sssi SEdUKJyHniK ??J?Wgf$ $&$&& "vm - y?ss,"'r-v -Sf- -10 ir tried to moTe a few steps. On all sides curious looks were directed upon him, but no one oflered to .make wav, and still tbe monotonous singing continued, until he felt himself deafened, so he faced the great con gregation. "1 am ill," he raid ia a low voice to those nearest to him. "Pray let roe pass." His face was white, indeed, and those who heard his words believed him. A mild old man raised his sad, blue eyes, Razed at him, $- and while trying to draw bask, gently shook his bead. A pule woman, whose sickly s features -n ere half veiled in the folds of a torn black shawl, moved as ia? as she could; shrinking as the very poor and miserable fchrink when they are expected to mate way before the rich and strong. A lad or 15 stood upon tiptoe to make himself even slighter than he was, and thus to widen the way, and the "Wanderer found himself, after repeated efforts, as much as two steps dis tant from his forn'er position. He was still trying to divide the crowd when the music l suddenly ceased, and the tones of the p organ died away Jar up under the western ' window. It "was the moment of the Elevation, and at the first silvery tinkling I r ci the bell, the people swayed a little, all f ' those kneeling who were able, and those & whose movements were impeded by the press f of worshipers bending toward the altar as a L field of grain before thegale. The Wanderer turned again and bowed himself with the I rest, devoutly and humbly, with half closed f eyes, as he strove to collect and control his thoughts in the presence of the chief mvsiery of his faith. Three times the tiny bell was rung, a pause followed, and thrice again the , clear jingle of the metal broke the solemn ktillness. Then once more the people stirred, and the solt sound of their simultaneous motion was like a mighty sigh breathed up from the secret vaults and the deep founda tions of the ancient church; again tbe pedal note of the organ boomed through the nave and aisles, and again the thousandsof human voices took up the strain of song. The wanderer glanced abont him, meas uring the distance he must traverse to reach tbe monument of the Danish astronomer, and confronting it with the short time which now remained before the end of the nias. He saw that in such a throng he wouldhave no chance ot gaming the position be wished to occupy in less than half an hour, and he bad now but a scant ten minutes at his dis posal. He gave up the attempt, therefore, determining that when the celebration should be over he would move forward with the crowd, trusting to his superior statur? and energy to keep him within sight ot the woman lie sought, until both he and she could meet, cither just within or jnst with out the narrow entrance of the church. Very soon the moment of action came. The singing died away, the benediction was given, the second gospel was read, the priest and the peoplerepeated the Bohemian prayers, and all was over. The countless heads began to move onward, the shuffling of innumerable feet sent heavy, tuneless echoes through vaulted space, broken every moment by the sharp, painful cough of a suffering child whom no one could see in the multitude, or by the dull thud of some heavy foot striking ag-iinst the wooden seats in the press. The Wanderer moved forward with the rest. Reaching the entrance ot the pew where she had sat he was kept back during a few seconds by the hair dozen men and women who were forcing their way out of it, before him. But t the furthest end a figure clothed iu black was etill kneeling. A moment more end be might enter the pew and be at her side. One of the other women dropped something belore she u as out ol tlie nairow i space, and stooned, tumbling and searching I in the darkness. At this minute the slight, ' girlish hgure rose swiftly and passed like a shadow be ore the heavy marble monument. Tne "Wanderer saw that the pew was open at the other end, and without heeding the woman who stood in his way, he sprang upon the low seat, passed her, stepped to tbe floor upon the other side and was ont in the aisle m a moment. Many persons had already left the church, and the space was comparativtly free. She was before him, gliding quickly to ward the door. Ere lis could reach her he saw her touch the thick ice whicb filled the marble basin, cross herself hurriedly and mass out. But lie had seen her lace arain. ard he knew that he was not mistaken. The thin, waxen leaturcs were as those of the dead, but they were hers, nevertheless. In an instant he conld be by her side But again his progress was momentarily impeded by a number of persons who were entering the building hastiiy to attend the next mass. Scarcely ten seconds later he was out in the narrow and dismal passage which winds be tween the north side of the Tevn Kirche end the buildings behind the Kinsky Palace The vast buttresses and towers cast deep shadows below them, and the blackened bouses opposite absorb what remains of the uncertain winter's daylight. To the left of the church door a low arch spans the lane, affording a covered communication between the north aUle and the sacristy. To the . right the open space is somewhat broader, and three dark archways give access to as ' many passages, leading, in radiating direc tions and under the old houses, to the streets bejond. The "Wanderer stood upon the steps be neath the rich stone carvings which set lorth the Cruc.fixfon over the door of the church, and his juick eye scanned everything iu sight. To the left, no figure resembling the one he sought was to be seen, but on the right, he laucicd that among a score ot per sons now rapidly dispersing he could dis tinguish a moving shadow just within one ot tbe archwajs, black against the darkness. In an instant he had crossed the way and was-hnrrving through the gloom. Already far beiore him, but visible and, as he be lieved, unmistakable, tbe shade was speed ing onward, light as mist, noiseless as thought, but yet clearly to be seen and fol lowed. He cried aloud, as be ran: "Beatricel Beatricel" Hi: strong voice echoed along the dank walls and out into the court be; out). It was intensely cold, and the still air carried the sound clearly to the distance. She must have heard him, she must have known his voice, but as she crossed tbe open place, and the gray light lell upon her he could see that she Jul not raise her bent head nor slacken her speed. He ran on, sure of overtaking her in the passage sbe had now entered, for she seemed to be only walking, while he was pursuing her at a headlong pace. Bnt in the narrpw tunuel, when he reached it, she was not, though at the larther end he imagined'that the fold of a. black garment was just disap pearing. He emerged into the street, in which be could now see in both directions to a distance ot CO yards or more. He was alone. The rusty iron shutters of the little shops wete all barred and fastened, and everv door within the range ot bis vibion was closed. He stood still in surprise and listened. There was no sound to be heard, not the grating of a lock, nor the tinkling of a bell, nor the fall of a footstep. He did not pause long, for he made up his mind as to what he would do iu the flash of . a moment's intuition. It was physically impossible that she should have disappeared into any one of the bouses which had their entrances within the dark tunnel he bad just traversed. Apart from tbe presump tive impossibility of ber being lodged in such a quarter, there was the self-evident fait that he must hare heard the door opened j and closed. Secondly, she conld not have t(- turned to the right, for in that direction the V' street as straight and without any lateral - exit, so that he must have seen her. There- lore she must have gone to the left, since on that side there was a narrow alley leading - outot the lam, at some distance from the point where hewasnowstandiug too far, iu deed, lor her to have reached it unnoticed, unle-s, as was psssible, he had been greatly . deceived in the distance which had lately 1 separated her from him. Without lnrther hesitation he turned to the left. He found no one in the way, for it was not yet noon, and at thtt hour the people were either at their prayers or at their Sunday morning's potations, and the 'i' place was as deserted as a disused cemetery. .t Still he hastened onward, never pausing for " breath, till be found himself all at once in tbe great ring, lie Knew toe city well, but, iu his race, he had bestowed no atten tion upon the familiar windings and turn ings, thinking only of overtaking the fleet ing vision, no matter how, no matter where. Now, on a sudden, the great, irregular square opened before him, flanked on the one side by the fantastic spires of the Teya Church, and the blackened front ol the huge K.insky palace, on the other by the half-modern Town Hall with its ancient tower, its bcautilul porch, and the graceful oriel which forms the apse of the elmpel in thn second story. One of the city watchmen, muffled in his military overcoat, and conspicuous by the great bnnch of dark feathers that drooped from his black bat, was standing idly at the corner from which the Wanderer emerged. The latter thought of inquiring whether the man had seen a lady pass, but the fellow's vacant stare convinced him that no ques tioning would elicit a satisfactory answer. Moreover, as he looked across tbe square he caught sight of a retreating figuredressed in black, already at such a distance as to make positive recognition impossible. In his" haste he found no time to convince himself that no living woman could have thus out run him, and he instantly resumed his pur suit, gaining rapidly upon her he was fol lowing. But it is not an easy matter to over take even a woman, when she has an advan tage of a couple of hundred yards, anil when the race is a short one. He passed the Hti cient astronomical clock just as the little bell was striking the third quarter after 11, bnt he did not raise his head o watch the sad-faced apostles as they pre sented their stiff figures in succession at the two square windows. When the blackened cock under the small Gothic arch above flapped his wooden wings and uttered his melancholy crow.the Wanderer was already at the corner of the little ring, and he could see the object of his pursuit disappearing before him into the Karlsgasse. He noticed uneasily that the resemblance between the woman he was lollowing and the ohject of his loving search seemed now to diminish, as in a bad dream, as the distance between himself and her decreised. But he held resolutely on, neanug her at every step, round a sharp corner to the right, then to the left, totherighl again, and once moie in the opposite direction, always, as he knew, approicliing the old stone bridge. He was not a dozen paces behind her as she turned quicklv a third time to the rit'ht, round the wall of theincient house winch faces the little square, over against the enormous buildings comprising the Clementine Jesuit Monaster and the astronomical observatory. As he t.prang past the corner he saw the heavy door just cluslng, and heard the sharp resound ing clang of its iron fastening. The lady had disapnearcd, and ne felt sure that she had gone through that entrance. He knew the honso well, f or it is distingnshed from all others in Prague, both by its shape and its oddly ornamented, unnatural, narrow front. It is imiltiuthefiguro of an irregular triangle, tho blunt apox of one angle facing the little square, the sides beinc erected on tne one hand alonj Karlogasse and on tho other upon a narrow alley w hich leads away toward TIIE STRANGER the Jews quarter. Overhanging passages are built out over tbis dim lane, as tbuugh to facil itate the interior communications of tho dwell ing, and in the shadow beneath them there is a small door studded with iron nails which is in variably shnc The main entrance takes in all tbo scant breadth of tho truncated angle which looks toward tho monaster.. Immediately Over it is a great windon.abovo that another, and highest or all, under tne pointed gable, a round and nnglazsd aperture, within which there is inky darkness. The windows of the first and second stones are flanked by huge figures of saints, standing forth in strangrlv contorted attitudes, black with the dust of ages, black as all old Prague is black, with tbe smoke ot tbe brown Bohemian coal, with tho dark and unctuous mists of many autumns, with the cruel, petrifying frosts of ten score winters. He who knew tbe cities of men as few have known them, knew also tbis house. Manv a rime had be passed before it by day and by night, wondering who lived within its massive, irregular walls, behind those uncoul b, barbar ous scnlptnrcd saints w ho kept their intermin able watch high np by tbe lozenged windows. Ho would know now. falnce she whom he soughthadentered.be wonld enter too; and in some corner of that dwelling which had long possessed a mysterious attraction for his cye. be would And at last that being who held power over bis heart, that Beatrice whom he bad learned to think of as dead, while still believing that somewhere she must be yet alive, that dear lady whom, dead or living, he loved beyond all others, with a great love, passing words. CHAPTER IL The Wanderer laid his hand boldly upon tbe chain of the bell. He expected to hear tbe harsh jingling of cracked metal, bnt he was sur prised by the silvery clearness and musical quality of the ringinc tones which reached his car. Ho was pleased and unconsciously took the pleasant impression for a favorable omen. Tho heavy door swung back almost immediate ly, and he was confronted by a tall porter in dark green cloth and gold lacings, whose im posing appearance was made still more striking by tho magnificent fair beard which flowed down almost to his waist. The man lifted his heavy cocked hat and held it low at bis side as he drew back to let tbe visitor enter. The lat ter bad not expecttd to be admitted thn?, with out question, and pansed under tho blight light which illuminated the arched entrance, intend ing to make some inquiry of the porter. But tbe latter seemed to expect nothing ot the sort. He carefully closed tbe door and then, bearing his bat in one hand and his gold-beaded staff in tbe other, be proceeded gravely to tbe other end of the vaulted porch, opened a great glazed door and held it back for tbo visitor to pass. The Wanderer recognized tbat tbe fatther he was allowed to penetrate unhindered Into the interior of the bouse the nearer he should be to the object of bis search. He did not know where be was. nor wbat he might Cud. For all that be knew bo might be in a club, in a great banking bouse, or in some seini-publlc insti tution of the nature of a library, an academy, or a conservatory of music 'llierc are many sucb establishments in Prague, though he was not acquainted with any In which tbe internal anancemeuts so closely resembled those ot a luxurious private residence. But tbere was no tune for hesitation and he ascended tbe broad staircase witli a firm step, glancing at the tich tapestries which covered the walls, at the pol ished surface of tbo marble steps on either siae of the heavy carpet and all tbe elaborate and beautiful iron work ot tbe handrail. As he mounted blgher, lie beard the quick rapping of au'elcctric signal abuvo him, nd be under stood tbat tbe porter bad announced his com ing. Beaching the Tailing, he was met by a tcrvantin black, as correct at all points as the porter himself, and who bowed low as he held back the thick curtain which bung before the entrance. Without a. word the man fol lowed the visitor into a bigb room of irregular shape, wbtch served as a vestibule, and stood waiting tu receiro tbe guest's furs, should it please him to lay them aside. To pause now, and to enter into an explanation with a servant, would have been to reject an opportunity wbicn might never return. In such an estab lishment, be was suro of finding bimselt before long iu the presence of some more or les intel ligent person f his nun class, of whom be cuuld make such inquiries as might enlighteu bltn, aud to whom he could present such ex cuses for his iutrusion as might seem moit fitting in so difficult a case. Ho let his sables fall Into the hands of the servant and followed the latter along a short passage. Tbe man introduced bim into a spacious hall and closed the door, leaving bim to his own re flections. The place was very wide and high and witnout windows, but tho broad daylight descended abundantly from above through the dazed root and illumined every corner. He would have taken the room for a conservatory, for It contained a forest of tropical trees and plants and whole gardens of rare Southern flowers. Tall letomas, date palms, mimosas and rubber trees ot many varieties stretched their fantastic spikes and heavy leaves half w as np to tbe crystal coiling, giant ferns swept the polished marble with tbeir soft etnbroldenej and dark green laces, Indian creepers, f nil of bright blossoms, made screens and curtains of tbrir intertwining foliage, orchids of every hue and of every exotic species bloomed in thick banks along tbe wails. Flowers less rare, violets THE andlllles of tbe valley.closely setand lnxuriant, grew in beds edged with muss aronna the roots or the larger plants aud in many open spaces. Tbe air was very sott and warm, moist and lull of heavy odors as tho still atmo-plwie or an island in Southern seas, and the Mlonco was broken only by tho light plash of softly. falling v.aters. Having advanced a few steps from the door, the Wanderer stood still and waited, supposing that the owner of the dwelling would lie made aware of a visitor's presence and would soon appear. But no one cams. Then a gentle voice spoko from amid the verdure, apparently from uo great distance '1 am here." it said. He moved forward amid tbe ferns and tho tall plants, until hefound himself on the farther Bide of a thick network of creepers. Then ho paused, for ho was in the presencu ol a woman, of herwho'lwelt among the flowers. She was sitting before him. motionless aud upright In a iigb, carved chair, and o placed that the puiuted lea, es of the palm which roso auove ter cast sharp, star-shaped shadows over the broaa folds of her white dress. One hand, as white, as cold, as heavily perfect as the sculp ture of a Praxiteles or a Phfdlas, rested with drooping Angers on tho arm of tbe chair. Ihe other pressed tbe pages of a great boot which lay open on the lady's knee. Her face was turned toward .ihe visitor and her eyes exam ined his face, calmly and with no surpriso in them, butnot without a look otintercst Their expression was at ouco so unusual, so disquiet ing and yet so inexplicably attractive as to lascmatotho Wanderer's gaze. He did riot re member that he had cvor seen a pair of eyes of distinctly-different colors the one of a clear, cold gray, the other of a deep, warm brown, so dark as tu seem almost blaclr, and he would not have belleod that nature could so far transgress the canons ot lier own art and yet preserve the appearance of beanty. Knr tho lady was beautiful, from the diadem of her red gold bair to tho proud curve of her fresh joung lip, from her liroail, pale forehead, proiu.int.nt and boldly modeled at the angle of the brows, to tho strong moldings of the well-balanced chiu which gave evidence of -engtb and reso lution wherewith to carry out tho promise of the high aquiline features and of tbe high and sensitive nostrils. "Madam." said the Wanderer, bending bis head courteously and advancing another step. "1 can neither frame excuses for having entered your honse unhidden, nor bopo to obtain indulgence for my iutrusion, unless you are willing, in tho first, place, to bear mv short stor. May I expect so much kindness? ' Ho paused, aud the lady looked at him fixedly and curiously. Without taking her cve from ln f.-ioi and without sneakinir. sho closed the ! bunk shu hail held on Ler kneo auj laid it beside herupou a low tame. Ana wannerer did not avuid ber gaze, forjie bad nothing to conceal, nor any sen-e of timidity. He was an intruder upon the privacy of one whom he did not know, but he was ready explain bis pres ence and to make such amerds as courtesy re quired. If he Inn given offense. Tbe heavy odors of the flowers filled his nostrils with an unknown, luxurious delight, a he stood there gazing Into the lartj'soyes; be fancied that a gentle breith of perfumed air was blowing softly civer his hair and face out of the motionless palms, and the faint plashing of the hidden fountain was like an exquisite melody in bis ears. It was cood to bo in such a place, to look on tucha. woman, to breathe such TS THE CITTJRCrr. odors and to hear snch 'tuneful music. A dream-like, half mysterious satisfaction nf the senses dnllcd the keex self-knowledge of body and soul for one short moment. In tbe stormy play of his troubled lifo there was a brief inter lude of peace. He tasted tbo fruit of the Lotui. his lips were moistened in the Sweetwater of forgetfulness. The lady spoko at last, and the spell left bim, not broken, as by a sudden shock, ha: login; its stiong power By quick degrees until it was wholly gone. "I will answer your question by another." said the lady. ".Let your reply be the plain truth. It will be better so." "Ask what you will. I have nothing to con ceal." "Do you know who and what I amT Do you como here ont of curiosity, in the sain hope nf knuvfinsrnic. having heard of me front others?' "Assuredly not." A faint flush rose in the man's palo and noble face. "You have mv word," he said, in the tono'of one who is sure of being believed, "that I have never, to my knowledge, heard of jour cxistcnce;.thatlam ignorant even of your name forgi re my ignor ance and that I entered this house, not know ing whoso it might be, seeking and following aftornneforwtiomlbave searched the world, ouc dearly loi cd, long lost, long sought." "It is enough. Eo seated. I am Unorna." "JJnorna?" repeated thn Wanderer, with an nnconsciuus question In bis voice, as though the name recalled sume half-forgotten associa tion. "Unorna yes. I have another name," she added, with a sbado ot bitterness, "but It is hardly mine. Tell me your story. You loved you lost you seek so much I know. What else?" The Wanderer sighed. "You haye told m those few words the story of my life tbe unfinished story. A wanderer I was born, a wanderer I am, a wanderer J must ever be, until at lastl find her whom I seek. 1 knew her in a strange land, far from. m birthplace, in a city where I was known but toa few, and I loved ber. She loved mc, too and that aj-alnst her father's will. He would not have bis daughter wed with one not of ber race; for ho himself bad taken a wife among strangers, and w bile sho was yet alive he had repented of what be bad done. But I would have overcomo his reasons and his arguments she and I could have overcome them to gether, for he did not bate mc, be bore me no ill-will. Wo were almost tnends when I last took his band. Then the hour tut destiny camo upon rue. The air of that city wras treacherous aud deadly. I had left'her with her father, and my heart was full of many things, and of words both spoken and unutterod. I lingered upon an ancient bridge that spanned thn river, and the snn went down. Then tbe evil fever of the boqth laid hold upon me and poisoned the blood in my veins and stole the consciousness from my under standing. Weeks pissed awav, and meiuory returned, with tbe strength to speik. I learned tbat she I loved and her father were gone, and none knew whither. I rose and lelt the accursed city, being at that time scarcely able to staud UDiigbl on my feet. Finding no trace of those I sought. I juitrnejed to their own conntrv, tor I anew where her father held his lands. I had been ill many week;, and much time had passed from the da on which 1 had left her until I was able to move from my bed. When I reached the gate cf ber bumel was told tbat others now dwelt within tbe walls. I inquired of these new owners of tbe land, but neither they nor any of all those whom f questioned could tell me whither I should direct mv search. Tbe father was a strabge man, loving travel and cnange or movement, restless and unsatis fied with tbo world, rich and ftce to make his own caprice his guide through life: reticent be was, moreover, and thoughtful, not given to sneaking out his intentions. Those who admin. istered his affairs In his absence were honorable men, bound by hi especial inj unction not to reveal his over-varying plans. Many times, in my ceaseless search, I-rntrt persons wbo had lately seen him and, bis- daughter and spoxen witn tuem. i,waaever on tneir track, frum hemisphere to hemisphere, from conti nent to continent, from country to country, from city to city, often believing myself close upon them, often learning suddenly that an ocean lay between tbem and me. Was he eluding me, purposely, icsolutely,or was ho un conscious of my desperate pursuit, being serf cd by chance alone aud by bis own restless temper? I do not know. At last .some, uno told me that she was dead, speaking tli ought- lessiy, not Knoning mat novcuner. lie who toiu me nau neara tuo pews iroui auuiuer. who had received it on hearsay from a third. "None knew in what place ber spirit badpartet: none knew by wbat manner of sickness sbe bad died. Since tben I have heard othets say that sue is not dead, tbat they have-heard in their tarn from otbers that she ye: fives. An hoar ago I knew not what to think. -To-day 1 saw her In a crowded churcb. 'I-bcard ber voice, though I could not reach ber In . the throng, strag gle how I would. I ' followed her ia baste. I lost her at one turning, I saw ber before me at the next. At last a figure, clothed i she had been clothed, entered your honse. Whether It was sbe I know not certainly, but I do know tbat in the church I saw her. Sho cannot be within your dwelling, wlthont your knowledge: it she be iere then r have found her. my journey is ended, my wanderings have led me home at last. If sbe be not here, if 1 have- been mistaken. I entreat you to let me set oyes on tbe other whom I mis PITTSBURG DISPATCH, took for her, to forgive then my mannerless ln trnnton and to let ma go." , Unorna had listened with half closed eyes, but with unfaltering attention, watching tho speaker's face from beneath her drooping lids. making no enort to read uis uioutuu, out weighing bis words and impressing every detail of bis storv npnn her mind. When he had done, there was silence for a time, broken only by the plash and ripple ot the falling water. "She is not here," said Unorna at last "You shall see for yourself. There is, indeed, in this house, a young girl to whom I am deeply at tached, who has grown up at my side and has always lived under my roof. She is 7ery pale and dark, and is dressed always in black." "Like her l saw." "You shall sco, her again. I will send for her." Unorna pressed an n ory key in the silver ball which lay beside her. attached to a thick cord ot white silk. "Ask blctchna Axneia to come to me," she said to the servant who opened tbe door in the distance, out of sight behind tbe forest of plants. Amid less unusual surroundings the Wan derer would have rejected with contempt tbe last remnants of his belief in the identity of Unnrua's companion with Beatrice. But, being wnero he was, be felt unable to decide be tween the possible and tbe Impossible, be tween what he migbt reasonably expect and what lay beyond tiio bounds ot reasjin itsolf. The air he brcatbed was no loaded with rich exotic perfume, the woman bafore him was so little like other women, her strangely mis matched eye, had for his own such a disquiet ing attraction, all that' be saw and felt and heard was so far removed from tho commou place of daily lire as to make him feel that he himself was becoming a part of some other person's existence, that he wasbeing gradually drawn away from his identity and was losing the power of thinking his own thoughts. Ha reasoned as the shadows reason in dreamland, the boundaries nf common probability receded to an immeasurable distance, and he almost ceased to know where reality ended and where Imagination took up the sequence of events. Who was this woman who called herself Unorna? He tried to consider the question and tu bring his intelligence to bear upou it. Was sbe a great lady of Prague, rich, caprici ous, creating a mssterious existence for her solf, merely for her own good pleasure? Her language, ber voice, ber evident refinement gave color to tbe idea, which was in itself at tractive to a man who had long ceased to expect novelty in this working-day world. He glanced at her face, musing and wondering, inhaling the sweet, intoxicating odors of the flowers and listening to the tinkling uf the hidden fountain. .Her eyes were gazing into his, and again, as it by magic, tue curtain ot nie's stage was drawn together in misty folds, shutting out the past, the present and the future, the fact, the doubt and tbe hope, in an interval of perfect trance. He was roused by the sound of a light foot fall upon tho marble pavement. Unorna's eyes were turned from bis and with something like a movement of surprise 1 e. himself looked toward the newcomer.-A young girl was standing under the shadow of a great letonia at a short distance from bim. Sbe was very pale, indeed, but not with tbat deathlike, waxen pallor wnlch had chilled him when he had looked upon tbat other face There was a faint resemblance in tbe delicate acqulhne features, tho dress was black, and tbe fijuro of the girl before bim was assuredly neither much taller nor much shorter than that ol the woman he loved and songht. Bnt tbe likeness went no further, and be knew tbat he had bean utterly mistaken. Unorna exchanged, a few indifferent words with Axneia aud dismissed her. "You have seen." she said, when the young girl was gone. "Was it she who entered tbe house just now?" "Yes. I was misled by a mere resemblance. Forgive me for my importunity let me thank you most sincerely for your great kindness." Ho rose as be spoke. "Do not go," said Unorna, looking at him earnestlv. He stood still, silent as though his attitude should explain itself, and yet expecting that she would say something further. He felt that her eves were upon him, and he raised his own to meet the look frankly, as was his wont. For the first time sinco he had entered her pres ence, he felt that there was more than a mere disquieting attraction in ber steady gaze; there was a strong, resistle-s fascination, from winch he bad no power to withdraw himself. Almost unconsciously bo resumed his scat, still look ing at ber, wbilo telling himself with a severe effort, that lie would look but one instant longer, and then turn awav. Ten seconds passed, 20, half a minute, in total silence. He was confused, disturbed, and yet wholly unable to shut out her penetrating glance. His fast ebbing consciousness barely allowed him to wonder whether he were w eakened oy tho strong emotions be had felt in the church, or by the first beginning of some unknown and unexpected milady. He was utterly weak and unstrung. Ho conld ncitber rise lrom his seat nor lift his band nor close the lids uf his eyes. It was as though an irre sistible force were drawing him into the depths of a fathomless whirlpool, down, down, bv its endless giddy spirals, robbine him nf a portion of bis consciousness at every gyration, so that be left behind him at every instant something nf his individuality, something of the central faculty of self-rerognition. Ho felt no pain, but ho did not feel th -. inexpressible delight of peac- which alread twice bad descended upon h!m. TTfi rTTierienced a raDid rilmintitrnn of all perception, of all feeliug, of all intelligence." 1 cougnc, ana tne memory cu tnougnt, cooed from bis brain and left it vacant, as the waters of a lock subside when the gates are opened, lcivim emptiness in their plare. Unorna's eyes turned'from him, and sho raised her hand a moment, letting it fall again upon her knee. Instantly the strong man was restored to himself; his wcaknes.1 vanished, his sight was clear, his inte'Iigenco was awake. Instantly tho certainty flashed upon him that Unorna possessed tbo power of imposing the hypnotic sleep aud bad exercised that gift npnn him. unexpectedly and against his will. Ho wonld have more willingly supposed that ho had been tho victim of a momentary physical faintness, for the idea ot havine been thus sub jected to the Influence of jl woman, and of a woman be hardly knew, was repugnant to him, and bad in it something humiliating to his pride, or at least tn his vanity. But he conld not escape the conviction forced upon him by tbe circumstances. "Do not go, for I may yat help you," laid Unorna quietlv. "fjet us talk of tbis matter and consult what is best to be done. Will you accept a woman's help?" "Readily. But I cannot accept her will as mine, nor resign my consciousness into her keeping." "Not for tlm sake of seeing her whom you say oo love?" Tho Wanderer was silent, being yet undeter mined bow to act, and still unsteadied bv what be bad experienced. But he was ablo to reason, and he asked of bis lodgment wbat be should do. wondering wbat manner of woman Unorna might prove to be, and whether she w ere anything more thin ono nf those who live and oven enrich themselves by the exercise of tbo unusual faculties or powers, nature has given tbem. He bad seen many of that class, and he considered most of them to be but half fanttic", half charlatans, worshiping in them selves a3 something almost divine tbat which was but a physical power, or weakness, beyond tbeir own limited comprehension. Thougb a whole school of wise aud thoughtful men had already produced remarkable results and elicited astounding facts by sifting the truth through a tine web of closely logical experiment, it did not follow tbat either Unorna or any other self-convinced, self taught operator coald do moro than grone blindly toward the light, guided by intuition alone, among tbe varied and misleading phe nomena of hvnnoiism. The thought of accent ing the help of one wbo was probably, like most of ber kind, a deceiver of herself, and therefore and thereby of others, was an affront to tho dig nity ot his distress, a desecration of bis love's sanctity, a frivolous invasion ot love's holiest ground. JJUt, on tne oiuer nana, ne was stimu lated to catch at the veriest shadows of possi bility by the certainty that ho was at last with in the same city with her he loved, and be knew tbat lnpnotic subjects' are sometimes able to determine tbe abode of persons whom no one rise can find. 1 o morrow it might be too late. Even before to-day's sun had set Beatrice might be once more taken from him, snatched away to tbo ends of tho earth by her father's ever-changing caprice. To lose a moment now might be to luse all. He was tern ptcd to yield, to resign his will into Unorna's luhdx, and his sight to ber leading, to let ber bid him sleep and see the truth. But then, with a sudden reaction of his individual its', he realized tbat he had another course, surer, simpler, more dignified. Beatrice was In Prague. It was little probable tbat sbe was" permanently established in tbe city, and in all likelihood sbe and ber father were lodged in one qf tho two or three great hotels. To be driven from one to the other of these would be bnt an affair of minutes. Failing -Information from this sonrce. there yet remained theregls ters of the Austrian police, whose vigilance takes note of every stranger's name and dwell ing place. "I thank you," he said, "if all my inquiries fait, and if you will lot me visit you once more to-day, I will then ask your help." "jcou are right," Unorna answered. To os continued next week. TEE LAEGEST BELLS. Montreal and New York Each Has One That Weighs Over Twelve Tons. New England Magazine.! Tho largest bell In America is that of Notre Datoe Cathedral, Montreal, which hangs In the south tower. It is 6 feet high, 8 feet 7 inches in diameter, and weighs 24,760 pounds. It is .ornamented with im ages of tbe Blessed Virgin and St. John the Baptist, together with emblems ot agricult ure, commerce and industry. It was cast in London in 1817. In the opposite tower hangs a chime of ten bells, the smallest weighing 897 pounds, tbe largest 6,011; total 21,696 pounds. Tbe largest bell in the United Statei ii the alarm bell on City Hall. New York, which was cast by Blake, of Boston. It is 6 feet hlgb, 8 feet in diameter and weighs 23,000 pounds, 'SUNDAY: JANUARY ' 18. RUNS ACROSS OUIDA. Lillian Spencer lias Another Start ling Experienco in Italy. THE KOVELIST'S VILLA AND DOGS. Sbe is Beginnintjr to Hide Age's Harks Wiiu Konges and Powders. LIYIKG IN THE SCULPTORS' BTEEET rCOBEESrOJIDBNCa OP THE DlSrJlTCH.1 Florence, Jan. 3. "We are in Florence and we have walked into it. Ob, there is no disputing that fact. Our boots give only too plain evidence of it. It has been a long promenade, good friends, but we don't regret it. Our digestion is superb. "We are bronzed, but it Is a health ful hue, and not as unbecoming as one might suppose. It was midday when we came into blue Florence, sleeping on the banks of the golden Arno, at the foot of the Tuscan hills. Nothing could have been more beautiful than the scene which presented itself. The sun shone full and warm over the steep heights of Fiesole.with its crown of monastic walls and cypresses, and tinged with its yel low radiance, the green slopes sprinkled with villas. The Duomo, that wonder of the world, with its pink, white and purple marbles, shone with dazzling brilliancy in tbe noonday light. Above it shot the huge shell of tbe cupola of Giotto's campanile. Seventy towers once surrounded the walls which encircled Florence. These are for the most,part ruins now, but the city still has her great great stone and iron gates, which are closed at night and which after a certain hour will open to the wayfarer even for a royal bribe. Why they still deem it necessary to prdtect themseives by closing these gates alter having leveled the famous towers which were once, not only a defense, but a glory, is a mystery. A "Little Behind the Times. All in all Florence has not modernized very much. The great bridges, for in stance, are all there unchanged. We walked over the "Poute "Veulno," (unlike any other bridge in the world) and lingered to gaze in the windows of the shops of mosaic and silver ware which line it. Does it not seem odd to walk out into the middle of a river to buy a card case, or a necklace, as the case may be? This bridge is said to date from the time of the Bomans. It was rebuilt at the instigation of one of the medici, so that she could walk from the gillena degli Uffizi" to that of the "Palazzo Pitti," on tho other bank of the Arno, without descending into tbe street. This de tnedioi certainty had an eye to convenience and comfort. She could thus come and go in all kinds of weather and ruu no risk of lost feet or sunstroke. Trust a woman for looking after her com plexion. And an Italian woman especially. Tne climite makes this imperative. One burns almost black: in Italy. And it is a black which will not readily yield to face washes and come off. The signoras know tbis, and they are scrupulously careful. It is easy enough to get a new husband, but a new complexion well, jnst try to get that and see what it will cost youl Tbe signora knows, and she takes no chances. It is not pleasant to be ebony-skinned. One cannot match one's high frocks. And everyone wears thin, summer gowns in Florence. I found fresh milk about as effectual a remedy for tan as anything else. By washing the face in it twice a day, and refraining from all uses of water and soap, it will really work wonders lor tne skin. She Discovers Onion. The first person of interest I met in Flor ence wa3 the world-fame) Ouida. Ouida is quite as interesting as her novels, and not nearly so wicked. Her villa nestles snugly among the Tuscan, hills which hung over the city. Tbey are grand hills these, with olive mounts and vineyards, and orchards of figs. In the noonday sun they shine blue; at sunset pink. Ouida's villa is not pretentions. It is low and rambling, with a square stone court yard shut off by iron gates. The windows open to the floors, and one walks from the dining room and parlors into the gardens. There are some statues hiding among the trees, very creditable statues, but old enough "to know better." Still, one should not be too severe, for it is abont as hot as the conventional hades six hours out of tho twelve. Ouida is, as I suppose everyone knows, unmarried. If she were anyone but herself, I should say frankly that she is a "spin ster." For a person who deals in such "job lots" of lieroe3 as she does this is quite odd. It seems to rue, with so much material at hand, she might nave made herself a fine, handsome young chap; and given him a charming disposition to boot. But sbe hasn't. No, Ouida does notcare about men. She knows them too well. But sbe adores dogs. And no doubt she gets as much amusement out of her pets as we less fortu nate women get out of our husbands. There is this to be said Tor a dog: He is always loving, faithful and good humored when be is awake. He comes when be is called too. And he keeps his engagements. ' Ob, Ouida knows what she is about. And what a jolly lot ol dogs she has to be sure. Fine thoroughbred fellows. And how they love her; and go scrambling along after her, wherever she goes. Ouida's Bogs In Furls. Not long since she was in Paris at a large and expensive hotel. As usual sbe had a half dozen or more dogs witn her. These dogs had their meals served them in her rooms and went every day with her maids for an airing. When her bill was presented each dog was down for full board. The great writer flew into a terrjble rage. The landlord was summoned in haste. "What do vou mean, sir, by daring to preseut me a bill for my dogs." "They are eating and lodging in my hotel, madam." was the reply, "they are therefore guests!" "It is an outrage," Ouida declared, "I will not pay it" "As you please, madam, bit we will keep tbem until you do." "KeeD my dogs," she gasped, "my dogs " "Certainly, madam, that is just what we will do." This was too much to be borne. Ouida, beside herself with rage, dashed of to the railway station and returned to Florence. When she arrived she had cooled down, and her hungry heart ached for her pets. So a servant was dispatched to Paris. He paid the bill, whicb was appalling, bundled up the animals and restored them fo their mis tress. Doggies stop in Florence mostly now; but occasionally tbey go for a trip, and then things are lively, I tell you. The railway guards swear and tear their hair, passengers rebel, servants fly around excitedly but Ouida is calm, bland, nlacid. She pays the fare of her dogs and defies the world. Bravo. Ouidal Age TJas Done Its Work. Time has not passed this distinguished woman by. It has whitened her hair and faded her eyes. She rouges and powders, as what woman does not when she has to, jud dresses rather more vouthlul than is strictly in keeping with good taste. She lutes the Americaus for some reason or other. I think she' has not been fortunate iu her acquaintances among us. She has au idea x that ve are vulgar and slangy and goodness Knows what all. A really ignorant aud common Arnericttn woman was once presented to Ouida at a ball at the bouse of the American Jtliniater in Paris. This woman having overheard some sarcastic allusion relative to her country and its society fall from Ouida's lips, remarked to ber quite loud: "I'm sure you oughtn't to be down on us. Mile, de la ltatnee, we are tbe only people who read your hasty books." I don't know what reply Ouida made to this. I think she must nave fainted. In Florence she holds a good position. As a matter of fact, sbe can go into any society the sees flu Bnt is rich, too. Her books 1891 brine her at least 515,000 a year. Besides this sbe has an income lrom her father, Mr. Todd, or Dodd, or some such un-aristocratic person, who kept a shop in London or some small English town, and departed this world many years ago. leaving his daughter, Miss Todd, or Dodd, or Dobbs, to write naughty books and blossom out into Mile, de la Bamee, alias Ouidal But someone has hinted that I am be coming a gossip. Who ever heard of such an unjust accusation? Street of tho Sculptors. We live in the "Street of the Sculptors." It is not very clean, bnt it is very artistic. To live in the "Street of the Scnlptors" costs' $2 a week. We have a big, bare, barn-like room opening on a loggia. It is brick paved, and situated on the floor described in the police register as "Piano i." Our room has. a brass bedstead, a hard mattrass, two cot ton pillows and a counterpane. It boasts also a sofa (equally hard), three chairs, a dressing case, a bureau and table. There is a narrow strip of carpet alongside the bed to step on when rising. This bit of carpet is a mockery, inasmuch as it is never in its place when it is needed. There are white muslin curtains at the window and a row of flower pots along the ledge. The King and Queen beam down on us from the tinic-stained walls. The landlady, a little pop-eyed old lady who hops about like a kangaroo, bobs her head in the door every half-hour or so to make sure that we have not gone off and taken some of tbe furniture with us. This little signora is the only person we see the first month. She bargains with us for the breakfast, the service, tbe lights, the room. Sbe names a sum, which we take the precaution to have her write down. But when we come to settle, a fierce padrone (whom we have not seen before) materializes. Then the frightened little signora relnses to recognizer her own,figures. It seems it is her business to smile upon tbe. applicant, and take him in at almost any amount that he is willing to pay. The padrone then comes along and proceeds to demand his own terms. Always a lively Scene. We appeal to the signora. We show her her own figures; sbe shrieks out that sbe never saw tbem before. Tben we tell the padrone we will only do business with the signora. The padrone says tbat the signora is a fool, and calls on all tbe saints and devils to bear him out in his statement It is quite lively for a time. The signora swings her hands aud rolls her eves; the 'padrone swears in choice Italian. Then sbe weeps and chokes her into silence, and finally locks her into the kitchen. It goes without saying, tbat we pay the padrone, his price. And in time we even grow accustomed to him. He cheats ns at every turn, but we get accustomed to his dishonesty. There is no redress. AU the padrones wbo rent rooms are the same. So we grin and bear our wrongs and fall into the careles?, lazy, idle life of Florence. We breakfast in our room on "Caffe latte" and rolls; we lunch at a "Trattoria" on white bread, ripe figs and red wine. We dine at a Frenph restaurant The Italian cooking is atrocious. Everything swims in garlic and oil. The beet and mutton is cooked to shreds. The soup floats in cheese. The maccaroni is, of course, excellent. And the chiantt cheap. Dyspepsia on Top Again. But all this notwithstanding, we do not fare well in a culinary way in Florence. My ol'd enemy, "dyspepsia,"" commences to haunt my innocent slumbers. I thought I had "walked him to death" in Belgium. No donbt be was only in a trance and the smell of tbe garlic brought him to life again. Garlic, to my mind, is quite capable of anything. One feasts well on art, however, in Flor ence. There are the galleries of the "TJf fizzi" and Pitti Palace for instance. What more can one ask. Florence is prond, and justly so, of her picture galleries. The po sition which she occupies in the history of art and science is indeed great From the time of Dante Alighieri, author of the "Divine Comedy," down to the present day of top-coats and silk hats, sbe has gone steadily on piling up her treasures. Now she is the storehouse of the masterpieces of past ages.. Along the white, smooth road leading to the "Pitti Palace" we lazily tread our way. The bine sky burns red, and purple and gold. The totters and domes gleam in the riotous light;. The bridges over the sleepy Arno bang like golden bows. Big brown girls leading don keys saunter slowly up the hill or rest ontbe sun-burnt grass by the wayside. Story of Petrarch's "Love. Once a boy went whistling along this road. He met a little girl with a handful of purple figs. Sbe reached out her hand and gave him one as sbe passed. And sbe was Laura, and be he was Petrarch! It was a pretty love story that, but, alas, it ended as such ideal passion mostly docs. Petrarch, of course, loved her with all a poet's ardor. He sung her praises in poems that became world famous. Charles IV., upon being presented to her, asked permission to "kiss the beautilul eyes tbat had been celebrated in such beautilul verse." Laura, on her part, did not return the poet's passiou. She became his friend no more. Her heart she bestowed on one Hugh de Sades, whom sbe married, and by whom she had 11 children, and no doubt grew fat. Oh, Laura, what a small soulcd woman you must have beenl Yet you will always be famous, those 11 youngsters, notwith standing. For you were tbe beloved of Petrarch. Lillian Spencer. THE COMING CHIEFTAIN. Tonne American Horse Who One Say Is to Itule Over the Sioux. New York Illustrated Kews.l Tbis young buck is the only son ot the great Sioux warrior, "American Horse," and tbe pet or the Ogallalla tribe. The little brave is destined some day.in the near future to become chief of the entire Sioux Nation, Wiarlfe American Bone. he being direct descendant of Bed Cloud, the present chief. Although but 7 years old he is a crack shot and rides like a vacaro. In the illustration young "American Horse" is armed with tbe latest model of the United States cavalry carbine. It is just about as long as he is tall. 1 A New Application. Washington Star. J A gallant beau calls a Washington girl's shoe "Wit," beoan.it brevity is the sols of it yjljl! THE BARMAID'S LIFE. Wakeman Finds Nothing to Admire in England's Liquor System. LEADS BRITISH WOMEN TO DRINE And Greatly" Increases tho Fascination of the Saloon for lien. RECRUITED 1I0STLI FROM THE FARM rconBEsroxoixcE or ths dispatcii.i Lokdoit, Esc, Jan. 10. More than nine-tenths or all the tremendous quantity of ale, beer, wine aud liquor annually con sumed by the men, women and children of Great Britain is served by women. There are nearly 200,000 women thus engaged every day in tbe year. These are, as a class, the prettiest and tidiest women in the three kingdoms. Whatever tbeir relations to society at large, they have characters good or bad, manners and morals, interest ing or otherwise, and souls saved or un saved, though the clergy, church societies and missionaries never seem to have troubled themselves about the latter. During the first half of tbe past ten years I had opportunity for frequent study of these British barmaids. During the la,t five years I have been able to closely ob serve them nearly every day and evening o my life. At first thought many may regard them as hardly meriting serious consider ation. It seems to me they are reallv worth talking abont English literature is full of the barmaid. Prose and poetcy are redolent of her. Those rare old fellows who lived, or rather slept, "in chambers" and dined and wined in public houses while making most of tbe books which last, all along down through the seventeenth and eighteenth cen turies, and even as near to us as the first third of tbe present century, seem to have drawn their inspiration largely from the tap-room fount 'Indeed, if we will be wholly honest about it English literature, the sweetest and grandest on earth, and the spigot have ever known close fellowship. The Uarmald in Literature. And even if little stress should be laid upon the matter, we owe to tbe very presence ot tbe barmaids of those days preservation of the sweetest fancier, the "mostsparkling humor, tbe most charming situations, and a no mean number of the most chaste and pathetic incidents known to ballad poetry and fiction. This is not defensive of the barmaid. It is merely historic ci ber effect on and presence in literature. And I have often thought because it was so; because the public house of old and the barmaid of old became British institutions, unconsciously thougb universally grounded in the human heart, tbey have survived civilization and decay. But it is undeniably trne that because the barmaid was long ago elevated into a Brit ish institution through literature; because the older anv sentiment or thing, barring the barmaid herself, is in Britain the more endearingly It is prized; and because your Btitish nobleman or workman will have hi3 wine or "bitter" from the hand of a tap-room divinity, whether all the world like it or not, the prototype of the American "bar tender" i"i here unknown, and 200,000 women serve 20,000,000 British people with their brews and spirits to-day. There are other effects, such as the rapid national increase In the consumption ot liqnors; the increas ing power in politics and legislation of tbe liquor interests; and, worse than all, the startling increase of liquor drinking bv all classes of British women; upon each of which vast and sad volumes mignt be writ ten. But the great host of British barmaids is what the British people like and will have; and, being accounted for, it only re mains to speak ot this particular class as it individually and collectively exists. At the Humbler Inns. Some curious facts have developed on cer tain interesting lines in(my five years' study ot these people in England, Ireland and Scotland. Asa rule, in my wanderings I have sought the bumbler class of inns for housing; not only from motives of comfort, but as best fnrnishing various and vagarous forms of character studyjiiuns on a par, as nearly as can be compared, with our Ameri can hotels of tbe "second class." Coming again and again to many of these, I have secured such friendships and confidences as gained ior me, in many instances, the agree able position of "one of the family" with the inn's host and hostess. Not being fitted by inclination or habit for honors in front of these bars, whicb I have always found gains respect from even those who exist by them, I reached many a snng corner within them. There, in the landlord's or landlady's chair'of honor and state, while apparently reading my mail, or scanning the papers, I have been favored at all hours of the day and night with pictures of life in British "Pubs" as the barrooms attached to inns or restaurants are here universally called; and, during their moments of rest between customers' demands, I have received lrom British barmaids themselves innumerable kindly, honest, and altogether womanly, revelations as to their previous condition, with the mode and motive of tbeir lives. One of the first scries of carefnl inquiries made was in reference to the sources of sun ply of females for this vocation. Who were these bright, handsome, graceful women? What manner of social condition was that iut of which they came? "Whero Barmaids Coma Prom. I do not know whether these averages on about 1,700 will bold true with 200.000. Tbey at least serve as a basis tor reputable conjecture: Daughters of farmers, villagers and of various employes on estates cf tbe British nobility, 760; daughters of small tradesmen,, 214; publicans' daughters, sisters aud other female relatives, 187; fac tory girls, 34; seamstresses and milliners, 83;divorced wives, 11; school mistresses, 72; drapers' and other clerks, 39; telegraph operators and postal employes, b'; actresses, variety and otherwise, 13; cashiers, 28; can vassers, 14; unsuccessful singers and music feathers, 44; mission workers, bad written poems, 6 pamphlets, 4 ballads and 2 books, all of which "had been pub lished," tbe balance of whom migbt be classified as "human various" 39; while 13 had been domestics; 18, scullery maids; 7, governesses, and 3, as nursery maids, originally bad the molding ot tbe minds and morals ot the British youth. 1 took these figures to a very noted En glish thinker, leader and writer, a man" whose name is a familiar one In every news paper and household throughout the English-speaking world. He examined them carefully; seeme'd lost in reflection for a time; ami gave his- views regarding thn sociological study in rapidly-propounded return questions, after our 'true Yankee lashion. The American Representative. "You have a great many women in Amer ica at the present time known as 'agitators' and 'reformers, have you not? And has not each one a mission or scheme, or a di vine call, to gallop, plunge and cavort about, shrieking out all manner ot notes of warning, rcgaramg the enslavement of ber sex? And do not these females sound tim brels, be.it tomtoms and override every thing established, tender and sacred, in an effort to attract attention to themselves, un til the graud, true wives and mothers of your country are whipped into partial in dorsement, the clergy bullied into silence and yonr editors, through a forgivable chiv alry, influenced into lending them a quasi support? "Well, sir, precisely the tafne female, or ratber unfemale, qualities, which, through these mental harridans, are accomplishing the gradual untexing of American women, and the revolutionizing and destruction of the American 'home, are at tbe root of onr cursed barmaid system. It is simply a different'' form of expression of the same original 'evil a feaal passion for wme manner of notoriety. Your over-shrewd and under-principled American female poises and poses, higgles and wriggles along a gamut of 'isms' and 'ists' from female suffrage past a score of reforms to Christian science, theosopby and spiritualism into the capacious bosom' of the Over-Soul itself, meantime pausing anywhere jnst so long as sbe may continue a' disturbing element; ever thrilled and ecstatic over any manner ot notoriety conducing to what she hysteric ally imagines has become a 'career. " Eager for Notoriety. "Onr barmaids are just that sort of mala females; proud of tap-room publicity; eager for tawrdy notoriety; consumed with am bition for a public career. But we are the mo.t fortunate nation. With us, rigid and healthful social limitations force tbesa characters into their proper places at once. Yniir female birds of prey defile and fatten upon your tenderest and most sacred social and domestic institutions. Ours impinga only upon onr lowest national weaknesses." Many will consider tbis British compari son and estimate of our suffering sisterhood as a very severe one. Some will be ungal lant enough to regard it as an unjnst classi fication of British barmaids themselves. As a rule, I have lound tbem hard-working women. Few ever know a holiday. They arc on tbeir feet from 12 to 16 hours per day. AVhatever their natural tendencies, tbey are perforce honest The British bar sys tem is entirely different from ours, and still retains much of the flavor of the old custom of the publican and bis wife sitting in their own private rjom and sewing customers with liquors throngh a little shelf-bottomed window; while the publican, his wife, or some member of bis family, is never absent from tbe bar during business hours. Jo a Sleasore Protected. This is much protection to the personality of the barmaid. Though you may regard her as lost to all moral sense, and tbe sig nificance of words, throngh the endless repe tition of infamous language in her presence by drunken brutes, brainless cads and clever rones, in the main she remains meas ureably iree from rough treatment Tbe modern British bar is practically a walled extension of tbe ancient British bar-window. Tnere is no access to it from tbe publio room. It is as high as your chin. The bar maid herself, behind the silver beer and ale pumps, stands two feet above you, a charm ing study in black, white and carnation a black perfect-fitting gown, a dainty white apron, the glory of the rose in, or on, her cheeks and lips. She is, in fact, just as most men love to see woman; suggestive of domesticity in her raiment, charming in figure and face. But alter a day and evening of banter and wiles, through wbich scores of pockets have been emptied, brains beclouded and her master further enriched, the highest and lowest are remorselessly shnt lrom sight of her smiling face. It is a sad, wearied.' tired face now. She is practically a prisoner there. Sbe lives with tbe publican's fam ily. She goes to a room not fit for a dog's keeping, snatches a tew hours' sleep and ' 3gain at ber post behind the bar to cheer and wheedle tbe trembling drunkards of the early morning hours. Her meals are snatched between ferocious rushes of cus tomers at the bar. Some of the Requirements. She must know everybody; be cognizant of something about everything; have 'a soothing word for rum-bedeviled tempers; placidly listen to discussions of herself like those upon an animal; accept direct and infamous insult with invitation in ber eyes and honeyed words upon her lips; sympa thetically reoeive confidences uf th? most sacred or damuable character; in brief, to tbe end of her days remain a marble "Venus ior the worship and slavery of Bacchus crazed and maddened victims. For all this she receives from 6 to 20 shillings per week and "keep." Some masters provide gowns and aprons. The inconceivable degradation of ber calling can only be hinted at in the statement of tact that there is but one place in Great Britain at the refreshment bar3 of leading rail Trtiy stations where refusal to serve ono wbo insults her would not lead to her im mediate discharge without "a character." The lowest grade in her vocation is among tbe sailors' "Pub," in the slums of Mary lebone, Liverpool and East Eacf, Lonffnu; the highest, in, the gorgeous London Ti est End cales. "" Whero Barmaids End. What becomes of tbem? Many die an early age of lung disease, the result of tneir foul environment Few drift into the un namable classes. Ever seeing the worst side of men, they are, armed, though roughly, against temptation. Some become manageresses of inns, "Pubs," of railway refreshment rooms and cafes wit"a bevy of younger barmaids under tbem, of cheap museums, and all manner of enterprises at seaside resorts. Many marry reputable men, but drift back into their old lives. English nobil ity's ranks have been recruited from tbeir number; and recently a wealthy young American of Baltimore wed one of the most beautilul and good of tbeir kind in the three kingdoms an Irish barmaid at Cork. No honest man can speakjef them unkindly as a class. The power behind them is responsible for the evil they accomplish. That is incalculable. Because of their presence countless British women find it easy to become drunkards. Because of their agreeability. sympathetic kindliness and outright blandishments, all grades and conditions of men are more and more en riching the British dram-shop with all that should preserve and sanctify the British home. Edoak L. Wakeman. ICE MACHINES OF INDIA Bow the Porons Earthen Pots Are Used to Produce Big Blocks. , iwnrrnHi' roa thb dispatch. Of course you know tbat water begins to freeze at 32 degrees above zero, but do yon, know that ice will freeze naturally, under certain conditions, at a temperature of 45 degrees above zero? In parts of Inrlja, where a freezing temperature is rarely 'Ex perienced, the natives secure ice in tbis way: On layers of straw they place shallow porous earthen pots, which tbey fill wi.h water early in the alternaon. These porous parts rednce the temperature ot the water by absorption before night The freez ing point is then reached by radiation, which intensifies the cold, bringing the tem perature to 32 degrees or lower. Iu this way ice is secured in large quanti ties, in thickness more than an inch, and then these layers are frozen into Mocks by water poured over inern. xbus we see tf5 the poor heathen of India, of whom we hear so much, know a thing or two that even soma of us highly enlightened people never dreamed o'. MADAME A. RUPFERT Complexion Specialist. r Mme. A. Baursrfs world-renowned bleach is the only face tenia in the world whlofs gosltlvely removes freckles, moth patch, lackneads, pimples, birthmarks, eczema aad ail blemishes of the skin, and when applied cannot be observed by anyone. The fac bleacn can only be had at my branch office, Ne. 93 Fifth avenue. Hamilton building, rooms, 203 and 204, Pittsburg, or sent to any address on receipt of price. Bold at $2 per bottle, or thre bottles, usually required to clear tbe complex ion. 55. Send cents postage, for full particulars. ocll-au HME. A. BUPPERT. --Se
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers