w
18
THE PITTSBUEG DISPATCH, SUNDAY, - APKIL 12, 1801,
" ' l - . .,- ----- j, ... . - -titr-vri- . , - - . . (- -X.ir. 7 " VX" ,,, - ' ' V ', '- ' ' "T J i j ,t f .
der it must be done ia the convent.
TJnorna hesitated, bending her brows and
poring in imagination over the dark cata
logue ot all imaginable evil.
A momentary and vasrue terror cast its
shadow on her thoughts. Br some accident
ot connection between two ideas, her mind
rent hack a month, and reviewed as in a
flash of light, all that she had thought and
done since that day. She had greatly
changed since then. She could think calmly
sow of deeds which even she would not
have dared then. She thought of the even
ing when she had cried aloud that she would
give her soul to know the "Wanderer safe, of
the quick answer that had followed, and of
Keyork Arabian's face. Was he a devil,
indeed, as she sometimes, fancied, and had
there-been a reality and a binding meaning
in that contract?
Keyork Arabianl He, indeed, possessed
the key to all evil. What would he have
done with Beatrice? Would he make her
rob the church murder the abbess in her
sleep? Bad, but not bad enough.
diorna started. A deed suggested itself
so lyrtlisb, so horrible in Us enormity, so far
beyond all conceivable human sin, that for
'one moment her brain reeled. She shud
dered again and again, and groped for sup
port a lid leaned against the wall in a bodily
weakness of terror. For one moment she,
who feared nothing, was shaken by tear
from head to fool, her face turned white, her
knees shoot, her sight failed, ner teeth
chattered, her lips moved hysterically.
But she was still strong. The thing she
bad sought had come to her suddenly. She
e5dy vJCH I'll
J Command You to Sleep.
set her teelh, and thought of it again and
again, until she could face the horror of it
without quaking. Is there any limit to the
hardening of the humm heart?
The distant bells rang out the Call of mid
night praj er. Unorna stopped and listened.
She had not known how quickly time was
passing. But it was belter so. She was
glad it was so late, and she said so to her
self, but the evil smile that was sometimes
in her face was not there now. She had
thought a thought that left a mark on her
forehead. Was there any reality in that
jesting contract with Keyork Arabian?
She must wait before the did the deed.
The nuns nouldgo down into the lighted
churcb and kneel, and pray belore the
eltar. It would last some time the mid
night leiion, the psalms, the prayers and
she niu-t be sure that all was quiet, for the
deed could not be done in the room where
Beatrice was sleeping.
She was conscious of the time, now, and
every minute seemed an hour, and every
second was lull of that one deed, done over
and over again before her eyes, until every
awful detail of the awful whole was stamped
indelibly upon her brain. She had sat
down now, and, leaning forward, was watch
ing the innocent woman, and wondering
bow she would look when she was doing it
llutihe was calm now, as she felt that she
bad never been in her life. Her breath
came evenly, her heart beat naturally, she
thought connectedly of what she was about
to do. But the time seemed endless.
The distant clocks chimed the half hour,
three-quarters, pas: midnicht Still she
waited. At the stroke of 1 she rose from her
teat, ami, standing beside Beatrice, laid her
band upon the dart brow.
A few questions, a few answers followed.
She must assure herself that her victim was
in the right state to execute minutely all
her commands. Then she opened the door
upon the corridor and listened. Not a sound
broke tne intense stillness, and all was dark.
The hanging lamp had been extinguished,
end the nuns had all retired from the mid
rjignt service to their cells. 2so one would
be stirring now until 4 o'clock, and half an
bonr was all that Unorna needed.
She took Beatrice's hand. The dark woman
rose with half-closed eyes and set features.
Unorna led her out into the dark passage.
"It is light here," Unorna said. "Ton
can see your way. But I am blind. Take,
my hand so and now lead me to the
church by the nuns' staircase. Slake no
noise."
"I do not know the staircase," said the
sleeper in drowsy tones.
Unorna knew the way well enough, but
not wishing to take a light with her, she
was obliged to trust herself to her victim,
lor whose vision there was no such thing as
darkness, unless Unorna willed it.
"Go as you went to-day, to the room
where the balcony is; but do not enter it.
The staircase is on the right ol the door, and
leads into the choir. Got"
Without hesitation Beatrice led her out
into the impenetrable gloom with Bwift,
noiseless footsteps in the direction com
manded, never wavering, nor hesitating
whether to turn to the right or left, but
walking as confidently as though in broad
daylight Unorna counted the turnings
and knew that there was no mistake. Beat
rice was leading her unerringly toward the
staircase. They reached it, and began to
descend the winding steps, Unorna holding
her leader by the band, steadied herself
with the other against the smooth, curved
wall, fearing at every moment lest she
should stumble and all in the total dark
ness. But Beatrice never faltered. To her
the way was as bright as though the noon
day sun had shone before her.
The stairs ended abruptly against a door.
Beatrice stood still. She had received no
further commands, and the impulse ceased.
"Draw back the bolt, and take me into
the church," said Unorna, who could see
nothing, but knew that the nuns fastened
the doors behind them when they returned
into the convent Beatrice obeyed without
hesitation and led her forward. They came
out behind the high carved seats of the
choir, behind the hnjh altar. The church
was not quite dark as the staircase and
passages had been, and Unorna stood still
for a moment In some of the chapels hang
ing lamps of silver were lighted and their
tiny flames spread a faint radiance upward
and sideways, though not downward, suf
ficient to break the total obscurity to eyes
accustomed for totue minutes to no" light at
all. The church stood, too, on a little
eminence in the city, where the air without
was less murky and impenetrable with the
night mists, and though there was no moon
the high upper windows of the nave were
distinctly visible in the gloomy height like
the great lancet-shaped patches of gray upon
& black ground.
In the dimness, all objects took vast and
mysterious proportions. A huge giant
reared his height against one of the mllara.
crowned with a High, pointed crown, stretch
ing out one great shadowy hand into the
gloom the tall pulpit was there, as Unorna
knew, and the hand was the wooden crucifix
standing out in its extended socket The
black confessionals, too, took shape, like
monster nuns, kneeling in their heavy
hoods and veils, with heads inclined, be
hind the fluted pilasters, just within the
circle of the feeble chapel lights. Within
the choir, the deep shadows seemed (o fill
the carved stalls with the black ghosts of
the long dead sisters, returned to their
familiar seats out ot the damp crypt below.
The great lectern in the midst of the half
circle behind the high altar became a hide
ous skeleton, headless, its straight arms
folded on its bony breast The back of the
high altar itself was a great throne whereon
sat in judgment a misty being of awful lorm.
judging the dead women all through the
lonely night The stillness was appalling.
Rot a rat stirred.
Unorna shuddered, not at what she saw,
but at what she felt She had reached the
place and the doing of the deed was at hand.
Beatrice stood beside her erect, asleep, mo
tionless, her dark face just outlined iu the
surrounding dusk.
Unorna took her hand and led her for-"
ward. She could see now, and the moment
had come. She brought Beatrice before the
higb altar and made her stand in front of it
Then she herself went back and groped for
something in the dark. It was the pair of
small wooden steps upon which the priest
mounts in order-to open the golden door of
the high tabernacle above the altar, when.it
is necessary to take therefrom the Sacred
Host far the Benediction, or other conse
crated wafers for the administration of the
Communion. To all Christians, of all de
nominations whatsoever, the bread wafer
whed once consecrated is a holy thing. To
Catholics and Lutherans there is there, sub
stantially, the presence of God. No im
aginable act of sacrilege can be more un
pardonable than the desecration of the
tabernacle and the willful defilement and
destruction nf the Sacred Host.
This was Unorna's determination. Beat
rice should commit this crime against
heaven, and then die with the whole weight
of it upon her soul, and thus should her
eod I itself be tormented for ever and ever to
ages of ages.
Considering what she believed, it is no
wonder that she should have shuddered at
tremendous thought And yet, in the dis
tortion of her reasoning, the sin would be
upon Beatrice who did the act, and not
upon herself who commanded it There
was no diminution of her own faith in the
sacredness of the place and the holiness of
the consecrated objert had she been one
whit less sure of that, her vengeance would
have been vain and her whole scheme mean
ingless. She came back out of the darkness and
set the wooden step in their place before
the altar at Beatrice's feet Then, as though
to save herself from all participation in tbe
guilt of the sacrifice which was to follow,
she withdrew outside the Communion rail,
and closed the gate behind her.
Beatrice, obedient to her smallest com
mand and powerless to move or act without
her suggestion, stood still as she had been
placed, with her back to the church and her
face to the altar. Above her head tbe
richly wrought door of the tabernacle
caught what little light there was, and re
flected it from its own uneven surface.
Unorna paused a moment, looked at the
shadowy figure, and then glanced behind
her into tbe body of tbe church, not out of
any ghostly fear, but to assuie herself that
she was alone with her victim. She saw
that nil was quite ready, and then she
calmly knelt down, just upon one side of
the gate, and rested her folded hands upon
the marble railing. A moment of intense
stillness followed. Again the thought of
Keyork Arabian flashed across her mind.
Hai there been any reality, she vaguely
wondered, in that compact made with him?
What was she doing now? But the crime
was to be Beatrice's, not hers. Her heart
beat fast for a moment, and then she grew
very calm again.
The clock in the church tower chimed the
first quarter past bhe was able to count
the strokes, and was glad to find that she
had lost no time. As soon as the long, sing
ing echo of the bells bad died away, she
spoke, not loudly, but clearly and distinct
ly: "Beatrice Varanger. go forward and mount
the steps I have placed for you."
The dark figure moved obediently, and
Unorna heard the slight sound of Beatrice's
foot upon the wood. The shadowy form rose
higher and higher in the gloom, and stood
UDon tbe altar itself.
"Now, do as I command yo. Open wide
the door oi the tabernacle."
Unorna watched the black form intently.
It seemed to stretch out its hand, as though
searching for something, and then the arm
fell again to the side.
"Do as I command you," Unorna re
peated, with the agony and dominant intona
tion that always came into her voice when
she was not obeyed.
Again the hand was raised for a moment,
groped in the darkness, and sank down into
the shadow.
"Beatrice Varanger, you must do ray
will. I order you to open the door of the
tabernacle, to take out what is within, and
throw it to the groundl" Her voice rang
clearly through the church. 'And may the
crime be on your soul for ever and ever,"
she added, iu a low voice.
A third time the figure moved. A strange
flash ot light played for a moment upon the
tabernacle, the effect. Unorna thought, ot
the golden door being suddenly opened.
But she was wrong. The figure moved,
indeed, and stretched out a hand and moved
again. Then the sudden crash of something
very heavy, falling upon stone, broke the
great stillnes the dark form tottered,
reeled and fell to its length upon tbe great
altar. Unorna saw that the golden "door
was still closed, and that Beatrice had
fallen. Unable to move or act by her own
free judgment, and compelled by Unorna's
She Gazed on. the Sleeping Woman.
determined command, she had made a des
perate effort to obey. Unorna had forgotten
that there was a raised step upon the altar
itself, and .that there were other obstacles in
the way, including heavy candlesticks and
the framed Canon of the Mass, all of which
are usually set aside before the tabernacle is
opened by the priest In attempting to do
as she was told the sleeping woman had
stumbled, had overbalanced herself, had
clutched one of the great silver candlesticks
so that it fell heavily beside her, and then,
having no further support, she had fallen
herself.
Unorna sprang to her feet and hastily
opened the gate'of the railing. In a moment
she was standing by the altar at Beatrice's
bead. She could see that the dark eyes
were open now. The great shock had re
called her to consciousness.
"Where am I?" she asked, in great dis
tress, seeing nothing iu the darkness now,
and groping with her hands.
"Sleep uesilentand sleep!" saidUnorna,
in low, firm tones, pressing her palm upon
the forehead.
But, to her amazement Beatrice thrust
her aside with such violence that she almost
fell herself upon the steps.
"No nol" cried the startled woman, in a
voice of horror. "No I will not steep do
not touch mel Ob, where am I helpl
Helpl"
She was not hurt With one strong, lithe
movement, she sprang to the ground and
stood with her back to the altar, her hands
stretched out to defend her from Unorna.
But Unorna knew what extreme danger she
was in, if Beatrice left the church awake
and conscious ol what had happened. She
seized the moving arms and tried to hold
them down, pressing her face forward so as,
to look into the, dark eyes she could but
faintly distinguish. It was no easy matter,
however, for Beatrice was young and strong
and active. Then all at once she began to
see Unorna's eves, as Unorna could see hers.
and she felt the terrible influence stealing
over her again.
"No no nol" she cried, struggling des
perately. "You shall not make me sleep. I
will not I will not!"
There was a flash of light again in the
churcb, this time irom behind the high altar,
and the noise of quick footsteps. Bet either
.Unorna nor Beatrice noticed jhe light or the
sound. Then the full glow o! a strong lamp
fell upon the faces of both and dazzled them,
and Unorna felt a cool, thin hand upon her
own. Sister Paul was beside them, her face
very white and her faded eyes turned from
the one to the other.
It was rerr simple Boob after Compline
4
was over the nun had gone to Unorna's
room, bad knocked and had entered. To
her surprise, Unorna was not there, but
Sister Paul imagined that she had lingered
over her prayers and would soon return.
The good nun had sat down to wait for her,
and telling her beads, had fallen asleep.
The unaccustomed warmth and comlort of
the guest's room had been too much
for the weariness that constantly op
pressed a constitution broken with ascetic
practices. Accustomed by long habit
to awake at midnight to attend the service,
her eyes opened ot themselves, indeed, but
a full hour later than usual, she heard the
clock strike one, and for a moment could
not,beiieve her senses. Then she understood
that she had been asleep, and was amazed
to find that Unorna bad not come back.
She went out hastily into the corridor. The
lay sister had Ions: ago extinguished the
hanging lamp, but Sister Paul saw the light
streaming from Beatrice's open door. She
went in and called alond. The bed had not
been touched. Beatiice was not there. Sis
ter Paul began to think that both the ladies
must have gone to the midnightservice. The
corridors were dark, and they might have
lost their way. Sbe took the lamp from tbe
table and went to tbe balcony at which the
gnests performed their devotions. It had
been her light that had flashed across the
door of the tabernacle. She had looked
down into the choir, and far below her
had seen a figure, unrecognizable from
that height in the dusk of the
church, but clearly the figure of a
woman standing upon the altar. Visions ot
horror rose before her eyes of the sacre
ligious practices of witchcraft, fpr she bad
thought of nothing else during the-whole
evening. Lamp in hand, she descended the
stairs to the choir and reached the altar,
providentially, just in time to save Bea
trice from falling a victim to the evil fasci
nation of tbe enemy who had planned the
destruction of her soul as well as of her
body.
"What is this? What are you doing in
this holy place and at this hour?" asked
Sister Paul, solemnly and sternly.
Unorna folded her arms and was silent
No possible explanation of the struggle pre
sented itself even to her quick intellect
She fixed her eyes on the nun's face, con
centrating all her will, for sbe knew that
unless she could control her also, she her
self was lost Beatrice answered the ques
tion, drawing herself up proudly against the
great altar and pointing to Unorna with her
outstretched hand, her dark eyes flashing
indignantly.
"We were talking together, this woman
and I. Sbe looked at me she was angry
and then I fainted, or fell asleep, I cannot
tell which. I awoke in the dark to find my
self lying upon the altar here. Then she
took hold of me and tried to make me sleep
again. But I would not Let her explain
herself what she has done and why she
brought mehere!"
Sister Paul turned to Unorna and met the
full glare of her-unlike eyes with her own
calm, half-heavenly look of innocence.
"What have you done, Unorna? What
have you done?" she asked very sadly.
But Unorna did not answer. She only
looked at the nun more fixedly and savaeely.
She felt that she might as well have looked
upon some ancient picture of a saint in
heaven and bade it close its eyes. But she
would nol give up the attempt, for her only
safety lay in its success. For a long time
Sister Paul re urned htr gaze steadily. .
"Sleepl" said Unorna. putting up her
hand. "Sleep, I command you!"
But Sister Paul's eyes did not waver. A
sad smile played lor a moment upotv her
waxen features.
"You have no power over me for your
power is notof good," she s&id, slowly and
soltlv.
Then she quietly turned to Beatrice and
took her hand.
"Come with me, my daughter," she said.
"I have a light and will take you to a pla:e
where you will be safe. She will not trouble
you any more to-nigh. Say a prayer, my
child, and do not be afraid."
"I am not afraid," said Beatrice. "But
where is she?" she asked snddenly.
Unorna bad glided away while thev were
speaking. Sister Paul held the lamp high
and looked in all directions. Then she
heard the heavy door of the sacristy swing
upon its binges and strike with a soft thud
against the small leathern cushion. Both
women followed her, but as they opened the
door again a blast of cold air almost extin
guished the lamp. The night wind was
blowing in from the street
"She is gone out," said Sister Paul.
"Alone and at this hour Heaven help
her !" It was as she said. Unorna had es
caped. To be Continued Next Sunday. 1
Want Fan In a Harry.
The public is getting tired of freaks.
Thousands are fond of museums and visit
them quite frequently, but they spend but
ittle time in the curio halls. The stage per
formance is what they want and the mu
seum gives them as good as they get in the
variety theaters. People are getting so that
they even want their fun in a hurry. They
also want it cheap. The museum fills the
bill. For 10 cents you can go in, sit down
comfortably for hall an hour, and see a very
fair show at almost any time of the day.
A CAPIILAET PHEHOHEHON,
How to Slake a Compact Baft Out ot Seven
Ordinary Corks
Can you stand seven corks upright in
water? Not unless you know.how. This is
the way to do it:
Stand one of the corks
upright on the table,
arrange the other six
close about it, also in
an upright position,
fr3n thi PrtmTiinafind
m in one hand and
5" 1 .,.. si :,. ....
water in the tub, so as
to completely saturate
the corks, then rahe
them partly out of tbe water and let go yoi r
hold, says the Boston Globe. The wattr
which has penetrated between the corks by
capillarity will hold them close together
(see illustration), and thoneh separately
each cork has an unstable equilibrium, the
combination obtaiued in this way will keep
them steady the width of our improvised
raft being more than the height of one cork.
THE TRIBUTE TO GBEELEY.
Statue In His Memory to Be Erected by
the Printers. .
The illustration is from a photograph of
the plaster model of the statue of Horace
Greeley which Alexander Doyle has just
completed on order of the printers. With its
pedestal it is to cost $15,000. The move
ment originated immediately after Mr.
Greeley's death, and over $10,001 was sub
scribed. Then the project was allowed to
lapse. The printers picked it up two years
ago, collected as much as possible of th sub
scription, and pushed it- to a successful
issue. It Is not decided where, it "will be
erected, but probably it jiill'be in Central
Park, New York,
&$
TfpMM
"ELiijizij-r,-jf
A BANQUET OF DEATH.
Unsophisticated Heiamoan .Fall's Into
the Snares of Cleopatra.
ICE CREAM AS FATAL AS THE ASP.
Nye Gives a Free and Easy Translation of
Theopbile Gantier's
STORY OF EG I Ml AN -'EETELKIES
I WIHTTEN TOR THE DISPATCH, j
(Translated with considerable recklessness
from the French of Theopbile Gautier by "Will
iam JJye. Esq.
HE delicate
shrimp pink heel
"of Cleopatra salut
ed the quivering
flood as she slipped
into tbe pleased
and highly de
lighted waters.
About her waist
and arms silver
and pearl girdles
and bracelets
clung when the
surface of the wa
ters broke over
her, and opaline
bubbles caught and kissed her dimpled
cheeks as the fair Queen sazzled about in
the rippling tide or snrieked with laughter
as sbe lammed a trusted eunuch in the eye
with a bunk of colden mud.
Her wealth of wonderful hair floated out
behind her over the water like a magnifi
cent mantle. She swam to and fro, some
times treading water with her cherubic feet
or scooting dog fashion like a beautiful
water bug across the pond. Now she would
seem to sleep on the surface of the water
like a slumbering lily, and then anon she
would rise from her wet environments like
a Venus rising to a point of order in the
convention at Mount Olympus.
Surprised at the Euth.
Suddenly Cleopatra utters a sharp and
startled cry, as did Diana when surprised
by Acteon. Through the foliage she had
seen the earnest and somewhat ad
miring eye of a total stranger. It was that
of Meiamoun, the wretched lover of the
Queen, who had never met her, but who was
a great admirer and constant reader. He
was from the middle walks of life, and did
not know much, but, oh, how he did
seem to lay aside what other business he
had on hand and worship the magnificent
woman who, as these lines are penned, slid
softly into the all embracing waters like a
beauteous muskrat!
Her startled' cry brought to the bank her
two armed eunuchs, who had been froggwg
farther down the stream. Cleopatra pointed
out to them tbe clump of trees behind which
Meiamoun was concealed. Defense was use
less, and so be attempted none. He said
that he was sorry such a thing should hare
occurred, but he would try to avoid any
thing ot the kind in the future. It was in
deed a coarse thing to do. She told him
distinctly that it was no way to do, and
ask id him if he were not ashamed of him
self. Spared the Young Man's Life.
Quickly "covering herself with her call-
sins, she bade tbe eunuchs spare the life of
the rash young man and bring him before
her. They done so. The queen could not
understand why he should have come, at the
risk of his Hie, where no man was admitted
upon penalty of death. Surely he had not
come to steal her clothes and hide them just
to chuff her, for she bad still other clothes
which were yet good, besides quite a lot
that could be made over and still look
real well.
No, iie must be an assassin hired by
bloodthirsty Home to steal in upon her and
kill her. But bis clear, honest eye and
trembling lip told a story of truth and of a
heart at once pure and sweet.
"May my soul be found light in tbe bal
ance of Amenti," he said, "and may Imci,
daughter of the Sun and Goddess of Truth,
punish me if I ever entertained a thought
of evil against you, O Queen, Saying
this upou his knees, Meiamoun wept and
tried to bite the dust, but his nose seemed to
be in tbe way. He was a flue-looking young
man, as Cleopatra saw at a glance, of great
nobility of character, and a little less heavy
set, perhaps, than'Antony was. He said be
came of a common set of people living bark
ol town, and had just bouzbt a mils: route
of his father, which he thought was going
to be a good thing in time, if he could sort
of build it up and extend it'a little.
He- Was Willing to Sacrifice.
"Of course, it is not the life to which you
have been accustomed," he said; "your
folks have always been well off, I know,
and you have never had to put your hands
into dishwater or scald milkpanS or wean
calves from the parent stem, bul I love you
very much, indeed, very much, indeed. We
will have to live plain at first, but I am
a steady young person and have alreadythis
year accumulated $8. In 40 years this
would, as you will see, amount to $320. My
folks like you, and say that you would
make me a good wife if you stiddied down a'
little. Do not, oh ! do not refuse me," he
said. "Tbe Alliance people will soon be on
top, and I am almost sure that I will he at
some time overseer nf highways atourplace,
which is as good as $2 a day just for working
on the roads in June, which is a dull time
She Snrteted for Help.
with us anyway, add almost like finding S48
in the street"
The queen gave a low laugh as she pro
ceeded now more calnilv. "By St Oms,"
she said, "dog of hell, thou art a foolhardy
wretch. You think that with your castiron
impudence and budding milk route you
may win to wile a queen whose fame is good
lor a column in. every Sunday paper from
the Kongo Basin to Singapore! You should
be Killed, of course, but I cannot decide yet
how to do it Whether to fry you in the fat
of these negligent eunuchs aud feed you to
my aquarium, or shock you to death with
the early humor of France'I know not'
Bis Last Fond Favor.
"Queen," said the youth, now standing
on the other foot awhile, "I deserve to die.
Be clement, but let me die. You will find
nearly $7 worth of milk tickets in my In
side pocket Take them; they are yours.
'You can get your milk in that way of my
successor free, and milk is quite an item
with anybody who keeps as much hired
'help as yon do. Take my life. It is use
less to me tince'I love you and you lore me.
3" .. .,. a
in
SsS:
"Well, then," said the Queen, as she
smilingly shed a mouthful of hairnins, for
her smile was wider than she had thought,
"you shall have your wish, but first you
shall know what it is to have what .we call
fun. You Alliance "people think you have
some little pleasure in lite, but you do not
You are extraneous, as we say, or-not in it
You are my guest for this evening. You
die in the mornin?. You will join me at
dinner.will you not? We keep an all night
house, and we have some wassail on hand
that has never been used; also a can of
orgies that has not bten opened yet May
I count on you?"
"Indeed thou mays" said the youth, as
he went out into tbe courtyard and washed
his face in the rain -water barrel, and
walked for a time in the dewy grass to re
move the milk spots from his bespattered
boots.
Preparations for tho Banquet
Cleopatra now gave orders to have the
banquet hall prepared, and sent away to
the village for a fiddler who could also call
off. She was cool, yet watchful of her help.
She was everywhere ordering victuals
cooked, the smell of hot preserves came
from the royal kitchen, and one eunuch
named Oleander, .who was a good man, and
pointed to himself with pride on account of
his singularly pure life in the midst of the
corruptions, temptations and fines and costs
ot a court, was sent to the neighbors for
more sauce plates and a two-gallon ice
cream freezer.
While Cleopatra sang a little sons for the
young man, slaves and eunuchs were busy
opening cans of cove ovsters and Betting tbe
table.
Suddenly it occurred to the great potentate
that her guest ought, perhaps, to make some
slight changes in his togs. Showing him tbe
way up to a pleasing room and handing him
a small key, the young man lost no time in
opening a large leather bag with Egyptian
hieroglyphics on it, and finding Antony's
regular banqueting clothes.
Shlnlnc In Antony's Vestments.
Donning a linen tunic with golden stars
upon it, like the costume of the Goddess ef
Liberty, and a purple mantle, he bound a
fillet de bcouf about his brow, and passed
down to the dining hall, smelling quite
sweetly ot Antony's hair oil, perfumed,
with .Lilly ot the A lie. Cleopatra
wore her other dress. it con-
Cleopatra Turns Out the Gas.
sisted of a pale green crepe de Chine open at
the sides and clasped with golden bees. It
was an evening dress, and therefore almost
entirely concealed as she sat at the table.
On her arms she wore two strings of pearls
as big as hickory nuts, and a pointed diadem
valued at $11 rested on her marble and
massive skull.
As she seated ber guest beside her she
clapped her little hands, and instantly the
Egyptian glee dub struck up a song called
"My Gum Tree Canoe," red lights sprang
out along the costly dados of the rooms, and
a concealed fountain in the front yard,
lighted by beautiful opaline candles,
squirted fnlly a rod high. Huge flames palpi
tated in tripods of brass; giant candelabras
shook their disheveled light in tbe midst of
ardent vapors; the eyes of dark carved
sphinxes flamed with phosphorescent light
nings; the bull headed idols breathed flames;
the alabaster elephants, in lieu of perfumed
water, spouted aloft bright columns of
crimson fire; prismatic irises crossed and
shattered each other; soft music sensuously
stole thronzb, in and out among tbe potted
ceraniums, and sifted through tbe in
tertwining leaves of the smilax came tbe
low, soft bellowing of the buhl buhl.
The orgy was now at its height, the
dishes of phenicopter's tongues, the livers
of scams fish, the eels, fattened upou the
bodies of prominent people and cooked in
brine, the dishes ot peacocks' brains, tender
loin of terrapin aux filley, hot Sauterne,
boars stuffed with living birds, etc., etc.,
were the menu.
Wines of all kinds, from the vintage so
common at the post keller or the ratz keller
to the wines of Crete and of Massicus, were
served by Asiatic pages, upon whose rich
and voluminous flowing hair the beautiful
and somewhat finicky Cleopatra wiped
the Egyptian gravy from her taper
fingers. Her companion also did the
same as soon as he got onto it, but
prior to tbat he contented himself
wibu ULM14UIK tuc uurroweu vestments 01
the absent Antony. Yet we should not re
proach hi in now. Treading as he was upon
the borders of a yawning grave, but seeinsr
across tbe groaning board the grinning face
of death, we may forgive him. if in an un
guarded moment he did things that were
outre. Toward the close of the east mum
mers (both dry and extra dry) entertained
the young people with song, dance and walk
around. The President of the Cairo and
Egyptian Central dropped in on his way
home from the depot and spoke briefly re
gardidg the tariff, and a local humorist gave
a tunny little anecdote and took home a cold
goose in a newspaper as a reward of bis
wonderful genius.
The Queen,Does an 'Act
Then Cleopatra herself arose. She cast
aside her mantle, and stating briefly in a
few well chosen words that she could not
make a speech, not having been constructed
that way, neither could she sing a song or
Ul a story, she would, with the consent of
the audience, otter a selection from an
Esvntian bieakdoivn composed by herself.
and which they might like to hear. While
the beauteous Queen sashayed up and down
to the lascivious pleasm? of a lute the pic
nic ice cream came in. Cleopatra said that
she would not. chase any, but the rash
young man from the Spring Valley Milk
farm ate heartily of it.
As he finished and wiped his spoon on the
hair of a, eunuch the gray of the dawn was
stealing in through the rich hangings oi the
hall. An ashen look also stole over the
face of the young yahoo. "and quickly clasp
inghis hands to the base ol his chest, he
gave a startled cry like that of a tomcat who
has unwittingly swallowed a hornet with a
mean tern pera'ture to it . Not having read
tbe papers mucii, he had not' noticed how
many people were being mowed down by ice
cream, and so as the day began to dawn the
rash young ass who had loved the Queen,
and swapped his life, bis hopes, his soul
and his milk route for $2 worth of good
.victuals, curled himself up in a shapeless
mass, and, kicking two or three times con
vulsively, although, of course, it was worse
than useless, he gave up the ghost.
Pouring a little vinegar ou a large pearl,
the haughty Queen dropped a tear for the
late milkman, aud, swallowing tho molten
gem as one might a sherry flip, she turned
off the gas, rang for the undertaker and re
tired to her apartments. Bill Nye.
Druggist's Colored Bottle.
Bottles of colored water are as distinc
tively signs for druggists as striped poles
are for barbers. There, is no doubt that
originally the color ot tbe water was'red,
just as many physicians in this and other
countries hang red lamps' outside their
office doors. In both instances the idea was
originally to call attention to the fact that
a doctor "or bleeder "dwelt "within, the red,
pej;-', ii.'-. 1, . 'i
TURNING FROM SIN.
Repentance Is the Only Door Into the
Kingdom of Heaven.
CONTRITION IS NOT ENOUGH,
Though It Is a Step Nearer Than the Feel
ing of Conviction.
THE LESSON OF THE PRODIGAL SON
rWBITTEX FOB TDK BISPATCII.l
What is it to repent? Th'e word is famil
iar enough. The emphasis which is laid
upon it in the teachings of Christ and His
Apostles is evident enough. We must repent
That is the message of the Christian religion.
John the Baptist preached that before
Christ came. Christ took John's text and
preached the same sermon, only more em
phatically, more lovingly, more divinely
but still the same sermon: "Bepent ye, for
the kingdom of heaven is at hand." There
is no way into the kingdom of heaven ex
cept by this repentance-door.
Mr. Spurgeon compares faith and repent
ance to a door-post and a door. Faith is the
post, and repentance is the door. What is
a door-post good for without a door? and
what is a door good for, unhung, flat on the
ground, swinging not from its post, opening
not into anywhere?
We must repent But what is it to re
pent? Is it to be aware of the dreadfulness
of sin? No. Tbat is conviction of sin.
That is what I was preaching about last
Sunday. Is ij to be dreadfully sorrv lor
sin? No. That is contrition. Conviction
and contrition are steps along the way to
repentance, but they are not either of them
repentance. It is possible to be aware of
the sinfulness of sin, and to be exceedingly
srtrry that we have sinned, and yet not to
be genuinely repentant for sin a, all.
Lost In the Black Forest
A man is lost in a dense forest, in one of
the poisonous jungles of "darkest Africa."
Suddenly he becomes aware ot that tragic
condition of things. He looks about him,
and there is no path. His companions are
out ot call. Above him are the black trees,
and all about bim are the black trees, end
lessly. The man is filled witn utter dismay.
His heart is sick within him. Does that
save him? He knows that be is out of the
way, and he is as sorry for it as a man can
be--does all that set him on the right path,
and save him?
So you see thatifrepentanceisa condition
of spirit which really saves a man, really
gets him inside the blessed boundaries of the
kingdom of heaven, it must be something
more than conviction, and something more
than contrition. To have our eyes open to
the fact of sin is not enough; to have our
eyes full of tears on account of sin is not
enough. We have not yet repented.
The parable of the prodigal son will help
us to understand just what repentance is.
Here we will find a definition of repentance,
not in the language of theology for our
Lord never talked that language but in
the plain, every-day, understandable lan
guage of human experience. That wonder
ful parable so absolutely parallel to
human life, so packed with helpful meaning
in evey shortest .syllable of it, so divinely
true, so encouraging, com orting and tender.
Here we lay our hand upou the very heart
of the gospel.
Coming to One's SelC
The young man "came to himself." There
he was among the unclean swine. This
young man, well brought up, carefully
taught, and nurtured and blessed with the
love of a good home he had come to this,
that he should be a keeper of pigs.
Nay, a very companion with pigs;
lorced . in this dire famine
to fight in the trough with them
at meal time for the empty "busts which
the swine did eat" Forsaken by his false
friends who had led him into ail this mis
ery, turned away from all tbe hospitalities
of the evil land which he had chosen for his
residence, everybody's back against him.
and no man giving to bim like any drunk
ard. Here he was among the pigs. And
he "came to himself" and saw jnst where
be was, and realized it Step by step leads
the pleasant path, and the gay traveler does
not notice how it changes, little by little,
getting down gradually, little by little, the
bloom fading out of the flowers, till pres
ently all the attraction has vanished out ot
it, and on it goes, steep, jagged, horrible to
look upon, into the pit
Happy the young man whom some mis
step, heavier than commoo,orsomerevelation
as by lightning out of heaven, causes to stop
and look about bim, and perceive where he
is, and whither all this goes, and so brings
him to himself. When he "comes to him
self" he is convicted of sin. And when
the man in the pigpen came to himself, he
said: "How many hired servants of my
father's have bread enough and to spare,
and I perish with hunger." That was not
tbe SDeech of hope, nor of happiness. The
young man was overcome with sorrow. He
was away down in the depths of despondency.
He was sorry for himself to the bottom of
his heart
After the Enjoyment or Sin.
That is the feeling of a man who is some
how suffering tbe punishment of sin. He
has done the evil, and got all the nleasnre
out of it he could, and now nothing is left
but the ill-taste of a bitter memory. He is
ashamed of himself. He could have done
so much better, could have made so much
more of himself, could have kept
back that unkind speech, left that misera
ble lie untold, busied his fingers in so many
hundred better places than his employer's
cash box, could have chosen such diflereut
company, and have encountered decent
people with such a different face, could have
said "no" instead of "yes," could have kept
himself clean, sober, honest, reputable and
Christian.
The evil is done now, and he is looking at
the under side of it Such a lair pattern,
in such pleasant color, so gracefully done
on the right side! That is bow the evil
looked before he did it But now how
seamed, and snarled, and twisted out of
shape, and tangled out of comliness, how
poisonous in color, how pernicious, how
devilish looked at on the other side! The
man sits down and Jhinks in the quiet which
follows tbat season of riotous living, and all
the shrieks ot unclean laughter ring in bis
memory like the shrieks of the fiends of the
nether pit lie despises his own soul.
Such a weak will ! such a weak fool I But
this is not repentance. It may grow into
repentance, but it is dot that as yet The
liar is repenting of the consequences of bis
cowardly lie; the thief is repenting of the
fearful chance of being caught. The
gambler is repenting of bis empty pockets
and bis hungry children; the spendthriit is
repenting ot the famine; the drunkard is
repenting of bis headache; the vile liver is
repenting of tbe pains of his vile diseases;
the prodigal is repenting of the pig-pen.
But of sin not one ol them. This griei may
be contrition, but it is not repentance.
The Prodigal's Bepentance.
i Then said the young man of the parable:
"I will arise and go to my father, and will
say unto him, father, I have sinned against
heaven and before thee, and am no mors
worthy to be called thy son; make me as
one of thy hired servants!" That is re
pentance. Bepentance implies a recognition of sin as
something more than a deed to be ashamed
of, as something more than an act which is
followed by consequences of misery, by
famine, forsaking oi friends, company of
swine, company (everlasting) ot devils.
Bepentance means a, sense of sin as an of
fense against a father. "I have sinned
against heaven," against the power of God.
And I am to be righteously punished lor
tbat; indeed, am.tbis moment being right
eously and rigorously punished. But that
is not the whole of it; "in tby sight, my
father," have I sinned; against love, hu
man and divine. And my sin
has been a grief and a heartache
"before thee." I have set a seuaration
"between thee and ns I have lost the com
fort, tho strength, the refuge, the benedio-
tion of thy love. "I am no more worthy to
be called thy son." When a sinner recog
nizes that sin itself is more dreadful than
eternal punishment, then he is beginning to
repent to repent of sin.
Bepentance means a definite refusal to
abide any longer in sin. Sin is no longer
companionable, no longer endurable. The
prodigal turns his back upon the swine. "I
will arise," he says. I will sit here in this
filth not an instant longer. I will "go to
my father."
Bepentance Is a Turning.
For the word repentance, in the Bible,
always means a change of mind. It means a
turning of tbe back upon the old, and base,
and a step the other way toward the new,
and better. It signifies the making of a
good resolution, with a good will. It makes
no .mention ot emotion. Some peo
ple are exceedingly emotional by 'na
ture; others seftn always composed cool,
attentive to reason, never very enthusiastic,
never carried off their feet br anythinc.
But everybody has a will. And repent
ance is thus set within the reach of every
body. For repentance concerns the will.
Beligion has been discredited by being
identified with feeling. It has been taught
as if the one prerequisite for entrance in'o
Christian discipleshfp were a display of
passionate tears. And a good many sen
sible men have accordingly given it over,
with some contempt, to womeu and chil
dren. Because men, as a general thing,
don't cry.
But religion is identified with feeling,
falsely. Bepentance is the act of an in
telligent will, reasonably persuaded of the
sinfulnese of sin, and deliberately choosing
something better. He repents, who, becom
ing convinced that he is in a false posi
tion, turns straight about and begins
to go in another -direction. That seems
to me the manliest thing not to say the
sanest thing that any man can do. The
prodigal son gets up lfke'a man upou his
feet, and turns bis face toward his father's
house. And thus comes into the condition
of repentance.
Tbe Father Is Waiting.
The Son of God came down into this sin
ful world that He might save, us from our
sins. He came to show us that God is like
the living father of the parable. Not an
offended King, not an angry Judge a God
of love, and we His beloved children. He
came to tell us, in our sins strayed away
into tbe far country, fallen into straits of
famine, feeding swine that at home our
Father waits, never forgetting us, never
ceasing to love us, every ready and watch
ing out along the road to catch a glimpse of
us returning, however soiled, and ragged,
and unkempt and poor; with a father's
whole-hearted welcome for the very un
tforthiest of ns.
We may stay, if we will, among the swine.
We may feed upon the husks. We may
shut our eyes to our condition. We may
stifle every inclination toward that better
country. We may refuse to forsake oursin.
We may reject the opportunity of repent
ance. We may neyer say "I will arise and
go to my Father;" and we may never go.
But all the same, and all the time, the
Father waits, and watches out along the
way for us. George Hodges.
A BABY ANATOMISE
The Bemarkable Youngster Now Fnzzllns;
the Medical Fraternity.
The lad represented below is an honorary
member of the Southern Medical Society of
Atlanta, Ga. In a letter to The Dispatch
his father says he "save an exhibition of
bis knowledge of anatomy before said
society, and was unanimously elected to
honorary membership and eranted a cer
tificate December 12, 1890, "to tbat effect:
also, he was presented by the members of
the society with a gold nrtdal as 'The Baby
Anatomist of tbe World.' "
His name is Albert Fenscb and be is but
5 years old and cannot yet read but he
knows neailv every bone, muscle, artery
and vein iu tbe human body. His father,
Dr. Albert Fenach, is a steward in the hos
pital at McPherson's barracks. He entered
the Southern Medical College last fall, and
brought his little baby boy with him to tbe
college on one occasion. The little fellow
seemed very much interested in the things
he saw and heard at the college, and so
quietly did he grasp the difficult names at
tached to tbe human bones and muscles and
arteries that the attention of tbe faculty was
attracted and some of the members began
asking tbe little fellow questions. They
The Baby Doctor.
saw that he was a phenomenal child. He is
a perfect blonde, with large and innocent
blue eyes and golden colored hair falling in
curls about his shoulders. He has a baby
look iu his face, but his head is quite large
for bis age. He is'a very handsome boy,
and has an attractive, intelligent face. He
asks his mother to read page after page of
anatomy to him. lie understands every
thing that is read to bim out of this difficult
book that tbe average s(ndent finds it so diffi
cult to master on beginning tbe study of
medicine.
Dr. Nicolson, one of tbe faculty of the
Southern Medical College, says little Albert
could pass an examination on anatomy eojual
to that taken by half the students at tbe col
lege this year. He has frequently visited
the dissecting room, but shows, none of the
child's horror at the sight of i dead body.
He seems not to see tbe body but looks with
pleasure upon the bone, the vein, the muscle
or the artery abont which he has been told.
Dr. A.G. Hobbs, oneof the faculty.recent-1
ly delivered a lecture to tba students on tbe
eye, telling them about tbe contraction of
certain muscle". Albert was present on
this occasion. After tbe lecture Dr. Hobbs
quizzed bim about the points he had made.
He was much surprised to learn tbat the
child had grasped his ideas, for he ex
plained even the most difficult pqints of the
lecture, showing that he fnlly understood it
On another occasion, when Albert was
present with his father, -Dr. Hobbs asked
him to name the three smallest bones in the
human body. He 'did not know their
names, and looked at his father with a
pained expression on his face, as if to say:
"Why have you not- taught this to me?"
The next morning the little fellow came
to the office of Dr. Hobbs and said: "Doc
tor, I can name the bones for you now. The
three smallest bones in the body are found
together in the ear. Their names are 'mal
leus, 'incus' an! 'stapes.' "
The little fellow expects to continue his
study of medicine.
The New Freezing mixture.
The new freezing compound is pronounced
a success. Grocers will sell it in every com
pressed form. The great advantage is in its
not doing any, freezing until mixed with
water, and hence it can be carried in a
bottle or otherwise quite comfortably. Even
medium-sized houses will probably use it in
their refrigerators in place of ice.
Boy" Games In Syria.
In a recent work Bev. Dr. Henry H. Jes
sup gives an account of 13 different games
played by boys in Mt Lebanon, Syria.
Among these are shooting marbles, leaplrog,
cat in the corner.-blindman's buff, baseball,
"tied monkey," "pebbje, pebble", (like but
ton, button), and. others peculiar to the
eountrj, ... ,
LA GBIPPE.
Extracts From Dr. Hartman's Famous Lec
ture on That bnbjec't.
HISTORY OF FOCIt EPirK"HICS 184T,
1860. 1870 A?iD 1890,
La Grippe, Eprdemlc' Influenza, Acute Ma
lignant Catarrh Different Karnes
for One Disease.
Beported for the Public Press.
I have been acquainted with la grippe,
also called epidemic influenza and acute
malignant catarrh, many years. Tbe first
time I ever had any personal knowledge of
the disease was in -1847, while yet a bov
studying medicine. My study of it at tha't
time was so thorough and careful that 13
years afterward (I860),- when a terrible epi
demic sweptover the country, I at once rec
ognized it, and was able to successfnllycope
with it It was ten years before itmade its
appearance again the.famous epidemic of
1870. It was at this time.it was first called
"Bussian Influenza," because of the fact
that it originated in Bussia and spread rap
idly over the Asiatic and European coun
tries before it was noticed in this country.
Twenty years had elapsed before the present
epidemic (originating in Bussia as before)
suddenly appeared a'mong us again, this
time bringing its French name across the
Atlantic with it
SYMPTOMS.
Each epidemic presents- exactly the same
symptoms. First, a "tired-out" feeling,
general lassitude, cold feet and h?nds.
Second, aching of the bones, transient, fleet
ing pains throughout the whole body. .
Third, chilly sensations, from indistinct,
creeping rigors in slight cases, to pro
nounced chills in more severe ones. Fourth,
fever, with temperature ranging from 102 to
104 degrees Fahrenheit Fifth, congestion
of the eye, lining membrane of the nose,
sometimes throat and bronchial tubes.
Sixth, profuse sweating occurs iu soma
cases, especially after the disease has run a
few days. Seventh, sneezing and less fre
quent coughing are among the earliest
symptoms. Eighth, usually an intense
frontal headache, which, continues more or
less during the whole course of the disease.
Ninth, aching and soreness of the muscles
of the whole body. Each case presents
slight variations, dependant on age, condi
tion of health, etc. During such an epi
demic as this one tbe slightest indisposition
should be at once attended to, as a few doses
of tbe proper remedy in the start will do
more than weeks of treatment after it fastens
itself on the system.
DAITGEKS.
La gripce is becoming a very fatal dis
ease; many die ot it during tbe course of
each epidemic. In addition to the fatality
of this disease, is to be feared the low and
weakened state it produces, giving a chance
for other diseases to set in and finish the
work. Pneumonia, consumption, conges
tion of the lungs and brain,- acute rhsuma- '
tism, typhoid fever and typhoid malaria are
all frequent followers of la grippe. How
ever different observers may account for it,
the fact remains tbat every epidemic brings
with it a fearful death rate.
CAUSE.
There are three distinct theories as to the
eause of this disease (which has been known
by tbe name of la grippe or epidemic in
fluenza, and acute malignant catarrh).
Each theory has advocates and defenders of
equal ability as medical writers. First, that
it is caused by climatic influences only, and
is but a modified cold. Second, that it is
the result of minute organisms or spores
which float in the atmosphere and is taken
into the system by breathing them in.
Third, that'it is through both these causes
combined that the system becomes affected
in unfavorable weather, which so changes
the blood as to enable spores to thrive in the
body, which in a perfectly healthy body
could do no harm. I am inclined to the
latter theory as furnishing tbe best explana
tion of all the facts. First, we have to have
unusually bad weather, by which many
people are partly overcome; and second,
bacilli, or disease germs, which are capable
of causing tbe disease, but which are resisted
by all who are in excellent health.
If this is true, it would seem a wise thin;
dufing such an epidemic to take Vome in
vigorating tonic touard against depressed
states ot health, which invite these disease
germs to enter the body to set up their ter
rible work. Fe-ru,-na exactly meets this
emergency. It tones up the circulation,
gives vigor to resist unhealthy weather, and
I stimulates the appetite and digestion. It
juiuuuca tut. iiuuiuu uvuy tcuiuurary as
sistance to tide over a dangerous quagmire
into which so many fall.
TREATMENT.
I have long since passed through what
may be called the experiment stage of tbe
doctor's history. In the beginning of my
medical career I, like many other physi
cians, used mauy drngs, but experience
gradually taught me which the reliable few
were. Since the epidemic of la grippe of
1860 1 have used invariably in the treat
ment of this scourge, Pe-ru-na. Tnis rem
edy so exactly meets alLof tbe symptoms of
la grippe tbat it is folly to lose any time ia
experimenting with otner remedies.
At.tbe appearance of tbe first symptoms
treatment should be 'begun at ouce. and
keep strictly to the house for a few days.
No treatment, however effectual it may be,
will always prevent quite a long siege with
the disease, but no other medical treatment
is necessary than Pe-ru-na. The directions,
as tbey are given on the bottle, are more ap
plicable to chronic diseases, and it is advis
able, during the acute stage of the disease,
to take a tablespoonful of Pe-ru-na ever
hour for adults, and a correspondingly less
dose for children. During the night, if the
patients are quietly sleeping, it is not my
custom to wate them tojtake medicine, but
if restless Pe-ru-na should be given regu
larly the whole 24 hours. The recovery is
generally slow, even in slight cases. For
many days the patient will complain of
weakness, slight headache, want of appe
tite, etc. Pe-ru-na should be taken until
tbe recovery is complete, but after the fever
is subsided and tbe acute stage is past it is
better to take it according to the directions
on the bottle. Beef tea, mutton broth, and
milk should be freely given according to the
preference of tbe patient
People who have la grippe, the acute
stage have passed and their recovery has
come to a standstill, as is frequently the
case, will find in Pe-ru-na exactly the rem
edy that is suited to their case. It invig
orates the whole system, restores the appe
tite, and produces natural sleep.
Even after pneumonia or consumption
has begun to develop it is not too late to ex
pect a perfect cure from Pe-ru-na without
any other treatment whatever. Many phy
sicians are using it extensively in their
practice; at tbe same time a vast number of
people are buying it at the drugstores and
treating themselvs, and tbe result is, if
there is another remedy the equal of Pe-ru-"
na for la grippe it is unknown to me.
A treatise on catarrhal diseases mailed
free to any address by the Peruna Medicine
Comnanv. Columbui. Ohio.
And ELECTRIC SUSPENSORY APPLIANCES art
Sent on GO Days Trial
JO MEOromii: or old) sofferlag- wtta JTEKVOnj
FOKCEANVIOOK,WASTLNOyEAmralsEs7ind
Jdl those disease ot s, PEKSONAt NATURE Wilt
tag from ABUSES and OTHER CAUSES. Qnlck lid
gi?Kj5fer.K?foraUon to HEALTH, VIGOR and
KAHOCD Also used to connection wttaim.DT's
VELOPCO and BJfLAROINO THE PARTS and il
HH.V!!i.TXCTIT POTTKjand to STIMULATE and
KlRSSrHSL5VEaY NCTIOlIofS.; raiVATB
UKUAA3. Bzwm ot emir raxrxTtvxss "HO
J5 Tp rjpriixcs. Our Electrto Appliances and
Xetcod of Treatment tib zzen. unHns zrza
Sxroaa Arroorrxn. FUU pamcnlan '"" nf
luis sxllo BrrcLors. Address at once
JHHTAIC BELT pO.jJfl.rateU.MIch.
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