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THE BEAUTY CHARM. A Story of Old Virginia* *I JIABY KTLE DAJT.AS, (Copyrighted., [Sskopsis of Opening Chaptkhs.— This Synopsis of Mrs. Mary Kyle Dallas' charm ing Btory, "The Boauty Charm," will enable * those who have not read the first instalment to understand what follows : The story opens in an old plantation house in Virginia. Nannie, a girl of seventeen, with flaxen hair, blue eyes and gypsy-like habits, tells how she was allowed to grow up. She is an orphan and lives with her uncle, a wounded ex-ConfeUerate, and hor aunt Eliza beth, a stornand unsympathetic woman, who seoms to regard Nannie as being in the way of hor own daughter, Adelaide. After re turning from wandering in tho woods ono day, Nannie, hears Mauui Mandy and Aunt gaily, two negro servants, discussing herself Jn the kitchen, and the picture thoy draw, though evidently kindly, is not flattering. Nannie's aunt Elizabeth, after having dressed the girl in a made-over gown, gavo her a religious book and told hor to go away and read it. Instead of obeying her aunt, the girl went into .the drawing-room whore there was an old-fashioued mirror, and after surveying herself for some time her temper gets the bettor of her, and she hurls the book at the mirror, breaking it with a crash. Alarmed at what she had done Nannie went to bed, but not to sleep. Sho heard tho guests in the dining-room, and their exclamations of surprise when they discovered tho broken mirror in tho parlor. After the guests left, tho colonel ami his wife visited Nannie's bed room. They saw she had gone to bed with her clothes on, and the daughter Adelaide, bringing In a book that was picked up at the foot of the mirror, declared that it was by this that it was broken. The circumstantial evidence was clearly against Nannie. She was charged with the crime and in her des peration confessed it. The next chapter tells what followed.] t £ CHAPTER 111. ' t Silence reigned for a few seconds, then I heard my uucte utter an ejaculation of hor . ror, and my aunt laughed bitterly. "Why, good heavens, my dear !" my uncle , exclaimed in a most piteous voic?, "the poor child must have met with some dreadful acci dent. Sho is covered with blood stains and blue bruises." "Blackberry juice, dust and bramble scratches," said my aunt. "I've seen thorn too often not to know them, colonel, and look at this dress. I actually took it away from Adelaido to give it to her, and Sally and I pressed it, and mended it, and re-looped it, and I bought four yards of new ribbon for it, and I just wanted hor to behave right and look right for once, and I gave her a lovely book to read, and she went off on a bee line. ■ ,•*.-■■ _ ■ Ui , , "I DESPISE YOU." I fro -wherever it is she does go, and look at ncr now." "She certainly does not look prepossess ing," saiJ my uncle, and on the instant I placed him on my blacklist. That awful word seemed to penetrate my heart, and I felt a wouuJ as from a dagger. "But I am used to this," said my aunt. •The breaking of the mirror in that deliber ate way is what I cannot overlook." « "That," said my uncle, "she never did. It la a dastardly trick my poor sister's daughter could not be eapal^e of. Whatever she may be, she is a Malcolm, a family of gentle men and ladies, madam." "She looks iike it, don't she, colonel?" cried my aunt. "I cannot say anything in favor of her looks," said the colonel, "but none of our people have ever dona a low down thing yet." "None of my people would have let you have me if they had," said my aunt. "I acknowledge the position of your fam ily," said the colonel, "but I must maintain the honor of mine. My sister Etta's daugh ter, my niece, could not fall so low as to willingly and with malice prepense fling a ! missile against a valuable mirrr ( r in my bouse for the purpose of destroying it. Blood will tell, madam. That is a trick a ; iecent nigger would be ashamed of; of "Which few white trash are capable." Remorse was beginning to seize upon my ritals. "And it is a pecuniary loss," my uncle con dnued. "Captain Tompkins, of the Hunter's Hotel, offered mo seventy-five dollars for it on Monday morning. He knew that I was in need o£ cash. 'Colonel,' said he, 'you will sxcuse me, I hope, but should you ever wish to dispose of that one remaining of those fine mirrors which once adorned your elegant ball-room, I should consider it an honor to be permitted to piirchase it,' and ho named I the price. "'Captain' said I, 'I understand you; but those mirrors are heirlooms. Most of them are shattered ; pierced by the bullets of the enemy. That one remains. I cannot, as yet, empty as is my purse, sell, even to you, j the glass that has reflected the faces of all 1 my ancestors, all my valued friends, all the dear ones gone before.' t " 'Colonel,' said he, 'forget that I made the offer, unless indeed circumstances should compel you to think it over, when I shall Btand ready.' We might need the price yet, 'my dear. Therefore you see it is my pecu niary loss. My niece must have been aware of the fact. Do you think she would, so to Bpeak, rob me?" At the words I shrunk and shivered with a hideous shame. "I think she is mean enough to do any thing," said my aunt. ,; "I'll know the truth before I sleep," said my uncle. He bent over me, put back my hair with a gentle touch, and called, "Nan nie, Nannie." t\ My eyes flew open. As they rested on my tmele, just now very pole, his cheeks hollow, i his eyes sunken, with his bowed shoulders / and empty sleeve, I burst into a wild passion i . Of tears. i i "Uncle! uncle!" I cried, as one utters a * prayer. < . "Tell me, Nannie," he said, "did you break the mirror in the ball-room? I will not be lieve it unless you tell me so yourself." I . Oh, how I longed to lie. But I could not The truth would out. I answered simply, "Yes, uncle." "But not on purpose ; by accident?" he said, gently. "Child, lam suro it was by ao eident." Now was my chance. I could say that I was reading in the ball-room and threw the book at some terrible insect that tried to sting me, out, though the false tale was at the tip of my tongue, out came the truth again. "I did it on purpose. I am sorry, but I threw the book at it in a rage. Oh, pray forgive me." But he turned away # and covored his faoe with his handkerchief. "ily sister's child," he said. "My own nieco has doae a thing liko this. It is in credible. The knowlodgo givos me moro shanio and* sorrow than I can put in words." "It shall be the ond of such doings," said my aunt. 'I am going to whip her." "Uncle," I screamed, "Oh, uncle don't let hor whip me. Dont, uncle, don't." But he turned his buck on mo :md left the room •without a word. "Aunt. Elizabeth," I said, when he was gono, "I will take any other punishment you pleaso quietly, but a whipping I cannot endure. Something will happen that you will bo sorry for if you touch me." "If the world comes to an end Til flog you," said my aunt. "Such hard times as we've hail since tho war, your uncle worried to death, I always pulling hr.rd to make both ends meet, and you, who know all about it, destroying valuable property. You shall be whipped as well as I know how." Sho opened tho door, we«t~ to tho head of the 6tairs and called— "Sally, bring me my riding whip from the hail, and come hero, I want you." Over what followed I draw a veil. Enough that at tha orders of her mistress, Sally held me whilo Aunt Elizabeth flogged me. The whipping was not severe. A child of six would not have suffered from it. Aunt Elizabeth simply wished to offer me an in dignity which would humiliate me to the soul. "You will never whip me again," I said. "You have dono what you will be sorry for. Only a Inw, ill-bred woman would call her negro servant to hold a^-oung lady while she beat her with a horsewhip. I despise you as I despise a toad. Now get out of my room, both of you." I do not know what there was in my faoe or air that frightened them, but I do know that old Aunt Sally threw hor apron over her head and lied downstairs as fast as her feet could fciko hor, and that Auut Elizabeth re treated to the door before she said : "I'm sure I hope you'll behave, so that I shall not have to repeat this thins:." CHAPTER IT. Despite my wrath, I slept, though my sleep was troubled by terrible dreams. When I awoke night was past, and a sweet er day was never born. The birds were singing, a flood of perfume came up from the garden, but my mood was unchanged. Sitting up in bed, I saw that Aunt Sally had placed my bathtub and clean towels whera they should be. Sho had polished my shoes, and the blue dross was replaced by a pink muslin, outgrown by Cousin Adelaide, of course. With a glance of scorn at this, I began to wash myself, and scrubbed until my skin smarted. Then, but without going to the glass, I combed my hair and braided it into a pigtail, which I wound up at the back of my head and fastened with twenty pins, and opening my wardrobo, hung up the pink frock and took down a gray linen one. Two years before, my uncle had taken me to Richmond with him, and this was the travel ing dress used on that occasion. It was rather tight, short in the skirt and sleeves, but it would do. I dragged it on and but toned myself into it, and took from the closet a bag in which I had been used to "tote" my school books, when Miss Penny, for a short time, kept school across the bridge. Into this bag I put some changes of under wear, certain books I had had given me, a volume of Mrs. Heman's poems which had been my lost mother's, and which bore on the title-page this inscription : "Presented to Etta Malcolm, on her fifteenth birthday, by her affectionate brother, William," and a small bible, which contained the record of my birth. I also took my mother's marriage certificate, which was engrossed on parch ment. I did this because it had been my mother'?, for I had none of those feeling 3 which older people would have had concern ing its preservation. One valuable article of jewelry I possessed — a necklace of gold chains, in the clasp of which a diamond was sot. It had been given to my mother on her wedding day, by her husband's father. One Christmas my uncle had given it to me, despite my aunt's proph ecies that I would break or lose it. I had been very careful. Now I drow it from the folded chamois skin in which it had been wrapped, put it on, and covered it with a scarlet handkerchief that my uncle had bought for me when I was with him in Richmond. And now I had only to put on a little gray straw hat and a pair of gray gloves, to be ready for departure. I had searched for my small store of spend ing money, and fifty cents jingled in my pocket. Then I heaped up the bed quilts so that any one peeping in would fancy me still lying on my pillow, drew the blinds shut, and crept on tip-toe downstairs. The debris of last night's refreshments were upon the dining-room table. I satisfied my hunger with these, wrapped a piece of cake in a paper, and left the house by a door not visi ble from the kitchen. "Good-bye, Aunt Elizabeth, I've done with you and with ail the rest of your tribe," I said, bitterly. But my lip did quiver as I remembered my uncte, who had been kind to me whenever he had time to think Nf me. And I did wish that I could havo told him that it was not to spite any one that I shat tered the mirror. I would have helped him out of his troubles if I could, and I prayed that some change would come before ho broke down under all his cares. But I did not protend to myself that I forgave my aunt. I knew I did not, and I thought theu that I never could. As for Mandy and Sally, I repeated to my self all the scornful things that were ever said about their race, and meant every word I uttered. So I passed on until I came to the great gate that opened on the road ; there I paused and looked back. The smoke arose from the outside kitchen, where I had had so many comfortabla mo ments, and believed myself welcome. Out of the windows of my little cousin's room floated a tiny white curtain, as if wav- Jnc me farewell. 3HAPTEB V. There are, I fancy, very few girls of my age who would have ru:i away from the only home they had ever known without considering how they were to find another, how thoy were to eat, where they were to sleep, what* was eventually to become of them. Now and then little boys do this, but at least they have some plans of going to tho wild West and shcoting Indians or buffaloes, or of shipping as sailors or becoming gentlemon of the road, with black masks, pistols in their belts, and a "halt there, money or your life," to terrified passengers. But I was so utterly ignorant of everything that I took this tre mendous step without asking what tho mor row would bring. I marvel now that I carried that little bag ■with me. I suppose the sense of going on a journey made me do it. It was not until noon, when I had bought a roll at a little shop on the roadside, and was eating it with a.n apple that I had climbed a fence and a tree to pick, that I even made up my mind that I would be a hermitess. THE SAINT PAUL DAILY GLOBE: SUNDAY MORNING, JUNE 10, 1894.HBTJPPLEMENT. I had read of hermits and knew that they dwelt in caves. As for hormltesaes I knew of one. The sentence in which she was de soribed ooourred to my memory as though tho book lay open in my hands. I scorned to see theso words before me : "Of course I would not leave tho bleak mountain hotel without visiting tho cele brated bermitess. She dwells in a sort of cavo to which a wooden lean-to has been added and tells fortunes at request. She told mine. I was glud to hoar that I was one day to bo very rich ; that a gentleman's heart was toward me, was not so interesting. She ao oepted fifty conts and retired with a grunt ■ which soemed to be one of disapprobation. "It is said that she throwa stones at. visitors who come merely for cariosity and do not offer a fee ; that an unhappy love affair drove her to this solitude thirty years ago, and that she was then a beauty. At present sho is certainly most unprepossessing." "I suppose that is why she lived in a cave," I commented, and to be a hermitess seemed a fitting way to dispose of myself. Only I would not toll any one's fortune, and I would throw fetoncs at any one who came near mo. ■ When I had eaten my lunch, and begged a • little boy, who -was filling a pait at the publio pump in the village street, to give mo a drink : of water, I continued my journey, but I found that I -was rather tired, and when at last I en mo to a lonely bit of road, and saw a pretty wood- j land lying at its side, I took a little footpath that ran into it, and soon stood upon a low hillock, studded with trees and with a bed of ' moss here and there, as soft as ever was Persian carpet. On one of these I stretched myself. I had often been sure that I saw fairies in the grass, and I knew that little yellow gnomes lived in the rocks, for I had read of that in the tattered volume of fairy tales, which I loved best of all my books. When I looked into the water, I saw the necken there, peeping at me, laughing, beck- ' oning, and was sure there was a "troll" under the bridge, like the one that cried "Who is there?" when she heard above her the trab trab-trab of the sheep going into the moun tains to get fat. When I opened my eyes, utter darkness prevailed. For a moment I forgot where I was, and felt for the coverings, which I wished to draw about me. Their absence, and the coldness of the rocks and the dry spongincss of the moss, recalled my memory. I was stiff, and my limbs ached, and I sat up with a shiver. . • • It was strangely silent and awesome, but I felt no fear, and I began to wonder if they were all out with torches and halloes, crying my name along the roads, beating the woods for mo as they had done within my memory when a neighbor's little boy was lost. If this were so, I wished I could convey to my poor uncle the information that his unprepossess ing niece was perfectly safe and well and had gone away of her own free will, so that he might go home and go to bed, for he was sure to have that frightful neuralgia again after any extra exertion. - Oh, no doubt they were making as much fuss over my disap pearance as if they really cared what became of me. I laughed bitterly. Perhaps my uncle did care a little. He had loved his sister. I had no doubt that my pursuers were on my trail, and asked myself whether ■" my safest plan were to lie still or take to flight. I decided on the former course. The next instant every fairytale I had ever heard seemed to arise before me, for I looked upon an object such as it seemed to me could only be part of the mysterious world in which elves and goblins played their parts. The creature was about two feet high, and was dressed in a red frock and wore a queer little bonnet covered with • gilt braid. It seemed to be carrying a . lantern, and it stooped as it hobbled along. - It had the as pect of a wicked fairy, but its face was strangely doleful, and it made a whimpering noise at intervals. And now I perceived that • a chain was fastened to a belt about its waist, and that the lantern was tied to its neck. -It was a monkey, dressed much as organ grinders dress the little creatures who ac company them, and the end of the chain was clutched in the hand of an old blaok woman. I saw the hand perfectly and remarked that the fingers were covered with rings. . Instead of being at all alarmed, I burst into a laugh. "Go ahead 1" I cried, rather hysterically, "you can't hurt me, I'm blighted already 1" . A chuckle was the response to my speech. The old woman name nearer, and I saw that her face resembled that of the monkey, and that she wore a red bandanna turban which completely covered her wool, and a gown made of such chintz as old-fashioned house wives used for curtains — a thin material with a glaze upon it, and always in immense patterns. This was covered with peacocks with wide spread tails, and between each peacock was a large, red cabbage rose and three green leaves. The ground was blue. The lantern, on a level with the old woman's knees as the monkey clung to her gown for protection, revealed all this to me. "Dat a wench speakin'?" the old creature said, when her merriment permitted her. "I say, I reckon ' you spend de night in a funny place. Hi, 'scuse me, miss, my eyes is • mighty bad dese days. You is a white young - lady, miss. 'Scuse me, sartin, lis ashame ob myself, speakin' ■ like dat to white folks. Didn' see you before." - "I'll excuse you," said I. "'Scuse me again, miss," sa:d the woman. "But huccorno a white young lady li!;o you in dis yar spookish place, middle ob de night time?" "Lost myself," I said, curtly. "I came in here to rest, wont to sleep and awoke to find it dark." "Jes so, miss," said the woman. "Which » ob de families roun' here you belong to? I kin take you home, miss, I knows de place all roun' here like a book. Take you home, whereber it is." -•'.-. ": '.'". '-'.I 'Oh, I don't live near here, and I'm pretty comfortable whore I am, thank you," I said. "Good night." . .' 3§fg^ ; SV\ But she came closer, and taking the lantern from the monkey's neck, held it above my ■ head. ' •■" "You am' no tramp," she said. ? "You is a young lady, and nummore'n a child. Huccomo you here like dis? Mighty curus." "You are here, aunty," I said. "Yes, miss, but I is a ole nigger, woman," sho said. "I am' no white lady. "Dis no place for you, mis 3; day is bad folks roun'. Un snakes, rattlers, oh, dey is, but de folks is wuss. Dey is tramps sleeps here some times. My Gawd, don' you tink ob dat?" I heard her words with a shudder, "Neah de railroad dey always is tram,,e," she said. "I is'n afeared of nobody. " I can blight anybody, and I comes to'getyarbs for. j my medicines and my spells. : Dey mus' be ['. pick at night, some ob dern, an' 'toads musV j bo cotch at night. Dey ' is ; yarbs in dis i bundle, an' toads in dis kettle," and she showed me that she had a bundle on her i back and a kettle on her arm.; "I is done = got enough now, I is gwine' ! home. You coaio along wid me, miss. lis j only got a cabin, suah enough, but it's clean ! an' you is welcome. .Come along, . p'easo i ma'am." „ ; .. . : .. .. ■: . . ........ \ : '.'Very.' well," I .said. . .'.'Thank ■■ you, ■ and I . can pay something for the lodging, too." ■•• ' I • "Jus' a3 you please 'bout dat; miss," she i said, and led tbe way, while I followed "with : my littlo bag on my arm, until; we left the '. ■ woods, and in its very outskirts cams* to a \ dwalliu;; of soxo sori', tha inbr o! which ". olil woman open.*), bidding me euttv. '..': ' • ' I followed, she lit a lamp on the mautol- - ; pieco, and offered me a chair. - . ;I -. . The room was small, but gaily papered and ' carpeted. It boasted of a set of horse-hair furniture and had thick red curtains at the windows. There was also a double door, as if for security. "What is your name, aunty?" I asked. "Flora, dey calls me," she said. "I nebber belonged to nobody. I is lib here where my ole mammy lib, yars and yard. Some white folks gib dis yar housu an' aa acre ob (tiKING THE CRASH. • • '' land to my mammy, cause she cure one 00. dem ob a — yes'm, she did. She was a doctor woman — I is a doctor woman, too. Doy comes to me when doctors gibs 'em' vp — I cures 'em. 'Taint . only no count nig^ gers comes. 'White ; folks ladies, dey comes ' too," and old Flora nodded her head. "Taint only sickness dey comes for," she said. ' "I ■ kin make har grow, an' take freckles off, an, I kin get out scars, an' I tell fortunes. Tells ' 'em true; oh, I does, yes'm, and ef you is ; jealous"— she broke : of suddenly, looked at ; mo and laughed. '■■' ' "Time I stop ' talkin' to - you, little miss," she said. "Time I stop talkin' to you-" "Why?" I asked. " She only laughed. "Oh, you do know nuffin' "boy.., vein' jealous j yet," she said. : In my innocence I uttered a little derisive cry. ; " .. ")/. ' ■ ■■". "Oh, I do," I said, thinking of my envy of > the kisses my aunt and cousins gave each other. "Folks are always jealous." ' "Sho," cried Flora. ."You am' got no young . genleman yet to be jealous ob. You am' come ; to de time ob life; you gib all you got for • debbll's beauty, sho." ' '.'lf I had anything to give I would give it . for beauty, I am sure," I said. "It •is the only thing worth having, the only thing." The old woman chuckled. "You is mighty cute, miss," she said, "an sartainly you is humbly jess now, 'an I could make you harn some; I know how." I:: --"And that I don't believe, either," I said. ;; "No, little miss,", she said, "no ma'am; when I gib a white lady de beauty dat makes folks fall in lub wid her minute dey see her, so she ride ober de heads ob all de oder ladies 'an kin scorn 'em all, 'an twis de gem'men roun' her finger like I cass spells . and says de words, I makes de magic ring 'an lights de magic fires 'an de magic lamps, I does. I'se voudoo, 'an what I gib her don* wash off nor rub off; it lasts as long as she does. Huccome.old Madame Bailey to done gone run off wid young Miss Fanny Homer's beau, 'an marry j^im, .young enough to be her son, he was, yas'm? 'Cause I gave her the charm. . She say, jess like you, only one year ob lub I gib de res' ob my life faw. Only she wed what she was talkin' 'bout, 'an you don't, little miss, you don't noways know; I . see straight through . you, . innercent little . chicken. - Tell you.de kin' ob beauty I gib is debbil's beauty. Go 'long, wait till you know what it is you askla' faw; debble got to help ...you to dat." ;v>-'-*; 3 j t .Vio •■= _ : ? -■ ■u-r-^ i "Flora," I said, "I do not believe Satan has anything to do with ; beauty ; he bestows ugli ness. Beauty is from God and the good angels. Angels are beautiful." "So I hearn tell, miss," said Flora, "but dey is a diffren' kin' ob looks I reckon. Maybe you kin pray for dat kin. Better do it." I . shall always think that at that moment she spied upon my throat the necklace which I thought that the scarlet handkerchief con cealed. I had unconsciously loosened the silk and no doubt the gleam of gold and the flash of the diamond caught her eye, for on the instant her whole manner changed. "Of cose, young miss, I could do it faw you ef you wish me to," she said, "only I must have gold faw dat. Needn't ...be -money,' good gold jewh-yjes the same, an' harnsome stones. But I'se got to use costly t'lngs. I get 'em from high mountains 'an down in de swamps. I'se got to hab sea-serpants' fangs, an suicides' blood, and de seeds ob de flower that bloom once in a hundred years. 'An I uses up de power for a long while. Yes, I needs gold to pay faw dat. lis fixed dar. I got to tink ob myself; I's gettin' old. Times comin" I got to gib up and sot down 'an use my sabins'. Ole age near by, little miss, 'an dey ain't no one to do nawfln* faw ole Flora when she cawn't help herself." And still she fixed me with hor eye and said, softly, "Ef you is got any gold, you kin hab de beauty, little miss, you kin hab it. Needn't be money— gold ring or a watch 'an chain would do." In that instant I thought of tho necklace that I wore. Mamma would say yes, if I could ask her, I thought, and my hand went to my throat. In a moment more I held the necklace toward Flora. ■ , •' ■ It was composed of twelve gold chains of the finest workmanship, fastened in front by a broad clasp, set with a diamond. On the back of the clasp was my mother's name, so finely engraved that it could ■ only be read through a magnifying glass by people with ordinary sight. -••-. --■ The black finders of old Flora closed softly over the necklace. ' "You kin trust me, young mips," she said ; "And now youse got to say to yourself 'courage,' youse got to strive and dare, you has. What I gwine to do now is : . voudoo. . You hear telbob dat, miss?" •;• "Yes," I said, for indeed I had. heard that . dreadful word whispered in the kitchen, and j had learned to believe" in the sort of black magic it expresses to' the negro. Even Mauai Msmdy, who had 'killed a mad do;? with a: hatchet, would shrink and tremble at the sight of a piece ol- calico tied in the middle with a thread and laid on the sill. of the kitchen door, and whisper with white lips - and rolling eyes, "voodoo." Yes, I believed in this, and I felt that it was ■ j wicked to have anything to do with it, but it | seemed to me that to be so ugly that I could ■ not be loved, to be unprepossessing, was to ! be under a sort of evil, spell for life. :' ' /..->.;:: '-. \ "Yes," I said, "I -know. : Now . that •I - \ ■ have paid yon, go to wprk and do what you . : can do at one?." %as negress bowed: her '■■ heal. -'■■■ W^Wg •■■•; :■■;', "Yas\ yas, miss,":; she said, and at once begun ' to r.:-e. to the : f;ißtening3 of doors '. and shatters, looking nnd barring ' them j ■ securely. Having done this slio stooped .to j ; the floor and rolled bae'.< a rug-that covered i j part of the carpet.." Even Thou .was the j * reirpM. so carefully ; matched . that 1 should : | not h:.vo suspected the presence of a trap- & j. door until elie lifte-l it and; laid it biic:; on j; its fliu.^es. ■; A tlarap uni mouldy smoii earns : ■» )•; up from tho. depths bt£r>w Mid o!fi'..F:ora ■*■ 1 wiiistlec .- .-^. '.;.:-.;,. v ■■■■;:■■-■:■ ■<■;.: -'■-'-■:, ; ; -;i ■ • At this the monkey. l have t'es^ribci an- -.-i ! • ~ nearoJr finui ;■;• > inner r.irmi, anil eate&og ; n;> thi> l,i i>'iti, .■!•., •• it to lu>r. 'if, - •■. ' \ ; ■ Mr. lit if . 'in I ti.a<l irji ! » nit his nrcl:. a:>.-l oom- • ' !' rr.atula i him to do^u.-iul to the i-ull&r. Ho ' " : chattered,', trembled and seemed overcome I ~ with terror; but she menaced him furiously. ■ I ' And in a few momenta be obeyed. Then she \ turned to me :"..,.; ..... ' .;■' "Come, little miss,". she said, "go you down. ' Hold onto de ladder, don't fall. An' ■ don't be steered, nuffln' hurt you.", I bad no - fear •of ■ ladders, and descended .- briskly. Flora ] followed, shutting i the trap f and bolting it behind her. •'.. ; ;.. / -.--. ' Wo were now in a whitewashed collar, with out a single window. The floor was covered ; with tar, and at one end was a set of shelves, full of Jars, pots and boxes. ' " On a flat stone in the centre stood an Iron pot, and about this other stones wero ar ranged in a circle, as it for seats. Nothing ■ else was visible. - ' ' "... '• "Sit down on one ob dem yar stone, missy," f the old woman said. "And . whatever you see, keep quiet. lis gwino to call dem dat ■. keeps de beauty atone.' I calls 'em by charms and spells. Now I 'splain to you. •Ef you I likes to go on you kin, If not you can loabit." . . ;.,, , I shivered, but I said: "Go on ; if you can » make me beautiful I don't care how.". ... At this Flora went to the shelves and brought from them sundry jars and boxes, . the contacts of which she began to sprinkle into the great pot on the central stone. She kindled no fire, but shortly it seemed .to me : that the contents of the pot began to boil and . bubble and a thick, blue . steam to rise from ] it. In a little while everything about me began :to seem unreal. A delightful dreaminess crept over me, the blue smoke that arose from the pot grew denser, the whole air was filled with a singular perfume and I saw everything - as if through the medium of opal glass. ■ It would have - been impossible for me to \ move, though I could ■ turn my eyes in any ■ direction. - However, I did not wish to stir; ■■ I was perfectly content to sit with my hands in my lap and watch what took place about me. . . On the stone beside the pot sat the monkey, solemn and sphynx-like. . Behind it, in the thickest of the smoke, stood the black woman, chanting and throwing, every now and then, some new substance into the boiling mess. : The most singular part of the spectacle was that when I took my . seat upon one of the stones ; there was no one in the cellar but Flora, the monkey and myself. But by de grees every stone in the circle ■ became occu pied by a strange figure. I never saw one of them enter or take its place ; suddenly it was there, I knew not how. All were robed in white, with hoods drawn over their heads. Some had snouts like pigs, some had beaks like birds of prey, some tusks like elephants, some eyes in the middle of their foreheads, some had bare skulls with no eyes at all. But all of them continually moved their heads up and down, slowly and strangely, . and all joined in Flora's wild chant. Somewhere an unseen drum began to beat, to which all these creatures kept time. Now and then I heard a hollow groan. ': At last a green serpent with fiery eyes arose from the pot and -coiled as if fora spring. , The opal light changed to a red glare. Flora, the monkey and all the other figures vanished, and I j was alone with a gigantic being, dusky and horrible. It seemed to have wings, it seemed to have claws, it seemed, to have horns, it certainly had great, fiery eyes. It came nearer and nearer, it ' bent over me : "Hold fast what I give you," it said. And though I did not see her I heard old Flora's voice shrieking : "You is got de beauty stone, little missy, and you is paid a price for it. Yes, you is got it sure enough; : hold fast, hold fast" I felt a small, smooth object pressed into my palm, closed my fingers over it and knew no more. - (To be Continued.) . Miss Glider and Suffrage* Miss Jeanette L. Gilder, to the great amazement of those who know her, has ■■ come ■■ out strongly in opposition to the woman's suffrage movement, which is now agitating all classes of society. In explain ing her position she says, in effect, that she is a believer in the mental equality of the sexes, but denies that there is any physical equality. Women's work and men's work of the same character, she thinks, should be placed side by side, so as to judge each fairly ; and she maintains that, when so compared, men's work, particularly where strength and skill are required, is Incomparably greater than that which it is possible for a woman to ' do. Miss Gilder is certainly right in saying that there can be no sex in literature and art, and that every book and picture should be judged by its own merit irrespective of the writer or the maker. Miss Gilder gives her belief, rather than ■ her reasons, why women should not take part in politics. She believes that public ; life is too 'wearing and too unfitted for the average woman. She does not believe, as do ' many of the women suffragists, that better [ laws would result from the enlargement of ' the franchise. The same vexed questions . would remain, and nothing could be settled by more votes. Miss Gilder believes that from the days of Adam and Eve men and women have been different in all important respects, and she believes that this difference will continue. She holds that it was intended by nature that men should work, and that women should share in the disposition and enjoyment of their labor. Without intending to contradict Miss Gil der, it is evident th it she has overlooked the fact that in a state of nature it is the women, and not the men, who work, and it is the man who enjoys the fruits and disposition of the products of his wife's labor. Miss Gilder does not believe that the laws are unfair to women. With a spirit that would be chivalric if manifested by the other sex to hers, she believes that men want to be fair to women, and that tho laws made by men aroinore lenient to her sex than to their own. Very pertinently she asks the question, while discussing the question that men are unfair : f Will women, if allowed to vote and to make laws, be fair to women?" This she regards as a very serious question, arid the inference is, although she does not openly state it, that women will be more severe and uncharitable to their own sex than are men. - ; , Miss Gilder's strongest point is made when she states that in her opinion it will be im possible for . women to cultivate home life and at the same time to enter the political arena. Referring to her own hard-working life with its essential duties and its conse quent trials, she says she doe.-; not see how it would . have been possible for her to have . cared for herself and the loved ones dependent upon her and at the same time to have given any attention to politics. She believes that if the franchise were extended it would clearly be ths duty of women to oxeroise the privilege of tho ballot, and sha is clearly believes that this could not be done without a sacrifice of the home duties ori which the happiness of the community and the success of the nation so largely depend. ::■::. :: ■ In conclusion, Miss Gilder says that she is anxious to give women everything she wonts —but not. the ballot She believes in opening v:» to her. every Held and every avenue of in- I dustry, whora there is a possibility of her success; but she earnestly adds : "fci»o"i>p» \' ou 1 : of politics." z.' ■ • Tho ', census of 1800 ■ shows cnat in ; the ' - United. States the number of- females of all ! RRtW is 30." 5 1,370, of whom 17,183,988 were \. ' ; s -u'jfUvf. Tho ' : larKO '-. number ,', of .' unmarried | ! ; women' between 1 I lie r,ges of forty-five I and [ ! R.xry, strangely ; enough, , corresponds with : • tr.n | iiumt.;e;\ of ; inon," North and South, who ', ' ■ viero killed -or died ; during or soon after \ I the civil war. These amount to nearly one I million. - - A NEW YORK ROMANCE. An Ambitious Journalist Wins a . Salvation. Army Lass. A Nearness Flirt In High Life-Gladys Vandyke Trifle* With the Affections '. of Jabcz Tutrie-Hls Confidence In Woman's Love t< Sliaken. Jabez Tuttle was san ambitious . young reporter, employed on the " New York Daily Hustler, a ' journal whose circulation was simply fabulous,"according to its own edi torial utterances on that subieet. Mr. - Turtle, is no . longer I connected with metropolitan journalism, of which he was a bright and shining light, and the cause of his , eclipse is to be discovered in the following ; romantic story: ■■'••■•';.*'■• '■.'■. '■■■' Although 'he had passed the ; quarter of a century mark, Jabez Tuttle had never been ; in love until he was detailed by the city editor '• of - the : Hustler. to write up the pro ceedings of a Salvation Army convention. There he mot Captain Patsy. Dinkins and his fate. Captain Dinkins could not well be called handsome, but she had dark, soulful I eyes, a graceful' figure, and a bright, pleasant I smile. ' It was a case of love at first sight, and for them to become engaged was the work of a moment. : They intended to wed as soon as Jabez got "a raise." His salary ; was eleven dollars a week, and out of it he had to support his' aged father, a most ex emplary widower, to whom he was devotedly - attached, and with whom he lived in a hall ' - room on the top floor of a Harlem apartment ' house. ' ! < : -~ ->■ '■■":■■■:' • For a while Patsy and Jabez were very happy. ; Then they quarreled for the usual ■ reason that separates lovers. -"- Captain Patsy became jealous. ' In the discharge 'of his ■ reportorial duties, the young journalist at - tended a brilliant social gathering at the palatial Vandyke residence on Fifth avenue. There he met Gladys Vandyke, the beautiful daughter of a millionaire banker. She was very much taken with the gifted young reporter, who wrote up an enthusiastic de scription of - the ' heiress, which appeared, with her portrait, in the next issue of the paper. ■•'- "> "■'"• ■". ' Gladys Vandyke was a natural born flirt, and she completely turned the head of the journalist. She invited him to call again. When Captain Dinkins heard of this she reproached her lover. He retorted bitterly, and they parted.- r "■'■'■■<■ i{ -^ - After that he saw a great deal of Gladys Vandyke. In fact, she made Jabez believe that she loved him. He proposed and was accepted, but she enjoined secrecy, as her parents were inclined to look with disdain on the struggling young reporter. She persuaded him * that a private marriage would be necessary, until she csuld get her father to look more kindly on the match. Of course, the Salvation Army lassie faded out of the memory of Jabez Tuttle, but she had not forgotten him. One evening he was passing through Union Square, when a gentle hand was laid on his arm. It was Patsy Dinkins, but the mere shadow of her former self. There were dark rings around her eyes, and a wan, weird expression on her face. "Why, is it you, Patsy?" asked the aston , ished reporter. ■-■'•< ■' "It is me," she responded, calmly, but un grammatically ; "however/we are no longer Patsy and Jabez to each other," and she averted her head, so he could not perceive her emotions. :-' '.^ : :• " "Excuse me,' Captain Dinkins." "Major Dinkins, if you please. I have been promoted," she replied, with quiet dignity. -■• "I congratulate you, major. ■' - "Mr. Tuttle, I dislike to annoy you, but I have a sacred duty to perform. You are de ceiving your worthy old father. You have not informed him of your engagement to Miss Gladys Vandyke. If you do not tell him I shall do so." :o: "Well, it strikes me, major, that my affairs should' no longer concern you. Miss Van dyke loves me for myself alone," observed Mr. Tuttle, with a hauteur precaution to New York reporters. ...... '.-.— •:- . "Jabez— excuse me, Mr. Tuttle — I am only thinking of your happiness. If Miss Van dyke really meant to marry you, I would not have come to warn you; but she is : merely trifling with your warm affections, . and will cast you aside as the plaything of an hour." "It is false. Gladys Vandyke is as true as steel," retorted Tuttle, with a fierce glare in ' his tone of voice. ■ ; " "".-•■• if r'-V' "Listen to me, Jabez Tuttle," she answered, in a low, deep tone, that thrilled his whole being. "She is about to elope with an actor, Claude DeVere, whose real name is Brani gan." - -.> ' "I see you are as jealous as ever," replied Tuttle, with a snort of derision. , "No, Jabez, I love you only as a sister. I know whereof I speak. '•- Miss Sadie Bond clipper, the bosom friend of Miss Vandyke, has become converted, and joined our army. Sk*- THE FIBST JIEETIN'a. She has told mo in strict confidence that Gladys Vandyke told her that she was going to marry Claude DeYere. He is old enough to be her father, but he has persuaded her that she has great dramatic ability. She is to star in his company as soon as they are married. They are making arrangements to elope. If you will be at the little arbor in Central Park, just west of the lake, to-morrow afternoon at three, you will discover tbat I have told the truth. Farewell, Jabez Tut tle." She disappeared in the direction of the Salvation Army barracks on Fourteenth street, and he s;iw her no more. At first, Tuttle was disposed to laugh at the warning, but he remembered that Gladys had of Into developed a remarkable penchaut for attending matinee performances at the Staudup Theatre, where DoVere's company was performing. In spite of all he could do, a horrible suspicion took possession of him. That night ho did not close an eye, but tossed on his couch unbil morn. Shortly before three o'clock in the after noon of the next day Jabez visited the alleged place of rendezvous. Bight behind the rustic arbor was a thick clump of bushes, in which, while completely concealed from view, he could see and hear everything that was said and done. He hid in the bushes and waited for developments. Precisely at three o'clock Gladys Vandyko and Jjjaude^eTere oould be : _apDroac.h hurried steps. They enterod the arbor, and nfter a brief embrace that filled the soul of Jabez with rage, they sat on the bench and talked about their future prospects. Claude DeVere was about fifty yeare ot age, had a large, dyed moustache, and other indications of former great personal beauty. "How lovely you look, Gladys !" he said, with a stage smile. "What a sensation you will make when we aupear together on the stage I It will remind the New York publio of Lillian Russell and SlgnorPerrngrinl. By the way, Gladys"— and a dark frown gathered on his alabaster brow — "who is this snide reporter with whom I hear you are so inti mate?" "Why, I really believe yon are^ealous. D« you suppose, you silly man, that I could lov« any other human being after I met you?" "Then you did love him at one time?" "Never ! The idea that I should have an> affection for a creature liko that, who has no style about him. I know 1 showed him some little attention, but I was working for puffs in the Hustler, and I got them. Why, those odious Dusenbury girls are eaten up with envy at the flattering notices I got in the Hustler." "Oh, I understand it now," replied DeVere, completely mollified, "I've had to be polite to these vu'gar creatures of the press myself, in order to get favorable mention. Forgive me, Gladys, that I doubted your love." Then followed another demonstration ot affection. Poor Jabez pressed his hand to his throbbing heart. His brain reeled in its socket, so to speak. When he recovered sufficiently to look into the arbor again, it was empty ; but he could see them strolling down the pathway hand in ha; id, lifce tw ■«^\# IHE SECOND SIEETISfO turtle doves, as it ■were. Then all was dark. He had swooned away. When Jabez Tuttle regained consciousness, he found himself still in the bushes, and' the shades ef night had been falling for some time. He had just strength enough left to drag himself to his humble lodgings, where he was cared for by his decrepid old father, the exemplary widower. A raging fever' set in. For days he raved, and was ' out of bis head. Once, when he had a lucid interval, he felt on his pale brow a soft hand, that was altogether different from the horny palm oi his worthy old parent. Jabez opened his eyes and saw the kindly face and Salvation Army bonnet of Patsy Dinkins gazing down at him. "I am going to die", and loses my position on the Hustler, am I not, Patsy?" '"■• "Yes, Jabez, it looks that way, if periton itis sets in," replied Major Dinkins. "Then, listen to me — I never would have told you, if I expected to pull through. When you warned me in Union Square, my love re turned suddenly, and I would have wrapped my arms around you then and there if a cop hadn't been watching us from behind a tree. Farewell, Major Patsy Dinkins, forever." Major Dinkins festooned the emaciated . neck of the expiring journalist -with her arms, and they mingled some tears. " However, as peritonitis forgot to set in,. Jabez began to : recover, and in a few. days was able to set up and take a little beef tea, but he lost his $11 a week position on the staff of the baily Hustler. VSk£ ■': ■'■'■ "■'.' ' ■ They were married, and there is no happier couple in New York than , Sergeant Tattle, otherwise known as "Jolly ' Jabez," who pounds a bass drum, and his wife, . Major Dinkins, who shakes a tambourine at Satan. And what about the faithless Gladys Van dyke? She was married to Branigan alias DeVere. He broke his promise to make her a star, and otherwise treated her with great cruelty. Her parents cast her off," : and now she is suing for divorce and alimony, on the : statutory grounds, a prominent New York so ; ciety lady being mentioned as co-respondent. R-- -■'••■■ Alex Swop", The Liquor Trade in low*. After a trial of eleven years lowa has abandoned prohibition for .the sufficient reason that the law could not be enforced and that prohibition did not prohibit. The last legislature enacted and the Governor ap ; proved a license law that varies somewhat from that of the other states. In towns having a population of five thousand : and over the consent of the city council must be obtained by every retail liquor seller. This done he must pay a fee fixed at $600 a year, in quarterly instalments in advance. In communities where there is not a municipal government saloons cannot be licensed un less sixty-five per cent, of the voters in the village give them written consent. : The license fee is divided between the county and the municipality. : One of the most popular song writers ia England is J. L. Malloy, an Irishman by birth, and a lawyer by profession. He stands high at the English bar, but being passionately fond of music, like Silas Wagg, he drops into poetry by way of recreation, but :he writes with more heart than men do for bread and butter. A metallurgist at Westfleld, N. J., who has been experimenting for many years, has dis covered a method of making aluminum at twenty-five cents a pound with a profit to the manufacturer. , This is about one-half its present selling price, and this inventor be lieves that in time the metal can be produced as cheaply as Bessemer iron. . r -rvj»-y^ The Protestant population of all Europe is about 50,000,000, or equal to that of the United States ; but while continental ' Europe has only about eight por cent, of ' the Sunday schools of the world, the United States has forty-nine per cent, or nearly one-half. It is commonly supposed that the eating of oranges, plums, apples and other acidulous fruits has a tendency to increase acidity in the stomach. This, however, is not so. On the contrary the fruit acids, when taken into the stomach, are converted into alkaline carbon ates, which tend to counteract acidity. . . ' '';,... ...■-. It is said that women have a greater fond ness for speculation than men, and . that where once they take to gambling it is diffi cult to break them of . it. In ■ England - and America they are the most ardent admirers of the racecourse, and their interest seems to be proportioned to the amount of their bets. An anti-gambling women's association is being formed in England. \ -, . vv-.',<' •_ \> •.;■ '. The grape has . been ' a most . popular., and useful fruit, but' it is only recently that all its possibilities have been grasped. ! They are now making an excellent illuminating oil out of grape seed. For generations. cotton seed, now so important an agricultural -product, was regarded as a useless substance- »-»d : ao 19