18 Lazarus hanged himself In prison and Levi suf fered death by the wheel repentant, it is said, and hitusclt baptized. A full account ot the trial, written iu Latin, was printed, and a copy ot it may bo seen in the Stato Museum in Prague. The body ot Simon Abeles was ex humed and rests in ibo Tejn Churrli. in the chapel on the left of the high altar. The slight extension of certain scenes not lully described in the Latin volume will bo pardoned In a work of fiction. CHAPTEK XVI. The Wanderer glanced at Unorna's. face and saw the expression of relentless hatred which had settled upon her features. He neither understood it nor attempted to ac count for it. So far as be Knew, Israel Kafka was mad, a man to he pitied, to be cared for, to be controlled, perhaps, but assuredly not to be maltreated. Though the memories of the last half hour were con fused and distorted, the Wanderer began to be aware that the voung Hebrew had been made to suffer almost beyond the bounds of human endurance. So far as it was possible to judge, Israel Kafka's fault consisted in loving a woman who did not return his love, and his woist misdeed had been his sudden intrusion upon an interview in which the Wanderer could recall nothing which might not have been repeated to the world with impunitv. "You are killing the man instead of sav ing him," he said. "His crime, you say, is that he loves vou. Is that a reason for uting all your "powers to destroy him in bodv and mind?" "Perhaps," answered Nnorna calmly, though there was still a dancerous light in her eves. ".o. It is no reason," answered the "Wanderer with a decision to which Unorna was not accustomed. "Keyork tells me the man is mad. He may be. But he loves you, and deserves mercy of you." ".Mercy!" exclaimed "Unorna, with a cruel lausb. "Vou heard what he said you were tor silencing him yourself. You could not have done it. I have and most effeciually." '"Whatever your art may be, you use it badl" and crneilv. A moment ago I was blinded invoelf. If I had understood clearly o. r - VrfT k?x iSV i r. -'iaer 't-i t i , u,-,k in . EiV 1 V 'T - s-7 '-) kMyi w Israel Kafka Lay on the Ground. rV? while vou were speaking that vou were making this poor fellow suffer in himself the l.iaeous agonv you described -I would have stopped you. "You blinded me. as you demoted him. But 1 am not blind now. lou shall not torment him any longer." "And how would vou have stopped roe? Han cin you hinder me now?" asked Vnorna. , , The Wanderer gazed at her in silence for some moment. There was an expression in bis fuce which she bad never seen there. Towering above her be looked down. The ma"ive brows were drawn tegether, the eyes were cold and impenetrable, every feature expressing strength. Bv force, if need be," he answered, very quietiv. The woman before him was not of those who fear or vield. She met his glance I oldly. Scarcely half an hour earlier she had been able to steal awav his senses and make I im subject to her. She was ready to renew the contest, though she realized that a chance had taUcn place in him. "You talk of force to a woman!" she ex claimed, contemptuously. "You are indeed orave'" "You are not a woman. You are the in cai nation of cruelty. I have seen it." His eyes were cold and hi voice was stern. Tnorna'felt a very sharp pain and shivered as tnoush she were cold. Whatever else was bad and cruel and untrue in her wild nature her love for nim was true and pas sionate and enduring. And she loved biin the more for the strength he was beginning to show, and for his determined opposition. The words he had spoken had hurt her as he iiule guessed tney could, not knowing that he alone of men' had power to wound her ' You do not know," she answered. "How should you?" Her glance fell and her v'ice trembled. "I know ei-ough," be said. He turned coidlv trom her and knelt again beside Is rael Kaika. He raised the man's head and supported it upon his knee, and gazed oniiously into the face, rahing the lid' wilh b.sfiiirer as though to convince himself that the man was not dead. Indeed, there teemed to be but little li.'e left in him as he lav there with outstretched arms and twisted fiiice s, scarcely breathing. In snch a place, without so much as the commonest restora tive to aid him, the Wauuerc- saw that he had but httle chance of success. I noma stood; aside not looking at the two men. It was nothing to her whether Ivafua lived or died. She was suffering her-s-1 , more than she had ever suffered in her II e. He had said that she was not a woman sht, whose whole woman nature wor shipped him. He had said that she was the intimation of cruelty and it was true, tnr.ujrn it was her love lor him that made her rruel to the other. Could he know uat she had felt, when she had understood tnat Israel Kalka had heard her passionate words and seen her eager lace, and laughed her to scorn? Could any woman at such a time be less than crnel? Then she heard footsteps on the frozen path, and turning qui.'kly she saw that the anderer had lifted Kafka's body from the ground and was moving rapidly away, towards the entrance ol the cemetery. He was leaving her in anger, without a word. She turned very pale and hesitated. Then sae ran forward to overtake him, but he, nearing her approach, quickened his stride, seeming but little hampered in his pace by tui burden he bore. But Unorna, too, was fleet of fool and strong. "Stop !" she cried, laying her hand upon Ins arm. "Stop ! Hear me I Do not leave me s !" But he would not pause, and hurried on ward toward the gate, while she hung upon his arm, trying to hinder him and speaking in desj erate agitation. She felt that if she let him go new he would leave her forever. In that moment even her hatred of Kafka sank into insignificance. She would do anything, bear anytniug, promise anything, rather than lose what she loved so wildly. "Stop !" she cried agaiu. "I will save him l will obey you I will be kind to him he will die iu your arms if you do not let me hel p you oh ! or the love of heaven, wait one moment 1 Only one moment 1" She so thrust herselt in the Wanderer's path, hanging upon him and trying to tear Kaika from his arms that-he was forced to stand still aud face her. "Let me pass!" he exclaimed, making another effort to advance. But she clung to him, aud he could not move. "No 1 will not let you go," she mur mured. "You can do nothing without me; you will only kill bim, as I would have done a moment ago " "And as you will do now," he said, sternly, "it 1 iet yon have your way." "Bv all that is holy in Heaven, I will save him he bhall not even remember " 'Do not swear. I shall not believe you." "You will believe when you see you will forgive me you will understand." Without auswering he exerted his strength and, clasping the insensible man more firmly in his arms, he made one or two fcteps forward. Unorna's foot slipped on the frozen ground and she would have fallen to the earth, but she clung to him with des perate energy. Seeing that she was in danger of some bodily hurt if he used greater lorce, the Wanderer stopped again, uncertain how to act. Unorna stood before him, panting a little from the struggle, her face as white as death. "Unless you kill me," she said, "you shall not take him away so. Hold him in vour arms, if you will, bnt let me speak to him." "And how shall I know that you will not hurt him, you who hate him as you do?" "And am I not at your mercyf " asked Unorna. "If I deceive yon, can yon not do what you will with me, even if I try to re sist you, which I will not? Hold me, if you choose, lest I should, escape you, and if Israel Kafka does not recover his strength and his consciousness, then take me with you and deliver me up to justice as a witch as a murderess, if you will." The Wanderer was silent for a moment Then he realized that what she said was true. She was in his power. "Restore bim if you can," he said. Unorna laid her hands upon Kafka's forehead, and, bending down, whispered into his ear words which were inaudible even to the man who held him. The mys terious change from sleep to consciousness was almost instantaneous. He opened his eyes and looked first at Unorna and then at the Wanderer. There was neither pain nor passion in his face, but only wonder. A moment more and his limbs regained their strength; he stood upright and passed his hands over his eyes, as though trying to re member what had happened. "How came I here?" he asked in surprise. "What has happened to me?" "You fainted," said Unorna quietly. "You remember that you were very tired after vour journey. The walk was too much for vo'u. We will take vou home." "Yes yes I must have fainted. For give me it comes over me sometimes." He evidently had complete control of his faculties at the present moment, but he glanced curiously Irom the one to the other of his two companions, as thev all three be gan to walk toward the gate. Unorna avoided his eyes, and seemed to be looking at the irregular slabs they passed on their way. The Wanderer had intended to free him self from her as soon as Kafka regained bis senses, but he had not been prepared for such a sudden change. He saw, now, that he could not exchange a word with her without exciting the man's suspicion, and he nas by no means sure that the first emo tion niiciit not produce a sudden and danger gerous effect. He did not even know how great the change might be, which Unorna's words had brought out. That Kaika had forgotten at once his own conduct and the fearful vision which Unorna had imposed upon him was clear, but it did not follow that he had ceased to love her. Indeed," to one only partially acquainted with the laws which govern hypnotics, such a transition seemed very far removed from possibility. He who in one moment had himself been made to forget utterly the dominant passion and love of his life, was so completely ig norant of the fact that he could not believe such a thing possible in any case whatso ever. In the dilemma in which he found him self there was nothing to be done but to be guided by circumstances. He was not will ing to leave Kafka alone with the woman who hated him and he saw no means of es caping her society so long as she chose to impose it upon them both. lie supposed, too, that Unorna realized this as well as he did, and he tried to be prepared for all events by revolving all the possibilities in his mind. But Unorna was absorbed by very differ ent thoughts.1 From time to time she stole a glance at his face, and saw that it was stern and cold as ever. She had kept her word, but he did not relent. A terrible anxiety overwhelmed her. It was possible, even probable, tnat he would henceforth avoid her. She had gone too tar. She had not reckoned upon such a nature as his. In that moment, as they reached the gate, Unorna was not far from despair. A Hebrew boy, with puffed red lips and curving nostrils, was loitering at the en trance. The Wanderer told bim to find a carriage. "Two carriages," said Unorna quickly. The boy ran out. "1 will go home alone," she added. "You two can drive together." The Wanderer inclined his head in assent, but said nothing. Israel Katka's eyes rested upon her fora moment. "Why not together?" he asked. Unorna started slightly, and turned as though about to make a sharp answer. But she checked herselt. for the Wanderer was looking at her. She spoie to him instead of answering Kafka. "It is the best arrangement do you not think so?" she asked. "Quite the best." "1 shall be gratified if you will bring me word of him," she s iid, glancing at Kafka. Jle Raised the Fate Face. The Wanderer was silent, as though he hail not heard. "Have vou been iafpain? Do von feel as though vou had been suffering?" she asked or the younger man in a tone of sympathy and solicitude. "No. Why do you ask?" Unorna smiled and looked at the Wan derer, with intention. He did not heed her. At that moment two carriages appeared and drew np at the end of the narrow alley which leads from the street to the entrance ol the cemetery. All three walked forward together. Kafka went forward and opened the door of one of the conveyances for Unorna to get in. The Wanderer, still anx ious for the man's safety, would have taken his place, but Kafka turned upon him al most defiantly. "Permit me," he said. "I was before you here." The Wanderer stood civilly aside and lifted his hat. Unorna held out her hand, and he took it coldly, not being able to do otherwise. "You will let me know, will you not?" she said. "I am anxious about him. He raised his eyebrows alittle and dropped her hand. "You shall be informed," he said. Ka ka helped her to get into the carriage. She drew him by the band so that his head was inside the door, and the other man could not hear her words. "I am anxious about you," she said, very kindlv. "Make him come himself to me and tell me how you are." "Surely il you asked him " "He ha'tes me," whispered Unornaquickly. "Unless you make him come he will send no message." "Then let me come mvself I am perfectly well " "Hush no!" she answered hurriedly. "Do as I say it will be best for you and for me. Good-bv." "Your word is my law," said Kafka, drawing back. His eyes were-bright and his thin cheek was flushed. It was long since she had spoken so kindly to him. A ray of hopp entered his life. The Wanderer saw the look, and inter preted it rightly. He understood that in that brief moment Unorna had found time to do some mischief. Her carriage drove on, and the two men free to enter the one in tended for them. Kafka gave the driver the address of bis lodgings. Then he sank back into the corner, exhausted and con scious of his extreme weakness. A short silence followed. "You are in need of rest," said the Wan derer, watching him curiously. "Indeed, I am very tired, if not actually ill." "You have suffered enough to tire the strongest." "In what way?" asked Kafka. "I have forcotten what happened. I know that I followed Unorna to the cemetery. 1 1 had been to her house, and I saw you afterward together. I had not spoken to her since I came back from my long journey this morn ing. Tell me what occurred. Did he makes THE me sleep? 1 feel as I have felt before when-1 fancied that she had hypnotized me." The Wanderer looked at him in surprise. The question was asked as naturally as though it referred to an every-day occurrence of little or no weight. "Yes," he answered. "She made yon sleep." "Why? Do you know? If she made me dream auything I have forgotten it." The Wanderer hesitated a moment "I cannot answer yonr question," he said at length. "Ah she told me that you hated her," said Kafka, turning his dark eyes to his companion. "But yet," he added, "that is hardly a reason why you should not tell me what happened." "I could not tell yon the truth without saying something which I have no right to say to a stranger which I could not easily saVtoa friend." "You need not spare me" "It might save you." "Then say it though I do not know from what danger I am to Oe saved. Bdt I can guess, perhaps. You would advise me to give up the attempt to win her?" "Precisely. I need say no more." "On the contrary," said Kafka, with sud don energy, "wheu a man gives such advice as that to a stranger he is bound to give also his reasons." The Wanderer looked at him calmly as he answered: "One man need hardly give a reason for saving another man's life. Yours is in dancer." "I see that you hate her, as she said yon did." "Yon and she are both mistaken in that I am not in love with her, and I have ceased to be her friend. As lor my interest in you, it does not even pretend to be friendly it is that which any man may feel for a fellow being, and what any man would feel who had seen what I have seen this afternoon." The calm bearing and speech of the ex perienced man of the world carried weight with it iu the eyes of the young Moravian, whose hot blood knew little of restraint and less of caution; with the keen instinct of his race in the reading of character, he sud denly understood that bis companion was at once gencrons and disinterested. A burst of confidence followed close upon the con viction. "If I am to lose her love, I would rather lose my life also, and by her hand;'' he said hotly. "You are warning me against her. I feel that you are honest and I see that you are in earnest. I thank you. If I am in danger do not try to save me. I saw her face a few moments ago, and she spoke to me. I cannot believe that she is plotting my destruction." The Wanderer was silent He wondered whether it was his duty to do or say more. Unorna was a changeable woman. She might love the roan to-morrow. But Israel Kafka was too young to let the conversation drop. Boy-like, he expected confidence for confidence, and was surprised at his com panion's taciturnity. "Did you ever hear the story of Simon Abeles?" the Wanderer inquired by way of answer. Kaika frowned, and looked round sharply. "Simon Abeles? He was a renegade Hebrew boy. His father killed him. He is buried in the Teyn Church. What of him? What has he to do with Unorna, or with me? I am myself a Hebrew. The time has gone by when" we Hebrews hid our heads. I am proud of what I am, and I will never be a Christian. What can Simon Abeles have to do with me? "Little enough, now that you are awake." "And when I was asleep what then? She made me see him, perhaps?" "She made you live his life. She made you suffer all that he suffered " "What?" cried Israel Kafka, in a loud and angry tone. "What I say," returned the other qnietly. "And you did not interfere? You did pot stop her? No of course I forgot that you are a Christian." The Wanderer looked at him in surprise. It had not struck him that Israel Kafka might be a man of the deepest religious con victions, a Hebrew of the Hebrews, and that what he would resentmostwonld be the fact that in his sleep Unorna had made him play the part and suffer tho martyrdom of a con vert to Christianity. This was exactly what took place. He would have suffered any thing at Unorna's hands, and without com plaint, even to bodily death, bnt his wrath rose furiously at the thought that she had been playing with what he held most sacred, that she had forced from his lips the denial of the faith of his people and the confession of the Christian belie', perhaps the very words of the hated Creed. The modern Hebrew of Western Europe might be in different in such a case, as though he had spoken in the delirium of a lever, but the Hebrew of the less civilized East is a differ ent being, and iu some ways a stronger. Israel Kaika represented the best type of his race, and his blood boiled at the insult that had been put uponhiin. The 'Wanderer saw and understood, and at once began to respect him, as men who believe in opposite creeds have been known to respect each other eVen in a life and death struggle. "I would have stopped her if I could," he said. "Were yon sleeping, too?" asked Kafka, hotlv. "I cannot tell. I was powerless, though I was conscious. I saw only Simon Abeles in it all, though I seemed to be aware that you and he were one person. I did inter fere so soon as I was free to move. 1 think I saved your life. I was earring you away in my arms nhen she waked you." "I thank you I suppose it is as you tell me. Y'ou could not move, but you saw it all, you say. You saw me play the part of the "apostle, you heard me confess the Christian's faitu?" "Yes I saw you die in agonv, confessing it still." 1 Israel Kafka grouik his teeth and turned his face away. The TVanderer was silent. A few moments later the carriage stopped at the door of Kafka's lodging. The latter turned to his companion, who was startled bv the change in the young lace. The mouth was now closely set, the features seemed bolder, the eyes harder and more manly, a look of greater dignity and strength was in th whole. "You do not love her?" he asked. "Do vou give me your wora that you do not love her?" "If you need so much to assure you of it, I give you my word. I do not love her." "Will you come with me for a few mo ments? I live here." The Wanderer made a gesture of assent. In a feT moments they found themselves in a large room furnished almost iu Eastern fashion, with few objects, but those of great vilue. Israel Kafka was alone in the world and was rich. There were two or three divans, a few low, octagonal, inlaid tables, a dozen or more splendid weapons hung upon the wall, and the polished wooden floor was partly covered with extremely rich car pets. "Do you know what she said io roe when I helped her into the carriage?" asked Kafka. "No, I did not attempt to hear." "She did not mean that you should hear her. She made me promise to send you to her with news of myself. She said that you bated her and would not go- to her unless I becged you to do so. Is that true?" "I have told you that I do not bate her. I hate her cruelty. I will certainly not go to her of my own choice." "She said that I had fainted. That was a lie. She invented it as an excuse to attract you, on the ground of her interest in my condition." "Evidently." . To be Continued Next H'eeifc. AN ODE TO A PETTICOAT, i Frotest Against Mrs. Jenness-MMqr's Dress Ileform Movement M. A. B. Evans in the Journalist. O petticoat! Long years yon've stood, The symbol of fair womanhood. You've graced the folios ot many a time. You've fluttered both In song and rhyme. And never was yonr charm withstood. In stately minuet, who should Dispute your power, it he would In waltz, yonr rustle marks the time, O petticoat! But now they say, for woman's good You must be altered. Ah! you could Not hope to wake one thought sublime, When thus divided! Forthecrlroe Divides our love as well. Long woo'dl i O petticoat! . ' PITTSBURG-' DISPATCH, DIARY OF A ji A Dispenser of Bon Iicmrae and Con snmor of Consomme Tells a Tale AND CASTS UP HIS ACCOUNTS. Tho Wife of a Governor Who Assumed Foil Dress While JJn Roate. LEAP FBOM BILli KIE'S EXPERIENCE PTOITOX TOR Tin DISPATCH.' HE following diary of a well-known diner out, Taccoou toor and bong vee vong is herewith given to the public with his own con sent to its use, pro fit vided it shall go no lurtner anu mat ms name shall be sup pressed: "November 10 Have just returned from a dinner given to a great man by one.of our clubs. The great man stepped - I 1.111 1'l.BiS w on himself in two places. In other words, every time he uncorked himself he corked himself. He made enemies of half the club, and went away feebly kicking himself for being too fresh in his expression of thought I set evervthing right, however, by telling my justly celebrated nigger story. It was a great hit with everybody except the man who told it to me, and who spoke later on or thouzht he did. But what could he do without his nigger story? I got the slory at a cost of about 53 75. Dinner last nicht valued at S8 35 Two extra cigars brought hotte 40 Total Balance ahead, So. "November 12 Attended dinner given in honor of another chump. I was invited to be the life ot the party. Did not succeed very well. Presiding officer very coarsely intimated that my speech was more fitting for some other decade 'No,' said I, 'it fits this decade very well,' and I threw him the left lobe of a canvasback's bosom that had suffered some from the tooth of time. 'Y'ou say my speech is decayed I So are your victuals!' 'I then took an ornamental tin wedding cake from the center of the table and went home. Speech, say 82 00 Dinner SO 30 Bouquet Tincake 0 Out on whole thing 1 15 "November 15. Just got home from large dinner; where I was expected to swap 58 worth of bon homme fur 20 cents worth of consomme. I am away ahead. I did not have to speak. Other great men obliged, and I was not called on. I arranged that I should be included in the list of speakers as it will appear in the morning in the papers and then came away stealthily, con veying my dinner concealed in such a way as to elude observation. So far on this season I am ahead. Bon homme CO 00 Consomme, etc $7 50 Two cigars extra 50 Balance. 00 "November 1G As I sit here disrobing before I retire I will write some more in my diary. My mirror still tells me that I am strangely "beautiful. Large, dark, lustrous eyes, regarding each other pleasantly across the bridge of a clear-cut, aquiline nose, and abundant eye winkers of some changing shade fringethe bright pink lids and anon kiss the massive cheeks below. Above, like the long stretch ot marble cemetery at Pere la Cbaise. slumber the tresses of my late hair. Once it was flowing, but now it is fled. Thus lar shalt thou come and no larther, saith the broad plaza of bright and well laundered scalp to the soft ginger col ored lambrequin of somewhat segregated hair. And yet I am popular and beloved. To-night I sang a song at dinner. It is not olten I sing a song at table, but I did this evening. Some one asked roe to do so. I escaped while they were searching the build ing for this unknown man who asked me to sing. "It was one of the most disagreeable con tretemps I was ever at A speech was made during the evening by a man named Simpson, sometimes called the Sockless Cicero of the Unbroken Plain?. He is a plain man, with an impediment in his syn tax and mutton tallow on his boots. He spoke briefly, lit the wrong end of his cigar, seemed to be thoroughly in earnest; and when the loving cup came around to him Making a Cheap Speech. he went down into it like a hired man, rinsing his bleached mustache, and coming up joyously like a mallard duck with a dank and dripping bill. "He reminded me ot a barber I once sat under, who sang a rollicking song ana ac companied himself on the atomizer. It was a delightful dinner, presided over by Mr. Wehavewithusthisevening. Song 52 60 Dinner '. 3 C5 Napkin 10 Balance 1 25 "November 19 I am just home from another dinner, at which I spoke. There were others, of course, who spoke, bnt they were not into it. I spoke feelinglv and in terspersed my remarks with persiflage. It was a good speech. Better than the dinner. Something did not agree with me. I think it was the shrimp salad. Ioughtn't to eat shrimp salad, especially when I desire the use of my . dinner for any length of time; This salad' was not properly made. The codliver oil was the work of malarial cod fish. The salad was improperly dressed also. Its dress was low and vuljar. We could not get along together. "But I made a good speech. Unfortu nately, it will not be printed. It is a rule of the organization not to print remarks made at its table. So the speech, as well as the dinner, was a complete loss. Sneech, valued at IS 00 Dinner (not available) CO Loss . . 518 00 "November 20 I.am at home again alter a triumph. We had several eminent men at our banquet The ventriloquist, who was to have been the life of. the party, conld not come, and so I was invited. VI had short notice, but that is the test of true greatness. I closeted myself with 'The Story Teller's Guide' for two hours, and then taking a half hour with an elocutionist, was in fine form, with a good appetite, at 6:30 p. M. Be moving a touch of sadness and gravy from the back of my dress coat, I sallied forth. "We bad some sherry in the ante-room while we took, off our rnbbers, and the din ner was very good indeed, barring a young man who had begun diping a little too early !.'& . . s& iNpm SUNDAY, MARCH 22. in the afternoon and who was, therefore, about an octave ahead of the music all the evening. He burned off one lobe of his whiskers while lighting his cigar, and it stnelled so that three of our guests went home a little lopsided and cast down. So did the yonng man. "He reminded, me somehow of a young and budding ass I used to know, whose father was at one time Governor of a West ern Territory. The Governor did not know any too much. He did. not know hardly anything. Sometimes he would almost know something, but would become nervous and forget what it was. "Once he found that he would have to re ceive a great man officially at his mansion, and his wife was away. She was on a west bound train which would reach the capital at about the time of the reception. So he wired her, care of the conductor, that she must arrive in full dress. "But how?' . She decided at once, .for she was a woman of decision, even if she did not look well in full dress. She went to the,express car and asked to be alone. The expressman said wherefore. She said she was the wife of the Governor of the Territory and would be alone. She desired to dress. He hesitated, but left, telling her that when the train got to Antelope he wonld have to open the car to let off a deceased party who was billed to that place. She said she would be all nicely dressed by that time, "But she was not. Being a woman, and rather Gothic also, she wasjdelayed some what, and as the train rounded a sharpe curve (of its own) now and then she would fall out of her party dress and have to climb back again and tuck in a shoulder blade or two over and anon. "So when the train got to Antelope, and King Solomon's Temple Lodge, It. A. M., had como down to the depot to take charge of the remains of the deceased brother, it fonnd a highly Doing Chorea on the Farm. middle-aged lady dressing in the car, and holding a long, tan-colored wisp of hair in ber teeth, while she held another wisp straight up and groomed it with a wire brush. "The Masons had a. band also, and while this oompah-oompah orchestra played a dirge and the expressman handed out the package for Antelope be kept bis back toward the dressing room. It was a sad sight On the one hand were death and the trappings of woe; on the other, ill-concealed charms and the trappings of a recep tion. But it showed nerve and firmness, among other things, and the incident is still referred to by old-timers, and pointed to with pride by old settlers who glory in the dys when even officials were ready at all times to act upon ah emergency. Speech last night, say HO 00 Dinner 55 CO Cigar 10' Balance out i 00 Brought forward i 80 "So to date I am square in the whole deal, though I have placed rather a moderate value on the bon homme and rather a high estimate on the consomme, so I am surely not ahead, though two or three times I was quite sure that I was getting ahead." The above is an exact copy of the diary of a promineut New Yorker who has been dining a good deal this season, but who is at present doing chores for his board on a small farm three miles behind Quogue, on Long Island, and preparing for a season of uninterrupted gayety next year. Bill Nie. BLAZIHG WITH JEWELS. Gorgeous Ealment 'Worn by the Native 1'rlnccs of India. Brooklyn Eagle. Key. Dr. George F. Penteoost, now in India, writes: "After being honored with a seat at the private dining table of the "Vice roy everything else in a social way comes to a man or woman. So I have dined with the Lieutenant Governor and been to various receptions aud evening parties at both the beautiful Belvidere and the Government house, the last two receptions (even ing parlies), one each at the Vice roy's and the Lieutenant Governor's, 'to meet His Imperial Highness, the CzarcA witz.' Of course I went to see the future Czar of all the Itnssias a fairly good-looking young fellow of about 21,'with a look about his eyes and jaw which suggested that he might be equal to any emergency which might arise in the fnture. I stood by bis side for ten minutes in a v crush of 2,000 people, and so had a good look at him. I am irlad that I am not a czarowitz, and that he is not my imperial highness. "But what interested me more than this younc imperial highness was the great as semblage of native princs, rajah's, mahara jahs, etc., with their magnificent and gor geous attire. I don't think I ever saw so many jewels in all my life. These old and young princes had evidently decked them selves out for the occasion. One young maharajah had a necklace of diamonds on completely surrounding his neck, six strands deep, no one of them smaller than a large pea and running up in size to a large hazelnut Beside such masses ot diamonds there were pearls in strings (more beautiful than diamonds), rubies, sapphires, emeralds, bpals (most beautiful), and every glorious stone the earth yields. It would have sent half the society women of New York and Brooklyn mad with envy just to have seen them. "And to think of them being wasted on the menl" MEH ABE WEAK, T06. Corsets for 'the Stronger Sex Are Becoming Quite Common. People who make them say that corsets for men are coming more and more into use. The illustration shows one style that is popular with some of the A Coriet for o Man. first actors of the day. There are two kinds of corsets for gentlemen: The first to com press the waist and the second to make the shoulders broad and the back straight The first is almost a simple band that is iaeed until the wearer thinks he is shapely enough; the second compresses the waist but a little and branches out toward the shonlders, caking a chest effect that is sim ply magnificent Stop at the Hollenden, in Cleveland. American and European plans. av ffiUysp f7I v rN - ,1891 DEATHiON TIB CROSS. Tho End Which Was the Beginning of the Christian Religion, ALL HOPE SEEMED THEN TO DIE, Bnt Kow Before That Symbol of Suffering It Springs Eternal. THE BDEIAIi IN THE TOMB OP ST08E IWBITTEir FOB THE DISPJ.TCII.1 Cionds sweep up into the sky. Darkness shadows the face of the midday sun. A storm bangs over the earth. The end draws near. Silence falls upon the company about the cross. Christ, too, is silent. Up He looks into heaven above Him. All is black about Him. The mystery of the cross touches its awful crisis. The face of God is hidden. "My God, My God," He cries, "why hast Thou forsaken Me?" Into this mystery of suffering we may not enter. They who spoke misunderstood Him. Eeverent silence best befits this cry out of the darkness. Christ died for our sins that, at least, we know. He offered Himself upon the altar of the cross, as a sacrifice for human sins the Lamb ot God that taketh away the sin of the world, that we know, but all beyond is bidden. Somehow it was our sin which darkened the sky above the face of Christ, and shut out frpm His human heart the light of the love of God. And this was the supreme moment, thi was that hour of which the Master all His hie looked for ward, this was the achievement of His pur pose. Kow-He bears the burden of our sin upon Him. All else was as nothing beside this. All the pain and shame, all the forsaking and deriding, all the whips and nails all as nothing beside this moment of distress unknowable. And They Gave niin Vinegar. "I thirst," He cries, as the crisis passes. And somebody is quick, now, to give Him drink. All hearts at last are touched. They who, sitting down, bad watched Him there,' have been impressed with the sense of a somewhat mysterious happening. One of the soldiers gives his vinegar in a sponge, from the end of n reed of hyssop. "It is finished!" The sacrifice is offered, the strange agony is over, the mission of the Master is accomplished. His blessed work is done. " "Father, into Thy hands I commend my spirit," so He cries. And Jesus Christ hangs dead upon the cross. Behold the Son of God, who, for love of us, came to earth and took man's nature on His, and that we mights live, became obedient unto death, even the death of the cross. Behold the work of sin! This cross, sin planted. Sin held the hammer when these nails were driven. Sin brought this agony upon the loving heart of God. And we are partakers in it. Oh what a great object lesson in the dreadfulness of sinl The Son of God crucified that we might be Ireed Irom it! And we think sometimes so lizhtly about it, and sin so easily, so cheerfully, taking unworthy words upon our lips, work ing dishonestly with our hands lor which Christ's hand's were pierced, walking in forbidden paths with the feet for which Christs feet were rent and wounded. Here we learn what sin means. We look into our hearts, and what do we see there? How much love for Christ our Savior? How much real gratitude to Him for all His life and all His death for us? How much of the sin still kept for whose banishment out of our hearts He suffered? The Tell In the Temple Kent. Christ dies and the earth trembles. Away in th; city the great veil in the temple is rent from the top to the bottom that great veil which hancs between the holy place and the most holy. No longer need the high priests go in and behind the veil make atonement tor the people's sins. There is no need of the symbol now. The Great High Priest has made the one great and effectual atonement. The way irom man to God is open. The short spring day draws near its close. Evening approaches. To-morrow is the Sabbath. The bodies may not hang upon the cross to-morrow. The Jews go to Pilate and ask leave to pnt an end to the lives of the three crucified ones. So care ul again of the infinitely little in the pres ence of the infinitely greatl So scrupnlous about the letter of the law, and yet crucify ing their Messiah! Pilate gives consent They may break the bones of the dying men, and end their miseries with the thrust of a spear. But Christ, the soldiers find, is dead already. So they break with their clnbs the legs of the two thieves. "Bnt when they came to Jesus, and saw that He was (lead already. Tbey break not His legs, but one of the sol diers with a spear pierced his side, and forthwith came out blood and water. And he that saw it bore record," adds St John, setting the emphatic seal of his own per sonal witness to the faet, "he that saw it bore record, and his record is true, and he knoweth that he saith true, that ye might believe. For these things were done that the Scriptures might be fulfilled. A bone of Him shall not be broken. And again, another Scripture saith, they shall look on Him whom they pierced." They Smote Their Breasts. All mockery was silenced in the presence of that death, all hatred hushed. The Cap tain of the guard of soldiers is profoundly moved. "Certainly this was a right eous Man," he says. "Truly this Man was the Son " of. God." "And all the people that c-irae together to that sicht," the' idlers, the revilers, the bitter enemies, go back with a strange fore boding and miseivin:; in their hearts. What does it mean? What have they done? There are tears in their eyes, and as they go they smite their breasts. Afar off stand His acquaintances, those who had loved Him, .beholding the end. Against the dark sky stand out the three crosses with their burdens. Evening falls, tbe shadows of the night begin to mingle with the shadows ot the day. After all the tumult, after all the noise of discordant voices, at last is silence. The bodies of the crucified were common ly buried by being flung into a trench, and covered over with earth. But no sooner was Jesus dead than there came to Pilate a mem ber of tbe Sanhedrim, a man of standing among the Jews, known among all as a just man and a good, and begged the body of Jesus. Joseuh of Arinathen was a secret disciple. It had been a bitter day for him. Love and fear had struggled for the mas tery of his heart. But- fear had conquered. Joseph had kept ksilence. Now it may bave been re morse which drove out tear. At any rate, love only was leit. He could make amends for cowardice by a last tender care. He could not save Him, and he had not dared to 6how his sympathy while He was alive, bnt he could at least bury Him. He begs the body ot Jesus. The Tomb In tbe Bock. Pilate gladly consents. Joseph has a tomb ready in a" garden of his, not far from the place of crucifixion, a new tomb bewn out in the rock. This is made ready. An other Jewish ruler, also auieniber of San hedrim.antl long a secret disciple joins him. Once he had come by night and talked with Jeus; again he ventured to make his pro test against the prejudice of his colleagues, sayinc, "Doth our law judge any man be fore it hear him?" Now Nicodemus conies along bringing rovrrh and aloes for His burial. A few lov ing nnd laitbful women look on from afar, as the body of Jesus is taken by reverent hands from'the cross to the tomb. The sacred .body is wrapped in folds of linen and laid 'tenderly upon the ground. A great stone is rolled "up into the entrance to the tomb. Presently a seal is set, upon it to gnard against a possible intrusion of either friend or foe, and a guard of Boman soldiers paces np and down before it It is night night In the Syrian iky, night -i. in the hearts of all who have loved the Galilean Teacher. All hope lies buried with Him. They had taken. Him to be the Messi'ah. as He said. They had trusted that -He would bring redemption to Israel. They bad set their laitn upon mm. .ana now ne was dead. And that was the end of every thing." The Cross Bad Banished Hope. And tbey knew not that that was rather the beginning of everything. They knew not that that tragic Friday would be named "Good Friday" to the end of time. The black shadow ot Calvary lay upon their souls. The cross had banished hope. Before that cross- we kneel, and the cross means hope eternal. Does it really mean that? Does it really mean that ifor us? We kneel before this blessed cross; we look into the face of Him who hung thereon. The hands that were pierced invite ns. And what kind of thought is in our heart? And what sort ot answer do we give? Christ what think you of Him? Is He the supreme ideal of your lite? Is he the constant helper of your will? Is He tbe Saviour of your sonl? Geokoe Hodges. STA1TJE TO BUNSET COX. The Tribute of the New York Xctter Car riers to the Congressman. Here is a picture ot the statue of S. S. Cox to be erected by the New York Letter Carriers' Association in Central Park of that city. It is from the chisel of Miss Lanra Latison, who began work seven months ago. Not having known the man in life, she began with a thorough studr cf his character through his writings and public acts. Numberless photographs in the possession of the family were also of great help to her. In the work, says the New York Evening Telearam, Miss Lawson has produced a remarkably true picture of the late Congressman. This truthfulness can be seen in the head and features. Of the many sta"tues that bave found creation in New York not many have been given so close a resemblance to life as that now abont to leave Miss Lawson's studio. LIGHTING LONDON STBEET8. First Candles, Then OH. Now Gas and Electricity Illuminate. New York Journal. 3 Lighting the streets of a large city in olden times was a far different thing from lighting the streets ot the present time. In 1661 the streets ol London were directed to be lighted with candles or lanterns by every householder fronting the main road from twilight to 9 o'clock, the hour of retiring to bed. In the last year of King Charles II. 's reiijn, one Edward Heuing obtained the right to light the streets with lanterns placed over every tent door, from C o'clock on moon less evenings until mjdnight, between Oc tober and April. During the reign of Queen Anne, in July, 1708, Mr. Michal Coke introduced globular glass lamps with oil Burners, instead of the former glimmering lanterns. In 1716 an act was passed which enjoined every house bolder to furnish a light before his door from 6 to 11 o'clock at night, except on evenings between the seventh night of each moon and the third alter it reached the fnl1 In a few vears a company was formed to light the street from 6 o'clock until mid night, each householder who paid poor rates being required to contribute for this purpose 6 shillings a year. Gaslight, at its introduction in the begin ning of the present century, presented such a novel spectacle to the eyes of the foreign ambassadors that they were vain enough to imagine that the brilliant lamps were a part of a general illumination to celebrate their arrival. ... Electricity is now taking the place of gas, Vh I.a .li.n.a ii m'lrtA Far lpH rnnldlv In London than in even the cities of compara tively small population in this conntry. MONGOOSES KILL A C0BBA. Tho Former TVInbyBemarkable Agility and No Little Sagacity. Newcastle (England) Chronicle. The Ceylon papers described a fight be tween a cobra and two mongooses, which was witnessed by a number of residents of Colombo. It took place as an exhibition at a private house lor some visitors. For a little time the mongooses were averse to at tacking the cobra; though they ran round and round it inquiringly. The snake, which was a splendid specimen of the deadly cobra and. beautifully marked, exhibited much alarm as soon as it saw them, and curled itself up, ready to strike. Alter some time the mongooses warmed to their work, and the fight began in earnest Again and again they dashed in and seized the snake bv the tail or lower coils of its body, jumping out of striking distance be fore the cobia could touch them. Their agilitv in this respect was amazing. Tired out with watching them run first one way round and then the other, making an occa sional dart in and jumping as rapidly back again, a time came, when the cobra, failing to turn with sufficient speed to face the mongoose, the Utter sprang in, seized tbe snake by the back of the head and killed it at once. On this occasion a nnmber of in stantaneous photographs of the fight were taken while it was in progress. THE FIEST TEOH BBH5GE. A Structure In Kogland That Is More Than a Century Old. The illustration is from a photograph of the first iron bridge ever made. It was opened for traffic in 1779 and continues a most serviceable structure to this day, and gives the name to the town of Ironbridge. Span of center arch, 100 feet; weight about 378 tons. The rib's were cast at Coalbrook dale in two segments only. Bobert Steven sou said of the structure: "It we consider zr; First Iron Bridge Ever Hade, that the manipulation of cast iron was then completely in its infancy, a bridge of snch dimensions was, doubtless, a bold as well as an original undertaking, and the efficiency of the details is worthy of the boldness of the conception." The photograph comes from Henry C.Simpson, M. L and S. Imt, Shrop shire, England. ft Mi Vim rSHiw The Statue to Sunset Cox. MAIMINGFOR MONET. Many Cases of Fraud Against Acci dent Insurance Companies. PEOPLE CDT OFF THEIR flABDS, Or Pat Their Feet Under Railroad Trains for the Sam of $2,500. ' C0MHITTIXG SUICIDE FOE CASH rcoEBisroroxscx or the disfatcb.! New Yoke, March 21. In conversation with A. N. Lockwood, President of an acci dent association in New York, he said to tbe writer: "The pnblic hears considerable abou tthe frauds that are attempted upon the life in surance companies, but very little about tba frauds upon the accident companies. A person not in the business can have no ides of the extent of fraudulent claims that are made upon accident companies. In propor tion to the number of persons insnred tbey outnumber the claims on tbe life companies ten to one. There has lately been held in New York a meeting Of tbe representatives of some of the leading companies doing an accident business looking to relief in this very matter. The companies found they were being swindled so outrageously that they have been obliged to set together for mutual protection. The ingenmty of the human mind is being exercised in an extraordinary degree in the business of patching up fraudulent claims. About two years ago the accident companies offered indemnities for tbe loss of a leg. arm, foot or hand, and this has been worked extensively by persons who didn't mind .maiming themselves in order to get insurance money. This opened up a tremendous field for fraud, and it his become one of the greatest evils in the in surance business. The Price of a Hand. "As a rule 52,G00 is paid for the loss of either a hand or foot, and you have no idea the number of people there are in the world who are williuc to lose a hand or foot for that much money. A President of one of the accident companies tells me he is satis fied that not one claim has been genuine in all the claims presented against the com pany in a year. My own experience has not been quite so bad as this, and not so far from it either. "There is now a case that is being watched with great interest by every accident com pany doing business in New York, with the single exception of my own company, where it is believed a man and a. professional man at that maimed himself deliberately to get insurance money. He had taken ad vantage of the clause offering indemnity for tbe loss of a foot, and if his scheme had not miscarried he would have exchanged a loot for $25,000. He had, as I say, taken out a policy in every company iu town, with the one exception. He intended making a trip West, taking his fowliug-piece with him, and on the day before he proposed starting on the journey he let his gun tall and shot off one of his great toes. Tbe companies beard of the accident, there was a has ty comparison of notes, and three or four of the best doctors were rnshed to his assistance. The companies think they have evidence sufficient to show that tbe man intended to have the loot amputated to avoid blood poisoning, collect $25,000 according to his policies of insurance. The chances are that he will have to compromise with the companies simply for tbe loss of bis time, which is not worth over 525 a week at the outside. Always Lose the left Hand. "Now, cases like this are coming up every day, and in many instances there is absolute proof of fraud. A curious thing is noted, and that IS that out ot ten men who lose a hand by accident nine of them lose tbe left hand. This was one of the things that began to excite suspicion. There is one case where a man is trnewn to bave deliberately chopped off his own band with a hatchet striking it two blows. You would hardly suppose a man would do this for 52.500. but so many men do it that one of the objects of the recent meeting of in surance men was to elinfiuate this leg and arm premium, as It is called, from the poli cies. "One of the cases investigated lately was where a man had lost a foot on tbe railroad. The man claimed to have fallen off the train and had got his foot caught under the wheels. He was found by the train people sitting beside the track with his bat on, his clothing perfectly free from dirt and nothing whatever abont him to indicate that he had fallen from tbe train. More than this, the engineer bad passed the same man amomeut before the accident, and there was other testimony to show tbat he had walked np to the train and thrnst his foot under the wheels. This case was made so plain tbat he is not at all likely to get a cent of insur ance. Unlike the man who is believed to have shot off bis big toe he is not likely to get anything for his lost time. Of course there is a law against this self-mutilation, bnt an insurance company is not often dis-. posed to press it They simply aim to pre vent a swindle on their own treasury and are willing to stop at that Will Eliminate the Fremlnms. "It is a fact," continued Mr. Lockwood, "that there are more fraudulent insurance cripples in'the United States to-day than there are war cripples. This may seem like a surprising statement but it can be veri fied. The business of self-maiming- has been going on to such an extent that if the insurance companies did not themselves adop'. means to stop it the laws of the State would have to take it np. If the Informa tion known to insurance people had been generally known there might have been some legislation on tbe matter before now. But this will not be necessary, as all the 'insurance companies will, I think, before long eliminate tbe 'leg premium' from their contracts. "Some months ago when it was apparent tbat there was a great loss going on in tbe country iu tbe matter of left arms, tbe prin cipal companies reduced the indemnity on left arms, and since then there has been fewer lelt-handed accidents. It has been eight months since the indemnity was re duced for the loss of a left hand, and in this time there has been a decrease in this variety of accidents fully 80 per cent "Hundreds of accident claims are paid which the companies are satisfied are fraud ulent, but it is not good for tbe business to be in the conrts too much as contestants, and so the money is paid over without a lawsuit. The companies do not allow claims where the insured committed suicide, and yet such claims are presented and sometimes paid. 6( conrse, when' a man insures hit life with a View of Committing Bnlclde for the benefit of bis estate, he takes great care that his death shall not appear to be a suicide. The companies, however, are not easily deceived in this matter, and the claim is paid, not because they think the man met with an accidental death, but because it rarely pays to be a contestant against a widow and a family of children. "The men wno insure their lives for largo amounts and then commit suicide are in nine cases out of teu men who bave been well off and have lost their fortunes. They have a large family, perhaps, accustomed to the luxuries of life, aud the dread of leaving them in want impels men to insure their lives and then end their existence, apparently by accidental means. -The gun issthe usual method employed, quite often the pistol. If a,pistol. the man is cleaning it, and it is accidentally dis charged. In many cases the man goes hunt ing and meets with a fatal accident by the discbarge of his gun. There are hundreds of such cases." R. W. Cbiswell. Zola Becoming Respectable! Baltimore American. Zola's latest baok is absolutely decorous. Ha has evidently followed tbe course of some other money makers those who make their money by hook or eroAk, and when they get It, grow respectable. But the taint U there. Just thesams, id' 2?"
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers