up a chair,
took his pen in hand, and sat down to
write the play of the century.
I But he hadn’t an idea in his head.
* * *
Playwriting may be an art, but it is
also indisputably a gift. All the rules
that could be crammed into a book the
size of an unabridged dictionary would
not enable a man to write a success-
ful play if he had not that inner some-
thing which passes for genius, and a
genius for that particular work. And
by a successful play is meant one that
not merely makes money, but one
which wins higher honors as well. Of
course, the quality of money-making
is one of the elements of success, but
it is not the only one, and even a good
play does not always make money.
Productions with nothing in their
favor but a real fire engine or a real
threshing machine have in their time
literally coined money for their pro-
I moters, while on the other hand, there
have been plays, admirable in every
I way, plays which earned the appro-
bation of the best critics, and were re-
ceived with enthusiastic approval by
the most cultured theatregoers, which
I have not even paid the expenses of
mounting. Such instances as this are,
however, the exception, rather than
the rule, and a good acting play is
usually a money-making play.
A play to be successful in all senses
of the word must, in addition to the
possession of literary quality, be act-
able. By this is meant that it must be
direct and straightforward in action,
continuously developed and natural,
with dramatic situations and effective
climaxes well led up to. A playwright
must possess literary instinct and
style', for even if every one of the
characters in a play speak in dialect,
style must underlie their speech; it
must be felt even if it cannot be per-
ceived. Over and above all, he must
possess dramatic instinct. Without
this success is impossible. Many fa-
mous authors have tried their hands
at writing plays, and those who have
not failed can be counted on the fin-
gers of one hand. Writing a novel,
with all the opportunities that are af-
I forded for explaining the motives of
I the characters and the workings of
their minds, for delightful word-paint-
j ing and charming bits of description,
is a very different thing from condens-
ing a story into such form that it can
be told in a couple of hours or so, ef-
fectively and fully, by the words put
into the actors’ mouths and by their
actions. For this dramatic instinct is
required, and even dramatic instinct
must be trained by observation and ex-
perience. One must see good plays and
study them, seeking for the causes
which are responsible for their success,
analyze them, gathering from each its
lesson. One must recognize the limi-
tations of the stage, and recognize
them so thoroughly as, never to run
against them. A play-goer must never
be allowed to think or a critic to say
“This could be told better in a novel.”
* * *
: Among recent plays there is none
. which better exemplifies the principles
I of play construction and play-writing
than does “Secret Service,” which has
been running all the season in New
: York. I have not the remotest idea of
I how Mr. Gillette sets to work in writ-
> ing a drama, but he has produced a
play which in singleness and directness
of purpose is unique. From the begin-
ning to the end the action moves con-
stantly, swiftly and logically. There
are no superfluous speeches* nor inci-
dents; everything has a direct bearing
upon the plot. It holds the attention
of the audience without a moment’s
let-up. The characters are strongly
drawn and stand out clearly and
sharply. It even almost fulfils the old
French idea of the unities, which re-
quired unity of time and place. The
action of this play takes place within
the time it takes to play it, and there
is only one change of scene. In the
first respect it is certainly a novelty,
for you are not required to suppose the
lapse of days or months between the
acts. Everything happens during one
evening, and sufficient happens dur-
ing that time for two or three ordinary
plays. Mr. Gillette, an actor himself,
has a thorough knowledge of stage-
craft, and can write clever dialogue,
a fact he has proven before, but never
better than in the, present instance.
* * $
• The dean of American dramatists is
Mr. Bronson Howard, who is also the
most successful of those who are play-
wrights pure and simple. His plays
are approved, applauded—and remu-
nerated. No dramatist in this country
has received a larger pile of big checks
from the managers than has Mr. How-
ard. Something is known concerning
his method in writing plays, and from
what is known may be deduced the
most potent reasons for his success.
Every one of his plays represents
hard, honest work, unremitting study
and application. Mr. Howard first se-
lects p subject for treatment. In “The
ta” it was finance, as exempli-
,he dealings of the Kings of the
In “Aristocracy” it was social
i. Having selected his subject
es it from all points of view,
rs a practical knowledge of it in
I its actuality, and considers how it shall
A'i be t r ‘ ‘ le
; of a thousand ...rd ... 1 r: g
*
twenty-five miles
___- — our four or five
largest cities, there are collected con-
siderably more than ten millions of our
people. The same causes which have
" " play grounds from the
____ tended to deprive this
multitude of opportunities for outdoor
life. Probably nearly one-third of our
population lead some rorm of life in
which the air they breathe is vitiated
more or less, and in a way to make
our people differ widely physically
from the sturdy three-millions who, a
little more than a hundred years ago,
pitted themselves against the power
of Great Britain.
The recent revival of interest in ath-
letics will go far to remedy the evil
consequent on the congestion of popu-
lation in towns, and the wheel is one of
its chief manifestations. It may be
doubted if the majority of cur people
appreciate the extent to which it has
spread. Less than a hundred yards
from the house where I have lived for
a dozen years lies the already famous
“Sheridan road,” leading from Chicago
along Lake Michigan twenty-five miles.
Only a few months ago it was a quiet
village street, shady and somnolent.
Now—there is not an hour—or not
above two or three hours—in the twen-
ty-four without the passing of wheel-
men, and on'Saturday afternoons and
Sundays they make an almost un-
broken procession, flowing most strong-
ly during the early hours in one direc-
tion, and during the later hours in
the other; but never stopping entirely.
I have tried to count them, and found
it impracticable, for obvious reasons,
but I have tried to estimate them, and
am firmly persuaded that, in pleasant
weather, between Saturday noon and
Sunday midnight, fifty thousand
wheels are trundled over this fine road-
way. It is probable that every other
good road at the same distance from
the city—nearly twenty miles to the
point here spoken of—is equally fre-
quented, and the city’s great parks in
like proportion, and the same is true
of other great cities.
From one-quarter to one-third of
these trundlers are women and girls,
and what a tremendous difference does
this imply from the time—only four or
five years ago—when few women would
undertake to walk a mile, and “took
the air” only in the relaxation of a
carriage. There are physicians who
say that the chief benefit of the wheel
Is that it takes out of doors people who
would not otherwise be there at all,
and keeps them there in a state of
physical activity and mental alertness.
Considering the immense number of
people to whom this applies, one may
well say that if the wheel had done
hothing else for ’ umanity it would
have earned its itude. These phy-
sicians saw .i fie wheelmen and
wheelw . v/yffld ve as much time
an^ . .,j ‘ walking as they
1 be of substan-
.it. Possibly. So
it .old if tlw.> vvould give the same
aiiv-t>•••>»; > many forms of outdoor
; ut the plain fact is that they
wui not do either, and the duty of men
is to deal with humanity as it is, and
not as it ought to be. If we could ac-
cept the latter as our guide, we might
save all the cost of courts and police-
men and soldiers.
One of the good points about the
wheel is that it has introduced exer-
cise and perspiration and better-ogy-
genized blood largely among the
classes where they are most needed.
The man who trundles a wheelbarrow
or swings an axe or wields a spade all,
day does not need a wheel, and, as a
rule, cannot afford one. The classes
who can afford them are most likely to
need them. Another good point is that
its fascination somehow gets people
out of bed in the morning hours other-
wise given to late sleeping. Nearly
every morning I hear people of both
sexes wheeling along the Sheridan
road in the early dawn, very many of
whom probably never saw the sun rise
before in their lives. It is quite safe
to say that the people who do tips do
not sit up, stuffing themselves with
salads and other deadly ammunition
till midnight or after.
The devotee of the wheel soon learns
also, it is said, that he cannot safely
go t —„ " _ ' ' ‘ _
in his mind how to circumvent his
The Cheese Was Dear.
During the siege of Paris, when all
kinds of food were at famine prices,
a lady went into a shop and asked the
price cf 2___.-i„ zz.
ing in stock.
“It is eighty francs, madame,’
plied the shopkeeper.
“Eighty francs!” cried the lady.
“Why, the cheese has been eaten by
rats, as you see, and I really believe
there is one in the middle of it now!”
“Ah!” exclaimed the shopkeeper.
“Then that will make a difference in
the price, of course. If there is a rat
inside the cheese, madame, iTTnust
charge you a hundred francs!”
I.
Stretched on the sofa by a glowing
log fire, Nina Erskine is sleeping quiet-
ly. Outside, in the gathering twilight,
the wind howls mournfully, and sweeps
against the windows a sleety rain. In
the long drawing room the silence is
unbroken, save for the sleepy tick of
the clock and an occasional crackle of
the smouldering logs.
Suddenly the pale face of the pretty
sleeper becomes agitated,
tremble, her eyes open wide,
a far-away, distant look,
rises and says in a low tone;
sake, Alex! for my sakeH’ Then, awak-
ing with a start, she gazes round, as if
uncertain whether or no she is still
dreaming.
At that instant the door opens, and
an elderly man in clergyman’s attire
enters.
“Well, Nina,” he says, “how are
you, dear? Have you been having a
doze?”
“Oh, father,” she answers; “such a
terrible dream I had!”
Her troubled look distressed
father, wrho -hastily replied:
“Oh, this won’t do at all, dear; you’ll
be making yourself ill again if you go
worrying about dreams. Lie back,
that’s a good girl, and I’ll ring for
tea.”
motive power than that now used. But
it is hardly probable that the wheel
will go out of use. It rather seems to
be part of a general revival of the love
of out-door sports and exercises, a re-
vival which is remarkable in many
ways, but in none more conspicuously
than in respect of the time when it has
come. Thoughtful teachers have al-
ways known that the open playgrounds
of the oldfashioned country schools
were more valuable than the schools
themselves. Town and city schools
have been more and more forced to
give up these grounds. Space is “worth
to much.”
This effect has been greatly in-
creased by the extraordinary conges-
tion of our population in considerable
cities within the past ten or twenty
years. It is probable—speaking from
recollection and' without opportunity
for referring- to statistics—that within
a radius of, say,
around.each one of
The great curve was at hand, and
the disappearance of o.ur foes warned
us, as we feared, they were cutting us
off.
“Shall we leave the canoe?” gasped
Alec.
“No,” I muttered between my clench-
ed teeth.
The hot sun glared down on the open
reaches, the perspiration poured off our
arms and faces, my head was swim-
ming, and Simiri, I noticed with dis-
may, was swaying in his seat like a
drunken man.
At last the defile came in sight. Or-
dinarily we should have portaged. Now
we had to take our chance of shooting
the rapids. Faster and faster the swift
current bore us along. In a moment a
white waste of tumbling, leaping, boil-
ing foam was in sight, and at the same
instant a savage yell came to our ears
as from the fringe of forest emerged
our enemies, who ran, bounding from
rock to rock, for the lower end of the
rapids, where, if we came safe through
without upset, we should be
mercy of their arrows.
It was a neck-and-neck race,
longer paddled. The fierce
swept the fragile canoe down like a
withered leaf. Every instant I thought
we should be dashed to atoms on one
of the great black jutting rocks that
rose against us through the veil of
spray. But Simiri steered in truly mar-
velous fashion, and before I well real-
ized it, we were in the calm, lake-like
expanse below. Turning to the left
and paddling with all our little remain-
ing force, we made a last effort to es-
cape.
Another instant, and almost I
thought we were safe, when, phit, phit!
—a shower of blow-pipe darts rained
round us.
Alec, behind me, utterd a slight cry.
There, in- his bare brown
was sticking a tiny black arrow,
long, around the top of
which was bound a ball of raw cotton.
and then we can once, more have some
cooked victuals. The very
good roast iguana steak
makes my mouth water.”
Alec Maitland and I, with our one
Indian guide, Simiri, had just, after a
hard day’s paddling, camped on the
bank of the Tokoio river, one of those
great tributaries of the Essequibo
which cross the upper plateau of Brit-
ish Guiana.
We were on our way back from a
very successful orchid hunting expedi-
tion in the almost unknown wilds that
lie around the great Roraima moun-
tain. In that marvelous upland coun-
try we had found not only great quan-
tities of rare species, but two hitherto
unknown varieties, which we hoped,
could we but bring them safe home,
would prove a surer source than the
gold so many were eagerly seeking on
the Venezuelan border. For we were
both anxious to make our little pile and
settle down—Alec intensely so, for his
lack of fortune was the only bar to his
marriage with Nina Erskine, to whom
he had for two years been engaged.
On our way back to Georgetown we
had discovered from friendly Indians
that the Arecoonahs, a strong and sav-
age tribe, were on the warpath, and
were -warned most carefully to avoid
them. Consequently, for over a week
we had silently skulked down the wind-
ing river, never landing except at
night, or when portages were abso-
lutely necessary; lighting no fire, and
carefully avoiding all use of firearms.
At earliest dawn next morning our
light canoe was flying down the strong
current; and by twelve, when we rested
for lunch, wre had only about ten miles
more to the Hyawa rapids, beyond
which, in the friendly Lokono country,
we might consider ourselves safe from
any hostile-natives.
“We’ll do it easy before sunset,” said
I. And at that very instant Simiri ut-
tered a startled exclamation.
We looked up. There, on the steep
iJw/ „„,,u
upon it, and of thoughts which come to
him of its possibilities. Then he devel-
ops his plot and brings to life his
characters, considering the influence
upon them of the environment in which
he is placing them, and of each upon
the others, weighs this and that con-
tingency. This process extends over
months, perhaps a year or two. Then,
when every scene and every situation
has been developed, every character
has been given impulses and tempera-
ment, he writes his play. The dialogue
flows naturally, easily and logically,
predetermined by these conditions.
* * ♦
Charles H. Hoyt probably enjoys a
larger income than any other play-
wright, for he is manager as well, and
equally successful in either capacity.
He is a clever, a very clever, writer,
possessing a keen and accurate knowl-
edge of dramatic adaptability, and is
also a shrewd business man, with a pe-
culiar and unrivaled faculty of know-
ing what the public wants before the
public knows itself. He is a close ob-
server and a keen satirist. He draws
character with vigorous accuracy, usu-
ally with the exaggeration licensed in
farce. It is true that most of his
cism.
than human if it were so free,
folly to charge it with immoral ten-
dencies. It is worse than folly to do
so. But no one will deny that it is
often open to the abuse of excess.
Even the little girl’s innocent skipping
rope is open to that, and wheelmen
ought not to need to be told that their
exercise in this way is open to the
same abuse in precisely the proportion
that it is attractive.
It is too son as yet to forecast all
its effects on that part of the race who
are its devotees, but he who sits quiet-
ly by and sees the constantly increas-
ing tide of wheelers flow past, may be
permitted to drop a hint or two as to
what some of them threaten to be. The
two sexes seem to be mepaced with dif-
fering consequences in some respects.
The looker-on can scarcely fall to note
—and the matter has not escaped the
notice of caricaturists—that the tend-
ency among masculine riders is toward
doubling themselves into much the at-
titude of a .half-closed jack-knife. I
constantly see them trundling by my
Sunday lounging place with the high-
est point from the ground just abaft
that point in the anatomy where the
buckle bn an ordinary pair of trousers
is placed. The consequent thrusting
out of the chin and the rigid contrac-
tion of the muscles in the back of the
neck, if persisted in, cannot fail to
induce a disastrous effect on that in-
tricate network of nerves which pro-
ceed from the ganglia at the base of
the brain, and ramify over the mucous
surfaces of the nostrils, the mouth, the
throat, the lungs, etc. Already the
wheeling fraternity, among males, has
acquired the slang soubriquet, among
on-lookers, of “the hump-backed bri-
gade,” and no large class of men ever
incur characterization in such a way
without adequate cause, in fact.
“Where there is much smoke there
is sure to be some fire.” If the epithet
were applicable only to the racing fra-
ternity—the “scorchers”—it would be of
small consequence; indeed, it would not
have come into use. The fact that it is
so general in its application is proof
of the danger. If there is any virtue
in an erect posture for men, this is a
point which wheel-users and wheel-
makers must study to remedy. It is
fraught with incalculable evils to the
lung power and the blood force of hu-
manity. It has become practicable for
the observant man, in most cases, to
tell when he sees another walking
along the streets whether he is a hah-*
itual wheel-user.
For some reason—probably because
they ar? not so generally ambitious of
being “speedy” riders—women do not,
as a rule, fall into this grasshopperism
of attitude, and there is no reason why
men should do so any more than wo-
men. But the women who ride are
falling largely into another habit, more
disagreeable if not so dangerous.
Shakespeare said long ago that a soft,
low voice is “an excellent thing in
woman.” Without doubt this is emi-
nently true, in the esteem of all men
at least, but it is one of the “excellent
things” which the wheel threatens to
banish. When a party of both sexes
comes wheeling up the Sheridan road
aforesaid, more especially in the early
s Not What He Expected.
“Will you allow me to stand?” asked
a gentleman, getting into an English
railway carriage already containing
the specified number.
“Certainly not,” exclaimed a man
occupying a corner seat.
“As you are the only person objecting
to my presence,” replied the gentle-
man, “I shall remain here.”
“Then I shall call the guard and have
you removed,” said the aggrieved pas-
senger, putting his head out of the
window.
The new-comer saw his opportunity,
and slipped into the vacant seat.
“What’s up?” said the guard, appear-
ing at the door.
“One over the number,” replied the
new-comer.
“You must come out, the train’s go-
ing!” and without waiting for further
explanation, the guard pulled out the
amazed passenger, who was left wildly
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Ousley, Clarence. Galveston Tribune. (Galveston, Tex.), Vol. 17, No. 72, Ed. 1 Friday, February 12, 1897, newspaper, February 12, 1897; Galveston, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth1252811/m1/5/: accessed July 18, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu.; crediting Rosenberg Library.