If the desire to kill and the opportunity to kill came always together, who would escape hanging?-- Pudd'nhead Wilson New Calendar.
ON the Train. Fifty years ago, when I was a boy in the then remote and sparsely peopled Mississippi valley, vague tales and rumors of a mysterious body of professional murderers came wandering in from a country which was constructively as far from us as the constellations blinking in space--India; vague tales and rumors of a sect called Thugs, who waylaid travelers in lonely places and killed them for the contentment of a god whom they worshiped; tales which everybody liked to listen to and nobody believed--except with reservations. It was considered that the stories had gathered bulk on their travels. The matter died down and a lull followed. Then Eugène Sue, Wandering Jew appeared, and made great talk for a while. One character in it was a chief of Thugs--Feringhea--a mysterious and terrible Indian who was as slippery and sly as a serpent, and as deadly; and he stirred up the Thug interest once more. But it did not last. It presently died again--this time to stay dead.
At first glance it seems strange that this should have happened; but really it was not strange--on the contrary, it was natural; I mean on our side of