Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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_ ?? ~ ~ = " - I ' ? ' " """ ?? lewis m. grist, proprietor, j gin Jndcpcndqnf Jmiiilj gtcirspapcr: Joi( Ihq fromotion of thr folitiqal, Social, gLriirtcultiiqal and (fommcqcial Jntcrcsts of flic jSoufh. j TERMS? $2.00 A TEAB IN ADVANCE. VOT.:: ft?. YOEKYILLE, S. P., WEDNESDAY, APRIL 1, 1891. 3STO. 8. - ? I ' "O - a 1 I l CREOLE AN BY T. C. Author of" "Pour Years In "Cross I t DEDICATED TO HON. HENRY WATTERS05 UNPORGOTTEN, AS OUR SHADOWS [Copyright, 1890, by J. B. Lippincott Cor nient wit PART 111?CHAPTER V. A MORNING SURPRISE. "Peace be with you, also," Lntour answered. At the entrance of the Hotel d'Orient Lady Martindale dismounted from her hone with easy grace. The hand she rested on Latour's was steady and cool, and her voice was softly clear as she Mid: "1 shall not attempt to thank yon for ?this ride. Lord Martin dole will be borne soon. Good night!" Neither she nor the man turning away, as though in a dream, took note of a tall, dusky form, wrapped in a long bournous, that slunk in the shadow of the palms opposite. Npr had they noted, as they rode rapidly homeward through the Bab-el-Nassr, that this Arab glided out from the gateway, running swiftly and noiselessly behind in shadow of the booses. Now he stood motionless against a treo, but his black eyes glittered as they caught the flash of the solitaires upon her hand and ears. The waiting orderly led off the horses. Latour, still without a word, turned toward the Exbekieh; bnt, listening only to the voices within him, he did not catch the one word mattered again by the Arab*. "BnkaraT Hoar after hoar was called from the minarets, and long past midnight Adrien ; Latoar was trying to think, bat in reality only acting over and over the strange abort boon of that evening. No prude was he; still leas a fop, bat woman's ever quick acceptance of bis approaches taught him that he was attractive beyond the average of men. But above all had ha ever held to that high, chivalrous sense of honor belonging to Us race for centuries. * Nor had it been belittled by one act of any of the stately men who had looked down 'upon his itbiUlwyul fmm tKo walla of miduBflVi mloo. The busy events of the past ten days, i their culmination that night, the tingling thrill of success?all so dazed him that he coold not force his mind to clear discussion of the present. And the mare he straggled to compel it to the outcome of the Immediate future all the more did it resent coercion and raise the past before him. Again Edith Van der Huyaen strolled with him round "Flirtation;" again he sat with her in the garden of Rose villa. Scraps of conversation, careless bits of badinage, came back clearly, foil freighted with meaning now. He had indeed been blind, as she told him! He saw himself as One whose hand, Like the twee Indian, threw a pearl away Blcher than ail hia tribe! And how faithful had been that love to seek him after all those years in friendship?to find friendship too tame progeny for it, even in its ago?to sweep aside habit, reserve, fear?even her vows at the altar! And, as is man's way, he analyzed her feelings, not his own. Not once did he ask himeelf how he loved this woman; if the hot rash of passion surging through him from pressure of her lips was higher, because stranger, feeling than a hundred fancies he had reared one week, only to bury under the satiety of the next When at last, fevered bat wearied, he threw himself upon the divan the dreams that visited his first fitful sleep reversed the tenor of bis waking visions. Beautiful, alluring, dazzling, Edith would stretch her arms to him. And ever, as he reeled toward her, dizzy with passion, the face would change to the stony, fathomless one of the Sphinx, the sightless eyes looking beyond him. Then the voluptuous form would merge into the one he bad last seen under the orange trees of the Creole garden, its scornful lips upbraiding: "She knew I loved yon then; Dale knew it; my husband knew it, to his cost! Ypu?only you?would not know itr He still lay, half dressed, upon the divan after the son had long slipped up above the Eastern desert, suddenly as it ever does in Egypt Now changed to a ruddy orange, it gilded the domes of the citadel, the minarets of Cairo's four hun- : * * _L_a a I area mosques, ana warmea me uuii shade of the Mokattam hills. Suddenly be was roused by a heavy footstep and a loud voice at his side. Lord Martindale stood there with flushed face, crying in a voice strident from excitement: "Odd hour, 1 know, to beat you up! No time for ceremony, you know. Lady Martindale's conduct must explain. Inexplicable, really P Latour was on his feet, confronting the excited husband calmly, but a dozen conjectures whirled into his brain, only to be dismissed as qnickly. Had she betrayed herself? Could she have confessed her fault? Were the Arabs he had seen her husband's spies? "And what of Lady Martindale?" he asked. "Most singular freak, you know," his lordship answered, in real anxiety. I "Been missing since dawn, you see. Pearson, her maid, tells me that she rode off, followed by Harris, at the first streak of day." "There is nothing very alarming in that," La tour rejoined, in relieved tone. "Sit down and have some coffee before she returns for breakfast." "Couldn't do it, you know," Lord Martindale replied, walking to the win- I dow and gazing over the desert "She told Pearson to wake me in half an hour?she'd be back by that time, you j know. That was two hours ago audit's devilish strange, really!" "It is an odd time, rather," Latour said absently. "But Harris was with her, and if anything wrong bad chanced" Cries from the street interrupted him; the clatter of flying hoofs sounded on the stones of the court, and as he glanced down through the window a sudden dread sprang to his brain. Morning stables nearly completed, the horses of the cavalry escort were tethered to the long rope in the yard beyond, wiry native dragoons finishing the grooming of their sleek coats by the last rub down. As Latour looked a riderless horse, covered with foam and snorting with fright, dashed by the sentry, clattered np the | court and halted at the rope. Instantly strong hands seized him, some stroking his neck and muzzle, others lifting the , saddle and examining his sides, gored by the sharp shovel stirrups. Lord Martindale stared over his shoal- j .for, asking anxiously: d puritan; T>e LEON, r Rebel Capitals," "Juny," wrposes." r, IN MEMORY OF SCHOOLBOY DAYS, STILL LENGTHEN TOWARD THE SUNSET. npany, and published by special arrangeh them.] "That ia~the horse" Harris rides? My God, Latour, something is wrong! I may be a fool, yoa know; but if yon loved her as I do you'd understand, really." Without answer Latour clapped his hands, speaking rapidly to the prompt orderly. "Saddle Said Pasha and another quickly; sling my holsters and examine the caps. Ask Gapt Ahmed to report here," he said, in Arabic. Via rninil iru ploar now fho nrkldiAP I instinct, rising strong over anxiety and doubt The riderless cavalry hon e had ran a long distance, evidently over heavy sand. The two Arabs at the gate, the taller one later at the hotel, Edith's imperative wish to visit their camp, and, above all, the unusual comment made on her by those stolid children of the desert?all these flashed into his mind and had formulated into his plan before he had even donned his uniform coat As he rolled a loose veil about his light helmet and slipped the strap of a fieldglass over his shoulder Capt Ahmed entered. To him La tour said rapidly, in Arabic: "Captain, I have reason to feu- trouble with Mohammed-ben-Zizi's Arabs. Mount twenty men with loaded carbines; trot to the Caliphs' Tombs. If I am not in sight signal by firing your revolver; but, if you see me riding toward the tents, follow at foil speed." As Ahmed turned to obey Latour said to Lord Martindale: "Though your fears may be groundless, my lord, I have ordered horses saddled for us. This glass will snroly give ns a view of Lady Edith from the Babel-Nassr as she gallops home for breakfast Come; they are ready." Restless hoofs clattered below, and Lord Martindale again asked, as he followed his host: "Was not that horse the one yon loaned Harris?" "Yes; but ks'a an Arab," Latour replied, forcing levity through the sickening dread that oppressed him. "BowBells offers bad training for handling the desert born." "The beggar is such a damnable rider, really!" the other growled. "If he has been thrown and left her ladyship to ride alone Til break his boues, you know." Two magnificent Arab steeds stood at the doorway ? one a grand stallion, white as curd and taller by a hand than the average native horse. His long flank, the corded muscles of his thighs and flat forearms, showed power equal to the bottom indicated by great breadth of chest; and his calm, large eyes gazed with human intelligence into his master's, as he rubbed his lean muzzle on his shoulder and snorted low welcome through bright pink nostrils. For Said had been Zoulfikar Pasha's gift to Latour with his rank of bey, and his master had tested his pure blood? of the Aneyzeh breed, flowing straight from the mares of the prophet; a pedigree jealously guarded as that of the sultans' selves?in more than one perilous ride. But now he examined the girths and bit buckles with unusual care, raised the flaps of his holsters and looeened the two army "Colts" resting in them Then he said, abruptly, "Mount, my lord;" and the next moment those two men, so strangely met again?more strangely still, sent to their quest by one motive?were galloping toward the Gate of Victory. Through the gate, out on the open desert, nearing the Tombs of the Calinha v?fc no sicht of livine thine udou the hot sands. For the son, now two hoars high, flooded the flat plain with blinding glare, and his heat, December though it was, was cloee and oppressive. Any rider for pleasure had sought the shade of home?certainly of the Tombs ?long ere this, and LatouFs heart Bank as they galloped near those wondrous mausoleums to the very spot where he had strained that beautiful form to his breast scarce half a day ago. Suddenly that breast swelled with joy. Clear, sharp and near rang out a horse's neigh But his joy died out, even before Iiord Martindale had cr d: "There she is! Great luck really!" For Said, at the sound, hs I sent his iharp ears forward, but ere it died he Iropped them, making no reply. Latour shook his bead gloomily. "No, not she!" he answeired. "Said would have answered a stable companion. But some one is there, and ho must have seen her or the groom. Then he turned Said into the deep ihades thrown wide and cool upon the jtandsfrom the Caliph Bergcok's tomb. Fhere stood a wiry, ugly Arab, apparently busied with the thong of his stirnip, but unarmed, and with the bedouin's dingy bournous absent. The man looked up carelessly enough; but a strange gleam of recognition and surprise came into his dull eyes as they glanced first at Latour's face, then at his , uniform. "Salaam aliekoum, Effendi," he said gravely. "Peace be with you, also," Latour answered, in his own tongue. "You seem not of Cairo, but a stranger; and these be hot hours for a journey. Yet your mare shows no fatigue, ncr heat," he added, eying mare and man closely. "The mare is a good mare," the Arab ! answered, forgetting his stirrup mend- i ing and vaulting into the saddle. "Peace be with thee, then, and cool- i ness in thy ride," Latour answered pleas- j antly. "I also must go my ways." And he slowly turned Said's head, but kept | his keen eyes rooted to the other's as he added quickly: "Which way rode the lady?" The Arab's eyes opened in surprise, | and his dark face changed, but he quickly J relapsed into stolidity, answering slowly: ! "Of what sitta speak3 the Effendi? | on it n ati w/1 a /\?t ?juitij livuu nuuiu nuu \ u tuc UCSCib < under this sun." Latour rodo off without reply. Join- j ing Lord Martindale, he said briefly: "The Arab in there lies, I think. Whether or not, we can learn nothing, I and are wasting time." He opened his field glass and swept the desert carefully. Some three miles southward, tho low, black tents of the sheik showed distinctly in the clear atmosphere?even the gleam of a white bournous distinguishable. Out toward the Shoubra road, the great tree rows | planted by Mehemet Ali now towered still and stonelike in the breezeless glare. Behind them glittered the dcTmes of . Cairo; but no speck of life moved on th-< i desert. Lord Martindale sat silent. Deep j anxiety now marked his face; and as j the glass fell he cried: "My God! I can't stand this, you i know! Anything is better than sitting j still. You know this damned country; . do you suspect danger to her?" "Suspicions are useless; facts are what we want," Latour answered, closing tho glass. . ' "But we might have missed her?" cried the now agonized husband, clinging to that shred of hope. "Not if she rode to tho desert," the other answered calmly. Into his quick mind the certainty had come. Still ! there was one chance that ho erred, and, pointing to the Shoubrn road, he said shortly: "Gallop over there. There is bare , chance she comes that way. I will take the desert" Backed with dread, Lord Martindale tamed without one word, speeding for the trees. La tour's loosened rein gave signal to Said, who bounded off over the hotsands straight for the Arab tents. PAST III?CHAPTER VI LOCHINVAB IN THE EAST. Swift as he swept along, swifter rushed to Latour'B brain shame, contrition, self reproach, each in turn shrinking in the burning memory of that kiss, still tbs giing through his veins?of the soft press* ure that held him to the heart beating so wildly?if so sinfully?for him! Was he responsible for her mad freak? Had memory driven her forth at dawn, dreading to face the in* whose honor she had smirched for his sake? Fkactly what the danger was he could not define. To life or limb, surely none; for the Arab of the desert is not of savnm anii fVin firufc Vinrmr?of her capture for sale into some harem?had been dismissed as preposperous. But were her detention only for ransom, the thought of durance among savages, no word of whose tongue she knew, made the man grind his teeth in impotence of wratn. Would the escort arrive in time? Not yet, he knew. Still he turned in saddle and glanced hack at the Tombs, now a mile away. There the Arab sat upon his horse, standing high in his stirrups, his bournous fluttering loose. In his right hand "Quick! Mount!" he cried to her. he raised his slender lance, hidden while they had spoken, and from its point waved his white turban. "A signal I I was right!" Latour muttered, forcing his gaze once more on the tents, now fast growing more distinct. Suddenly his eye caught a living figure on the sand, midway between. With voice ana heel ne urgea nis norse to racing speed, the hot air screaming past his ears as though the Khamsin wind were blowing; his eyes riveted on the moving thing, now seen to be a man, staggering onward. On faster, over tho burning sand, for seconds that seemed hours; and then the man, recognizing him, waved his hand. "Harris! Alone!" Latour groaned through his Bet teeth. "My God! what have they done to her?" Again the shovel stirrup gored the racing Arab's side. He was within hail, shouting to the struggling groom in the voice that had carried "Charge!" over the roar of battle down the long brigade: "Where is she?" The man screamed something, lost in the rush of wind past La tour's ears; but he sa^r that Harris was ghastly, exhausted, with blood streaming down his face. Closer still he came, and again Latour cried fiercely: "Where is she?" Harris steadied himself, poshed back the matted hair from his forehead and shouted: "At the tents!" The flying Arab steed reached the ?nnn T .ofrtnv'o trnioa fwitri >>U>55CAm5, moil* UMM/U4 O I W4W| ?4 IMM pet clear in the stillness, hurled at him the words: "Help will come! Seel" As he spoke he half turned in the saddle. The Caliphs' Tombs, dim and shadowy now, still glinted the son from their minarets. Bat a gasp jumped from his heart to his lips, as he saw a dust cloud rising between. On, still on, until the Arab camp was plainly seen. And there, was busy movement; but his quick eye told that it was to avoid, not meet, him. Most of the low, black tents were already struck and folded, their agile, sinewy owners moving swiftly among them. Foremost of those still standing was the rather taller tent of the sheik. Between this and the nearest tent stood a sleepy, low nosed pack camel; while farther off another kneeled and busy hands piled tents and baggage in his saddle. The Arab mares, each picketed to a long spear driven in the sand, and with a bag of barley tied about the nose, stood quiet and docile. Loosening the pistol in his holster, Latour checked his horso by a word, the great stride slackening to a swinging gallop, then coming to a stand at easy hail. "Peace be with thee, O sheik !" Latour cried. "And with thee also peace!" the Arab answered.' He rose and stood silent as Latour advanced slowly within two paces of his mat. Then ho added: "Alight, 0 warrior of Ismail the Pasha, and sit beneath my tent." The whirl and heat had gone from Latour's brain now, replaced by cool, quick resolve. Ho felt craft must meet craft, and this Arab was an adept. Quiet as though on parade he sat, reaching over to caress the grand neck of the steed that bore him so gallantly, but really listening to his breathing. The three mile race over the sand, under that blazing sun. had scarcely tested the endurance of the Aneyzeh blood. Two long, deep breaths he took, then his sides scarce moved, and the man knew ho could rely upon his horse if he could but trust his own coolness and sagacity. "Little time have I to sit, O sheik Mohammed-ben-Zizi," he answered slowly. "Neither have I yet come on my visit to thee. Only on my way to other duties have I chanced near thy tents." The Arab's brow clouded, and bis dull eye grew brighter, as he answered: "As thou sayest, O warrior, so shall it be. Mohammed-ben-Zizi forceth not his salt upon the unwilling, who careth not to eat it, but prefers to stand like a fakeer doing penance, rather than smoke beneath his tent." Again the Creole answered very slowly; but his quick ear and quicker eye were busy, and when he finished his plan was formed upon the information both gave him. "Thou, 0 Bon of the desert," he said low and quietly, "art free to do thy ways, but in our army there are rules that none may break. One of these commands that foot may not leave stirrup till duty be accomplished. Still, much do I marvel, O sheik, to see thy tents folded ana tny people prepared for travel, while the answer of onr sovereign unto the sheik of the Beni-Ali is yet unheard 1" So speaking, Latour noted three things. Before the nearest tent sat an aged Arab, who had risen with tho sheik. His extended arm, lean and black, grasped his spear, the bournous falling from it like a curtain before the tent. Moreover, the camel's pack saddle had been replaced by mats strapped on him for a seat. And at last he noticed one mare, picketed apart, a bournous strapped around her, hiding head and sides. While ho spoke she whinnied loud beneath this hood, j Said raised his head, pricked his ears forward and nickered in reply, but his rider appeared not to note ns tho sheik replied: "Yesterday said I to thee, O warrior of Ismail-beu-Ibrahim, that thy ruler of Miteraim is no king of the Beni-Ali! For what thou seest here, the way of the Bedouin is the way of tho wind. He goeth?even as he cometh?howso he listeth." "Then, ero thou goest. O sheik," Latour said gravely and quietly, "in the name of my king, Ismail Khedive of all Egypt, speak I these words!" He paused an iustant. Thus far all had been spoken in the low, guttural Arabic. Racking Said two paces, La tour now raised his clear voice, crying in resonant English: "Courage, Edith! Speak no word, but come?quickly !" "What Sheitan's gibberish" The sheik's exclamation of wonder was cut short. For, gliding by the old Arab, Edith raised her pround head in the sunshine. The bloodless olive face spoke nothing of fear; the defiant eyes softened only as they met La tour's, and her heaving boeom forced the whisper: "Adrien! Then I am safe!" Latour felt she was close to him, but his eyes never left the shiek's. Knowing well the dual Arab nature, he watched eagerly which of its moods" would sway the chief, and his breath came easier as he saw that craft, not force, would first be tried. For instead of snatching his spear Zizi only stared a moment at the woman. "What jugglery is this, O warrior?" he asked, with cunningly simulated wonder. "Truly might I deem thee one of the wicked Jinns; that dost summon strange forms from the sands of the desert In the name of Sheitan, speak! Who is she?" "How should I know aught of her?" the Creole answered, with wonder equal to his own. "But if this verily be a Fran Irish woman who hath lost her way upon iShe desert and been rescued by thy people, then will I return with her to the friends who must now be seeking | her." A strange smile writhed the thin, black lips of the Arab. Adepts in dissimulation, even beyond the Levantine Greeks, his race ever honor craft in others. He saw the loophole of escape offered by the other's words; but he only answered calmly: "If thou canst show me him who hath brought the infidel woman beneath our tents, by Allah do I Bwear to punish him!" "It is well," Latour rejoined quickly. "Then she may go with me to El Kaj hireh." "And wherefore?" replied the Arab, i again with his ugly smile. "Safe is the Frank khanum under the tents of the Beni-Ali. Let the Giaour seek his own. As I learn, the Ingleeze prince from whose harem she cometh can lavish gems and diamonds upon this plaything" He broke off suddenly. Craft had car' ?I--?~ fi?wl na Iia rofili9cih : neu mui iw , uuu, w ?w J that he had trapped himself, Mohan! med-ben-Zizi's brow knotted and his eye [ shone with an evil gleam. Not knowing if ho breathed, so great ' was the tension on his nerves, yet with brain coolly alert, Adrien Latour had borne this trying interview. Still his eye never quitted the sheik's, but the hot blood of his race rushed to his heart wi th a wild joy, for he felt that time was psist for parley, and now?for action! As the sheik ceased his left hand swiftly twitched the bournous back, baring the long, tawny, muscular right arm. But ere he could grasp his spear the Arab stopped spellbound, as though he gazed into the eyes of the cobra di capello! For, quick as was liis gesture, quicker still was that which flashed the pistol through the air. 4 'One word?one sign?is death I" whispered Latour, in Arabic. Then bracing his left foot in the stirrup the Creole stretched his right one to the woman at his side. "Quick! Mount!" he cried to her. "Your life?more?depends upon your courage!" Edith placed her foot on his, grasped the cantle of the saddle, and swung up lightly on the horse without one word. All had passed so rapidly, so calm and low had been the spoken words, that the stoical Arabs near had never looked toward him. And now, as the absent pistol unlocked Mohammed-ben-Zizi's voice, their wondering rush was too late. As ho had felt Edith settle upon the horse?and with wondrous presence of mind pass her left hand round him, not to shake his pistol arm?La tour called out to Said, and the noble horse sped away over the path he had come. "Hold fast! Stoop low to the right!" Latour cried, bending his own body to the left to give her room. "They may hurl the spears!" j But no sound whizzed by their ears I save the wind of their own rush; and, j after a few more bounds, the man raised | himself and glanced back. At the tents all was wild confusion?men running I for their picketed steeds and tearing the bags from their noses; the sheik himself foremost among them. Under his raised hand Latour scanned the desert. The dust cloud rose more j distinct, yet full two miles away. But j it now advanced more rapidly, as though j his need were known. Again he twisted I round to scan the camp, now nearly a ; mile behind. Mounted Arabs had rushed | from it, on their fresh mares, spreading | out wide over the sand, as is their wont j in chase?many a white bournous trail! ing on the wind, and sharp spears glitj tering in the sun. Before liim the movi ing dust cloud was still four times their i distance away; yet the soldier did not ; urge his horse out of the oven, steady | gallop; each stride as regular as though j he carried no extra weight. I On they pressed, steadily and in sii lence, for a half mile more. Then the strained ear of the man caught the cries I of numerous pursuers gaining on him. 1 Far to the right and left the cries were | clear, while those behind grow fainter, I and he knew that the fleetest steeds were | deployed to hem him in more surely, i Still Latour did not urge his horse, con| fident what the grand steed could do, and saving him for yet more urgent need ; "Courage!" he whispered to the wo; man behind him. "They waste their | breath. See! In yonder dust is safety. ! Ahmed is nearing us." He said no more. For dull, but surely, i away to the right he caught the muffled thud of hoofs upon the sand. They were gaining rapidly! Had he let them come too near? j Once more he urged the horse slightly with touch of stirrup, the sensitive an| imal responding with new strength, faster, faster still, until tho level sands seemed flying backward past them! On at that tearing speed for a half mile! 1 Then the distant dust cloud, still half a I mile away, opened and showed tho ' Egyptian troop charging at speed, i A great gasp of relief broke from Latour's breast: for the double weight, at speed, told heavily on Said, who labored in his stride. And just then, for the first time, Edith spoke. "Look to the right," she said quietly and low. Twisting round, Latour beheld tho I sheik, scarce three hundred paces off, | almost even with him, his magnificem; j mare bounding along at racing speed. J Plainly, he had shaken off the rest in ! that great burst of speed; but tho sheik's | mare would not bo left, spito of the wide j detour she made. I One glance toward the approaching j cavalry?no nearer seemingly in the ! brief interval?and his hand instinctively stretched for his pistol. A dead shot, even at speed, he could easily drop the Arab out of saddle. But that would be declaration of war, and he was the pasha's officer; the Arabs so far having j done no hostile act. Without time to i question her, ho had assumed Edith's j capture; but ho was certain no violence { had been shown her. Through his brain all this finished like j lightning; then over it all rose the glad- j iator spirit, somewhere hidden in us all, ' creeping up in his blood. One more backward glance showed the Arabs pull ing up, a thousand yards behind, hope- j j less of reaching him before the escort, j Only the tall old chief could hope this, ! and?now even with Said?he bore down on his quarry in circling swoop. Again Latour, almost reluctantly, called upon his horse. A brief burst of i speed, with laboring flanks and strain- j ing muscles. Then ho drew rein again, i the escort not six hundred yards away. ! But the soldier's eyes wero not on them. I They blazed steadily upon the sheik, with the brutal light off battle, and through the set teeth caiae ?he muttered words: "Only one man-rrfux old one, tool" Closer sweeps fte mare in circling swoop! Still in $is steady stride the stately horse bears fm his double burden. Closer still, fain^cries of Arabs cheering their chiefs triumph; and Ahmed drops his leveled carbine, useless at that distance. So close now the jmap of the fluttering bournous is plain to Edith's ear, his dark face plain to both, as the sheik leans over his mare's neck and digs sharp stirrups inty-Jier sides. To Ahmed's straining eyes tho mare and horse seem in collision. But Latour's e^ea gleam into the Arab's, his left hand firm upon the rein, his right poising the heavy pistoL Ten yards?five yards! The gleaming I .1 -1? tn T 1 ..i. i.1 spear ueau uiuao w u#wui o uictut, tuu sinewy left arm stretched to grasp his prey! Suddenly the white horse recoils, flat upon his hannches, the flying forms brushing his forelock as they rush by. With lightning movement rises the pistol in the Creole's strong right hand. He lunges forward, and the butt crashes full upon the sheik's left temple! On speeds lha <te?&mare! v Lower and lower Ifcon her shoulder sinks the limp rider, falling at last prone upon the sand. PART III?CHAPTER VIL THE LETTER THAT CAME. With a low cry the woman sank upon her knece. The cavalry had deployed in open skirmish line, their speed unchecked, and ere the foremost Arab had raced up to the fallen sheik and helped him rise, Said's stride had borne his rideis through its lines. The rally sounded; Ahmed was by his commander's side, crying devoutly: "Allah kerim!" ("God is great!")?ad ding in French, "Madame is safe?perfectly, I hope!" But Lady Martindale, even as she answered that she was, pressed her hand quickly to her sida "How thoughtless I am!" Iiatour exclaimed, and he spoke in Arabic to his orderly, who vaulted from saddle and knelt on one knee by Said. Edith placed her foot upon the Syrian's knee and stepped to the sand, but its heat blistered her reet, ana, aizzyyuuo reded and pressed her band again on her side. La tour sprang from his saddle and supported her as he cried: "To think that I forgot your head was bare I" Hastily untwisting the veil from his helmet he fashioned it into a light turban, while the orderly, unrolling the cantle blanket, improvised a side saddle by twisting it about the pommeL "I fear we are making a soldier of you too fast," La tour said. "But there is no shade nearer than the Tombs, and this is the best hat we can offer." He lifted her to the saddle, with a faint smile for thanks, as Ahmed poured some cognac from a very Parisian flask, diluting it with water from the orderly's canteen. Hot as the mixture was Edith drank the stimulant eagerly. Then she turned to La to or, saying low, in English: "I owe you more than life! But it is very sweet to owe everything to you! How did you know?" "I did not know, only guessed," he answered simply. "Those Arabs last night, Harris' riderless horse? Oh! captain," he interrupted himself, "send two men to scout the Shoubra road and notify Lord Martindale." "And Harris," Edith asked in French; "is he safe?" Ahmed answered that he had sent him to Cairo behind a trooper, exhausted, but uot hurt "Poor fellow! he fought desperately for me," she added. "He knocked down the Arab who seized my bridle, and another, before they struck him from his horse with a lance butt! Oh, how much my rashness has risked for you all!" They were galloping toward the Tombs, one of the officers on either hand of the lady. "It was a bold play for ransom, Ah- j med," Latour said, "to capture Lady : Martin dale in the very shadow of the citadel. We shall have to teach these Bedouins a lesson." "Well, you began at the head," Ahmed laughed. "It was a grand stoke, co}onel! How the black old sheitan tumbled! But it was lucky I was out of range. I might have killed him; then? pouf! more war, and banishment for me, to Fazougli!" Latour smiled at his junior's indorsement of'his own view; but he spoke no more until the Tombs were reached, and blankets spread for the lady, on the very spot where she had stood the previous night And soon after Lord Martindale rode up to the spot. He was badly wilted; and he rode ungracefully, though safely, with short stirrups and a stooping seat "So you found her, really!" he said, dismounting, to Latour and the young Turk. "Thanks! Awfully good of you to take the trouble! Deuced hot ride she must have had, though! As for Har rifl, you know, I'll aiscnargeme uoouy. "The 'booby'acted like?a man!" Lady Martindale said coldly, overhearing only the last words, and Latorir, awaking to sudden anxiety as to their condition, strode off to the horses, leaving husband and wife alone. Lord Martindale did not greet his spouse with much effusion. An American would l?ave rushed upon her, and a resounding kiss would have smacked on the desert air. A Frenchman would have clasped her to his breast, held her off at arm's length and scattered tu and toi profusely about the ruined Tombs. Lord Martindale loved Edith with an idolatrous worship, but her ever imperious habit, with strange whims more apparent of later months, had forced him to the defensive. And now he only said, as he pulled his damp whiskers: "Glad you are safe, my lady, really! Deuced strange freak though, and rather indelicate, I must say!" A hot flush mounted to the woman's face. Her eyes quickly assured her that Latour was out of earshot; and the gleam in them grew cold as tho ring in her voice that answered : "It becomes the delicacy of the seventeenth Lord Martindale to greet his wife with a repro.ach, al ter leaving it to strangers to rescue her from deadly peril." "Deadly stuff!" responded his lordship, with more candor than courtesy. "You've upset tho garrison and made a nasty mess, you know. But where 'peril' comes in, I can't see, really!" "Of course not; you rarely do 6ee!" the woman rejoined slowly. "But it was natural that thero should be i>eril, and equally natural that you?should avoid it!" Tho Englishman's red face grew scarlet at the unjust taunt; but he controlled himself by astrong effort as he answered: "Edith! You know you do not mean"? "Precisely what I say,"rshe in'^irupted quickly, but coldly. "I was captured by Arabs, torn from my horse, insulted! God oulv knows what tho end might not have been, but for the?man who rescued ! me!" Over his lordship's face incredulity, anxiety, joy, rapidly chased each other. He made aa if he would speak; but won- ! der, replacing anger, kept back the words. | "However, my Lord Martindale," the woman went on quietly, but with a sneer in the low voice, "you have to thank him for more than that Had ho not come : the Arabs would have made you?pay j ransom 1" The man caught quick breath and ! stared at her a second beforo the cruel j force of the Insult struck him. Then the I red surge swept over his face again, dropping suddenly out of it and leaving him ghastly pale. But he raised his head with quiet dignity, and only said: "Enough of this, Lady Martindale." j "I am charmed that yon agree with me?for once," she answered in a voice that might have spoken society commonplace iz. Vanity Fair. "Indeed, there | has been not only enough, but too much ! of this?as i have urged when suggesting a separation. When I urged this before yon called it a whim. But it is | to your interest to listen now. You have j siiid that my indelicacy compromises you here. You had best be careful that more than that does not compromise yon j before?your peers! CoL La tour!"?she | raised her voice, calling quietly and i cheerfully, "Lord Martindale thinks we j should not detain yon longer, and I am quite restei now." The Englishman spoke no word. He j lifted his irife courteously, even tenderly, to the improvised saddle. To Latour's i query about his side of the quest, the peer replied: "Struck the Shoubra road and could see no living thing; headed north again, when a tall Arab rode toward me from this direc tion, you know. The beggar , was making signals. Couldn't speak any language, you see; but his pantocaine | would have shamed Drury Lane, really, j Why, he actually asked if I was looking j for a lady and a groom; and before I J could answer told me they had ridden to the Shoubra palace. So off I galloped one way and he the other." "Clever rascals, these Beduoins," La- ! tour said with a smile. "That was the same fellow I saw at the Tombs; but he : took me for a native." "Sharp dodge, though," his lordship ' - - i w 1 ' said. *vuia i gave me ueggor u uuuoi i bachschiuch, too." "What? pity!" The words were naturally spoken; but : Lady Mextindale gave one quick flash of : her eyes into her husband's that bowled I him out of the conversation until they ' reached the hotel entrance. Then La- j tour said to the lady: "How wonderfully you have borne the I heat, fatigue and danger! And you j have eaten nothing since" He interrupted himself to throw his j arm suddenly around her. Lady Mar- i tindale, with perversity truly feminine, ! had reeled in her saddle as he spoke; and J he caught her just as she slid from it in I a dead taint. "I can carry her," Lord Martindale j said, blimtly, springing from his horse, j He took her in his arms as though she | were an infant, bnt with the tenderness j of a mother's touch and with a great love softening his face. But the Briton's horror of a scene in public rose even then, and he passed rapidly through the few sleepy donkey boys, alone visible at that hour. Reaching Lady Martin dale's apart ments, they were found open, out .rearson, her maid, absent; and La tour?who follow* <1, pate but very calm?rang fiercely for her. "It :jb nothing, my lord?only a faint from oeer excitement," La tour said, feeling for the missing pulse anxiously. "You liad best cut the laces of her habit. Have you any ammonia?" "Some in this; chloroform, too." he answered, lugging a heavy traveling case onto the marble slab. But it was locked; and the heavy hasp resisted his strength. A pair of scissors were forced under it; the lock yielded with a loud snap. Unbalanced by the recoil, it slid from I he table with a heavy thud, sending toilet bottles rolling over the rug. The force of the fall burst a locked portfolio flap, also; and letters, cards and photographs scattered about the floor. Bui; the ammonia was found, and gradually the blood began to show un- j tv.o nallid nliv? of her skin. Then the heavy eyelids grew tremulous aud a shivering sigh parted the purplish lips; but the slim white hand the soldier's chafed gave no returning warmth. "Bias she been subject to these turns?" j he asked Lord Martindale, who was ; hastily unscrewing stoppers apd sniffing i at the bottles. "Scarcely; once before?at Paris, after i one of our opera suppers with Gen. Ev- ; erett. Here's the chloroform." He poured the fluid liberally upon a j handkerchief, and was about to place it | to her lips as Sir Roger Arnyffo pushed j aside the portiere and hastily entered the room, most apropos. The surgeon quickly tested pulse and | temperature. Then more anxiously he j tried the heart, saying abruptly; "Have you used that d d stuff? No! i I Then throw that handkerchief out of j j the window. Hand me that ammonia, j : Cut her stays and get her to bed; we j I must get her heart action regular again." j j Latour waited in the outer room until ! | Sir Roger came out aud said: "She is over it now; quite herself and j breathing easily. She sends you word j | to go to breakfast, as your last words : i she heard reminded her that none of you hacL had any." The Creole marched over to his own , quarters and promptly swallowed a 1 heavy draught of cognac. Fasting since . yesterday's dinner anxiety and exercise . j ms de even his iron nerves shaky enough I to need the unusual stimulant. Then a , liasty tub, a few brief orders for the day, i and he threw himself upon his divan. The furnace heat of Egyptian high j | noon poured down without, but within j the windows closed at dawn retained the coolness of the night air. Only faint ! sounds crept in from street or court be| low, mingling soothingly with the bub; bling of Latour's water pipe. Soon its ; tubo slipped from his fingers, and he J i slept heavily and dreamlessly. It was near sunset when he awoke j from long, refreshing sleep. Then he j i dined hastily and walked to the hotel. i "Her ladysliip is much better," Lord Martindale replied to his anxious query, j : "Sir Roger said it was nervous ex. K.?,0*;nn?lio.af: nnd excitement, vou know. Deuced glad you came, though. ! Tho consul general is very urgent for : me to come and give him details of tho capture; and I must keep the thing out J ol' the papers, really." ' "I havo nothing to do, and will stay ] J here gladly," Latour answered quietly. ; Eut his heart beat faster, and his lips j | almost formed the words that rushed to them as the other turned awuy: "Poor devil! Ho loves her, too!" : "Shan't be gone long," Lord Martin| dale said at tho door. Then he turned j suddenly, adding, "By Jove! I almost forgot this, really!" He drew a letter i from his pocket and handed it to Latour face upward. "The seal must havo broken until the fall. Devilish forgetful in Lady Martindale, though. Unpardonable, really! It was in that portfolio I burst!" Latour took tho letter carelessly. But as his eye caught the well known signet the color left his face, and the other's | chance words of that noon echoed in his brain and numbed his heart. In hard, effortful voice ho began; "I meant to ask if, while in Paris, you saw much of But I will not detain you now." Though stunned by a sudden doubt of her his chivalrous sense dominated him. ' He refused to arraign, even in his own mind, tho helpless, suffering woman there, who had yielded so much for love of him. Lord Martindale stared, then left the room without reply. Latour stood per; fectly still, looking closely at the seal. Then lie turned the letter over and read the address, "For Col. Adrien LatourBey, Army of the Khedive,Cairo, Egypt," and, in the corner, "Courtesy of Lady Martindale." There could be no error. The letter was for him; directed in the clear, firm writing of Dale Everett! A gasping breath escaped his lips. Through his mind flashed the fact that she had been two weeks in Egypt?ten days of them constantly with him. Over his' face doubt, wonderment and pain chased one another and in his ears sounded clear her words at Sultan Bergook's tomb, "No; he never mentioned your name!" And ever as their echo came her husband's words at noon, "After one of oar opera suppers with Gen. Everett." Then he turned the letter over. The seal?their class ring at West Point? was not broken, as the other man had said. It was perfect, every line of the signet clear, even the edges of the wax unsplintered. But the letter was opened! Some sharpest instrument had passed beneath the seal! And again the man's eyescontempt struggling irith wonderment in them?sought the doorway of the next room. Yet again his nobler nature, his lifelong trust that "good blood cannot lie," besides his tenderness for the woman who loved him so sinfully bnt so well, pleaded for her. "Pshaw! I am a weak boy!" he mut tered. "The letter itself will explain this and its detention by her. Some cant, I warrant, to explain his cowardly wrong to the girl he swore he lovedr With half smile still in his eyes he slipped the letter from the envelope and began to read. It was long and closely written, but from first line to last it held him spellbound. Eagerly he read those pages to the very last word. Then he began and read them more slowly; this time but one expression on his face, the reflection of a joy tender, deep and calm. And long after they ceased reading that light still shone on the page from eyes that rested on the long loved signature in deepest reverie. So deep was it that he did not hear the heavy breathing of the English serving maid in the other room, still less the low voice that called her name twice. Living over the long dead past, full resurrected now, he did not note the light rustling of a woman's garments, the fluff n# +>ift nnr+ain dftftlv nnshed aside, the slender, white clad form that showed beneath it, swept by glorious masses of long, loosened hair. For one brief instant Edith Martindale gazed on the motionless form before her, with the soft, warm flush creeping beneath her pallid skin, and eyes filled with tender light. Suddenly that light died in them, replaced by the dull, cold gleam of horror; the olive face grew ghastly white, and a gasping sob shivered from her heaving bosom to her lips. Then the man started up. His eyes met hers. In their cold, hard glitternot flashing in anger, not even lightened with scorn, but calm and relentless?the woman read her doom! Adrien Latour rose to his feet quietly, on his face the same evil look it had worn under the orange trees of the old Spanish garden. But now it seared not only her who felt it through the awful stillness, but it blistered equally his own soul?black, unjust, hideous in his sight! For seconds the two stood thus, wordless, motionless?he with the past of generations shamed upon his face, hers n Ann A V* rvrui molnntV I WILLI LlltJ gUUOb Ul U uuou uv^v ui?<uu^ j its olive ashen. Then she stretched forth those gleaming, ronnded arms, with pitiful, despairing obsecration, her voice a wail for that hope her own hands had slain. "Adrien, all my sin?God knows! was through my mad love!" There was no passion in the man's voice; it went to her soul, inexorable, freezing. "As a boy I loved a true woman; how well I never knew before. Fool that I was! I lost her and shamed myself! A word from you had saved us then. Knowing that you ruined three lives; and one other you" With a low cry the woman sank upon her laiees. "Man! have you no pity? God may forgive me, if you will!" The same dull voice answered her cry: "I am not your judge. As you have sinned, what have I not done? But never, in this world, will I look upon your face again!" He had passed from the room; the woman still kneeling, with the dead hope frozen in her face. [to bk continued nkxt wkkk.] Sttisccttancous Reading. APRIL MADNESS. The First of April (lawns once more, The idiot ranks are closing ; Three hundred days and sixty-four They passed in sober posing; But now they throw off wisdom's sway, And burst the bonds of reason, And show they recognize the day As Folly's festive season. Alas! the fools are not all dead; To-day will surely show them. If can and bells were on each head At least the world might know them. But folly does not leave its stamp On brow or breast; its pages Are blank, and every witless scamp May set his snare l'or sages. Humor, if true, our laughter rules,? This power it never loses. We smile not with, but at, the fools; They, not their jokes, amuse us. And yet to-day no noisy calf Is bleating in the nation So dull, 1 nit duller onerfwill laugh In envious admiration. behind their bars the monkeys think They own the arts and graces; before them stands the "missing link," And grins at their grimaces. W ere human apes to jail consigned When April madness rages, Their victims some revenge might find by gibing at their cages. ?Saturday Night. A WELL DESERVED SUCCESS. Cupt. V. K. MeBee's Rise lYoin Brakeman to President. Newukkuy, March 23.?Special: There is a great deal of talk just now about the consolidation of the Central railroad of Georgia with the Richmond and Danville system in South and North Carolina. Judging from what the newspapers say and what you hear on the railroads, there is considerable grounds for the rumors now current about this combination. It would he a powerful combination, and if it is consummated, the coup d'etat of Mr. Jay (Jould, of which there was so much talk a month or so ago in railroad and newspaper circles, will he doubtless accomplished. But what interests the people of Piedmont Carolina in regard I to tliis combination, is that President V. K. McBee, of the Richmond and I Danville system, in this State, and suj perintendent of the Western North ! Carolina railroad of the same system, in North Carolina, will he made general superintendent of the combination. These rumors, whether correct or in correct, come with a great deal of uncI tion to the souls of the Piedmont peo, pie. No man is held in higher esteem ; th"u Capt. McBee, and any promotion ! that may be given him is hailed with j delight. I'RKSIl?ENT V. K. M'ltKK. Just at this time it will not be out of place to give a little sketch of President i McBee?a thing that the South Caroj Una newspapers have failed to publish 1 so far. lie was born in tSreenville, in j this State, and belongs to the old line ! of McBees who have helped to make j the history of this section ofthe South. | His full name is Vardrey Echols McBee, and he is now about S8 years : of age. He is a railroad man in the i best acceptation of the term, by birth, j precept and education. His father was a civil engineer and railroad man; his | grandfather was a civil engineer or "survevor," as the old people termed i ^ it, and the subject of the present sketcn has made civil engineering and practical railroading the special study of his life. His ancestors lived in Lincoli county, North Carolina, during th< Revolutionary war, and were distinguished for their gallantry and bravery during that momentous struggle. It is related that one of his uncles, who was a participant in the terrible fight at King's Mountain, is said to have been the man who killed Col. Ferguson, the commander of the British and Tory forces. This incident, while it is not related in Mr. Draper's exceller t book, "King's Mountain and its Heioes," is doubtless true, for it is sustained by several narratives of revolutionary soldiers, besides legends and family histories. The subject of this sketch was educated at the Hillsboro Military School in North Carolina, in Greem lie, and at the Citadel Academy in Charleston. He did not finish his course at the Citadel, however, but entered the war towards its end while quite a youth, and served through the hardships of actual warfare until Lee's army surrendered at Appomattox. HIS FIBST BAILBOADING. Some time after the war closed he got employment as a civil engineer and shortly afterward secured work in the construction of the Atlanta and Charlotte Air Line railroad, now leased by the Richmond and Danville system. About this time he married Miss Rosa Brooks, daughter of that gall ant Carolinian, Preston S. Brooks. The work he did on the Air Line railroad was so satisfactory that he was soon called on to aid in the construction of a railroad in Alabama, and he was engaged in this work when the panic of 1873 par alyzed railway development for some time. In fact there was a scarcity of work as well as of money everywhere; but young McBee's pluck and energy asserted themselves boldly. He applied for and was appointed to the distinguished, but not lucrative position, of brakeman on a local freight train. Col. Foreacre was then in charge, of the transportation department of the Atlanta and Charlotte road, and Mr. McBee was given the brakeman's position. MERIT WILL~TELL. Rapidly, and, in fact, almost phenomenally, he became conductor, then soliciting agent for the Seaboard Air Line, for the Piedmont Air Line, and agent of the Richmond and Danville lines then centering in Charlotte. In all these positions he proved himself active and efficient. When the panic ceased and the revival of railway building begau, Capt. McBee was requested to accept the office of superintendent of the Western North Car olina railroad from Salisbury to Asheville, then comparatively insignificant, but which now goes to Paint Hock, and has an exteusiou known as the "Murphy extension." ORDER OUT OF CONFUSION. At the time Capt. McBee accepted the superiutendency, the road was a little better than the Newberry and Laurens railway, "two streaks of iron run over crazy trestles and narrow cuts." What a wonderful revolution has taken place under his supervision! Now, instead of the old rioketty, rocketty road, Mr. Jay Gould rides over it in his car, and pronounces it one of the best railroads in the country. And this is praise from Sir Hubert, for, indeed, Mr. Gould ought to know a few things about railroads. The terrors of the celebrated Mud Cut have been eliminated, the road has been regraded, reballasted and in everyway made perfect. It is a monument to Capt. McBee's brains, energy and resources. The western extension of the road was just blazing its way along the banks of the Nantahali and French Broad when Capt. McBee took charge, and now immense engines make fast schedules of forty and fifty miles an hour, and draw millions of tons of freight and passengers over the winding and snakelike road. A hundred pretty towns and villages have been built along the road and are growing and prospering. Enterprises of all kinds have always found in Capt. McBee a friend and coadjutor. AN ALL-ROUND RAILROADER. The rapid way in which Capt. McBee i won his spurs, so to speak, in the railway world, his remarkable advancement as a solver of railway problems, and his rapid way in correcting wrongs, combined with his general knowledge of the mangement of railways, made him the peer of any man in the South in railway circles. "So conspicuous was his position among railway men," says a writer at the time, "that he was chosen with Maj. Wilson, who is now chairman of the North Carolina railroad commission, as an expert to settle long standing variances between the Canadian government and the Canada Pacific railway." These differences involved over six million dollars, and a higher compliment has never been paid a Southern railroad man than the selection of Capt. McBee by the*parties interested. LOYAL TO HIS EMPLOYERS. Some years ago Capt. McBee was I * ..tiiiavmi thr? ninimypment of the Fitch i burg, Mississippi, railway, but lie de| eliued it. A few years back?not over ; two?he was offered the general manj ugersliip, with the position of chief eui giueer of the "Three C's," and very ! strong pressure was brought to bear j upon him to accept, but he again declined. And it is well for the Richmond and Danville company that he has refused all these offers. At presI cut he is superintendent of the \VestI ern North Carolina railroad, which I consists of that road, the Murphy diI vision, the Asheville and Spartanburg, ! 1 il.? TTninn otirl Cn UIIU 111U kTj/ui lauuui , v lumbia railroads?all being designated under one head, with headquarters in Asheville. Besides b.;ing superintendent of this system, Col. MeBee is president of the Columbia and Greenville railroad, and all its branches, and the Charlotte, Columbia and Augusta railroad, and all its branches. You will | observe that this embraces a very large I amount of territory, and one of the i richest sections of the South. active in other work. ' Besides holding these important ofi fiees, Capt. MeBee is president of the I Asheville Park and Hotel company, which has a capital stock of $1,000,000, ; and which was incorporated last year. ! Capt. MeBee is an incorporator and director in a number of cotton factories ; and other similar enterprises in North ! and South Carolina. He is a live and energetic man in all of his various kinds of work, and he never tires. He is one of the best railroad men in this country in every way. in construction and operation, and i s well versed in all ' of the intricate problems of railroad operations. the secret of iiis success. The wonderful success that Capt. MeBee has achieved in his chosen professions is due to his personal integrity, his brains and pluck, and the quickness with which he manages allairs of all sorts. His future is very bright and his friends predict that he will yet reach the highest pinnacle in the railroad world. There is a great deal of reason to believe that this prediction will be verified.?K. P. M'K., in News j and Courier. ' Something Like a Suit of Clothes. Henry Xnug. of Toledo, was in Detroit a day or two ago. carrying concealed about his person one the largest sto! ries of the season. ;T have just had . a great load taken oil' my mind." he said. "UUT IInu Iltut just wuijikku what is probably the most extensive suit of clothes ever made. The suit was for John Craig, a farmer, living near Mellville, Indiana, who claims to be the largest man in the world. He is not a museum freak, but a quiet, law abiding citizen. His weight is 607 pounds, and forty-one single yards of cloth were required for his suit. The pataloons took five yards. Mr. Craig's hip measures 84 inches. He weighed only thirteen pounds at birth, but when 4 months old his avoirdupois had increased to 200 pounds. He is 35 years old and married, his wife weighing only 130 pounds.?Detroit Free Press. . HOW PLATES ARE MADE. What Stereotyping is and How It is Accomplished. . What is stereotyping and what are its advantages? The common idea of stereotyping a paper is that the type is put through processes for the purpose of facilitating the printing. The fitct is, stereotyping is little more than duplicating the type. The forms are reproduced in one solid piece, hence the word, stereotyping, solid copy. - The types arc used for patternaonly, while the printing is done entirely from the plates. Thus the typeis subjected to very little wear, and by the use of a large number of plates the papers are printed with great rapidity. If type was directly used to print The Sun, Herald or World, a new "dress" would be required every day. The wear and tear of two or three hundred thousand impressions would destroy the best type in the world. Not only that, but in order to get such a paper as The Sunday Sun, Herald or World printed from the type as rapidly as from plates, it would require all the compositors in the city to set up one edition. There are few presses in use on which the papers are printed directly from the type in the form of a curve. These are called "type revolvers" or "type webs." These are very complicated and are fed by a web or roll of paper, the same as a perfecting press, printing both- sides. The pages are made up in the form of turtles, and, of course, the press carries only one set at a time. While the presses do tiuriy rapia worx, tney cuxiuut cuiupare with the perfecting presses. What is gained by eliminating the work of stereotyping is lost by the wear of the type; besides, for papers of large circulation, they are of no use whatever. Preparing the Matrix.?By newspaper stereotyping I mean the only modern j?y of producing stereotype plates for newspaper use. There is practically only one process in use, and that is the papier mache process. The old | plaster of paris and clay processes are not now used except in rare cases where some special results is aimed at. The old ways are too slow for newspapers, and have been superceded by electrotyping for book work. Electrotyping furnishes a copper faced plate and perfectly reproduces fine engravings. Stereotyping, by whatever process, can do neither. The only place, to my knowledge, where either of the old processes is now used to any extent in this country, is the American Press Association in this city. All its pages, except the news pages, are first stereotyped by the clay process. By this means they obtain one deep plate, from which thereafter a large number of moulds are laKcn uy me papier uneuc pi wn?. The latter, now so universally employed, was invented some forty-five years ago in Paris. This process is practically divided into four parts?matrix making, molding, casting and finishing. Matrix making is simply preparing the papier mache, and must be done in advance of the process proper. The paper used is of two kinds, blotting and tissue, manufactured especially for stereotyping. The blotting paper is first dampened properly, and the matrix (so called) is usually made by pasting together two sheets of blotting for a back and four sheets of tissue for a face. The tissues are carefully smoothed down, either by hand or with a roller. The paste is of a special kind, and is prepared by the stereotyper before he begins his day's work. Taking the Impression.?When a page is ready to be stereotyped the prepared matrix is laid on the form face downward, and either beaten in with large brushes or passed under a heavy roller, in order to force the dampened paper into the spaces of the type and thereby take an impression of the page. The form, with the matrix still on top, is then placed under the platen of a steam heated drying press, resembling a large copying press. Soft blankets are laid on the matrix in order to absorb the moisture, the press is screwed down, and in frpm three to ten minutes the paper mold is dry. The form and matrix are <Vrvm 11 nflap the T>rPS8_ the | IUC11 luxvvii uvm ummvs ?., ^ ^ j form being returned to the composing ! room for distribution. The matrix, now being dry and i flexible, is placed in the curved casting j box and the molten metal poured in. ! The box is cooled by water, and in a | few seconds the rough plate is thrown j out ready for the finisher. The top, or j tail end, is now sawed by a peculiar j saw, the plate is trimmed, chiseled and ! finally shaved on the back, in order to j give it an even thickness, when it is : ready for the press. The casting and finishing are reJ peated for every plate needed, but only | one mold or matrix is required for I each page. As each form is received i from the composing room, it is imme| diately stereotyped, and thus the way | is made clear for the last page, which j is held back for the latest news. I The time lost by stereotyping is j therefore reduced to the minimum, and j in fact it is almost nothing. The last I page or "starter" is invariably put j through with a rush. The matrix is j beaten and dried, the plates cast and i finished in a wondefully short time. ! All this is done and the press started in about the same time it takes to start a ! press when the printing is done from ! the type itself. Each succeeding press I ?.ni/.Hv ctovtod nnd in a few min I , j utes these wonderful machines are i throwing out the printed sheets by the i thousand or million, according to the imagination of the circulation editor.? ! Edward Arlington in Journalist. | CYrious Freaks of Steel.?The j finest grades of razors are so delicate j that even the famous Damascus sword , blades cannot equal them in texture. : It is not generally known that the grain of a Swedish razor is so sensitive that its general direction is changed after a short service. When you buy a fine razor the grain runs from the upper end of the outer point in a diagonal direction toward the handle. Constant strapping will twist the steel un1 til the grain appears to he straight up and down. Subsequent use will drag the grain outward from the edge, so 1 that after steady use for several months the fibre of the steel occupies a position exactly the reverse of that which , it did on the day of purchase. The process also affects the temper of the 1 blade, and when the grain sets from j the lower outer point toward the back, you have a razor which cannot be kept in condition, even by the most conj scientious barber. But here is another j freak that will take place in the same tool. Leave the razor alone for a month or two, and when you take it ; up you will find that the grain has asj sumed its first position. The operaj tion can be repeated until the steel is : worn through to the back.?Southern I Progress.