il'-'V- -'
t
IS
first saw yon." said Unorna, tryinc to speak
calmly. "Cut you loved another -woman.
Du vou remember her? Her name was
Bta'trii-p, and she was very dart, as I am
f-ir. Xou had lot her and you soncht her
fr ypar. Yon entered my house, thinking
that she hai gone in before you. Do you
remember tha morning' It was a mouth
airo to-day. You told me the story."
"You have dreamed it," said the "Wan
derer in cold surprise. "I never loved any
woman yet"
Unorna laughed bitterly.
"!! perfect it all was at first!" she ex
cluimol. "How smooth it seemed! How
easy. Yen Merit before me. out there by the
river tha' vr afternoon. And iu your
sleep 1 b".il you lorget And you forgot
wholly, your love, the woman, her verr
name, ove:s s lraei Kafka forgot to-day
what be ban suffered in the person of the
ru irtyr. Yon told him tile story, and he
believes yon. because he knows me, and
lno'.s what I can do. You can believe me
or noi; a, you will. I did it"
'You are dreaming," the Wanderer re
peated, wondering whether she were out of
her mind.
"I iia it. I said to myself that if I could
destroy your old love, root it out from your
heart and from jour memory and mate you
as one who bad never loved at all, then you
would love me as you bad loved her, with
your whole free soul. I said that 1 was
beautiful it is true, is it not? And young,
I am, and 1 love as no woman ever loved.
Ana I said that it was enough and that
soon you would love me, tco. A month has
passed away since then. You are of ice of
stone I do" not know or what you are. This
morning you hurt me. I thought it was the
last hurt, ami that I should die then instead
of to-night Do you iemeinber?you thought I
was ill. i.nd you went away. "When you
were cone I i.ugl.t witn myself. My dreams
ye, I had dreamed of all that can make
earth heaven, and you had waked mc You
said thai you would be a brother to me you
talked of friendship. The stint: of it It is
no wonder that I grew faint with pain. Had
vou struck me in the face, I would have
kissed your hand. But your friendship!
Bather" be dead than, loving, be held a
friend! And Iliad dreamed ot being dear
to you for ray own sake, of being dearest, -and
fir.-t, and alone beloved.siuce that other was
gone and I had burned her memory. That
pride I had still, until that moment. I
fancied that it u as in my power, if I would
stoop so ir.w, to make vou sleep again, as
you hail sleot before, and to make you at my
bidding jeel as I felt. I fought with my Bell.
1 woirKt not go down to that depth. And
then 1 ssid tuat even that were better than
your Jrienoship, even a ialse semblance of
Jove inspired ljv my will, preserved by mv
succession. Ana so I fell. You came back
to me as.d I lea vou to that lonely placc,aud
made you sleet), and then 1 told you what
wis in my heart ;i!,d poured out the fire
o! ni soul into yor.r cars. A look came
Jnlo your face I shall noc forget it. My
folly was unon me, aud 1 thought it was
lor me. I know the truth now. Slccpinc
me old memory levivea in you of her whom
vaking you will never lemember again,
lint the look was there, and I bid you
awake. My soul rose in my eyes. I hung
upon your lips. The loving word I longed
for seemed aireadj to tremble in tbe air.
Then came the truth. You awoke and your
fcce was stone, calm, smiling, indifferent,
uulovinc. Ana all this Asrael jiatKa had
seen, Illume li;:e .1 Unci almost DesicJe us.
He saw it all, he heard it all, my words of
loie, mv acouy of waiting, my utter hu
miliation, my burning shame. Was I
cruel to htm? He had made mc suffer, and
lie suffered in Ins turn. All this you did
not know. You know it now. There is
nothing to tell. Will you wait here until
he comes? Will you look on, and be glad
to see me die? " ill you remember iu tbe
years to come with satisfaction that you
saw the witch killed for licr many misdeeds,
nrd for the chief of them all for loving
joa?"
The Wanderer had listened to her words,
but the tale thev told was beyond the power
of his belief. He stood still in his dace,
with folded arms, debating what he should
do to save ber. One thing nloDe was clear.
She loved him to distraction. Possibly, he
thought, Jicr story was but an invention to
excuse her cruelty and to win bis commisera
tion. It tailed to do either at first, but yet
lie would not leave ber to her fate.
"You shall not die if I can help it," he
Baid simply.
"And it you save me, do you think that
I will leave you?" she asked with sudden
agitation, turning and half rising from ber
seat "Think what you will be doing, if
tou save me! Think well! You say that
Israel Katka is desperate. I am worse than
desperate worse than mad, with my love!"
bhe sank back again and bid ber face for
a moment He, on his part, began to see
tbe terrible reality and strength of her pas
sion, and silently wondered what the end
would be. He, too, was human, and pity
for her began at last to touch his heart
"You shall cat die, if I can save you," he
said again.
She sprang to her feet very suddenly and
' stood before him.
"You pity me!" she cried. ' "What lie is
that which says that there is a kinship be
tween pity and love? Think well beware
be warned. I have told you much, but
yon do not know me ret! I:" you save me,
veu save me but to love you more than I al
ready do. Look at me! For mc there is
neither God, nor hell, nor pride, nor sbamel
There is nothing that I will not do nothing
that I shall be ashamed or afraid of doing.
If you save me, you save me that I may fol
low you as long as I live. I will never
.&&&
T..sea..j
JAMiff
i?k t
Sir Knelt at Ms Fct.
leave you. You shall never escape my
presence, your whole life shall be full of
me you do not love me, and I can threaten
you with nothing more intolerable than
myself. Your eyes will weary of the sight
of me, aud your ears at tbe sound of my
voice. Do you think I have no hope? A
moment ago I had none. But I see it now.
Whether you will or not, I shall be yours.
You mav make a prisoner of me I shall be
In your keening, then, and hall kaow it.
end feci it, and love my prison for your
take, even if you will not let me see you.
If you would escape from me you must kill
me, as Israel Kafka means to kill me now
and ttieu I shall die by your hand and
rav life will have been yours and given to
ynn. How can you think that I have ha
I shall be near you alwavs to the end al
ways, always, always! I will cling to you
as I do now aud say I love you. 1 love
you yes, and yon will cast me off, but I
will nut go 1 will clasp your leet, and say
again, Icye vou, and you may spurn me
man, god, wanderer, devil whatever you
are b'doved always! Tread upon mc,
trample on me, cruh me vou cannot save
yourself, vou cannot kill my love!"
She had tried io take his hand and he had
withdiawn his: vh hsd fallen upon her
knees as ! Tiied to free hiimell lad fallen
almost to htr length upon the marble floor,
clinging to iu ve.-v feet, so that he could
inakenosten v. 111. nut doing her Etime hurt.
He looked dn-.wi, ssi. zed j.nd silent, and as
heloo'tel sr.e st one glance upward to his
stera lac, the br.ght tears streaming like
falling gfins irom her unlike eyes, her face
pule andijuiveriii!.', her rich hair.il! loosened
find rxiiucabont her.
And tnuii sri.iiLr boar.nor heart, n.irsoul
, could besr the ciinruinn s!r:nn tint ws laid
Upon them. A In- erv broke from ber lip,
a stor.uj snlt, atoiner and ai.othei, like
-nick, short waves breaking over the bar
T0r9
warn.
WsbJisSiMWxi
when the tide it low and the wind is rising
suddenly.
The "Wanderer was in sore straits, for the
minutes wtre passinc quickly and he rem
embered the last look on Kafka's face, and
how be had left the Moravian standing be
fore the weapons on the wall. 'And nothing
bad been done yet, not so much as an order
given not to admit him if he came to the
house. At any moment be might be upon
them. And the storm showed no signs of
being spent Her wild, convulsive sobbing
was painlul to hear. If he tried to move
she dragced herself 'frantically at his feet
lest he should tread upon her hands. He
pitied her, now, most truly, thouch he
guessed rightlv that to show his pity would
be but to add fuel to the blazing flame.
Then, in the interval of a second, as she
drew breath to weep afresh, he lancied that
he beard sounds below as of the great door
being opened and closed again. With a
quick, strong movement, stooping low be
put his arms about her and raised her from
the floor. At his touch, her sobbing ceased
for a moment, as though she had wanted
only that to soothe her. In spite of him,
she let her head rest upon bis shoulder, let
ting him still feel that if he did not support
her weight with his arm she would fall
again. In tbe midst of the most passionate
and real outburst of despairing love there
lie Carritd Her in His Anns.
was no artifice which she would not use to
be nearer to him, to extort even the sem
blance of a caress.
"I heard some one come in below," he
said, hurriedly. "It must be he. Decide
quickly what to do. Hither stay or fly
you have not ten seconds for your choice."
She turned her imploring eyes to hi.
"Let me stay here and end it all "
"That you shall not!" be exclaimed, drag
ginc her toward the end of tbe hall oppo
site to the usual cntrauce, and where he
knew that there must be a door behind the
screen of plants. His hold tightened upon
her yielding waist. Her head fell back and
her full lip! parted in an ecstasy of delight
as she felt herself hurried along iu his arms,
scarcelv touching the floor with her feet,
"An now now! Let it come now!" she
sighed.
'It must be now or never." he said, al
most roughly. "If you will leave this house
with me now, very well. But leave this
room you shall. Ii I am to meet that man
and stop him, I will meet him alone."
"Leave you alone? Ah, no not that "
They hall reached the exit now. At the
saTOe mstant both beard some one enter at
the other end and rapid footsteps on the
marble pavement
"Which is it to be?" asked the Wanderer,
Dale and calm. He had pushed her through
before him and seemed ready to go back
alone.
With violent strength she drew him to
her, closed the door and slipped the strong
steel bolt across below the lock. There was
a dim light in the passage.
"Together, then." she said. "I shall at
least be with you a little longer."
"Is there another way out of the house ?"
asked the Wanderer anxiously.
More than one. Come with mc
As they disappeared in the corridor, they
heard behind them tile noise of the door
lock as some one tried to force it open. Then
a heavy sound as though a man's shonlder
struck against the solid pace!. Unorna led
the way through a narrow, winding passage,
illuminated here and there by small lamps
with Bbades of soft colors, blown in
Bohemian glass.
Pushing aside a curtain they came out
into a small room. Tbe Wanderer uttered
an involuntary exclamation of surprise as be
recognized the vestibule and saw before him
the door of the great conservatory, open as
Israel Kafka had left it That the latter
was still trying to pursue them through the
opposite exit was clear enough, for the blows
he was striking on the panel echoed loudly
out into the hall. Swiftly and silently
"Unorna closed the entrance aud locked tt
securely.
"He is safe for a little while." she said.
"Keyork will find him thera when he comes
an hour hence, and Keyork will perhaps
bring him to bis senses."
She had regained control of herself, to ail
appearances, and she spoke with perfect
calm and self-possession. The Wanderer
looked at her in surprise and with some
suspicion. Her hair was all falling about
her shoulders, but, saving this sign, there
was no trace of the recent storm nor the
least indication of passion. If she bad been
acting a part throughout, before an audi
ence, she would have seemed less indifferent
when the curtain fell. The Wanderer,
having little cause to trust her, found it
hard to believe that she had not been coun
terfeiting. It seemed impossible that she
should be the same woman who but a mo
ment earlier had been dragcing herself at
his feet, in wild tears and wilder protesta
tion of her love.
"If you are sufficiently rested," he said,
with a touch of sarcasm which he could not
restrain, "I wou!dsuggest that we do not
wait any longer here."
She turned and faced him and he saw
now how very white she was.
"So you think that even now I have been
deceiving you? That is what you think. I
see it in your face."
Before he could prevent her she had
opened tbe door wide again and was advanc
ing calmly into the conservatory.
"Israel Kafka!" she cried, in loud, clear
tones. "I am here I am waiting
come!"
The Wanderer ran forward. He caught
sight in the distance of a pair of fiery eyes
and of somethinz long and thin and sharp-
gleaming under the soft lamps. He knew
then that all was deadly earnest Swift as
thought he caught Unorna and bore her
from the ball, locking tbe door again and
setting his broad shoulders against it, as he
put her down. The daring act she had done
appealed to him in spite oi himself.
"1 bee your pardon," he said, almost
deferentially "I misjudged you."
"It is that," she answered. "Either I
will be with you or I will die, by his hand,
bv yours, by my own it will matter little
when it is done. You need not lean against
the door. It is very strong. Your furs ore
hanging there, and here are mine. Let us
be going."
Quietly, as though nothing unusual had
happened, they descended the stairs to
gether. The porter came forward with all
due ceremon v to open the shut door. Unorna
told him that if Keyork Arabian camewhile
she was out he was to be shown directly into
the conservatory. A moment later she and
her companion were standing together iu
the small irregular square before the Clem
eutinum. 'Where will you go?" asked the Wan
derer. "With you," she answered, laying her
hand upon his arm and looking into his face
as though waitiuz to see what direction he
would choose. "Unless you send me back
to him," she added, glancing quickly at the
honse and makiuc as though she would
withdraw her hand once more. "If it is to
be that, I will go alone."
There seemed to be no way out of the ter-,
nble dilemma, and the Wanderer stood
still in deep thought He knew that if he
could but irec himelf from her for half an
hour lie could gel help from the right quar
cr aud take Israel Kafca red-handed and
THE
armed as he was. For the man was caught
as in a trapand must stay there until he was
released, and there conld be little doubt
from his manner when taken that he was
either mad or consciously attempting some
crime. There wa6 no longer any necessity,
he thought, for Unorna to take refuge any.
where for more than an hour. In that time
Israel Kafka would be in safe custody and
she could re-enter her house with nothing to
fear. But he counted without Unorna's un
yielding obstinccv. She threatened if he
left her. for a moment to go back to Israel
Kafka. A lew minutes earlier she had car
ried out her threat and the consequence had
been almost fatal.
"If you are in your right mind," he said at
last, beginning to walk toward the corner,
"you will see that what you wish to do is
utterly acainst reason. I will not allow
you to run the risk of meeting Israel Kafka
to-night, but I cannot take you with me.
Xo I will hold you, if you try to escape
me, and I will bring you to a place of safety
by force, if need be.""
""And you will leave me there, and I shall
never see you again. I will not go, and yon
will find it hard to take me anywhere in the
crowded city by lbrce. You are not Israel
Kafka, with the whole Hebrews' quarter at
your command in which to hide me."
The Wanderer was perplexed. He saw,
however, if he would yield the point and
give his word to return to her, she might be
induced to follow his advice.
"If 1 promise to come back to you, will
you do what I ask?" he inquired.
"Will you promise truly?"
"I have never broken a promise vet"
"Did you promise that other woman that
you would never love again, I wonder? If
so. you are faithful indeed. But you have
forgotten that Will you come back to me
if I let vou take me where J will be sale to
night?" "I will come back whenever you send for
me."
"If you fail, my blood is on your head."
"Yes on my head be it"
"Very well. I will go to that house where
I first stayed when I came here. Take me
there quickly no not quickly cither let
it be very long I I shall not see you until
to-morrow."
A carriage was passing at a foot pace.
The Wanderer stopped it, and helped
Unorna to get in. The place was very near,
and neither spoke, though he could feel her
hand upon bis arm. He made no attempt
to shake her off. At the gate they both cot
out, and he rang a bell that echoed
through vaulted passages far away in the
interior.
"To-morrow," said Unorna, touching bis
hand.
He could sec even in the dark the look of
love she turned upon .him.
"Good night," he said, and the next mo
ment she bad disappeared within.
CHAPTER XVIII.
Having made the necessary explanations
to account for her sudden appearance,
Unorna found herself installed iu two rooms
of modest dimensions and very simply
though comfortably furnished. It was a
common thing lor ladies to seek retreat and
quiet in the convent during two or three
weeks of the year, and there was plenty of
available space at the disposal ot tljose who
wished to do so. It could not be expected
that in a city like Prague such a woman as
Unorna could escape notice,aud the fact that
little or nothinc was known of her true his
tory had left a very wide field for the imagi
nations of those who chose to invent one lor
her. The common story, and the one which
on the whole was nearest to the truth, told
that she was the daughter of a noble
or Eastern ISnhcmm, who Had died soon
after her birth, the last of his lamily,
having converted his ancestral posses
sions into money for Unorna's benefit,
in order to destioy all. trace of
her relationship to him. The secret must,
of course, have been confided to some one,
but it bad been kept faithfully, and Unorna
herself was no wiser than those wlio amused
themselves with fruitless speculations re
garding her origin. If Irom the first, from
tbe moment when as a young girl she left
tbe convent to enter into possession of her
fortune, she had chosen to assert some right
to a footinc in the most exclusive ari
stocracy in the world, it is not impossible
that the protection of the Abbess might
have helped her to obtain it. The secret of
her birth would, however, have rendered a
marriage with a man of that class all but
impossible, and would have entirely ex
cluded her from the only other position
considered dicnified for a well-born woman
of fortune, unmarried and wholly without
living relations or connections that o! a
lady-canouess on tbe Crown foundation.
Moreover, her wild briucing-up, and the
natural gifts she possessed and which she
could not resist the impulse to exercise had
in a few months placed herin a position
from which no escape was pos
sible as long as she lived in Prague,
and against those few chiefly men who
for her beauty's sake, or out ot curiosity,
would gladly have made her acquaintance
she raUed an impassable barrier of pride
and reserve. Xor was her reputation alto
gether an evil one. She lived in a strange
fashion, it is true, but the very fact of her
extreme seclusion had kept ber name free
from stain. If people spoke of her as the
Witch, it was more from habit and halt in
jest, than in earnest
Unorna was familiar with convent life
and was aware that the benediction was over
and that the hour for the evening meal was
approaching. A fire iiad been lighted in
her sitting room, but the air was still very
cold, and she sat wrapped in her furs, as
when she had arrived, leaning back in :t
corner of the sola, her head inclined for
ward, and one white hand restiug on tbe
green baize cloth which covered the taule.
She was very tired, and the absolute still
ness was refreshing and restoring after the
long-drawn-out emotions ot the stormy day.
Never iu her short and pasionate lite had
so many events been crowded into -the space
of a few hours. She comforted herself with
the thought that the Wanderer would come
to her, once, at least, wnen she was pleased
to send for him. She had that loyal belief
in his sincerity, which, even in the worst
characters, is inseparable from true love,
until violently overthrown by irrefutable
evidence, and which Sometimes has such
power as to return even then, overthrowing
the evidence of the senses themselves.
Unorna's confidence was not misplaced.
The man wnose promise shlhad received had
told the truth wheu he had said that he had
never broken anv promise whatsoever.
To be Continued A'ext Week.
A GIFT FEOM THE IBOH" MEK.
Testimonial From Mritisli Members of the
Iron and Steel Institute.
Mr. James E. Lewis, a mining engineer
of New York, has been presented with a
gorgeous punch bowl made of" solid silver,
gold lined and lavishly ornamented and
mounted on an ebony stand, says the New
York Herald. It is a bowl that Bacchus
himself would feel proud of. Accompany
ing it were two smaller bowls made or
chased silver and as t pretty as pict
ures. Sir. Lewis was the chair
man of the committee which looked
after the entertainment of tbe big
crowd of iron and steel manufacturers and
mining engineers who came over here from
England and Germany last fall to exchange
scientific information and see the country.
And when the Britishers got home again
they were mombers of the Iron and Steel
Institute they held a meeting and resolved
to send over some testimonial of their ap
preciation aud gratitude. They decided
that a punch bowl was about tbe best thing
they could select. With the bowls came a
letter from Sir James Kitson.
We will call on you with samples and
furnish estimates on furniture reupbolstery.
Hauqh & Keen ait, ?3 Water street
sn . ' "
PITTSBURG DISPATCH.
DISPENSING WISDOM.
Bill Nye Writes Elaborately in An
swer to Correspondents.
THE EUDE CRUSHING OP A FLY,
Should He Annoy Ion at Table, Is
Considered Good Form.
Not
STATESMAN SIMPSON ' AND BOWLING
IWBITTCt FOB THE DISFATCII.l
CORRESPON DENT
writing from Savona's
Ferry, British Colum
bia, says: "Last sum
mer while dining at a
friend's house, being an
noyed by a large blue
bottle or blow fly, the
hostess squashed it with
her knife. The cook had
to be called to exchange
the soiled knife. Do
you not think it was very
rude to squash the fly on
the dinner table? What
would you have done?"
It is very hard to say at times what would
be best, but referring the matter to a warm,
intimate friend on Murray Hill, New
York, who uses our large kettle to make
soap in every spring, and with whom we
are on terms of the closest intimacy, I find
that it is not regarded as an evidence of re
finement to squash a fly on the table by
means of one's knife.
Larsoly a Matter of Taste.
Possibly in New York we may be super
sensitive on this question, but speaking for
myself I must say that we have not, for the
cast year and a half, allowed ourselves the
coarse gratification of squashing flies at
meal time, especially when we had any of
the corned heads or Guelph outfit stopping
with us.
Still, all these things are matters of taste.
I had a college friend who became a dentist,
preferring it, as he said, to the ministry be
cause he never could pray worth a cuss on
an empty stomach. Well, he had a preoc
cupied way of boring out old cavities and
wiping off the apex of his drill on bis trou
sers. This did not cut into his practice
where he was, but one day he outgrew the
town and wore a high hat. He said that he
was sick of perusing the wide sweep of the
Farmers' Alliance tonsil, so he sold his
cow and moved to a flat on Lexington ave
nue looking east.
He Shocked a Tfounc; Irftdy.
He looked out the window there for a few
mouths, thinking and banting. Then a
young lady from near the Forty-second
street reservoir came to get her mouth sur
veyed. In the mirror she saw him wipe his
instrument on a bald spot just forward of
the portable mantel on which he was wont
to scratch his matches mostly, and witha
wild scream she fled with a rubber dam in
her mouth and a tinker's dam in her port
monie witn which to pay tbe dentist. She
was caught on Fifth avenue a half hour
later, and pulled out from under one of
Colonel Jewdcsprit Shcpard's portable saw
mills. But her mind was gone.
So has the dentist.
You see that these matters are largely
local in their nature. British Columbia
customs may sanction certain practices
which on Beacon street or Madison avenue
would be coughed down. Now, for instance,
we had a fashion in my native town of re
garding it as a personal insult if your guest
left a heel tap or dregs, even if you left one
dreg in your glass. Your host had a right
to feel hurt and to regard it as a mild con
tempt for your rum. "
I'oints on Draining the Glass.
But when I began to move around rest
lessly in good society, and exhibit my earn
est and hearty indorsement of the wine by
approving of it in the crude way to which
I had been accustomed, a swift footed gar
con filled tiie gl.-iss again and kept me ap
proving the host's good taste till my re
marks were not logical. I would start out
with a good premise, and before I could
reach a conclusion the premise would es-
1 h'vrgcl 31j Promises.
cape my mind. I learn now that it is not cor
rect to drink the entire contents of one's
glass unless one wants to do so very much
indeed.
One should sip the liquid if at all
slowly through one's mustache, meantime
looking far, far away, :is if trying to leeall
the name of the brim); but never should
oue eat or drink as if one took anv interest
in it. That is excessively vulgar. Eat
with a preoccupied and liddlcdewinks air,
as one would wh'i lived high at home aud
might be tor the nouce out doing some po
lite slumming.
lias Heard of Jerry Simpson.
Estacado Jesus de Fonseca, of Conejos
county, Col., writes to know "Who is Jerry
Simpson, the newly elected statesman now
in Washington, and what are his qualifi
cations as a lawmaker?"
Jeremiah Simpson is the Congressman
from the Seventh district of Kansas. He is
a native of New Brunswick, and at 14 years
of age went to sea, where he became a
victim of the habit of goiiic utterly with
out socks. He takes creat pride iu his well
turned mahogany nnkles and richly carved
legs. At full dress parties and receptions
the couing season he will offset the low
corsage of the finely formed Washington
belles by wearing a set of highcut pauties,
revealing his well groomed though still
sliehtly chapped ankles.
He was mate of a large bark at the age of
22 years, and 13 years ago left the sea to lo
cate in Kansas. The Sockless Cicero of
Kansas, as he is playfully, called, was
largely in his later years a fresh water
sailor, and his las' vPS3el was wrecked off
Ludincton, on Lake Michigan, and all on
board were saved through the heroism of
the Captain.
How'He Came to Be Great.
Captain Jerry Simpson is now a farmer,
and, it is siid, was elected because he
showed on tbe stump his sockless condition,
claiming he was so poor and honest that he
could not afford socks. His successor will
doubtless be a plain man, who will go about
canvassing the Seventh district anil wiping
his nose on the top rail of the fair cround
fence becanse he is so plain and poor that
he cannot afford a handkerchief.
Until last June Mr. Simpson was the City
Marshal of Medicine Lodge. He was up to
that time regarded as short on genius and
long on socks. Now it is otherwise. Next
to the "Kreulzer Sonata" aud the young
lady at the Fourteenth street museum who
has a heavy sorrel uinne down her spinal
column, tlie Sockless holds the age on pub
lic notice.
Colonel Marsh Merdock was the first to
discover that Jerry did not wear socks. The
two went in swimming together during the
campaign, and then the secret got out The
III
n v
SUNDAT, - MARCH 29,
great unsocked owns 640 acres of land,
which is this year all into wheat, or nearly
so at least. J "
Something of a Literary Genius.
He also owns several head of bright young
heifers,several of whom will enter the milch
arena this spring. Mr. Simpson is tbe
author of a small blue book on "Tbe Care
of the Cow, and Udder Information Gen
erally." It is dedicated to Thomas Brower
Peacock, the poet of Topeka.
I am indebted for most of the above facts
to Mr. Simpson's Medicine Lodge bioera
pher and chiropodist, who wishes me to say
that be treats all troubles ot tbe feet, such
as corns, bunions and ingrowing nals, chil
blains, quarter crack, etc, 'etc., by uitail as
EM Kye Hard at It.
well as personally. He has a bust of Mr.
Simpson's foot at his place, and cheerfully
answers all questions regarding the great
man.
Mr. Simpson is the humorous feature of
the new and powerful movement which
seems to create general mirth, jhut there is a
power and a principle behind it all to which
it will be profitable to pav attention. It
may not win this time nor next time, but
when it does win the professional politician
will do well to get into his cyclone cellar
aud spread his umbrella.
Artist Leilerer Gets a Pointer.
Charles Lcderer, Chicago, writes: "I am
an artist, and have very little exercise
indeed. What would you advise? Do you
favor bowling? Did yoa ever bowl any?"
Yes, Charles, I have bowled in tbe happy
past I favor it Bowling bnilds up a
person real well. You will find a good
bowling club near tbe Germania, on the
Northside, where a lot of talented cusses
go for to bowl. I removed my dressing
sacque and bowled there one evening quite
a while. The uny ijioranan was present.
He asked me to bowl. I had never before
bowled. At the end ot a long, straight,
convex alley stood several wooden pins,
which it is the object of the player to knock
over by means ot large, neavy nans aiso
made of wood. If the player can at the
same rime also mutilate a small mulatto boy
who sets up tbe pins much mirth is added
to the game. I went there needing exercise,
and got so much of it that I have not needed
any at all ever since. I did not knock over
any pins, but I cot tbe exercise.
Had Fat Up a Job on Him.
A few days afterward I met the hoary
headed librarian on the street He said,
"I must tell you that we had a job put up
on vou at the bowling club the other
night."
"Ah!" said I cheerily. "What was it?"
"Well, we arranged a string in front of
the pins so that we could throw your ball off
the track every time, and thus we could
prevent your getting a single pin even by
accident. But," he added, with a tre
mendous sigh that was almost a sob, "it was
not much ot a success."
"Why?"
"Why? Why because your ball never
got to the string."
Yetlrcgaid bowling as a heathful exer
cise, and far superior to the mutilation of
scroll saw brackets and members ot tbe fam
ily by means of Indian clubs. I have also
tried dumb hells. A very large one is now
holding my door shut as I write these lines.
But I was benefited more by the game ot
bowls, I think, than by any other game I
ever played. Tiddledcwinks, of course, will
always have its devotees.
Oatmeal and TIddledeninks
will annually carry off their thousands just
as they have always done, but bowling is
more preferable, I think. I used to have a
health lilt, but our relations became strained
in two places, so I swapped it lor a 2-year-old
steer, whose tail it was my blessed privi
lege to twiat at early dawn each gladsome
morn for six weeks, and together we would
go around tbe straw pile at a high rate of
speed. I was never thrown amouc a
brighter or piquaut steer during mv public
lift.
Exercise is a great boon. It keeps a great
many people .ui of mischief", and can
hardly do any harm if not carried to cxeesr.
I have received great benefit myself from
moderate exercise taken from time to time
on a pasteboard annual railroad pass about
the size ot" a visiting card. It was highly
bcueucial. I like It et, old-os I am.
Bill Nye.
GEN. SHEHMAr'3 HONTJMEHT.
The
Old Soldier Designed It Himself Not
I.onj Before His Death.
Work has begun on the monument 'which
was designed by General Sherman himself
to mark his grave in Calvary cemetery,
St. Louis. The monument is being made
by the New England Monument Company.
A few weeks belore his death General Sher
man canca on .iur. Liiiueiu, oi me
Monument Company, and explained
his views as to a proper monument
to mark his grave. A drawing was
prepared, and after it was somewhat modified
ijiu-T!rt
The Monument.
according to suggestions made by the Gen
eral he accepted it, saying he would iilacf it
umnngbis papers and leave a request Jor his
executors to carry ont the dtrt!cn. 'i'ne I
monument is to bp made of whit is known j
as mie nammereu Wfstcrjr statuary granite
ot licht color. It will be 4 leM 8 inches by
3 feet 3 inches at the base and i) feet 0 inches
high and made .in i, three section. It is to
stand beside tbe granite cross which General
Sherman a year ago erected to the memory
of hisVife.
Stylish Suitings,
Overcoat and trouser material, of the
best quality at Anderson's, 700 Smithfield
street Cutting and fitting the. very best su
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American and European plans.
Cleveland
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1S9L
THE PIERCED HANDS.
The Fart They Played in the Confirm
ation of the Resurrection.
THE APOSTLES DID NOT BELIEVE,
Bat
There Was No More Donbtinj
the hvidences Were Shown.
When
TUB LESSONS OP EASTER SDNDAT
rwnrrnKi fob the dispatch.:
The apostles knew not what to think.
Grief and fear aud doubt and wonder were
intermingled in their minds.
Jesns of Nuzireth was dead. That was
beyond question. They had seen that with
their eyes. Calvarv, and the cross, and the
I. nail-pierced hands and feet, and the side
torn with the spear, ft ere terrible and tragi
cal realities. There was no escaping them
r The enemies of Christ had couquered. To
I that tbe barred door of the room iu which
iney sat gave siguincaui witness, me mc oi
Jesus of Nazareth, their Lord, was ended.
But the tomb of Jesus of Nazareth was
empty. That thev knew, also. Early in
the morning certain women of their com
pany had gone out in the dim light along
tbe road to Calvary, carrying spices and
ointments for the dead body ot Jesus, won
dering as they went.how they would get the
great stone rolled away from the door of the
scpulcher, and lo, as 'they drew near, tbe
stone was rolled away already.
The Sepnlcher Was Open.
And when they looked in there was only
a vacant place there where the body of
Jesus had been laid. The eepulcher was
empty! So much, at least, was certain.
Peter aud John, hearing this startling
news, and hurrying out, had verified that
In spite of the seal upon the stone, in spite
of tbe guard of Roman soldiers, the body of
Jesus of Nazareth was gone.
But all day long the air had been astir
with rumors. The first thought was that
the body of Jesus bad been stolen. The
malice ot their enemies, they fancied, had
not ended even at tiie cross. The Jews bad
taken the body away and laid it nobody
knew where. But a stranger explanation
followed fast after. It was whispered here
and there among the disciples, as tbe day
wore on, that Jesus Christ, who had been
dead and buiied, was alive! This one aud
that one, they said,' bad really seen Him.
First, there was Mary Magdalen.
Beside this empty tomb sat Mary weep
ing. One last service she had thought to
render. She had brought ointments and
spices for His body. But even this service
is denied her. Here is only an empty,
plundered tomb. So down she sits.and give
herself to bitter grief. Beside the gladdest
sight which the whole earth had to offer on
that Easter morning, beside the empty
sepulcbcr sat Mary weeping. And
Then the Wonder Happened.
Somebody, she said, came up behind her.
It was the gardener, she thought at first
And looking at him in tbe dusk of the early
morning, aud through a mist of blinding
tears, she begged him, if he had taken away
tiie body, to tell her where the body was.
But the gardeuer speaks:
"Mary!" He says, "Mary!"
Never but one had spoken with that voice.
Again she looks, and behold it is the Master.
Christ is risen.
That is what Mary saw. Then there was
Simon Peter.
All tbe rumors that the Lord had risen,
Simon, like the others, had acoounted as but
idle tales. It was incredible. It was im
possible. But now the Lord ha3 appeared
to Simon. The wonder grows. Can it be,
then, that this marvelous thing is true?
Can it be that those pierced hands are still
held out with the old love and blessing
amoug men? That the pierced feet are
really walking on this human earth? That
the rended heart, smitten with the spear, is
still beating? That Jesus whom they
crucified, and put to death, and buried, is
alive? Simon affirms that. And Simon
sits now io the apostles' company, here in
the upper rtiora, where the door is barred
for fear of the Jews, and tells his amazing
story over, and they ply him with their
eager questions.
The Prophecy of the Bible.
And now there is a knock at the barred
door, and in come two who live at Eumaus,
out ot breath with running. "Christ is
risen!" they cry out together. To-day,
they say, as w'e were waitcine home along
the road, talking about Christ's death
and about the empty tomb, with tears
in our eyes as we talked, a stranger joined
us. What is it, he said, that you talk about
so earnestly as you walk, and are sad ? And
we said : Why, sir, surely you must be a
stranger in these parts not to know the terri
ble things which all Jerusalem is astir
about these days. What things? he said.
And we told him, with broken voices, as
best we could for crying, nbout the cross and
about the plundered sepulcher; and we told
him how we had put our trust in Jesus of
Nazareth, and thought him even to be the
lone-expected Christ. And then we broke
down, and fell again into bitternees aud
grief, as we thought bow much had ended on
that cross. And then the stranger spoke.
And he said : Have you never read
your Bible? And he showed us,
in prophecy after prophecy, how it
Iiad beeir predicted long ago thai
Christ when hi came must suffer, and only
after suffering "enter into His trlory." Aud
our hearts burned within us, as He talked.
And when our journey was ended and we
came lo our home, and He made as if He
would eo still further, we persuaded Hi-t
to come iu and have supper with us, for lb
sun was already setting.
Their Eyos Were Opened.
And as we sat down at the table He ton
bread and blessed and break, and of a sui
ileu our eyes wereopened and we knew Hiu.
It was He who took bread and blessed an
break it the night before the crucifixioi..
It was Christ Christ is risen. We hav
hiu ried back to tell you. Christ is risen'
Yes, cry the apostles, for the moment cur
ried away into an imijulsive faith. He i
risen indeed, and hath appeared uati
Simon.
But is it true? Mary of'Magdala says
that it is. Simon Peter says that it is.
Cleopas and his brother of Eumaus say
that it is. But how can such tnincs be? 1.
passes credence. The cross is a fjet, and the
tomb is a fact; that Jesus of Nazareth i;
dead is certain, and that the body of Jesu
of Nazareth is gone is certain. But what is
this?
And then, evpn as they speak, come
Jesus. "Peace," He says, ""be unto you!"
And when they look at Him out oi scared
eves, and a sudden and irresistible terror
falls upon them, as upon men who see a
ghost. He shows them His nail pierced
hands and feet.
"Why are ye troubled?" He says, "anJ
why do thoughts arise in your hearts? Be
hnl'il my bauds and my leet, that it is I Mv
self." This manifestation of Christ with the nail
nierced bauds aud leet. I want tn dwell
Iupon i lime lime mis moruinjr. xiere is a
two.lold blessed revelation, of eternal life I
--.I .- ....,i i I
upon i little time this morning. Here is a
and o-" eternal love.
f The I.essou of Pierced Hands.
Christ, witn the nail prims, teaches eternal
li'e. That there is any living after dying
can be known onlv by a revelation. No
and at ths same time extend our business
make new cuUoiners.we have decided to make this special offjr. SenJ ui a Cabinet Picture, PhotoTaph Tin TvDe Ambrotvr
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any change in picture you wish, not interfering with the likeness. Refer to anv bank in .New York. Address ll mill "
PACIFIC rOBTJCAIT
A-XsJZAWJbi AMi
skill of science can discover the secrets of
our future. The wisest man, looking-along
the path of his own life, and seeing a grave
dug deep across it at the limit of his sight,
cannot tell whether that path goes on upon
the other side or not. All our pro
fonndest knowledge is but guesswork when
it looks beyond the grave. The life to come 1
lies outside tbe intellectual circumference.
Not only is it true that nothing but a
revelation is adequate to answer this supreme
question, but it is true also that the one
adequate and satisfying revelation must be
raadenot in a book, but in aiife. Some
body ; who has" lived onr life, and died our
death, must come back out of that undis
covered country and tell us. Jut that
satisfying and adequate revelation God has
given. Christ, with the nail-prints, stind
ing in the upper room, brings tho message
of the life eternal. "I was dead," He says,
"and behold, I am alive forevermore, and
have thekeys of the grave and of death."
"Because I live, ye shall live also."
No Room for Doubt
Is it true? Did it happen? "Behold,"
He say, "My hands and my feet, that it is
I myself." The men in that upper room
knew that they looked upon the living body
of the dead Christ. There was no
room for doubt They touched Him, thev
talked with Him. thev beheld tbe prints
of the nails. He sat down and joined them
at their supper. Evidently here is no revival
alter a death, which was not quite a dying
but only a narrow approach to it There is
no room for such an explanation. He who
stands with His apostles three days after the
woes of that tragic Friday, after the scourg
ing in Pilate's palace, after the six hours
agony of the cros, aiid the piercing of the
soldier's spear. He who stands among them
holding out his bunds with the print of the
nails upon them, stands in His strength.
Here is so many wounded, cripple, pitifully
creeping into the company of the apostles.
Here is the victorions hero who has met
death and won the battle cloriously.
Evidently, again, here is no vision, no
creature of a loving imagination. That re
quires the preparation of expectancy. And
nothing is clearer in the whole record of the
resurrectiou than that the apostles were not
expecting Christ They were bowed down
with the grief oi their bereavement Their
hopes were
Buried in His Tomb.
Everything was in the past tense with
them. They had no future at all. They
thought they saw a vision when Jesus came
among them. That was what gave them
that dreudiul fright. It was a ghost But
He who held out His nail-pierced hands
and feet was no ghost, no vision.
"Behold My hands and My feet." He
said, "that it is I myself. Handle Me and
see, for a spirit bath not flesh and bones as
ye see me have. And when He had thus
spoken, He showed them His hands and His
leet. And while they yet believed not lor
joy and wonder. He said unto them: Have
ye here any meat? And thev gave Him a
piece of a Broiled fish and of an honeycomb.
And He took it, and did eat belore
them."
Thpre was no room here for any question
about the reality of the being of the risen
Lord. "I am He that liveth.-md was dead."
No wonder that we keep the anniversary
with flowers and singing aud glad hearts!
Christ with the naii-priuts who, as on this
blessed feast-day, opens the gate of death
brings us the
Revelation of the Life Eternal.
Beyond the grave are the many mansions
which he promised; and our own whom we
love and have for a lime lost sight of, are
there with Him, waiting for our coming.
"Death is the Veil which we who live call
li e, we sleep and it is lifted."
"Christ being raised from the dead dieth
no more; death hath no more dominion over
Him." Christ is risen from the dead. "In
Christ shall all be made alive." Christ
with the nail prints is also the revelation of
eternal love. How significant this abiding
of tiie marks of the nails and the spear! All
the weakness is gone which bowed Him
down under the burden of the cross. AH
the death Is gone which held Him prisoner
in me tome, nere is a body living, strong,
unwounded, with a mystery about it, too,
beyond our fathoming. But still abide
those nail marks in the hands and leet, and
this spear mark in the side. We know very
well what is written here in the hands and
feet and side. It is the story of the cross.
And the cross is the supreme
Sjmbol of Eternal Iove.
This He bore, thisshameand pain, this for
sakinc of all men, this hiding of His
Father's face all this Christ bore for love
ot Mi. "Behold my hands and my feetl"
It is the. same Christ tbe Christ who
walked in Galilee, and healed the sick, and
helped the weak, and comforted the sad
the Christ who prayed in the garden, aud
suffered on the cross the same Christ who
loved us, and loves us now eternally. See
how simply and naturally He comesj not in
'any blaze of celestial glory, not with any
retinue of attendant angels, not in any
strange and splendid garments, but just as
He used to come, with tbe .same love in His
eyes, aud the same benediction on His lips,
saying, "Peace be unto you!" and holding
out His pierced hands.
It is said that one night the brave and
good St. Martin, iu the days long ago, had
a strange vision. A sudden glory filled his
room as he was praying, and there stood be
fore him "a figure of serene and joyous as
pect," clothed in tbe garments of a king,
"with a jeweled crown upon his head and
cold-embroidered shoes upon his feet" And
the wonderful visitant said: "Martin, be
hold me. I nm Christ," and waited for his
adoration. But Martin looked and hesi
tated. "Where are the prints of the nails,"
he said. And straightway the vision van
ished. It was but the tempting devil.
It is Christ' with the nail-prints who
is risen and is alive forevermore; not our
King only, but our Redeemer; not our
Judge only, but our Savior; not the Re
veller only of eternal life, but of eternal
ove. "Behold my hands and my feet"
George Hodges,
GLASS CUT WITH SCISSOHS.
t U an Xauy-Trlck If Ton Keep Everything
Under Water.
t. I.ouisPost-DIipatch.J
One can cut glass with a scissors as easily
.s though it were an autumn leaf. Theentire
.ecret consists in plunging the pane of glass
into a tub of water, submerging also the
hands and. the scissorF. The scissors will
cut in straight lines, without a flaw. This
result is achieved iu consennence of the ab-
, - :t,,.,; T, ., ', ; ,. ,
J'eri"' J,1?"?' ?frl"e ""t portion of
the scissors is leit out of the water.the vibra
tion will prevent the glass-catting.
Sltir.ou's CDitF will immediately relieve
croup, wliiH.pinrro'lUirli-anrt bronchitis. Sold by
Jos. t'lemitis &. S m. -112 Jlaraet st.
FOR
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CgLJS-li '
"nyiuw-iiiiihii i":iit '"
to
20
From date of this papir.
CRAYON
and
HOUSE. BROADWAY THEATER
HUE TO MENTION. THIS
TASTES THE POISON.
Psychological Consequences of Act
ins Certain Stage Parts.
W1LLARD IN HIS DEATH SCENE
Playing the Villain Leaves tbe Stamp tt
Crime Upon the Face.
JIM THE I'EiNMA.VS HEART DISEASE
i connitsFOiCDi'scx or ttik dispatck.!
New Yokk, March 28. Does the actor
experience any of the physical symptoms of
approaching dissolution when he dies on
the stage? Does he taste the poison that he
takes? Does he actually experience the bit
terness of death when, at the great crisis of
a role into which he has poured heart,
brain, blosd his very self he appears to
die and is himself almost unconscious that
he is simulating? ""
It was because of his unique success in
such psychological roles as "John Need
ham's Double." "The Corsican Brothers."
"The Lyons Mail" called psychological
becanse they touch closely on the mysterious
limit of identitv and because in the hands of
an accomplished actor they more nearly
solve that mystery than any human process
or evolution yet developed that these ques
tions were asked of E. S. Willard.
A Sensation of Heart Trouble.
"When I was plaving 'Jim the Penmin
for 100 nights in London, I developed on
the fourth or filth night a decided pain in
the region of myhearr. You remember that
Jim the Penman dies of heart disease and
throughout the play is conscious that he
may be suddenly caTied off at any moment
by this remorseless affection. The relations
between imagined heart disease in such a
case and fte real disease, which not impos
sibly, it seems to me, might actually be de
veloped from excess of apprehension, form
a curious and interesting field of study into
which the actor can scarcely avoid follow
ing the specialist to some extent.
"I have never played the dual role of Dr.
Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, but I have studied
the book and the play and am familiar with
Eobert Lnuis Stevenson's other marvelous
psychological study, 'Markheim.' Such
studies and such roles call forth the highest
powers of the actor and are capable of re
production with an intensity absolutely pain
ful both to hims'lf and to his audience.
Tastes the Foison in Ills Soal.
"In the death scene in 'John Needham's
Double,' as the first fiery thrill of the poison
I have been lured into taking unawares
shoots through my consciousness, I am sim
ultaneously conscious that that thrill is in
me imaginary and that it is quite as terrible
and horrible to me as if it were real. Pdo
not taste the poison in my mouth but in my
soul. There seems, indeed, to be an almost
triple consciousness; I am conscious of feel
ing an imaginary physical pain; I am con
scious of feelingarea! physical horror; I am
still and continuously conscious that it is all
acting, ana mat i must waicn niyseli ana
ftVCfi Up Wli J11U3IUII.
"I do not believe that it would be. possi
ble for a man to act terror or rage if he were
really terrified or enraged; so perhaps a dy
ing man could not act a death scene. But
at all events this terrible physical horror
and physical taste of the bitterness of death
is much createrou the first night than it
ever is afteiward; iii lact, it is a strange
thing.but true, that on the day after the
first night I hsve forgotten everything, lines,
sensations and all, my mind is a blank and
I am almost glad when I haven't an idea
what I am going to say and do when I go
ou the stage again that night!
Effect of Plajlnc the Villain.
"Villains? Oh yes, I have played vil
lains for years, bat a man doesn't become
villainous himself on that account Dur
ing the long run of a play, if my role is that
o an accomplished villain, I tfiink my face
off the stage does show traces or perhaps
suggestions of tbe diabolical channels in
which my thoughts are trained so constantly to
run. Bat I do not for a moment crane ttrat 1 or
any other stage villain would develop as a mat
ter of coarse tbe slightest villainy oi action or
thought as an individual.
"To do so a man were very weak indeed: I do
not believe he would be strong enough to
master any great character. Indeed, an
habitual villain on tha stage is, as far as my ex
perience goes, exactly the opposite off the
stage. Take for example. Mr. O. Smith, of the
Adelpbi Theater in London, a celebrated vil
lain of the beetle-browed and rnsset-bootedand
belted and buckled type. Why, off the staze
that man kept white mice and canary birds
and was never known to say a harsh word to
anybody. Just so the stndy of a part obliter
ates from my mind for the time bemc all
thoughts and emotions and tastes other than
those of my stage character.
A Remarkable Health Record.
"Daring the 21 years since I made my debnt I
have never missed a performance from ill
health. I married years ago and should have
brought Mrs. Wlllard to tbe States with ma
had I not been entirely ignorant ot what to ex
pect from an American winter and had I Known
that so many comforts could be had in Ameri
can hotels. We English people are great
sticklers for our home comforts yon know."
Mr. Willard is nota sportlnz or ahorsey man,
and is a student rather than a rounder. His fa
vorite amusement is reading poetry. 'Mrs.
Willard has taken to writing weird little
stories, which are curiously coincident with the
general tenor of ber husband's greatest recent
snecesse on the stage. Neither she nor ber
husband Is in tbe least a morbid person, and
yet it remains to this day a puzzle between
them whether she has influenced him In this
direction or be ber. At times his nerves hare
been completely shattered as a cunsequence of
his intense application to such parts. The day
after he first played the role of tbe crazy man
in "Wealth" be owns up to having been actu
ally crazy himself for a while. He didn't sleep
awiolctnatnight. J. P. B.
VICTOEIA AND THE PIIGHrMS.
A Party of Malays Invited Into Backing-
hain Palace by Her.
Pall Mall Budget.
As the Queen was driving up to the en
trance of Buckingham Palace last week, a
party of 12 Malays, under the charge of Mr.
Wheatley, azent of a firm of colonial mer
chants, were standing in the street in order
to obtain a view of Her Majesty. The
Queen gave orders to Chief Inspector Golds
worthy to take the name of the person in
charge of them; and the result was that the
party were commanded to attend at the
palace. On arrival they were received by
Sir Henrr Ponsonby. and at once had an
audience with the Queen.
In answer to her inquiries they said they
were piltrrims on their way from Cape
Town to Mecca, and that they bad come to
see London. The Queen, after talking to
them for about ten minutes, gave orders
that they were to be shown over the palace.
This was done; and they afterward left,
highly gratified at the interest evinced in
tbeir welfare by Her Majesty. The party
consisted of six men, five women, and one
child.
To Teach Photography.
Dr. Anderson has given 120 acres of land
near the Natural Bridge, "Virginia, for the
site of an art institute, and 50,000 has been
subscribed for the building. Thero will be
a photographic department .under the in
struction of Mrs. Janette fil- Appleton, of
Boston. Mrs. Appleton has won the name
of being the leading lady amateur photo
grapher of New England.
IDJL"2"S
Wishing to introduce our
PORTRAITS
BTOLDINQ, 2TEW YORK.
PAPER.'.- - , -...
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