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The White House 
 
 RAPHAEL WEILL & CO, 
 
 Wholesale and Retail 
 Dealers in 
 
 rordgn and Domestic Drv Goods 
 
 Cloaks, Suits, Gents' Tur- 
 
 Rishing Goods, lite 
 
 N. W. COP. 
 
 POST AND KEARNY STS. 
 
 San Francisco 
 
 ac.iiNTS roQ 
 
 Dr. Jaeger's 
 
 SANITAIW WOOLI:N UNDEIWEAK 
 
/ 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 Frontispiece, Portrait of Edward Rowland Sill 
 
 Edward Rowland Sill, (A Sketch) Milicent Washburn Shinn i 
 
 The Things That Will Not Die ] two zrv ^ o / v e-// c 
 
 The Secret [ Poems Edward Rowland Stll 5-6 
 
 The Cha-No-Yu (The Tea Ceremony) Mrs. Bernard Moses 8 
 
 In the Mountains at Coffee Creek, (Illustration) 12 
 
 A Sentimentalist Ednah Robinson 13 
 
 The Song of the Bells, (a Poem) Charles A. Keeler 20 
 
 Mossbrae Falls, (Illustration) 22 
 
 Extracts from the Writtings of Frank M. Pixley 23 
 
 The Final Gospel, (a Poem) George C. Wilson 27 
 
 After Strange Gods Frank Norris 28 
 
 San Lorenzo Creek, (Illustration) Maurer 34 
 
 A Bit of Cheer Harriet L. Levy 35 
 
 A Soul, (a Poem) Elizabeth Gerberding 38 
 
 A Bull Fight in Mexico Mabel Clare Craft 39 
 
 Easter-Even, (a Poem) Clarence Urmy 47 
 
 Enfoldings Mary Mapes Dodge 48 
 
 A Ghostly Benediction Mary Bell 49 
 
 Baker's Beach, (Illustration) Maurer 57 
 
 Whittier, 1892-1898 '. Jna Coolbrith 57 
 
 The Oaks, (Illustration) Keith 58 
 
 The Pacific Ocean in the 20th Century Eli T. Sheppard 59 
 
 An Amulet, (a Poem) Regina E. Wilson 67 
 
 Chinese Love Song, (Illustrated Music) 68 
 
 An 111 Wind Cromwell Galpin 70 
 
 The Indians of Hoopa Valley 80 
 
 Sense and Nonsense Charles A Murdoch 84 
 
 The Tryst, (a Poem) Warren Cheney 87 
 
 The Lagoon at Sutters Fort, (Illustration) 88 
 
 San Francisco's Needs James D. Phelan 89 
 
 Reminiscences of John G. Whittier M. B. C. 92 
 
 The Cloister of San Juan Mission, (Illustration) 98 
 
 The Contributor's Club Editor 99 
 
 A Contribution Gelette Burgess 
 
 Some Colonial Receipts Mrs. Joseph La Conte 
 
 Japanese Paper Novelties 
 
 A Morning Prayer, (a Poem) Mrs. A. C. Bailey 
 
 The Ladies Relief Society, (a Review) 105 
 
 To Mothers, (a Poem) M. O.vton 107 
 
 At the Foot of Mt. Shasta, (Illustration) 108 
 
 Corner of a Chinese Restaurant, (Illustration) Taber 109 
 
 At the Foot oftVan Ness Avenue, (Illustration) ^l -J- Street no 
 
 On the Merced River, (Illustration) in 
 
 A Head, (from a Painting) 112 
 
 ^^/ 
 
I 
 
 
 IZDWAI^I) 1»WLAMD SILL. 
 
Y5 5"?^ 
 
 Mariposa Magazine 
 
 OnelTssue Only ««««« 
 
 ^or the benefit ofjCadies •^et/e/ Society of Oa/ciand, Cat. 
 
 EDWARD ROWLAND SILL, 
 
 niLICENT W7\SHBURN 5HINN. 
 
 Edward Rowland Sill was born April 29, 1841, in Wind- 
 sor, one of the oldest towns in Connecticut. He was de- 
 scended on the father's side from a long line of New Eng- 
 land physicians, while on his mother's side the clergy were 
 strongly represented. The direct maternal line led back, at 
 a remove of five or six generations, to the elder Edwards; 
 and in spite of this considerable remove in descent. Prof. 
 Sill, I think, felt in himself a somewhat special affinity to 
 this maternal line of ancestors ; and his friends often spoke 
 of the marked inheritance in him of "the Edwards charm,'' 
 — that singular and indefinable fascination, and power of 
 commanding friendship, which seems to appear from time 
 to time in members of this stock, and has become historic 
 in the case of Aaron Burr. To the union, also, of the poetic, 
 metaphysical, and even mystic tendencies of the maternal 
 line, and the physician's bent of the paternal, Professor Sill 
 doubtless owed the remarkable blending of the poetic and 
 scientific natures, which struck everyone who knew him 
 well very forcibly. It might almost be said that teaching 
 and literature became his profession as a diagonal of forces 
 between these two very strong bents; and he was all his life 
 more or less tossed to and fro between a temperament that 
 demanded zealous beliefs and a mind that criticized them. 
 
 He was the younger of two brothers, but when he was 
 still a child the older brother w^as drowned in swimming or 
 skating, and the little boy became the idolized only child of 
 
2 THE MARIPOSA MAGAZINE. 
 
 a home which was eaily broken up by the death of both pa- 
 rents. Although he found an altectionate home with kin- 
 dred, the loss of his parents, especially of his mother, cast a 
 shadow which he felt to the end of his life. He was eleven 
 years old at the time of his orphanhood. 
 
 He was prepared for college at Phillips Academy, Exeter, 
 — one of the ti^ree or four most famous classical schools of 
 New England. I always heard him speak with high esteem 
 of this school, yet it did not, so far as 1 know, impress him 
 deeply in character nor leave any lasting friendships. This 
 may have been because most Exeter men prepared for Har- 
 vard, while he was destined to Yale; or because he was a 
 day scholar only, living with kinsfolk in the town. He was 
 a quiet and sensitive boy, but rather reserved and fastidi- 
 ous than shy. 
 
 He entered Yale in 1857, and here made a number of 
 warm and confidential friendships, which lasted to the end 
 of his life, and will preserve an abiding memory of him as 
 long as any of his group of college friends live. It is most 
 touching and striking to see, in visiting New Haven, how 
 strong an interest in him — in his life and his work — still 
 dwells about Yale, where he was simply one of many under- 
 graduates, thirty-live years ago. The Yale spirit of the fif- 
 ties — a somewhat different thing from the Yale spirt of to- 
 day, but doubtless its parent — took a strong hold on him, 
 and he was always a loyal Yale man, even though the ordi- 
 nary college partisanship was not congenial to him. He 
 was always a very strong believer, too, in the potency of 
 the college education, especially of the full classical cur- 
 riculum; he had little patience with utilitarian schemes of 
 education, and was at all times a defender of the ideal mo- 
 tive in the training of the young. The old New England 
 college education came, he believed, very near to the correct 
 type, though he was glad to welcome the enlargement and 
 enrichment of it by the introduction of modern science and 
 a fuller English curriculum. Nevertheless, he always pro- 
 tested against the suhstitution of English studies for the 
 classics, and believed that the classical languages and liter- 
 atures were the almost indispensable preparation for solid 
 attainments in our own. His views on these subjects were 
 somewhat ardently expressed in his poem, "Man, the 
 Spirit," read at one of the early California Alumni gather- 
 ings; and in various essays of later years. 
 
 Leaving college with somewhat impaired health, and 
 much perplexed with the question of a suitable profession, 
 Mr. Sill was easily induced to accompany his especial friend 
 and comrade, Mr. Sextus Shearer, to California, taking the 
 long voyage around the Horn. The fruit of the four years 
 spent in California in his early twenties was some close 
 friendships, which eventually drew him back (together with 
 
LIFE OF EDWARD ROWLAND SILL, 3 
 
 a love for the State itself then implanted); the long poem, 
 "The Hermitage"; and a number of futile attemi)ts to find 
 his proper work. The years were in part spent in temporary 
 clerkshii)s, as a mere matter of livelihood; but he also made 
 a study of medicine, with Dr. Harkness, now of San Fran- 
 cisco, and tried the study of law, also, — to what extent I do 
 not know — rather with a view to the mental discipline than 
 with any exijectation of practicing. His mind hovered very 
 persistently about the ministry, from which he was deterred 
 by inability heartily to assent to the accepted creeds. 
 
 In 1866 Mr. Sill returned to the East, and married his 
 cousin. Miss Elizabeth Sill, of Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio. He 
 then entered the Harvard Divinity School, as a sort of last 
 test of the possibility of the ministry. He enjoyed his stud- 
 ies here greatly, but after a year gave up definitely the idea 
 of preaching — not so much, I gather, because of irreconcil- 
 able theological opinions, as because he perceived the im- 
 possibility of binding himself to hold always any given set 
 of opinions, and especially to make his livelihood dependent 
 on continued agreement with any church. Teaching, he 
 writes to a friend, has alw^ays been the first alternative in 
 his mind, if preaching" proves impossible; and California 
 was the place in which he preferred to teach. He spent a 
 few months in New York, however, and there made a brief 
 essay at newspaper editing (which he found heartily uncon- 
 genial), and did some translating for a publishing house. 
 In 1868, in Ohio, he began, with the utmost zeal and devo- 
 tion, the life work of a teacher, which he afterward re- 
 garded as a more useful and sacred calling than any preach- 
 er's. Although the public insists upon regarding him 
 chiefly as a poet, Mr. Sill himself never after this period in 
 his life regarded poetry, or literature in general, as any- 
 thing but a diversion, and insisted upon teaching as his call- 
 ing. Even when he became a college professor of Litera- 
 ture, he did not regard literature, but teaching, his work. 
 His qualification for this work amounted to genius; no 
 teacher ever took hold upon his pupils more deeply, or in- 
 fused more actual inspiration into the details of a school 
 course. To have seen him teach was to have new ideas of 
 the possibilities of the calling. 
 
 In 1871 Mr. Sill was called to California as the second 
 teacher in the Oakland High School, then two years old. 
 In this school, for three years, he did perhaps the most sat- 
 isfactory teaching of his life. He attached enormous im- 
 portance to the period of adolescence, and believed that at 
 the high school stage the bent of a young person's character 
 was determined. 
 
 In 1874, President Oilman induced Mr. Sill to accept the 
 vacant chair of English in the University of California. His 
 influence here also was remarkable, and the department of 
 
4 THE MARIPOSA MAGAZINE. 
 
 English was greatly advanced in liis hands. But the eight 
 years spent in the chair were very hard ones to him. He 
 had always worked beyond his strength in teaching, and 
 this was even more the case in the University than in secon- 
 dary work. The troublous times that the University ex- 
 perienced after the resignation of President Oilman, with 
 attacks from press and politicians, financial straits, and suc- 
 cessive changes in the presidency, made a life of much anx- 
 iety for one who threw hs soul into the welfare of the insti- 
 tution as Professor Sill did. With all his gentleness and 
 singular loveability, he was a man capable of strong feel- 
 ings of antagonism, and he was keen and fearless in contro- 
 versy where he considered the principles of sound educa- 
 tion at stake; and he and the present honored head of the 
 University, President (then Professor) Kellogg, had more 
 than once to take the chief brunt of the battles against 
 Philistinism. 
 
 In 1882 Professor Sill felt it best to retire from arduous 
 work, for some years at least, intending to remain quietly 
 in his home at Berkeley and occupy himself as a writer. 
 Soon after, however, at the desire of his father-in-law, 
 whose health had begun to fail. Professor and Mrs. Sill 
 changed their plans, and returned to Cuyahoga Falls. In 
 the next four years they lived very quietly there. Professor 
 Sill contributing to the Atlantic Monthly, Century, and 
 Nation. Keturning to literature thus, in the maturity of his 
 powers, he found at once a welcome as a poet and essayist, 
 which promised a large future. His old friends, who had 
 always, from his boyhood, urged on him the hope of lit- 
 erary greatness, congratulated themselves that it was at 
 hand. But his health, never good, failed more and more. 
 
 In the winter of 1886-7 he strained his already enfeebled 
 constitution very severely by an act of sympathetic human- 
 ity, in nursing a neighbor (whose claim on him was slight) 
 through typhoid, and narrowly escaped the disease himself. 
 While still at the lowest ebb of strength he submitted to a 
 slight surgical operation, which unexpectedly proved more 
 than he was able to endure. He died in Cleveland, in Feb- 
 ruary, 1887, before he had completed his 47th year. 
 
 Since Professor Sill's death, his literary reputation, in- 
 stead of declining, has steadily grown; and his personality 
 continues to excite interest in strangers , as well as to be 
 cherished very faithfully in memory by his friends. His in- 
 fluence as a teacher has proved very abiding; and more- 
 over, radiating, since his pupils have been influential as 
 teachers, and as advocates of his educational and ethical 
 fates. Short as his life was, and impeded by frail health, 
 it was a life filled with intense activity, and many of its pur- 
 poses were fulfilled more nearly than Professor Sill ever 
 foresaw. 
 
TWO POEHS BY EDWARD ROWLAND 
 . SILL. 
 
 THE THINGS THAT WIIvL NOT DIE. 
 
 What am I glad will stay when I have passed 
 From this dear valley of the world, and stand 
 
 On yon snow-glimmering peaks, and lingering cast 
 Prom that dim land 
 A backward look, and haply stretch my hand, 
 
 Regretful, now the wish comes true at last? 
 
 Sweet strains of music I am glad will be 
 Still wandering down the wind, for men will hear 
 
 And think themselves from all their care set free, 
 And heaven near. 
 When summer stars burn very still and clear, 
 
 And waves of sound are swelling like the sea. 
 
 And it is good to know that overhead 
 Blue skies will brighten, and the sun will shine, 
 
 And flowers be sweet in many a garden bed. 
 And all divine 
 (For are they not, O Father, thoughts of thine?) 
 
 Earth's warmth and fragrance shall on men be shed. 
 
 And I am glad that night will always come, 
 Hushing all sounds, even the soft-voiced birds. 
 
 Putting away all light from her deep dome, 
 Until are heard. 
 In the wide starlight's stillness, unknown words 
 
 That make the heart ache till it find its home. 
 
 And I am glad that neither goldem sky, 
 Nor violet lights that linger on the hill, 
 
 Nor ocean's wistful blue, shall satisfy. 
 But they shall fill 
 With wild unrest and endless longing still. 
 
 The soul, whose hope beyond them all must lie. 
 
 *The first not contained in any publishe-d volume of his verse; the second included 
 onlv in the rare volume. "The Venus of Milo and Other Poems," printed for his 
 friends by Mr. Sill in 1883. 
 
THE MARIPOSA MAGAZINE. 
 
 And I rejoice that love shall never seem 
 
 So perfect as it ever was to be. 
 But endlessly that inner haunting dream 
 Each heart shall see 
 
 Hinted in every dawn's fresh purity, 
 Hopelessly shadowed in each sunset's gleam. 
 
 And though warm mouths will kiss and hands will cling. 
 And thought by silent thought be understood. 
 
 I do rejoice that the next hour will bring 
 That far off moca 
 That drives one like a lonely child to God, 
 
 Who only sees and measures everything. 
 
 And it is well that when these feet have pressed 
 
 The outward path from earth, 'twill not seem saa 
 To them that stay; but they who love me best 
 Will be most glad 
 That such a long unquiet now has had, 
 At last, a gift of perfect peace and rest. 
 (March, 1872.) 
 
 THE SECRET. 
 
 A tide of sun and song in beauty broke 
 Against a bitter heart, wh'^re no voice woke 
 Till thus it spake: — 
 
 What was it, in the old time that I know. 
 That made the world with wiser beauty glow. 
 Now a vain show? 
 
 Still dance the shadows on the grass at play, 
 Still move the clouds like great, calm thoughts away, 
 Nor haste, nor stay. 
 
 But I have lost that breath within the gale, 
 
 That light to which the daylight was a veil. 
 
 The star-shine pale. 
 
 Still all the summer with its songs is filled, 
 But that delicious undertone they held— 
 Why is it stilled? 
 
 Then I took heart that I would find again 
 The voices that had long in silence lain, 
 Nor live in vain. 
 
THE SECRET. 7 
 
 I stood at noonday in the hollow wind, 
 Listened at midnight, straining heart and mind, 
 If I might find! 
 
 But all in vain I sought, at eve and morn. 
 On sunny seas, in dripping woods forlorn, 
 Till tired and worn. 
 
 One day I left my solitary tent 
 And down into the world's bright garden went, 
 On labor bent. 
 
 The dew stars and the buds about my feet 
 Began their old bright message to repeat. 
 In odors sweet; 
 
 And as I worked at weed and root in glee, 
 Now humming and now whistling cheerily, 
 It came to me, — 
 
 The secret of the glory that was fled 
 Shown like a sweep of sun all overhead, 
 And something said, — 
 
 " The blessing came because it was not sought; 
 There was no care if thou wert blest or not: 
 The beauty and the wonder all thy thought — 
 Thyself forgot." 
 
Tbe Cbz^-No-Yu 
 
 CThe Tea Ceremony J 
 
 Bv 
 
 nrs. 
 Bernard 
 
 Moses. 
 
 It would be impossible to touch even superficially the 
 subject of Japanese social life without giving some atten- 
 tion to the question of tea drinking, and the important part 
 it plays in promoting, and even determining, the etiquette 
 of humble as well as of polite society. On entering an inn, a 
 shop, or a private house, a smiling almond-eyed maiden im- 
 mediately appears, and, bowing low, offers the guest a tiny 
 bowl of straw-colored water — quite unlike tea to the vit- 
 iated foreign taste. In houses of the better class, a small 
 box of tea sw^eets is served with the tea. These tea sweets 
 are made in attractive shapes, and much taste and skill 
 are displayed in their moulding and coloring. One of the 
 daintiest conceits in this line was served us in a tea house 
 in the silk district during the spinning season. It was a 
 confection in the form of pink and white cocoons of spun 
 sugar, delightful to both eye and palate. 
 
 A box of tea sweets forms an appropriate acknowledge- 
 ment of any attention, and there is an etiquette in regard to 
 the kind of cakes, the box in which they are sent, and the 
 manner of sending them, which is bewildering to the West- 
 ern barbarian. It needs but a brief experience in polite 
 society to convince an American that we are mere tyros in 
 the matter of etiquette. From earliest childhood the high- 
 class Japanese is taught to live according to the most rigid 
 rules of an etiquette, which leaves no possible action to 
 chance. Yet the Japanese have the simplest and most 
 graceful manners imaginable. No movement is unstudied, 
 and yet so thoroughly have the great teachers of etiquette 
 mastered their art, that they have succeeded in disguising 
 the fact that it is art and have made it seem simple and un- 
 affected grace. 
 
THE CHA-NO-YU. 
 
 Among the aristocratic Japanese there are two styles of 
 entertainment connected with tea drinking which enjoy 
 great vogue. The first has a literary and aesthetic char- 
 acter and is rather more popular than the second mere for- 
 mal entertainment, which has its origin in China and be- 
 longs to the old regime. 
 
 The literary tea party, called cha-seki in Japanese, is 
 usually given in a tea house. The tea room opens on one 
 side towards the garden, which has been especially ar- 
 ranged and freshened for the occasion. It is carpeted with 
 soft mats, and furnished with a hanging picture and a piece 
 of bronze or lacquer. Sometimes the host sends a few 
 choice specimens of the potter's art from his private collec- 
 tion, or a gold leaf screen lends a subdued splendor to the 
 little room. In some tea houses there is a celebrated tea 
 man who makes the tea for the party, as its preparation is 
 looked upon as a fine art. The tea is a fine powder of choice 
 variety. Ordinarily the host makes the tea himself and pre- 
 sents it to each guest with much ceremony. The literary 
 part of the entertainment generally consists of story telling, 
 each member of the party contributing his share. Japanese 
 legends, the lives of heroes and great events in the history 
 of Japan are the usual themes. If it be spring time and the 
 cherry trees are in bloom, the guests vie with each other in 
 verses celebrating the beauty of the pink blossoms. This 
 poetry consisting of fourteen unrhymed syllables, is sug- 
 gestive rather than descriptive. The couplet — 
 
 "Green fields in summer, 
 People sitting under shade trees" 
 
 does not seem a complete poem to our unimaginative souls, 
 but the Japanese needs but a hint and his quick intuition 
 supplies the rest. The guests at a cha-seki ^yq sometimes 
 entertained by professional story tellers. Especially clever 
 are the Kowairo, or "the-tone-of-the-voice" men, who imi- 
 tate the voice, gestures and acting of a celebrated actor. 
 The cha-seki in Japanese society may thus be said to supply 
 the place of our art clubs and literary circles. 
 
 The second style of tea ceremony is known as the cha-no- 
 yu, which means boiling-hot tea water. Young Japan has 
 outgrown this social custom and it is rarely practised at 
 present, excepting among the most conservative lovers of 
 old Japan. The' ceremony was introduced from China in 
 the 8th century, but it did not begin to flourish until it was 
 developed and made a solemn social function by the mag- 
 nificent 8th Shogun of the Ashikanga dynasty. 
 
 There are two tea houses in Kyoto, built for this ceremony 
 by the shoguns of this line, which must have been marvels 
 of beauty. They are named respectively the gold and the 
 silver pavilions, from the style of their decorations. The 
 
lo THE MARIPOSA MAGAZINE. 
 
 size of the tea room as prescribed by the devotees of the art 
 was four mats. It was always situated in a beautiful gar- 
 den, to which its sides were open. The decorations of the 
 tea room as well as the arrangement of the garden were 
 prescribed by rule and were simple, harmonious and of a 
 subdued beauty, calculated to inspire lofty and noble sen- 
 timents. The houses of all the older nobility contain tea 
 rooms and gardens used exclusively for the cha-no-yu. 
 
 The peculiar pottery used in the tea ceremony is kept in 
 these families as a precious possession. It is known as 
 raku-ydki or happiness pottery, as the Chinese character 
 raku indicates. T^ ere is but one family in Japan who 
 makes and bakes the ware. The Korean ancestor of this 
 family settled in Kyoto under the great general Hideyoshi 
 in 1550. Specimens of the original Korean raku are price- 
 less, and are only to be found in the godowns of the most 
 noble Japanese families. The color of the tea bowls may 
 be black, yellow or stone color. They are glazed, and 
 slightly, if at all, decorated. The pat^ is coarse, and the 
 impress of the potter's hands may be clearly seen. There 
 is a peculiar over-hanging rim to the bowls and a well de- 
 fined raised line about half way between the top and bot- 
 tom. The tea caddv, also of raku ware, is, like the precious 
 bowls, kept in beautiful brocade or embroidered bags, when 
 not in use. In arranging the room for the tea ceremony the 
 host himself attends to the minutest details. In a bronze 
 brazier he places the living coals, and over the coals a 
 wrought-iron kettle of rare workmanship; beside the bra- 
 zier is a low stand, on top of which he carefully puts the 
 precious black tea caddy filled with the powdered tea. Un- 
 der the stand is a covered bowl of the freshest and purest 
 water, and a tiny new wooden dipper lies beside it. The 
 bowls in the brocnde covers are placed in front and the tea 
 whisk and fresh towels lie in their appointed places. There 
 is. in addition to the rep'ular tea bowls, a lipped bowl Into 
 which the boiling- water is first poured from the kettle to 
 cool it to the proner degree for making the tea — boiling 
 water is never userl. There are always two less tea bowls 
 than the number of invited guests. 
 
 The room being arranged, the host, in his wincred ceremo- 
 nial dress, awaits his cruests. They arrive at twelve o'clock 
 and are received bv the ho^t on his knees. The salutation 
 of bowing several times until the forehead touches the floor, 
 is exchang-ed with each guest according to his rank- All 
 then enter the tea room and seat themselves in rows faciner 
 each other. It is linpossible to enter into the details of the 
 makinc and servlnfr of the tea. It is a r>rocess which re- 
 nuires a two years course to master. Everv turn of the wrist 
 ppd Avpry motion of the bodv-in inakine* and sevyipp fhe tea, 
 must be made in accordance with laws laid down bv the 
 
THE CHA-NO-YLL ii 
 
 p:reat master of this almost religious ceremony. The guests 
 have their parts to perfprm, and must receive and drink the 
 tea as prescribed. The conversation is confined to elaborate 
 compliments and to the utterance of noble and lofty senti- 
 ments. 
 
 An important part of the ceremony consists in the inspec- 
 tion of the tea service. While this is being done the host 
 must leave the room, that he may not hear his possessions 
 praised. Incense is burned during the entertainment, and 
 as incense burning is an art which can not be mastered un- 
 der six months, the ceremony is elaborate. At intervals 
 fish and soup are served. Thesie two dishes are the only 
 ones permitted at the cha-no-yu. Warm sake, rice wine, is 
 taken at intervals, and during the last half hour of this 
 function, which lasts about four hours, the guests relax 
 etiquette and smoke their tiny jnpes. Finally the guests be- 
 gin the extravagant compliments prior to the formal fare- 
 well, and the host returns thanks for the pleasure of their 
 honorable company and beseeches pardon for the abomi- 
 nable meanness of the entertainment. The foreheads touch 
 the floor again and again as each guest departs, strict prece- 
 dence in rank being always observed. 
 
 The progressive society of Japan has modified the rigid 
 etiquette of the tea ceremony, until it has become in most 
 cases a refined and polite prelude to their formal dinner 
 parties, even in this form it becoming rarer every year. The 
 rlia-no-yu at w^ ich I assisted in the capacity of a much mys- 
 tified guest, was not nearly so elaborate as the one I have 
 tried to describe. It was performed by the Marquise of 
 Nabeshima, who is celebrated in Tokyo for her knowledge 
 of the fine points of the art. To me it seemed like a delsarte 
 exhibition. The tiny silk-clad figure with its elaborate coif- 
 feur and o'orR:eous obi, swayed to and fro in graceful 
 curves, and the delight with which our Japanese friends 
 followed the rhythmical motions showed that there are fields 
 of enjoyment open to the Japanese of which we can form no 
 conception. There was but one flaw in the artistic per- 
 formance. Etiauette prescribes that the tea cup, held in 
 both hands, shall be gracefully and slowly raised to the lips 
 nnd dmnk ir> three lonff. linsrerinff draug'hts. The Japanese 
 make these three drauo-hts as audible as possible — they are 
 swallowed, in fact, with a loud sucking sound — the more 
 polite the drinker, the louder the noise he makes. I did my 
 best to perform my part, but had to confess that my feeble 
 imitation of a Japanese countess on my left betrayed be- 
 vond doubt that I was not to the manor born. 
 
12 
 
 THE MARIPOSA MAGAZINE. 
 
A SENTIMENTALIST, 
 
 CDNAH ROBINSON. 
 
 It was in church that De Ruyter first saw her. He had 
 drifted into St. Mary's Cathedral one morning attracted by 
 a notice of an exceptionally fine musical programme. The 
 music was good and he fell under its influence almost im- 
 mediately; it thrilled yet soothed him. The long rolling 
 chords swept away his week-day mood, and wafted him into 
 that state which we are so apt to call spiritual when in fact 
 the spirit lies deafened by sound, stifled by sense — satisfac- 
 tion. 
 
 The effect of the music was afterwards almost dispelled 
 by the long-winded arguments of an old priest who tedious- 
 ly demonstrated for upwards of an hour the almost impass- 
 able distance between his mind and that of his hearers. 
 During the tiresome discourse, several persons got up and 
 left the church, and then, through the gap made in the 
 front pews, De Ruyter saw her. Her eyes were lifted rev- 
 erently, and the stained light falling on her face brought 
 out warm tints in cheeks and hair. To De Ruyter she 
 looked like a St. Cecilia while she listened with upward gaze 
 as the old priest ambled helplessly along dusty roads of 
 logic, into choked paths of faith. 
 
 That he should be grateful to the preacher for his un- 
 doubted skill in winding out to the uttermost end a thin 
 thread of thought, De Ruyter began to feel vaguely, for 
 when the sermon was done, the service would soon end, and 
 she would go. He wished he knew who she was, and for 
 the first time regret crossed his mind for the past unsocia- 
 bility which had prevented an extensive acquaintance in San 
 Francisco. She was undoubtedly well known; with that 
 face no woman could live unrecognized in any community. 
 He would find out at the Club, and then he would meet her, 
 
 and then . De Ruyter was fast lapsing into senility 
 
 when a sudden stillness cut into his reverie. The priest had 
 stopped for lack of breath. Then the organ again shook the 
 Cathedral, and voices in which there was nothing of earth, 
 rose higher and higher towards the heaven they sang of. 
 
 A more vital ecstasy thrilled De Ruyter, and his pulse 
 
J 4 THE MARIPOSA MAGAZINE. 
 
 beat unsteadily. As he watched her, over her face a shadow 
 seemed to creep, and he could have sworn that there were 
 tears in the most wonderful eyes he had ever seen. 
 
 When the service was over, lie lingered at the door. As 
 she passed, her glance fell on him for an instant, and then 
 back to her companions. He stumbled out of the church 
 and started for tne Club. Just as he had dreamed, so he 
 had found her in a crowd, had recognized her, and she had 
 passed him by. He could scarcely believe it, but did not for 
 an instant doubt the truth of his intuition. He would find 
 her, but first of all he would tell Cunningham ; it was queer 
 after the talk they had had. The night before he had dined 
 with an old college chum at the Club; for ten years their 
 hands had not met. In the midst of their reminiscences, 
 Cunningham grew mirthful. ^'Have you met her yet. Vail?" 
 he asked. ^^The impossible she? Or are you still waiting?" 
 
 '^I have never met the woman I could marry," De Ruyter 
 answered frankly. "When you come to analyze that con- 
 fession, though, it is not derogatory to the other sex, for I 
 know no women at all. I never did. You know that, Fred." 
 
 "I thought that time would brush off the romance," said 
 Cunningham. "I have strong recollections of a college 
 chum of mine who used to rant against what he called easy 
 marriages or neighborhood matches. In fact, I have some 
 of his ebullitions in verse on the subject — 'The Only She,' 
 'His Spirit's Fittest Mate' — Ah, Vail? Confess you were 
 wrong, old chap, or green. In this prosy world our ideals 
 don't materialize. We just take the best we can get." 
 
 ''How is your cousin?" asked de Ruyter irrelevantly. 
 "Your wife, I mean. And the bairns?" 
 
 "Ella's been sickly ever since we were married," Cun- 
 ningham spoke briefly. "New York doesn't agree with her 
 or the children. But, of course, we can't break up for that. 
 All my interests are there. So the last four years we have 
 arranged it pretty well. She siays six months in the coun- 
 try, and stores up enough health to last through the half 
 year in town. But we are happy enough. Happier, I guess, 
 than the majority of married people who are always to- 
 gether." Cunningham's face had darkened. 
 
 "What good old times those were, Fred," de Ruyter said, 
 hastily. "How you bring it all back. All the talks that 
 used to last half through the night, when we philosophized 
 of love and women as if we knew all that was to be known 
 on the subject." 
 
 "But you were really the sentimentalist," said Cunning- 
 ham, "although you declared it was I. You moped more 
 over your romantic illusions than I on all the pretty girls 
 who kept me continuously on the rack. I shall never for- 
 get one of the sermons you preached. I was pretty far gone 
 on some girl. It was Daisy Kent. Do you remember her, 
 
A SENTIMENTALIST. is 
 
 Vail? And I declared I would marry her. Did I care that 
 she was poor? I had enough lor two. What difference did 
 it make to me that her parents were not Vere de Veres, if 
 she was a thoroughbred? Finally you lost patience and 
 burst out. I can see it all now. How you threw the book 
 you had been reading to the other end of the room, and 
 then jumped to your feet. 'Mate like a dog and die!' you 
 cried. 'God in Heaven, man, can't you see it? It's the 
 fever of loving yow have. It's Daisy to-day, and another 
 next month. Can't you have patience and wait for the right 
 one? There is certainly a right one waiting somewhere for 
 you. Of course you will meet her. Your paths cross some- 
 where, and you must meet sooner or later. May be Daisy 
 is the right one, but then, would you offer her the heart 
 that served another only last month? Pshaw! Fred. Give 
 her a year, and see if you're right.' So I did wait a year." 
 
 "Yes, a year," mocked de Kuyter. "And married — some 
 one else." 
 
 Cunninghaiji winced. "Well, I must confess you have 
 lived up to your precepts," he retorted. 
 
 De Ruyter laughed ruefully. "I guess I have waited too 
 long. Before this she must have grown tired of waiting 
 for me, and married one of her neighbors. The worst of it 
 is that loyalty may have so blinded and bound her spirit 
 eyes that she may not recognize me even if I jog her elbow 
 as I pass on in the crowd." 
 
 "I believe that you will pass her by in the crowd and 
 look right over her head. Or are you looking for a vision 
 a la Marguerite?" 
 
 De Kuyter laughed, but did not answer, as he filled his 
 glass and raised it to his lips. "Here is to her speedy com- 
 ing," he said, soberly. "And may she come single!" 
 
 Cunningham threw a covert, questioning glance at his 
 friend. He never quite knew how to take de Ruyter. "Do 
 you know the Delorme's of San Mateo?" he asked. "I have 
 letters to them." 
 
 "I know Eossiter Delorme," de Ruyter answered. "But 
 none of the women. He belongs to the Club. You'd be 
 surprised, Fred, if you knew how few people I know here 
 after living ten years in San Francisco. No women at all, 
 and besides the men I have met in business, only those at 
 the Club. It has taken all my time trying to make a com- 
 fortable living for myself. You know I always said I would 
 work first and play only when I had made enough to afford 
 and enjoy it. I suppose I might go in for cotillions and 
 that sort of thing now, as, confidentially, I have been pretty 
 lucky, and am rather well fixed. But the lazy habit's too 
 strong. I vibrate between the Club and my office, and the 
 life suits me first rate." 
 
 Cunningham did not appear to be listening, and his eyes 
 wandered back to de Ruj^ter as he paused. 
 
1 6 THE MARIPOSA MAGAZINE. 
 
 "It is a significant fact/' he said slowly, "that of all the 
 old set at college you are the only one who has had the 
 courage or obstinacy to live up to his own resolutions and 
 convictions. We all had our notions, but we let circum- 
 stances mould our lives. You will get just what you make 
 up your mind to want. Vail, old boy." 
 
 De Ruyter had laughed at the prophecy, but to-day it re- 
 curred to him. Now he knew what he wanted; the next 
 thing was to get it. At the Club he met Cunningham. 
 "Fred," he said with boyish directness. "I have seen her 
 at last and she has seen me. She is more beautiful than 
 even I had fancied her. Her name? That is just what I 
 want to find out. I have not yet met her. But I will." 
 
 "Of course you will," Cunningham responded. "I expect 
 to hear all about it when I come back from Honolulu. Yes, 
 I am going to-morrow. 1 will bring you back a wedding 
 present, old chap. Hope I won't be too late for the cere- 
 mony." 
 
 In the weeks following, de Kuyter developed a love for 
 crowds. He never missed a night at the theatre, and Sun- 
 day always found him behind two grey horses in the park, 
 for whose roads he entertained a sudden affection. One 
 afternoon he was returning from a brisk drive to the Ocean 
 Beach, when he grasped the arm of his companion. 
 
 "Who is that?" he asked with suppressed eagerness. 
 "Behind the blacks — gong towards the Beach?" 
 
 Blake turned his head. "That's Mrs. S. Thorn Potter 
 and her sister. Miss Lanier. Don't you know them? But 
 you are such an unsociable wretch. My mother and sisters 
 have about given up trying to get you to come to the house. 
 They think with the rest of us, that a man of your means 
 and attainments would be a great acquisition to the so- 
 ciable world." 
 
 "I am more than half inclined to make my debut this 
 winter," de Ruyter said, hurriedly, and then changed the 
 subject with a jest. 
 
 After that it was strange how often de Ruyter ran across 
 Miss Lanier and her sister, or saw their names in the paper. 
 Their every movement was chronicled with religious sol- 
 emnity. They were returning from San Rafael, or giving a 
 dinner or contemplating a short trip to Monterey or Santa 
 Barbara. 
 
 He saw them several times from a distance at the theatre, 
 and once had stumbled against her in the Palace Hotel. 
 After that last encounter, he bad walked for days as one 
 in a dream. His sentiment towards women had always 
 partaken of more of the chivalry of the fifteenth than of 
 the realism of the nineteenth century. Of this, a little was 
 due to the fact that women had played such a small part 
 in his life. His mother had died in his babyhood ; the only 
 
A SENTIMENTALIST. 17 
 
 sisters he claimed, he owed to his two brothers' choice and 
 discretion, and even those he had never met. 
 
 Miss Lanier he had deified in the few short weel{:s since 
 lie had first seen her. She was the embodiment of his 
 dreams of womanhood. Nothing about her had escaped 
 his notice. A fancy of hers it was to wear white ftowers — 
 carnations, hyacinths, violets — but always white; this it 
 pleased de Kuyter to take as a symbol. A great longing 
 was growing up in him to meet her, hear her voice; then 
 barriers need there be none; for his will was stronger 
 than all. 
 
 As soon as he had evinced his newly-born social inclina- 
 tion, invitations commenced to pour in upon him, and the 
 same grim adherence to a set purpose that made him accept 
 them all, carried him to the first big ball of the season. 
 After paying his respects to his hostess, he had gone down 
 to the ball-room, and was listlessly watching the dancers 
 when his heart gave a sudden leap. She was there. And 
 the next thought followed quick at its heels; he would 
 meet her. In evening dress. Miss Lanier was a revelation 
 to de Ruyter, who had never so seen her. Her slender fig- 
 ure was draped in filmy white stuff, that did not reproach 
 the whiteness of neck and shoulders from which it fell. A 
 large bunch of her favorite white flowers was in her hand. 
 
 De Ruyter watched her as she mingled with the crowd 
 of dancers until his head spun. When the dance was over, 
 he pulled a friend's arm. ^'I want you to present me to Miss 
 Lanier," he said. His voice was thick. His friend turned 
 and looked at him. 
 
 "Miss Lanier is not here to-night. She told me this after- 
 noon she was not coming. Her sister, Mrs. Potter, was to 
 be here, although I have not yet seen her." 
 
 De Ruyter leaned against the wall. What an ass he had 
 been. He had taken it for granted that she was Miss 
 Lanier. Jove, so she w^as married! Why the deuce had not 
 Blake told him. But it was all his own fault. He had 
 jumped at conclusions. It served him right. Who else 
 but a fool would have allowed himself to drift into a pas- 
 sion so quixotically for an unknown. He would laugh at 
 himself to-morrow. 
 
 His friend returned to where he was standing. "Miss 
 Lanier is here after all. Yes, the one over there all in 
 white. Was she there when you spoke? I beg your pardon. 
 Come right along and I'll present you." 
 
 De Ruyter managed to ^ei through the introduction. He 
 afterwards wondered if he really had begged for a dance. 
 But there it was. The tenth dance was to be his. and only 
 three in between. 
 
 He stood by the door and watched her as she seemed to 
 set the time for the musio. At last the hour he had waitpd 
 
1 8 THE MARIPOSA MAGAZINE. 
 
 for so long had come. What a brute face that man had 
 who was dancing with her. De Ruyter conceived a strong 
 antipathy to him. Two more dances. Had she recognized 
 him, remembered his face? He thought that she had. He 
 would see that from now on she would not forget him. He 
 was hers, do or say what she would. One more dance. Now 
 he regretted that he had paid so little attention to dancing 
 the last decade. He had been a fairly good dancer. But 
 there were many men in the room he knew could outstep 
 him. His dance at last, and somehow de Ruyter found 
 himself in the middle of the room With Miss Lanier. His 
 arm was around her, her hand was in his, and they were 
 togetner, waltzing down t..e years, no the room. Their step 
 suited perfectly. Was it prophetic of their mutual fitness? 
 And then he felt ashamed. Fitness? Who could be fit for 
 such as she? All his past slips and falls rose up to jeer at 
 him. He glanced down at her once, but she did not raise 
 her eyes, although some emotion crossed her face. De Ruy- 
 ter easily interpreted it. His strong feeling had trans- 
 mitted itself to her. There was no need for words, for she 
 knew how he felt and understood. 
 
 He was dancing into the heart of Elysium when the band 
 crashed and the dance was over. De Ruyter started as if 
 awakened from a deep sleep, and with the gait of a drunken 
 man, he led her back to her seat. One of her carnations 
 slipped from her fingers. De Ruyter stooped hastily, and 
 before putting it in his button-hole, pressed it fervently to 
 his lips. A great light shone in Miss Lanier's eyes, and she 
 turned her head suddenly away. 
 
 De Ruyter went up to the smoking-room. He felt he 
 could not stand seeing her in the arms of those brutes. He 
 knew them — that is, most of them ; knew the lives that they 
 led, the fibre they were made of. That she, his spotless 
 white flower, should be crushed in their embraces, soiled 
 by their touch, maddened him. Then it occurred to him 
 that he had not asked her for another dance. But he 
 would go down later; and then he would make her speak 
 to him. He had never even heard her voice, his silent 
 sweetheart. It would be clear, and sweet — yes, as sweet as 
 her face. Several cigars burned themselves out as he sat, 
 and through the smoke he felt that several people had 
 spoken to him, but they whispered so low he had not heard. 
 And by and by they had faded away. 
 
 He was getting up to go down to the ball-room, when a 
 tap fell on his shoulders. 
 
 ^^Well, you are an unsociable fellow, de Ruyter," a voice 
 said familiarly. "Why are you not down dancing? Having 
 the greatest time. Been to supper yet? Just come from 
 there. Took Miss Lanier in. You know her? Isn't she 
 witty? But sharp, too. I would not like to haA'e her slice 
 
A SENTIMENTALIST, 
 
 ^9 
 
 me up as she did a poor fellow to-night. She won't tell us 
 his name, but 1 think I can guess. She just convulsed us. 
 A capital mimic. It seems a man was presented to her. He 
 was such a piteous spectacle that she gave him a dance 
 without the asking. When the dance came, he came up 
 prompt as a clock, but as dumb as the grave. Miss Lanier 
 was puzzled to know if he really was dumb. She com- 
 menced to fear he was drunk. You should see her take 
 off the way he looked at her. She said that once he nearly 
 caught her laughing, but I guess he didn't. She's such a 
 capital actress. The best amateur in town. Why, I have 
 seen her take parts that would bring tears from a stone, 
 which has really more heart than she can lay claim to. 
 That's the only thing she lacks, for she is as cold as an 
 icicle. Where w^as I? If you can believe it, not a word 
 did they say that whole waltz through. She kept up the 
 farce finely, and looked as demure as a sweet-sixteen 
 maiden. When it was over she dropped one of her flowers 
 to see what he would do. He kissed it and then pressed it 
 to his heart, so melodramatically that Miss Lanier had to 
 hide her face. O, she's such a good mimic. I think it was 
 young Delorme. He's just been taken home — half seas over. 
 There is Jones. I must tell him. See you later." 
 
 A minute after the cold air greeted de Ruyter as he 
 slipped out of the crowded hall. He walked along Franklin 
 street, but did not hail a car at any of the crossings. At 
 Post street he turned down towards town. He preferred to 
 walk. He wanted to be alone for a while. How cold the 
 wind was. The weather had changed. He should have 
 worn his heaviest overcoat. But a hot drink at the Club 
 would fix him all right. 
 
 Cunningham called him from the reading-room as he 
 passed. 
 
 "Was waiting up just to see you, Vail. You are home 
 early. I wanted you to know that I was back. I brought 
 you your wedding present, old fellow." 
 
 De Ruyter put up his hand as if to stop him. 
 
 "Don't you want to see it, or shall I keep it as a sur- 
 prise? When is it coming off. Vail? Hang it, I hope noth- 
 ing's gone wrong. You look as if you had just come from 
 her funeral." 
 
 "I have," said de Ruyter, and he threw into the grate a 
 white carnation he had been crushing in his hand. 
 
THE SONG OF THE BELLS. 
 
 CHARLES n. KCELCR. 
 
 (Mission San Juan Capistrano.) 
 
 First Bell. 
 Ave Maria Furissima! hear! 
 Seventeen ninety and six was the year 
 When I was hung in the tower of stone, 
 Singing aloft in a solemn tone, 
 Sending the summons for miles around 
 That all might list to the welcome sound. 
 Kling, klang, clatter and rin'j — 
 Thus the hells of the Mission si)i(j. 
 
 Second Bell. 
 Vicente Puster was padre when I 
 Was swung in the great church tower on high, 
 And my metal tongue in its brazen throat 
 Sounded its first triumphant note. 
 Blent with the sacred song within 
 And my sister's voice in a mighty din. 
 Kling, klang, clatter and ring — 
 Thus the hells of the Mission sing. 
 
THE SONG OF 7 HE BELLS. ' 21 
 
 Third Bell. 
 I was inscribed to San Rafael, 
 And I pealed, men said, like a silver bell, 
 When high in the belfry I proudly hung. 
 And a note was struck with my eager tongue, 
 Heard by the Indian mother aind child. 
 By soldier stern and by padre mild. 
 Kling, klang, clatter and ring — 
 Thus the hells of the Mission sing. 
 
 Fourth Bell. 
 Last of the bells in the high church tower. 
 Farthest from men and supremest in power, 
 Ave Maria Furissima! lo! 
 Men called me San Antonio, 
 And I rang aloft where the stars could hear. 
 And I called with the name of my mother dear. 
 Kling, klang, clatter and ring — 
 Thus the bells of the Mission sing. 
 
 All the Bells. 
 Morning and evening for many a year 
 We summoned the people from far and near, — 
 Summoned the herder who left his flock. 
 Called the vaquero away from his stock, — 
 Indian mother and Mexican maid 
 Fondly, the summons to prayer, obeyed. 
 Kling, klang, clatter and ring — 
 Thus the hells of the Mission sing. 
 
 Till ah, we called on an evil hour! 
 
 For the temblor came and it rent our tower. 
 
 And down we fell with a crash and a clang — 
 
 With the cries of the stricken the sad church rang! 
 
 Then they lifted us up to toll for the dead, 
 
 And drear were our notes while the mass was said. 
 
 Toll, toll, stifled and slotc — 
 
 Thus the hells voiced a people's woe. 
 
 Such were the songs of our ancient prime. 
 
 But oh the havoc and waste of time! 
 
 For the years, the years with their pitiless train, 
 
 Have heard our pleadings and prayers in vain; 
 
 They have filled the graves in the church yard lone, 
 
 And crumbled the arches and scattered the stone. 
 
 Kling, klang, clatter and ring — 
 
 Onr throats are cracked and we seldom sinf/. 
 
5 
 
 6 
 u 
 
 _co 
 to 
 
 CO 
 
 s 
 
 8 
 
EXTRACTS FROn THE WRITINGS OF 
 FRANK M. PIXLEY. 
 
 We are -dpi to make life altogether too serious. If we 
 should wake up in t..e next world and find there was none, 
 we should have occasion to reproach ourselves for many 
 neglected opportunities for a good time lost. We are too 
 ambitious to get rich. And if there is another and a hotter 
 world tiian this, those of our restless, overreaching, toiling 
 rich men, who find themselves where their gold is melting 
 and water is scarce, may regret that they did not make bet- 
 ter use of tiieir money in a country where it was current, 
 and at a time when it was at par. It was the evident in- 
 tention of the Creator to make the life of His creatures an 
 enjoyable and pleasant one. To birds, and beasts, and fislies 
 He gave the air and earth, and water for their enjoyment; 
 to them He gave but one care — that of procuring food for 
 themselves and for their young — and the young are not too 
 long permitted to depend upon the parents' care. To man 
 he gave dominion over the earth; and, through art and 
 science, skill, labor and industry, he is to subject it to his 
 use. That use is for the advancement of his pleasure, for 
 healthful, rational enjoyment. Tie man or woman who 
 does not make that use of life is unnatural and ungrate- 
 ful, as wicked and absurd as the well-fed bird who sits in 
 the sun and will not sing. And the parent who does not 
 delight in seeing children enjoy themselves is as unnatural 
 as the austere sheep w^ho sulks and frowns when lambkins 
 sport upon the meadow in the sunlight. There is more sun- 
 shine than shadow, if we only look for it; there are more 
 gay things than grave things; there is more of music, and 
 melody, and joy, and gladness in the natural universe than 
 there is of sad and solemn sound and gloomy sight. The 
 bright and glorious orb around which our earth revolves 
 has only here and there a dark spot upon its shining sur- 
 face; the moon is always half in light and reflects more of 
 sunshine than shadow ; the stars are ever bright, and when 
 hidden by the darkness of intervening clouds, these are sil- 
 ver lined. T ere are 
 
 "Books in the running brooks; 
 Sermons in stones, and good in everything." 
 
 There is music in the rustling wind, the babbling stream. 
 
24 THE MARIPOSA MAGAZINE. 
 
 the insects' breathing hum, the song of birds and the whirr 
 of cities; solemn anthems sung in forest leaves, and sub- 
 limest melody from the ocean's wave. There are grand 
 paintings by the Master hung upon the arching vault as t.ie 
 sunset lingers on our w^estern sky; scenes upon our hills as 
 they change from emerald green to russet brown; more gor- 
 geous landscapes in our valleys than Claude Lorraine could 
 paint; more beauties in the heart of mountains than the 
 glowing pencil of the artist can catch and transfer to can- 
 vas. This is a jolly world of ours if we would make it so. 
 It is a glorious life spread out for our enjoyment for the 
 three-score 3^ears and ten of our allotment, if with nappy 
 hearts and cheerful minds we would make it so. Too many 
 of us, ambitious for power, eager to grow rich, annoyed by 
 small vexations, make life a constant battle from the cradle 
 to tiie grave. 
 
 "The pleasure of life in California,'' said a friend to us the 
 other day, "is in its ups and downs — 'rich to-day and not a 
 cent to-morrow.' " 
 
 We met our friend upon the middle-ground of assent — 
 the half-w^ay house on the road of argument — we admitted 
 the truth of just half his proposition, which, being inter- 
 preted, reads thus: "The pleasure of life in California is 
 its ups." 
 
 The idea that reverses are calculated to do us good, to 
 work a sort of moral regeneration, and act as a purifying 
 element to chasten, and improve, and elevate us, and all that 
 sort of thing, is to us cheap sentimentality. It is gurgling 
 bosh. It is the sweet rippling of pious and nonsensical cant. 
 It comes from maiden aunts, and meek-faced Sunday-school 
 teachers. 
 
 We never stubbed our toe, or got a splinter in our finger 
 that did us any good, when we w^ere a boy. No bumblebee 
 ever stung us up to a point of moral rectitude. We never 
 recognized a broken sled as a purifying element in a day's 
 sport, or looked upon a rain storm when we wanted to go 
 to the circus or general training as a chastening and im- 
 proving incident. 
 
 As we grew up we never remember to have been espec- 
 ially benefited by the "downs" of life. It is when we are 
 "up" that all the better elements of men's and women's nat- 
 ure come to the surface. Then they are gentle, just and 
 generous, forgiving, kind and considerate. When reverses 
 occur, and hard, gaunt-eyed poverty comes stalking into a 
 man's home, they are cold, harsh and cruel; exacting, sel- 
 fish and inconsiderate. 
 
 GHOSTS. We believe in g' osts because we have seen 
 them. We do not think that Sargent stands a ff' ost of a 
 
WRITING FROM FRANK M. PIXLFY. 25 
 
 chance to be Senator. He tliinks he does, so he believes in 
 ghosts. If there be no ghosts, how do they troop home to 
 church-yards at midnight? If there were no g osts, w .y 
 should fellows whistle when they go through a grave-yard, 
 to keep their courage up? If t4iere be no ghosts, who, then, 
 haunts empty houses? W. at is a Bans.ee but a ghost? 
 And everybody know^s that Banshees are thick in Ireland. 
 Do we not hear of ghostly confessors? Spiritualists believe 
 in ghosts in materialization of spirits where ghosts assume 
 the shape of dead persons. We have seen photographs of 
 ghosts, ghosts in cabinets, with arms and hands of real tlesh 
 and blood; and then everybody knows there are witches. 
 All through the records of history there are ghosts and 
 witches; for instance, the ghost of the murdered Banquo 
 and Hamlet's father; the witclies of Macbeth. The Bible is 
 full of ghosts and witches, as the Witch of Endor. Then^ 
 were plenty of wdtches in Puritan times. They were seen by 
 Increase and Cotton Mather, upon broomsticks, flying in the 
 air. Sir Matthew Hale believed in witches. Unless there 
 were watches in New England, how could they be burned 
 and drow^ned? If witcl es do not get into old women and 
 swine, what makes some old women act so, and how can 
 one account for the way hogs behave themselves? Young 
 women get bewitched and bewitch men. We have seen old 
 men so badly bewitched by women that they acted as if 
 the devil was in them. 
 
 There is the witch-hazel to find water and gold with. We 
 ask, triumphanth% what makes the twig bend and wiggle 
 when it is held over a gold mine, if it is not bewitched? 
 Col. Ingersoll may lecture about devils, and attempt to 
 prove there are no devils, but we do not believe a word of 
 it. If there are no devils, then we ask what makes people 
 act so devilish at times? Devils! Yes, plenty of them. 
 How could devils be cast out if there were none? What be- 
 comes of ti at splendid poem of Milton's Paradise Lost, if 
 there are no devils? Who took our Saviour up upon the 
 mountain, and tempted him with all the kingdoms of the 
 earth? Who chased Tam O'Shanter? Could St. George 
 have become the Patron Saint of England, if he had not 
 slain the dragon; and the dragon was the devil? Was not 
 Eve tempted by t^ e devil? Did not St. Patrick drive the 
 snakes out of Ireland, and thus expel the devil from Ire- 
 land? The yelloW' standard of t^^e Chinese has for its em- 
 blem the dragon; all the mountains, lakes, and rivers of 
 China have their devils, and is not every Chinaman that 
 comes to California a devil? Is not the very devil to pay in 
 our politics? If there w^ere no devil, who w^ould take care of 
 the Federal ring. In other w^ords, does not t' e devil care 
 for his ow^i? Do not people have blue devils when times 
 are hard? Does not t' e stock market get the verv devil in 
 
26 
 
 THE MARIPOSA MAGAZINE, 
 
 it? What is delirium tremens but the devil in a fellow's 
 boots; and if a husband comes home at night late, and 
 slightly inebriated, don't he catch the devil? What is a 
 drunken women but tlie devil? What makes a man abuse 
 his wife? 
 
 "When the devil got sick the devil a Monk would be; 
 When the devil got well, the devil a Monk was he." 
 
 Then, if there be a devil, there must be a place for him. 
 
 "God made Satan, and Satan made sin; 
 God made a hell to put Satan in." 
 
 There are three things which challenge especial admira- 
 tion and approval: — brains, courage and conscience. A 
 knave with brains is better than a fool without, though he 
 have courage and conscience. Courage without brains leads 
 fools where angels dare not tread. Conscience with scant 
 brains makes a goody-goody sort of useless man, for with- 
 out courage he is useless if not dangerous. Conscience 
 alone preserves no man's integrity, and guards but poorly 
 female virtue. Brains, courage, and conscience make the 
 perfect man and the model woman. From such men and 
 women the grandest communities and the proudest com- 
 monwealths may grow. 
 
THE FINAL GOSPEL. 
 
 I^v GCOPCiE: C WILSON. 
 
 What matter, if we search for G-od 
 
 In ways no other foot hath trod? 
 
 What though we deem He hears our call, 
 
 Or doubt if he hath heard, at all? 
 
 It is the striving of the soul 
 
 That is, itself, the very goal; 
 
 Who yearns for Him, unceasingly. 
 
 Shall find— hath found— for that is He. 
 
 Whoever tries to thread the maze 
 
 Of churchly doctrines, or essays 
 
 To prove one absolutely true, 
 
 To men oif every clime and hue — 
 
 Resolved to cast all others out — 
 
 Must learn to honor honest doubt; 
 
 For, thought we sit in neighboring pews, 
 
 We hold diverse and warring views — 
 
 Scarce two agreeing, dot for dot, 
 
 What is God's meaning, or is not. 
 
 One sees a God whose vengeance dire 
 
 Foredooms the babe to endless fire; 
 
 One sees a gracious, pard'ning smile 
 
 For all mankind, despite its guile; 
 
 One holds the hampered human will 
 
 Accountable for every ill; 
 
 And one e'en doubts if Chance or G-od 
 
 Created him a soul, or clod. 
 
 But, best of all is whose deeds 
 
 Are just and right by all the creeds — 
 
 Whom Christian, Moslem, Pagan, all 
 
 Approve, whate'er his name they call; 
 
 Who grants that creeds, howe'er received, 
 
 Are but beliefs, howe'er believed; 
 
 Who hath no quarrel with his friend 
 
 About his faith or final end. 
 
 Nor seeks to pry conviction loose 
 
 Upon the fulcrum of abuse; 
 
 Who neither boasts himself a saint. 
 
 Nor damns the world with loud complaint; 
 
 Who meets contention, when he must. 
 
 With valiant front and manly thrust, 
 
 But trains his hand, and heart, and mind. 
 
 In love's sweet art of being kind; 
 
 Whose footsteps part not from his speech; 
 
 Who lives what others only preach — 
 
 Content to leave the rest to Him 
 
 Who purposely hath made it dim. 
 
 He frets not that he cannot show 
 
 Those things which none can surely know; 
 
 But strives to do, as best he can. 
 
 His duty to his fellow-man — 
 
 And waits not for some future sphere. 
 
 But tries to make a Heaven here. 
 
After 
 Straipqc 
 Gods.' 
 
 bv 
 
 rPAMK N0RPI5. 
 
 This is not my story. It is the story of my friend, Kew 
 Wen Lung, the (/ong-ti i, wo i:as his little green and yellow 
 barber shop on Sacramento street, and who will shave yon 
 for one bit, while you hold the shaving bowl under your 
 chin. This price, however, includes the cleaning of the in- 
 side of your eyelids with a long sliver of tortoise shell held 
 ever so steadily between his long-nailed finger tips. Kew 
 Wen Lung told me all about it over three pipes in his little 
 room back of the shop, where a moon-faced, old-fashioned, 
 eight-day clock measured off the length of the telling, tick 
 ing stolidly on, oblivious to its strange companionship of 
 things in lacquer, sandalwood and gilt ebony. 
 
 There were a great many ragged edges and blank gaps 
 in Kew Wen Lung's story, which I have been obliged tp trim 
 off or fill in. But in substance I repeat it as I got it first- 
 hand from him — squatting on the edge of his teakwood 
 stool, contentedly drawing at his brass sui-yen-hu. 
 
 Of course it was only at the World's Fair that Rouveroy, 
 who was a native of a little sardine village on the fringe of 
 the Brittany coast, could have met and become so intimate- 
 ly acquainted with Lalo Da, who, until that same Colum- 
 bian year, had passed her nineteen summers in and about a 
 little straw and bamboo village built upon rafts in the Pel 
 Ho River, somewhere between Pekin and Tientsin. Lalo Da 
 was not her real name, but one which Rouveroy was accus- 
 tomed to call her. Her real name was unpronounceable by 
 French lips, but, translated into English, I believe it meant 
 "The Light of the Dawn on a \Aliite Rice Flower.'' 
 
 Rouveroy was a sailor before the mast on the French 
 
 *Courtesy of Overland Monthly. 
 
AFTER STRANGE GODS. 29 
 
 man-o'-war "Admiral Duchesne," and was detailed as a 
 guardian in the French exhibit of china and tapestry in the 
 Manufacturers' Building. Lalo Da belonged to the C linese 
 pavilion in the Midway, and was one of the flower girls Wno 
 sold white chrysanthemums in the restaurant there. 
 
 Now, I have seen Lalo Da, and I am not in the least sur- 
 prised at Rouveroy for falling in love with her. Indeed, I 
 myself — but that is neither here nor there, — and she was 
 fond of Ronveroy, and I am only tae teller of a plain, un- 
 varnished tale. Rut s.e was as good to look upon as is the 
 starlight amidst the petals of dew-drenched orchids when 
 the bees are drowsing and the night is young, and the 
 breath of her mouth was as the smell of apples, and the 
 smooth curve of her face where the cheek melted into the 
 chin was like the inside of a gull's wing as he turns against 
 the light. This was how Kew Wen Lung spoke of her. For 
 me, she was as pretty a little bit of Chinese bric-a-brac as 
 ever evaded the Exclusion Act. 
 
 For Rouveroy, Lalo Da was* simpl}^ Lalo Da; he could 
 compare her to nothing but herself, which was an abstruse- 
 ness beyond t e reach of his rugged Breton mind, so he 
 simply took her for herself, as she was, without considera- 
 tion, comment or comparison. 
 
 He met her first when he was off duty one day, and was 
 seeing the sights in the Midw^ay. He went to the tiieatre 
 in the Chinese pavilion, and then afterwards, with a com- 
 panion, lounged into the restaurant. She sold him a chry- 
 santhemum here, and so he came the next day and bough't 
 another, and the next, and still the next, until at last she 
 began to recognize him, and they talked together. He dis- 
 covered to his great delight that she spoke a broken French, 
 which she had picked up from her father, who had been a 
 clog-maker in the Frencli colony at Tonkin. One had to 
 hear Lalo Da talk French, with her quaint little Chinese 
 accent, in order to appreciate it. 
 
 She was with her sister-in-law. Wo Tchung, a low- 
 meng'-iugh, with a face like a Greek comedy mask, who 
 mended the costumes for the actors in the theatre, and who 
 smoked all the time. The two lived together in a pretty 
 little box over t^ e theatre, full of chrysanthemums of all 
 sorts of colors, and t^-ere Rouveroy spent most of his even- 
 ings when he and Lalo Da did not have to be otherwise 
 engaged, while old Wo Tschung smoked and smoked, and 
 while Lalo Da sang to him the quaintest little songs in the 
 world, accompanying herself upon her two-stringed sitar, 
 with its cobra-skin sounding board. 
 
 Altogether, iti was an experience the like of which Rouve- 
 roy had never dreamed. Lalo Da seemed to him a being of 
 another world, but whether his equal, his inferior, or his su- 
 perior, he was unable to say. At times in his more rational 
 moments he was forced to acknowledge to himself that this 
 
so THE MARIPOSA MAGAZINE. 
 
 could not go on forever. He was a sailor before tiie mast, 
 and she was a Chinese flower girl. Manifestly they were 
 not made for each other. Soon he would go away — back to 
 Brittany, and possibly marry some solid-built, substantial 
 Jeannette or Marie; and when the great White City should 
 be closed Lalo Da would return to her little straw village 
 on the Pei Ho, to be mated with a coolie who worked in the 
 tea fields, and who would whip her. It was folly to allow 
 himself to love her; it was cruel to try to make her love 
 him; the whole affair was w^rong; it was unjust; it was 
 unkind ; it was never intended to be, — but O, it was sweet 
 while it lasted! 
 
 It lasted just one day over a month. At the end of that 
 time Rouveroy climbed to her little room one Sunday even- 
 iug and sat down, very quiet and very grave, in her window 
 seat. Lalo Da came and sat upon his knees, and put her 
 hands upon his face. Wo T^chung passed him his tea, and 
 gave Lalo her little pipe witn its silver mouth-piece. She 
 teased him while he drank his tea, and joggled his arm until 
 he wet his big, yellow beard. She laughed a laugh that was 
 like the tinkling of a little silver bell; but looked into his 
 face and suddenly became very serious. Then she spoke to 
 him in French. 
 
 "Yee-Han," she said, — for that was her way of pronoun- 
 cing Rouveroy's ''Jean," — "Yee-Han, what is the matter to- 
 night?" 
 
 Rouveroy took a yellow envelope from his pocket. "Lalo, 
 I must go away. I have received orders to join my ship at 
 New Orleans." 
 
 Then Lalo Da put her two small arms around his neck 
 and cried. 
 
 A week later the Admiral Duchesne was two days out 
 from port. 
 
 In the big Chinese pavilion on the Midway, Lalo Da 
 dragged out the days as best she might, with her heart sick 
 in her little body and a choking ac e in her throat. During 
 the day she vended her white chrysanthemums with smiles 
 upon her face that were more pitiful than tears; but at 
 night she took a little china image from her bosom and 
 burnt sandal-wood and incense sticks before it, and putting 
 her forehead to the ground prayed that she might see her 
 big "Yee-Han" very soon. 
 
 The days grew to weeks and the weeks into months, — her 
 china joss gave her no sign, and the prayer-sticks fell askew 
 and unfavorable where she cast them. Her longing after 
 Rouveroy took the form of ' ome-scikness, and w];en an op- 
 portunity occurred of returning to China and to the island 
 village on the Pei Ho slie took advantage of it, and within 
 the week found herself with Wo-Tchung in the streets of 
 San Francisco. Chinatown in San Francisco, wit^i its dirt, 
 its impurity of air, its individual and particular foulness. 
 
AFTER STRANGE GODS. 31 
 
 and its universal and general wickedness, was not the clean 
 and breezy freshness of the village in the Pei Ho; but it 
 was Chinese, and as such her heart warmed to it. Lalo 
 Da's father belonged to the Lee Tong association, and while 
 they stayed the Lee Tong looked after them, and they lodged 
 on Dupont street, at the house of one of tue heads of the 
 Tong, whose name was Foo Tan, and who was known as a 
 doctor of some repute. 
 
 One day, soon after they had arrived, Lalo Da was minded 
 to offer her usual prayer with an unusual sacrifice before 
 the great joss, in the temple just off Sacramento street. She 
 went early in the afternoon, carrying with her as an offer- 
 ing a roasted suckling pig, all gay with parsley, lemon-peel, 
 tissue paper and ribbons. She laid the offering before the 
 joss, and wrote her prayer on a bit of rice-paper. Standing 
 on the matting before the joss, she put her two fists to- 
 gether, placed them against her chest, and bowed to him 
 twice, after which she bowed her forehead to the ground, 
 and then, sitting back upon her heels, put the slip of rice 
 paper in her mouth, chewed it to a spongy paste, rolled it 
 into a little wad and flung it at the joss. That was the man- 
 ner of her praying. Last of all she shook the prayer-sticks 
 till her arms were tired, and flung them out upon the ground 
 in front of her. They fell more favorably than they had 
 ever done before. She rose with a lightened heart, paid her 
 bit to the mumbling old priest, and departed. As she went 
 joyfully down the dirty stairs she met Kouveroy. 
 
 For the past month he had been stationed at Acapulco, 
 then the Admiral Duchesne had been ordered to San Fran- 
 cisco, and his curiosity had driven him, w^ien on shore leave, 
 to wander into the tangled maze of narrow lanes, crooked 
 streets and unkempt piles of houses that make up China- 
 town. 
 
 The old life began again; and again Rouveroy would 
 climb to Lalo Da's little eyrie under the roof, where one 
 could look out at the city dropping away beneath to meet 
 the bay, and the bay reaching out to kiss the Contra Costa 
 shore, which in its turn rose ever so slowly toward the 
 faint blue cap of Diablo. Close below them the great heart 
 of the city beat and beat all day long, but they did not hear 
 it. The world might roll as it liked in those days. 
 
 There had been an unusually warm summer in San Fran- 
 cisco that year and small-pox broke out in the crowded 
 alleys of Chinatown. It was very bad for a while, and one 
 morning Lalo Da woke to the consciousness of a little fever 
 and nausea and a slight pricking and twitching in her 
 face and in the palms of her hands. She knew what it 
 meant. 
 
 When the small-pox attacks an Oriental it does not al- 
 ways kill him, but it never leaves him until it has set its 
 seal upon him horribly, indelibly. It deforms and puckers 
 
32 THE MARIPOSA MAGAZINE, 
 
 the features, and draws in tue skin around the eyes and 
 cheek-bones, until the face is a thing of horror. 
 
 Lalo Da knew that she was doomed, that even if she re- 
 covered, her face would be a grinning mask, and that Rou- 
 veroy, her "Yee-Han," would shudder at it, and never love 
 her any more. She was sure of t.iis, — ignorant as sae was, 
 she could not see that perhaps Rouveroy might love her for 
 herself, not for her face. 
 
 What Lalo Da went through with that morning, as she 
 sat up in her bed with her rattling teeth, I do not like to 
 think of. But in the end she resolved to do a fearful thing. 
 Now, let us be as lenient with her as we can. Remember 
 that Lalo Da was after all only half-civilized; but before 
 everything else remember that she was a woman, and that 
 she loved Rouveroy very much. For a like case a man 
 would have bowed down and submitted. Lalo Da being 
 what she was, fought against fate as a cornered rat will 
 fight. 
 
 She expected Rouveroy that evening. She said to herself, 
 while her nails bit into her palms, "I will not be sick until 
 to-morrow." 
 
 Nor was she. How she nerved herself to keep up that day 
 is something never understood; a man could not have done 
 it. She had made up her mind slowly as to what she should 
 do, and being once resolved, set about it remorselessly. Re- 
 member always that she w^as half -civilized, that she w^as a 
 woman, and that the little fever devils just behind her eyes ' 
 danced and danced all day long. She sought out the doctor, 
 Foo Tan. 
 
 ''Foo Tan," she said, ''what is it that will best make the 
 eyes blind?" 
 
 He told her, and she wrote it down on her fan. 
 ''Is it not otherwise dangerous?" 
 He said "No," and then she left him. 
 When Rouveroy came that evening he found her in bed 
 all but delirious. 
 
 "It is h petit verrol, Yee-Han, — small-pox; promise me that 
 you will go away for three months, and not try to see me 
 until I am better. You must not be near me, heart of my 
 heart, lest the sickness should fasten upon you as well. Re- 
 member, you have promised. Now go. Good-bye. I will 
 send to you when it is time." 
 
 She kissed him upon the mouth and upon t' e eyes. Then 
 tlie strain gave way. The little fever devils joined hands, 
 and s])un around and around behind her eyes, and she began 
 talking very fast in Chinese about white horses and cahn- 
 chamdJifi, and white-hot winds that blew in from the desert 
 across the Pei Ho River. 
 
 After a long while he went away, and Wo Tschung went 
 to the door with him and called him to remember that he 
 was not to ti'v to see her foi* three months. 
 
AFTER STRANGE GODS. 33 
 
 The days began to pass very wearily; the hot weather 
 held and the rain would not fall. The Admiral Duchesne 
 went up to Mare Island for repairs, and while Foo Tan 
 fought foi%the life of Lalo Da, and while the health officers 
 kept the mllow sign upon the door and strewed chloride 
 of lime around the house, Kouveroy went drearily about 
 his duties, wondering what could be the meaning of shoot- 
 ing pains across his forehead and a maze of dull sparks 
 weaving kaleidoscope patterns before his eyes. 
 
 At last, one day, when everything five feet distant would 
 be occasionally swallowed up by a lurid mist, he reported to 
 the ship's surgeon. The ship's surgeon examined his eyes, 
 then laid dow^n his instrument and said very gently, as he 
 cleared his throat: — 
 
 "You must be prepared for a great shock. The vitreous 
 humor has been somehow poisoned, and the optic nerves 
 paralyzed; it is a form of very acute hypermetrophy. My 
 poor fellow, in a few weeks you will be totally blind." 
 
 This was true. All the light in the world went out for 
 Rouveroy within the next month, and he went about with 
 arms dangling at his sides — for a blind man never swings 
 his arms when he walks — and people who talked to him 
 always spoke in a loud, distinct voice. He managed to keep 
 himself together pretty well in the day time, but at night he 
 would often beat his head against the floor, and hurt him- 
 self with his nails and teeth. 
 
 At the end of three months, and about the time when his 
 hearing began to get acute, and he had begun to occujjy 
 himself with making things out of bits of string, and had 
 forgotten to turn his head in the direction of the speaker 
 when addressed, he got word from Lalo Da and went back 
 to her. 
 
 Lalo Da mourned over him and kissed his sightless eyes 
 again, and the two went back to China, and eventually went 
 to Tonkin, where Lalo Da's father still fashioned clogs, and 
 where Rouveroy found employment in the French colony, 
 making hammocks, fish-nets and net-purses. 
 
 "You see," Lalo Da had said to Wo Tschung, "I know 
 that he knows I have had the small-pox, and that my face 
 is no longer the face of a human being, but he can't see it, 
 and so he will always know rae only as I was in the old 
 days when I was a flower-girl, and he used to come and see 
 me in the little room over the theatre." 
 
 And so the two live on in Tonkin, the one distorted by dis- 
 ease and the other blind. You would not know them for 
 the same people that had once met each other in the Mid- 
 way Plaisance. 
 
 This is the story as my friend Kew Wen Lung, the gonrj-ioi, 
 told it to me. Personally I do not believe very much of it: 
 however, you may have it for what it is worth. 
 
34 
 
 THE MARIPOSA MAGAZINE. 
 
 I 
 
 San Lorenzo Creek, Sanm Cruz Couatv, PKoroiwMaurer. 
 
A BIT OF CHEER, 
 
 HARRIET L. LEVY. 
 
 {An apartmenty half parlo7' — half library^ in the home of Diana 
 
 ! Sprague. Fi^agmentary evidence of luxury, general effect of 
 
 faded elegance. Miss Edith Colton, exquisitely attired, sits 
 
 opposite the hostess, rocking rythmically. From time to time 
 
 her glance takes in the details of the apartment.) 
 
 Edith — Never mind me. Tell me about yourself. 
 
 Diana — About me? Ob, that's a tale soon told. I teach. 
 I wrote to you that I had started to give lessons after papa's 
 last stroke. Well, I have been conjugating the same verb 
 ever since. I teach, teach, teach, from eight in the morning 
 until six at night. When I'm not teaching, I am sleeping. 
 Thrilling, isn't it? 
 
 Edith (aghast) — Hardly. Still (with determined bright- 
 ness) it is jolly to know that you can teach. 
 
 Diana — It is — very jolly. 
 
 Edith — Now, I am the most useless person you ever saw. 
 Mamma says that I have no more idea of system than — well, 
 I don't know what. I am never ready for anything. The 
 night of Eva Saunders' wedding 
 
 Diana — Eva Saunders! Is she married? 
 
 Edith — Why, where have you been? You certainly have 
 retired from society. She was married last Thursday. 
 
 Diana (eagerly) — A family wedding, I suppose? 
 
 Edith — Oh my, no. It was a magnificent affair. I really 
 believe it was th(^ loveliest wedding I ever attended. Every- 
 body was there. 
 
 Diana (constrainedly) — Did she look well? 
 
 Edith — Who? Eva? Oh, yes, she looked as well as she 
 can. But I wish you could have seen my dress — queer that 
 she didn't invite you — it would have done you good to see 
 it. Mr. Colville said that it was unkind of me to wear it, 
 though. 
 
 Diana— ^Unkind ? 
 
 Edith (with a deprecating pout) — Yes, he said that it was 
 unfair to cut a girl out at her own wedding. He's so ridicu- 
 lous. But my dress really is a beauty. It's the prettiest 
 of all the gowns I brought home with me. 
 
 Diana — Yellow ? 
 
 Edith — Of course. Do vou remember last winter when 
 
j6 THE MARIPOSA MAGAZINE, 
 
 we four girls determined to wear only our most becominj; 
 color? Well, I can't wear anything but yellow since. I ani 
 the only one that kept it up. Mr. Colville says that it ii 
 silly, but I can't change. Eva stopped wearing blue a lonj; 
 time ago, and May never wore red after she married; anr 
 you — let me see — what was your shade? 
 
 Diana — Green. 
 
 Edith — Green? You! Why, Di, can yen wear green? 
 
 Diana — I used to have color, you know. I suppose I loo) 
 like a wreck to-day. 
 
 Edith — No, indeed; but you do seem a little tired. A: 
 change is what you need. Why don't you pack up and mak*; 
 a little trip to Florida or California, or — oh, Nice is the love( 
 liest place for the winter. We met some of the most de^ 
 lightful people there. Wasn't it odd that Jack Colville ant 
 I should have first met there of all places. Eeally, yoi 
 ought to go. I know just how you feel. I'm sure I shal 
 break down before the end of the season. Did you ever se^ 
 such a gay winter? I haven't a night free for the next thre^^ 
 weeks. eJack Colville says that if I weren't such a gou7 
 mande that I would have broken down long ago. Oh! tha 
 reminds me. The other night at the wedding, Eva came ui 
 to where Mr. Colville and I were seated, and she said 
 ^^You'll have to hurry up, Edith; you're the last of the oh 
 crowd," and she looked at us so queerly. It was awfulli 
 embarrassing. 
 
 Diana — It must have been. 
 
 Edith — I met your old admirer, Ed Turner, the othe 
 night. (Coquettishly) You ought to have heard the prett 
 compliment that he paid you. 
 
 Diana (flushing) — Indeed? 
 
 Edith — He sat opposite to me at dinner at Norton's. I' 
 was a superb affair. You know what dinners May Nortoi 
 can get up. Well, she outdid herself Tuesday. 
 
 Diana— Well? 
 
 Edith — Well, somebody asked about you. I think it wa; 
 Albert Mervy. Yes, it was he. It seems that he saw yoi 
 in the street, and he couldn't get over the way 
 
 Diana — The way I had changed. Go on. 
 
 Edith — Well — yes. He said he didn't have any patienc< 
 with a girl's trying as hard as she could to ruin her goo( 
 looks. And Belle Robinson declared that her father ]niey 
 all about your father's affairs, and that there wasn't an; 
 necessity for you to teach yourself into your grave. Well 
 I just spoke up and told them that I liked you better thiii 
 way — it gave you a sort of interesting look. 
 
 Diana — And Mr. Turner said? 
 
 Edith — Oh, I forgot about him. He said that he misset 
 you ever so much in society. He said that he used to lov< 
 
 re-e 
 
 (1 
 E 
 
 PDtl 
 
 mini 
 
A BIT OF CHEER. 37 
 
 ( ito dance with you — you waltz so well. Now, wasn't that a 
 J pretty compliment? (Confidentially) — Does he ever come to 
 ijsee you? 
 
 ,1 Diana (bitterly) — Never. We couldn't waltz very well 
 here. 
 
 Edith — I can't make liim out. He's awfully attentive to 
 that little Mabel Fletcher. Queer taste— isn't it? After 
 you, too. People seem to think they are secretly engaged. 
 I don't believe it though, do you? 
 
 Diana (grandly) — I am sure Mr. Turner is at liberty to 
 j^ marry whom he chooses. 
 
 Edith — I know. But still (a clock strikes). So late! 
 
 (rises hurriedly). I had no idea of the time. No, I can't 
 g stay another minute. I must be home when the hair-dresser 
 j,jbrings my wig. 
 
 Diana (wistfully) — You are going out again to-night? 
 
 Edith — Well — rather. Why, to-night is Miller's fancy 
 
 gMress ball. I have had six invitations to supper already, 
 
 gj^o it isn't likely that I am going to miss it. (Stopping at 
 
 the door). Guess what I'm going as. Everybody is dying 
 
 Jto know, but I haven't told a soul. 
 „ Diana — I can't guess. 
 
 guess. Tell me. 
 
 Edith — Ninon deL'Enclos! What do you say to that (with 
 unconcealed delight)? Awfully risque^ isn't it? And the 
 best of it is that Jack thinks that I'm going as Priscilla. 
 tsn't it rich? 
 
 Diana (with mirthless ent^iusiasm) — Delightful. 
 
 Edith (opening the door) — Now, I really must go. Mamma 
 said that I had no right to come at all, but I was just de- 
 lermined to run over and wake you up a bit. 
 
 Diana — It was very kind, I am sure. 
 j Edith — Not at all. Good-bye. Be sure and come to see 
 ne soon. (Walks down a step or two — pauses, then runs 
 ap again.) Di! (impulsively), if I tell you something, 
 promise me that you'll never, never tell? 
 
 Diana — Yes, I promise. 
 
 Edith — Well, then — I'm engaged to Jack Colville, and 
 
 le's the dearest fellow on earth — and, good-bye. (Runs 
 
 iown the steps and away, turning often and smiling beati- 
 
 ically.) 
 
 '[ Diana — (Smiles and waves her hand in response; then 
 
 " 'e-entering the house she sinks into a chair and bursts into 
 
 :ears.) 
 
 * • * * » * * * 
 
 (The Miller Fancy Dress ball. A conservatory. A soli- 
 ^"■ary couple, hidden behind the foliage.) 
 
 Edith — No, Jack, I couldn't wait for you. I had been 
 
 putting off that visit to Di's so long that I just made up my 
 
 ^'nind to go there to-day, no matter how much I would have 
 
38 THE MARIPOSA MAGAZINE. 
 
 to give up. Fm glad I went, too. I think she was the bet- 
 ter for my visit. 
 
 Jack (fervently) — Small doubt of that. 
 
 Edith — And Jack — ^I know that you'll be angry, but you 
 see, she looked so pale and miserable that I couldn't resist 
 cheering her up a bit, so I told her about our engagement. 
 Was it very wrong? 
 
 Jack — Wrong? (kissing her rapturously). You sweet, un- 
 selfish girl? 
 
 A SOUL. 
 
 Bv 
 ELIZABETH GERBERDING. 
 
 Body, I grieve to see you so. 
 
 Almost regret I let you go; 
 
 Yet all your misery is done, 
 
 While mine — who knows — is just begun. 
 
 But we had borne to our full strength 
 
 Of agony, had known the length 
 
 Of human pain and human woe — 
 
 Then fell that final, fatal blow! 
 
 Despair, the tempter, planned the way, 
 
 In those calm depths you should obey. 
 
 I made you yield and still your arms, 
 
 I made you stifle your alarms, 
 
 And Death was easier for you 
 
 Than all the thousand deaths we knew 
 
 In life. O, it was bravely done, 
 
 My body! I, the coward, won. 
 
 Farewell, we had been comrades long — 
 
 Body, I meant to do no wrong! 
 
 It must be sweet to lie so still, 
 
 To find oblivion, until 
 
 Atom by atom, be resolved. 
 
 And will, and thought, and self absolved. 
 
 Farewell, I go to unknown fate, 
 
 The pang of parting comes too late. 
 
 Drawn by a power to realms above, 
 
 To judgment? Ah, but God is love! 
 
A BULL FIGHT IN HEXICO. 
 
 HABCL CL7XRE CRAn.' 
 
 It is eloquent of the moral status of a people to say that 
 their national sport is bull-fighting. Probably a Mexican 
 would say that it speaks volumes of the civilization of a 
 nation to say that it encourages prize-fighting — and both 
 statements would be true. 
 
 There is a growing sentiment among the better class of 
 Mexicans against bull-fighting, and I was surprised to see 
 how few of them attend. Nevertheless, the fights are still 
 
 gay and brilliant and interesting, though they no longer 
 have the cachet of the best society. The peon still gives 
 them the fealty of his heart. He loves a bull fight next to 
 his church, and will actually work for a week to obtain the 
 price of admission. iVnd when a peon will work for a thing 
 he is paying it his highest compliment. 
 
 Perhaps the underfed, undersized peon sees in the bull- 
 fighter the courage that he lacks — that physical stamina 
 and moral force which is not the most prominent charac- 
 teristic of the Mexican character. At any rate, the matador 
 
40 
 
 THE MARIPOSA MAGAZINE. 
 
 is a popular hero and idol. The stiff, straight-brimmed hat 
 which he wears in the street is never seen except through 
 a crowd of admiring followers. Nor is this loving worship 
 mixed with contempt, as in the case of our worship of 
 physical prowess in the ring. It is said that the rank and 
 file of peons would gladly elevate their popular idol to the 
 presidency did opportunity serve. In all the finest shops 
 and wealthiest homes you will find photographs of pre- 
 eminent fighters. 
 
 The bull-fighter Is more of a man than the prize-fighter. 
 He is often educated, always traveled. Mazzantini, the 
 Spanish star fighter, is a graduate of a college at Rome, and 
 an A. M. He is brave but not a bully, correct but not fop- 
 pish, unspoiled by his professional success, and a modest, 
 well-appearing man of good breeding and intelligence. H(i 
 is very rich and very charitable, and when he left Mexico 
 City a month ago, distinguished himself by large and gen- 
 erous gifts to all the charities and to the dependents of the 
 hostleries where he had stayed. The successful bull-fighter 
 is more like a great theatrical personage t'lan a sporting 
 man. He cannot dissipate, for his antagonist is not a man 
 who may be purchased, but a bull, who is always doing his 
 best. 
 
 The matador's face is strong and handsome, without being 
 coarse, and he has a fine presence, with legs that would 
 make an English butler weep with envy, his keen, dark eye 
 penetrates men and motives, and his fine, quick muscles are 
 forever on the alert. 
 
 And with this, you have said all the good things that may 
 be said of the fighter, as in paying tribute to its color and 
 sparkle and light you have told all the good that is found 
 in the ring. The scene is inexpressibly brilliant, the Plaza 
 de Toros gay with a color and vivacity that you will never 
 forget. The bull-fighter is handsome; his Spanish clothes 
 are rich in material and well cut. These things give you 
 pleasure, but all the rest hurts your heart, for there is noth- 
 ing of fair play in the Mexican bull-fight. 
 
 As a spectacle every American should see one. Even if 
 you are tender-hearted, you can stay for one bull, as I did. 
 It takes hardihood to see the second bull come in, and I can- 
 not understand the American mind and heart whic j can go 
 to a second fight. Usually, there are four or five acts in 
 each fight — so many bulls to be disposed of, so many blind- 
 folded horses to be mercilessly gored. The bull ring, with 
 the smiling blue heavens overhead, and the brilliant Indians 
 round about, is wet and trampled with blood — red as a 
 field of battle, and all with the life-blood of animals 
 unfairly slain, to glut the appetite of the multitude. As 
 well might one go to a slaughter house to see animals 
 knocked in the head and call it sport. A certain class of 
 
A BULL FLGHT IN MEXICO, 41 
 
 mind, I presume, would take pleasure in seeing the super- 
 fluous dogs of the community drowned at the pound. Such 
 a man should revel in bull fights. 
 
 But most of the Americans resident in Mexico are regu- 
 lar patrons of the sport. They say, by way of apology, that 
 there is no other amusement, and tliey have grown to enjoy 
 the excitement of the ring. A prominent man of Zacatecas 
 took the long journey to Mexico City to see Mazzantini, 
 the great Spanish bull-fighter, make his last appearance, 
 and another A merican told me with enthusiasm of his pres- 
 ence at San Luis Potosi, where a man was almost fatally 
 gored. 
 
 Except you see it with your own eyes, you can never 
 know the beauty of the bull ring, before the dramatic en- 
 trance of the bull and his tragic exit, has forever crimsoned 
 the memory of the scene. It was on a Sunday afternoon, 
 at Aguas Calientes, that I saw my first bull-fight — and my 
 last. There was some doubt on the train as to the propriety 
 of going. Some of the Eastern people thought it was wrong 
 to go on Sunday. After seeing the fight, I concluded it was 
 wrong to go any day. But in the end curiosity triumphed 
 and most of the party went. Sunday does not seem like 
 Sunday in Mexico, anyway. It is the continental Sunday — 
 a day of bathing, feasting, drinking, merry-making — the 
 noisiest day of the week. There is church-going in the early 
 morning, and devotions at intervals all day, but that is true 
 of week days also, for Mexican religion is not confined to 
 Sundays. The rest of Sunday is a holiday, and the bull- 
 fight is the popular amusement for the afternoon. 
 
 The sky was so bright on January Sabbath that it hurt 
 your eyes to look at it, and all roads led to Rome. You 
 could not have missed your way to the bull-fight. The 
 streams of the street all set that way, and one was borne 
 along, like a leaf on the tide, by the gay and laughing crowd. 
 Four o'clock was the hour set, and before six four fine bulls 
 had drawn their last breath and six horses gone to another 
 and, presumably, a kinder country. And the poor of Aguas 
 Calientes, to whom the meat is distributed, were preparing 
 for a feast. 
 
 You press through a dense throng at the gates of the 
 ring — the moneyless peons who may not enter in. There 
 are hundreds of these waiting Peris, who, lacking the price 
 of admission, live on the pleasures of memory, and glut 
 themselves with the shouts of the multitude inside. And 
 they do shout! The animals, doomed to death, are strange- 
 ly silent. The bull, even, is too awed by his strange sur- 
 roundings to roar, but the crowd yells and shouts and bel- 
 lows hoarsely, with a thirst for blood that is an Aztec as 
 well as a Spanish legacy. 
 
 From the entrance you x^ass through a narrow aisle, a 
 
42 THE MARIPOSA MAGAZINE. 
 
 quarter of the way around a huge circle, to the broad stairs 
 that lead to the upper seats. On the way you generally 
 come face to face with one of the stars of the day — a hand- 
 some fellow, swarthily brunette, but not yellow, clad in pink 
 silk stockings, tight satin knee breeches embroidered with 
 gold, a plush coat, a Spanish troubadour's crimson cape 
 and a three-cornered black hat, caught up with pompoms 
 and looking much like the Dutch bonnets xVmerican women 
 wore a few seasons ago. Their hair is worn in little black 
 kews, and if the fighter is disgraced, this appendage is cut 
 oif. If you saw Eugene Cowles as the bandit chief in "The 
 Serenade," you have a good idea of the bull-fighter's tout 
 ensemble. 
 
 Once up the stairs a brilliant spectacle flashes on you. 
 The expensive seats are on the shady side of the ring. In 
 the boxes are upper class Mexicans and their families, the 
 women beaming and smiling and recognizing friends, as if 
 at the opera. Dulce peddlers pass around, and in Mexico 
 everybody nibbles sweets all the time. They are always 
 eating. 
 
 But the charm of the scene lies across the untrodden 
 ring in the brilliant, all-enveloping sunshine. There the 
 mose indescribably gay gathering sweeps off in a great 
 circle to left and right. Thousands of peons are jostling 
 and squeezing and edging in on the elevated seats. They 
 wear their brightest, cleanest clothes — the women in gaud- 
 iest calicos and rebosas, the men in white or light clothes, 
 big glittering sombreros, heavy with silver and gold, on 
 their heads, and brilliant zarapes, like gay blankets, folded 
 and hanging over their shoulders. With the scorching sun- 
 light enveloping them, they are a great blur of color, like a 
 bed of gaudiest tulips, the gayest, prettiest assemblage 
 American eyes ever saw. 
 
 There is always a band, sometimes a surprisingly good 
 one, for the Mexicans play con amove. The monster ampi- 
 theatre, very like an American cyclorama building, only 
 much larger and roofless, scarcely listens to the music, 
 though ordinarily a band is a great attraction. But just 
 now there is that in each breast which music cannot soothe. 
 There is a fanfare of trumpets, a breathless moment of 
 silence, then tremendous applause, and the company enters 
 the ring. The matador, capeadores and banderilleros are 
 on foot, the picadores on horseback, each one of them a glit- 
 tering mass of embroidery as he emerges from the shadow 
 of the seats into the brilliance of the sun. T^ ey salute the 
 President's box — the presiding genius being usually an offi- 
 cer, governor or mayor — and the matador and capeadores 
 toss away t^eir satin capes. The low, strong door under 
 the band stand is now the magnet which draws all eyes. 
 From a darkened pen the fierce fellow bounds into the ring. 
 
A BULL FLGHT IN MEXICO. 43 
 
 where a roar, to which his own voice is a light teuor, greets 
 him. And the sound, as it beats in on your ears, makes you 
 remember with a smile the imbecility of man when he 
 speaks in lordly fashion of the "lower animals." As the 
 bull passes under tlie rail, a steel barb, ornamented with 
 the breeder's colors, is fastened in his shoulder. 
 
 Maddened as he is with pain, the bull is more frightened 
 than angry. He gallops to the center of tlie ring and looks 
 about with fear and astonishment. He calculates distances 
 with his eye and usually makes a dash for liberty. En- 
 circling the arena is a high fence, with a foot-rail about 
 eighteen inches from the ground in the inside. When hard 
 pressed the performers take this step and leap over the par- 
 tition to an open space between audience and ring. 
 
 The bull w^as hard pressed. Though brave enough, he 
 did not want to fight and he tried to scale the wall and 
 escape from his circular prison. The brave spectators scam- 
 pered before him and the bull fell back, death in his eyes. 
 But he made a brave stand for it, and fought desperately, 
 with terrific odds against him, until he was too weak to 
 stand. And in this fight to the finish my svmpathies were 
 all with the bull. 
 
 I have never been specially attracted by the bovine fam- 
 ily. In early infancy I was taken to drive in a low basket 
 phaeton drawn behind an old yellow horse. I do not blame 
 the cow at all for giving chase to such an outfit, but the fear 
 engendered then has lasted me through life. But at this 
 bull-fight, I fiercely hoped that the bull might triumph over 
 his tormentors. He had been forced into a false position. 
 The difficulty was none of his seeking. Everywhere he 
 turned his fine, strong, glistening body, with the bloody 
 shoulder, there was a maddening cloak blinding his eyes. 
 Every time he left the wall the goad of the picador was 
 pricking his hide. He turned and made playful passes at 
 the horses, and they, as they felt his hot breath pass them, 
 whinnied with fear that almost ended in a shriek, and tried 
 to turn out of his way. 
 
 It is the fate of the horse that makes an American heart 
 stand still. They are old, broken-down hacks, fed and fat- 
 tened for the occasion, until they come in with a certain 
 show of frolicsome friskiness. Their vulnerable breasts are 
 partially protected by heavy leather breast plates, but their 
 eyes are blind-folded and they do not have half a chance. 
 It is the duty of the picadores who ride them to keep the 
 bull stirred up, and it is impossible for the riders to always 
 turn the horses out of the way of the bull's sudden rushes. 
 There is a moment of dreadful suspense, when his majesty, 
 the bull, stands with lowered head, pawing the dirt at the 
 far side of the ring. He glances from under lowering brow ; 
 at one side that maddening, fluttering cloak of the an- 
 
44 THE MARIPOSA MAGAZINE. 
 
 noying scarlet that beats on your brain and makes your 
 head ache; at the other another cloak, equally carmine, 
 equally maddening, and there in the centre a horse — 
 after all, it is he who is the real tormentor! He will not 
 run at that cloak; he will attend to the horse first. Just 
 at this moment the picador urges the horse toward the un- 
 certain bull, and the poor blindfolded animal comes down 
 straight on his tormentor's horns. The bull lifts him once, 
 but the leather plate keeps the horns from piercing the 
 flesh. The next time he is not so fortunate. The bull 
 thrusts angrily and there is a long, wild cry of pain. The 
 picador is unseated and rolls in the dust, to pick himself up 
 unhurt, while the matadors fling their cloaks and come into 
 close quarters to divert the bull's attention from the un- 
 mounted man. The horse runs around the ring, the blood 
 flowing down his legs. The peons go nearly mad with joy. 
 It is such fun to see a blindfolded horse wounded and bleed- 
 ing! Sombreros fall whirling into the ring, a sign of ap- 
 proval, and I am sorry to say that there were some Ameri- 
 can derbys among them. When the contest is not bloody 
 enough to suit, or the matador is not sufficiently daring, 
 orange peel tells the tale of dissatisfaction. 
 
 The wounded horse is taken from the ring, very weak now 
 and scarcely able to walk, and is despatched with merciful 
 swiftness. No bull-fight is considered a success where sev- 
 eral horses are not killed. We were fortunate in that our 
 horse was stabbed in the breast, and did not go about the 
 ring dragging his entrails. The latter is not an extraordin- 
 ary spectacle, I'm told. 
 
 The other horse was removed at a signal from the Presi- 
 dent, and it was time for the placing of the banderillas. 
 This is the most difficult part of the performance — the 
 greatest feat of daring. The matador is a graduated 
 banderillero, a man who has passed the long and dangerous 
 apprenticeship. The banderillas are sticks about two feet 
 and a half long, with a very sharp, barbed point at one end. 
 The entire length of the stick is covered with colored paper 
 ribbons. The banderillero is the man who must plant these 
 knives in the bull's shoulders. He stands in front of the 
 animal, without flag or cloak, waiting the attack. The bull 
 goes at him full speed. The banderillero jumps to one side 
 gracefully, for he is lithe as a cat, and thrusts the bander- 
 illas in tlie bull's shoulders as he passes by. As soon as the 
 bull can check his furious pace, he turns, only to find an- 
 other banderillero with two more banderillas. These and 
 two more are thrust into his shoulders, all hanging there. 
 He flings his head and tries to rub them out against the 
 fence, but the barbs are fast in the flesh and every moment 
 must be agony. 
 
 Somelmw there is not the slightest sympathy for the ban- 
 
A BULL FIGHT IN MEXICO. 45 
 
 derillero, standing there alone, even though it is a contest 
 between skill and brute strength. As at a prize-fight, these 
 men have their choice, while the animals are forced to fight 
 for their lives in the ring. 
 
 And so, though the banderillero is brave, your sympathies 
 are, or should be, with the bull, if you are American and 
 love fair play, and more especially a woman, and loathe 
 cruelty. 
 
 And now it is time for the matador, the primer espada, to 
 distinguish himself. His skillful killing of the bull with a 
 single thrust of his sword is what distinguishes the bril- 
 liancy of the star and tells the artist from the bungler. The 
 matador must face the bull, sword in hand, and wait the 
 attack. It is assassination to strike while the bull is at rest, 
 and calls for hisses and missiles from the audience. The 
 blood red cloth, or muleta, is flaunted in front of the bull. 
 The animal stands at bay, his fore feet braced, blood stream- 
 ing from his wounded shoulders, and the cruel banderillas, 
 with their mockingly-bright paper ribbons, waving like 
 some novel bit of decoration, while the blood creeps down 
 ever farther and farther, staining the brilliant ribbons. 
 You can see the look of desperation and foreboding on the 
 bull's face. There are actually anxious wrinkles between 
 his eyes. He wonders why these strangely-dressed men 
 should torture and dare him so. He hears the shouts of the 
 multitude — the tantalizingly safe multitude sheltered be- 
 hind its wooden barricade — he sees the red cloth and the 
 man in the ring. He notices out of the tail of his eye that 
 one of the cowards in the ring takes refuge over the fence, 
 if his majesty, the bull, even looks that way. The crowd 
 pelts the coward with banana peel, but he is looking out for 
 himself and does not seem to care. 
 
 Then the bull solves a problem in his aching head. He 
 thinks that if he could once pass that man with the red 
 cloth, which makes his head hurt so, perhaps they would let 
 him out to the place where he used to live, where the grass 
 was sweet and long and the water cool, and where he could 
 take the cruel hurt out of his hot shoulders. And then he 
 dashes for the red blanket, close to his eyes, and makes his 
 run for life — only to fall in death. It reminded me of a 
 man, hemmed in by circumstances, making his last break 
 for liberty. But the sword of the matador, like the hand of 
 fate, interrupted. The sword was thrust between the ani- 
 mal's shoulders to the hilt and pierced the heart. The bull 
 fell to his knees, slowly, slowly, and sank to the ground, 
 the pleading and sorrow in his eyes something dreadful 
 to behold. I think I shall always remember those eyes. 
 They would haunt anyone who ever laid a cheek on 
 the warm, silken head of any animal, or ever saw the plead- 
 ing that lies in dumb eyes. First on one knee and then on 
 the other, as though pleading for his life, and then the each- 
 
46 THE MARIPOSA MAGAZINE, 
 
 etero put the finishing dagger stroke between the horns, and 
 the pleading ejes gazed. I was glad when the hull's mag- 
 nificent strength had finally ebbed and he lay quite still and 
 out of his misery. 
 
 Then came the last act of the bloody melodrama. All 
 this time the air had been filled with applause. Men and 
 women acted as though something brave and good had ac- 
 tually happened. The band played, the matador bowed his 
 acknowledgements, and his assistants drew out the bander- 
 illas from the bull's neck. An American girl, pretty and re- 
 fined and dainty, asked for one and accepted it, and carried 
 the bloody tiling off in triumph. I have no doubt that it 
 now adorns some boudoir of palest blue. This episode did 
 not please some of the Mexicans at all, for they protested 
 loudly against the giving away of the bander ilia and shout- 
 ed "Down with the Americans." 
 
 The band played, the gates were thrown open, and three 
 gaudily decorated mules, harnessed abreast, were driven in. 
 Their fright at sight of the dead bull was pitiful and comi- 
 cal. Tie bull, terrible to them even in cold death, fright- 
 ened them almost out of their simple wits. They became 
 unmanageable, capered wildly about the ring dragging in- 
 finitesimal Mexicans in mammoth sombreros, after them. 
 It was fully ten minutes before the mules could be brought 
 anywhere near the bull, now lying prone and stark. Finally 
 a rope was thrown over his feet and he was dragged out, 
 his poor head trailing in the dust, his silky hide flecked with 
 blood and foam and dirt — the animal that had glowed so 
 with life a half hour before. 
 
 The wait between the acts was not more than a minute — 
 the gate opened again and another bull dashed in. I left 
 at the same time. Once, for experience, is all very well, but 
 nothing on earth would tempt me to it a second time. But 
 the Mexicans welcomed the bull. With them it was — the 
 king is dead, long live the king. 
 
 I have always tried to maintain the proper charity for the 
 tastes of others. I have tried to believe that no national 
 custom was without its reason, and that usually a national 
 religion fitted its people better than any other. I have had 
 conscientious scruples against imposing a new set of opin- 
 ions or creeds upon a foreign people. But there is one thing 
 I would like to see done — one foreign mission to which I 
 would cheerfully subscribe. I should like to see a Society 
 for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals established in 
 every hamlet in Mexico. I would like to see the Mexican 
 people taught what it is to love an animal as though it were 
 a member of the family. I would like to have them told 
 of the old man who starved himself to death that his dear 
 old donkey might have food. A man who would kick a 
 horse would be guilty of any crime, and as for poisoning a 
 dog — it is murder, and not of the second degree. 
 
EASTER=EVEN. 
 
 CLARENCE URMY. 
 
 Sun slow-sinking to its slumber 
 
 In a topaz-tinted sea, 
 Winds that waft their goodnight kisses 
 
 Through the groves of olive tree — 
 In a far-off grave-set garden 
 
 Death keeps watch with mystery. 
 
 Purple light upon the hill slopes, 
 Dreamland drawn by zephers sweet, 
 
 Dew of poppies on their pillows, 
 Song of sea-waves at their feet-^ 
 
 In a sepulcher, stone guarded. 
 Grief bedews a winding sheet. 
 
 Stars that leansfrom azure lattice 
 Of the rapt, expectant skies. 
 
 Eager for the dawn, yet ever 
 
 Watching earth with sleepless eyes, 
 
 Here where we and there where Mary 
 Wait for One so soon to rise ! 
 
^ ^^ 
 
 ^^^ 
 
 ENFOLDIQS. 
 
 Bv MARY HT^PCS DODGE. 
 
 The snow-flake that softly, all night, is whitening tree top 
 
 and pathway; 
 The avalanche suddenly rushing with darkness and death 
 
 to the hamlet. 
 
 The ray stealing in through the lattice to waken the day- 
 loving baby; 
 
 The pitiless horror of light in the sun-smitten reach of the 
 desert. 
 
 The seed with its pregnant surprise of welcome young leaf- 
 let and blossom; 
 
 The despair of the wilderness tangle,' and treacherous 
 thicket of forest. 
 
 The happy west wind as it startles some noon-laden flower 
 
 from its dreaming; 
 The hurricane crashing its way through the homes and the 
 
 life of the valley. 
 
 The play of the jet lets of flame when the children laugh out 
 
 on the hearth-stone; 
 The town or the prairie consumed in a terrible, hissing 
 
 combustion. 
 
 The glide of a wave on the sands with its myriads sparkle 
 
 in breaking; 
 The roar and the fury of ocean, a limitless maelstrom of 
 
 ruin. 
 
 The leaping of heart unto heart with bliss that can never 
 be spoken; 
 
 The passion that maddens and blights, defying God's sor- 
 row within us. 
 
 For this do I tremble and start when the rose on the vine 
 
 taps my shoulder, 
 For this, when the storm beats me down, my soul groweth 
 
 bolder and bolder. 
 
A GHOSTLY BENEDICTION, 
 
 MARY BELL. 
 
 My grandfather was a very peculiar and most interesting 
 man. He had been a surgeon in the French army under 
 Napoleon, and after the Battle of Waterloo escaped with 
 several companions to America. He married my grand- 
 mother in New Jersey, and after a certain length of time 
 they came to California, built the old broad-galleried house 
 in which most of their grandchildren were born, and there 
 my brother and I grew up, with horses and dogs for our 
 play-fellows, and the beautiful valley for our play-ground. 
 
 From my babyhood I think I was destined to be a sur- 
 geon. One of my first recollections is of my grand- 
 father calling me from my brother, who was helping me 
 to build a dirt fort in the yard, and taking me into his 
 private study. Here he spent most of his days alone, read- 
 ing the valuable French medical works he had rescued from 
 the wreck of the Kevolution. It was a sunshiny, pleasant 
 room, the walls severely lined with book-shelves, the deep 
 arm-chairs covered with rich brown leather. There were 
 many medical journals upon the table, and my grand- 
 father's writing-desk seemed full of closely written manu- 
 script. He had never practiced medicine in America, but 
 his name was widely known all over the scientific world as 
 an investigator of curious medical problems. 
 
 I did not know this on the day he closed the door upon 
 me in his study, or I should have been more awe-struck 
 than I was. He showed me many little bottles filled with 
 pills and powders, w^hich he allowed me to shake and han- 
 
so THE MARIPOSA MAGAZINE. 
 
 die. He took down book after book, and revealed to me 
 strange pictures which he did not explain, but probably a 
 fancy for inductive education had taken hold of him. He 
 opened cases and showed me rows of glittering surgical in- 
 struments. Then I was allowed to handle a few bones, to 
 touch a mysterious skull, and at last he went to a closet 
 door. 
 
 I should have been prepared for the revelation, for my 
 grandfather's voice had grown gentler as he showed me the 
 more terrible implements of his profession, and I had drawn 
 nearer and nearer him with confidence and interest; but 
 when he opened the door, and I saw a grinning skeleton 
 dangling there I screamed and rushed from the room. I 
 came back the next day, nerved to the highest point, and 
 humbly asked to see the '^bone-man." My grandfather 
 smiled kindly, and taking me by the hand, opened the door. 
 It was a very large closet, witih a colored glass window 
 high upon the wall. The strange squares of color moved 
 brightly and slowly over the bare surfaces of the room, 
 across a narrow white couch, and broke fantastically 
 through the ribs of the skeleton. My first frightened glance 
 was at the couch. 
 
 "Who sleeps there, grandfather?" I asked, "The bone- 
 man?" 
 
 "No, my child, thy grandfather." 
 
 "You, grandfather — alone — at night — with the bone-man 
 hanging there?" I gazed at him in awe. 
 
 "Yes, my child; the couch is rather too narrow for a bed- 
 fellow." He patted my head with one hand, as he reached 
 for the long fingers of the skeleton with the other. When 
 he touched it, the weird rattling of bones was heard, min- 
 gled with another peculiar sound. 
 
 "Don't be frightened, Alexander," he said, pressing me to 
 his side. 
 
 I could not control my terror, though, when from the 
 tightly closed teeth of the skeleton a thin purple cloud 
 floated, and I heard a weird voice, like a wind-whisper, say: 
 
 "Fear not, my child. It is thy grandfather's closest friend 
 you see — Henri, Marquis de Vallon." 
 
 My grandfather pressed the ghostly hand affectionately 
 against his breast, then let it fall, and closed the door upon 
 his uncanny bed-chamber. He took me in his arms and sat 
 with me in the sunny bay-window until I ceased to tremble, 
 and then he began to tell me tales of the French Revolu- 
 tion — of the heroes whose courageous death he had wit- 
 nessed, of the fearful slaughter in battle, of the interesting 
 wounds he had dressed, of the strange mental diseases 
 brought about from head wounds; and then he mentioned 
 the Marquis de Vallon. 
 
 "And isn't he dead, grandfather?" I asked. "Do we just 
 
A GHOSTLY BENEDICTION, 5/ 
 
 look through his skin and see the bones? Why does he talk 
 when he hasn't any tongue?" i whispered the questions in 
 his ear, for fear the Marquis would hear and think me im- 
 polite. 
 
 "You shall judge for yourself, Alexander," he answered; 
 and then I listened to this story of the skeleton in the 
 closet. 
 
 The Marquis de Vallon was my grandfather's bosom 
 friend. They had entered the army of Napoleon together — 
 one as officer, the other as surgeon. All those wonderful 
 times they were inseparable, and the defeat at Waterloo 
 found them alike friendless — fortuneless — fleeing from the 
 wreck of the empire, to seek new estates in America. The 
 Marquis had been wounded in the head at Waterloo, and 
 the surgeon, my grandfather, saw there was every possi- 
 bility of some mental disaster following the severe head- 
 aches that his friend constantly suffered from. The Mar- 
 quis refused to speak on any bat political subjects. His re- 
 marks at last grew to be prophetic exclamations. 
 
 "Napoleon will be banished!" he once called forth loudly 
 in the night. 
 
 "Vive la Republique!" he exclaimed suddenly one day, 
 starting from a reverie. 
 
 My grandfather, who had contrived to obtain possession 
 of part of his library, studied anxiously the volumes on 
 mental diseases. Every possible care was taken to divert 
 the thoughts of the young officer, but to no purpose. He 
 understood that his statements were regarded as halluci- 
 nations of an unsound mind. 
 
 "Ah, my dear friend, you are trying to save me. Do not 
 be troubled. I should be content to die, for the empire is 
 no more — Napoleon's military sun has set; and yet," he ex- 
 claimed, "it is best. Vive la Republique!" 
 
 The health of the Marquis was rapidly failing, though 
 the severe headaches decreased in number. His devotion 
 to my grandfather became most child-like and beautiful. 
 He wished to be constantly near him. He would reach for 
 his hand in his moments of profoundest reverie, and caress 
 it lovingly. On one of those rare occasions when he spoke 
 of himself, he said: 
 
 "Louis, the day of my death approaches. Promise me this 
 one thing — that I shall not be buried at sea. If there is no 
 other way in which you can save me from it, you must con- 
 ceal my death. You will find means in your medical books 
 to protect yourself from any great danger by my lying here 
 in your stateroom, a corpse; but promise to save me from 
 burial at sea." 
 
 My grandfather promised him. 
 
 "Thy reward will come, Louis, for thy devotion to thy 
 friend. Prosperity will come to thee in the new world; 
 
52 THE MARIPOSA MAGAZINE, 
 
 knowledge will come to thee; and thy children and thy 
 children's children shall reap from the harvest of distinc- 
 tion and honor." 
 
 My grandfather felt, of course, that these prophecies 
 ranked with the others that had been made. 
 
 "Louis," the Marquis said again, "the house of Vallon will 
 be restored, and my bones will one day be laid in the family 
 tomb — but do not part with them until you die. One of my 
 house will seek us then, and we shall be laid together be- 
 neath the skies of France." 
 
 Then he became silent. Suddenly my grandfather real- 
 ized the hand in his own was growing cold. He turned to 
 look — and, behold! — the Marquis de Vallon had gently 
 leaned his head back upon the cushions of his chair, and 
 was dead. 
 
 My grandfather, true to his word, concealed the death of 
 the Marquis from every soul on board. He found a means 
 of preserving the body without calling for assistance, and 
 then kept watch over his dead friend. Sleeping within the 
 tiny stateroom, having most of his meals served there, 
 thrusting from him all feelings of horror at the con- 
 stant presence of a corpse, he revealed that steadfastness of 
 purpose that has become the marked characteristic of our 
 family. It was during one of these awesome, grewsome 
 nightwatches, he first saw the purple vapor issuing from 
 the lips of the dead. 
 
 "Louis," he heard whispered through the room, "now I 
 understand your love for me. I, too, am faithful. As you 
 refuse to leave companionless my body, my soul seeks still 
 the companionship of yours." 
 
 Then, hour after hour they would talk together of mys- 
 teries of which my grandfather knew I could not conceive; 
 but, from the first hour the spirit of the Marquis began to 
 commune with him, a new sphere of mental truth was laid 
 open. As much as the present is ripe for, he has since re- 
 vealed, and his manuscripts, which are part of his legacy 
 to me, suggest many marvelous things which I hope in time 
 to lay before the world of science. 
 
 Thus it came to pass, after many days, the skeleton of the 
 Marquis was hung in the closet in this far-away western 
 world, and there I first heard the weird voice of my grand- 
 father's life-long friend. 
 
 ****** 
 
 It was during the last vacation before ray graduation 
 from the medical college, that the Marquis made his most 
 violent demonstration of emotion in my hearing. I will tell 
 you of it — not because I think you will be interested in my 
 part of the story — but because it bears a significant rela- 
 tion to the end of the skeleton's life in our house. 
 
 My mother had arranged a house-party for the last 
 
A GHOSTLY BENEDICTION, 53 
 
 of the summer, and we were having a most pleasant 
 time. There were two of my fraternity men, two pretty 
 little girls, between whom my brother's heart was divided, 
 and Miss Merle Gilmore. One or the other of those Alpha 
 fellows was always off hunting, but the rest of us took long 
 walks and drives in the great drag, and tried our best to 
 cling to the beautiful days. But they slipped from us like 
 sunlight. 
 
 We used to read together out under the great oaks. 
 Pier voice was so musical and sweet that it added a strange 
 charm to the simple little romances she selected — and it all 
 fitted in with the stillness and mute poetry of things about 
 us. Of course this w^as when the rest were walking another 
 way, and Miss Gilmore and I had a chance to get better ac- 
 quainted. I had known her for a long time, but until those 
 two weeks, T had no idea of her womanly strength and 
 dignity. 
 
 It was the last of the days in the valley. It brought 
 with it a cold breeze heralding the approach of au- 
 tumn. I had expected the outside world to be very sympa- 
 thetic on that day, and had dreamed of a long walk with 
 Miss Gilmore along the bank of the stream. There was a 
 little spot — fresh with the odor of ferns, deex) with the 
 shadow of trees — where we used to sit sometimes — but we 
 scarcely ever exchanged more than a few, low sentences 
 there. It was so beautiful that a strange solemnity came 
 over us — as if we were in church, and in the presence of the 
 most divine thought and feeling. I had hoped we would go 
 to that little chapel of nature the last day, so I could tell 
 her something I had been hungering for her to know — and 
 this is what happened instead. 
 
 There were several people in the parlor, drumming on the 
 piano and talking; my father was reading in the dining- 
 room, Hubert and the prettiest of the girls in the hall, and 
 no place for Merle and me to be alone. Wandering rest- 
 lessly about, I saw my grandfather leave his study and go 
 upstairs. He was seeking the observatory with his spy- 
 glass, and would be gone a long time. I sought Miss Gil- 
 more. 
 
 "You've been here two weeks," I said to her rather 
 eagerly, "and you've never been in my grandfather's study. 
 Would you not like to see his books?" 
 
 She said "yes" rather doubtfully, for my mysterious 
 grandfather had only been heard of — not seen since she had 
 been there. The poor old gentleman was not well. I told 
 her he was upstairs, and she consented to visit the room. 
 We both of us examined the books indifferently for a few 
 minutes, and then sought the bright bay-window, and 
 w^atched the trees fighting the unwelcome wind. 
 
 "I wish we could have gone for one more walk to-day," I 
 said, at last. She looked a swift assent. 
 
54 THE MARIPOSA MAGAZINE, 
 
 "Have you really enjoyed your visit?" I asked, longing 
 for her to say something kind. 
 
 "You know that I have," she said earnestly. 
 
 And then she looked so sweet and fair that I could not 
 help it — I bent down and kissed the white hand that rested 
 on the back of one of my grandfather's great leather chairs. 
 
 She trembled a little, but did not draw it away. I took 
 it in mine at last, and then she slowly lifted her eyes and 
 looked at me. And do you know, although I'd read of the 
 way thousands of men proposed, and thought I knew the 
 proper thing to say on such an occasion, I could not find a 
 single word in which to express my feeling. However, I 
 wonder if deep feeling needs any expression in words — or 
 has any — for Merle understood. 
 
 While we were gazing at each other in perfect silence, 
 suddenly there came from the closet door behind us the 
 wild rattling of bones. 
 
 Merle's expression changed to one of fear. Her clasp 
 tightened in my hand. 
 
 The noise became louder and louder, with a sort of rhyth- 
 mical sound. The idea that the skeleton was dancing 
 flashed into my mind. I trembled myself as I held Merle 
 nearer me. Then came the weird wind-voice through the 
 door: 
 
 "Vive I'amour, vive Tamour!" Merle was attempting to 
 struggle from me. Above my dismay at the skeleton's an- 
 tics, came the greater fear of losing my new-found happi- 
 ness. 
 
 "Merle — Merle," I burst forth "do you love me?" 
 
 "Yes, yes," she cried, "but let's go!" 
 
 Her answer came mingled with the rhythm of the grew- 
 some dance. 
 
 "Vive I'amour, vive I'amour!" the song came in muffled 
 gaiety from the closet. 
 
 She broke from me and was gone. I turned fiercely to 
 demand an explanation from the skeleton. 
 
 "Alexander!" My grandfather's hand was laid upon my 
 shoulder. "Alexander, the Marquis was a great courtier 
 and beau in the days of the empire. He recalls the time 
 when Hs heart was young and Ifie loved a maid." 
 
 And then, like Hamlet with the hollow voice of his fath- 
 er's ghost in his ears, I burst into wild laughter. 
 
 "Rattle on, old bones," I shouted. "It makes the heart of 
 my grandad young again to hear a dead man cry 'Vive 
 Tamour!' Go it, bones!" And then I followed Merle. 
 
 We returned to the city next day. 
 
 I could see from this time on, that Merle feared I might 
 or had, inherited from my grandfather certain peculiarities, 
 and she was constantly testing me to see if I were supersti- 
 tious or inclined to ventriloquism, or given to severe joking, 
 
A GHOSTLY BENEDICTION. S5 
 
 at a time when I should feel most deeply and profoundly. 
 She had always known me as very serious, and she found 
 me earnest in my affection for her, though she tested me 
 strangely sometimes. 
 
 I seldom accepted invitations to the numerous social 
 functions that year, for the simple reason that 1 could not 
 hope to gain the first place in my class and go to some cotil- 
 lion or reception every night in the week, and Merle, appre- 
 ciating my ambition, made very few demands on my time. 
 But one night she insisted on my going to the Nelson's with 
 her, for Miss Nelson, her dearest friend, had returned from 
 Europe engaged to a titled foreigner, who was to be intro- 
 duced at this time. 
 
 "Grace is so puffed up and proud of her conquest," she 
 said in one of her little womanish moods, "I am really mor- 
 tified for her. Now / have a perfect right to be proud of my 
 fiance, because he is noble in every respect. He's great, and 
 strong, and good; but Grace's foreigner — well, just wait 
 until you see him." 
 
 The night of the reception I did my best to appear well, 
 for Merle's sake. I must have succeeded in her estimation, 
 for though she tried very hard not to, her eyes often sought 
 me with that pleased, triumphant look I love so well. It 
 makes me humble, but still I wish her to believe me an ex- 
 ceptional man, for it forces me to live nearer her ideal. 
 
 At last Miss Nelson and I had the opportunity for a little 
 chat, and she did me the honor to ask me to the conserva- 
 tory. She was very bright and entertaining, and we were 
 having a most pleasant time, when another couple entered 
 the room. My back was turned toward them, but I heard 
 them approaching. 
 
 "Mr. Leroy," Miss Nelson said, leaving a story she was 
 telling me unfinished, "let me introduce you to the Marquis 
 de Vallon." 
 
 At that name I turned suddenly. 
 
 "Great Scott! My grandfather's skeleton!" I exclaimed. 
 Miss Nelson turned upon me angrily; the Marquis drew 
 himself up until he appeared as slim as his boneship in the 
 closet. Merle's lovely face wore a hopeless expression, con- 
 firmed in her belief that there was insanity in our family, 
 while I searched for words in which to explain myself. 
 
 "Pardon my surprise. Monsieur le Marquis," I said 
 humbly. "I believe you are the grand-nephew of my grand- 
 father's closest friend." 
 
 "May I ask," said the Marquis stiffly, "what your apology 
 has to do with the greeting you gave me? Do I bear a re- 
 semblance to your grandfather's skeleton?" 
 
 "You do not understand," 1 hastened to say; "I was 
 merely associating your name with the name of your grand- 
 uncle, who is the constant companion of my grandfather." 
 "You try to make me believe my grand-uncle is living 
 
S6 THE MARIPOSA MAGAZINE. 
 
 here in obscurity, when my titles and estates should belong 
 to him in France?" The question was asked scornfully. 
 
 ^'He is not alive," I said. 
 
 "Dead! and the constant companion of your grand- 
 father?" The Marquis had the right to appear incredulous. 
 
 "His skeleton has hung in my grandfather's closet for 
 many years, and, most remarkable, it has the power of com- 
 municating thought in a ghostly sort of voice." 
 
 The Marquis greeted my remarks with a quick, short 
 laugh. 
 
 "California is a remarkable place," he said. "I should 
 not be surprised to find a skeleton in many closets here." 
 
 "Of course you are incredulous, but Miss Gilmore will as- 
 sure you there is truth in my story. At any rate, my grand- 
 father will be more than delighted to see you in the valley; 
 and if you will accept my most cordial invitation and spend 
 a few days with us, you shall see the skeleton, hear the 
 story, and receive the papers and other effects that be- 
 longed to the Marquis." 
 
 The invitation was accepted without hesitation. Miss 
 Nelson and Merle were persuaded to join us, and a few days 
 after my mother received us at the dear old home. 
 
 After luncheon we planned to call on my grandfather. 
 
 "Think of being in a real ghost story!" said Miss Nelson, 
 shivering a little. "It makes me cold. We should go at 
 midnight, in order to receive the proper dramatic shock." 
 
 "My grandfather retires about nine o'clock," I answered, 
 "so we can't arrange it. But I assure you, you will find it 
 uncanny enough when the skeleton speaks." 
 
 I knocked at the door. There was no answer. Taking the 
 privilege I alone had received since my childhood, I opened 
 the door, expecting to find my grandfather napping in the 
 great arm-chair. He was not there. 
 
 The windows were all letting in the bright sunshine. In 
 spite of the air and light, we stepped softly into the room. 
 
 "My grandfather is probably in the observatory," I said; 
 "at any rate, Marquis, you can receive greeting from your 
 interesting ancestor." 
 
 I went to the closet door — opened it — and lo ! Great vol- 
 umes of soft purple vapor floated into the room. Weird 
 mystic sounds swept through the air. We were in the pres- 
 ence of some great mystery. I knew that Merle was trem- 
 bling in my arms, as we stood ^ rapped about by the clouds 
 of incense. 
 
 We distinguished words at last — the wind-voice of the 
 skeleton : 
 
 "Henri — Marquis de Vallon — adieu!" 
 
 Then in deeper tones: 
 
 "Alexander Leroy — adieu!" 
 
 And then came to us as a sort of benediction: 
 
 "Vive 1 'amour!" 
 
A GHOSTLY BENEDICTION. 
 
 57 
 
 We looked up, and then at each other, then back at the 
 window again. From it floated two shades of violet vapor. 
 The sunshine played upon it, the wind toyed with it, yet it 
 swept onward to the crown of majectic Mount Tamalpais. 
 From there it floated upward, diminishing in size, losing its 
 color, until the blue closed around it. The souls of my 
 grandfather and the Marquis had gone to join the hosts that 
 crossed the river of Death on the day of the Battle of 
 Waterloo. 
 
 Bakers Beach, San rrancfsco. Photo bg naurer. 
 
 WHITTIER. 
 
 1892-1898. 
 
 Beneath the still palms, in smile of God, 
 
 How seems it in that far and celestial way? 
 
 Not strange to him, who, while the earth he trod. 
 Walked in the light and smile of God alway. 
 
 — Ina Coolbrith. 
 
5 
 
 S 
 
 THE MARIPOSA MAGAZINE, 
 
 I I 
 I I 
 
 CO I 
 
 2 
 
 O 
 
THE PACIFIC OCEAN IN THE TWEN= 
 TIETH CENTURY. 
 
 Bv 
 ELI T. 5HCPPARD. 
 
 Prince Henry of Orleans, after two years spent studying 
 the conditions of the Orient, says: ''It is in Eastern Asia, 
 after all, that the commercial activities of the world will 
 finally center. It is here that great empires will be founded 
 and will increase, and the nation that succeeds best in shap- 
 ing the new conditions in the Far East will be the nation of 
 the future that will speak in dominating accents to the 
 world." 
 
 The new conditions to which he refers are the redistri- 
 bution in the balance of power caused by the Japanese war; 
 the rapid advances of Russia toward the Pacific; the open- 
 ing up of China, and the possible dissolution and downfall 
 of that ancient empire. 
 
 It was not until some months after hostilities had ceased 
 that the real significance of the war between China and 
 Japan became fully apparent. It brought into play so 
 many new forces and factors, which might otherwise have 
 lain dormant for an indefinite period, that its results have 
 been a double surprise to the world. 
 
 It is now known that the war was precipitated by Japan 
 for the purpose of forestalling the designs of Russia in Man- 
 churia and Korea, and that, while Japan was completely 
 triumphant over China, the substantial spoils of victory 
 fell at last to Russia. 
 
 But the overshadowing result of the war, to the world 
 at large, was that China was thrust into a position to- 
 ward foreign nations entirely different from anything in 
 her former history; that is to say, by reason of the shifting 
 of the balance of political power in eastern Asia, China 
 has been hemmed in and hedged about by external forces 
 of such potency that, willing or unwilling, she is compelled 
 by her own self-interest, and in sheer self-defense, to adopt 
 Western ideas and methods in the development of her natu- 
 ral resources. 
 
 It has resulted in bringing China, in respect to the for- 
 eign world, into a position somewhat analagous to that 
 in which Japan found herself when Commodore Perry 
 dragged her into the family of nations — so completely 
 within the infiuence of Western civilization that she will 
 be either galvanized into new life, or fall to pieces, to rise 
 no more among the nations. 
 
6o THE MARIPOSA MAGAZINE. 
 
 There is a divergence of opinion amongst those best in- 
 formed on the subject, which of these events is most likely 
 to happen; but all are agreed that one or the oth^r of them 
 will be among the first, and possibly the most momentous, 
 events of the immediate future. 
 
 Potentially, China is by far the greatest reservoir of pro- 
 ductive power in the world. Her wealth does not consist in 
 doubtful sources of production, but of immense areas of 
 fertile lands, suited to every form of agricultural employ- 
 ment ; of known mineral resources of the most sterling and 
 invaluable character, and of inexhaustible extent, and, 
 above all, of millions of willing, capable, and industrious 
 people. 
 
 But beyond all her natural productions, without which 
 the abundant riches of her soil would be useless, China pos- 
 sesses a matchless treasure in the industrious habits and 
 character of her population. It requires no gift of prophecy 
 to foresee that, with the richness and variety of her soil, 
 the vast extent of her territory, and the prodigious industry 
 of her people, China only needs the application of Western 
 scientific methods to produce all the objects of modern 
 consumption in a quantity and at a price that will greatly 
 modify, if it does not entirely revolutionize, the trade and 
 industries of the world. 
 
 Whatever may be the ultimate fate of China politically, 
 there is scarcely room for doubt that she is on the threshold 
 of great industrial and commercial changes. Her situation 
 with regard to the outside world has been radically changed 
 by recent events. Heretofore, the most serious obstacle 
 in the way of industrial development in China lay in the 
 fact of her isolation, her imperfect means of transportation, 
 and her unwillingness to adopt modern methods and ap- 
 pliances. 
 
 She has wanted little or nothing of the West; she had 
 no national debt to speak of, and was so completely sur- 
 rounded by a bulwark of dependent buffer states that she 
 had nothing to fear from outside nations. In fact, no n^.- 
 tion of any power or consequence was near enough to her 
 to excite her apx)rehension or fears. 
 
 But now all of these conditions are reversed. On her 
 long line of ocean front she is menaced, not only by Japan, 
 but by all the great maritime powers of the world; on her 
 western and northern borders, by the silent, ominous ap- 
 proaches of Russia, and on the south she sees England 
 and France in possession of her Indian provinces, Anan, 
 Tonkin, and Burmah. Added to this, the burden of a 
 heavy mortgage on her maritime customs receipts in the 
 hands of foreign creditors, China finds herself, for the first 
 time in her history, completely within the grasp of the out- 
 side world. And she is just as powerless to resist its pres- 
 
THE PACIFIC OCEAN, 6i 
 
 sure and onward progress as she is to arrest the downward 
 torrent of the Yellow river or the Yang-tse-Kiang. 
 
 Bj the terms of the treaty of Simonaseki, five additional 
 ports were thrown open to trade; but the most important 
 concession — granted by China for the first time — relates 
 to the privilege of introducing foreign capital and foreign 
 machinery for manufacturing jjurposes. This has been the 
 means of starting the Chinese in the direction of industrial 
 and manufacturing development to an extent altogether 
 surprising. At Shanghai, Hankow, and Woo-Chang-Foo, 
 the three great commercial marts of the Yang-tse-Kiang, 
 Chinese capitalists have already in operation iron foun- 
 dries, weaving factories, and cotton-spinning mills, with 
 all the latest improvements of European machinery, and 
 some of them of immense capacity. 
 
 The Chinese Government is now seeking a loan of |80,- 
 000,000, to be employed in constructing a trunk line of rail- 
 way from Tientsin to Hankow, a distance of 750 miles, 
 through the most fertile and populous provinces of the em- 
 pire. The details of this great enterprise have not been 
 made public, but it can scarcely be doubted that it is de- 
 signed to finally connect with similar lines which the Brit- 
 ish Government and the French Government are seeking to 
 push from the northern borders of British Burmah, and 
 from Tonkin, to the head of navigation on the Yang-tse- 
 Kiang. 
 
 But of all the agencies at work in eastern Asia, the trans- 
 Siberian railway is by far the most potent and significant. 
 
 To any one at all familiar with the subject, it is apparent 
 that this colossal enterprise, in connection with the trans- 
 Caspian road, which is already approaching the western 
 borders of China, is the inau.2.uration of a vast and com- 
 prehensive system of military and commercial railways 
 designed to consolidate and extend the commercial and 
 political power of Russia throughout the whole of Central 
 and Eastern Asia. Not only so, but to ultimately bring the 
 whole of China proper within the immediate sphere of Rus- 
 sian influence. 
 
 For clearness and comprehensiveness of design, for scope 
 and magnitude of purpose, and for the splendor of its pos- 
 sibilities, this design of Russian expansion has no parallel 
 in history. 
 
 To understand its full significance and measure its poten- 
 tialities, a brief historical allusion becomes necessary. 
 
 "From the earliest times," says a recent oriental writer, 
 "the vast expanse of territory lying between the borders of 
 China proper and Russian Siberia has been occupied by the 
 Mongolian Tartars. Six centuries ago, by some common im- 
 pulse, the Tartar races swept westward into Europe, over- 
 running the Slavonic tribes of the Caucasus, and almost 
 
62 THE MARIPOSA MAGAZINE, 
 
 destroying the Muscovite or Eussian civilization. By a 
 strange turn in the historic balance, a returning tribe of 
 the Slavonic race in this century threatens the downfall 
 and absorption of Tartar dominion and civilization. The 
 returning tribe of Tartars after the conquest of China car- 
 ried with it large accessions of the Slavonic race from the 
 Eussian Caucasus, and ever since then a widespread pro- 
 cess of race fusion has been going on among all the Tartar 
 tribes. It is a noteworthy fact that this intercrossing be- 
 tween the Eussian Slavs and the pure Asiatic races seems 
 to have worked no deterioration in either race. On the 
 contrary, the mixture has been particularly happy. This is 
 directly the reverse of the well-known results of the inter- 
 crossing of the Anglo-Saxon with the oriental races, which 
 invariably causes certain, disastrous and rapid deteriora- 
 tion. It is this marvelous power of the Slavonic people 
 for assimilating the oriental races which constitutes the 
 main element of Eussian strength in Asia, considered not 
 only as a Government, but as a living national force." 
 
 "The truth is the Eastern Eussians are both European 
 and Asiatic; they are a mixture of the Slavonic and the 
 Tartar. Leaving out the Caucasus, Eussia may be likened 
 to a vast conglomeration of races in which an endless fu- 
 sion has been going on ever since the Tartar invasion, or 
 before, and all gravitating toward one composite or general 
 type. With the exception of China proper and Korea, East- 
 ern Asia is a great mixture of Slavonian-Mongolian stock, 
 gradually melting into an apparently homogeneous unit, 
 and possessing a common race consciousness." 
 
 It was the recognition of this fact which impelled Prince 
 Gortschakoff to declare that, "not only policy, ambition, 
 and history, but nature herself seems to have imposed upon 
 Eussia the task of unifying, consolidating, and civilizing 
 the people of Central and Eastern Asia." 
 
 Viewed in tliis light, the industrial and commercial sig- 
 nificance of the trans-Siberian railway, and the magnificent 
 system which it is intended to embrace, can hardly be over- 
 estimated. 
 
 No one familiar with the subject doubts that it means the 
 eventual occupation and absorption by Eussia of Manchu- 
 ria, Korea, and all the dependencies of China north and 
 east of the Great Wall. 
 
 The details of the Cassini treaty disclose the astonishing 
 fact that Eussia has obtained the consent of China to con- 
 struct a branch line, in connection with the trans-Siberian 
 road, across Manchuria, from Kiachta to the Soongari and 
 Usuri, and terminating at some port in the Gulf of Laou 
 Tung. Its peculiar significance lies in the fact that it gives 
 Eussia permission to safeguard the Manchuria division by 
 a military force sufficient to guarantee its future safety. 
 
THE PACIFIC OCEAN. 63 
 
 This treaty is a blow at Japan, and it is now known that 
 the war between China and Japan was precipitated by 
 overtures from Russia looking to such an arrangement with 
 China in 1894. 
 
 Nobody knows definitely what consideration China is to 
 receive from Russia for this valuable concession, but it is 
 believed that she has, in some manner, bound herself by a 
 defensive alliance to defend China against Japan in case of 
 future war between the two countries. 
 
 The Cassini treaty recalls the fact that in 1860, while 
 the allied armies of England and France were holding Pe- 
 kin. General Vlangalli, the Russian Minister, obtained from 
 China, as the price of the Czar's proffered friendship, the 
 cession of the territory lying between the Amoor and the 
 Usuri; and thus Russia obtained the formidable position 
 which she now occupies on the Pacific, on which she has 
 since constructed the impregnable naval citadel of Vladi- 
 vostock. 
 
 The immediate effect of the Cassini treaty has been to 
 completely checkmate Japan in her scheme of Corean col- 
 onization, and has practically forced her to abandon her 
 foothold on the continent of Asia; in fact, to despoil her 
 altogether of the cherished fruits of her brilliant victory, 
 while Russia, her most dreaded and powerful rival, has 
 quietly secured by diplomatic craft all the substantial 
 benefits of the war. 
 
 The fatal mistake which Japan made, knowing that she 
 was striking a blow at Russia, was in not enlisting in ad- 
 vance the sympathy or the active support of Russia's com- 
 mercial rival, Great Britain, which she might have done but 
 for her own overweening confidence. 
 
 The event has a striking parallel in the outcome of the 
 war between Russia and Turkey in 1867, when Russia, after 
 wrenching the Balkan provinces from Turkey, was forced a 
 few months afterward, through the diplomacy of Lord Bea- 
 consfield at the Congress of Berlin, to relinquish all she had 
 gained by the treaty of San Stevano, while her great rival, 
 England, complacently took to herself the island of Cyprus. 
 
 In nine months after the close of the Japanese war, an 
 armed force of Russian mariners landed in Corea, seized the 
 royal family, and since that time there has been practically 
 a Russian protectorate over the kingdom. A few days later 
 the Russian ambassador at Tokio officially notified the 
 Japanese Government "that Russia could not view with 
 indifference the interference of any foreign power in the 
 domestic affairs of Corea." Since that event, Russia has 
 thrown forward into the Usuri section of the trans-Siberian 
 railway a force of from 60,000 to 100,000 armed Cossacks, 
 and it is no longer an open question that she holds the mili- 
 tary key to Manchuria, the Gulf of Laou Tung, and the 
 Corean peninsula. 
 
64 THE MARIPOSA MAGAZINE. 
 
 And here, again, the character of the population is a most 
 important element in the situation. 
 
 The Manchurians, like the Japanese, who are their de- 
 scendants, possess in an eminent degree the qualities of 
 manhood; endowed beyond all other Asiatics with a highly 
 developed physique, they are also loyal, intelligent, and 
 courageous. Full of enterprise and daring, they only need 
 the discipline of orderly government to become good citi- 
 zens as well as good soldiers. They are the very stuff that 
 armies should be made of, and in the hands of an organ- 
 ized military power like Russia, properly drilled, disciplined 
 and led by competent oflScers, they will render the Russian 
 possessions on the Pacific unassailable. Wielding such a 
 military force as Russia will be able to construct from 
 such men, and within easy striking distance of Peking, it is 
 mathematically certain that Russia will ultimately domi- 
 nate, if she does not completely overthrow, the vast Chinese 
 Empire. 
 
 Not only so, but it is equally apparent that Japan herself 
 is placed at a terrible disadvantage. With Russia silently 
 standing over her with an impregnable naval stronghold 
 at Vladivostock, backed by a fertile and populous country, 
 with an indigenous force of the best fighting material in 
 Asia, controlled by a power pre-eminently gifted with a 
 faculty for enlisting the sympathy of the native races, 
 Japan may well view with alarm the encroachments of her 
 great Muscovite rival in Asia. 
 
 The trans-Caspian railway, which is a part of the trans- 
 Siberian system, begins at Moscow, sweeps southward to 
 the Caspian Sea, and thence eastward to Samarcand, on 
 the borders of Kashgar. It is destined to push this road 
 through the valleys of the Pamir, and thence across the 
 Desert of Gobi — the land of grass — into western China. 
 
 The great mountain passes by which this system of roads 
 enters Central Asia are aptly termed the "Gateway of Na- 
 tions." It is through them that the armies of Genghis 
 Khan swept westward toward Europe in the twelfth cen- 
 tury, and through them that a returning tide of Slavonic 
 peoples has been moving eastward into Asia ever since. It 
 is estimated that 100,000 Russian peasants passed through 
 this gateway last year on their way to the fertile lands 
 of Siberia. 
 
 "The world which Russia is about to open up," says Pro- 
 fessor Douglas, "affords a greater scope for the Slavonic 
 races to-day than did North America to the Anglo-Saxon 
 race a century ago. America was developed from Europe 
 alone, while the surplus labor, skill, and capital of both 
 Europe and Asia will pour into this great Asiatic wilder- 
 ness. 
 
THE PACIFIC OCEAN, 65 
 
 "As a European- Asiatic empire, Russia is the natural 
 heir to Mongolia, Manchuria and Corea, and in all human 
 probability, before the middle of the twentieth century, 
 all of this vast territory will be detached from China, either 
 spontaneously or by violence."' 
 
 The position which Japan will occupy in future as a mari- 
 time power on the Pacific, and the influence which that 
 race will finally exert upon its varied commercial activi- 
 ties, are problems that remain to be solved. 
 
 From what has been said, it is clear that Japan has not 
 yet reached the goal of her ambition to become the dom- 
 inating power in the Far East. Undoubtedly a nation with 
 such spirit and enterprise must be reckoned with in the 
 future; at the same time, I am inclined to think that the 
 world at large has given Japan rather more credit as a 
 balance of power, and as a future industrial and commer- 
 cial force, than she is entitled to receive. Her rapid ri^e 
 from the position of an isolated oriental nation to that of 
 an aggressive military and manufacturing power, and the 
 splendid achievements of her arms in the war with China, 
 was a spectacle well calculated to captivate the imagina- 
 tion and enlist the sympathy of the world, but it has been 
 equally well calculated to give, and has, I think, given an 
 exaggerated notion of her present political and industrial 
 possibilities. In the extent of her possessions, compared 
 with European countries, Japan ranks next to Sfjain. She 
 is larger than Great Britain and Ireland. In population 
 she ranks fifth among the powers of the world. She has 
 7,000,000 more population than Great Britain, 6,000,000 
 more than France, and within 4,000,000 of that of the Ger- 
 man empire. But, in respect of her natural resources and 
 national revenues, Japan is a comparatively poor country, 
 her revenues and productive power being only one-tenth 
 that of Great Britain. 
 
 The Japanese believe, or profess to believe, that their fu- 
 ture is to be an industrial one, and there are many reasons 
 for believing that they may be right in this. With their 
 splendid geographical position, between Asia and America, 
 yet detached from both; with their known aptitude for 
 ship-building and sailoring ; with their instinct for manufac- 
 ture; with their genius for art industries, and their marvel- 
 ous cleverness at adopting and assimilating the inventions 
 and methods of the West, there is no reason why a fair por- 
 tion of the trade and commerce of the Pacific should not 
 pass into their hands. They think it will, and they are 
 striving that it shall, but the historically dominant instincts 
 of the race will constantly lure them from the sober pur- 
 suits of peaceful commerce to the arts of war. 
 
 It does not follow by any means, because they have been 
 victorious over China, that the Japanese would be able to 
 
66 THE MARIPOSA MAGAZINE. 
 
 hold their own with any first class European foe, especially 
 a great power like Russia, with whom they are almost cer- 
 tain to come in contact after a very few years. Japan is, 
 however, arming so rapidly that in a few years she will 
 have increased her army to twelve divisions, exclusive of 
 the Imperial Guard, while her ironclads and cruisers are 
 being built in nearly every shipyard in the world. 
 
 I have already alluded to the marvelous commercial and 
 industrial expansions of the Australian Colonies. It only 
 remains to speak briefly of the present importance and 
 future interests and influence of the Pacific nations of North 
 and South America. Without entering into any details, it 
 is worthy of note that these nations collectively, occupy an 
 unbroken front on the Pacific Ocean of over 9,000 miles, and 
 are in possession of immense areas of undeveloped or par- 
 tially developed agricultural and mineral lands, of which 
 the world at large is in almost complete ignorance. 
 
 The Pacific States and Territories of the United States 
 alone, are vastly larger in area, more varied and infinitely 
 Mcher in their natural productions, and capable of support- 
 ing a greater population, than the whole of the German 
 empire. 
 
 No one questions the fact that the United States at pres- 
 ent is, and for all time to come will probably continue to 
 be, the dominating power of the two great continents of the 
 western world, and there is no reason why it should not be- 
 come the commercial and maritime power of the Pacific. 
 
 Looking at the situation to-day and considering the inev- 
 itable growth and development of the nations fronting on 
 the Pacific Ocean, two broad conclusions seem to be irresist- 
 ible: First, that in the immediate future their industrial 
 and commercial activities will probably equal, if they do 
 not surpass, those of the rest of the world; and second, that 
 the future struggle for maritime and commercial supremacy 
 on this great theatre of human activities will lie between 
 the Anglo-Saxon and the Slavonic- Asiatic races. 
 
 The question of supreme importance to the people of the 
 United States is, the position which they are to occupy and 
 the portion which they are to possess in this the richest, 
 the most splendid and the last great heritage of the world. 
 
 So pass our lives, what name or fame we make. 
 Like to the foam-wraith in our vanishing wake : 
 Yet are we not dismayed, for still are we 
 Intergral parts o' the everlasting sea. 
 
 — Charles Warren Stoddard. 
 
AN AMULET. 
 
 Bv 
 REGINTX E. WILSON. 
 
 Lo, I show thee a king whose realm is fair, 
 
 Whose law bids live anew, — 
 A king who laughs at churlish care, 
 And wears on his breast, for jewels rare, 
 
 Twin roses pearled with dew. 
 
 The Muses he calls when harmony dies. 
 
 The Graces when life turns hard. 
 With beauty for handmaid old time he defies, 
 And his heart beats strong under dreariest skies. 
 If there sound but the harp of a bard. 
 
 He boasts no wealth, bat nature's gift 
 
 Of binding soul to soul, 
 Yet the charm of his touch a burden can lift. 
 And the grace of his smile, like a cloud-land rift, 
 
 Discloses a heaven for goal. 
 
 There is never a land so poor and mean. 
 
 But knoweth his praise to sing; 
 There is never a wall so high can screen 
 The gaze of youth from the living sheen, 
 
 That circles this joyous king. 
 
 His name? Let me whisper it low for a charm, 
 
 A promise of light from above, 
 A something that girdeth the earth like an arm, 
 That breathes to the weakest, "Fear ye no harm"! 
 
 The name that I whisper is Love. 
 San Francisco. March 7, 1898. 
 
 ■IB 
 
Love 
 Sopq 
 
 From 
 THE FIRST BORN. 
 
 Copyrighted, by E. W. Armstrong 
 
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AN ILL WIND. 
 
 LROnWCLL 0?\LPIN. 
 
 When George Washington White was a little baby, bald- 
 headed, with vacant pale eyes and an usually large mouth, 
 it is- quite probable that his mother thought him pretty. 
 Even when the bald head had covered itself with a shock 
 of reddish-yellow hair, when the whitey eyes had learned to 
 look steadily out upon life, and the vast little mouth had 
 surrounded itself with a pair of heavy jaws, it is not certain 
 that his mother might not still have considered her child 
 handsome. But when the boy grew to be a man, lank, 
 loose- jointed, with face burned by summer sun and blistered 
 by winter winds, not even the mother who bore him could 
 have discovered any signs of comeliness, of form or of feat- 
 ure, in the physical ensemble of George Washington White. 
 
 Not that White cared. At four and twenty months, in 
 a dilapidated cottage of a half-deserted New Hampshire vil- 
 lage, the baby waved his legs and arms to call attention 
 to his needs, and opened his mouth to receive scanty sup- 
 plies of corn bread and potatoes; at four and twenty years 
 the man worked with arms and legs, using his jaws as little 
 as might be until he could prove upon a homestead claim. 
 
 White stood in the door of his dug-out, thinking of the 
 things he had and the things he was going to get by working 
 for them. What he had was a homesteader's claim to a 
 quarter section of Dakota prairie and a dug-out, with a little 
 pile of hand-thrashed wheat in one corner and a bigger 
 pile of unshelled corn in another; what he was going to 
 have included everything which a man's heart might desire, 
 for all things are possible to a man who is only 24 years 
 old, " 'bout as strong 's a yoke o' steers," and possessed of 
 all the ingenuity characteristic of the down-East Yankee, 
 when once that man gets the "start" of a quarter-section of 
 land which will produce a crop if it is properly seeded. 
 
 He would not be in danger of starving, nor even forced 
 to draw upon his little hoard of money, though he found 
 no work during the winter. Just the same it would be a 
 good deal more satisfactory if he could strike some kind of 
 a job. 
 
 "Hullo, the house!" 
 
 "Hullo, the biler!" 
 
 Bob Mason, part proprietor of the first steam threshing 
 
AN ILL WIND, 71 
 
 outfit to be brought into that region, was on his way to the 
 more thickly settled section south of White's place. The 
 threshing gang wanted water and a place to camp. They 
 wanted hands, too. White promptly agreed to become a 
 hand; and at night the young homesteader lay in liis bunk 
 and thought pleasantly of the time when he should have 
 money enough to build some kind of a decent house. 
 
 As always before, so now, he was too busy to grieve be- 
 cause he was not pretty. 
 
 When Elsa Haldorsen was a little baby, with eyes blue as 
 the summer skies of Norway, with flaxen ringlets clustering 
 about her temples and a white skin softer than velvet, eyes 
 free from a mother's prejudice would still discover her 
 beauty. When at eighteen months she babbled an inar- 
 ticulate song as she rocked her baby brother's cradle, it 
 was very easy to see that to infantile beauty had been added 
 patience and kindliness of heart. When, at eighteen years, 
 she had grown to the full stature of womanhood, even her 
 father recognized the beauty of her face and the sturdy 
 sweetness of her disposition. 
 
 Not that Elsa knew it. Life had not been easy on the 
 isolated little farm among the mountains of Norway. 
 Brothers and sisters had in turn been routed out of the 
 home-made cradle to make room for younger babies. Many 
 a time Ulf Haldorsen had come down the steep mountain 
 side, carrying a bundle of grass and wondering in helpless 
 patience whether there would be hay enough to feed the 
 little dun cow till the long winter was past. More than 
 once, when the house was dark because the snow was piled 
 up higher than the tops of the windows, there had been 
 neither meat nor meal. At such times it would have seemed 
 very dismal to the younger children had not Elsa sung 
 songs of the feasts of the old Norse warriors, so that the 
 little ones forgot that the dun cow gave so little milk. 
 
 Elsa could sing very loud when she was hungry. 
 
 News had come from a man who had once lived in Nor- 
 way, and Ulf Haldorsen, with his wife and family of light- 
 haired children, had come across an ocean and half across 
 a continent to file his homestead claim to a hundred and 
 sixty acres of Dakota land. 
 
 The dug-out which had sheltered the family during the 
 first year was to be turned over to the chickens, for a 
 wooden house with more rooms in it was ready for occu- 
 pancy. More delightful still, it seemed to the children, 
 neighbors were coming to settle near them, and the father 
 had gone to the nearest railroad town, twenty miles away, 
 to meet his friends and guide them to their new homes. 
 
 Elsa Haldorsen stood in the door of the new house, look- 
 ing out over the prairie. Her arms were bare to the elbows, 
 showing round and white and dimpled against the dark blue 
 
7^ THE MARIPOSA MAGAZINE, 
 
 of her cotton dress. The brisk wind loosened her fair hair 
 and brought a stronger color to her pink cheeks. Certainly 
 the girl was more than prett}^ But as in Norway, so in 
 America, she saw few people. No one had told her, and 
 she had all her life been too busy to discover for herself the 
 fact that she was beautiful. 
 
 Mason, proprietor of the steam threshing outfit, and 
 White, his employe, walked ahead of the teams as the party 
 approached a house from the rear. Coming around in front, 
 they saw Elsa standing in the doorway. 
 
 Mason took off his hat with a graceful flourish. 
 
 ''Good evening, madam," he said. ''We would like per- 
 mission to camp around here and the privilege of watering 
 the stock at your well." 
 
 George Washington White said nothing. He stood star- 
 ing at the girl, his mouth open and his long arms hanging 
 limp at his sides. There had come to him a sudden recog- 
 nition of the loneliness of his life in the dug-out, and an 
 intense desire to hear this girl say something friendly to 
 him; almost as strong was his desire to say something 
 pleasant to her. But the experience gained in his zig-zag 
 travels from New Hampshire to Dakota had not given him 
 assurance in the presence of women. He felt a twinge of 
 envy for Mason's ease of manner and glibness of tongue, 
 but it did not occur to him to attempt any imitation. He 
 simply stood and stared at the girl as she answered. 
 
 "Der vas all das brairie to gamp mit, und das wasser 
 well vas dot house behint." 
 
 Mason stood in silence as lie mentally untangled the sen- 
 tence. White was not particular as to the girl's exact mean- 
 ing. He recognized in her tone the expression of kindly 
 feeling, and saw in her unabashed eyes the frankness of a 
 perfectly innocent young woman, at home and not afraid. 
 Then he spoke; and what he said was this: 
 
 "By gol! I wisht I wa'n't so darned hombly." 
 
 Then his face grew hot and a horrible shamefacedness 
 came over him, mixed with a curious sense of relief when 
 he saw that neither Mason nor the girl laughed at him. 
 
 The rest of the threshers came up, with much cracking of 
 whips and shouting at tired mules. 
 
 "Ve moofe to-day," said the girl; speaking to Mason, but 
 looking at White. 
 
 "She thinks I'm some darned baboon 't's got out of a 
 circus," said White to himself. 
 
 "Come in — come in," said Elsa's mother, with ready hos- 
 pitality. "Not mooch breat is, because ve moove. But ve 
 find somedings." 
 
 The two men excused themselves until the stock should 
 be cared for, and went toward the well to draw water, pass- 
 ing behind the old dug-out, out of sight of the house and 
 
AJV ILL WIND. 73 
 
 of the other men. White noticed that the door of the dug- 
 out had been tal^en away, but the sash window was still in 
 place. The little room was half full of unhusked corn. 
 
 ''Say, White," said Mason, ''that little Dutch girl is the 
 handsomest woman I've seen since I left the States." 
 
 "Shut up," said White. 
 
 As if by agreement the men set their pails down upon the 
 ground and stood facing each other. Mason's face flaslied 
 darkly, but White was very pale. 
 
 "Look here," said Mason, "I don't know much about you, 
 but you look like a square kind of a fellow. If you can get 
 that girl all right. But I tell you right now" — he leaned 
 forward and tapped White's breast with his forefinger; and 
 he never knew how near White came to clutching him by 
 the throat and strangling him — "no man alive shall dictate 
 to me whether I shall or shall not make love to an unmar- 
 ried woman." 
 
 Mason was six feet tall, sturdy of limb and deep of chest. 
 But it was not the strength of the man which caused 
 White to stoop slowly and take up his bucket, resigning his 
 claims like a man who was afraid to fight for his right 
 to win a woman's love; even in his anger he recognized 
 the fact that Mason had an honest and very handsome face, 
 that his manner was graceful and his speech easy; that, 
 unlike himself, his rival possessed all those qualities which 
 women are said to consider lovable. 
 
 "They aint no use o' my tryin' aside o' you," he said, 
 with the manner of a man who acknowledged a fact no less 
 disagreeable than uncontrovertible. " 'F I thought it 'ud 
 be any use t' wliale you I'd do it, if I could." 
 
 He walked to the well and drew up a bucket of water. 
 Mason followed him, talking cordially, but getting monosyl- 
 labic and rather surly answers. 
 
 The threshers ate their supper of bacon and bread in the 
 open air, but Mason and White were invited into the house 
 to eat from a table made of the door of the dug-out. Dur- 
 ing the meal both mother and daughter waited on their 
 guests, and Mason talked to them. He talked well, for he 
 was intelligent, witty and anxious to please; and the 
 charm of his conversation was not lessened by the fact that 
 he believed himself to be making good progress toward 
 gaining the regard of a very pretty girl. 
 
 White said but little, and by reason of his bashfulness 
 said that little very clumsily. He was trying to get some 
 comfort out of the fact that Elsa seemed to pay as much 
 attention to him as to Mason, when, just before the meal 
 was over, the girl brought a piece of apple pie and set it 
 by Mason's plate. 
 
 "Dot vas all ve haf, pecause ve moofe. Der boss dot pie 
 gets," she said with a little blush. 
 
J4 THE MARIPOSA MAGAZINE, 
 
 Mason quoted a Norse proverb : "A kindly heart makes a 
 happier guest than dainty meat," as he cut the pie into two 
 tiny pieces. 
 
 White saw the blush with which the dessert was offered, 
 and misinterpreted it. He declined the proffered section, 
 knowing that if tie accepted it he would then and there jam 
 it down Mason's throat. He rose abruptly and went out. 
 He said nothing aloud, but inwardly he cursed Mason's easy 
 grace and his ready ability to turn everything to his own 
 profit. 
 
 Mason sat and deliberately ate the pie and then sat and 
 talked for two hours longer, and when at last he rose to go 
 he felt very well satisfied with himself and all the world. 
 As he put on his hat Elsa handed him a small pie, still 
 warm, on a tin plate. 
 
 "Dot to der oder man you gifs," she said, with the same 
 little blush he had seen before. 
 
 It was rather a shock to the handsome young man, but 
 he said "Good night" and made a moderately graceful exit, 
 with the pie in his hand. When he was fairly outside he 
 bit a great, round mouthful out of the pie; then he spat it 
 out and fired the remainder, dish and all, at a mule, which 
 had just stretched out its neck to bray. 
 
 The threshers were astir early, and before it was fairly 
 light were well on their way toward their next station; 
 but one man was left behind to hunt up a mule which had 
 been startled in the night and had run off over the prairie. 
 
 The day was unusually warm for November, and a strong 
 shower fell about noon. But it cleared up again and the 
 teams pushed on. At dusk the stock and machinery were 
 left in the outskirts of a little town, and most of the men 
 gathered at "the store" to hear news from the outside 
 world. 
 
 There was a good deal of desultory conversation, mingled 
 with political discussion, prophecies of the growth and pros- 
 perity of Boomtown, and speculations regarding the com- 
 ing winter. 
 
 Mason walked to the door and opened it. 
 
 "Looks as if winter had begun to arrive," he said as he 
 looked out over the prairie. Half the sky was covered with 
 black clouds, and a gusty wind was picking up dust and 
 straws and whirling them about in little eddies. 
 
 "Whew!" said the man as he stepped outside, "it's cold. 
 Hope we won't get a big storm that'll stop threshing. Let's 
 go back to the camp before the wind gets any stronger." 
 
 The men started, but they did not reach the camp before 
 the wind got stronger, and very much stronger. The little 
 eddies that picked up straws became small cyclones which 
 carried loose boards along with them; the whispering 
 sounds became long-drawn' shrieks, and the intermittent 
 
AN ILL WIND. js 
 
 moaning became a steady roar. Just before camp was 
 reached the men were drenched by dashing rain that almost 
 instantly turned to a fine sleet, cutting their faces like bird 
 shot fired at long range. 
 
 "Make for the cooking shanty," yelled Mason, as he bent 
 liis head and turned his face from the driving sleet. 
 
 The cooking shanty was a substantial affair of grooved 
 and tongued lumber, built on the running gear of a heavy 
 wagon. It was not provided with sleeping accommodations, 
 but the blankets and extra clothing of the men were piled in 
 it, and what was still more to the purpose there was a cook 
 stove and three or four hundred pounds of soft coal. 
 
 Something bumped against the wheels and a hoarse shout 
 was heard above the roar of the wind: 
 
 "Le' me in, boys, le' me in!" and when the door was 
 opened the man who had been left behind to catch the stray 
 mule stumbled in among his companions. It had taken him 
 half a day to catch the animal and the blizzard had caught 
 him on the way to camp. 
 
 "The wind blowed us along," chattered the man with the 
 half-hysterical laughter following relief from deadly fear, 
 "an' we jest come." 
 
 He edged his way to the fire. 
 
 "This beats bein' out in the wind," he said, " but I'd 
 ruther be in a dug-out what I was sure couldn't be blowed 
 over. Say, Haldorsen's house is burnt up, 'n' they didn't 
 save nothing but some beddin'. The fire come up quick an' 
 burnt up everything. They didn't have no matches to build 
 a fire with, an' I don't b'lieve they've got a single darn thing 
 to eat." 
 
 Nobody said anything for a moment. The storm shrieked 
 and howled, and the shanty rocked and quivered as the 
 blast struck it. 
 
 White crowded his way to a cupboard and took out a 
 piece of salt pork and a sack of table salt. 
 
 The men seemed to get a notion of what he was about, 
 and two or three called him a fool. 
 
 "The dug-out was half full of corn," said Mason, "they 
 won't starve." 
 
 "Them women's got to have help," said White. "They 
 wa'n't no door on that dug-out." 
 
 Bob Mason was rather pale, and his tongue seemed less 
 manageable than usual as he spoke. 
 
 "They're in a bad fix, I admit. But no living man can 
 get to them against this blizzard. Why, Bill here is nearly 
 frozen riding with the wind." 
 
 "I'm a goin' to try it," answered White, shortly. 
 
 There was not much more conversation. White put his 
 chunk of pork, the bag of salt and two boxes of matches 
 into an empty grain sack, cutting off the extra cloth. He 
 
76 THE MARIPOSA MAGAZINE. 
 
 took down a somewhat moth-eaten buffalo coat hanging 
 against the w^all, put it on and lifted his bundle. He opened 
 the door, and two of the men pushed it shut as White 
 staggered out into the storm. 
 
 Jim Adelman, formerly of Missouri, sat in his dug-out 
 reading a month-old paper by the light of a lantern. The 
 blizzard raged outside, and Adelman congratulated himself 
 that he had thatched his dug-out with two feet of earth. 
 
 Some one thumped upon, the door — once — twice — but 
 before there was time to strike a third time Adelman 
 opened it; and White, an indescribable mass of felt hat, 
 snow, ice and buffalo hair, stumbled into the room. 
 
 "Keep away from the fire if you're froze," yelled the Mis- 
 sourian, shutting the door as his visitor leaned over the 
 stove. 
 
 "I aint so very cold," said W^hite, which assertion was 
 somewhat belied by his pinched face and blue lips; "but my 
 eyelids is froze together so't I can't hardly see." He stood 
 by the stove, pawing at his face with stiffened hands. 
 
 Adelman took hold of the buffalo coat and began to un 
 button it. 
 
 "Hold on !" said White, "I'm agoin' on when I get thawed 
 out a little." 
 
 Adelnian stood back and looked at his guest. 
 
 "You must be some new kind of a doggoned fool," he re- 
 marked, pleasantly. "You ain't gwine out o' this here dug- 
 out fer a week." 
 
 "Got to," said White, "some fellers'll starve." 
 
 "Can't help it," said Adelman, "you've met up wit'i a man 
 what'll see 't you don't get to go out o' here till tlie bliz- 
 zard's blowed itself out. Them fellers'll have to starve a 
 little." 
 
 "Taint fellers — it's women," said White, a little sheep- 
 ishly. 
 
 "Air it a gal what — what you're soft on?" 
 
 White nodded. 
 
 Adelman was an old man, slender and not much over five 
 feet tall. 
 
 •'Pardner," he said, "my old woman died about the time 
 you was borned, an' they won't nobody mourn much when 
 I pass in my checks. Kin I git thar? I'm a doggoned sig t 
 tougher'n I look." 
 
 "It's snowin' some," answered White, "an' if it drifts a 
 short-legged man don't stan' no show. I reckon God 
 A'mighty give me long legs fer jes' this trip." 
 
 "How "fur is it?" 
 
 "Haldorsen's." 
 
 "Pardner," said Adelman, in the most matter-of-fact tone, 
 "when the blizzard quits I'll come out that way, an' ef I hev 
 to I'll see 't ye're buried long o' one another. I don't reckon 
 
AN ILL WIND. 77 
 
 you'll ever git thai*. But keep yer head stiddy," — White 
 opened the door — ''and — doggone yer ornery skin, I i.ope 
 you'll git thar/' 
 
 Tiie shrieking wind drowned his voice, and by the time 
 Adelman had jammed the door shut White was out of sight 
 in the driving snow. 
 
 White bent his head and pushed himself along against 
 the wind, shouldering it aside, staggering sometimes, and 
 sometimes actually borne bacls:ward, like a man struggling 
 in a dense crowd of people. It was very dark, but he felt 
 little fear of losing his way. The settlers were scattered, 
 but they had plowed out the section lines straight across the 
 level township, affording a plain guide which he could feel 
 if he could not see. 
 
 The wind no longer toyed with straws nor whirled the 
 prairie dust in playful eddies; there was neither whispering 
 nor moaning; straight out of the Northwest it came with a 
 roar that made all other sounds inaudible, bearing frozen 
 raindrops that struck and stung like venomous insects. No 
 man could face such a gale and breathe. With face turned 
 aside and shoulder thrust forward, White labored like a 
 man carrying a load up a steep hill. At times advance was 
 impossible, and the man crouched close to the ground, gasp- 
 ing for breath, hiding his face and hands in the folds of the 
 buffalo coat in a vain attempt to avoid the pitiless cold 
 which seemed to pierce through his clothing as if it had 
 been gossamer. The wind tugged at him, pushed him back- 
 ward and down upon the ground; the cold tortured his 
 whole body and bit cruelly at neck and wrist like a reptile 
 whose vicious wisdom taught it to strike at unprotected 
 flesh. Yet he pressed on, falling over rough places and ris- 
 ing again to push forward in the teeth of the shrieking 
 wind. Had it been daylight, vision would have been impos- 
 sible, for human eyes could not endure the pelting of the 
 sharp icicles and the deadly cold of the blast. Over the 
 deep furrow marking the town line he stumbled back and 
 forth, falling sometimes and cutting hands and face against 
 the frozen ground, yet feeling thankful that he was able to 
 avoid wandering from his path. 
 
 There is a limit to a man's ability to resist low tempera- 
 ture and strong wind, even though he may possess all the 
 grim courage of generations of Puritan forefathers, though 
 in him is concentrated the strength of many backwoods 
 progenitors. The cold paralyzes him and the wind makes 
 him delirious; and White lost the power of clearly dis- 
 tinguishing between facts about him and mental irupres- 
 sions from within. He found himself standing still while in 
 a crazy sort of way he tried to convince himself that his pile 
 of w' eat would keep Elsa Haldorsen from being hungry, all 
 the time painfully half conscious that it was not mental 
 
78 THE MARIPOSA MAGAZINE, 
 
 anxiety he needed to fight against, so much as the dreadful 
 suffering from the cold. He pulled himself together, men- 
 tally and physically, knocking his numbed arms together 
 to start the sluggish blood to flowing in his veins, and stum- 
 bled forward, not thinking much of direction, ^^t half in- 
 stinctively coming back to the furrow when he felt level 
 ground beneath his feet. 
 
 The paralysis of cold is stronger than the delirium con- 
 sequent upon excessive air pressure on the lungs. White 
 thought the fierce shriek of the wind less loud. Pain seemed 
 less intense. 
 
 "My knees feel kind o' funny," he mumbled to himself. 
 
 The delirious mind in a rugged body still made its desper- 
 ate fight against the fatal torpor of the cold. 
 
 "My knees — my knee — " 
 
 He had fallen to his hands and knees, striking the sharp 
 lumps of frozen earth in the furrow. He was tired. It was 
 not very cold. Here was a place to rest. 
 
 It was like tearing soul from body to rouse himself to go 
 on. Sharp consciousness came back for a moment, and with 
 it fear more horrible than extremity of physical pain. 
 
 "God Almighty," he moaned, "don't le' me git sleepy! 
 Sweet Jesus, don't le' me git sleepy!" 
 
 He rose to his knees, wavering from side to side. A blast 
 stronger, colder, more deadly than any that had come be- 
 fore roared across the prairie, carrying a mass of snow and 
 ice that made the air seem solid. White toppled over upon 
 his face, and delirium struck its last blow in its battle with 
 the stupor of cold. 
 
 "Gol darn sleepy," whispered the man, his half frozen 
 lips stretching apart in a ghastly smile. He lay down across 
 the furrow which had been his guide. The snow fell stead- 
 ily and the blast roared over him. 
 
 A blow upon his body, and then another — a stroke upon 
 his head that made great flashes of light before his eyes — 
 upon his face a breath scorching as if straight from the in- 
 fernal regions — W^hite sat up and heard the howling wind, 
 felt numbly the pricking of driving snow, and saw slowly 
 drifting by the dim forms of cattle which tlie Wind God 
 was gathering together for his own. 
 
 Some of them had trodden upon him, struck their hoofs 
 against him, breathed upon his face. If they had bruised 
 him he was too cold to feel it. T'ney had broken no bones, 
 for he rose slowly to his feet and stood pounding himself 
 across the breast with arms that seemed dead to feeling. 
 
 He was awake, and though rather stupid he recognized 
 the fact that the bundle was gone from his shoulders. He 
 stooped and felt for it, found it, pushed it about with stiffen- 
 ed hands which had lost their power of grasping. 
 
 "That's what God A'mighty give me bull-dog jaws fer," 
 
AN ILL WIND. 79 
 
 he muttered. Stooping low to take the package in his teeth, 
 he fell. Then he rose unsteadily to his feet, and, witii stub- 
 born courage that was only pitiful, staggered out upon the 
 prairie. Numb and stupid with cold, incapable of consecu- 
 tive thought, he had forgotten the precious bundle. 
 
 Whether he had gone far or but a little way, he could not 
 tell, but suddenly the power of clear thinking came back to 
 him. It was dark. The blizzard howled and bore its burden 
 of frozen rain. But the sleet no longer stung, the cold no 
 longer bit. 
 
 'Tve lost the stuff, an' I can't git there anyhow." He 
 was too cold to be hopeful, too cold to be sorry for himself, 
 too cold to be afraid. He walked forward more by reason 
 of muscular action that had become habit than from any 
 effort of will. Again drowsiness came over him — drowsi- 
 ness resistless and comfortable as when he was a child. A 
 habit of childhood asserted itself: 
 
 "Now I lay me down to sleep," 
 
 he murmured, 
 
 "I pray the Lord my soul to keep. 
 If I should die before I wake, 
 I pray the Lord " 
 
 Like light flashing through black darkness, like sudden 
 awakening from deep sleep, full realization of his position 
 came to him — the hopelessness of his own condition, the 
 fate of the family he had hoped to succor — 
 
 "Help Elsa, help Elsa," he prayed; and again the veil 
 seemed to drop before his mind, making very dim his per- 
 ception of all earthly things. Then ten thousand fiery stars 
 danced before his eyes, an awful roar encompassed him — a 
 ,shock — and then nothing. 
 
 White had stumbled squarely upon the head of a long- 
 horned range steer, drifting blindly before the blizzard. 
 The startled animal raised his head, flinging the man head- 
 long and he went squarely through the blanket which the 
 Haldorsens had nailed over the doorway of their dug-out. 
 Elsa had replaced the blanket and piled corn against it 
 while the mother searched White's pockets for the matches 
 which every frontiersman carries and which meant life or 
 death to them all. She found them, and when W^hite came 
 to his senses corn was burning merrily in the little fire- 
 place, and the women and children were rubbing his hands 
 and feet. Elsa held his head in her lap, and when White 
 opened his eyes she said: 
 
 "I tole my mutter you vas come before we die." 
 
 With warm, strong arms she pressed his cheek against a 
 bosom throbbing with the strong . heartbeats that come 
 when the undiscriminating affection of childhood is sud- 
 denly transformed into the great sex love which shall dom- 
 inate a woman's life. 
 
 She kissed his lips. "You vas goot," she said; "I lofes 
 
Hoopa ^^a^ey is situated in the northeastern corner of 
 Humboldt County, near the boundary line of Trinity 
 County. Many years ago a wandering band of Apaches 
 climbed the rocky fastnesses of Trinity summit and, looking 
 down, saw a valley below them, green, beautiful, and 
 abounding in live oak, with Trinity River winding its way 
 through its park-like length. Thej climbed down the al- 
 most perpendicular walls of the level lands below and 
 pitched their tents on the slopes above the river. 
 
 Years afterward, when their arrival in the valley had be- 
 come lost in the mist of tradition, the country began to be 
 inhabited by white people, to whom the Hoopa Indians be- 
 came a constant menace. Finally a horrible massacre 
 caused the Government to establish Fort Gaston in the , 
 valley, and Captain John, the Hoopa chief, was taken to 
 San Francisco to see the people. He went back to Hoopa 
 subdued and with a broken spirit; gathering the chiefs 
 around him on the beach by the river, he took up a great 
 handful of sand, saying: "The white people are as many as 
 the grains in my hand, and it only means death to attempt 
 to fight them." Since then peace has reigned ; the Govern- 
 ment, finding no use for the fort and the soldiers, removed 
 them, leaving only the Captain in charge. 
 
 The entrance to Hoopa is by trail, although there is a 
 road in most wretched condition from infrequent travel. 
 You leave Eureka, the county seat, travel to a small town 
 known as Korbel, and from there go straight up the moun- 
 tain to a small road-house, which resembles nothing quite 
 as much as a robber's roost, and is known as the Mountain 
 House. Here the first stop is made. The trip after that is 
 over a narrow pack trail, through gorges, and around preci- 
 pices, and, just before Hoopa is reached, it is necessary to 
 pass Cape Horn, a horrible promontory, around which the 
 
 I 
 
THE INDIANS OF HOOPA VALLEY. 8i 
 
 path winds like a tiny thread hundreds of feet above the 
 creek. The view beyond Cape Horn, however, quite repays 
 one for this really thrilling experience. 
 
 The valley is about twelve miles long and three or four 
 across, with sides so steep and high that the sun disappears 
 early in the afternoon, even on the longest Summer days. 
 Through the centre flows the Trinity, broad, treacherous 
 and deep, with innumerable tributary streams, and at inter- 
 vals, wild, foaming rapids on its otherwise quiet surface. 
 The river seems to be a division between civilization and an 
 advanced degree of barbarism. On the west side are the 
 Indian schools, the houses belonging to the Captain and the 
 teachers and the United States Fish Commission, all ar- 
 ranged around a great circular park with gravel paths, 
 fountains and a most beautiful lawn. Above and below are 
 the Indians who live in frame houses, the half-breeds and 
 "squaw men." 
 
 Across the river a different state of things exists. I re- 
 member being piloted over to the other side last Summer in 
 a canoe and starting with a small party to investigate an 
 almost unknown country. 
 
 The first hut we reached belonged to Captain John, who 
 holds undisputed sway over the east side of the river and is 
 the most magnificent Indian I have ever seen. He is tall 
 and perfectlj^ erect, with a face cut like a cameo. Old men, 
 bent and worn out, say that w^hen they were boys Captain 
 John was an old man, but time has dealt lightly with him, 
 and, in spite of his iron-grey hair, he does not look over 
 fifty. He is believed to be about one hundred and ten years 
 of age. 
 
 When we arrived at his hut he was down in the smoke- 
 house, but he came up, and with the dignity of a Chester- 
 field invited us in, sitting before us in stony silence, while 
 his brother, who is Captain John's shadow, delivered a 
 monologue in a strange gutteral tongue. 
 
 The smoke-house is a primitive Turkish bath, made by 
 digging a hole in the ground and covering it with an air- 
 tight roof. The Indian goes in through a small hole with a 
 sliding door, which he closes behind him. Once within he 
 builds a raging fire and lies down with his face to the floor 
 till the heat becomes unbearable and his body is in a heavy 
 perspiration, then the rushes out and jumps into the river, 
 which is always freezing cold. 
 
 The bank of the river is lined with these smoke-houses, 
 and behind them is the burying ground, possibly placed 
 there in a spirit of irony. When an Indian dies he takes 
 all his worldly possessions with him, and the hut in which 
 he dies is burned to the ground. Over his grave on a cross 
 bar his miserable clothes are hung, and on the ground, in 
 unstudied carelessness, lie bits of crockery and glass greatly 
 cherished bv him in his lifetime. 
 
82 THE MARIPOSA MAGAZINE. 
 
 Most of the Indians on Captain John's side of the river 
 live in the dug-out houses, which look like a hut about three 
 feet high, with no visible entrance. Hidden away some- 
 where under the eaves of the roof there is a round hole with 
 a flat well worn stone in front. To enter one must get down 
 on hands and knees, push back the sliding door, and crawl 
 through the hole. Inside there is a small platform with a 
 ladder leading down into what at first seems a bottomless 
 pit. With the eyes accustomed to the light a deep room 
 can be seen, with a fire in one corner, blankets on the 
 ground, and in every convenient place some kind of a basket 
 filled with acorns, nuts or meal. It is in the dug-outs that 
 the best "finds" are made by the collector. This is where 
 the squaw cooks saw-haw by throwing red-hot stones in a 
 large, brown basket full of acorn meal and water, to be 
 eaten later from the same basket by the family, all using 
 one spoon of elk horn, carved by some ancestor, for the elk 
 are now extinct in California. 
 
 There is very little use for money in Hoopa, as the Indians 
 are provided for by the Government; it is therefore quite 
 difficult to buy their work. Their ideas of money are most 
 confused. Many a time a really beautiful basket can be 
 bought for about half its value from a squaw who will the 
 next moment ask the same price for an old wooden pipe. 
 A store has been established of late years near the agency, 
 and quite a traffic started in baskets, which are shipped 
 from Hoopa to all parts of the United States, so, perhaps, 
 as the Indian's need for money increases his ideas on the 
 subject may become more clear. 
 
 The Hoopa baskets are very beautiful, but not quite 
 equal to the standard of the Porno weaves. The Hoopa 
 squaws never use feathers or beads in their patterns, but 
 what is lost that way is made up by most exquisite designs. 
 The baskets used for caps are particularly beautiful, being 
 made of the finest basket straw, the pattern worked in with 
 the black stems of the maiden-hair fern. 
 
 The shapes of baskets are an interesting study, as nearly 
 every one has a tradition or significance attached. There is 
 the white-deer-skin-dance basket, shaped like an acorn, in 
 which the Indian brings his most valuable possessions to 
 the annual dance. The idea involved is quite apparent, 
 that from those small belongings greater ones may grow, 
 as, the oak grows from the acorn. 
 
 Then there is the saw-haw basket, the Indian 'pan," and 
 innumerable others, each with its individual use and most 
 apparent raison d' etre. 
 
 Even in Hoopa Valley, isolated as it is, the old Indian 
 customs are fast dying out. The dances which in past 
 years were frequent and indulged in by the entire band, 
 including the Klamath Indians from Wichpec, are now only 
 
THE INDIANS OF HOOPA VALLEY. 83 
 
 (lanced by the older men, who in a few years will be gone, 
 leaving in their places only a wretched band of half-breeds 
 and civilized braves from the schools. 
 
 Last year the Indians had what will doubtless be the last 
 boat dance in Hoopa Valley. At dusk Captain John and 
 his men gathered together on the river, two in each canoe, 
 and standing erect, swayed from side to side, chanting a 
 most melancholy dirge. On the shore the squaws knelt, 
 moving their bodies in accordance with the rising and fall- 
 ing of the chant and weeping bitterly the while. It is most 
 weird and impressive to watch in the gathering darkness. 
 Its origin and meaning is quite unknown. 
 
 There is so much of interest to mention in connection 
 with this almost unknown and inaccessible corner of the 
 State that one hardly knows where to begin or when to 
 stop, but to the ambitious tramper I would say that it is 
 well worth a visit, even with the attendant hardships. Not 
 only is the Hoopa Valley beautiful, but the country passed 
 through is picturesque beyond description and barely 
 equalled by the Yosemite. — A. K. D. 
 
SENSE AND NONSENSE. 
 
 B/ 
 
 CHARLES 7^. MURDOCH. 
 
 Sense in a human being springs from a harmonious rela- 
 tion of all his powers. It is twin brother to judgment out 
 of reason by imported insight. Sense is what makes a man 
 an idiot if he doesn't have it. Sense has fine staying pow- 
 ers, and often distances genius, brilliancy, and the whole 
 held of thoroughbreds. The man of sense is the man w^e 
 lean on. He is the salt that keeps the human sea from 
 spoiling; he is the balance wheel that prevents the cranks 
 from moving too fast, the governor that regulates the 
 steam, the brake that holds the wheels on the down grade. 
 He is the combined judge and jury at the bar of mankind. 
 He is the man that knows, and the only one whose advice is 
 worth taking. The sensible man knows what is good for 
 him. He is never intemperate either in his appetite or his 
 mind. He is balanced and self-controlled. He is far- 
 sighted and long-mirided, fair and just; too wise to be con- 
 ceited, too just to be selfish. He is never a spendthrift and 
 never a miser. Prodigality and parsimony are equally 
 shunned. He is neither skeptical nor credulous. He 
 doubts till he is convinced, but his mind is open and he is 
 ready to be convinced. He believes what he has accepted 
 with a firmness that holds him sefcurely, but is not immov- 
 able. He has strong convictions and he acts fearlessly on 
 them, but he never feels that he has compassed all of truth. 
 His mind is hospitable and his heart is generous and kindly. 
 He is a man of good-will, and is willing to help or be helped, 
 as occasion warrants. He is not without pride, but there is 
 too much of him to be vain. He is just to others and to 
 himself. He is neither too timid nor too confident. He 
 loves peace, but will fight for sufficient cause. He is perse- 
 vering, but knows when it is folly to continue. If he is very 
 sensible he avoids not only vices but overdone virtues. He 
 walks erect, but is in no danger of falling over backwards. 
 He is as far from gloom and pessimism as he is from hilar- 
 ious optimism. He is neither despairing and doubtful nor 
 ridiculously sanguine. He has a strong self-respect, but is 
 not unduly sensitive and thin-skinned. He is calm and col- 
 lected, but not without impulse and enthusiasm. He is 
 cool, but capable of being excited. He is the typical aver- 
 age man, not the highest type of genius, perhaps, not the 
 
 I 
 
SENSE AND NONSENSE. 8s 
 
 leader of the race, the inspired prophet, the poet, the re- 
 former. He is the everyday, all-around, uncracked, staple 
 product. What beef and bread are to the daily diet the 
 man of sense is to the life of the world. He represents 
 health, balance, soundness. 
 
 But the man of sense may relish nonsense. The capacity 
 to appreciate it is a gift apart, like an ear for music. There 
 are worthy people who are color blind, and others most 
 worthy in their benighted way who have no appreciation of 
 nonsense. This delightful atmosphere of the mind must 
 not be confounded with folly. It is the complement, not 
 the antithesis of sense. To state it arithmetically, as work 
 is to play, so is sense to nonsense. It is the unchecked rein, 
 the slippered foot, the unbent bow, the loosened tension. 
 It is relaxation, recreation, change, renewal. It is the great 
 lubricant of the machinery of daily life. It is the salt and 
 pepper without which a stew would be wholly unpalatable. 
 It is to be used sparingly or the dish is spoiled. The true 
 proportion is expressed in the ancient saw, beginning "a 
 little nonsense, now and then." So used, it promotes 
 health and digestion. It surely has its place in a normal 
 human character, and a world without it would be unendur- 
 able. There is enough in life to make us sober. God 
 knows that, and so he makes it possible for us to be merry 
 at times. Wit sparkles in the human mind, and humor 
 warms the human heart. Man is gifted with the capacity 
 to laugh. It is pretty hard work for some of the species, 
 and many have precious little to laugh at, poor souls, but 
 the fact that man can laugh is an unmeasured blessing, and 
 when he does he should give thanks. The true man of sense 
 has room for a modicum of nonsense. If he hasn't he is 
 not sensible. Shakespeare was wholly sane, and he could 
 both moan in agony and shriek with laughter. Timon and 
 Falstaflf, what a contrast. lago and Touchstone, what a 
 world between them. Prospero, what a god-like man. 
 Caliban, how near the brute. Even the grave and reverend 
 Gladstone knows his Lewis Carroll, as he is said to have 
 reproved a clergyman who spoke disrespectfully of the 
 Snark, and he expressed an opinion that no man was worthy 
 of ecclesiastical preferment who had doubts as to a Boojum. 
 
 We feel that Carlyle was less great because of his sar- 
 donic temper, while Emerson gains in power from the gentle 
 humor that plays between his lofty thoughts. Dear, de- 
 lightful Charles Lamb, how the world loves him for his 
 sunny soul; and Sydney Smith, what a joy provoker has he 
 been. If the man who makes two blades of grass to grow 
 where one has grown before is a benefactor to mankind, 
 how much greater is the gift of him who coaxes a smile 
 from a weary soul, or makes a laugh to spring where none 
 was known before. There are people in the world who are 
 so constructed that they cannot get beyond the utilities. 
 
86 THE MARIPOSA MAGAZINE. 
 
 If a thing is not useful it is of no value whatever. They 
 are well enough as far as they go, but what right has a veg- 
 etable garden to scorn and sneer at the flowers and vines 
 that fill the eye with beauty and the air with fragrance but 
 are of no use when it comes to a boiled dinner? There are 
 other things in the world besides usefulness, and there are 
 forms of use we know very little about. The practical man 
 is somewhat apt to look upon anything not practical with 
 contempt and impatience, but there is a whole world be- 
 yond his little potato patch. 
 
 Happy is the man who has a sense of humor and sees the 
 amusing side of things. He does not wear out as quickly 
 as your alwaj^s serious man whose eyes never twinkle and 
 who never laughs aloud. Of course a man must not be 
 intemperate in it. The constant joker, or the man whose 
 face never straightens out with seriousness or earnestness 
 is very tiresome, and brings good-nature into disrepute 
 with the undiscriminating. The constant punster is a great 
 trial, though commonly a small man. He is a human gnat 
 whose annoyance is aggravated by reason of his being so 
 little. 
 
 The parody is another dangerous form of wit. Many a 
 noble poem has been spoiled by a vile travesty that by the 
 depravity of the intellect sticks when we wish it might be 
 forgotten. On the other hand, there are some clever paro- 
 dies that do no harm, but give much innocent delight. Bret 
 Harte has done nothing better than his condensed novels. 
 
 Strictly speaking, wit and humor cannot be considered 
 the antithesis of sense, for they must have great sense or 
 they fail to be; but one gets a better idea of the true relation 
 of sense and nonsense if the question is broadened by add- 
 ing to the side of sense that idea of utility and practicality 
 with which it is on such intimate terms, and of coupling 
 with nonsense all that is facetious and mirth provoking, 
 those varied expressions of fun and frolic that pertain to 
 man in his off-duty hours. Time was when our morbid an- 
 cestors felt that enjoyment was questionable, and their 
 overstrict conscience caused them to look askance at friv- 
 olity and merriment, but we are over that now, and wisely 
 class them with our privileges. We ought to indulge in 
 them freely when we can. There is danger of our slighting 
 this side of our nature from our devotion to business and 
 money-making, even as our fathers did from devotion to 
 religious observances. Let us be firmly convinced that 
 there is a time for all things, at least for all things as harm- 
 less as wit, fun, and frolic, and let us try to keep a corner in 
 our hearts where it shall be cherished, and not driven out 
 by the mad rush for wealth, nor darkened utterly by the 
 trials and sorrows of life. Let us carefully cultivate the 
 garden of our mind, and raise all manner of pleasant fruit, 
 but leave one little nook where the vines may climb at will 
 and laugh in the sunshine without a thought of use. 
 
Tbe Tryst. 
 
 WARREN CHENEY. 
 
 It* I skirt the cherry hedge 
 
 As the clock is striking eight; 
 
 Turn there by the grass-plot's edge, 
 
 Passing by the iron gate, 
 
 (Ugh! I hear its hinge creak still!) 
 
 And, silent as the whip-poor-will 
 
 Flitting on before me, w^edge 
 
 Through a gap I know, and gain 
 
 The great passion vine they train 
 
 Up around her window ledge — 
 
 Then, at the last, silvery stroke. 
 
 If I whistle, once, twice — so — 
 
 Like the little house owl's call — 
 
 Somehow, in the dark, I know. 
 
 Though I hear no sound at all, 
 
 That the door there on the right 
 
 Opens slowly; and a patch 
 
 Of shadow drifts along the wall 
 
 Somewhat less thaji woman's height. 
 
 Drifts and flutters; and no more 
 
 Till I hear the smothered scratch, 
 
 In the gravel, of swift feet, 
 
 Kush of garments, an 4. I see 
 
 There, where nothing was before, 
 
 By me close the shadow sweet 
 
 Hands outstretched my hands to greet, 
 
 And her face leaned out to me. 
 
88 
 
 THE MARIPOSA MAGAZINE. 
 
 8 
 
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 CD 
 
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SAN FRANCISCO'S NEEDS. 
 
 JAHES D. PHELAN. 
 
 San Francisco has grown so steadily since the American 
 occupation of California, and has so gracefully and easily 
 taken its place as the metropolis of the Pacific Coast, that 
 its inhabitants have regarded its development as a natural 
 growth, not unlike the growth of plants and trees. Little 
 or nothing has been done to stimulate its development. 
 Other cities have been pushed ahead by organized efforts, 
 and they have endeavored in a few years, by such a forcing 
 process, to enjoy the apparent stability of older communi- 
 ties. This artificial process has been called "booming." 
 Now, San Francisco has never been subjected to anything 
 of this kind, and hence it is more apt to maintain its posi- 
 tion as a metropolis, because its growth, like the growth of 
 everything that is permanent and enduring, has been by 
 slow and easy stages. It possesses in its bay and harbor a 
 magnificent advantage over any possible competitor for the 
 metropolitan pre-eminence, and with a more liberal rail- 
 road policy than it has enjoyed in the past, its lost com- 
 merce should speedily be regained and augmented. There 
 has been a falling off since 1891 of the trade of this city 
 with Australia, with Japan, with the Hawaiian Islands and 
 with the Philippine Islands, and a slight increase in our 
 trade with China. But there are movements on foot which 
 are certainly to be enumerated among the needs of San 
 Francisco to improve our trade relations with foreign coun- 
 tries. 
 
 The new life which has been infused both into Japan and 
 China, the political changes in Hawaii, and the construc- 
 tion of the trans-Siberian railroad, which seems to insure a 
 line of steamships between San Francisco and Vladvistock, 
 the opening of Alaska and the ultimate construction of the 
 Nicaragua Canal are certain to count in our favor. San 
 Francisco is but 4,600 miles from Yokahama, and 6,100 
 miles from Hongkong, which is considerably less than half 
 the distance to the great maritime ports of Europe and Eng- 
 land. Furthermore, San Francisco is in the most direct line 
 between the Oriental ports and the Nicaragua Canal, and 
 perhaps a vessel will save 2,000 miles by touching at San 
 
go THE MARIPOSA MAGAZINE, 
 
 Francisco rather than at the Hawaiian Islands, which are 
 popularly believed to be a more convenient half-way or call- 
 ing station between these places. 
 
 Having perfected our facilities for dealing with the out- 
 side world, which means the enrichment of our city and all 
 the people thereof, because commerce is and always has 
 been a vast source of wealth, we can turn our minds to the 
 consideration of internal development. In order to make a 
 market for our domestic manufactures, we must make them 
 as good and as cheap as those from anywhere else, which 
 can be done by a more thorough technical education given 
 to young mechanics and artisans by public institutions; 
 and secondly, by the enterprise of our business men in seek- 
 ing markets through agencies. Boards of Trade, Manufac- 
 turers' and Producers' Associations, and instrumentalities 
 of that kind. When wealth and prosperity come to a city, 
 as- they have come during the last 50 years to San Fran- 
 cisco, the later generations naturally turn to the other and 
 pleasanter side of life, and endeavor, which is now among 
 the most urgent of our needs, to bring about conditions of 
 municipal life favorable to the health, comfort and happi- 
 ness of the people. Not only must the workshop be kept 
 busy, but the house must be kept sanitary, clean and beau- 
 tiful. 
 
 When any extensive municipal work shall be undertaken, 
 the city is in a position to use its credit. It owes no money 
 now. If we are to build for all time we should not pay for 
 all time, and if posterity is going to benefit by our improve- 
 ments of to-day, posterity should bear a part of the burden. 
 It is to be assumed that public initiative will be followed 
 by private enterprise, and that theatres, museums, libra- 
 ries and galleries will come to San Francisco, following the 
 demands of artistic taste, or perhaps as a legacy of her suc- 
 cessful citizens. These matters, in a community where art, 
 music and the drama are not, as in Europe, subsidized, are 
 no less a growth than a gift. The taste must be here to ap- 
 preciate them before they come, but they certainly will 
 come when that taste is developed. The artistic taste of 
 San Francisco is -un fait accompli, and these pressing needs 
 of civilized life should have their temples. Private citizens 
 should look with affection and pride upon the city which 
 has been the field of their successful labors, and bequeath 
 legacies of usefulness and beauty, ennobling and civilizing 
 in their influences, and thus shall they be remembered by 
 monuments of their own construction in the city of the liv- 
 ing rather than by neglected shafts in the city of the dead. 
 San Francisco will, under development of this kind, possess 
 all the gratifications of an enlightened people, and will 
 surely be the Mecca of the home-seeker and the tourist of 
 the American continent, and be a resort for the travelers 
 
SAN FRANCISCO'S NEEDS. 91 
 
 of the world. Already its reputation for hospitality is ex- 
 tensive and well deserved. As a man should ascertain those 
 things which he is qualified to do, and do them, so should 
 a city, with an introspective glance see her own capacity, 
 and cultivate those things for which she is best qualified. 
 From her position San Francisco must necessarily be a 
 great market and exchange — an emporium of trade and 
 commerce — and her merchant:s should take advantage of 
 this fact. From the mildness of her climate and from the 
 unparalleled natural attractions of California, San Fran- 
 cisco should perfect herself in all these things which add to 
 the pleasure and delight of mankind, in order that she may 
 not only draw but hold that large and increasing population 
 that seeks now in Europe and other remote countries that 
 relaxation, repose and pleasure which comes after a life of 
 toil; drawing their incomes from other lands and pouring 
 them into the lap of that city or resort which most com- 
 mends itself to their favor. With an industrial and mer- 
 cantile and a pleasure-seeking population, San Francisco 
 should make in turn her contribution to civilization. With 
 beauty of land and sky must come a love of the beautiful, 
 and in no remote time should the achievements of Greece 
 and Kome be paralleled on this western shore, and civiliza- 
 tion, beginning in the far East, having made the circuit of 
 the globe, find at length its orbit completed and its highest 
 development attained by the Golden Gate. This has been 
 the prognostication of observing minds, and if the people 
 of this city will share such confidence in their own future, 
 they will enter upon the work of San Francisco's regener- 
 ation and development with a fixity of purpose and enthu- 
 siasm which so enchanting a prospect invites, and in the 
 hope of its consummation find at once their inspiration and 
 
REniNISCENCES OF JOHN Q. WHITTIER. 
 
 Well do I remember my first impression of the unambi- 
 tious poet. It was at a Quaker Tea in Philadelphia. The 
 Hungarian patriot Kossuth, William Llojd Garrison, and 
 Whittier were the guests of honor, but the exquisite cour- 
 tesy of Lucretia Mott made no distinction among the com- 
 pany of fifteen or twenty assembled. At the neatly ap- 
 pointed table she accorded these three the usual seats of 
 honor; the silent grace followed by Friends was not omit- 
 ted, her dignified husband merely bowing his head as a sig- 
 nal for a few moments silence. 
 
 Whittier was a shy, diffident man, but never awkward, 
 and his tall and manly presence, flashing dark eyes and 
 agreeable voice gave added impressiveness to his earnest 
 manner. The early influence of his Quaker training was to 
 him, as it has been to many others, a school of repression; 
 and while fertility of ideas was not wanting, the absence of 
 fluency of speech and a natural modestj^ that he never over- 
 came, rendered him taciturn in a general company, though 
 he talked admirably when the circle consisted only of a few 
 intimates. Yet he was quick to enjoy the airy nothings 
 w^hich floated about society at this tea. I watched him, the 
 center of a crowd of people, gradually thaw out, break into 
 laughter at some sally, and then come into the tilt with a 
 brilliant repartee. These, however, soon changed their spar- 
 kle, as the explosive voice of Garrison and the mild tones 
 of our host attracted attention. One by one each individual 
 was drawn into conversation, animated, witty, serious, dis- 
 cursive. Books, journalism, the impending crisis, Califor- 
 nia and its stirring probobilities. the suffrage question, etc. 
 There was a coterie at that table whose names have since 
 grown into fame. The evening passed away leaving pun- 
 gent and agreeable recollections of hours delightfully spent 
 and a conviction that talk was not a lost art, in that 
 charmed circle at least. 
 
 Whittier's fund of humor M'^as so keen, that he enjoyed 
 recounting his own blunders during his school teaching 
 days, in the process of boarding around. These recitals en- 
 livened a pleasant ride I took with him one Sunday after- 
 noon to the scene of his early poem '^Mogg Megone." In- 
 
REMINISCENCIES OF WHITTIER ^j 
 
 dian legendary lore was an attractive subject, and he was 
 fond of catching his inspiration from the landscape before 
 him. On another occasion we made the circuit of the Mar- 
 blehead — that quaint old town which still retains many of 
 its old-fashioned homes, and where, in ancient days, 
 
 "Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, 
 Was tarred and feathered and carried in a cart 
 By the women of Marblehead." 
 
 The reading of that poem by the author himself is im- 
 pressed on my memory as one of the pleasant incidents of 
 that delightful visit. After our return, when the early tea 
 was over, as we sat on the open porch he looked fatigued, 
 so, passing into the library adjoining I selected a volume of 
 his works, and said: '^Now I am going to indulge myself by 
 reading an author's own lyrics to him." 
 
 He smiled, and replied: 
 
 ^^I suppose thee thinks that will be a treat." 
 
 "As they are John G. Whittier's they should be," I an- 
 swered. I turned to "Parson Avery's Swan Song." 
 
 "The clouds were golden in the west, the summer air had 
 
 lulled to a zephyr, the flowers were closing their chalices, and 
 
 their faint fragrant aroma permeated the atmosphere with its 
 
 sweetness." 
 
 "The clouds were golden in the west, the summer air had lulled to 
 a zephyr, the flowers were closing their chalices, and their faint 
 fragrant aroma permeated the atmosphere with its sweetness." 
 
 "The reaper's task was ended 
 And the summer wearing late." 
 
 Whittier listened attentively, and, as I finished, said: 
 
 "Well, I have had a great deal of poetry read to me, but 
 this is the first time anyone has read me my own." 
 
 Evidently he was pleased. With that encouragement I 
 went on. Several others followed, and at last I turned to 
 "Floyd Ireson." He criticized my reading of that, said I 
 bad not caught the proper intonation, and taking the book 
 from my hand read the refrain as I had never before heard 
 it, and never shall again. The peculiar pronunciation, the 
 cries of the "old wives grey" seemed mingled into a curse, 
 and I could almost hear the rattle of the car over the stones 
 and see the tarred and feathered penitent skipper, writhing 
 in agonies of remorse "left alone with his shame and sin." 
 
 The library was the pleasantest and most interesting 
 feature of the house at Amesbury. Its alcoves were filled 
 with such a varietv of volumes that no one would have 
 
94 THE MARIPOSA MAGAZINE. 
 
 thought their owner was not a scholarly man — which in the 
 strictest sense of the word Whittier was not. But his range 
 of interest was so extensive, his intuition so quick, his mem- 
 ory so good that he retained almost all he read. His corres- 
 pondence with scientific as well as literary men and women 
 was so profuse that for some years before his death he 
 found it difficult to get through the amount of labor it in- 
 volved To his most intimate friends he always wrote per- 
 sonally, employing an amunuensis as seldom as possible. 
 Until within recent years his sight and hearing were unim- 
 paired, but later, he acknowledged he felt them failing, and 
 was obliged to restrict both the number and length of his 
 letters ; in many of them alluding to the end which he felt 
 to be near, and expressing faith and trust in the mercy and 
 love of the infinite Father. In a note received sometime 
 after my visit East, he says: 
 
 "I miss my old friends still; Emerson, Fields, and Long- 
 fellow especially, and at times a feeling of great loneliness 
 comes over me. Dr. Holmes and I meet often, and talk of 
 those who have gone from us, and the near change which 
 awaits us also. I have seen a good many people recently, 
 some of our gifted women have been here, Elizabeth Stuart 
 Phelps, Celia Thaxter, Annie Field, Sara B. Jewett and 
 others. I have more and warmer friends than I deserve. 
 But I am very thankful for them nevertheless." 
 
 There is such an abundance of rich material to choose 
 from in culling stray passages from the life of an individual 
 whose every phase reveals variations of beautiful color in 
 whatever light it is presented, that I have searched in vain 
 for some foil to the universal verdict of praise, and tried to 
 discover some flaw which might by any possibility be a de- 
 fect in the crystal clearness of a character so unusual, so 
 unworldly, so readily adapting itself to the minor of sor- 
 row, and the major of joy. 
 
 Think of it! not a touch of blighting immorality in a 
 single word he has ever written, not a suggestion that a 
 mother might not sing to her baby girl, and he lived eighty- 
 four years a rounded life of spotless integrity. 
 
 John G. Whittier was a material illustration of spiritual 
 force, living out its meaning for mankind, while writing out 
 its inspiration. There is often a great distinction between 
 the man and the Poet, but in him the need for this separa- 
 tion did not exist. Nay, his name will grow into greater 
 prominence as the world grows into a more reverential con- 
 ception of the grandeur of the human soul, and the seed he 
 has sown will come to a yet more abundant fruitage. As 
 man, poet, patriot, and philanthropist, he will stand fore- 
 most in that company of gifted ones, who in recent years 
 
REMINISCENCES OE WHITTIER, gs 
 
 have been one after another putting on the garments of im- 
 mortality. 
 
 Whittier's friendships were intimately connected with all 
 that was best, noblest, and most exhilarating in his life. 
 They were in touch with every reform of the day. They 
 extended far beyond the narrow bound of his localities. 
 From the Orient he had letters of the deepest interest. He 
 knew the religious movements of the time, not from books 
 alone, but from contact with travelers, from reports of mis- 
 sionaries, from English residents of India, Japan, Russia 
 and other countries. In the '^Friends' Mission in Alaska" 
 he was deeply interested, and received with great satisfac- 
 tion the report of its progress, from his cousin, Mrs. Wood- 
 man, of Oak Knoll, who had visited it. He had abundant 
 sources of private information denied to others, and was 
 well posted on all political questions of importance. Trans- 
 lations of his books were sent him occasionally. He had 
 letters from Daniel Wheeler in far off Russia, and from 
 Joseph Sturge, to both of whom he has paid touching poetic 
 tributes. His poems were in Tolstoi's library. I might 
 enumerate the names of hundreds who held him close to 
 their hearts. Bayard Taylor called to bid him good-bye 
 when he started to see "Europe afoot," and to the day of 
 his death kept him posted on all his joumeyings. He used 
 to say that although he had never been on a long journey 
 his travels had been singularly extensive. With John 
 Bright and other English parliamentarians he corresponded 
 regularly. Some of the letters he received from embryo 
 writers, spring chickens, poets, sentimental Maud Mullers, 
 his sense of honor prevented his showing. But he some- 
 times told of them in a humorous mood always concealing 
 names. He enjoyed a jest as he would a ripe juicy apple, 
 but Hiere must he no worm at the core. 
 
 And his visitors? They thronged that simple cottage at 
 Amesbury; they came from everywhere. They came by 
 twos; they flocked in parties of five or six, they stared at 
 him; they asked him all manner of questions; they pested 
 him for introductions to editors; they wanted his opinion 
 on voluminous manuscripts, and one aspiring youth asked 
 his receipt for making verses, as his mother might have 
 asked one for making hot biscuits. Other visitors he had, 
 the great, the distinguished, the good; and he met them 
 with a simple manly directness, and a kind hospitality that 
 knew no stint. 
 
 Our own Ina Coolbrith saw him in these last years, and 
 with warmest appreciation of her poetical gifts, he recog- 
 nized the quality of her creative faculty, and took her into 
 his heart and home. Thenceforth she was his cherished 
 
g6 THE MARIPOSA MAGAZINE, 
 
 friend, and lie wrote a letter of earnest thanks to the friend 
 who had introduced them. If these letters, if the recollec- 
 tions of these visitors are ever published thev will make a 
 record unequalled in the annals of biographical literature. 
 Whittier was very much attached to a nice child whose 
 name was Phoebe. One day Phoebe came to him with a 
 half-finished epitaph that she had written for a horse. It 
 read : 
 
 "He kicked to the right, 
 He kicked to the left, 
 He kicked the post and struck it" — 
 She could go no further, she appealed to her uncle, who 
 added : 
 
 "And when he broke his leg off — 
 Why then he kicked the bucket." 
 
 When her cat died it was too serious an event for Phoebe 
 to even attempt a memorial. So Mr. Whittier wrote : 
 "Bathsheba, 
 Whereat 
 None ever said, 'Scat!" 
 A worthier cat 
 Ne'er sat on a mat 
 Or killed a rat. 
 Requiescat!" 
 Some one asked Whittier's opinion of the Shakers. His 
 reply was: 
 
 ''I do not know anything about those dancing Dervishes. 
 I do not see any sense in such performances. I was always 
 ashamed of King David for dancing before the Lord; and I 
 never blamed his wife for being ashamed of him." 
 
 In an attempted visit to Hawthorne on one occasion, the 
 scene that ensued must have been somewhat ludicrous. 
 Mr. Whittier related it with great amusement. He said: 
 
 "Thee knows I am not skilled in visits and small talk, 
 but I wanted to make a friendly call on Hawthorne, and 
 one morning — it chanced to be an ill-fated morning for this 
 purpose — I sallied forth, and on reaching the house was 
 ushered into a lugubrious-looking room where Hawthorne 
 met me evidently in a lugubrious state of mind. In a 
 rather sepulchral tone of voice he bade me good-morning, 
 and asked me to be seated opposite him, and we looked at 
 each other and remarked about the weather; then came 
 an ai)palling silence and the cold chills crept down my 
 back, and after a moment or two I got up and said: I 
 think I will take a short walk! 
 
 I took my walk and returned to bid him good-morning, 
 much to my relief, and I have no doubt to his." 
 
REMINISCENCES OE WHITTIER. 
 
 97 
 
 In the winter of 1875, as some friends at whose house 
 VYhittier had been a welcome and honored guest, were 
 about sailing for Europe, he handed them an envelope, say- 
 ing: 
 
 ^'1 thought thee might like inv autograph." 
 The contents were as follows: 
 
 ^^What shall I say, dear friends, to whom I owe 
 The choicest blessings, dropping from the hands 
 Of trustful love and friendship, as you go 
 Forth on your journey to those elder lands. 
 By saint and sage and bard and hero trod? 
 Scarcely the simple farewell of the Friends 
 Sufficeth: After you my full heart sends 
 Such benediction as the pilgrim hears 
 Where the Greek faith its golden dome uprears 
 From Crimea's roses to Archangel snows 
 The fittest prayer of parting: ^Go with God!'" 
 
 — M. B. C. 
 
 .^ 
 
98 
 
 THE MARIPOSA MAGAZINE. 
 
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Tbe Coptributors Club. 
 
 Sure of a cordial welcome, The Mariposa makes its bow. You 
 have all smiled at it — and the editors feel that you are only waiting 
 to see it "clothed and in its right mirid" to give it a hearty god- 
 speed. Its raison d'etre is the necessities of the Ladies' Relief So- 
 ciety of Oakland, whose income has been greatly curtailed by the 
 depreciation of stocks and the partial withdrawal of the State aid. 
 
 Thanks to our generous contributors, we can place before you a 
 magazine that needs no apology. The articles contained in these 
 pages have been freely and cheerfully given, and William Keith, 
 Solly Waters and Oscar Maurer have joined the authors in making 
 the pages attractive. Our cover design is the result of a prize con- 
 test — the award being made to Lawrence Scammon of Oakland. 
 
 In joining the ranks of the journalists for this one issue we wish 
 to express our thanks for the friendly welcome they have accorded 
 us. We have been greatly aided by the Oakland Saturday Night, 
 The Overland Monthly and The Wave. The daily papers of San 
 Francisco and Oakland have encouraged us, and subscribers and ad- 
 vertisers have been most liberal. The Chinese Love Song, from the 
 play of "The First Born," is contributed by E. W. Armstrong, 
 735 Market street, San Francisco. 
 
 Our correspondence with some writers has given us a new view of 
 their diflacult position, particularly in California. We print below 
 a letter received from Mr. Gelette Burgess, who exhausts this subject 
 in his own crisp style. 
 
 80 Washington Square, New York, Feb. 25th, 1898. 
 My Dear Mrs. : 
 
 I am very sorry not to be able to contribute to your magazine, as 
 you have invited me, but it is quite impossible for me to do so in my 
 present circumstances. 
 
 At the risk of seeming impertinent (which I do not at all mean to 
 be), will you permit me to explain that an article of the length you 
 mention to which I should be willing to sign my name means, in the 
 first place, the gift of a salable idea, and at least two or three days' 
 good work. It means giving to the Relief Society what would bring 
 me from twenty to forty dollars, well earned. While I would not 
 grudge you that donation could I afford it, and felt particularly in 
 sympathy'- with your charity, I feel that I must let you know that a 
 young man or a young woman who has gone into the fight of earn- 
 ing a living by writing cannot possibly afford to do this. I am one 
 of a small coterie that has come from California (all within the last 
 year) to take the field in competition with many clever writers here, 
 
loo THE MARIPOSA MAGAZINE, . 
 
 and as I suppose you have made the same request to them, I assume 
 the responsibility of answering for them, myself, for I doubt if they 
 will care to express their minds as fully as I do. Every one of us 
 has had the experience of being practically driven out of San Fran- 
 cisco for lack of any real support from California in literary work, 
 and have found a certain amount of recognition in the East — if but 
 little, at least more than at home (remembering, of course, that I am 
 not a Californian by birth). There is, to be frank, little temptation 
 in the fame or name of having one's work published in California, 
 under such circumstances, when we can reach a larger audience, 
 and one that pays for what it reads. 
 
 Forgive me, my dear Mrs. , for expressing to you. my 
 
 opinions on a subject on which I feel very deeply — believe me, there 
 is no personal feeling whatever — but it is the first opportunity I have 
 had of freeing my mind. I do not think it is quite reasonable for 
 young writers who have, in the face of no recognition at home what- 
 ever (excuse the Bull), succeeded in getting to a point where their 
 work is salable, and where they dare to attempt to live on it, to 
 contribute their time, brains, and money; there are enough who 
 should be glad of the opportunity to bring themselves into notice. 
 
 If you know anything of my life in San Francisco, you know that 
 I have withheld neither my time nor my brains in services which it 
 is always impossible to measure in money value. You may then, 
 perhaps, excuse my too elaborate explanation of my attitude, for I 
 fear I have written nearly your 2,000 words already. Indeed, you 
 might do worse than print this, for if no one understands that this 
 is not a piece of the rudeness of which I am so often accused they 
 will be sure it came from 
 
 Yours very sincerely, 
 
 . GELETTE BURGESS. 
 
 In response to a desire on the part of the editor of this magazine, 
 I give below a Colonial recipe for cake, and one for punch, and an 
 addition of two others culled from an old receipt-book, hoary with 
 age, but sacred to the memory of one who has passed beyond. These 
 old recipes are interesting, as contrasted with those of the fin-de- 
 siecle schools of scientific cooking, where the educated and discrim- 
 inating stomach has at last found peace. 
 Mt. Vernon Cake. 
 
 Stir together until very light, i/^ lb. of butter and % lb. of sugar; 
 beat the yolks and whites of 7 or 8 eggs, separately, the whites to a 
 stiff froth; stir them into the cake and add a generous glass of 
 brandy, a grated nutmeg, and l^/^ lbs. of sifted fiour; just before bak- 
 ing, put in y2 pint of thick, rich cream and 1 lb. of seeded raisins. 
 Old Colonial Punch. 
 
 I copy it as it stands in my grandmother's book. It was handed 
 down to her in regular succession from her grandmother, who cir- 
 culated in the gay Colonial society of historic Philadelphia. Doubt- 
 less, it is this elixir that has filtered down the stream of time, and 
 
THE CONTRIBUTORS CLUB. loi 
 
 is hardly recognizable in our up-to-date punch offered at afternoon 
 teas in Berkeley — an unknown quantity O'f lemons, sugar, ice, and 
 strong tea, plunged into a vast sea of water. 
 Continental Strong. 
 
 One doz. lemons, 1 doz. oranges, 1 whole pineapple, 2 quarts of 
 claret, 2 quarts of whisky, two- thirds of a pint of strong green tea, 
 1/^ pint of rum. Mix these ingredients at night, cover it; next day 
 strain and add one or two bottles of genuine, good champagne. 
 Should not be made too sweet. Enough for thirty-five people in the 
 good old times; at the present date, by adding water, could be made 
 to serve eighty-five or a hundred people. 
 
 Mammie Lizzie was a good old Southern servant. Cooking was 
 her profession, and bread-making one of her specialties. At night, 
 before retiring, she went for it with an energy that recalls Elia's 
 Sarah Battle before beginning whist. "A bright fire, a clean hearth, 
 and the rigor of the game." A committee of one, she went into 
 secret session with closed doors, to attend to her devotions. Bread- 
 making was a part of her religion. I often importuned her to admit 
 me on these occasions, but she said: "Go 'long, chile; if de Lord 
 Jesus Christ inspire me to make dem rolls rise, I ain' gwine let no 
 nigger, nor white pusson, nuther, see me mix dem ingregiunts." 
 But a small boy, with the true scientific spirit oif the family, waited 
 and watched, and, behold, the secret. 
 
 The old darky took the bread to bed with her to keep up an even 
 temperature. On this depends the secret of the following recipe. 
 The old darky suffered a severe reprimand. She died soon after, "just 
 befo' de wah." It is fortunate, perhaps, that the dear old soul died 
 before her noble art went down amidst the crash of arms and a 
 nation's woe. 
 
 Mammie Lizzie's Breakfast Rolls. 
 
 Rub % pound of sugar into 3 pounds of sifted flour. Beat 6 eggs 
 light; add to them a sufiicient quantity of yeast, say i/^ pint; after 
 beating hard, add the flour and sugar; knead well; mix at night. 
 In the morning, work in 6 oz. of butter. Bake in small rolls. 
 
 — Mrs. Jos. Le Conte. 
 
 JAPANESE PAPER NOVELTIES. • 
 
 The partitions dividing the houses are paper. 
 
 The yakounine hat which passes you is paper. 
 
 The handkerchief, thrown away after use, is paper. 
 
 Those robe collars, which are taken for crape, are paper. 
 
 The pane through which an inquisitive eye looks at you is paper. 
 
 The string with which the articles you buy are fastened is made 
 of paper. 
 
 The porter's cloak, who carries his burden, singing a cadence, 
 through the rain, is made of paper. 
 
 Those elegant flowers, ornamenting the beautiful hair of the 
 Japanese ladies, are made of paper. 
 
 The garments of the boatman who conducts you on board, the 
 tobacco-pouch, cigar-case — all are paper. 
 
A A\orpipq Prz^ycr. 
 
 -Composed by Mrs. H. C. Bailey, inmate of The Aged Women' 
 Home, 74 years old. 
 
 Oh, God of light, whose kindling ray 
 Has brought again a new-born day. 
 To Thee my earliest thoughts I raise, 
 To Thee I bring my heartfelt praise. 
 
 Beneath thy brooding care I slept. 
 Free from pain and danger kept; 
 Refreshed I wake to duty's call, 
 Ready to bear whate'er befall. 
 
 Oh, give me light that I may see 
 Some earnest work to do for Thee; 
 Some erring one thy love to show. 
 Some wandering one the way to go. 
 
 I would be watchful all the day, 
 Careful in what I do and say. 
 That, when the evening shades appear, 
 Sad regrets I may not fear. 
 
 When the work of day is done, 
 How gently sinks the setting sun! 
 Oh, grant that when my sun shall set. 
 Softly and sweetly I pass to rest! 
 
THE MARIPOSA MAGAZINE. 
 
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BRIEF HISTORY OF THE LADIES' RELIEF 
 SOCIETY OF OAKLAND. 
 
 From the little circle that met in 1871 to contribute its share to 
 the sufferers from the Chicago fire grew the organization which has 
 since sheltered over fourteen hundred children and one hundred aged 
 women, in its spacious and well-appointed domiciles, located upon 
 ten acres of land in Alameda County. It has not been the work 
 of a day, but the painstaking care and energetic toil of many years. 
 Confronted with difficult problems, which at times challenged all 
 the skill and enterprise of its projectors, the ladies under whose 
 guidance the work has progressed enlisted the support of friends 
 and benefactors, and step by step have increased its facilities, until 
 it now extends a loving and fostering care over infancy and age. 
 
 Drawn together in the cause of charity, the objects thus attained 
 suggested and revealed a larger field of action, and thus, the latent 
 desires which previously had been confined within the breasts of 
 that little coterie became the nucleus of a great and good result. 
 On May 1st, 1894, the building used as the Children's Home was en- 
 tirely destroyed by fire, together with the nursery and outbuildings. 
 The burned building was originally purchased with the property in 
 1874, which, after being remodeled and having several additions 
 made to it, furnished a shelter for one hundred and twenty-five 
 children. It was in every respect complete, and for years would 
 have answered the purpose for which it was used; but in the short 
 space of two hours the immense stnicture, with the major portion 
 of its furniture, was a mass of ruins, leaving over one hundred child- 
 ren without a home. The buildings were rapidly replaced by a 
 structure with all modern conveniences and improvements for the 
 children, and the de Fremery cottage as a nursery. Thus, in the 
 period of twenty-two years, the Society, from a meeting for the re- 
 lief of foreign sufferers, developed into one of the grandest charities 
 in the State for the care and support of helpless infancy and help- 
 less age. A retrospective view of the many years through which the 
 organization has struggled, brings forcibly to mind the work accom- 
 plished by many who have departed, but whose deeds will ever 
 stand forth as monuments of their noble and generous characters. 
 Thus, to-day, after twenty-six years of hard and earnest efforts, the 
 institution stands ready to minister to the wants and necessities of 
 those whom misfortune and adversity have rendered helpless, rely- 
 ing as it always has upon the generosity of its friends to provide 
 for its daily needs in carrying out God's work by extending the Sa- 
 maritan hand to the distressed. LUCY B. DAM. 
 
io6 
 
 Ladnes Meflnell SdDcneHy 
 
 Officers for the Year J 898* 
 
 Honorary President Mrs. L- E. Dam 
 
 Honorary Vice-Presidents . . . S ^"'- ^V^Vpe^^^^"^ 
 ^ \ Mrs. J. L. N. Shepard 
 
 President Mrs. E. C. Williams 
 
 ist Vice-President Mrs. J. E. McElrath 
 
 2nd Vice-President Mrs. James Spiers 
 
 Treasurer Miss A. E. Miner 
 
 Recording Secretary Mrs. Frank L. Brown 
 
 Corresponding Secretary ■ Miss Campbell 
 
 DIRECTORS 
 
 Mrs. R. G. Brown Mrs. Frank L. Brown 
 
 Mrs. Charles T. Blake Miss Campbell 
 
 Mrs. L. E. Dam Mrs. J. E. McElrath 
 
 Mrs. W. D. Gelette Mrs. A. Lilliencrantz 
 
 Mrs. E. G. Mathews Mrs. Jefferson Maurj^ 
 
 Miss A. E. Miner Mrs. George P. Morrow 
 
 Mrs. E. C. Williams Mrs. H. F. Gordon 
 
 BOARD OF MANAGERS 
 
 Mrs. Spencer Brown Mrs. Williard T. Barton 
 
 Mrs. Davenport Miss Dunham 
 
 Mrs. George C. Edwards Miss Louise de Fremery 
 
 Mrs. H. P. Gregory Mrs. J. N. Knowles 
 
 Mrs. W. H. Taylor Mrs. James Tread well 
 
 Mrs. R. A. Wellman Mrs. F. N. Wilson 
 
 Mrs. J. T. Wright Miss Janet Watt 
 Miss Whitney 
 
 Physician Dr. R. Harmon 
 
 Legal Adviser D. Y. Campbell, Esq. 
 
 BUSINESS ADVISERS 
 
 Mr. J. L. Aequa Hon. Geo. C. Perkins 
 
 Col. G. C. Edwards Mr. J. L. N. Shepard 
 
 Mr. T. L. Barker Mr. James de Fremery 
 
To A\otber. 
 
 The following poem is of interest, not only for its real worth, but 
 because it was written by a blind girl, at the State Institution: 
 
 The rose tints from thy cheek. Mother, 
 
 Are fading one by one; 
 And the four score years are telling 
 
 That thy work is nearly done. 
 Age's plow, with heavy action, 
 
 Wears deep furrows in thy brow, 
 But thy smile was never sweeter, 
 
 In fair youth, than it is now. 
 Grey hair better suits thy stature 
 
 Than those tossing curls of gold; 
 It gives dignity and softness 
 
 To the face's oval mould. 
 If thy step is somewhat feebler, 
 
 We are pillars stout and strong; 
 Our young shoulders have been growing 
 
 For your hands to rest upon. 
 We may ne'er repay thee, Mother, 
 
 Your whole life to us you gave, 
 And beat back, with hands so patient, 
 
 Cruel sorrow's surging wave; 
 Now, the burden is thy children's; 
 
 It is time for thee to rest; 
 The seed sown was loving kindness, 
 
 And the harvest hath been blest. 
 God hath written in thy features. 
 
 Where the angels all may see, 
 "She's a wife and she's a mother. 
 
 Peace be her's eternally." 
 
 — M. Oxton. 
 
io8 
 
 THE MARIPOSA MAGAZINE. 
 
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THE MARIPOSA MAGAZINE. 
 
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 A Corner \w a Chinese PestauraQt, 5aiA rrciiAClsco. 
 
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 THE MARIPOSA MAGAZINE, 
 
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THE MATIPOSA MAGAZINE. iii 
 
 ()r\ the nerced Pivcr, Gil. 
 
112 THE MARIPOSA MAGAZINE. 
 
 A HEAD, from a pairvting bv Balthasar Denrver in the Dresden Gallerv. 
 
ADVERTISEMENTS I 
 
 We want every Family 
 
 IN 
 
 Alameda, Oakland, Berkeley 
 
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AD VER TISEMENTS 
 
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 Engine, Cylinder and Lard Oils 
 
 White Light Olena Oil is made from Pennsylvania crude, and put up 
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 Tank Wagons Will Supply all Grocery Stores With 
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 Office, 30 California Street 
 
 SAN FRANCISCO 
 
 24 MONTQOi 
 
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 Telep]none,"lVIaiinLf5806. 
 
 FRANK R. NEVILLE, Manager. 
 
 THE printing of half-tones is as much an art as the 
 making of them. Therefore the printing should be 
 as good as the plate, which is not always the case. It 
 costs no more for good printing than it does for bad 
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 OUR IIVIPRINT 
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IV 
 
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 NEW 
 
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 FINE SHOES 
 
 -832-834 Market St 
 
 San Francisco 
 
 "The Oakland" 
 
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 1059 Washington St., 
 
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 931 Market St. 
 
 Reliable, Staple and Fashion- 
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 We Solicit Your Patronage. 
 
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 Telephone 412 
 
 S. R. CORNER 13TH AND 
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 Telephone 621. 
 
 W. B. STANDCrORD 
 
 Manufacturer of 
 
 Choice Confections 
 
 1205 Broadway 
 
 10 San Pablo Avenue 
 
 458 Seventh St. 
 
 OAKLT^ND, CAL. 
 
AD VER TISEMENTS V 
 
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 Owning the "Golden Gate Knitting Mills" 
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 bination suits and equestrienne tights in silk, 
 silk and wool, wool, cotton and cotton and wool for 
 less money than any other store in San Francisco. 
 
 129 KEARNY STREET 
 San Francisco 
 
 fort mayne Electric j^iorporatiott 
 
 ^t^ 
 
 MANUFACTURERS OF- 
 
 Motors, Rheostats, Arc and Incandescent Lamps, 
 Dynamo Electric Machinery for Transmission 
 of Light and Power n^ Estimates furnished 
 for every description of electrical work e^ ^ 
 
 Pacific Coast Of fice> i$ Second Street 
 
 SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA J- ^ ^ 
 
 ^ ^ S ^ Jt CHARLES R. LLOYD, GENERAL AGENT 
 
VI 
 
 AD VER TISEMENTS 
 
 PORT 
 COSTA 
 FLOUR 
 
 WHITE AS SNOW 
 
 FOR SALE 
 
 BY ALL 
 
 GROCERS 
 
 TELEPHONE NO. 882 
 
 MILLER & BUTLEFI; 
 
 FLOUR, 
 
 GRAIN, 
 
 AND FEEE 
 
 AGENTS FOR 
 
 PORT COSTA FLOUR MILLS! 
 VALLEJO BRAN 
 AND MIDDLINGS* 
 
 Grain and Feed at Wharf 
 Rates. 
 
 Webster St. Wharf, 
 
 OAKLAND, CAL, 
 
 TESLA COAL 
 
 6.50 Per Ton 6.50 
 
 MINED BY 
 
 The San Francisco and San Joaquin Coal Mines, 
 
 at TESLA, Alameda County, Cal. 
 : o : 
 
 San Francisco and San Joaquin Coal Company is the owner of the mines commonlj 
 called Corral Hollow. This property embraces about 4,200 acres of land situate at 
 Tesla. Alameda County, about 12 miles from Livermore. 
 
 At the mine at Tesla extensive machinery has been erected, an electric light planli 
 has been constructed, and extensive developments have been made to determine the 
 amount and extent of the coal, and for the purpose of opening the mine. 
 
 The Tesla Coal Mines were originally owned by Messrs. James and John Treadwell 
 Before the incorporation of the company they expended |8oo,ooo in the purchase anc 
 development of the property. Since the organization of the company $1,100,000 ir 
 cash has been expended so that the actual cost of the property to-day exceeds $1,900,00, 
 
 Orders for Tesla coal can be filled in Oakland by John L. Davie, at 1058 Broadway, 
 Tel. 79 Main, and in Alameda by H. H. Griffiths. Yard opposite Park St. Station, 
 In San Francisco, orders can be filled at 308 Montgomery St. Phone 5703, or at the 
 Emporium. 
 
 U 
 
 c 
 
 Cat 
 
AD VER TISEMENTS 
 
 VII 
 
 E. P. KING, Pealer in Groceries and Pro- 
 visions, Dry Goods, Notions, Wood, Coal, 
 Hay and Grain ,^ Telegraph Avenue and 
 Dwight Way ^ Berkeley, CaU ^ Tele- 
 phone Main d^^^^^^^^S^^ 
 
 Panoramic View 
 
 of the Bay of San Francisco 
 
 'our Feet Long, in Box 
 
 W. K. ViCKERY 
 
 224 Post St. 
 
 Toys for Children— a collection of beautiful 
 melodies by well-kuown composers with original 
 words by Lucy Croghan Browne. For Sale at 
 Music and Book Stores. F»rio^ ^l.OO 
 
 Berkeley Pbarmacy***?.^-^^';^ 
 
 Pure Drugs and Chemicals. Perfumery, 
 Toilet Articles, Merle's Preparations. Pre- 
 scriptions a Specialty, gor. SDattucH Hwe. and 
 Center St., Berkeley, Cal. 
 
 CRANE ^ 
 ^ COMPANY 
 
 23 and 25 First St., San Francisco 
 
 Manufacturers of and Dealers in 
 
 CAST IRON 
 
 AND WROUGHT IRON PIPE, 
 
 FITTINGS, VALVES AND 
 
 PLUMBING GOODS 
 
 OF ALL KINDS. 
 
 Catalogues and Price lists on 
 application. 
 
 C. 1 . I i\\ 
 
 \V. \). In iiii.niore J. W. Davis 
 
 c» 
 
 §3 
 
 
 ■Sj, 
 
 %iir;,p^H^ 
 
 ^^ 
 
 Should you visit us, you are assured of 
 intelligent attention by skilled Opticians. 
 If a wearer of glasses — perhaps they are 
 crooked — no charge for adjusting. 
 
 317 Kearny Street 
 
 If Your 
 
 Pain. Smart or Water, it is their pleading for 
 help. 
 
 Spectacles properly fitted are the usual 
 remedy. 
 
 If already a wearer of spectacles, they per- 
 haps are crooked. We charge nothing for 
 straightening them. 
 
 L A. BERETTA 
 OPTICIAN 
 
 456 13th Street or 115 1 Broadway 
 Through Steffanoni's Jewelry Store. 
 
 TELEPHONE NO. 481. 
 T. BDRTCHAELL, D. CROWLEY 
 
 Res. 2442 Broadway Res. 670 Sycan^ore 
 
 BLRTCHAELL & CROWLEY 
 
 Plumbers and Gas Fitters 
 
 steam and Hot Water Heating 
 1249 BROADWAY, Oakland, Cal. 
 
 Agents Bolton Hot Water Heater. 
 
VIII 
 
 AD VER TISEMENTS 
 
 If you want a Bicycle 
 
 You NA^ant the 
 Best there is 
 
 It doesn't pay to buy a bicycle 
 unidentified with responsibility, 
 simply because it is cheap. There 
 is wise economy in every dollar 
 that the Columbia costs. 
 
 Send for Catalogue 
 
 (2 cent stamp) 
 
 15 IVLodels 
 
 $35 to S125 
 
 Pope Man'f g Co., Makers 
 
 344 Post St., San Francisco 1! 
 102 Telegraph Avenue, OAKLAND, CAL. 
 
 Eldredge 
 Sewing: flachines 
 
 Simple, 
 Durable and 
 ...Light Running 
 
 Handsome in Design and Finely Finished 
 
 None Better in the World. First= 
 
 class in Every Particular. 
 
 Guaranteed for 5 
 
 Years 
 
 DUNHAM, CARRIQAN & HAYDEN CO. 
 
 AGENTS 
 
 17 and 19 Beale Street 
 
 5an Francisco 
 
 I 
 
AD VER TISEMENTS 
 
 I 
 
 home office. 
 318 California Street 
 SAN FRANCISCO, 
 CAi-. 
 
 One of the Most 
 Reliable Insurance 
 Companies in the World. 
 
 MARINE 
 INSURANCE. 
 
 Home Office: 401 CALIFORNIA STREET, SAN FRANCISCO. 
 
// 
 
 Davie & Williams 
 
 (Formerly with and successors 
 to J. C. Wilson & Co.). 
 
 353 Thirteenth Street, Oakland 
 
 Dealers in 
 
 Coal, Coke, Pig Iron, Hay, 
 Grain and Feed 
 
 YARDS 
 
 Fifth and Webster Streets 
 Thirteenth and Webster Streets 
 
 WAREHOUSE 
 
 Fifth and Webster Streets 
 
 Oakland, Cal. 
 
 Telephone Main 54 
 
 AD VER TISEMENTS 
 
 Garrett & Taggart 
 
 If you will look in 
 
 SniGLHY&CO'S 
 
 THIRTEENTH & BROADWAY 
 
 You will agree with us that 
 there is a 
 
 MODEL nUSlC HOUSE 
 IN OAKLAND 
 
 You can get what you want, 
 if its music you want, by 
 calling there. 
 
 Established 1877 
 
 AGARD & CO. 
 
 GROCERS 
 
 475, 477, 479 FOURTEENTH STREET 
 OAKLAND 
 
 Telephone Main 24. Opp. City Hall Plaza 
 
 Flour 
 Feed and 
 Meal 
 
 J. C. WESTPHAL & SONS 
 
 Bay City Flouring Mills 
 
 CENTRAL PHARMACY 
 
 ...DRUGGISTS.. 
 
 1 20 1 Broadway, Junction San Pablo Ave 
 
 and 14th Street 
 Telephone No. 253 » Oakland, Cal. 
 
 Cor. First and Clay St., Oakland, Cal. 
 
 a1. wood TELCPHONE 281 C. N. WOOD 
 
 AL WOOD & BRO. 
 
 Painters and Decoratois. 
 
 Paints, Oils, Glass, Varnishes, Wall, 
 Paper and Window Shades, 
 
 966 I BROADWAY, 
 
 Oakland, Cal. ■ 
 
 Hook Bros. $t Co. 
 
 Successors to E. HOOK 
 
 AND 
 
 414=418 nth 
 
 — and — 
 4i5=i94 12th Streets 
 
 OAKLAND, CAL 
 
 Storage Rooms. Telephone Main 16 
 
 Jas. M. Torrey 
 
 J. T. Gardiner 
 
 TORREY & GARDINER 
 
 aROCERS 
 
 Agents for 
 
 Bartlett Springs 
 MiNERAi, Water 
 
 461 & 463 Kleventh St. near Broadway 
 Telephone Main 116 Oakland, Cal. 
 
 Ozonate Lithia Water 
 
 THE FINEST TABLE 
 WATER ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ 
 
 BOWMAN & CO. 
 Hgents 
 
 ««eor. 9tl) and Broadway 
 
AD VER TISEMENTS 
 
 III 
 
 Cookin^f.. 
 School 
 
 Teacher questioning. 
 Pupils answering in unison. 
 
 Q. What is the cheapest fuel? 
 I A. Gas. 
 
 Q. Why is Gas the cheapest fuel ? 
 
 A. Because at $i.6o per thousand 
 gas is cheaper than coal at 
 $8.00 per ton. 
 
 Q. What other recommendation 
 has Gas over coal? 
 
 A. Cleanliness, readiness ; no soot ; 
 no smoke ; no ashes ; fire 
 ready in a moment. 
 
 Q. What recommendation has Gas 
 over Gasoline ? 
 
 A. Safety ; no explosions ; no of- 
 fensive odors. 
 
 Q. Where are Gas Stoves obtain- 
 able? 
 
 A. From the Gas Company. 
 
 Q. What is the cost? 
 
 A. $12.00 placed. No after cost 
 for repairs. 
 
 r?. W. Edwards 
 
 JEWELRY 
 963 BROADWAY 
 
 OAKLAND 
 CAL 
 
 Telephone 576 Established 1852 
 
 P. O. Box 331 
 
 ti. Ivl. SANBORN 
 
 Wholesale and Retail 
 Dealer in 
 
 ♦.♦Plants, Trees, Seeds and Bulbs... 
 
 Seed Store and Plant Yard 
 51T FOURTEENTH ST. 
 
 NEAR WASHINGTON 
 
 OAKLAND, CAL, 
 
 J. SEULBERGER 
 
 .•FORI ST.. 
 
 ^09-511-513 Seventh Street 
 
 Fashionable Long Stemmed Cut 
 Flowers a Specialty 
 
 Grand Central 
 Market 
 
 Trefl. BccRcr, Prop. 
 
 90$^9i6 masbingtoit $t. 
 
 Telephone 100 
 
 Brand), n. €. Cor. eievcntb and UlasD- 
 
 ington Streets. Cel. i3i 
 
 Oaklana, Cal. 
 
 CHOICE MEATS 
 
 flt Cowest marfcet Pri«$ 
 
 HAMS, BACON, LARD, 
 
 SAUSAGES, 
 
 ETC. 
 
IV 
 
 AD VER TISEMENTS 
 
 Byron Rot 
 Springs * 
 
 The only health resort on 
 the Pacific Coast where the 
 mineral wat*^,rs and the mud 
 baths effectively cure ma- 
 laria, rheumatism and skin 
 diseases* 
 
 This lovely spot offers picturesque scenery 
 near at hand and rest and health. 
 
 MANUFACTURING CONFECTIONER 
 
 1159 Broaciwa>^ OaLkland, Ca.1. 
 
 Ti«^?t^.,. 
 
 O.G.Java 
 
 Mocha 
 
 Mocha and Java 
 
 Hawaiian 
 
 Golden Gate 
 
 HIGH GRADE 
 
 ROASTE_D Coffees 
 
 Packed only in 2=lb. Tins 
 
 J.A.FOLGER&CO. 
 
 MANUFACTURERS 
 
 San Francisco 
 
 Oakland Store 
 
 1075 Clay bet. Ilth and 12th 
 
 Telephone Main I 
 
 Oakland 
 
 A BUSY PLACE 
 
 Here are push, energy, vim, 
 promptness and good service. 
 
 Here are good goods. 
 
 Here are nutritious foods, fresh 
 and palatable. 
 
 Here are the close prices a big 
 business only can command. 
 
 Here are novelties for enter- 
 tainment and dinner giving. 
 
 Here are the accounts of folksy 
 who know the best quality 
 from inferior. 
 
 Our Special Saving Sates advertised every Mon- 
 day in the Oakland Enquirer, and Tribune, the 
 Alameda Argus and the San Francisco (.all, 
 Chronicle and Exa?niner are interesting reading 
 to housekeepers. 
 
 GOLDBERG, BOWEN & CO. 
 
AD VER TISEMENTS 
 
 V 
 
 TBF REALTY SYNDICATE. 
 
 Capital Paid In $1,611,450.00 
 
 Surplus 288,322 40 
 
 Assets March 31, 1898 13,485,834.91 
 
 Authorized Capital I5, 000,000. 00 
 
 Principal Offices, 14 Sansome 
 St., San Francisco, Cal. 
 
 OFFICERS. 
 
 F. C. HAVENS, Manager. 
 
 J. M. CHASE, Ass't Manager. 
 F. M. SMITH, President, 
 D. D. HARRIS, Second Vice-President. 
 J. C. WINANS, Secretary. 
 
 F. M. NACE, Auditor. 
 WELrLS, FARGO & CO'S BANK. Treas. 
 
 THE REALTY SYNDICATE is a cor- 
 poration organized under the laws of 
 California, authorized to buy, improve, 
 and sell Real Estate. 
 
 It issues six per cent. Preferred Share 
 Investment Certificates for any amount 
 from $100 to $ro,ooo, payable in one sum 
 or in instalments, and divides profits 
 among capital stock and preferred share 
 certificate holders. 
 
 It owns the electric railway system of 
 Oakland, Alameda and Berkeley ; and 
 also the best unimproved realty in the 
 City of Oakland. 
 
 The real estate owned by the syndicate 
 lies in Oakland, and in the direct line of 
 growth of San Francisco. 
 
 The syndicate represents a combination 
 of interests capable of realizing profits far 
 in excess of those possible to individual 
 owners. 
 
 Address the office for information. 
 
 BERKELEY REAL ESTATE 
 
 O. Q. MAY & CO. 
 
 2123 CENTRE St.. BERKELEY, Cal. 
 THE 
 
 BASS=fllIETER PAINT CO 
 
 DEALERS IN 
 
 PAINTS, 
 
 OILS, GLASS, 
 ARTISTS' MATERIALS 
 
 — AND — 
 
 HUETER'S FINE VARNISHES 
 
 Reduc ions 
 
 20-22 
 
 in Artist Materials 
 
 ELLIS ST 
 San Francisco 
 
 -ALASKA!- 
 
 >->• FOR TPIE 
 
 Yukon 
 
 Gold Fields 
 
 THE ALASKA 
 COMMERCIAL 
 COMPANY 
 
 The oldest and Most Reliable Traders in the 
 Territory of Alaska will despatch during the 
 coming season, commencing on or about 
 June loth. 1898, the following steamers from 
 San Francisco : 
 
 ST. PAUL— New— 2500 tons 
 PORTLAND— 1500 tons 
 BERTHA— 900 tons 
 DORA— 350 tons 
 
 These First-Class Vessels will connect at St. 
 Michaels with the Company's fleet of River 
 Steamers for Dawson City and all points on 
 the Yukon. 
 
 For Passage Apply 
 ALASKA COMMERCIAL CO. 
 
 310 SANSOME ST., S. F. 
 
 Choice Library of Thirty 
 Volumes for Children of 
 all Ages, from 9 to 
 t8 Years: 
 
 Illus. Eds. pp. Bds. Clo. 
 
 I. i^sop's Fables 
 
 " 127 $0 30 $0 
 
 40 
 
 2. Grimm's Tales " 
 
 " 144 
 
 .40 
 
 50 
 
 3. Am. Hist, stories vol. i " 
 
 " 198 
 
 •36 
 
 50 
 
 4. Am.' Hist. " vol. ii " 
 
 " i,s8 
 
 .36 
 
 50 
 
 5. Am. Hist. " vol. iii ' 
 
 " 150 
 
 •36 
 
 50 
 
 6. Am. Hist. " vol. iv " 
 
 " 174 
 
 •36 
 
 50 
 
 7. Stories of Columbus " 
 
 " 180 
 
 .40 
 
 60 
 
 8. Storiesof Indust'y vol i " 
 
 " 172 
 
 .40 
 
 60 
 
 9. Stories of " vol ii " 
 
 " 116 
 
 40 
 
 60 
 
 10. Ethics; Sto. for home 
 
 
 
 
 and school " 
 
 " 197 
 
 ,40 
 
 60 
 
 II. Little Ho w'r Folks vol I " 
 
 " 138 
 
 .30 
 
 40 
 
 I . Little Flower " volii " 
 
 " 130 
 
 •30 
 
 40 
 
 13. The Great West " 
 
 " 176 
 
 •30 
 
 •50 
 
 14. Cortes and Montezuma " 
 
 " 100 
 
 •30 
 
 •50 
 
 1=;. Pizarro, Conquest Peru " 
 
 " 128 
 
 •30 
 
 ■50 
 
 16. Storiesof Massach'setts " 
 
 " 358 
 
 •50 
 
 •75 
 
 17. Geography for N oung 
 
 
 
 
 Folks 
 
 " 136 
 
 •30 
 
 40 
 
 18. Storyland of Stars " 
 
 " 165 
 
 .40 
 
 •50 
 
 19 Stories fr'm Animal 
 
 
 
 
 land 
 
 " 1-6 
 
 •50 
 
 •75 
 
 20. Our Fatherland— cloth " 
 
 ' 160 
 
 •50 
 
 50 
 
 21. Storiesof Australasia " 
 
 " 220 
 
 .40 
 
 .60 
 
 22. Stories of India " 
 
 " 200 
 
 .40 
 
 .60 
 
 23. Stories of China " 
 
 " 194 
 
 .40 
 
 .60 
 
 24. Sto. of North 'n Europe ' 
 
 " 190 
 
 .40 
 
 .60 
 
 25. Nature's Stories vol i " 
 
 " 216 
 
 .40 
 
 60 
 
 26. Nature's Stories vol II " 
 
 " 240 
 
 .40 
 
 60 
 
 27. Patriotism 
 
 " 264 
 
 .40 
 
 .60 
 
 28. Choice Selec. Northend '■ 
 
 " 144 
 
 •50 
 
 .60 
 
 29. Stories from Shakes- 
 
 
 
 
 peare vol I " 
 
 " 166 
 
 •50 
 
 50 
 
 30. Stories from Shakes- 
 
 
 
 
 peare vol 11 " 
 
 " 156 
 
 •50 
 
 •50 
 
 Sent to any address on receipt of Price 
 
 
 
 EDUCATIONAL 
 
 
 
 
 PUBLISHING CC 
 
 D. 
 
 809 Market St. 
 
 San Francisc 
 
 0. 
 
VI 
 
 AD VER TISEMENTS 
 
 W. H. Chickering 
 William Thomas 
 "Warren Gregory 
 Marcus L. Gersote 
 Marcus C. Sloss 
 
 Chickering, Thomas & Gregory 
 
 ATTORNEYS AT LAW 
 
 222 SANSOME STREET 
 
 San FraLncisco 
 
 established 1858 
 
 INCORPORATED 1897 
 
 W. K. Vandersuce Co. 
 Gold and Silversmiths 
 
 San Francisco 
 
 Telephone Main 917 
 
 136 Sutter St 
 
 Charles R. Allen, 
 
 eoal 
 
 144 Steuart St., 
 
 San Francisco 
 
 Telephone Main 1845 
 
 458 Eighth St., 
 
 Oakland 
 
 Telephone Main 68 
 
 "Southfield Wellington" 
 "Bryant" "Peacock" 
 
 (Rock Springs) 
 And All Other Kinds. 
 
 The greatest singer on earth is ADELINA PATTI. 
 
 The greatest boxer on earth is ROBERT FITZSIMMONS. 
 
 The greatest pianist on earth is PADEREWSKI. 
 
 The greatest jockey on earth is TOD SLOAN. 
 
 The greatest natural mineral water on earth is 
 
 JACKSON^S NAPA SODA. 
 
ADVERTISEMENTS VII 
 
 For a ''five o'clock tea" 
 choose your brand of tea 
 as carefully as you choose 
 your guests. 
 
 Schilling's Best tea is 
 fresh-roasted by machin- 
 ery in San Francisco — it 
 is clean and dainty tea. 
 Five flavors: 
 Blend, Oolong, 
 Ceylon, Japan, 
 English Breakfast. 
 At grocers. Money 
 back if you don't like it. 
 
 Taft St Pennoyer 
 
 (incorporated) 
 
 '«!f21IH5?_0E DRY GOODS 
 
 AGENTS FOR 
 
 Butterick's Patterns and Butterick's 
 Publications 
 
 Dents and Centemeri Kid Gloves 
 :clepbone main 243 Hawkes Bros. Crystal Cut Glass 
 
 A. E. Stiller & Sohn's German Linens 
 Dr. Jaeger's Sanitary Underwear 
 
 ii63-65'-67 Broadway 
 
 467 and 469 Fourteenth Street 
 
VIII 
 
 AD VER TISEMENTS 
 
 CHICAGO CLOCK COMPANY 
 
 Goods Sold on Easy Payments 
 
 LOW^ PRICES 
 
 418 Fourteenth St., Opp. Macdonough Theatrs 
 OAKLAND, CAL. 
 
 C. L. Maxwell & Sons 
 
 Importers and Dealers in 
 
 Builders' Hardware 
 
 and Fine Cutlery 
 Mechanics' Tools a Specialty 
 
 Stoves and Tinware 
 
 1164-1166 Washington and 481 Fourteenth Sts. 
 
 Telephone 149 Oakland, Cal. 
 
 H. D. GUSHING 
 
 Q R OC E R 
 
 Washington and Fourteenth Sts 
 
 Tel. Main 113 
 
 The Schreiber Furniture Co. 
 
 Christian Schreiber, Prop. 
 Carpetings 
 Linoletiis, Oil Cloths 
 lyace Curtains 
 Windows Shades 
 Furniture and Bedding 
 Artistic arlor Furniture 
 Fine Drapery and Upholstery 
 Enameled and Iron Beds a Specialty 
 
 Houses Furnished Complete 
 N. W. Cor. 13th AND Franklin Streets, 
 Opp. Narrow Gauge Depot 
 Telephone Main 72 OAKLAND, CAL. 
 
 telephone 369 
 
 Carruth & Carruth 
 
 520 \ Fifteenth Street. 
 OAKLAND, CaL 
 
 ROOS BROS 
 
 Leading 
 
 Clothiers 
 
 27-29.31 KEARNY STREET 
 
 San Francisco, Cal. 
 
 ABRAHAMSON BROS 
 
 The Leading 
 DRY GOODS HOUSE 
 
 Direct Importers of 
 Dress Goods, Silks, 
 
 Curtains, Linens, 
 Staples, Cloaks, Hosiery, 
 
 Underwear, Fancy Goods 
 
 S. B. Cor. i3tli & Washington Streets 
 OAKIvAND 
 
 THE 
 
 Jonas Clothing Co. 
 
 Regulators of Prices and Style in 
 
 Men's and Youths' 
 Tailor-made 
 
 Clothing 
 
 Furnishing Goods, Hats, Etc. 
 
 Exclusive Styles in 
 Children's Wearing Apparel, Bicycle, 
 
 Golf and Athletic Goods 
 1063-1065 Broadway Oakland 
 
 MtDDliiann&Co. 
 
 Importers of 
 
 Fine French China 
 and Art Goods 
 
 Call particular attention to their 
 
 New Crystal Room, 
 the finest in the 
 United States 
 
 122-132 Sutter Street 
 
 SAN FRANCISCO) 
 
 The Wonder 
 
 Has added this season an extensive 
 
 Trimmed Hat Department 
 and you will find Beauties at very 
 
 reasonable prices 
 You will have no difficulty in suit- 
 ing your Style and purse 
 
 1026 Market St. San Francisco 
 
AD VER TISEMENJS 
 
 IX 
 
 Calumet means Peace ! 
 
 Calumet 
 
 Baking 
 
 Powder 
 
 Settles All Baking Powder Controversies. 
 
 Highest Leavening Power 
 Purest 
 
 Moderate Price 
 
 We guarantee it will prove the best you've 
 ever used. 
 
 WELLMAN, PECK & CO. 
 
 J. T. MOR^ISr 
 
 LEADING 
 
 CLOTHIEU 
 
 AND 
 
 MERCHANT TAILOR, 
 
 1017-1019 Broadway, 
 
 OAKLAND, = = = = = CAL. 
 
 If you relish 
 
 Oysters, Tamales. Cup of Delicious 
 
 Chocolate, Coffee or Tea 
 
 while down town shopping, yon will find 
 them neatly served at the 
 
 Log Cabin Bakery 
 
 Lunch and Grili. 
 
 ii6r Broadway, Oakland 
 
 OAKLAND 
 
 White Star Laundry Co, 
 
 OAKLAND, CAL. 
 
 GENTLEMEN'S FINE WORK A SPECIALTY 
 
 Works and Main Office Branch Office. 
 
 1471 Broadway. 966 Washington St 
 
 INCORI'OKATEn 
 
 Importers of F^irie ^t«oes 
 
 107-111 Hcarnv St., near Post 
 
 The leading and most eliableShoe House < n the 
 Pacific Co.ist. Ahs .lute satisfaction guaran- 
 teed or money refunded in all cases. We so- 
 licit your valued patronage. 
 
 Ho$enthar$, Tncorporated, 107-111 Hearny St., near Po$t 
 
 San Frani-ivco, Cal. 
 We have no branch stores. 
 
 Piedmont ^ fiatbs 
 
 24th Street, near Broadway 
 HamitiaiTi Baths, 
 
 Gentlemen's Copen day and nightj. 
 Ladies' (open from 9 a. m. to 6 p. m. week- 
 days, and from 9 a. m. to i p. m. Sundays). 
 
 Turkish, Russian, Roman, Electric, Alcohol, 
 Sulphur, Mercurial, Bay Rum, and all Medi- 
 cated Baths. 
 
 Positively the best equipped Turkish 
 Baths West of Chicago. 
 
 Tub Baths, Hot and Cold, Salt and Fresh. 
 
 Porcelain Tubs. 
 Swimming Natatorium. Tank 70x120 feet. 
 
 Filtered warm salt water. 
 
 Piedmont Cars pass the door. 
 East Oakland and Alameda cars transfer 
 to Piedmont Cars. 
 
 F»EI3IlIIsri & CO 
 GROCERS , 
 
 Cor. Columbus and Telegraph Ave., 
 
 Butter an^j Eggs 
 Flour aii-o Meals 
 Teas and Coffees 
 Produce and Fruits 
 
 Canned Fruits and Vegetables 
 Fancy Groceries and Pickle -^ 
 Swiss and California Cheese 
 Macaroni, Etc. 
 
 NORTH TEMESCAL, 
 
 CAL. 
 
 E. H. KITTREDGE & CO. 
 
 Manufacturers 
 Wholesale and Retail Dealers in 
 
 DOORS 
 
 WINDOWS 
 
 AND BLINDS 
 
 113 and 115 Market St. 
 San Francisco 
 
 B. & J. S. DOE 
 
 Manufacturers of and Dealers in 
 
 DOORS 
 
 WINDOWS 
 
 AND BLINDS 
 Wholesale and Retail 
 
 44 & 46 Market St., San Francisco 
 
X 
 
 AD VER TISEMENTS 
 
 San Francisco Savings Union 
 
 53? CAI.IFORNIA STREHT 
 
 Deposits, Jan. I, 1898, - - $22,733,119 
 Paid Up Capital and Surplus - 1,654,917 
 
 E. B. Pond, W. C. B. deFremery, 
 
 Pres. Vice Pres. 
 
 LovEi.1, White, Cashier. 
 
 DIRECTORS. 
 
 Geo. W. Beaver. Robt. Watt 
 W. A McAgee 
 
 George C. Boardman 
 W.C.B. DE Fremery 
 
 Daniee E. Martin 
 Albert Mieeer Geo. Tasheira 
 
 E. B. Pond. 
 
 Loans upon San Francisco and Oak- 
 land Real Estate, and Farms and Farm- 
 ing Lands in the Country. 
 
 Receives Deposits. Country remit- 
 tances may be made in checks paj^able in 
 San Francisco, Post Office or Wells, 
 Fargo & Co's Money Orders, or coin by 
 Express, but the responsibility of this 
 bank commences only with the receipt 
 of the money. 
 
 No charge is made for pass-book or 
 entrance fee. 
 
 Office Hours : 9 a. m. to 3 p. m., and 
 Saturday evenings, for receipt of deposits 
 only, 6:30 to 8 o'clock. 
 
 W. T. VEITCH & BRO. 
 
 Contractors % Builders 
 
 estimates furnished 
 
 Hard WOOD WORK ^ 
 it A SPECIALTY. 
 
 OFFICE and shop 
 
 1164=1166 Webster St. 
 
 NEAR FOURTEENTH STREET. 
 
 Telephone No. 233. OAKLAND, Cal. 
 
 The First National Bank 
 
 OF OAKLAND 
 Northeast Cor. Tenth nnd Broadway 
 
 CAPITAL STOCK PAID UP, - - - $300,000 
 
 P. E. BOWLES President 
 
 G. W. McNEAR.... Vice-President 
 
 L. G. BURPEE Cashier 
 
 DIRECTORS. 
 
 G. W- McNear, 
 E. W. Runyon, 
 P. E. Bowles, 
 W. H. Chickering, 
 
 Wallace Everson, 
 L. C. Morehouse, 
 W. P. Jones. 
 L G. Burpee. 
 
 PRINCIPAL CORRESPONDENTS 
 
 San Francisco — First National Bank, London, 
 Paris and American Bank, L'd, and Bank of 
 California. 
 
 New York— National Park Bank. 
 
 Chicago — Am. Exchange National Bank. 
 
 Dodge Book & Stationery Co 
 
 Hrt Pttblisbers 
 
 Pressed 
 
 Wild Flowers 
 of California 
 
 112 Post Street, 
 
 San Francisco 
 
 Sreeiin£fa 
 
 With Compliments of 
 
 I. Magnin & Co. 
 
 Manufacturers and 
 Importers of 
 
 High Grade Ladies* and Infants' Trousseaux, 
 
 Silk Waists, Silk Skirts, Tea Gowns, 
 
 S Matinees, Etc. .^ 
 
 Not cheap but reasonable prices for best work- 
 manship and material. 
 
 840 Market St. 
 
 San Trancisco 
 
 J. D. FRY, President. 
 
 R. D. hRY, Vice-President. 
 
 J. DALZELL BROWN 2nd Vice-President and Manager. 
 E. E. SHOTWELL, Secretary. 
 
 CALIFORNIA 
 
 SAFE DEPOSIT and 
 
 TRUST CO. 
 
 Corner of California and Montgomery Sts., 
 San Francisco, Cal. 
 
 Valuables of Every Description Stored 
 in our Fire and Burglar Proof Vaults for 
 any length of time at reasonable rates. 
 By the year at i per cent on valuation. 
 
 Beautifully Appointed Reception Rooms 
 and Offices at ihe hree Disposal of our 
 Patrons. 
 
 Safe Deposit Boxes. 
 
AD VER TISEMENTS 
 
 XI 
 
 Home Mutual Insurance Company 
 of California 
 
 MAIN OFFICE, 318 CALIFORNIA ST., SAN FRANCISCO 
 
 Organized w 1864 
 
 Losses Paid $9,332,658 
 
 A Guarantee to our Policy Holders that we are POPULAR, pay 
 our losses PROHPTLY, and make HONEST Settlements. 
 
 Wm. J. DUTI.ON, President 
 F. W. LouGKE, Vice President 
 
 Stejphen D. Ives, Secretary 
 FRANKI.IN Bangs, Ass't Sec'y 
 
 Oakland Office 
 
 1006 Broadway 
 
 W. F. GORDON, Agent 
 
 There may be other /gv 
 
 good Investments I ! I ^ 
 
 (D 
 
 None so good as 
 those offered by 
 
 THE EQUITABLE LIFE ASSUR- 
 ANCE SOCIETY 
 
 Of the United States. 
 
 Five Per Cent Gold Bonds 
 
 Life Insurance 
 Four Per Cent Endowment Bonds 
 
 Endowments 
 
 ^^ANNUITlES^^i^ 
 Protect your Family ! 
 
 Protect your Business ! 
 Purchase a Guaranteed Income 
 
 All Contracts Guaranteed by $236,876- 
 308 Assets. 
 
 Write for full particulars to 
 
 A. M. SHIELDS, Manager 
 
 The Kquitable Life Assurance Society of the U. S. 
 Crocker Building San Francisco, Cal. 
 
 TELEPHONE MAIN 5322. 
 
 George Goodman 
 
 Patentee and Manufacturer of 
 
 ^ Artificial 
 Stone 
 
 In all its Branches 
 
 Schillin§fe/s Patent 
 
 Side Walk 
 
 Garden Walk 
 
 A Specialty 
 
 Office: 307 Montgomery St. 
 
 San Francisco 
 
 Sierra Prepared Bark 
 
 A simple, safe and positive remedy for 
 Rheumatism, Neuralgia, Gout, etc. Price 
 $1.50 per box. The Sierra Prepared 
 Bark Co. P. O. Box 522, Oakland, Cal. 
 
XII 
 
 AD VER TISEMENTS 
 
 Wm. J. Landers, Resident Manager 
 
 THE IMPERIAL 
 Insurance Company L'td 
 
 OF LONDON 
 
 Established on Pacific Coast in 1852 
 
 Pacific Coast Branch 
 205-207 Sansome St* 
 
 San Francisco, Cal. 
 
 H. I. COON, Resident Agent, 
 Berkeley, Cal. 
 
 The Lion 
 Fire Insurance Co. vtd 
 
 OF LONDON 
 Total Cash Assets in U. S., . 1926,105 75 
 
 Wm. J. Landers 
 
 RESIDENT MANAGER 
 
 205 and 207 Sansome Street 
 
 San Francisco, Cal. 
 Founded A. D. 1710 
 
 Sun Insurance Office 
 
 OF LONDON 
 
 Unlimited Iviability of Shareholders 
 
 Capital $12,000,000 
 
 Cash Assets 11,009,450 
 
 Liabilities 2,518,295 
 
 Cash Surplus beyond all lia- 
 bilities 8,491,155 
 
 this is tbc oldest and wealthiest purely Tire 
 Insurance Co. in tbe Ulorld 
 
 Orient Insurance Co* 
 
 OF HARTFORD, CONN. 
 
 Capital % 500,000 
 
 Gross Assets 2,346,664 
 
 Net Surplus 735,278 
 
 W. J. Callingham, Leslie A. Wright, 
 
 General Agent, Asst. General Agt. 
 
 420 California Street, San Francisco, Cal. 
 
 Pacific Department 
 
 milwaukee mecbanics' 
 Insurance €o. 
 
 Cash Assets $2,500,000 
 
 Losses Paid 6,575,000 
 
 L C. Bromwcll 
 
 MANAGER 
 
 410 CALIFORNIA STREET 
 
 SAN FRANCISCO 
 
 of 
 
 PAYS INTEREST ON DEPOSIT 
 
 SAFE DEPOSIT BOXES 
 TO RENT- 
 
 The largest Insurance Company 
 in the world 
 
 TheMutualLife 
 
 INSURANCE COMPANY 
 OF NEW YORK 
 
 Richard A. McCurdy, Pres'd 
 
 Assets, Dec. 31, 1897 .-$253^786,437 66 
 
 Liabilities $218,278,243 07 
 
 Surplus •$ 35.508 ,194 59 
 
 Income in 1897 $ 54,162,608 23 
 
 Increase of income in 1897 4,459,912 96 
 Increase of surplus 5.774.679 89 
 
 AND 
 
 Decrease of Expenses 146,178 31 
 
 Paid to Policyholders since 
 
 organization $462,997,250 71 
 
 The best Company is the Co- 
 
 pany that does the 
 
 most good 
 
 A. B. FORBES & SON 
 Mutual Life BIdg., 222 Sansome St. 
 
 SAN FRANCISCO 
 
AD VER TISEMENTS 
 
 XIII 
 
 Address 
 
 Lake Tahoe Opens 
 June I St 
 
 [nlertainmenl fo^ 
 
 Mrs. J. S. Libby 
 Room I, Flood Building 
 
 HIGHLAND 
 
 SPRINGS 
 
 On the Border of Clear Lake, L,ake County, Cal., 
 J. Craig, Manager 
 
 TJhe Sreat Sanitarium 
 of the Weat 
 
 New and Commodious Hotel Just Completed 
 AND Elegantly Furnished— Lighted by 
 Electricity— Largest Dining Room North 
 of San Francisco. (Will seat 500 people.) 
 
 Thousands Cured by ihe Wa- 
 ters at Highland Springs 
 
 Resident Physician in attendance; Superb Cli- 
 mate; Beautiful .Mountain Scenery; Fine Trout 
 Streams; Deer and Small Game Plentiful; Mag- 
 nificent Drives through the Mountains and 
 around the Lake; Unrivalled Mineral Waters; 
 Baths in variety. 
 
 Over 30 Kinds of Mineral Springs 
 
 Where on earth ca.i you find So nnany 
 valuable springs in a similar area? 
 
 Table Unsurpassed Anywhere 
 
 Reached by the Shortest Stage-route into 
 
 Lake County— one of the most romantic and 
 
 beautiful stage roads on the Coast. 
 
 Round Trip Fare from San Francisco: — 
 Via Hopland, |8; via Calistoga, $9. 
 
 HOTFT RATFS" ^^ "^^ ^° ^^50 per day, or 
 llUiHL, UAilLO, $10 00 to $16.00 per week. 
 Take S. F. & N. P. Railway to Hopland, or S. P. R. R. 
 
 to Calistoga. Thence by a short, delightful 
 
 stage ride to Highland 
 
 Every Day in the 
 Year. 
 
 For further information address: 
 
 Highland Springs, Lake Co., Cal. 
 Or see, in San Francisco, 
 
 L. D. Craig, 316 Montgomery St. 
 
 Send for Illustrated Pamphlet. 
 
 JOHN TAYLOR & CO. 
 
 Importers, Manufacturers & 
 Dealers in 
 
 Assayers' Materials, 
 
 Mine and Mill Supplies 
 
 Chemical Glassware, 
 School & 
 Philosophical Apparatus 
 
 63 First Street 
 
 San Francisco, Cal. 
 
 C. E.Whitney & Co. 
 
 Importers, Packers and Commission 
 Merchants in 
 
 DAIRY PRODUCE, PROVISIONS, 
 SALT AND 
 CURED FISH... 
 
 SAN FRANCISCO. CAL. 
 
 Open 
 
 Max Oreenhood 6t COo 
 Spring Novelties 
 
 Berkeley Station 
 
 Just Arrived 
 Berkeley 
 
 BERKELEY BAZAAR 
 
 H. R. SORB.NSKN 
 
 NEW STORE, OPPOSITE BANK 
 
 GRUENHAGEN'S 
 
 20 Kearny St, San Francisco 
 LIST OF DRINKS to be had at our Fountain 
 Polite service, strictly pure goods, 
 cleanliness, combine to make THIS 
 a pleasant place to drink Soda Water 
 Special orders by telephone given prompt at- 
 I teution Telephone Main 1065 
 
XIV AD VER TISEMENTS 
 
 Tubbs (Cordage 
 
 Company 
 
 MANUFACTURERS OF 
 
 Of Every Description. 
 
 WE MAKE A SPECIALTY OF 
 
 Oil Well Drilling Cables, Towing Lines, Ships' 
 
 Hawsers, Transmission .of Power Rope, 
 
 Tarred Rope, Bale Rope, Etc. 
 
 607-613 Front St., _ _ _ _ San Francisco 
 
 Factory at Potrero. 
 
 Washburn & Moen Mfg. Co. 
 
 Wire Rope, Tramways, Ropeways, Cableways. 
 
 BARE AND INSULATED 
 
 ELECTRICAL WIRES 
 
 Telegx^aph. and Xeleplioiie TV^ire 
 A SPECIALTY. 
 
 The only Wire and Wire Rope Factory on the Pacific Coast 
 
 WORKS : 
 
 Worcester, Mass., Waukegan, 111., San Francisco, Cal. 
 S\\ FrWCiSCO 0FnCE8 8 and 10 PINE STREET. 
 
 FRANK L. BROWN, Pacific Coast Agent. 
 
 pi 
 
 i 
 
AD VER TISEMENTS 
 
 XV 
 
 FREYG^^N^G-LEA.RY CO. '^ ' "^"^^^^ '^^ 
 
 PRINTERS ^ ENGRAVERS .^ LITHOGRAPHERS 
 BLANK BOOK MANUFACTURERS 
 
 Incorporrted 1893. 
 
 Telephone Front 85. 
 
 113-119 Davis St., S. F. 
 
 THE HARTFORD KIRK INSURANCE CJNIRANY. 
 
 ORGANIZKD 1T94. 
 
 ASSETS $10,819,629 
 
 POMCY-HOLDERS SURPLUS 5.497,796 
 
 STRONG <t CO., Agents, 460 Ninth Street, Oakland, Cal. 
 
 NEW YORK UNDERWRITERS AOENCY. 
 
 ASSETS $10,819,629 
 
 POLICY-HOLDERS SURPLUS 5,499,796 
 
 GJEOBGE B. M. GRAY, Agent, 454 Ninth Street, Oakland, Cal. 
 H. K. BELDEN, 3Ianager Pacific Department. WHITNEY rALACHE, Ass't Manage 
 
 313 California Street, ______ San Francisco. 
 
 Special Agents and Adjusters— *T. J. Agard, T. JT. Conr'oy, John M. Holmes, J. J. Dennis. 
 
 The Traveler 
 
 is the 
 MOST SUPERBLY 
 ILLUSTRATED JOURNAL 
 OF THE WEST 
 
 ! Frank J. Symmes, 
 
 i President. 
 
 Vanderlynn Stow, 
 Secretary. 
 
 Published Monthly, In- 
 tensely Interesting and 
 Varied in Con- 
 tents. 
 
 Subscription $1.00 a year, 
 copy free. 
 
 Address : 
 
 Sample 
 
 Wm. V. Bryan, Prop. 
 
 20"" Montgomery Street San Francisco 
 
 Max. C. Schulze 
 
 , Groceries 
 
 Thomas Day 
 (Company 
 
 GAS and 
 ELECTRIC 
 
 FIXTURES AND 
 i^^^SUPPLIES 
 
 The only Complete Factory on the 
 Coast 
 
 Agents United States Mail Chute 
 
 NEW LOCATION 
 
 725 Mission street San Francisco 
 
 Near 3rd St. 
 
 Maskey*s 
 
 Delicacies 
 Dairy Produce 
 Lunch Supplies 
 Smoked and Spiced Fish 
 
 All kinds of 
 SALADS 
 
 Hands mely 
 Garnished 
 
 Pates, Roasts or Anything Suitable for Cold 
 Lunches or Evening Entertainments. 
 
 911 and 913 Washington St., 
 
 Te'ephone No. iioo. 
 
 Oakland, Cal. 
 
 DON'T PAY RENT, ^ut, while 
 
 ' you are tra- 
 velling, store your furniture, books, pianos, and 
 pictures with J.M.Pierce, 
 
 Telephone 735 Market St. 
 
 Black 311 San Francisco 
 
 J^/ne Candies 
 
 Ice Cream Soda - - Chocolate 
 
 Phosphates 
 
 Bouillon - - - . Coflfee 
 
 Bonbons Glace Fruits 
 
 Novelties for Dinner Parties 
 
 32 Kearney St., San Francisco 
 
 Orders from the country receive prompt 
 and cartful attention. 
 
 A, L. LEBER 
 
 Druggist, Chemist, and Stationer. 
 
 932-934 7th STREET COR. MYRTLE 
 
 telephone bl.^ck 55 OAKLAND, CAL. 
 
XVI 
 
 AD VER TISEMENTS 
 
 Collins Bros. 
 
 ^^:=:;__Pharniacy 
 12th and Washington Street 
 
 Oakland 
 
 Pure Drugs and 
 
 Fine Toilet Articles 
 
 The Lowest 
 
 Prices 
 
 Max Greenhood 
 dry ooods 
 
 Shattuck Avenue, opposite Berkeley Station 
 
 LUCILE & co.,f ine millinery 
 m Post Street, San f ranclsco 
 
 Schoenholz Bros. & Co. 
 
 Importers of 
 
 DRY QOODS 
 
 110-112 Sixth St 1913 Fillmore St- 
 
 SMITH'S 
 CASH STORK 
 
 27 Market Street 
 
 San Francisco, Cal. 
 
 KOHLER & CHASE 
 
 1013 Broadway, Oakland, Cal. 
 
 A Fine Assortment of High 
 Grade Pianos 
 
 AT THE HEAD STANDS KNABB 
 
 Telephone 1009 
 
 J. A. D. Hutton, D. D. S. 
 
 jyBI^TIST.— 
 
 Hulhurt Bloclc,, Shattuch and 
 Allstojh Way. 
 
 BERKELEY 
 
 Cal. 
 
 PALACE HARDWARE CO. 
 
 E. S. GRAY, Pres. F. H. ELLIS. Vice Pres 
 
 O. F. SITS, Sec. 
 
 Fine Builders' and Cabinet 
 
 Hardware 
 
 Tools and Cutlery 
 
 603 MARKET STREET 
 Grand Hotel Block San Francisco. Cal. 
 
 THE HAWLEY DRUG CO. 
 
 Ciat Rate Druggist 
 
 2038 Shattuck Avenue, Cor. Addison Street 
 BERKELEY, CAL. 
 
 Mrs. J. Coughlan' 
 
 MILLINERY AND STRAW GOODS 
 
 919 Market Street, opposite Mason 
 
 Between 5th and 6th Streets 
 
 Golden Sheaf Bakery 
 
 Ornamental Cakes. 
 Ice Cream to Order. 
 2030 Shattuck Avenue, Berkeley, Cal. 
 
 W. Nlanning 
 
 IMPORTER OF DIAMONDS 
 
 AND MANUFACTORING JEWELER 
 
 804 Market St., Phelan Building, San Francisco 
 
 The D. SAMUELS 
 LACE HOUSE CO. 
 
 •••••••••••• 
 
 Sutter St. and Grant Avenue 
 
 Little Sisters* Infant Shelter 
 
 A Day Home for the children of 
 poor working mothers 
 
 512 Minna St., near Sixth 
 
 San Francisco 
 
 A BERKELY WOMAN, having lived! 
 ■^^in Europe for some time, is to returni 
 for two years and is desirous of takings 
 one or two girls for the purpose of study.. 
 References exchanged. 
 
 Address Mrs. W 
 
 261 1 Durant Avenue 
 
 Berkeley, Cal. 
 
 COOPER & CO. 
 
 ART STATIONERS 
 
 — AND — 
 
 HERALDIC ENGRAVERS 
 746 Market St., San Francisco 
 
AD VER TISEMENTS 
 
 XVII 
 
 Sv|0P^Gs 
 
 Both the method and results when 
 Syrup of Figs is taken; it is pleasant 
 and refreshing to the taste, and acts 
 gently yet promptly on the Kidneys, 
 Liver and Bowels, cleanses the sys- 
 tem effectually, dispels colds, head- 
 aches and fevers and cures habitual 
 constipation. Syrup of , Figs is the 
 only remedy of its kind ever pro- 
 duced, pleasing to the taste and ac- 
 ceptable to the stomach, prompt in 
 its action and truly beneficial in \tv 
 effects, prepared only from the most 
 healthy and agreeable substances, its 
 many excellent qualities commend it 
 to all and have made it the most 
 popular remedy known. 
 
 Syrup of Figs is for sale in 50 
 cent bottles by all leading drug- 
 gists. Any reliable druggist who 
 may not have it on hand will pro- 
 cure it promptly for any one who 
 wishes to try it. Do not accept any 
 substitute. 
 
 CALIFORNIA FIG SYRUP CO. 
 
 SAN FRANCISCO, CAL 
 LOUISVILLE, KY. A'5l7 YORK. N.Y. 
 
 Electric Ligtiting 
 
 Office Cor. Stanford and Centre Sts. 
 
 Co 
 
 The Company has recently made a 25 per cent re- 
 duction in rates for Incandescent lighting for 
 residences which brings the cost down so low 
 that all who will may enjoy it. simply because 
 the present rates are very little in excess of 
 the cost of kerosene. 
 
 fJOHN A. Britton, President, 
 Anson S. Blake, Vice President, 
 Directors <; John T. Wright, 
 I A. t. Eastland, 
 I, Joseph J. Mason. 
 
 W. E ToPHAM, Secretary 
 
 PALACE 
 
 AND O 
 
 GRAND 
 
 HOTELS 
 
 NOW UNDER 4^ ^ 
 
 ONE HANAGEMENT ^' ^ 
 
 1400 Roons 
 
 900 WITH BATH 
 
 ROOMS $1.00 and Upwards 
 
 ROOM AND MEALS 
 
 $3.00 and Upwards 
 
 THE 
 
 LADIES 
 
 GRILL 
 
 OF THE 
 
 PALACE 
 
 Proves its popularity 
 by the increase of its 
 Local and Transient 
 
 patronage T. 
 
 Excels In everything 
 that makes the Per= 
 feet Restaurant .... 
 
 A beautiful Illustrated Book, containing Floor 
 Plans and Rate Card can be had for the asking. 
 
 JOHN C. KIRKPATRICK, Maaager 
 
 E. R. TUTT 
 
 Importer and 
 Dealer'in 
 
 HARDWARE 
 
 Stoves, Ranges, 
 
 Gas Fixtures and 
 
 Household Itensils 
 
 Plumbing, Gas Fitting, Tin- 
 ning Hot-Air and Hot- 
 Water Heating A 
 Specialty. 
 
 467 Thirteenth St. - Oaki^and. Cal 
 Between Broadway and Washington Streets 
 
 Telephone 231 
 
 P. O. Box 462 
 
 I TOBRINER 
 
 Druggist and 
 Stationer 
 
 Cor. 7th and Market Sts. 
 
 TFLEPHONE 305. 
 
 OAKLAND, CAL. 
 
xvrii 
 
 AD VER TISEMENTS 
 
 HOTEL DEL MONTE 
 
 MONTEREY, Ca'. 
 
 Ex-Prksident Harrison says it is the most delightful spot he ever 
 
 visited. 
 Hon. T. B. Reed said of it "I hardly feel competent to express my admira 
 
 tion for this charming resort." 
 Chauncey M. Depew declares it the most beautiful spot in the world. 
 
 Monte Carlo cannot compare with it. 
 John W. Mackay says there is nothing in Europe that can at all compare 
 
 with it. 
 A. McNally, of Rand, McNally & Co., Chicago, says it is the ne phis 
 ultra of all things in its line. 
 
 Both American and European plans maintained. 
 
 GEO E. SCHONEWALD, Manager 
 
 Mountains 
 or 
 Seaside 
 
 Which ? 
 
 If you haven't arranged your summer outing program 
 yet send to the 
 
 Southern Pacific Company 
 
 or any of its agents for circulars, folders, and other information 
 in relation to the various places of resort in the State, showing 
 their locality, how to reach them, describing their attractions, 
 accomodations, advantages, etc., also show^ing the special rates 
 made for the benefit of the outing season. 
 
 A Most Elaborate 
 
 Siirriiiier* Outing Campaign 
 
 Embracing Mountain and Seaside Resorts from 
 
 ^ ^ ^ SHASTA TO CORONADO ^ ^ ^ 
 Write or apply for full information to 
 
 T. H. Goodman, 
 
 General Passenger Agent, San Francisco, 
 Or any Southern Pacific Company. 
 
AD VER TISEMENTS 
 
 XIX 
 
 this View is one of the 
 Many on the 
 
 Adams 
 Point 
 Property 
 
 The model residence district 
 No improvements allowed 
 for less value than |3,ooo. 
 
 Aiiioiig mc vjaKs on AUanis Jfouit Property. 
 
 v^Lots 150 X 140-50 x 150.^^ 
 
 Send for Maps and Particulars 
 
 LakG Shore Land Companv 
 
 1070 Broadway 
 
 A. H. BREED, Manager 
 
 Oakland, Cala. 
 
 H.S.CROCKER COMPANY 
 
 VERYTHiNG 
 
 IN THE Line OF 
 
 StationerL), 
 
 Artistic Printing, 
 Lithographing, 
 Bookbinding, 
 Engraving. 
 
 SATISFACTION GUARANTEED IN EVERY DEPARTMENT, 
 
 215. 217. and 219 Bush Street. 
 
 lelephone. IVain-27. SAN FRANCISCO, CAL 
 
MAY 17 1905 
 
 XX 
 
 AD VER TISEMENTS 
 
 Union Coursing Park 
 
 COURSING: 
 
 Saturdays, Sundays and Holidays 
 
 ^The Classic Sport of America 
 
 Largest and Most Perfectly 
 Appointed Park in the 
 United States 
 Fast Greyhounds 
 
 Big Purses 
 
 Thirty or more courses each day 
 
 Judge, E. J. Bull, 
 
 of London, Eng. 
 
 Slipper, R. L. Taylor, 
 
 of Denver, Colo. 
 Take Southern Pacific Trains at 
 Third and Townsend 
 
 SATURDAY SUNDAY 
 
 11:30 a. m. 10:40 a. m. 
 
 12:55 p. m. 11:30 a. m. 
 
 1:30 p. m. 
 
 Trains leave Valencia street 5 minutes later, 
 take San Mateo Electric Cars. 
 
 CLABROUGH, 
 GOLCHER & CO. 
 
 Invite you to call and look over 
 their very complete stock 
 
 FISHING TACLE 
 
 CAMPING 
 
 AND 
 
 OUTING GOODS 
 
 — : o : — 
 
 TENNIS (D 
 
 @ QOLF 
 
 A Complete Stock 
 
 SPORTING GOODS 
 
 538 
 
 I MARKET ST 
 
 HOBART BUILDING 
 
 Coffees 
 
 Spices 
 
 Extracts 
 
 Trophy 
 ^ Baking! 
 
 Powder 
 
RACING! RACING! 
 
 
 Cdlifornia Jockey Club 
 
 ■^1^ 
 
 Winter Heeting i897=98, Beginn ing HONDAY, May 
 2nd to 16th, at OAKLAND RACE TRACK 
 
 Racing Monday^ Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, 
 Friday and Saturday, rain or shine 
 
 Five or more races each day... 
 Races start at 2: i ^ p. m, sharp 
 
 Ferry boats leave San Francisco at 12 m. and I2:30» 1:00, 1:30 and 2:00 
 p. m., connecting with trains stopping at entrance to track buy 
 your tickets to Berkeley. 
 
 Returning trains leave the track at 4:15 and 4:45 p. m., and im- 
 mediately after the last race. 
 
 Thomas H. Williams Jr., Pres. 
 R. B. Milroy, Secretary. 
 
The Johnson=Locke Mercantile Co. 
 
 j*.^jt SHIPPING AND COMMISSION MERCHANTS- 
 
 5TE/in5l1IF DEPflRTMENT. 
 
 (SAN FRANCISCO— Market St., under Grand Hotel, 
 
 Steamship Offices: I Next to Southern Pacific Offices 
 
 ( SEATTLE — Mutual Life Insurance Company Building. 
 
 OKIVKRiVJU ^^OKIVT^ OF ' 
 
 CDe jo$epl)D(lue Gold mining and Development €o. 
 
 OP" YTJKO]S^ 
 
 OPERATING^ 
 
 feGV^ The Ladue-Dawson Transportation Co. 
 ; ^^::7^ The Atlantic & Pacific Company of New Jersey 
 
 ; \ %. The Yukon Transportation and Commercial Co. 
 
 J ^ of San Francisco 
 
 The California Yukon Trading Co. of CaBifornia 
 The Northern Steamship Company of California 
 The Cold Star Transportation Company of Cal. 
 
 The above named companies will operate this year their respective lines of steamships and steamers under the management of 
 THE JOHNSON-LOCKi: MERCANTILE COMPANY, between 
 
 SAisr FRA:Nrcisco and seattlie 
 
 DAWSON CITY AND POINTS ON THE YUKON VIA ST. MICHAELS. 
 
 ALL /IBO/IRDI 
 
 The Klondike 
 
 zl^l HEALTH, 
 
 PLEASURE and 
 
 RECREATION 
 
 Is along 
 the line 
 otthe 
 
 San Francisco and 
 North Pacific R^y 
 
 ^ (THE PICriiRESQUF ROlTt OF CALIFORNIA) 
 
 If you want to camp, pit^j a tent near a lovely lake, or on the bank of 
 some beautiful stream, of whicMihere are over 300 well stocked with trout. 
 
 If you want to drink health-giving waters and enjoy social life, 
 visit one of our many Mineral Spring Resorts. 
 
 If you want to enjoy the homelife of a ranch, there are many ranch- 
 ers who are glad to have you. 
 
 Camping grounds are free. 
 
 At the resorts and the homes of the ranchers, charges are reasonable. 
 
 For detailed infonnation apply at ticket office, 650 Market Street, (.Chronicle Building) or at 
 general office, Mutual IviteBldg., Sausome and California. Sts. 
 
 A. W. Foster, President and General Manager. R. X. Ryan, General Passenger Agent. 
 
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 017 165 521 3 
 
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