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wp iip^f I SEAS LOVE g LAMENT. Imitated from the Japanese, BT WTT.T.TAW DOtJD LIQHTH AT,T?. "I wandered and I wander yet, 1 have forgotten to forget.* ?Bichard Henry Stoddard. The morning flies, the evening dies, 4 The heat of noon, the chill of night, I Aro but the dull varieties Of Phu bus' and of Phoebo's flightAre but tbe dull varieties Of niinwl ni<?ht. ?.?d ruinad dav: They are no pleasure to mine eyes, For I have sent my goal away. I am the man who cannot love, Yet onoe my heart was bright aa thin?. The suns thai rove, the moons that mov*. No longer make its chambers shine; No more hoy light the spirit face That lit my night and made my day; No maiden feet with mine keep pace, For I have sent my soul away. 0 lost 1 I think I see tbee stand By Mary's ivied chapel door. Where crica thou stood'st, and with thy hand Wring piotis pain, as once before. Impatient crude philosopher, 1 scoint d thy gen:ler wisdom's ray, All vain thy uio.stened eye-lids were, I Bent my eouI and thee away. A causeless wrath, a mood of pride. Some tenrs of tkino, and all was don*, On alien plains I traveled wide, And thou wert soon a veiled nun. Not long a veiled nun, but soon Unveied of garment and of clay; But 1 am March whilst thou art Jun?t . For I have sent my soul away. And now when I would lovo so well, There sits alone within my heart Calm guilt that cannot from its bell Look np and wish the thing thou art. 1 see a dreadful gulf of night Beneath my falling life; and gray TVfcw lirth* ftA/vunftfl thft fhoaf.of life Above it as it fails away. The Tolar snows, the vales of Greece, All seas below and skies above, Have lent their heaita to give me peace, Bat 1 am he who cannot love. If 1 oould feel that God and thee Wore near as are the mountains gray, I would not sorrow then to be The man who sent his soul away. I have a life, a voice, a form, A skillful hand to lift and turn; I have emotions like a storm, (A brain to throb, a hoart to bam. But that which Jesus' blood can save, That looks toward eternal day, Is gone before me to the grave, It was my soul I sent away. The past is past, and o'er its wo? ' It i9 no comfort to repine; Bat I would wage my life to know Thy feet in heaven keep pace with mine. J cannot hopo, I will not weep. 'I he only wish that wish I may Is this, that I may find asleep ! The soul I thought I sent away. ?AmericanjCommercial Traveller. 14 IWliiUUUCK;} ?OR.? The Heiress of Law- j rence Park. A STORY OF ABSORBING INTEREST. 0 , BY MRS. E. B. COLLIN'S. CHAPTER XXYHL saved! , It -was then that Arthur Wynne cursed his fatal mistake, as he lay upon the narrow iron bed, upon which he had been thrown. His thoughts went back, like lightning, to the hour when he had first accepted Gabrielle's invitation to call at Lawrence Park. "What a foql I have been!" he ejaculated, as the full realization of the situation came home to his heart. "I was. mad enough to think that I might learn the Becret of Ruby's whereabouts by, ) going to Lawrence Park. "Ah, well, after all, I would never have known what little I have learned bad I not gone there. And neither would I have been here," he added, ruefully. "I wonder where lam? What place this is?" Even as these thoughts flashed through his brain, the door of the cell -? ? J was unlocked ana a Keeper appeared. A rough, good-natured fellow?not a "bad sort after all. He glanced furtively into Arthur's face. ' "Tell me where I am, will jou not, my good fellow?" ask el the detective. "To bs sure, sir" (with another furtive glance into the pale face); "you are at Beechwood, and this place is Farmeuti's Retreat for the Insane." Arthur arose and came to the man's side. " What will you take to help me out of here 7" he asked. "I am a rich man; my nume is Wynne?Arthur Wynne? and I will pay you handsomely." The man stared into his face. Surely, there was nothing like insanity in that low, eager tone, or the clear, dark eyes bent upon his face. "I knew it all the time," he muttered to himself. Then aloud: "Yes, sir; 1 -will help you all I can. Only I don't want to get into any trouble. I'm a poor man, with a large family to support, and " "You shall get into no trouble that money can help you out of," intervened Arthur, hastily. "I will attend to that. Only help me?and stay! tell me, one thing! Is there a young lady confined UViV "Heaps of them, sir," interrupted the man, dryly. i-L "I suppose so! Well, this is a very % "beautiful crirl of eighteen, with golden hair and deep-blue eyes. Her name is " "St. Cyr,n interrupted the man again. /'Oh, yes! I know who you mean! She came late at night, or rather early in the morning about one o'clock. - Mi*. Mark Alleyne brought her here." "Ah, ha!" cried Arthur to himself. "I am on the trail. Ah, well, it ia worth wliii^ being shut up here foi this." \ The man went on: "You see, sir, I am telling you all I know, because for a long time I've been dissatisfied here. I'm tired of being old Farmenti's slave, to come and go, and do his dirty work, at his command. And Bill West, my brotherin-law,"who works here, too, is just as sick of it ns I am. He'd do anything to get out <>^ the whole business, but I'll tell yc?x the truth. Old Farmenti ia not the sori of man one would choose for an enamy! Besides, we have to mate a living!" I, "I will pay you and your brother-inlaw well; and I will see that you both obtain employment elsewhere?only help me!" oried Arthur, eagerly. " i'ou will " He stopped short, and a grav? look overspread his face, followed by a a tar tied expression. 'ln:ough the long corridor outside the cell came the sound of a piercing shriek. "Good Lord preserve ub! He's torturing the poor young lady again!" panted the keeper. "What young lady? Of whom aire you speaking?" demanded Arthur, j wi!dly. "Miss St. Cyr! I " But lie never finished. Arthur had divined intuitively that Buby had been placcd in the retreat under the name of St. Cyr, and with a single bound he sprang to the door of the cell ond attempted to open it. 4 'v ' \ '' V< v- J - . The keeper followed him, and hurriedly unlocked the door. Once out in the corridor, he led the ; way to an adjacent cell. Arthur Wynne followed. Evidently the day of retribution was not far distant. A step forward, and Arthur came to a halt, pale and trembling like a leaf. ; The door of the cell at the end of tho corridor stood open, and Arthur saw Dr. Farmenti bending over the E rostrate form of a woman, in one ! and a sharp riding-whip, with which I he was ruthlessly raining blows upon his helpless victim. One bound?a muttered execration? and Arthur Wynne caught the villain's uplifted arm in an iron grasp. "Strike one more blow, you cowardly ruffian!" he said, in a low, tense voice, ' and I will take your miserable life!" Farmenti flashed about, glaring upon the unexpected intruder with wild, bloodshot eyes. He glanced toward the door. The two brawny keepers stood without it, resolutely barring the way. Arthur Wynne wrenched the whip from the villain's hand, and grasping Farmenti in a firm grip laid it about his shoulders with telling force. The keeper rushed to the still figure of the girl upon the floor, and lifting it in his arms, bore it from the cell. He laid the limp form down upon a sofa which stood in the hall, and then returned to Arthur's side. The detective having administered a Bound whipping to the writhing Farmenti, lifted a grim, white, resolute face to the keeper. "A strait-jacket, quick!" he commanded. The keeper understood; and a smile lurked 6lyly around his mouth as he obeyed the command. With the help of the two men the detective soon encased Dr. Farmenti in a "straitjacket," threw him down upon the bed, and locked him into the cell to ponder over the changing fortunes of this changeable world. Arthur Wynne stooped oyer the pale face upon the sofa, falling back with a cry of joy. It was iudeed Ruby, his Piuby; the lost was found; the dead alive again. She came back to consciousness after a long time, during which the young man grew faint at heart with the horrible fear that she was dead. She opened her beautiful eyes; they fell upon his face. "Arthur!" was all that she could say. No word of love had ever been spoken betwern the two?no' words were needed. "My own little wife!" he murmured, fondly. She slipped her little cold hand into his, and a golden silence fell upon the two for a brief space, broken by the voice of the kind-hearted keeper. "If you please, Mr. Wynne," he ventured, eoftly, "we ought to bo going. We are not out of his power yet, you see." "You are right," said Arthur. "Order a carriage at once, and I will take Miss Lawrence to my own house. Buby, you will come ?" turning swiftly to meet her longing gaze. "I will send for Mrs. Chillingworth. She has stood by you bravely,although acting a part before the world, in compliance with my plans a9 detective. But she loves you, all the same, and will be a mother to you." A carriage was soon rr,ady, and Ruby placed within; Arthur seated himself by her side; and so they were driven away, and saw the last forever of Dr. Favmenti's retreat for the insane. Buby lifted her grateful eyes to Arthur's face. "Thank God," she murmured,brokenly, "and?you!" CHAPTER XXIX. DBIVEX TO THE WALL. Arthur TVynne arrived at his own home, and placed Ruby in charge of the astonished Mrs. Grey, while he haster.eJ to Mrs. Chillingworth. That lady speedily obeyed the summons, and was soon at Ruby's side, prepared to nurse the poor girl back to health, for that she was very ill was only too evident. Her long confinement in that horrible place, and the dreadful treatment she had received, had nearly deprived her of life. As soon as Ruby's wants were attended to. and Chief Ludlowe had received a full account of all that had taken place, Arthur turned his steps toward "Lawrence Park. He wanted to see Mark Alleyne; he wanted to get a foothold at Lawrence Park before the news of what had happened in the retreat should have time to reach Gabrielle's ears. He found that lady looking serenely eleg .nt in a morning robe of pale pink plush. Adele, in soft, flowing wiiite, shrouded in lace, was lounging in-, dolently in a low seat when he was announced. At sight of him she started up with a low cry. He greeted the ladies with unusual warmth, which he thought best to assume for the occasion, and incidentally inquired for Mark Alleyne. "I heard that he was in," explained "on/I tn T liava tn in quire." "Ho is very ill," she returned, slowly. "If you wish to see him n She arose suggestively, and Arthur followed her up-stairs into a large, airy chamber. Mark lay upon the bed very pale, his dark eyes burning with foveiish light. An idea had entered Arthur Wynne's? brain; a plan was speedily evolved from chaos; he determined to try an experiment. "He will not permit his wife to come to him," began Gabrielle in an aside. "Of course you have heard of that unfunate affair. "Well, he will not see her; and the poor fellow is quite dependent upon me for nursing. I am nearly exhausted," with a deep, plaintive sigh. She did not look exhausted, but Arthur assumed an expression of commiseration. Gabrielle unwittingly wa3 splaying directly into his hands. "I will stay and nurse him, if you will permit me," Arthur returned. Gabrielle bowed. Such a chance to keep Arthur in the house, where he would be thrown in contact with Adele, was not to be despised. She consented at once, only too glad of the oflor. Arthur Wynne laid his plans at once, and sent for the physician in attendance. Doctor Lee was a kind-hearted man, and a shrewd old fellow, also; ho readily entered into Arthur's plot, and the ft' ,me began that very day. Doctor Lee stooped over the sick man, with pale, troubled face, and grave, anxious eyes. Mark saw the look, and his cowardly heart quaked. "Doctor, am I worse?" he asked, brokenly. '"Tell me, is there any chance?" Doctor Lee shook his head sagely. "In the midst of life we are in death!" he quoted^ solemnly. "Alleyne, I will i 1 " toll you the truth?1 make a point of always speaking the truth to my patients?I will keep nothing back if you desire to know." "Tell me?tell mo all I" panted the sick man. "Am I really worse? I thought?I fancied that I was getting better. You said yesterday that there was a little change for the better, you know?" The doctor groaned lugubriously. "Very true, my friend. But I did not apprehend the present alarming symptoms. Mr. Alleyne, do you wish to know?" "I do." "Well, then, I have only to say that it would be well for you to prepare for the worst." "My God! No! I am not?not?going -to die?" The doctor looked preternaturally grave. "I merely tell you that it is best to prepare," he returned, solemnly. "If you have any business matters to arrange, your will to make; anything of that sort. I advise you to attend to it at once. The less delay, the better." He left the room with a slow step. Mark covered his face with his hands. "You will stay with me, "Wynne?" he faltered, at length. "To the end!* returned Arthur, solemnly. "Mark, if you have anything upon your miad, it would be betto relieve it. I imagine?as Dr. Lea says." But Mark shook his head slowly. The hours passed, and Dr. Lee called again. As he entered the sick room ha /ivnloimn/l in ft Iaw V?1lf. nnf. f.AA low to be heard by the patient: "Poor fellow! He is nearly gone!" He came to the bedside, and stood there for a time in utter silence more eloquent than words, a silence which said plainly: "I give him up! There is no hope I" Arthur hovered in the background, silently praying for the success of his plot Two days came and wont, and Mark Alleyne (really convalescing) fully believed himself sinking iast. Arthur' scarcely left hiu side, night or day, and at every opportunity he impressed upon the patient the necessity of confessing anything that might weigh upon hia mind. As I have said, the detective remained at his bedside, only stealing away once in a while to see how Kuby was getting along. He was always met by Mrs. Chillingworth with the cheering hope of recovery. At iast the time came when Mark Alleyne fully made up his mind thai the end was near, and he must die. It was an awful thought to this crimestained villain, and so weakened waa he in body and mind that at last he decided upon a definite course. He called Arthur to his bedside. "Wynne," he said, slowly and brokenly. "I'm afraid it's all up with me. I oAor/?ft1i? I tiuu ou ncaA auu Aaiuv vuuv xvuu speak. I must say something. I must confess before I die. Listen!" "May I not take it down upon paper ?" asked Arthur. The sick man nodded. "Perhaps it will be best," he said. So Arthur, who had long been pre* pared for such an emergency, seated himself with writing materials before him, and Dr. Lee and a friend wera summoned as witnesses. The moment had arrived, when, driven to the wall, Mark Alleyne wo aid be forced to confess all that ha knew. "I want to tell you," he faltered, feebly. "I am going JJto explain how Gilbert Lawrence came to lii3 death." CHAPTER XXX. TOLD BY THE SHADOWS. For a moment Arthur Wynne's heart fairly stopped beating. But he com* pressed his lips together firmly, and dipped his pen into the ink well. "Go on." he said, quietly, "and be as concise as possible." Mark groaueil. "Let me begin at the beginning," ho said. "I Lava known Gabrielle St. Cyr anil her daughter all my life. I have loved Adele ever since I was old enough to know what love means. Gentlemen, would you know the truth? Shs is La Belle, the famous danseuse!" "That is no news to me, Mr. Alleyne. Go on!" "La Bclloss pretended death was all a scheme of Gabrielle's to get possession of the Lawrence fortune. "She knew that her child, once elevated to the position of heiress to the groat Lawrence fortune, must never acknowledge her identity with the dancer. "Gilbert Lawrence died believing Gabrialle to be his# lawful wife; but I, happen to know (and so does she) that the priest who performed the ceremony had been excommuni. ated before it took place; he had no right to perform the ceremony; consequently it was not valid./ '"That makes Miss Ruby Lawrence I the lawful child of Gilbert Law- j nnd flia tmo Tifvireaa of Tiawr(?np<i Park." Arthur caught his breath with a cry of joy. "Thank God!" he murmured, softly. "Well," went on Mark, quito feebly, "I was half mad with love for Adele, and I promise d to do anything to help Gabrielle in her wild scheme. "I hired the g.'rl, Maggie Willett, to do all the dirty work. She it was who placed in Ruby's room the supposed evidences of her guilt?the bloodstained dagger and dress, nnd handkerchief, the key in the pocket of the dress, the pansies upon the floor beside the-body. She did it all (curse her), wit . a wild hope that I was going to make ner my wife. '"She had a false keyto Ruby's room, and it was while she was placing a bogus will in the grate?to be after warn uncovered as Jttuuys crime?mat she lost the coral comb from her hair, which so excited your suspicions. I took Ruby Lawrence out of her room in tho dead of night. "Maggie had already entered it, and dressed the poor girl, making her believe, in her sick and half delirious Btate, that you, Mr. Wynne, had sent for her. "I took her from the room by menns of a ladder; it was the easiest matter imaginable to drug the girl by meansof an opiate, in brandy?and the coast was clear. "I took her to Beechwood, as G abrielle bade me, and placed her in charge of one Farm en ti, in a private asylum for the insane, where she is still confined." "Not much," muttered Arthur, between his set tetth. "Go on," ho commanded once more, in a low, ominous voioe. "Gentlemen, that is tho whole secret. Now, I will proceed to tell you Low Gilbert Lawrence died." An awful hush fell over the room. Arthur s pen was suspended, awaiting his next words. Mark went on, weaklfc r:> .. /.; ' ' rt'.-T*-"'-** y "I was at Lawrence Park the night of the tragedy," he continued, slowly. "I met Gabrielle coming from there. I wished to see Gilbert Lawrence, but when I reached the house I wa3 attracted by a strange scene which met my gaze, and so I did not ring for admittance. This is what I saw: The curtains of tho library window had not been drawn, and Gilbert Lawrence sat at his desk writing busily. I was so impressed by the sight of hi3 pale, Btern, hopeless face, that I crouched down below the window and watched his movements. He finished writing and locked the paper in a drawer in his escretoire. Then he arose, and going over to the center-table wrote those words which were found there when his body was discovered. That done, he lifted his hand and deliberately extinguished the gas, leaving the great room half in firelight, half in shadow. "By the flickering shadows whioh played across the dusky background I witnessed all that followed. X saw it all, gentlemau: liuby Lawrence is innocent?there was no murder donei Gilbert Lawrence died by his own hand!" Arthur "Wynne started to his feet, pale and trembling, his eyes full of a wild light. "Are you in your senses ?" he asked, curtly. "I am!" returned Mark Allevne, calmly. "Gilbert Lawrence, believing himself guilty of a wrong which could never be set right?to Ruby, his beloved child?committed suicide. First, he attempted to poison himself with pruesic acid; but with strange perversity, he dashed the phial aside before it had touched his lips, and stabbed himself instead with the dag- | ger. I myself removed the bloodstained weapon from the ghastly wound; but the dagger found in Ruby's possession was not the one that I Bide the body, and the"incomprehensible odor of prixssic acid in the room." "There was a tress of golden hnir clutched in the dead man's hand," said Arthur. "It was placed there by Maggie Willett," returned Mark. "But I am not done with my story; listen! When I I saw Gilbert Lawrence fall to the floor, I opened the window and entered the I room.- I went to tha escretoire and abstracted the paper which I had seen him place there. "It is a full confession of the hidden sin, and expressed a determination to take his life. His will I also found. It leaves everything to Ruby, save a life annuity to Gabrielle. I kept those papers.' I hid them from Gabrielle;-she has never seen them or suspected their existence. You will find them in my --A---- ? >Ynullify ucaa, v?oi juuuti. Five minutes later, and they were , in Arthur Wynne's possession. He went quietly down stairs and sent for Gabrielle and Adele. "Madam," the detective begaD, sternly, "I give you and your daughter, La Belle, the danseuse, twenty-four hours in which to leave Lawrence Park. Miss Ruby Lawrence, the real mistress of this place, is in charge of Mrs. Chillingworth, and will speedily take possession here." Oh, the scone -which followed! Arthur sent for Chief Ludlowe, and the whole story was made public. Ruby was soon able to be moved, and was brought back to the dear old home as soon as Gabrielle and Adele had taken their departure. The life annuity was paid over to Gabrielle St. Cyr (not Lawrence} every year, and in company with her daughter she made her home in Europe. Thither Mark Alleyne (who did not die) soon followed them (accompanied nolens volens by Maggie Willett, and after a time their very memory was forcotten. P.uby Lawrence, now Mrs. Arthur Wynne, lives at beautiful Lawrence Park with her husband, a happy wife, and the mother of a fair-haired boy, whom they call Gilbert Lawrence Wynne. Mrs. Chillingworth is a daily visitor, and they are all as happy ?3 mortals can be in this world. The clonds are all gone from their pathway. The dreadful consequences which followed Gilbart Lawrence's mistake, made in younger days?that mad marriage?that hidden sin, wliioh was destined to prove the cur3e of his life, and brought him at last to thi I awful death, whose secret was told by the shadows. fTHE END.] Death in a Letter. Just a little while ago an occurrence took place on ihe other side of the ocean which, while by no means without a parallel, is still a matter that will interest all who are fond of studying, in an amateur way, the transmission of disease, poor fellow died in London of typhoid fever, and his wife sent to a friend iii Glasgow a letter conveying the news ol hiu decease. While the fever at thd time -was very prevalent in the neighborhood where the London victim died there was no sign of it in Glasgow then, but three days after the receipt of the letter the Glasgow friend grew sick with all the typhoid symptons. The doctors who attended him so diagnosed the case, and expressed the opinion that notwithstanding the long journey between London and Glasgow the letter had carried the serms of the disease. Feared for Him. ' lI have," cried the rampaging campaign jrator,' 'iu my tongue a rapier with which to kill all fools." ' Take it away from him!" yelled a man in the crowd. t4IIc's going to commit sui One of Chicago's succcssful preachers is the Rev. Florence Kollock, of Slue Island. In her pulpit, clad in princess gown of dark fine stuff, the severe lines of which reveal the perfection of her tall, lissome figure, with her fine head thrown back and her dark eyes glowing, she is the embodi- ! ment of inspirational enthusiasm. She . is wonderfully magnetic, and carries | forward her audience as if by magio. i V - " - - - ~ ~~ VENEZUELA. A PROSPEROUS SECTION OP SOUTH AMERICA. Wealth in Coffee and Cocoa?Story of How the Two Popular Berries | are Planted, Gathered and Sent to Market. The good people of Venezuela are just now feeling very rich, for the last two years have been the most prosperous in the entire history of I WJr the country. Not only j has the coffec crop been unpreceiented in quantity and * quality, but the price has been higher than for many years, owing to the drought and epidemics in Brazil., They say "it is an ill' wind that blows nobody good," and Venezuela and other coffee-growing countries; have prospered as Braplantatioit woman zil has suffered. One cannot buy coffee plantations in Venezuela except for more than their full value, for they have gradually passed into the possession of men of means, who regard them as one of the safest and; most profitable of investments. A good plantation yielding 1000 quintals of coffee ?they don't go by acres, but by the number of trees and their average yield, and a quintal is 125 pounds?is worth, at the lowest estimate, $50,000, and could not be bought any where near Caracas for much less than that. But it would pay a net income of $12,000 a , year at present prices, and from $8000 to $10,000 at ordinary prices. Coffee has sold in years back as low as $9.50 a hundred. Now it is worth $21.50 in the Caracas market. But even as the lowest price such a plantation would pay a rev- , enue of $5000 a year or ten per cent, net , upon the value I have named. nOME^OK A WEALTHY PLANTER. The situation of a plantation also governs its value considerably. The healthfulness and the temperature of the location, its convenience to market, the amount of water available and the character of the improvements add to or detract from the worth of the property, but the planter seldom lives upon his quinta for more than a few months in the year, but must keep up an establishment * i?- ? in the city,where mswiie can un C ouuai | enjoyments and his children an opportunity of attending school. There are ' some plantations in the immediate neigh| borhood of Caracas which would not be ' sold for twice the sura I have named, and ' the incomes they furnish their owners ' justify the value at which they are held. Venezuela exports 10U,000,000 pounds 1 of coffee, and at a profit this year of from seven to nine cents a pound, which shows the magnitude of the business and j the wealth it is bringing into the country. About one-half of this product now l goes to the United States, where it is sold for Mocha mostly. It comes so near ' : Mocha in flavor and appearance that none 1 but an expert can detect the difference, and has almost entirely driven the genuine berry out of the market. Three or four years ago there was a plague in Arabia, where the Mocha conce is grown, 1 and shipments were almost entirely stepped. Then the merchants were ! obliged to find a substitute, and the Venezuela berry was so popular that it has kept its place. Ten years ago there were not a hundred bags of Caracas coffee sold in the United States annually, but J now the export,according to the authority 1 of Mr. Boulton,the largest dealer and the | owner of the steamship line, reaches ; 1 nearly 50,000,000 pounds. Ten years! ago the house of Boulton was alone in the trade. Now there are a dozen houses inthe United States and several in uanaaa that make it their entire business. The product is not increasing in Vene- . zuela, and that keeps up the price. Few new plantations are bein<? started. At ! former prices, and when tne government i . was unsettled, it did not pay to invest ' money in starting plantations, for it takes about seven years to bring the trees to the producing age. First the ground is I cleared and burned over two or three j , times to get rid of the brush; then it is I . A COFFEE PLANTATION. ( plowed and lain off into squares. Then [ ] shade trees must be planted to shelter the j , coffee bushes from the sun. Every plan- '! tation is shaded. Banana trees are pul ] out originally to protect the young plants, | lor they shoot up rapidly and liave lux- | j urious foliage, but for permanent shade a | large, quick-growing tree called the j bucuaru, which resembles the sycamore, , is used. The coffee seed is planted in a : nursery and the seedlings are transplanted to the field when they are about a foot high. They must be kept free from weeds and have a good deal of water. A coffee plantation without irrigating facilities is worthless, but after the bushes are fully grown they are not so much trouble or cipense to care for. The blossoms, which are as b autiful as those of the orange floi\c-, begin to appear about the third year, and the liltti a small crop may be expected, but the trees do not mature until the seventh yeai and a full crop will not be gathered before the eighth. A well-shaded estate will last sixty or seventy-five years and bear fruit regularly. There is one plantation just outside the city of Caracas which was planted in 1810, and another that was planted at the end of the last century. Both of them are producing luxuriously. Coffee is a tough crop, is never affected by bugs or worms or grasshoppers, although the trees may perish from thirst or the fruit may rust from too , much rain. ASfeivw -2 ^ . r. . -.WTA. --pfv \ ... " v.- . - , . ' ; There are several kinds of coffee. The "Caracas washed" is the be3t, and its superiority is due to the fact that it is treated with so much carc while being cured. All the pulp and extraneous substances are carefully washed by hand from the berry, and therefore there is nothing to impair its flavor. When ripe the color of the fruit is scarlet and it resembles a cherry in size and 9hape, but it tastes very differently, being excessively bitter and rasping. A persimmon is mild in comparison. When the fruit i3 ni/tlrad if ic mm fhmii<rh n rruaVipr wViirVi -- ?O T breaks the skin and separates the pulp from the seeds. Next it is put through a sort of separator and then stirred violently around in a whirling basin of water to wash it clean; for it is essential to remove all the pulp from the kernel. The Caracas washed coffee is then all passed through the hands of women and girls, who rub it and separate the large fmra the small kernels, and take out all that are defective. Then it is spread out on cement floors to dry, placed in sacks, and sent to market. Coffee should be at least three years old to taste its best, for when it is green there is a rank flavor about it whi<A disappears with age. From three to five years old it is at its best. Cocoa, the chocolate bean, is an even more profitable crop than coffee, and its price is fixed?almost as fixed as that of gold. In some portions of the country cocoa beans are still used as legal tender, and in many of the smaller towns customers at market have to take them in lieu of small change, as they use rolls of bread in Ecuador. Coffee was introduced into the country from Arabia by the Francis- I can monks, but cocoa was indigenous to the soil and was used in large quantities by the Indians for food at the time of the discovery. It was, not liked by the Spaniards at first, but was introduced in France by the Franciscans, who were always very enterprising fellows, and the French cooks at once adopted it into jrre.at fayor. , Cardinal Richelieu is. said co nave Deen me nrst cnocoiaie uriuwr of any fame and to have set the fashion of using it. There are two kinds, the native cocoa, called El Criollo, and an imported plant, called El Trinitario, that was brought to the country from Trinidad and other of the "West India islands. The former is of greatly superior quality and is scarce. Not more than five or six thousands bags are raised annually, and it is worth from $32 to $35 gold a bag of 110 pounds. Of the Trinidad variety about a hundred thousand bags are raised, and it sells for $18 or $20 a bag. The native plant reAVENUE OF BACUARA TREE3. quires peculiar soil and care and grows best in the hottest and most unhealtbful regions, so that there is not much comfort in its cultivation. The cocoa plantations are found all along the coast of Venezuela and are more profitable than coffee on account of their requiring less attention, as well as because of the greater value of the crop. A cocoa plantation is set in quite the same manner as a coffee orchard, except that the young stocks may be transplanted from the nursery after two months' growth. No preparation of the soil is deemed necessary and no manures a e applied. The young trees are planted about fifteen feet equidistant, which will accommodate 100 trees to tue acre. Between the rows and at like spaces are planted rows of the bucuara tree, that serves to shade the soil as well as to shield the youug trees from the torrid sun. Small permanent trenches must be maintained from tree to tree throughout the entire length of the rows, so that, at least once in each week, the stream, descending from the mountains, may be turned into these little channels and bear needful moisture to trees and soil. At the age of five years the plantation begins to bear fruit, and annually yields two crops, that ripening in June twiner tprmed t.hr> rron nf Ran .Tnan. nnrl that maturing at Christmas being known as the crop of La Nnvidad. The average age to which the tree attains, under proper care, may be estimated at forty years, during which period it will give fair to full crops of fruit; but, of course, it must be understood that, as in our fruit orchards, a new tree must be set from time to time to replace one that may be decayed or blighted. After I careful inquiry it may be safely stated j that the average crop of the cocoa plan- j tation at ten years of age, and under a I proper state of cultivation, will amount to five or six hundred pounds an acre. The fruit or seed of the cocoa in form, size and color is quite similar to the almond. These seeds, to the number of sixty or eighty, arc fhcased in a pod, that, except in color, is the counterpart of a young muskmelon, being elongated and ribbed in the same manner. Its color, when green, is like that of the egg-plant, but on ripening it assumes a reddish hue. A. peculiarity of the cocoa is that it bears fruit "from the ground up," the trunk of the tree yielding fruit as well as the branches. Upon ripening the pods are gathered from the trees ana neapea m piles on the ground, where they are left for some day? to ferment, after which they burst open, when the seed must be jhelled out. After a light exposure to the svtn, during which time great care must be taken to protect them from the rain, they are packed and ready for the market.?Chicago Neics. Death in a Letter. Just a little while ago an occurrence took place on the other side of the ocean which, while by no means without a parallel, is still a matter that will interest all who are fond of studying, in an ama- I teur way, the transmission of disease. A poor fellow died in London of typhoid fever, and his wife sent to a friend in Glasgow a letter conveying the news of his decease. While the fever at thfi time was very prevalent in the neighborhood where the London victim died there was no sign of it in Glasgow then, but three days after the receipt of the letter the Glasgow friend grew sick with all the typhoid symptons. The doctors who attended him so diagnosed the case, and expressed the opinion that notwithstanding the long journey between London and Glasgow the letter had carried the germs of the disease. Menelik II., the new King of Abyssynnia, is the son of a beggar woman who took his father's fancv. Abyssinia's Powerful New King. King Menelik n., with a vast retinue, ||| Is advancing north to Adua, where all Kings of Abyssinia are crowned. Within J&M a few weeks tho ceremony of coronation jBHj will be performed. The new ruler ol Abyssinia will be the most powerful rulet Abyssinia has had for generations, for his kingdom includes not only the domain > of the late King John, but also Shoa, Menelik's own country, in the Southeni ' V%jl part of the Abyssinian highlands, whet* -> rl Menelik has longhad an army of 100,000 men, about one-fourth of whom carry im- . proved firearms. Menelik's father, King Haelou, heard one day that a woman of striking beaotjj was seeking alms at the doors of the V'JfiI palace. He sent for hef, and was so . ^ greatly impressed by her charms that jhfl b introduced her among the women of his establishment. When a little boy was born the King said he would not recojj? . nize him as his son unless in the courw of years he showed a striking resemblance '7 to his Majesty. As the boy grew up he came to look very much like his royali father, and the King named him as hia heir, though he had other sons who thought they had a better right to the throne. The most powerful native ruler : 1 in Africa to-day is, therefore, the son of a beggar woman,''and his mother recently f&jgaj was still alive, enjoying high honor inj ; MEXELIK II. This nififcure of MenpJilc TT is frnm tt " photograph taken four years ago. Physically the King is not an impressive per- '/%; son. He is almost coal black, short, and dumpy. Unlike his uncle, Ras Darghe, i-'J and others among the ^chief advisers, he is very friendly to Europeans, and wants to introduce their arts into his counttyi He has a remarkable fondness for ma- :J chineiy and implements of all sorts, and ./|&g his greatest delight is to examine theii " mechanism. Explorers say he ruined rfd&ti about a dozen watches and alarm flocks, taking them apart and trying to put them . together again. He became at last, hoif- ^ ever, quite a proficient watch tinkerer. Several years ago Mr. Chefneux tooki the King as a present from the French Government a mitrailleuse. For con- a|| venience of carrying it had been taken to pieces and compactly packed. The weapon reached the King several days before the traveler did, and very much to Mr. Chef-j neux's astonishment he found the weapon properly put together and mounted. The King had made a careful study of the /a mechanism of firearms, and with the aid of a picture of a mitrailleuse he had pre- Mi pared this little surprise for the white ( man. ; The King is gentle and amiable to +n fhnap w>in liavft hin frip.ndshirv hilt hft !SI has been guilty of acts of gross cruelty j|l and injustice to conquered enemies. He ;'|8 has largely widened the boundaries ol Bhoa by conquering the fierce Galla tribe# around him. He has some men of ability among his generals and councilors, anij to them much of his prestige is attributed. Personally he is not conspicuous as a warrior, and in most things he has showuj himself easily influenced by his advisers^. ; But he is distinguished above them all ; for his faith in the advantage of drawing useful lessons from civilized'countries, 'ip He does not like missionaries, however.V 9 In 1885 he kept two Swedish missionaries practically prisoners in his chief town for | ten months, and then sent them back to the coast. Since then he has expelled i. all the French Catholic and German miseionaries from his country. The King was very angry at the docision of the great powers to forbid the importation of firearms and gunpowder / jB into the interior of Africa. He i?, how ever, in a measure independent, as he "JJ makes his own gunpowder and has a great number of improved firearms.- 1 When King John was killed a few months ago it was known to be his wish f that his nephew should succeed him. Menelik, however, proclaimed himself King of Abyssinia, and all the provinces < of the country except Tigre have recognized him as the new ruler.The Shoans are of the same race and speak the same language as the Abyssinians. Their country is simply a part of Abyssinia whose chief becamc powerful enough to be practically independent ol the ruler further north.?New York Sun. , ^ Love's Young Dream. 11 fjfsi "11 She?"When w<2 art married, darling,! what pet name shall I call you?" He?"Call me Birdy, simply Birdy J . 'I that is all."?Lift. Consumption i3 rare in childhood, but increases rapidly after the age of fifteen, and is most common between the ages of twenty-five and thirty. Those who escape it till the latter age are less and less prone to it as they advance in years, and may escape it entirely, even though they may have a heredetary predisposition to it. Edwin Riggs, a farmer of Pleasants County, West Virginia, being greatly annoyed by rats in his barn, filled a half hogshead with water, put chaff over the top, scattered meal on it, and in the morning fished out over twar hundred dead rats. jBL