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ditions? How do we know that all men
roust die? We suppose the statement to be
true by induction, from the undoubted fact
that men havo hitherto died within a certain
limit of .M;e. By induction, too, onr fathers,
"our grandfithefs, knew that it was impossi
ble for a. man to traverse the earth faster
than at full ipeed of a galloping horse.
After several thousand years of experience
that piece of knowledge, which seemed to he
singularly certain, was suddenly proved to
he the grossest ignorauce by a man who had
been in the habit of playing with a tea
kettle when a bo7. We ourselves, not
Very iong ago, knew positively, as nil men
hid" known siucctlic beginningof the world,
that it was quite impossible to converse with
a friend at a distance beyond the carrying
power of a speaking trumpet. To-day, a
boy who does not know that one may talk
very agreeably with a friend a thousand
ir.ilesaay is an ignoramus; and experi
menters whisper among themselves that, if
the uudulaiory theory of light have any
foundation, tncre is no real reason why wo
may not see that :ame friend at that s.tme
distance, as well as talk with him. Ten
years ago we were quite sure that it was be
yond the bounds of natural possibility to
produce a bad burn upon the human body
by touching the flesh with a bit of cardboard
or a common lead pencil. Now we know
with equal certainty that if upon one arm of
a hypnotized patient we Impress a letter of
tne alphabet cut out of wood, telling him that
it is red-hot iron, the shape of the letter will
be on the following day found as a raw and
pain.'ul wound not only in the place we se
lected, but on tbe other arm, in ttie exact'y
corresponding spot, and reversed as though
seen in a looking-slass; and we very jestly
consider that a physician who does not know
this and similar tacts is dangerously behind
the times, since the kuowleage is open to
all. The inductive reasoning of many thou
sands of years bus been knocked to pieces in
the last century by a few dozeu men who
have reasoned little but attempted much It
would be rash to assert that bodily death
may not some day, and under certain con
ditions, be altogether escaped. It is non
sense to pretend ilia' human Hie may not
posib!y, and before long, be enormously
prolonged, and that by some shorter cut to
longevity than temperance and sanitation.
No man can say tbat it will, but no man of
average intelligence can now deny tbat it
TJnorna had hesitated at the door, and sbe
hesitated now. It was in her power, and in
hers only, to wake the hoary giant, or at
least to modify his perpetual sleep so far as
to obtain from him answers to her questions.
It would be an easy matter to lay one hand
upon his brov, bidding him see and speak
how easy, she alone knew. But, on the
other bird, to disturb his slumber was to in
terfile with the continuity of the great ex
periment, to break through a rule latelv
made, to incur the risk ot an accident, if not
of death itself.
She drew back at the thought, as though
fearing to startle him, and then she smile at
her own nervousness. To wake him she
must exercise tier will There was no danger
of his ever being roused by any soun or
touch not proceeding from herself. 'Xhe
crash of thunder had no reverberation for
his cars: the explosion of a cannon wonld
not have penetrated into his lethargy. She
might touch him, move him, even speak to
him, but unless sbe laid tier hand upon his
waxen lorehead and bid bim feel and hetr,
he would be as unconscious as the dead. She
I eturned to his side and gazed iuto his nlacid
face. Strange faculties were asleep in that
ancient brain, and strange wisdom was
etored there, gathered from mauy sources
long ago, and treasured unconsciously by the
memorv to be recalled at her command.
The man had been a failure in his day, a
scholar, a student, a searcher after great se
crets a wanderer in the labyrinths of higher
thought. He had been r. failure and had
starvtd, a failures must, in order that vul
gar success mav fatten and grow wealthy.
He had outlived the few that had been dear
to him, he had outlived the power to feed on
thought; he had outlived generations of men,
:tud cycles of change, and yet there had been
life Jelt in the huge gaunt limbs and sight
in the sunken eyes. Then he had outlived
pnde itself, and the ancient scholar had
begged his bread. In bis hundredth year he
had leaned for breath against Unorna's
door, and she Had taken him in and cared
for him, and since that time she had pre
served his life. For his history was known
in the aucient city, and it was said that he
had possessed great wisdom in bis
day. Unorna knew that this wisdom
could be hers if sbe could keep
alive the spark of life, and that she had em
ployed his own learning to that end. Al
ready sbe had much experience of her
powers, and knew that if sbe once had the
mastery of the old man's free will he must
obey her fatally and unresistingly. Then
she conceived the idea of embalming, as it
were, the living being, in a perpetual
hypnotic lethargy, from whence she recalled
him lrom time to time to an intermediate
state, in which sbe caused him to do ine
chanicaliyall those things which the judged
necessary to prolong li:e.
Seeing her success from the first, she had
begun to lancy that the present condition of
things might be made to continue indefi
nitely. Since death was to-day no nearer
than it had been seven years ago, there was
no reason why it might not he guarded
against during seveu years more, and if
during seven, why not'during 10, 0, 50?
She had lor a helper a physician of consum
mate practical skill a man whose interest
in the result of the trial was, if anything,
more keen than her own; a friend, above all,
whom she believed she might trust, and
who appeared to trust her
But in the course of their great experi
ment they had together made rules by
which they bad mutually agreed to be
bound. They had of late determined that
the old man must not be disturbed in his
profound rest by any question tending to
cause a state of mental activity. The test
of a very line instrument had proved that
the shortest interval of positive lucidity was
followed by a slight but distinctly percepti
ble rise of temperature in the body, and
this could mean only a waste of the precious
tissues they were so carelully preserving.
They hoped ami believed that the srand
cribis was at hand, aud that, if the body did
not now Jose strength and vitality lor :i con
.siderable time, bot.i would slowly though
surely increase, in consequence ot the
means they were using to instill new blood
into the system. But the period was supreme,
and to interfere in any way with the progress
of the txperinient was to run a risk: of
which the whole extent could only be real
ized by Unorna and her companion.
bLe hesitated, therefore, well knowing
that her ally would oppose her iuf.-ntiou
with all his might, and dreading his anger,
bold as she was, almost as much as she
foarcd the danger to the old man's life. On
the other hand, sbe had a motive wliich the
physician could not have, and which , as she
was aware, he would have despised and con
demned. he had a question to ask, which
she considered of vital importance to her
self, to which she firmly believed that the
true answer would be given, and which, in
her Wi-manly impetuosity and impatience,
ihe could not bear to have unasked u otil
the morrow, much less until months should
have pascd away. Two very powerful in
centives were at work, two ot the very strong
est which have influence with mankind.
love and a superstitious belief in an especial
destiny ot happiness, at the present inoine.at
on the xery Verge of realization.
She believed profoundly in herself and i.3
tl'c suggestions of her own imagination.
S.i sue was called awitch. la earlier cen
turies her hideous fate would have been
sealed from the first day when, under her
cuuuisu gaze, a won that had been taken
alive in the Itobcmiau forest crawled fawn
ing tcj her feet, at the lull length of its.
cl::in, and had its savage head under her
hand, and closed its bloodshot eyes and.
slept beiore her. She knew she loved, lor
the place of her fondness for the one man
had been taken by her passion for the other.
She had seen the man in whom her happi
ness was to b, the time was short, the
danger great i! she should not grasp what
her destiny would oCer her but once. Had
the "Wanderer been by her side, she would
needed to auk no question, she would have
known and been satisfied. Hut hours must
pars before she could see him again, and
every minute spent without him grew more
full of anxie'y and disturbing passion than
the last Hitherto the -old man's uttcr
tuces bad bcen.fulfi!led to the litter. More
than once, as Keyork Arabian had hinted,
she had consulted his second sight in pre
ference to her own, and she had not been
deceived. His greater learning and his
vast experience lent t6 his sayings some
thing divine in her eyes; she looked upon
him as the Pythoness of Delphi looked
upon the divinity of her inspiration.
V "The irresistable longing to hear the pas
sionate pleadings of ber own heart solemnly
confirmed by the voice in which she trusted
overcame at laat every obitacle. Unorna
bent over the sleeper, looking earnestly into
his face, and she laid one Hand upon his
"You hear me?" she said slowly and dis
tinctly. "You are conscious of thought, and
you see into the future?"
The massive head stirred, the long limbs
moved uneasily under tbe white robe, the
enormous bony hands contracted, and in the
cavernous eyes the great lids were slowly
lifted. A dull stare met her look.
"Is it he?" she asked, speaking more
quickly in spite of herself. "Is it he at
There was no answer. The lips did not
part, and there was not even the attempt to
speak. She had been sure that the one word
would be spoken unhesitatingly, and tbe
silence startled her and brought back the
doubt which she had half forgotten.
"You must answer my question. I com
mand you to answer me. Is it he?"
"You must tell me before I can answer."
The words came in a feeble, piping voice,
strangely out o! keeping with tbe colossal
frame and imposing features.
V noma's face was clouded, and the ready
gleam of anger flashed in her eyes as it ever
did at the smallest opposition to her will.
"Can you not see him?" she asked im
patiently "I cannot see him unless yon lead me to
him and tell me what he is."
"Where are you?"
"In your mind."
"And what are you?"
"I am the image in your eyes."
"There is another rain in my mind," said
TJnorna. "I command yon to see him."
"I see him He is tall, pale, noble, suf
fering. You love him."
"Is it he who shall be my life and my
death? Is it he who shall love me as other
women are not loved?"
The weak voice was still for a moment, and
the lace seemed covered with a veil of per
plexity. "I sec with your eyes," said the old man
"And I command you to see into the
future with your own!" cried TJnorna, con
centrating her terrible will as she grew more
There was an evident struggle in the
giant's mind, an effort to obey which tailed
to break down an obstacle. She bent over
him eagerly and her whole consciousness was
centered in the words she desired him to
Suddenly the features relaxed into an ex
pression of rest and satisfaction. There was
something uneartb in the sudden smile
thit flickered over the old waxen face it
was as strange and unnatural as though the
cold marble effigy upon a sepulcher had
laughed aloud in the gloom of an empty
"I see. He will love you." said the
"Then it is he."
"It is he."
"With a suppressed cry of triumph TJnorna
lifted her bead and stood upright. Then
she started violently and grew verj pale.
"You have probably killed him and
spoiled everything," said a rich bass voice
at ber elbow the very sub-bass of all possi
Keyork Arabian was beside her. In her
intense excitement she had not heard him
enter the room, and he had surprised her at
once in the breaking of their joint conven
tion and in the revelation of her secret. If
TJnorna could be said to know the meaning
of the word lear in any degree whatsoever, it
was in relation to Keyork Arabian, the man
who daring tbe last few years had been her
helper and associate in the great experiment.
Of all men she had known in her life be was
the only one whom she felt to be beyond the
influence of her powers, the only one whom
she felt she could not charm by word, or
touch, or look. The odd shape ot his head,
she fancied, figured the outline and propor
tions of his intelligence which was, as it
were, pyramidal, standing upon a base so
broad and arm as to place the center of its
ponderous gravity far beyond her reach to
disturb. There was certainly no other be
ing of material reality that could have made
TJnorna start and turn pale by its inoppor
"The best thing you can do is to put him
to sleep at once," said the little man. "You
can be angry afterward, and, I thank
heaven, so can I and shall."
"Forget," said Unorna once more laying
her hand upon the waxen brow. "Let it be
as though I bad not spoken with you.
Drink, in your sleep, of the fountain of life;
take new strength into your body and new
blood iuto your heart. Live, and when I
next wake you be youuger by as many
months as there shall pass hours till then.
A low sigh trembled in the hoary beard.
The eyelids drooped over the sunken eyes,
there was a slight motion of the limbs, and
all was still, save for the soft and regular
"The united patience of the seven arch
angels, coupled with that of Job and Simou
Stylites, would not survive your acquaint
ance for a day," observed Keyorfc Arabian.
"Is he mine or yours?" Unorna asked,
turning to him and pointing to the sleeper.
She was quite ready to face her compan
ion alter the first shock of his unexpected
appearance. His small blue eyes sparkled
"I am not versed in the law concerning
real estate in humankind in the Kingdom
ot Bohemia," he answered. "You may
have property in a couple of hundred
weight, more or less, of old bones rather the
worse lor the wear and tear of a century, but
I certainly, have some ownership in the life.
Without me yon would have been the pos
sessor of a remarkably fine skeleton by this
time and of'nothing more."
As he spoke his extraordinary voice ran
over half a dozen notes of portentous depth,
like tbe opening of a fugue on tbe pedal of
an organ. Unorna laughed scornfully.
"He is mine, Keyork Arabian, alive or
dead! If the experiment fails, and he dies,
the loss is mine, not yours. Moreover,
what I have done is done, and I will
neither submit to yonr reproaches nor listen
to your upbraidings. Is that enough?"
"Of its kind, quite. I. will build an altar
to ingratitude, we will bury our friend be
neath the shrine, and you shall serve in the
temple. You could deify all the cardinal
sins if you would only give yonr attention
to tb e bubject, merely by xhe monstrously
impoiing. proportions yoa would know how
to give them."
"D ses it ease yon to make such an amaz
ing n sise?" inquired TJnorna, raising her
"Iuiinenscly. Our friend cannot bear it,
and y'u can." You dare to tell me that if
be dies you are the only loser. Do fifty
years of study count for nothing? Look a't
me. I am an old man, and nnlesss I Si.d
the secret of life here, tn this verv room, be
fore many years are over, I must die dic.do
yoa understand? Do yon know what it
means to die? How can you 'comprehend
that word you girl, you child, you thing of
five and twenty summers?"
"It was to be supposed that your own fears
were at the root of your anger," observed
TJnorna, sitting down upon her chair and
calmly folding her hands as though to wait
until the storm should piss over.
"Is there anvthing at the root of anvthing
except sell? You moth, yon butterfly, yon
thread of floating gossamer! How can you
understand the incalculable value of Self
of that whch is all to me and nothing to
you, or which, being yours, is everything to
you and to me nothing? You are so young
yon still believe in things and interests and
good and evil, and love and hate, truth and
falsehood, and a hundred notions which are
not tacts, but only contrasts between one
self and anotherl "What were you doing
here when I found you playing with life
and death, perhaps with my life, for a gypsy
trick in the crazy delusion that this old
parcel of humanity can see the shadows of
things which are not yet? I saw, I heard.
How could he answer anything save that
which was in your mind when you were
forcing him with your words and your eyes
to make a reply of some sort or perish? Ahl
You see now. Yon understand now. I have
opened your eyes a little. "Why did he hes
itate and suffer? Because you asked that
to which he knew there was no answer.
And you tortured him with your will until
his individuality fell into yours and spoke
TJnorna's head sank a little, and sbe cov
ered her eyes. The truth of what he said
flashed uponhersuddenlyand unexpectedly,
bringing with it the doubt which had left
her at the moment when the sleeper had
spoken. She could not hide her dis
comfiture and Keyork Arabian saw his ad
vautage. "And for what?" he asked, beginning to
pace the broad room. "To know whether a
man will love you or not! You seem to
have forgotten what yon are. Is not such a
poor and foolish thing as love at the com
mand of those who say to the soul, be thisf
or be that, and who are obeyed? Have you
found a second Keyork Arabian, over whom
your eyes have no power neither the one
nor the other?"
He laughed rather brutally at the thought
of her greatest physical peculiarity, but
then suddenly stopped short. She had
lifted her lace aud those same eyes were
fastened upon him. the black and gray, in a
look so savage and fierce that even he was
checked, it not startled.
"Thev are certainly very remarkable
eves," he slid, more calmly, and with a cer
tain uneasiness which Unorna aid not no
tice. "I wonder whom you have lound who
is able to look you In the face without los
ing himself. Isuppose it can hardly be mv
fascinating self whom you wish to enthral,"
he added, conscious after a moment's trial
thatjie was proof against her influence
"Hardly," answered Unorna, with a bit
"If I were the happy man. you would not
need that means of bringing me to your feet.
It is a pity that you do not want me. We
should make a very happy couple. But
Jiere is much against me. I am an old man.
Unorna. My figure was never of divine
proportions, and as for my face, nature
made it against her will. I know all that
and yet I was young once, and eloquent.
I could make love then I believe that I
could still if it would amuse you."
"Try it," said Unorna, who, lite most
people, could not long be angry with the
gnome-like little sage.
"I could make love yes, and since yon
ell me to try, I will."
He came and stood before her, straighten
ing his diminutive figure in a comical fash
ion, as though he were imitating a soldier
"In the first place," he said, "in order to
appreciate mv skill yon should realize the
immense disadvantages under which I
labor. lama dwarf, my dear Unorna. In
the presence of that kin civ wreck of a
Homeric man" he pointed to the sleeper
beside them "I am a Thersltes, if not a
pigmy. To have much chance of success I
should ask you to close your eyes and to
imagine that my stature matches my voice.
That gift at least, I flatter myself, would
have been appreciated on the plains of
Troy. But in other respects I resemble
neither the long-haired Greeks nor the
trousered Trojans. I am old and hideous,
and in outward appearance I am as like
Socrates as in inward disposition 1 am to
tally diflerent from him. Admit, since I
admit it, that I am the ugliest and smallest
man of your acquaintance."
"It is not to be denied," said Unorna,
with a smile.
"The admission will make the perform
ance so much the more interesting. And
now, as the conjurer says when he begins,
observe that there is no deception. That is
the figure of speech called lying, because
there is to be nothing but deception lrom
beginning to end. Did yon ever consider
the nature of ft lie, Unorna? It is a very
"I thought you were going to make love
"True; how easily one forgets those little
things! And yet no woman ever forgave a
man who forgot to make love when she ex
pected him to do so. For a woman, who is
a woman, never forgets to be exigent. And
now there is no reprieve, for I have com
mitted myself, am sentenced and condemned
to be made ridiculous in your eyes. Can
there be anything more contemptible, more
laughable, more utterly and hopelessly ab
surb, than an old nnd ugly man declaring
his unrequited passion for a woman who
might be his granddaughter? Is he not like
a hoary old owl, who leaves his mousing to
perch upou one leg and boot love duties at
the evening star, or screech out amorous
sonnets to the'maiden moon." "
"Very like," said Unorna with a laugh.
"Aud yet my evening star dear star of
my fast cinking'evening golden Unorna
shall I be cut off from love because mv
years are many? Or rather, shall I not love
you the more, because the vears that are left
are few and scantily blessed? May not yonr
dawn blend with mv sunset and" make to
gether one short day?"
"That is vcrv pretty," said Unorna,
thoughtfully. He had the power of making
his speech sound like a deep, soft music.
"For what is love?" he asked. "Is it a
garment, a jewel.a fanciful ornament which
only boys and girls may wear upon a sum
mer's holiday? May we take it or leave it,
as we please? Wear it, if it shows well
upon ourbeanty, or cast it off for others to
puton when welimp aside out of the race of
lasbion to halt and breathebeiore we die? Is
love beanty? is love youth? Is love yellow
hair -or black? Is love the, rose upon the lip
or the peach blossom in the cheek, that only
the young may call.it theirs? Is it an out
ward grace, which, can live but so long as
the outward graces are its companions, to
perish when the first gray hair streaks the
dark locks? Is it a glass, shivered by the
first shock of care as a mirror by a sword
stroke,? Is it a painted mask, washed color
less bv the first rain of autumn tears? Is it a
flower, so tender, thatit most perish miser.
PITTSBURG . DISPATCH.
ably in the frosty rime of earliest winter? Is
love the accident of youth, tbe complement
of a fresh complexion, the corollary of a
light step, the physical concomit-int of
swelling pulses and unstrained sinews?"
Keyork Arabian laughed softly. Unorna
was grave and looked up into his face, rest
ing her chin upon her hand.
"Have you ever loved that vou shoud
talk like thnt?" shensked. He turned upon
her almost fiercely.
"Loved? Yes, as you can never love.
Ah, child! That yoa should ask that, with
yonr angel's face, when I am in hell for
yonl When I would give my body to death
and my soul to darkness for a touch of your
hand, for as mnch kindness and gentleness
in a word from your dear lips as yon give
the beggars in the streetl When I would
tear out my heart with my hands to feel tbe
very dog that fawns on you and who is
more to yon than I, because he is yonrs, and
all (hat is yours I love, and worship, and
Unorna had looked up and smiled at first,
believing it was all but a comedy, as he had
told her that it should be. But as be spoke,
and the strong words chased each other in
the torrent of his passionate speech, she was
startled and surprised. There was a force
in his language, a fiery energy in his look, a
ring of half-desperate hope in his deep voice,
which moved her to deep thoughts. His
face, too, was changed and ennobled, his
gestures larger, even his small stature
ceased, for once, to seem dwarfish and gnome
like. "Keyork Arabian, is it passible that you
love me?" she cried, in her wonder.
"Possible? True? When I am gone
with the love of you in my heart, Unorna
when they have buried the ngly old body
out of your sight, yon will not even remem
ber that I Was once your companion, still
less tbat I knelt before you; that I kissed
the ground on which you stood; that I loved
you as men loved whose hearts are breaking;
that I touched the hem ot your garment and
was for one moment young that I besought
you to press my hand but once, with one
thought of kindness, with one last and only
word of human pity "
He broke off suddenly, and there was a
tremor in his voice which lent intense ex
pression to the words. He was kneeling
upon one knee beside Unorna, but between
her and the light, so that she saw his face
indistinctly. She could not but pity him.
She took his outstretched hand in bers.
"Poor Keyork!" she said, very kindly and
gently. "How could I have ever guessed
"It would have been exceedingly strange
if you had," answered Keyork, in a tone
that made ber start.
Then a magnificent peal of bass laughter
rolled through the room as the gnome sprang
suddenly to bis feet,
"Did I not warn you?" asked Keyork,
standing back and contemplating Unorna's
surprised face with delight. "Did I not
tell you that I was going to make love to
you? That I was old and hideous and had
everything against me? That it was all a
comedy for your amusement? That there
was to be nothing but deception from begin
ning to end? That I was like a decrepit owl
screeching at the moon, and many other
things to a similar effect?"
Unorna smiled somewhat thoughtfully.
"Yon are tbe greatest of great actors, Ke
york Arabian. There is something diaboli
cal abonl you. I sometimes almost think
tbat you are the devil himself."
"Perhaps I am," suggested the little man,
"Do you know that there is a horror about
all this?" Unorna rose to her feet. Her
smile had vanished, and she seemed to feel
As though nothing had happened, Keyork
began to make his daily examination of his
sleeping patient, applying his thermometer
to the body, feeling the pulse, listening to
the beatings of the heart with his stetho
scope, gently drawing down the lower lid of
one of the eyes to observe the color of the
embrane, and, in u word, doing all those
things which he was accustomed to do under
the circumstance with a promptness and
briskness which showed how little he feared
that the old man would awake under his
touch. He noted some of the results of bis
observations in a pocketbook. Unorna stood
still and watched him.
"By all thatisunholy! ByEblis.Ahriman
and the Three Black Angelsl He is worse,
and there is no seeming. Theheatisgreater,
the pulse is weaker, the heart flatters like a
Unorna's face showed her anxiety.
"I am sorry," she said in a low voice.
"Sorry! No doubt you are. It remains to
be seen whether your sorrow can be utilized
as a simple, or macerated in tears to make
a tonic, or sublimated to produce a corrosive
which will destroy the canker, death. But
be sorry bv all means. It occupies your
mind without disturbing me, or iujuring
the patient. Be sure that if I can find an
active application for your sentiment I will
give you the rare satisfaction of being use
ful." "You have the art of being the most in
tolerably disagreeable of living men when
it pleases you."
"When you displease me, you should say.
I warn you that if he dies our friend here
I will "make further studies in the art of
being unbearable to you. You will cer
tainly be surprised by the result."
"Nothing that you could say or do would
"Indeed? We shall see."
"I will leave you to your studies, then. I
have been here too long as it is."
She moved and arranged the pillow under
tbe bead of the sleeping giant, and adjusted
the folds of his robe. Her touch was tender
and skillful in spite of her ill-suppressed anger.
Then slm turned away and went toward the
door. Keyorl: Arabian watched her until her
band was upon the latch, (lis sharp eves
twinkled as though he expected something
amuing to occur.
"Unorna," be said, suddenly, in an altered
voice. She stopped and looked back.
"Do not be angry, TJnorna. Do not go away
Unorna turned, almost fiercely, and came
back a step.
"Keyork Arabian, do you think you can play
upon me as on an instrument? Do 3 ou suppose
that I will come and go at your word like a
child or like a dog? Do vou think you can
taunt me at one moment, flatter me the next,
and find mv humor always at your command?"
The gnome-like little man looked down, made
a sort of Inclination of his short body, and laid
bis band upon his heart.
"I was never so presumptive, my dear lady. I
never had the least intention of taunting you,
as you express it, and as for jour humor can
you supnose tbat I could expect to command
where it is only mine to obey?'
"It 13 ot no use to talk in that way," said
Unorna, haughtily. "I am not prepared to be
deceived uy your comeuy mis time."
"Sot I to nlay one. Sinco I have offended
yon. Iask yourpardon. Forgive the expression
tor tbe sake of the meaning: the thoughtless
word lor the sake ot the unwotded thought."
"How cleverly you turn and twist both
thoughts and words!"
Do not be so unkind, dear friend."
'Unkind to yoa? I wish I had the secret of
some unkindness that you should leell"
"Tbe knowledge of what I can feel is mine
alone," answored Keyork, with a touch of sad
ness. "I am not a happy man. The world, for
roe, holds but one interest and one friendship.
Destroy the one or embitter the other, and
Keyork's remnant ot life becomes but a fore
taste of death."
"And that Interest tbat friendship whare
are they?" asked Unorna, In a tone still bitter,
but less scornful than before.
"Together In this room, and both jn danger,
the one through yonr young haste and Impet
uosity, and the other through iny wretched
weakness in being mado augrr; torgive me,
Uuorna. as I ask forgiveness "
"Yonr repentance Is too sudden; it savors of
"Small wonder when my Ufa is in the bal
ance." "Your life?" Sho nttered tho question in
crednously, but not without cariosity.
"Jiy.llfe and for yonr word," be answered,
earnestly. He spoke so impressivoly, and in so
solemn a tone tbat Unorna's face becamegrave.
Bho advanced another step toward him, and
laid her hand upon the back of the chair in
which she nreviously bad sat.
"We mast understand each other to-day or
never." sho said. "Either we must part aud
abandon the great experiment tor, if we part.
It must be abandoned"
"Wo cannot part, Unorna."
"Then It we are to be associates and compan
"Friends." said Keyork in arlow voice.
"Friends? Have you laid tbe foundation for
a friendship between us? You say that your
life is in the balance. Tbat is a 'figure of
speech, I suppose. Or has yur comedy another
act? I can believe well enough that your great
est interest in life lies there, upon that couch,
asleop. I know tbat you can do nothing with
out me, as you know It yourself. Knt In your
friendship I can never trust neverl Still less
can I believe tbat any words of mine can affect
voiir happiness nsless they bo those vou need
for experiment Itself. Those, at least, I have
not refused to pronounce."
While she was speaking Keyork began to
walk up and down the room In evident agita
tion, twisting his fingers and bending down bis
"My accursed folly," he exclalmod, as though
speaklnc to himself. "My damnable incenuity
in being odious! It is not to be believed! That
a man of my age should think one thing and
say another llko a tetchy girl or a spoiled
child! Tbe stupidity of the thing! And then
to have the idiotic utterances of the tongue
registered and judged as a confession or faith
or rather of faithlessness! But it is only Just
it is only right. Keyork Arabian's self 1
rained again by Keyork Arabian's vile
speeches, winch have no more to do with his
self than the-clouds on earth with the sun
above theml Kuiued. ruined! lost, thl3 time!
Cut off from tbe only living being be respects
the only being whose respect be covets; sent
back to die In bis loneliness, to perish like the
friendless beast as be Is. to tbe lunereal music
of bis own Irresponsible snarling! To growl
himself outof.tbe world, like a broken-down
old tiger in tbe jungle, after scaring away all
peace and hanoiness and help witb his sense
less growls! Ughf It is perfectly just, it is
absolutely right aud supremely horrible to
tbink of ! A fool to tbe last, Keyork, as you
always were and who would make a friend of
such a fool?"
Uuorna leaned upon the back of the cbalr
watching him and wondering whether, after
all, he wero not In earnest this time. He
jerked ont bis sentences excitedly, striking bis
hands together and then swinging bis arms in
strange gestures. His tone, as he gave utter
ance to his incoherent self-condemnation, was
full of severe conviction and of anger against
himself. He seemed not to see Unorna, nor to
notice ber presence In tbe room. Suddenly be
stopped, looked at her and cama toward her.
His manner became very bumble.
"You are right, my dear lady," he said. "I
have no claim to your forbearance for my out
rageous humors. 1 have offended yon. Insulted
you. spoken to you as no man should speak to
any woman. I cannot even ask yon to forgive
me, for if I tell you tbat 1 am sorry you will
not believe me. Why should you? But you
are right. This cannot go on. Rather tban
ran tbe risk ot again showing you my abom
inable temper, 1 will go away."
His voice trembled and his bright eyes
seemed to grow dull and misty.
"Let this be our parting," he continued, as
though mastering bis emotion. "I have no
right to ask anything, and yet 1 ask this of you.
When I have left you, when you are safe forever
from my humors aha my tempers and myself
then, do not tbink unkindly of Keyork Arabian.
He would have seemed tbe friend he is but for
his unruly tongue."
Unorna nssitated a moment. Then she put out
her hand, convinced of his sincerity in spite of
"Let bygones be bgones, Keyork," she said.
"You must not go, for 1 believe you." .
At tho words the light returned to his eyes,
and a look of ineffable beatitnde overspread
the facS which could be so immovably expres
sionless. "You are as kind as you are good. Unorna,
and as good as you are beautiful," be said; and
with a gesture which wonld have been courtly
In a man of nobler stature, but which was
almost grotesque in such a dwarf he raised her
fingers to his lips.
This time no peal of laughter followed to de
stroy the impression be bad produced upon
Unorna. She let her hand re3t in his a few
seconds and then gently withdrew It.
"I must be going." she said.
"So soon?" exclaimed Keyork regretfully.
"There were many things 1 had wished to say
to you to-day, butif you have no time"
"I can spare a few moments," answered
Unorna, pausing. "What Is it?"
"One thing Is this." His face had again be
come impenetrable as a mask of old ivory, and
ho spoke in bis ordinary way. "This is tbe
question. I was in tbe Teyn Rlrche before I
"In church!" exclaimed Unorna in some sur
prise, and with a slight smile.
"I frequently go to cbnrcb," answered Keyork
gravel v. "While there I met an old acquaint
ance of mine, a strange fellow wbom I have not
seen for years. Tbe world is very small. He
is a great traveler a wanderer through tbe
Unorna looked up quickly, and a very slight
color appeared in her cheeks.
"Who is be?" she asked, trying to seem indif
ferent. "What Is his name?'
"His name? It Is stranae. but I cannot recall
it. He Is very tall, wears a dark beard, has a
pale, tboughtlul lace, But 1 need not describe
him, tor ho told me tbat he had been with you
thin morninir. Tbat is not tbe noint."
He spoke carelessly and scarcely glanced at
Unorna wnilo speaking.
"What of bim?" sho inquired, trying to seem
as indifferent as her companion.
"He is a little mad. poor man, that is all. It
struck me tbat. If lou would, you niicbt save
bliu. I know something of his story, though
not much. He once loved a young girl, now
doubtless dead, but wbom.be still believes to be
alive, and be spends or wastes bis life in a
useless search lor her. You might cure bim of
"How do you know tbat the girl is dead?"
"Sbe died in Egypt, four years ago," answered
Keyork. "I hey bad taken her there in the
hope of saving her. for she was at death's door
already, poor child."
"Bat if you convince bim ot that."
"There is no convincing him, and if he were
really convinced he would die himself, "used
to take an interest in the man, and I know tbat
you could care bim In a simpler and safer wy.
Bat, of coarse, it lies with yon."
"If yoa wish It I will try." Unorna answered.
turning ber face from tbe lizbt. "But he will
proo&uiy not come oack to me."
"He will. I advised him very stronzly to come
back, very strongly Indeed, Ibope I did right.
Are you displeased?"
"Not at alii" Unorna laughed a little. "And
if he comes, how am I to convince bim that be Is
mistaken andthat tbe girl Is dead?"
"That Is very simple. You will hypnotize him;
he will yield very easily, and yon will suggest to
him very forcibly to forget the eirl's existence.
You can suggest to him to come back to-morrow
and the next day, or as often as yon please,
and you can renew tho suggestion each time.
In a week he will' have forgotten as you know
people can forget entirely, totally, without
hope of recalling what is lost."
Unorna bad watched ber companion narrow
ly during the conversation, expecting bim to
betrav bis knowledge of a connection between
tho Wanderer's visit and tbe stranee question
sbe bad been asking of the sleeper when Key
ork bad surprised her. bbe was agreeably dis
appointed in this, however. He spoke with a
calmness aud ease of manner which disarmed
"I am glad 1 did right." said he.
He stood at tbe foot of the couch upon which
the sleeper washing, and looked thoughtfully
and intently at the calm features.
"We shall never succeed in this way," he said
at last. "This condition may continue indefin
itely, till yoa are old, and I until I am older
than I am by many years. He may .lot grow
weaker, but he cannot grow stronger. Theories
will not renew tissues."
"Blood," answered Keyork Arabian very
"I have heard ot that being done for yonn
people in illness," said Unorna.
"It lias never been done as I would do it," re
plied the cnome, shaking bis head and gather
ing bis great beard in bis hand, as be gazed at
"What would you'do?"
"I would make it constant tor a day, or for a
week if I ronld a constant circulation: the
youg heart and the old should beat together;
It could be dune in tbe lethargic sleep an
artery and a vein a vein and an artery 1 have
often tbougot ot It; it could not fall. Tbe new
oung blood would create new tissue, because
it would itself constantly be renewed In the
young body, which Is able tn renew it, only ex
pending Itself in tbe old. The old blood would
itself become young again as it passed to tbe
younger man "
"A man!" exclaimed Unora.
"Ot course. An animal would not do. be
cause you could, not produce the lethargy nor
make use of suggestion for healing purposes."
"Bat it would kill bim."
"Not at all, as 1 would do It, especially If the
young man were very strong and lull of life.
When the result is obtained an antiseptic ligat
ure, suggestion of complete healing during
sleep, proper nourishment, such as we are giv
ing at present, by recalling tbe patient to tbe
bypnotic state, sleep again, and so on; In eight
aud forty hours your young man would be
waked and wonld never know what bad hap
pened to him unless he felt a little older, by
nervous sympathy," added the sage, with a low
"Are you perfectly sure of what you say?"
asked Unorna, eagerly.
"Have you everything you need here?" in
"Everything. There is no hospital in Europe
that has tne appliances we have prepared for
He looked at her .face curiously. It was
ghastly pale with excitement. The pupil of
her brown eye was so widely expanded that tbo
Iris looked black, while tbe aperture or tbo
gray one was contracted to the size of a pin's
bead, so that the effect was almost tbat of a
White and sightless ball.
"Yon seem interested." said the gnome.
"Would such a man such a man as Israel
Kafka answer the tmruose?' she asked.
"Admirably," replied tbe other, beginning to
"Kyork Arabian," whispered Unorna, coming
close to Mm and bending down to his ear.
.'Israel Kafka is alone under tbo palm tree
wnere auiwayssn. ate u asieep, anu be win
Tbo gnome looked up and nodded cravelv.
But she was gone almost before sbe had finished
speakinz tne worus.
"As noon an Instrument." said thn llltlo man
quoting Unorna's angry speech. "Trulv I can
nlav noon vou. but it Is a strange music'"
Halt an hour later Unorna returned to her
place among tne nowcrs, bat Israel Kafka was
2b Be Continued Next Sunday.?
J. S. Marshall & Son. of Atwood, III.,
siy their sales ou Chamberlain's Cousrh
Remedy exceed those of all other cough
medicines pnt together, it has been sold
there for several years and their customers
have Ji8rnrfiu true" valne. " vrso
THE JUDGMENT DAY.
A Time ComiDg When the Secrets of
All Hearts Shall Be Bared.
WHAT THE ORDEAL WILL MEAN.
The Judge Will Be Just, and More, He Will
fie the Friend of ill.
KEY. GEORGE HODGES SUNDAY SEEMOX
IWEITTE3J VOB THE DISFATCn.l
"And after that, the judgment." After
death, the judgment.
Yes, two judgments. One at the bonr of
death, the judgment of each soul alone, and
another at the great Day of Judgment,
when the secrets of all hearts shall be dis
closed, and we shall all know each other as
we are. And between the judgments.a season
of waitiug. "We know almost nothing abont
it. It is all dim beyond. But that is what
it looks like. Tbat is what we tbink we
read in the words of Christ and ot His dis
ciples, whom He taught a judgment, and
then a time of waiting, and after that an
other and a universal judgment, with heaven
or hell following.
That everybody will be judged at the
Last Day seems plain enough, anyhow.
That "the souls of believers are at their
death, made perfect in holiuess, and do im
mediately pass into glory," seems to be a
contradiction of this general judgment.
That the sonls of the dead are in God's
keeping, and in Christ's presence, we are as
sured, repeatedly. But that, somehow and
somewhere, thee souls are waiting until all
have joined that innumerable company,
seems to be the teaching ot the Bible. And
then, the judgment.
A Chance After Death.
There will be a multitude such as no man
can number, of all nations, and kindreds,
and people, and tongues the dead, small
and great standing before the throne of
God; and parted right and left. Then, shall
some go into life, and some into the dark
ness ot death. St. Peter, in his Whitsun
day sermon, declared that "David is not
ascended iuto the heavens." David is
somewhere not iu hell, aud yet not in
heaven. God has given his promise to all
repentant sinners.of whom David is one, but
he has not yet received tbe fulfillment of it.
St. Paul was not content to pray for the
well-being of his converts all their lives
long; his prayers reached out beyond that
limit to the "day of judgment to "that
day,'' as he called it; as if between these
two great crises, one of their death and tbe
other the great day of decision, and between
these two judgments, one of them alone and
the other in tbe face of all the world, there
might still be change, and a chance (or a
man and need tor prayer.
St. John, in tbe vision of the Revelation,
saw before the altar the souls of the martyrs,
waiting not very patiently, but told that
they must wait a .season longer, till their
brethren also shonld come into that same
place and God's hour strike.
And the writer of the Epistle to the He
brews closes his long roll of the golden
names of Jewish saints and heroes with the
statement, plain enough, that none of them
have yet received the final and complete
benediction of God, nor "passed into
glory," and tbat they will not attain beati
tude'until we, too, are in their company;
"that they, withont us, shonld not be made
Accordingly, the teaching of the Bible
seems to be that there is an interval between
death and the general judgment, a time of
waiting, an intermediate state. And after
tbat the judgment.
"When the Day Will Come.
When that jndgment day will be, we
know not, nor is it at all likely that we will
know nntil it comes. TJseless'to try to spell
out the hidden meanings of the old prophe
cies, useless to seek for days and dates, for
times and seasons, between tbe mystical
lines of the Revelation of St. John; useless
to look among the stars, or to count the steps
which lead into the inner darkness of the
Great Pyramid of Egypt, or to try any of tbe
manifold paths along which men hope to
find a vision of the Valley of Decision.
We cannot know tbe day nor the hour.
This alone is plain about it that that day
will come with most snrprising suddenness,
as a thief breaks through the windows of an
nnexpecting household, or as the lightning
flashes swift across tbe sky, defying all en
deavors at prediction. And this, also that
it will come, if we may so express it, natu
rally, as naturally as the birds of the air
come sweeping down upon their prev, or as
a vulture lights upon a carcass. That is
not a pleasant illustration tbat of the
vulture but it is the one which the Master
used Himself. As if tbe whole world will
be dead when the jndgment day gets here.
The Fulness of the Time.
And so it will be the "fulness of the
time" again, as it was at Christ's first com
ing. It is noticeable tbat tbe prophecies
which our Lord made about the last days of
tbe world are, almost all of them, lore
shadowings of disaster. There is no indica
tion that the world wiil keep on grow
ing better and better, until 'it gets
good enongb to be called heaven. That
wonld fit in most accurately with our favor
ite theories; but it is not what Christ said.
There will be commotions andupheavals,
"Signs in the sun, and in the moon, and in
the stars; and upon the earth distress of na
tions with perplexity; the sea and tbe waves
roaring; men's hearts failing them for fear,
and for looking alter those things which are
coming on the earth: for tbe powers of heaven
shall be shaken." 1
There will be a "falling away," a rein
forcement or the regiments of A'utichrist, a
victory of evil, faith in defeat, "When the
Son ot Alan cometh, shall He find faith on
the earth?" In short, the ola story of the
Flood pictures it all out for ns people buy
ing aud selling, marrying and giving in
marriage, laughing, and diverting them
selves, and making money, and for
getting God, heedless of all preach
ing, all persuasion, all warning and en
treaty, until at last, utterly unready,
like the foolish virgins of the parable, the
Event overtakes them, the judge comes.
Christ came in the winter time, when all
hearts seemed frozen,1 and all religion
seemed to be dead. He may come again
some other winter time. No matter when,
if we are ready for His coming.
The Where and the How.
Where will the judgment be? and how
will it be? I pnt tbe two qnestions to
gether, beranse there is no answer to either
of them. Even to imagine an answer pains
tne mind. It is like looking at an object
which is so vast, or so bright, or so distant,
that it hurts your eyes. Sit down and think
intently of tne meaning of the word "for
ever." We are to live forever, year alter
year, century aitercentnry. without any end,
ever endlessly, endlessly! It wearies the
mind to think of it. It is a truth so big
that it reaches away out beyond tbe range
So with tbe Day of Judgment. Try to
conceive of it a plain so vast that there is
space upon it for all the sonls of all the
people who have inhabited this planet from
the four corners of the earth, from all tbe
ages of time; and in tbe midst a great
white throne set where every eye can see it
and Him who tits within "it; and then a
dealing with each soul in all this un
bounded company. Try to think how it
will aU be. It strains the strength of the
strongest mind of man. It is too much for
us. And when the Bible speaks of the
where and the how of the Day of Judg
ment, we may know certainly that it is
only by way ol picture or svmbol. The angels
The Warning Trumpets,
the great descending throng out of the ter
restrial sky, the white throne and the open
books these are only symbols. They are
the reflections of earthly courts and
halls of judgment. Thev are like the
great figures which stalk like Titans
among the clouds beside tbe mountains, and
which are lound to be only tbe shadows of
common men walking about among the com
mon rocks. "The truth Is set down forever in
these words which say that "eye hatb not
seen, nor ear heard, neither bath enterel
into the heart of man," the great future,
which uod knows and we know not. xne
where, and the hour, and the when. too. are
all in the wise ordering of God. He will
look alter them.
But here it something which we do know:
we know who the Judge will be. The Jndge
will-boour Savior, Jesus Christ.
That is, the J uugc will be one who knows
accurately what human life is. If yon are
to be pnt on fair trial as to your faithful
ness, in your work, vou want somebod v for a
judge wlio knows something about your
work, wno nas nau some practical
experience in it. We will be judged
at 'the last by One who spent
a lifetime learning abont human
life and human nature by actual experience.
He took onr nature, andcarried our sorrows,
and walked in the streets of our cities, and
had His friends among, us, and- met the
temptations which we meet. He who came
in great humility is to be onr Judge. The
Christ of Advent is the Christ of Christmas.
The incarnation and the iudcrraent meet in
Him who, having become man, will have
jndgment committed tn Him "because He
is tbe Son ot Man. He has been over ths
whole lesson. He has traversed the whole
path. He knows how in besets us, and how
weak we are against it. He knows, how
dreadfully bard it is to be good.
Judgment by Comparison.
More than this, the Judge is onr Example.
We wiil be examined a3 to tbe closeness
with which we have followed Him. And
so there is nothing blind nor hidden abont
our trial.. We know what sort of life He
lived among ns. That is the ideal by
which our lives will get their measurement.
The -Day of Judgment will be like an ex
amination where we have been told all the
Beseof all, the Judge will be one who loves
us. We know what He is, because we know
what He was when He lived in the villages
of Syria. He changes not, nor will He
change even when He comes to be our Jndge.
Can you think ot anybody to whom any sin
ning soul could look for kinder and for just
er jndgment than Jesus of Nazareth? Jnst
as He stood beside the woman taken in
adultery, just as He looked into the face of
Peter who denied Him, and of Thomas who
donbted Him, even into his face who came
witha traitor's kiss and met Him in Getb
semane, so He will be in the very Day of
Judgment. Can you think of anybody lrom
whom the hypocrite, the oppressor, the un
just, .the hard-hearted wonld quicker hurry
away than Jesus of Nazareth, who confront
ed the Scribes and Pharisees?
The Judge Will Be a Friend.
So will He be then, when all the world, hy
pocrites and sinners, men with splendid op
portunities and men witb no chance at all,
high and low, good aod bad, and you and 1
among them, will meet Him in the place oi
judgment. He who prayed "Father, forgive
them, for they know not what they do," will
be the Judge. With wonnded hands and
feet and side He will be the Jndge. That is
one of the most dreadful facts about the
judgment tbat He who will come at last to
judge ns will not be an enemy, nor a fierce
opponent, nor a divine tyrant, against
whom we might stir up a courage of defi
ance, but a friend, who loves us, who has
given His own life tbat He might save us.
Finally, there is something more which
we kuawabout the jndgment: we know that
we will be judged according to what lives
we, have led. According, to onr faith in
Christ, some say. And that is trne, too.
Our eternal destiny will depend upon our
faith in Christ. But "dead" laith will not
count for anything. It will be of exactly
as mnch value as unproductive seed will be
in the harvest. That is, our lives will re
veal our laith. Those will stand with Christ
in the next life who have stood with Christ
in this life- But the recitation of tbe creed
will not be taken into account; nor the pro
fessions of a conventional orthodoxy, which
often means nothing but a lack of real inter
est in the truths ot religion, and an entire
absence of any real thinking about them;
nor attendance upon services and sacra
ments; nor any of tbe externals of faith.
The Question of Besolts.
What is the result of all this in yonr life?
What is the harvest which it bears in your
thinking, and speaking, and behavine?
Tbat will be the question of tbe Day of
And that day, accordingly, will be a day
of great surprises, because we are always
somehow deceiving ourselves. "Nobody tells
us such lies as we tell ourselves. But in tbe
Day ot Jndgment we will seethe real trnth.
Think of the amazement of the Scribes and
Pharisees, the chief religious people of their
day, set on the left handl Think of ihe
wonder ot the pnblicans and sinnern, des
pised and condemned by the respectable
people of their time, audnnknown in the
synagogues, and yet set "upon the right
handl Remember how the Judge, while He
was living in our life, was forever surpris
ing people, and reversing the popular esti
mations of men, and pntting down the
mighty from their seats and exalting those
of low degree. No doubt there are people in
jail to-day who will be in heaven; aud peo
ple in church who will find themselves shut
"Thy kingdom tome," Can we honestly
pray tbat, or can't we? "Surely I come
quickly," says our Savior and our Judge.
"Even so come, Lord Jesus" Is that our
instant answer? Is that what we answerout
of sincere hearts? Do we want Him to
come? Are we ready for His coming?
WE HEED THE ISLANDS.
Senator Stanford Favors Annexation of the
. Sandwich Group.
"What is to be the immediate future -of
the Sandwich Islands?" asked a Boston
Herald correspondent of Senator Stanford.
"There is no doubt of those islands com
ing to us," was, tbe reply, "and we want
them. They are the natural stopping place
of our commerce with Australia and China.
More than balf of the population is now
white, -and all who are there favor the
United States among those white people, ex
cept, perhaps, the English. The islands are
capable of sustaining a population of at
least a million, and I suppose more than
that. For some time past we have had the
benefit of their sugar by a treaty with them.
There is no question that in the futnre,
which will commence not far off, our rela
tions with Asia will be most intimate, and
China only needs American and European
institutions to become a great country to
deal with greater than England or France
FIBST BCTAEY FIHE EHGINE.
It Was a Box on Wheels With Cranks and
Cogs to Run the Pumps.
St. Louis Itepnbllc
Very few living to-day will remember the
first rotary engines. They came out abont
1820 and were ma'dein Cincinnati. These en-
The n t notary Enainr.
gines are very difficult to describe at this
late day, but the oldest inhabitant's recol
lection is "of a square box painted red and
black, o 1 cast iron wheels about 18 inches
in diameter, the machine being worked bv a
crauk projecting on each side, the power be
ing communicated through cogs. The fire
men soon tired of these machines, however,
as they were little more thau "squirt gum."
you will be offered remedies "jnst as
good," but yon want Dr. Bnil's Conzh
m r"4 n r
AEMIES OF PIGEON!
Flocks of Pennsylvania Once Nun
bored a Thousand Million,
ACCORDING TO AUDUBOii'oFiGlJEI
The imonnt of Food They Eeqnire and H(
Their Young Are 1'ed.
COHPAEISOSS IN STAE DISTANCJ
wnrrTEJT roa thx tisrATctt.l
Keen appetite and perfect digestion a
supposed to characterize the soldier. T"
armies of tbe world probably aggrega
nearly 25,000,000 men, and it almost pi
dnces indigestion to even tbink of t
enormous quantity of food necessary to fe
them every 24 hours. But a single Hock
birds will sometimes consume more food
a day tban all tbe armies on the face of t
earth combined. Not tbat the birds are sm
awfnl gluttons. The species referred to a
perhaps the gentlest of all birds, and tb
are very dainty feeders. Tbey are the coi
mon pigeon, first consin of the dove, th
scriptural type of innocence and purity.
The numbers constituting tbe flock, ai
not tbe voracity of individuals, accounts f
the amazing food supply necessary for the
sustenance. Andnbon, tbe great Americi
ornithologist, saw flocks of pigeons in Nort
ern Pennsylvania which contained as mai
members as tbe whole popnlation of tl
earth. He reached this conclusion by es
mating the length and breadth of the flock
and then allowing for two birds to eve
square yard. No man was ever better qua
fied than be to make such an estimate wit
reasonable accuracy. In his great work c
the birds of America (which, if you can bt
a copy for $5,000, yon will get a bargain) 1
speaks specially of one flock which on
careful calculation as possible, be estimati
to contain more than a thonsand millif
birds. Then, with his intimate knowled;
of the snbject, he figured that fhisfeathen
host would consume in a single day near
nine million bnshels of food, and this floe
was not the largest that Audubon saw.
More Than the Soldiers Fat
But, now assuming that the average sc
dier consume half a peck of food in '.
hours, (and it he can do that and live to te
the tale he is a marvel), the food supply
that flock ol pigeons would in bulk feed '75
000,000 soldiers. In the forests of Xorthei
Pennsylvania, half a century ago, it wasn'
uncommon to find the woods for dozens
miles literally alive with pigeons in ti
nesting season. There would be nests c
every tree, often 300 or 400 in a single tre
and the weight ot the birds when roostir
would cause a continual snapping an
breaking of branches. These enormous bir
colonies wonld in daytime keep up such
clatter of sounds that they could be bear
long distances away like the roaring of a
There is nothing of laud animal kino
even approaching the pigeon in size, ths
crowd together in such vast numbers. Ff
mnltitude they are only equalled by tL
great shoals of herrings which, descendiu
from their Arctic breeding places, mat
miles of ocean look like a moving mass 1
animal life. The destruction of large fore,
areas In Pennsylvania has, however, cause
the pigeons to seek other resting places, an
soon they will probably disappear entire!
from their favorite haunts. In the pigeo
there is a remarkable example of the way i
which nature equips all creatures for the
spheres in life. Tbe pigeon, nulike othi
Hag a Doable Crop,
forming two pouches on each side of tl
gullet. This duplex craw is ordinaril
smooth on the inner side, bnt when the ii
cubatmg season begins a curious change o
curs. Little lumps form on.thp inside an
examination shows that these are giant
which have become enlarged for a very in
portant purpose. They secrete a milk
fluid which mingles witb the hard foo
taken into the crop, softens it and rende.
it fit for the delicate stomachs of the yonn
pigeons when they emerge from the sbel
The mother bird can draw on this store
body food at pleasure by sending supplif
from the crop up to the moutb, as man
other birds do.
It is evident that natnre did not inten
that the father of the young pigeons snoul
loaf around after the manner of a majorit
of other males that wear feathers. Tb
pigeon hnsband is also provided with tb
queer baby food crop, at nesting time, an
so, like the good and faithful hnsband ths
he is, be takes his turn as nurse, feeding an
caring for his little ones with all the solic
tnde that characterizes the mother.
An Idea of Star Distances.
If you could take all the people in th
world, and set them ont in space a mil
apart, like mile posts along a railroad, an
then, at the farthest end use all the dog
and cats to extend tbe line of mile posts, yo
would rnn far short of material to mark tb
distance ont to tbe earth's brother plane
Neptune. Again, if yon could use all th
material of men, women, children, dogs an
cats and put them ont so that they wonld b
as far from one another as Boston is froi
San Francisco, yonr line wouldn't be ha!
long enough to reach to the nearest star.
On a clear night the average eye wil
readily see stars as low as the sixth inagn:
tude. Such a shining beauty as Sirin
winks at you so archly tbat it seems almos
impossible that years are consumed in th
passage of its rays to the eartb, when we n
member that light travels more than 180,00
miles in a second. Yes, if the nearest of th
beautiful twinklers shonld be blotte
out at this moment we shoul
still see it, withont tbe slightest change i
appearance, two or three years alter Cbicaz
cleans up the debris of the World's Fail
But even a star so far away as tbat seem
nearly within touching distance when w
find that other stars, visible with tbe tele
scope, were so far away that, for all w
know, tbey may have been blotted out be
fore Cain and Abel were born. Tbat is t
say, if those far distant orbs had beenutterl'
annihilated, as yon would snuffout a candle
when Adam and Eve were enjoying them
selves in the Garden ot Eden, the rays thei
starting toward the earth, notwithstandini
the awfnl speed of light, conld not get hen
in time to meet the closing of the nineteentl
centnrv. J. H. Webb.
MADAME A. RUPPERT
Mae. A. Rnppert's world-renowned fief
bleach Is tbe only face tonic In the world whict
Eoslttvely removes freckles, motb patches
lackheads, pimples, birthmarks, eczema anc
all blemishes of the skin, and when appllec
cannot be observed by anyone,. The fact
bleacn can only be bad at my branch office
Ne. 93 Fifth avenne. Hamilton building.' room:
203 and 204, Pittsburg, or sent to any address ot
receipt ot price. Bold at $2 per bottle, or thret
bottles, usually required to clear the complex
Ion, S3. Send 4 cents postage for full particulars
ocU-Su MME. A. ROPPEBT.
' && 0h