A WARRIOR BOLD.
By ST. GEORGE R.ATHBORNE,
Author of “Little Miss Millions,” “The Spider’s Web,”
Caprice," “Dr. Jack's H7do«,” Etc., Etc,
••Miss
[Copyright, 1901. by Sweet and Stnl b, New York.]
CHAPTER It.—(Continued.)
Naturally, Charlie Stuart was Justi
fied in believing the girl to be the ihild
of some Flemish citizen. True, she
was not dressed in the usual U'utch
fashion, but her golden tresses and
blue eyes, that shone like twin stars,
made him take the fact for granted.
He was, therefore, considerably sur
prised when, springing to her feet, she
advanced a step or two toward them,
holding out her hands, a look of great
Joy illuminating her face, and in a
voice which the echoes of her recent
Bobs still haunted, addressed them in
purest English:
“Oh, sirs! Heaven has heard my
prayer and sent you to my rescue!"
Stuart made up his mind then and
there, strange as such a proceeding
might be. that there was a deeper mys
tery about the presence of this young
girl in these terrifying surroundings
than had at first occurred to him.
Many things united to make him be
lieve this—the fact of her not being
missed by her party, her manner in
avoiding any reference to the friends
who should be so anxious—yes, then
and there he became convinced that a
story lay back of It as startling as any
product of an opium smoker’s dream.
Charlie knew it would be well for him
to divert the girl's mind as much as
possible from the horrors she had so
recently been forced to face. Thus as
they walked along, he even grew
somewhat merry, and his object was
accomplished, since the girl’s tempor
ary trembling fit had passed away and
she was now calm enough to ask ques
tions regarding their opportune pres
ence In the dismal place.
Several times Charlie knew she was
looking at him intently.
He believed that he could guess the
reason—that she had a story to tell, a
story far out of the ordinary run, and
was studying him when she thought,
herself unobserved, studying him to
determine whether she dared entrust
him with its astonishing details.
CHAPTER III.
Charlie Makes an Engagement.
Who was she?
This question came into Chalie's
mind many times while they walked
through those ghostly passages, seek
ing the worn stone stairs at the top
of which stood the roughly hewn oak
door studded with rusty nails.
At the foot of the warn stone steps
the girl came to a sudden stop. .
“Sir," she said, addressing Charlie
as though he were the only party in
sight, “unless I am mistaken these
steps lead up to the museum of the
Steen, and we have reached the exit
of this horrible underground tomb.”
“We can be in the light as soon as I
unlock the door up yonder,” he said
quietly.
“One moment, before we ascend. I
want to catch my breath—to tell you
how grateful I am for your timely as
sistance-•”
“Please don’t mention it,” said Char
lie.
indeed, it was a great pleasure, rair
lady,” chirruped Artemus, eagerly.
“You overwhelm me with confusion,
I have, as you may well suppose, re
ceived something of a shock, and
hardly feel equal to the task of ex
plaining to you just now what strange
circumstances brought me into the
desperate predicament from which I
have been rescued by your assistance.
But I trust I may see you again soon,
when the explanation that is due will
be gladly given. Forgive me if I say
I have been studying you all this time,
and something tells me I may surely
trust you with my life. God knows I
need friends.”
Her words thrilled Charlie.
‘‘Pardon me, miss—I should have
told you before—my name is Charlie
Stuart. I am at present an exile from
old London, in search of a mission.
Perhaps I have found one,” he said,
with an amused smile.
A faint flush chased across her coun
tenance.
"And I—am Arline Brand.”
She had a small reticule attached to
her girdle, as was the custom. Open
ing this, she took out a quaint little
inlaid cardcase and handed him a bit
of pasteboard.
“When you call, ask for me under
that name, by which I am known. But
let me say again—as a duty I owe you,
Mr. Stuart—let me give you full warn
ing that, while I appreciate the great
favor you have done me. I must tell
you 1 have enemies, and that if you
should seek to continue the acquaint
ance so strangely begun, it might pos
sibly bring you into trouble.”
“I never yet have allowed fear of
mortal man to influence my actions,”
Stuart said, proudly.
“But these men are cruel and un
scrupulous. You can realize that afte?
seeing to what a dreadful fate tho>’
would have condemned me beta sse *
refused to carry out their wife "
“They are a set of preclcas scoun
drels and cowards!” he declared.
“Ah! but perhaps they are all-pow
erful at court—men in touch with a
dynasty that can shake the earth tf
aroused, to whom one poor human life
Is as a fallen leaf," she said, as if test
ing his loyalty.
“It is the same—I see no reason why
K should draw back.” Taking out his
watefc, he continued. In the most de
liberate fashion: "It is now almost
high noon. At eight, then, this even
ing. to the minute, I shall do myself
the honor of calling upon you at your
hotel, and until I am convinced that
it is unlawful for me so to do, all the
police of Antwerp shall not atop me
In my rights of a British citizen travel
ing under the protection of his flag.”
Arline impulsively held out her
hand.
‘‘I thank you. God bless you, Mr.
Stuart!” she said, in broken tones.
And Charlie, as he felt the little
hand quiver and throb in his, found a
strong indignation arising within hi3
breast, directed against those un
known parties who had so mercilessly
condemned so charming a young wom
an to a cruel fate.
It was Artemus who unlocked the
heavy door and ushered them into the
garish light of day, who gravely re
lieved Charlie of his brass candlestick
and placed it, together with the rusty
keys, where they belonged.
Charlie saw that his companion
glanced hastily to the right and left
through her veil. Once he was almost
sure she gave a start, but by no word
did she signify discovery.
“Could you get a cab for me?" she
asked with a perceptible tremor in her
voice.
“Easily, no doubt. There are usual
ly vehicles wmiting outside the Steen.
This way, please."
Before the vehicle started, Arline
Brand threw back the veil, and again
Charlie was given the privilege of
looking into those honest blue orbs,
rivaling the heavens in their hue.
“I will release you from your prom
ise if you regret making it, Mr. Stu
art,” she said, softly.
“Thanks; but 1 am a singularly ob
stinate man. I fear. At eight to-night,
I said. Besides, I confess to much curi
osity to hear wiiat you promised to
tell.”
Those wondrous eyes beamed upon
him: a little hand crept out to allow
of a parting pressure; then the ve
hicle lumbered away, leaving him
there in front of the historic Steen,
watching its progress down the crook
ed thoroughfare, and wondering at the
change that had broken into his quiet
life.
When Charlie Stuart reiterated his
rash promise with regard to seeing the
owner of those marvelous cerulean
orbs that same evening, he had but a
faint conception of the magnitude of
the task he had taken upon himself.
He wras dimly conscious of a figure
hanging from the rear window of a
second old vehicle—a figure that made
all manner of pantomime gestures, and
in which he recognized his friend Arte
mus.
Remembering the quaint methods
by which Artemus invoked the dra
matic muse, he ended with a laugh.
“No harm done, I imagine,” he said,
aloud. To his surprise some one
added:
“That remains to be seen, young
sir.”
Turning indignantly to see who had
dared to thus address him without in
vitation, Charlie faced a middle-aged
gentleman of military aspect, who wa3
regarding him with much urbanity.
“I am quite ready to explain the
meaning of those words I uttered,
young sir, on condition that you favor
me with your name.”
Charlie’s first hasty inclination was
to refuse point-blank, but he had up to
this point of his existence never
known the time when he found reason
to be ashamed of his name. It be
longed to one of the best families in
Scotland, and his ancestry dated back
to the days of Bruce and Wallace.
‘‘That is a condition easily complied
with, as I have never yet refused it to
any man who felt enough interest in
me to ask. It is Charlie Stuart.”
The other bowed.
‘‘Good! I see we shall get on to
gether amazingly well. There need be
no trouble whatever, since we agree so
charmingly,” he said.
“Ah! about what, now’?” asked Char
lie, once more keenly on his guard.
“H'm! Say, the pretty fraulein."
“But perhaps we do not agree on
that subject; in fact, our views may be
diametrically opposite. Tell me, why
do you waylay me? I am a complete
stranger; I never saw you before.”
“Quite true, quite true, young sir,”
chuckled the other; “but I have seen
you before. I know when you came to
Antwerp, and just how’ you have em
ployed your time since.”
“The deuce you do! Then you must
have knowm my name. Why did you
ask for it?” with the light of suspicion
and unbelief in his eyes.
“To ascertain how far you would
have confidence in me. I see you are
incredulous; but, young man, it Is my
especial business to know every
stranger who comes to Antwerp,
whether he be French. English, Rus
sian. American or Turkish; also to dis
cover as much with relation to his bus
iness here as is necessary to under
stand his status in society. Although
you have never met me before, I doubt
not you would recognize my name.
Permit me.”
A card was thrust into Charlie’s
hand.
Mechanically he glanced at it.
The result was peculiarly unpleas
ant.
It simply hire a name, but that
name was as ft mous at St. Petersburg
and Peris as 1 a Antwerp-Baron De
metrius PeterhufT
This wonderful man had been at th^
head of the famous Third Section In
Russia; he had been the terror of
Nihilists for years; an argus-eyed head
of police; until, unfortunately, a cog
slipped with fatal result, since the
Czar Alexander was murdered through
the Instrumentality of a Imnib. and
from that hour Baron Peterhoff’s use
fulness in Russia was at an end.
“Ah!” Charlie said, very calmly; “I
have heard of you very often, baron;
but. really, 1 confess the prospect of
meeting so renowned a character never
entered my mind. To what am I in
debted for the honor?”
Again the distinguished gentleman
uttered the word that had startled
Charlie before.
“To the pretty fraulein."
Charlie frowned.
“See here, baron—I know this lady
as Mile. Arline Brand. Surely there
must be a mistake."
“She has golden hair?”
“Yes.”
“And eyes so blue”—holding tip his
bands in a dramatic manner that
would have delighted Artemus—“that
they shame the lovely skies of the
Riviera.”
Charlie groaned an assent. A crush
ing weight seemed to press upon his
brain and he felt as though tottering
on the verge of a precipice.
“As to the name, continued the
baron, coolly, “what does it matter?
Mile. Arline Brand Is as good as an
other—indeed, when you come to ex
amine it, there is something: of the ad
venturess stripe about so delightful a
cognomen, don’t you think, young sir?
To my knowledge that is only one of a
score of different names the lady has
adopted within the last few years."
“Adventuress! ”
How like the shock of a rattlesnake's
stroke the mention of that word fell
upon Charlie's hearing,
“Since you have been so kind as to
give me warning, suppose you tell me
who this wonderful lady of many
names is?” he asked, coldly.
“You must have heard of the Count
ess Isolde Brabant.”
It was a name he had often seen
mentioned in London and continental
papers,a name belonging to a beautiful
Russian young woman, given over
heart and soul to the cause of Nihil
ism, connected with high families in
the Land of the White Czar, banished
through royal decree, and now turned
adventuress in Vienna. Paris and other
capitals of Europe.
He shuddered at the picture.
“At least I am under favors to you,
baron, for your kindness; and if I
make a fool of myself it will not be for
lack of warning.”
“Well, young sir, I owe my life to
your father. Before Sebastopol, when
a fierce engagement was in progress, I
had been cut down and lay there help
less, when a squadron of British dra
goons charged. They would have
crushed me to atoms, but that a
wounded Highlander captain, crawl
ing over, shielded my body with his
own, and, raising himself, waved his
tartan in the air, at w’hieh the dra
goons separated, sweeping past to the
left and to the right. That brave
Highlander was your noble father.
For years we corresponded; but in my
eventful life the memory of the debt I
owed him—more shame to me—became
obscured by other issues. Young sir,
for his sake I have sought to save you
from the snare of the fowler. Be
warned in time.”
A cab, doubtless previously signaled,
dashed up. the busy baron jumped in,
waved his hand to Charlie, and was
gene.
He left a very puzzled and deeply
worried young man in front of the
Steen.
Charlie seemed wrestling with the
problem, and drawn first this way,
then that; but his natural obstinacy
finally won out.
“Well,” he muttered through his
teeth, “I said eight o'clock to-night;
and, come weal or come woe, 1 shall
keep the appointment.”
(To be continued.)
QUESTION DEVIL COULDN’T ANSWER
Cnuble to Predict Action of a Mew York
Jury.
While waiting for the verdict in the
Patrick case a few days ago somebody
remarked to Mr. Van Diver of the Dis
trict Attorney’s office, that he thought
the jury would acquit the lawyer who
had conspired with William Marsh
Rice’s valet to gain possession of the
Texas millionaire’s fortune. Mr. Van
Diver, who had followed the case close
ly for several months, doubted this,
but added reflectively:
“Of course, nothing is more uncer
tain than the action of a jury. I re
member a story my father told me
when I was a boy in Alabama. The
story was of His Satanic Majesty and
a plain citizen who met one day on a
narrow’ pathway cut in the edge of a
cliff. On side there yawned a preci
pice. On the other side was the solid
rock. There was only room for one to
pass, and of these two, one must lie
down and let the other walk over him.
“ ‘If you’ll propound three questions
I can’t answer,’ suggested Satan, “I’ll
lie down and let you pass over my
body.’ The citizen asked:
“’What Is whiter than snow?’
“ ‘Cotton,’ was the answer.
“ ‘What is sw’eeter than suger?’
‘“That’s easy again; molasses.’
“ ‘What w’ill be the next verdict ren
dered in this county by a petit jury?’
“ ‘Pass on your way,’ said the Devil,
as he made a carpet of himself.’’
The natives of Palestine have a
kettledrum, the body being made of
pottery and the head covered with
parchment. It is provided with a
cord and 1* borne in festal procea*
sloe*
Judge Biackenhanfs Heroic Moment
T?Y JAMES NOEL JOHNSON.
(Copyright., 1902, by Dally Story Pub. C
i
I have been spending a bit of the
torrid season with my friend Judge
Thomas Marshall Blackenham of Ty
gart Creek, Kentucky.
After dinner to day the Judge led the
way to the broad veranda. The Judge
ponderously seated himself in a shriek
ing rustic rocking-chair, threw his
fat right leg across the left, pushed
backward and rested a chunKy fist
(that held the handle of a palm leaf)
cn the center of his protuberant girth.
Soon through the heated silence
came the imperious voice of Mrs.
Uluckenham:
“Do all that over again, my lady! I
saw you souse a plate in the water,
turn it over a time or two, give it a
ship and a s%vipe with the drying rag
and dismiss it. Do it all over again.'
“That's tough on Lillie, hot as it is,
but there is no help for it." spoke the
Judge In smiling sympathy; “her
mother would never abate one jot or
tittle of her stringent housewifery ex
actions."
“What a wonderfully lucky man you
are, Judge,” I said, with the frank
freedom of intimacy. “In your wife
the beautiful and practical have met in
harmonious union. How could you,
with your careless habits, ever win a
woman of such punctilious precise
ness?”
The Judge rolled his sunset face over
toward me. He affected indignation.
"What do you mean, suh? While prob
ably I am no prize beauty now, I was
the Locliinvar of this state. I was the
glass of gallantry, the beau ideal, the
tossing blossom of Kentucky chilvalry,
suh! 'Twas her was a lucky woman,
suh; yes, suh, though at one time, suh,
Bhe didn’t have the propah apprecia
tion of it, probably.”
“She was the reverse of practical,
too, when she was young, suh. She
had gone to school at Eexington a few
terms, and when she returned her lit
tle brown head fairly swarmed with
romantic ideas. A dishing in her
white hands then would have seemed
defilement. Though rich in all the al
luring grace of manner and physical
attributes of perfect femininity, she
seemed to possess no inclination for
the sterner sex. We young fellows in
the community who aspired to hold
hcu_, on a level with hers were great
ly nonplused at her frigid hearing. We
couldn't believe she was a born man
hater. Her glowing lips, her pink
mantled cheeks, her sparkling blue
eyes, her form filling all the rules of
perfect symmetry, her step light as if
she trod an impalpable substance, all
conspired to resent such a charge.
But she gave scant attention to us, I
tell you.
“Tom Baker bought a span of fine
bay horses and a buggy to macth.
Every day he would dash by her house,
his grand steeds smiting the hard road
with rapid, ringing hoofs, his buggy
wheels richly humming, the black top
catching and throwing sunlight at
every motion. 'Twas all vanity and
vexation. She scarcely gave his showy
equipage a glance, or If she did deign
a look it was to wonder why a young
man of his lean means should incur so
much expense to advertise himself a
fool. He soon sold his rig at half
price and left for Frankfort, where he
is now a popular saloonkeeper.
“Milt Turner bought a suit of clothes
on a credit—worth seventy-five dol
lars. The next Sunday when he
thought she was badly in need of his
company home, she told him her pa
was all the company she required. He
is now a restaurant keeper in Chicago.
“John De Laney, knowing her to be
a church member, thought the short
cut to her heart was the ministerial
path. Accordingly he went to Cincin
nati, and for six months gorged his
mind on theology. He returned with
a smooth face, an affectedly meek, but
withal, superior clerical smile, a long
tailed, black coat and a uicely gotten
up parson voice. He made an appoint
ment to preach, but lo! though the
house was jammed by a curious
throng, the only one he would have
“What do you wear, suh?”
given a cuss to exhort, was promi
nently absent. He is now a highly
esteemed gambler of New York.
“Jim Stevens, more practical than
the rest, pooled his little stock of
money with all he could borrow, and
set up a store. Alas! 'twas a bootless
venture, for Flossie Blake not only
never entered the store, but indig
nantly sent back a dress pattern
bought there by her father (and which
Stevens had selected) with the dispir
iting message that there was no ne
gress in the family who couid ap
propriately wear it.”
“During this ridiculous contest of
would-be lovers, I, Judge Blackenham,
to be, maintained a Judicious silence.
But I was actively using the faculties
that subsequently put the judicial robs
on my shoulders. I t,t." analyzing the
situation—drawing intelligent deduc
tions from the failures of others. I
made noiseless, but exhaustive inquir
ies into the habits and secret tastes of
tms anomalous beauty. I finally learn
ed she was an unquenchable reader of
heroic literature. I went to town an I
secretly learned from the woman who
kept the book store, the titles of r. 11
those high-spiced novels tnat consti
tuted her daily mental and emotional
feed, ami 1 bought them. Day and
night I would lie en my couch and
read novels. Dark, handsome chaos
rushed through the pages, scattering
heroic deeds at every turn and cor
ner.
“I now' had the key that I was sure
would unlock the doer of her lndiffer
"There, now!" ehe exclaimed, knit
ting her brow, "No more romance
for me!”
ence, T would be a novel hero, and
wouldn't be long about It.
“1 had a cousin living in Kansar
City, and thither I went on a two
months' visit.
“While there I contrived, on paper,
to become a hero of the first water. I
went to a job printer with a piece of
newspaper, blank on one side.
“I next day mailed a clipping to the
local paper of my home county. I
didn't forget to inclose a crisp ten
dollar bill, and a request that the edi
tor should publish the clipping and
say nothing about how he had come
by it. Heroes must be modest, you
know. He was a personal friend of
mine, and I knew I could trust him.
Well, the next Issue of the East Ken
tucky Deadshot had the following ar
ticle, topped with fireworks headlines:
DARING DEED
Of That Gallant Knight of Modern Chiv
alry,
THOS. MARSHALL BLACKENHAM.
A Lewis County Youth Becomes the
Hero of the Hour In Kansas
City, Mo.
[From the Kansas City Journal !
Kentucky, the home of modern chiv
alry, has another gem to wear In her
bristling crown of pride and glory In the
person of Thus. Marshall Blackenham
of Lewis County.
Last evening, while Mrs. Ella Edwards,
a wealthy and beautiful young widow of
Southworth street, was going home from
a call she was set upon by three masked
robbers. At the place where the mis
creants came upon her there Is a long
distance between the street lamps, and
is a most favorable locality for the per
petration of villainous deeds. Mrs. Ed
wards was within a block of her home
and never anticipated any foul play, as
she was used to traversing that part of
the street In the early evening. All at
once, when about midway between the
lamps, the three men sprang out and
seized her. One threw a cloak over her
head, but not before she had uttered a
piercing scream. Instantly, as If he had
risen from the earth, the bold Kentuck
ian sprang like a lion among them. Right
and left he landed with his Herculean
fists. There was a terrible struggle as
the three footpads were powerful men.
Undaunted ny their resistance the Ken
tuckian fought them single-handed, never
yielding an Inch. Two fell as though
smitten by sledge hammers. The third
turned In an endeavor to escape, but
came to a sudden halt with a bullet In
his left leg. The noise of the shot
brought policemen to the spot. All three
of the assailants were arrested. One of
them Is "Cribber” Darnley. a veteran
footpad, who has served several terms,
and Is regarded as a dangerous man to
tackle. Another of the beautiful trio Is
"Cross-eyed” Bronson, wanted badly In
New York and Philadelphia for safe
cracking. Me has murdered several offi
cers who have attempted to arrest him.
The third is "Bully" Adams, who last
year cleared out an entire sheriff's posse
trying to capture him.
The lady lost nothing except her con
sciousness. Her pocketbook. containing
three hundred dollars, her gold watch
and diamond necklace were jolted from
the hands of the robbers when Col.
Blackenham’s mighty fists landed. Col.
Blackenham. like all heroes, is an ex
ceedingly modest man. and acts as If he
were not aware he had done anything
out of the ordinary. In the meantime,
his deed is the theme of universal praise.
Col Blarkenham refused to accept the
gold watch the grateful lady besought
him to take, but. later on—who knows?
The old. old story, possibly.
“Well, suh, I staid away long enough
to let that story sink into the heart of
the beautiful Flossie, and prepare for
me a haven of welcome and favor.
“When I returned I demeaned my
self as becomes a modest hero, unas
suming. but with a quiet dignity that
bespeaks the importance of the man
on whom it sits.
“When I met Flossie at church there
was no ice on her, no suh. She bow
ed to me, smiled, trembled a little
while her eyes emitted sparks that
flew upward from a very warm heart.
She took a proffered arm and leaned
on it with that air of delicious depend
ence so grateful to the heart of the
true hero.
“After we had been married about
two weeks I told her about my ruse.
She gazed at me a long time, her ex
pression a compound of mirth, aston
ishment and mock contempt.
“Finally, she made a motion as If
throwing something away.
“‘There, now!’ she exclaimed, knit
ting her brow. ‘No more romance
reading for me. As for you, Mr.
Blackenhan, I want you to study law
Your genius must have scope. An
for me. to the science of plain, prac
tical housekeeping, i hereby dedicate
my days.' ”
CERTAINLY DESERVED THE CHECK*
College Provost Catehc* Philadelphia
Broker In Ills Own Trap.
The University of Pennsylvania has
not a large endowment, and that It
finds the means to pay its current ex
penses and put up new buildings Is
due in great measure to Its provost.
Charles C. Harrison. His little black
subscription book is well known In
many a down-town office—too well
known, a prominent broker told him
not long ago. Mr. Harrison was plead
ing persistently with him for a sub
scription, but in vain. Finally the
broker said:
"See here, Mr. Harrison, 1 will give
you something on one condition.”
"Very well. Mr. T-said the
provost, “name it."
"The condition is that you promise
never come into my office again until
1 ask you to do so.”
"Certainly, Mr. T-, I agree to
that,” said the provost promptly, and
walked out smiling with a check for
$1,000.
A month or so iater the broker
heard a knock at his door. "Come in.”
ho called, and in walked Mr. Harri
son. He had his black book under his
arm.
"Good morning. Mr. T-," he said;
“I want you to help me with a little
university matter I am-”
"Look here, Mr. Harrison,” the brok
er continued, "when 1 gave that last
thousand dollars wasn't it on the ex
press condition that you wouldn't
come into my office again until I in
vited you?”
"Why, yes," returned the provost, “I
believe that was the understanding,
nut. didn’t you say 'Come in' Just now
when I knocked?”
They say the check this time was
for live thousand.— Philadelphia
Times.
WAS NOT WORKING WITHOUT PAY.
How On© Boy Declined to Blow Glass
and Make n Bottle.
Thinking to please the visitors who
come to look round his works, a cer
tain glass manufacturer allows them
all to try their skill at bottle-making,
an experiment which the majority of
them are very eager to undertake. It
is only necessary to blow through a
specially prepared pipe, and a bottle
or glass in its smooth state can bo
produced by a mere child.
Some hundreds of school board boys
were in the works the other day, and
only one youngster refused to put his
mouth to the blow-pipe. He stood
there with his hands in his pockets,
watching the others with a comical
air of contempt.
“It’s a rare tine dodge,” he remarked
to his bosom companion, as they left
the works together, “but the old rascal
didn't take me In by It.”
"Why didn’t you have a go at the
pipe?” queried the other, is astonish
ment.
”1 wasn't such a fool,” was the
scornful rejoinder. "Don't you see his
little game? You chaps have been
cracking your cheeks and wasting
your breath all the afternoon, and
you’ve blown as many bottles as a
man can turn out in a week. Talk
about saving labor! Why, he’ll make
his fortune in a year if he goes on
like this.”
rut Up a good “Bluff."
The Rev. Alexander Allison, Jr.,
pastor of the Southwestern Presbyte
rian church. In a recent sermon on the
subject of “Lying,” illustrated his text
with numerous stories, and one of
these showed how, even In church, a
man’s false pride sometimes leads
him to prevarication. A young man
took his best girl to church and, when
the time for “collection” came round,
rather ostentatiously displayed a $5
gold piece. Presuming upon the en
gagement to marry that had been
made by her, the young lady placed
a restraining .land upon the arm of
her fiance. “Why, don't be so extra
vagant, George,” she exclaimed.
“Oh, that’s nothing, I always give
$5 when 1 go to a strange church.”
Just then the deacon came with tae
plate, and George dropped a coin.
Everything seemed favorable, and the
young man beamed with a sense of
generosity. Then the minister made
the announcements for the week, and
concluded with the wholly unexpected
announcement of the day’s collection.
“The collection to-day," said he,
“was $3.75.”
George hadn't much to say all the
way to his fiancee’s home.
Immense Sarcophagus.
The most remarkable specimen of
Punic art which has ever come to
light was discovered recently at Car
thage by P. Delattre, a well-known
archaeologist, which is fashioned of
white marble and beautifully orna
mented with engravings. That it
served at one time as the tomb of
some Carthaginian ruler all obtain
able evidence tends to show.
M. Heron de Villefosse gave a
graphic account of this discovery at
the last meeting of the French
Academy of Inscriptions and Belles
Letters and maintained that it was by
far the most notable specimen of an
cient Carthaginian art which has yet
been found.
It was while excavating in the
Punic necropolis hear the hill of Saint
Monica that P. Delatre came across
this royal tomb. As to its future des
tination various rumors are afloat, but
it is most likely that it will be remov
ed to nine French museum.
