THE PITTSBUHG- DISPATCH; SUNDAY, MARCH "16, 1890.
18
'
jbably a complex one. For one thine,
e excitement caused by these two memor
Dle cures was enormous. Jerusalem felt it,
ind Bethany thrilled with it. A hint of
the probable presence of the Healer would
hare turned the village into a camp, and the
bridal party into the center of a mob. True,
it might have been a mob of respectable in
tentions enough; but every poor wretch
within call would have swelled it; cripples
and lepers crawled in the bridal train of
Ariella; and as to Jesus himself; who could
say what would have been done unto him
by the clamorous people? They were capa
ble of snatching him to death or to a
throne.
As the marriage train approached the
house ot the bridegroom, a traveler coming
from the direction of Jerusalem observed it
at a distance, and stopped suddenly. It was
the beautiiul custom of the Jews that who
ever met the bride or the burial party should
turn his steps and follow it. Etiquette re
quired this courteous act of every stranger,
no less than any friend. He who stood
watching the bridal procession of Ariella
and B&ruch was a grave aud weary man,
with the aspect of one who had traveled far
and needed rest. He bad a certain home
less look, pathetic to see, which showed
itselt in his very attitude, and the slow, sad
notion of the head which he turned to view
tbe happv scene. His first purpose seemed
to be to shrink from it, stcp'into the shadow
oftreesbythe roadside, and tnere remain
concealed. This he did for such a space o!
time as the procession required to pass him.
No person observed him. When the bridal
train had swept by him, the man stepped
forth and followed it. He walked at a lit
tle distance, slowly, aniost shyly, making
no sign of his presence. This man was the
Nazarene. "When Ariella put her foot
across her husband's house, he stood still
and extended his hand in silent bene
diction. Having given this mute and beau
tiful expression of his sympathy with the
happiest marriage that Judea had known
lor many a year, he returned as be had
come; and no man had knowledge of his
presence.
When Lazarus and Zafaara came forth
from the suuterranean passage at the alarm
of the slave no person bat Abraham was
found to be in sight. Lazarus dettly and
swiftly replaced the slide and drew the
thick "grape vine closer to it. The night
was very dark. The rain beat against the
Tine, aiid dropped heavily from leal to leaf
upon the trembling form of Zahara, who
shrunk within the frail shelter, not daring
to venture she knew not what. Lazarus,
having exchanged a few whispered words
with Abraham, said abruptly:
"Zahara, my own, there is no gainsaying
the matter, we must part and that at once.
One kiss my love, one more, one more, one
more, Now return thou to the palace of
thy father, with all speed. Rebecca awaits
thee at the upper terrace. I go, but I go
sot too far to watch lor thy safety, and see
that thou inakest thy way to thy hand
maiden unmolested."
They clung, and parted. Each felt what
neither dared to say, that this might be their
last meeting. They clasped aud sobbed,
and turned their faces irom each other and
went their ways. Lazarus and Abraham
ran along the terrace, keeping clos,e into the
shadow till they were beyond immediate
danger of detection. Then dismissing the
slave to the highway, Lazarus concealed
himself in some shrubbery and watched the
palace and its spacious grounds.
At first he could see nothing, it was so
dark and the storm beat so in his face.
Suddenly, a light flashed, and went ont. It
was a single toicb, extinguished by a quicc
order; but the momentary gleam had re-1
vealed the figure of the High Priest, fol
lowed by a guard, Annas was searching
the grounds.
Prom his hiding-place, Lazarns could
bear occasional voices, but no words. -Nothing
was to be seen or heard of Zahara. La
zarus suffered torments of anxiety.
Presently, the sound of qu'cfc, light feet
ran across the wet terrace. A woman's gar
ments fluttered in the storm. The shrill
voire of Eebecca called to the Hich Priest:
"My lord, I bear thee good tidings. I
have lound my mistress, the lady Zahara.
She sleepeth soundly on a cushion in the
inner chamber of the women's apartments.
She hath so hidden herself behind a curtain
that I did overlook her I pray thee, pardon
me, my lord, and hasten to her, for she
waketh and awaiteth thy commands."
The torch flared out again. The High
Priest and his guard, none too amiably,
patroled the grounds and returned to the
palace. Laz.irus fancied that they lingered
at the mouth of the underground passage
too long; but he dared not stay to decide this
point. He made his own escape (in the
darkness this was not a matter of difficulty),
and gained the public road unobserved, and
so across the valley and the mountain,
drenched and dreary, he reached home and
drew breath.
Danger for the present was over. But the
result of this alarm was serious enough.
Lazarus dared not, for Zahara's sake, re
peat their audacious meetings, until all sus
picion, if any existed, were worn from the
mind ol the High Priest, by time. The
lovers were now entirely separated. Beyond
an occasional message ventured through
their confidential slaves, they had no com
munication. Winter set in. Zahara re
mained or was retained closely in the palace
of her father. It seemed to Lazarns that
death could not be worse than this. He
grew ghastly.
One day he sent her a scroll on which was
incribed:
"If I have thee not, I die."
Zahara responded by a piece of papyrus
on which was written:
"Live thou lor Zahara."
CHAPTEE XX
DISCOVERED AT LAST.
The winter was nearly over. About that
time in the year which corresponds to
the first week of the month of February, as
known to our calendar, the underground
corridors between the Temple and the Pal
ace of Annas became the stags of thrill
ing scene.
The impatience of the separated lovers
had now pushed aside the warnings of pru
dence. Lazarns and Zahara had agreed to
meet at the old rendezvous; Abraham and
Bebecca, faithful tools ot the adventure,
and the only medium of communication, had
done their docile and sympathetic part in
the affair. The evening and the hour had
arrived.
Lazarus found both more difficulty and
more ease than he anticipated in approach
ing the corridor from the temple. Priests
were abundant and attentive. The builder
was obliged to watch his chance by the
wariest. It even occurred to him that his
motions were observed by special order; but
he abandoned this theory when a sleek
young Levite with whom he was conversing
deliberately interrupted the interview, and,
begging bis pardon for leaving him a mo
ment, moved off to obey some summons
from the altar, promising to return immedi
ately. It is ueedlets to say that when the
Levite came back Lazarus had disappeared.
If the priest had looked at the tapestry
which hung before the marble slab that
closed the corridor, be might have seen the
fine material tremble slightly, as a thing
does which has recently been set in motion.
Whether he cast an eye in that direction or
not, however, Lazarus was not there to see.
He reached the extreme end of the passage
something past the hour appointed. It was
empty and still. He pnsbed the great slide
coltly. It was a cold night and, fortunately,
dark; but withoutrain; there was frost upon
the grapevine, which bung with shriveled
leaves, a scantier shield than it used to be.
Lazarus dared not speak; he listened in an
agony which mounted to ecstacy when he
heard the delicate, quick fluctuations of a
woman's panting breath. Two passionate
whispers crossed each other:
"Zaharal"
"Lazarus!" and he had her in his hungry
arms.
Of what do lovers talk after a three
months' separation and in face of detection,
disgrace, and death? At first it seemed to
Lazarus that words were as idle as the drip
ping of the dew irom the dank roof of the
vault. It was frosty, by the way, for so
much dew: and it occurred to him once to
wonder where it came from; but neither this
nor any other coherent thought had for
some time any distinct lodcment in his
mind. He had her. He held her. His
lips groped in the dark for her eyes and
mouth and soft cheek. Her sweet breath
mingled with his own. He had net dared
bring a lamp into the passage this time, and
the lovers put np their hands and lelt for
and felt over each others' features like blind
people.
'It is like meeting in the tomb," said
Lazarus with a sudden shudder.
"Thy cheek hath grown thin, my dear
lord," whispered Zahara mournlully. "It
is hollow beneath my finger-tip. Thou
palest, thou weakenest thou diest."
"Better death, thau life without thee,
Zahara," replied her lover hopelessly.
"Nay, then my love, thou loscst courage,
and the heart of man. Have cheer, my
own. Take it from my lips!"
She li ted her warm face.
"Thy kiss would give a man lire though
he did lie in a sepulcherl" breathed Laza
rns in a different tone. "Now, by the
memory of Eden, and the love ot our first
parents, Zaharal I will not die for thee
neither will I live without thee, but I will
have thee to wilel"
"But how?" asked Zahara with a sweet
timidy. She had no faith in the possibili
ties o"i the situation, but she liked her
lover's willful words. Less Princess now,
and all woman, she gainsaid him not, but
clung to him and trembled silently.
"There is but one way, Zahara," cried
Lazarus vehemently, "I know none other,
and thou must take it if thou lovest me as a
woman loves, who will wed and obey her
lord. Thou must leave all and follow me."
"But whither?" demanded Zahara, char
acteristically. Zahara was very much in
love, but she had the calculating tempera
ment. She did not plunge headlong even
into delight. She might have made a very
eood Arab, but she had been a princess too
long. She temporized and reasoned and ob
jected, even while she clung to her lover
cheek to cheek, with maddening, solt arms
about his neck.
"Break loose from it all I entreated Laz
arus. "Thy palace, thy father, thy past, thy
world 1 Let it go, Zahara, for love's sake I
Enter thou mine 1 Accept thou the life of
thy husband and thy worshiper !"
"Tell me then what lile? How do we
manage? What dost thou mean?" persisted
Zahara.
"Yield these accursed beliefs and follies
that separate us!" demanded Lazarns more
imperiously. "Come thou bravely unto me
and say unto the world : 'I follow the taith
of myhusband! Let me away from the
whole" barking crowd priests temple, peo
ple. Let us choose the better faith, the sim
pler life. Let us join the career ot the best
and noblest man in all Judea, and go forth
from this place as bis disciples go, respected
and free, into other lands "
"I do not understand thee," interrupted
Zahara, shrinking a little from Lazarus.
"Oh, my love, play not with me," en
treated Lazarus, "I do but speak plainly. I
see no other road to happiness for thee and
me. Bemain thou in the world of thy
lather, the High Priest, and of the Temple,
and ol the Sanhedrin, and cf the rank and
the faith to which thou art born and thou
canst no more be mine than the sun in mid
heaven, and that thou knowest well. As
we meet here, beneath the surface of the
sweet earth, at peril of tby good name and
my poor life so must ourlove crawl under
ground, a dark and deadly corridor in
which two souls shall grope and stifle unto
death. Break thou lorth right bravely! Be
more thou, most womanly, Zahara, and
choose the path that thy lord's feet must
tread. 1 have worldly goods; thou canst
not suffer at my hands for the daily needs of
thy delicate lile. Follow me, Zahara! Fol
low me among a people who will reverence
thee and me aud the love we bear each
other. Follow me to a new life new
hopes new faith new deeds new joy."
"And call the Nazarene my master ?"
asked Zahara in a cutting tone." Her arms
dropped from the neck of her lover. She
turned coldly. He could leel her pliant fig
ure grow rigid and straighten haughtily.
Suddenly she trembled, all her muscles
relaxed, and she began to sob.
At this moment an ominous sound reached
the earof the absorbed and distressed lovers.
It was not the falling of the drops from the
roof ot the vault; it was not the flitting of a
stray bat, nor the rustle ot any creature of
the darkness, companion of their hiding
place. It was the stealthy groping ol a
human hand. The slide which closed the
mouth of the passage stirred from the out
side. "Hide thee, hide thee, Zahara !" com
manded Lazarns, in the hissing whisper of
agony. "Fly thou down the corridor, where
'tis darkest to the eye. When the light en
ters keep thou me in sight, but stay thyself
beyond it. Farewell, and God keep thee!"
A little to his surprise lor there was no
counting upon Zahara the girl obeyed
him; with one swiitly penitent kiss "she
darted and fled as he commanded.
Lazarus stood still in his place and
watched the slide open. He was unarmed.
He could only meet his fate like a woman,
he thought; or a coward. The slide moved
cautiously. The faint starlight fell in; the
night air rushed; the leaves of the grape
vine rustled crisply. A figure, like the
figure ot a guardsman, knelt between the
vine and the passage, peering in. Behind
him appeared a form resembling that of the
young Levite who was called away so oppor
tunely in the Temple. Lazarus made no
motion. Tbe figures retreated; voices con
sulted in whispers; feet crushed the vine; a
torch flared; and the High Priest, tall and
awlul, towered against the light. Lazarus
had not abandoned his position near the
entrance. He had made up his mind to
lace alone whatever happened. Annas and'
Lazarus looked each other silently in the
eye. Both men were deadly pale one from
rage and one from mortal peril. Both were
periectly self-oossessed.
The High Priest spoke first
"I pray your pardon, sir builder; but may
I be so bold as to inqnire vour errand in a
spot sacred to the Temple of Jehovah and
the service ot His ministers? It must needs
be animportant one that finds an honorable
man such as yourself sneaking upon privacy
which a son of the desert would respect."
"My errand is without dishonor," an
swered Lazarus composedly, "it is needless
for me to explain it. My word would
scarcely have value lor you under the cir
cumstances." "Possibly not," returned Annas with a
sneer, "but is this all you have to say for
yourseiir
"I pray," urged Lazarus with a change
in his tone, which suddenly broke into an
agonized appeal, "1 pray, for the most
sacred of reasons, which would be urgently
appreciated by yourself, did you compre
hend them I pray you to allow me to de
part in peace until I reach the Temple exit.
I give you my word that I will return again
unto you and meet your demads, it you will
allow me to do so without the scandal of
interference.
"The honor of a skulking man is a poor
guaranty," replied the High Priest irigidlv,
'you will not experience surprise if I de
cline your request."
"I am in your power," answered Lazarns,
bowing drearily. He listened with held
breath, fearing some betrayal of her pres
ence ou the part of Zahara. She gave no
sign. The black throat ot the corridor
vawned silently beyond the line of lessen
ing light where the glare of the torch died.
"I am in your power," repeated Lazarus.
"Which I propose to exercise," said the
High Priest coldly. "Guards I Advance I
Whatever be your business, my ex-builder,
it is one that deserves the punishment it
shall receive. Think you," exploded
Annas, suddenly casting off the disguise of
icy Belf-complacency which he had chosen
to assume, "Thlnli yon, Lazarus, that I
know not the true uature of your abomin
able business? Think, you that I have been
a gullible, easy old man, blind to the honor
of my household, and negligent of the vir
tue of my daughter? That I have not pen
etrated your scandalous design? That I
had not.tbe intelligence to discover that tbe
sacred, secret avenues of the Temple were
converted into the scene of a low love affair?
Think you that I do not recognize in you,
you dog of a Pharisee, the seducer of the
daughter of the High Priest ol Zion?"
"Now, by tbe great name ot Jehovah, re
vered by Saddncee and Pharisee, br priest
and layman!" cried Lazarus passionately,
"and br the bonor of a lad v. the noblest, tfie
purest, the whitest, tbe most sacred in the
land of our peoplel I swear that the charac
ter'of this lady shall be protected. I call
you to witness, ye guards of the High Priest,
that I challenge to mortal combat, though I
am a man unarmed, him who has nttered
these base words against tbe fair name of
Zaharal"
With this, maddened by very helplessness
and blind with rage, Lazarns sprang, as
young blood will, desperately and hopeless
ly, upon his tormentor. A cold laugh re
plied to his (utile and foolish movement
There was a low command, a. swill move
ment, a grating sound, and Lazarns bounded
against the solid slide, which closed violent
ly in his face. A few dull strokes followed
by resounding blows, and Lazarui realized,
to his horror, that the exit from the corridor
was lorcihly shut, and he and Zahara were
barred in.
Lizarus gave a mighty push against the
inert stone. He tugged with ferocious te
nacity at the brazen ring. He listened with
ear against the clammy slab. Footsteps
deadened to his hearing. A low jeering
laugh echoed in the distance and Lazarus
was left alone. No, not alonel
"Zahar.i!" he cried in anguish, "Zaharal"
There was no reply.
"God of mv fathers! Where art thou, O
my love!" He groped with hands and leet
along the black sha't. In its steep descent
he stumbled. His fingers touched tbe hem
of a dress. With delicate reverence his
hand sought her face.
"Z ihara, my love! I am here. I am thy
Lazarus. Thou art not dead. Would that
thou hadst never seen my facel Then
wonldst thou be safe in thy father's house."
Never before had Lazarus reproached him
self for the love he had inspired in this
regal girl. Zahara still stood. Her two
hands supported her. Their palms were
turned backward each upon the damp, un
even stones. Lazarus took one and kissed
it and warmed it on his breast Then the
girl sighed deeply, and muttered something
in a drowsy tone; it was not easy to tell
what; she looked at him stupidly; be
thought she spoke of a supper with Herod,
and called Eebecca to dress her.
"Jehovah guide mel" groaned Lazarus.
"Her reason hath fle-l Irom her!" He dared
not touch the lips ol the half delirious girl.
Zahara had a brave nature. But no woman
delicately reared in gold and purple can
bear such a situation as this unmoved. The
horrible darkness, the deadly dampness, the
Eeril to life and lover, the terrible words of
er father bad mounted to her brain like a
deadly drug. But Lazarns knew too well
that he had no time to lose in tenderness of
anxiety. His only hope now lay in forcing
an exit through the Temple blinding or
bribing the priests and conjuring Zahara
somehow to safety in the outer world. With
out delaying to restore the girl, he snatched
her and dragged her through the shaft in the
direction of the Temple, making such speed
with his precious burden as he miserably
could.
In the necessary roughness of the mad and
desperate rush Zahara's wits began to clar
ify. The desceut had now become perilous.
She spoke confnsedly.
"Where are we, Lazarus? This is not the
tomb?"
"No, sweetheart, follow me. There, take
my hand. 'Tis slippery. Take eare. We
rush to the Temple. Perchance at the horns
of the altar none dare molest us."
"But I hear the rushing of waters. Is it
the river of death?"
"Thou hearest naught," said Lazarui.
"This horror ringeth in thy ears." Tbe
descent became steeper. Tbe limestone
steps grew more slippery. At any time it
was exhausting to Lazarus to run tbe pas
sage. He had often fallen heavily. His
hands and knees bore many a scar. Just
where that hidden way was about to descend
under the Valley of the Cheesemongers (for
thus deeply was the passage excavated in
the limestone valley in order to monnt to
the Temple on the other side), Zahara
stopped, clutched Lazarus, and said:
"Hearest thou not the rushing now? We
are coming upon the waters."
(7b be Continued Kext Sunday.)
A MAINE LAZY oOClETI.
Unique Defense of a Member Pat on Trial
for Riding la a Hurry.
Lewlston Journal. 3
Jay Hill was a small, old-time village in
the town of Jay, Franklin county. The
village consisted of a tavern, a store and a
few dwelling houses. The store was full of
all kinds of goods, a large part of which con
sisted of New England rum and other
liquors. There were many loafers in those
days who made their headquarters about the
tavern and store watching for a chance for
something to take.
Various devices were resorted to for the
purpose of "raising the wind" and getting
the drinks. Among other things a "Lazy
Society" was lormed with by-laws, rules
and regnlations, the violation of which
wonld cause the offender to be mulcted in a
certain quantity of the ardent, or a treat of
the romuauy as tbe President of the club
should determine. One of the rules of the
society was that no person should ever run
or ride fast or appear to be a hurry, under a
severe penalty.
Old Dr. Small was an active and worthy
member. One day he had a call to visit a
Eatient in a hurry. He saddled and bridled
is horse, jumped on and left the village at
a 2:40 gait or less. The company around
the store was very dry, and here was a
chance for the drinks. The doctor's return
was sharply looked alter. When he arrived
and became settled in his office he was
waited upon with a summons to appear be
fore the tribunal. The court was convened,
the members were anxious for the verdict,
but more anxious for the penalty, and there
seemed to be no palliating circumstances.
The doctor was asked if he had anything
to say why sentence should not be passed.
He replied that the only thing he had to
say in justification was that he bad a call to
visit a patient a little out of the village,
that he got on to his horse, and tbe beast
immediately started into a dead run, and he
was so con'ounded lazy that be did not hold
him in. The verdict was for the doctor I
CALLING THE tXTfiAS.
Anxiety With Which tbe Newspapers Were
Wnirlicd During tho War.
New York Evening bun. i
Two men, one young and the other past
middle life.stood at tbe entrance to the Fifth
Avenue Hotel on Saturday evening as the
newsboys were calling the extras.
"It can't mean much to you," said the
elder turning to the young man, "this call
ing an extra, but in all tbe years since the
war I never heard a boy on the street call 'ex
tra.', without a queer jump of tbe heart, that
is common, I fancy, to many another old fel
low like myself. An extra'meant as much
to us then a great battle a defeat,perhaps,
with thousands of slain and sorrow 'in
thousands of homes or a sweeping victory
that helped make tbe sorrow a little easier
to bear the latest news from the front
something, at any rate, for which the nation
stood still and waited.
"With the first call of an 'Extra' from the
street, busy men rushed batless and coat
less out o office and shop and store down to
catch the first whisper ot the news. Drivers
stopped their teams in the streets, even the
horsecars stood still until their passengers
rould hear the news. Business was at a com
plete standstill while the news of the 'extra'
was passed along."
THE CHILD OF THE FUTUEB.
He Will be Pnt Throneb a Iiong Series of
microbe Inoculation.
It is a dreadful point about these microbes
that the only way to avoid having them in a
virulent form is to have them in an artificial
or attenuated form. Tbe children of the
future will not run through the present
gamut of mlantile disease, but they will
probably be subjected to inoculation with
Various microbes every few months.
First, they will be vaccinated for small
pox; when they" have recovered from that
they will be taken to a Pasteur Institute to
have a mild lorui of rabies. Next they will
be given a dose of tbe comma bacilli to pre
vent cholera, and so on through all tbe ever
growing series of disease microbes. Oh!
luckless child of the future I
IKE AND HIS MOTHER.
Mrs. Partington Gives a Famons Din
ner on Thanksgiving Day.
HEK ELABORATE EFFORTS IN PIES.
The Oldest Inhabitant of Three Towns
Never Saw Their Fqaal,
1KB BEINGS HOME BOMB WHISKERS
rwBiTTBK ron rai dispjltch.1
CHAPTER XIL
The President and Governor, by a very
"singular coincidence," as Sir Joseph Por
ter, K. 0. B., expressed it, having named
the Bame day for Thanksgiving, Mrs. Part
ington, as she pondered it, thought she wonld
like to celebrate the festal incident bv a big
dinner at the old homestead, and she and
Amanda, the confidential help, put their
heads together, paragorically speaking, to
make preparations 'or the event. With con
siderable intellectual effort invitations were
sent Kivermouth, Hog's Corner, Bumney
Marsb, Frog's Kun, Tattle Village, Little
Turkey, Kidder Swamp, and places "con
tagious," omitting none, as she felt that it
was a sort of last appearance, and desired a
full honse.
" 'Manda," said she, "we must have a din
ner more commensurate and fulsome than
any we have had for many years, for I feel
that very few Thanksgivings are preserved
for me, and I would like to meet all my
friends about the festering board."
Accordingly Mrs. Partington and 'Manda,
for a week beiore the event, went up to their
elbows in tbe preparation of mince pies.apple
In the Fie Business.
pies, squash pies, pumpkin pies, lemon pies,
cocoanut pies, cream pies, custard pies,
Washington pies grand tribute to the
Father of his Country besides turnovers,
tarts and doughnuts, enough to meet the de
mands of Gargantua himself were he in
cluded among the inv'ted gnests. When
completed Mrs. Partington contemplated
the pile.
"They will keep," said she, "if any are
left over, and be amenable to ourselves col
laterally." She wiped her brow on her checked apron
and sat reviewing her work.
"I declare, 'Manda," said she. "I feel
that I am not invaluable, and but for my
inveterate constitution I never should have
been available to do it. But it may be the
last, 'Manda in which I shall precipitate."
"Ob, don't say so," said Amanda, "you
will enjoy, I dare say many more."
"No, dear," replied Mrs. Partington,
"although I know I am not an ortogon,
still I feel that the time I am to stay here
will depend npon how long I will remain,
and we can't say what may never come to
pass."
She and 'Manda then proceeded to
decorate the rooms which soon reveled in
green glory. "I declare it does look charm
ingly lugubrious," said Mr. Partington,
surveying their work.
The sun never shone clearer and brighter
than on the morning of the expected day,
as if he were interested in the affairs,
though he couldn't stop just then to sav
anything about it, and Mrs. Partington
with a new cap, and an extra touch of
dress, waited to receive ber guests. And
everybody came, that was an assured thing,
and the handshaking she had to encounter
as she was no great shaker for such a re
ception quite broke her down after a few
ronnds, and she had to request a relative to
shake for her during the rest of it
There had never been so many vehicles
brought together in one place since camp
meeting or great training day, and every
horse was provided with in extra measure of
grain to keep Thanksgiving on, besides
being allowed the freedom of the grounds.
The neighbors, though not invited, had
early taken an interest in the event, and
two large turkeys and four pairs of chickens
had been sent in from "synonymous
sonnies," as Mrs. Partington told
some one, and even Elder
Jones came over from his store to offer
Wouldn't Forgive the Elder.
her a pair of chickens, Irom a "job lot," at
cost, for which she thanked him, but said
she feared they might be Irom the same
batch of "precarious" eggs he had sold her,
and declined. Everyone who came brought
something to add to the feast, putting
'Manda to her wits' end to know what to do
with it.
When they had all arrived and gathered
together, Mrs. Partington's spectacles
beamed upon them like stars in the light of
the bright November morning.
"I am glad to see you all," said she, "and
it is ulument to my spirits to have you
under this vulnerable roof, so impregnable
with joyous fatalities."
She could have said no more to assure
welcome; everybody felt at home in nn in
stant, and such a clatter of noisy tongues as
was never heard, kept up till dinner was an
nounced. And such a dinner! The oldest
inhabitant of three towns, who was there,
affirmed there had been none such in those
parts for 50 years. Two long tables fairly
groaned under tbe weight, and, alter grace
by Deacon Polyirod, which was so long that
the exordium and Amen came in together at
the head of the table, all fell to, and such a
clatter of knives and forks occurred, mingled
with pleasant voices, as seemed to make the
beams of the old house hilarious. Mrs.
Partington presided over the scene with her
characteristic benignity.
"Oh, if Isaac were here," said she tear
fully. It was a pensive thought that passed the
disc of mental vision, dimming her spec
tacles, like the stpm from the coffee, but
abiding in affectionate remembrance, and
the scene before her was for the moment for
gotten. The party sat late in joyous festivity, and
the afternoon passed into evening, with an
$L
interlude of less pretentious fasting, when
dancing commenced in the "best room," a
fiddler having been procured for the occasion,
the room lighted by 20-candle power, with
two placed nn each side ol Corporal Paul's
profile.
Tbe fiddler seemed crazy with delight, the
floor rocked from the energy of thick boots,
and waves ol radiant iahrics rolled above it
like the waves of the sea. Everybody
seemed inspired, the elders, as spectators,
beating time with their canes, when, in the
midst of the dance, Mrs. Partington leit her
Mrs. Partington Screamed.
chair and floated into the arena, her spec
tacles aglow with her animation, and all
stood back, as she went through a graceful
figure something like the figure 8 on the
floor, to the delight of everyone. It was the
event of the evening.
"I couldn't help it," said she as she took
her seat; "that music was so enervating that
I could not restrain mv exorbitance."
She fanned herself, while the young pre
pared for games, over which Mrs. Partington
was installed as umpire, her seat near tbe
open door leading to the kitchen. She was
fully equal to the position, and the forfeits
she imposed called for no arbitration.
"Kiss every girl in the room I" was the en
ergetic edict, and the way the young men
obeyed it showed wonderful confidence in
her judgment, some of them repeating the
infliction many times. The fun was at its
height when a faint scream irom Mrs. Part
ington caused a suspension, and it was dis
covered that her face was held between two
firm hands, their owner's face appearing be
hind her chair, smiling pleasantly. It was
the good-natured face of a small man, with
curly hair and side whiskers, and was evi
dently a surprise. In vain were her efforts
to extricate herself.
"Guess who it is," came a hoarse whisper
to her ear.
The voice went to her heart, where there
is no concealment, with love for interpreter.
"Isaac!" she dried, and fainted away.
It was, indeed, Ike, just returned from
sea, and with him Capt. Si, who had kept
in the background, and when Mrs. Parting
ton became conscious she bent on the in
truder a look of half doubt, the whiskers,
at first preventing identification.
"Oh, you imardlmate boyl" said she,
"how could you complicate me by your ab
trusiveness? But I am so glad to see you
that I can't hold any 'mosity, and you are
just in time for the conclusive end of
Thanksgiving; and Si, too, 'sail in,' as we
used to say at sea, and enjoin the fun."
Never could there have been a happier
woman in the world than Mrs. Partington
The Thanksgiving Ooodbys.
as she watched the tricks of Ike among the
girls, some of whom knew him, but it made
little odds whether they did or not, his
whiskers winning him universal favor.
These were a source of great wonder to Mrs.
Partington, who wondered "where under
the canister of heaven" he could have got
them.
The sports did not end till the candles
burnt down to tbe sockets, and some had to
be renewed, but the spiritiot the partici
pants seemed to burn brighter at the last, and
all gathered about Mrs. Partington to bid her
goodnight and goodmorning7 giving her
three cheers as they trotted away into the
darkness.
"Now, dear," said Mrs. Partington to Ike,
"you must go to bed, and in the morning
tell me all about your adventitious discrep
ancies, and where you caught your whis
kers, and if there is any danger of their
striking in."
Ike blessed her good night, leaving, her
heart in astite of thankfulness far greater
than she could have anticipated.
"The happiness of an occasion," said Mrs.
Partington next day, "depends very much
upon how people enjoy themselves, and cer
tainly I never knew an occasion where
everyone was apparently so perforated with
delinquency.
Ike remained bnt a few days at the old
homestead, and then bidding Mrs. Parting
ton farewell, he walked away to the Nip
and Tuok Railway station. He turned at the
last point Of observation and saw the dame
waving a white cambric benediction alter
him, which he returned, and then paid at
tention to a dog who was smelling him to
see if he was good to eat.
B. P. SHILLABEE.
A LAND OF GOLD,
Tbe Unexplored Kn.in ofNorthern Washing
ton From bicli No Water Flows.
St. Loals Globe-Democrat.
A good deal of interest is just now being
manifested in the formation of an exploring
expedition which is shortly to visit the un
known territory in the north of the newly
formed State of Washington, the fastnesses
of which have never yet been penetrated by
any civilized explorer. The lay of the land
justifies the belief that rich and extensive
gold ledges and placers will be found on it.
The shape ot tbe country is that of an im
mense basin, whose outer edges are formed
by the towering crags and peaks of this iso
lated range.
Every stream flowing down the interior
sides ot the range, which is almost circular,
must carry down to the plains and valleys
from the monntain ledges large deposits of
the precious metals. Presumably, these
streams meet in a common point, the lowest
in the basin, and there, no doubt, form an
immense lake, which must communicate
with the ocean by a subterranean outlet.
This belief is based upon the fact that Irom
the basin there flows no stream of water,
either large or small, as must be the case
were there no such outlet to prevent its over
flow, how mad a woman can geti
A Lady Wouldn't Use tbe Postoflice Because
the Doom Didn't Suit II er.
From tho Detroit Free Tress. J
Tne storm doors on tbe postoflice building
open outward, as all public doors should.
Thirty out of every 40 people who enter the
postoflice, no matter how often they have
been there, give a jump on the doors, figur
ing that they open inward. Saturday lore
noon a lady got out of a carriage and at
tempted to pass in by the inward bang, but
it was no go.
"Those doors open outward, ma'am," said
a boy, who was close by.
"Oh, tbev do, eh?" she queried. "Well,
let 'em open I"
And she walked off to a lamp-post box,
deposited her letter and stiffly entered her
carriage and was driven away.
Sk
EDUCATING ARTISTS.
Opinions as to the Necessity of Study
in Foreign Studios.
THE DUTT ON IMPORTED PAINTINGS
Free Admission of All hut Cheap Works
Thought to be Advisable.
TBE ADVANCEMENT OP AMEEICAN ART
VWniTTEK FOB TIM DISrMTCH.1
During the past two or three years in
watching the great sales of paintings I have
been impressed with the general interest in
and preierence lor the works of foreign
artists, especially for those by French
painters. Our galleries, public and private,
are full of examples by foreign painters, and
that there is ample market for them and a
"living profit," notwithstanding a duty of
25 per cent, is evident to all.
Many thoughtful judges are inclined to
attribute neglect of native talent to ignorant
indifference, and to the effect of a certain
fashionable vogue that makes the possession
of foreign pictures a criterion of taste. A
celebrated French artist has informed us
that here in America we have one of the
masters of landscape. Every French salon
holds examples by American artists that
compare favorably with those of their foreign
competitors. We surely have enough native
ability, enough of tbe art instinct. What
our artists need is the appreciation and prac
tical encouragement that comes from interest
and purchase.
Is it not time, with every material ad
vantage that a great and peaceful nation
could wish for, to foster a great national
academy, one that we could proudly com
pare with those of France and England?
Why not have a department of the fine arts
at Washington, with a department minister
chosen by a convention of our representa
tive artists?
Tbe following questions have been sub
mitted to some 40 or SO well known artists,
and the substance ol a lew replies should be
ot interest and value: Can a thorough art
education be acquired in America? Do you
think work in foreign studios essential? Is
there an American school of art? Would
the free admission of foreign paintings be an
advantage to Americau art? Have you any
suggestions as to a method of advancing
American art interests?
J. B. CABBnroxox.
A SPECIFIC D0TI ON AET.
The Present One Is Stupid and Doesn't Pro
tect Where It Should.
A very good foundation can be laid in
this country now and a student may, if he
studies with a trained artist here, go almost
as far in technical work drawing and paint
ing as the average American student
abroad. As for the higher style of work,
composition, etc., he can learn it much bet
ter abroad and he will also have the great
advantage of becoming acquainted with the
works of the old masters. Many of our
artists who study in foreign ateliers lose their
individuality and become mere imitators of
their European masters. American artist3
are especially distinguished in landscape.
Among figure painters who are American in
their treatment and choice ot subjects are
Winslow, Homer, Hoveuden, E. L. Henry,
J. G. Brown, F. S. Church and others.
It would be an advantage to American
artists to have the best foreign works Iree,
but many such works are bought merely tor
the name. Millet's "Angelus." for in
stance, does not interfere in the least with
the pictures here, and the artist3 are glad to
have such works come. The pictures that
do iuterlere with the younger American ar
tists are the cheap I don't mean necessarily
bad pictures imported by the dealers.
boutrht lor 100 francs on the other side and
sold here lor $100. The dealer can buy his
pictures abroad and sell at a large profit
here. He can advertise like a corn doctor
or a shoe man and push his wares. The eti
quette of art is almost as severe as that of
doctors of medicine, and so an artist cannot
reach the public in the same way a dealer
can. The prestige of foreign work as for
eign has much to do with it. "The Duke's
cousin is still the Duke's cousin, although
he may not amount to much."
I think that tbe stupid duty of the pres
ent time shonld be taken off. and if any be
imposed let it be a specific duty on all pic
tures painted later than 1830.
I would suggest that instruction by com
petent persons be given in all our schools
and colleges in the shape of lectures on the
history of art, illustratel by photographs
and other reproductions or the best pictures
of the different schools. Drawing should
be taught in our schools, not as an accom
plishment but as a training for eye and
hand.
A large collection of Braun's autotypes of
the old masters, for museums, schools, etc.,
framed and hung, would do more to educate
tbe people than many modern pictures. We
can have but few ot the old masters here
and Braun's autotypes take the plac in re
gard to them that casts do to sculptures.
Educate the mass of the people and we will
not have any more of the horrible abortions
that disfigure our squares and the Central
Park. The establishment by some rich man
ot a chair of aistbetics at the National
Academy of Design would be of very great
service. See what Taine has done for art in
Prance. We must not be in too much of a
hurry, we are in the same stage in relation
to foreign art that Borne was to Greece, that
French art of the time of Francis I. was to
Italian art, that English art was to the"
Italian and the Flemish before the time of
Hogarth and Reynolds.
Pekcival de Lock.
A GOOD FOUNDATION AT DOME.
No Young: Artist Need be In Haste About
Goinc to Foreign studio.
The landscapist can do very well without
an education abroad. We have enough
good pictures in landscape to show us the
best standards of foreign landscape art.
Nature must be our great teacher, and that
we have here as well as abroad. In the
matter of figures the advantages are with the
students abroad. They have all the tacilities
of models and costumes with most perfect
school systems. We have here advantages
sufficient to give a sfudent an excellent
foundation, so that be need not be in haste
to take himselfabroad until he is sufficiently
advanced to profit thoroughly by the best
he finds there. If he has talent and deter
mination I believe he can reach a high
point without it. Several of our eminent
artists may be cited as instances.
The-Anierican school, I think, is still in
embryo. The germ is here, but we have
hardly yet an art which can be called dis
tinctly American. For tbe most part it
still reflects strongly the influence of foreign
thought and methods.
No more or better pictnres would come to
this country if the tariff were entirely abol
ished. When Americans can pay $100,000
for a single picture, I think 30 per cent
more or less, is not going to deter them from
purchasing anything. American artists, I
believe, are as a rale in layer of a removal
ot the tariff on pictures. I think on gen
eral principles all educational works should
be free. There are many pictures imported
here which are of no value to us education
ally, butare clever, poor things purchased
by speculators lor a song abroad and sold
here lor three or four times their original
price. I favor, therefore, a specific tariff of
say $100 on each painting, drawingo. sculp
ture. This would be largely prohibitive
when applied to poor work and decreas
ingly light on valuable works, accepting
the money value as a standard, and it ap
plies more generally than any other stand
ard. It would also, in a measure, protect
our young painters at the very point where
competition can be felt.
The press can do great things by inform
ing its readers regarding the true art worth
of our best workers and exposing the impo
sition ot much foreign work upon us which
has no intrinsic value, but is bought at in
flated prices here.
Georob H. Smillie.
GOVERNMENT C0MMI8S10N3.
Much Could bs Done for American Art br
Notional Encouragement.
Our schools are only preparitory to some
foreign uteher. In the French schools it is
very common to see working with the rest,
men who have taken medals at the Salon,
and still more common, men who have
worked six, seven and eight years. The
standard of such schools must necessarily
be high, and such elements are totally lack
ing in Americau institutions. Yet I con
sider the opportunities for ncquiring a tech
nical.knowledge in the New York: schools
fully equal to those of the average Parisian
atelier, as fur as instruction goes.
There is a so-called school of American
painting, but one which I tbinfc will furnish
so elements toward making a future national
art the outcome of the various schools
which we have absorbed and which it is to
hoped will some day simmer down to some
thing which we mav call our own. A tree
entry of art would eventually have the effect
of furnishing our museums and bringing us
more face to face with good work.
The most important incentive to the ad
vancement ol art, in my mind, is that given
by the Government of a country in the
shape of commissions for decorations,
statues, etc. It is impossible to calculate
tbe good that has been done for art by the
French Government in its relation with
artists. Such patronage is almost the sole
encouragement nowadays to the production
of great mural decorations, and it is to be
regretted that it does not exist here.
H. SlDDOHS MOWBEAY.
TENDS TO MaXNEEISM.
Work In Foreign Stadioi Often Leaves One
Without Originality.
The free circulation of foreign art by past
and present masters that would be likely to
flow westward by the free admission in con
nection with the good schools we already
have, would ba in itself an art education.
I iear that work in foreign studios fre
quently tends to mannerism rather than to
originality, the student too often forgetting
that the reason of excellence in all art is
less the requirement of the methods and
processes ol masters or schools than the
study of nature itself. Study is but the
education of an inherent power, and some
of our embryonic painters seem to forget
that the essence of art is born in a man, not
manufactured. The question of tempera
ment largely involves the question of excel
lence. Is there an American school of art?
Doubtful; olten strong individuality, but
not enough to make a school. J. think the
Government has it in its power to help
American art, not only by free admission,
but among other things by finding a yearly
sumto purchase and encourage serious and
ambitious work, thus enabling manv able
artists to produce noble efforts who are now
of necessity employed the greater part of
their time on mere ""pot boilers." We have
now arrived at a time when our Govern
ment can safely afford to do what other
countries hae done, and so possibly found
an "American school."
Haebt Fesit.
TEAVEIING SCH0LAESMPS.
A Poller That alight Advnncs Art If Kept
Apnrt Frrm Politics.
We need study abroad. A man who has
not seen the old masters is no more thor
oughly educated in art than is one thor
oughly educated in literature who has not
read the Greeks. There is hardly an Ameri
can school of art as yet nothing more than
the promise of one. National schools of art
are the outcome ol national peculiarities of
temperament, and such art as we have is
necessarily American. Beside, we have not
enough good art of any sort, as yet, to dig
nify with the name of a school.
I think the removal of all restrictions on
foreign works of art would be a benefit.
The best method of advancing American
art would be to make importation iree and
then let art alone to take care of itself.
Traveling scholarships might do good if we
could be certain to keep them apart from
politics. Kejitos Cox.
BLAMES THE CBITICS.
Titer Shonld Study Home Art Closer nnd
Write With Intelligence.
A thorough art edncation can with diffi
culty be acquired in America, yet I do not
think work in foreign studios 'essential.
There is no American school of art I
think the free admission of foreign paint-
intrs wouia oe an advantage.
If writers would take the trouble to find
the good qualities which exist in works of
art produced here instead of taking the eas
ier and common course of adverse criticism,
perhaps the public might sooner learn that
the average ot art here is as high as any
where. But such criticism demands knowl
edge of the subject, while the usual adverse
criticism does not. F. D. Millet.
MISCELLANEOUS OPINIONS.
They All Favor Free Admission and Sue
gent Various Improvements.
I think a thorough art education can he
acquired in this country. There is hardly
an American school ot art, for there is too
much imitation of foreign work and not
enough self-reliance. Free admission would
not be of benefit, because we are now over
stocked. I think elementary instruction in
art should be given in all our public schools;
that everyone should grow up with some
knowledge of art and beauty and a love of
nature as applied to it,
J. F. Cbomey.
No art education is complete without an
acquaintance with the masterpieces of the
world held in foreign galleries, but a good
technical training can now be obtained at
home. We have no school of art; localism
of subject doe3 not form a national school.
A more generous patronage of the work of
American artists, removal of all duties on
works of art, endowment of some of our
self-supporting art schools and the establish
ment ot traveling scholarships would do
much to advance our art interests.
J. Caeroil Beck-with.
I do not think work in foreign studios
now since we see good things here neces
sary. The free admission of good works of
art would undoubtedly be beneficial, as the
more good work we see from any source the
better. As to- advancing American art I
believe if our wealthy men would discrimi
nate justly they would readily purchase the
work of our painters. If this were done no
other method of encouraging art wonld be
needed. K. Swaet Giffobd.
Work abroad is essential, because there is
a forced standard in drawing and in the
knowledge ot anatomy and in technical
skill, by which all students are judged. Oi
course, one may acquire this skill without
being a great artist, but a great artist is
greater lor having it. Free admissionwould
be an advantage. I should say that we have
no American school, and I think in the
luture there v-ill be less and less difference
between the schools of different countries.
R03I1TA E. Sheewood.
Visiting the pictures of the ancient mas
ters in some of the best galleries abroad is
essential to a thorough education, which
cannot, therefore, be completed in America.
As to advancing American art, anything
tending to convince individuals or the pub
lic that art is a very serious thing and not a
mere diversion or decoration in the lighter
sense.
EDWIJr HOWLAXD BLASHITELD.
A COTTAGE FOE 800.
Design for One That is Neither Com
monplace Nor Tawdry.
BOTH COMFORTABLE AUD PRETTT.
A Large Teranda Tlat Would Prove a Para
dise in Hot Weather.
AMPLE STOREROOMS AND CLOSETS
IWBtTTET rOB THE PI8PATCH.I
One of the most exasperating of inanimate
things is an ugly building. It offends the
eye as grievously as a vile odor offends the
nostrils. It should hide its head for shame,
bnt it presents as bold, o ten a bolder front
than any of its grace ul neighbors. It ought
to grow weak in the knees, so to speak, and
full to the ground, but it usually has great
strength and durability more's tbe pity.
Its ugliness is like a gratuitous insult en
tirely unnecessary, for the materials which
compose it might have been shaped by the
labor which bnilt It into a form of beauty.
Perrpeclive.
It is perfectly safe to estimate that of
every 1,000 houses, great and small, built in
this country during a period ol SO vears, at
least 900 were as devoid of pleasing archi
tectural features as so many dry good3
boxes. It is not difficult to name large and
prosperons towns that cannot claim a single
fine exterior.
At the present time very few import
ant structures are bnilt except from well
considered and approved designs. But there
is missionary work to be done regarding
small cottages, which, by too many, are
considered unworthy of careful study and
design. It would be unbecoming, indeed,
for the rank and file to wear epaulettes and
cockades like the officers, but certainly they
should be so comfortably and presentably at
tired as to inspire " self-respect. An
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First Floor Flan.
examination of the subject would prove, no
doubt, that the most efficient soldiers were
well dressed. Unquestionably the best citi
zens are well housed.
The small design that illustrates this ar
ticle is considered something better than
commonplace. It has grace ul lines and
proportions, and there is total absence of
tswdry effects like those produced by sawed
work ornamentation. It has no fireplaces,
mantels, sliding doors or other expensive
features, yet the interior is comfortable and
attractive.
General dimensions Width, 22 feet S
inches; depth, 34 feet. Heights of stories
First story, 8 feet Cinches; second story, 8
leet.
Exterior materiaU Foundations, stone;
first story, gables, veranda rails and roof,
shingles.
Interior finish: Walls and ceilings fin
ished with two coats of brown plaster, in
tended for papering. Spruce floors. White
pine, trim and stairs, grain filled and fin
ished with hard oil. The space under the
stairway is enclosed with grooved and bead
ed pine, forming a hall closet.
Colors: All shingles, including roof,
stained silver. All trim, veranda posts and
risers, painted white. Sashes, outer doors
and lattice work, painted dark green. Ver
anda, floor and ceiling, oileJ. The upper
half ot front door glazed with small lights.
Accommodations All the rooms and their
sizes are shown by tbe floor plans. Closets
should he built in the storerooms near tbe
doors, so as to be accessible from the bed
rooms. The ample storage rooms will
hold trunks, "heirlooms," worn-out
furniture, and all the gimcracks
ra ""' ""-
J&B&JS& S)J &&&
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'iteus&ot
6J6'x4LCTi
EX li,.;vrrr; r
OterrttM, $lffzmz
Second Floor Flan.
hzs3rszi
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szaBSSSBS
y.
that usually obstruct the rooms ol a small
house. During tbe heated term tbe large
veranda is a most agreeable substitute for a
a dining room. Tines trained at the front
or sides insure sufficient privacy. Daring
the cold season the veranda may De enclosed
with sashes, at small expense; If this work
is well done, the heat of the sun will often
make the veranda a warm and agreeable
room. Tbe large veranda may be consid
ered too large for so small a cottage, but it
is uselul as well as ornamental, as briefly
suggested in tbe foregoing.
Cost, $300. The estimate is based on New
York prices for materials and labor. In
many sections of the country the cost should
be less.
Feasible modifications: Heights of stories,
kinds of materials, sizes of rooms and colors,
may be changed. Cellar may be built. By
building a gable at the rear another bed
room may be planned. Veranda mav be ex- i
tended around either side or both sid'es. The" j
veranda inclosure may be open balusters"
and rails, but tbe solid Inclosure is more in
in keeping with the design.
B. W. Shoppell, Architect,
-sAiArAu2JL,j
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