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Moras of the Glen Fiona Macleod ICopyright 1597. by Fiona Macleod.] STNOPSIS. This story Is narrated by Mary Came ron, who Is visiting the family of her uncle, Archibald Campbell of Strathglas, or "Gorromalt," as he Is usually called, from the name of his farm. They live in the very heart of the Scotch Highlands and are of Celtic origin. Oorromalt has two daughters, Mulreall and Morag. The girls have been In London, where they met Jasper Morgan, the son of Lord Greyshott. Mulreall falls deeply in love with Jasper, but he proves faithless. Jasper comes to Srathglas, as his father Is trying to buy the property. Mulreall meets him. She not only learns of his perfidy but that he has loved Morag all along. She goes to the Inn at the neigh boring town of Kllbrennan, writes to Morag of this, and takes poison. The let ter and the news is brought to the fam ily by Mr. Stewart, the minister. Oorro malt Is made very 111 by this news. PART It That night the wind had a areadiui eoughlng in Its voice—a lamentable voice that came along the rain-wet face of the hills, with a prolonged moaning and sobbing. Down In the big room that was kitchen and sitting room In one, where Gorromalt sat, —for he had risen from his bed, for all that he was so weak and giddy—there was semi-dark ness. His wife had pleaded for the oil lamp, because the shadows within and the wild wind without —though, I am thinking, most of the shadows within her brain—filled her with dread; but he would not have it, no, not a candle, even. The peats glowed, red hot: above them the small, narrow pine-logs crackled In a scarlet and yellow blaze. Hour after hour went by in silence. There were just the three of us. THEN, SHAKING) OFF HIS WIFE, HE SWUNG THE DOOR OPEN. Morag? Ah, did Gorromalt think she would stay at Teenabrae, and Mulreall near by, and in the clutch of the death frost, and she, her sister dear, not go to her? He had put the loan upon us, soon as the blood was out of his brain, and he could half rise from his pillow. No one was to go to Bee her; no one was to send word to her; no one was to speak to her. At that Aunt Eispeth had fallen on Iter knees beside the bed, and prayed to him to show pity. The tears rained upon the relentless, heavy hand she bald and kissed. "At the least," she moaned, "at the least let some one go to her, Archl baM; at least a word, only one word!" "Not a word, woman: not a word. TWICE SHE PASSED IN FRONT OF HER HUSBAND. !Let her be. The wlnd'll blow her soul against God's heavy hand." But though Gorromalt's word was law there, there was one who had the tide coming in at one ear and going out at the other. As soon as the rainy gloom deepened Into dark, she slipped from the house. I wanted to go with Jter, but she whispered to me to stay. •It was well I did. I was able to keep back from him all night the story of Worag's going. He thought she was 4r Imm. So bitter on the man was his wrath, that, ill as he was, he would have risen and ridden or driven over to Kllbrennan had he known Morag had gone there. Angus McCalluim, Gorromalt's chief man, was with the horse in the stable. He tried to prevent Morag taking out Gealcas, the mare—she that went fast er and surer than any there. He even put hand upon the lass and said a rough word. But she laughed, I am told; and I think that whoever heard Morag laugh, when she was "strange," for all that she was so white and soft, she with her hair o' sunlight and the blue, blue eyes o' her —whoever heard that, would not be for standing in her way. So Angus had stood back, sullenly giving her help, but no longer daring to interfere. She mounted Gealcas, and rode away into the dark, rainy night, where the wind went louping to and fro among the crags on the braes as though it were mad with fear or pain and complaining wild, wild—the lamenta/ble cry of the hills. Hour after hour we sat there. We could hear the roaring sound of Gorro malt water as It whirled itself over the linn. The stream was in spate, and would be boiling black, with livid clots of foam flung every here and there on the dripping heather overhanging the torrent. The wind's endless sough came into the house, and wailed in the keyholes and the chinks. Rory. the blind collie, lay on a mat near the door, and the long hair of fell was blown upward and this way and that by the ground-draught. Once or twice Aunt Eispeth rose, and stirred the porridge that seethed and bubbled in the pot. Her husband took no notice. He was In a daze, and sat in his flanked leathern arm chair, with his arms laid along the sides, and his down-clasping hands catching the red gleam of the peats, and his face white and set, like that of a dead man looking out of a grated prison. Once or twice, an hour or so before, when she had begun to croon some hymn, he had harshly checked her. But now when she hummed and at last openly sang the Gaelic version of "The Lord's My Shepherd," he paid no heed. He was not hearing that, or anything she did. He brooded, I doubt not, upon doom for the man and the son of the man, who had wrought him this evil. His wife saw this, and so had her will at last. She took down the great Gaelic Bible, and read Christ's words about little children. The rain slashed against the window panes; outside the wind moaned and soughed and moaned From the kennel behind the byre a mournful howl rose and fell. But Gor- j romalt did not stir. Aunt Eispeth looked at me despair- ' ingly. Poor old woman—ah, the misery 1 and pain of it, the weariness and long pain of starved hearts and barren hope! Suddenly an idea came to her. She rose again and went over to the fire. Twice she passed in front of her hus band. He made no sign. "He hates those things," she mut tered to me, her eyes wet with pain and with something of shame, too, for admitting that she believed in incanta tions —and why not, poor old woman!— sure there are stranger things than scan or rosad, charm or spell; and who can say that the secret old wisdom is mere thought o' thought? "He hates those things, but I am for saving my poor lass, if I can. I will be saying that old ancient colas, that is called that Eolas an t-Snaithnean." "What is that, Aunt Eispeth? What are the three threads?" "That colas killed the mother of my mother, Mary: she that was a woman out of the isle of Benbecula." "Killed her!" I repeated, awe-struck. "Aye; 'tis a charm for tire doing away of bewitchment, and sure it is my poor Muireall who has been be witched. But my mother's mother used the colas for the taking away of a curse upon a cow that would not give milk. She was saying the incan tation for the third time, and winding the triple thread around the beast's. tall, and the ill that was in the cow came forth and settled upon her, so that she went back to her house Quak ing and sick with the blight, and died of it next day, because there was no one to take it from her in turn by that or any other colas." I listened In silence. The thing seemed terlble to me, then; no, no, not then only, but now, too, whenever I think of It. "Say It then. Aunt Eflspeth," I whispered, "say tt. In the name of the Holy Three." With that she went on her knees, and leaned against her chair, though with her face toward her husband, be cause of the fear that was ever In her. Then In a low voice, choked with sobs, she said this colas, after she had first uttered the holy words of the Pater Noster: "An eye will see you. Tongue will speak of you, Heart will think of you. The Man of Heaven Blesses you— The Father, Son and Holy Ghost "Four caused your hurt- Man and Wife, Young man and maiden. Who is to frustrate that? The Three Persons of the most Holy Trinity, The Father, Son and Holy Ghost "THERE IS ONE WAY. IT IS THE ONLY WAY:—GOI" "I call the Virgin Mary and St. Bridget to witness That it your hurt was caused byman, Through 111 will, Or the evil eye. Or a wicked heart, That you, Mulreall, my daughter, may be wholes — And this in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost!" ! Just as she finished, and as she was lingering on the line "Gum bi thusa. Muireall, gu mauth," Rory, the blind collie, rose, whimpered, and stood with snarling jaws. Strangely enough Gorromalt heard this, though his ears had been deaf to all else, or so it seemed at least. "Down, Rory; down beast!" he ex claimed in a voice, strangely shrill and weak. But the dog would not be still. His sullen fear grew worse. Suddenly he sidled and lay on his belly, now snarl ing, now howling, his blind eyes dis tended, his nostrils quivering, his flanks quaking. My uncle rose and stared at the dog. "What ails the beast?" he asked angrily, looking now at Rory, now at us. "Has any one come in? Has any one been at the door?" "Xo one, Archibald." "What have you been doing, Eis peth?" "Nothing." "Woman, I heard your voice droning at your prayers. Ah, I see—you have been at some of your sians and eolases again. Sure, now, one would be think ing you would have less foolishness, and you with the grayness upon ycur years. What colas did she say, Mary?" I told him. "Aw, the silly woman that she is, the Eolas an t-Snaithnean! Madness and folly! Where is Morag?" "In bed." I said this with truth in my eyes. God's forgiveness for that good lie! "And it's time you were there, also, and you too, Eispeth. Come now, no more of this foolishness. We have nothing to wait for. Why are we waiting here?" At that moment Rory became worse than evor. I thought the poor blind beast would take some dreadful fit. Foam was on his jaws; his hair bris tled. He had sidled forward, and crouched low. We saw him look again and again toward the blank space to his right, as if, blind though he was, he saw some one there, someone that gave him fear, but no longer a fierce terror. Nay, more than once we saw him wave his tail, and sniff as though longingly. But when he turned his head toward the door, his sullen fury grew, and ter ror lay upon every limb. It was now that Gorromalt was speaking. Suddenly the dog made a leap for ward—a terrible, bristling wolf, he seemed to me, though no wolf had I ever seen, or Imagined any more fear some than Rory now. He dashed himself against the door, snarling and mouthing, with his snout nosing the narow slit ait the bottom. Aunt Eispeth and I shook with fear. My uncle was death-white, but stood strangely brooding. He had his right elbow upon his breast, and supported with his left arm, while with his right hand he plucked at his beard. "For sure," he said, at last, with an effort to seem at ease; "for sure the dog is fey with his age and his blind ness. And lf that were not so, it might look as if he had the fear on him, because of some one who strove to come in." "It is Muireall," I whispered, above my breath. "No," said Aunt Eispeth, and the votes of her now was as though It had come oat of the granite all about us, cold and hard as the*. "NO; Mulr eall Is already In the room." We both turned and looked at her. She sat quite still, on the chair betwixt the fire and the table. Her face was rigid, ghastly, but her eyes were large and wild. A look, first of fear, then almost of tenderness, came Into her husband's face. "Hush, Kispeth," he said; "that Is foolishness." "It Is not foolishness, Archibald," she resumed. In the same hard, unemo tional voice, but with a terrible Inten sity. "Man, man, because you are blind, is there no sight for those who can see?" "There is no one here but our selves." But here Aunt Eispeth half rose, with supplicating arms. "Mulreall! Mulreall! Mulreall! O Ellle aroon!" I saw Archibald Campbell shaking as though he were a child, and not a strong man. "Will you be telling us this, Eispeth," he began In a hoarse voice; "will you be telling me this: if Mulreall is In the room, beyond Rory there, who will be at the door? Who is trying to come in at the door?" "It's a man. Ido not know the man. It is a man. It is Death, maybe. I do not know the man. O Ellie aroon, Ellie aroon!" But now the great, gaunt, black dog —terrible in his seeing blindness he was to me—began again his savage snarling, his bristling, insensate fury. He had ceased a moment while our voices filled the room, and had sidled a little way toward the place where Aunt Eispeth saw Mulreall. whining low as he did so, and swishing his tail furtively along the' whitewashed flag stones. I know not what awful thing would have happened. It seemed to me that Death was coming to all of us. But at that moment we heard the sound of a galloping horse. There was a lull in the wind, and the rain lashed no more like a streaming, whistling whip. Even Rory crouched silent, his nostrils quivering, his curled snout showing his fangs. Gorromalt stood listening Intently. "By the living God!" he exclaimed, his eyes like a goaded bull's, "I know that horse. Only one horse runs like that at the gallop. "Pis the gray stal lion I sold three months ago to the man at Drumdoon—ay, ay, for the son of the man at Drumdoon! A horse to ride for the shooting—a good horse for the hills—that was what he want ed! Ay, ay, by God, a horse for the son of the man at Drumdoon! It's the gray stallion; no other horse in the Straths runs like that—d'ye hear? d'ye hear? Eispeth, woman, is there hear ing upon you for that? Hey, tlot-a tlot, tlot-a-tlot, tlot-tlot-tlot-tlot—Hot, tlot-a-tlot, tlot-tlot-tlot! I tell you, woman, it's the gray stallion I sold to Drumdoon; It's that and no other! Ay, by the Sorrows, it's Drumdoon's son that will be riding there!" By this time the horse was close by. We heard his hoofs clang above the flagstones round the well at the side of the house. Then there was a noise as of scattered stones, and a long scraping sound: then silence. Gorromalt turned ana put his hand to tne door. There was murder In his eyes, for all the smile, a grim, terrible smile, that had come to his Hps. Aunt Eispeth rose and ran to him, holding him back. The door shook. Rory the hound tore at the splinters at the base of the door, his fell again bristling, his snarling savagery horri ble to hear. The pine logs had fallen into a smouldering ash. The room was full of gloom, though the red, sul len eye of the peat-glow stared through the semi-darkness. "Don't be opening the door! Don't be opening the door!" she cried, in a thin, screaming voice. "What for no, woman! Let me go! Out o' the way, Rory—get back! Down wi' ye!" "No, no, Archibald! Walt! Wait!" Then a strange thing happened. Rory ceased, sullenly listened, and then retreated, but no longer snarling and bristling. Gorromalt suddenly staggered. "Who touched me Just now?" he asked, In a hoarse whisper. No one answered. "Who touched me just now? Who' passed? Who slid past me?" His voice rose almost to a scream. Then, shaking off his wife, he swung the door open. There was no one there. Outside could be heard a strange sniffling and whinnying, it was the gray stallion. Gorromalt strode across the thresh old. I had time only to prevent Aunt Eispeth from falling against the lintel in a corner, but In a moment's Interval I saw that the stallion was riderless. "Archibald!" walled his wife faintly, out of her weakness. "Archibald, come back! Come back I" But there woe no need to call. Arch ibald Campbell waa not the man to fly la the fans of Ood. He knew that no ■aortal rider could ride that horse to He death thsvt night. Even before he closed the door we heard the rapid, sliding, catching gallop. The horse had gone; rtdered or riderless, I knew not My uncle waa ashy gray. Suddenly he had grown quite still. He lifted hi* wife and helped her to her own big leathern arm chair at the other side of the Ingle. "Light the lamp, Mary," he said to me, In a hushed, strange voice. Then he stooped, and threw < >me small pine logs on the peats, and stirred the blase till It caught the dry, splintered edges. Rory, poor blind beast, came wearily and with a low whine to his side. Then it lay down before the warm blase. "Bring the Book," he said to me. I brought the great leather-bound Ocelic Bible, and laid It on his knees. He placed hie hand in It and opened at random. "With Himself be the word," he sold. "Is it Per.cc?" asked Aunt Eispeth, in a tremulous whisper. "It is Peace," he answered, his voice gentle, his face stern as a graven rock. And what he read was this, where hie eye chanced upon as he opened at the place In the Book of the Vision of Nashum the Elkoshite: "What do you imagine against the Lord? He will make a full end." After that there was a silence. Then he rose, and told me to go and lie down, and sleep: for on the morrow, after dawn, I was to go with him to where Mulreall was. I saw Aunt Eispeth rise, and put her arms about him. They had peace. I went to my room, but after a brief while returned and sat in the quietness there by the glowing pests till dawn. The grayness came at last. With It the rain ceased. The wind still soughed and walled among the corrles and upon the rocky braes: with low moons sighing along the flanks of the near hills, and above the stony watercourse where the Gorromalt surged with swirling foam and loud and louder tumult. My eyes had closed in my weariness when I heard Rory give a low growl, followed by a contented whimper. Al most at tbe same moment the door opened. I looked up, startled. It was Morag. She was so white. It Is scarce to be wondered at that I took her at first for a wTaith. Then I saw how drenched she was, chilled to the bone, too. She did not speak as I led her In and made her stand before the fire, while I took off her soaked dress and shoes. In si lence she made all the necessary changes, and in silence drank the tea I had brewed for her. "Come to my room with me," she whispered, as with quiet feet we crossed the stone flags and went up the wooden stair that led to her room. When she was In bed she bade me put out the light and lie down beside her. Still silent, we lay there in the darkness, for at the side of the house the hill gloom prevailed and moreover the blind was down-drawn. I thought the weary moaning of the wind would make my very heart sob. Then, suddenly, Morag put her arms about me, and the tears streamed warm about my neck. "Hush Morag-aghray, hush mo-run," I whispered in her ear. " Tell me what it is, dear! Tell me what It is!" "O Mary, and I loved him so! I loved him." "I know It, dear; I knew it all along." I thought her sobs would never coase till her heart was broken, so I ques tioned her again. "Yes," she sale l - gaspingly, "yes, I loved him when Mulreall and I were In the South together. I met him a month or more before' ever she saw him. He loved me, and I promised to marry him. But I would not go away with him as he wished; for he sold his father would never agree. And then he was angry, and we quarreled. And I —O, I was glad too, for I did not wish to marry an Englishman—or to live In a dreary city; hut—but—and then he and Mulreall met, and he gave all his thoughts to her, and she her love to him." "And now?" "Now? —Now Mulreall Is dead." "Dead? O Morag! dead? O poor Mulreall that we loved so! But did you see her? Was she olive when you reached her?" "No. But she was alone. And now, Mary, listen. Here is a thing I have to tell you. When Ealasald Cameron, that was my mother's mother, was a girl, she had a cruel sorrow. She had two sisters whom she loved with oil her heart. They were twins, Stlis and Morag. One day an English officer at Port William took Sills away with him as his wife. And then she discovered that she was no wife, for the man was already wedded to a woman in the South. She left him that night. It was bitter weather and mld-wlnter. She reached home through a wild snow-drift. It killed her. But before she died she said to Morag, 'He has killed me.' And Morag understood. So It was that, before any wind of Spring blew upon that snow, the man was dead." When Morag stopped here and said no more, I did not at first realize what she meant to tell me. Then it flashed upon me. "O Morag, Morag!" I exclaimed, ter rified. "But Morag, do you know— you will not —" "Will not!" she repeated with a strange catch in her voice. "Listen, Mary. While I lay beside my darling Mulreall, weeping and moaning over her, and she so fair, with suoh silence where the laughter had always been, I heard the door open. I looked up. It was Jasper Morgan. " 'You are too late,' I said. I stored at the man who hod brought her, and me this sorrow. There was no light about him at all, as I had always thought. He was only a man as other men are, but with a cold, selfish heart and loveless eyes. " 'She sent for me to come back to her,' he answered, though I saw his face grow ashy gray as he looked ait Mulreall and saw that she was dead. " 'She is dead, Jasper Morgan!' " 'Dead? Dead?' " 'Aye, dead. It is upon you, her death. Her you have slain, as though with your sword that you carry.' "At that he bit his Hps till the blood came. "Ttle a lie,' he cried. It Is a lie, Morag.' "I laughed. " 'Why do you laugh, Morag?' hs asked, in swift anger. "Once more I laughed. " 'Why do you laugh like that, girl?' "But I did not answer. 'Come,' I said, 'come with me. I have some «e»*»g to say to you. Ton oan do no good beta now. She has taken pet* son.* "'Poison!' he cried In horror; and, also, I could see in the poor cowardly mind of him, in a sudden, sick fear. "But when I roes to leave the room he made ready to follow me. I kissed Mulreall for the last time. The man approached, as though to do likewise. I lifted my riding whip. He bowed his head with a deep flush on his face, and came out behind me. "I told the Inn-folk chat my father would be over In the morning. Then I rode slowly away. Jasper Morgan followed on hie horse, a gray stallion, that Mulreall and I had often ridden, for he was from Teenabrae farm. "When we left the village it was Into a deep darkness. The rain and the wind made the way almost Impossible at times, but at last we came to the ford. The water was in spate, and the rushing sound terrified my horse. I dismounted and fastened Gealcas to a tree. The man did the same. " 'What Is it, Morag?' he asked. In a quiet, steady voice. 'Death?' " 'Yes,' I answered, 'Death.' "Then he suddenly fell forward, and snatched my hand, and begged me to forgive him, swearing that he had loved me and me only, and Imploring me to believe him, to love htm, to—Ah, the hound! "But all I said was this: " 'Jasper, soon or late I would kill you because of this cruel wrong you did to her. But there Is one way: beet for her—beet for me—best for you.' " •What is it?' he asked hoarsely, though I think he knew now. The roar of the Gorromalt water filled the night. " 'There is one way. It Is the only way. Go!' "He gave a deep, quavering sigh. Then, without a word, he turned, and walked straight Into the darkness." Morag paused here. Then, In answer to my frightened whisper, added elm ply: "They will And his body In the shal lows, down by Drumdoon. The spate will carry It there." After that we lay In silence. The rain had begun to fall again, and slid with a soft stealthy sound athwart the window. A wan gray light grew in dlscerntbly Into the room. Then we heard some one move down stairs. In the yard, Angus the stableman began to pump water. A cow lowed, and the cluttering of hens was audible. I moved gently from Morag's side. As I rose, Maisle passed beneath the window on her way to the byre. As her wont was, poor wild, wlldered lass, she was singing fitfully. It waa the same ballad again. But we heard a single verse only: "For I have* killed a man, she said, A better man than you to wed; I slew him when he clasped my head, And now he sleepeth with the dead." Then the voice was lost In the byre, and in the sweet, familiar lowing of the klne. The new day was coma THE END. Baked Banana, The familiar expression In the fruit trade, a "baked banana," does not re fer to a banana that has been baked in a culinary sense. Any wholesale dealer in the fruit will tell you that H is a banana that has been too hastily ripened In a garret, the result being that, while It Is nice to look at. It Is squashy inside. Bananas are picked green In order that they may not decay during the voyage northward, and are ripened in dry upper rooms in which stoves raise the temperature to more than tropical ardor. Bananas that re main too long in one of these rooms, or get too near a stove, are known to the trade as "baked bananas." "Octave Thanet" on Suffrage. Miss French, the novelist, better known by her pseudonym of Octave Thanet, gives her views on the voting questions as follows: "I think we have far too many vot ers already, and I can see no good, but, on the contrary, much evil. In adding the immense amount of political ignor ance that would be contained in the woman's vote to the Ignorance that Is fermenting In our politics al ready. At the same tame it Is Im possible not to admire the unselfish and noble fight that a few women, con vinced of the Justice of their cause, have made for equal suffrage, and I believe much indirect benefit to wo men has come out of the agitation. 1 think if I were required to put my sen timents toward the suffragists Into a sentence, it would be,—'God bless you, may you be defeated!' " Germanic Speech, Ac many as 4,000,000 Germans have removed to the United States since 1820. In 1880 tthe population of the German empire included 2,860,000 of Polish speech, 300,000 of French, 150.000 of Danish, 150,000 of Lettish, 137,000 of Wendlsh, and 34,000 of Czeckish or Bo hemian. There are at present In Eu rope over 60,000,000 of Oermanlc speech, if the 8,000,000 Dutch and Flemish speaking inhabitants of the Low coun tries be included. The Teutonic na tionality has doubled in Europe since 1840; but the increase has been almost entirely In urban population, which ad vanced from 14,790,000 In 1871 to 18,720, --000 In 1880, while that of the rural dis tricts remained almost stationary dur ing the same period, 26,219,000 and 26, --513,000 respectively. Traveling Cosiumes. ' As soon as Christmas is over, south ern travel will begin in earnest; simple ana charming traveling frocks are al ready under way. One of light silver grey cloth Is crossed from hips to hem with grey and silver velvet. The bodice is trimmed diagonally with silver braid and fastens down one side to show a vest and belt of Mandarin yel low velvet. Th* yeUow lining to the grey skirt peeps out at the ruffled edge. The hat is of green felt with a grey scarf fastening two long grey ostrich plumes. ■White roses and green leaves are caught under the brim. Hunchback lVlncots, Hunchbacks are believed to possess peculiar qualities by race-track gam blers, and one little chap, who used to stand at the gates of all our big race tracks and charge twenty-live cents for the privilege of rubbing his deformity, derived a comfortable Income from it Another hunchback sold tips on the races for twanty-ove cents, with per mlsslon to nib fcts shoulders thrown In as good mesrmra BLUE HILL BOB'S - REPTILIAN SUIT Made Entirely of the Skins Rattlesnakes That He Hu Captured. QUEER ~TaFIORIN« Serpents' Heads Hang Down 1 Front and the Effect to Horrible to See. What is perhaps the most rem* able suit of clothing in the world worn by a man whose only name "Blue Hill Bob," a resident of the vl< ity of Milton, Mass. It is construe entirety of rattlesnake skins, and w the owner walks it sounds to a per near him as lf an entire nest of ratt was up and doing. These are all clothes that the owner of this curl garment described ever wears. "Blue Hill Bob" takes his name f) the section of Milton in which he 11 Blue Hill. For years his favorite s] has been the killing and skinning rattlesnakes which are even now merous in the country round about ! ton. He spends nearly all his t hunting the rattlers, and indeed p: tioally makes a living by this, as sells the oil extracted from their bo and often eats their flesh, which, every one knows, when properly coo is much like chicken and very ten This queer suit of "Blue Hill Bo consists of jacket, vest and trout Inasmuch as Bob is his own tailor, manner In which the skins are put gather causes the suit to have aln as odd an appearance by reason od make as from its material. Since is a man of more than medium hel the number of skins necessary to rr the clothes is quite large. The trou represent thirty-two snakes. Bob dares. The vest is composed of tv ty, while the Jacket required fo eight skins. Even the thread used to sew the s together is of the same material as clothes themselves. The buttons ar the ordinary sort. By far the r curious feature of this unusual ao trement, however. Is the rattles, making his clothes Bob has so ranged It that rattles are fastt upon them In every place where 1 possible for them to remain witl being crushed. The "buttons" of a tlesnake, as the rattles are called, very delicate in texture and cc crushed after they have been rem< from the snake's body, and In orde wear and preserve them it Is neceei for Bob to exercise no little skill s the location, and care as to usage. The skins that go to make up queer clothing are from snakes ol ogee, from the baby with one tiny ton to an eight footer with its twv odd buttons. The skms used in trousers are all sewn lengthwise. Tl of the vest are so arranged as to Bob's body the appearance of being circled by snakes. The body of Jacket Is of skins sewn in the s fashion as the vest, while the slex are constructed In the same stylt the trousers. The collar of the coe formed of the skin of a huge rattl or rather two of them—and by a i clever bit of taxidermy Bob has served the heads of the reptiles, w hang down In place of lapels, gtvii most horrifying appearance to the . ment. Boh himself Is as curious as clothes and it Is the pride of his he says, that he is the only man in world clothed in rattlesnake skins. Copyright, 1897, by Bacheller Syndic Work of a Thunderbolt. One of the most interesting stroke lightning on record occurred at B ges, France, In 1892. Eighteen mci the 37th Regiment of Artillery t marching in the polygon outsidt Bourges, under the conduct of C Artificer Beauvals. A heavy sho made them run for shelter, but w they were doing so a flash of llghti literally mowed them down. The tl first ranks quickly regained their 1 but four men remained Insensible were carried to the hospital, where • named Bouveau, who had walked a tie apart from the rest, died, clothes of the victim were, as us torn, and his boots burst open. Bouveau was struck on the head, his kepi and hair were burned, discharge passed by the right cc: the shoulder and left haunch, t down the Inner surface of the left The iron nails of the boot made a g contact with the ground; but the let er of the sole appears to have off« great resistance, for the discharge the hoot at a point between the and the upper. A Story of Inneaa, A Philadelphia artist tells this s of the late George Inness: "I one« cupied a studio adjoining that of ness, and knew him well. There w strange commingling in his natur sturdy independence and extreme eitlveness. When a young man, one in the streets of Rome, he raised cane and struck down a helmeted darme, who had ordered him to rer his hat while a religious procession passing. For this he was Imprisr and only secured his release thn the strenuous efforts of the Arnei Minister there. Now, conceive a capable of such an act of violent sertlveness fainting away at my : jocular criticism of one of his plot which, late one afternoon, he callei into his studio to Inspect. He worked on some foreground cowi day, and I presume, was suffering nervous exhaustion; for when I the cattle looked like 'camels' dropped his mohl-stlck and swoon* dashed water on his face to bring to, and then he laughed with me this exhibition of acute sensrUven Religious Ante, In Spain It is believed by the mon people that the ants hold relii services on Christmas Day. Abbot of Unreason. In the Scotch monasteries an "A of Unreason" was appointed to 6 the festivities of the holiday period