X fi k. 1 ik r 3 i I i f t f 13 an excellent one, capable of making a forced journey; but he looked as if be had made it Toe lad was tired ont and fretful. The man was blind. All three bore signs of the need of sleep. "Go yonder, Euoch," said the blind man wearily, "unto the first house tou pass and inquire for food and drink and fodder for the ass. I 'will pay therefor whatever is required. You are weary and need food at once. Bring to me but partake first your self. I watt here with the animal. He whom we seek cannot be iar away. "We shall accomplish our errand to-day, God willing, and return home as we came." "When the lad had departed the blind man sank upon the ground oeside the ass, and, keeping his hand closely upon the rein that the creature might not "stray from him. he yielded himself, without the little disguise that he maintained before the boy, his guide, to the saddest of his thoughts. It had been a hard, and, so far, a fruitless journey. Traveling in the rear of a large caravan passing that way, he and his little compan ion had been, as chance had it, well pro tected from such dangers of the trip as their defenseless condition might have subjected them to. Bui the object of the journey was still unattained. He was disheartened and perplexed. "Baruch," said a gentle voice close to the blind man's ear, "whom seekest thou?" A vivid color shot violently across the helpless face which Baruch lifted to the speaker. "Master! Thou." "And to what end?" "Master, that the wonder that thou wroughtest may be confirmed." In hurrying," broken words, Baruch began to tell the'tale ot the events which had over taken Ariella; but in the midst of his own recital he checked himself abruptly, and in a tone of piercing conviction said: ".Lord, I do bnt cast drops of water upon the Sea ot Gennesaret, in making words with thee. Thou knowest my speech before it mounts unto my mouth;"and all that occnrreth to the maiden, thou knowest. Master, I am dumb, as I am blind before thee. Be mer ciful unto me and save the maiden from her plitrht" Then he who stood beside the blind man did converse with him, in a tone that was wondrous fine and kind; and infinite pity dwelt within his voice, and it was like none other of the voices of men upon the earth. The exquisite ear of the blind man quivered before it with a sense of pleasure richer than the sight of those who saw. The Nazarene spoke with him of the length and weariness of the journey, of the uncertainty ot his errand, of the persistence of his trust; and demanded of him whether he had felt no doubt of the wisdom of the undertaking iu vies- of the difficulty of finding whom and what he sought. "I expected to find thee," said Baruch simply, "and thou art here " "Behevest thou," asked the Nazarene, with a sudden change of tone, into which something almost like sternness had crept, "believest thou that it is with the maiden as I wrought upon her?" "Lord," said Baruch, "had I not believed, bad I been here?" "Then do thou return," said the Naza rene in a deep voice, "unto thy place in Bethany. Follow my bidding, and go thou back unto thine own house. There shalt thou be justified of thy lai'h; for it is mighty." The blind man started immediately. This seemed a poor ending to all his toil and travel. But he arose, and turned his face about. "If the lad who guideth me were here," he said, "I did depart at once." "Baruch, blessed of God !" cried the Nazarene with evident emotion, "again I sav unto thee, hast thou naught to ask of Me for thvself ?" "Lord," said Baruch humbly, "what have I to ask ? "What thou doest to the maiden, thou doest unto me." "But," insisted the Rabbi, with what seemed to Baruch to be a break in his own voice, "art thou then without a need, or a desire like other men, that thon forgettest thyself in the case of another as a star is for got in the midday sun ?" "Lord," said Baruch, after a lone and tremulous silence, "if I had a thing to ask of thee, it were that I might look upon her face for the space as so much as goeth be tween the opening and closing ot an eyelid, before I die. But I was born blind." "Go upon thy way," replied the Nazarene solemnly, "take the" lad who comcth and re turn in peace. Safety travel with thee, and speed bring thee unharmed to thine own housel At the door of thy house, in Beth any, at the hour of thy return, fall upon thy knees and call npon my name, and between the opening and closing of an eyelid thou shalt be blessed of God lor thy faith's sake." But, when the lad came, the Nazarene ha'd departed, and Baruch stood alone beside the ass. So they saddled the animal at once and returned as they came. And Enoch the boy wondered at this greatly. But Baruch" said nothing to explain himself. TJpon the third evening alter the depar ture of her son, Rachel sat in her house at Bethany, oppressed at heart. A summons at the gate startled her strained ears, and she answered it herself, with the nervous haste of the anxious. "Let us within, Rachel," loudly whis pered a familiar voice, eagerly, "let us within, quickly, and shelter us in the name of the Nazarene." Rachel's face fell; it was not Baruch. Two women stood there trembling. These were Hagaar and Ariella. "In the name of the Nazarene, enter ye I" cried Rachel. Hospitably and heartily she drew the two women within her door.breath lessly demanding: "How came ye here?" "We walked," said Hagaar laconically in her bass tone. "But how came she here?" "Ariella walked all the way like other people." "Then the Rabbi was as good as his word. Baruch thought so, all the time. I confess when I beard the tongue of the people wag, I knew not what to think. But enter ye, enter, my neighbors, and sup with me." "I go as I came," said Hagaar hurriedly. "I return to the house of Malachi, for he is my lord, and I am subject to him. But over Ariella be shall tyrannize no longer, since I am her mother and have legs of my own and a mind to move them. All these days ve have been prisoners in the house of Malachi, my husband, shame to him that I must own it to the neighbors. To-night, as God willed it, he did fall asleep until he doth snore, praised be Jehovah, upon the rug before the door. Then I arose and did -pinch him to make sure of him, and I did pinch him as hard as I dared, for I found it agreeable; but ne awakea not. bo X nea in the dark with Ariella. And she moved as if she had wings upon her feet, and we ran here all the way, that we might free her. Take the maiden, neighbor Rachel, I pray thee, and shelter her till I demand her again of thee." "With these vords Hagaar departed as un expectedly as she came; leaving Ariella vith her friend. "I told Baruch," observed Rachel drvly. "that he might trust a she animal with her young, and Hagaar, the mother of Ariella, acainst Malachi, who was nanght but a hus band." But Ariella replied not. She was cruelly excited by all that she had undergone. Her eyes and cheeks blazed. She seemed like a creature on fire. She could neither speak nor rest. Her feverish lance shot about the room inquiringly. "She misses Baruch." thought Rachel, "but she will not say so. Sit down, Ari ella. Sit and rest and tell me all about it." Ariella obeyed so far as to seat herself upon tne nearest divan, nut sne tola Rachel nothing at all. She looked at her appealingly. She seemed unable to articu late for weariness or fright. "Thou art a poor Iambi" cried Rachel in a more motherly tone. "How shall I com Jort thee? I would that Baruch were here. Sly heart is sore over Baruch my son, for he hath been lost from me, this is the third day." "Baruch?" cried Ariella suddenly finding her voice. "Baruch lost? Let me go and find him!" She sprang to her feet and bounded to the door wildly; flung it open, and dashed out into the night. Rachel followed her with a cry of dismay. The blind man reached Bethany at dark of the seventh evening. He dismissed his weary little guide with the ass and the wages at the foot of the familiarhill that rose to his mother's bouse; and being qnite sure of his way, where every pebble, nay, every grain ot sand, was better known to him than neighbors and friends to men who see, he climbed the ascent alone. He was exhausted; but he was quiet and his face was filled with a divine light. He walked slowly, with his head bent; bis heart was full of high thoughts; he put out his hand and groped for the latch of the gate. As he did this it was flung open suddenly, and a girl's voice cried: "Baruch! I come to seek thee, and thou returnest to me. Baruch! Baruchl" Then the blind man remembered the saying of the If azarene, and he fell upon his knees at the gateway of his own home, and he bowed his head and clasped his hands in prayer. "Lord," he said aloud, "I call upon Thy name that Thou mayst be justified of Thy works, and mercy come to the maidea, who is dearer to me than eyesight to the blind." Now when this had happened, Baruch opened his eyes and lifted his face, and "be tween the opening and shutting of an eye lid," the man born blind looked, and be hold he saw. And what he saw was the fairest sight iu all the world the maiden of his heart's de sire. Ariella, bending forward, panting a little with her flight from the house to the gate Rachel, his mother behind her hold ing high a torch that she had snatched to follow the girl and the fire-red light of the torch shining all over Ariella's face and body. Her eyes bnrned like stars in mid heaven; her delicate lips were parted; her cheeks were as red as the roses of Sharon, and her soft hair floated in the wind over her forehead and about her sweet face. Her slender form swayed toward the kneeling man; her white robe was blown against him; she stretched out her thin, little hands. "Thou God otmy people!" cried the blind man, "have mercy upon me, for I do heboid an angel!" Now, at this, Rachel, his mother, gave a mighty cry, and flung down her torch in ecstacy and terror. But Ariella restrained her, took it from the ground, held it aloft, and stood resplendent and self-possessed, as she bad been an angel indeed. "She whom thou beholdest is only a girl, dear Baruch," said Ariella gently, "and blesseth thee." Baruch stretched out his arm to her. He did not touch her. But he lifted seeing eyes to Ariella. Wonder, awe, delight, delirium dwelt in them. The two women who loved him stood dumb before that transcendent look. "Lord," said Baruch, "I bless Thee that between the opening and closing of an eye lid I have beheld the maiden. Now do with me as Thon wiliest. Now, though I return unto my darkness forever, yet am I blessed of God among all seeing men. CHATTER XVT. ANNAS AXD I.AZAKUS PALI. OUT. The guest of the Hinh Priest at Capernaum could not sleep. The rich, Eastern star light regarded him soothingly; the wind had fallen; the angry waters of the lake were appeased; the luxurious conch of Lazarus wooed him to rest; perfect stillness brooded upon the household of Annas; it was more like the silence of death than of life, so exhausted were the members of the High Priest's family. The experience of the evening had been tremendous to the comfortable, oriental nature, which likes to take things easily; and from Annas to the lowest slave within the villa the reaction of stolid slumber succeeded to the nervous ex citement of the day. Zahara herself slept like a little tired girl. Only Lazarus kept watch. For him it was the wildest stimulant to rest beneath the same roof which sheltered the woman of his love. Accident had thrown to him the treasure of a chance which, in the ordinary social course of events, would never have been his. He dreamed and trembled over it. His heart thrilled with the tenderest fancies, and sunk into the saddest despair. The situation seen from the lonely shore of the lake, in shock and storm and in the teeth of death, with Zahara clasped upon his heart, was one thing; the autocracy of love took hold ot it and dashed it into the rainbow colors and shapes of hope. That Zahara must be his, somehow, somewhere, somewhen, seemed then only a matter of course, the simplest axioms iu the problem of life. Now, viewed from the villa of Annas and the solitude of midnight, and from the renewal of social conventions, the position of the lovers looked to be an other matter. Lazarus stood aghast at it. How in the name of love's dearest dream was he ever to win for wife the daughter of the High Priest? If he could have snatched the girl, and seized her, and away with her upon the fleetest camel of the desert, with Ishmaelite guards, unto some Ishmaelite home, and there cherished and protected her and adored her and kept her to himself for ever! Visions such as hismaddest moment never knew, beset the quick soul of Lazarus. His nature had struck a tempest. In storms like these the calmest, the gentlest, the pnrest hearts go to wreck. Lazarus was in a moral whirlwind. His situation was complicated by the too ready subterfuge of Zahara concerning the manner of her rescue. He had fallen into her loving trap at the moment in sheer hap piness and bewilderment. How contradict a lady? And she the idol of his life aud the daughter of his host? But solitude criticised Lazarus. Midnight reviewed his position with severity. Sleeplessness said strange things to him. Darkness held mute reproaches before him. Friendship and love wrestled together in his tormented sensibility. A touch calmer than Zahara's recalled him. A face graver than hers re garded him. Colder, purer, higher than the delirium of love, the eyes of duty looked into his own. That solemn figure, tall and stately, treading down the tempest, walked with sacred leet throughout his thoughts. He remembered the Nazarene with a pro found self-scorn. As soon as it was dawn Lazarus hastened from his chamber into the pure, pink air. It was a peaceful morning. The lake lay like a sleeping baby in the cradle of the hills. The storm had freshened all the world. The colors ot the trees and gardens seemed to throb with life. Lazarus stepped out among the dew-dropping fruit trees with bowed and saddened head. It was with a sharp emotion, half pain, half pleasure, that he saw, as he turned back toward the villa, the figure of the High Priest advancing to meet him. Annas was alone. The two men met with un precedented cordiality. The heart of Lazarus wanned toward the father of Zahara, and that of Annas melted toward her savior. The High Priest passed the courtesies of the morning with his guest in terms of unusual heartiness. He began at once to renew his expressions of gratitude for the rescue of his daughter. It was then that Lazarus suddenly, almost violently, interrnpted him: "Sir, I do wrong myself, and you. No longer can I endure this miserable' position. It I tacitly accept the false, falseness enters into me. I must undeceive you at once." "Pray, sir," said the High Priest, looking slightly startled, "to what circumstance or circumstances can your language possibly refer?" "To the strangest of circumstances, and the most difficult to explain to yourself." "Why indeed to myself?" asked the priest, with a haughty curl of the lip, "am I so dull of intellect that the events of life may not be made comprehensible to mv mind?" Lazarus bowed, with a deprecating motion of the hand, which was reply enough to the sarcasm of the priest. Alter a moment's silence he said abruptly: "It was not I who" saved the life of the lady Zahara, your daughter. "Would that I could claim a privilege too valuable to have been accorded by Heaven to me." The High Priest cave bis gnest a narrow look; quick as the flash of a scimetar, and as quickly sheathed. "To whom then if not yourself, my worthy sir am I indebted for this heaviest of obligation?" "To the last man iu Jndea from whom you trill desire to receive it." THE Lazarus brought these words out in a prompt, ringing tone. The man in him was aroused. His fine conscience was throbbing. At least, truth sat in his soul. To deny his friend by remaining in a false position be gan to seem intolerable to him. Better even to displease Zahara. He had arrived as far as that. His breath came more freely, and he lifted his handsome head. "Explain yourself," said the priest curt ly. Annas had stopped his lordly pace through the garden, and the two men now stood still, facing each other beneath a clump of thick fig trees that hid them from the view ot the villa. "The lady," said Lazarus in a low, dis tinct tone, "was rescued by Jesus, the Naza rene." The face of the High Triest darkened' slowly but perceptibly. He received this announcement in utter silence. "My daughter," he observed at length in a cutting tone, "testifieth otherwise." "Far be it from me," hurriedly protested Lazarus, losing something of the dignity of his manner of a moment ago, in the tender tremulousness of his desire to protect Zahara, "be it farther from me than from any man in all the world, to criticise the lady Zahara, or to question the truth of her words in whose soul honor itself maketh a white homel" "Then be so good," said tne Priest, some what mollified, but more than ever keenly observant of his guest, "as to explain to me the discrepancy in your own language." "The lady," replied Lazarus boldly, "was, in brief, too nearly dead to know who bore her from the water. She was uncon scious from the shock and exposure. Judg ing from her state when I did first see her, I shonld say she must have sunk already twice beneath the waters of Gennesaret. She was snatched from death itself and laid upon the shore at my feet, not one moment too soon, believe me. He who did save her left her immediately and departed from me. I restored the lady, and I brought her to her father. My service to her began and ended thus and there." Annas had listened to these words with emotion, but it was one mixed with dis pleasure, incredulity and annoyance of the keenest kind. "You were probably mistaken," he ob served, "in the identity of the man who res cued her." "I was not mistaken," said Lazarus de cidedly, "he is my friend. I know him well. As well could I be mistaken in the identity of one of the Sons of God, if I had met one upon the earth. He who did save thy daughter was the Nazarene, and none other; and unto him is thine obligation and should thy gratitude be due." "He swam for her, I suppose," remarked the High Priest coldly. "He must be a good swimmer." "I did as much as that myself," urged Lazarus eagerly, "but the waters beat me back. You should understand that the lake was a whirlpool. I know no man who could swim a stadium upon a sea like that and bear a helpless woman on his arm. The Nazarene trod the sea, as you, sir, do tread the path of this garden. He arose and walked and bore the maiden, and stepped upon the waters and conquered them and trod as a man treadeth a floor, and laid her on the shore and vanished, and was seen no more of me or of the maiden. This is the truth of God," concluded Lazarns, "and I do tell it. Do you with me as you see fit." "It is an extraordinary tale,"" said the High Priest, not without hesitation. But his countenance had grown as stern as a stone intaglio. He turned upon his heel abruptly and without another word left his guest standing alone beneath the fig tree. The position of Lazarus at the villa was now so uncomfortable that he was thor oughly perplexed. For some days the High Priest did not again receive his guest. The builder began his work in silent perplexity. Zahara was invisible. Lazarus set himself to his task with an absent mind. TJpon the third day he gathered himself and sent a dignified message to his host by voice of the chief officer of the household; quietly re questing permission to be allowed to return to his khan. Annas responded in person to this message. His manner was studiedly polite; but his eye was cold and guarded. He began by entreating Lazarus to accept bis further hospitality; adorning the request with the full flower of Oriental emphasis, as etiquette from host to guest demanded. Lazarus replied with equal courtesy, but repeated his desire to leave the villa. "It occurs to me," he said, "that it may be more convenient for several reasons, and I pray your permission to depart. I am too much in debt to your politeness already." "The obligation is upon me, and it is heavy," replied Annas, with much manner, "and of the pleasure which it gives to en tertain you, you must allow me to be the judge." "I have told you," said Lazarus frankly, "that you are under no obligation to myself. That burden resteth elsewhere, as I did somewhat tardily explain to you." "It is expecting too much of me," an swered the high priest, frowning, "to recog nize the obligation to which you refer. I prefer to consider yourself as its representa tive." "I must decline," said Lazarus in a low voice, "to be the representative of such beneficence, and such purity of power as far beyond me as the crown of Olivet is above the basin of Gennesaret. I must decline in an sense to represent one of whose least re membrance lam unworthy." "It is amazing to me," said the High Priest in a wary tone, "that a man of your intelligence should be thus deluded. The popular excitement about this fellow is growing a serious matter. Times are ripen ing wherein it may no longer be a safe play of the tongue for people of your sort to allude in this way to so dangerous a politi cal charater." "I must beg you to understand," replied Lazarus, "that I indulge in no play of the tongue when I do mention the name of him whom above all human beings I do revere." "There are those I am told," suggested the priest suavely, "who do not regard this pretender as precisely what may be called a human being. I learn that he sets forth im perious and awful claims. Know you of them?" "Of that to which you refer I know naught," answered Lazarus distinctly. The two men looked each other narrowly in the eye. Lazarus was a poor disciple in those days; but at least he was no traitor. He proceeded, with a fearless voice, to say: "As concerneth his politics, I know naught of them either. I have never re garded Jesus of Nazareth as a politician." "As what, then, have you regarded him?" demanded the High Priest "As the very best man, the wisest pnblic benefactor, the tenderest consoler, and the truest friend I ever knew," responded Laz arus solemnly. "But, as for me, I am not worthy to testify so much as these poor words concerning him. As I have told you, I have been preoccupied I have not ac quainted myself of late, as I should have done, with his aflairs." "So much the better for you!" said An nas, sharply. "See to it, Sir Builder, that you drop this acquaintance, and you may find that the time cometh when you will thank me for a word of advice, which is the least I can offer to the rescuer of my daughter." "I thank yon for your good intentions," said Lazarus, after a moment's hesitating silence, "and appreciate them. But never theless, I beg to be allowed to return unto mv khan." "Remain at least until to-morrow," urged the High Priest; looking, nevertheless, re lieved by the determination of his guest. "I will accept your- hospitality," said Lazarus politely, "until the morrow." That alternoon as the builder directed his men upon the walls of the new extension, the slave Rebecca passed upon some errand, drawing so near that the wind blew her gar ments against him. She held a little silver cup in one hand, which, as she passed, she was so awkward as to overset upon the ground. The contents were spilled, and Rebecca made a great show of distress. "Ala?," she moaned, "it is the cordial for my lady, and it is destroyed!" Lazarus sprang to help the maiden, and to pick up the silver cup and its heavily chased cover from the ground. The cup was lined with gold. Some cool drink which it had contained was spilled entirely. But clinging to the bottom of thecup, Lazarus saw a bit of white silk, upon which writing was inscribed. His fingers closed oyer it in PITTSBURG- DISPATCH. stinctively.' Rebecca, the slave, saw noth ing, or made as if she saw nothing. Lazarus scanned the silk, aud concealed it in the folds of his talitb. As soon as he could make an unobserved moment, he read the writing with wild eagerness. It ran like this in Aramaic characters: "Cancel thy contract Leave Capernaum. At dewfallof the Sabbath after the Sabbath to come be on the shore ot the lake, at the place thou knowest Zahara." Lazarus obeyed this order without a mo ment's doubt or hesitation. TJpon the follow ing day he represented to Annas that, as their relations had become strained and un pleasant, it might be more agreeable upon both sides if tne work upon the villa were deferred. The High Priest received this sug- .dent approval. He expressed the wish to pro tect tne buuaer nanasomeiy irom any pecu niary loss to which the sundered contract might make him liable. "Pay to my men the wages due them," re plied Lazarus. "For myself, I prefer to meet the loss. It is naught. I have other engage ments. I return to Bethany at once." Thus the High Priest and his builder parted. Every show of courtesy attended the departure of Lazarns and his men, who were attended far upon their journey by the offi cers and servants of the High Priest It was given out in Capernaum that the work was simply deferred until the family should be absent from the villa, the inconvenience of building during their occupation proving greater than was anticipated. Lazarus sent no message to Zahara. He thought it saler not to do so. Then, as now, a woman often did such things more deftly, and with less danger. He returned to Beth any, a silent, abstracted man, counting the hours till the meeting which Zahara had appointed. The precious moment came at last Laz arus had made his journey unattended, ex cept by a single servant, his confidential man Abraham, a fellow as silent as the great Sohinx. How Zahara had managed her part of the meeting only Zahara knew. She was quite alone. It was a wild night, stormy and dark; so stormy that Lazarus had suffered a thousand terrors lest his scanty comfort should be denied him. But there' on the beach, in the desolate spot where the Nazarene had left her at his feet, a drowning girl, Lazarus found her, trem bling, panting and terrified, a brave and loving woman waiting lor her lord. They met with tears and smiles, caresses and cautions, hopes and despairs, with all the tumult of the loving and denied. Their words were few. Zahara stood pal- Eitating in his arms. She was frightened at er own brave deed. Every moment now was as dangerous as it was dear. "It storms sol" whispered Zahara. "I did not think it would be quite so wet. But surely no one will suspect me. Who will think, I could be without the villa on a night like this? Rebecca guardeth my chamber and watcheth at the entrance to let me in. I do but fly hither and fly back again, like a dove tbat returneth to its own nest I love tnee, Lazarusl I love thee, and I warn tbee, trust not the High Priest my father, for he groweth distrustful of thee. And Lazarus, my lord, be not angry with tny Zahara, but 'I did fly hither to desire of thee somewhat further." "Anything!" cried Lazarus rapturously, clasping the wet and trembling form of the girl to his heart, "anything thou desirest, that do I for love's sake, and thine own!" "Then abandon the Nazarene," whispered Zahara. The arms of the young man dropped. He retreated a step from her and Zahara stood tottering alone in the hard weather. It beat upon her, and she looked so tender and deli cate and crully-treated as she stood there, daring the storm, and more than the storm, for his sake tbat the soul of Lazarus was wrung within him. "Abandon the Nazarene!" repeated Zahara plaintively, "for love's sake and thine own, and Zahara's." "Anything else, Zahara!" walled Laza rus, "ask of me anything but this, my own? Try not the soul ot him who loveththeeas woman was never loved, by demanding of him the only thing he cannot do for tnee, Zaharal" "I must return," said Zahara dally. "My errand has been as naught. I am ex posed to the storm and night, and to perils of the road and to the anger of my lather for thy sake and thou retusest me, Laza rus, thou relusest me a trifling boon that any slave girl in Judea might demand of her lover, and not be thought presuming. Farewell, my lord, for I do tarry too long with thee, at too great a cost" She lifted her wet, sweet arms, and he took her to his breast She lifted her beau tiful lips, and he pressed them. If Zahara bad shown anger or imperiousness, or cold displeasure at that moment, Lazarus could have withstood her manfully enough. Bat her womanly, sad tenderness was a terrible weapon. "Zaharal" he cried. "Zahara! how can I refuse thee, aud how can I obey thee? Kiss me, and teach me ! Kill me, or bless me ! How can I wrong my own soul? And how can I grieve thine? "That is for thee to discover," said Za hara. "With a passionate kiss anda darting motion quick as a bird's in mid-heaven, Zahara released herself from his arms and fled back through the storm, as she had come. (To oe continued next Sunday.) IT WAS THE HAT HE MASHED. A Younir Man Pay Twelve Dollar for Sit ting Beside a Belle. Mew York San.) Along about the middle of the coach was a young lady, not a beautiful girl, but just ordinary, although she had a very jaunty hat and a sealskin sacque. A young man got on at Castile, who stood at the door and looked the passengers oyer for a minute or two, and he then walked deliberately down the aisle and plumped himself down beside the girl. As he did so there was a crash and crush, and he sprang up, to discover that he had sat down upon a bandbox and mashed it flat "I'm so sorry so Borryl" he stammered as he turned all sorts of colors. "Mister man!" she replied as she in spected the ruin, "have you got ?12 in cash about you?" "W-what! I really beg your pardon. In deed. I didn't ," "Fork over!" she interrupted, holding out her hand. "Twelve dollars!" "Exactly. You have mashed a ?12 bon net, and 1 want the money." "But Miss but " "My brother Bill is forward in the smok ing car, and if you don't pay I'll call him! There's nothing cheap about Bill. He'll knock $50 worth of jaw off your chin before he gets through with you." "I'll pay miss." "That's business. Fifteen dollars, eh? Twelve from 15 leaves three, and here's the change and the hat Next time you go to kerplunk down beside anybody look out for breakers." "I bee to apologize, miss," he replied. "Oh, you needn't, you got off cheap. If you hadn't mashed the hat I'd have pulled $25 wortn of hair out ol your head any how." Everybody felt sorry for the man. He got into a seat at the end of the car, closed himself up like a jackknife, and every time the door opened what we could see of him turned pale for fear it was her brother Bill. CHEATED BI IDE GOVERNMENT. A Lawyer Monrna the Lou of 4 Cents Wnstecl on l'ottnse. Bridgeport (Conn.) Farmer. One of the elderly well-to-do lawyers of the city called at the postoffice a day or two ago and endeavored to secure the return of 4 cents that he had paid as overdue postage on a package that came to him through the mail. On opening the many successive layers of wrapping paper which encircled the kernel, he found a cheap comic valen tine. All this he explained to the clerk, and said tbat he felt he had been the victim of an imposition, and that the Government would be a party to the wrong unless it re funded the 4 cents. SHNDAT, ? MARCH 2, IKE AND HIS MOTHER. Their Experience With the Reporters on Reaching Home. A MALIGNANT DISEASE REPORTED. Published Accounts of Mrs. Partington's Lengthy Tour in Europe. THE LAD GOES TO SEA WITH CAPT. SI rWBITTEK FOR TOT DISPATCH.! CHAPTER X. A sedulous ship news reporter, while mousing about the wharves for news, after midnight, discovered the arrival of the Seven Pollies, with Mrs. Partington on board, and, giving the fact away, there were 17 reporters, two hours before daylight, tumbling into the little cabin. Captain Pelton rushed out of his stateroom, armed with a shotgun. "What ever devil do you want?" said he. "Mrs. Partington," was the unanimous reply. "Can't be seen sick with a malignant distemper got it myself, and if you don't go you'll catch it," said the captain, nerv ously handling his gun. They left without more ado, but stationed a picket guard on the wharf and went to re cord the arrival of Mrs. Partington in the morning papers, with a full account of her dangerous illness, even to a diagnosis of her disease which was described as being of a most malignant type. The first thing "alter the papers appeared, a health officer came running down the wharf and stopped Ike as he was going ashore to buy a pint of fresh milk for the breakfast "DDn't come ashore," said the official, "till we've seen what this malignancy means;" and he pushed the boy back on the deck. Captain Si, hearing the talk, came up the companion way to learn the cause. "Are you the Captain?" he was asked. "Yes, sir." "Well, why didn't you stop at quaran tine?" "Why should I?" "Cause you've got malignant disease on board." "Who said so?" "The papers." "Ob, I see. Yes, we all were malignant when waked before daylight by a band of reporters. Come on board and see for your self." THE HEALTH OFFICER. He entered the cabin where Mrs. Parting- Ike Stuffs the Reporter. ton was sitting at breakfast, partaking ofn with all equanimity without a trace of dis ease about her. She received him very graciously. "Pardon me, ma'am, for intruding,' said he, seating himself on her trunk, taken out for transportation; "we have a public dooty to attend to, and feel that the hes'lth or the community rests upon us, and therefore if we arermiss down she goes." "Have a bit of toast and a cup of coffee," said Mrs. Partington, "you look delicate yourself, and some can't breathe the air of the docks with impurity." "I don't care if I do," replied he, "the air is a little freakish." In the meantime the sentinel on the wharf had collared Ike for an interview. "What sort of a voyage have you had?" "Good, but for icebergs." "See many?" "Thousands. Ran into one and sunk it." "Where were you from?" "South America." "Did Mrs. Partington live there while awav?" "Yes; she didn't die there." "What did she do?" "Fried doughnuts for an Indian king." "Did she make anything by it?" "Make! Yon'd better believe she did. Brought back three trunks full of gold dust, and diamonds as big as hen's eggs, enough to shingle a meeting house." "Isaac!" came a voice from below, and he left his interlocutor, notebook in hand. "Isaac," said Mrs. Partington, "this gen tleman will tell you where to find your aunt Belinda; go and tell her I will come to her as soon as I can procure a curriculum." He was put upon a horse car and soon performed his mission, followed imme diately by Mrs. Partington in a herdic. COMFORT IN A HEEDIC. "Good gracious!" said she, carsized by a sudden lurch, "this is more decomposing than riding oat a gale. Dear me! there it goes again, and by the time I get to Belinda's I shan't know which end my head is on. I shall be all black and blue, and it will take a whole bottle of anarchy to cure the depravity." She held on as well as she could, and, be yond striking her "funny bone" against the door frame and cracking a window pane Quite Decomposing. against which she was thrown, she suon reached her destination, where she was warmly welcomed. Cousin Si had told that she was coming, this voyage, and so they were prepared for her. The reporter had taken, a seat with the driver, and, going on, had been seen by others of the vigilant craft, who, suspecting his purpose, had followed, and were ready, note book in hand, to interview the dis tinguished absentee and passenger by the Seven Pollies. Two parties are generally essential for an authentic interview (as an autobiography or an autograph is to be valued by the fact of being written by the individual claimed), and the absence cf the one interviewed dero gates from its correctness. Thus Mrs. Part ington refused to be a party in tbat inter view. For hours the house on Sycamore street was besieged by interviewers. The door bell rang an incessant peal. They en vironed the house, boosted one another up to look into the bower windows, and one CT" ' . 1890. climbed up by a grape-vine to a second story window, tbat had been left unguarded, and would have entered but for a miss-step that sent him down by the run. TRIED TO BBIBE IKE. They caught Ike and tried to bribe him, bnt he had exhausted his fund of in formation at the wharf. Alter hours of effort their forces -withdrew, each prepared to draw upon prolific fancy for facts, and the diverse reports that ap peared were living testimonials of phenome nal genius. All had seen her and the ac counts she had given of her disappearance and adventnres were most marvelous. One assumed, from her own lips, to de scribe her travels in Europe. She had hob nobbed with Qneen Victoria, and flirted with the Prince of Wales; had spent some lime in Paris among theParishoners, been to Cologne fortlie benefit of the waters, went through the Simpelton Pass to Switzerland, and to Berne to cool off; thought Mount Blank a small hill compared with Mount Washington, and none of the Horns were equal to Powder Horn in her own vicinity at home; she had seen Rome, ana the leaning tower of Pison, sug- A Little Misstep. gesting that it should be shored up, had sat down "on the steppes of Russia; went to Naples to see Mount Vociferous, but it wasn't eructiating, and, in short, to close a column description, she had seen every ob stacle of interest and had now come home to enjoy her opium cum digitalis in peace and obscurity. The report was a masterly effort and 15 editions of the paper hardly served to supply the immense demand. Ike's information given to the sentinel on the wharf was also published, with embel lishments, illustrated with a cut, from an actual life drawing, showing Mrs. Parting ton's mode of frying doughnuts. MBS. PARTINGTON'S COMMENT. "Belinda," said Mrs. Partington, after reading these things about herself, "Belin da, I've always had the presumption that Anonymous and Sophia were too severally dealt with for telling one lie, and Peter, who knew how it was himself, was the last one to condemn them, but my heart aches for them now, when we see lying like this, without any equivalent, and "all the town laughing at it. Poor Anonymous!" Mrs. Partington gave herself up to old time pursuits and pteasures, illumining by her wise sayings every circle she entered. The boy Ike'was still a family appendant, and, though a little subdued by time, was a "human boy" still, with many of his old characteristics. "Auntie," said Captain Si, "Ike is too old to be tied to your apron strings. He'll make a capital sailor. "Why not let him go with me? I'll take good care of him, and make a man of him." This was an entering wedge, and the idea, at other times repealed, led her to think se riously of it, and Ike. not objecting, it was decided that he should go to sea. It was hard to pare with him, bnt she wanted him to go back and see their old friends, and this did most toward reconciling her to the separation. HEB PAEEWELL TO IKE. "Well, go, dear," said she, "with my warmest interdictiou; and. Si, don't let him go up the rope ladders at night, will you? Ike Goes to Sea. for he had a tendency of brains to the head and might be elusionary." And so he went, to become a man by and by, should he live and grow up, and reflect honor on the name of Partyngetone, which came in with the Conqueror. "And where are the little girls I left?" as she so called a number whom she missed. "They were tired of being Missed," she was told, "and had got married." "Well, well," she replied, taking a pinch of snuff, and handing out her box with the remark that.they didn't "take snuff half the time;" "well, well, there seems to be a ma nammonia among girls nowadays for getting married, but it is an honorable compilation, as the good book ays,and acceptable of gnat happiness, if they only enjoy themselves. Bless theml they have my best wishes for their conjugation." She here switched off to a side track lead ing to other subjects and was soon deeply immersed. B. P. Shillabeb. HOLDING DOWN THE DISHES. Gambler riacfrett a Plan That May Help Matter on Ship Board. It has been suggested tbat plates and dishes used on board ship should be fitted with iron bottoms, so that by means of electro-magnets placed beneath the table they might be htld firmly in place during the rolling of the vessel. As our many readers know, the slipping of the table utensils is at present guarded against by the use ot wooden rails. The new expedient seems to have been suggested by the alleged mal practice of certain transatlantic gamblers, who have cleverly taken advantage ot the resources of science to help them in their nefarious doings. These men, it is said, nse dice so loaded with iron upon one face that they will always fall in one direction upon a table furnished with concealed magnets in the manner described. Wine Tee Wee. Wing Tee Wee "Was a sweet Chinee. And she lived In the town ot Tac And her eyes were blue. And her curling cne Hung dangling down her back; And she fell In hive with gay Win SiU W hen he wrote his love on a laundry bill. And, oh. Tin Told "Was a pirate bold. And he sailed in a Chinese junk; And he loved, ab, me t Sweet Wing Tee Wee. Bnt his valiant heart bad sunk. So he drowned his blues in fickle fizz. And vowed the maid wonld yet he his. So bold Tin Told Showed all his cola To the maid In the town ot Tac. And sweet Wing Wee Eloped to sea And nevermore came back. For in far Cbinee the maids are fair, And:tha maids are false, as everywhere. Harvard Lampoon. MAKING IT PLEASAMT. More of Shirley Dare's Day Dream . Abont the Fntnre Utopia. REFORMS IN THE SCHOOLROOMS. Electricity Chained to AH Work That Hakes Women's Backs Ache. THE BOARDING HOUSE ASD MARKET rwniTTZx ron tot msrATcn.l In the city where I found myself one de light was that people were so well-bred that nothing seemed strange or needed explana tion, if it were not obviously wrong or in bad taste. One miebt stop short in the street to admire the grace of a vine-draped church spire or'the heavy cornice of a build ing without drawing a crowd or even bring ing a contemptuous glance from some matter-of-fact passer. A man hurriug by made a misstep and fell, his hat rolling off into the street; but nobody laughed, though he was a caricature for a moment. In a long stroll down Broadway one was neither jostled or crowded. To be sure the street was not wide, but the principal reason was that nobody tried to walk on both sides of the way at once: but the uptown and down-town "stream flowed side by side as dis tinct as two brooks. When a street car stopped or an elevator, or a shop door opened, people did not try to get in and out at the same instant in their present idiotic fashion. Those entering waited till the others got out and left the way clear; it was estimated at a saving ot u quarter of a min ute each time oyer the ancient struggle at the door of a lift or streetcar; adding at least a year and a half available time to the life of each man. THERE "WAS SOMETHING "WANTING. Truth to tell, there began to be a terrible sense of something wauting everywhere. No jingle of street car bells, no thunder of drays ana express wagons over me pave ment When one entered a steam car he missed the familiar slam of the door after each passenger, which had once kept the sense alert for its torture. It had been found that small cushions of rubber along the casing obviated all slam, and that deaf ness was much rarer in consequence. People used to think that it was best for all sensibilities to treat them as coarsely as possible, stunning the ear with crash, pierc-. ing it with keen sounds, jarring tne spine out of one every time a car coupled or a front door closed. The house fronts were broad casements to ad mit snn and light; but the windows never, rattled in a storm, nor did any draughts sing in the crevices. Every house was jointed closely as a lady's workbox; in tolerable beading and molding giving way to plain doors, made like one smooth, broad plank of wood, and decorated with paint ings or hung with enamels. Warmth and ventilation were the first things attended to in the houses, which were not half so ornate outwardly as those of 1890. The yards, the 'balconies the roofs were the most luxurious little gardens shot in with glass for the win ter, or rather with hnge clear sheets of thick gelatine, which had come to take the place of glass fora hundred uses. SCHOOLHOT7SE P.EFCEM. In suburban town the schoolhouse took the beholder's eye before any of the other town buildings. It was only the old house after the designs of 1890 remoreled, and the outside was simple as ever. Perhaps the roof had a better studied pitch, and the pro portions satisfied the eye. which- the old could hardly be said to do. Still it was a kindlier edifice than the picturesque English-Gothic school bnilding3 with hooded roofs which shut the sun from the rooms and cramped the classrooms to suit the angles of the architect's fancy. There were roof lofts to keep ont the biking heat of midsummer and the cold of January, there was ventilation without draughts and care ful warmth provided. The "schoolroom smell" was unknown, and the prevailing impression was not that of a manufactory of graduating classes, but a pleasant place of learning. The seats and desks were absolutely as comfortable as the chairs at the newest theaters, the school books were large print with pictures and maps which pupils would remember ns helps in after years. The teachers were polished, sincere friends to the boys and girls, and public opinion was against those scholars who would not study and obey in school hours. In consequence of this class spirit, J'ssons positively closed for the day at 3 o'clock, and a troop of happy, hungry creatures streamed home to another sort of tratniig in music and tool work, garden or florist work of some kind, followed by games on the town green, where half the village met in warm weather daily, the younger ones to amuse themselves, the older to look on, and he still more amused. Instead of gymnasium work, the games pro vided all the exercise for the fall develop ment of mnscle and grace, with all the stim ulus and play of spirit afforded by this lun. HOW THE CHILDREN LOOKED. The children wore a thoroughbred look, and an ideal beauty which surpassed the marbles of sculpture. One thought the Golden Age restored, and in some sort it was, or rather the happy age. in which one thing was notable, that all wore that crown ing grace of wide-eyed candor, the luxury and hallmark hitherto only of race and those who could afford to despise the opinion or the opposition of their fellow men. Dis cipline saved them from a hundred follies which eat the fairness from the cheeks of children, and love, watchful and sincere, gave them a hundred pleasures unknown to common households. There was the great fact of affection, and being made much of, which lends an exquisite charm to faces, and is the divinest inspiration for beauty and health for souls and bodies. The parents I seemed to remember in the old time had hardlv time to tell their children they loved them," not time to sit in the firelight with their hands locked or straying upon their flowing hair, things so slight and yet so long remembered. I was certain that the villages wore less of an air of smartness and the parti-colored Queen Anne houses had all been remodeled and given plain coats of dark paint. Bat the country had turned garden, and in cities not only the Back Bay houses and fashion able churches were shrouded with the green ivies, but the railway stations, the town halls, the tenements and workshops all wore their COOL AND VERDANT MANTLE. There were very few six-story buildings with elaborately carved fronts, in the insur ance style, but all were well lighted, and airy, built on strong, simple, noble lines, the lines of use which ran into beauty unaware. But the interior of the homes of the suburbs were in singular and pleasing contrast to those I had entered but yester dav, that yesterday which seemed so far away. There was a mere leaving off of superfluous scallop and flower in the figure of the carpets, and flourishes in the carv ings of the furniture, a choice of mellow instead of crude colors, simple lines instead of tortured arabesque, doors of one smooth piece in pi -ice of thin panels with their stiff, distressing lines and angles, and where people could not afford a good picture, thank heaven, they were willing to go without one. The rooms were all larger than I had been used to seeing yesterday, the paint fresher and the walls in better condition. The curtains were softly figured washing stuffs, of lovely dyes, and the dif ference in price over the hideous plush and brocade gave some admirable devices for ventilation and relays of house plants in blossom, which made the air of the house delighttully soft and purr. There was no carved ball screen or paneling in the entry ot the middle class house 1 was examining, but in one corner ran a lift for sending per sons and things to the upper stories. Each house had its elevator on the plan of a strong dumb waiter just as much as' its stairway, and a lift to bring wood and coal for the-, fireplace. All the food from the kitchen was sent to the dining room by a little tramway running on a shelf through, the intervening pantry. NO WEAK-BACKED WOMEN. A small electric motor tamed the ice cream freezer, sawed wood and pumped water from the great house cisterns, which proved after all the best way of supplying pure water to private homes in the country. It was remarkable that in all my adventures in the pleasant region I did not'once hear a woman complain of a weak back, or of trouble with her hired help. The void left by the disappearance of these two good old topics from conversation is not to be imag ined. , Do you know the strangest thing I came across in my dream was a boarding house where people were almost comfortable? It was the outgrowth and consummation of the new order of things. For instance, the parlor one was shown into was not stnffy, dark or in hideous taste. Absolutely the windows were down at the top, aod the shades, set below the head of the sash, did not quite keep oat nil the air and light pp proachable. There were no soiled lace cur tains dragging half a yard on the ground to be stepped on, no bric-a-brac from auction stores to give one bad dreams, bnt there were plenty of matches in a saiety holder, a decent writing table and a wastebasket in each room. The dreadlul, tall, carved bedsteads with high headboards, and the bureaus with drawers each side the glass had all been shipped to the source of the Gulf Stream or off by Tristan d Acunba and sunk where they never would rise again or if they did woulS be floated off to the Greenland whale. There were the lightest bedsteads and toilet tables one could sit at to dress one's hair, big mir rors and washstands, aud, triumph of refine, ment! LOTS OF BATH TUBS. Nobody ever thought of using another person's bathtub any more than he did his tooth-mug. The silver-plated, polished tub in its leather case in the closet formed one of the pieces of each traveler's baggage. There was no satin brocatelle and machine veneer in the parlor, no "furniture paint ings," but there were six clean towels a day and the bed-linen changed twice a week, and matresses aired as otten. You went to market before breakfast, ordered what you fancied, and the house served it for you at a fixed sum a week. "What one preferred ha had, and no comments made. If you wanted wheaten grits instead of printer's paste of oatmeal no landlady looked cu cumbers and vinegar at you for daring to own such an out-of-the-way taste. When you liked beef well-done nobody persisted in sending it to yon bleeding, and I did not once hear the phrase about "giving so much trouble" once in any boarding house during my sojourn. It seemed sometimes as if there was as much consideration really shown the boarders as to the kitchen maid, who as we all know is the first person in a house of to-day. And in those boarding honses people very seldom had to be re minded their bills were due. CASE OF THE FOODS. The markets of that country were a trans formation ot our ideas. People had begun to learn that a man's food bad a great deal to do with his quality as a man, and were careful accordingly. The markets where the new food was exposed to absorb any and every exhalation were literally as clean as the kitchens to which the food was next conveyed. No heaps of decaying offal were allowed to taint the air and be taken np by the sides of beef and tubs of butter close by. The meat markets and batter markets were totally aDart from each other, and butter being the readiest substance to taint in the world, its place was kept clean as a dairy I mean a private dairy, nofa creamery. All the batter and cheese were kept from each other in glass cases and the former was never sampled with the finger-nails of a customer. The meats were kept clean, cool and dry as possi ble, and the trimmings from these and the fruit stalls were removed as fast as made, to be swept off by the pneumatic carrier a3 carefully as if it were so much gold dust, which it poured on the sides of railway em bankments. There it grew public vineyards and small Irnits of the earliest and latest crops, according as they were on the north and south slopes of the catting. I was told ' that these banks and terraces were often leased for a considerable sum by culturists, who grew the finest crop3 with the aid of the market fertilizers. It was beautiful to ride through a series of garden views along the railways, the walls of earth draped witb swinging vines like those along the Bergen cutting, or the Hyde Park station on the Old Colony line. " Every onnce of waste, as the market men phrased it, was bristled off the face ot the earth and into it as fast as possible. LAYING OUT NEW TOWNS. It was interesting to see the new towns laid out where the steam plow ditched and drained every rood the first thing, and plowed and pulverized the soil a twelve month before a spade was driven into it, to leave it in the healthiest condition. A damp cellar would have spoiled the lease, of a house as surely as if a case of smallpox had been in it No green, stagnant ponds were ever seen on the ontseirts of villages, or any mounds of rubbish. There was no rubbish any more, for it was all straightway worked up into fresh use and comeliness. The factories burned their own smote; they could not afford to waste It, and they fil tered all their waste water for the chemicals it held in solution. No streams ran purer than those which passed the Massachusetts and Rhode Island factories, where the sea trout and mackerel came gaily in season as ' they used in colouial days, when a cat could walk across Taunton river on the backs of the fish. The factories were so picturesque with their lawn-like yards and towers hung with ivy, their Italian loggias and awnings that I took them for editions of the Phila delphia Art Club. You can see something like this improvement in the mills 'at Nor walk, Conn., already, if you go down tha New England Road. The end of this adventure came about in the proposal of an oldest inhabitant to cut down a tree several years older than himself because it was in the way of a new road. The idea raised such a protest from the Se lectmen and taxpayers that it awoke me with a start The ferry boat was at the slip, and had bumped against the wharf with snch force as to throw a baby out of its mother's arms into the water, sent several women flying into arms not intended for them, and set the carriage horses rearing and plunging. There was the usual smell of bilge water and black mud, a din of street cars and traffic, and I realized that the time ot making things pleasant had scarcely begun. But a stranger looked kindly across the way, an unknown, woman picked up a parcel "with sweet courtesy, a big policeman said "This way lor the Sixth avenue line" with a good-natured smile, a boy was selling Bon Silene roses, six for a quarter, and one felt as if there was hope of the pleasant time in the next 25 years. Shirley Dabe. A Noteworthy Exception. From the Kimball, South Dakota, Graphic. I "While the columns of the Graphic are open to any and all unobjectionable adver tisements, yet it is qnite impossible for us to speak knowingly of the various articles of merchandise advertised. Particularly is this true of patent medicines. Bat there are exceptions occasionally, and a note worthy exception is the celebrated Chamber lain's Cough Remedy. This now univers ally known medicine has been advertised in the Graphic for four or five years, but not until recently bad we any personal knowl edge of its wonderful efficacy, which has come about through the prevailing influenza and the stubborn cough tbat has so oft en attended it In the writer's family this medicine has on several occasions this win ter cured a cough that baftled any and.aU other remedies; and the number of families in Kimball and vicinitv in which this rem edy has been used with'like effects attests to its value as a specific for coughs and colds of every nature. For sale by E. G. Stuckey, Seventeenth and Twenty-fourth sts., Penn ave. and cor. Wylie ave. and Faltoa st; Markell Bros., cor. Penn and Frankstown aves.; Theo. E. Ihrig, 3610 Fifth ave.; Carl Hartwig, 4016 Butler st, Pittsburg, and in Allegheny by E. E. Heck, 72 and 194 Federal st; Thos. B. Morris, cor. Hanover and Preble aves.; F. H. Eggers, 1X2 Ohio st, and F. H. Eg gers&Son. 199 Ohio t and 11 Smith field st. W3U
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers