BSirSTtiiBarTS'KSMlfiM BBa;'1i -w-y"- HF "v-mriSx "P?? a? t$F9 ? 18 THE PITTSBURG- DISPATCH, .SUNDAY, MARCH 15. 1891 martyrdoms for your Fake, as you are, and if yon were a thousand times worse than you art! Your wrong, your right, your truth, your falsehood", yourself, are swallowed up in the love J bear you! I lore yon always, and I will sav it, and say it again ah, your eyes! J love them, too! Take me into them, Unorna whether in hate or love but in love yes lore TJnorna golden TJnorna!" "With the cry on his lips the name he had given ber in other days he made one mad step forward, throwing out his arms as though to clasp her to him. But it was too late. Even while he had been speaking her mysterious influence had overpowered him, as he had known that it would, when she so pleased. She caught bis two bands in the air and pressed him hack and held him .against the tall slab. The whole pitilessness of her na ture gleamed like a cold light in her white face. "There was a martyr of your race once," she said in cruel tones. "His name was Simon Abeles. You talk ot niartvrdom! lou shall know what it means thouch it be too good lor you, who spy upon the woman whom you say you love." The hectic flush of passion sank from Israel Kafka's cheek. Iiitrid, with out stretched arms and bent head, he stood againtt the ancient gravestone. Above him, as though in silent supplication, were the sculptured hands that marked the last rest ing place of a Kohn. "You shall know cow," said TJnorna, "You shall suffer indeed." CHAPTER XT. Unorna's voice sank from the tone of anger to a lower pitch. She spoke quietly, and very distinctly, as though to impress every word upon the ear of the man who was in her power. The Wanderer listened, too, scarcely comprehending at first, but slowly yielding to the influence she exerted until the vision rose before him also with all its moving scenes, in all its truth and in all its horror. As in a dream, the desolate burial ground was peopled with forms and faces cf other days; the gravestones rose from the earth and piled themselves into gloomy houses and remote courts and dim streets cud venerable churches, the dry and twisted trees shrank down, and broadened and swung their branches as arms, and drew up their roots out of the gronnd as feet under them, and moved hither and thither, and the knots and bosses and gnarls upon them became faces, dark, cagle-Iikeaud keen, and the creaking and crackling of the boughs and twigs under the piercing h'ast that swept by, became articulate and like the voices, of old men talking angrily together. There were sudden changes from day to night, and f'oni night to day. In dark chambers crouching men took council of blood together under the feebie rays of a flickering lamp. In the uncertain twilight of winter, muffled figures lurked at the corners of streets, waiting for some one to pass, who must not escape them. As the Wanderer gazed and listened, Israel Kafka was transformed. He no longer stood with outstretched arms, his buck against a crumb ling slab, his filmy eyes fixed on Unorna' i face. He grew younger; his features were those of a boy 01 scarcely 13 years, pale, earnest, and brightened by a soft light, which lollo wed him hither and thither and he was not alone. He moved with others thtouch the old familiar streets of the city, clothed in a fashion of other times, speaking in jeeents comprehensible but unlike the fpeech of to-day, acting in a dim and far off liie that had once been. The "Wanderer looked, and, as in dreamt, he knew that what lie saw was unreal, he knew that the changing walls and streets end houses and public places were built up cf gravestones which in truth were deeply vlanteu in the giound, immovable and in capable of spontaneous motion; he knew that the crowds of men and women were not human beings, but gnarled and twisted trees rooted in the earth, and that the hum of voices which reached his ears was but the tourd of the dried branches bending in the wind; he knew that Israel Kafka was not me pale-faced boy who glided from place to place, followed evervwnere by a so t radi ance; he knew that Unorna was the source and origin of the vision, and that the mingling speeches of ihe actors, now shrill in angry altercation, now hissing in low, fierce whisper, were really formed upon Unorna's lips and made audible through her tones, cs the chorus of indistinct speech proceeded from the swaying trees. It was to him an illusion of which he understood the. key and penetrated the secret, hut it was marvelous in its way and he was held enthralled from the first moment when it began to unfold it sell. He understood, further, that Israel Kafka was in a state different from this, that he was suffering all the reality of another life, which to the Wan derer was but a dream. For the moment all his faculties had a double perception of things and sounds, distinguishing clearly between the fact and the mirage that dis torted and obscured it. For the moment he vas aware that his reason was awake, though his eyes and his ears might be sleep ing. Then the unequal contest between the senses and the intellect ceased, and while still retaining the dim consciousness that the source of all he saw and heard lay in Unorna's brain, he allowed himself to be led quickly from one scene to another, ab sorbed and taken out of himself by tne hor ror of the deeds done belore him. At first, indeed, the vision, though vivid, seemed objectless and of uncertain meaning. The dark depths of the Hebrew quarter of the city were opened, and it was toward He Fell Back Against a Slab. evening. Throngs of gowned men, crooked, beardeil, filthy, vulture-eyed, crowded upon each other in a narrow pnblic place, talking in quick, shrill accents, gesticulating with hands and arms and heads and bodies, langh ing, chuckling, chattering, hook-nosed and loose-lipped, grasping fat purses "in lean fingers, shaking greasy curls that Etragglcd out under caps ot far, glancing to right and lett with quick, gleaming looks that pierced the gloom like fitful flashes of lightuing, plucking at each other by the tleeve and pointing long fingers and crooked nails, two, three and four at a time as mark rs in their ready reckoning, a writhing mass ot huminity, intoxicated by the smell ot gold, mad for its possession, half hysteric with the fear of losing it, timid, yet danger ous, poisoned to the core by the sweet sting ot money, terrible in intelligence, vile in heart, contemptible in body, irresistible in the unity of their greed the Jews of Prague 200 years ago. In one corner of the dusky place there was a little light. A boy staod there beside a veiled woman, and the light that seemed to cling about him was not the reflection of gold. He was very young. His pale face had in it all the lost beauty of the Hebrew race, the lips were clearly cut, even pure in outline and firm, the forehead broad with thought, the leatures noble, aquiline not Tultnre-like. Snch a face might holy Stephen, Deacon and Protoniartyr have turned upon the young men who laid their garments at the feet of unconverted Saul. He stood there looking on at the scene in the market place, not wondering, for noth ing of it was new to him; not scorning, for he felt no hate; not wrathful, lor he dreamed of peace. He would have had the stream flow back upon its source and take a new channel for iuelf, he would haTe seen the strength of his people wielded in cleaner AneA for nobler aims. The gold he hated. the race for it he despised, the poison of it he loathed, but he had neither loathing nor contempt, nor hatred for the men them selves. He looked upon them, and he 1 ? fia i loved to think that the carrion vulture might once again be purified and lifted on strong wings and become, as in old days, the eagle of the mountains. For many minutes he gazed in silence. Then he sighed and turned away. He held certain books in his hand, for he had come from the school of the synagogue, where, throughout the short winter davi. the rabbis -taught him and his companions the mys teries 01 tne sacrea tongue. The woman by his side was a servant in his father's house, and it was her duty to attend him through the streets until the day when, being judged a man, he should be suddenly freed from the bondage of childish things. "Iet us go," he said, in a low voice. "The air is full of gold, and heavy. I cannot breathe it." "Whither?" asked the woman. "Thou knowest," he answered. And sud denly the faint radiance that was always about him grew brighter, and spread out arms behind him, to the right and left, in the figure of a cross. Thev walked together, side by side, quickly and often glancing behind them, as though to sec whether tliey were followed. And yet it seemed as though it was not they who moved, but the city about them which changed. The throng of busy Hebrews grew shadowy, and disappeared; their shrill voices were lust in the distance. There were other people in the street, of other features and in different garbs, of prouder bearing, and hot, restless mauuer, broad shouldered, erect, manly, with spur on heel and sword at side. The outline of the old synagogue melted into the murky air and changed its shape, and stood out again in other and ever changing forms. Now they were passing before the walls of a noble palace, now beneath long, low galleries ot arches, now again across the open space of the great ring in the midst of the city then all at once they were standing belore the richly carved doorway of the Teyn Church, the very doorway out of which the Wan derer had lollowed the fleeting shadow of They Hurried Htm Away. Beatrice's figure bnt a month ago. And then they paused and looked again to the right and left, and searched the dark cor ners with piercing glances. "Thy life is in thine hand," said the wo man, speaking close to the boy's ear. "It is vet time. Turn with me and let us go back." The mysterious radiance lit up the youth's beautiful face in the dark street and showed the fearless yet gentle smile that was on his lip. "What is there to fear?" he asked. "Death," answered the woman in a trem bling tone. "They will kill thee, and it shall be upon my head " "And what is death?" he asked again. and the smile was still upon his face as he led the way up the steps. The woman bowed her head and drew her veil more closely about her. and followed him. Then they were within the church, darker, more ghostly, less rich in those days than now. The boy stood beside the hewn stone basin wherein was the blessed water, and he touched the frozen surface with his fingers and held them oat to his companion. "Is it thus?" he asked, and the heavenly smile grew more radiant as he made the sign of the cross. Again the woman inclined her head. "Be it not upon me," she exclaimed earn estly "Though I would it might he forever so with thee." "It is for ever," the boy answered. He went forward and prostrated himself betore the high altar, and the soft light hovered above him. The woman knelt at a little distance from him, with clasped hands and upturned eyes. The church was very dark and silent. An old man in a monk's robe came for ward out of the shadow of the choir, and stood behind the marble rails and looked dowu at the boy 3 prostrate figure wonder ingly. Then the low gateway waB opened and he descended the three steps and bent down to the young head. "What wouldst thou?" he asked. Simon Alleles rose until he knelt, and looked up into the old man's face. "I am a Hebrew. I would be a Christian. I would be baptized." "Fearest thou not thy people?" the monk asked. "I fear not death," answered the bov simply. "Come with me." Trembling, the woman followed them both, and all were lost in the gloom ot the church. They were not to be Eeen, and all was still for a'space. Suddenly a still voice broke the silence. "Ego baptizo te in nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti." Then the woman and the boy were stand ing again without the entrance'in the chilly air, and the ancient monk was upon the threshold nnder the carved aroh; his thin hands, white in the darkness, were lifted high, and he blessed them, and they went their way. In the moving vision the radiance was brighter still, and illuminated the streets as they moved on. Then a cloud descended overall, and certain days and weeks passed, and again the 'boy was walking swiftly toward the church. - But the woman was not with him. and he believed that be was alone, though the messeneers of evil were upon bim. Two dark figures moved in the shadow, silent, noiseless in their walk, muffled in thei? long garments. He went on, no longer deigning to look back, be yond fear as he had evee been, and beyond even the expectation of a danger. He went into the church, and the two men made ges tures and spoke in low tones and hid them selves in the shade of the buttresses outside. The vision grew darker, abd a terrible stillness was over everything, for the church was not opened to the sight this time. There was a horror of long waiting with the cer tainty of what was to come. The narrow street was empty to the eye, and yet there was the knowledge of evil presence, of two strong men waiting in the dark to take their victim to the place of expiation. And the 'horror grew in the silence and emptiness, until it was unbearable. The door opened and the boy was with the monk under the black arch. The old man embraced him and blessed him and stood still for a moment watching him as he went down. Then he, also, turned and went back, and the door was closed. Swiftly the two men glided from their hiding place and sped along the uneven pavement. They grasped him by the arms on each side, Lazarus nis father," and Levi, surnamed the Short-handed, the strongest and the crudest and the most relentless of the younger rabbis. Their grip was rough. and the older man held a coarse woolen cloth in his hand with which to smother the hoy's cries if he should cry out for help. But he was very Cairn and did not resist them. "What would you?" he asked. "And what doest thou in a Christian church?" asked Lazarus, in fierce tones. "What Christians do, since I am one. of them," answered the youth, unmoved. Lazarus said nothing, bnt he struck the boy on the mouth with his hard hand so that the blood ran down. "Not here!" exclaimed Levi, anxiously looking about. And they hurried him away through dark and narrow lanes. He opposed no resistance to Levi's rough strength, not only suffering himself to be dragged along, but doing his best to keep pace with the man's long strides, nor did he murmur at the blows and thrusts dealt him from time to time by his father from the other side. During some minutes they were still traversing the jgQfe&t& - Christian part ot the city. A single loud cry for help would have brought a rescue, a few words to the rescuers would have roused a mob of fierce men, and the two men would have paid with their lives for the deeds they had not yet committed. But Simon Abeles uttered no cry and offered no resistance. He had said that he feared not death, and he had spoken the truth, not knowinc what manner of death was to be bis. Onward they sped, and in the vision the way they traversed seemed to sweep past them so that they remained always in sight though always hurrying until the Christian quarter was passed, before them hung the chain of one of those gates which gave ac cess to the city of the Hebrews. With a jeer and an oath the bearded sentry watched them pais the martyr and his torturers. One word to him. even then, and the butt of his heavy halberd would have broken Levi's arm and laid the boy's father in the dust. The word was not spoken. On through the filthy ways, on and on, through narrow courts and" tortuous passages to a dark, low doorway. Then again the vision showed an empty street, and there was silence for a space and a horror of long waiting in the falling night. Lights moved within the house, and then one window after-another was bolted and barred from within. Still the silence endured until the ear was grown used to it and could hear sounds very far oft, from deep down be low the house itself, but the walls did not open and the scene did not change. A dnll noise, bad to hear, resounded as from be neath a vault, and then another and another the sounds of cruel blows upon a human body. Then a pause. "Wilt thou renounce it?" asked, the voice ofLr.zirus. "Kyrie eleison, Christie eleisonl" came the answer, brave and clear. "Lav on, Levi, and let thy arm be strongl" And again the sound of blows, regular, merciless, came up from the bowels of the earth. "Dost thou repent? Dost thou renounce? Dost thou deny?" "I repent of my sins I renounce your ways I believe in the Lord " The sacred name was not heard. A smothered groan as of one losing conscious ness in extreme torture was all that came up from below. "Lay on. Levi, lay onl" "Nay," answered the strong rabbi, "the "boy will die. Let us leave him here for this night. Perchance cold and hunger will be more potent than stripes, when he shall come to himself." "As thon sayest," answered the father in angry reluctance. Again there was silence. Soon the rays of light ceased to shine through the crevices of the outer shutters, and sleep descended upon the qnarters of the Hebrews. Still the scene in the vision changed not. After a long stillness a clear young voice was heard speaking. "Lord, if it be Thy will that I die, grant that I may bear all in Thy name, grant that I, unworthy, may endnre in this body the punishments due tomein spirit for mvsins. And if it be Thy will that I live, let my life be used for Thy glory." The voice ceased and the cloud of passing time descended upon the vision and was lifted again and again. And each time the same voice was heard and the sound of torturing blows, but the voice of the boy was growing weaker every night, though it was not less brave. "I believe," it said, always. "Do what you will, you have power over the body, but I have the Faith over which vou have no power." So the days and the nights passed, and inougn tne prayer came up in leeule tones, it was born of a mightv spirit, and it rang in the ears of the tormentors as the voice of an angel which they had no power to silence, appealing from them to the tribunal of the Throne of Gort Most High. Day by day, also, the rabbis and the elders began to congregate together at even ing before the house of Lazarus and to talk with him and with each other, debating how they might break the endurance of his son and bring him again into the synagogue as one cf themselves. Chief among them in their councils was Levi, the short-handed, devising new tortures for the frail body to bear and boasting how he would conquer the stubborn boy bv the might of his hands to hurt. Some of the rabbis shook their head. "He is possessed of a devil," they said. "He will die and repent not." But others nodded approvingly and wagged their filthy beards and said that when the fool had been chastised the evil spirit would depart from him. To be continued next Sunday. A FAITHFUL SENTINEL. His Sovereign Could Not Bribe Him to Forget His Doty. Philadelphia Press. Louis Eisenbrand, of the Twentieth ward, is a finely preserved man of 75 years who has had a most exciting career. One of the most interesting episodes of bis eventful life was that in which he faced the King of his native Bavaria and forced him to retreat in the direction from which he had come. This was in 1810, when he was an infantryman in the Bavarian army. One dark night Louis was silently with measured steps pacing his beat on the first floor of one of the numerous fortifications which surround the city of Nuruberg. He was suddenly startled by hearing a heavy footstep behind him. On turning he saw it was no less a personage than his Majesty, Ludwig. The King attempted to pass to the front when Louis commanded him to bait. The King offered to give him the parole countersign. "I have orders to allow no one to cross my path and to leave the ctstle from here, pa-' role or no parole," was the reply. "j. win give you a guiciiu; l am your monarch," said the tall, handsome," red haired Ludwig. "I order you to retrace your steps; if you do not I shall seize you and place ou under arrestl The King saw that his sentinel could not be swerved from his path of duty, not even for a bribe, and a guldin was a great deal of money in those davs lora private soldier to own and spend. He retreated from before his faithful soldier, bnt threw the piece of money to him before he left him. Louis kept on pacing his beat, paying no attention to the tempting hit of silver until he was satisfied that the King had certainly disap peared, when he cirelully picked it up and placed it in his pocket for future use. On the next day the captain oi the com pany thanked Louis in the name of King Ludwig for reiusing even him to pass in violation of orders. In fact, as it afterward turned out, the King made this attempt to violate the oricrs given the sentinels only to trT them and learn whether they were re liable when upon their posts. In the meantime Louis and his closest comrades had a grand time in testing the best beer that Nuruberg had on tap, and he states that they drank several toasts to "Ludwig! may His Majesty live long and have a glorious reign!" GEHEBAL SHEEMAB'S PBESENTIMEffT. Ho Was Aware That His End "Was Near, and So Told His Friends. A peculiar circumstance connected with the recent demise of General William Te cumseh Sherman was the fact that he ex pected an early death, and made necessary preparations weeks before there was the slightest reason to suspect thai his end was near, says the New York Herald. General Sherman received an invitation to attend a banquet on April 17 in celebration of Gen eral Grant's birthday. "That is a long way off," replied General Sherman, "and I can make you no definite promise. I have been feeling wrong lately, and I may be dead and buried by the time your banquet comes off. Some of these nights I'll catch a cold returning home from a late banquet and take to mybed and never get up." . 4 On leaving the officer General Sherman visited ex-Judge Dillon and then returned home. He caught cold and two weeks after he made the statement the news of his death was telegraphed over the wires of the conn. I VALLEY OF PALMS Remarkable Tropical Growth the Tourist Can Find, on the Edge of Colorado Desert. CALIFORNIA'S PRETTIEST HOOK. Mighty Palm Spring Which Bnhhle Up From Depths Unknown and Water the Beautiful Slopes. A TEIP THROUGH AN AEID CANYON. Tib-Quick Fall, Which Fliyi Through a CUft fa Esa Jiriito to th Maiio of Xxtloiicas. rcoBazsroxDiircx or ran dispatch.! Sax Francisco, March 10. The Yo semite, the big trees, the geysers, the petri fied groves, the mountain lakes, the numer ous mineral springs, the redwood forests of California, are all well known to the tour ist, and that anything approaching in beauty or attractiveness to any of the feat ures of California scenery just'noted should have escaped observation will seem re markable. Yet such is the act At Palm Valley and its neighboring Falm Springs, on tne Doraers oi tne uoioraao desert, are a variety of attractions in scenery of the mest magnificent character that will one day make teat locality rank with the Yoseniite and big trees in the estimation of tourists. All the better will it be if the train reach Seven Palms after nightfall. It is only a few miles across this arm of the desert, but if the trip be undertaken in the fierce glare of the sun the distance will seem tenfold greater than it is in reality. But after nightfall the air is soft and balmy, the moonlight is bright and clear, away in the distance are the snow-white summits of San Bernardino and Grayback, towering aloft over 12,000 feet, while just ahead is the pre cipitous slope of S.in Jacinto, lifting its glit tering pinnacles 10,000 feet abov: the shel tered nook at its base, whither the' traveler is bound. The wheels of the vehicle sink deeply in the loose, shitting sand, theliorses A VIE-W OF TAH strain in their harness, and it is an hour and a half before the "four miles have been traversed, and one catches the .gleam M the I.!. 11 -f .U- 1:1A AnA -tA-lArl liilal WUllC WailS Ul LUC JibhlC UUC-OWI4WU "U"- in the midst of a perfect thicket of tropical growth and on the bank of the mysterious spring whose waters have been a secpnd pool of Siloam lor how many ages no man may know. This is Palm Springs, and bright and early in the morning the visitor makes his acquaintance .with the great pool that sur rounds the springs itself. An embankment has been thrown up inclosing a space per haps ISO feet in diameter and of varying depth. Somewhere in that pool is the "bot tomless pit," and those who are acauainted with it give the new arrival a laughing word of warning, lest he suddenly descend to the nether regions. The water is deliciously tempered, and the bather wades out in it with perfect security. The bottom is hard and sandy, but suddenly, without a mo ment's warning, it seems to drop out, and with a shriek of alarm, lollowed by shouts of laughter from the Indians who have gathered to witness the tenderfoot's experi ence, the earth gives way and down goes the bather up to his armpits into what seems like a kettle of almost boiling water. As suddenly as he has gone down just as quickly is hn 'thrown out again like a cork by the wild rush of water through the shaft. The heaviest man can only sink just so far in this pit, and though one drops or jumps from a considerable height into it he will be tossed out again like a chip. The shalt from which this volume of water and sand pours with such irresistible force is about three feet in diameter, and the walls are hard and smooth almost as polished stone. As the water pours out it is very warm almost scalding hot but it spreads out quickly in the pool and soon becomes ol a temperature most enjoyable for bathing. Here the Indians gather and roll about for hours at a time, giyins up the spring, how ever, at regular intervals, to the white vis itors and residents. The water accumulates A TWO-YEABS GKOWTH OP in the pool every 24 hours to a depth of four or five feet, and it is regularly drawn off to irrigate the little garden patches and al falfa fields which are cultivated by the In dians on the reservation. Each alternate section of land here has been set apart as a Fresidental reservation for the mi men In dians, and the other sections are owned bv the whito men. The line of demarkationa't one time ran through the center of the pool, but the wily Indians filled it in on that side and enlarged it ou the othe, so that the spring is now entirely on reservation land. But it is primarily to visit the palm grove that the visitor has come to this out- of-the-way spot, and so after a bath and an early breakfast, burros are saddled and the trail to the grove is taken. Around the spring for some distance orchards and vine- yards are under cultivation, the remarkable fc feature of the climate of this locality being that fruits and vegetables mature a month or two in advance of any other part of the State, graries, peaches, etc., ripening at such a preposterously early date as to be worth almost their weight in silver in the San Francisco market. The road winds about through these ranches and then strikes directly for what appears to be a lofty, impervious rampart of rock. Three or four miles are thus passed, and finally the wall is reached. There is a rift, however, in its side, and into this the visitors turn. Not a particle of verdure is in -sight. The mountain raises its naked, vitrified flanks aloft for thousands of feet, while the surface over which the burros carefully pick their way is made of naught but sand and boulders. The canyon is narrow and precipitous, for bidding and gloomy. The guide declares that it is Palm Canyon, bnt one looks in r A Group o Palms. vain for sign of tree or bush so it goes for a quarter of a mile. Then there is an abrupt turn at right angles, as abrupt as the corner of a street, and then the visitor catches his breath in astonishment at the vision that is so suddenly unfolded. The canyon widens out and is filled from - QUICK VALLEY. side to side with giant palms. Theirslender, graceful trunks rise, nearly or quite 100 feet into the air, and from the thick clusters of dark green foliage that crown them hang gracetul stems a dozen feet in length, laden with the purple fruit that in all the world can be found only here. This is in part the native home of the "Washing toniar. Filifera, and here it may be seen in all its proud glory of a maturity that has taken hundreds of years to produce. Be neath the trees is a perfect jungle of tropical growth through which the burros force their way with difficulty, "Water there is too in abundance, but disagreeably warm and with strongly marked mineral characteristics. Here, indeed, are the essentials for the growth of the palm with feet in the water and head in the sun, as the Arabs have it. But while the palm grove is the chief at traction of this remarkable valley, there are others which must not be neglected. In 3 great cleft in the heart of San Jacinto is the beautiful Tali-Quick fall. Is is a long scramble over bowlders and precipices be fore this fall is reached, but it is well worth the effort. The camera cannot do justice to the cataract iu its wild plunge over the solid wall of granite into the deeply-worn basin beneath, but there are few falls on the coast which possess greater elements of beauty tbau this. During the night the ears of the visitor will be saluted with the noise of a tremendous explosion, apparently proceed ing from the depths of the mountains. All efforts to find the exact locality of these ex plosions or to determine their nature or cause have been unavailing. G. F. W. DAKCIHG WITHOUT LEGS. ' How a High Kicker on Cratches Manages to Earn His Salary. It seems almost incredible that a man with no legs at all can earn a good living as a dancer and high kicker while thousands of men in possession of both legs and the, best of intentions are the subjects of ridicule for TREES AND SHBUBBEBT. their attempts to learn to trip the light fan tastic toe. Yet here is James E. Black, says the Baltimore Herald, who" presents this peculiar phenomena. With his two crutches and one stump he can go faster than the orchestra. His brother sent him to St. Michael's College, Toronto, Canada, after he lost his legs on the railroad, to enable him to finish his education and enter the legal profession, but Black prscticed dancing until be be came proficient and astonished everybody by his performances. He made his first appearance iu the old Adelphi Theater, Chicago, about eight years ago and made quite a bit as a dancer, a line ot business to which he sticks. STOP at the Hollenden. in Clavulsnil American and European plans. BV l($!w s ''fc-tkhl' SCENES ON CALVARY. Lessons Which Dropped From the Lips of the "Patient Sufferer AS HE HONG DYIHG ON THE CROSS. How the Penitent Malefactor Pound Way Into Paradise. His PAKTING BISECTIONS TO HIS L0YEI) iWBirrzx ron thb dispatch.i "And they took Jesus and led him away." It was 9 o'clock in the morning. The cross was made ready two rough timbers nailed together. It is laid upon the back of Jesus, that bemay carry it. Before Him goes a soldier bearing a board on which is written His accusation, to proclaim it to all the curious beholders in the stieets, and presently to be fastened above His head, upon the cross. The inscription is written in three languages, in the three languages of the civilized world of that century, in Hebrew, and Greek, and Latin: "This is Jesus the King of the Jews." On either side of Jesus is a condemned malefactor, each also bearing a cross', being led away to die with Him, adding insult to His death. About them are the soldiers, and behind follows the eager, shouting, pitilesB, and blood-thirsty mob. Here are chief priests, and elders, scribes and Pharisees; here are the rich and the poor, the high and the low, all set against Him. So they go in tragic procession through the streets toward the city gate. Christ won't die beyond the city wall. "For the bodies of those beasts, whose blood is brought into the sanctuary by the high priest for sin, are burned without the camp. "Wherefore Jesus also, that He might sanc tify the people with His own blood, suffered without the gate." He Asked No Pity. As they go along the way of sorrow, the voices of women are heard, weeping and la menting. But Jesus asks no tears lor Him. "Daughters of Jerusalem," He says, "weep not for me, but weep for yourselves and for your children." Brave, calm, composed in spirit, strong, except in body, Jesus asks no pity. But tbe flesh is weak. There has been a long and terrible strain upon it. Christ has had no food and no sleep. He has endured the angry and bloody sweat in the garden ot Getbsemane; He has suf fered betrayal at the bands of one whom He had befriended; He has seen His own disciples forsake Him and flee away. "With hands bound He has been led by the brutal soldiers to Annas and, to Caiaphas. He has suffered the indignity of an unjust trial. Before Caiaphas, before Herod,before Pilate, He has been upon his defense and been forced to hear the insults and accusations of the mob. He has stood by while one of the three men whom, among all others He has loved best, has denied with execrations that he ever knew Him. Three times, in tbe house of Caiaphas, in the house of Herod, in the house of Pilate, He has been derided, mocked, beaten and spitted on by menials, underlings, servants, abjects. He has been scourged. Bowed down in agony of mind and body Jesus falls Beneath the Harden of the Cross. Somebody else must carry it. Here is a man comiifg in out of the country. Simon ot Cyrene shall bear" the cross. Him they compel. And so the sad procession again advances. The hill of Calvary is reached at last The cross is laid npon the ground. Jesus is laid upon it. Tbrough tbe ex tended hands are driven tbe strong, sharp nails, and through the feet. Those gentle bands, laid so often and so tenderly upou the sick and the sorrowful; those sacred feet, weary with going about doing good thus they pierce them I The cross is thrust into the ground. On either side hang the utwo thieves. The crowd of enemies, with jeering and pitiless faces, stand staring and looking upon Him. ' ''They gape upon Me with their mouths as it were a ram nine and a roaring lion. I am poured out like water, and all my bones are out of joint. My heart also in the midst ot my boay is even like melting wax. My strength is dried up like a potsherd, and my tougne cleaveth to my gums, and thou shalt bring me into the dust of death. For nianv 'dogs are come about Me, and tbe counsel of the wicked layeth siege against Me. They pierced My hands and My feet, I may tell all my bones: They stand staring and looking upon Me." So the long, desperate agony begins. "Father," He cries, "forgive them, for they know not what they do." Beftues the Soothing Hrlnlc It is the custom in crucifixion to offer to the crucified a drink of some soothing mix ture of wine and myrrh to deaden the pain of mind and body. The rich ladies of the city have the providing of this merciful draught for one'of their favorite charities. This they offer to Jesus, bnt He will not drink it. "With every sense alert, with mind clear. He chooses to face death. The inscription is fastened above His head upon tbe cross. The soldiers part His rai ment and cast lots upon it. "And tbe people sfeod beholding. And the rulers also with them derided Him, say ing He saved others, Himself He cannot save: let Him save Himself if He be Christ the Son of God." "And they that passed by," along the highway leading to the city, "reviled Him, wazging their heads and say ing, 'Thou that destroyest the temple and buildest it in three days, save thyself. If Thou be tbe Son of God come dowu from the cross. Likewise the chief priests mocking Him, with the scribes and elders said, He saved others, Himself He cannot save. If He be tbe King of Israel let Him now come down from the cross, and we will believe Him. He trusted in God; let Him deliver Him now if He will have Him, fur He said, I am the Son ol God." To Save "Would Be Surrender. "He saved others, Himself He cannot save." By losing His life, He saved our lives. He who came "not to bea ministered unto but to minister, and to give His life a ransom for many," cannot save himself. The supreme purpose ot His life forbids it. No true man can save himself, when that safety can be reached only by the path of shameful surrender. He only that loseth his life, in such a case, shall save it. Christ put our i-afety before His own, thought of us not of himself, for our joy suffered pain, for our life met death. That mocking sen tence voiced the divine truth about the cross. It was the willing sacrifice. Himself He could not, because He would not, save. "Father lorgive them, tor they know not what they do." For all the pain of hoal and body, for all tbe bitter piercing with tbe nails, lor all the shameful reviling and deriding, Christ asks the blessing of for giveness. "What an example! Iu a world where so many of us find it so hard to be forgiving what a significant example! "Forgive, and ye shall be forgiven." "Love yonr enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate your and pray for them which despitefully "use you and persecute you." "Forgive us our tres passes as we forgive those who trespass against us." "Father forgive them for they know not what thov do." "Let all bitterness, and wratb, and ancer, and clamor, and evil-speaking be put away pi"D "O TJI and at the same time extend our business make new customers, we have decided to make this special oSsr. Send us a Cabinet Picture, Photograph, Tin Type, Arabrotypev or Daguerrotype, of yourself or any member of your family, living or dead, and we will make you a LTPH SIZS OBAYON.c PORTRAIT FREE OP CHARGE, provided you exhibit it to jour friends as a sample of our work, and use your influence, jn securing us future oiders. Place name and a3dress on back of picture and It will be returned in perfect order. We malts any change In picture you wish, not Interfering with the likeness. Refer to any bank In New York, Address all mall to PACIFIC PORTRAIT SOUSE. BROADWAY THEATER BUILDING, NEW YORK. V MaEAJ9E SX2 SURE TO aCEJVTION THIS PJLPJQB. no8-xu9, ! from you, with all malice. And be ye kind one to another, tender-hearted, for giving one another, even as God for Cbrisst' sake hath forgiven you." Has that word no meaning which we need? Has that word no warning and plead ing voice which troubles the heart of any penitent believer? "Lord, is it I?" Difference Between the Malefactors. On either side hang tbe two malefactors. We divide people into classes, and set a word of description against them, and so group them together and affirm a general liken between them. But we are all the time making mistakes in our judgment. For everybody is different from everybody else. There are bad among the good, and good among the bad. Here are the two malefactors. Each has been -an evil-doer, and each, very likely after a life of violence, is suffering a merited punishment. "We receive the due rewards of our deeds," one of them confesses. The lookers-on make out no difference between them. But there is a difference. There is tbe difference of differences. "One of the malefactors which was hanged railed on Him, saying: If Thon be Christ, save Thyself and us," hoping, per haps, to carry favor with the mob. But the other rebuked him. To him Christ is no common criminal. Perhaps he has some time before, in some company of publicans and sinners, heard that blessed voice, and looked upon that divine face. Perhaps, he has known somebody whom Christ had helped, healed, uplifted. And some memory of words about Him. Some half-effaced .spiritual impression, comes again into his mind, aud he turned to Christ. Or perhaps it was only what that Good Friday morning had revealed to him. That long walk out of the citv to the place of execution, that word to the weeping women, that prayer for the forgiveness of His enemies, and our Lord's whole bearing and being have touched this rough man's heart. He Was Filled With Awe. In his agony, as the malefactor hangs beside the Master, in the awful conscious ness which moment by moment grew more emphatic and intense that in a few hours all would he over with him, aud his soul would go to Him who gave it, the male factor looks and listens. Somehow, at any rate, his thonght abont this strange comrade of his dying by his side, rises with awe and with faith, "This man hath done nothing amiss," he cries. And he turns to Jesus, "Lord," he asks, "remember me when Thou comest Into Thy kingdom. Instantly Christ welcomes this penitent malefactor. "To-day," He answers, "shalt thou be with Me in Paradise." Christ is ever waiting to be gracious. Tbe faintest purpose to seek Him, Christ sees and blesses. He quenches not the smoking flax, nor breaks the brnised reed. All this weary way, with the cross at the end of it, has the Good Shepherd come, seeking the lest sheep. How gladly will He take into His blessed protection the sheep which turns to Him! The penitent male factor had but an imperfect faith. Of Christian doctrine he knew nothing. Of the divimtv of Christ he had but the very faintest glimmer, probably no sight at all. Of the atonement, of which that cross was the symbol, he was completely ignorant. The malefactor knew no theology at all. But here was Christ. And here was a man who chose to stand on Chiist's side. He turned to Christ, and gave Him his alle giance, such as it was. Everybody else was against Him. Church and State were united in His condemnation. His disciples had forsaken Him. But this malefactor wonld be His friend. That is what Christ wants. He wants us to be His friends. He asks our lore. An Example of Self-Forgetfalneis. But not all about the cross are enemies. "Nor there stood by tbe cross of Jesns His mother, and His mother's sister, Mary the wife of CIsopas, and Mary Magdalene." And with them John, the disciple whom Jesus loved. "When Jesus therefore saw His mother and the disciple standing by whom He loved, He said unto His mother, Behold tby son! Then saith He to the disciple, Behold tby mother! And from that houx , that disciple took her unto his own house." J "What an example of seif-forgetfulness and care for others! Christ's first thoughts amidst the pain of crucifixion are all for those about Him; for His enemies that they may be rorgiven, for the penitent that bis heart may be assured, for His mother that she may be tenderly provided for. No thought about Himself I Pain so often makes us selfish. And even when there is no pain to vex and distract us, we are so forgetful. About us, every hour, are opportunities of helpfulness. Es pecially at home, how much depends upon unselfishness! ' And how continually is our uuselfisbness put to a test! But to be unselfish, and to think of others, is to be a Christian. It is to be like Christ. All selfishness is against Christ. "What a sermon the cross preaches! "Not to be min istered unto, but to minister" how far can that be said 0 1 us? Geobge Hodoes. A PBECI0US CABINET. Where the Justices of the Supreme Court Keep Their Gowns. Philadelphia Kecord.l There is a precious oaken cabinet in the handsome office adjoining the State Su preme Court Chambers in the City Hall, and in it are kept the official gowns of the seven Justices. The seven gowns are neatly folded when not in use and laid away in seven separate drawers in the cabinet. A label on each drawer bears the name of the owner of the dignified garment within. The Pennsylvania Supreme Judges secured their gowns through Mrs. Paxson, wife of Chief Justice Paxson, who had tbem made by a costumer of this city. The gowns are long, reaching nearly to the feet, have very wide sleeves, and, excepting the yoke, are as plain as could be made. Black silk of the best quality is the material used, and the approximate cost of each gown was $45. They are only worn during the sessions ot the court. "When the court meets in Pitts burg tbey are sent out there by a special messenger, and, immediately after the ad journment, they are brougnt back to this city lor sate seeping. THE OLD LAW OS PBDHTHG. No Books or Newspapers "Without the Con sent of the Government. Up to the year 1689, uuder the reign of William and Mary, no books or newspapers of any kind could be legally issued without the consent ot tbe Government. However, under this reign, which made England vir tually free, this restriction was removed, and henceforth men were free not only to think, but to. print and circulate their thoughts, and thus to bring tbe Govern ment more directly before that bar ot public opinion, which judges all men and all in stitutions. As Easy as Can Be. Chicago Tribune. Scoffer Your system is a humbug. You can't cure a disease by thinking it cured. You've got to use a remedy. , Christian Scientist We don't believe in medicines. "Suppose you want to lead a pig across a river, and don't believe in using the bridge. How would you get it over?" "I'd sit down and think it over. Angostura Bitters are the most e flic a cious stimulant to excite the appetite. xtssu FOIL 20 JDJL1T&: From date of this paper. Wishing to Introduce our -" HRAYON PORTRAITS '&. and TEICKS OF THE CROW. He Is the Most CnnniDg Old Rascal That Wears Feathers. CONFIRMED GLUTTON AND THIEF. Hs His a Judicial System and Executes Offending Brothers. A PDJT-PB0T0KEK IN THE H0DSIH0LD rwBiTnnr ron Tint pisrATcn.i Even in these bleak days of March, before robin redbreast .and the rest of the earl spring warblers have returned from their tour in the South, you can find, almost any where in the country, one of the most inter esting of all feathered creatures. In addi tion to a talking aptitude second only to the parrot, it is the most cunning and tricky of all birds. It is our familiar dusky friend the crow, and if you prefer the more poetical name you may call it the raven, for there is only a slight ornithological difference be tween corvus Americanus and corvus core. There is no hardier bird in the world, and none whose range of climate is wider. The crow is found in every degree of latitude, from tbe equator to near the polar circles, and although there are some differences of species, he is everywhere the same cunning old rascal, disguised iu manner of dignity and sedateness befitting a parson. As he lives everywhere, it is perhaps not so strange that he seems to think he owns the earth. Anyway, he is a born combination of pirate and bandit, for he will steal clams on the seashore, kill and eat young squirrels on a mountain top, and sneakingly suck eggs of any kind whenever he gets the v chance. A Glutton and alLone; Liver. Some wise physicians tell us that excessive eating is detrimental to health, and they are probably right, but if this statement should be uttered in tbe presence of an accom plished old crow it would probably provoke a knowing twinkle in his eye. Giuttonr and longevity seem to be on the best of terms iq tbe crow family. A hungry gamin at a Christmas dinner will eat until he is "too full for utterance," but a crow has been known to feed until it dropped dead. And yet there are reliable accounts of crows equaling the most venerable parrots in longevity, living to be 78 and even 100 years old. 'In the wild state the crow terrorizes nearly all other birds. In the early spring, when they build their nests in tbe tops of high trees, the crows' will tolerate nothing else of feathered kind near them. Their desire for exclnsiveness is so marked that an old pair will even drive their own youngsters from home just as soon as they are big enough to shift for themselves anil earn their own living. A naturalist, who visited the "Western Islands, says that on. three of the smaller islands he found no , birds excepting a pair of crows on each. The crows had "pre-empted," tbe islands, to use the settlers' term, and they would brook no encroachment from other birds. The Crows' Judicial System. But that feature of crow life that we might call the judiciary system has inter ested ornithologists more than anything else. There seems to be no doubt that crows have a judicial system for the trial and punishment of culprits. According to the accounts of reputable observers tbe crow courts are conducted something after this fashion: A solemn conclave of old croakers is held on a tree; a crest-fallen prisoner is among them. Three or four old fellows, probably crow lawyers, will jabber away for a while and then there will be an apparent consultation of tbe whole floclj, sitting as a jury. If the verdict be against the prisoner be is sentenced to death and turned over to the executioners who peck the life out of him. In his domesticated state the crow is 4 feathered anomaly. It can be trained to catch other birds, to carry small parcels and -to do all sorts of amgsing tricks, in ad dition to such lingual accomplishments as distinguish the parrot. Goldsmith, the naturalist, says: "I have beard a raven sing, with great distinctness, accuracy and humor, the whole of a popnlar song." The same author, while characterizing the bird as "a glutton by nature and a thief by habit," recognizes his humor by saying: "I have seen one that while amusing himself with a poodle dog, and unable to keep pace with his four-footed playfellow, would seise him with a lock of hair and hold on tenaciously, while the dog was careering at full gallop." Steals Anything and Everything;. The domesticated crow, in fact, is a black embodiment of fun and rascality. He will play all sorts of pranks on dozs, cats and poultry, and he will steal anything that ha is strong enough to lug away to the nookor crevice where he conceals bis property. Like the born pilferer that he is, he doesn't connne bis theits to what he wants to eat, nor to what he can possibly utilize in any way. He seems to have a special weakness for'such valuable things as jewelry, silver ware and metallic money. Many a person has been suspected, and even arrested, for thefis committed by the demure but crafty and thievish pet crow. The superstition that the crow is a bird of evil omen is hardly worth considering in our day. It probably had its origin iq the association of tbe bird's funereal color with the weird croak that it ofien makes at night. No, the crow is not half so bad as he has been painted. He will undoubtedly steal tbe farmers' corn, but be really earns mors than the value of the corn by his consump tion of destructive bugs and worms. As for the tame ctowtthe worst yon can. rightfully say of him is that he is just the cunningesi old rascal you ever saw. J. H. "Webb. "WHY IT WAS A FAILUBE. The SUn-Graftlnc; Experiment Could No Have Been Saccessfnl. Dr. James M. Marx, of New York, a surgeon of some prominence, while sitting in the Lindell, spoke of the operation of skin-grafting recently performed on .Sir Knight Dicterson, ot the St. Bernard Com mandery, Knights Templar, at Chicago, -says the St. Louis Globe-Democrat. "I was not surprised," said the Doctor, "to Team of Dickerson's death. Not having seen the L patient, I cannot judge whether it would have been possible to make the operation, successful or not; but in my opinion there could have been but little reason to hope ' that-the operation, as it is reported to have been performed, could be successful. Skin-.-grafting has come to be a common opera- tion; but it nevertheless requires some skill . in operating. In the case of Dickersoa there was a space about one foot square to -be covered. "Now, every snrgeon of any experience; in skin-grafting knows that the new growth proceeds from the edges. He would not lay a piece of -skin in the middle of a skinless spot and expect it to live and grow. He knows it must be led from the healthv skin at thft edses. And so all successful skin grafting is done by placing pieces of new skin at the edges of 'the space to be covered. It seems, however, that the whole square foot of surface was covered at one time in the case of Dickerson. '
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers