a maiden? Have you ever been home sick? Ill luck has inflicted both wounds on me. They are burning me, they are stifling me, they are wringing my heart. Will you hear my tale, sir?"

His speech seemed to. me oddly stilted, but, strange to say, I was beginning to feel its effect on my own.

"Even if it takes you three days and three nights," I answered; and he resumed :

"Well, if your eyes ever behold a maiden, and your heart begins to ache, bear in mind a rule: don't - But no, I won't tell it to you just yet. First listen. All I will tell you is that I did n't know that rule myself, or I should not be here, a shadow among mountains that are not mine. Well, it was in my native town where my heart was touched, in a town called Khadziss. Ah, it's a lovely nest, sir! There are mountains there, and they are high and beautiful. Our valleys are deep, immense, filled with the echoes of heaven. Our rivers glisten like a sword and wind like a serpent; they murmur words into the Caucasian's ear; and as he flies along their banks on his dear one they speak to him, and he listens, and he flies and flies, and listens and listens. O Lord, have mercy on a poor Caucasian Carry me back to Khadziss!" He dropped his head, in despair; then a dreamy look came into his eyes, and he went on in a whisper :

"And our horses, — oh, you can't think how good they are. They are brave, the sweet ones, the best friends we have. Do you know what we say?

A good steed But the wife

is better than a bad wife.' I sought would not be mine." "Was she the belle of the town?" I urged him on.

"Indeed she was, -a true Caucasian girl, beautiful as a new sword drawn under a million sunbeams, and she can sit in her saddle like the best of men. Our children, boys and girls alike, say 'Zkhem! Zkhem!' almost on the same 1 A horse! A horse!

day as they first say 'Mamma!' but I never saw a girl who could ride like Zelaya.

"One evening I saw her ride past the bailiff's office. I signed to her to stop, and she did. Tell me to ride to the world's end for you, Zelaya,' said I. She gave me a sad look, and answered: 'I know you are good to me, but what am I to do? Azdeck says his heart, too, is sore, just like yours. Speak to my faLet him decide. I know you are both good, but I am only a girl, so I am a fool!' That's the way she spoke, and, O Lord!" He smote his breast, and drew a heavy sigh.

ther.

"Did you speak to her father?" I asked.

"I did, but he said 'no,' the wolf. He's a stern old man, her father. The neighbors say he 's wise, but he's as fond of sport as a bad boy. When I asked him why he would n't be my father-inlaw, he said: You talk too much, my lad, and your talk is too fine. Sift it through a sieve, and out of a dozen words one will be to the point. You will make a poor husband, and a worse father.' 'And Azdeck?' I asked, and as I said the word I felt a load in my throat; and even now, as I speak to you, I seem to feel it choking me."

"And what was his answer?"

Yet a better

"He thought a little, and then he gave a laugh and said: 'Well, Azdeck is as bad as you, and as good. He talks to the point, but he is a fool. fellow than you two I don't seem to see around. So run a race, and the one who wins will win Zelaya. Is it a go?' 'It is!' I answered. I was sure I could beat Azdeck, so my heart danced in me. Oh, the fool that I was!

"Well, the holidays were drawing nigh, and the great games were to take place on the square in front of the village church. Every fellow was to show his smartest djigits, and then Azdeck and I were to ride for Zelaya. So I 2 Feats of horsemanship.

thought to myself: 'Here is my chance. I will learn to ride so that the whole village will make the sign of the cross.' Away into the fields I went; on the mountain tops I hid; in deserted dales I passed my days, riding, riding, riding. Oh, how I labored! I had never trained so hard before, and I invented the cleverest tricks that ever were shown by a Caucasian on his steed. "T is for you, Zelaya!' I whispered to the wind, and the words gave wisdom to my brain and suppleness to my limbs.

"How was the weather? I could not help interrupting him. At first he started, with an annoyed look, but the next minute he smiled, saying:

"I see you want to know how it all looked, but it's all a blur in my own brain. I do remember that the sky was overcast and a sharp breeze was blowing, - yes, and it blew the fire of my veins into a merry blaze. There were trumpeters on the mountain slope near by, and their blare is still in my blood. The Caucasians were out in their best silks, gold, silver, and steel. I remember I wore a coat of purple, and the man by my side said it seemed to be all aflame. Well, we unsheathed our swords and But wait."

He suddenly disappeared, and in a minute or two he came back leading his white horse by the bridle. He paused, looked me over with a shamefaced smile, and then, suddenly leaping into his saddle, he said to the horse: "Tzadzacha! Tzadzacha!"

His face was set with a look of fury, his brow was contracted, his eyes sparkled, his beard seemed grown in size.

"Tzadzacha! Tzadzacha! he shrieked, flung himself forward, struck the animal a savage blow, and was off, the skirts of his cassock fluttering and his scabbard and buckles twinkling between the trees.

emerged, and hurling himself down from the horse, he hung suspended by his feet as he was borne along and out of sight again. He rode with his feet in the air and his head on his saddle, and he rode facing his horse's tail; he turned somersaults and he jumped over the saddle; and he was about to perform a more complex djigit, when all at once he reined in the horse and dismounted.

"What's the trouble?" I asked. "Nothing," he replied morosely. He clearly resented my failure to applaud, and I hastened to mend matters.

"It was wonderful,” I said.

But he continued to frown, and after a little he murmured, with the air of an injured child: "Oh, you don't mean it; you need n't praise me if you don't like my riding. I don't ask you to say it's good, do I?"

"But it is. I was so absorbed watching your tricks that I omitted to tell you how I admired them," I assured him.

He brightened up.

"I know your circus riders can do better work," he said, with lingering resentment, "but perhaps if you had seen me ride in the Caucasus you would have liked it better. You must n't forget that these mountains are not mine, and the beast does n't know me. Anyway, the

Caucasians did think I rode well; and Azdeck, he was so scared at sight of my djigits that he sat in his saddle like a fool, and never budged. Seeing that, I lashed myself to still hotter work, and flew off in a whirlwind of djigits. You might n't have liked it, but the Cauca sians, such as they are, were wild with admiration, and and there is where my great mistake comes in. The Caucasians began to tease Azdeck, to make mock of him, till he dismounted, and with bowed head and weeping he took his beast home."

"Did she?" I inquired, perplexed. Tzinchadzi burst into a triumphant laugh.

"You see, sir, although you know much about horsemanship, you don't seem to be very deep in some other kinds of wisdom. I had no trouble in getting you to believe that I won her; yet it was Azdeck who got her, not I, and all because of that accursed victory of mine!

"I tell you what," he continued softly, as he thrust out his two index fingers, and a thoughtful smile animated his queer, bloodless face. "There are many ways of bewitching a maiden, but beware of casting the wrong spell. Whatever else you do, beware of casting the wrong spell! I thought I should kindle her blood with admiration for my victory, but I only kindled it with pity for Azdeck. I should n't have let the villagers hoot and jeer at him the way they did. As it was, she walked up to me, pale, gloomy, and said, 'You are with out a heart, Tzinchadzi;' and then she sent to tell Azdeck that she was sorry for him, and that she would be his."

He hung his head, and was silent awhile. Then he continued quietly:

"I disappeared again. My horse was the only friend I had. I could not bear to stay near Zelaya, and I bade my friend, my steed, carry me away, away from my misery. Do you know how we speak to our horses? Speed, my oak! Run like a lion, tear mountains asunder for me, darling!' we say. Fly like an eagle, my love! Sweep over sea and waste, over mount and dale! Can there be an obstacle where the freedom and glory of your master are at stake? Take wing, birdie, take wing!'

"That's what I said to my mount; only I bade him take me away from my love, from the sun of my soul, from my black despair. But how can you realize the beauty and the thunders of our tongue unless you hear its echo in the Caucasian mountains, where the gales, 15 NO. 526.

VOL. LXXXVIII.

even

our horses, carry their riders uphill and down? So I flew over mountains, and flying I sobbed. You will say Zelaya's father was right, that I am really a fool. Maybe I am, but I am sure that my horse understood my tears, I am sure he did. Poor darling, where art thou now? Alas, I am torn from thee as I am from our birthplace!" He gazed up at the sky as he added, under his breath: "I was nine years old when I first mounted a horse and drew a dagger, and they have been my mates ever since. Have you heard of Iracly, our youthful king? He led our people on the Persians when he was a boy of thirteen, and he crushed his enemy into powder. Why? Because his men knew how to make friends of a steed and steel. Well, my friend brought me to Batum, and there the American consul picked me out as a rider for the World's Fair. So you see, although you don't think much of my horsemanship, the American consul did. A man was making up a party of skilled riders, and I was accepted at once. We showed what a Caucasian could do in Chicago. Then the other men went home. I did not. A fellow who came with us brought along a stock of Caucasian goods. He sold some in Chicago, and the rest I bought of him for a low price. He was homesick, like me; only he had a wife and children at home, and I there was a maiden who would not let me love her.

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"A Jew said, 'I tell you what, Tzinchadzi: go to the summer resorts and sell your wares,' and I came here. The Catskills are not up to much, but they are mountains; so I let them listen to the sighs of my pining heart. The Americans saw me ride, and although you, sir, don't seem to care for my djigits, they did. They went wild over them, sir. Then I bought a horse, and let them see what a Circassian could do.

"I sell all kinds of goods now. The Americans are kind: they like my horse

manship and buy my trinkets. I make plenty of money, but can it buy me Zelaya? Can it turn the Catskills into the Caucasus? Oh!" He gnashed his teeth, smote the air with his fist, frowned, and compressed his lips.

I saw him often, but I confess his homesick outpourings began to pall on me. The next winter we met once or twice in New York, and then I lost track of him.

Six years passed. Last summer, as I sat on the upper deck of an overcrowded ferryboat, watching the splinters of a shattered bar of sunshine on the water, and listening to the consumptive notes of a negro's fiddle, I felt a hand on my shoulder.

It was Tzinchadzi, but how changed he was! His beard was gone, and instead of his picturesque costume of yore he wore an American suit of blue serge, a light derby, and a starched shirt front with a huge diamond burning in its centre. He had grown fat and ruddy; he glistened with prosperity and prose.

He told me he had changed his name to "Jones," because he had a busy store and owned some real estate, and the Americans found it difficult to pronounce "Tzinchadzi."

I inquired about his business and his associations, and he answered my questions in a quiet, sober, rather nerveless way, in which I vainly sought to recog nize my companion of the Catskills; but suddenly he interrupted himself.

"Shall I tell you the real truth?" he asked, with his old-time vehemence. "I have money and I have friends, but you want to know whether I am happy; and that I am not, sir. Why? Because I yearn neither for my country nor for Zelaya, nor for anything else. I have thought it all out, and I have come to the conclusion that a man's heart cannot be happy unless it has somebody or something to yearn for. Do you remember how sore my soul was while we were in the Catskills? Well, there was a wound in me at that time, and the wound rankled with bitters mixed with sweets. Yes, sir. My heart ached, but its pain was pleasure, whereas now alas! The pain is gone, and with it my happiness. I have nothing, nothing! O Zelaya, where are the twinges your name used to give me when I roamed around in the mountains that were not mine? Sweet twinges, where are you? Well, sir, I have thought about it often. It amounts to this: I do enjoy life; only I am yearning for - what shall I call

-

"For your old yearnings," I was tempted to prompt him; but as I looked at his half-shut eyes and rapt face, my phrasemaking ambitions seemed so small, so far beneath the mood for which he was vainly seeking a formula, that I remained silent.

"I can't tell you what I feel," he finally said. "Maybe if I could I should n't feel it, and there would be nothing to tell, so that the telling of it would be a lie. I have plenty of money; but if you want to think of a happy man, think of Tzinchadzi of the Catskills, not of Jones of New York."

Abraham Cahan.

X.2

HAWARD AND EVELYN.

MACLEAN put aside with much gentleness the hands of his surgeon, and, rising to his feet, answered the question in Haward's eyes by producing a slip of paper and gravely proffering it to the man whom he served. Haward took it, read it, and handed it back; then turned to the Quaker maiden. "Mistress Truelove Taberer," he said courteously. "Are you staying in town? If you will tell me where you lodge, I will myself conduct you thither."

Truelove shook her head, and slipped her hand into that of her brother Ephraim. "I thank thee, friend," she said, with gentle dignity, "and thee, too, Angus MacLean, though I grieve that thee sees not that it is not given us to meet evil with evil, nor to withstand force with force. Ephraim and I can now go in peace. I thank thee again, friend, and thee." She gave her hand first to Haward, then to MacLean. The former, knowing the fashion of the Quakers, held the small fingers a moment, then let them drop; the latter, knowing it too, raised them to his lips and imprinted upon them an impassioned kiss. Truelove blushed, then frowned, last of all drew her hand away.

With the final glimpse of her gray skirt the Highlander came back to the present. "Singly I could have answered for them all, one after the other," he said stiffly. "Together they had the advantage. I pay my debt and give you thanks, sir.”

stay! I am going to my lodging. Come with me, and Juba shall dress the wound properly."

MacLean turned his keen blue eyes upon him. "Am I to understand that you give me a command, or that you extend to me an invitation? In the latter case, I should prefer "

"Then take it as a command," said Haward imperturbably. "I wish your company. Mr. Ker, good-day; and set me aside the plate of which we talked yesterday."

The two moved down the room together, but at the door MacLean, with his face set like a flint, stood aside, and Haward passed out first, then waited for the other to come up with him.

"When I drink a cup I drain it to the dregs," said the Scot. "I walk behind the man who commands me. The way, you see, is not broad enough for you and me and hatred."

"Then let hatred lag behind," answered Haward coolly. "I have negroes to walk at my heels when I go abroad. I take you for a gentleman, accept your enmity an it please you, but protest against standing here in the hot sunshine."

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"That is an ugly cut across your forehead," replied Haward. "Mr. Ker had best bring you a basin of water.