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* A MAO HARRIAGE; ?on.? The Heiress of Lawrence Park. i ST(JBI OF ABSORBING INTERESTBY MBS. E. B. COIXINS. I . ( * \ CHAPTER X. V_ A 8HEET_OF PAPER. "Can iC see Mr. WynneV" Seven b'.clock had just rung from the steeple of ?>t. Paul's; seven chimed from the antique clock upon the stairs which wound -npward from the spaeious entrance hkll of Arthur Wynne's sumptuous hom^. Mrs. Grey, the housekeeper, passibg through the hall, herself answered tfhe summons. Mr. Ludlowe stood upc?n the marble steps without, his face a/uite pale, and full of grave anxiety. T "Can I see Mr.) Wynne for a few moments?" he repeated; "it is upon busi,/ iftrjb of the utmjosi importance, or I would not troihho him at so e irly an hour!" Mrs. Grey nodded. "Walk in, sir, if you please, and I will let Mr. Wynne know. He has not yet left his room. I do not think that he is well." "Let me go to his room, * said the chief. "I am Ludlowe, of the detect- | ive force, and I know that he will be glad to see me." y The housekeei'er led the way, and a few moments later Mr. Ludlowe rapped lightly upon the door of Art hur's room, and was at once admitted. The young man was sitting, in a quilted satin dressing-gown and velvet slippers, before a bright coal fire, his face very grave and unusually thoughtful. He started to his feet in surprise at sight \ of his unexpected visitor. "What has happened?" he demanded, ^in a tone of alarm, for an unerring instinct warned him that something had happened. "Be seated, Mr. Ludlowe," j he went on, wheeling a low, velvet > easy-chair to the fire, "and tell me what j it is. Mr. Ludlowe sank into the comfort- i able seat with a swift glance into the handsome perturbed face before him. "The worst has happened," he began, slowly. "No, noP as Arthur clutched the low marble mantel for support, uttering a groan of agony. "She is not dead! Ruby Lawrence lives, as far as I know!" "As far as you know!" repeated Arthur, blankly. "Mr. Ludlowe, what do you mean ? There! you have pre- ; pared me; now go on, and tell me the worst!" "The worst is this." Ludlowe arose, and, laying his hand upon the young man's shoulder, gazed down into his pale face with kindly ; eyes. He had learned to love this brave, generons, noble-hearted young fellow, a3 though he were his own son. "My dear boy, be calm!" he began, reassuringly. "It may not be so bad ; as it looks, after all! But this is the 1 simple truth. P?uby Lawrence is gone!" "Gone! Great Heavens, Ludlowe, you are jesting?or mistaken! How { could she escape, even if she would ? ! And, surely, she would not, for," gasping the words forth as though I they hurt him, "why, man, her flight | would be a tacit acknowledgment of S lior on fit. and that is Drei>osterous!" Chief Ludlowe was nodding his head I slowly, like a Chinese mandarin. ^Exactly! That is just what public ; opinion says, my dear boy! Now, Ar- ! ttiur, you have learned the worst; can you conceive of anything any worse than that which I have told you? | looking at it from every possible point?" Arthur Wynne was as pale as death, i He had already tossed aside his dress- i k ing-gown, and substituted a coat; then I he discarded his slippers, and, soon J properly equipped for the street, stood k before his friend. H "Tell me, Ludlowe," he began, "tell P me all the new developments?clewsno, no! Upon second thoughts I will I not haar a word! Go with me to Law- I rence Park at once; let me get there j before anything has been disturbed, ; and I will judge for myself! Ten chances to one I will find some clew that you and the others have overlooked." "But, my dear fellow, you have eaten nothing to-day. "Wynne, you are a hot-headed youngster! 'A man's will is the wind's will; and the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts,' says the old proverb. Go and get some breakfast; I will wait for you. No, sir; not one step do you go to Lawrence Park, until you have obeyed me!" Ludlowe rang the bell himself, and ordered breakfast for Arthur to be brought to the loom. He insisted upon the young man's breaking his fast; after which he announced himself in readiness and they drove away together to Lawrence Park. They found the great house in confusion; Mrs. Chiliingworth in hysterics ; while, in the sumptuous drawf ing-room, the body of the master lay in state. Arthur cast a swift crlance round, then he turned to Ludlowe. "Let us go up-stair8 to her room," he said, hurriedly; and without a word the chief obeyed. Outside the door of Ruby's chamber the officer, -who had., played so important a part in her arrest, was sitting sullen and crestfallen over the unexpected turn that affairs had taken. "Upon the Veranda, below the window of Ruby's room, the other guard had been discovered insensible, from the evident effects of a bottle of old rye, which, nearly emptied of its contents, stood suspiciously near. Arthur laid his hand upon the door-knob and turned it slowly. 1 "Has any one been in this room?" he asked the officer, "since?since " He broke off abruptly. The officer shook his head. ^o, sir; no one; we were waiting for you and Mr. Ludlowe." Slowly Arthur opened the door and entered the pretty chamber which il seemed profanity to invade. Ludlowe lollowed in his footsteps; and once in' 1 side they closed the door. r Arthur glanced around the pretty aroom with its rich appointments and blegant trifles, and a low groan burst from his lips. There was the impress bf her golden head upon the soft, "irhite, lace-trimmed pillow; he stooped and laid his cheek for an instant upon ^ |fche spot where hers had lain. The room was furnished all in blue and lH Vftdte, A white velvet carpet dotted ( B| HL with blue forget-me-nots; the window curtains of azure silk and frosty white lace; the same delicate silk and lace drap: d the low rosewood bedstead; the furniture was upholstered in blue satin, and the entire apartment bore the appearance of having been lately occupied and hastily quitted. There was a tiny bronze slipper upon the velvet hearth rug. Over the back of a gilded chair hung the white fur opera oloak which Ruby had worn to the theater that last night upon which she had known pleasure and the amusementa of the gay world. Arthur recognized the cloak. He thought of the slight form which he had snatched from^ the devouring flames, and liow Jtie liaa neia her in his arms for one brief, blissful minute; then he turned his attention calmly to the task before him. "See!" he cried, excitedly; "there are signs of a struggle; the hangings of tho bed are torn and the window curtains! And?good heavens! Ludlowe, look!" The two men were standing near a window, which was open. The rich Curtains were rumpled and torn, as though some one had clutched wildly at them; and there, upon the window sill, was a broad blotch of fresh red blood! "She has been murdered!" panfo<l' Arthur, at last; "or cfcitieu away by force, and she h&a striven to defend herself!" The chief shook his head doubtfully. "Who would carry her way forcibly, Arthur?" he queried, gravely. "No, no! Tf. 10 mnm than likfilv that it's all a put tip job, and that she?Miss Lawrence?had friends outside to assisther, and so has made her escape. My word for it, Arthur, you will never see her again!" "Mr. Ludlowe!" Arthur Wynne's voice rang out loud and clear as a trumpet call. "If you dare condemn that innocent girl unheard, you are a worse man than I -can believe you! There is some mystery, some devilish mystery, behind all this, and it shall be the object of my life to ferret it out! Henceforth I dedicate my existence to that end! My wealth, my tims, my every endeavor, shall be devoted to the clearing up of fchis mystery! Mr. Ludlowe, do you Withdraw from the case ?" "No!" said the chief, firmly. "I intend to standby you through it all. We must leave no stone unturned in the way of evidence. Let us examine the toilet table yonder; in the drawers we may find something which may prove Useful as a oIp.w." Feeling very much like a thief, Arthur b.'gan the search. The very first object upon which his eyes rested, in a small drawer in the toilet table, was a spray of faded stephauoti?? His heart gave one swift bound, foi he recognized it as the boutonniere that he had worn at the theater that last happy night. And she had pieserved it! He bowed his head over this mute token of her regard for himself, and his eyes grew suspiciously moist. He was startled by a low, hasty ejaculation ilUlU IUO UU4Vi.? "See here!" panted Ludjowe, breaking in upon liis musing; "by Jove! what does this mean?" It was a letter, an open letter, written in a man's bold hand. It began, "My darling Ruby," and endeil, "Yours forever;" but there was no signature attached?nothing which might prove us a clew to the writer. Arthur Wynne took the letter in his trembling hand, and slowly read its contents aloud, his heart aching madly all the time. And no wonder. This is what the letter said: My Darling Ruby: So. you have succeeded in getting hold of a snug sum, although you arc forced to resign Lawrence Park. You are a genius, my dourest! Hold yourscll in readiness (together with all the money and valuables that you can got). and I will manage the rest! You shall leave Lawrence Park to-night. I huvo made all arrangements. Your part is to be dressed for flight, and ready to leave at a momeut's notice. Yours forever. Arthur Wynne stood with his eyes riveted upon that letter, unable to utter a word. At last: "It's a lie! A foul, false lie!" he panted, wrathfully. Chief Ludlowe moved quietly to tho door of the room where the officer sat. "You are sure that no one could have access to this room through the door, at least'?" he queried. The man nodded. "Quite sure, sir! Nobody lias gone in that door, and I've not been six feet awav from it!" So Ludlowe returned to the room. A little further search revealed the fact that Euby had taken a small handbag with necessary garments; had exchanged the white wrapper that she wore for a suit of dark cashmere, with a round hat and thick veil, and that she had worn a sealskin sacque. There could be no doubt that the flight was voluntary, save for the traces of a struggle within the room. But. was :t possible for this girl to escape from a second story window without help from without? At length, while eagerly s:arching the premises, Arthur Wynnee found a long ladder concealed in the shrubbery ; a ladder, spotted hero and there with patches of fresh blood. And or the ground beside it, a pearl-handled penknife marked with the initial! "B. L." CITArTER XI. THE NEW jriSTBESS OF LAWEEVCE PARE. It was all over. The funeral of Gilbert Lawrence had taken place; a grand show of carriages and crape, and followed by ea immense concourse ol Bagnio. just as the funeral procession entered the gates of the fashionable cemetery where the tomb of the Lawrences was was situated, another procession slowly drew near. A white hearse, drawn by white horses, and a long line of carriages in the rear, eclipsing 111 number and magnificence those of the millionaire himself. True, none of the sorrowing friends ventured to alight from their carriages beside that open grave ; for a vague terror of the contagious disease hung over them, and they looked upon discretion as the better part of valor. And so La Belle, the famous dansense, was buried out of sight, and the little grave, heaped high with floral tributes", lay alone in the wintry sunlight. And noon/j who observed that funera procession, and chanced to glance toward the solo mourner?an aged, bent old woman, with snow-white hair and wrinkled face, and eyes hidden bj ugly glasses?ever dreamed of connecting her with the beautiful GabrieJ St. Cyr. She sat with her head bowed, and tht thick folds of her crape veil shrouding her face from view. So she sat while the body waa low ered into the grave and the eartfe ife-? - " ' " X*' / heaped high upon it. Then the wealtl of floral offerings was placed upon th? mound where beautiful La Belle?th? fashion of a season?was lying low, and the carnages filed away. Still that bowed, bent figure nevei moved, never lifted her aged head. There were no other mourners. The carriage which held the heartbroken mother drove swiftly back to the desolate home and halted, while the occupant alighted and entered the house. The kind-hearted servant had been discharged, and there was a stranger in her place?one who had never seen La Belle in her life. & f X- - J -' xi.0 tuc ueau or cne stairs wmcn ijrabriclle slowly asoended Mark Alleyne suddenly appeared. He bent his head and whispered "a few words. She wheeled about swiftly, and, drawing a key from her pocket, unlocked the door of the room which had been her daughter's; then she entered, Mark following closely. Gabrielle paused to lock the door behind them; then she hastened to the bed which stood in a corner. There, upon the snowy pillows, a beautiful white face, framed in by waves ol dusky hair?La Belle, the danseuse. 11UW UU11 WO ?t?TV MMVWVVW far!" murmured Gabrielle, excitedly. "Mark, not s living soul suspects I Wo hive' now* but to resuscitate her, ami then the rest of our game is comparatively easy top lay T She bent, closely over the still waxen face. She fell back with a wild cry. "My God! how deathlike she looks! Surely?surely ? Mark, there is no danger of that!" His dusky face blanched to an awful pallor; iuto his eyes there flashed a half-maddened look. "If she is dead I will have youi life!" he cried, madly. "But no Gabrielle; Dr. Karl knows too well what ha is about. Here, hold her head while I drop a few drops of the elixii into her mouth." Gabrielle lifted tho dusky head tip on her breast, while Mark, with slow, steady hand dropped a few drops from a small phial between the half-open lips. A slow shiver ran through tho graceful form; a light breath stirred the lace upon her bosom; a low sigh, then tho white lips fluttered open, and the glorious dark eves were gazing into their faces, full of puzzled light. "Who are you?" she faltered, feebly. For the first time Gabrielle remembered her own disguise. She tossed the spectacles to tho floor, and the wig followed suit; then she bent over her daughter once moi?. -Have you forgotten our plot, Adele ?" she cried. The girl straggled to sit up, and slowly tho light of memory crept back to her onrc more. "My soul has been ab.sent from my body, mamma," she faltered, slowly. "In spirit 1 was with him! Oh, mamma, mamma! he loves her, curse her? that Iluby Lawrence, who has stolen all from me!" "Hush!" Gabriello's voico was low and swift. "Mark is here," .she whispered, softly. Then she resumed her disguise, while she quickly prepared a strengthening draught. A little mulled wine brought the strength back to Adele's frame, andafuint color to her waxen cheeks. "When Mark saw that she was almost her old self once more he left the room, and mother and daughter were alone. When he was gone Gabrielle brought a large cut-glass bottle and a soft sponge from the wardrobe. "Now for your metamorphosis," she said, Adele let all her dusky hair down over her shoulders; her mother^ saturated the sponge in the contents of the bottle and wet the hair thoroughly. In Kon mirmf-pn' tirnA t.llft dnskv hair was a glorious sunny gold. Gabrielle uttered a little cry of delight. '"You are lovely beyond compare!" slie cried. "Your beauty is without a flaw! Your complexion is uaturally as fair as a lily; and that exquisite golden hair in contrast to your dark eyes, and black, silky brows and lashes! Oh, Adele! when you see yourself in the mirror you will fall in love with your own face, like Narcissus!" Adelc's eyes swept the beautiful reflection in the mivror which hung opposite, and a wistful look crept into her eyes. "Do you think that he will admire me?" she asked. "Who is he that he should be such an autocrat?" sneered Gabrielle. "My child, he shall love you! But, Adele, think well of what you are doing, for Mark is " "As cruel as the grave!" intervened the girl, quietly. '"I know. But, mamma, we must outwit him! If I can gain Arthur Wynne's love I will riot narr for anvthins that Mark micrht do. And I must win Arthur's love! He shall love me, or I shall go mad?or die I" * * * A week afterward, Gabrielle St. Cjr, the widow of Gilbert Lawrence, took ap her abode at Lawrence Park, and with her, her daughter, a beautiful young creature, with golden hair and dusky eyes; just from a French convent, it was said. There was little difficulty in taking possession of Lawrence Park, for she bad her marriage certificate and other papers to prove the validity of her 3] aim. The law could not turn the widow out of her husband's home, for her 2hild had a firm claim to her father's estate. "Possess:on is nine-tenths of the law!" Gabrielle muttered defiantly, "and I defy them to eject me! I defy the whole world, and the powers of iarkness, too." They had been installed at Lawrence Park a week when Arthur Wynne ;alled. Ruby's room had not been turned over to the new mistress; its door was locked and the key in Arthur's bauds; and so it would remain for the present, with a wild hope of clearing np the my3tery. Arthur was admitted to the house, and entered the drawinsr-room full of i-epugnance tnat ne naa ocon xorcecr into the presence of those people. But as he entered the drawing-room lie stared in surprise at the sight that met bis gaze. Adele lay upon a satin couch fast asleep. She had been reading, and the book had fallen to the floor. The beautiful face was flawless and ivory-like; | the long black laches swept the pearly ; cheeks; the rosy lips were half parted with a slight smile; one tiny white hand, like sculptured marble, rested against the crimson cushions of the couch; she looked like a dream of marble. His footsteps aroused her; she started up, overcome with confusion, just as Gabrielle, pale and stately in her elegant mourning robe, entered the j room. ' -- : s . j . THtT"WynneT^r anTpreaseit tyy meetyou again," she said, sweetly, extending her hand. Then, with easy grace, she added softly: "My daughter, Miss Ad61e Lawrence." He bowed coldly. Ha could never look upon these women ?ioh tolerance. He explained his business there in a few cold words, and was permitted to go up-stairs to the little locked room. As the door closed behind him he could not hear the angry words which fell from Adele's red lips: "He is as cold as ice and hard as steel! Mamma, you have ruined my hopes by your denunciation of Ruby Lawrence! He ahall love me!" she panted. "The day will come when ha will kneel at my feet and sue for my lovei" i Alas, was there a ring of prophecy in her mad words? [to sb ooamropwl Mr. Dolt and the H^rnet'S Nest. This is young Mr. Dolt, Who took a stroll one day; He wandered through the meadows green, Where buttercups were gay. * * ' ~>rj ^ i . And this was what he found that day. .. He punched it with his cane; The cane was half a mile too short, Which Dolt can now explain. And this is Mr. Dolt again, Distorted, sick, and sore; He's not as handsome as of old, But knows a great sight more. t| ~ :1 The Only Female Steamboat Pilot. ' Mrs. Callie L. French, a Cincinnati lady, and -wife of Captain A. B. French,, is the only female steamboat pilot in America. She is regularly licensed as a pilot from New Orleans and iT the Atchafalaya River and its tributaries, being French is a lady about 28 years of age, and has had an experience on the Mississippi of i twelve years. She J is an expert swimmer, and is a brunette of mrs. callie l. frexch. slender figure, and was born in Jackson County, Ohio. Her husband being a river man, introduced her to the mysteries of the river, and she proved an apt pupil. It will be remembered that Mrs. Mary Miller some years ago applied for a cap- I tain's license, and the question was raised as to whether it was competent for a lady to have a license, but the authorities at Washington decided that if she was competent and had a good moral character there was no reason why she could not act in any capacity she was competent to fill. Mr. and Mrs. French reside in the East End of the city, though she is now handling the wheel on top of one of the largest steamboats plying between Yicks- | burg and New Orleans.?Cincinnati Enquirer. | Both the Russians and the British, as they push farther and farther into Asia, pay great attention to arboriculture, planting trees, shrubs and flowers where ever they form a settlement. The result is that Central Asia is being reforested. uoningham u-raham, me leader 01. the new labor movement in Great Britain, is a wealthy Scotchman's son, and has a slender income and an ancient lineage. He has been in America, and led the life on the Texan plains for a time. He says that one of his ance tors married an Arab, and he himseli looks not unlike an Arab chief. He often rides in the row in London with Parnell, and astonishes that somewhat sedate gentleman by appearing on an odd little mustang fiery as pepper. A Summerville, Fla., paper says: "We have a man in our county who is about thirty-five years old who was never more than forty miles away from home, never rode on a train or steam boat, never wrote or received a letter, never subscribed for a newspaper, and never voted the Democratic ticket." The flag used to drape the casket of President Lincoln is incased and hangs in the private office of the Secretary of War. General Drum took care of the flag after the rites had been conducted and took it to Washington. : 'try.* >' - '.v 'V - V* SANTA FE. i; I ONE OF THE OLDEST AND ODD-' , EST OF AMERICAN CITIES. I A Sketch of Its History?The Pueblos' ' ?Oldest House in the United* ' States?The Primitive ; Mexicans. 1 ] 1 Santa Fe has a history worth noting. No one knows how old it is. When the Spaniards captured it in 1542, it was Jin Indian village or "Pueblo," built, and in-i habited by the Pueblo ot Village Indians,, a half-civilized tribe who build and live in house* and cultivate the soil. These Indians live in communities, each community cultivating the lands adjoining it* is common, sharing the products on | the mosl; approved co-operative plan. In 1680 the town was recaptured and burned by the Indians. The Spaniards | again took it in 1632. In A park Culled j the "Plaza," in the center of the town, forty Indians were hung at. that time as a | lesson o? warning to the warlike tribe.In 1837 the Indians again attacked the town, but were defeated by the Spanish General Armjo. The town was not yet through with war, however. In 1862 the Confederate General Sibley made a raid through that section and captured the place, as a part of a well-laid scheme to get possession of the great West, with its untold mineral wealth, for the Confederacy. He was defeated, however, by the prompt action of General Slough and' the Colorado Volunteers, and the town retaken for the Union. ^ ' i . 8AOTA FE WOOD CARRIERS. , The city now contains about 8000 inhabitants, seven-eighths of which are Mexicans and Indians and the balance: Americans. Its altitude is a little over 7000 feet above the sea level. "We can' < almost imagine ourselves in Jeru-. salem in the days of Christ. It is 3 almost surrounded oy mountains, re- t minding us of the 'mountains around' 5 about Jerusalem." We find there also I the same flat-roofed, one-story houses, | undoubtedly built on a similar plan to ? those found in Palestine. The same nar- i row alleys for streets made for donkey. I travel, but not designed for modern carriages and wagons. Here also are the useful, long eared, innocent looking donkeys, "Burros,'' the Mexicans call them, winding their way to and from town, with their loads of wood, produce', or riders on their backs. These are just like the asses of Scripture, and are doing the same thing as in the days of Scripture history. "The Palace" at Santa Fe is the oldest house in the United States. This building is said to be over three hundred years old. Isn't it a queer looking affair? A great curiosity indeed. It is made of what the Mexiwins call "adobe," that is, large bricks made of mud mixed with straw and dried in the sun. These are cemented in the wall by mud of the same material, which is the ordinary soil. Nearly all of the Mexican homes, also the Indian Pueblos, are built of this material. The Spaniards and their descendants, the OLDEST HOUSE ttt THE CXITED STATES. Mexicans, evidently learned the art from the Pueblo Indians. CThe roof is made by stretching poles across on which the same kind of bricks are laid, cemented together and covered with earth. It does not rain much in this country, otherwise such homes would soon become uninI habitable. Right across the "Burro Alley" from this old home is the San Macruil Church, said to be the oldest church in the United States. It is also built of adobe. If we will drop a dime into the box for the good of the church we can go in and see the curious old carved beams and ancient works of art. [ These curious mounds which we see here and there among the adobe houses, | which look like muskrat nests with holes in them, are Mexican family bake ovens. I It is a very curious contrivance, and we confess we have not yet learned how the | thing is worked. As we said before, the Mexicans are a. very queer people. They are about 2000 years behind the times. We suppose they don't even know there has been such a thing as a cook stove or range invented yet. These primitive methods are not alone seen in building and cooking, but are particularly noticeable in their ways of tilling the soil. It Is incredible that a people living in the United States, under the folds of our glorious Star Spangled Banner, should be found plowing, or we should say, scratching the soil with us primitive implements as were in use among the ancient Egyptians or the subjects of King j Solomon. Also harvesting and threshing in the same old way. Not indeed usincr "oxen to tread out the corn," but goats. It is hard to believe, yet here MEXICAN* BAKE OVEN. arc the evidences right before oui eves, and this, too, in what wc supposed was the live, bustling West. You see f they do not even use wagons on which to l j haul wood to town, but use the poor ? donkeys' backs for this purpose. There j is a group of them now waiting patiently , for nome one to buy thei4| loads. How , typical they are of their sleepy masters, j Here comes one with a curious load on his back. Let us investigate. On each side of the donkey is strapped a box, and what do you suppose those boxes < contain? You can't guess! Two little ? pigs each, looking quite contented and < happy. But tMs is not all the load; on < top of the doMey is strapped a chicken s coop contai^B; several live chickens. 1 T I ill being conveyed to market. Here :omes another donkey with eight live kids suspended by the hind legs across his back. How the poor things cry, with i plaintive, almost human wail, as they try to curl up to relieve themselves from the cruel agony they are suffering. Theii cries nave not tne sugntest enecc, However, upon the cruel man who is taking them to the butchers. Such cruelty makes our blood boil, and makes us feel like hanging him up by the heels a short time, just to let him feel what he is inflicting upon the poor dumb animals. Before we leave here we must have n "burro ride." It will be a rare experience for us, especially if we can persuado our donkeys to climb one of those mountains,. "VVe are afraid, however, before we get to the top we shall find there is a vast amount of dogmatic perversity hid under those big ears. They look honest and docile enough, and some of them doubtless are,but we must not trust them too far. Should we do so, we are liable at any time to experience the fate which befel an over-confiding lady missionary PUEBLO WOMEN GRINDING CORN. friend of ours. Some of them have learned a trick from their country cousins, the bronchos, which a Palestine donkey never knew. When quietly walking along, apparently half asleep, gently wobbling his great ears, one of them has been known to suddenly drop bis head and hump up hie back like o catapult. In such a case, unless we have a firm grip on the saddle, we shall find ourselves sprawling on the ground, with the donkey gazing at us with a surprised look of injured innocence in his big honest eyes. There is one advantage,should such a catastrophe overtake us. We don't have far to fall.?Farm, Field and Stockman. Youngest Convict on Ke?ora. Sinnville Combs, probably the youngsst convict in any prison in the United 3tates, has served the first year of a life ientence. When sent up from Breathitt bounty, Ky., last July he was eleven rears old, and small for the age. Prison ife has toughened him, both morally and jhysically. He killed his two-year-old lister in a brutal manner. The two were n the house together alone. When the ittle tot started to crawl across the floor O SrSNYILLE COMBS. . the boy picked up a stove-lid and maslied her skull with it. He then threw the body in the fireplace, intending to burn it. This process of cremation was too slow and he pulled it out and carried it tn n. srnn.11 stream near the house, throw ing it in. When the little one's body was found Sinnville admitted killing her. He was arrested and tried. On the stand, when asked why he had committed the crime, he stated that his stepfather hac. told him to do it and had promised him a new pair of boots. There was no other evidence against the stepfather, anc. as the boy was a confessed murderer his testimony could not have weight. Many efforts have been made to have the Governor pardon him, but thus far he has failed to act. When first sent up young Combs had never heard of God, knew nothing of heaven or hell and had never seen a school house. He can now read and write and talks like a very bright, intelligent boy. He does not seem to care for his imprisonment,?? Chicago Herald. The Poorer Classes in Persia. Touching the houses of the people ol Persia and their household properties, ] once spent a night in the house o*f a trooper of the Shah. His pay was $50 a year, with rations when on duty. He gave me an excellent dinner in an uppei chamber, which was carpeted, and in t;he niches of the false windows of which roseleaves were piled up for fragrance. 1 do not mean that the carpet was other than the cheapest, or that the atmosphere was all of rose-leaves, but an English groom gets $60 a year, more or less, and I doubt if he indulges in carpets and flowers. A few cooking utensils, a brasi tray or two, sKms in wrncn curas art made and kept, a loom, a sheet of leather which serves for the floor (table) clotb ?these arc the articles that furnish the ordinary dwelling. If the householdei be a very poor man, he will eat his meal off big flaps of unleavened bread, and will eat, too, that which serves him for a table-cloth and is also the bread which we find on our table cloths. You break off a bit of bread and dip your hand in the dish wherein are curds at any rate, and possibly on feast days kid or fowl.? Nineteenth Century. The Empress of Germany is to have a ipecial body guard, composed of twenty;our o:: the lavgest men in the Prussian irmy, and commanded by an officer and ;wo sergeants. They arc to wear the miform of Frederick the Great's body juard, which has been specially chosen )y the Emperor himself. The stealing of an umbrella on a clear 3ay is held to be a theft by an Omaha Judge; but the stealing of the same article on a rainy day is held to be justifiable sn.the ground of self-defense. We premise this decision was rendered in order ? protect the court.?Buffalo Etyrm. * ?aaaanT nvI -i inliiSBiiMo????^ . RELIGIOUS READING. _ soieetisie?somiwhb EEUnanswered yeti the prayers yonr lips hav? pleaded In agony of heart?these many years? Dofs faith bejjin to fail? is hope dejartmgf And tbink you all in vain, thoae falling. ./'$ tears? Bay not, the Father hath not heard yoflr prayer, You shall have your desire?sometime? somewhere. Unanswered jet! thobgh when yon first preThis one petition at the Father's throne, /";. % It seemed you could not wait the time of asking, . v/So urgent was year heart to make it known: Though years have passed since then?do not despair. The Lord will answer you?sometime?somewhere. . 3 5 Unanswered yet! Nay do not say uapranted? Perhtp3 your work fa not yet wholly /--j \X\Jlir-. The w^rK began when your first prayer was , i uttered ./ vwS And God will flni-h what He has began, < t? vou will keep the incense burnfng there, . j] TTi? glory you shall see?sometime?somewhere. ^ -'jj Unanswered yetl Faith cannot be on- 'M answered: '.f$ He feet are firmly planted on the rock; ( JM Amid the wildest storms she stands undaunted, k.'WSl Nor quails before the loudest thunder shock. She knows Omnipotence has heard the h prayer, And cries?"it shall be d one''?bometime? # somewhere. METHODS OF CHURCH WORT. ' |jj A large amount of energy is spent in hur- "J j rying from place to place,and taking part in all lands of gatherings r>ith a more or less > \ relkious character. Properly speaking, this can hardly be called work, though it passes current as such with large nnml>ers of Chris- " tian people. In many cases it is neither more nor less than self-indulgent disripatior^ and it operates as mischievously as disdpation always does. It breeds often an habitual fe- . JM yerishness of spirir, quite incompatible with ? that restfulnitss of spirit without which there can be no healthy growth of Christian ylf character. It results not seldom in the de- ' V/ velopmentof a supsrf ciality and smallness of spiritual understanding that are none the more beautiful that they are linked with a calm self-confidence and self-importance that irritate and repel. It disinclines to the cultivation of those holy graces that flourish best in the atmosphere of steady loyalty to near est duty. Evidence of' this tendency surrounds us everywhere, and, in % presence of it, it is not unnecessary to insist that our methods should never be such as to lower the tone of Christian, character among our church members. They should do >v *f nothing to foster that craving for publicity . i and excitement that unfits for the quiet work of self culture, which is of such vast importance. I cannot 6tay to apply this principle > to such matters as the irrepressible bazaar '(T[j8 and interminable soiree. I wil^on ly say that my firm conviction is, that neither in the one case nor the other is the game worth the candle; and that, further, I can eon ceive, without any stretch of imagination, . - : g what a savin? and a profit it would be,. both cs to pastor and peo' le, were it laid down as a law tbat no member shall be expected to at- - 7..;,*5 tend all night long at a tea-m eting, where sermons are resented and speeches laughed at and sacred swings are hailed with rounds of indecent applause.?Joseph Corbctt,D. D., in the Canada. Presbyterian. , ' ITXSEUISH SERVICE. , | One of the most striking acenea in modern ' ;?C fiction is that in Charles King-ley's "Hrpatia," where the zealous young monk, who has become almost a convert to the fascinating Neoplatonism of the bri liant- Hypatia, . :4 is suddenly brought to a realization of its entire inadequacy to human needs when the -M beautiful teAer declares tbat she has done nothing and wm do nothing for his wayward sister. A philosophy whicir can do nothing for a human life, whatever its condition^ ;j?s was a philosophy that could not be true; andtbis incident suggests the test of, not only all philosophy and religion, but nil the ideals and purposes of every human life. No philosophy can be true which doe* not in some way contribute to the strength and purity of every human soul who studies it; . . no religion can claim divine authority which has not the right word for every human need; no human lire is wisely ' on/? riffhtlv nrHoroH which dnM '& not in its own working 'nit inspire, v; direct, and aid other liv<is. To make life richer, stronger and purer for men and to > . help men to take to themselves this richer, ry' ; purer and stronger life, is the end of every kind of knowledge, of all forms of activity, ' and of every rightly ordered li;e. This ser- * vice to a common humanity need not be -i' director immediate; it may be very indirect, and discoverable only in its ultimate . results; but at some point and in fome way . '4 this servico must be rendered. The philosopby, the religion, the action, the man or ' wi-inan. in which or in whom this element of divine hopefulness is not found may be put aside as unworthy guides. The sci jaca which should abstract itself entirely from V human life, if such a thing were possible, . and work out some complete system which could not in any way emich or strengthen .'v\' men in the life they have to live, would not be worthy the pursuit of any thoughtful iaS man. It is not necessary in order that one may employ this quality of helpfulness that one should be all the time in personal contact ; ^ with ihe needs and weaknesses of others, or % that one should give himself up to a specific charitable work or mission. Some at tha f, % noblest souls who have ever lived have, by ?.! , the very necessities of the work thoy have undertaken, been somewhat shut off from , immediate contact with the daily wants c? their fellows. But the result of their labore basb en so to expand the thoughts of men about their own lives that they have in*-" mensely enriched and ennobled those live* . and so, at a long range, they have bean il- i lustrious helpers of their fellows. TSe essential thing is that one should connive ot his work in this spirit; that one should t<%l- T that ro kind of work or knowledge o*. i culture is au end in itself; but th t tha ultimate object of it all is to -Take the world sweeter, and the men who live in it bettflT.. The student who devotes all his years to tie X- < S patient exploration of some path of knowli dge, and by his devotion to truth, his selfdenial, his untiring patience, becomes a liv* -? nnKlo.t nnn1'?h'ol mnv lUg CAiHlipiO Ul IUC JUWUivgu ?|UUMV<V^ J sometimes seem to those who do not understand his ends nor appreciate the quality ot soul which he is putting into his work to be leading a selfish life. It is a common error which identifies unselfish service with acts whose beneficent result is immediately detected There are high and noble sei rices which do not seem to toucj individuals at all, but which ara rendered * to humanity at large in the way of a general e .pansion or the knowledge ancf conception of life. To most men. however. this problem never pesents itself in this form. M st of us must choosa to reader services to men who are direct and per.-oual if we are to render any, and no man ought to be content who do<s not feel that bis life in its general result, no less than in its s eciflc actions, is easing the burden and smoothing the wav for others. A selfish life is not only irreligious?it is distinctly disreputable, a thin? unwi rthy, and therefore inexcusable. No man of any conscientiousness can live comfortably in the world as he sees it today unless he is doing; something to bett r tho general condition o? things. A selfish life in the light of tho world's needs at this end of the nineteenth century is essentially an ignoble and mean life. Mark Twain is against interviewing because an interview only reports bald talk unembellislied. Mark herein does injustice to the really artistic interviewer. He i.i fully capable of supplying all necessary accessories. But it is important not to overdo in this respect. An exuberant imagination may work immeasurablo harm in this way. Statistical returns in England show that there are about 1,000,000 more /. women than men in the country, and what these are nearly al| iridows, .,r0 * ^