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"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.
.