(Copyright. I Kiel. All lights wserved.)
I^CHPibfMAb Dinner V*
*y ^UB* ^ATOM
R) ifillEKL have been many re
TS&I M-Jt "larka,jl° dinners, but the
dinner given on Christmas
j; V night, 1892, by Mr. and Mrs
“ Cornelius Van Tassel to
their friends, Mr. and Mrs. John Girard
and Mr. and Mrs. Vincent Cowles, at
their Gt a mercy park home, will prob
ably pass into history as the most re
markable dinner of all.
The table was a cheering sight as the
guests entered from the drawing room,
its polished mahogany top gleaming here
and there between the snowy, weblike
doilies, its glistening china and cut glass,
its bright silver and its floral decora
tions. forming under the soft glare of
the electric lights a picture that seemed
eloquent in its augury of good things to
come.
Candelabra with dainty yellow shades
and vases filled with golden hued chrys
anthemums stood at opposite corners of
the table, and one of t.bo fluffy yellow
flowers lay at each place.
The maid had announced dinner just
as the grandfather’s clock in the hall
sounded the hour of 7, but when the
guests and their hosts were seated she
failed to appear. Mrs. Van Tassel was
annoyed and surprised, for Betty was al
ways alert and had never failed her when
a dinner was to be served in state. After
waiting several minutes Mrs. Van Tas
sel touched her foot to the button be
neath the table and rang flie electric
bell, but no Betty appeared with the
belated Blue Points.
The conversation was flagging, as it
will when host and guests me conscious
that the household machinery is not mov
ing smoothly, and Mrs. Van Tassel’s
annoyance and indignation rapidly in
creased as she rang again and again in
vain.
Finally, concluding that Betty must
have fainted, Mrs. Van Tassel excused
herself, with very manifest mortification,
and started for the butler’s pantry to
solve the mystery of the maid’s nonap
pearance.
As sho opened the door she screamed
and ran back toward the table. A
masked man, with a revolver in each
hand, stood in the doorway. He swept
the company with the leveled weapons
and then pointed one of them at Mrs.
Van Tassel.
“Don’t exercise your lungs again like
that, madam, please,” he said politely,
“or 1 shall be under the painful neces
sity of perforating them with a leaden
pill, don’t you see. The other ladies and
geutlemen present will also remain quiet,
or these pistols may go off by accident,
don’t you know. There’s going to be a
big movement in silver here pretty soon,
as wo say down in Wall street, but don't
be at all alarmed.
“No one will harm you if you are not
ungentlemanly or unladylike enough to
insist upon making a scene, don’t you
know—a thing which, of course, you will
not even think of doing. But pardon
me for not having introduced myself be
fore. It is a trifle late for Santa Claus,
but here 1 am—Mr. T. Brown Jones, at
your service—silver service, don’t you
know. Ha! Ha! Pardon the pun; but,
as you are aware, the iniquitous habit of
play upon words has gained a strong
foothold, don't you know, even among
the exclusive circles in which we all
move.”
To say that the Van Tassels and their
guests were astounded by the advent of
the masked Mr. T. Brown Jones is a
very conservative statement. His sud
den entrance, his daring coolness and
matchless impudence, his polite manners
and his excellent English, fairly stunned
them.
Not long before a desperate fellow had
held up and robbed a money broker in
his office on Broadway near Trinity
church at midday, but his audacity paled
into comparative insignificance beside
that of Mr. T. Brown Jones, who had
coolly held up an entire family, their
guests and servants, in the heart of a
fashionable New York residence quarter
at 7 o’clock in the evening.
The ladies were deathly pale and on
the verge of fainting. The gentlemen
had half started to their feet, but sank
back into their chairs with dazed faces
as the revolvers covered them. The bur
glar’s chin and mouth beneath the edge
of the mask had a resolute, but refined
A MASKED MAN STOOD IN THE DOORWAY.
look. His voice was rich, musical and
evidently that of a cultivated, intelli
gent, educated man, and to Van Tassel
at least it had a slightly familiar ring.
The burglar’s hands, too, were small and
white, and there was about him an un
mistakable if incongruous air of refine
ment.
Van Tassel was the first to recover the
use of his intellect and tongue.
“Who are you and what is the mean
ing of this outrage?” he demanded.
“I thought, don’t you see, that 1 bad
already announced my name as T.
Brown Jones. Pardon me for not hav
ing made it clear,” replied the burglar,
bowing deferentially.
“Get out of here instantly!” Van Tas
sel cried, with a very perceptible quaver
in his voice. “How dare you, sir? I’ll
call the police at once unless you leave.”
“Oh, no. you will not, Mr. Van Tas
sel. Pardon me, but at present, don’t
you see, I am doing all the calling that
will be done in this vicinity," said Jir.
Jones. “It is true that 1 have commit
ted the ulmost unpardonable sin of be
ing late at a Christinas dinner, don’t you
know, but I am sure you will forgive me.
I also took the liberty, which you are
well bred enough to overlook, of bring-:
ing several friends with me. We will
not delay the dinner any longer."
As lie concluded Jones whistled twice,
the drawing room and hall doors opened,
and two more burglars, masked and
armed exactly like their leader, stepped
into the dining room.
“Allow me to present Messrs. Brown
and Jones Smith, brothers and excellent
company. They will lend the brilliance
of their presence to this notable gather
ing, don’t you know, and will do ample
justice to your turkey and your wines,”
said Jones. “You must have heard of
these young men, who belong to the
famous Bowery family of Joneses, and
whose ancestors have not only been noted
for years, don't you know, as skillful
collectors of silver, gold and diamonds,
but have also been much sought after by
prominent city officials.
“At least two of their near relatives
have been the principal actors in events
that have been described at great length
in the newspapers, events which, unhap
pily, don’t you know, resulted in the un
timely death of both gentlemen. So
you see that your guests are not ordi
nary people by any means, don’t you
understand, oven if your welcome has a
lack of warmth about it hardly appro
priate for such a day of rejoicing and
loving kindness as today.”
“Well—well, bah Jove!” gasped Mr.
Girard.
“Leave us instantly!” cried Mr. Van
Tassel. He attempted to riso from his
chair as he spoke, but Jones Smith, who
stood behind him, pressed the cold
muzzle of a revolver to the back of his
head, and he sat down again precipi
tately.
“Please do not move, Cornelius,” plead
ed Mrs. Van Tassel, beginning to shed
tears, “or these horrid—these gentlemen
will kill you!”
“Yes, Cornelius; please remain in
your chair, for whenever you move like
that I am in mortal terror, don’t you
see, lest a revolver somewhere should
go off and hurt you, don’t you know,”
said T. Brown Jones. “For fear, how
ever, that he may be indiscreet, secure
him to this chair,” the burglar added, ad
dressing his companions.
“B-bah—bah Jove! Deuced shame!”
cried Mr. Girard.
The two scions of famous Bowery fam
ilies not only obeyed their leader’s in
structions, but they also bound Mrs. Van
Tassel, Mr. and Mrs. Girard and Mr.
and Mrs. Cowles firmly to the chairs in
which they sat. The gentlemen mur
mured loudly against this indignity to
their wives, but the cold steel of three
revolvers was an argument that they
were powerless against.
It was in vain that Mr. Girard pro
tested, with numerous “Bah Joves,” and
finally in despair he vigorously jammed
his monocle into his right eye, knowing
that he would soon be unable to adjust
it. The arms and legs of the men were
securely fastened, but the ladies were
simply bound to their seats by the arms.
The burglars accomplished their task in
as gentle and polite a manner as possible,
and not one of the captives was really
suffering physically.
“There’s another member of the noted
Smith family in the house,” continued
Mr. T. Brown Jones, “but I regret to
say that at present he is busily engaged
in sitting on your negro chef, who will
insist upon rolling about and endeavor
ing to release himself from bondage, and
in keeping an eye, don’t you see, on your
maid. As soon, however, as he gets the
chef securely corralled between the legs
of your big refrigerator, don’t you know,
he may favor us with his company.”
“Well, what do you want?" demanded
Mr. Van Tassel. “Why don’t you take
what we have and get out and allow my
guests to enjoy their dinner?”
“I will attend to everything in good
time, Cornelius, but the heavy move
ment in silver, don’t you know, cannot
take place yet very well, for the reason
that the silver is all in use. That beau
tiful solid silver soup tureen must be
emptied, for instance, don’t you see, and
if hunger is gnawing at your vitals sup
pose we begin operations.
“I see covers are only laid for six, but
that need not embarrass you. My Bow
ery friends will assist you in moving
closer together, so that there will be
room for us at your hospitable table
Ah, that is just the thing. There’s room
and to spare. Now the surplus dining
room chairs. Well done, my friends.”
As he gave utterance to these approv
ing words, Mr. T. Brown Jones took his
seat at the head of the table beside Mr.
Van Tassel, deposited his revolvers on
one of the lace doilies, spread a napkin
across his lap and drew Mr. Van Tas
sel's yellow chrysanthemum through his
buttonhole.
“My favorite flower—since it has been
a society fad,” he said simply. “Now,
Mrs. Van Tassel, do me the kindness to
ring for your maid. Three more covers,
you know, for us, and dinner served for
nine instead of six,” the burglar added,
carelessly lifting one of his revolvers so
that it was leveled in the direction of
the tearful hostess.
“Well, bah Jove!” ejaculated Mr. Gi
rard, as the full force of audacious Mr.
Jones' intentions dawned upon him.
His face suddenly expanded into such a
look of astonishment that his faithful
monocle, which had remained where he
had put it all through the binding ordeal
as though glued to the spot, fell from his
eye as if it, too, had been overcome by
amazement.
“Allow me,” said T. Brown Jones, as
he politely caught up the monocle and
thrust it back into its place. Mr. Girard
was so surprised at this act that he for
got to contract his eyebrow in time, and l
the erratic glass again shot down the
length of its gold chain.
But Mr. Jones was not at all dis
couraged. for he promptly attempted the
feat once more. This time Mr. Girard
lifted his right eyebrow at least half un
inch as he 6a\v the monocle coining,
closed down upon it as Mr. Jones cried
“Now!” and success crowned the joint
undertaking.
Meantime the other two burglars had
followed the example of their chief, and
each was seated beside one of the male
guests, with chrysanthemums brushing
the black masks that covered their faces.
They lacked the ease of Mr. T. Brown
Jones, and by several awkward moves
confirmed the correctness of their lead
er’s statements concerning their Bowery
ancestry. They also watched Jones nar
rowly through the eyeholes in their
somber masks and promptly imitated
him in everything he did at the table.
Meantime, too, Mrs. Van Tassel had
pressed her trembling foot to the elec
tric bell and summoned Betty. She had
been wondering in a dazed sort of way
what had become of the maid and was
hoping that she had either rung the mes
senger call for the police or had escaped
from the house and personally sought
aid.
This hope was dispelled by the prompt
appearance of Betty at the door. She
was pale and trembling, and very evi
dently half frightened out of her wits.
She stepped to her mistress’ side and
waited, her face the picture of mingled
wonder, fear and helplessness. She was
too well disciplined to speak even under
such remarkable circumstances. She
simply stared.
“Your maid seems to have become
petrified mentally and physically, Mrs.
Van Tassel,” said Jones in a lowr voice,
as if the words were for her ear alone.
“Perhaps it would be well to explain to
her, don’t you see, that dinner is to be
served as usual.”
As he spoke Mr. Jones again carelessly
laid his hand upon one of the revolvers
beside him. Mrs. Van Tassel’s face
would have been an excellent study for
a picture of Despair.
“Dinner—dinner as usual, Betty,” she
faltered in a whisper.
When the Blue Points wero served, the
Bowery swells glanced doubtfully from
the tempting array of shells to the be
“PARDON US,” HE SAID HUMBLY.
wildenng array of sterling knives, forks
and spoons that lay beside them, as if
seeking for the proper weapon of attack.
Then they sat still and looked inquiring
ly at Mr. T. Brown Jones.
That worthy noted the glance, as be
seemed to note every other movement or
noise about the dining room.
“The custom, don’t you know, of eat
ing oysters on the half shell with these
little forks,” he said thoughtfully, hold
ing one of them up and then spearing a
bivalve with it, “is an excellent one.”
The Boweryites at once looked as re
lieved as two masked faces could, and
were soon vigorously plying the oyster
forks.
“Table etiquette should be taught at
Yale. Now, when I was in Jale”—Mr.
Jones was continuing reflectively, when
he was interrupted by a loud guffaw
from his Bowery confreres. There were
even slight smiles upon the faces of the
inwardly raging Mr. Van Tassel, the
outwardly fuming Mr. Cowles and the
monocle eyed Mr. Girard.
-“when I was in Yale, don’t you
know,” Jones repeated, looking up in
apparent surprise. “I was struck by the
reflection that proper table manners are
not bom, but made, don’t you see, for
the child that is bom, as we all were,
with a silver spoon, so to speak, don’t
you see, in its mouth will, when at ta
ble, remove the spoon and try to play
‘Annie Rooney’ and similar tunes pop
ular with the canaille on the doilies
Years of training alone, don’t yon know,
give one polish in table etiquette. Even
you, Cornelius, probably used your silver
spoon for a drumstick when you were a
child, 1 dare say.”
“I’d like to use”— began Mr. Van Tas
sel, with a roar of pent up rage.
“Cornelius, for heaven’s sake, for my
sake, do be quiet!” pleaded his distracted
wife.
“Cornelius, if you don't stop roaring
so. I’ll not only gag you, but I’ll also
have our mutual friend, McAllister, ex
pel you from the One Hundred and
Fifty,” murmured Mr. Jones, toying
with his revolver. “Sorry you don’t like
oysters,” he continued, cooly appropri
ating the plate of the helpless Van Tas
sel.
Evidently Mr. Girard and Mr. Cowles
were not fond of Blue Points also, for
the Boweryites followed Jones’ example
and transferred their oyster dredging
operations from their own empty plates
to the full plates of Van Tassel’s male
guests.
“Blue Points are so small, don’t you
know, that really 1 shall be compelled
to accept your offer,” Mr. Jones said
apologetically a few moments later as he
took Mrs. Girard's oysters. In the same
deferential manner his Bowery friends
made way with the bivalves huddled to
gether upon the plates of the other help
less ladies, and then, following the ex
ample of Mr. Jones, carefully wiped the
oyster forks on their napkins and put
them in their pockets.
“Your souvenirs are so pretty,” mar*
inured Jones, “that they fairly carry us
away.
“I'll serve the consomme,” he added
to Betty, who had just come in with the
tureen, “for Mrs. Van Tassel seems to be
fully occupied."
The appetizing odor of the soup caused
nine mouths to water; but, as in the case
of the oysters, six of them watered in
vain.
“Where are you going, ray pretty turk?"
“I’m going to dinner." she said with a smirk.
“May I go with you, my turkey maid?"
“Nobody axed you. sir,” she said,
murmured Mr. Jones as the big brown
bird, hot and steaming and redolent of,
savory dressing, was deposited in front,
of him by the maid. “Betty," he con
tinued, beginning to carve the fowl with
apparent skill, “don’t forget the wines.
Wine is a mocker, don’t you know, but
strong drink doesn’t seem to have been
raging very much around here yet. don’t
you see, but—but it will be shortly, when
the Bowery is heard from.”
Then Mr. Jones served the Christmas
turkey in his most polite manner.
“White or dark?” he would ask one of
the company. “Ah, yes, to be sure. You
always preferred the dark meat. How
deuced stupid of me not to remember!
Cornelius,” he said as he deftly removed
and divided one of the turkey’s legs,
“here’s a drumstick for you in remem
brance of your infancy, don’t you see;
but, Corny, for heaven’s sake, for my
sake, don’t pound out ‘Annie Iiooney'
on the doilies with it!”
“B-bah Jove! Deuced shame!" cried
Mr. Girard.
Not until every person at the table
had been helped did Mr. Jones turn his
attention to his own plate. When he
and the Bowery boys did get fairly to
work, however, turkey, cranberry sauce,
turkey dressing, wines and the numer
ous other delicacies that composed the
Van Tassels’ Christmas dinner vanished
from view like a Kansas town in the
track of a cyclone.
When the three strange guests had de
voured the turkey on their own plates,
they turned to in the most polite manner
and assisted the Van Tassels, the Girards
and the Cowles. The dinner passed off
very well, considering the circum
stances, as Mr. Jones afterward re
marked.
“Those Gramercy park people, don’t
you know, were rather stupid. They
didn’t talk much. They ate even less.
The Bowery people, too, were no bet
ter as conversationists, but there was
nothing the matter, don’t you know',
about their appetites. I never before
saw such a demonstration of the shovel
ing capacities of the ordinary table
knife. But I amused them all, don’t
you understand. I was not only after
dinner but middinner and before dinner
speaker, and told a few good stories that
I see Depew has since got hold of.”
By the time the different courses had
been served and the coffee came on in
the Dresden china after dinner cups, the
pockets of Mr. Jones and his companions
were fairly bulging with spoons, knives
and forks, and it was evident that the
heavy movement in silver was soon to
commence. The only interruption to the
dinner occurred when, just as Mr. Jones
was drinking Mr. Van Tassel’s coffee,
a voice with an unmistakable Bowery
accent shouted from the butler’s pantry:
“Ef youse fellers don’t send me out a
ham sandwish er somethin pretty dern
quick, I’ll give de hull gang dead away.
See?”
Mr. Jones paid no attention to the re
mark, however, but drank the remain
ing cups of coffee within reach, excused
himself and rose from the table. “Par
don us,” he said humbly as he and his
assistants relieved the gentlemen of then
watches and pocketbooks and the ladies
of their diamonds and other jewelry,
“but at Christmas time it is always bet
ter to give than to receive, don’t you
know.”
With profuse apologies, too, Mr. Jones
securely gagged the Van Tassels, their
guests and the maid, and saw that they
were all firmly bound. Then Mr. Jones’
companions engineered the heavy move
ment in silverware to a carriage at the
door, leaving j ones to bid the hospitable
Van Tassels bon soir.
Raising the turkey’s wishbone so that
all could see, he pulled it apart with his
own hands, wished them “many happy
returns of the day” and vanished.
******
Thus it was that Jack Schuyler (alias
T. Brown Jones), swell clubman and
man about town, won the half forgotten
wager he had made a year previous with
Cornelius Van Tassel—that a Gramercy
park family, its guests and its servants
could be held up and robbed at dinner
and the burglars make good their escape.
Van Tassel paid the wager, but there is
a coldness akin to Christmas weather
between him and “Mr. T. Brown Jones.”
_
A Christmas Tree In Paris.
Opposite the church of St. Eustache is
the great market of the Halles, which
furnished the worst of the horrible mot
of fishwomen who, 100 years ago,
swarmed Versailles to tear the queen
to pieces. On Christmas eve their lineal
and commercial successors, the present
“dames des Halles,” raised among them
selves a handsome subscription and fur
nished a great tree for the half starved
poor of that quarter. The lower branches
were loaded with toys and good things
for the children, the upper with legs of
mutton, bottles of wine, warm clothes
and all sorts of comforts from their weil
stocked stalls; illuminated by candles
and encircling bonfires. Around this
tree was held a great reveillon—the best
fcttended in all Paris, needless to say—
which lasted from midnight until 4
o’clock Christmas day. The generous
women who had prepared the tree did
not go home at all, but opened their \
stalls, rubbed their eyes and made ready
for business.—Pittsburg Dispatch.
The White Tuletide.
The ground is white and the sky is gray.
Snow has fallen and snow will fall;
Snow has fallen before today.
But this is the suow of all—
For the yule is white!
Fields of December or woods of May,
White of blossom or white of snow—
White is the wear for a holiday.
And the old earth seems to know—
For the yule is white!
—Selected. ,
THE BODV AND THE MIND.
Why the Former Should Re Cultivated For
the Sake of the Latter.
The important subject of physical cul
ture is not considered us it ought to Ixj
by the majority of men and women, and
there is almost absolute ignorance of the
makeup of the body on the part of even
intelligent people, with little desire for
such knowledge, although health, beauty i
and success depend largely on the treat- j
ment given to tho body. Mental ac- i
quirements are blindly worshiped, while
the essential question of health receives 1
little thought, and hence it is almost im- |
possible to find men in the ordinary
walks of active life, at middle age, who
do not complain of impaired health and
want of vital force.
Without a sound body one cannot
have ix sound mind, and unless proper at
tention is given to the culture of the
body good health cannot be expected.
Plato is 6aid to have called a certain man
lame because he exercised the mind
while the body was allowed to suffer.
This is done to an alarming extent now
adays. Brain workers, as a rule, exer
cise no part of the body except the head,
and consequently suffer from indiges
tion, palpitation of the heart, insomnia
aud other ills, which if neglected gener
ally prove fatal. Brilliant and success
ful men are constantly obliged to give
np work through the growing malady of
nervous prostration. The number of
those who succumb to it has increased
to an alarming extent of late years aud
that of suicides hardly less. Few will
question that this is owing to overwork
ing the brain and the neglect of body
culture.
Vitality becomes impaired and strength
consumed by mental demands, which are
nowadays raised to a perilous height,
and it is only by careful attention to
physical development and by judicious
bodily exercise that the brainworker can
counteract the mental strain. Women
rarely consider the importance of phys
ical culture, yet tin y need physical train
ing almost more t.«„u men do. Thou
sands of our young women are unfit to
become wives or mothers, who might he
strong and beautiful if they gave a short
time daily to physic al development.—
Lippincott’s Magazine.
How Jack Gets Whisky.
One of the most arduous tasks devolv
ing upon the officers of a warship is that
of preventing the men from smuggling
intoxicants aboard the ship.
A company of half a dozen men on
one of the warships here during the na
val review had a young parrot for a pet
housed in a gorgeous big cage. The bird
was the successor of several that had oc
cupied the same cage during a stay at a
tropical port. The owners seemed to be
unfortunate with their pets, which lived
only a short time. The one they brought
here, which had stood the voyage well,
died soon after the ship arrived in port.
The men took the cage ashore and got
some other kind of bird. That also soon
died, and so did four or five others in
succession within a few weeks.
Finally the officers noticed the great
mortality of pet birds, as they had also
noticed the great frequency with which
the joint owners of these pets got mys
teriously drunk aboard ship. A suspi
cion dawned upon them, and they seized
the birdcage. They found it had a false
bottom, with a capacity for several
quarts of whisky, and also that the food i
tins and even the thick bars wero hoi- j
low. The men had killed their cheap j
pet when other schemes for obtaining
liquor were not available, and taking
the cage ashore for another came back
with a new bird and half a gallon or so
of whisky.—New York Sun.
The Shackles Worn by John Brown.
James N. Atwood of this town has in
his possession the shackles worn by John
Brown when he was captured. Soon
after the execution of John Brown, in I
1859, Kev. Hezekiah Atwood, originally
of Livermore, Me., was in Charleston, |
Va., and while there visited the jail ,
where Brown was incarcerated awaiting
execution. He was shown the leg irons
which were placed upon Brown at the '
time of his capture and worn constantly
by him until his execution. He tried to
purchase the shackles, but was told that
it would be impossible. Asking the old !
negress what would happen if the irons
should disappear and another pair be
substituted, she replied that “the num
ber would be good,1’ evidently with no
idea of their historical value. Mr. At
wood after much difficulty procured an
other pair at an expense of $8 and was
soon in possession of the coveted shac
kles. At one time during the lifetime of
Mr. Atwood they were used in lectures
by Henry Ward Beecher.—Livermore
Falls (Me.) Letter.
Gas Excepted.
Ministers sometimes play good, jokes
upon themselves. Rev. Thomas K.
Beecher tells the following:
“Some years ago a young man named
Plympton came to Elmira to take charge
of a paper. 1 was in the habit of pub
lishing my church notices in the paper,
and one Saturday night the gas gave out
and promised to stay out for a day or .
two. So I ran over to Plympton and
said: ‘Just say, “Services as usual, ex- •
cepting the gas.” ’
“ ‘Shall I print it in just that way?
asked Plympton.
“ ‘Certainly,’ I said, and left him. He
did publish it that way, and next day
narrowly escaped being tarred and
feathered at the hands of a committee
of my deacons, who thought he was ridi- .
culing me.”—Ram's Horn.
Tommy’s Bad Break.
“We are going to have pie for dinner,”
said Tommy Uptown to the minister.
“Indeed!” laughed the clergyman,
amused at the little boy’s alertness, “and
what kind of pie is it?’
“It’s a new kind. Ma was talking this
morning about pa bringing you home to
dinner so often, and pa said he didn’t
care what she thought, and ma said she
would make him eat humble pie before ,
the day was over, an I suppose we are
goin to have it for dinner.”
Tableau.—Tammany Times.
JAPANESE SCENES.
OrD AND INTERESTING SIGHTS SEEN
BY A TRAVELER.
Ilaudhouf Women uikJ Well Ui'2av«d('hll*
dreii- Ionian It* Happy In Her I’ottillOtt
of Subjection—The (iriKliii (Islw ;>ud
Unto! ifill |>hiii ing.
The Japanese pedestrians who are uj<t
barefoot wear wooden clogs, or pattens,
or straw sandals. In either case they a£e
kept on by a cord which passes betweBn
the great toe and the others, the stock
ings being made to accommodate, like a
mitten, the great toe in place of t&e
thumb. Tho pattens are raised two ir
three inches from the ground by cross
pieces under them four inches apart, arid
they make a great clattering, especially
in crossing a bridge or wooden platform.
The majority of the Japanese men of the
common sort are bareheaded in the stre®.
The women never have any other cover
ing on the head than their elaborately
dressed hair, always very black, very
smooth and very abundant. Frequently,
though, in these days, the Japanese main
who still wears the native costume sur
mounts it with a derby hat, which pro
duces a peculiar effect. j
One of the first things which strike a
stranger is the manner in which the ba
bies are carried. We see men, woinqn
and children with babies on their backs.
It is not uncommon to sen a girl of <i <jr
8 years with a baby brother or sister
strapped on her shoulders. Thus incum
bered the children walk about, play £t
games, stop to look at puppet shows, autl
do what they please, without appearing
to feel the burden. The babies are apt
to be asleep, and their heads swing about
until you wonder that their necks ape
not broken. Tho children all seem to be
merry and amiable. Very seldom is one
seen either cross or noisy. I wish the
good missionaries who are beginning to
swarm in the country would send home
the secret of the excellent behavior of
the children. »
As a rule, the young and middle agqd
women are quite good looking, subject
to the peculiarities of their type. They
have smooth, round faces, often with
fresh color, liquid black eyes, exquisite
hands and well rounded arms. Their
feet are not so attractive, hi ing spread
out by the use of clogs or putt 11s. This
footgear tends to give them ungraceful
gaits—a sort of waddle—and it is con
sidered the correct thing to toe in. Their
costume, almost always becoming as to
materials and color, makes them look a
little dumpish. This is especially the
effect of the great bow of the belt or obi
worn on the small of the hack as much
as a foot square. In most cases the faces
wear amiable, contented expressions.
The women of Japan are much better
treated than their sisters in other east
ern nations, hut they are considered dis
tinctly inferior to the men and are
taught from their earliest childhood obe
dience—first, to their parents; then to
their husbands, and finally to their sons
when they become the heads of their
households. But this does not appear to
weigh upon the Japanese woman. She
is cheerful, docile and contented with
her lot, happy to serve in the station ap
pointed her, with simple tastes and good
digestion, anil politeness which never
fails. They ure said to be good house
keepers, always observant of their du
ties, but the simplicity of their house
keeping relieves them of a great meas
ure of the care which wrinkles the brow
of the New England housekeeper.
Their houses, even the best of them,
are the simplest structures imaginable,
containing almost nothing of what we
call furniture, and their dresses require
no art in their cutting and manufacture.
Thus the two great causes of worriment
from which our women suffer do not ex
ist for these simple creatures.
We had heard so much about the gei
sha girls that we were curious to extend
our ethnological investigations in this
direction. Soon after our arrival in Yo
kohama arrangements were made by an
experienced friend for a function at one
of the best tea houses in the city. We
started at 8p. m., five of us, each in a
jinrikisha, for a ride to the place ap
pointed, about a mile from our hotel.
We went off at a brisk trot, each human
nag carrying a paper lantern. Through
the crowded streets, around the corners,
with sharp warnings, we fared, and in
10 minutes brought up at our rendez
vous. We were received with low sa
laams, and after exchanging our boots
for soft oversocks, were conducted to a
spacious room, inclosed by paper pan
eled partitions. Here we sat down on
silk cushions about 15 inches square. At
the side of each was placed a bibachi, a
small box containing a live coal imbed
ded in ashes to furnish a light for jjipe
or cigar.
A buxom attendant approached with
tea things, made a low prostration, while
her face touched the floor, and most
gracefully served tea for us. She also
brought us fruit and cakes, every step of
the process punctuated by a low bow. To
this preparation succeeded six girls,
quite pretty, neatly dressed in soft crape
costumes, with smiling faces. Two were
to play the samisen, a sort of guitar, and
the others were the dancers. All squat
ted and prostrated themselves before us.
Then the music struck up, the players
accompanying their instruments with u
peculiar vocal effort which bore the bur
den of the story to be illustrated in the
dance.
The dancers sprang to their places and
the fun began. Each dancer carried a
fan, the managing of which was an im
portant part of the business. The move
ments were graceful after their kind
and perfectly innocent and decorous. It
was entirely different from those volup
tuous eastern dances which caused so
much disturbance to the sensitive moral
sense of Chicago. The dance closed with
a general prostration. Then the dancers
came forward and squatted in front of
us and about six feet away, with faces
as demure as those of young kittens.
There were five or six different dances—
we were fully satisfied as to quantity—
and then the function came to an end
with sweet smiles and ‘ ‘sayonaras-’ (good
bys) as we departed.—Boston Herald.
