Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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I HAD MARRIAGE; I OR. The Heiress of Law-: rence Park.. ! i STORY OF ABSORBING INTEREST.: BY MRS. E. B. COLLINS. CHAPTER IV. MUBDERED. Silence?awful, cieatniiKe silence? : md?then! Who can describe Ihe icene which followed? Cries, sobs, sonfused ejaculations, as the servants locked to the room, pile and terrified, ecoiling at the fearfvJ sight with lioror and alarm. It was a scene which they who saw it Fere destined never to forget. The >iazing chandelier threw a strange, mearthly glare over the beautiful dis>rdered room, mocking the early sunight which crept in at the windows, ihe blinds of which had not been closed ill night. The door of the room had >een burst open by the frightened lervants, disclosing confusion. The pretty bronze clock which had itood upon the white marble mantel lad been tlirown upon the floor, evilently in the struggle for life, and had itopped at half-past two. Upon a mar- . ble table in the center of the room, ' just under the blazing chandelier, were Rrriting materials, and a sheet of note ?aper upon which these words had been iraced, "Gabrielle, I have made my will n favor of " And here the sentence broke off, un- i iuished; the pen had fallen upon the iable; and the secret?if secret it was ?remained untold. For the hand that lad traced those lines was still forever ?the master of Lawrence Park lay ! ihere dead and cold, with a great, gap- ! ing hole in his breast from which the life had ebbed, his white face upturned ? the garish gaslight, set and stony; lie sightless eyes fixed straight be- . 'ore him in a vacant stare. Tho furniture was disarranged, and > & chair overturned near. Beside that ijhastly figkre lying there'in such pa-j ihetic silence, Mrs. Chillingworth? j iroused from slumber by the old house- j keeper ? knelt, pale and hysterical. She had been an old and valued friend of Gilbert Lawrence, and the chosen' chaperon of his motherless daughter. Yet she knew little of his past life, and nothing of that secret of hidden sin [which he had carried with him to the grave. At her side stood the old fam- j Sy physician, silent and grave, bending over the dead man with eager inter"Dead for hours!" he exclaimed, tersely, at last. "And?good heavens! ?stabbed to the heart evidently. Yei I see no trace of the weapon with which the deed was done! A cold-blooded murder!" he went on, shaking his head ilowly ? "a most atrocious murder! Perhaps it?but?I must wait until the Coroner arrives, Mrs. Chillingworth!" Btooping to lay his hand upon Mrs. Chillingworth's arm, "has the awful news been broken to?to?baa any one told Miss Lawrence?" Clarice Chillingworlh lifted bei white face with its look of intense sufing, and an expression of liorroi dawned within her eyes. For the moment she had forgotten the poor motherless child up-stairs, who must now learn that she was fatherless, too! Mrs, Chillingworth uttered a low cry. "No! no! Good heavens! no!" she moaned. "TVbo can tell her? Who dares tell her? There never was such love before between father and daughter as the love wh>^h Gilbert Lawrence and his child bore for each other! I would not dare to tell her! I would not be the one to break the news to Ruby Lawrence?not for the wealth of "the round world. And " pausing with a groan of horror. "Good heavens! I believe that?she is coming!" Down the broad staircase a slim, white-robed figure came tripping lightly, all unconscious of the dark shadow ItLat had fallen over her young life like a pall. And as she came flitting down the stairs?poor child!?she was singing softly to herself?the last song that touched her lips for many a drear? day: And 111 give my heart to my lady's keeping, And ever her strength on mine shall lean; And the stars shall loll, and the saints be weeping. Ere 1 coase to love her?my queen?mj qaeen!" Half way down the stairs she hesitated. A glimpse of the crowd below, the unusual bustle, dawned upon her; the song died upon her lips; she caught her breath with a gasp. One swifl jglance over the carven balustrade; a mad rush down the stairs and into the library; then a piercing shriek fell iupon the silence?a err which they who heard it never forgot to the day "they died. A moment's pause; "a dead, low hush, as of a soul departing, and epirits kneeling over it," then the liti tie white-robed figure fell upon hei knees beside that still form-thai ghastly, awful form, with its whitd marble face upturned to her own; 'never to brighten at her coming, thej8ilent lips never to utter loving words 'again?never any more. In her trailing robe of snowy cashmere, with her long gold hair afloat, looked like a wraith as she knolfc H* re; her arms wound around the Kent form, while sho moaned in bitter Hguish: "un, papai papa: papa? apeak t\ me, darling, just one word! Open your dear eyes and look at me! It is Buby, your Kubv, your own little girl! Oh, papa! papa!" And the wild cries would have molt ed a heart of stone. Dr. Hall turned aside and wiped his eyes. Mrs. Chillingworth crouched in ! a corner, crying softly to herself, while j the anguished lamentations went on. j All at once there was a subdued i bustle in the entrance hall outside; the j slow, measured tramp, tramp of feet, a ! monotonous whispering. Dr. Hall laid his hand gently upon the be -*ed v<uu1 "My dear!" (how his kind voicg trembled). "My dear Miss Ruby, come with me, will you not? It is i best that you leave the room for a time." She lifted her wild, white face, with 1 its great violet eyes, dry and brassy? j (or she could not weep. "There are necessary forms to be j coba throucrh with." Dr. Hall went on. ; Slowly. ''"My dear, the?the?coroner j has arrived 1" A. strange, dazed look crept over her fieath-white face. The doctor went on, gently: aA mere form, Miss Rubv?necessary routine to be gone throujjy witk We must leave no stone unturned, that we may discover how and by whose iiand your father died!" She started to her feet, as with an electric shock. Into the white, set face, a look of resolution crept slowly, j "How, and by whose liaod?he died?" j she repeated, meokanically. "That is what?I?must know! Dr. Hall, I , shall not leave tHis room! Surely, it j is my place to?to know I" So she was permitted to remain, and the coroner commenced his sad task. It was a strange affair, shrouded in mystery. The post mortem resulted in the verdict that "Deceased came to his death by a wound in the region of , the heart, inflicted by a sharp weapon j in the hands of a person or persons un- \ known." But, there was no trace of any ! weapon to be found in the room, or upon the premises without?none. No clew to the presence of any intruder. All at once, Mrs. Chillingworth's eyes fell upon a spray of purple pansies lying uj)on the velvet carpet at her feet, near where the dead man lay. Dr. Hall stooped and picked them up. "They must have fallen from Ruby's bouquet last night!" observed Mrs. Chillingworth. "She was in here with her father!" T 1?? ?:t-V. 1? aoi'/l L ta, X WttJJ UCID WllU Ruby, mechanically; ''but, Aunt Clarice, I did not have any flowers with me! Poor paj>a! he looked so white j and worn! And?I fancied that I i heard some one speaking to him before I entered the room!" she added, as though she were speaking to herself. "Mis3 Lawrence!" She glanced up with a 'start, to find | Arthur Wynne standing at her side, j And so they had met again. Met, with 1 this awful, this hideous shadow resting j between that time and now 1 He bowed | lowly. "Dear Miss Lawrence!" he began, in j a low, pained tone, "pardon me! 1 I would not have dared to intrude at this j ( dreadful time, but I have something to j j say to you! |: "You are probably not aware that 1 j , have been by profession a private d<>? I i tective officer. I no longer work at my j profession, because I have Lad a for- j tune left me, which occupies my atten- 1 tion to the exclusion of other objects, j ] I have therefore retired from activo service, but I wish to offer my assistance in this horrible trouble. j "Henceforth my time, talents, and j professional skill shall be devoted to ! . th;s object, the unmasking of the i i villain who ha3 done this foul deed; tha exposure and punishment of the wretch { who is guilty of this dastardiy crime! } Miss Lawrence, will you allow me to help you ?" i * Olie illDtU uei ejft'B u.10 iauc a j look of terror, and a strange tremor , passed over her slight frame. Then , she bowed her golden head* "I accept your oiFer gratefully, Mr. , Wynne!" she faltered. "I have no othei j hope in life but to track my father'e ( murderer down to justice! I have j nothing else to live for, now. j Eer voice faltered, and broko into si- ] lence. Her slight form swayed li'.ce n ] lily in the wind. Mrs. Chillingworih sprang to her side and put her arm about the trembling figure. Then, with Dr. Hall's assistance,"she j led Ruby slowly from tho room, and up- ' stairs to her own chamber. As they reached the head of the staircase they heard the door of' Ruby's} chamber open and close hurriedly, and ' a rustling noise followed, like some one hastening down the corridor, eagei to get out of sght. But, when the corridor was reached, there w&3 no one there. Once in her own room, Ruby fainted quietly away. While Dr. Hall hastened down staird 1 for restoratives, Mrs. Chilling worth be- j gan to chafe the girl's slender wrists, ' Vvfti-lxA rtnlri wln'fa Iwniv ttllU. UtllUC UJUC7 uvxu TT uno All at once her eyes fell upon some- 1 thing "which made her start with an ejaculation of surprise. The dress which Ruby had worn to the theater the night before. It had been flung across a satin chair, and its violet velivet folds swept over the carpet. And, ,upon the jiirt of the costly robe, some- ! !thing dark?a hideous stain. < Mrs. Chillingworth dropped the cold 1 !white hand that she hold, and flew to 1 the spot. i . She stooped and examined the stain, j falling back with a groan of horror, as she saw that it was blood?half congealed?upon the velvet skirt. And, upon the floor beneath the chair, a : point lace handkerchief literally soaked in fresh blood?the very one she had seen in Ruby's hand last night at the theater. What did it mean ? Trembling in every limb, Mrs. Chillingworth carefully lifted the dainty web of lace-trimmed muslin. In one i corner the name of Ruby Lawrence in full was daintily marked. Entirely overcome by this strange occurrence, Mrs. Chillingworth stood, j pallid and half swooning, when the ! sound of Dr. Hall's footsteps returning j to the room fell ujron her ears. She turned swiftly, and rolling the velvet dress and blood-stained handkerchief up together into a ball she opened the door of the wardrobe, thrust the bundle within, and closed and secured the wardrobe door, just as the physician made his appearance. A little later Ruby La#vrence came DaeK to me once more, oacK to exist- i ence, -which, in the long, barren future, i she was destined to curse. Ah, poor Ruby! bettor for her had she died then and there! Jus'o then the sound of carriage wheels was heard driving up the avenue at full sjiec^d. There -was a bustle j in the hall belowt followed by a -wild shriek that rang through the house; a woman's voice, in a cry of anguish and despair that was horrible to hear. CHAPTER V. A MAD PASSIOX. "Adele! Listen to me I I must sp ak! For the love of pity, give me ' a little hope to cling to; hope for the future 1 I cannot live without you, Adele! And you have led me on with your sweet smiles and tender words until my heart lies under your feet! I am desperate, maddened with the love j I bear you?Adele St. Cyr!" She drew back with a gesture of disdain. "Adele Lawrence!" she corrected, Bofily. "You forget, Mark, that I have a claim, though as yet unacknowledged, i to that name! xou iorget fhat the" poor ballet-dancer will be a lady some day, and will hold her own with the best! That wealth will some day be mine, and with it social position, and , the proud ladies who to-day pass me | by, as though to touch me were contamination, will some day be proud to claim my friendship, will sue for my favor! it is with this hope that I live? yet you forget!" An inarticulate cry rushed to hia lips; his dusky faca was working with passion; he drew nearer bar side, his lithe form trembling ince a reed which ' the tempest bjnds in its grasp. She was seated at the piano in her own little drawing-room. She wore a rich house dress of warm brown velvet, 1 with rare lace at the wrists and throat, I fastened there with a single diamond, ' which gloamed like a drop of dow amid th9 meshe3 of costly lace. Diamond solitaires were in her ears; no other ornament did she wear. She was beautiful?exceedingly?as she sat before . the instrument, her white fingers stray- J ing lightly over the white keys. To tho man who watched her, with I eyes full of adoration, she was the most beautiful, bewitching creature, upon whom the snn bad ever suone. Jle nad known her long, and this mad love had grown and strengthened, until it was the very mainspring of his existence. ' ?Thero was no mad act that he would not do, no sin that he would not commit to win her for his own. The white fingers swept the keys with a light touch, and the sweet strains of Mon Eeve floated upon the silence, while he stood watching hei " * * - TT. 1..J with ins soul id dis eyes, ne auu come to keep liis appointment with, her mother, but she was Dot there, and it was do hardship to wait. At last, hurried footsteps without, the door opeued quickly ?it was Gabrielle St. Cyr! Her face.as white as a dead woman's, wore a looR or trlumpn. wnat nad'happtDed? She closed the door behind her, and turned the key in the lock; then she came to the piano, and laid her hand upon Adele's arm. "Adele!" she cried, her voice trembling with strange emotion, "I have wonderful news! Listen! Adele? Adele?the fortune of which we have dreamed, and for which we have toiled, j and schemed, and suffered, is ours at j last! If only you have nerve and j courage sufficient to play your part. If only you will " 'I will do?*and dare?anything!" interrupted the girl, fiercely, her dark eyes flashing like fire. "Mamma, there is nothing in the world that I would not do for money; aye," her voice sank to a sibilant whisper, "even crime 1 Try me and see!" Mark Alleyne's dark face flushed, and liis eyes shone with an awful light. He turned aside, lest his face should betray him. "I'll remember that, my lady!" he muttered softly, between his set teeth; 'and when I am ready I will remind [ier of her own words. What would she say, I wonder, if she knew?if sheknew?all?" Ho wa3 breathing hard, like one in pain, as he began to pace up and down the room, in an absent, preoccupied way. ZfXT 1- III T1 nrnn /^trtTvviA! 1 A Tirl^A iUiirh. ? JLV uaviicuo nnuj | >poke. "Stop! You, too, must hear my story. Strange, "wild, incredible is it will seem to you, it is all true, nevertheless! I will tell the story, and when you have heard all, I will unfold my plot! Then we shall see of what itufi' Adele's nerves are made, and if she will dare to play a part upon :he world's stage that would appall a brave heart even to contemplate! Listen!" She sank into a Beat and began to ipeaK in a low, eager tone, in nei dustv gray alpaca dress with her small head" haughtily lifted, and that strange new light, the light of victory, in hei eyes, Gabrielle St. Cyr was beautiful beyond compare. She looked like an empress issuing commands to her cour? tiers, as she went on speaking swiftlj and softly, that victorious light deep ening upon her face, a look whict boded ill to the enemy who mighl chance to fall into her merciless hands The moments passed. A half hour Tas spent in the telling before the tale vas told. Then she came to a halt, jlancing swiftly into the faces before ler. "Adele! Mark! We three must TT/vwV fnrrotKnT T)r? vnn hpliftVfl that rou two can carry oat your share of ;his plot, without failure or flinching ? f here is one thing more. It seems that there was a paper; that Gilbert Lawronce wrote a full confession of the iruth last night after his daughter had [eft him, wrote it for her benefit, that jhe might know the evil that he had ilons. This confession is also his last will and testament; it is all in one! That paper is all we have to fear! We must get it into our hands, and all will bo fair sailing. And then " Mark Alleyne arose to his feet and faced the two women before him with pale face and eyes which held a look not good to see. "Wait, Gabrielle," he said, decidodly, "there is something to be settled first before I can pledge myself to help you. E have a question to ask Adele, and it must be answered without further delay, and us well now in your presence. Have I your permission to speak'?" he added, his burning eyes upon her face. She nodded. "Go on," she said, slowly, "you know that I am your friend. Mark." ?ie snult'd faintly, a smile which belied the savage glitter in his dusky ^ycs. "^dele!" he cried, passionately, turnlug to her, "I want my answer; I must have it now. I have loved you, aye, worshiped you, for long years! I have been your humble slave I Must I expect no return? Adele St. Cyr, will vou be my wife? No one has ever loved you as I love you! Be mine, and we will work together for this fortune." "And if I refuse?" she queried, lightly. "It will be the worse for you," he cried. "I have it in my power to make you suffer in a way of which you little dream. Answer me. for I must know. Will you marry me, Adelc V Sho swept him a long, "slow, careful glance from under her silken eyelashes, and her red lips curled slightly. "Marry you? You must be mad!" she cried. "It is absurd?out of the question 1" He bowed mockingly. "Absurd! Out of the question!" he repeated, his voice quivering perceptibly. "Adele St. Cyr, you will rue the day that you spoke those words to me! If you knew, if you dreamed of the power that I hold over voucyou would tell a different tale." one cnccKea mm witn'a liauglity gesture. "You have said enough," sho was beginning, freezingly, but her mother gave her a warning look and she hesitated. "But," intervened Gabrielle, "my plot can never be carried out without Mark's assistance." Then, in a low tone, she added, as Mark moved away to the window, and stood gazing upon the scene without: "Do not reject him now. You will ruin all. We can do nothing without him." Down in her heart Adele was saying over and over: "I hate him! I hate him t And I love Arthur Wynne! Every throb of my heart is for him, and him alone! I ahull Via bia. OX HQ imin'al* ?? - "-v. <*. [ But aloud she "said, softly: "Mark!" He turned swiftly, liia dark face all aglow, his eyes shining with rapture, at the sound of that low, tender tone. "Forgive me for being so naughty," she went on, slipping her small, white hand into his. A look of happiness flashed over his face, and crept tenderly into his eyes. He lifted the little hand to his lips, and covered it with kisses. "I knew that you could not be so cruel," he cried, eagerly. "Oh, Adele, you will be my wife ?" Her eyes drooped before his passionate gaze. "We will not speak of that now," she said, softly, "not until our plans aTe carried ' out, If we succeed (and we must), come then to me again, and I will answer you." "But you will be mine, my beautiful darling?" he pleaded, rapturously. She gave him one long, silent look. - "She spoke no words, but he was satisfied. Fools' paradise was heaven to him henceforth. His dream of blis3 was broken by Gabrielle's voice. "Time is flying " she said, eagerly. "The hour has come to strike. I must go at once to Lawrence Park, or I will miss the chance of a lifetime. Go now, Mark, and order a carriage while I dress for the expedition. I shall wear deep mourning, and my forlorn state' will appeal to the strongest heart present. Adele, you will remain in your own room, and it shall be announced that you are ill?serio\?ly ill?of a contagious fever; therefore you will not be troubled with visitors. This is the first act in the play. The curtain rises, the drama begins! Ah, me! it may prove a tragedy befora we are done." [to be continued.] Servians and Their Piga. Servian men and women alike wear huge saudals with a wilderness of strapi about the leg up to the knee, and the women display multi-colored aprons worked by themselves, short skirts, and short, thick-quilted jackets,with a gaudj kerchief over their hair. The aprons aforesaid arc among the few pretty objects a traveler can take away with him from Servia as specimens of native industry. They are worked in a sort of Turkish style, and, though rough in materia* and crude in color, are effective as chair or small table covers. The best product of the country is the Pirot carpet, worth about a ducat or twelve shillings a square meter. The desigps are extremely pretty, and the rugs, without being so heavy as Persian, or so ragged and scant in the ?Tt-rtnf oa f^nromnninn. wear for aiiVX liuv/i w,w VM* ever. The manufacture of these is entirely confined to Pirot, near the Bulgarian frontier, from which place they take their commercial name. The real industrial wealth of Servia lies in its pigs. Out of a population of nine millions, seven millions walk on four legs with an independent air, a sort of a "pig and a brother" assumption of coequal rights and privileges. The Servian pig is certainly a remarkable animal, and no other pig is so self-assertive, so strong, or so hairy as he. We have seen one of them, while driving along by the side of hi? master, insist on alighting where he pleases, which happened to be over the splashboard. No persuasion or argument could induce him to alter his mind, and it was not till he had tripped up the pony and upset the cart that he was satisfied. The mature hog's coat is of a deep red brown, and as curly as a retriever's, turning to long gray bristles down his back as he advances in yeara. His presence is everywhere visible or audible. He crops out on every hillside and from every thicket and copse, and lines the banks oJ the Danube in hundreds, while the train that carries you away from Belgrade will cross tracks packed with squealing pork~ ^ ! 1 ers and taxing imagination 10 conceive uj what ingenuity the beasts were ever induced to enter and be penned. When we remember that King Alexander's great-grandfather was a swineherd at Takovo, we must further allow the pig his niche in Servian history to add to his commercial importance and arsistic value. ?The Saturday Review. The Oneida Community. The famous Oneida Community, established in 1834 by John Humphrey Noyes at Oneida, N. Y., has been in litigation for some time, and a motion fonts dissolution was made recently before Recorder Waters, of St. Charles, N. Y. The motion has been brought by Charles A. Burt, one of the members of the community. In his complaint he sets forth that in 1884 the plan of the community was changed, and that from an association in which each member had enial share and lived together under one roof, it has become, under the new management, a co-opcration in which membership is simply represented by a certain number of shares of stock. This trausformation, Mr. Burt argues, is contrary to the intention of the founder, John Humphrey Noyes, and as a consequence of the departure from the old method of living this stock has passed into the hands of a trust and the interest of individual members has been gobbled up by certain capitalists. He, therefore, asks for an accounting, a receivership and a dissolution of the corporation. This singular community has been in existence since 1834. John Humphrey Noyes, the founder, was ordained to the ministry after a collcgiate course at Dartmouth College. In 1833 he founded a sect called the Perfectionists and drew up the first plan of the society which afterward became the Oneida Community. He and his followers claimed to possess a peculiar phase of religious experience, having tor its basis spiritual intercourse with God, which Noycs taught may proceed so far, even in this life, as to destroy all selfishness and so make an end of sin. Two communities were founded, one at Oneida and the other at "Wallingport, Conn. A home was established at Oneida, the members engaged in agricultural pursuits and manufactures. In 1884 the community owned property to the value of over ?500,000. The practice of free love has been abolished and married couples now form a part of the society. It was in this community that Guitcau, the assassin of Garfield, and his father lived for a time.?New Orleans Times-Democrat. Gold dollars are said to command a premium, as they have almost disappeared from view. It is a puzzle what they wete ever made for, as they were always inconvenient and getting mixed I with small coin. Their scarcity is attributed to their use for bangles and other articles of ornament. I ' " r, ALASKA. ITS RESOURCES AND HABITS OP THE NATIVES. Size and Population pf the Territory ?How the Natives Dispose ol" Their Dead?The Salmon Fisheries. To one whose attention has never been called to the fact, it seems rather surprising that San Francisco is on the meridian that divides the possessions of the United States into equal parts. The Alaskan archipelago extends as far to the west of San Francisco as Maine is east of it. We are furthermore not apt to realize that the coast line of Alaska exceeds that of the United States, and that its territory is equal in extent to the portion of the United States cast of the Mississippi River. Its islands are some 1100 in number, and its scenery is as grand and rugged, with its abrupt headlands, its RUSSIAN BLOCK HOUSE. gigantic ravines, its snow covered mountains and glacicrs, and enormous rivers, as any on this cotinent. It has a population of about 32,000, only 3000 of whom are whites. The few towns that are to be found arc scattered along the coast, and are principally trading and fishing stations. The most important is Sitka, formerly the seat of the Russian Governor, and at that time called New Archangel. It has a popula-J tion of about 1500, and is the headquarters of the United States authorities. It Vioc fnrfi'fina+'irma m?nrnmPQ nnfl A mfior. nectic observatory, and has a Greek church and bishop. It also boasts of a training school for Indian children. TOTEMS IX 1IONOK OF DEPARTED CHIEFS. The influences of civilization have wrought a great change in the natives, who were formerly very turbulent and savage. The Indian school is wen attended, and the effects of education and the missionary have already been felt. rh2 Greek church is the most foriegn feature of the town, and is in fact the only edifice that has any claim to being an architectural production. The Russian block house, which is illustrated, was formerly garrisoned with a Russian force, but it is now abandoned. 1 On a rocky point near Sitka is situated! the castle, which, in spite of its rugged walls an d severe aspect, possesses its se-; crets and its romance. It was formerly1 the abode of a Russian princess who held sway in the Territory, and who was murdered in her own home in the midst of gay revels by a jealous admirer. A NATIVE enrEF. A portrait is reproduced of Kitch Konk, a native chief, in full dancing costume His mantle is brilliantly colored, while be carrics in his hand a rattle. A group of Alaskan ladies is also given. Thej are not in their war paint and best linen, but in their every-day clothes; while their faces we simply daubed with i a mixture of spruce gum, grease, and lampblack, put on, it is said, to present the complexion. One of the most curious practices of the natives is their method of disposing of the dead. The bodies of the departed are cremated and deposited in I05 houses, which are surmounted by some carved object in wood, which is supposed to guard the ashes of the deceased whose bone3 lie beneath. One might mistake the creature to be an alligator, but it is a howling wolf singing his re quiem over the charred remains of some I departed chieftain. Its companion lyins on the ground by its side is a woodec whale, whose sepulchre has collapsed under it. These figures are the totem* of the families whose bones repose in the houses beneath. Cremation has been generally abandoned since the arrival oi the missionaries. Totems of a different type are represented in another tiew. These poles are very tall, and are elaborately carved with atone hatchets, and are considered great works of art by the natives. The carvings are emblematic of important events in the history of tho chief, in whose honor the totem has beet raised. Each family or subdivision of a tribe has its own totem, and these monuments serve to distinguish between families much as armorial bnarings did in the middle ages. Each child belongs to the tribe and family of its mother, aa the father is not considered in the light of a relation. Gold is found in some quantity. Fishing, however; is a more important industry, and one which is being very rapidly developed. Nineteen salmon FAMILY TOMBS SURMOUNTED BT TOTEMS. canneries are now in operation in Alaska, and very few realize how the waters ol Alaska abound in salmon. They are much more numerous than they are in the prolific waters of California, Oregon and Washington Territory. Thousands' have been taken, so we are informed in a recent Government report, by a single haul of the soine. The salmon fisheries have increased very rapidly. In 1887' eighteen vessels were engaged in the traffic and 190,000 cases of salmon were exported. In 1888 the number of vessels had increased to twenty-eight and between 300,000 and 350,000 cases were exported. Whaling is also extensively carried on in Alaska. One of the greatest resources GROUP OP ALASKAN NATIVES. of this vast region is its forests, which are. practically virgin. The value of these is not appreciated so much now as it will be later, when the wood supply of the Pacific States,which is being so wantonly wasted now, has begun to give out. Then Alaska with it great supply of hemlock, spruce and cedar trees, will be sought to supply the devouring hunger of advancing civilization.?Scientific American. "The Bon Yivant" | Der doctor says I dassent smoke Anudder cigarette, ' R else my name is Mud. Der bloke I I'D give'm soup, you bet! Der dry ol' fossle! Wot's be knowAbout der juice o' life? He's nut'n but a holy show, 'IT t'inner den a knife! I wouldn't be dat dry ol' cuss Fur all der world cud give! Der ain't nobody knows, out us Young fellows, how to live! ?New York State Camp Journal. Effects of the Snez Caual. Some years ago it was proposed to expedite the opening up of the interior of Africa by letting in the waters of the ocean to the Great Sahara, which would thus become an immense inland lake, to the shores of which ready access could be gained by ships. One of the objections raised to the scheme was that it would seriously affect the climate not only of the adjacent countries, but of the whole of Europe, which would be turned into an Arctic region. It is interesting to recall this circumstance in view of one of the I unforseen consequences of the opening of the Suez canal which is now reported. The climate of lower Egypt has been markedly modified, and rain, which was previously almost unknown there, has become relatively frequent. Another singular result is not so satisfactory; the sharks of the Indian ocean have found their way through the canal into the eastern part of the Mediterranean and the Adriatic, and sea bathing at the ports of Fiurae and Pola is rendered impracticabic. Prince of the Bootblacks. Antonio Aste, the Prince of the New York bootblacks, was recently married in great style in that city. lie owns a number of the most valuable stands in town, and is the proprietor of several tenement houses?all purchased by money raised in blacking shoes. His bride is a pretty young Italian girl named Annie Berbieri, who wore on the occasion a white silk dress trimmed with valuable lace. They will go to Europe for their bridal tour. Sharks Use the Suez Canal. It is said that before the Isthmus of Suez was pierced by the canal there were almost no sharks in the Mediterranean, the passage through the Straits of Gibraltar not being to their liking; but now they come in by way of the canal, and in such numbers that in more than one watering-place, and especially on the Adriatic Sea, the sign has gone up for bathers to "Beware of Sharks." Maine packed last year 500,000 casca of sardines. i A- A ~T ' The Oldest Living Man. The oldest man in the civilized world, it may be said with reasonable safety, if Nagy Ferencz, a peasant in Bares, Hun-; gary. He was born in Hedrahely, 121 years ago next September. He passotl' his boyhood on the little farm of his parents. He was not an especially robust child. He could not haul and split wood,; pitch hay, and tame colts, as could his! three strapping brothers, who died half a century aero. His father resrarded him with disfavor, because he was too weak to do more than a peasant woman's work,, and did not earn enough to pay for his1 food. At the age of 19, however, Nagy suddenly developed into a phenomenally muscular man. His chest widened, hi? arms and legs hardened, and his girth increased. He became a famous local; wrestler, and did more work in a day than most peasants near Hedrahely did11 in two. NAGY FERENCZ, AGED 121 TEARS. ? Just 100 years ago last May he fell in/ love with the daughter of an innkeeper.; She promised to marry him on July 31fi 17S9. Two days before the marriage1 day she jilted him for his best friend.i Since then Nagy has been a woman-hater .1 He never loved another woman. Four years later he went to the war of! the first coalition. For the twenty sue-! ceeding years he was almost constantly under arms, in camp or on the battlefield.; He saw Napoleon once and Blucher once.'; Nagy's boyhood was lived long before the days of compulsory education, so h? never learned to keep a diary or write: memoirs. He has an immense fund of! anecdote, however, which is at the service of any one with a half hour to spare; at Bares. The children of the town have' heard from him every week for many! years the stories of the famous charges, ] retreats, seiges and campaigns in whichj ho has participated. The great event of; his life, he thinks, was his attendance of! the funeral of his dead Queen, Maria; Theresa, 109 years ago. Although buti twelve years old then, he has treasure*!' up for more than a century every detail! of the procession and burial. Nagy Ferencz is penniless, but he isj not a beggar nor a public charge. A! score or more of families in Bares are! "Kim /vlnf^iner fliui4 ICttUJ bu ivuvAj V1V?U4U^ WM,.r shelter. He takes all his meals withj seven families, whom he has known fori fifty years. Each one entertains him onej day in the week. Between meals hej walks from house to house, chatting with! all men and children whom he meets.; He rarely talks with women, for he hasj / not forgotton that young woman who) jilted him one century ago this month.] After each meal he smokes a pipeful of. strong tobacco. He has been smoking! three pipefuls of strong tobacco svery day for the last 104 years. Altogether Nagy Fcrencz is a sturdy,; contented, amiable old man. His health is good. His mind is fairly clear. He looks as well and happy as he is. He has clear dark eyes, clean-cut regular features, and a smooth bronzed skin. He has a bushy head of white hair and a, heavy white mustache. He is erect and quick in his movements. He is scrupulously neat in his person. He looks to be about seventy or seventy-five years old.?New York Sun. i ? "V Clothes Make the Man. $1 J^\i# The style of his city clotiies. ^. -J k<~ [ 7 ^ *\^TW If \ ^jQfo And of his country outfit.?New Tori Herald. Two American girls who will shortly; wed titled foreigners are Miss Gwendolen: Caldwell, foundress of the Catholic University at Washington, and Miss Caroline Fitzgerald, of New York. The former will wed Prince Murat; the latter Lord! Edmond Fitzroaurice. The Royal Meteorological Societf of England is making a collection of photographs of lightning flashes. Oa each photograph is noted the time of the flash and the interval between it and the thunder. A London physician of eminence maintains that the most potent cause of the dissemination of disease is kissing. Pear, dear, is love a disease ? . : ' .'