gsssgsaa "ill 7E F lffP -PJPJP rrsnE 3? -, THE 'PITTSBURG- DISPATCH, SUNDAY. JANUARY 25, 189L- 18 ins no attention to his friend!, last remark. "I do. "What of her'."' Keyork Arabian glanced keenly nt his companion. "What is she? She has au odd name," "As for her name, it is easilv accounted for. She was born on the 29th day of February, the year of her birth being bisex tile. Unor means February, Unorna, de rivative adjective, 'belonging to February.' Someone gave her the name to commemorate the circumstance." "Her parents. I suppose." "Most probablv whoever they may have been." "And what is she?" the WandeTerasked. "She calls herself a witch," answered Keyork with considerable scorn. "I do not kuow what the is, nor what to caliber a sensitive, an hvsterical subject, a medium, a witch a fool, if you like, or a. charlatan if you prefer the term. Beautiful she is, at least, whatever else she may not be." "Yes, she is beautiful." "So you have seen her, have yoa?" The little mau again looked sharply up at bis tall companion. "You have had a consul tation " "Does she give consultations? Is sbe a professional seer?" The "Wanderer asked the question in a tone of surprise. "Do you zueau that she maintains an establishment upon such a scale out of the proceeds of fortune-telling?" "Pdo not mean anything of the sort Fortune-telling is excellent! Very good!" Ke york's bright eyes flashed with amusement. "What are vou doing here I mean in this cburch?" He put the Question suddenly. "Pursuing an idea, if you please to call it so." "Npt knowing what you mean I must please to call your meaning by your own name lor it. It is your nature to be enig matic. Shall we go out? If you stay here much longer I shall be petrified instead of embalmed. I shall turn into dirty old red marble, like Tziho's efiigy there, an awful warning to future philosophers, and an ex ample lor the edification uf the faithful who worship here." Thev walked toward the door, and the contrast between the appearance of the two brought the ghost of a smile to the thin lips of the pale sacristan, who was occupied in renewing the taper, upon one of the side altars. Keyork Arabian might have stood for the portrait ot the gnome king. His high and pointed bead, his immense beard, his stunted but powerful and thick-set limb", his short, sturdy strides, the Cery, half humorous, half-threatening twinkle of his bright eyes gave him all the appearance of a lantastic ngure irom a lairy taie, ana me diminutive height of bis compact frame set off the noble stature and gracelul motion of his companion. "So you were pursuing an idea," said the little man as they emerged into the narrow street, "Sot, ideas may be divided vari ously into claset-, as lor instance, ideas which are good, bad, or indifferent. Or you 'ruav contrast the idea of Plato with ideas anything but platonic take it as you please. Then there is inv idea, which is. in itself. good, interesting and worthy of the embalm ing process, and there is your idea, which I am human enough to consider altogether bad, worthless or frivolous, lor the plain an 5 substantial reason tbat it is not mine. It is certainly not for my welfare that you arc sacrificing 'yourself. Yon admit tnat you are pursuing an idea. Perhaps you are in search of some new and curious form of mildew, and when jou nave found it or somethiug else vou will name your dis covery 'Fungus Praqonsts,' or 'Cryvto gamus Minor A'rrtmfis' 'the Wanderer's toadstool.' But I know jou of old, my good friend. Ibe idea you pursue is not an idea at all, but that specimen of the genus homo known as 'woman, species 'lady,' variety 'true love," vulgar designation 'sweetheart.' The Wanderer stared coldly at his com panion. "ILc vulgarity of the designation is, in deed, only tqualcd by that of sour taste in (electing it," he said slowly. Then he turned away, intending to leave Keyork standing where he was. But the little man had already repented of his speech. He ran quickly to his friend's side and laid one hand upon bis arm. The Wanderer paused and again looked down. "Is it oi any use to be offended with my spee ches? Am I an acquaintance of 3 ester da'.' Do you imagine that it could ever be my intention to annoy you?" The questions were asked rapidly," in tones of genuine anxiety. "Indeed, I hardly know how I could sup pose that. You have always been friendly but I confess your names for things are not alwavs " The Wanderer did not complete the sen tence, hut looked gravely at Keyork; as though wishing to convev very clearly again what he bad before expressed in words. "If e were fellow countrymen, and had our native language in common, we should not so easily misunderstand one another," replied the' other. "Come, forgive my lack of skill, and do not let us quarrel. Perhaps 1 can help you. You may know Prague well, but I know it better. "Will you allow me tu sav that I know also whom it is you are feekinc here?" "Yes. You know. I have not changed since we last met, nor have circumstances favored me." "Tell me have you really seen this Unorna, and talked with her?" "This morning." "And she could not help you?" "I refused to accent her help until I had dune all that was in my power to do." "You were rsb. And have you now done all. and failed?" "I have." "Then, if you will accept an humble sug gestion from me, you will go back to her at once." "I know very little of her. I do not alto gether trust her " "Trost? Power of Eblis or any other powers! Who talks of trust? Does the wise man trust himseli? Xever. Then how can he dare trust anyone else?" "Your cynical philosophy again," ex claimed the Wanderer. 'Philosophy" I am a mysnsoDhist! All wisdom is vatiity, and I hate it! Autology is mv study, autosophy my ambition, au tonomy my pride. I am the great Panego ist, the would-be conservator of self, the in spired prophet of the universal L I I 1! My creed has but one word and that word but one letter; that letter represents unity, and unity is strength. I am I one, indi visible, central! O I! Hail, and live for ever!" Again the little man's rich bass voice rant: out in mellow laughter. A very faint smile appeared upon bis companion's sad face. "You are happy, Keyork," he said. "You 'must be, since you can laugh at yourself so honestly." "At myself? Vain man! I am laughing at you and at every one else at everything except myself. Will you go to Unorna? You need' not trust ber any more tbau the natural infirmity of your judgment sug gests." "Cau you tell me nothing more of her? Do vou know her well?" "She doei not offer ber help to every one. You would have done well to accept it in the first instance. You may not find her in the same humor again." "I had supposed from what vou said of her that she made a profession of clairvoy ance, or hypnotism, or mesmerism what ever may be the right term nowadays." "It matters very little,"answered Keyork gravelv. "I used to wonder at Adam's in genuitv in naming all living things, but I think he would have made but a poor fig ure in r. tournament of modern terrdinolo gists. IVo. Unorna does not accept re muneration for her help when she vouch safes togieit." "And yet I was introduced to ber pres ence without even giving my name." "That is her fancy. She-will see any one who wishes to see her, beggar, gentleman or prince. But she only answers such ques tions as sbe pleases to answer." "That is to say, inquiries for which she is already prepared with a reply," suggested the "Wanderer. "See for yourself. At all,e vents she is a very interesting specimen. I have never known anyone like her." Keyork Arabian was silent, as thongh he were reflecting upon Unorna's character and peculiar gifts betore describing them to bis friend. Bis ivory features softened almost iroperceptiblv, and bis sharp blue eyes sud denly lost their sight, as though they no longer saw the outer world. But the Wari derer cared for none of these things, and be stowed no attention upon his companion's lace. He preferred the little man's silence to his wild talk, Tiut he was determined, if possible, to extract some further informa tion concerning Unorna, and before many seconds had elapsed he interrupted Kevork's meditations with a question. "You tell me to see for myself," he said. I would like to know what I am to expect. Will vou not enlighten me?" "What?" asked the other, vaguely, as though roused from sleep. "If I go to Unorna and ask a consultation of her, as though she were a common som nambulist, and if she deigns to place her powers at my disposal, what sort of assist ance would I most probably get?" Thev had been walking slowly forward, and Keyork again stopped, rapping the pavement with his iron-shod stick, and' looking up from under bis bushy, overhang ing eyebrows. "Of two things one will happen," he an swered. "Either she will bersell fall into the abnomal state and will answer correctly any questions you put to her, or she will hypnotize you a"nd you will yourself see what you. wish to set" "I myself?" "You yourself. The peculiarity of the woman is ber duality, her double power. She can, by an act of volition, become hyp notic, clairvoyante whatever you choose to call it. Or, if her visitor is at all sensitive, she can reverse the situation and piny the part of the bypnotiscr. 1 never heard of a like case." "After all, I do not see why it should not be so," said the Wanderer thoughtfully. "At all events, whatever she can do, is evidently done by hypnotism, and such ex traordinary experiments have succeeded of late" "I did not say that there was nothing but hypnotism in ber process." "What then? Magic?" The Wanderer's lip curled scornfully. "I do not know," replied the little man, speaking slowly. "Whatever her secret may be, she keeps it, even when speaking in sleep. This I can tell you. I suspect that there is some other being, or person, in that queer old house of hers whom sbe consults on gnvc questions. At a loss for an answer to a difficult scientific question, I have known her to leave the room and come back in the course of a few minutes with a reply much I am posi tives she conld never have Iramed herself.'' "felie may have consulted books," suggested the Wanderer. MI am an old man." said Keyork Arabian, suddenly. "I am a very old man: there are not manv books which I have not seen and partially read at one tune or at another, and my memory is surprisingly good. I have excellent reasons for believing that her information is not got from anything that was ever written or printed." "May I ask of what generalnature your ques tions were?" inquired the other, more inter ested than he had hitherto been in the conver sation. They referred to the principles of embalm ment." "Much has been written about that, since the davsof the Egyptians." "The Egyptians!" exclaimed Keyork with great scorn. "They embalmed their dcad.af ter a fashion. Did ou ever hear that tbev em balmed the livings.' The little man's ejes'shut fire. "No,nor will I believe in any such outrageous impossibilities! If that is all. I have little faith in Unorna's mysterious counselor." "The faith which removes mountains is gen erally gained by experience when it is gained at all, and the craving for explanition takes the place, in some mind:, of a willingness to learn. It is not my business to find explana tions, nor to raise mv little self to vour higher level, by standing noon this curbstone, in order tu deliver a lecture in the popular form, npon matters that interest me. It is enough that I have found what I wanted. Go and do likewise. bee for yourself. You have nothing to lose and every thing to gain. You are unhappy, and nnhappinoss Is dangerous, in rare cases fatal. If you tell me to-morrow that Unorna is a charlatan, j 011 will be in no worse plight than to-day, cor will your opinion of her iulluenco mine. If she helps you to find what you want so much the better for you how muca the better, and how great the risk jou run, are questinns for your judgment." "I will go." answered the Wanderer, after a moment's hesitation. "Very good," said Keyork Arabian. "If you want to find me again come to my lodging. Do you know the house of the Black Mother of God?" "Yes there is a legend about a Soanish pic ture of our Lady onco preserved there " "Exactlr. it takes its name from that black picture. It is on the corner of the Fruit Mar ket, over against the window at which the Princess Windischgratz was shot. I live in the upper story. Goodby." 'Gooaby." h CHAPTER IV. After tho Wanderer had left her, Unorna con tinned to Ifold In her hand the book she had again taken up, following tho printed lines mechanically from left to right, from the top of the page to the foot. Having reached that point, however, she did nit turn OTer the leaf. She was vaguely aware that sue had not under stood the sense of the words, and she returned to the place at which she had begun, trying to concentrate her attention upon the matter, moving her iresh lips to lorm the syllables, and bending her brows in the effort of understand ing, so that a short, straight furrow appeared, like a sharp, vertical cur, extending from be tween the eyes to the midst of the broad fore head. One. two and three sentences she grasped and comprehended; then her thoughts wandered again, and the groups of letters passed meaningless before her sight. She was acenstomed to directing her intelligence with out any perceptible effort, ana she was annoyed at thus being led away from her occupation, against her will and in spite of her determina tion. A third attempt showed her that it was useless to force herself any longer, and wilh a gesture and look of irritation she once more laid the volume upon the table at her side. During a few minutes sbe sat motionless in her chair, ner chin supported upon the back of ber hair-closed liana, of which tho heavy, per fect fingers were turned inward, drooping In classic curves toward the lice about her throat Her strangely mismatched eyes stared vacantly toward an imigmary horizon, not bounded by banks of flowers, nor obscured by the fantastic foliage of exotic trees. Presently she held np her head, her white hand dropped npon her knee, she hesitated an instant, and then rose to her feet swiftly, as though she had made a resolution and was about to act upon it. She made a step forward, and then paused again, while a halt-scornful smile passed like a shadow over her fac. Very slowly, she began to pace the marble floor, up and down in the open space before her chair, tnrning and turning again, the sAf t folds of her white gown following her across the smooth pavement with a gentle, sweeping sound, such as the breeze makes among flowers in spring. Is it her' sbe asked aloud in a voice ringing with the joy and the fear of a passion that has waited long and is at last approaching the ful fillment ot satisfaction. No answer came to her from among the thick foliage nor in the scented breath of the violets and the lilies. The murmuring song of the lit tle fountain alone disturbed the stillness, and the rnstle of her own garments as she moved. "Is it he? Is it be? Is it her' she repeated again and a gain, in varying tones, chiming tho changes of hope and fear, nf certainty and vacillation, of sadness and of gladness, of eager passion and of chilling douut. Sbe stood still, staring at the pavement, her finger clasped together, the palms of her hands turned downward, her arms relaxed, bhe did not see the dark red squares of marble, alter, nating with tho white and the gray, but as she looked a face and a form rose before her, in the contemplation of which all her senses and faculties concentrated themselves. The pale and noble head grew very distinct in her inner sight, the dark, gray eyes gazed radly upon her, the passionate features were fixed in the expression of a great sorrow. "Are you indeed her' she asked, speaking softly ana doubtfully, and yet unconsciously projecting her strong will npon the vision, as though to force it to give the answer for which she longed. And the answer came, Imposed by the effort of her imagination upon the thing imagined. The face suddenly became luminous, as with a radiance within itself, the shadows of grief Kafha Faced Her Resolutely. melted away, and In their place trembled the rising light of a dawning love. The lips moved .and the voice spoke, not as it bad spoken to her lately, but in tones long familiar to her in dreams by day and night. 'I am he. I am that love for whom you havo waited, you are that dear one wbotn I have sought throughout the world. The hour of our joy has struck, the new life begins to-day, ami there shall be no end." . Unorna's arms went out to grasp tbeshadow, and sbe drew it to her in her fancy and kissed its radiant face, "A'a veky vekuv! To ages of ages!" she cried. Then she covered her eyes as though to im press the sight they had seen npon the mind within, and, groping blindly for her chair, sank back Into her seat. But the mechanical effort of will and memory could not preserve the image. In spite of all inward concentration of thought. Its colors faded, its Ontllnes trembled, grew faint and vanished, and darkness was in its place. Unorna's hand drooped to her side, and a quick throb of pain stabbed her through ana through, agonizing as tho wound of a blunt and jagged knife, though it was gono almost before she knew where sbe had felt ir. Ilien her eyes flashed with unlike fires, the one dark and passionate is the light of a black diamond, the other keen and daring as the gleam of bluo steel in the snn. "Ah. but I will!" she exclaimed. "And what I will-shall be." As thongh she were satisfied with the promise thus made to herself, she smiled, Tier eyelids drooped, the tension of her frame was relaxed and she sank again into the indolent attitude in which the Wanderer had found her. A mo ment later the distant door tnrned softly upon its hinges and a lignt footfall broke tho still uess. Tlicre was no need for Unorna to speak in order that the sound of her voico might guide the newcomer to ber retreat. The foot steps approached swiftly and surely. A young man of singular beauty came out of the green shadows and stood beside the chair in the open spice. Unorna betrayed no surprise as she looked up into her visitor's fice. She knew it well. In form and feature the south represented the noblest type nf the Hebrew race. 'It" was im possible to see him without thinking of a jonng eagle of the mountains, eager, swift, sure, in. stinct with elasticity, tar-sighted arid untiring, strong to grasp and to hold, beautiful with the .gloss v and unruffled beauty of a plumage cop tinually smoothed in the sweep anu the rush of hicb, bright air. Israel Kafka stood still, gazing dqwn upon the woman he loved, and drawing his breath hard between his parted II pi. His piercing ej es devoured everv detail of the sight before bim, while the dark blood rose in his leap, olive cheek, and the veins of his temples swelled with the beating of his quickened pulse. "Well?" , . The single, indifferent word received the value of a longer speech from the tone in which it was uttered, and from tho look and gesture which accompanied It. UnornaV yotco was gentlo, soft, half-indolent, half.qaressing. half expectant and halt-careless. There was some thing almost insolent iu its assumption of supe riority, which was borne out by the little defiant tapping of two long, white fingers upon tho arm ot the carved chair. And yet. with the" rising inflection uf the monosyllable there went a rising of tho brow?, a sidelong glance of the ejes, a slowly wreathing smile that enrved the fresh lips just enough to unmask two per fect teeth, all of which lent to the voice a mean ing, a familiaiity, a pliant possibility or favor able interpretation. Jit rather to flatter a hope than to chill a passion. The blood beat more fiercely In the young man's veins, his black eyes gleamed yet more brightly, his pale, hign-curved nostrils quivered at every breath be drew. The throhbings of his heart unseated his tbonghts and strongly took possession of the government of his bodv. Under au irresistible impulse be fell unon his knees before Unorna, covering her marble hand with all his lean, dark fingers, and pressing his forehead upon them as though he had found and grasped all that could be dear to him in life. "Unorna! My golden Unorna!" he cried, as he knelt. Unorna looked down upon bis bent beadT The smile faded from her face, and for a moment a look of hardness lingered there, which gave way to an expression of pain and regret. As though collecting her thoughts she closed her eyes, as sne tried to draw Dack her hand; then as he held it still, she leaned back and spoke to him. "Yon have not understood me," she said, as quietly as she could. The strong fingers were not lifted from hers, but the white face, now bloodless and trans parent, was raised to hers, and a look of such fear as sho had never dreamed of was In the wide black eyes. "Not understood t' he repeated In startled, broken tones. Unorna sizbed. and tnrned awav.f or the slzht hurt ber and accused her. "No, you have not understood. Is it my fault ? Israel Kafka, that baud is not yours to hold." "Not mine? Unorna !" "Yet he could not quite believe wthat sho said. "I am in earnest," she answered, not with out a lingering tenderness in tho intonation. "Do s ou think I am jesting with you or with myself?" Neither of tho two stirred dnring tho silence which followed. Unorna sat quite still, staring fixedly into the green shadows of the foliage, as though not daring to meet the gaze she felt upon her. Israel Kafka still knelt beside her, motionless and hardly breathing, like a danger ous wild animal, startled by an .unexpected cnemv and momentarily paralyzed in the very act of springing, whether backward in flight or forward in the teeth of tho foe. It is not possi ble to guess. "I have been mistaken." Unorna continued at last. "Forgive forget " Israel Kafka rose to his feet and drew back a step from her side. All his movements were smooth and graceful. The perfect man is most beautiful in motion, the perfect w oman in re pose How easy it is for you!" exclaimed the Moravian. "How easyl How simple) You call me and I come. You let your ej es rest on me. and I kneel before you. You sigh, and I speak words of love. You lift your hand, and I crouch at your feet. You frown and I humbly leave you. How easj I" "You aro wrong, and you speak foolishly. You are angry, and you do not weigh your words." "Angry! What have I to do with so common a madnes as anger? I am more than angry. Do you think lhat because I have submitted to the 'veering gusts of your good and evil hu mors theso many months, 1 have lost all con sciousnessof myseli? Do you thiuk that you can blow upon me as upon a feather, from east and west, from north and soutb,ho:ly or coldly, as your unstable nature moves you? Have 3 ou promised me nothing? Hare you given me no hope? Have you said and done nothing whereby you are bound? Or can no pledge bind you, no promiso find a foothold in your slippery memory, no word oT jours havo mean ing for those who bear it?" "I never gave jou either pledge or rromise," answered Unorna in a harder tone. "The only hope I have ever extended to you was this, that I would one day answer you plainly. I have done so. You are not satisfied. Is there anything more to be said? I do not bid you leave my house forever, any more than 1 mean to drive vou from my friendship." "From your friendship. Ah, I-tbank you, Unorna, I most humbly thank youl For the mercy you extend in allowing me to linger near yon. lam grateful! Your friend, you say? Ay, truly, your friend and servant, your servant and your slave, your slave and sour dog. Is the fnend impatient and dissatisfied with his I017 A soft word shall turn away bis anger. Is the servant over-presumptuous? Your scorn will soon teach him his duty. Is the slave diso bedient? Blows will cure him ot his faults. Does your dog fawn npon you too familiarly? Thrust him from you with your foot and he will cringe and cower till you smile again. Your friendship I have no words for thanks!" Take it, or take it not as you will." "Unorna glanced at his angry face and quiikly looked away. Take it? Yes, and mnre too, whether you will give it or not.'' answered Israel. Kafka, moving nearer to her. "Yes. Whether you will, or whether you will not fwil! have all, your friendship, your love, your- life, your breath, your soul all or nothing!" "You are wise to suggest the latter alter native as a possibility." said Unorna, coldly, and not heeding his approach. The young man stood still, and folded his arms. The color had returned to his face, and a deep flush was rising under hiSjOlive skin. "Do you mean what you sayC he asked slowly. "Do you mean that 1 shall have not all, bnt nothing? Do you still daro to mean that, after all that has passed between you and met' Unorna raised her eyes and looked steadily into his. "Israel Kafka, do not speak to me of dar inc." But the young man's glance did not waver. The angry expression of his features did not relax. lie neither drew back nor bent his head. Unorna seemed to be exerting, ail the strength of ber will in the attempt to dominate him, but without result In the effort she made to concentrate her determination ber faco grew pale and her lips trembled. Kafka faced her resolutely, his eyes ou fire, the rich color mantling in his cheeks. "Where isyour power now?" he asked sud denly. "Where is your witchery? You are only a woman, after all you aro only a weak woman." Very slowly he drew nearer to her side, his lithe flrnro Pending a little as be looked down upon her. Unorna leaned far back, withdraw ing her face from his as far as she 'could, but still trying to impose her will upon him. "You cannot," he said between his teeth, answering ber thought. Men whohave tamed wild beasts alone know what such a moment Is like. A hundred times tho brave man has held the tiger spellbound, and crouching under his cold, fearless gaze. Unorna grasped the arms of hor chair as thongh seeking for physical support in her ex tremity. She conld not yield, ief ore her eyes aroie a vision nnlike the reality in all its re spects. Sho saw an older f dee, a taller figure, a look of deeper thought between her and the angry man who was trying to conquer ber re. slstance with a glance. Between hor nd her mistake the image of what should be stood out, bright, vivid and strong. A 'new conviction had taken the place ot tbe"old, f,teal passion was flaming upon the altar whereon sbe had fed with dreams the semblance of a sacred fire. "You do not really love me," she said softly. Israel Kafka started, as a man who is struck unawares. The monstrous untrnth which filled the words broke down his guard, sodden tears veiled the penetrating sharpness of his gaze, and his hand trembled. " "I do not love you? I! Unorna Unorna!" The first words broke from him in a cry of horror and stupefaction. But her name, when he spoke it, sounded as the death moan of a young wild animal wounded beyond all power totumatbay. He moved unsteadily and laid hold of the tall chair in which sbe sat. He was behind her now, standing, but bending down so that his forehead pressed his fingers. He could not bear to look upon her hair, still less upon her face. Even his bands were white and blood less. Unorna could hear his quick breathing Just above ber shoulder. She sat quite still, and her lips were smiling, though her brow was thoughtful and almost sad. She knew that the struggle was over and that she bad gained the mastery, though the price of victory might he a brnkeu heart. "You thought I was jesting," sho said in a low voice, looking before ber into the deep foliage, but knowing tbat her softest whisper would reach him. "But there was no jest in what I said nor any nnkindness In what I meant, though it Is all mv fault. But that Is true you never loved me as I would bo loved." "Unorna " "No I am not unkind. Your love is young, fierce. Inconstant; half terrible, half boyish; aflame to-day, asleep to-morrow: ready to turn Into hatred at one moment, to melt into tears at the next; intermittent, unstable as water, fleeting as a cloud's shadow on tho mountain side " 1 "It pleased yon once." said Israel Kafka in broken tones. "It is not less love, because you aro weary of it, and of me." "Weary, yon sav? No, not weary and very truly not of vou. You will bellevo that to-day. to-morrow you will still try to force life into your belief and then it will be dead and gone like all thoughts which havo never entered into the shapes of reality. Wo havo not loved each other. We. have but fancied tbat it would be sweet to love, and the knif 0 of truth has parted the web of our dreams, keenly, in tho midst, so that wo see before us what is, though tho ghost ot what might havo been lsyet lingering near." "Who wove that web, Unorna? Yon, or I?" He lifted bis heavy eyes and gazed at her collad hair. "What matters it whetherit was your doing or mine? But we wove it togother and to gether we must see the truth" "If this is true, there is no more 'together' for you and mc'r "We may yet .glean friendship in the fields where love has grown." "Friendship the very word is a wound i Friendship the very dregs and lees of the wine of life I Friendship the sour draimngs of the heart's cup, left to moisten the lips of the damned when the blessed have drunk their fill. I hate the word, as I hate the thought I" Unorna sighed, partly, perhaps, that he might hear the sigh and put upon it an interpretation soothing to his vanity, but partly, too, from a sincere regret tbat be should need to suffer as he was evidently suffering. She had half be lieved that sbe loved him. and she owed him pity. Women's hearts pay such dents unwill ingly, but they do pay them, nevertheless, bhe wished tbat she had nover set eyes upon Israel Kafka, she wished tbat she might never see him again; even bis death would hardly have cost ber a pang, and yet sho was sorry for bim. Diana, the huntress, shot her arrows with unfailing aim Diana, the goddess, may have sighed and shed one bricht immortal tear, as sbe looked into the fast glazing eyes of the djing stag may not Diana, the maiden, have felt a touch of human sympathy ami pain as she listened to the deep note ot her hounds baying on poor Acteon's track ? No one Is all had, or all good. No woman is ail earthly, nor any gottdess all divine. "I am sorry." said Unorna. "You will not understand" "I have understood enough I have under stood that a woman can have two face, and two hearts, two minds, two souls it is enouch, my understanding need go no farther." You sighed before you spoke. It was not for me it was for iour-elf. You never felt pain or sor row for another." Ho was trying to grow cold and to find cold words to say, which might lead her to believe him stronger than he was and able to master hisgrief. But he was too sounir. too hot. too changeable for such a part. Moreover, in his ) urak Tiuieub uuiuieitk, unurua Mau uoiuinateu him, and he could not now regain tho ad vantage. "You are wrong, Israel Kafka. You would make me less than humin. If I sighed, it was indeed for -ton. See I confess tbat I have done you wrong, not in deeds, but In letting you hope. Truly, I myself have hoped also. 1 have thought tbat the star ot love was trem bling Inst below the east and that you and I might be one to another what we cannot be now. My wiSuom has failed me, my sight has been deceived am I the only woman in this world tbat has been mistaken? Can you not forgive? If 1 had promised, if I had said one word and yet, you are right, too, for Ihave let you think in earnest what has been but a passing dream of my own thoughts. It was all wrong, it was all my fault there. lay jour hand in mine and say that you forgive, as I ask forgiveness." He was still standing behind her, leaning against the back of berchair. Witboat looking round she raised her hand abovo her shoulder as though seeking for his. But he would not take it, "Is it so hard?" she asked softly. "Is it even harder for you to give than for meto ask? Shall we part like this not to meet again each bearing a wound, when both might be whole? Can yon not say a Word?" 'What is it to you whether I forgive you or not?" "Since I ask It, believe tbat it is much to me," sbe answered, slowly turning her head until, without catching sight of his face, she could just see where his flncers were resting on her chair. Ilien, over her shoulder, she touched them, and drew them to her cheek. Ho made noresisiance. "Shall we part without one kind thought?" Her voice was softer still and so low and sweet that it seemed as though the words were snoken in the ripple of the tiny fountain. There was magic in tbe place, in the air. in the sounds, above all in tbe fair woman's touch. "is this lriendship?" asked Israel Kafka. Then he sank upon his knees beside her and looked up Into ber face. "It is friendship yes why not? Am I like other women?" Then why need there be any parting?" "If you will be my friend, there need bo none. You have forgiven me now I seo it in your eyes. Is it not truer Ho was at her feet, passive at last under the superior power which he had never been able to resist. Unorna's fascination was upon him. and he could only echo ner words, as he would have executed her slightest command, with conscionsness of free will or individual thought. It was enough that for one moment bis anger should cease to give life to his resistance, it was sufficient that Unorna should touch him thus, and speak softly; his eyelids quivered and his look became fixed, his strength was ab sorbed in hers and incauabie ot acting except under her airection. So long as sbe might please tbe spell would endure. -Sit besido me, now, and let us talk," she said. Like a man in a dream, he rose and sat down near her. Unorna langhed.'and there was something in the tone tbat was not good to bear. A moment earlier it would have wouuded Israel Kafka to the quick and brought the hot, angry blood to bis face. Now he laughed with her. vacantly as though not knowimr tbe cause of bis mirth. "You are only my slave, after all," said Unorna. scornfully. "lam only your slave, after all," he re peated. "I could touch you with my hand, and you wonld hate me, and forget that you ever loved me." This time the man was silent. There was, a contraction of nain in bis face, as though a violent mental struggle were going on within hint. Unorna tapped tbe ptvement impatiently with her foot and bent her broMS. - "You would hate me and forget that you ever loved, "she repeated, dwelling on each word as though to impress it upon his con sciousness. "Sav it. I order you." The contraction of his features disappeared. "I should bate you and forget that I ever loved yuu," he said, slowly. ."You never loved me." "1 never loved you." Again Unorna laughed, and he joined in her laughter, unintelligent!-, as he had dono be fore, (she leaned back in her seat, and her face grew grave. Israel Kafka sat motionless in his chair, staring at her with unwinking eyes. But his gaze did not disturb her. There was no more meaning in it than in the expres sion of a marble statue, far less than In tbat of a painted portrait. But there was a doubt now, which constantly rose between her and it, the dark and shapeless shadow of a reasoning sho hated and yet knew to be strong. "I must ask bim." sbe said unconsciously. "You must ask him?" repeated Israel Kafka from his seat. For tbe third time Unorna laughed aloud, as She beard the echo of her own words. "Whom shall I ask?" she Inquired contemptu ously, as she rose to ber feet. iThe dull, glassy eyes sought hers in painfnl perplex! tj, following ber face as she moved. "I do not know," answered the powerless man. Unorna came close to, him and laid her hand npon his head. "Sleep, until I wake you," she said. The evelids drooped and closed at her com mand, and instantly the man's breathing be came heavy and regular. Unorna's full lips curled as she looked down at him. "And you would be my mister!" she ex claimed. Then sbe turned and disappeared among the plants, leaving him alone. To Be Continued Next Sunday. A Cote Baby. - N New York Sun.: Caller And this is the new baby. Fond Mother Isn't he splendid? Caller Yes, Indeed. Food Mother And so bright! See how intelligently he breatheil GETTING TEE START. Two Great Stumbling Blocks Tbat Lie in the Path to Religion. HYPOCRITES IN THE CHUECH And a Feeling of Unfitness, Personally, the First Obstacles Met. ANALYSIS EI THE, KEY. AID. HODGES rwnrrrijr ron tub dispatch.! There are two stumbling-stones which vex the feet of beginners in religion. I would there were no more than two) Ibe whole way, o'n both sidesof the gate of entrance, is set-about, and narrowed, and encumbered with difficulties. Especially at the begin ning. By and by, as tbe habits of the spir itual life are formed, and the soul gets used to facing temptation and climbing obstacles, and the light of heaven shines clearer" and nearer along the path, tbe way gets easier. But it is hard at the beginning. There are questions, and problems, and hard lessons and persuasions of the devil. It is with re ligion as with every other habit or knowl edge. It is begun with tbe initiation ot difficulty. Anybody who expects to begin religion at the eud is going to be disapt pointed. "Whoever waits to start out in tbe religious life with the wisdom of St. Paul and with the love of St. John, will wait a long time. Children begin literature with the primer, not with Plato; and music not with Beetboven but with scales and exer cises. And tbe primer is a great deal harder at tbe beginning than Plato is after awhile; and tbe notes which takes two fingers are longer in tbe learning than the pages which take ten. The religious life by which I mean the conscious and definite living of it, beginning with the pnblic confession of Christian allegiance tbe religious life be gins amid tbe stumbling stones. Two Obstacles at the Outset. And of these there are two which lie so close to the beginning that they are even outside the gate, and the beginner in relig ion comes to them almost before he begins.and sometimes, atsightof them, turns back, and never begins at all. "I am not good enough" is inscribed upon one of these stumbling stones. "Other people are not good enough" is placarded upon the other. Commonly the second of these comes first. The possible disciple is kept back by the un Christlikenesi of Christians. I want to speak this morning about these two obstacles. Let ns see it we cannot somehow get them out of the road. There is no use denying that some people in the church are not as good as they "ought to be, and the beginner in religion knows these people better than the parish priest does, because he sees them between Sundays, and in their working clothes. The beginner in religion sees a great deal. And, very often, the little things trouble him more than the bi? ones. Little falsehoods; little, petty, mean cheats and over-reachings and dishonesties; little offenses against perfect reverence and perfect puritv; little infirmi ties of temper these he discovers in the life of some church-member every day, and the sight turns him against religion. He mutters '"Hypocrisy!" under his breath, and has his opinion of the Christian church. Effect of a Personal Wrong. All this is emphasized when tbe outsider is himself personally wronged, defrauded, meanly treated, spoken against bv some in sider. He looks out of his window, and one passes by, serenely and righteously on his way to churcb, who on Friday stole a hun dred dollars out of his pocket by some sort of smart theft. There he goes to say his Christian prayers, and to put twenty-five cents out of that hundred dollars into the alms basin, and to partake of the sacrament ut the Lord s bupper. The looker-on sits down and stays at home. This, however, is inevitable. Again and again, good, earnest, zealous men hare tried to found a church to which nobody could belong but absolutely perfect saints. They never have succeed'ed. The sinners have somehow evaded all the examinations, and gained membership. The devil has sown tares among tbe wheat. Judas was a cburch member when there were but twelve in the congregation, and the minister was the Lord Uhnst Himself. It is well that we should all he mindful of the grave responsibilities of chnrch mem bership. It is well that we should often consider what sort ot lives we ought to live who do actually, among our acquaintances who are outside the churcb, represent to them the Christian religion. We are epistles, known and read by all men. We cannot belp it. We are like cities set upon the summit of the hills we cannot be bid. We will surely be held accountable for every soul whom we have kept back out of the church by our disobedience to our Mas ter. Tbe only dangerous enemy which the Christian religion has is an unworthy Chris tian. We ought to think often and seri ously about these grave responsibilities. Not for Saints Alone. Nevertheless it is true to-day, and will re main true till Christ's kingdom comes, that the Church is composed of "saints," just as tbe congregations were at Home and Corinth "called to be saints, but not always an swering. It must needs be that offenses come that is inevitable; though woe to tbat man by whom the offense cometh. What shall we say then to him who de clares that he would join tbe cburch if all tbe members of the church were saints? We might say to him that he would very likely be as much out of place in such celestial company as the rest of us would. We might remind bim that the chnrch is not, and never has been, :tnd never will be, a club for the spiritual aristocracy, into which nobody shall be admitted unless he be attired in all the purple and fine linen of the garments of holiness. That is not what the church is for, at all. The church is meant for the ragged people, too. "The Lord added daily to the church such as were being saved." Some of them were, no doubt, only at the very beginning of salva tion. They bad just started in their fight with Ibe devil. Without a doubt he would down them a hundred times belore they got him under their feet finally. But tbe Lord did not wait for that. All whowere "being sived" were let in. The church is not a soldiers' home for spiritual veterans who have been, through all tbe religious wars and have now no battles more to fight. The church is called the church "militant" because it is Meant to be an Army. The people in it are supposed to be set against the evil 01' tbe world, in their own hearts first. But the church is not an "ever victorious" army. Somebody is always get ting defeated. But everybody who is an our side, and is willing to help in our crusade against the devil we will make a recruit ol ' him. The church is sometimes called our "mother," because she teaches us and trains ns. But we are dull and refractory pupils, a good many of us. However, if anybody wants to learn, wants to be trained to resist temptation and to follow righteousness, wants to be instructed in the truth of God, he may come in. The church is really not meant for the saints, at all. There will be no church iu heaven, such as we have here. St. John came back Irom bis glimpse into that celes tial country, and reported that he could Music of a War .y " , y . y n - n m-gpa uf" " - discover no chnrch spire through all the length and breadth of It. "I saw no temple there," he sard. There is no room in the chnrch for saints. We have nothing here which we can oiler to snch high company. Saints have no need of sermons; saints have no need of sacraments. The church is meant for sinners. If anybody is conscious of unworthiness, sadly aware that the ideal life is very different from his, knows how hard it is to resist evil, and how difficult it is to learn the real truth of God, and feels the need of belp, the church is the place for him. It's a Personal Matter. The best thing to say to tbe beginner in re ligion who is met at the outset by tbe un Christlikeness of Christians, is that which our Lord said to Peter, when Peter, who was beginning to follow after him, turned about and saw another disciple also follow ing, and asked a question about bim. Our Lord said, "What isthat to thee? follow thou Me." If you are tempted to ask questions about other disciples, the Lord asks this question of you: What is that to thee? This one is dishonest, that one is bitter-tongucd, these are unworthy, those are un-Christlike. Well, take them for warnings, then. First of all, remember that God knows their hearts, and is acquainted with their temptations, and is aware of all the efforts which tbey make or don't make, and hears them at tbeir prayers; and you are quite on the outside. Perhaps you are right in your stern judgment. Perhaps you are as mistaken as other people are mistaken in the hard thoughts' they have of vou. And then remember that 'Christ is the real church, and that He has set His face against all wrong-doing, and, chiefest of all, against wrong-doing which wears a Sunday face, and lor a pretense makes long prayers' chiefest and sternest against that. He will take care of all the Pharisees. You need not trouble yourself about them. "Follow Me," He says "What is that to thee?" The Question of Benefit. The thing to be decided is wbetber join ing the churcb is tbe best thing, or not the best thing, that you cau do. Whether other people have proved to be good church mem bers or bad, has really nothing to do with it. If there is a question about joining an army, the question is not decided for any thought ful man by assuring him that there are a great many rascals in the ranks. What is the army fighting for? What is the cause which they are contesting or de fending? If tbe cause is a righteous one and ouht to win, why tbe more bad soldiers there are in the camp the more need there is of a good soldier, who will do some stout fighting; and though tho new recruit should find himself, like the neophyte pf Dore's picture, in strange company, tbat will not deter him. Are there any 'bad Christians? Well, then, if yon believe that the canse of Christ ought to win in this world, come in, and be a good Christian. ISo good work can be done on any wide scale for the uplifting of men without co operation, without hearty and whole-souled co-operation. We want the help of every good man and woman in tbe world. If there is a question about joining a class for some special stndy. tbe question is not decided for any earnest seeker after truth, by showing him tbat sev eral members ot tbe class are lazv, and not learning anvthing. What is that to him? Can he himself learn anything? Is there an efficient teacher? Is'there a helpful lesson? Question of Personal Fitness. But "I am not good enough." That is the other stumbling stone. Let the other people go; they may be bad or good. At least, I know myself. I am not good enongh to join the churcb. Net not if the church is a club of saints. But it is not. Tbe cburch is a great association of sinner?. Arn't yon a sinner? The chief difference between the sinners outside the church and the sinners inside the cburch is, tbat those who are inside confess, by tbeir position, that they want to be helped out of their sin. The others do not say that. Here is a great crowd of people listening to the message of the Apostles, and at the end of tbe sermon some stay and some go away. Those who stay, stay that tbey may va Dapuzea ana admitted into the chnrch. They are "pricked at the heart;" they are conscious of sin; they want forgiveness and help to be better. Do tbey stay because they consider themselves better than other people? Do they ask entrance into the church because they feel that they are good enough? Is there any doubt about tnc mat ter? Is it not as plain as the shining sun that the people who considered themselves pretty good people walked serenely asrav that afternoon, aud- never thought twice about joining the church? They were not "pricked at the heart." They heard no accusations from their deaf and dumb consciences. They were not conscions of any particular need of spiritual help. They were "good enough." That is just why they did not join the church, because they were "good enough." The Good People Don't Join. You will never find anybody who is "good enough" joining the cburch. It is the people who are bad enough who come into the haven of the churcb. It is those who are weary and heavy laden with a burden of sin, who seek rest in the church. It is those who are sadly conscious that they are not approaching their ideal, who come' for help into the churcb. If you mean when you say that von are not"good enough," that you bave'no real desire, and longing to live tbe life which our Lord wants ns to live, that is another matter. Then you are not good enough, indeed. Eut if you mean that yoa are not yet as strong a- Christian as von want to he; it you mean that your love and devo tion to Jesus Christ is not so deep and tender as you wish it was; if you mean that there are a hundred lessons in the Christian life in which you cannot pass a good exami nation why, you are beginning at the end. The purpose of the Church is to help you in all this. If you had learned it all there would be no need for you to join the Cburch. "Follow me," Christ says. And what you are to do is just that, day by day, trying always to get a little closer. But do not think that you may not enroll yonrself among the followers of Christ until you have come upas close behind Him ns the Apostle Paul. Everybody is a follower ot Christ who is trying to follow Christ. To honestly and earnestly desire to live a Christian life is all the "good enough" which Christ asks at tbe beginning. Geokgb Hodges. THE ITRSX COIff OF SCOTLAND That Bore a Date Went Under the Odd Name of the Bonnet-Piece. St. Louis Globe-Dcmocrat.l " The "bonuet-piece," a gold coin of James Y., of Scotland, was the first Scottish coin bearing dates. It was called the "bon-net-piece"on account of the King's head being decorated with a bonnet instead of a crown. The coin in the illustration car ries the inscription Bonnet-Piece. "Jacobys 5, Dei G. K. Scotary, 15JU." The pieces were struck of native gold, and were rega'ded as very beautiful. Tney are now priced beyond price, as but few specimens are iu existence. James V. was the first sovereign who in creased the thickness of gold coms aud de creased tbe size. Dance and bong. u b u - .A"f y T. 9 UL THE PABROT SEASONS No Longer Possible to Draw the Line at Instinct in Animals. PBETTT POLLY ISS'T A FEMALE, Hatnra's Arransrenient by Which the Birds Can Sleep Standing". WATCHIKG THE POKMATION OP ICE 1WKITTZX rt)B THI DISPATCH.l As late as half a century ago it was hardly safe to claim tbat any animal below the level of man was endowed with reasoning faculties. What we call intelligence in man was only instinct in the brute. Probably a majority of people in. our day believe that there is an impassable gulf between tbe in telligence of mankind and tbe instinct of the bird or tbe beast. Bnt within three feet of the hand that is writing these lines there is a little animal that will be of voting age next antumn (21 years), and that has more intel ligence than many a voter tbat you will see about the polls on election day. It is a handsome yellow-head Mexican parrot. He is sitting demurely ou the swing at the top of his cage watching the movement of the pen, and occasionally looking up, quizzically at the writer's face as if to ask, "Are you writing anything about me?" If you want a test of bird in tellect, give Paul (he spells it P-o-oo-I) a bit of cracker that has been quickly dipped in coffee. He will first politely say "Thank you," then he will take the cracker in one of his foot-hands and leisurely eat the out side portion, which has been so'ltened by the coffee. Then he will stop. He doesn't eat hard cracker, and so he will moisten this piece by putting it in his water cup. But how can he do it? He cannot get from his swingto the enp, eight inches below, with out climbing down the side of the cage, which necessitates tbe use of both his beak and his hand-feet. He has' neither pocket nor hat in which to store the cracker, and he can't drop it into the cup because he is in the top center of the cage, while the cup is below at the side. But Paul knows bow to do it. He drops the cracker to tbe bot tom, then reaches the side of the cage with his beak, climbs down, and soon has the morsel in his month again. He then can easily clamber up to the water cnp.in which he drops the cracker and eats it when it is softened enough to suit his taste. Folly Isn't a Female. Don't use the feminine gender in speaking of a parrot tbat you have seen. It is ex tremely unlikely that yon ever saw a female parrot. The females are not nearly so hand some as the males, their vocal ability is ouly on a par with that of the lemale canary birds, and they don't breed in our climate. Hence they are not imported. You see, then, tbat it U a misnomer to cail your parrot "Polly." The first parrot seen in England was bronght there by a sailor who, knowing nothing about the bird's sex, named it Polly in honor of his sweetheart. This name has strangely stuck to the species, and has led most people to speak of the parrots we see as if tbey were femalos. And don't make the greater blunder of saying "poll parrot" unless you have some reason lor particularizing the fact that you are talking about a bird that has not been be headed. Poll simply means nead. Of all the thousands of species of birds there are only three that can climb, and tbe parrots are the only one of the three tbat use the beak in climbing. There is a species of small parrot that is found in the southern portion of the United States, but these birds are yearly growing more rare and no doubt they will soon be extinct. The only climb ing bird that is "native and io tbe" manner born" of onr country is the woodpecker, one of tbe three species of climbers Ihave men tioned. These beantiful. intelligent and 'harmless birds are annually slaughtered in great numbers by thoughtless or brutal gunners, and they, too, will he extinct in the United' States ere many years unless their lives are protected by "stringent laws against their slayers. The woodpecker's beak, nnlike the parrot's, is a long and sharp instrument which serves the bird as a sort of combination auger, chisel and hatchet. With this it strikes a blow that in the still woo'ds can he heard half a mile away. It makes a hole in a decayed tree in search of worms, and then introduces its long tongue, which has a glntinous sub stance on the end and transfers the squirm ing prey to its month. Birds Sleep Standing. Have you ever wondered bow a bird can he constantly on its feet without tiring its legs, or without falling when it sleeps? The legs of a canary bird, for example, are but little thicker than a knitting needle, yet the little creatnre hops about on them all day without apparent weariness, and "sleeps standing," without danger of tumbling from its perch. Here is the explanation: In front of the bird's thigh-bone there is a largp and very strong muscle, with a Jong tendon, or cord, extending down tbe leg to the foot, where it divides into branches and goes out to the ends of the toes. Now, when the bird is still its weight causes a pulling movement on tbe big muscle: this contraction is com municated all the wav down to the toes, and the latter are therefore drawn up tightly aronnd the percb. By this queer arrange ment the bird's claws cling involuntarily to the perch while it sleeps. Yon can demon strate this with the revered leg of a fowl. Pull the tendon of the leg and the claws will close just as tbey naturally do under the bird's own weight. How Ice Is Formed, A person who bas never closely observed the operation of nature's great ice factory will be surprised to find how interesting it is. You need not go outside of a comfortably heated room to do this. Just place a pan of water on the window sill, when the tempera ture is below the freezing point, and yoa will soon see something that cannot fail to interest you. If you happen to have a magnifying glass, a single lens, so much the better, for the magnifying power will reveal much of the delicate work of ice making tbat is invisible to tbe naked eye. Anyway, as you closely watch the surface nf tbe water you will soon see tidy little lances, very beantifnl when seen under the microscope, shooting bither and thither on the surface of the water. If it is cold enough to make ice in the sunlight tbe crys tal Iauces will glow with all the colors of the rainbow, and as they dart about the rapid changes of color will remind you of the wonders of tbe kaleidoscope. As the water continues to chill the little lanres come together, and then smaller and still more delicate crystals will be seen forming between the lances and welding them to gether. This process goes on until the sur face is covered with a beautiful film of ice hardly strong enough to bear tbe weight of a mosquito. But the process goes on nnder this superficial layer,and a smooth and solid surface is tbe result. Water is affected by changes of tempera ture differently Irom all other liquids. It seems to be a natural law for all liquids to expand in proportion to their increase in temperature, bnt there is a strange exception to the rule in the case of water. For ex ample, take a quantity of water when ex- r actiy at the lreezing point, 32" aoove zero, aud place it over a fire. As the temperature rises the volume will contract, contrary to the rule, until the water is about seven de grees warmer than it was at the beginning of the experiment. At tbat point, however, there is a sudden change. Contraction ceases, expansion begins, and. the, volume increases until the water is converted into steam. J. H. Webb. A Parliamentary Problem. Philadelphia Times. It one of the .House pages pnt a tack small end heavenward fn the chair ot Speaker Keea and tbat gentleman sitting down, suddenly rose- to make a personal exclamation, would tbe point to well taken? , SOME ENIGMATICAL NUTS. .' ; Fnzzles for the Little Folks That Will Keep Their Drains Busy for Most of the WeelC ? if They Solve Them Correctly Home' r Amnsfements. '- : J t Adrircu communications for tnts department .; foB.lt. CnADBOtnuf, LewUton, Maine. - ." 2. 1391 TO FATHERS AS D 2I0ZHZB9. 1392 A STEALTITr FOKCE. In this era of science, to all things applied. Among forces well known to which we sur render, " There is one that is strong, and bas often been tried. Its touch is so light, its treatment so tender. The burglars are bunglers with all their fins skill And tools that are keen, ana wits that art keener: , This power to rely on is stealthier still. It banishes fear, and quiets all tremor. It Is felt soma by day, but seldom is seen; It is nsed most at nizht. as might be exnected, It evades the police with tbeir vigilance Keeni But attacks them in turn when quite unsus pected. Much safety and comfort would befall us in time Conld we but use it on all tho night stalkers. It would lessen much trouble, it would lessen much crime. And close the resorts of base planners and plotters. bEA. 1393 TKAJCSFOSITIOIT. "When nrond Chicago, city doomed. Was by devouring flames consumed, Then, when tbe tiro bad done its worst, The ground was covered o'er withtrst. And scattered everywhere it lay, bad relic ot the fire-fiend's sway. Turn we from tbis gloomy tbeme. "Which seems like half-forgotten dream, To one more cheerful, one that tells Of happy greetings, marriage bells; Of marriage bolles I ought to say. My real meaning to convoy. Here second shows itself so plain That future telling would be vain. Nelsosias-. 1394 DIAMOXD. 1. A letter. 2. Offered. 3. Successor or vicar. i. Figs. 5. Bodle of peers. S. Ribaldry. 7. A court of justice. 8. Drudges. 9. Dries up. 10, A place of Bestial debauchery. lL A letter. GWiatDOMSZ. 1 395 CHAE ADE. In youthful days I loved the first, A feeling now no longer nursed; I loved it then because I found A boyish bliss m roving round 'Honest fields and forests free from cars, And buoyant as tbe mountain air. And the old whole, I luved tbat too, Hnightly as it was to view. Howe'er uncouth It might appear To other eyes, to me 'twas dear. Tbat rnstic last, it was the place Where friends and kindred, face to face. Were wont to meet in concourse gay To while the blithesome hour airay. NELSONIAIT. 1395 NUMERICAL. If you would be 5. 6. 7, 8. 9. 1, Upon with skill tbis is wbat should be done; Get a complete, and let the 5 to 10 Who passed tbe dishes wait nn other men. No word is spoken, it is 1 to 4; Simply, its inner workings you explore. And serve yourself, while sitting at your ease A simple thing to do, if you're not hard to please. Bitteh Hwhet. 1397 SQUARE. L A character in "The Arabian Nights." ,Z Progeny 1 An opiate. 4. Derived by logical , proces. 5. Upper stratum of coal. 6. To kin dle. (Rare.) 7. blender bars ot steel. Gwekdoiise. 1398 ST2JCOPATIOK. What a strange thing tbe bnman mind; How can its workings bo defined? What attributes to it belong I How it discerns tbe rizht and wrong ! In it tumultuous passions may Their overwhelming force display; In It emotlony tender rise That glow and sparkle in the eyes; adbe whole of lore, the whole of hate .Must in tbe mind originate. As a last being man is classed; Naught would he know weto he not last. NELSOXI4JT. 1399 RimiING DECAPITATIONS. O, how the rain comes pelting down! The streets now run in , And 'tis since daylight disappeared. Dark as a brace ot . Where are the bright electric lights. Our hamlet's joy and T The storm has disarranged the wires; We in tbe dark must . The linemen should use greatest care, When ibey the wires shall , , Or they'll suspended be in air. And thus tbeir lives tbey'll . But see, the stars are peeping out. The storm, I think, is , Onr nde will, after all. you see. Be quite a pleasant. ETZTTi. 1400 ANAGBAM. Whole is an adjective, a word neiernng to a tning aosura. By which 1 mean it has relation To superstitious divination A sort of fortune-telling way Allied to sorcery. I should say. It is some kind or drawing lot, I make of it "religious soL" J.ifcK AXSWEES. 1382 1. "Poverty parts good company." Z "Put that in your pipo and smoke it." 13S3 M-iil iner. miner. 13M Pert, pet. 1385 Nice. Hague, EerHn, Beading. London, Paris, Troy, Borne, Cork, Berne, Bristol. 1385 L Ronion. onion. 2. Gill. ill. a Grab, -rub. 1387 Dust, stud. ldSS C BAB SALES S A L 1 G OT BALK FIRES CALI FOKNIAS BEGIRDING S O R N I T E TE I NE SAG N 13S9 Spiritual seance. 1390 Restrain. A SCOTCH PTOISHHEHT. Offenders Were Once Chained to a Wall by Means of Jongs. St. Louis Globe-Democrat. 1 At the gate ot the church atthe little ham let of Duddington, about a mile irom Edin burgh, Scotland.hang -a pair of "jougs." '"W" They are nothing . .. . more or less than as iron ring or collar fastened by a short chain to a pillar or wall in some public place. They were used years ago ia Scotland and Hol land in a form of ' pillory. The ring or 3 collar open at the back 10 as to inclose the culprit's neck, and it is then fasten ed with a padlock. Tbe jonzs were used Wtft-L v- MM Jougs. to punish ecclesias- astical offenders as well as civil. Tbey were common several centuries ago, and, although not Known to have been used in tbe past 109 -1 years, may still be found hanging at conntrr ' " churches. The name is taken "from WW of similar shape. . vj &m -fc l .i -if JmttB ': as 5i ntfc Ml sir" iJ.H r 1 , - Ajar' ht. -4&&'
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers