The Project Gutenberg EBook of Said the Observer, by Louis J. Stellman This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: Said the Observer Author: Louis J. Stellman Release Date: July 6, 2004 [EBook #12832] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SAID THE OBSERVER *** Produced by William Flis and PG Distributed Proofreaders THE TELEPHONE FACE. SAID THE OBSERVER By Louis J. Stellmann ILLUSTRATIONS BY J.P. BURNHAM AND V.C. FORSYTHE San Francisco The Whitaker & Ray Co. Incorporated 1903 Dedication. TO MY MOTHER ON HER FIFTIETH BIRTHDAY. Half of a century's gladness And half of a century's tears, Lost in the mighty silence Of the past and vanished years! Oh, what a sea of memories Surge back from the time gone by— The waters of Life's river; How many a smile or sigh— Has made them dance and sparkle; Or, storm-tossed as they ran, Adown the course of Being, Since the current first began! How many a note of gladness Has the music of their flow, Brought to the hearts of others To lighten their load of woe! How often, too, has Duty Claimed its sacrifice of pain? How many hours of sorrow Have been for another's gain? No mind can weigh or measure, The light that a woman's love Casts on Life's darkened pathways, Save that of the God above. From out the time that's vanished A message of Peace is borne. A future glad in Promise, Like a sunshine-laden morn— Smiles welcome now and beckons To a new and brighter day. The years to come are gladder Than those that have passed away. Preface. [pg 2] [pg 3] [pg 4] [pg 5] It is the custom of some authors to preface their earlier works with excuses for sending their "little volume out into the world," and to bespeak in its behalf the leniency of both critic and reader. I have no such apologies, however, to make for this work. I have confidence in its success and it will win or lose, according to its merits, no matter what I say. "Said The Observer" represents stray ideas, gathered here and there and everywhere, which I have decked out in gay habiliments of Fancy and embellished with such wit as I possess. Do not take them seriously, I pray you, for their aim is to amuse. Do not feel offended if some pet corn is trod upon, for it is all in fun and no malice is intended. Most of the sketches have already appeared in the Los Angeles Herald and the reader may detect in some a touch of localism, as for instance, in "The Essentials of Greatness," which refers casually to the passing of Senator Stephen M. White. "Steve White," as he was affectionately dubbed by those who knew him, was a great man in California, though, perhaps, his fame as an orator and statesman may not have penetrated far beyond the borders of the Golden State. In two other sketches references are made to Li Hung Chang. Both were written prior to the death of the distinguished Oriental diplomat, and I have chosen to explain seeming anachronisms, rather than change my narrative to conform with later events. THE AUTHOR. Contents. PAGE INFLUENCE OF THE PIPE 7 OUR FRIEND THE MURDERER 13 SCIENCE AND WEATHER 19 THE ESSENTIALS OF GREATNESS 23 HORSE SENSE 27 THE MANNISH WOMAN 31 A WONDERFUL MACHINE 36 DRAWBACKS OF THE KING BUSINESS 39 THE EATING HABIT 43 DELIGHTS OF FLASHLIGHT PHOTOGRAPHY 46 WONDERS OF SPIRITUALISM 54 THE POTENCY OF THE TESTIMONIAL 59 AMBITIONS AND THINGS 65 THE TELEPHONE FACE 69 Influence of the Pipe. "I see, by a recent paper," said the Observer, as he lit another cigar and resettled himself in his chair, "that a Chicago physician and a lot of fool women, who are evidently jealous of Carrie Nation, are about to start an active crusade against the 'Smoke Nuisance.' This is ambiguous enough to warrant the supposition that their object is the compulsory introduction of some patented device for clearing the atmosphere of Pittsburg and other manufacturing towns, but their [pg 6] [pg 7] [pg 8] real aim is to discourage the use of tobacco. Now, of all the human pests which afflict the long-suffering public, the anti- smoke agitator is about the worst. Why, man alive! what would become of the human race without tobacco? It is the grease which lubricates the Wheel of Evolution. Since the time of Sir Walter Raleigh civilization has advanced more rapidly by one hundred per cent. Nearly all great inventors, artists and writers owe their inspiration to the pipe. "A very successful newspaper man whom I know has four different pipes and each serves a special purpose. When he wants to write a humorous article, he says to his wife, 'Where is my funny pipe?' and she hands him a long-handled affair with a weichsel-wood bowl and a cherry stem that has a kind of rakish, good-natured curve to it. Then he sits down and grinds out copy that will make an Englishman laugh at first sight. A big, dumpy brier, with a shorter stem and a celluloid end, is responsible for general descriptive work, sporting news, etc., while a trim little meerschaum with a carved bowl engenders excellent criticisms of music and drama. Occasionally, too, this bright fellow, who does considerable work on the editorial page, gets into a newspaper controversy. Then he pulls from his pocket a short 'bull- dog' with a horn tip, whose massive, square-jawed bowl and ferocious short-curved stem breathe forth aggressiveness, and, jamming it full of 'plug cut,' he writes one of those satirical, sledge-hammer roasts which make him feared by his opponents. "One night he was detailed to write up a show at one of the leading theatres. The play was 'East Lynne,' which, as a tear-producer, ranks away up and was presented by a first-class company. When the critic reached home he was feeling pretty sad, so he looked around for his meerschaum. His wife had been cleaning house that day and he couldn't find any pipe but the long one. What was the result? Why, he wrote such a humorous description of the play that everybody thought 'East Lynne' was a farce comedy and, when the performance closed on the following night, two- thirds of the audience wanted their money back. "His worst crack, though, was when a man of great local prominence, who stood high with the people, died and it fell to G.'s lot to describe the funeral ceremonies and eulogize the deceased. G.'s mother-in-law had just arrived and the poor fellow was so badly rattled that he got hold of the 'bull-dog' instead of the brier and made the Hon. G. out the grandest rascal who had ever preyed upon the vitals of a law-abiding community. The only thing that saved his neck this time was the fact that it all turned out to be true and his paper got the credit of a 'scoop.' After that he had a little case made to hold all four of his pipes, with a strap to go around his neck—and I guess he sleeps with it now. "They say that Guttenberg conceived the notion of the printing press while taking an after-dinner smoke; that Stephenson's ideas of steam locomotion came to him through the curling wreaths of his favorite Virginia; and that Morse figured out the telegraph with a pipe in his mouth. I never could corroborate these statements, though I don't doubt them a bit. But, be that as it may, the man, woman or child who tries to deprive us of the solace and inspiration of tobacco, is like the goat that tried to butt a train off the track. He is not only trifling with one of the greatest factors in civilization, but he is toying with a lost cause." [pg 9] [pg 10] [pg 11] [pg 12] "No other man gets half the flattering attention given the condemned." "No, I don't believe in capital punishment," said the Observer, as he rose from the barber's chair and adjusted his collar [pg 13] before the glass. "It's less expensive for the government than to board a man for life, and it satisfies the popular idea of justice, but I doubt very much its efficiency in the suppression of crime. "Take the average murderer, for instance. He seems to look forward to his execution with happy anticipation. He may have been a hopeless dyspeptic who killed his wife in an agony of indigestion, following a repast of hot biscuits and flannel cakes, such as 'mother used to make,' but as the hour of death approaches, he regains his appetite, and, just before the solemn moment, partakes of a hearty breakfast. His whole life may have been a record of flagrant cowardice, yet he walks steadily to the scaffold and dies 'like a man'; he may have been illiterate to a degree, yet in the very shadow of the gallows he writes a statement for publication the depth and power of which astonishes the world. From the sentence to the finish, the murderer's life is one bed of roses. Every pretty girl who visits the prison brings him flowers and sweets, and begs eagerly for his autograph; great authors write books about him; great lawyers draw up petitions from notable men and women asking for his pardon, and the governor's secretary works night and day, declining their requests, writing special permits and "standing off" tearful relatives, friends and sweethearts, who spring up as if by magic to plead his cause. "No other man gets half the flattering attention that is given the condemned; no one else is given half the chance to make a glorious finish. By some occult influence his faults are utterly effaced and every latent talent is developed to a point of absolute perfection. When this 'ne plus ultra' is reached, a quick curtain is dropped over his career, and he lives in the memory of countless thousands as a martyred hero of the most splendid moral and mental attainments. "Who would not sacrifice life for such a climax? Many men have said to Fame and Wisdom, 'Let me look upon your face and die'; many have come to view their Gorgon features and cheerfully paid the price, and still more have perished miserably on the way. "Now, what is the murderer's sacrifice compared to these? He is carefully attended, afforded every luxury, and at last, is whisked away into eternity, quickly, and, as far as possible, painlessly, with a grand opera and limelight effect. "We have learned many things from Mongolia; gunpowder, the printing press and many other great discoveries have been traced back to Celestial origin. Let us, then, adopt her method of dealing with troublesome subjects. A 'harikari' sentence saves the nation much trouble and expense. A coroner's verdict of 'suicide by request,' is much more simple, and just as good as a lengthy criminal prosecution, besides affording the transgressor a choice of weapons. He may prefer a strychnine sandwich to the rope, or an unobtrusive blow-out-the-gas transition to the electric chair; he may choose to loiter carelessly in the path of a metropolitan trolley car; to caress the rear elevation of an army mule, or insist upon reading a spring poem to an athletic and busy editor. Many persons are particular upon these subjects and, if the individual liberty, which is the watchword of our nation, is to be preserved, some license should be allowed even a felon under such conditions. "If we really wish to decrease and discourage vice, however, let us go about it in a logical manner and hold up a terrible example to those premeditating crime. The prisoner should be visited by none but religious advisers of every denomination, except on certain days when free admittance should be granted to sketch artists, camera fiends, elocutionists and young authors. All newspaper articles relating to his case should be carefully suppressed; no reading matter furnished him except dialect stories, and amateur photographs, taken by visitors, should be hung upon the wall. Between times the prisoner might be employed in washing dishes for a cooking school and testing the products of pupils. After two months of unremitting toil, according to this itinerary, he might be safely liberated, if life remained, and it is safe to say that his experience, when related to associates, would have a more deterrent effect upon the 'profesh' than several kinds of death penalties could hope to produce." Science and Weather. "Science," said the Observer, "is a great thing and applicable to almost every line of endeavor. You can kill people in a scientific manner—witness the late Madame Borgia and others. You can shoe a horse scientifically, beg scientifically or hypnotize a squalling infant into innocuous quietude by the aid of science. Marconi has signalled across the ocean; Santos-Dumont has navigated the air and Austria has proven her neutrality in the Spanish-American war by scientific means. But there is one thing which Science cannot tackle with any degree of success, and that is the weather problem. "The gift of weather prophecy goes with rheumatism and not with government appointment. The barometer and the anemometer are not in it with a touch of gout, a sailor's superstitions or a farmer's instinct, and, until the Department of Agriculture realizes this, the weather forecast will have no practical value except as an interesting bit of fiction. "I once heard of a man who was 'salivated' in a quicksilver mine, and who, as a result, turned into a living barometer. If his head was clear and his feet were heavy, it was a sure sign of rain in Summer or frost in Winter. If, on the contrary, he seemed depressed mentally and yearned for exercise, a rise in temperature and fair weather were in order. He [pg 14] [pg 15] [pg 16] [pg 17] [pg 18] [pg 19] [pg 20] amassed a large fortune in making weather bets, but one day when the thermometer was down below zero, he stepped on a tack and all the mercury ran out of his heel. After that he lost all his money betting with a neighbor who had a rheumatic left joint, and died of grief in abject poverty. "The only way by which the government may hope to secure competent weather prognostigators is in the establishment of regular training schools for its prophets. The candidate should be examined as to fitness, just as the applicant for a West Point cadetship. He should possess inherited tendencies toward rheumatism as a primary qualification. Then, after serving three years before the mast and putting in an equal period of active labor on a farm, he would be able to turn out correct forecasts with no other apparatus than a set of signal flags, a typewriter and a hektograph. "It wouldn't be scientific," concluded the Observer, reflectively, "because he couldn't explain his deductions on a basis of dynamic pressure, electrical disturbances, or velocity of air currents. But it would be a safe tip for the city man to get out his umbrella, mackintosh and overshoes and for the farmer to cover up his hay, if the rain flag were seen to float on the weather pole." [pg 21] [pg 22] "Fate has posted a great big placard over the Hall of Fame." [pg 23] "Oh yes! Steve White was a great man," said the Observer, as he chalked his cue and reflectively gazed at the balls, "but he was born in that class. If he hadn't been, Stephen Mallory White would probably have cut no greater figure in the world than any other man. "Did you ever hear of a man who wasn't born in some country village, 'of poor but honest parents,' amounting to a row of pins? Not on your life! It's the true and only essential of greatness. Yes, there are lots of fellows fixed that way who don't make their mark, but that's because they don't try. "Everybody knows how Carnegie got his start; didn't Lincoln use to chop wood for a living, and Garfield drive a canal boat team? Wasn't Gould a messenger boy, and General Miles a private? It's a 'cinch,' a 'kismet.' Fate has posted a great big placard over the door to Fame and it says, 'None But Impecunious Young Countrymen Need Apply.' "That is why I always thought reincarnation was a good scheme. The Theosophists say that every soul must pass through a certain number of experiences, before it can attain perfection. Now, here's a chance for some unfortunate scion of wealth or nobility, who has lived a useless and uneventful life, and wants to do something for his country. "He can go to some secluded hamlet, inquire as to the probable date of the next birth in the neighborhood, and, when things are in shape, he can blow out the gas some night and wake up the next morning as a new-born babe, with all the elements of greatness strong upon him. "When this fact becomes generally known, people will donate their funds to charitable institutions and move to the country to raise future presidents, senators and merchant princes; there will be an epidemic of suicide among the idle rich, and the birth-rate of our rural districts will increase a hundredfold; the population of cities will be sadly decimated; waste lands will be cleared and cultivated, as if by magic, and, a generation hence, there will come forth from the agricultural regions a host of young toilers with Destiny's diploma for future greatness in their pockets." The Observer was so wrapped up in his prophecy that he missed his shot by fully half an inch and put the wrong end of his cigar in his mouth. After carefully wiping the ashes out of his teeth and kicking the proprietor's cat, he resumed: "I rather got off the subject, and don't want you to put me down as endorsing reincarnation, either, but when I hear a lot of folks talking about what a great man So-and-So was; how he had to get up before daylight to chop wood and feed the stock, in order to get to school on time, I say to myself, 'What Tommyrot! As if Providence didn't have it all fixed for him.'" [pg 24] [pg 25] [pg 26] [pg 27] "In some ways the average man hasn't the sense of the average horse," said the Observer, taking a shot at the cuspidor and looking thoroughly disgusted. "Horse sense is a brand of intelligence immeasurably above that displayed by human beings under certain conditions. No, I'm not suffering from dyspepsia or gout—I've simply been watching people as they try to pass each other in halls and doorways, and on the street. It's enough to make a man ashamed that he was born a 'Lord of creation.' "The average horse doesn't need to be guided when he sees another horse coming the other way. He swerves to the right, as naturally as a bull-dog chases a tramp. What does the average man do when he suddenly meets another coming hurriedly in an opposite direction? He places himself squarely in front of him and then begins a series of side- steps, first to one side and then the other, in exact accordance with those of the man he is trying to pass, like the mirror pantomime in Hanlon's Fantasma. Finally, both come to a standstill, facing each other, and one tries to execute a quick flank movement to the left. Just at this moment the other suddenly remembers that he would have avoided all this tomfoolery if he had only kept to the right, and tries to make good on this hypothesis. The result is that they bump into each other violently and begin side-stepping again. After another round or two of Terpsichorean gymnastics one of them breaks through the other's guard and escapes and each continues on his belated way, thinking what an infernal idiot the other is. "I have known men who gained international renown for their strategy and 'sang froid' on the battlefield; men whose calmness and deliberation have averted many a financial crisis and men whose marvelous executive capacity and keen insight into human affairs have won them great fortunes. I have seen these same men trying to pass other pedestrians in a narrow hallway and act in a way which would make a lunatic ashamed of himself. "A drummer, who travels for a large Eastern jobbing concern, was once entering the establishment of a firm which always bought heavily from his house. One of the proprietors was just going out. They came together in the doorway, and, before they could pass each other, a rival salesman slipped by and sold the other partner a large bill of goods. "Congress ought to pass an appropriation for the purpose of teaching people how to pass each other. If the surplus energy and brainwork consumed in this task under present methods were applied to some more useful purpose, a great reform movement would have been inaugurated." The Mannish Woman. "I don't want to achieve a reputation as a 'knocker,'" said the Observer, knitting his brow thoughtfully, "but, I nevertheless, aver and maintain that the national evil of this great land is the mannish woman. "No, I don't mean the woman who can earn a living in some professional pursuit that has hitherto been monopolized by men. Why, with our male milliners, dressmakers, cooks, and what not, she has been driven to it by man himself. Even the servant girl has become a thing of the past, and the 'help' of the present day wears trousers,—not metaphorically, as his female predecessor was wont to do—but literally. However, I'm not going to discuss the servant-girl question. That is an old story and a painful one—almost as painful as the mannish woman. "This fearful and wonderful product of American progressiveness—this worst type of monomaniac (man-o-maniac, one might more appropriately term her) is driving men to drink. The mother-in-law is a thing of beauty and a joy forever, compared to the mannish woman; the female book-agent takes on new lustre and even the poetess is a desirable [pg 28] [pg 29] [pg 30] [pg 31] [pg 32] companion beside her. The mannish woman wears a coat and vest and—no, she doesn't wear trousers, because she doesn't dare, but a vertical strip of braid down the middle of her skirt suggests the effect. From a distance you couldn't distinguish between her and a man to save your life, for her hat, shirt-bosom, collar and tie are the real thing. She has pockets in her skirt, one on each side, and, sometimes at the club, she puts her hands in them and, with arms akimbo, admires herself in the glass. At the club also she does other things to show how independent she is. She slaps her friend on the back with a 'Hello, Gertie. How's tricks?' and orders a glass of soda-lemonade with a cherry in it. She wouldn't take a man's arm for the world, which is perhaps fortunate, for she seldom gets a chance. But she likes to talk to a man about the races and exhibit her knowledge of baseball slang. "A friend of mine has an elderly sister who is a mannish woman. Contrary to the popular belief, she never borrows his neckties or collars, but perhaps this may be accounted for by the fact that Fred is rather stout in the neck and seldom wears a tie. She got him to tie a four- in-hand for her one day. Fred used to be a sea-captain in his early days and, although he could make all kinds of splices with a rope, he had never tackled a four-in-hand. He was game, however, and, after a hard tussle, accomplished what is known in nautical parlance as a 'clove hitch.' Fred's sister wore it night and day for a week and then cut it off with a pair of scissors. "Fred had another experience some time after this which nearly proved serious. His sister was on the reception committee for a club function one evening and asked her brother's advice in regard to mixing punch. Fred is an obliging fellow, so he got his friend, who is a barkeeper, to mix up a couple of gallons and send it over to the clubhouse with his compliments. The barkeeper thought it was for Fred's club so he made it good and stiff. It was an innocuous looking mixture and tasted innocent enough, so the club women said it was 'bully' and partook freely. "About twelve o'clock that night, somebody telephoned for Fred to come quick. Just exactly what happened, Fred never would tell, but it cost him about $40 for cab fares and an equal amount to keep it out of the papers. Now, whenever one of the club women sees him, she crosses the street. "I don't believe there is any province in Heaven for the mannish woman. If there is, I know lots of men who would enter upon a life of crime rather than take a chance of going there when they die. I think there is a special place in Hades, where the mannish woman will be made to wear a mother-hubbard and let down her back hair. If there isn't, Mephistopheles don't understand his business a little bit." A Wonderful Machine. "I see by one of the papers that a Chinaman has invented a typewriter which writes in the Celestial language," said the Observer, handing the bootblack a nickel and shaking hands with the crowd. "This bright Oriental, who is known as Tap-Key, has undertaken a very large contract, for the Chinese language, as most people know, is composed entirely of word symbols, each of which represents a word; some combining to form other words, as for instance, a square represents a field, and a combination of 'man' and 'field' signifies a farmer; while 'a man in a box' most graphically describes a prisoner, and 'two women' typify 'gossip,' which is emphasized by adding another of the fair sex, so that a half-dozen women in a row would probably mean the direst kind of mischief. [pg 33] [pg 34] [pg 35] [pg 36] [pg 37] "Well, to embrace any kind of a vocabulary, this machine would need to have about 5,000 characters, and would require quite a force of men to operate it, but the advantages which would accrue from its use are almost inestimable. The Spaniards have found in the typewriter a most effective instrument of war, and through its use many of Weyler's most important battles were won. Reports from South Africa seem to indicate that it has played no unimportant role in England's subjugation of the Boers, and General Elwell S. Otis has even been accused of employing it with terrible effect against the forces of Aguinaldo. With such an awful weapon as Tap-Key has invented the Chinese government might defy the allied powers with impunity and even regain the territory captured by Japan. The young Emperor could doubtless put to flight the august but doughty dowager, as well as his beloved relative, Prince Tuan, and rule his flowery kingdom in peace and harmony, while Li Hung Chang would lose his head, metaphorically, if not literally, in favor of Tap-Key, future lord of the war department." Drawbacks of the King Business. [pg 38] [pg 39] "No," said the Observer, thoughtfully, "I never cherished dreams of inordinate wealth or power; there's nothing in it. If a man is satisfied to reach a moderate altitude he may enjoy it unmolested, but if he succeeds in scaling some remarkable height, there immediately arises an army of envious cranks ready to take his life or make it so miserable for him that he will be glad to sell out at half price and gratefully descend into the obscurity from which he rose. "Nor, is it only the self-made man to whom these remarks apply. Take, for example, the Czar of Russia, the Emperor of Germany, or any other potentate, Christian or heathen, civilized or savage, great or small. He has more trouble to the square inch than a weather prophet. Nicholas III is probably the worst off of them all. He gets up early in the morning and shaves himself with a safety razor, while the court chemist is analyzing his breakfast for traces of arsenic or prussic acid; then he dons his bullet-proof coat, descends a private stairway to a bomb-proof drawing-room and receives his meals on a dumb-waiter from the laboratory with the chemist's certificate that all injurious substances have been removed. "This is the latest method, an official taster having been formerly employed, but owing to the exorbitant rate of insurance on such officers and the rapid decimation of the royal retinue, that plan was recently abandoned. After finishing his repast the Czar receives the morning papers, previously disinfected, and after reading the news, sentences a few nihilists to death by means of a long-distance telephone. "In Germany the situation is almost as bad. The Kaiser spends the entire morning endeavoring to suppress an incipient revolution, and after convicting several editors for 'les majeste,' drives around the streets of Berlin, wearing a baseball mask and making speeches to his soldiers, upon whom he urges the necessity of constant watchfulness. "The young potentate of the Celestial empire is not far behind. He keeps one eye on the dowager and the other on Li Hung Chang, while he sends out harikari mandates to troublesome officials, and stands off the Russian ambassador. Last, but not least, is the Sultan of Turkey, who has a large family to provide for and who keeps a man busy issuing promissory notes to Uncle Sam so that his wives may be properly supplied with filigree hair pins and divided skirts. They say he recently bought the entire stock of an insolvent dry goods store for his harem, and it only went half way around. "The king business is not what it is cracked up to be. I know lots of fellows who would make first-rate kings, and I don't know but what I would make quite a hit in that line myself. But I wouldn't take the job if I could get it. I'd sooner be chief of police or a corporation lawyer. There's more money in it and not half the danger." "My friend," said the Observer to his vis-à-vis, who was studying the bill-of-fare on the other side of the table, "did you ever stop to consider in what an advanced age we are living? Have you ever studied the laws of the universe and sought to figure them out?" "'Never had time,' you say; 'keeps a man busy providing cash to feed his family.' Well, that's just the point. Have you never realized that half of our time is spent in preparing, eating and digesting food, while the other half is employed in [pg 40] [pg 41] [pg 42] [pg 43] making money enough to buy it? Now, students of psychology say that, in time, the human body will become so refined that it will be able to absorb all necessary nourishment from 'universal life,' and need not gorge itself with animal or vegetable organisms. "What vast changes such a condition will inaugurate. The Frenchman will no longer clog his digestive apparatus with 'pate de foi gras;' the rodent will pursue the even tenor of his way in the land of the heathen Chinee, without danger of being converted into a stew; the aged mutton of Merrie England will gambol on the green, with chops intact; the Teuton will forsake his sauerkraut; the benighted heathen his missionary pot- pourri, and the ghosts of slaughtered canines shall cease to haunt the sausage-maker of our own beloved country. "It means the elimination of the dyspeptic and the 'autocrat of the breakfast table,' who frowns coldly upon the efforts of his young wife in the culinary line and carries off her biscuits to serve as paper weights. The scoffer at occidental table manners will cease to cavil at the genial westerner who eats vegetables with a knife, pie with a spoon, and drinks his coffee from the saucer, a napkin tucked in graceful folds beneath his ample chin. "The picturesque phraseology of the Bowery-waiter will fade from view when he ceases to hustle 'stacks of whites,' 'plainers,' and 'straight-ups' to waiting customers, or bawl a hoarse-voiced 'draw one,' to the white-capped cook. "The grafter will lack his usual excuse for making a 'touch;' the after-dinner speech will no more pave the politician's ways to fame, and the portrait of the baby that thrived on Malter's Malted Milk, which now embellishes the pages of newspaper and magazine, will become naught but a lingering memory of the past." Delights of Flashlight Photography. "See those hands?" said the Observer, holding up two "bunches of fives," whose digits were stained near the ends with some dark brown substance, "that's pyrogallic acid—and that burn near my thumb was made by Blitz Pulver. It wouldn't take a Sherlock Holmes to discover that I had the camera craze, would it? "The other day I went into a photographic supply house to look at some of their cameras and the clerk sold me one of the kind that 'a child can operate.' He didn't say where the child was to be found, but I have since concluded that it must be a very remarkable specimen of the infant prodigy, and is probably touring the country as a dime museum attraction on the strength of its wonderful abilities. [pg 44] [pg 45] [pg 46] [pg 47]