Some time during the early '50s a secret order known as the Sons of Malta was organized in one of the Eastern states, and its membership increased throughout the West with as much rapidity as the Vandals and Goths increased their numbers during the declining years of the Roman Empire. Two or three members of the Pioneer editorial staff procured a charter from Pittesburg in 1858 and instituted a lodge in St. Paul. It was a grand success from the start. Merchants, lawyers, doctors, printers, and in fact half of the male population, was soon enrolled in the membership of the order. There was something so grand, gloomy and peculiar about the initiation that made it certain that as soon as one victim had run the gauntlet he would not be satisfied until another one had been procured. When a candidate had been proposed for membership the whole lodge acted as a committee of investigation, and if it could be ascertained that he had ever been derelict in his dealings with his fellow men he was sure to be charged with it when being examined by the high priest in the secret chamber of the order--that is, the candidate supposed he was in a secret chamber from the manner in which he had to be questioned, but when the hood had been removed from his face he found, much to his mortification, that his confession had been made to the full membership of the order. Occasionally the candidate would confess to having been more of a transgresser than his questioners had anticipated. The following is a sample of the questions asked a candidate for admission: Grand Commander to candidate, "Are you in favor of the acquisition of the Island of Cuba?" Candidate, "I am." Grand Commander, "In case of an invasion of the island, would you lie awake nights and steal into the enemy's camp?" Candidate, "I would." Grand Commander, "Let it be recorded, he will lie and steal," and then an immense gong at the far end of the hall would be sounded and the candidate would imagine that the day of judgment had come. The scheme of bouncing candidates into the air from a rubber blanket, so popular during the days of the recent ice carnivals was said to have been original with the Sons of Malta, and was one of the mildest of the many atrocities perpetrated by this most noble order. Some time during the summer a large excursion party of members of the order from Cincinnati, Chicago and Milwaukee visited St. Paul. Among the number was the celebrated elocutionist, Alf. Burnett of Cincinnati, and Gov. Alexander Randall of Wisconsin. They arrived at the lower levee about midnight and marched up Third street to the hall of the order, where a grand banquet was awaiting them. The visitors were arrayed in long, black robes, with a black hood over their heads, and looked more like the prisoners in the play of "Lucretia Borgia" than members of modern civilization.