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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