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A Story of the Bull King
By AMY MINCHER: PARISH
La Fiesta -de San Juan was at its
height. Guanajuato was turning out
from its serpentine streets, close built
and ill smelling, its hordes of human
ity, from the family of the Goberna
dor, handsome, well dressed and mod
ern, down to the swarms of beggars,
with sightless eyes and deformed
limbs, bearing in their bodies the mark
cf Mexico, with her dark past.
The whole movement was toward the
Tresa, the upper town, where the aris
tocratic element had by a natural law
appropriated to itself the better air,
prodigal in sunshine and flowers, clean
water and fresh breezes, secure against
the ever present dread of typhus.
Reservoirs supplying the city with
water gave the location its name, and
now, on the recurrence of his birthday,
St. John, the apostle of healing wa
ters, was to cleanse the city. The
gates were to be opened and the presas
were to empty their flood into the now
nearly dry river bed, carrying with it
in a mad rush to the Lagos the year's
accumulation of disease and debris.
The wealth and ultra fashion were
out in, carriages. Laughing faces of
dark eyed senoritas dividing the atten
tion with the picturesque venders of
holiday dulces or sweets, impossible
gyrating monsters, ear splitting whis
tles and rattling devil's boxes, wildcap
little urchins who played cart wheel
and leapfrog or did tricks for centavos.
But the crowning event was to be the
annual bullfight, in which, instead of
professional matadores, young cabal
leros, men of high social rank, were to
contend for the honors bestowed by
the fair hand of the queen of beauty.
Great preparations had been made
for this special function, and long be
fore the appointed hour the rose gar
landed old amphitheater, where since
the days of Cortes man and beast had
met in an uninterrupted series of un
equal combats, was filled to overflow
On one side rose tier upon tier of
dark eyed senoritas, closely guarded by
ever watchful senoras on the other
side young bloods (haciendados), with
the tightest of trousers and broadest
of sombreros, heavily loaded with gold
and silver trappings, here and there
one in tailoring from the latest Pari
sian models, for everything French is
undeniably dear and desirable to the
While awaiting the arrival of the
queen of the fiesta the audience cen
tered its attention upon two men in
their midst—Philip Carter, the energet
ic, elegant American, whose homage to
the royal Isabella during his few
weeks' sojourn in Guanajuato had al
ready given him notoriety, and Senor
Enrique Costillo, a recognized suitor,
even now "playing the bear" for her
The presence of the latter, one of the
best of their senores matadores, in the
audience, signifying that he was to
have no part in the fray, was causing
evident comment among his friends.
They could not know how the weary
waiting for a signal from his love, the
zealous devotion newly stimulated by
a demon of jealousy born of Carter's
evident favor with the girl, the very
ardor of his passion had consumed his
strength to such an extent that he
knew better than to trust his future to
a hand that trembled if but in the pres
ence of her he loved.
But the Senorita Isabella's royal
beauty as she, now sat enthroned In the
midst of her maids of attendance, the
lovely face with its brilliant eyes peep
ing from the meshes of exquisite lace,
the hand wrought mantilla without
which no queen of the bullfight is
regally arrayed^ lips ripe and red as
the heart of a pomegranate, were fast
arousing in him the desire to bring
upon himself not the mere smile and
victor's wreath, the applause of the
audience, but a tribute to daring that
should carry with it herself and her
What did she want of the love of a
Because she had lived In their coun
try a few months did she know them
with their heart of ice? Did she think
her lover tropical enough to warm a
home in the north into any semblance
of her country?
He had felt so unnerved, so wearied
with the pacing to and fro in heat and
cold, day and night, in front of her
dwelling, walking where she walked,
waiting where she rested and seeing
the smile that belonged to him by ev
ery precedent of their race given to a
big Americano, a gringo from over the
But jealousy, strong as death in
Mexico, can also give strength.
Two bulls had already been slain,
and the third had dangling from his
shoulders six gayly decorated bande
rillas, or sharpened goads. Furious and
snorting, he was waiting to attack the
red cloth, this time to his death, when
a shout, lost in a roar of fear, sounded
far up and down the city.
A man, placing his hands on the bar
rier dividing the audience from the
arena, had as deliberately leaped over
it to death as a schoolboy to play.
Snatching the red rag, he approached
the maddened beast, who was pawing
the ground, bellowing with pain and
anger, gathering his fury for a final
charge upon those who dared to so tor
The noise of the audience died Into
appalling silence as it recognized Don
There was no time for conjecture as
to the canse for his action. His fate
would be decided in one moment of
WheH within two feet of his victim.
Sir Toro closed his eyes in a murderous
lunge, while the man from whom En
rique had taken the red cloth made a
dash for safety behind the grating.
But there was hot blood in that son
of the south, too, and the red flag of
jealousy had flaunted itself in his face,
ami the audience with wonder saw
him skip to one side safe, and before
the bull could recover from his disap
pointment leap from .the side into the
very embrace of death.
Two arms clasped the animal's
throats like bands of steel. The as
tonished beast lunged and tossed in a
vain endeavor to free himself. The
goads bent and snapped, dropping one
Then the dazed people woke to a re
alization of this bit of daring, and
groans and hurrahs rose again and
again .from 15,000 throats as those two
struggled in an encounter unheard of
before in the history of bullfighting.
But never since the days of Ursus
has jealousy or desire for revenge, nor
love even, matched human arms With
he strength of a bull, and Enrique's
grasp must surely weaken.
To drop now was certain death be
neath the angry hoofs which had paw
ed the ground so that man and beast
were of the earth's color.
Then the young senor who, in the
role of matadore, was to have dispatch
ed this bull, came to his work with a
coolness hardly less notable than En
rique's daring, and braving the usual
disgrace of attacking the bull when
not charging approached the pawing
animal, watched his chance and point
ed the sword.
The bull, seeing a more feasible en
emy, charged to his own death. For,
opening the fingers so that the hilt
rested in the palm of his hand, Don
Enrique so steadied it that the onward
impetus of the animal forced the keen
blade into the very arch of the aorta.
One moment, as if daring even this,
and over he fell.
Don Enrique gave a bound over the
neck and, alighting on his feet, walked
forward to the queen to receive the re
ward for his daring for her sake.
The crowd roared and howled and
stamped in its excitement. Beautiful
girls snatched off their silken shawls,
their flowers: cigars, hats, canes and
handkerchiefs by the thousands came
in a shower into the arena.
But Enrique was all unheeding. He
was looking for something more. Sure
ly she knew he had done it for her
sake! Did she think her American lov
er would have done as much
But even as she placed the crown on
his brow with hands that trembled and
with eyes shy and beautiful he saw
that she, too, had seen Carter rapidly
threading his way to them between
"Querida mia," Enrique whispered
as her eyes dropped to his. But he
knew the sudden flush that dyed her
face from throat to brow was not born
of that endearment.
That evening old Don Jose, the land
lord of the Hotel del Jardin, met Don
Enrique coming from Philip Carter's
"No esta aqui," said the old man.
"He is not here. His American seno
rita and her father came for him this
morning, and they have just taken
themselves away on the train."
The disappointed anger on Enrique's
face did not lessen any.
"I have left a remembrance for him.
When he returns, he will find it, and
do you tell him Enrique Costillo left
"Diablo!" said old Don Jose when he
found Enrique's dagger driven to the
hilt through the covers of Philip Car
Two weeks later he received word
from Carter to forward his traps to the
office of the Mexican Central.
Possibly Carter considered that in
Guanajuato there was nothing of suffi
cient interest for the American girl
who was to be his wife.—Vogue.
The End of the Bean.
Beau Nash, like Beau Fielding and
Beau Brummel, was to expiate his con
temptible vanity .in an old age of ob
scurity, want and misery. As he grew
old he grew insolent and seemed insen
sible to the pain he gave to others by
his coarse repartees. He was no lon
ger the gay. thoughtless, idly industri
ous creature he once was. The even
ing of his life grew cloudy, and noth
ing but poverty lay in the prospect be
fore him. Abandoned by the great,
whom he had so long served, he was
obliged to fly to those of humbler sta
tions for protection and began to need
that charity which he had never re
fused to any and to learn that a life
of gayety finds an inevitable end in
misery and regret.
A new generation sprang up to which
Nash was a stranger. His splendor
gradually waned. Neglect filled him
with bitterness, and he lost thereby
the remainder of his popularity. His
income now became very precarious, so
that the corporation voted him an al
lowance of 10 guineas, to be paid him
on the first Monday in each month. He
long occupied a house known as Gar
rick's Head, subsequently occupied by
Mrs. Delaney, but he died in a smaller
one near by.—Nineteenth Century.
Alligators and Crocodiles.
Alligators, according to the late Pro
fessor. Cope, belong to a much more
modern genus than that of their cous
ins the crocodiles. No undoubtedly ex
tinct species of alligator has ever been
discovered by geologists, but those ani
mals are fast being exterminated at
the present day on account of the val
ue of their hides. Alligators are found
In China as well as in North America.
The crocodile exists in Africa, south
ern Asia and northern Australia. The
crocodile differs from the alligator in
preferring salt water to fresh and in
being more vicious in its disposition.
THE VOICE OF
Out of the window of the old wooden
bridge, whose hooded tunnel threw a
dark bar across the moonlit mountain
stream, a man and a woman stood
looking into the pine clad amphithea
ter of the cliffs, which lay in stillness
beneath the spell of a September night.
The black hollow of the bridge, with
its one moonbeam sharp across' the
floor, contrasted with the awful splen
dor of the granite gorge, buttressed
and pinnacled in every rising tier, un
der the flood of ghostly light, and if
the only object of the couple in coming
ere was to see the view they were
amply repaid. From their conversa
tion since they left the hotel, which
now lay behind them hidden by a
fringe of the forest, it would have been
difficult to say that this was not their
only object. The small talk of ac
quaintanceship, friendship and even
love Is within certain limits and among
people habituated to each other's con
ventions practically indistinguishable.
Frequently it is difficult to decide why
the degrees should be of so much con
sequence to the parties.
It was knowledge of the world and
the good temper of experience that
kept Mrs. Hugonin and Arthur Kin
naird on perfectly unruffled terms with
each other. The conviction that he had
long ago forgiven her, gratifying as it
once had been, was now of such long
standing that it had become confused
with her earlier and less justifiable
conviction that he ultimately would
forgive her. Thus secure in vindica
tion, the lust for which the dying Eve
bequeathed to all her sex, Mrs. Hu
gonin could without the slightest re
flation upon her widowhood accept
onew more the companionship of a man
who tolerated life as comfortably as
Arthur Kinnaird. The imminence of
the climacteric which she knew to be
threatening him was not to be read
from his figure. His step was alert,
his cheeks were bronzed, his tastes
were rational, and what more could
She pushed back her dark hair under
Its somewhat youthful cap, and, lean
ing her elbows on the ledge, gazed
without speaking at the haunted defile.
Kinnaird gave a little laugh behind her.
"Margaret," he said, "upon my word, it
seems as if we were boy and girl
'•Why, particularly?" she asked,
without turning her head.
"Oh, all this summer," he replied.
She did not ask him to be more ex
plicit, "It is certainly an ideal place,"
she said with a half sigh. "Yet it is
foolish to say that the beauties of na
ture restore one's youth. One may feel
young again, but one is not really any
the less dispassionate."
"I am not so sure of that," said Kin
naird. "I should like to argue the point
with you—if it could be argued."
"You men are all alike." said Mrs.
Hugonin with an inconsistent shrug of
her shoulder. "You give up to logic
what was meant for conversation."
Kinnaird stroked his mustache
thoughtfully for a moment. "And so
you think me dispassionate?" he ob
VYou?" said Mrs. Hugonin, turning
with a delightful laugh. "Why, Ar
thur, there isn't a sentiment or a con
viction to whose support society could
order you to contribute!"
"If you mean that," he said slowly,
"it is quite as I feared."
"As you feared?"
"You still believe me capable of as
much mistaken self control as I once
was. And," he added calmly, "I don't
Though there was no bitterness ap
parent in his tone Mrs. Hugonin was
startled. "Really, this is unlike you,
Arthur." she said gravely, but yet with
a sense of amusement. "You petulant
with your past? You provoked with
your recollections? Indeed. I have
He laughed, but gently. "Come," he
said, "you have no right to be ironical.
Though 1 once let you go, it was be
cause I thought you wished to be .re
"Upon my word. Arthur," said Mrs.
Hugonin. "I did not know you were
serious or I should not have taken this
as a joke."
"I am entirely serious."
"Really?" said Mrs. Hugonin, and
she spoke with some irritation. "I
thought all had been forgotten and for
given years ago." Then she drew her
self up proudly. "Can it be that after
all this time you have conceived the
childish whim of forcing me to a—to
"I am ready to make it," she went
on. "But if I do"
Kinnaird moved to the window be
side her and laid a hand on her arm.
"You are much mistaken," he said, in
the undisturbed voice which so pro
voked her. "You must indeed think
that I am taking leave of my years. I
never had much vanity, I think, but
what I had when I was younger I nev
er made a pet of. Look over there at
the rocks, and what do you see?"
"Rocks —and moonlight. But Ar
"The rocks make me recollect," he
went on. unheeding, "that one day
when you were about seventeen you'
and I climbed Lone mountain together.
And when we reached the ravine you
insisted on going first, and I let you.
Now, I did that because I reflected that
if you fell I could catch you.?
"You see, that was my first mistake.
1 should have gone first and made you
ding to my—pardon me—coattails."
"Very likely," said Mrs. Hugonin,
belt laughing, "But I can't think it
does us any good to talk it over now."
"After that," said Kinnaird, pursu
ing his subject, "I acted consistently
on the same mistaken theory. And
when it came to the question of giving
you up I thought always of you first.
That was why I gave you up—which
you naturally considered a weakness."
It d^d not escape Mrs. Hugonin that
a dormant weakness of her own was
reviving under the continued stress of
this absurd conversation, a weakness
for sentiment. But it was checked by
her vexation with her friend for break
ing their tacit understanding, and by
the feeling of half contemptuous pity
that stole over her as he spoke.
Were she a man, she thought, she
would never confess at forty to the in
competence of twenty-five. That Kin
naird did so. but absolved her again.
Also, she reflected, she had had a head
ache yesterday, and therefore it was
very lucky this conversation had not
been started yesterday or she would
have been much more provoked than
she was now.
"I shall not stop you," she said in a
Half mischievous tone. "Go on—j: won't
be angry. You will perhaps admit that
If there is anything rankling it is as
well for you to abuse me and have it
over, even after all these years, whose
obituaries you have written."
"My dear, my darling," he'said, his
strong hand clasping hers so quickly
that involuntarily her arm struggled
like a bird's wing to wrest itself away,
"it is well for me to tell the only wom
an I ever loved that I love her still and
do not mean to let her go again."
"Margaret, I love you more than
"It is impossible!"
"I love you!"
"You cannot, cannot be in earnest,"
she stammered. "Why, you have nev
er told me."
"Never—until now." he laughed. "I
learned something when I lost you the
first time—my darling!"
"This." said Mrs. Hugonin, partially
recovering herself, "is folly. Arthur,
and it is most unfair."
"Unfair," he said, "to want you for
my wife? No: you mean unfair to take
you off your guard. I will not quibble
with your words," he said, smiling.
"May the hour and 'the scene suggest
to you all that they will may they
bring you back to—it was twenty that
you were—when it all happened! Mar
garet, when you were twenty-six" I
went away from the city of all my
hopes, but before I turned my back on
it I did as many a refugee had done
before me—I sealed up my treasures
and hid them, and my store is where I
left it That Is why I want you to
marry me. All that I had looked for
ward to telling you—when you were
twenty—all that I had to say to you,
the secret hoard that I had been piling
up for our married life, is intact, and
now I want you to share it with me."
He paused a moment and then went
on: "My dear. I have simply had to
wait that is all. But, please heaven,
we will begin again."
Poor Mrs. Hugonin's breath came
and went, an unwilling messenger of
passion—or. it might be, of sentiment
"Perhaps I was in the wrong," she
said. "But why did not you think more
"I am thinking of myself now," said
Suddenly, as Mrs. Hugonin hung dis
tracted and in doubt the cliff before
them rang faint and sibylline with an
echo. It was the town clock of the vil
lage striking over beyond the trees.
They could not hear it, but sent from
ledge to ledge in the still night air, it
struck silvery and remote on the gran
ite facade. As it sounded they both
started, he at its elfin suggestions, she
at its material reminder.
"Good gracious!" she, exclaimed. "It
is 11 o'clock!"
"It is," said Kinnaird.
"And we must positively go back to
the hotel at once. We area scandal,
Arthur—and you know It for I saw
you start too." She began to smile.
"Do you see nothing In the augury?"
"We are two old fools," she said.
"Think of my boy in his bed, Arthur.
"Think of my thirty years—be quiet if
you please. I choose to be thirty for
formality's sake. It is only the night
and the moonlight When 11 o'clock
strikes, we recollect that we ought to
be respectably at home. It is only an
echo. Ah, my dear old friend, we have
had our past and it is over. Yours
has been unhappy, and I am, oh, so
very sorry! But you are contented
now and, what is more, you are kind
and strong—it is better as it is. Take
me back to the hotel—and we shall be
ware of echoes in future."
"I thought you said you had grown
old," said Kinnaird. "It is only youth
that refuses the echo."
And he took her in his arms and kiss
ed her. .•
Lord Kelvin's Inventive Eyeglass.
Soon after Lord Kelvin had assisted
in laying the Atlantic cable, when he
was yet known as Sir William Thomp
son, his mind was greatly troubled In
devising some method for perfecting
the ordinary telegraphic apparatus
used on overhead wires, as the old
method, or the one then in vogue, was
not suited for the varying currents
passing along the cables. fA^\i&3|^*
The laying of the electric current had
the effect of making them run together
In one bottom current, with surface
ripples. The difficulty which Lord
Kelvin bad to overcome was to invent
a means of clearly distinguishing all
the delicate fluctuations.
One day the great inventor's eyeglass
dropped off and swung In front of the
magnet The glass deflected its move
ments, and from this simple and unex
pected incident the "mirror instru
ment" was invented. '^t
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