is the Waudcrer. "Are you aid? What is the matter with yon?" "Mad? The matter? I love yon! I worship you! I adore you! You hare saved her li.e, and you have saved mine; you havo almost killed me with fright and joy in two moments, you have." "Be sensible, Keyork. TJnorna is quite cafe, but we must do something about Kafka, and " The rest of his speech was drowned inan other shout from the gnome, ending in a portentous peal of laughter. He had taken his glaM again and was toasting himself. "To Keyort, to his lone life, to huhappi ness." he cried. Then he wet his lips again in the golden juice, and the Individ ual, unmoved, presented him with a second nankin. The wine seemed to steady him, and he sat down again in his place. "Come," he said. "Let us eat firt I "have an amazing appetite, and Israel Kalka can wait." "Do you think so? Is it safe?" the Wan derer asked. "Perfectly," returned Keyork, growing quite calm again. "The loefcs are very good on those doors. I saw to them my keif." "But some cue else " "There is no some one else," interrupted the sage, sharply. "Only three persons can enter the house without question you, I ,nnd Kafka. You and I are here, and Kafka Js there already. When we have eaten we will go to him, and I flatter mvself that the last slate of tne young man will be so im measurably worse than the first, that he will not recognize himself, when I have done with him." He had helped his friend and began eat ing. Somewhat reassured the "Wanderer lollowcd his example. TJnder the circum stances it was as well to take advantage of the oppoitunity for refreshment. No one could tell what might happen before morn ing. "It just occurs tome," said Keyork.fixing his keen eves on his companion's face, "that vou have told me absolutely nothing, except J that Kafka is mad and that Unorna is safe. "Those are the most important points." observed the Wanderer. "Precisely. But I am sure that yon will not tkink.cie indiscreet if I wish to know a little more. For instance, what was the im mediate cause of Kafka's extremely theatri cal and unreasonable rage? That would in terest me very much. Of course, he is mad, poor boy! Hut 1 take delight in following out the workings of an insane intellect. Now, there are no phases of insanity more curious ttian those in which the patient is possessed with a desire to destroy what he loves best. These cases are especially worthy of stuily because they happen so often in ouruay." The Wanderer taw that some explanation was necessarr, and he determined to five one in as lew words as possible. "Unorna and I had strolled into the Hebrew cemetery," he said. "While we were talking there. Israel Kafka suddenly came upon us aud spoke and acted very wildly. He is madly in love with her. She became very nrnrry and would not let me interlere. Then, by way of punishment for his intrusion I suppose, she hypnotized "him and made him believe that he was Sitnon Abcles, and brought the whole of the poor boy's life so vividly before me, as I listened, "that I actually seemed to see the scenes. I was quite unable to stop her or to move from where I stood, though I was quite awake. But I realized what was going on, and 1 was disgusted at her cruelty to the unfortunate man. He fainted at the end, but when he came to himself he seemed to remember nothing. I took him borne and TJnorna went away herself. Then he ques tioned me so closely as to what had happened that I was weak cuousrn to tell him the truth. Of course, as a fervent Hebrew, which he seemed to he, r.e did not relish the idea of having pliyed the Christian martyr for TJnorna's amusement, and amidst the graves of his own people. He there and then im pressed me that he intended to take Unorna's life without delay, but insisted that I should warn her of herdanger.saymg that he would not be a common murderer. Seeing that he was mad and in earnest I weut to her. Tticre was some delay, which proved fortu .r.ate, as it turned out, for we left the con servatory by the small door just as he was 'entering from the other end. We locked -it behind ns, and coing round by the pass ages locked the other door upon him also, so that he was caught in a trap. And there he is, unless some one has let him out." "And then jou took Unorna to the con vent?" Keyork had listened attentively. "I took her to the convent, promising to colic to see her when she should send forme. Thbn I saw that I mu.t consult you belore doing anything more. It will not do to 'xaake a scandal of the matter." "No," answered Kevork, thoughtfully. "It will net do." The Wanderer had told his story with peifect truthand yet inaway which entirely J concealed the very important part TJnorna's passion for him had played in the sequence , of events. Seeing that Keyork asked no 'further questions, he felt satisfied that he had accomplished his purpose as he had in i tended and that the sage suspected nothing. fEe would have been very much discon certed had he known that the latter had : long been aware ot TJnorna's love, aud was ' quite able to guess at the cause of Kafka's ,jndden appearance and extreme excitement. 'Indeed, so soon as he had finished the short narrative, his mind reverted ith curiosity , to Keyork himself and he wondered what '.the little man had meant by his amazing .outburst of gratitude on hearing of TJnor i na's safety.. Perhaps he loved her. More i impossible things than that had oc , enrred in the Wanderer's experience. Or -posibly, he had an object to gain in exag gerating his thankfulness to TJnorna's pre server. He knew :hnt Keyork rarely did .anything without en object and that, al though he was occasionally very oad and .excitable, he was always in reality perfectly well aware of what he was doing. He was rroused from his speculations by Keyork's !"voice. "There will be no difficulty in securing .-Kafka," hi said. Tue real question is, Tvhat shall we do with him? He is very much in tne way at present, aud he must ibe dispose of at once, or we shall have -jnore trouble. How infinitely more to the .purpose it would have been if he had wisely determined to cut his own throat instead of "TJnorna's. But voucg men ere so thought less!" "I will orly say one thing," said the Wanderer, ":md"thcn I will leave the di rection to ycu. TI.e poor fellow has been 'driven mad by TJnorna's caprice and cruel ty. I am determined that he shall not be made to suffer gratuitously anything more." "Do you think Unorna was intentionally cruel to Iiim?" inquired Keyork. "I can hardly believe that. She has not a cruel nature." "You would have changed your mind if you had seen her this afternoon. But that is not the question, i tv ill not allow him to be ill treated." "No, no! of course not!" Keyork an swered with eager assent. "'Bat of course you will understand that we have to deal with a dangerous lunatic, and that it may be necessary to use whatever means are Jnoat sure and certain." "I shell not quarrel with your means," the Wanderer said, quietly, "provided that there is no unnecessary brutality. If I see anything of the kind I will take the matter into my own hands." "Certainly, certainlyl" said the other, eying with curiosity the man who spoke so confidently of taking out of Keyork Arab ian's grasp whatever had once found its way into it. "He shall be treated with every consider ation," the "Wanderer continued. "Of course, if lie is very violent, we shall have to use force." "Wc will take the Individual with us," said Keyork. "He is very strong. He has a trick of breakius silver florins with his thumbs and fingers which is very pretty." "I lancy that you and I could inanace him. It is a pity that neither of us hasthe faculty of hypnotizing. This would be the proper time to Use it." "A great pity. But there are other thincs that will do almost :is well." "What, for instance?" "A little ether in u sponge. He wonld only struggle a moment, and then he would be much more rcnLy unconscious than if he had been hypnoriziii." "Is it quite painless?" "Quite, if you give it gradually. If you hurry the thing, the man feels u though he were being smothered. But the real diffi culty is what to do with him, as I said be fore." "Take him home aud get a keeper from the lunatic asylum," the Wanderer sug gested. "Then comes the whole question of an in quiry into his sanity," objected Keyork. "We come back to the starting point. We must settle all this before we go to him. A lunatic asylum is not a club in this country. There is a great deal of formality connected with getting into it: and a great deal more connected with getting out, Now, I could not get a keeper for Kafka without going to the physician in charge and making a state ment and demanding an examination and all the rest of it And Israel Kafka is a person of importance among his own people. He comes of great Hebrews in 3Iornvin, and we should have the whole Hebrews' quarter which means nearly the wholeof Prague, in a broad sense about our ears in 24 hours. No, no, my friend. To avoid an enormous scandal things must be done very quetlv in deed." "I cannot see anything to ba done, then, unless we bring him here," said the Wan derer, falling into the trap from sbeer per plexity. Everything that Keyork had said was undeniably true. "He would be a nuisance in the house," answered the sage, not wishing, for reasons of his own, to appear to accept the propo sition too eagerly. ".Not but that the In dividual would mak a capital keeper. He is as gentle as he is strong, and as quick as a tiger cat" "So far as that is concerned," said the Wanderer coolly, "I could take charge of him myself, if you did not object to my presence." "You do not trust me," said the other, with a sharp dance. "My dear Keyork, we are old acquaint ances, and I trust yon implicitly to do what ever you have predetermined to do for the advantage of your studies, unless someone interferes with you. You have no more re spect for human life or sympathy for hu man suffering than you haye belief in the importance of anything not conducive to your researches. I am perfectly well aware that if you thought you could learn some thing by making experiments upon the body of Israel Kafka you would not scruple to make a living mummy of him. Xou would do it without the least hesitation. I should expect to find him with his head cut off, living by means of a glass heart and think ing through a rabbit' brain. That is the reason I do not trust you. Before I could deliver him into yonr hands I would re quire of you a contract to give him back unhurt and a contract of the tind you would consider binding." Keyork Arabian wondered whether Unorna. in the recklessness of her passion, hid betrayed the nature of the experiment they had been making together, but a mo ment's reflection told him that he need have no anxiety on this score. He under stood the Wanderer's nature too well to sus pect him of wishing to convey a covert hint instead of saying openly what was in his mind. "Taste one of these oranges," he said, by way of avoiding an answer. "They havn just come from Smyrna." The Wanderer smiled as he took the profiered fruit "So that unless you have a serious objec tion to my presence," he said, continuing his former speech, "you will have me as a guest so long as Israel Kafka is here." Keyork Arabian saw no immediate es cape. "My dearfriend!" he exclaimed with alac rity. "If you are really in earnest, I am as really delighted. So far from taking your distrust ill. I rezard it as a providentially fortunate bias of your mind, since it will keep us together for a time. You will be the only loser. You see how simply I live." "There is a simplicity which is the ex tremes t development of refined sybarism," the Wanderer said, smiling again. "I know your simplicity of old. It consists of getting precisely what you want, and in producing local earthquakes and revolutions when you cannot gel it Moreover, you want what is good to the taste, at least" "There is something in that," answered Keyork, with a merry twinkle in his eye. "Happiness is a matter of speculation. Comfort is a matter of fact Most men are uncomfortable because they do not know what they want. If you have tastes, study them. If you have intelligence, apply it to the question of gratifying your tastes. Con sult yourself first and nobody second. Con sider this orange I am fond of oranges, and they suit my constitution admirably. Con sider the difficulty I have had in procuring it at this time of year not in the wretched condition in which they are sold in the mar ket, plucked half green in Spain or Italy and ripened on the voyage in the ferment ing heat of the decay ot those which are al ready rotten but ripe from the tree and brought to me directly by the shortest and quickest means possible. Consider this orange, I say. Do you vainly imagine that if I had but two or three like it I would offer you one?" "I would not be so rash as to imagine any thing of the kind, my dear Keyork. I know you very well. If you offer me one it h be cause you have a week's supply at least" "Exactly," said Keyork. "And a lew to spare, because thev will only keep a week as I like them, and because I would no more run the rUk of missing tuv orange a week hence for your sake than I would deprive myself of it to-day." "And that is your simplicitv?" "That is mv simplicity. It is indeed a perfectly simple matter, for there is only one idea in it, and in all things I carry that one idea out to its ultimate expression. That one idea, as you very well put it, is to haye exactly hat I want in this world." "And will you be getting what you want in having me quartered upon you ns poor Israel Kafka's housekeeper?" asked the Wanderer, with an expression of amusement. But Keyork did not wince. "Precisely," he answered without hesita tion. "In the first place, you will relieve me of much trouble and responsibility, and the Individual will not be so often called away from his manifold and important household duties. In the second place, I shall have a most agreeable and intelligent companion, with whom I can talk as long as I like. In the tbhd place, I shall un doubtedly satisfy my curiosity." "In what respect, if you please?" "1 shall discover the secret of your won denul interest in Israel Kafka's welfare. I always like to follow the workings of a brain essentially different from my own, as I know that yours is. Your solicitude for Kafka is philanthropic, of course. How could it be anything else? Philanthropy deals with a class of ideas wholly unfamiliar to me. I shall learn much in your society." "And possibly I shall learn something from you," the Wanderer answered. "There is certainly much to be learnt I wonder whether jour ideas upon all subjects are simple as those you hold about oranges." "Absolutely. I make no secret of my principles. Everything I do is for my own advantage." "Then," observed the Wanderer, "the ad vantage of Unorna's life must be an enor mous one to you, to judge by your satisfac tion at her saiety." Keyork stared at him a moment, aud then laughed, but less heartily and loudly than usual, his companion fancied. "Very goodl" he exclaimed. "Excellent! I fell into the trap like a rat into a basin of water. You are indeed an interesting com panion, my dear friend so interesting that I hope we shall never part again." There was a rather savage intonation in the last words. They looted at each other intently, neither wincing nor lowering his gaze. The Wan derer saw that he had touched upon Ke york' greatest and most important secret, and Keyork fancied that his companion knew more than be actually did. But noth ing further was said, for Keyork was far too wise to enter into explanation, and the Wan derer knew well euough that if he was to learn anything it must be by observation and by questioning. Keyork filled both glasses in silence, and both men drank be fore speakine again. "And now that we have refreshed our selves," he sild, returning to his former manner, "we will go and find Israel K-ifka. It is as well that we should have given him alittie tunc bv himself, 'lie may have re THE." turned to his censes without anv trouble on our part Shall we take the Individual ?" "As you please," the Wanderer answered Indifferently, as he rose from his place. "It is very well for you not to care," ob served Keyork. "You are big and strong and young, whereas I'am a little man, and very old at that I shall take him for my own protection. I confess that I valne my life very highly. It is a part of that sim plicity which you despise. That devil of a Hebrew is armed, you say?" "I saw something like a knife in his hand as we shut him in," said the Wanderer, with the same indifferenceas before. "Then.I will take the Individual,"Keyork answered, promptly. "A man's bare hands must be strong and clever to take a man's life in a scuffle, and few men can use a pistol to any pnrpose. But a knife is a weapon of precision. I will take the Individual, de cidedly." He made a few rapid signs and the Indi vidual disappeared, coming back a moment later, attired in a long coat not unlike his master's, except that the fur of the great collar was of common fox, instead of sable. Keyork drew his peaked cap comfortably down over the tip3 of his ears. "The ether!" be exclaimed. "How forget ful I am growing! Your charming conver sation had almost made me forget the object of our visit" He went back and took the various things he needed. Then the three men went out to gether. CHAPTER XXIL More than an hour had elapsed since the Wanderer and Unorna had finally turned the key upon Israel Kafka, leaving him to his own reflections. During the first moments he made desperate efforts to get out of the conservatory, throwing himself with all his weight and strength against the doors, and thrusting the point of his long knife into the apertures of the locks. Then, seeing that every attempt was fruitless, he desisted, and sat down in a state of complete cxhaustin. A reaction began to set in after the furious excitement of the afternoon, and he felt all at once that it wonld be im possible lor him to make another step or raise his arm to strike. A man less sound originally in bodily constitution would have broken down sooner, and it was a proof of Israel Kafka's extraordinary vigor and energy that he did not lose his senses in a delirious fever at the moment when he felt that his strength could bear no further strain. Israel Kafka's case is by no means a rare one. The fact of having been made to play a part which to him seemed at once blasphem ous and ignoble.had, indeed turned the scale, hut was not the motive. In all things the final touch which destroys the baltnceia commonly mistaken for the force which has originally produced a state of unstable equil ibrium, whereas there is very often no connec tion between the one and the other. The Moravian himself believed that the sacrifice of Unorna, and of himself afterwards, was to he an expiation of the outrage Unorna had put upon his faith in his own "person. He had merely seized upon the first excuse which presented itself for ending all, be cause he was in reality past hope. Israel Kafka may, therefore, be regarded as mad or sane. In favor of the theory of his madness, the total usclessness of the deed he contemplated may ;be adduced; on the other hand, the extremely consecutive and consistent nature of his thoughts and actions gives evidence of sanity. When he found himself a prisoner in Unorna's conservatory, his intention under went no change, though his body was broken with fatigue, and his nerves with the long continued strain of a terrible excitement. His determination was as cool and as fixed as ever. These somewhat dry reflections seem necessary to the understanding of what fol lowed. The key turned in the lock and the bolt was slipped back. Instantly Israel Kafka's energy returned. He rose quicklv and hid himself in the shrubbery, in a position from which he could observe the door. He had seen Unorna enter before, and had, of course, heard her cry before the Wanderer had carried her away, and he had believed that she had wished to face bim, either with the intention of throwing herself upon his mercy or in the hope of dominating him with her eyes, as she had so often done be fore. Of course, he had no means of know ing that she had already left the honse. Ho imagined that the Wanderer had gone, and that Unorna, being freed from his restraint, was about to enter the place again. The door opened aud the three men came in. Kafka's first idea, on seeing himself disap pointed, was that they had come to take him into custody, and his first impulse was to elude them. The Wanderer entered first, tall, stately, indifferent, the quick glance of bis deep eyes alone betraying that he was looking for some one. Next came Keyork Arabian, muffled still in his furs, turning his head sharply from side to side in the midst of the sable collar that half buried It, and evi dently nervous. Last of all the Individual, who had divested himself of his outer co it and whose powerful proportions did not es cape Israel Kafka's observations. It was clear that if there were a struggle it could have but ore issue. iCafka would be over powered. His knowledge of the disposition of the plants and trees offered him a hope of escape. Tne three men had entered the conservatory, aud if he could reach the door before they noticed him, he could lock it upon them, as it had been locked upon him self. He could hear their footsteps on the marble pavement very near him, and he caught glimpses of their moving figures through the thick leaves. With cat-like tread he glided along in the shadows of the foliage until he could see the door. From the entrance au open way was left in a straight line toward the middle of the hall, down which bis pursuers were still slowly walking. He roust cross an open space in the line of their vision in order to get out, and be calculated the distance to bo traversed, while listeninc to their move ments, until he felt sure that they were so far from the door as not to be able to reach him. Then he made his attempt, darting across the smooth pavement with his kuite in his han-l. There was no one in the way. Then came a violent shock, and he was held as in a vice, so tightly that he could not believe himself in the arms of a human being. His captors had anticipated that he would trv to escape, and had posted the In dividual in the shadow of a tree near the doorway. The deaf and dumb man had re ceived his instructions by means of a couple of quick signs, aud not a whisper had be trayed the measures taken. Kafka strug gled desperately, for he was within three feet of the door and still believed an escape possible. He tried to strike behind him with his sharp blade, of which a single touch would have severed musole and sinew like silk threads, but the bear-like embrace seemed to confine his whole body, his arms and even his wrists. Then he felt himself turned around, and the Individual pushed him toward the middle of the hall. The Wanderer was advancing quickly, and Keyork Arabian, ho had again fallen be hind, peered at Kafka lrom behind his tall companion with a grotesque expression, in which bodily fear and a desire to laugh at the captive were strongly intermingled. To be Continued JVexf Sunday. WOUEH- AS SWEATE2S. They Can Double-Discount tMen When It Comes to Shop Oppression. Hew York Itecorder.l The most abused class of women seems to be the chorus and ballet girls. Next oome the employes of the fashionable dress makers. It takes a woman to give a man points on being cruelly grinding. No op pressor can oppress as can one of the gentler sex. Usually, too, the defies the union. A man may be confined in Ludlow Street Jail for non-payment of a debt of less than $50. But there is no clause potent enough to squeeze payment from an unwilling woman. This is one of the rights which Mrs. Creagh believes should ba extended to women. She should have the same priv ilege of lingering in a debtor's cell that a man has. There seems no good reason why the right should not be extended, and many un overworked, half-starved seamstress would he benefited thereby. EITTSBtJKG- DISPATCH fllLTIJRE AND CASH. How a College Genius Tried to Con vert One Into the Other. HIS STOMACH FAEKD VERY BADLY, And at Last He Broke for a Country Store Left by Bis Uncle. MAKING MONEY IN THE METROPOLIS rwnrrrnjt fob the dispatch. He had drifted into New Yo'rk, as so many young men do, with a general notion of getting rich, and no particular idea about it except that the sooner his 'friends and enemies at home (especially the latter) were made aware of his distinguished success the better he should feel about it His capital consisted of $13 and a college education. He had no fear of hard work because he didn't know what it was. Perhaps I should have included in my schedule of his assets a letter of introduc tion to myself. The writer of this valuable document was a man whom I had forgiven and forgotten. The sight of his hand writing upon the envelope recalled his ex istence to me, and awakened a faint hope that he might have experienced a change of heart, and have thus been led to return the flO he borrowed of me in the fall of 1881. An Invitation to a Kicking. But no; he wrote in a cheerful vein, and the shadow ot remorse did not darken the page. It gave him great pleasure to intro duce his young friend, Thomas Brown. "He's a thoroughly good fellow." the letter went on. "Hc'deserves everything you can do for him. Treat him just as you would ma" I glanced up at Brown and wondered how be would look if he realized that bis friend had requested me to kick him down stairs. "He's been highly educated," said the letter; "I should think you ought to get him the editorship of something. It would be right iu his line, for he has already shown great literary ability." Granting this to be true, there could beno doubt that Thomas was distinctly superior to most of the editors I Knew, but I could Getting a Job. not immediately call to mind any of them who wou'd resign in Thomas favor on hav ing the fact laid before them. The assist ant snorting editorship of the Pictorial Po lice Record was temporarily vacant owing to a little trouble at the Gilligan-Smith mill, but I understood that the bullet had been extracted, and that the distinguished journalist was expected to be out of the hos pital within a few weeUs. I mentioned this vacancy to Thomas, but he said that he would prefer something permanent Itanked on His Education. "It would seem wiser," said he, "to select at the outset some position where my supe rior mental attainments will insure my suc cess and advancement" "Mr. Brown," said I, "in these days a college education is of no account whatever except when you haven't any, and then it is a tremendous disadvantage." "But many of our college graduates have made money in New York." he persisted. "Take your own case for example." "My dear young friend," said I, "in the rural districts from wnich some of us ema nate our careers are seen through a glass darkly. When we come to the metropolis news of our death by starvation is anxiously awaited during the first few months. This expectancy is relieved from time to time by rumors that we are coming home to live on the old folks. When we don't do either of these things it is reported that we are mak ing untold wealth and spending it in wild, uncanny orgies, so that the gilded dens of vice resound with the din of our unhallowed mirth. In reality it is our landlord who is getting rich, while we rub along in 25-cent reversible socks and meditate suicide regu larly on the first of every month. I have a diploma from pur most ancient university, but my old silver bull's-eye watch has often helped me to a breakfast Tlio Only Way to Win. "John Henry Claggs, who graduated in '85, is said to b'o worth over half a million," said Brown. "Claggs has got rich, I admit, and he's a first rate sample of the men who make money in New York. He did it with a single idea, which came to him likea flash. He advertises to forward for 51 a p'rescrip tion for rheumatism, and he gives an iron clad guarantee that he will pay 100 for every case not cured within one week. He has made a lortune; has never cured any- looms. Losing a Job. hodv vet; has never been called upon to pay his'SlOO forfeit, and yet the law can't touch him, for he sends the prescription every time. "That seems impossible." "It is true. He has made his prescrip tion entirely of chemical curiosities. The drugs arc so rare that it would cost about $10,000 to make a tablespoonful of the medi cine. The dose recommended is a wine glassful before each meal. A man under that treatment couldn't afford to eat more than once in 1C years, consequently nobody has .yet been able to show that the thing isn't a sure cure. That's the only way to make money in this town. Get up a safe and ar tistic system of robbery." Writing for the Waste Basket. Brown was so much depressed by this con versation thatl began. to pity him; and dur ing the next few days I kept a sharp eye out for a position tlmt would suit him. Of course I didn't find any. Meanwhile.be was writing editorials and sending them to one of the leading papers. They didn't get into'print. Nothing that he wrote got fur ther than the waste basket during the first two weeks; and then, inspired by hunger and mortification, he wrote a personal letter to the editor which was full of the most hit ter dennnciation. By mistake, he mailed ft to another newspaper office, and it was printed, with some slight alterations, in the "people's column." It was really a masterly effort at defama U nr Busr I h OW j -lf',A 'ill II' ,t ,! SUNDAY, ""APRIL 19r tion of character, and it led to his being en gaged at a small salary to abuse the editors of esteemed cotemporaries and certain members of the city government But this triumph filled Brown so completely with the milk of human kindness that he couldn't have said anything derogatory of the devil, and so he lost his place. A Place Secured at Last. I met him a few days after this disap pointment and lent him $5 with which to "stand off" bis landlady, who was becom ing importunate. He had not yet begun to despair, but he was getting impatient, and was inclined to rail at New York as a place where the recognition of genius was dis gracefully slow. During the following week, by greatgood fortune, I secured a place for Brown in the employ of a firm of publishers. JJaggs & Co. had been looking for a man who had a wide acquaintance with literature and an empty stomach. The former would etiahle Bis UncWt Only Ettr. him to fill the position and the latter would induce him to take it at $12 a week. Brown was to read manuscripts. The idea de lighted bim. He had every sort of confi dence in his literary judgment and felt so sure of rapid advancement that he borrowed $10 more of me, and agreed to settle un within two weeks. On this occasion he had a great deal to say about the value of being surrounded by a literary atmosphere. I thought of the stuff which Baggs & Co. pub lish and shuddered. I saw Brown quite frequently during the first week; once during the second, and not at all in the third. At the end of that time I called at the office of Baggs & Co., to see what had become of him andmy $15. I met old Baggs himself. nu Judgment Didn't Suit "Well, he ain't here any more," said Baggs, in that classical English, which long familiarity with 10-ceut detective stories, has given him command of; "I had to fire bim. He came near rejecting the best thing ever offered to me. Look at that" and he showed me the proof of a title page, bearing a picture of a woman coming down a ladder in a gale of wind "there's the best title I ever saw. Anybody reading it wonld tbink that the story was the most corrupting that ever was issued, whereas there isn't a word in it that Comstock could fasten his paws onto. Why, sir; I paid the author over $50 for his novel, and yet your man Brown said the story was Utterly worthless. What do vou" think of that for literary judg ment?" I admitted thas it was fearfully bad what ever way vou looked at it I met Brown shortly after leaving Baggs & Co.'s office. He was standing at the intersection of two streets, aud ho frankly confessed that he was trying to decide by a process of pure reason, which one of the lour corner saloons set out the best free lunch. He had no data but the appearance of their exteriors, and the feeling of his own interior, which natur ally predisposed him toward the nearest one. I lent him a dollar and received his blessing as collateral security. Happy in a Provision Store. Well, I haven't time to follow Brown down into the dismal dungeon; of despond ency, whither an experieuo of not more than four months in the metropolis led bim. He came here weighing 167 pounds, and puffed up with confidence. -In a few brief moons his weight had gone down to 140 and his confidence to zero. He hud told me on the first day that he would never go back to his home in Maine except as a distin guished visitor. Of course he didn't phrase it just that way, but bis meaning was ob vious. He had.reached a great center of culture ami literature. He felt'great forces steaming within him, and they were bound to drive him head first through all obstacles. Fame beckoned bim, and be was willing to shout "Let her go, Gallagher," and join the procession at the front end. It took, as I have said, about four months to knockall this out of him. At the expira tion of this chastening experience he came to me and Baid: "Mr. Fielding, my uncle in Goose Falls, Me., has died, and left me sole heir of his provision store. Think of it a provision store? At this moment there are barrels of crackers and pounds ot cheese waiting for me at Goose Falls. And they are all mine. I can eat, and eat, and eat; and if my voracity drives me to bankruptcy I shall at least have had a square meal. Lend me enough to pay my tare. I will mortg ige the store as'soon as I get there, aud send you the money. I don't want to ride in a parlor car. Four months ago I should have insisted upon it, but now lam willing to go as freight. Do not talk to me of blighted ambition or blasted hopes. The thought of that cracker barrel in Uncle Jabez's store sustains nnd comforts me." Howaed Fielding. A SOLDKIt'S LOVE FOE NAP0LE0H. He Pell Dead on Mibtakins the Prlnee for Bis Master. Ancnt the facial resemblance which the late Prince Napoleon bore to his relative, the Great Emperor, a pathetic little story is told. One of the survivo'rr. of Napoleon's Old Guaid, who returned to his provincial home after Waterloo, always refused to be lieve that his famous commander was dead, and insisted that he would return to France and power someday. One day it chanced that Prince Napoleon had for some reason to go through the town at night, and some of the townspeople, thinking to play off a jest on the old soldier, came to him and tnid him his dieam had come true, that the Emperor hid indeed returned, and wjs .it that moment passing through the principal street. Wild with excitement, thf veteran rushed off to the spot, whre the Imperial escort was slowly making its way through the sliout ing crowd. The glare of the torches shone upon the soldiers And upon a bareheaded man looking out of the carriage window, a man with the lace of the conqueror of Aus terlitz. The old soldier gave a wild cry of delight, "Vive l'Emptreur," and fell down fainting. When they came to raise him they found be was dead; he had died happy iu the belief that he had once again looked upon the face of his old commander. PBESEEVING THE F0HEST3. A X.aw Secured by n Pennsy vnnian Tliat Is Not Enforced. While so much talk is going the rounds of the press referring to the destruction of our forest growths, is it not time to inquire as to the fate of the bill introduced in Con gress by a Mr. Haldeman, ol this State, in 1873,and passed by that body. It made a law the very remedy suggested some weeks ago, but it seems evident that the provisions of that bill arc not being strictly complied with or there would not be so much 'neces sity for the complaints now being made. Mr. Haldeman's bill provided that every future sale of Government land should be with the condition that at least 10 per cent of the timbered land should be kept perpet ually as woodland; and if the land be not timbered then the patent to be istued on the condition that 10 per cent of the quan tity was to be planted with forcit trees within ten years, and kept Jbiever as wood land. If this be done, an abatement of CO per cent was to be made on account of the expense of the. plantiug. A violation of this agreement was to be met by a forfeiture of the land. Et$S Vfliiffll 1 139L JOINING THE CHURCE. The Plain Duty That Follows Con viction and Repentance. SILENT BELIEF IS HOT ENOUGH. There Mast Be an Action That Shows the Belief to Be Keal. WHI MANY GOOD PEOfhE HESITATE rWRITTBN FOB THE DISPATCH. Everybody wants to be saved. Christ came and lived and died to make salvation possible to everybody. But how shall we translate that possibility into reality? Here is our longing, there is Christ's promise; how shall we get tbem together and be saved? Christ answers that question plainly. "He that believe th and is baptized shall be saved." No metaphysics about that; no iu defiuiteness, no mysticism, no theological vagueness, no uncerttinty about that. You are looking for the way to heaven, and wandering about now here and now there, following lights which are but the lanterns of will-o-the-wisp, and ou meet Christ and ask the road, and He answers, "Here it is," and poiuts it out before your feet as clear as day. Whoever would be saved, this be must do; let him believe and be'baptized. Now, I have nothing to say this morning about belief, or about baptism. But I da want to say something about the word "and." I desire to emphasize this word "aud." Christ sets belief and baptism to gether. Whoever would be saved there are not two alternatives for him to chose between. Salvation ia not for him that be lieveth; salvation is not for him that is bap tized, "He that believeth and is baptized shali be saved." Salvation does not mean an escape in the far future out of some red-hot dungeon, gar risoned by devils. It is concerned with our daily living. It means spiritual health. To be saved is to be making the very beat of life to-day. Christ says that belief alone is not enough to insure spiritual health; a nd baptism alone is not enough to insure spir itual health. To be spiritually whole and strong we must believe and be baptized. Comes From High Authority. Is there anybody wbo is wiser than Christ in regard to spiritual health? Any Detter doctor for the soul than He is? Any advice worth following rather than His, contrary to His, in this matter? The counsel of Christ in respect of spiritual soundness and strength amounts to this: that nobody need expect to be a good Christian whose re ligion is shut up within the silence of his own soul, and does not somehow make it self visible and audible. Beal Christianity is never dumb. It speaks, and must speak, and is helped and strengthened by speak ing. It is not for nothing that we are given tongues. We are learning wonderful thtnes in these days about the influence of the mind upon the body; but the body has a still greater influence over, the mind. That is the testimony of everybody who has any real acquaintance with himself. We all know that prayer, if it is never put into words, if it is forever shut np in a silent heart, presently dies, like a man abut away fiom the air. and that love, without ex- i pressiou, chances into indifference; and tbat sentiment amounts to nothing, and speedily withers away, unless it is made to yield some sort of iruit; and that good resolutions must be uttered aloud, and straightway translated into good acts, and that to take a decided and open stand fortifies every good purpose. Bight believing must be clenched by right behaving. If you are upon the side of right the side of Christ, say so. Stand there, where you can be seen and counted. Tbat will help you to stay there. All this must be evident to everybody, this is hnman nature. And when Christ set that significant con junction between beliefs and baptism, He was simply recognizing the plain facts of human li'e, and making wise provision for them. We have both a soul and a body. Belief is for the soul; baptism is the outward expression of it, the utterance of it, the rein forcement of it in the body. Tiro Kinds of Life. Here is something else which "and" means. It means that there are two kinds of life which we all live eveiy day a de pendent life and an independent life, on the one side social and on the other side in dividual, alone and yet not alone and that these two kinds or sides of human life must be both taken into account. We have our own personal existence and responsibility; at the same time we are singularly in need of ea.ch other, quite unable to stand alone. Every day we give out and breathe in thought, sentiment, example, influence. No man liveth to himself, nor even dieth to himself. Take these two sentences which St. Paul set side by side in the same letter: "Bear ye one another's burdens," and "Every man shall bear his own burden." These ure the two lives which wc all live, one personal, the other in partnership. There is no possible evasion of these two sides of human life. You might ns well try to construct a board which should have an upper surface but no lower surface. Don't you see how Christ takes us just as we are? " He wants us to be saved, to be spiritually sound, and He gives us a couusel in the matter, which takes ia all the condi tions and includes all the facts' iu the case. We have a soul; we must believe. We have a body; we must be baptized. We stand, each ot us, individual and alone before God; iu Him we must believe. Wc stand also in union with our lellow men, dependent upon their companionship, having this association and the potency of it as one of the supreme facts in our lite; let us have this taUeu ac count of and turued to its best uses in a church into which we shall be baptized. There Js Ono Certain Way. It is our Lord's advice and counsel, then, to all who desire to grow iu grace and in the knowledge and love of God, to all who would be spiritually sound and strong, to all who would be saved, that they thou Id join the church. This is the gate which, Christ tells uf, opens upon the road that leads to life eternal. Perhaps you can get there some other way. Willi nil my heart, I hope so. Perhaps you are right in thinking that you can clamber over the wall somewhere, and find some sliort-cut across green pastures to the cejestial city. Baptism is such a narrow gate, it would be a pity to compel everybody to go through it And the com pany along the road is not, I am airaid, m select as it xuigbt be. You must set the blame for that on Chrisc, who at the very start invited a lot of publicans, nnd sinners, and other disagreeable people into it- Per haps you can find some broader gate, and more exclusive company, and pleasanter road, and so get there, whither we all want to go, into the laud of life. Perhaps so; but take care, ami be sure! "He that believeth aud is baptized shall be saved." That, any how, is certain. Our Lord was addressing people in whoie case baptism was the conscious entrance into the Christian Church. It was an not pre ceded y repentance and by faith. It was a clear, definite exercise of the will, choosing. Christ and His service. With us, to day, baptism does not, for the most n.irt, mean so much as that. Somebodyelse did thechoos ius for up when we were baptized. Iu this case all that part of the significance ot bap tism is trans'crred to that later service which we call 'confirmation," or the "rignt hand of fellowship." Oar conscious entrance into the Christian Church is by this. AlnUins tlio llelatlonshlp Complete. The connection between baptism ncd this service is as close as the connection between childhood and youth. One grows out of the other, and fulfills it. Between them they divide tbe meaning which iu the text is in cluded in b.'uuism alone. And. in this division, itfalls to this Inter servicn to be the act by which we take our open aud de cided stand. It is in this later service tbat we bring ourselves into complete relation ship with the great body of believers. So our Lord's words mean all tbat is implied ' in the phrase, ioiuimjr the chnrcb. He tbat believes aud becomes a member of the church he shall be saved. Why is it that everybody does not tee this? Is it not plain? Does it not com mend itself to all reasonable, good people? Is it not exactly what the Master meant? Yes, and no. That is the answer which a hundred reasonable, good people must this moment be making. Good people, excel lent examples for tbe best of us, diligent in all charitable work, as regular and atten tive in their places as any member of the vestry; and yet they have never completed their part of the sacrament of baptism. They have never joined the church. Year by year the opportunity comes, but it passes by, and these good people have not stirred. There are sermons and sermons and ser mons, all courteously, and patiently lis tened to, but not believed, not taken to heart Nothing is done. They are not persuaded. Why? There is no lack of possible explanations of a reluctance to join the church. One Very Good Benson. One good reason for not joiningthe church is unrepented sin. You cannot always tell what people are by looking at their faces. If one who seems to bs livingagood life has some secret and shameful sin, still "per sisted in, still loved, hidden away behind it, he has a sufficient reason for not uniting with the church. We want all the siuner3 that we can persuade to come in. That is what the church is for. But we want them to leave the love of sin outside. You can't take that iu with von. Leave it outside, and we will give you welcome. If tbat is why you stay outside be cause you are not willing to part company with that sin you are iu the right place where you are, and you mtt3t stay tnerc. You must stay outside forever. Are you content to do that? Another excellent reason for not joining tbe church is a general indifference to re ligion. There are people there is no deny ing it who do not care particularly for re ligious things. They are a i;ood deal more anxious tor their stomach than they are for their soul. They value their head more than their heart. They have an idea that this life is going on forever; tbat day after day, world without end, tbey will buy and sell, and eat and drink, and get up in tbe morning aud go to hed again at night as serenely as the sun. Death is a fable to frighten children; judgment is a myth; and the notion that there will be another life, which will depend upon their religious liv ing in this lile, is but a fond delusion. How any human being who has the gilt of reason able thinking can persuade himself that all the worthier side of life is simply not worth while, is perfectly amazing. But men and women do so persuade themselves, and set their faces down toward the ground, and shut their eyes to all the tragedies daily en acted about them, and live without prayer, without any serious thoughts, intent upon ideals which they share with their dogs and horses. Such people are in their place out side the church. There are already enough indifferent people in the church. We want no more. To Slip In Under Emotion. It is possible that some people stay out side because they are waiting for some ex traordinary invitation to come in. They are looking to be "converted." They are expecting a "change of heart." There are two conceptions of religion whioji are held by religious people. One is tbat religion is chiefly feeling; the other is that religion is chiefly living. One of theie conceptions of religion emphasizes the emotions; the other emphasizes the will. Neither of these can be le t out ot religion. But the will comes first. God will do his part, but you must do your part first You must plant be fore God will give the increase. Change your mind that is what the word "repent" means iu the Greek of the Gospels. Change your will, and there will he a change in your heart. Give vour will to Christ, and you will give Him your heart at the same time. The first step in religion is to follow the best religious light you see, and to set abontdoing that nearest duty which is plain to you. And you .remember bow it was with tbe lepers in the story of the miracle "as they went, they were cleansed." It Is a luly to Join. Is there such a duty? Does Christ really ask it? Wei', you see what He said about being baptized. That means joining tbe church, as plain as words can make it He founded a church. Is there any doubt about that? Here is a way of entrance, the gate of baptism, and this gate must swing into something. Nothing can be plainer than that Christ not only founded the church, but that He made that foundation one of the very chief occupations of His ministry. His great work was not preaching, nor making missionary journeys, nor writiuz volumes of theology. What was it? It was the careful training of n little company of men who should be the first officers of this society. He set baptism ns the service of initiation into this society. On the night before His crucifixion he ordtiucu a special service of commemoration to be usedat tbe meetings of this society, saving, "Do this in remem brance of Me." He promised His blessed presence with this society until the end of the world. Under the name of the "King dom ot Heaven," He was forever talking about it, and making ready for it. And here it is. Here is the church. Was all this preparation foolishness? This church, which Christ founded, i3 it after all of ko little value that it wake no difference to you whether you belong to it or not? "Whoever shall confess Me before men him will I confess before My Father which is in heaven." Joiuiug the church is a way of confessing Christ before men. Every eood word and good deed may, indeed, be a confession of Christ also. But not cer tainly. Tbey may be a confession of Buddha, or of Bi-njaraiu Franklin. They are a confession of some moral master. But who is it? Chris.i? 'Lheu say so. Let us be sure about it. Set yourself plainly on His side. Let your good liie count lor Him. That is tbe confession of Christ Miowinz the Colors. Christ wants everybody who is on His side to show his uplifted hand; to make that al legiance of his perfectly plain. Ana there is no way that I Know ot by which this con fessiou of allegiance may be so naturally and unmistakably made as by joining the church. If you are really on His tide, you are not ashamed to say so, are you? Nor afraid? You must see how He seta value upon such un act as this open declaration. You would not be satisfied ia any hostile or indifferent company to have your friends content themselves with silent affection, lift ing no voice iu your defense. That would not be genuine Iriendship. It is not enough, ill a political campaign, to have a silent opinion. Which side are you on? Here, choose a ballot, cast in your vote, enroll yonrselt upon this side nr that It is not sufficient, ina day of war, that a citizen should be silently patriotic. Everybody who is really ou the right side, iu snch a dav, is bound to make his position known. Now, here is the world on one side, aud here is the Church on the other; here is the kingdom of Christ, and there is the king dom of the devil which do you believe iu? Which side are you ou? Of course, you are on the side of Christ. We inter that from yonr presence here with ns Why not say so, plainly and openly? Why not confess be Tore men, ns He nuts, that He is really your Lord and Muster? Complaining of Opportunities. People sometimes imagine what they would have done for Christ if they had lived in His neighborhood while He was dwelling anion: men. The phrases of re ligious invitation seem to tbem altogether vatrue and unsatisfactory. "Come to Christ," the preacher sayj." Ah, yes; if they could but rise up on their real leet and go out to meet Him as John's disciples did, that long-ago morning far away iu Syria, that would be easy enough. Bnt to "come to Christ," to-day and here, under these changed conditions what is it? How to doit? Well, here at least is an answer to that desire for something to do with your flesh and blood feet. You .can stand up nnd .come forward iu the presence of your neigh bor., and set vourselves on Christ's side. He recognized just this need, as T said at the beginning, and made provision for it To faith He added baptism. Belief He sup plemented with confession. "With the heart m in believeth unto righteousness, and with the mouth couiession is made onto salvation." Geoeoe Hodges. ANUNHONOREDHERO. The Gallant Soldier Who Took Cap 'tain Davis' Place at Concord WAS LIEUTENANT JOHN HAI WARD His Foot First Touched Old North Brldjrs When the British Ran. A NAME NOT 17EC0KDED IN DISTORT tcoaaispoSDixci ot the nsPATcn.i Bridgxos', Me., April 17. Did it ever occur to you, reade?, what an important link is missing from the colonial chain in our country's history? To be more explicit, who was it that led the battalion of Pro vincials across the old North Bridge at Concord against the British, on the historic 19th of April, 1775, after the fall of their first leader? Every schoolboy and schoolgirl knows that it was brave Captain Isaac Davis, of Acton, Mass., who, with his company of mmute-meu led tbe head of the American column when Colo nel Barrett ordered the troops to advance against the foe, and tbat at tbe first fire of the latter Davis fell dead; but wbo was the officer to take np the thread of leadership, momentarily snapped by death, and lead the patriots across the bridge? Ou this point history is utterly silent Not even at the great centennial celebration of that engagement at Concord was the least allusion made by either historical orator, Balph Waldo Emerson and George Will iam Curtis, although the subject was other wise exhaustively treated; and Captain Davis and his deeds, ami the sword he wielded on that immortal day, were made the foreground of their masterly word painting. And vet, in the beautiful town of Bridg ton, in Western Maine, only a few miles from wbere I am writing these lines, lies bnried a hero unknown and unhonored save by the people of this immediate region, the Li eatenant who, when Captain Davis fell, took his place as commander of the Acton Company and was their new leader on that eventful day. Lieutenant John Hnyward's Grave. Within a little graveyard of a sparsely settled hamlet, known locally as the "Glines Neighborhood." in a picturesque valley, at a quiet and lovely spot near the banks of a small stream, beside whose waters were reared two of America's greatest humorists, Seb Smith (Major Jack Doun ing) and Charlei F. Brown (Arternus Ward), sleeps all that is mortal of Lieu tenant John Hayward, who performed a like part in the opening scene of our revolntiouary drama to that which made his1 neighbor, friend and compatriot. Captain Isaac Davis, so deservedly illustrious. A plain marble headstone marks his humble grave, on which, despite time's destroying touch, is plainly read the simple legend: CAPT. JOHN FIAYWAP.D. Died Feb. 13. 3S23. JEt &i yrs. and : : n mcs. : : He Was an Officer of the Heroin- : tion. : There lies before me an interesting docu ment, time stained and brittle, whose pos sessor is a great grandson ot Lieutenant Hayward, Mr. Preston M. Giincs, of North Bridgton. It is a commission issued to Lieutenant John Hayward subsequent to tbe Concord fight, promoting him to Captain In the Continental army; and also instruct ing him to report to "His Excellence, Gen eral Washington." It is dated at "Boston, State of Massachusetts Bay," and is signed by Governor John Hancock, in tbe bold, familiar hundwritinc of the first signer of the Declaration of Independence. It also bears the signature of "John Averv, Secre tary." He was a farmer by vocation, quiet and unpretentious. Physically he was largeand tall and finely built, of light complexion, handsome both in form and features, of frank, genial manner, yet possessed of suffi cient dignity 'to Insure respect among his associates. It tVsj a Great Undertaking. What wonder, then, tbat with such men as Davis and Hayward for leaders, the rank and file, when tbe hour uf trial came, and rallied at daybreak by excited messengers, fell iuto line, bid a sad goodby to kindred and friends and unhesitatingly began their march to Concord, there to meet the trained soldiers of Great Britain! It proved a mo meutou march, tbat very company being destined, under Providence, to "fire the shot hard round the world." What followed the world knows. Arrived at the rendez vous of tbe various companies, on the east ern flank of Punkatasset hill, In fnll view of the beautiful Concord river and the usually quiet, but now tumultous village beyond, through which the British troops were seen approaching Captain Davis and his men, though belonging to the rear of the column, volunteered to take the right of tbe line, and were there assigned by tht commauder. But brave Captain Davis never reached the bridge. A volley was fired upon them by the rejlcoats, and be and Private Hosmer fell dead. The patriots retnrned the fire, and tbe great seven-year contest had begun ! Upon the fall of Davis, Hayward prompt ly took cocpraand of tbe company. Waving aloft his sword, he led his excited men against the foe, closely followed by the other companies. The enemy fell back in con fusion. Hayward was tbe first mau of all that column to spring upon the bridze, but his act was quickly emulated by bis com mand. And as the retreat of the redcoats soon became a precipitate flight, John Hay ward and his men pressed tbem in flank and rear, driving tbem lite frightened sheep on toward Boston. We next behold Lieutenant Hayward, with nplifted sword, leading bis Acton men np the slopes of Bunker Hill. Later on, that same sword, in John Hayward's hand, gleams at White Plains, at Monmouth and other of the notable battles of the war. And only when that long and weary contest was at last ended, and tbe sun of peace dawned upon a new and independeutnation, did our hero return his sword to its scabbard. Chabt.es O. Sxickxkt. LUCKY LITEBAEY HUT. Investments In Washington Beal Estate That Have Paid "Well. Speaking of George Kennan, writes Frank G. Carpenter to The Dispatch, ha has made a fortune out of bis Bussian experi encea. He gets about $30,000 for a lecture season, and his investments in Washington real estate are growing in value. Ha bought 5,000 feet of ground on Sixteenth street a year ago, intending to build a house on tbe lot, but he finds that be must De away from Washington so mnch that he has decided to wait In tbe meantime he has been offered an advance of about $5,000 on his lot and it will soon double in value. The propertythat John Hay bought on the corner of Sixteenth street and Lafayette Park is worth twice what he paid for it, and all Washington thought he was wild when he bought it for $6 a square foot Ha has made at least half the amount of tba President's yearly salary out of the increase in the value of the ground. His biography of Lincoln is, I understand, selling well, and though he is several times a millionaire, he is getting considerable money from bis pen. Blaine, who may also be called a lit erary nian, has made a big thing out of the house in which he is now living. When he rented it at the beginning of this admin istration, it was with the privilege of pur chasing at the rate of $10 per square loot Tbe ground has practically doubled in value, and he bought it the other day. pay ing somewhare between $50,000 and $75,000 tor it tj i3
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers