3s 18 ditions? How do we know that all men roust die? We suppose the statement to be true by induction, from the undoubted fact that men havo hitherto died within a certain limit of .M;e. By induction, too, onr fathers, "our grandfithefs, knew that it was impossi ble for a. man to traverse the earth faster than at full ipeed of a galloping horse. After several thousand years of experience that piece of knowledge, which seemed to he singularly certain, was suddenly proved to he the grossest ignorauce by a man who had been in the habit of playing with a tea kettle when a bo7. We ourselves, not Very iong ago, knew positively, as nil men hid" known siucctlic beginningof the world, that it was quite impossible to converse with a friend at a distance beyond the carrying power of a speaking trumpet. To-day, a boy who does not know that one may talk very agreeably with a friend a thousand ir.ilesaay is an ignoramus; and experi menters whisper among themselves that, if the uudulaiory theory of light have any foundation, tncre is no real reason why wo may not see that :ame friend at that s.tme distance, as well as talk with him. Ten years ago we were quite sure that it was be yond the bounds of natural possibility to produce a bad burn upon the human body by touching the flesh with a bit of cardboard or a common lead pencil. Now we know with equal certainty that if upon one arm of a hypnotized patient we Impress a letter of tne alphabet cut out of wood, telling him that it is red-hot iron, the shape of the letter will be on the following day found as a raw and pain.'ul wound not only in the place we se lected, but on tbe other arm, in ttie exact'y corresponding spot, and reversed as though seen in a looking-slass; and we very jestly consider that a physician who does not know this and similar tacts is dangerously behind the times, since the kuowleage is open to all. The inductive reasoning of many thou sands of years bus been knocked to pieces in the last century by a few dozeu men who have reasoned little but attempted much It would be rash to assert that bodily death may not some day, and under certain con ditions, be altogether escaped. It is non sense to pretend ilia' human Hie may not posib!y, and before long, be enormously prolonged, and that by some shorter cut to longevity than temperance and sanitation. No man can say tbat it will, but no man of average intelligence can now deny tbat it may. TJnorna had hesitated at the door, and sbe hesitated now. It was in her power, and in hers only, to wake the hoary giant, or at least to modify his perpetual sleep so far as to obtain from him answers to her questions. It would be an easy matter to lay one hand upon his brov, bidding him see and speak how easy, she alone knew. But, on the other bird, to disturb his slumber was to in terfile with the continuity of the great ex periment, to break through a rule latelv made, to incur the risk ot an accident, if not of death itself. She drew back at the thought, as though fearing to startle him, and then she smile at her own nervousness. To wake him she must exercise tier will There was no danger of his ever being roused by any soun or touch not proceeding from herself. 'Xhe crash of thunder had no reverberation for his cars: the explosion of a cannon wonld not have penetrated into his lethargy. She might touch him, move him, even speak to him, but unless sbe laid tier hand upon his waxen lorehead and bid bim feel and hetr, he would be as unconscious as the dead. She I eturned to his side and gazed iuto his nlacid face. Strange faculties were asleep in that ancient brain, and strange wisdom was etored there, gathered from mauy sources long ago, and treasured unconsciously by the memorv to be recalled at her command. The man had been a failure in his day, a scholar, a student, a searcher after great se crets a wanderer in the labyrinths of higher thought. He had been r. failure and had starvtd, a failures must, in order that vul gar success mav fatten and grow wealthy. He had outlived the few that had been dear to him, he had outlived the power to feed on thought; he had outlived generations of men, :tud cycles of change, and yet there had been life Jelt in the huge gaunt limbs and sight in the sunken eyes. Then he had outlived pnde itself, and the ancient scholar had begged his bread. In bis hundredth year he had leaned for breath against Unorna's door, and she Had taken him in and cared for him, and since that time she had pre served his life. For his history was known in the aucient city, and it was said that he had possessed great wisdom in bis day. Unorna knew that this wisdom could be hers if sbe could keep alive the spark of life, and that she had em ployed his own learning to that end. Al ready sbe had much experience of her powers, and knew that if sbe once had the mastery of the old man's free will he must obey her fatally and unresistingly. Then she conceived the idea of embalming, as it were, the living being, in a perpetual hypnotic lethargy, from whence she recalled him lrom time to time to an intermediate state, in which sbe caused him to do ine chanicaliyall those things which the judged necessary to prolong li:e. Seeing her success from the first, she had begun to lancy that the present condition of things might be made to continue indefi nitely. Since death was to-day no nearer than it had been seven years ago, there was no reason why it might not he guarded against during seveu years more, and if during seven, why not'during 10, 0, 50? She had lor a helper a physician of consum mate practical skill a man whose interest in the result of the trial was, if anything, more keen than her own; a friend, above all, whom she believed she might trust, and who appeared to trust her But in the course of their great experi ment they had together made rules by which they bad mutually agreed to be bound. They had of late determined that the old man must not be disturbed in his profound rest by any question tending to cause a state of mental activity. The test of a very line instrument had proved that the shortest interval of positive lucidity was followed by a slight but distinctly percepti ble rise of temperature in the body, and this could mean only a waste of the precious tissues they were so carelully preserving. They hoped ami believed that the srand cribis was at hand, aud that, if the body did not now Jose strength and vitality lor :i con .siderable time, bot.i would slowly though surely increase, in consequence ot the means they were using to instill new blood into the system. But the period was supreme, and to interfere in any way with the progress of the txperinient was to run a risk: of which the whole extent could only be real ized by Unorna and her companion. bLe hesitated, therefore, well knowing that her ally would oppose her iuf.-ntiou with all his might, and dreading his anger, bold as she was, almost as much as she foarcd the danger to the old man's life. On the other hand, sbe had a motive wliich the physician could not have, and which , as she was aware, he would have despised and con demned. he had a question to ask, which she considered of vital importance to her self, to which she firmly believed that the true answer would be given, and which, in her Wi-manly impetuosity and impatience, ihe could not bear to have unasked u otil the morrow, much less until months should have pascd away. Two very powerful in centives were at work, two ot the very strong est which have influence with mankind. love and a superstitious belief in an especial destiny ot happiness, at the present inoine.at on the xery Verge of realization. She believed profoundly in herself and i.3 tl'c suggestions of her own imagination. S.i sue was called awitch. la earlier cen turies her hideous fate would have been sealed from the first day when, under her cuuuisu gaze, a won that had been taken alive in the Itobcmiau forest crawled fawn ing tcj her feet, at the lull length of its. cl::in, and had its savage head under her hand, and closed its bloodshot eyes and. slept beiore her. She knew she loved, lor the place of her fondness for the one man had been taken by her passion for the other. She had seen the man in whom her happi ness was to b, the time was short, the danger great i! she should not grasp what her destiny would oCer her but once. Had the "Wanderer been by her side, she would needed to auk no question, she would have known and been satisfied. Hut hours must pars before she could see him again, and every minute spent without him grew more full of anxie'y and disturbing passion than the last Hitherto the -old man's uttcr tuces bad bcen.fulfi!led to the litter. More than once, as Keyork Arabian had hinted, she had consulted his second sight in pre ference to her own, and she had not been deceived. His greater learning and his vast experience lent t6 his sayings some thing divine in her eyes; she looked upon him as the Pythoness of Delphi looked upon the divinity of her inspiration. V "The irresistable longing to hear the pas sionate pleadings of ber own heart solemnly confirmed by the voice in which she trusted overcame at laat every obitacle. Unorna bent over the sleeper, looking earnestly into his face, and she laid one Hand upon his brow. "You hear me?" she said slowly and dis tinctly. "You are conscious of thought, and you see into the future?" The massive head stirred, the long limbs moved uneasily under tbe white robe, the enormous bony hands contracted, and in the cavernous eyes the great lids were slowly lifted. A dull stare met her look. "Is it he?" she asked, speaking more quickly in spite of herself. "Is it he at last?" There was no answer. The lips did not part, and there was not even the attempt to speak. She had been sure that the one word would be spoken unhesitatingly, and tbe silence startled her and brought back the doubt which she had half forgotten. "You must answer my question. I com mand you to answer me. Is it he?" "You must tell me before I can answer." The words came in a feeble, piping voice, strangely out o! keeping with tbe colossal frame and imposing features. V noma's face was clouded, and the ready gleam of anger flashed in her eyes as it ever did at the smallest opposition to her will. "Can you not see him?" she asked im patiently "I cannot see him unless yon lead me to him and tell me what he is." "Where are you?" "In your mind." "And what are you?" "I am the image in your eyes." "There is another rain in my mind," said TJnorna. "I command yon to see him." KKYOP.lv AND "I see him He is tall, pale, noble, suf fering. You love him." "Is it he who shall be my life and my death? Is it he who shall love me as other women are not loved?" The weak voice was still for a moment, and the lace seemed covered with a veil of per plexity. "I sec with your eyes," said the old man at last. "And I command you to see into the future with your own!" cried TJnorna, con centrating her terrible will as she grew more impatient. There was an evident struggle in the giant's mind, an effort to obey which tailed to break down an obstacle. She bent over him eagerly and her whole consciousness was centered in the words she desired him to speak. Suddenly the features relaxed into an ex pression of rest and satisfaction. There was something uneartb in the sudden smile thit flickered over the old waxen face it was as strange and unnatural as though the cold marble effigy upon a sepulcher had laughed aloud in the gloom of an empty church. "I see. He will love you." said the tremulous tones. "Then it is he." "It is he." "With a suppressed cry of triumph TJnorna lifted her bead and stood upright. Then she started violently and grew verj pale. "You have probably killed him and spoiled everything," said a rich bass voice at ber elbow the very sub-bass of all possi ble voices. Keyork Arabian was beside her. In her intense excitement she had not heard him enter the room, and he had surprised her at once in the breaking of their joint conven tion and in the revelation of her secret. If TJnorna could be said to know the meaning of the word lear in any degree whatsoever, it was in relation to Keyork Arabian, the man who daring tbe last few years had been her helper and associate in the great experiment. Of all men she had known in her life be was the only one whom she felt to be beyond the influence of her powers, the only one whom she felt she could not charm by word, or touch, or look. The odd shape ot his head, she fancied, figured the outline and propor tions of his intelligence which was, as it were, pyramidal, standing upon a base so broad and arm as to place the center of its ponderous gravity far beyond her reach to disturb. There was certainly no other be ing of material reality that could have made TJnorna start and turn pale by its inoppor tune appearance. "The best thing you can do is to put him to sleep at once," said the little man. "You can be angry afterward, and, I thank heaven, so can I and shall." "Forget," said Unorna once more laying her hand upon the waxen brow. "Let it be as though I bad not spoken with you. Drink, in your sleep, of the fountain of life; take new strength into your body and new blood iuto your heart. Live, and when I next wake you be youuger by as many months as there shall pass hours till then. Sleep." A low sigh trembled in the hoary beard. The eyelids drooped over the sunken eyes, there was a slight motion of the limbs, and all was still, save for the soft and regular breathing. "The united patience of the seven arch angels, coupled with that of Job and Simou Stylites, would not survive your acquaint ance for a day," observed Keyorfc Arabian. "Is he mine or yours?" Unorna asked, turning to him and pointing to the sleeper. She was quite ready to face her compan ion alter the first shock of his unexpected appearance. His small blue eyes sparkled angrily. "I am not versed in the law concerning real estate in humankind in the Kingdom ot Bohemia," he answered. "You may have property in a couple of hundred weight, more or less, of old bones rather the worse lor the wear and tear of a century, but I certainly, have some ownership in the life. Without me yon would have been the pos sessor of a remarkably fine skeleton by this time and of'nothing more." As he spoke his extraordinary voice ran over half a dozen notes of portentous depth, like tbe opening of a fugue on tbe pedal of an organ. Unorna laughed scornfully. "He is mine, Keyork Arabian, alive or dead! If the experiment fails, and he dies, the loss is mine, not yours. Moreover, what I have done is done, and I will neither submit to yonr reproaches nor listen to your upbraidings. Is that enough?" "Of its kind, quite. I. will build an altar to ingratitude, we will bury our friend be neath the shrine, and you shall serve in the temple. You could deify all the cardinal sins if you would only give yonr attention to tb e bubject, merely by xhe monstrously impoiing. proportions yoa would know how to give them." "D ses it ease yon to make such an amaz ing n sise?" inquired TJnorna, raising her eyebrows. "Iuiinenscly. Our friend cannot bear it, and y'u can." You dare to tell me that if be dies you are the only loser. Do fifty years of study count for nothing? Look a't me. I am an old man, and nnlesss I Si.d the secret of life here, tn this verv room, be fore many years are over, I must die dic.do 1 THE yoa understand? Do yon know what it means to die? How can you 'comprehend that word you girl, you child, you thing of five and twenty summers?" "It was to be supposed that your own fears were at the root of your anger," observed TJnorna, sitting down upon her chair and calmly folding her hands as though to wait until the storm should piss over. "Is there anvthing at the root of anvthing except sell? You moth, yon butterfly, yon thread of floating gossamer! How can you understand the incalculable value of Self of that whch is all to me and nothing to you, or which, being yours, is everything to you and to me nothing? You are so young yon still believe in things and interests and good and evil, and love and hate, truth and falsehood, and a hundred notions which are not tacts, but only contrasts between one self and anotherl "What were you doing here when I found you playing with life and death, perhaps with my life, for a gypsy trick in the crazy delusion that this old parcel of humanity can see the shadows of things which are not yet? I saw, I heard. How could he answer anything save that which was in your mind when you were forcing him with your words and your eyes to make a reply of some sort or perish? Ahl You see now. Yon understand now. I have opened your eyes a little. "Why did he hes itate and suffer? Because you asked that to which he knew there was no answer. And you tortured him with your will until his individuality fell into yours and spoke your words." TJnorna's head sank a little, and sbe cov ered her eyes. The truth of what he said flashed uponhersuddenlyand unexpectedly, bringing with it the doubt which had left her at the moment when the sleeper had spoken. She could not hide her dis comfiture and Keyork Arabian saw his ad vautage. "And for what?" he asked, beginning to pace the broad room. "To know whether a man will love you or not! You seem to have forgotten what yon are. Is not such a poor and foolish thing as love at the com mand of those who say to the soul, be thisf UJfORNA. or be that, and who are obeyed? Have you found a second Keyork Arabian, over whom your eyes have no power neither the one nor the other?" He laughed rather brutally at the thought of her greatest physical peculiarity, but then suddenly stopped short. She had lifted her lace aud those same eyes were fastened upon him. the black and gray, in a look so savage and fierce that even he was checked, it not startled. "Thev are certainly very remarkable eves," he slid, more calmly, and with a cer tain uneasiness which Unorna aid not no tice. "I wonder whom you have lound who is able to look you In the face without los ing himself. Isuppose it can hardly be mv fascinating self whom you wish to enthral," he added, conscious after a moment's trial thatjie was proof against her influence "Hardly," answered Unorna, with a bit ter laugh. "If I were the happy man. you would not need that means of bringing me to your feet. It is a pity that you do not want me. We should make a very happy couple. But Jiere is much against me. I am an old man. Unorna. My figure was never of divine proportions, and as for my face, nature made it against her will. I know all that and yet I was young once, and eloquent. I could make love then I believe that I could still if it would amuse you." "Try it," said Unorna, who, lite most people, could not long be angry with the gnome-like little sage. CHAPTER VI. "I could make love yes, and since yon ell me to try, I will." He came and stood before her, straighten ing his diminutive figure in a comical fash ion, as though he were imitating a soldier on parade. "In the first place," he said, "in order to appreciate mv skill yon should realize the immense disadvantages under which I labor. lama dwarf, my dear Unorna. In the presence of that kin civ wreck of a Homeric man" he pointed to the sleeper beside them "I am a Thersltes, if not a pigmy. To have much chance of success I should ask you to close your eyes and to imagine that my stature matches my voice. That gift at least, I flatter myself, would have been appreciated on the plains of Troy. But in other respects I resemble neither the long-haired Greeks nor the trousered Trojans. I am old and hideous, and in outward appearance I am as like Socrates as in inward disposition 1 am to tally diflerent from him. Admit, since I admit it, that I am the ugliest and smallest man of your acquaintance." "It is not to be denied," said Unorna, with a smile. "The admission will make the perform ance so much the more interesting. And now, as the conjurer says when he begins, observe that there is no deception. That is the figure of speech called lying, because there is to be nothing but deception lrom beginning to end. Did yon ever consider the nature of ft lie, Unorna? It is a very interesting subject." "I thought you were going to make love to me." "True; how easily one forgets those little things! And yet no woman ever forgave a man who forgot to make love when she ex pected him to do so. For a woman, who is a woman, never forgets to be exigent. And now there is no reprieve, for I have com mitted myself, am sentenced and condemned to be made ridiculous in your eyes. Can there be anything more contemptible, more laughable, more utterly and hopelessly ab surb, than an old nnd ugly man declaring his unrequited passion for a woman who might be his granddaughter? Is he not like a hoary old owl, who leaves his mousing to perch upou one leg and boot love duties at the evening star, or screech out amorous sonnets to the'maiden moon." " "Very like," said Unorna with a laugh. "Aud yet my evening star dear star of my fast cinking'evening golden Unorna shall I be cut off from love because mv years are many? Or rather, shall I not love you the more, because the vears that are left are few and scantily blessed? May not yonr dawn blend with mv sunset and" make to gether one short day?" "That is vcrv pretty," said Unorna, thoughtfully. He had the power of making his speech sound like a deep, soft music. "For what is love?" he asked. "Is it a garment, a jewel.a fanciful ornament which only boys and girls may wear upon a sum mer's holiday? May we take it or leave it, as we please? Wear it, if it shows well upon ourbeanty, or cast it off for others to puton when welimp aside out of the race of lasbion to halt and breathebeiore we die? Is love beanty? is love youth? Is love yellow hair -or black? Is love the, rose upon the lip or the peach blossom in the cheek, that only the young may call.it theirs? Is it an out ward grace, which, can live but so long as the outward graces are its companions, to perish when the first gray hair streaks the dark locks? Is it a glass, shivered by the first shock of care as a mirror by a sword stroke,? Is it a painted mask, washed color less bv the first rain of autumn tears? Is it a flower, so tender, thatit most perish miser. PITTSBURG . DISPATCH. ably in the frosty rime of earliest winter? Is love the accident of youth, tbe complement of a fresh complexion, the corollary of a light step, the physical concomit-int of swelling pulses and unstrained sinews?" Keyork Arabian laughed softly. Unorna was grave and looked up into his face, rest ing her chin upon her hand. "Have you ever loved that vou shoud talk like thnt?" shensked. He turned upon her almost fiercely. "Loved? Yes, as you can never love. Ah, child! That yoa should ask that, with yonr angel's face, when I am in hell for yonl When I would give my body to death and my soul to darkness for a touch of your hand, for as mnch kindness and gentleness in a word from your dear lips as yon give the beggars in the streetl When I would tear out my heart with my hands to feel tbe very dog that fawns on you and who is more to yon than I, because he is yonrs, and all (hat is yours I love, and worship, and adore!" Unorna had looked up and smiled at first, believing it was all but a comedy, as he had told her that it should be. But as be spoke, and the strong words chased each other in the torrent of his passionate speech, she was startled and surprised. There was a force in his language, a fiery energy in his look, a ring of half-desperate hope in his deep voice, which moved her to deep thoughts. His face, too, was changed and ennobled, his gestures larger, even his small stature ceased, for once, to seem dwarfish and gnome like. "Keyork Arabian, is it passible that you love me?" she cried, in her wonder. "Possible? True? When I am gone with the love of you in my heart, Unorna when they have buried the ngly old body out of your sight, yon will not even remem ber that I Was once your companion, still less tbat I knelt before you; that I kissed the ground on which you stood; that I loved you as men loved whose hearts are breaking; that I touched the hem ot your garment and was for one moment young that I besought you to press my hand but once, with one thought of kindness, with one last and only word of human pity " He broke off suddenly, and there was a tremor in his voice which lent intense ex pression to the words. He was kneeling upon one knee beside Unorna, but between her and the light, so that she saw his face indistinctly. She could not but pity him. She took his outstretched hand in bers. "Poor Keyork!" she said, very kindly and gently. "How could I have ever guessed all this?" "It would have been exceedingly strange if you had," answered Keyork, in a tone that made ber start. Then a magnificent peal of bass laughter rolled through the room as the gnome sprang suddenly to bis feet, "Did I not warn you?" asked Keyork, standing back and contemplating Unorna's surprised face with delight. "Did I not tell you that I was going to make love to you? That I was old and hideous and had everything against me? That it was all a comedy for your amusement? That there was to be nothing but deception from begin ning to end? That I was like a decrepit owl screeching at the moon, and many other things to a similar effect?" Unorna smiled somewhat thoughtfully. "Yon are tbe greatest of great actors, Ke york Arabian. There is something diaboli cal abonl you. I sometimes almost think tbat you are the devil himself." "Perhaps I am," suggested the little man, cheerfully. "Do you know that there is a horror about all this?" Unorna rose to her feet. Her smile had vanished, and she seemed to feel cold. As though nothing had happened, Keyork began to make his daily examination of his sleeping patient, applying his thermometer to the body, feeling the pulse, listening to the beatings of the heart with his stetho scope, gently drawing down the lower lid of one of the eyes to observe the color of the embrane, and, in u word, doing all those things which he was accustomed to do under the circumstance with a promptness and briskness which showed how little he feared that the old man would awake under his touch. He noted some of the results of bis observations in a pocketbook. Unorna stood still and watched him. "By all thatisunholy! ByEblis.Ahriman and the Three Black Angelsl He is worse, and there is no seeming. Theheatisgreater, the pulse is weaker, the heart flatters like a sick bird." Unorna's face showed her anxiety. "I am sorry," she said in a low voice. "Sorry! No doubt you are. It remains to be seen whether your sorrow can be utilized as a simple, or macerated in tears to make a tonic, or sublimated to produce a corrosive which will destroy the canker, death. But be sorry bv all means. It occupies your mind without disturbing me, or iujuring the patient. Be sure that if I can find an active application for your sentiment I will give you the rare satisfaction of being use ful." "You have the art of being the most in tolerably disagreeable of living men when it pleases you." "When you displease me, you should say. I warn you that if he dies our friend here I will "make further studies in the art of being unbearable to you. You will cer tainly be surprised by the result." "Nothing that you could say or do would surprise me." "Indeed? We shall see." "I will leave you to your studies, then. I have been here too long as it is." She moved and arranged the pillow under tbe bead of the sleeping giant, and adjusted the folds of his robe. Her touch was tender and skillful in spite of her ill-suppressed anger. Then slm turned away and went toward the door. Keyorl: Arabian watched her until her band was upon the latch, (lis sharp eves twinkled as though he expected something amuing to occur. "Unorna," be said, suddenly, in an altered voice. She stopped and looked back. Well?" "Do not be angry, TJnorna. Do not go away like this." Unorna turned, almost fiercely, and came back a step. "Keyork Arabian, do you think you can play upon me as on an instrument? Do 3 ou suppose that I will come and go at your word like a child or like a dog? Do vou think you can taunt me at one moment, flatter me the next, and find mv humor always at your command?" The gnome-like little man looked down, made a sort of Inclination of his short body, and laid bis band upon his heart. "I was never so presumptive, my dear lady. I never had the least intention of taunting you, as you express it, and as for jour humor can you supnose tbat I could expect to command where it is only mine to obey?' "It 13 ot no use to talk in that way," said Unorna, haughtily. "I am not prepared to be deceived uy your comeuy mis time." "Sot I to nlay one. Sinco I have offended yon. Iask yourpardon. Forgive the expression tor tbe sake of the meaning: the thoughtless word lor the sake ot the unwotded thought." "How cleverly you turn and twist both thoughts and words!" Do not be so unkind, dear friend." 'Unkind to yoa? I wish I had the secret of some unkindness that you should leell" "Tbe knowledge of what I can feel is mine alone," answored Keyork, with a touch of sad ness. "I am not a happy man. The world, for roe, holds but one interest and one friendship. Destroy the one or embitter the other, and Keyork's remnant ot life becomes but a fore taste of death." "And that Interest tbat friendship whare are they?" asked Unorna, In a tone still bitter, but less scornful than before. "Together In this room, and both jn danger, the one through yonr young haste and Impet uosity, and the other through iny wretched weakness in being mado augrr; torgive me, Uuorna. as I ask forgiveness " "Yonr repentance Is too sudden; it savors of the death-bed." "Small wonder when my Ufa is in the bal ance." "Your life?" Sho nttered tho question in crednously, but not without cariosity. "Jiy.llfe and for yonr word," be answered, earnestly. He spoke so impressivoly, and in so solemn a tone tbat Unorna's face becamegrave. Bho advanced another step toward him, and laid her hand upon the back of the chair in which she nreviously bad sat. "We mast understand each other to-day or never." sho said. "Either we must part aud abandon the great experiment tor, if we part. It must be abandoned" "Wo cannot part, Unorna." "Then It we are to be associates and compan ions " "Friends." said Keyork in arlow voice. "Friends? Have you laid tbe foundation for a friendship between us? You say that your life is in the balance. Tbat is a 'figure of speech, I suppose. Or has yur comedy another act? I can believe well enough that your great est interest in life lies there, upon that couch, asleop. I know tbat you can do nothing with out me, as you know It yourself. Knt In your friendship I can never trust neverl Still less can I believe tbat any words of mine can affect voiir happiness nsless they bo those vou need SHN'DATJ1J?EBE"D'ARY i; for experiment Itself. Those, at least, I have not refused to pronounce." While she was speaking Keyork began to walk up and down the room In evident agita tion, twisting his fingers and bending down bis head. "My accursed folly," he exclalmod, as though speaklnc to himself. "My damnable incenuity in being odious! It is not to be believed! That a man of my age should think one thing and say another llko a tetchy girl or a spoiled child! Tbe stupidity of the thing! And then to have the idiotic utterances of the tongue registered and judged as a confession or faith or rather of faithlessness! But it is only Just it is only right. Keyork Arabian's self 1 rained again by Keyork Arabian's vile speeches, winch have no more to do with his self than the-clouds on earth with the sun above theml Kuiued. ruined! lost, thl3 time! Cut off from tbe only living being be respects the only being whose respect be covets; sent back to die In bis loneliness, to perish like the friendless beast as be Is. to tbe lunereal music of bis own Irresponsible snarling! To growl himself outof.tbe world, like a broken-down old tiger in tbe jungle, after scaring away all peace and hanoiness and help witb his sense less growls! Ughf It is perfectly just, it is absolutely right aud supremely horrible to tbink of ! A fool to tbe last, Keyork, as you always were and who would make a friend of such a fool?" Uuorna leaned upon the back of the cbalr watching him and wondering whether, after all, he wero not In earnest this time. He jerked ont bis sentences excitedly, striking bis hands together and then swinging bis arms in strange gestures. His tone, as he gave utter ance to his incoherent self-condemnation, was full of severe conviction and of anger against himself. He seemed not to see Unorna, nor to notice ber presence In tbe room. Suddenly be stopped, looked at her and cama toward her. His manner became very bumble. "You are right, my dear lady," he said. "I have no claim to your forbearance for my out rageous humors. 1 have offended yon. Insulted you. spoken to you as no man should speak to any woman. I cannot even ask yon to forgive me, for if I tell you tbat 1 am sorry you will not believe me. Why should you? But you are right. This cannot go on. Rather tban ran tbe risk ot again showing you my abom inable temper, 1 will go away." His voice trembled and his bright eyes seemed to grow dull and misty. "Let this be our parting," he continued, as though mastering bis emotion. "I have no right to ask anything, and yet 1 ask this of you. When I have left you, when you are safe forever from my humors aha my tempers and myself then, do not tbink unkindly of Keyork Arabian. He would have seemed tbe friend he is but for his unruly tongue." Unorna nssitated a moment. Then she put out her hand, convinced of his sincerity in spite of herself. "Let bygones be bgones, Keyork," she said. "You must not go, for 1 believe you." . At tho words the light returned to his eyes, and a look of ineffable beatitnde overspread the facS which could be so immovably expres sionless. "You are as kind as you are good. Unorna, and as good as you are beautiful," be said; and with a gesture which wonld have been courtly In a man of nobler stature, but which was almost grotesque in such a dwarf he raised her fingers to his lips. This time no peal of laughter followed to de stroy the impression be bad produced upon Unorna. She let her hand re3t in his a few seconds and then gently withdrew It. "I must be going." she said. "So soon?" exclaimed Keyork regretfully. "There were many things 1 had wished to say to you to-day, butif you have no time" "I can spare a few moments," answered Unorna, pausing. "What Is it?" "One thing Is this." His face had again be come impenetrable as a mask of old ivory, and ho spoke in bis ordinary way. "This is tbe question. I was in tbe Teyn Rlrche before I came here." "In church!" exclaimed Unorna in some sur prise, and with a slight smile. "I frequently go to cbnrcb," answered Keyork gravel v. "While there I met an old acquaint ance of mine, a strange fellow wbom I have not seen for years. Tbe world is very small. He is a great traveler a wanderer through tbe world." Unorna looked up quickly, and a very slight color appeared in her cheeks. "Who is be?" she asked, trying to seem indif ferent. "What Is his name?' "His name? It Is stranae. but I cannot recall it. He Is very tall, wears a dark beard, has a pale, tboughtlul lace, But 1 need not describe him, tor ho told me tbat he had been with you thin morninir. Tbat is not tbe noint." He spoke carelessly and scarcely glanced at Unorna wnilo speaking. "What of bim?" sho inquired, trying to seem as indifferent as her companion. "He is a little mad. poor man, that is all. It struck me tbat. If lou would, you niicbt save bliu. I know something of his story, though not much. He once loved a young girl, now doubtless dead, but wbom.be still believes to be alive, and be spends or wastes bis life in a useless search lor her. You might cure bim of the delusion.". "How do you know tbat the girl is dead?" "Sbe died in Egypt, four years ago," answered Keyork. "I hey bad taken her there in the hope of saving her. for she was at death's door already, poor child." "Bat if you convince bim ot that." "There is no convincing him, and if he were really convinced he would die himself, "used to take an interest in the man, and I know tbat you could care bim In a simpler and safer wy. Bat, of coarse, it lies with yon." "If yoa wish It I will try." Unorna answered. turning ber face from tbe lizbt. "But he will proo&uiy not come oack to me." "He will. I advised him very stronzly to come back, very strongly Indeed, Ibope I did right. Are you displeased?" "Not at alii" Unorna laughed a little. "And if he comes, how am I to convince bim that be Is mistaken andthat tbe girl Is dead?" "That Is very simple. You will hypnotize him; he will yield very easily, and yon will suggest to him very forcibly to forget the eirl's existence. You can suggest to him to come back to-morrow and the next day, or as often as yon please, and you can renew tho suggestion each time. In a week he will' have forgotten as you know people can forget entirely, totally, without hope of recalling what is lost." Unorna bad watched ber companion narrow ly during the conversation, expecting bim to betrav bis knowledge of a connection between tho Wanderer's visit and tbe stranee question sbe bad been asking of the sleeper when Key ork bad surprised her. bbe was agreeably dis appointed in this, however. He spoke with a calmness aud ease of manner which disarmed suspicion. "I am glad 1 did right." said he. He stood at tbe foot of the couch upon which the sleeper washing, and looked thoughtfully and intently at the calm features. "We shall never succeed in this way," he said at last. "This condition may continue indefin itely, till yoa are old, and I until I am older than I am by many years. He may .lot grow weaker, but he cannot grow stronger. Theories will not renew tissues." "What will?" "Blood," answered Keyork Arabian very softly. "I have heard ot that being done for yonn people in illness," said Unorna. "It lias never been done as I would do it," re plied the cnome, shaking bis head and gather ing bis great beard in bis hand, as be gazed at the sleeper. "What would you'do?" "I would make it constant tor a day, or for a week if I ronld a constant circulation: the youg heart and the old should beat together; It could be dune in tbe lethargic sleep an artery and a vein a vein and an artery 1 have often tbougot ot It; it could not fall. Tbe new oung blood would create new tissue, because it would itself constantly be renewed In the young body, which Is able tn renew it, only ex pending Itself in tbe old. The old blood would itself become young again as it passed to tbe younger man " "A man!" exclaimed Unora. "Ot course. An animal would not do. be cause you could, not produce the lethargy nor make use of suggestion for healing purposes." "Bat it would kill bim." "Not at all, as 1 would do It, especially If the young man were very strong and lull of life. When the result is obtained an antiseptic ligat ure, suggestion of complete healing during sleep, proper nourishment, such as we are giv ing at present, by recalling tbe patient to tbe bypnotic state, sleep again, and so on; In eight aud forty hours your young man would be waked and wonld never know what bad hap pened to him unless he felt a little older, by nervous sympathy," added the sage, with a low laugh. "Are you perfectly sure of what you say?" asked Unorna, eagerly. "Absolutely." "Have you everything you need here?" in quired Unorna. "Everything. There is no hospital in Europe that has tne appliances we have prepared for every emergency." He looked at her .face curiously. It was ghastly pale with excitement. The pupil of her brown eye was so widely expanded that tbo Iris looked black, while tbe aperture or tbo gray one was contracted to the size of a pin's bead, so that the effect was almost tbat of a White and sightless ball. "Yon seem interested." said the gnome. "Would such a man such a man as Israel Kafka answer the tmruose?' she asked. "Admirably," replied tbe other, beginning to understand. "Kyork Arabian," whispered Unorna, coming close to Mm and bending down to his ear. .'Israel Kafka is alone under tbo palm tree wnere auiwayssn. ate u asieep, anu be win not wake." Tbo gnome looked up and nodded cravelv. But she was gone almost before sbe had finished speakinz tne worus. "As noon an Instrument." said thn llltlo man quoting Unorna's angry speech. "Trulv I can nlav noon vou. but it Is a strange music'" Halt an hour later Unorna returned to her place among tne nowcrs, bat Israel Kafka was 2b Be Continued Next Sunday.? J. S. Marshall & Son. of Atwood, III., siy their sales ou Chamberlain's Cousrh Remedy exceed those of all other cough medicines pnt together, it has been sold there for several years and their customers have Ji8rnrfiu true" valne. " vrso " IS9L THE JUDGMENT DAY. A Time ComiDg When the Secrets of All Hearts Shall Be Bared. WHAT THE ORDEAL WILL MEAN. The Judge Will Be Just, and More, He Will fie the Friend of ill. KEY. GEORGE HODGES SUNDAY SEEMOX IWEITTE3J VOB THE DISFATCn.l "And after that, the judgment." After death, the judgment. Yes, two judgments. One at the bonr of death, the judgment of each soul alone, and another at the great Day of Judgment, when the secrets of all hearts shall be dis closed, and we shall all know each other as we are. And between the judgments.a season of waitiug. "We know almost nothing abont it. It is all dim beyond. But that is what it looks like. Tbat is what we tbink we read in the words of Christ and ot His dis ciples, whom He taught a judgment, and then a time of waiting, and after that an other and a universal judgment, with heaven or hell following. That everybody will be judged at the Last Day seems plain enough, anyhow. That "the souls of believers are at their death, made perfect in holiuess, and do im mediately pass into glory," seems to be a contradiction of this general judgment. That the sonls of the dead are in God's keeping, and in Christ's presence, we are as sured, repeatedly. But that, somehow and somewhere, thee souls are waiting until all have joined that innumerable company, seems to be the teaching ot the Bible. And then, the judgment. A Chance After Death. There will be a multitude such as no man can number, of all nations, and kindreds, and people, and tongues the dead, small and great standing before the throne of God; and parted right and left. Then, shall some go into life, and some into the dark ness ot death. St. Peter, in his Whitsun day sermon, declared that "David is not ascended iuto the heavens." David is somewhere not iu hell, aud yet not in heaven. God has given his promise to all repentant sinners.of whom David is one, but he has not yet received tbe fulfillment of it. St. Paul was not content to pray for the well-being of his converts all their lives long; his prayers reached out beyond that limit to the "day of judgment to "that day,'' as he called it; as if between these two great crises, one of their death and tbe other the great day of decision, and between these two judgments, one of them alone and the other in tbe face of all the world, there might still be change, and a chance (or a man and need tor prayer. St. John, in tbe vision of the Revelation, saw before the altar the souls of the martyrs, waiting not very patiently, but told that they must wait a .season longer, till their brethren also shonld come into that same place and God's hour strike. And the writer of the Epistle to the He brews closes his long roll of the golden names of Jewish saints and heroes with the statement, plain enough, that none of them have yet received the final and complete benediction of God, nor "passed into glory," and tbat they will not attain beati tude'until we, too, are in their company; "that they, withont us, shonld not be made perfect." Accordingly, the teaching of the Bible seems to be that there is an interval between death and the general judgment, a time of waiting, an intermediate state. And after tbat the judgment. "When the Day Will Come. When that jndgment day will be, we know not, nor is it at all likely that we will know nntil it comes. TJseless'to try to spell out the hidden meanings of the old prophe cies, useless to seek for days and dates, for times and seasons, between tbe mystical lines of the Revelation of St. John; useless to look among the stars, or to count the steps which lead into the inner darkness of the Great Pyramid of Egypt, or to try any of tbe manifold paths along which men hope to find a vision of the Valley of Decision. We cannot know tbe day nor the hour. This alone is plain about it that that day will come with most snrprising suddenness, as a thief breaks through the windows of an nnexpecting household, or as the lightning flashes swift across tbe sky, defying all en deavors at prediction. And this, also that it will come, if we may so express it, natu rally, as naturally as the birds of the air come sweeping down upon their prev, or as a vulture lights upon a carcass. That is not a pleasant illustration tbat of the vulture but it is the one which the Master used Himself. As if tbe whole world will be dead when the jndgment day gets here. The Fulness of the Time. And so it will be the "fulness of the time" again, as it was at Christ's first com ing. It is noticeable tbat tbe prophecies which our Lord made about the last days of tbe world are, almost all of them, lore shadowings of disaster. There is no indica tion that the world wiil keep on grow ing better and better, until 'it gets good enongb to be called heaven. That wonld fit in most accurately with our favor ite theories; but it is not what Christ said. There will be commotions andupheavals, "Signs in the sun, and in the moon, and in the stars; and upon the earth distress of na tions with perplexity; the sea and tbe waves roaring; men's hearts failing them for fear, and for looking alter those things which are coming on the earth: for tbe powers of heaven shall be shaken." 1 There will be a "falling away," a rein forcement or the regiments of A'utichrist, a victory of evil, faith in defeat, "When the Son ot Alan cometh, shall He find faith on the earth?" In short, the ola story of the Flood pictures it all out for ns people buy ing aud selling, marrying and giving in marriage, laughing, and diverting them selves, and making money, and for getting God, heedless of all preach ing, all persuasion, all warning and en treaty, until at last, utterly unready, like the foolish virgins of the parable, the Event overtakes them, the judge comes. Christ came in the winter time, when all hearts seemed frozen,1 and all religion seemed to be dead. He may come again some other winter time. No matter when, if we are ready for His coming. The Where and the How. Where will the judgment be? and how will it be? I pnt tbe two qnestions to gether, beranse there is no answer to either of them. Even to imagine an answer pains tne mind. It is like looking at an object which is so vast, or so bright, or so distant, that it hurts your eyes. Sit down and think intently of tne meaning of the word "for ever." We are to live forever, year alter year, century aitercentnry. without any end, ever endlessly, endlessly! It wearies the mind to think of it. It is a truth so big that it reaches away out beyond tbe range of thought. So with tbe Day of Judgment. Try to conceive of it a plain so vast that there is space upon it for all the sonls of all the people who have inhabited this planet from the four corners of the earth, from all tbe ages of time; and in tbe midst a great white throne set where every eye can see it and Him who tits within "it; and then a dealing with each soul in all this un bounded company. Try to think how it will aU be. It strains the strength of the strongest mind of man. It is too much for us. And when the Bible speaks of the where and the how of the Day of Judg ment, we may know certainly that it is only by way ol picture or svmbol. The angels with The Warning Trumpets, the great descending throng out of the ter restrial sky, the white throne and the open books these are only symbols. They are the reflections of earthly courts and halls of judgment. Thev are like the great figures which stalk like Titans among the clouds beside tbe mountains, and which are lound to be only tbe shadows of common men walking about among the com mon rocks. "The truth Is set down forever in these words which say that "eye hatb not seen, nor ear heard, neither bath enterel into the heart of man," the great future, which uod knows and we know not. xne where, and the hour, and the when. too. are all in the wise ordering of God. He will look alter them. But here it something which we do know: we know who the Judge will be. The Jndge will-boour Savior, Jesus Christ. That is, the J uugc will be one who knows accurately what human life is. If yon are to be pnt on fair trial as to your faithful ness, in your work, vou want somebod v for a judge wlio knows something about your work, wno nas nau some practical experience in it. We will be judged at 'the last by One who spent a lifetime learning abont human life and human nature by actual experience. He took onr nature, andcarried our sorrows, and walked in the streets of our cities, and had His friends among, us, and- met the temptations which we meet. He who came in great humility is to be onr Judge. The Christ of Advent is the Christ of Christmas. The incarnation and the iudcrraent meet in Him who, having become man, will have jndgment committed tn Him "because He is tbe Son ot Man. He has been over ths whole lesson. He has traversed the whole path. He knows how in besets us, and how weak we are against it. He knows, how dreadfully bard it is to be good. Judgment by Comparison. More than this, the Judge is onr Example. We wiil be examined a3 to tbe closeness with which we have followed Him. And so there is nothing blind nor hidden abont our trial.. We know what sort of life He lived among ns. That is the ideal by which our lives will get their measurement. The -Day of Judgment will be like an ex amination where we have been told all the questions beforehand. Beseof all, the Judge will be one who loves us. We know what He is, because we know what He was when He lived in the villages of Syria. He changes not, nor will He change even when He comes to be our Jndge. Can you think ot anybody to whom any sin ning soul could look for kinder and for just er jndgment than Jesus of Nazareth? Jnst as He stood beside the woman taken in adultery, just as He looked into the face of Peter who denied Him, and of Thomas who donbted Him, even into his face who came witha traitor's kiss and met Him in Getb semane, so He will be in the very Day of Judgment. Can you think of anybody lrom whom the hypocrite, the oppressor, the un just, .the hard-hearted wonld quicker hurry away than Jesus of Nazareth, who confront ed the Scribes and Pharisees? The Judge Will Be a Friend. So will He be then, when all the world, hy pocrites and sinners, men with splendid op portunities and men witb no chance at all, high and low, good aod bad, and you and 1 among them, will meet Him in the place oi judgment. He who prayed "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do," will be the Judge. With wonnded hands and feet and side He will be the Jndge. That is one of the most dreadful facts about the judgment tbat He who will come at last to judge ns will not be an enemy, nor a fierce opponent, nor a divine tyrant, against whom we might stir up a courage of defi ance, but a friend, who loves us, who has given His own life tbat He might save us. Finally, there is something more which we kuawabout the jndgment: we know that we will be judged according to what lives we, have led. According, to onr faith in Christ, some say. And that is trne, too. Our eternal destiny will depend upon our faith in Christ. But "dead" laith will not count for anything. It will be of exactly as mnch value as unproductive seed will be in the harvest. That is, our lives will re veal our laith. Those will stand with Christ in the next life who have stood with Christ in this life- But the recitation of tbe creed will not be taken into account; nor the pro fessions of a conventional orthodoxy, which often means nothing but a lack of real inter est in the truths ot religion, and an entire absence of any real thinking about them; nor attendance upon services and sacra ments; nor any of tbe externals of faith. The Question of Besolts. What is the result of all this in yonr life? What is the harvest which it bears in your thinking, and speaking, and behavine? Tbat will be the question of tbe Day of judgment. And that day, accordingly, will be a day of great surprises, because we are always somehow deceiving ourselves. "Nobody tells us such lies as we tell ourselves. But in tbe Day ot Jndgment we will seethe real trnth. Think of the amazement of the Scribes and Pharisees, the chief religious people of their day, set on the left handl Think of ihe wonder ot the pnblicans and sinnern, des pised and condemned by the respectable people of their time, audnnknown in the synagogues, and yet set "upon the right handl Remember how the Judge, while He was living in our life, was forever surpris ing people, and reversing the popular esti mations of men, and pntting down the mighty from their seats and exalting those of low degree. No doubt there are people in jail to-day who will be in heaven; aud peo ple in church who will find themselves shut ont. "Thy kingdom tome," Can we honestly pray tbat, or can't we? "Surely I come quickly," says our Savior and our Judge. "Even so come, Lord Jesus" Is that our instant answer? Is that what we answerout of sincere hearts? Do we want Him to come? Are we ready for His coming? George Hodges. WE HEED THE ISLANDS. Senator Stanford Favors Annexation of the . Sandwich Group. "What is to be the immediate future -of the Sandwich Islands?" asked a Boston Herald correspondent of Senator Stanford. "There is no doubt of those islands com ing to us," was, tbe reply, "and we want them. They are the natural stopping place of our commerce with Australia and China. More than balf of the population is now white, -and all who are there favor the United States among those white people, ex cept, perhaps, the English. The islands are capable of sustaining a population of at least a million, and I suppose more than that. For some time past we have had the benefit of their sugar by a treaty with them. There is no question that in the futnre, which will commence not far off, our rela tions with Asia will be most intimate, and China only needs American and European institutions to become a great country to deal with greater than England or France or Germany." FIBST BCTAEY FIHE EHGINE. It Was a Box on Wheels With Cranks and Cogs to Run the Pumps. St. Louis Itepnbllc Very few living to-day will remember the first rotary engines. They came out abont 1820 and were ma'dein Cincinnati. These en- The n t notary Enainr. gines are very difficult to describe at this late day, but the oldest inhabitant's recol lection is "of a square box painted red and black, o 1 cast iron wheels about 18 inches in diameter, the machine being worked bv a crauk projecting on each side, the power be ing communicated through cogs. The fire men soon tired of these machines, however, as they were little more thau "squirt gum." you will be offered remedies "jnst as good," but yon want Dr. Bnil's Conzh Syrup. m r"4 n r AEMIES OF PIGEON! Flocks of Pennsylvania Once Nun bored a Thousand Million, ACCORDING TO AUDUBOii'oFiGlJEI The imonnt of Food They Eeqnire and H( Their Young Are 1'ed. COHPAEISOSS IN STAE DISTANCJ wnrrTEJT roa thx tisrATctt.l Keen appetite and perfect digestion a supposed to characterize the soldier. T" armies of tbe world probably aggrega nearly 25,000,000 men, and it almost pi dnces indigestion to even tbink of t enormous quantity of food necessary to fe them every 24 hours. But a single Hock birds will sometimes consume more food a day tban all tbe armies on the face of t earth combined. Not tbat the birds are sm awfnl gluttons. The species referred to a perhaps the gentlest of all birds, and tb are very dainty feeders. Tbey are the coi mon pigeon, first consin of the dove, th scriptural type of innocence and purity. The numbers constituting tbe flock, ai not tbe voracity of individuals, accounts f the amazing food supply necessary for the sustenance. Andnbon, tbe great Americi ornithologist, saw flocks of pigeons in Nort ern Pennsylvania which contained as mai members as tbe whole popnlation of tl earth. He reached this conclusion by es mating the length and breadth of the flock and then allowing for two birds to eve square yard. No man was ever better qua fied than be to make such an estimate wit reasonable accuracy. In his great work c the birds of America (which, if you can bt a copy for $5,000, yon will get a bargain) 1 speaks specially of one flock which on careful calculation as possible, be estimati to contain more than a thonsand millif birds. Then, with his intimate knowled; of the snbject, he figured that fhisfeathen host would consume in a single day near nine million bnshels of food, and this floe was not the largest that Audubon saw. More Than the Soldiers Fat But, now assuming that the average sc dier consume half a peck of food in '. hours, (and it he can do that and live to te the tale he is a marvel), the food supply that flock ol pigeons would in bulk feed '75 000,000 soldiers. In the forests of Xorthei Pennsylvania, half a century ago, it wasn' uncommon to find the woods for dozens miles literally alive with pigeons in ti nesting season. There would be nests c every tree, often 300 or 400 in a single tre and the weight ot the birds when roostir would cause a continual snapping an breaking of branches. These enormous bir colonies wonld in daytime keep up such clatter of sounds that they could be bear long distances away like the roaring of a approaching tornado. There is nothing of laud animal kino even approaching the pigeon in size, ths crowd together in such vast numbers. Ff mnltitude they are only equalled by tL great shoals of herrings which, descendiu from their Arctic breeding places, mat miles of ocean look like a moving mass 1 animal life. The destruction of large fore, areas In Pennsylvania has, however, cause the pigeons to seek other resting places, an soon they will probably disappear entire! from their favorite haunts. In the pigeo there is a remarkable example of the way i which nature equips all creatures for the spheres in life. Tbe pigeon, nulike othi birds, Hag a Doable Crop, forming two pouches on each side of tl gullet. This duplex craw is ordinaril smooth on the inner side, bnt when the ii cubatmg season begins a curious change o curs. Little lumps form on.thp inside an examination shows that these are giant which have become enlarged for a very in portant purpose. They secrete a milk fluid which mingles witb the hard foo taken into the crop, softens it and rende. it fit for the delicate stomachs of the yonn pigeons when they emerge from the sbel The mother bird can draw on this store body food at pleasure by sending supplif from the crop up to the moutb, as man other birds do. It is evident that natnre did not inten that the father of the young pigeons snoul loaf around after the manner of a majorit of other males that wear feathers. Tb pigeon hnsband is also provided with tb queer baby food crop, at nesting time, an so, like the good and faithful hnsband ths he is, be takes his turn as nurse, feeding an caring for his little ones with all the solic tnde that characterizes the mother. An Idea of Star Distances. If you could take all the people in th world, and set them ont in space a mil apart, like mile posts along a railroad, an then, at the farthest end use all the dog and cats to extend tbe line of mile posts, yo would rnn far short of material to mark tb distance ont to tbe earth's brother plane Neptune. Again, if yon could use all th material of men, women, children, dogs an cats and put them ont so that they wonld b as far from one another as Boston is froi San Francisco, yonr line wouldn't be ha! long enough to reach to the nearest star. On a clear night the average eye wil readily see stars as low as the sixth inagn: tude. Such a shining beauty as Sirin winks at you so archly tbat it seems almos impossible that years are consumed in th passage of its rays to the eartb, when we n member that light travels more than 180,00 miles in a second. Yes, if the nearest of th beautiful twinklers shonld be blotte out at this moment we shoul still see it, withont tbe slightest change i appearance, two or three years alter Cbicaz cleans up the debris of the World's Fail But even a star so far away as tbat seem nearly within touching distance when w find that other stars, visible with tbe tele scope, were so far away that, for all w know, tbey may have been blotted out be fore Cain and Abel were born. Tbat is t say, if those far distant orbs had beenutterl' annihilated, as yon would snuffout a candle when Adam and Eve were enjoying them selves in the Garden ot Eden, the rays thei starting toward the earth, notwithstandini the awfnl speed of light, conld not get hen in time to meet the closing of the nineteentl centnrv. J. H. Webb. MADAME A. RUPPERT Complexion Specialist. Mae. A. Rnppert's world-renowned fief bleach Is tbe only face tonic In the world whict Eoslttvely removes freckles, motb patches lackheads, pimples, birthmarks, eczema anc all blemishes of the skin, and when appllec cannot be observed by anyone,. The fact bleacn can only be bad at my branch office Ne. 93 Fifth avenne. Hamilton building.' room: 203 and 204, Pittsburg, or sent to any address ot receipt ot price. Bold at $2 per bottle, or thret bottles, usually required to clear the complex Ion, S3. Send 4 cents postage for full particulars ocU-Su MME. A. ROPPEBT. ' && 0h
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers