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1 ISSUED SEMI-WEEKLY. ' _ l. m. GRIST'S sons, Pabiiih.r., [ % #mit8 Demsgapcii: 4or th<| promotion off thij Jpoliliqal, goiiat, ggri^ultu^a! and Commtr.cial Jnterests off fft< fiogl*. J tm",~o,^m0o'?'"Jt?0?5S!'ci' Established 1855. YORKVILLE, 8. C., FRIDAY, PEBRTJjARY 28, 1D13. N~0. 17. ~ " ' ' ~ ' " I I - I I . . . I ... ? THE AMERIC ? _ i By ETTA CHAPTER XXVIII. Bse's Rebellion. The first week of Bee's imprisonment was a drearv. hopeless time in deed. She saw no member of the household save Flnette, whom, as hei aunt's maid, she naturally regarded with distrust and aversion. Now and . then the brown Frenchwoman showed a desire to open conversation with her but was sharply repulsed. Bee paid no heed to her searching glances, her little attentions, designed to promote a nearer acquaintance. Absorbed in hei own bitter thoughts, she never dreamed that the help that she stood in need was to be found in this stolid-faced servant One day Finette entered the chamber with a tray, on which a tempting lunch was spread?Mrs. Sardls did not deny her niece creature comforts. Bee sat at a table, turning the leaves of a book, outwardly calm, inwardly raging the color gone from her pretty face, hei girlish contours already wasted?foi Bee was scarcely the one to bear hei trying situation with equanimity. Finette put 3own her tray, stole one curious look at the prisoner, retreated to the door, then turned suddenly back. "Has mademoiselle any word to send madame today?" she said, in a low voice. Bee looked up in surprise. "No. I thought you could not speak English?" "That depends upon circumstances," replied Finette, calmly. "Has mademoiselle anything to say to me?" "No." "Think again! Mademoiselle is very unhappy. She is determined never to yield to her aunt's demands?good! Bui she needs help?is it not so?' Bee started to her feet, her eager eyes shining like stars. "Who will help me in this house?" she demanded. "I will!" said Finette. "Are you speaking in good faith, or is this only a part of the conspiracy against me?" The woman's dark, unhandsome face grew earnest, even fervent. "As God hears me, mademoiselle, 1 speak truly! I will aid you to escape. But hush! we must be cautious. Madame's eyes nre wide open?she sees everything; and the baron, he comes daily to consult with her?curse him!' Th#?# loat words she uttered under her breath. Bee started. "So bad as that? Flnette, If I write a letter to a friend outside of this house will you promise to deliver it for me?" "Yes, mademoiselle." That was all. The French maid departed, leaving: the youngr prisoner unspeakably cheered and encouraged. When the dinner-hour struck, she appeared again, but intimated by a sign that Mrs. Sardls was listening in the corridor; therefore further conversation was impossible. Bee slipped into her hand a little, square envelope, adressed to Eric Saxe, and saw Flnette transfer it silently to the bosom of her dress. Then the little heiress was alone again with her reflections. She heard people moving about the house; the sound of voices on the stair, the shutting of doors filled her with exasperation. It was not strange thai Bee should determine to escape at any cost from her guardian's roof?that she should cancel, then and there, every . consideration of duty and obedience which she owed to him. At the end of twenty-four hours Fl nette brought her a letter dexterously folded in a napkin. As soon as she was alone. Bee tore open the precious message, and read a wild outbreak of love, wrath, pity and encouragement, which her trials and dangers had drawn from the passionate heart of Eric Saxe, "Trust the woman, Finette," he said, "I feel sure that she is acting in good faith. Trust me, also; and believe that I love you with all my heart and soul and strength. Miss Vann will give you shelter and welcome at any time. My poor, persecuted darling, take courage!" Bee kissed the sheet rapturously vowed allegiance anew to the writer and felt her spirits rise like thistledown in the wind. She had Just tim< to slip the letter out of sight when e key turned in the lock and Mrs. Sardli entered. She was in full evening-dress; a rid opera cloak was thrown across hei shoulders. She approached Bee with s great rustle, a displeased elevation ol her mastic-darkened eyebrows. "You foolish obdurate child, how Ions do you mean to remain here?" she cried "Are you not yet ready to listen to reason ?" "To reason?yes," answered Bee "but not to any talk of a marriage witl Baron Strozzi. I fear 1 shall have t< remain here a long time?say a centurj at least, before I can bring myself ti that." Mrs. Sardis's hard, dark eyes flashet angrily. "Do not forget that your uncle hai full control of your person and you property, Beatrix. Already your friend, hear that you are ill?that you have re tired from society?owing to a sligh aberation of mind. Don't start!?it ii the proper name to apply to your pres ?nt maladv. Your rejection of Baroi Strozzl's hand, your infatuation for i penniless painter immeasurably you social inferior, bespeak incipient mad ness. If you do not soon manifest sonv sign of recovery, it is possible that w< may be obliged to place you under fur ther restraint" The menace in these words struck > new fear to the girl's heart. She kep a bold front, however, and said, with j scornful smile: "You mean, perhaps, that you wil put me in a madhouse and confiscate my fortune? That is very dramatic and quite worthy of your superio mind, my dear aunt: but is it not jus possible that I may have a few friend who would require some stronger proo of my insanity than tha two reason which you have given?" "Your guardian holds his authorit; over you quite independent of you friends," answered Mrs. Sardis, coldl} "Profit by the warning you have re ceived. and do not exasperate me to far. I feel Justified in adopting an measure, however severe, that will pre vent you from disgracing yourself an your family by a low marriage. Let m also warn you to hold no conversatio: with my maid, Finette?Frenchwome have a perfect passion for intrigue, have instructed a second servant t keen constantly in the vicinity of you door, and watch the creature closel when she brings your meals. Baro Strozzl sends you his tender regards and bids me say that he is inconsol able at your obstinacy. I can only hop that solitude and reflection may ye bring you to your right mind. Beatrix. With a pale cheek and downcas eyes, Beatrix stood meditating. "I wish to see my guardian," sh said at last; "I wish to talk with him. "He declines to hold any communica tlon with you," answered Mrs. Sardii gathering her rich cloak about he shoulders with severe gravity, "unt you conform to my wishes." "I understand!" flashed Bee. "Yo will not allow him to see me, becaus you fear he may be moved to releas me?to treat me with some show c justice! Aunt Amelia, you are a wick ed, unprincipled woman, with no mor heart or conscience than a mummy You may put me in a madhouse, yo may kill me by slow torture, but neve will I marry the man you have chose for me, never will I cease to love th man I have chosen for myself! Noi go!?the sight of you Is hateful to m eyes!" AN COUNTESS | I I W. PIERCE. | ? >?xJly?>(<Ky?xJO?<KyrcKy? This outburst was not wise, perhaps; but Bee was too angry to think of that. Mrs. Sardls grew white. "You will drive me to extreme measures, I fear," she said, dryly, and swept at once from the room. [ No sleep visited Bee that night. 1 Clearly, great dangers threatened her, [ and escape began to take the form of I urgent necessity?yes, of self-preserva> tion. > The next morning Finette appeared. ' with a second letter concealed in her 1 bosom, and whispered, breathlessly, as she put down Bee's breakfast-tray; ' "There's a footman stationed at the door?a detestable creature?madame's 1 tool?hush! Be ready at any moment to leave the house. Madame keeps the key of your room. It is given to me > only when I enter here, and then I am : obliged to return it at once. However, I ' shall manage to open the door for you." k Bee slipped a bank-note into the > speaker's hand. Finette gave an odd look as she put it in her pocket. This blonde heiress, with her arbitrary guardians and her unhappy love affairs, was nothing to the dark-faced French! woman; but to prevent so rich a prize 1 to fall into the hands of Strozzi, Finette stood ready to peril not only her ' situation in Mrs. Sardls' household, but her very life, if need be. Several days passed. The obnoxious footman kept his station at Bee's door, , and watched the French maid like a lynx. The unhappy creature was sustained only by her lover's letters, which reached her daily through the agency of Finette. She paced her rich prison in an agony of restlesness. ' "Aunt Amelia is capable of any: thing," she said to herself. "She would as soon send me to a madhouse as not The flesh is vanishing from my bones. I look like a pelican of the desert. I am sure to die of wrath and suspense if this state of affairs continues much longer." One day Finette brought a superb bouquet of hot-house flowers to Bee's chamber, and delivered them to the ' UU anAl/nn (n CapilVe Willi uicsc wuiuo, O^uncn ui , French, loud enough to be heard by the footman In the corridor: "With the ardent love of Baron Strozzl." 1 Bee set her small feet on the innocent f blossoms, and crushed them straightway into the carpet. As she did so, Flnette leaned over her and breathed this sentence in her ear: "Madame dines out tonight?hold 1 yourself ready." 1 They exchanged one look; then Flnette, with her finger on her Up, noiselessly retired. Night fell, dark and dismal, and full ' of stabbing sleet. The winter wind howled drearily along the avenue, for the street lamps winked drearily in the ' deep gloom. Bee put on a plain, thick dress, placed her outer garments In 1 ready reach, filled a traveling-bag with her Jewels and such articles of value that she most needed, and stood prepared for flight. With her watch in her hand she counted the moments feverishly, and strained her ears to catch the first sound of Finette's approaching feet in the corridor. How dark the night was! How furiously the wind walled across the richly draped windows. Ah, If Finette should fall her! And as even the fear tugged at her heart, the door flew open, and Finette stood before her, breathless and wildeyed. "Madame Is gone. I stole the key from her room," she gasped. "The footman is below-stalrs, drinking tea with the housemaids. Your hat and shawl, mademoiselle?quick!" Swiftly Bee flung on her outer garments, and noiselessly as phantoms, the two stole along the corridor and down the grand stair. The hall was all ablaze with light, but profound silence reigned throughout the house?no liv[ ing thing was in sight. "Some one is waiting for you out[ side," whispered Finette, as she open, ed the great carved door for Bee's ex, it; "you are saved, mademoiselle? , thank God!" Critical as the moment was, Bee stopped to answer: "You will lose your place, Finette. ' Come to me and I will find you anoth? er." [ A strange expression flitted across , the woman's dark face. "Thanks, mademoiselle; but I like t not this land. I will return to my own r Paris by the next steamer. Farewell, t and may you be happy." ( The heayv door closed noiselessly? the footman, drinking tea below-stairs, , did not hear it?and Bee flew like a ' bird down the grand steps and gained the street. Joy! The free wind blew upon her, the street rattled against her; . and she had not taken a dozen paces j forward when her hand was seized and j drawn through a strong arm, and Eric . Saxe's voice?the most welcome sound v her ears had ever heard?cried out, joyfully: j "My darling! my precious blessed girl! This way?I am going to take s you to Miss Vann." r And then, out of the darkness before 3 them, a carriage appeared suddenly; . she was lifted into it, and off it rolled ( toward Madison Avenue, while Bee B sobbed out upon her lover's breast the whole story of her afflictions and trials. "You poor, misused child!" was all that he said; but his tone spoke volumes. He assisted her to alight at Miss e Vann's door. A servant ushered the two e into a warm, bright drawing-room, and . the next moment Bee was in Miss Vann's arms, clinging to that lady's j sallow neon ana crying, wuu a uuisiui t hysterica! laughter: j "I have run away from Aunt Amelia and from the baron! Oh. Miss Vann, 1 was ever anything so strange and abe surd? I am like the abused heroine of . a novel, am I not? And you must hide r me?you must give me shelter. I will never go back to my guardian?nevs er'" "f Miss Vann's face beamed with genus ine compassion. She took off Bee's garments with her own kind hands. y "My poor child!" she said. "I am r confident that you have been treated shamefully. What can Mrs. Sardis mean by forcing you to become a baro oness when you are well content to y be something less pretentious? And the baron, too?I am amazed at him. d Why, how pale and thin you have e grown! I am greatly shocked with the n whole matter. Now I shall leave Eric n to tell you the plan by which he proj poses to free you from your troubles? 0 of course you will not go back." r Eric Saxe came forward in some agiy tation. n "The person whom I expected," he 3, said, hurriedly, "has he arrived yet?" "Yes," answered Charlotte Vann; "he e is waiting in my library." it saxe iook ue? s nanu 11110 ms * and looked down with shining resolute it eyes Into her face. "I can think of but one sure way of e which to save you, darling, and that is " immediate marriage with me. Your es cape will soon be discovered?you will j, be pursued and carried back to your r guardian's house. In the next room il awaits a clergyman?a friend of Miss Vann's?who will unite us at once. Culu len Sardls will take possession of his e ward wherever he finds her, but not my e wife. My darling, have you courage to if marry me tonight?now, and so cut the - Gordian knot of your difficulties? Do e you love me enough for this. Bee?" ! "Eric has taken rny judgment entireu ly by storm," said Miss Vann, "and r left me quite incapable of an unbiased n opinion upon the subject; but really, e under present circumstances. Bee, I do iv not know what else you can do." y Bee stood gazing from lover to friend. "Think of everything," urged Eric t Saxe; "I am poor?I have little to of- li fer you. You might do infinitely better, t Your guardian will be furious; the c world your world?will blame you; but t I love you, darling?I swear to devote fl my entire life to your happiness?I a swear to cherish you tenderly till 1< death!" v Bee's large eyes shone brightly ,h through her tears. Her slim hands v closed upon her lover's?eloquent little a hands that told her decision even be- 1 fore her brave lips spoke. t "I have courage for everything, Eric n ?I care for nothing but you. I will t marry you whenever you wish." "Bravo!" said Miss Vann; and she 1 took the young face betwixt her jewel- h ed hands, and kissed it with genuine t affection. u No time was to be lost, for Cullen t Sardis was likely, at any moment, to discover the flight of his ward. Saxe b had already arranged me necessary pre- a. liminaries, and the three proceeded to Miss Vann's library, where the clergy- d man waited of whom Erie had spoken, a The reverend gentleman had been made E to understand that this hurried union h was the climax of a romantic love af- t< fair, and the responsibility of it Miss a Vann herself fearlessly assumed. rr An old gray housekeeper and Ma- t< dam Vann, very hazy In intellect, and ci affectionately anxious to embrace ev- t< erybody, were summoned as witnesses; fi and so, in secrecy and great haste, Bee was married. Rather a sad and sombre 01 ceremony It seemed?no flowers, no al toilets, no bridesmaids, no hilarity?a w contrast, indeed, to all Bee's precon- c< ceived ideas on the subject, and to pi Ethel's imposing wedding. Neverthe- S less, Bee, holding to her bridegroom's D strong hand, looking Into his dark An- ai tinous face, felt no misgivings for the Y future. He loved her, she loved him. "Till death do ye part!" Blessed words bi which gave her forever to Eric Saxe, di and placed her forever beyond the tyr- ai anny of her relatives and the power of pi Baron Strozzl. a After all was over, and the clergyman it had taken his departure, the young it couple sat down with their good friend si to talk of the all-Important future. "You will be forced to do without 8? your fortune for the present, Bee," said Miss Vann, smoothing the silken ears ir of her lap-dog. "Cullen Sardis will be too angry to give It to you until the si full expiration of his term of power, el You must be content with love In a b< cottage for a while, my dear." tc A soft wave of color swept into Bee's pi pale cheeks. Paris toilets, luxurious I living, the fashionable dissipations of gl society, had brought little pleasure thus V far for this unspoiled, warm-hearted "I'l THo nrnonppf nf thplr InsS BTRVe her not so much as a pang. w "I will be content with anything? A now," she answered, In a low voice. tt Miss V&nn nodded approval. bl "Eric will not let you starve, dear?he may even be able to buy .you a new hi dress occasionally; for, though too c? modest to mention It himself, he Is al daily growing In fame and worldly pos- y< sessions. And I will come to "see you often and bring him orders for portraits ai ?It will be an unspeakable delight to ui have such a couple upon my visiting M list. I congratulate you both with all m my heart." ? Eric Saxe took his bride's hand; looked quietly down Into her uplifted eyes. d< "I have made ready a little nest for Id you, darling?you see, I was quite sure ta you would not fear to marry me, to- w night It is small and humble, but not ai lacking in comfort You do not fear to ol take up your abode in it Bee?you are oi not afraid to face the world with me, ir darling?" "Afraid!" she echoed. "No, Eric, a ri hundred times, no! I am glad to do it di ?I am proud to do it!" Charlotte Vann looked wistfully at lii the young pair, so full of beauty and b< youth, of hope and courage. "All for love, and the world well bi lost!" she murmured, with a smile and ci a sigh. di P' CHAPTER XXIX. Two Yoars Later. Two years have passed away? . changeful years to every one of the 10 persons with whom this history has to a deal. It is a spring morning, balmy and w sweet. Down at Deepmoor Hall, in flat, al fenny Lincolnshire, the primroses and aI violets are blooming, the leaves are all ^ out in the great park, and the lawns F1 and terraces are like living emeralds. a< In green places among the fern, the n! red deer browse; the high espaliered garden walls, and clipped beechen al- l leys are steeped in hot sunshine; the U1 ' ? ?~ VvIha AimitkooH on/1 of idl KH Billg Hi LUC UIUC uvci iJto.u , uuu t*?a window in the great Elizabethan " house Sir Valentine Arbuckle stands in ~ the morning light, looking out upon his goodly possessions. He has not changed much since we saw him last. The . hazel eyes that gleam under his rugged 18 brows are Val Black's frank, honest eyes. His red hair, his loose-Jointed ~ figure, his square, strong mouth are all ~ as unhandsome as ever. His good for- * tune has wrought no material differ- a' ence in the outer or inner man. Two or three big hounds frisk about his legs? Sir Godfrey's dogs. He pats their sleek heads absently, and keeps his eyes fixed on the sweep of park beyond the " long window. "It's a grand place, eh, laddie?" says a voice at his elbow. He turns and ? finds Miss Affry Black standing there I: smiling up into his face. Y A cap of the finest lace covers her f* gray hair. She wears a fashionably " made morning-dress of some soft, rich material, and gold-rimmed glasses stuck into her defective eyes. Miss Black has assumed an air of importance, although the county families, remembering her antecedents, look down : upon her somewhat disdainfully. She is the aunt of a baronet, and the mistress of Deepmoor Hall, and she is no longer a cripple, for the London doctors and the waters of thesGerman spas 0 delivered her long ago from her old foe ?rheumatism. j* "There's but one thing now wanted f' at Deepmoor, and that is?a bride," " says Miss Black. ' Sir Valentine shrugs his shoulders. " "What! harping still on that string. B Aunt Affry?" "Yes, and why_ not?" she answers ? with irritation. "You win De twenty- " eight in a few weeks, and you are the w last male of your race. I am sure you can have your pick among the county families, Val. Then there are your 81 Scotch cousins, the Misses Arbuckle, C1 who visited us at Christmas?lovely girls as one could wish to see?either 8 of them would be glad to be lady here. P I was sure?absolutely sure, Val, that P something would come of this stay with s with us; but dear me! you scarcely d showed them common civility. That n pretty Elsie often said to me in se- h cret that you were an incomprehensible " American bear." "Miss Elsie is a lady of penetration," ' smi'.es the baronet, serenely; "far be it from me to question her decision in h any matter. I'm very grateful for your solicitude, Aunt Affry, but couldn't you 1{ turn your attention to a more profitable subject? It is not in the least ls probable that I shall ever marry." b "Never marry! Merciful Heaven! I And why not. pray?" " The baronet gnaws his bristling red tl mustache. "I am not matrimonially inclined, Aunt Affry! moreover, the present mis- t* tress of Deepmoor Hall gives me en- G tire satisfaction?I prefer to keep her a in her present position." a Miss Black eyes him keenly through 8 her gold-bowed glasses. 8 "Laddie, laddie! you cannot deceive ' me!" she storms. "The secret of the A whole matter is this: you have not yet f< forgotten that?that?girl!" ti A moment of silence. The baronet stares steadily out of the long window. P "You forget, Aunt Affry, that you and v I once agreed never to allude to certain 8 passages in my past life, knowing that P we should find it unprofitable business, n I beg leave to remind you of that com- d pact." b "A slip of the tongue, Val?forgive me," she answers, dryly. "Bah! I've d no patience with you! You are not in g the least like the Arbuckles. The late k Sir Godfrey thought only of his rent- v rolls and his family pride; you care for tl neither. Here you are, a baronet with u an income of twenty thousand pounds lj per year, and you seem no whit happier ti "Too liad, by Jove!" murmurs Van a] >orn; "and such a girl, too! I myself a, ,*as once an humble worshiper at her tl hrine?I don't mind owning It now. P| lalam! you are the fellow who first n, lade that pair acquainted, In a thun- a erstorm In the Black Forest. Remem- 0i er?" tl "Yes." replied Hallam, dryly. "Won- gi er if madame feels any particular ratitude for that service tonight? I ei new the count years ago, In his first ti ,'ife's time, and he was a profligate of b< he worst sort even then. He's looking w ncommonly haggard. BoulHotte and cl insquenet and absinthe and the acresses of the Varieties have written a "1 han was Val Black, drudging at a desk g n Sardls' banking-house, and wearing d hreadbare coats and frayed linen. Of ourse you wish me to hold my tongue, r tut all the same I shall not. I am no s It mistress of Deepmoor, as both you p .nd I know well. The landed gentry tl Dok down upon me, because my father d t-as a gamekeeper, and I was once a lousemaid here. You want a wife who tl trill be the equal of the best of them, s nd whom nobody will dare to snub, ii rou want heirs to your wealth and ti- h le. You will never be happy?I shall a lever be happy, till you bring a bride a o Deepmoor." t< Sir Valentine turns from the window, u 'his little gnat of a woman torments is iim greatly at times, especially upon tl his subject of matrimony?her partic- t< ilar mania?but he bears it with pa- I k ience. "will vnu bo ?o orood as to rinsr for In reakfast?" he says, serenely. "I am rt s hungry an a fox." li She obeys, with a sigh. The two sit d own to a table glittering with old plate nd china, and spread with generous Jngllsh fare?delicate chops, rashers of lr ome-cured bacon, buttered muffins and p' >ast, eggs in a silver vessel, boiled by spirit lamp upon the board, with a < linute glass to regulate the time; cold t>< >ngue, and a reserve of game pie and tl old roast beef on the sideboard, and ?a and coffee, rich with fresh cream v< om the dairy. SI The walls of the room are paneled in w ik; the antique furniture is of oak st Iso, and heavily carved; the Crom- h< ellian chairs are covered with moroc- hi o; Persian mats dot the glittering ex- ol anse of black oak floor; portraits by D ir Joshua Reynolds hang on the walls, o the two ever think of Seedy Court, to nd the old days of toil and privation? ul es, each has a good memory. ai A servant in livery brings in the post- m ag, and Sir Valentine opens it. He ? raws forth one leter for Miss Black nd several for himself. His aunt's is to nstmarked London, and is written in cr cramped, girlish hand. She deciphers while Sir Valentine is running fa trough his own correspondence, and w ie looks much elated while she reads. "News from your cousin Elsie," she h< tys, nodding at the baronet. "Ah!" he answers, with no sign ' of P iterest whatever. ot "She has been in London for the last b< x weeks, with the Countess of Heath- al hill?her kinswoman, you know?and P) fort- returning to Scotland she wishes h< > make us a little visit We may exrct her in a day or two. For my part th am delighted. I never saw a lovelier w Irl?you can't deny that she is lovely, fe al?" ffl He smiles. to "Certainly not Have I expressed any e? ish to do so? By all means give Miss ej rbuckle a warm welcome, and make fr ie Hall as pleasant for her as possl- st ie." lo "Val, with her grand connections and or sr comfortable fortune, she is an exsllent match for you?a most desirt>le match. Cannot you see it for jurself?" "I regret to say that I cannot" he iswers. "I shall not have the pleas- M re of renewing my acquaintance with [iss Arbuckle, for I start for Paris tolorrow. I am stagnating in this place -I need a change." 8< Miss Black understands this sudden se ^termination only too well. He has no n) tea of remaining in Deepmoor to sustin the siege which his Scotch cousin, ho knows the value of broad-acres w ad long rent-rolls, is sure to lay to his 8( sdurate heart. The baronet has a will .' his own?one characteristic, at least, iherited from the Arbuckles. Q' "Do you think It exactly polite tp ct in away from Elsie?" says Miss Black, p, ubiously. *\ "Elsie will not expect politeness," he m rhtly answers, "from an American ai xir like me." 'c And he goes. The next day Miss Ar- t iickle arrives from London, armed ip-a-ple for conquest, and filled with 01 sep designs against the baronet's cc eace; but alas! only to find the wary u, ime flown?already Sir Valentine is ' i his way to Dover. In his Journey to the French capital sa ie baronet finds a traveling compan- Ci m in one of his Lincolnshire neighbors b) gentleman of birth, named Hallam. Together the two cross the channel, In hlsk away to Paris, and take up their m - al- 1- -*-1 Doae ai me same nuiei, ueucnui w?c rches of the Rue de Rivoll. As Fate 111 have It, that rich Gothamite, Arlie Van Dorn, is also a guest of the hi ause. Being well known to Hallain, n< > is not slow to make the acquaintance t(J Hallam's titled friend?a small mat>r in itself, but destined to lead to cl nexpected results. ai It is a balmy, cloudless night; stars er vinkle above the trees of the Champs lysees, gaslights shine along the of aulevards and from all the cafes, and 01 t the Grand Opera, Patti is singing. w The house is crowded with rank, 'cl ishion and beauty. No empty seats cc in be found in pit or ampltheatre. ostly toilets, bright eyes and fair ices make the private boxes dazzling, he finest orchestra in the world is . scourging sweet music. The gorge- j" js proscenium boxes, and those of the srious ministers, between the dividing ; >lumns of the house, are all occupied might. The known and the unknown, *1 ie peer and the shopkeeper, are come jj. > hear the brilliant little prima donna, j" A party of gentlemen, in faultless ? trenlng dress, enters a box in the arts- 2; icratic first tier. It is composed of Sir alentine Arbuckle, Van Dorn the merlcan, Hallam, and two or three a. i/vm/la tiruvl tvlo druiovt am _ ^ ICIIUO tuillKV. icu t* 1111 Hie JuniviBi* VIII- # assy. Sir Valentine seats himself In "j corner, under the crimson curtain, ? raws out his lorgenette and surveys le house. While doing this, his attenon becomes fixed upon another box in ill view of his own, and containing ? ,vo persons?a lady and a gentleman. The former is marvelously handsome, nd dressed with the taste of a Par- . lenne, though the baronet decides at nee that she is not one. tv She looks listless and weary. One w rm, faultless as a piece of sculpture, ?sts on the cushioned balustrade of er box. She pays no heed to her P ompanlon, a blonde, sleepy-eyed, bald lan, who is ogling Patt! through his ., lass. \ly Sir Valentine gazes at the fair, sad vj ice until he is well-nigh ashamed of n imself; then he speaks to. an attache tc 'ho stands at his side. "Who is that lady?" e( His friend understands, for the per- b, on in question has no equal in the hi rowded house. C( "You are a stranger in Paris," he an- nl wers, "and so your ignorance must be w ardoned. That lady is a star in choice Pi arisian society. She is the Countess a, tahl. an American by birth?the w aughter of a rich New York banker, C( amed Sardis. The man beside her is w er husband, and a sad dog he is, too, j8 ' report speaks truly." Sl Sir Valentine has a peculiar interest bi 1 Americans. He starts and stares. fl| "Sardis?Cullen Sardis's daughter!" a| e mutters. "Is it possible?" tc By this time every glass in the box Is e) iveled at the countess. C{ "By Jove!" says Archie Van Dorn, "it g( i she, and none other!?belle Ethel, tl andsome as ever, but as sad as Niobe. p< haven't seen her before since her tc larrlage. Bless my soul! I hear that a] fie count neglects her shamefully." tl "That he does!" answers the attache. w He's a bad lot altogether. For the last wo years he's been going the pace. C{ rossip says that his beautiful wife had dowry of a hundred thousand dollars, tr nd that he squandered it all in twelve hort months. He spends amazing c< urns, and yet is up to his eyes in debt, tl 'he fortune of his first countess he p] ung to the winds in the most reckless al ishion?the second one is likely to a, are no better." m ood many lines upon his heavy, pudling face since I saw him last. Bah!" "RumorB of these very things had _ eached New York before I left it," ays Van Dorn: "I heard them whis- B ered among the countess's friends here. Does any one know how his lsslpations affect her?" C "She's as proud as Lucifer," answers tie attache; "one of the kind that 'can ufTer and be still,' like the Spartan boy a the story. She is greatly admired ere. and much sought after by choice ociety. She gives elegant receptions n nd recherche dinners, wears amazing v allets and jewels and turns a proud, f, nmoved face to the world. The count t i not often seen with her In public; ley rarely go out together. On what tf srms they live In private, Heaven only nows." ? "But 'twas said at the time of his larriage that the titled bloke was a Ich," remarks Van Dorn. "Everybody w i New Tork supposed that Miss Sar- j is had secured a modern Croesus." . The attache shrugs his shoulders. ni "Oosslp says his American father- hi ?-law is the person who keeps his urse replenished." ~ "The old story!' mutters Van Dorn; * t fascinating foreign nobleman and a 8C idly sold American heiress. So runs w ie world away." w An outbreak of song from Patti's sil- .. sr throat keeps them all silent for a >ace. Sir Valentine has heard every ca ord of the conversation. His eyes are w :1U fixed upon the countess's box, and i seems absorbed in thoughts that ive no reference to the Grand Opera ' Paris. Presently he says to Van sa orn: j "Cannot you manage to present me ' madame, the countess. I am partlc- 04 arly anxious to make her acquaint- st ice. I am more than half American yself. See! she is looking this way ai -she recognizes you." .1 -a??' a# ihe /innntAsa nro n/lnl* alC x lie uax A Cy CO ui VIIC WV.UII^COO nauuv* i the group of gentlemen under the 1mson curtains. At sight of Van ^ orn's familiar countenance her pale B ce lights up suddenly. She leans for- s-' ard and bows. tr A moment after he makes his way to pi ?r box. m He greets Count Stahl, and the Count oets him with cold politeness. He col- Gl 's and stammers as he takes Ethel's ui jautlful hand, and answers her cordl- W( greeting. When did he arrive In arts? What tidings does he bring of Wl ?r dear friends in New York? Gl He looks at her closely, and sees m lat her face is full of languor and to idness, but that it is as fair, as perct as ever. Count Stahl levels his ar ass at the stage and gives no notice m i the two as they talk. He Is changI. The wrinkles are thick about his . 'es, the blonde hair has vanished ae om his temples. He Is bald and R< out and he has that unmistakable hi ok which dissipation always stamps . i the faces of its votaries. (To be continued.) a? ABOUT THE CITY CROP nt SG r. E. W. Dabbs Tails How Cotton Is tr to be Financed. bl Mr. E. W. Dabbs, president of the el] DUth Carolina Farmers' Union, has ?t int to the press the following commu- at cation in reply to the objections to b< m proposition to finance the state n( arehouBe system by taxing cotton ce >ld in this state 25 cents a bale: ot "In answer to T' in regard to his th icstion concerning the 'city crop* of P? >tton, I would say that it is not sur- di *islng that he does not know what is tr a V.. AU1- 4kn* Vsa Kaa fiAf OOOn M itrtui i uy hub, ui uiav uv u?w uw ???* ? iy cotton grown In cities. No, sir, the tb ity crop' of cotton does not mean cot- st in 'grown' in cities, it means samples w ' cotton taken from the bales by the tlj tton buyers when they are buying Ju le cotton. When a farmer takes his to >tton to the market, it is always st impled by the cotton buyer?in some m uses by three or four different cotton in jyers?and the samples are almost variably retained by him. This hi eans, of course, that during the cot- Ju >n season a cotton buyer has obtained In large number of samples which he T1 lies and sells. These samples have w >t cost him anything so that this cot- to in, although it does not grow in the th ty, is evidently a 'city' product as far it i it represents anything to the farm- gi "When it it considered that a sample ' cotton will weigh at least twelve ^ inces, or three quarters of a pound, it in ill readily be seen how much the Ity crop' of cotton amounts to in the >urse of a season. (Signed "Crop." m Inspection Fee. 8r "Some of the friends of the farmers dt the legislature and elsewhere and w ime farmers were up in arms about ai ie inspection fee on cotton by which hoped to make the cotton crop finance se s own warehouse system without any hi large of class legislation. The above m lort letter in one of the leading Jouri!s throws some light on this subject, sk any well informed person in any w arket of any consequence, especially rc here there is a compress, how much m ity crop' cotton is sold each year and le reply will astound some of these m irmers' friends. In selling ten bales gi ! extra staple cotton within the past e(j lonth more than twenty-five cents on . ich bale went to swell the 'city crop* i four cities in the samples that I or lbmitted, and none of my samples sc ere full size. b< "Why, if my memory serves me corictly, one of the most persistent and 1X1 antankerous' opponents of this 'vicijs' feature, as he was pleased to call 8e ie inspection fee, some years ago .. anted the Farmers' Union to get beInd a move to have all cotton sam- ri es turned over to the anti tubercu- or sis league, or the society for the rc Melioration of the condition of the na- . ves of Timbuctoo, or some such equal- tn worthy object. There was nothing hi IcIoub about such legislation because c] would take from the helpless (?) cairn buyer one of his sources of income. "This bill would, when properly work- bl 1 out, have provided what a cotton h< iiyer told me recently he had tried to b, ave put into effect: The sampling of >tton, and these samples properly w umbered and kept in the office of the arehouse where it could be properly i rotected from dust and light and be :cessible to buyers whenever they anted to see the grade of any lot of 8t >tton on storage. His reason was thai th hen the warehouse is full of cotton it b| some times almost Impossible to get imples of every Dale aria ne naa * aught lots of cotton of which ten or fu fteen bales he could not sample until hi Tter the deal was closed and the cot- f n was taken out for delivery. At the id of the season the cotton samples m >uld be sold for the benefit of the per- sc >ns whose cotton was .sampled, or in ie case of a warehouse for the exenses of the same, thereby enabling it oc do business at less cost. This feature th one would reimburse the farmer for cc ie inspection fee of 25 cents, if there ere no others. "Another feature would save on the of ilculation of a Liverpool export of lany years' experience in the cotton ^ ade, $1.83 per bale. This wouid be ist as soon as the cotton bale and the g( ivering could be standardized. Now th lis saving would not be in increased hi rice, but in more economical covering . nd in the saving In freight and insurnce. Does any one suppose for a 8C linute that such a reform will come th Dout voluntarily, when every farmer z] nd glnner is a law unto himself as to ' ie size of his bale, and whether he D< uts guano sacks, sugar sacks, old or or ew jute covering on the bale? Not in million years when the sample from ne bale sells the bale at the same price rnt the sample from another of like rade brings on the open market. th "I want the legislators and the farm- hi "s of the state to study these two fealres, and not worry about how it is to 81 e done or who will pay for it, or who ed ill use the warehouses, or what flnan- ri al reforms may result. "E. W. Dabbs, in President S. C. State Farmers' Union." Jl piSffllantous Reading. S ? ct IATTLED WITH ANGRY GRIZZLY e< Y :ook Who Mistook Boar for Friond ^ Hat Thrilling Encounter With the g Beast. 0s During the winter of 1909-10 I found aj lyaelf In Spokane, Waah. Trade waa A ery alack, and though I tried hard, I cl tiled to aecure a position. I waa a ho- m si and restaurant cook, but I could not gi et anything to do. o\ Things were looking pretty black O hen one day, quite by accident, I met b\ former friend of mine. After a few tti ords of greetlnar. he asked me where was working at present, and I told w Im In how bad a fix I was, and how m ard It was to And any kind of a job. tr "Well," he said, "If you would care to ur ) out to some camp I might get you hi >methlng." He added that he was wl orklng in the office of a mining firm, "W hlch owned several large mines, and at this company Intended to start a imp out in Idaho within the next eek. D, Two days later I received instrucsns to call on my friend's company. I w the manager, who told me that If ^ was willing to go to a small mining Ml imp to cook for seven men I could Br art that very evening. dI] I promised to be at the depot at the to (pointed time and went back to my th >tel to pack up. w] At 6.20 in the evening I took the ^ ain to Butte, Mont, arrived there at Br 10 next morning and changed for the m< ain to Armstead, where I met Mr. gt) ank Turner, the engineer, and five Qu lners. The road from Armstead to ^ llmore, Lima county, was at that time CQ ider construction, and for this reason rei e had to wait until 1 o'clock to get a po ork train to the latter place. From tu lllmore to the mine was nearly nine e& lies, and after arriving there we had ov stop at the only hotel for the night, Di id then proceed next morning to the ine on horseback. ^ Wearied out, we finally reached our inj .nttnoHrm In the hp Art at the Bitter mi Dot mountains, In the forenoon, and I an 86 Ld to commence work at once. I had ln| cook for seven men?Mr. Turner, his isistant and five miners. ev I was looking' around, thinking about >thlng in particular, when I heard ^ me curious sound coming from the ty all leading to the mine. I listened, to it neither saw nor heard anything Be, and I was Just about to go in and an art on work when the sound came pu rain?like the breaking of a small ^ >ard. I stared in the direction of the ^ >lse, getting my eyes used to the un- Bli rtaln light, and presently saw some co >ject moving along the trail about th irty feet ahead of me. Thinking that ^ >rhaps some prospector had got Into mi fflcultlea and was crawling along the rii all, I stood my shovel down and ^ tiled out: "Halloa! Is anybody lere?" There was no answer to my lis tout, so I started to Investigate. I was Bi Ithln ten feet of the object, and getng ready to pick up the figure I could ist discern lying on the ground, when, tl< i my . horror, the mass all at once ralghtened up and presented itself to piJ e as a full-grown grizzly bear of th imense size! th The bear had one of the leg-bones I Ld thrown out under his right arm, of at In the same way as a human be- ici g would hold a parcel. I noticed that. T! hen he let out a roar and started to- ^ ards me. I made a jump backwards, va o frightened to think. Next moment fa le bear dropped the bone and, raising Beir on lis ninaiegs, gttvc ui uigi; e(j owl, showing his awful teeth. Then th > came for me, his fore-paws stretch- bo I out as if he would like to take me e* his arms. ^ Wild with fright, I turned and ran ed r the door of the cook-house; but, to fr< y horror, I could not open it; the tow I had thoughtlessly stamped en >wn kept It tight shut. I pulled at It w< Ith such force that I tore off the lock sll id half of the plank, but the door ItIf would not move an Inch. All this it)l ippened quicker than it 1* told, and pu eanwhile the bear came nearer and ?r arer. He was only a few feet away hen a thought struck me. Turning efj >und, with one bound I was in the lis eat-house, the door of which, as entioned before, stood above the ound level and opened easily. I bolt1 It behind me with a meat-hook the stant I was In, and I was not a secid too soon, for the bear was there, ratchlng with his long paws at the >ards, almost as soon as I turned a iund. br For the moment I considered myself sc ife, and I sat down on the chopping ock and wondered how I was to get tn d of the beast. I was, however, reck- ha ling without Mr. Grizzly. Snuffing bo iund the boards, he came presently to >e open air-space and stood up on nis a nd leg's to look through it. I could ha early see his round head and little Lrs. The smell of the fresh meat and an ood gave him renewed courage, and 0i, ; tried to climb through the opening, it found out that the mosquito-screen ?a . u, ini as In his way. ev By this time I was quite calm again. ge grabbed up one of my meat hooks, ab id holding It In my right hand, I Qt epped over to the screen. As soon as a le bear put his nose to It again I gave In m a whack with the hook, thinking It ould drive him away. Instead, It Inirlated him, and with a single blow W] i tore a hole in the screen about a th ot long. I tried to hit him again, but 'z' Issed, and my hook went Into the ?n( ireen, making the gap bigger. All lj ils time, curiously enough, It never lni :curred to me to shout for help, altough the men In the bunkhouse ^ ?uld easily have heard me. I simply ar alted, wondering what the outcome lni ' It would be. " Vila hlnH Ipcs the OlttllUiUB up vu mlo .....v. .-0_, ;ar now made a determined effort to !t through the hole. I hit him with ab ie hook three or four times, making in m more and more furious, and he a 1 awed and bit savagely until the xeen was all torn to pieces. With re lis obstacle out of the way, the griz- eli y, with his fore-feet on the top >ards, gave me a terrible time, and ah ~ *- ?1 hnnlr Ta ny aesperaie wora wuu mc spt him at bay. ,t' Holding my meat-hooks off with one wj jge paw, he tried to lift himself over m, ie board with the other. I struck at ha m again and agal i, when all of a 00 idden he swung himself up and plac- bu 1 his right hind leg on the edge. Ter- bo fled, I rained blows upon him, aim- na g for his eyes, but without success. ist then, as luck would have it, I gr truck against a neavy cieaver, wmcn iy on a little table where I generally iit my meat. Snatching it up, I aimi a vicious blow at the bear's head, nth a howl of mingled pain and rage ie grizzly fell back, only to Jump up nd renew the attack more savagely lan ever. As soon as he put his foot /er the plank, however, I hit him rain, splitting his paw nearly open, third time the great brute essayed to imb the wall, but I gave him two ore blows, which sent him to the *ound. I heard voices and a shot rang it?fired from Mr. Turner's automatic olt, I learned later. The bullet missed, it the bear turned and made off for ie woods, limping on one leg. I sat down on the meat block, too eak and exhausted to speak. The ? ? J #/>? ma a n/4 en ttiiiic iuuiiu 0uuuv1115 iuv oktivi ylng to break open the door. When I lfastened It, and they saw I was unirt, they began to laugh, asking me hy I had let the bear get away.?Wide orld Magazine. TRACING A LONG RIVER ingers Incurred in Making Correct Map of Stream. 1 Mapmakera often take things for anted which are not proved facts, aps of half a century ago show the 'ahmaputra river. In India, in a very , [Terent position than It Is now known i occupy, but there Is still a section of e river nearly a hundred miles long itch has never been explored, says e Pathfinder. This section of the ahmaputra constitutes one of the >st Interesting geographical puzzles ill remaining to be solved. Most of 1 r current maps show the Brahmapu1 as taking a sharp bend where it j mes through the Himalayas and rep- 1 tent It as continuous with the Tsan- I ' river of Tibet But there is no ac- < al warrant for this assumption. 1 It is known that the Tsanpo flows 1 stward, and about a hundred miles ] er the mountain a river known as the 1 nong cornea ionu iu iuiui iswi wo ahmaputra. It 1b assumed that these i e one and the same river, but this I a never been proved, notwlthstandg the elaborate efforts that have been I ide to prove it If you have courage 1 id ambition and want to make yourif famous, you might do so by clear* 1 S up this mystery. < < This is not so easy as It looks, how- > er, owing to the hostile nature of < e wild mountain tribes that Inhabit 1 at region. At one time the plan was 1 ed of sending Into Tibet some true- ] natives from India and getting them cast into the Tsanpo some logs u*ked In such a way that they could ' identified If they floated on down* ' d were later found In the Brahmaitra. The logs were pnt In the river 1 it they never put In an appearance ! low. Whether the natives saw them ; id took them out or whether they nply got stranded Is not known of 1 urse. Anyway the uncertainty about e river still remains, and on the best ! ips the curve is shown only by a ; tted line. It Is believed that there , ay be some very high falls on the rer in this unexplored portion, as . e descent is thousands of feet In the 0 miles or so. About two years ago Messrs. Wilimson and Oregorson, officials of the 1tlsh Indian government, peni-trateo to this border territory from the uth, and were murdered by Abor Ibeamen. This last year an expedl>n was sent Into the regions to find id fetch away the offenders. It was : iped that this party would solve the izxle as to the mysterious river, but ; ey did not go far enough. The found . e guilty tribesmen and brought them t to be tried and punished. The : >ors are very savage and suspicious all outsiders. They resemble Amer- , in Indians in some of their ways, leir weapons are bows, and they use isoned arrows. In order to oppose the , iproach of the expedition they laid j rlous ingenious traps for them to i 11 into, but the party were to wary ] r them. A number of the chiefs acknowledg- . their submission to the British auority by cutting the strings of their , ws and breaking their arrows. Th- , pedlton made Its way through this ( Jd v-ountry only with the greatest | (Acuity. By turn thick Jungles, flood- j valleys and avalanches of snow i Dm the Himalayas were encountered. ; Rut the worst terror of all, It proved, i is the peculiar leeches that Infest the , tire country. These blood-suckers i >uld make their way through the i ghtest opening In the clothing and ten themselves on the bodies of the rty. The only way they could be duced to let go was to burn them or it carbolic acid on them. Still anothexpedltion into the region is now ' lng arranged. This will include a tachment of military police and an tort will be made to gradually estabh law and order Into the region. ANCIENT CITY'8 8ITE L08T assures of Lystra Taken Away by Town Builders. All that we saw In the early days of 12 on the site of ancient Lystra was hillside covered with fragments of 1 eken marble and a few larger stones, 1 arcely one of them in the position tere It was originally placed, says a iristlan Herald correspondent. Lys- ! i, like most of these ancient cities, J is served as a quarry for the nelghirlng villages, and for a thousand ars past when any of the inhabitants Ished to build a house or a mosque, retaining wall or a buffalo shed, they ive hastened to the almost inexhaus- ' >le treasures of marble and granite, ' ilch were erected with so much pains ( id expense into the beautiful cities of 1 1. 1 Magnificent marble columns, ornate ( pltals, memorial stones covered wltn 1 Bcrlptlons, the tombs of the dead ' en, have served the vandals of later 1 nerations and provided for them ( undent building materials. So It has come about In Lystra, as In 1 her cities of antiquity, that scarcely 1 trace of Its ancient glories remains. 1 deed it takes a skilled and learned J ng that he was practically on the site many of these ancient cities. Lystra < is passed by Sir William Ramsay, io Journeyed within a few yards of 1 e ruins of the city without ever real- 1 ng that he was practlcaly on the site 1 the town for which he was searchg, and It was only the discovery of a ' rstrian coin and a single monumental j Bcription by Professor Sterrett, of >rnell university a few years la'er, ; at settled forever the position of the eient city for which explorers and ' cheologlsts had so long been search- 1 ' . 1 Blue-Eysd Men.?Blue-eyed men ; ys a Kansas expert, make very poor j isbands. They had 326 cases of wife < andonment in Kansas this year, and ' avorv rase tho nflfander was ailUUOI. V?V?/ vwwv ?V , man with blue-eyes. 1 Upon the other hand, blue-eyed men ake excellent presidents, and our own 1 public has scarcely looked anywhere i se. The only dark-eyed president we i er ha_ was William Henry Harrison. < i took one good look at the problems i ead of him and died In office, leaving ' hn Tyler, a blue-eyed man, to work all out. i Moreover, blue-eyed men have al- 1 ays been the world's champion 1 irksmen, and but for them, tyrants i d not been overthrown, slavery had 1 it been put down, and there would be ] i liberty. Dark-eyed men are brave, < it they never hit anything. This Is me out every time there Is an Inter- 1 tlonal shooting match. It is proven * er and over again in the occurrence i great wing shots like Crosby and ' ?encer, 1 uanicl in inc. uiv/nro ucn The Latest Enterprise in the Moving Pictura World. Dhose who go to the "movlea" to be thrlned are likely to be completely satiated with a film which the Vitagraph company of America is to get out this spring. The pictures are entitled "Daniel In the Lion's Den," and the scenario was written by the Rev. Dr. Madison C. Peters. When Daniel, who in this particular case is to be Charles Kent, throws defiance Into the kingly face of Belshazzar the son of Nabonldus, and walks away between the guards to the den, he will be walking into the real thing in lions. There will be three full grown ones waiting for him. Furthermore, there will be two equally full grown *<90MI llnt/lner thals oVinnS an/1 nlomln the gloom with cat eye*. What li going to prevent these perfectly full grown animals from leaping upon Daniel Charles Kent and tearing him Into a large number of pieces? Simply some very expert training of the kind that Paul Bourgeois, the young Frenchman who owns the animals, Is giving them dally, almost hourly, at the plant of the Vltagraph company at Sheepshead Bay. The first dress rehearsal solely for the den performers was held yesterday at the plant. M. Bourgeois, wearing a military uniform of bright colors, to which the beasts must get accustomed, entered the huge cage which the Vitagraph people have erected for him In the center of the performing room. The young trainer (only 24 years old he is), whose hands, neck and back are covered with little and big white scars, had in one hand a rawhide whip, in the other a "ladder," consisting of five rungs held together by crosspieces, and In his pockets a couple of revolvers loaded with blank cartridges. M. Bourgeois explained that he was about to Introduce the star den performers to each other for the first time. A little black door at the back of the cage opened and out rushed Lula, a 400 pound lioness. She stopped a moment to get her bearings and then with a snarl sprang for M. Bourgeois. She was met with the ladder, while the trainer leaped aside. "Now sne win do aii npiv air. Bourgeois said reassuringly. "You csn let Sadie in now." Whereupon Sadie, a 450 pounder, iprang into the cage. The two cats sniffed each other and began to snarl so that M. Bourgeois was moved to peak almost sharply to them. He succeeded with a few quiet words in getting the two into opposite corners and then announced that it was time for Nero. The trainer took up his stand near the little black door grasping his revolver. At a word from him the door was raised. First there was a tremendous roar, then the gloom was lightened with the glare of two green eyes. Finally there was a quick dash and out Into the open came Nero, his tawny skin covered 800 pounds all a-qnlver. He paid no attention at first to Lula and Sadie, but fixed his eyes on M. Bourgeois, who was saying: "Well, well, Nero how are you today? You're looking fine." Nero crouched at one end of the cage, his tail swishing from side to side, and then with a roar that rattled the glass in the roof he lunged way across the cage at M. Bourgeois. What he got was a flash from the revolver full in the face, and his teeth crunched upon a rung of the ladder. He retreated snarling toward a corner where Lulu was watching. Lulu raised a huge paw and gave him a cuff that staggered him for a moment As his mouth opened in a roar of resentment the spectators noticed that one great tooth was nearly severed from his Jaw. Sadie took no part in the proceedings, for she was nursing a burning mouth into which an attendant had playfully peppered some strong disinfectant Filled now with surprise, chagrin, rage, and nobody knows what other emotions, Nero began to rage furiousI.. 11 l.-n anri M P^lirflTAnll had a lively five minute* during which he had to fire continually and jump from one aide of the cage to another. But at the end of it he assured Frederick A. Thomson, director of the Vitagraph studios, who was in general charge of the proceedings, that the three lions will be sufficiently subdued In ten days for the introduction into the cage of some of the actors in the Peters play. He hopes that by that time the beasts will have become accustomed to bright colors; all the attendants are to wear flaming costumes for the next few days.?New Tork Sun. OUR PROVERB8 Many of thorn Originated Centuries Ago. Many proverbs have come down to us from remote ages, and are common to all nations. It is said that a king of Samos worked his slaves nearly to death in making a vineyard. This provoked one of them to prophesy that his master would never drink the wine. The king, being told of this, when the first grapes were produced took a handful and, pressing the Juice into a cup in the presence of the slave, derided him as a false prophet "Many things happen between the cup and the lip," the slave replied. Just then a shout was heard that a wild boar had broken into the vineyard. The king, without tasting, set down the cup, ran to meet it and was killed in the encounter. Henceforth the words of the slave passed into a proverb. From the Greek original came two French proverbs: "Between the hand Etnd the mouth the soup is often spilt," a.nd "Wine poured out is not s* flowed." Neither is so near the orly nal as cur English, "There's many a slip betwixt cup and lip." Xt 18 curious 10 trace now annum ideas have taken root in different languages and the various modes of Illustrating the same thought. For instance, Dne or two familiar proverbs In our )wn language. We say, "A bird In the liand is worth two In the bush." The same idea Is expressed by Italians when they say, "Better an egg today than a pullet tomorrow," and the French proverb is still more slgnifl:ant, "One here-lt-is Is better than two vou-shall-have-Its." "Better a leveret In the kitchen than a wild boar in the forest," Is the Llvonlan saying conveying the same meaning. The proverbs on luck are numerous and expressive in all languages. In English we say, "It Is better to be born lucky than rich." The Arabs convey the same Idea in the apt proverb, 'Throw him into the Nile and he will lome up with a fish in his mouth," while the German says, "If he flung a penny on the roof a dollar would come jack to him." A Spanish proverb says, "God send rou luck, my son, and little wit will serve you. inert? is a uauiA auaec, 'Fortune favors fools," and It Is to this Touchstone alludes in his reply to Tacques, "Call me not a fool till Heaven hath sent me fortune." The Germans say, "Jack gets on by Ills stupidity" and "Fortune and women are fond of fools." There Is also i Latin proverb which shows that the converse of this holds good: "Fortune makes a fool of him she too much favors." Some unlucky Englishman Is responsible for the saying: "If my father had made me a hatter, men would have been born without heads," but this can scarcely be called original, as an unfortunate Arab, ages ago, declared, "If [ were to trade in winding sheets no cne would die." "Misfortunes se. "om come singly," has many equivalents In all languages. The Spaniards say, "Welcome, misfortune, If thou comest alone," and 'Whither thou goest, misfortune? To where there is more?"