-Tr FsCViVtVyfi JHSs2KB3a 5t9SS SSEE"a IS "I was not sleeping. Why do you reason? "What would yon prove?" "Much, if I knew how. Will you walk with mi? It is very cold." CHAPTER VIIL They had been standing where they had met. As she spoke, TJnorna looked up with an expression wholly unlike the one he had seen a few moments earlier. Her strong will was suddenly veiled by the. most gentle aud womanly manner, and a little sb.iver.real or feigned, passed over her as she drew the folds of her fur more closely around her. The man before her could resist the aggres sive manifestation of her power, but he was far too courteous to reinse her request. "Which way?" he asked quietly. "To the river," she answered. He turned and took his place by ber side. For some moments they walked on in si lence. It was already almost twilight "How short the days arel" exclaimed Unorna, rather suddenly. "How lone, even at their shortest!" re plied her companion. "They might be short if you would." He did not answer her, though he glanced quickly at her face. She was looking down at the pavement before her, as though pick ing her way, for there were patches of ice upon the stones. She seemed very quiet He could not guess that her heart was beat ing violently, and that she found it hard to say six words in a natural tone. So far as he himself was concerned he was in no humor for talking. He bad seen almost everything in the world, and had read or heard almost everything that man kind had to say. The streets of Prague had no novelty for Mm, and there was no charm in the chance acquaintance of a beautiful woman to bring words to his lips. Words had long since grown useless iu the solitude of a life that was spent in searching for one face among the millions that passed before his sight Courtesy had bidden hitn to walk with her, because " she had asked it, but courtesy did not oblige him to amuse her, he thought, and she had not the power that Keyork Arabian had to force him into con Tcrsation, least of all into conversing upon his own inner life. He regretted the few words he had spoken, and would have taken them back had it been possible. He felt no awkwardness in the long silence. TTnorns, for the first time in her life, felt that she had not full controlof her faculties. She who was always so calm, so thoroughly mistress of her own powers, whose judgment KeyorK Arabian could deceive, but whose sell-possession he could not move, except to anger, was at the present moment both weak and unbalanced. Ten minutes earlier she had fancied that it would be an easy thing to fix her eyes on his and to cast the veil of a half sleep over his already hall dreaming senses. She had fancied that it would be enough to sav "Come," and that he would follow. She had formed the bold scheme of attaching him to herself by visions of the woman whom he loved as she wished to be loved by him. She believed tbat if he were once in that state she could destroy the old love forever, or even turn it to hate at her will. She was taken out of the world in which she was accustomed to rule and was suddenly placed in one where men are men, and wom en are women, and in which social conven tionalities hold sway. She began to be frightened. The walk must end and at the end of it they must part Since she had lost her power over him, he might go away, for there would be nothing to bring him to her. She wondered why he would not speak, and her terror increased. She dared not look up, lest she should find him looking at her. Then they emerged from the street and stood by the river, ina lonely place. The heavy ice was gray with old snow in some places and black in other, where the great blocks bad been cut out in long strips. It was lighter here. A lingering ray of sun shine, forgotten by the departing dav.gilded the vast walls and turrets of venerable Hradschin, far above them on the opposite bank and tinted the sharp, dark spires of the half-built cathedral which crowns the fortress. The distant ring of fast-moving skates broke the stillness. "Are you angry with me?" asked Unorna, almost humbly and hardly knowing what she said. The question had risen to her lips without warning, and was asked almost un consciously. "I do not understand. Angry? At what? "Why should you think I am angry?" "iTou were so silent," she answered, re gaining courage from the mere sound of her own words. "We have been walking for a long time, and you said nothing. I thought you were displeased." "You must forgive me. I am often si lent." "I thought you were displeased," she re peated. "I think that you were, though you hardly knew it I should be very sorry if you were angry." "Why would you be sorry?" asked the "Wanderer with a civil indifference that hurt TJnorna more than any acknowledgement of bis displeasure could have done. "Because I would help you if you would let me." He looked at her with a sudden keenness. In spite of herself, she blushed and turned her head away. He hardly noticed the fact, and, if he had, would assuredly not have put upon it any interpretation ap proaching to the truth. He supposed that she was flushed with walking. "No one has ever helped me, least of all in the way you mean," he said. "The coun sels of wise men of the wisest have been useless, as well as the dreams of women who fancy they have the gift of mental sight beyond the limit of bodily vision." "Who fancy they see!" exclaimed Unorna, almost glad to find that she was still strong enough to feel annoyance at the alight "I beg your pardon. I do not mean to doubt your powers, of which I have had no experience." "I did not offer to see for you. I did not offer you a dream." "Would you show me that which I al ready see, waking and sleeping? Would you bring to my hearing the sound of a voice which I can hear even now? I need no help for that" "I can do more than that for you," "And why lor me," he asked with some curiosity. "Because because you are Keyork Ara bian's friend." She glanced at his face, but he showed no surprise. "You have seen him this afternoon, of course," he remarked. An odd smile passed over TTnorna's face. "Yes; I have seen him this afternoon. He is a friend of mine and of yours do you understand?" "He is the wisest of men." said the Wan derer. "And also the maddest," he added thoughtfully. "And you think it was iu his madness, rather than iu his wisdom, that he advised you to come to me?" "Possibly! Iu his belief in you, at least." "And that may be madness?" She was gaining courage. "Or wisdom if I am mad. He believes in you. That ia certain." "He has no beliefs. Have you known htm long, and do not know that? With him there is nothing between knowledge aud ignorance." "And he knows, of course, by experi ence what you can do and what you can not do." "Br very long experience, as I know him." "Neither your gifts, nor his knowledge of them, can change dreams to facts. Unorna smiled again. "You can produce a dream nothing more," continued the Wanderer, drawn at last into argument "I, too, know some thing of these things. The wisdom of the Egyptians is not wholly lost yet You may possess some of it, as well as the undeveloped poner which could put all their music -within your reach if you knew how to use it Yet a dream is a dream." "Philosophers hare disputed that," an swered Unorna. "I am no philosopher, but I can overthrow the results of all their dis putations." "You can do this. If I resign my will into your keeping, you can cause me to lreani. You can call up vividly before me Xfce remembered and unremembered sights of my life. You can make me see clearly the sights impressed upon your own memory. You might do that, and yet you would be showing me nothing which I do not see now, before me of those things which I care to see-" , j "But suppose that you were wrong, and that I had no dream to show you, but a She spoke the words very earnestly, gaz ing into his eyes at last without fear. Some thing in her tone struck him and fixed his attention. , "There is no sleep needed to see realities, he said. "I did not say that there was. I only asfced you to come with me to the place where she it." The Wanderer started slightly and forgot all the instinct of opposition to herwhich he had felt so strongly before. "Do you mean that you know that you can take me to her " he could not find words. A strange, overmastering astonishment took possession of him, aud with it came wild hope and the wilder longing to reach its realization instantly. "What else could I have meant? What else did I sav?" Her eyes were beginping to glitter in the gathering dusk. The Wanderer no longer avoided their look, but be passed his hand over his brow, as though dazed. 'I only asked vou to come with me, she repeated softly. ""There is nothing super natural about that. When I saw that you did not believe me, I did not try to lead you then, though she is waiting for you. She bade me bring vou to her." "You have seen her? You have talked with her? She sent you? Oh, for God's sake, come quicklv come, come!" He put out his hand as though to take hers and lead her away. She grasped it eagerlv. He had not seen that she had drawn" off her glove. He was lust Her eyes held him, aud her fingers touched his bare wrist His lids drooped and his will was hers. In the intolerable anxiety of the moment he had forgotten to resist, he had not even thought of resisting. There were great blocks of stone in the desolate place, landed there before the river had frozen, for a great building, whose gloomv, unfinished mass stood waiting for the wa'rmth of spring to be completed. She led him by the hand, passive aud obedient as a child, to a sheltered spot and made him sit down upon one ot the stones. It wap growing dark. "Look at me," she said, standing before him, and touching his brow. He obeyed. "You are the image in my eyes," she said, after a moment's pause. "Yes. I am the image in your eyes, he answered in a dull voice. "You will never resist me again. I com mand it Hereafter it will be enough for me to touch vour hand, or to look at you, and if I sav, 'sleep,' you will instantly be come the image again. Do you understand that?" "1 understand it" "Promisel" "I promise," hereplied without perceptible effort "Youhavebeen dreaming;foryears. From this moment you must forget all your dreams." His lace expressed no understanding of what she said. She hesitated a moment, and then began to walk slowly up and down before him. His half-glazed look followed her as she moved. She came back and laid her haod upon his head. "My will is yours. You have no will of your own. You cannot think without me." She spoke in a tone of concentrated deter mination, and a slight shiver passed over him. "It is of no use to resist, for you have promised never to resist me again," she con tinued. "All that I command must take place in your mind instantly, without oppo sition. Do you understand?" "Ye," he answered, moving uneasily. For some seconds she again held her open Dalm unon his head. She seemed to be evok ing all her strength for a great effort. "Listen to me, and let everything I say take possession of your mind forever. My will is yours, you are the image in my eyes, my word is your law. You know what I please you should know. You forget what I command you to forget You have been mad these manyyears, and I am curing you. You must forgetyour madness. You have now lorgotten it I have erased the memory of it with my hand. There is nothing to remember any more. ' The dull eyes, deep set beneath the shadows of the overhanging brow, seemed to seek her face in the dark, and for the third time there was a nervous twitching ot the shoulders and limbs. Unorna knew the symptom well, but had never seen it return so often, like a protest of the body against the enslaving of the intelligence. She was nervous, in spite of her success. The im mediate results of hypnotic suggestion are not exactly the same in all cases, even in the first moments; its consequences may be widely different in different individuals. Unorna, indeed, possessed an extraordinary power, but on the other hand she had to deal with an extraordinary organization. She knew this instinctively and endeavored to lead the sleeping mind by degrees to the condition in which she wished it to remain. The repeated tremor in the body was the outward sign of a mental resistance which it would not be easy to overcome. The wisest course was to go over the ground al ready gained. This she determined to do by means of a sort of catechism. "Who am I?" she asked. "Unorna," answered the powerless man, promptlv, but with a strange air of relief. "Are vou asleep?" "No." "Awake?" "In what state are you?" "I am an image." "And where is your body?" "Seated upon tbat stone." "Can you see your face?" "I see it distinctly. The eyes in the body are glassy." "The body is gone, now. You do not see it any more. Is that true?" "It is true. I do not see it I see the stone on which it was sitting." "You are still in my eyes. -Now" she touched his head again "now, you are no loner an image. You are my Mind." "Yes. lam your mind." "You, my Mind, know that I met to-day a man called the Wanderer, whose body you saw when you were in my eyes. Do you know that or not?" "I know it, I am your mind." "You know. Mind. that the man was mad. He had suffered for many years from a de lusion. In pursuit of the fixed idea he had wandered far through the world. Do you know whither his travels had led him?" "I do not know. That is not in your mind. You did not know it when I became your Mind." "Good. Tell me. Mind, what was this man's delusion?" "He fancied that he loved a woman, whom he could not find." "The man must be cured. He must know that he was mad and is now sane. You, my Mind, must see that it really was a de lusion. You see it now." "Yes. I see it" Unorna watched the waking sleeper nar rowly. It was now night, but the sky had cleared "and the starlight falling upon the snow in the lonely.open place,made it possi ble to see fairly well. Unorna seemed as un conscious of the bitter cold as her subject, whose body was in a state past all out ward impressions. So far, she bad gone through the familiar process of question and answer with success, but this was not all. She knew that if, when he awoke, the name he loved still remained in his memory, the result could not be accomplished. She must produce entire forgetfulness, and to do this she must wipe out every association, one by one. She gathered her strength during a short pause. She was greatly en couraged by the fact that the acknowledg ment of the delusion had been followed by no convulsive reaction in the body. She was on the very verge of a complete triumph, and the concentration of her will during a few moments longer might win the battle. She could not have chosen. a spot better suited for her purpose. Within five minutes' walk of streets in which throngs of people were moving about, the scene which sur rounded her was desolate and almost wild. The unfinished bnildinc loomed like a ruin 1 behind her; the rough hevrn blocks lay like THE boulders in a stony heart; the broad gray ice lay like a floor of lustreless iron before her under the uncertain starlight pnly afar off, high up in the mighty Hradschin, lamps gleamed here 'and there front the windows, the distant evidence of human life. All was still. Even the steely ring of the skates had ceased. , "And so," she continued, presently, "this man's whole lire has been, a delusion, ver since he began to fancy, in the fever of an illness, that he loved ascertain woman. Is this clear to you, my Mind?." "It is quite clear," answered the muffled voice. "He was so utterly mad that he eyen gave that woman a narae--a name, when she had never existed, excep't in his imagination." "Except in his imagination," repeated the sleeper, without resistance. "He called her Beatrice. The name was suggested to him because" he had fallen ill in a city of tbo South where a woman called Beatrice once lived and was loved by a great poet That was the train of self-suggestion in his delirium. Mind, do you understand ?" "He suggested to himself the came in his illuess." "In the same way that he suggested to himself the existence ot the woman whom he nfterward believed he loved." "In exactly the same way." "It was all a curious and very interesting case of auto-hypnotic suggestion. It made him very mad. He is now cured of it Do you see that he is cured ?" The sleeper gave no answer. The stiffened limbs did not move, indeed, nor did the glazed eyes reflect the starlight But he gave no answer. The lips did not even at tempt to form words. Had Unorna been less carried away by the excitement in her own thoughts, or less absorbed in the fierce con centration of her will upon its passive sub ject, she would have noticed the silence and would have gone back again over the old ground. As it was, she did not pause. "You understand, therefore, my Mind, that this Beatrice was entirely the creature of the man's imagination. Beatrice does not exist, because she never existed. Beat tice never had any real being. Do you un derstand?" ' This time she waited for an answer, but none came. "There never was any Beatrice," she re peated firmly, laying her hand upon the un conscious head and bending down to gaze into the sightless eyes. The answer did not come, but a shiver like that of an ague shook the long, graceful limbs. "You are mv Mind," she said, fiercely. "Obey me! There never was any Beatrice, there is np Beatrice now, and there never can be." The noble brow contracted in a look of agonizing pain and the whole frame shook like an aspen leaf in the wind. The mouth moved spasmodicaIv. "Obey me! Say it!" cried Unorna, with passionate energy. The lips twisted themselves, and the face was as gray as the gray snow. "There is no Beatrice." The words came out slowly, and yet not distinctly, as though wrung from the heart by torture. Unorna smiled at last, but the smile had not faded from her lips, when the air was rent by a terrible cry. "By the Eternal God of Heaven!" cried the ringing voice. "It is a lie a lie a lie!" She who had never feared anything earthly or unearthly shrank back. She felt her heavy hair rising bodily upon her head. The Wanderer Bad sprung to his feet The magnitude and horror of the falsehood spoken had stabbed the slumbering soul to sudden and terrible wakefulness. The out line of This till- figure was distinct against the gray background of ice and snow. He was standing at hislull height, his arms stretched up to heaven, his face luminously pale, his deep eyes on fire and fixed upon her face, forcing back her dominating will nnon itself. But he was not alone. "Beatrice!" he cried, in long-drawn agony. Between him and Unorna something passed by, something dark and soft and noiseless, that took shape slowly a woman in black, a veil thrown back from her fore head, her white face turned tqward the Wanderer, her white hands hanging by her side. She stood still, and the face turned, and the eves met Unorna's, and Unorna knew that it was Beatrice. There she stood, between them, motionless as a statue, impalpable, as air, but real as life itself. The vision," il it was a vision, lasted fully a minute. Never, lo the day of her death, was Unorua to forget that face, with its deathlike purity ot outline, with its unspeakable nobility or feature. It vanished as suddenly as it had ap peared. A low, broken sound of pain es caped from the Wanderer's lips, and, with his arms extended, he lell forward. The strong woman caught biui, and he sank to the ground gently in her arms, his head supported upon her shoulder, as she kneeled under the heavy weight. There was a sound of quick footsteps on the irozen snow. A Bohemian watchman, alarmed by the loud cry, was running to the spot "What has happened?" he asked, bending down to examiue the couple. "My friend has fainted," said Unorna, calmly. "He is subject to it You must help me to get him home." "Is it far?" asked the man. "To the house of the Black Mother of God." To be continued next week. MADE PARIS BEAUTIFUL The Man Under Whose Direction the Great City tVas Improved. Fall Mall Budect The death of Baron Haussmann, at the advanced age of 92, recalls many memories of what some people are apt to style the palmv days of the second empire. Al though physically short of stature, the man who made "New Paris overtopped the ma jority of his cotemporaries by many inches; and one need have no special prophetical gifts to predict that his name will survive when most of those of the Third Napoleon's Ministers and generals bave long since been forgotten. It is but fair to add that the transformatiou of Paris, the sweeping away of all the, old shanties and kennels, alleys and culs-de-sac, and the laying out of spacious boulevards aud avenues lined with imposing houses of freestone, six and seven stories high, was Nrpoleon's own idea; and, indeed, the work had already been In progress for some time, when in June, 1853, M. Haussmann was ap pointed Prefect of the Seine. But it was under the Baron's auspices tbat nil the more notable improvements were effected, and it Paris is nowadays blessed with a larger al lowance of light and air than is enjoyed by any other capital city in the world, she mainly owes it to the energy and industry of the much-reviled functionary who has now just passed away. Bruises are cured readily br Salvation Oil. Stylish Suitings, Overcoat and trouser material, of the best quality at Anderson's, 700 Smitbfield street Cutting and fitting the tery best su Baron Haussmann. PITTSBURG - DISPATCH, BETTING ON ft MILL, Howard Fielding Gets Ashamed of His Prosaic Nature and Tries a Little Bit of Sport. HIS OFFICE BOY ACTS AS T0T0K, And a Muscular and Conscienceless Man Who ConIdHit Hard Takes Up the Role of Professor. A NUMBER OP CONTRADICTOR! TIPS 0a a Prise fight Thit F-rhmtWy Wu Stepped ly til Kijtsty of tie Ltw. rwMTTIS FOB TH DISPATCH." A deep absorbing interest in pugilistic matters had descended like a blight upon my moral nature. I hold my office boy primarily responsible for this. He started me on the downward path. I entered the office one morning a little late. Ralph, the boy (called familiarly Sir Kalph the Kover, because he always goes ten or a dozen blocks out of the way when I send him on an errand), had attended to his regular duties in his usual fashion. He had dusted my desk, using my office coat for the purpose, had sorted my mail, read my pos tal cards, spilled my infc; and was sitting A Chat With Sir Ralph. with his feet on my private correspondence, smoking a cigarette and glancing over the morning papers. He looked up from the sporting page as I came in, and remarked l "Say, I'm telling yer that Kid McSweeney s got a cold cinch." "Everybody is getting a cold of some kind," I said, svmDathetically. "Who is Mr. McSweeney? A friend of yours?" "Who's Kid McSweeneyl" exclaimed the Rover, "say, who is George Washington?" ".First in war " The ltoier Explains. "So's de Kid. Say, Mr. Fieldin. it don't make no difference wid me because I know you're all right, see? But if you should expose vour ignorance that way before some folks they wouldn' t'iuk nothin' of yer alterward. Say, if you should make a break o' that kind in Judge Divver's saloon dey'd t'row yer out. Who's Kid Mc Sweeney? Why he' de slickest an' gamest bantam that ever " The Hover's feel ings overcame him at this point, and he arose and inflicted severe personal chastise ment upon a messenger boy who has just entered in response to a call I had rung dur ing the previous week. "Dat'sde way de Kid will do up Patsy Lynch," said Sir Ralph, when he had fin ished rebuking the tardy messenger. "Oh. I should like ter see that mill." I did not think seriously of this incident until about luuch time, when I noticed the Eover discussing my case with the agent of Grasped Hit Long Fo elocks. a firearm manufacturing company who has a desk in the office. "Hasn't auy sporting blood, eh?" said the agent, referring to me. Made Fielding Ashamed. Later in the day I heard him telling a visitor that I had asked the office boy who Kid McSweeney was. The yisttor was a voung man who wore a scarf pin shaped like n horse's head, and nearly lile size, and he evidently didn't know whether to laugh at ray ignorance or to be downright sorry for me . ... But the subject interested me. Pugilism seemed to be lhe only profession in which there was a distinct standard oi merit. While thousands of lawyers and almost all doctors have no equals in their lines, I could not find over a hundred recognized cham pions in any department of pugilism. In order to straighten out ray ideas a little, I asked Sir Kalph one morning whether he thought that Kid McSweeney could "do" Jim Corbett in four rounds. Faralyzed Sir Kalph. Sir Ralph had an epileptic fit complicated with bronchitis, and when he recovered he gave me to understand tbat bantams and heavyweights did not as a rule, molest each other. I was glad to learn that their rela tionswere so cordial, and I said so. "Say," said the Kover, "it's a pity you don't know nuthin'. You're built j ust righi for a scrapper." I asked him if he really thought tbat I could learn to box. "Sure," said he, "you ain't got no legs an' you don't need any. It's de long, scrag gly, uugainiy-lookin' fellies that walk off with everything nowadays. Dey reach right over a lellie's guard an' bang him on de buele, see?" Sir Balph hit the wall two or three times to show me how it was done. "Do you know any good teacher of box ing?" I asked. "Do I know him?" exclaimed Sir Kalph. "Do 1? Say, you go ter see Dave Baxter on deBow'ry. Is he good? Say, he sec onded de Kid in his fight wid young Pike. He kuows it all, see?" A Style That Is Taking. I have endeavored to do something like justice to the Hover's conversational methods, because that style (whiaji might be called the hysterical-interrogative) is slowly but surely creeping outot its birth place like the odor of a Bowery cigar and corrupting all New York. There are.mem bers of the 400 who are detected in the use of "see?" " I, called upon Baxter the next day. His office is between the sawdnst box aud the -, , SUNDAY, FEBRUARY lunch connter in a well-known Bowery so loon. I found him in. He took me into a farge bare room on the second story where be collected the price of a dozen lessons in advance. I did not notice anything unus ual about the room at first but later I dis covered that it had the 'hardest floor ever laid down by a carpenter. That was after Baxter had endeavored .to instill into me the principles of the art of self-defense. It did not take me long to discover that one of the most important of those principles was to avoid the company of men like Baxter. To Inspire Confidence. "If I just patted yer countenance gently like some o' these dude up town perfessors would do," said he, "you wouldn't think I amounted to nuthin. De first requisite is ter convince de pupil that yer a good man; see?" I admitted an earnest conviction. "Yer took yer medicine like a man," said he, "an' I think I can make something of yen Do you want ter see der McSweeney Lvnch fight? I can get yer a ticket for $15. Is it cheap? Say, dere sellin' for $25 all over." I thought it might be a good idea to save $10 by buying my ticket of Baxter, for I bad made up my 'mind to see this fight for the sake of knowing what such affairs really were like. When Baxter sold me this ticket be said that I ought to make a barrel of money on the fight, because he could give me a straight tip, and I could back it as heavily as I pleased. He mentioned in an'off-hand reminiscent fashion that several gentlemen, whom he named, had given him $50 or $100 after'winumg on his tips. I told him thatl didn't suppose it would be possible to make a bet ou this light be cause the Kid was sure to win. "Sure to win?" said Baxter. "Say: he ain't in it. Lynch will have him done in four rounds." Hunting an Ignorant Man, Baxter went on to assure me that his warm personal friendship for the Kid was powerless to warp Vis infallible judgment He was sorry that the Kid conldn't win; but, as long "as he couldn't, there was no harm in my making a dollar on my knowl edge of the fact He suggested that perhaps we might find some ignorant person in the saloon below who was looking for a chance to lose his money on McSweeney. We went down and found the ignorant person. We found him without any trouble at all. He seemed to be waiting lor us. i didn't care to bet, but I was afraid that Baxter would say that I hadn't any sporting blood, and thus give even wider publicity to my dis grace than Sir Kalph and the agent had done. So I bet $50 to $45 on Lynch. A gentleman of unimpeachable honor held the stakes. I had Baxter's personal testimony for this. When I got back to the office, the agent for firearms and the. young man with the horse head pin were there. The appearance of my left eye naturally led up to the sub ject of pugilism. I tnld them that Baxter had given me the eye, and also a straight tip on Lynch. The horsey young man laughed. "The fellow you bet with was a friend of Baxter's," said he, "and they'll divide your money between them. They know that Mc Sweeney will win. It's all fixed up in ad vance." "I'm going lo the stakeholder and de mand my niouey back," siid I. Of ly Way to Get Even. "You won't get it,""rejoined the astute youth. "Go bet $50 on McSweeney. That's the only way to gereveli." He was so kind as to suDpIement this ad vice by telling me where I could find a man who was foolish enough to bet on Lynch. 1 lost no time iu hunting him up. By this time I had begun to realize that I couldn't afford to lose money ou bets. I was a poor man, and it was a duty which I owed to my family to win every tinle. So I bet $75 on McSweeney. A few davs later I met the sporting editor of one of the leading dailies. He is a per sonal friend who would uot deceive me. He had positive inside information that Lynch would win. He put the case before niein such a lucid manner that a large quantity ol my hair turned gray for fear -that I shouldn't be able to retrieve my mistake by getting a bet dowu on Lynch. I besought him to put up $50 lor me if he could find a taker, and he promised to do so, but he warned me tbat he might have to give odds. The next morning I had a long talk with Sir Kalph the Kover. That boy appeared to know more about fighting than the old hands at the business. He showed me in ten minutes how utterly preposterous it was to suppose tbat Lynch could win that fight. When I lelt the office, I looked up a man who, I was aware, had been tipped by the sporting editor anu a. oei sou wuu uiw ou McSweeney. , Borrows and Bets Again. But, that evening, I happened to meet an old and reliable sport, a man for whose judgment I had the highest respect In a few well-chosen words he convinced me that McSweeney was Lvnch's natural food; tbat the Kid ha'd no more show than Lo, the poor Indian; and that anybody who bet on the Kid was simply taking bread out of the mouth of his taniily-. I borrowed $50 and bet it on Lynch. It had been arranged that the fight should take place in a barn in a remote corner of Stiten Island.' This is a newspaper euphemism for a back room in a house con veniently located in Jersey City. It was necessary to keep the authorities in ignor ance, so one of the seconds went to the beat and told him not to be loafing around the door of the house on that particular night because his presence might be offen sive to the boys. We assembled in the room about 11 o'clock. I had had several other changes of opinion by this time, and my memoranda of bets were a little mixed un. I handed them over to the -porting editor, and asked him what he thought or them. He figured over it a minute, and then he 'aid: "You've been giving odd-- both ways. If McSweeney wins you lose $45 and if Lynch wins you lose $85. I advise you to holler for Mc Sweeney. Bets Declared OK The men went into the ring and began to pound each other. Every timer-the Kid hit Lvnch half the people around the ring yelled foul. When Lynch hit the Kid the other half yelled foul. I didn't want to show partiality, so I yelled foul all the time. In the fifth round both men in the ring were groggy. So was the breath of all the men outside the' ring. A sport standing near me whispered in my ear that Mc Sweeney was getting the worst of it. Then he escaped from the room and whispered the same thing In the ear of a detachment of police, who were waiting in a neighboring saloon. They had alL put up their money on McSweeney, aud (bey lost no time in raiding the house. The sports heard the police coming, and jumped out of the back window. I jumped out with them. A policeman reached out of the window and cculd just touch the tops ol our heads as we stood in the area, while the advance guard was kicking the gate down. I was the only man ho didn't wear bis hair short I never realized before why sports bad themselves barbered in that way. The majesty of the law grasped my long flowing locks, and hauled me in through the window like a piece ot rope. I paid a considerable fine. I thought it was more convenient to pay it to the police man -who arrested me thun to wait lor the formalities of the court. Otherwise my name might have cotinto the papers. I read in the sporting editor's- account of the fight next morning that all bets were off. I was deeply thankful. I have no more sporting blood; no, .sir, not so much as one red corpuscle. Ho.yabd tfiELDiua. Taught lo Resptet Bit Teacher. 5, 189L A HEAL ROBIN HOOD. He Still Lives in the Ballads of the Crofts at Nottingham. BETTER PK00F THAN THE BOOKS That tlie'llerry Ontlaw and His Men Were of Flesh and Blood. OAKS UXDER WHICH THiST ROAMED r connxsroxDiiicit op tius oiarxicv. i Nottingham, England, Jan. 28. I had tramped from Newstead Abbey from the drear region of Kobin Hood's Hills, to Arnold, on my return way to Nottingham. It was late at night and no conveyance or train could be had to the ancient city. The long, lane-like manufacturing hamlet pos sessed but two inns. These were "public houses," roadside dramshops, rather than hostelries. At one I had been refused en tertainment for the night and warned away, because the old lady who kept it took a good English oath I was a play actor or other mountebank, and would, somehow, depart too early in the morning with more than my reckoning. At the other, "The Lone Tree Inn," the modesty of the two maiden ladies in charge forbade the housing of an nn vouched man. I could sit in the taproom parlor on the high leather-covered settles until the closing, at midnight Then I must go. Utterly fatigued from a long day's wan dering in Kobin Hood's Land, and desper ate at the prospect of an all-night's tramp into Nottingham, how I longed for the wel come of some hedgeside Gipsy camp. Ex pressing this in humble protest only further outlawed me at the "Lone Tree Inn," at Arnold. Then, as I was being invited to take the road, like a Gipsy indeed, a portly, kindly-faced man came in. He owned the largest mill in Arnold; was a more power ful man than the lord of the manor; and my fate was in abeyance while he drank his nightly glass of gin and soda, and blinked at mc, as mingled emotions of suspicion, per plexity and hospitality played over his good English face. The spinster barmaids, the rough factory hands, and all tbe taproom hangers-on of a mill town, awaited the great man's dictum regarding the intruder with respectful silence. Arnold Was Hospitable. This was that it never, never should be said that Harnold-by-Notting'am was in hospitable or discourteous to a stranger. "'Earl 'ear!" came from the taproom con tingent 'E might be a play-bactor, 'e might be a mountebank, 'e might even con sort with those houtcastsof society, the 'orrid gypsies, but bagain it should never be said that Harnold-by-Notting'am refused the haiding 'and. " 'Ear 1 'ear ! 'ear 1" roared the audience all. So, as some of the great man's friends, some honest Notting ham butchers, would be directly returning home from Oxton way, by grace and shift I was to be got ipto one of their carts, and thence to old Nottingham and an inn. Charging the crowd thus, and the score to myself, which was gratefully expunged from the records of "Lone Tree Inn," the great man of Arnold went his way, while I went to sleep. How long I had been dozing I know not, but when I awakened it was with a sense of being shot through the earth's circuui.m bient blue. Four huge fellows encased in woolen sacks to their feet had tossed me into one of their carts like a quarter of beef. I struck upon a pile of ireshly-slauehtered pork in a comfortable position at the edge of the cart-box, while " 'Off ar' ye now, ol' cockey?" "Nigh onto 16-stone weight!" "The guv'nor's cold stiff with cheer!" and like suggestive chalfings were mingled with partings Irom the crowd at the "Lone Tree Inn." Songs the Batchers Sang. There were a half-score of carts; a score of butchers. Huge, awlul-voiced, kindly men they were, with wonderlul hallooings and song as they pushed their stout horses at terrific speed down that broad stone road through the glistening, crispy night Cot tage and castle dimly appeared and as instantly vanished. Copse and hedge seemed set in a mad pace the other way. On we spend to old Nottingham, frightening belated cott gers with the rushing, clamor and song. There were some superb voices among these rollick ing Nottingham butchers, as you will every where find among the lowly of all the mid land and northern English shire. But more impressive to me, with my own head full of Kobin Hood, than my perilous seat on the edge of a bounding cart-box, was the character of the songs tbi-y sung. Every one identified the butcher's, or "flesher's," vocation with incidents in the life of Kobin Hood. One of these songs told how Kobin him self was a butcher's apprentice, and became an outlaw on account of a miserly master feeding him solely on lights and liver, and wore the flesh from his bones with the un merciful address with which he was lorced to scrape the fat from the bones of animals. Another related the marvelous escape from death of a Nottingham butcher in the year 1323, when King Edward II. made his "progress" into the "north countrie." En raged at the dearth of meat in Nottingham, the King called the chief flesher of the city hefore him, and ordered him, on pain of death, to provide four-score of goodly kine, dressed for tbe turnspit, to be made ready before the dawn of the lollowing day. This was an impossible task. Killed the King's Deer. Passing from the King's presence the doomed butcher encountered a beggar, who as "a boon" aiked only to know the nature of his misfortune, and immediately disap peared. The butcher passed the day and night in preparing for eternity, and, like a loyal subject set forth for the castle at dawn to get his head chopped off, when he found "lour-score and more" beautiiully dressed carcasses of King Edward's own fallow deer banging in the market-place. Each had an arrow wound in the side; and so it was known that Kobin Hood and his men had saved the butcher's life, and by the same token cleverly challenged a bout with the officers of King Edward himself. Another, tbe most rollicking of all, went so far as to assert tbat tbe unctuousne-s, the red faces, the huge paunches, the general good cheer, as well as some other marked characteristics, of the'Nottingham butchers, are hereditarily due to the progenitor of them all. Him the ballad asserts to have been a lordly abbot, noted in the fourteenth century r both piety and wealth. Kobin Hood and his men had captured the abbot and his money bags. In return the outlaw so royally entertained him that the abbot fell fronigract. The love for flesn and ale grew so strong upon him that be renounced bis orders, and became butcher and vintner in Nottingham. The outlaws, now his friends, supplied his stalls with meat from the King's forest of Sherwood, and his butts with nine of which the neighboring monas teries and priories had been despoiled. Hence the clerical mold of furm, face and character, as the butchers 'say in raillery, and certainly as tradition has transmitted, of the jolly butchers of Nottingham. A Nottingham Innkeeper. Soon the spires aud chimneys of tbe ancient city pushed through the line of saf frony nigbt-lighl above ' it Then the strange cavalcade fhundered along the cob bled streets, and, after traversing several narrow closes, drew up with a crash iu front of a enriout old structure near the market place. After much shouting, pounding and ringing, an old servitor appeared. Then the butchers hoisted me from the cart, much the same as they had shot me into It. Despite mv protest-that 1 was domiciled at an inn in Peck lane, I was under their charge. To au inn of their choosing I must go; aud with terrible threats of reprisal to the little old man to whom I was given in charge, snonld slight be put on me,, or reckoning be wrong, they departed with a rush and a roar; the huge inn door was locked -and bolted, as i against sieze; and we climbed the stone stairs to a quaint old chamber, into whose tiny-paned gable window the first hesitant light of day was faintly trembling from tbe east. Wholly ic the spirit oT the oddity of the night's adventure, I related the pretensions oT the butchers' ballads, and asked toe old servant If evervbody In Nottingham was descended Irom Kobin Hood, or some one of his noble victims. The old man's pride was touched. "Indeed, no, sirl" he answered indignantly. "None comes o' that stock, save h'os as serves in public 'ouses!" Then he stood there, candle in hand, his gourd-like nose flaming and paling with awakening spirit, while he reeled off sundry other ballads of interminable stanzas and iteration, showing with nndoubted historic accuracy and outlawed rhyme aud rythm, pretty nearly the same collection of inci dents in Kobin Hood's career, accounting for the-1 prestige, rights ami perquisites of serving men in English inns, as were vouched for in the butchers' galaxy of song. The KiNon Collection. All pf which is related, because it sug gested to me a new liue of inquiry in the identification of Kobin Hood with Kobin Hood's'Land; and hinted a universality of traditional linking of the actual personage of the famous outlaw to our own time, of which literature gives but the faintest in sight As is well understood, all the legends, tales and ballads known to litera ture as of ancient origin and founded on supposititiously authentic incidents in the life of Kobin Hood were collected and pub lished in 1705, by Joseph Kitson, High Bailiff nf the Liberties ot Savoy, of whom it was said: "He never appeared human except when he was pouring over Gothic books." He was undoubtedly one of the most crit ical and painstaking antiquarians of his time. The entire collection numbers scarcely more than 50 pieces. These were repro duced from ancient black-letter copies, ab solutely autheuticaled. Yet, in this one nightl had.listened to one-tbird as many as the famous Kitson collection contained. If those, the work of writers from the four teenth to the seventeenth centuries, could be regarded as possessing many inherent evi dences of having been based on actualities, why should not those lingering among tbe masses be regarded with at least thatstrong presumption of an original source in fact, attributed to most of the traditionary lore handed down from father to soa through many generations? And if but two classes, the butchers and inn-servers, were so fruit ful in this sort of lore, why could not simi lar discoveries be made among others of their ilk? .Ballads o'ilie Crafts. I pushed the investigation iu Notting ham and shire with extraordinary lesults. Briefly, the members of every craft and vocation whose origiu antedates, or is con temporaneous with, Kobin Hood's time, possess, and retain with secret treasur ing and pride, very many of these ballads. Each builds, in a warm and loving way. a relationship with the outlaw himself; with his deeds of cunning, valor or chivalry; or with the unfortunate subjects of his mad and merry pranks. I have certainly counied different ballads of this class to above 300 in number. I believe iu Notting hamshire alone, fully 1,000 distinct Kubin Hood ballads could be secured among'tbe lowly for printing. Nor do they comprise modern ideas and situations clad iu ancient garb. In verbal garniture, simile, construc tion, incident, and in what may be termed their indestructible wholeness, they possess every evidence of great antiquity. But this is by no means the most Interest ing identification of actual or legendary hero with his haunts, afforded the patient EilgrinT In Nottingham. Iu the ancient ooks of the old city and the ancient nooks of the old shire is much curious information to be du,: up regirding Sherwood Forest, and abundant folk-lore, legends and super stitions, pointing as unerringly as the flight of an "arrow from his own bent bow to the one-time existence ol the unconquerable archer behind. But it was not until 1231. in the reign of Henry III., tbat the exact limits of Sherwood Forest were fixed. These boundaries were reaffirmed in lb72, and as late as 50 years since gave opportunity lor contiuuiugahorde of titled "ForestOfEcers;" and it is an interesting fact that Lord Byron, the poet, held office as one ol the last "Bow Bearers and Rangers" of this historic forest Oaks Ten Centuries Old. It has been frequently otated that all traces of Sherwood Forest had entirely dis appeared. This is not true. I found near Newstead Abbey several groups of its orig inal oaks. Some'of these oaks are supposed to be more than 1.000 years old. I found scores to be above 25 feet in circumference, and quito a number to exceed 35 feet None are of great height; but all are tremendous in trunks-and overarching limbs. Their scars, knots and gnarled growth are identical with the most ancient written descriptions of the forest , As with the Nottingham lowly of all an cient crafts, the peasantry of the entire dis trict are saturated with Kobin Hood legends and superstitions. Every simple farmer has customs or hall-superstitiou practices, origi nating in some reputed thing Kobin Hood did, or would not do. And there is not a housewife who has not some reward or pun ishment for dutilul or tractions child, in proverb or bugaboo Irom this exhauslless source. The books may fill you with wise doubts tbat ever a real Robin Hood played mad pranks in Sherwood Forest If you get close to the lives and hearts of the Not tinghamshire lowly,your own conviction that he once existed will strengthen.thiough innumerable evidences of fadeless memorial relics in custom, tradition and character. Edgar L. WAKEHAir. HJTE0DTJCIKO A H0VELTY. New Yorkers Propose the Erection of Kiosks a La Pari. J,cw York Herald. Alderman Harris presented a petition to the Board of Aldermen yesterday in behalf of a company who ask the privilege of erect ing convenieutbooths or, as they are termed iu Europe, "kiosks" on the public thoroushfares. The petitioners propose to pay $25 annuilly lor each booth, which is to be of tasteful design and built of glass and iron in substantial manner. Pi opmed 2ftwt Stand. Tbebooths,in addition to the conveniences, will be so arranged as to sell flowers and periodicals and be let to newsdealers, who will be chareed not rdore than 56 a year rent. In consideration of this low rental the lessee is to keep the booth clean and in perfect order, well lishted and free from ob jectionable character". Such booths have proven a success in Paris, Vienda, Berlin and other foreign cities. Brave "With a Tin Horn. I soon discovered that while a Zulu or Kaffir would throw a rifle away and take to his heels at the approach of a lion, he would take a tin'honror gong and face a herd of plpnhants. nv traveler. Noise will frighten and turn any wild auinia!, and the natives relv more on this than on all the weapons they possess. II r .ii r ftni- KVl laj 1 $ mtr; BEACI AND BELLES Of the Feathered World and the Lesson Their Conduct Teaclies. MATING OF Tflfe WOODPECKERS.! Tbe Most Faithless of Lovers Are tie Wild Turkey Gobblers. EAELI ELECTEICAIi EXPERIMENTS rwjtiTTix TOB TUX DISPa.TCH.1 From the Bible we learn that the ant is typical of indutry, the dove, of gentleness! and the serpent of wisdom in subtlety. But as a type of the perfect lives there is nothing equal to birds, or rather some species of) bird'. In the males we find not only the courtliness of a Lord Chesterfield and the primness of a Beau Brummel, but the trait of the foD and the "dude" as well. In the females we see not only lady-like modestj and artless graces, but also, the stamp of the coquette, the flirt and the jilt We areno drawing near to the love-making season of the birds of onr latitude, and nothing ia more interesting to the lovers of nature thin to watch the feathered beaux and belles in the process of courtship. If you will go into the woods in the earlj sprinz davs, vou are pretty sure to find woodpeckers flitting about among the dead trees in quest of food. But if you watcb them closely, when they first apnear in the woods, you will see that something of mora consequence than the wriggling worm is enj gaging their attention. You will probablj sec a female suddenly alight on a tree near von, and directly afterward several maleJ will come sailing throueh the air. The 1st- ter will stop on a limb near tbe female, and then vou will witness an amusing sight The males, one after another, will begin exhibit their charms like beaux before tha belle of the ballroom. They will spread their tails and shake out their handsomi feathers as au actress flaunts the train o her stage costume, in order that all its beau ties mar be seen and admired. Then the will dance and strut about near the female as if to show off tlieir handsome proportions their graceful manners and their agile move ments. Kelectlnc the Husband. The coy female is a highljr interested spectator while all this adoration is going on, and she is probably as greatly pieaec as the ballroom favorite who is beset by i dozen admirers. But Miss Woodpecker al last finds that there is one adorer for whon she entertains a verv tender feeling. Thd beautv. the crace. the activity and the da votion of one particular lover have won be s suscentibie heart, and she suddenly spreads her wines and flies to another tree. Wbethe J she first slyly winks at the accepted suitor or blushes a little, or gives htra "reason tq horje" iu some other way. known only birds, would be hard to prove, but Mis Woodpecker has certainly intimated, ic some manner, that she has made herselec tion of a husband, for only the favorite foil lows her now. The other males, more ol les disconsolate, mope around for a whill after the manner or a young swain witn a latelv acauired "hiitten." and then they fly awav, possibly with tbe consolatory reflect tion tbat "there are as good nsti in tne sea as ever were caught" Any wa v. they all try it again, and hnally they are all, let ul hope, happily mated. Aud there is no diminution in tbe affec tion of Mr. and Mrs. Woodpecker after tb J weddinz tonr is ended. Ther buckle right down to the cares and responsibilities ol housekeeping. They hrst bore a bole in : tree for their residence, takinz turns at th work and encouraging each other with littl love chirpi as the chips fall, until the bom is completed. And wben, alter awhile little eggs appear in the nest, needing tb constant waTnith of the lem&Ie body, tb faithful spouse either scouts about afte food for her or sits lovingly near ber, prob ably relieving the tedium of her task witi tokens of sympathy and endearment A Faithless Husband. In many other varieties of our familis birds you will find equally interesting evi dence ot love and devotiou both belore am after marriage, but the rule is by no mean invariable. As a type of the fickle love and the faithless husband there is hard"; anything of feathered kind that is mor striking than tbe wild turtey. All wu have observed our domestic turkeys kno tbat the gobbler is a conceited old egotist who stmts about apparently under the im pression that life is a perpetual dress parad aud tbat he is the drum major who head tbe procession. Well, tbe domestic gobble is only tbe descendant of a pompous and no verv reputable master. Tbe wild turkey gobblers put on all thl airs ol tbe human lop, as they strut abou for admiration in the mating season. Some times the males will fight savagely for tbl tavor of a handsome female, and their Iovl making isalways demonstrative and effusive But the fickleness of the gobbler is show; verv soon alter tbe wedding. He leaves hi spouse to provide her owu nest, and menl. refuses to furnish food fur her while she : batching the ezgs. In fact, tbe old wretc! would break tbe eggs if he could get th chance, and so tbe temale is nearly starve bv the meas-er bits of lood sne can scrape u near the nest while on tbe watch fur be worthless husband. Soon alter the eggs ar hatched the gobbler entirely deserts hi family, goes off alone to moult, and gets s lean that he fnrnishes a simile for Indian and backwoodsmen "lean as a gobbler i; summer. Tfature of Electricity. The newspapers constantly keep the woe ders of electricity in the public mind, an J yet nobody can give you a satisfactory aa -wer to the simple question. What is eled tricity? One physicist says "electricity is form of energy producing peculiar pna nomen3. and it mar be converted into otbe forms ot energy,' and all forms of energ mav be converted into it" Other authorJ ties sav "electricity is a form of molecula motion." All this is about as clear as verl thick mud, and so we must accept the eva sive reply of another authority, who say "several theories have been advanced, bu none of them are satisfactory. The first death in the world, so far as wl know from artificially generated electricity in that of Prof. Kicbman. of St Peters burg, an enthusiast on the new and capll v&ting science. He devised what n-n-tfc-llv the first Ifehtnin? rod. and wa killed by it From his laboratory he ran al iron to the top of his house, in present light ning-rod manner, and then ne wauea lor thnnrW -tnrm. There was a terrific flash ( lightning near the house, the Professorl .nniT.n.. tvn-lr-d too well, and he WSJ found dead by the side of it But soml most interesting anu amusing eiectricai ei -w.rim-nts followed. An Englishman pu on a pair of woolen stockings over his sil . AnM winter dav. At nit-ht h pulled the stockings off without separatin them and was astonished by the cract ling noise and even the sparks of electricit which louowea. w nen ne arew me su -tnckincs out Ot the woolen ones the electr paI attraction was so manifest that tb stockings would incline toward one anothd when held more than a foot apart. It ban pened tbat the silk stockings were bl-ol and the woolen oaes of light color. bi wben he tried the experiment with boil stockings or tbe same color there was l electrical appearance. This stocking e: periment soon got to be the fashionab "fad" in Eugland. Leydon jars wei charged by tbe stocking process, and gre. fun'was bad by giving light shocks to pe sous and domestic animals, lhe utility) electricity, however, began with thecc structlon of the first telegraph between Ba timoreand Washington. J. H. WEBB. The Koch Lymph Will not be needed if vim use Kemp's Ealsaq tbe best cough core. Sample free; all drags I Stop at the Hollendeo, in ClevelanJ I American and European plans. Iff I ts&X'-'l&iil ti . - f - .- . - -V,. V. .
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers