©tNEWTOBK 5 gSrGKSBGE §wm1B0BNE 8 AKmoeor 1 ‘jouzz-jasir WsiasstzKr jvaxig’ Xe.^CBTJX CHAPTER XVI.—Continued. In vain does the bull-fighter seek to close. The American is surrounded by what seems to be a living wall of fists, and every time Barcelona makes a fierce lunge foiward, something strikes him squarely in the chest, or administers between the eyes a blow that makes him see stars. He realizes that the field is lost, since these two men must be heavily armed, and will not scruple to use weapons if they are pressed. The Mexicans engaged with Colonel Bob have had most of their enthusi asm knocked out of them, and one by one are shrinking away to nurse their swollen faces. True, a bull-like voice roars oaths and endeavors to encourage the assail ants by the declaration that victory is sure and near at hand; but the owner is nowhere to be seen, since the wily renor thinks too much of his comfort o join in a melee like this. Colonel Bob’s enthusiasm seems to increase rather than diminish, and the last brace of enemies who endeavor to run amuck with him come to the conclusion that they have struck what seems to be a human threshing ma chine, so quickly are they doubled up and put to sleep. Grasping the situation, the Mexican bravo gives up the battle—he shouts, in a furious voice, “We will meet again!” and then plunges into the ob scurity of the thicket, to escape fur ther punishment at the hands of the American. So far as enemies are concerned, the two comrades have won the bat tle, but they are as yet far from safe. Of course Dick’s first thought con cerns those for whom they waged war. "Pauline!” he gasps, short of breath. “Here—safe!” comes the cheering response, and the girl from New York dawns upon his vision. “And Dora?” There is no need to ask that, since Colonel Bob already has that unique person in his arms, and loudly la ments the fact that he could not have totally annihilated the little Wretch who dared to lay his hand upon her. (coasaezzrjsso. jzsssressvjv Naturally, Dick allows his compan ion to draw ahead some little distance, though keeping in plain sight of each other. They are neither of them in any hurry, as the danger is past, at least for the time being. Tender thoughts are born of the occasion—Pauline, c-ii her part, feels very near and dear to Dick, because of the pertinacity with which he de fends her. and the manner in which he watches over her interests—while Dick has learned of late how very precious Pauline Westerly has be come, and how essential to his happi ness. She questions him eagerly—on his part he answers with truth and deli cacy. Still she can read between the ! lines, and knows that it was anxiety for her welfare, and nothing else, that has influenced him in his movements. She hears how he took the place of the driver, and laughs merrily to think how he helped her into and out of the coach with all the gallantry ; of a French jehu, than which higher praise could not be bestowed. Gradu ; ally Dick becomes fervent, the occa sion is very promising, and he can not withstand the temptation to speak; so he tells his love in just the way any one who knows him well would expect; plainly, simply, yet with an eloquence that sincerity of heart alone can give. Pauline is deeply thrilled by his frank declaration, she believes in him entirely, and has had many opportuni ties of late to read the man to whom her heart has gone out. So she answers him in just the same impulsive manner as that in which he has told his love, tells him that her heart has long been in his keeping, that she believes in him as she never dreamed she would in any man, and that she is proud indeed of the affection he has declared for her. So it is all settled, without any great fuss, and in a business, matter of-fact way that seems quite suited to such people. It would be folly to ex pect a quiet, undemonstrative man to go into rhapsodies when declaring his affection for a lady, but at the same time the manner of saying it I would convince one that every word came direct from an honest heart, i Their future looks rosy-hued at ; present, and yet no one knows better than Dick that there may be some rocky hills to climb before they reach the goal of connubial bliss. 5 ---» He Presses Against the Sheriff. which terrible threats cause the mis erable professor to shiver in his thick et hiding place near by. “How shall we get out?" demands Dick, awake to the exigency of the moment. “In the same way I came in," Bob replies, promptly. “How was that?” "Wait until I dislodge that bellow ing senor from yonder bushes—I can't talk while he keeps up that shouting, just as though his men were still at us, tooth and nail.” As he speaks' Colonel Bob throws his arm forward—there is a flash, a report, followed immediately by a sec ond one. The bellowing ceases instantly. “Killed him?” says Dick, with a sigh of relief. “No such good luck.” returns Bob. carelessly. “Hark! you hear him mak ing a bee line for the hacienda now. No more howling from the Senor Lo pez at present. Come this way—here you will see where I came in.” “ The door in the wall I was look ing for.” ”1 heard only what must have been your last signal, though wondering what all the row could be about, and guessing you had a hand in it. Now we’ve left the garden of Morales be hind. What you see here is the La iViga Canal.” “How shall we get home?—we have no vehicle,” remarks Dick, puzzled for once. “There is a boat here—perhaps that will take us part of the way—the ladies at least. Ha! two boats— we are in luck, it seems.” Colonel Bob soon settles with the owners of the craft, who live upon the bank of the canal and take pleasure parties to the floating gardens. The boat can be left at a certain point— money is paid over, and with the moon wheeling into view, making the scene very romantic, our four friends start along the water way of the Mexican capital, bound for the Hotel Iturbe. CHAPTER XVII. i The Clique of the Alameda. I The situation is one well calculated to arouse thoughts of love—the soft moonlight, the odorous night air, the splash of the paddles, from which it drops of molten silver seem to fall as they are raised from the water, and, besides, the scene of danger Pch has just been shared in com i—these things bring loving hearts er together than ever. When the canal no longer serves their purpose, they leave the canoes tied up where the owners have, direct ed them, and strike across a street that will bring them to the grand plaza. It is nearly midnight, but the good people of the City of Mexico have ap parently not even thought of retiring. On all sides can be heard voices sing ing; or the sweet throbbing of man dolins that are touched by the deli cate fingers of dark-haired maidens. The moon dispels one of the bug bears attending visitors to the Mexi can capital, darkness, and makes it safer to move about. Our friends have no further adventures on this night, but arrive at the Hotel Iturbe at last, a street car taking them the concluding few blocks. When the ladies have gone to their rooms, the best the house affords, aa becomes the girl who manages the great El Dorado Mine, Dick and Bob smoke and talk, and elevate their feet on the railing of the piazza be low as true-born Americans alcm* have the right to do. Dick is not inclined to be confiden tial in matters that concern his own private life, but with Bob it is another I matter; he feels that he has a deep ! interest in his chum's welfare, and ' that if there has been an understand I ing between Pauline and himself, he, ! Bob, ought to know it, in order that I he may rejoice with his friend. So Dick tells the fact in his terse i way, and owns up that Pauline and j himself have had an understanding, ■ and are pledged to one another, upon hearing which the impulsive colonel springs to his feet, overturning his chair, and clutches the expectant out stretched hand of his comrade with the fury of a young avalanche. "A thousand congratulations, my j boy; I wish you joy upon the occa | sion, and may you see many of them; that is, I mean, confound the luck, what do I mean? At any rate, you've certainly got the handsomest and best, of course, barring one, girl in Mexico, and may you be pulverized if ever you give her occasion to wish she’d never met Dick Denver.” "Ditto yourself, Bob, old boy. Now, sit down like a Christian, and let’s talk horse sense. Heaven knows we've enough to talk about; that wretched old senor persists in keeping it warm for us, and I'm of the opinion he’ll never let up until by accident or de sign he receives his quietus.” “Well, he's going to get it one of these days; Bob Harlan has a marked bullet in his revolver to-day that's checked through to reach Lopez, and as sure as you live, Dick, I’ll fetch him. You look out for Barcelona— when you fire at him, cut the third silver button on his jacket to the left, and you reach his heart.” As the words are spoken, a dusky figure that has been crouching in the shadow of the piazza below their feet hugs the ground more closely than ever, as though the party takes this threat as a personal affair. He is evidently there for no good purpose, this skulker in the shadow. ■When gentlemen talk about person al business they should be certain that no eavesdropper hangs In the shadow of the piazza. They talk on in a disjointed way, until a clock in a church near by warns them that it is time they retir ed, if they mean to get any sleep. A couple of half-smoked cigars fall near the crouching figure, one actually striking him in the face, at which he gives a start, as though he has reason for feeling a hatred toward Yankee cigars. After they had gone, he crawls away, and as he rises to his full height reveals the figure of the Mexi can bull fighter, Tordas Barcelona, when the explanation of his hatred for cigars is made manifest. The day dawns. It promises a fair and pleasant spell of weather for this time of year, and the Americans quartered at the Iturbe profit by it. Pauline desires to see all that is possible of the Mexican capital during their limited stay. Dick and Colonel Bob take turns in escort ing the girls around. They have other work to do. which the one not en gaged in this pleasant task looks after. In the City of Mexico there are at all times of the year, and particularly during the winter season, numbers of Americans to be found. It would be an easy task to make up a fair regi ment, if all would enlist. Among these men our friends work, picking out one here and one there, and using great care that the parties selected possess the proper requisites for such a business. A couple of Mexicans are hired with the rest, as they do not want to excite the anger of the natives by what might appear to be an invasion of a foreign band. Every man is required to arm him self thoroughly, and their weapons will be looked after before the expedi tion leaves in the morning. There may be heavy fighting ahead, and Dick Denver knows what it means to run across the desperate bandits of the Sierra Madres at home. Then there are provisions, tent3. horses and numerous other things to be secured. It is fortunate in the first place that Dick is thoroughly at home in all these things, and that he is sup plied with any amount of money, through Miss Pauline, with which to carry out her plans. (To Be Continued.) Sapiii Eating a National ^in By DR. IRVING A. WATSON. of New Hampshire Board of Health. Of the physical sins committed by the American people, rapid eating is unquestion ably one that should be recognized as incon sistent with the best hygienic methods ol living. Mastication ol - food, to subdivide and mix it with the salivary fluids, is really the first act in the digestive process, and to be well done it must be slowly performed. Neverthe less, in my opinion, the digestive troubles more or less common are not due to an excessive degree to rapid eating, but more to a multi tude c-f environments that overtax the nervous system and thus corre spondingly impair or derange the digestive functions. Rapid eating is bad, over-eating is worse, but the strain of our strenuous life, with its apprehensions, worry, care, struggle for ex istence or for wealth, social requirements, the edicts of fashion, in temperance and a score of other depressing factors, is a far more prolific cause of indigestion and malnutrition. This view is corroborated by the fact that a great many of our dyspeptics are persons who have never been rapid eaters. The unceasing tension, due to our impetuous, rushing, complex civilization is responsible for the increased death rate from diseases of the nerv ous system almost enough to counterbalance the decrease in the death rate from epidemic and other communicable diseases. Rapid eating may almost be classed as a symptom, rather than the cause, of an abnormally nervous state into which the individual has drifted, through the increased demand made upon him by the ac tivities of life. The quick lunch has sprung up everywhere. If rapid eating is conceded to be a na tional evil, its menace to public health m . w is, in my opinion, a subordinate one. j MM. fORIY-TWO TEARS \ A. VISIT TO TT1E PUINS OF A FORT 1erv, CAPTURED IN 1864 BY @L*E*SWEEDEN « hat sublime quietness! The bird’s song, hushed above the nest where the mother broods her eggs of promise; the sheep, dozing in the shade so quietly that even the tiny bell is silent; the farm horse, softly browsing; his master, resting beside the plow which hour after hour has been turning the brown earth over into the sunlight—all these make up a picture whose background, as far as eye can reach, is a panorama of peace, plenty and contentment. Can it be possible that here—are these memories, boundless deep, which sweep across me like a surging flood, merely the torturing dreams of a fever-racked brain? But no. All around me are abun dant proofs. The outline of the old fort is still visible, and in fact I won der that time has wrought so little change. I now recognize many fa miliar objects. The then solitary tree is still standing, but a wound made in its trunk by a vicious shell has never healed, and is now hastening its decay. Old oak, I greet thee as a comrade in arms! when last we met thou didst stand sole monarch of the field; but now a multitude of giants tower above the fort, the parapets and the slopes where quivering mortals poured out their life-blood. Their heads, dwarf ing thine, drink in the first rays of morning and reflect the last kiss of parting day. But thou—feeble and tottering old veteran—the next rude blast will lay thee low, and thou shalt in time take on new forms of life. Like thee, old comrade, I also await not death only, but a glorious transi tion. lonaer, half way down the slope, nearly buried in earth, I also discern a huge, shapeless mass of iron. Dumb witness of a bloody past, it is all that remains of a monster gun whose voice made the trees tremble. In the last hour of horror, overworked, triple charged, it exploded, hurling a score of men into eternity. This memory, then, is no mere dream. This panorama of peace be fore me has a dark background of graves. Through yonder field of waving corn, from the mile-distant wood, with pick and shovel, by ditch and trench, inch by inch, we worked our tedious, tortuous way. Day and night we were dogged by the messengers of death. Each step was gained at the price of some brave life. Yet the work was pushed steadily on. We were there to do, to dare, to endure, but not to fal ter. In a nation’s redemption strug gle men can afford to die, but cannot afford to be found wanting. When a comrade fell wounded, we cared for him with such kindness as the circum stances permitted; if he was killed, wrapped in his blanket we buried him, while with the rough sleeve of a soldier’s coat we wiped the tears away —and pushed ever onward. As I gaze spellbound, I wonder—I can never cease to wonder—that we did not fail. It required men with nerves of steel and hearts of oak, re enforced by the inspiration that back of us was our country, and above was God. It required these, and all these, to make victory possible. For there, in the fort before us, were Americans, and none but Ameri cans could have taken it. Our foes were never tired, their vigilance never relaxed, their courage was sublime. And while we believed them entirely and eternally wrong, they fought as it is only possible for men to fight who believe they are entirely and eter nally right. It was their fierce determination to hold the fort or die in it. With great guns and small, by night and by day, they hurled upon our heads a tempest of death. While this delayed, it could not prevent our advance. The prog ress was slow, but it was ceaseless. Each minute in the day, each minute in the night, we were digging nearer, ever nearer, to the foe. At last the point was reached where the work must be completed by an act of extreme desperation—we must charge the fort. Between the trench in which we were concealed ‘and the coveted prize was a space of about 500 feet, filled with every sort of obstruction which cunning, desperate men could devise. In part this consisted of stout stakes driven firmly into the ground at an angle pointing towards us. and sharp ened. These were so thick and close i that we could not pass between them, and were too strong to be easily broken. If there was a spot anywhere I affording the least protection from the leaden storm, it was planted thick with torpedoes. It wag through and over such obstructions that we must force our way while the guns of the fort would be flashing on us floods of death. How the memory of that hour thrills me even now! If for a week past, to show a head or expose a limb any where was to insure a wound, if not instant death, what must be our fate in an open charge? Was it strange that the stoutest hearts must quail? We tried to persuade ourselves that some of our number would reach and capture the fort, but no one dared to ask himself the question: “Will I be there when all is over?” The signal was to be three guns fired from a battery near the center of our line, at an interval of half a minute each. To deceive the enemy, precisely the same signal had been fired at noon for three preceding days. A moment, when the word was re ceived, to hastily scribble upon the scrap of pocket diary the last word to the absent; a moment to exchange with a comrade, so that the survivor might forward the missive to those loved ones; an instant to breathe a whispered prayer through moving lips, just loud enough to be heard in Heaven — when boom—boom—boom— the solemn voice spoke out, and with a shout which made the earth tremble, we leaped from the obscuring ditch, and the harvest of death began. Paralyzed for an Instant, but only an instant, the enemy opened their guns with consummate fury. Our ar another shout out-yelling the missiles of war. we flung ourselves at the para pet. The attempted seemed impossi ble. but with such men nothing is im possible. Over the obstructions, up the steep and difficult ascent; regard less of bursting shell and hissing bul lets; in utter defiance of the enemy who now thronged the slopes, until, hurling our foes headlong with our bayonets, we leaped into the fort. We were so closely jammed in with the foe that it was difficult to fire our guns. Some were using them as clubs, some turning their bayonets into spears, others clinching a d#ath grapple, while the shrieks and shouts were deafening and horrible as the in fernal pit. On that very parapet before me, within this deserted space, shaded now'by vernal and silent growths, that scene of hell-born carnage was en acted. But this was of short duration. Our reenforcements were pouring into the fort like a mighty flood—the enemy, hopelessly overpowered, at last sur rendered. The fury of rejoicing which followed rivaled that of the charge. The strug gle had been so long and desperate, the victory was so complete (not a single one of the foe escaping) that men lost all self-control, and some in a frenzy of joy even hugged each other and cried like women. But the vanquished—God pity them. The ground was strewn thick with their dead and dying, with pools of blood, with fragments of rent and scat tered bodies. Some of their guns were literally covered with the shattered re mains of the poor victims who had perished in handling them. Amid the stifling stench of human gore, the survivors stood, some hud dled in little groups, dumb with ter ror; some upright, facing us in cool KX HE BROOKS A-0AB0LING THROUGH THE LEAS, THE LILACS NODDING IN THE BREEZEr /- \ -'THE DROWSY MUSIC OFTHE BEES, X. THE MYSTIC WHISPER OF THE TREES • l%to- AND (SOVES A-COOING — b- and lovers wooing -AND PEACE ON LAND AND iaEAG. the Glad return of springtime When " - BUSY little twittering wren f , |EMj|XX WASTBUSY WITH her NEST AGAiN: <" " jgAMiD%THAT SCENE OF JOY. TEN THEN r'" X ^ 5HADE_ OF SADNESS X C they sawa shadow in the sunX^ bupned^ohe hearts'* c^men ■ They SAW the sorrow they would shun ( -) THEYSAW THEIR HAPPINESS UNDONE V ; H THEY SAW THE END THAT MU5T BE WON _XX< ,c2s£SesX ..Z and man And bpother X .sag KISSED Wife AND MOTHER X -5 AND MET^YyiTH SWORD AND GUN. ' "* ^ sy^^/ yy / / . ?T5^l£Tf3L9LCVB? blooms of may y^yyyC'/yy-r^." XL jwhere happy lambs had been at play Xv^/rMAD. MIGHTY ARMIES met one day X / WHILE GANNON BALL UP-PLOWED THE CLAY yxv X. 'X _XX hy]/ / "*> and friend-and neighbor / . u>JS/ X* Xrr Jy~~ ' with shot and saber X *ArXX ^ clashed in a (deadly i fray T-he MAf?a-t.THE GHARGTAND THE RETREAT: / 1 THE BUGLES BLAST. THE WAR-DRUMS BEAT / > THE CONFLICTS FEARFUL FIRE AND HEAt / THE SCENEDF CARNAGE ALL REPLETE. V_ CTHE/CRASH AND RATTlEt. ^ \ .Qf/JP^_BAJILB. rX~f A SHADOW IN 'THE VALLEY SLEPT -THE OLD FARM FIELDS WERE ALL UNKEPT DEGAY ACROSS THE "LANDSCAPE CREPT >AS WAP ABOVE THE NATION SWEPT , „ AND BABES WERE CRYING, AND WIVES WERE SIGHING. - ^ , And strong MEN WATCHED AND WEPT T-he HAPPY/ rr BY LOVED P_ MISSED, AND WAITING 41(25 ( REMAINED UNKISSED. WHILE SWEETEST I DREAMS WERE HALF __H, FOR OH THE SORROW , ■ . LOVE-JWUIL BORROW WHEN. - JUBT HAS HOPE ABY55ED* — 5WEET.SORRY TALE AGAIN RETOLD X' _ . BY ALL THESE WPEATH-CRC WNED HEAPS OF MOLD VXfXl- , THE FLAME THAT O'ER THE NATION POLLED, e ’ X- AS ALL OUR HEART5 IN LOVE UNITE, r>: _ THE SAME GRAVES WREATHING.