A Florida Picture

1895

Pen Sketch of Southern Scenes and Surroundings by Paul Bourget.

A town of quite small houses, with streets, and all along their wooden side walks trees of magic and overflowing verdure, a bursting into leaf which the dust has been unable to sully, writes Paul Bourget from Jacksonville, Fla., in the Boston Herald. Persian lilacs, like those whose perfume I breathed in the east, stand in the street itself, gigantic, in full bloom, and perfuming the already burning air. There are, moreover, overladen orange trees, Japanese medlars, also yellow with fruit, bananas, palm trees, all of which foreshadow still another world than that of Georgia. A penetrating aroma seems to pass through the sun which shines in the too intense blue like the sky which overhung the Dead sea last year, when, on leaving the grim convent of Mar Saba, I perceived that still water and the soft line of the mountains of Moab. But yonder history and legend were for me mixed with the sensation of nature. Here it is nature alone with which I come in contact, nature with its murderous fauna, its violent flora, its atmospheric phenomena, rather its cataclysms, charm and danger, at once perceptible in the very air one breathes, in every small detail which we meet at the corner of the street, in the sudden jumps of temperature — in fact, in the entire life of this small town, so peaceful on this Easter morning.

Negroes and still more negroes. It seems as if the town belongs to them entirely, so densely do they throng on the sidewalks, the men in Prince Albert coats, with flowers in their buttonholes, and wearing trousers of bright shades, the women clothed in outrageously light colored dresses, among which those of apple green, poppy red and light pink predominate. Their bodices are cut in figaro fashion, their hats are decorated with ribbons and enormous flowers, and their hair is plaited in plaits which are very thin and very tight, the object being to diminish or destroy the natural crinkling. They smile, showing their white teeth between their thick lips. The white teeth of the men are displayed in a similar smile, and they all salute and approach one another with that ceremonious familiarity, that species of natural affectation, which is peculiar to this strange race.

Canton and Its Population

1878

A correspondent writes from Canton, China, as follows:

As we arrive in front of the city the famous boat population presents itself. The river is covered with boats of many sizes and shapes, and as we look at them we can readily believe what is told us, that 60,000 people live on these boats. The statement is literal, not figurative. They are born, they are reared, they live, they grow to old age, they die in these boats. So lived their ancestors, and so will live their descendants.

Here is a boat rowed by two women. A child sits in a little compartment provided for him, or creeps about the deck. A cord is around his waist and fastened to the boat or a billet of wood, and as he knows that he cannot receive any attention, he does not demand it. The hotel runners that board the steamer on our arrival are women, and they carry our baggage without the slightest intimation that we are wanting in deference to their sex. Of the small boats on the river, I think at least half are manned by women, (you see the joke?) and sometimes there are whole crews of them.

From the boat population of Canton come the men who serve as sailors in junks and other craft along the coast, and a large majority of the Chinese seamen on foreign ships are, doubtless, from the same source. It is said that these people are not allowed to live on shore either at Canton or elsewhere, but I cannot say if the statement be true or not. I have inquired of several persons who ought to know about it, but as no two tell the same story, the reader may believe whatever he likes.

The strange sights that greet one's eyes on shore are so numerous and varied that a mere list would be hopeless. The streets are so narrow that carriages are out of the question, and even the sedan chairs in which we ride find occasional difficulty in passing other chairs bound in the opposite direction. Burdens great and small are carried by coolies, and some of these burdens are novel indeed. A coolie carries his load, or rather his two loads, balanced on a bamboo pole across his shoulder, and sometimes a baby in one basket preserves the equilibrium of a quantity of vegetables in another. Here comes a man transporting a couple of live pigs, each in a case so very small that the animal cannot move, and possibly cannot, as he certainly does not, squeal.

Boxes and bags and baskets are thus borne along, and though the crowd is dense, nobody is run down; and though our chair-bearers walk at a good pace, they do not overturn a single pedestrian. The principal streets are little else than rows of shops, whose entire fronts are thrown open to speak a welcome to the possible visitor. The shops are gayer, brighter and cleaner than in any other part of China, and if we enter we are pretty certain to be received with the utmost politeness. Silk-weavers are busy at their looms, and ivory carvers at their benches; in fact, all the trades of Canton seemed to be maintained without mystery, and we may steal the art of any one of them, and carry it home with us, if so disposed.

Everybody appears happy and contented, with the exception of an occasional beggar, who is gotten up in a style of wretchedness regardless of expense. Canton is a veritable kaleidoscope of sights.

Lazy, Dirty Panama

1905

Although there is a new flag in Panama, and the affairs of state are in new hands, life rolls on in its accustomed way. The bells in the old towers keep calling the faithful to prayer; long files of venders parade the narrow streets, eternally crying for sale their frugal wares; buzzards soar in the hot air or hop on foot in their never ending search for offal; the same horde of quarreling women crowd the market place to chatter, to barter, and to fight; polite men drink in the cafes and busy themselves with political plot and counterplot; and dusky senoritas lounge in cool patios, dreaming the dreams that southern maidens dream.

The south is always the south. Its idle, shiftless children play and parley their hours away, and the years bring little change for them. They are as aimless as the winds that play in the palms. It is no wonder. The word tropic sounds narcotic. It is of no use to resist. You may summon all your powers of will, but drowsiness touches you with its gentle fingers and you drift softly out on the sea of sleep.

Soldiers Eat Ice Cream

The sweet tooth seems to flourish in a hot climate. Children gnawing at pieces of sugar cane is always a familiar sight in tropical lands. Sometimes they get little else to eat. On a former trip to the tropics I had in my employ a little black by the name of Domingo, who ran errands for me. Necessarily I became quite familiar with the habits of my young assistant. I found that, aside from sleeping a great deal, he was quite an eater. His blouse was his larder, and he kept it well stocked with eatables, mostly sweets. If he were disturbed while eating he would chuck the unfinished morsel inside his shirt to await a more favorable opportunity to consume it.

Domingo's tendency toward economy was commendable, even if his idea of cleanliness was not praiseworthy. There was always a noticeable bulging in his blouse, and I frequently heard a rattling sound as he moved about. One day I said to him: "Domingo, what is that in your shirt which rattles so?" He replied: "That's my ice cream dish, sir."

It was a well battered tin cup, and, after some contortions, he brought forth a crooked, much abused metal spoon. "For two cents I get this half full of cream, sir. It is very good. May I bring you some?" I did not avail myself of his generosity.

Domingo is a soldier now. The salary he gets for being a fighting man amounts to about 40 cents per day, American money, and he boards himself. This is a satisfactory arrangement to Domingo, because feeding himself is an old habit. He does not have to put up with whatever rations the head of the commissary department may see fit to issue.

He still has his battered cup and crooked spoon, and he buys ice cream and cake as many times a day as the spirit moves him. His fellows do likewise. Around their camp there is a hovering swarm of venders.

Steamer on the Spot

The Panama railway steamer, City of Washington, which rendered such valuable service during the recent trouble, has been an actor in other stirring events. It was in Havana harbor when the Maine was blown up, and was anchored next to that ill-fated vessel.

The Washington's small boats were the first to begin picking up the men from the water, and its crew saved many of their lives. Over 100 women and children were kept on the Washington for two days and nights at Colon. They were given their meals and the best service the ship afforded, and no charges were made at all.

After the trouble was over this boat took the commissioners to New York, and later, took the treaty to Panama to be signed. When it was brought on board, Capt. Jones was given a printed letter of instructions, in which it was stated that his charge concerned $50,000,000 worth of interests.

The valuable document was incased in a steel box made especially for it, and this box was contained in a stronger and larger steel safe. Two smaller steel boxes contained two keys, which were sealed with the seal of the United States. There was considerable red tape to be gone through with in delivering the treaty to the proper authorities at Colon, because it was neither freight, baggage, mail nor express. It was one of those little jobs of Uncle Sam's that, as the saying goes, "had to be done just so."

An incident occurred during the "bloodless insurrection" which caused a stampede among the black population. There are thousands of negroes on the isthmus, who were brought here from Jamaica and other islands of the West Indies to work on the French canal. When that fantastic fizzle spent itself they were left to "root, hog, or die."

Most of them are English subjects, and while they are a miserable, poverty-stricken lot, their one pride is that they are subjects of Great Britain. It stands them well in hand, because it saves them from being pressed into service for military duty. It is to the credit of the English officials that they look after them in this respect, and prevent them from being imposed upon. If the pretenders to authority, or those who have so frequently to defend their position, were allowed to round them up and force them to carry arms, they would not last long.

The stampede referred to was caused by an accident. One of the volunteers, who was not used to handling firearms, while in the act of examining his weapon, allowed it to go off. The bullet went between his toes, and it was all so sudden that he thought the enemy surely had him. He let out a yell and started to run. Several hundred negroes who were lounging in the vicinity, curiously waiting for developments, heard the shot and yell and started a precipitate rush for safety. As they ran they spread the news and gathered recruits. The retreat of Britain's black brigade on that warm, warm morning was not a success from a standpoint of order, but deserves special mention as regards speed. Some of them are probably running yet.

The Shade in the Jungle

Panama has waited long to gain the center of the stage. It is as gray and worn as an old man. It has seen enough sorrow to make a thousand tragedies. Its green swamp is the lair of death, where fever, like a slinking thief, always lurks in hiding.

Yellow Jack is an invisible horror. It advances with noiseless steps and clutches its victims with fleshless hand. Ever as it passes there are dead men and women.

This shapeless, hiding thing, which strikes unseen, is the real defender of the bar that God laid down to mark the separation of the seas. If it is His supreme will that the waiting oceans blend their waters, He must make strong the arm that is preparing to strike the barrier away; He must guard the blow that will shatter the mountains by calling off the shade that stalks so ruthlessly through the jungle.

Man Walks Around the World Twice with a 30-pound Book on His Back

1920

"America is the best country in the world," declares Joseph F. Mikulec.

Joseph ought to know. He's walked entirely around the land portions of the globe twice, visiting twenty-six countries. Since 1901 he has been tramping the world and doesn't expect to call his journey ended until December 31, 1921.

Clad in blue overalls, a several-day growth of pale whiskers curling like a mantle over his weather-beaten features, Joseph visited the Blade office a few days ago when he went through Chicago. On his back he carried his most previous treasure — a thirty-pound book in which are the signatures of President Wilson, Mr. Roosevelt, the king of England, the former czar of Russia and notables from many other lands.

"I left Croatia, the country in which I was born, in 1901," says Mikulec, "and I've been walking ever since. When I first reached America I was so delighted with the country that I became a citizen. It's the best in the world. When I end my travels next year I expect to write a book about it."

Asked what his most remarkable adventure was, Mikulec told of an experience in New Zealand.

"To-Mika, an old Maori chief, asked me to marry one of his daughters. I was the first white man that he had seen and he offered 3,000 cows if I would wed the girl. But not wishing to take up life in the jungles as a savage, I refused."

—The Saturday Blade, Chicago, Feb. 28, 1920, p. 1.

Mrs. Minnie Crippen Writes of Interesting Experiences in Rome

Iowa, 1914

She and Miss Shurtieff of Chicago Pleasantly Located, but Weather Has Been Disagreeable — Speaks of Social Life, Churches and Points of Interest

An interesting letter received by Mrs. Myrtle I. Weishaar from Mrs. Minnie M. Crippen of Waterloo, who is touring Europe, was read at the meeting of the Woman's Improvement club this week with Mrs. C. C. Lindner. The letter, written at Rome, is as follows:

"It is on my conscience that I should be writing to you. By the time this reaches Waterloo Christmas and New Year's festivities will be past and the club will be meeting again in regular session. I was told when we came here that Rome had a winter — a rainy season. It was a long time coming this year, and it seems to have arrived. It rains every day and has become damp and unpleasant for getting about — so much so that I am not now getting out. Everyone has a cold. They tell us the this season is of short duration; that by February the winter is practically over. There is no freezing and the flower stands show an abundance of roses, carnations, violets and all sorts of beautiful blossoms. The fruit vendors are everywhere with their carts of oranges, chestnuts, apples, etc.

"Sunshine is needed in Italy just now, and it is not sunny Italy, at least at the present writing.

"This is about the beginning of 'the season' here. The first of next month the hotels put up their prices and until after Easter there will be very many tourists.

"It is more wintry elsewhere than here and by comparison this climate is pleasanter.

Social Affairs

"Alice (Miss Alice Shurtleff) is full of enthusiasm and has a big party on hand for Christmas eve. Young people from the school — painters, sculptors and archaeologists — are going to be entertained at Prof. Hendrickson's, and the girls are busy with decorations and getting ready for games. Then there is to be a Christmas dinner and a tree. Our home here is most delightful and home-like. We are so well satisfied that we have changed from where we first stayed. The hostesses are Italian ladies, very competent. One is an artist, another a teacher. All but one are signorina (maiden ladies). When you want to stay awhile in Rome I will give you this address. It has a peculiar arrangement of rooms. Most of these places are old palaces, you know, and not built for the purposes for which they are now used.

"I am writing on both sides of the paper to save weight. One often has funny experiences with postage here, and you cannot understand why. Often they will attach a penalty and make the fellow at the other end of the line pay it, when there really is not any too much weight. So I try to get my paper well covered.

Sociability Among Americans

"Prof. Carter is at the head of the American school of classics here in Rome, and they live at the Villa Aurelia, a most beautiful place. Mrs. Carter entertains most sumptuously and on New Year's eve there is to be a reception and dance, to which we are invited. The ladies all have their afternoons and as Alice is fond of making friends, we go quite often. There is a great deal of sociability among the Americans residing in Rome, and their homes seem very beautifully and artistically furnished. Many of them have those lovely Italian gardens, with balconies overbanking, and if on the sunny side of the building, and there they usually build them, they are always warm, so that after lunch they will serve their coffee or tea on the balcony, and with the creeping vines and tropical trees and foliage you are reminded of things that you have read, or dreamed about.

Audience With Pope

"Alice had a letter of introduction to the man at the head of the American school of priests and he arranged for us to have an audience with his holiness, Pope Pius X. So we proceeded to the Vatican at the appointed hour. The pontifical palace of the Vatican is composed of many united in one, built at different periods and designed by the most celebrated architects. It has three stories and possesses immense halls, vast courts, innumerable suites of rooms, unrivaled museums and galleries of sculptures and paintings. On the right of the entrance is posted the Swiss guards, who present a striking appearance clad in their picturesque uniforms, first designed by Michael Angelo. We passed the inner staircase, which leads to the court of St. Damascus, then to the royal staircase, a most majestic flight of steps leading to the royal hall. We were met there by more guards in costume, and received by a very grand looking man, dressed in crimson brocade velvet, who spoke English very well and was most cordial, telling us just what to do about our wraps and veils. You understand that for a visit to the pope you must wear a black veil draped over your head and be dressed in black, the gentlemen in full dress. There were some beautiful veils there that day. Then we were shown into a large, elegantly furnished and decorated room. There were quite a number there that morning, many sisters of charity of different orders, and visitors — tourists I judge. We were seated along the wall and I began studying the lovely frescoes and beautiful ceiling. Heavy crimson draperies were hung at the end of the room and I expected to see the pope pass from one of them into this room. The light was subdued and it was very impressive, but after awhile there was a stir and we were all shown through a number of more rooms, all elegant and gorgeous, with beautiful paintings and tapestries, the finest I ever expect to see, and into a suite of lovely rooms with beautiful Persian and Oriental carpets and rugs, like silken draperies, and lovely lace curtains letting in the full sunlight and seeming home-like and inviting.

Pope Clad in White

"There the pope met us dressed all in white, in fine harmony with his white hair and cap, and his mild and benevolent face. He received us kindly and gave us his blessing. Everyone knelt. There were three rooms filled with sisters. The cardinal that we hear of so often as never leaving the pope was there, and he certainly has an unusual personality. One could not help feeling the vigilance of his eyes. They seemed to see everywhere at once and he was so supple and graceful in his movements. The personal guards of the pope are so gorgeously attired as those of the king. In the post card that I send you you will see them just as they appeared. The very last one is one of the Swiss guards; the others are the body guards. The pope is the foremost one in white. He is walking in his garden. One is admitted to the garden by getting a permit, and one lovely day I asked for one and received it, so wandered all through the garden. I am glad I saw it before it rained so much for it was such a warm, nice day and the flowers and fruit were all so perfect. We live right in the piazza of one of the oldest churches, the Santa Maria Maggiore.

Relics Displayed

"The following relics kept in the church will be shown to the public on Christmas as is usual: Some pieces of stone from the stable in Bethlehem, where Jesus was born; the swaddling bands in which the infant was wrapped; some of the hay, which was spread in the manger; and, most important of all, six pieces of wood with which the manger was lined. There are the relics of the sacred culle, or cradle, brought from Bethlehem to Rome in the seventh century, and placed in this Basilica.

"At 6:40 a. m. the chapter of the Basilica goes in procession from the papal altar to the chapel of the sacristy, where the holy relics are on exhibition. (They are placed where they can be inspected only on Christmas eve.) The relics are then borne in procession through the church to the papal altar, to remain there on exhibition until 5 p. m. The music is very good at the service and the whole service is one of the finest in Rome.

"I suppose you know the whole story of the finding of Mona Lisa. It is now in Rome and on exhibition at the museum in the Villa Borghese. A number have been out to see it from this house. They say the crowds are such that you have to get into line. It will be here until the 27th. If I don't see it here, I will likely have the opportunity in Paris. I wish you a Happy New Year.
"Very sincerely,
"MINNIE M. CRIPPEN."

—Waterloo Evening Courier, Waterloo, Iowa, Jan. 17, 1914, p. 3.

A "Loafer's Paradise" – In Honolulu They Do Next to Nothing

1878

The Ohio State Journal publishes a letter from Gen. Comly, in which Honolulu is sketched with a free-and-easy hand, as a loafer's paradise.

The natives, he writes, are the most careless, improvident, laughter-loving people in the world. They have no winter to lay by for — even the proverbial rainy day needs nothing there; so they dance and sing, and deck themselves with garlands all the day long. Men go here with great garlands of the loveliest flowers and green leaves hanging in festoons, around the neck and shoulders, down the body, around the hat — everywhere.

These men are not the fops and loafers of the race, but the hard-working fellows — the herdsmen, the hackmen, even the draymen go about adorned in the most exquisite taste, with flowers and leaves wreathed into forms of beauty which come to an American like a revelation in art. They have no wealth — nothing that would satisfy an American — but they are always laughing, singing, playing jews-harps or making floral wreaths. The Hawaiian knows that there will never be a winter's day to provide for, and that it will always be the same — yesterday, to-day and forever.


American Lighthouses

The history of the illuminating of lighthouses is an interesting one, says the New York Evening Post, and the improvements that have been made from year to year in the manner of lighting these beacons on our coast have been in keeping with the growth of an ever-extending shipping interest.

Before 1789 the expense of keeping up the few lighthouses then standing was borne by the States in which the lights were placed. In 1791 the first lighthouse erected by the Federal government was lighted. At that time, including the new one, there were but nine lights on the whole American coast. During the following nine years the number was increased to sixteen. In 1822 there were seventy lights in all, and in 1838 two hundred and thirty-eight, including lightboats. In 1875 there were nine hundred and twenty-five lighthouses and twenty-three lightships; four hundred and eighteen of the number being on the Atlantic coast.

Novel Snow-Plows — Kurds Use Horses, Charge the Drifts

1878

Novel Snow-Plows

In his recent travels in Asia Minor Captain Burnaby on one occasion, between Erzeroum and Van, found his road blocked by a snow-drift. It was cleared in the following original fashion.

Ordering one of the Persians to make his camels retire about two hundred yards, the Kurd by which the captain was accompanied called twelve of the best mounted of the villagers to his side; then, striking his horse and shouting wildly, he galloped along the track and charged the drift.

"In a second or two," says our traveler, "nothing could be seen but the head on the rider; his steed was entirely hidden from our view. After a few struggles the man backed the animal out of the snow, having made a hole in it some twenty feet long by four wide. The next horseman rode at the place like his leader. Each Kurd followed in succession. They finally forced a passage. It was a wild sight to witness — these Kurds in their quaint head-dresses, and on strong, fine-looking steeds of Turkoman breed, many of them quite sixteen hands high, charging the snowdrift, yelling and invoking Allah; Persians, phlegmatic and still, seemingly not caring a straw about the matter; the lieutenant encouraging the Kurds by cries and gesticulations, but having too great regard for his own safety to gallop at the ridges, and the leading horseman now far in front, his horse apparently swimming through the snow as he slowly burst the barrier."