mbamM THE ' PITTSBURG- DISPATCH. STJ2JDAY,"". MARCH 1, 1S9L NT is mm i . . ' i .... - i i i i . , . . sweep away even her pride In its irresiitible Course. She grew calmer when she found herself alone, but in a manner the grew also more desperate. A resolution began to form itself In her mind which she would have despised and driven out of her thoughts a few hours earlier; a resolution destined to lead to strange results. She began to think of re sorting once more to .a means other than natural in order to influence the man she Iored. In the first moments she had felt sure of herself, and the certainty thatthe"Wanderer had forgotten Beatrice as completely as though she had never existed, had seemed to Unorna a complete triumph. With lit tle or no common vanity, she had neverthe less felt sure that the man roust love her for her own sake. She knew, when she thought of it, that she was beautiful, unlike other women, and born to charm all living things. She compared in her mind the powers she controlled at will, and the influ ence she exercised without effort over every one who came near her. It had always seemed to her enough to wish in order to see the realization of her wishes. But she had herselt never nnderstood how closely the wish was allied with the despotic power i suggestion which she possessed. But in her love she had put a watch over her mys terious strength, and had controlled it, say ing that she would beloved lor herself or not at all. She had been jealous of every glance, lest it should produce a result not natural. She had waited to be won, instead oftryinzto win. She had failed, and pas s:on could be restrained no loncer. "What does it matter how, If only he is mine!" she exclaimed fiercely, as she rose from her carved chair an hour after he had left her. CHAPTER XIL Israel Kafka found himself seated in the corner of a comfortable carriage with Keyork Arabian at his side. He opened his eyes quite naturally, and after looking out of the window stretched himself as far as the limits of the space would allow. He felt very weak and very tired. The bright color had left his olive cheeks, his lips were pale and his eyes heavy. "Traveling is very tiring," he said glanc ing at Keyork's face. The old man rubbed his hands briskly and laughed. "I am as fresh as ever," he answered. "It is true that I have the happy facuity of sleeping when I get a chance and that no preoccupation disturbs my appetite." Keyork Arabian was in a very cheerful frame of mind. He was conscious of having made a great stride toward the successful realization of his dream. Israel Kafka's ignorance, too, amused him, and gave him a ireft and encouraging proof of Unorna's amazing powers. By a mere exercise of superior will this man", in the very prime of youth and strength, had been deprived of a month of life. Thirty days were gone, as in the flash of a second, and with them was gone ilso something less easily replaced, or at least more certainly missed. Jn Kafka's mind the passage of time was accounted for in a way wbich would have seemed supernatural 20 years azo, but which at the present day is understood in practice if not in theory. For 30 days be had been stationary in one place, almost motionless, an instrument in Keyork's skill lul hands, a mere reservoir of vitality upon which the sage had ruthlessly drawn to the fullest extent of its capacities. He had been fed and tended in his unconsciousness, he had, unknown to himself, opened his eyes at regular intervals and had absorbed through his ears a scries of vivid impres sions destined to disarm bis suspicions, when he was at last allowed to wake and move about the world again. With unfail ing forethought Keyork had .planned the details of a whole scries ot artificial temin Iscenccs, and at the moment wheu Kafka, came to himself in the carriage the machin ery of memory began to work as Keyork had intended that it should. Israel Kafka leaned back against the cushions and reviewed his life during the past month. He remembered very well the afternoon when, alter a stormy interview with Unorna, he bad been persuaded by Key ort to accompany the latter upon a rapid southward journey. He remembered how he had hastily packed together a few neces saries for the expedition, while Keyork stood at his elbow advising him what to take and what to leave, with the sound good sense of an experienced traveler, and he could almost repeat the words of the message he had scrawled on a sheet of paper at the last minute to explain bis sudden absence from his lodging for the people of the house bad all been away when he was "packing his belongings. Then the hurry of the departure recalled itself to him, the crowds of people at the Franz Josef station, the sense of rest in finding himself alone with Keyork in a compartment cf the express train; after that he had slept during most of the journey, waking to find himself in a city of the snow-driven Tyrol. With tolerable distinctness he remembered the sights he had seen, and fragments of conversation then another departure, still southward, the crossing ot the Alps, Italy, Venice a dream of water and sun and beautiful buildings, in which the varied cancrsatioaal powers of his companion found constant material. As a matter of fact, the conversation was wbat was most clearly impressed upon Kafka's mind, as he recalled the rapid pas sege from one city to another, and realized how many places" lie had visited in one short month. From Venice southward again, riorence, Ruine, Naples, Sicily, by sea to Athens, and on to Constantinople, "familiar to him already from former visits up to the Bosphorus, by the Black Sea to Varna, and then, again, a long period of restful sleep during the endless railway journey Festh, Vienna, rapidly revisiting and back at last to Prague, to the cold and the gray snow and the black sky. It was not strange, he thought, that his" recollection of 10 many cities should be a little confused. A man would need a fine memory to cata logue the myriad sights which such a trip offers to the eye, the Innumerable sounds; familiar and unfamiliar, which strike the ear, the couutless sensations of comfort, dis comfort, pleasure, annoyance and admira tion, which occupy the nerves without inter mission. There was something not wholly disagreeable in the hazy character of the retroipcct, especially to a nature such as Kafka's, lull of undeveloped artistic in stincts and of a passionate love of all sensu ous beauty, animate and inanimate The gorgeous pictures rose one after the other in his imagination, and satisfied a longing of which he felt that he had been vaguely aware before beginning the journey. lTone of these lacked reahfv, any more than Keyork himself, though it seemed strange to the young man that he should actually have teen so much in so short a time. But Keyork and Uuorna understood their art and knew how mueh more easy it is to produce a fiction of continuity where an element ot contusion is introduced by the multitude and variety of the quickly suc ceeding impressions. And Kafua's imagi nary journey was full ot such impressions and almost destitute of incident. One occurrence, indeed, he remembered with extraordinary distinctness, and could have affirmed under oath in all its details. It had taken place in Palermo. The heat had seemed intense by contrast with the bitter North . he had ltfc behind. Keyork had gone out and he had been alone in a strange hotel. His head swam in the stifling sirocco. He had sent f ora local physician, and the old fashioned doctor had then and there taken blood from his arm. He had lost so much that he had fainted. The doctor had been zone when Keyork returned, and the sage had been very angry, abusing in violent terms the ignorance "which could Eliil apply such methods. Israel Kafka knew that the lancet had left a wound on his arm, and that the scar was still visible. He remembered, too, that he had often felt tired since, and that Keyork had invariably reminded him of the circumstance, attrib uting to it the weariness from which he suffered, and indulging each time in fresh abuse ot the benighted doctor. "Vsiry skilllully bad the whole story been put together in all its minutest details, csre- ,ully brought out and written down la the form of a journal before it had been im pressed upon hit sleeping mind with all the tyrannic force of Unorna's strong will. And there was but little probability that Israel Kafka would ever learn what had actually been happening to him while he fancied that he had been traveling swiftly from plaoe to place. He could still wonder, indeed, that he should have yielded so easily to Ksyork's pressing invitation to accom pany the latter upon such an extraordinary flight, but he remembered then his last in terview with Unorna. and it seemed almost natural that in his despair he should have chosen to go away. Not that his passion for the woman was dead. Intentionally, or by an oversight, Unorna had not touched upon the question ot bis love lor her, in me course of her otherwise well-considered sug gestions. Possibly she had believed that the statement she had forced from bis lips was enough, and that he wonld forget her without anv further action on her part. Possibly, loo, Unorna was indifferent and was content to let him suffer, believing that his devotion might still he turned to some practical use. However that may be, when Israel Kafka opened his eyes in the carriage he still loved her, though he was conscious that in his manner of loving a change had taken place, of which he was destined to re calize the consequence before another day had passed. When Keyork answered his first remark he turned and looked at the old .nan. "I suppose you are tougher than I," he said, languidly. "You will hardly believe it but I have been dosing already, here, in the carriage, since we lelt the station." "No harm in that. Sleep is a great re storative," laughed Keyork. "Are you so glad to be in Prague again?" asked Kafka. "It is a melancholy place. But you laugh as though you actually liked the sight of the black houses and the gray snow and the silent people." "How can a plac be melancholy? The seat of melancholy is the liver. Imagine a city with a liver of brick and mortar, or stone and cement, a huge mass of masonry buried in its center like an enormous fetish, exercising a mysterious influence over tbe city's health then you may imagine a city as suffering from melancholy." "How absurd!" "My dear boy, I rarely say absurd things," answered Keyork impertnrbably. "Besides, as a matter of fact, there is nothing absurd. But you suggested rather a fantas tic idea to my imagination. The brick liver is not a bad conception. Par down in the bowels of the earth, in a black cavern hol lowed beneath the lowest foundations of the oldest church, the brick liver was built by the cunning magiciaus of old, to last for ever, to purify the city's blood, to regulate the city's life, and iu a measure to control its destinies by means of its passions. A few wisi men have handed down the knowl edge of the brick liver to each other from generation to "generation, but tbe rest of the inhabitants are ignorant of its existence. They alone- know that every vicissitude of the city's condition is traceable to that source its sadncs, its merriment, its carni vals and its lents. its health and its disease, its prosperity and the hideous plagues which at distant intervals kill one in ten of the population. Is it not a pretty thought?" "I do not understand you," said Kafka, wearilr. "It is a very practical idea," continued Keyork, amused with his own fancies, "and it will yet be carried out. The great cities of the next century will have a liver of brick and mortar and iron and machinery, a huge mechanical purifier. Ton smilel Ab, my dear boy, truth and fantasm are very mnch the same to yonl You are too young. How can you be expected to care tor tho problem of problems, for the mighty question of prolonging li:e?" Keyork laughed again, with a meaning in his laughter which escaped his companion altogether. "How can you be expected to care?" ho repeated. "And yet men used to say ihat it was the duty of strong youth to support the trembling weakness of leeble old age." His eyes twinkled with a diabolical mirth. "No," said Kafka. "I do not care. Life is meant to be short Life is meant to be storm-broken with gleams of love's sun shine. Why prolong it? If it is unhappy you would only draw out tbe unhappiness to greater lengths, and such joy as it has is joy only because it is qnick, sudden, violent. I would concentrate a lifetime into an instant, if I could, and then die content in having suffered everything, enjoyed every thing, dared everything in tbe flash of a a great lightning betneen two total dark nesses. But to drag on through slow sor rows, or to crawl through a century ot con tentment neverl Better be mad, or asleep, and unconscious of the time." "You are a very desperate person!" ex claimed Keyork. "If you had the manage ment of this unstable world you wonld make it a very convulsive and nervous place. We should all turn into flaming epbemerides, fluttering about the crater of a perpetually active volcano. I prefer the system of the brick liver. There is more durability in it." The carriage stopped before the door of Kafka's dwelling. Keyork got out with him and stood upon the pavement while the porter took the slender luggage into the bouse. He smiled as he glanced at the leathern portmanteau which was supposed to have made such a long journey while it had in reality lain a whole month iu a cor ner of Keyork's great room behind a group of specimens. He had opened it once or twice in that time, had distributed the con tent: and had thrown in a few objects from his heterogeneous collection, as reminiscences of the places visited in imagination by Kafka, and of the acquisition of which the latter was only assured in his sleeping state. Thev would constitute a tangible proof of the journey's reality in case the suggestion proved less thoroughly successful than was hoped, and Keyork prided himself upon this supreme touch. "And new,"he said,taklng Kafka's hand, "I would advise you to rest as long as yo u can. I suppose that it must have been a fatiguing trip for you, though I myself am as lresh as a May morning. There is nothing wrong with you, but you are tired. Repose, my dear boy, repose, and plenty of it That infernal Sicilian doctor! I shall never for give him for bleeding you as he did. There is nothing so weakening. Goodby I shall hardly see you again to-day, I fancy." "I cannot tell," answered the young man, absently. "But let me thank you," he added, with a sudden consciousness of obligation, "for your pleasant corapany.and for making me go with you. I dare sav it has done me good, though I fed unaccount ably tired I feel almost old." His tired eyes and haggard face showed that this, at least, was no illusion. The fancied jouruey had added ten years to his age iu 30 days, and those who knew him best would have found it hard to recognize the brilliantly vital personality of Israel Kafka in the pale and exhausted youth who painiully climbed the stairs with unsteadv steps, panting for breath and clutching at the hand-rail for support. "He will not die this time," remarked Keyork Arabian to himself, as he sent the carriage away and began to walk toward his own home. "Notthis time. But it was a sharp strain, and it would not be safe to try it again." In iiis great room he sat down .by the table and fell into a long meditation upon the most immediate consequences of his snecess in tbe difficult undertaking be bad so skill fully brought to a conclusion. His eyes wandered about the room from one speci men to another, and from time to time a short, scornlul laugh made his white beard quiver. As he had once said to Unorna, the dead things reminded him of many failures, but he bad never before been able to laugh at them and at the unsuccessful efforts thev represented. It was different to-day. With out lifting his head he turned up his bright eyes, uqder the thick, finely-wnukled lids, as though looking upward toward that poweragainst which he strove. The glance was malignant and defiant, human and yet half-devilish. Then be looked down again and again fell into deep thought "And if it is to be so," he said at last, rising suddenly and letting his open hand fall upon the tabic, "even then I am pro-, vided. She cannot "free herself from that bargain, at all events.',' Tneu be wrapped his furs arpund him and went out again. Scarce a hundred paces from Unorna's door he mct'the Wan derer. He looked up into the cold, calm face, and put out hit hand, with a greeting. "You look as though you were in a very peaceful frame of mind," observed -Keyork. "Why should I be anything but peaceful?" asked tbe other. "I have nothing to disturb me." "True, true. 'You possess a very fine or ganization. I envy you your magnificent constitution, mv dear friend. I would like to have some of it, and grow young again." "On your principle of embalming the liv ing, I suppose." "Exactly," answered tho sage, 'with a deep, rolling laugh. "By-the-by, have yon been with our friend Unorna l suppose that is a legitimate question, though you always tell me lam tactless." "Perfectly legitimate, my dear Keyork. Yes; I have just left her.' It is like a breath of a spring morning to go there in these davs." "You 'find it refreshing?" "Yes. There is something about her that I could describe as soothing, if I were aware of ever being irritable, which I am not" Keyork smiled and looked down, trying to dislodge a bit of ice from the pavement with tbe point of his stick. "Soothing yes. That ia just the expres sion. Not exactly tbe quality most young and beautiful women covet, eh? But a good quality in its way, and at the right time. How is she to-day?" "She seemed to have a headache or she was oppressed by the heat Nothing serious, I fancy, but I came away, as I fancied I was tiring her." "Not likely," observed Keyork. "Do you know Israel Kafea?" he asked suddenly. "Israel Kafka?" repeated the Wanderer, thoughtfully, as though searching in his memory. "Then you do not," said Keyork. "You could only have seen him since you have been here. He is one of Unorna's most in teresting patients, and mine as well. He is a little odd." Keyork tapped his ivory forehead signifi cantly with one finger. "Mad," suggested the Wanderer. "Mad, if you prefer the term. He has fixed ideas. In the first place, he imagines that he has just been traveling with me in Italy, "and is always talking of our experi ences. Humor him, if yon meet him. He is in danger of being worse if contradicted." "Am I likely to meet him?" "Yes. He is often here. His other fixed idea is that he loves Unorna to distraction. He has been dangerously ill during tbe last few weeks, but he is better now, and he may appear at any moment Humor him a little if he wearies you with his stories. That is all I ask. Both Unorna and Iare interested in the case." "And does not Unorna care for him at all?" inquired tbe other indifferently. "No, indeed. On the contrary, she is an noyed at his insistauce, but sees that it is a phase of insanity and hopes to cure it before long." "I see. What is he like. I suppose he is an Israelite?" "From Moravia yes. The wreck of a handsome boy," said Keyork, carelessly. "This insanity is an enemy of good look's. The nerves give way then the vitality the complexion goes men of five and twenty years look old under it But ''you will see lor vonrself before long. Goodby. I will go iu and see what is the matter with Unorna." He entered the house by a small side door and ascended by a winding staircase direct ly to tbe room from which an hour or two earlier, he had carried the still unconscious Israel Kafka. Everything was as be had left it, and he was glad to be certified that Unorna had not disturbed theaged sleeper in his absence. Instead of going to her at once he busied himself in makiDg a few ob servations and in putting in order certain of his instiuments and appliances. Then at last he went and found Uuorna. She was walking up and down among the plants and he saw at a giance that something had hap pened. Indeed, the few words spoken by the Wanderer had suggested to him the possi bility of a crisis, and be bad purposely lin gered iu the inner apartment to give her time to recover her self-possession. She started slightly wheu he entered, and her brows contracted, but she immediately guessed from his expression that he was not in one of his aggressive moods. "I have just rectified a mistake which might have had rather serious conse quences," he said, stopping before her and speaking earnestly and quietly. A mistake?" "We remembered everything, except that our wandering friend and Kafka were very likely to meet, and that Kufka would in all probability reler to his delightful journey to the South in my company." "That is truel" exclaimed Unorna with an anxious glance. "Well, what have you done?" "I met tbe Wanderer injthe street. What could I do? I told him that Israel Kafka was a little mad, and that his harmless delu sions referred to a journey he was snpposed to have made with mc, and to an equally imaginary passion which he fancies be feels for vou," "That was wise," said Unorna, still pale. "How came we to be so imprudent! One word, and he might have suspected " "He could not have suspected all," an swered Kevorfc. "No man could suspect that." "Nevertheless I suppose what we have done is not exactly justifiable." "Hardly. It is true that criminal law has not yet adjusted itself to meet questions of suggestion and psyebio influence but it draws the line, most certainly, somewhere between these questions and the extremity to which we have gone. Happily the law is at an immeasurable distance from science, and here, as usual in such-experiments, no one could prove anything; owing to the com plete unconsciousness of the principal wit nesses." "I do not like to think that we have been near to such trouble," said Unorna. "Norl. It was fortunate I met the Wan derer when I did." "And the other? Did he wake as I or dered him to do? Is all right? Is there no danger of his suspecting anything?" It seemed as though Uuorna had momen tarily forgotten that such a contingency might be possible, and her anxiety returned with the recollection. Keyork's roiling ianghter reverberated among the plants and filled the whole wide hall with echoes. "No danger there," he answered. "Your witchcraft is above criticism. Nothing of the kind that you have ever undertaken has failed." "Except against you," said Unorna, thoughtfully. "Except against me, of course. How could you ever expect anything of the kind to suc ceed against me, my dear lady?" "And why not? After all," in spite of our jesting, you are not a supernatural being." "That depends entirely on the interpreta tion you give the word supernatural. But, my dear friend and colleague, let us not de ceive each other, tbough we trouble between us to deceive other people Into believing al most anything. There is nothing in all this 'witchcraft of yours but a very powerlul moral influence at work I mean, apart from tbe mere laculty of clairvoyance which is possessed by hundreds of common somnambulists, and which, in you, is a mere accident The Test, this hyp notism, this suggestion, 'this direc tion of others' wills, is a moral affair, a mat ter of direct impressiou produced by words. Mental suggestion may inTare cases succeed, when the person to be influenced is himself a natural clairvoyant. But these cases are not worth taking'into consideration. Your influence is a direct one, chiefly exercised by means of your words and through the im pression of power which you know how to convey in them. It is marvelous, I admit. But the very definition puts me-beyond your power." "Why?" "Because there is notatbuman being alive, and I do not believe that a human being ever lived, who bad the sense of inde pendent individuality'which I have. Let a man have tbe very smallest doubt con cerning his own independence let that doubt be ever so transitory and produced by any accident whatsoever and he ia at your mercy." "And you are sure that "no accident could shake your faith In yobrself- " To It continued next Sunday. MYSTERIES IN COUBT Howard Fielding Animadverts on the Personal Identification of Innocent Men. STRANGE GIFTS OP WITNESSES. Clever Detective Work and .Brilliant Swearing in a Bad Case of Bibulous Burglary. 1 TEAHP WHO FARED VERY BADLT. Posiurdy Identified u tii Hta Wis Btcli Potatoes Tbst HiTir Wen Stolen. rWBITTSN FOB THE DISPATCH.! I should not think it worth while to tell so simple a story as the one which I now propose to grind out, if it did not give me an opportunity to speak instructively about two or three subjects on which I have long been a crank. The most important of these is personal identification as it is practiced in courts. Oh, I have seen so mnch of it! Only last week Policeman Schlob swore positively that the man seen entering the side door of Beinangel's saloon on Sunday afternoon was Beinangel's brother-in-law. He knew him because they had been friends from boyhood. It was shown by other evidence,, however, that the man in question was G feet 2 in his stockings and weighed 115 pounds, while Beinangel's brother-in-law was 6 feet 3, and so fat that he couldn't have been forced through the door by a hydranlio press. But the lioense was not revoked. What a Woman Can Do. Then I remember seeing a woman posi tively identify the thief who Btole half a bushel of potatoes out of the back cellar of her house in tbe middle of the night- She recognized him by the color of his eyes. Cross examination failed to shake her cer tainty but it developed some interesting facts. It appeared that the husband of tbe wit ness, Mr. John Flukes, came home from the club about 2 A. m. on the night of the rob bery, and after unlocking the door with his watch key, he paused in the hall a moment trying to decide whether the front stairs led up or down. It was quite essential to solve this problem in order that he might get up to bed without creating unnecessary dis turbance. He removed bis ping hat so that his foot steps might not awake his wile, and then took hold of the stairs to steady them.. Tfiey kept still long enough for him to become convinced tbat they led up, in a general way, and as that was the direction in which he wanted to go, he ascended half a dozen steps. Here he sat down to reflect. He was aware of a slight noise, but the house was turning over and over so fast tbat he could not fell whether it came from tbe cellar or the attic. He bestowed so much attention upon listening that he forgot to hold on to tho stairs, and, as a result, he fell to the bottom with a resounding crash. Created Several Vigorous Alarms. This frightful rumpus in the still watches of tbe night awoke Mrs. Flukes, who yelled "burglars" in a voice like fifty wounded eleptnnts. Flukes, not desiring to contra dict his wiTe at a time when he felt himself to be somewhat at a disadvantage, also yelled "burglars!" whereupon Mrs. Flukes buried her head under the bedclothes, while a male servant, whose room was in the gar ret, fired a double barreled shotgun through the roof, and locked himself into a closet. I do not vretend to know how the house bold straightened itself out, but nothing was done until morning, when a search of the premises revealed the fact that nothing was missing but the half bushel of potatoes. With this clue to work on, the police soon arrested a tramp who was heard to say that he hadn't eaten anything except one potato during the past ten days.- "Clever detective work, too," said the officer who made the arrest, to the reporters at headquarters. Then he winked mys teriously and remarked that he expected to have a big story for the boys in a day or two. Hard Lines for the Tramp. At the Central station Mr. Flukes unhes itatingly picked tbe suspected man ont of a group of policemen who were all noticeably overfed, while the tramp well, to judge by his emaciation, the potato to which he Anybody Could Pick Him Out. had referred must have been a very "small one. This identification lelt no doubt in tbe mind of anybody but the tramp, who begau to wonder whether he nilcht not be guilty after all. However, .to make assur ance doubly sure, the servant, Laggs, was sent for by the police in the course of the afternoon. He was loaded for an identification. He bad heard Mr. Flukes at lunch time describe to Mrs. Flnkes the lormidable and desperate appearance of the man with whom he had straggled in the dead of night in defense of their home. The villainous physiognomy pictured by Mr. Flukes made such a deep impression on the lniud ot .Laggs that when he arrived at the" station he promptly identi fied Ward Detective "Plug" Swugly as the criminal. The alleged, feelings of Mr. Swagly wore so much hurt by this mistake that be offered to prove thatliaggS had com mitted burglary, highway robbery or treason in Marcb, 1881, or on any other date that was convenient to the authorities. rrlghtenod Laggs Into Disappearance. All that Mr. Swagly asked was an hour and a half to collect his witnesses. This liberal offer was refused, but it frightened Laggs so badly tbat he couldn't be found on tbe day when the tramp came up for pre liminary examination. I am inclined to think that his alarm was unnecessary, and tbat tbe ward detective bad over-estimated his powers because a week later, when L"tggs was clubbed half to death in an alley near the Flukes residence, Swagly was A Suspicious Noise. ' ii , , wholly unable to discover the perpetrator of the deed. , ' . But where Iiaggs failed, Mrs. Flukes was strong. At the preliminary examination she did not hesitate for an instant His Honor asked her to fix her eyes on the prisoner, and she did so, with a severity that should have been good tor acommntatiou of his sentence on the eronnd that he had been I punished enough already. She was going on to tell how she happened to buy the bushel of potatoes, half of which were stolen, wheu the justice interposed, and said : "Do you recognize the prisoner as the man who entered your house on the night of November 3, last past, and stole a peck of potatoes ?" Corrected by tho Clerk. "Four pecks in a busheL Your Honor," whispered the clerk. "Certainly, sir; dry not interrupt me. I was about to say to the witness: Do you recognize the prisoner as the man who en- mn- Jbur Peeks in a Bushel. tered your house on the night of November 3, last past, and stole a peck oPpotatoes in each hand ?" It is nearly impossible, to find a subject which a New York police justice does not thoroughly understand, if you give him leisure to tell you what he meant to say when he spoke the first time. Mrs. Flukes was willing to swear to the nrisoner or at him an it pleased the Court. Every time she discovered a peculiarity of his features or clothing which she hadn t previously noticed she recognized him by that. Then the policeman on the beat was called, and he told wbat he had been dream ing about at 2 o'clock on the morning in question. Swagly, who -made tbe arrest, also gave testimony which was very, damag ing in fact there is no telling how damag ing, not to say damning, such testimony may be when the records, which do not lie. are unrolled in a higher court, and Swagly et al are committed without bail. The Tramp Caught It Hard. In the case at hand, however, tbe damage was inflicted upon the tramp, and he was held in the sum of $1,000. None of his friends came forward to give this bail, partly because he had no friends, and further, because if be had had any, they would not probably, have had so much money as that. He went to jail. I am happy to say, however, that before the trial Mrs. Flukes discovered that there had been only half a bushel of potatoes in the cellar on the night of November 3, and consequently the tramp could not have stolen a peck in each, hand, and left two pecks behind him. On learning of this fact, Mr. Flukes, who was a scrupulously just man, secured the release of the tramp through the influence of a ward politician, and he also gave the unfortunate man bis forgiveness and the unused portion of a meal ticket entitling tbe holder to three 25 cent dinners at a restaurant which had failed and closed up during the previous week. The foregoing isn't the story I intended to tell when I began, but once get me started on the subject of personal identification, and I never know when to stop. I could tell half a dozen more stories without getting anywhere near tbe one I had in mind at first. Tbey would all go to show that'when a lot of people stand up in court, and tell how they recognize a man whom they never saw but once in their lives, and then when he was back to them, and half a mile away when they swear that they know him be cause he has lost a back tooth, and has a scar on the sole Of his foot they are simply lying, in a way to make their moral char acters as unclean as the cover of the police court Bible, on which they take the oath. However, let that pass." I started to tell how I was pursued by a mysterious negro, said to be seven feet high, but perhaps I can do it some other time. Howard Fielding. BECBETS OF A COSTUMES. Some Points Prom Szwlrschlna, the Great est Man in His Line. Detroit News. Prof. H. Szwirschina, of Detroit, ' is the most extensive costumer of America. He says: "I rented out 65 Santa Clans snits on Christmas Eve last lor Sunday school enter tainments. The two best days in the year in our business are Mardi Gras Tuesday and tbe Monday preceding. I have about 3.000 costumes in use at New Orleans. Our best customers, however, are the amateur min strel companies. Tbey do not care for ex pensr and take the best we have. We fur nished 1.000 costumes for the 'Fall of Baby lon,' recently produced in Cincinnati, and made them upon short notice, too, keeping 32 of our girls working night and day on them. But a more expeditious piece of work was for the Shakesperean pantomimes, for which we made 250 complete new cos tunies in ten days, tbe material used being heavy, clumsy and hard to handle. We are now making 260 costumes for tbe Robin son circus, some of them being very expen siye.tbe goodsalone costing $6 50 per yard." "What costumes bring the highest rent als?" "Historical. They are the most expensive to make and we charge from S5 to $10 each per night for them. For ladies' costumes we charge even more. Then we charge users for all damage and never lei a beard of wig go without first demanding full se curity, as customers are not so apt to take as cood'eareof these things as of the costume. We us,ed to import all our wigs and beards from Germany, but now there is a factory atFindlay, O., which turns out even better goods at a" much less cost It is generally supposed that because most of the masks used in America are made in Germany that Germans are tbe greatest users,' but such is really not the case. The Americans are the greatest mask users on the globe, and they usually rent the most expensive ones, while the Germans content themselves with the cheapest they can get. "Ana now I will tell you something which may appear strange, but it shows tbe popu lar appreciation of two well known histori cal personages. Queen Elizabeth and Mary Queen of Scots. It is a lact that we rent more than double the number of the latter costumes than the former, which I consider a beautiful tribute paid by American society ladies to the unfortunate Princess." GETTING MOONSTRUCK. In Australia a Sleeper's Face Will Always Turn to the Pretty Orb. Conversing lately with a friend who had spent some years in Australia, he remarked that certain headaches from wbich he had suffered were due to his having been "moon struck" while sleeping out at night in the bush, sivs Dr. Wilson in Illustrated News of the World. He further added that it was his belief th?t, no matter in what position one went to sleep under such circumstances, ou awaking, the face 'of the sleeper was turned toward the nibon. By the way, I have heard it also argued that meat exposed to the rays of the moon, or fish so exposed, acquired poisonous prop erties. This isMperchance, .a belief which owes its origin to the general opinion of the moOn's baneful action on life at large. P r. VftllHrP IP! i THE SILENT BEAUTY Tbat Brings Freshness to the Lawn and Incense to tbe Home. PEUNIKG THE SHRUBS AND TREES. Tines and Flowers for Decoration, Both Out door and Indoor. HOW TO BOY AND PIjANT SEiSDS 1WMTTZ31 VOB TOT DISTATCn.l The time'for pruning deciduous shrubs is not decided upon by all horticulturists, and no general rnle can be laid down that will apply in all cases. Shrubs and trees are pruned for different purposes, and no one would gainsay tbe statement that tbe tree or shrub pruned for ornamental purposes on the lawn requires different treatment from "the tree tbat is prnned to induce a more abundant yield of fruit. In the same way shrubs arc sometimes pruned to increase tbe yield of flowers, and again to make the gen eral form more graceful and symmetrical. That very few really understand the art of pruning properly, and for a purpose, is evinced by the ungraceful outlines of many of our shrubs and the poor showing of flowers and fruit. The practice of cutting off all the limbs of trees, leaving only ungainly looking forks and posts,, which professional tree butchers do in many private and public grounds, and of shearing off the shrubs of a border to a uniform height the same as they would treat a hedge, making absolute even ness all around, is certainly to be deplored and deprecated. If they are flowering shiubs tbe very branches which are to bear the most perfect flowers as a rule suffer de struction. Shrubs shoulds, never be pruned so much as to impair their vigor, and they should never be pruned iu snch a way as to destroy the natural outlines of their beauty. It is distorting nature, and not improving upon it, to prune a shrub into such odd and -curious shapes that no one would know to wbat order" it belonged. Tbe object of prun ing is to cutout the weak shoots in order to give more vigor to the strong ones, and to rut back cautiously so as to develop the best form. Shrubs should never be cut back to bare poles, for they will never again assume that flowing grace of ontline which consti tutes their chief charm. The time for pruning shrnbs depends largely upon the kind of shrubs and the purposes for wbich they are pruned. Shrubs that bloom in the fall on wood grown the same year, such as the althaea, the great panlclod hydrangea, and some species of tamarisk: probably need a hard cutting back between late autumn and early spring so as to encourage a strong .growth of flower ing wood for the next autumn. On the other hand shrubs that bloom early in the year on wood of the previous year should be pruned immediately after the blooming season, and not in autumn or spring. Another class of shrubs are those which bloom late in the season on the wood of the present year, and the best time to prune these is between late autumn and very early spring. Now is a good time to do the work before tbe sap begins to awaken them in the soring. Shrubs that -do not -flower, or whose flowers are not their chief mark of beauty, should always be pruned cautionsly and sparingly, for the charm of snch plants is found in their winter garb of delicately tinted leaves, often combining tbe colors of the rainbow in a beautiful way. Such a mass of shrub bery is far more beautiful than bare poles of shrubs cut back ungracefully. C. S. Waltebs. FOB DECOBATIVE PURPOSE! Vines and Plants Suitable for Outside and Inside the Home. rwniTixx row tiik dispatcu-i The art of outdoor decoration of our farm . houses and suburban homes is one that can be greatly improved upon in this country. One may ride for mile through the country without seeing a comfortable home grace fully and carefully shaded and fringed by some beautiful and well chosen vines. The neglect is more apparent when the number of desirable plants and vines for this pur pose is noted. Our country and even city homes could be made much more graceful by festooning them with the Virginia creeper, which with ifstbriftnessand crown ing excellence of rich autumn color, make it a most desirable plant. The ground nut is a twining perennial that is ornamental throughout the season, but late in the au tumn when the flowers ot other plants and climbers have died it reaches the height of its beauty with its beautiful flowers. It has the odor of violets, and the blossoms are of a chocolate'hne. It will sometimes grow 16 or 20 feet up a tree, or alongside of a house. Another desirable vine for outdoor deco ration is the moonseed, which has beautiful twining stems and abundant foliage. The unarmed smilax should not be neglected for this purpose, and tbe beautiful Virgin's bower, one of the most graceful Northern clematises, should be rescued from tbe woods and highways to ornament the sides and trees ot our home. Iu deep rich soil it makes a wonderful 'growth, and completely transforms an object by its leaves. But indoor decorative plants are just as essential at this time of the year as those grown out of doors. Flaat decoration is becoming more fashionable every year, and with improved methods of cultivation the price of flowers is falling so that at nearly every reception of any not plants and palms are features of the rooms. If one has a conservatory attached' to the house, ora small bay-window devoted to the cultiva tion of flowers, all such plants can be grown at home, and ii many entertainments are given during tbe winter quite an item of ex pense Will oe saveu, uesiueg Having tne pleasure of enjoying the fragrance and beauty of the plants all through the winter months. There are three of these useful plants, which are especially useful for decorative purposes, owing to their beauty, and hardi ness in standing heat and dnst. The aspi distra elatior is a plant that is well known, and very old, in spite of its long name. . It is easily cultivated when potted in good loam, and giveu plenty of water and a tem perature of 60 or 60. In the summertime it needs partial shading, but in the winter it makes a good plant for decorating dark balls in the dwelling house. They are pro pagated by dividing tbe rhizomes at any lime of the year, but generally tbe spring is the best time. The vanegata form of thecoprosma bauri ana is a plant that originally came from New Zealand, and after heiug popularized iu Europe it found Us way here. It is now considered one of the best plants for indoor decoration. When the young plants are once established they are easily grown. Tbey mace beautiful plants either for cool house culture or for outdoor work in the garden. They have large, glossy green leaves, with broad marginal bands of yellow running through thent. Helen Whaebuedox, CLUBBING FOB SEEDS. The Economical Way to Bay and the Best Way to Plant Them. ' I WRITTEN FOB TIIK PISPATCn.1 In ordering .seeds from tbe florists, clubs should always be formed at this time of the year in order to save money. Very few will require a whole package of seeds, and those that are lelt will be wasted or giverj away. Many new flowers and plants will be tried, but this is very expensive. Variety is de sirable, and to make a cood garden this is absolutely necessary. If a club is formed, however, variety may be obtained at very little expense. It seldom pays to buy the mixed varieties of seeds in one package. As a rule they are poor seeds to begin with, and one can never tell what are flowers and what are weeds when tbey come up. Many of tbe seeds are very sensitive about germinating and the very finest .ind best mixed soil should be given to them. The best preparation of the soil for all delicate flower-seeds is to make successive layers of coarse and tine soil and sand. Xase a deep pot or box, and fill it three inches up with broken crockery, or very coarse sand; tben add two or three inches of coarse soil, mak ing it finer gradually as you get up toward the top. The two incbelof top soil should be as fine as it can be made; in fact, it should be sifted through a flour sieve. The finest flower seeds iu such soil will often germinate if they are simply sown on top without being covered. Tne seeds, as all know, require constant moisture during the germinating period, and such a pot filled with soil in layers can be kept moist by set ting it in a lasin of warm water. Let the water come up to the top of the layer ot broken crockery, and then the moisture will gradualiybe absorbed by the coarse soil. If the top is covered with a pane of glass the moisture will soon collect on it, and re tain itfor some time. This is the ideal way of raising flowers from seeds indoors. Ella Spake. A VICTIM: OF HYUOIISM. She Brings Her Fancied Trouble to Tal macte, and Gets Good Advice. A, few months ago a lady called at my house and desired to see me on important business, said Dr. Talmage in a recent lect ure. She appeared refined, intelligent and pleasing. There was nothing in her appear ance to indicate anything unusual. She began by saying that she was from Indian, apolis, Ind., tbat she had come to secure my interference in her behalf. She said her uncle had died ia Indianapolis. He had been slain through a spell put upon him by his wife. The' uncle had suffered from a long and distressing disease. His wife had, through hypnotic.influence, compelled him to decline the taking of food. A physician had been called in, and tbe wife had also hypnotized him so that he gave the wrong kind of medicine or no medicine at all. My informant said that this baleful influence was continued until the invalid went down under it, and finally expired. The lady talking with me" had com plained of the treatment of her uncle, and had pronounced it a case of murder, and, as a result, the woman who bad slain her husband bad, in a revengeful spirit, cast the same spell upon her, my in formant. To escage these influences she had gone clear ont into Oregon, but distance had no relaxing effect and she could endure this malign pursuit no longer and had come to Brooklyn to request me to employ attorneys in her behalf and have her wrongs and those of her deceased uncle ventilated in the courts of law. Although the recital of the incident may to you, who did not confront tbe case, seem bordering on the facetious to mp the conversation was a fearful tragedy. I could see no bign in her face of mental aberration. There was nothing like an en largement of tbe pnpil of the eye tbat gen erally indicates intellectual shipwreck. After she" had done speaking, I said: "Madam, I am very sorry for you, but why do you not try to have your wrongs righted in Indianapolis, where there afe as skillful lawyers and as good judges of court as we have in Brooklyn? "Oh," she replied, "they say in Indian apolis that I am not responsible, that I am insane, and I conld get no justice done me there, and I have come all this distance con fident tbat you would help me out from this awful influence which haunts me day and night." ' I said: "Madam, I am very clear as to what is the best thing for you to do. Will you take ray advice if I frankly give it?" She said: "I think I will." Then I said: "My advice is for you take the first train forborne. Your uncle is dead. No amount of fuss inlhe courts will restore him to life. There is only one person that you have to look after and tbat is yourself. I do not say tbat the people of Indianapolis are right when tbey declare you insane. Now go straight home and seek out a good family physician who will give you some medicine to tone up yonr nervous system and quiet vour brain. There is no" spell upon you. You are under a dreadful hallu cination. If you will accept a doctor I will get one, but not a lawyer. Go right home!" With the close of that conversation ended my acquaintance with the case until tbe newspapers.intormed us a few days ago that that unlortunate lady bad been arrested in Indianapolis, deadly weapons taken from her and she sent to the insane asylum. THE TBEE OF LIFE. Strange Ideas Regarding It Among Ancient Peoples. Here is an illustration of a tree of life from Pall Mall Budget: The ancients in the different parts of the world bad each a story about this tree, which represented to them either the whole world or hum&n life. Of course, you know tbe story of the "tree of life" in the Garden of Eden. That is one of the sacred trees; but the peoples who knew nothing about the Bible story had all legends about similar trees. The Greeks, the Romans, tbe Indians, the Assyrians and tbe Scandinavians each told a different tale. The one which was The Tree of Life. told about this tree said that its roots were in a deep abyss below the world. Serpents and monsters were forever gnawing at the roots, trying to destroy the tree. The branches are the sky, the leaves, the cloud, and the buds and Iruits tbe stars. An eagle, who represents the air, perches on the top branch; a fquirrel, signifying hail and storms, runs un and down the stem; and in a fountain in the warm South swim two swans, one of which is the sun and the other the moon. The Mahnmmedans have a tree of life: which is st Wire that a man could only travel round it in 500 years, and it would take him 100 years to ride round it on a swift horse. A Political Nomination In Church. Detroit 'onrnaLl Some Genesee friends of Justice Cham plin tell a good story at the expense of Judge Newton that seeps a little too realis tic to be true. They say that a certain preacher, and theydnn't give his name, was in the midst of an impassioned harangue, when he stopped a minute and with explo sive force askpd, "Who shall lie able to stand in that great and awful day?" A parishioner, who was a warm friend of Jndge Newton( had been sleeping up to this time, but hearing tbe question, jumped to his feet and shouted, "I nominate Judge Newton, of Flint, lor that position." Stylish Soilings, Overcoat and trouser material, of the best Quality-at" Anderson's. 700 Smithfield street. Catting and fitting the very best, su 1 PILATE AND HEROD As They Sat in Judgment on the Reviled King of the Jews. DEHAKDS OP THE AX6EI BABBLE. Bemorse of Jndas and the Tragedy of the Valley of Hinnom. CASTING AWAI THE BL0OD-HO5EI nvjunsx roa tot msjltcb.i It is the early morning of Good Friday. Out of the house of the High Priest they lead Jesus to take Him to the palace of the Gov ernor. The chiefs of tbe Jews are in the com .pany. These are the religious leaders of that day none more zealons for the Church than tbey. None more exacting in observ ance of her ritual than these blind guides. God is manifested in tbe flesh, and they who are accounted tbe men of God reject Him. "HecameuntoHisownandHisownreceived Him not" So they came to the palace of Pilate, the Governor. Pilate's eonsent mnst be had before Christ can be put to death. The crowd stands before Pilate's palace. It is a heathen's honse, and they will not set foot within it, because this is a holy season. So careful are they' about the infinitely little, so blind to the infinitely great ! It is ia the gray dusk of the early morn ing. The street before tbe door is thronged with priests and elders. Jesus is led within, into the hall of judgment. Pilate comes ont to meet the accusers. He asks the ac cusation. For a moment the accusers are confused. They have no accusation which will weigh with Pilate. Blasphemy, if they affirm that, will count for nothing with him., "If He were not a malefactor," they cry out, gaining a little time, "we would not have delivered Him unto thee." The Charge or Sedition. Then the telling accusation comes into their minds. Tbey charge Him with sedi tion. "We found this fellow perverting the nation, and forbidding to give tribute to Ciesar. saying that He Himself is Christ, a king." Pilate returns into the judgment hall. Jesus is called before hi of. "Art Thou the King of the Jews?" asks Pilate, half in scoru and balf in awe, Iookinc into the face of this strange criminal. "Art Thou the King of the Jews?" And Jesus answers, yes. He is a king, but His kingdom is not of this world. It is tbe Kingdom of the Truth over which He rales. Everyone that is of the truth hearetb His voice. And Pilate goes out, pondering this strange an swer, saying to himself again with tbat in termingling of scorn and wonder: "What is truth?" Pilate goes out and gives his ver- "" diet to the waiting crowd. This man is in nocent. "I find no fault In Him at all." At once goes up a great disorderly cry. The crowd is in an instant passion, execra tion, epithets, sbouts of accusation, all sorts of fierce speech, and threats, and lies, and slanders, and words of hatred are hurled at the silent and guiltless prisoner. Anion.': the riot Pilate hears the name of Galilee. He asks if the man is a Galilean. And when they tell him that He is, at once there occurs to Pilate a way of escape ont of responsibility. Herod is in town. And ' Herod is the ruler of Galilee. Christ belongs to Herod's jurisdiction. He must be taken to Herod. Herod Demands a Miracle. Away moves the procession through the quiet streets. It is still the early morn-'.ig. Herod is in his palace. Herod has beard of Jesns of Nazareth. He has heard of Him as a worker of wonders. He demands that Christ shall work some wonder now. He . wants to see a miracle. Christ keeps stern silence. Herod plies Him with questions; Christ returns, no answer. Outside stand tbe chief priests and the scribes and ve hemently accuse Him, but not a word breaks tbat determined silence. Again, Chnst is derided. The scenes of tbe honse of Caia pbas are repeated. "Herod, with his men-of-war, set Him atnaugbt, and marcedHim and arrayed Him in a gorgeous robe, and sent Him again to Pilate." Christ has not spofcen once. "He was op pressed and He Was afflicted, yet opened He not His month. He is brought as a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before her shearers is dumb, so He openeth not His mouth." What a significant silence! To Pilate He will speak, but not to Herod. To Pilate, who has a little gleam of justice in him, a little purpose to do right, weak, easily persuaded, vet with fair impulses, wi(h a possibility oi good in him, to Pilate Christ will speak. But for Herod, foolish, curious, sneering, He has no word. To him Christ has only stern and most significant silence. So they go back again. And "What of Traitor Jndas? Where is John? Where is Peter? Where are the others? Have they hidden them selve? Have they sought some npper room and set the barrier of barred doors and win dows, as they did a little later, against the hostile world? Or do they Toliow afar off? We know not. We know where one of the apostles is, and what he is doing as this pro cession passes, but all the rest are ont of sight. The end is near at band for Judas. Christ is condemned; somewhere from afar off Judas has seen tbat tbey strike Him, and mock Him, and spit upon Him, and He utters no word. He puts forth no effort of power. He is in the hands of His enemies. It has all come to pass as He predicted, and the cross is the next step in tbe way. Judas, watching, sees that. Whatever dreams he may have had that the Messiah would at last in His extremity declare Himself, are gone now. Tbe fatal deed is done. Judas has betrayed nis master, even to tne aeatu of the cross. A fearful revulsion of feeling comes over him. Sin looks so different on its two sides so revolting, so shameful when we look back upon ltf Judas, at last, opens his eyes and sees. What can he do? Here is tbe blood money; the price and symbol of his treachery. He cannot keep it; he will appeal to the men who gave it. He hurries into the tem ple, and a great and bitter cry breaks from his lips. Xtemorse of the Betrayer. "I have sinned," he cries. "1 have sinned in that I have betrayed the innocent blood." But he gets no sympathy, and finds no pity. They give him not so much as a hearing. "What is that to us?" tbey say. "See thou to that!" Who can help but pity hitnl He is reaping what he has sown, as we all do, but what a dreadful harvest! Tha man is friendless upon tbe earth. There is but one amorftr all men who might speak a word of kindness to him, and to tbat one Judas dares not go. Christ passes down the street, led by tbe priests and the servants, clothed in the garment of mock ery, thronged by the blasphemy rabble of enemies and idlers. But Judas does not dare to look at Christ. Down be flings the money at tbe feel of the chief priests, and as it rolls ringing over tbe temple pavement, he Urns away. What shall he-do with him self? Wb ere sh al 1 he go? Away he hurries beyond the city wall, ont of the sight of men's hateful laces. Down he rushes into "the horrible solitude of the valley of Hinnom," a place accursed. They burned the refuse of the city there, and the tainted smoke rose up above it al ways. , Tragedy of the Potter's Field. Across the valley goes the traitor. Up b climbs along the steep side of the opposite hill. Behind him is tbe city, beneath bis feet the mire and clay and projectlngrock of that barren hillside. It is tbe potter's field. Here is a dead tree, gnarled and twisted. Here is a girdle about the traitor's waist. The SO pieces of silver wero hidden in it but an hour ago. Judas knows now what he will do. With that long, accursed girdle he will hang-him-self. Tbe tree shall be tbe gallows. So down he falls, with the sky black above him and hope dead, within him. Tbe eirdla slips. Tbe sharp rocks receive him. Tbe life of the traitor goes ont in pain and despair and aarKaess,. Ana ue goes to "his own piste.'.' Gsoxoa Hodqm. ' k A,"t.feajs.l Jtikl Jm JLkstiu isk E3B9
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers