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ft*'r /' ' fe ' OR The Strange Tragedy of the Grand Hotel. Kf* BY ARTHUR GRIFFITHS. CHAPTER IV.-Conitnued. Hasnip would not reply to my knocl until I gave him my name. At length h< opened the door, 6aying: "I hardly expected to see you bad here, Mr. Leslie. What have you done with your friend?" "I 6aw her to her room," I replied briefly and evasively. I did not like his tone or his manner. ? "Anyhow, she 6ha'n't give us the slip I've seen to that," said Hasnip, with i wink of self-satisfaction. "You won't dare to have her arrested?' "Dare? Certainly; when the time comes. It will be enough just now to have hei ; well watched. The chief will seo to that. If we should And another similar pin, oi .* trace the ownership of this " He produced that picked up on the floor. "Give me that pin!" I said, rathei fiercely. "I shall do nothing of the kind." *1 found it." "Granted. But I represent the law foi which you were acting, and I claim the pin. It is evidence, the strongest eviaence in the case." "If you look at it in that light"?what did it matter whether he kept the pin oi not? I had its fellow and I would take i care that it did not pass into his hands? "I suppose I mast yield." "Of course. The law is the first contideration. But there"?he spoke more civilly, being evidently pleased at my submission?"you sha'n't give it to me foi nothing, we'll make a fair exchange. While you were away I, too, found something." I felt sick at heart. Had this impru dent girl still further compromised her elf? "Here; in this room?" fea?.' "Yes; under the bed. A ring." % "Gracious heavens! a lady's ring!" But no; I was suddenly reassured by tne thought that if it were a lady's ring and useful therefore to his line of investigation, he would not offer to make an ex? change. "I cannot say exactly. It's too small for eyen a child's finger. And it is only ft common thing of brass." $ He produced from his pocket a small circle of brass, very thin, its exterior surface adorned with a conventional arabesque pattern. I took it, looked at it for some time, -and shook my head. "What is it, do you think?" asked Hasnip, carelessly. & I have not the least idea. Do you sup. pose it bears on the cose?" He shrugged his shoulders. "If it does, I shall be much surprised. But you may make something out of it. You can have it if you like. I'll fieep the hair-pin." I did not think the exchange was a (air one, but I took the ring and the detective went on to say: "Well, we've about done here, I think. It is time to be going bacfc to tne chier." "I have 110 desire to stay here," I said: "come along. By the way, there is nothing more to be got out of this, I suppose?" and I kicked the portmanteau with my foot. It was a very ancient affair, foreign in aake and look, of the kind seen so often on the Channel steamers in the hands of foreigners anxious to escape the expense and delays of registering baggage. "Was that really his name? I said once more, as I stooped to examine the address label closely. I saw now that it was not very securely pasted down, and takiDg my penknife, I lipped the blade under a corner and presently lifted the whole label. "See here, Hasnip' The man gave his came as Joseph Cooch in the hotel & ; books.Hasnip started. "You'll be ablo to teach me my work f jet. He was here, then, under an assumed name?" The dark face of the corpse was mere v than sunburned. "He was a sailor, or had been. A Spanish sailor. I expect that would count for & * the initials." "How would it acconnt for the initials?" Hasnip had no pretensions as a ?. IingUlSl. "x would stand for Xavier. I do not . think that there is a Christian name beginning with X in any other Latin language except French, and he is hardly a Frenchman. Again, the Y used indiffer.1 ently -with the I, is peculiarly the character of Spanish." "I don't quite understand." "This 'de Y'might be for'del.' For instance, Ysnaga for Isnaga, ot. Yglesiao for Iglesias, and so on." "Ah!" said Hasnip, indifferently. My philological deduction did not interest aim. "Shall we be going, then?unless, of course, anyth ng else strikes you here?" "Xo, I think there is nothing alse. Let & as go down." I was really anxiouB for a few quiet moments to thiuk over the strange events of the morniDg, to consider them carefully, one by one. to examine their bearing on the several persons concerned. The inquest assembled at 2 o'clock. Its proceedings were of a formal nature and elicited nothing more th tn we al . xeady knew. The only witnesses added little to our knowledge of the facts. The girl 6tuck to her story, and described ex ctly how she came upon the body; and the doctor, after expatiating upon the n:i. ture of the wound, was more than evei precise as to the hour when death was in flictecl He tixed it beyond question a I * between 11 and 12 o'clock at night. The manager was then called in. auc3 questioned about the murdered man. > "His name, as entered in the hotel books, was Joseph Cooch. Ho only arrived yesterday, and no one, except t be office cleik, had noticed him particularly." "He was quite a stranger, in fact?" "The bead-waiter, who is a great deal about, never saw him speak to any one He has questioned the other waiters, anc they nav the same thine." idis is only hearsay evidence," saiil the Coroner; "we must have the head waiter and some of the others." They *ere called?half a dozen ol them, Germans mostly?Wilhelm, Fritz, * Guslaf. and so on. Among them wa9 the xnnn Cornelis, wnom we had 6een thHt morning in the bedroom attending on th< manager, and who, when asked where he came from, described himself as a Fleming, a native of the northern piovince oi Belgium. I examined this Cornelis closely as hf gave his evidence, remembering the curious look on his face when this same ques. tion of the dead man's acquaintances was discussed. He seemed rather frightened. His "white face was paler than ever, and his mannej was nervous and unensy. Still, he Btuck to his former statement So far as he knew, the dsad man hud had uo dealings with any of the visitors in the hotel. I was not quite satisfied with his answer, straightforward as it seemed, noi with his way of giving it. I was resolved to question him further if I got a chance if not. I would ma1 xne examination of the witnesses brought the inquiry to a standstill. "I fear we must now adjourn," said the Coroner, gravely. "We have exhausted the inquiry far as it goes, for the present. The investigation must now be continued by the uolice. It is in good r ! tinlcTlv. as r>nft nr.knnwlfirTonc nnrf rncAnfq I ! hands," and lie" Bowed "civilly to~ii Smart. "Our chief constable can trusted, I think, to? leave no stone u turned in his search for the miscrea who has done this most atrocious deed, must ask you, gentlemen,"?this was I i the jury?"to be in readiness to asseml whenever further news is forthcoming On the rising of the inquest, Mr., Smt and Hasnip went off together. I fanci the detective wished to drop me, and 6eerued to have imparted his dislike, d trust, suspicions?whatever it might be to his chief, for there was a want of ct diality in Mr. Smart's "good-day," as nodded aud left the room. : "They may be glad enough of my e J 6istance yet," I said to myself. B whether or not, I sha.ll do my bestto pi ; Cect that poor girl. I shall not tell the ? what I have discovered, whatever th may think of my reticence if it comes c , by and by." CHAPTER V. COBNELIS CONFESSES. > m i The rest of that day I was watching 1 an opportunity of speaking privately ' Corneli6. None offered till evening, wh I t-aw the waiter cross the central hi of the hotel and make for the offices , 'the back. I followed him along a pai t age leading to a two-storied detach building at the back of the hotel, whi ( proved to be the male servants' qui ters. Cornelis went up-stairs, pans : before a door, unlocked it with a fe which he took from his pocket, a: went in. His bed-room, no doubt. "Witho hesitation and without apology I went i 1 too, closing the door oehind me. ] looked at me with open-mouthed astc ishment, unable, as it seemed, to que tion my intrusion. :| "I must have a few words with you," 1 i becan at once. "I want you to answer few questions, and bo careful what y say." | "Who are you? What do you want her ' This is my private room." he stammer [ out, trembling with either indisrnation fear. "You lied to-day," I said sternly, ma ing the statement at hazard, but with ? the positiveness of settled conviction. "When? How? This is not fair. C away. What do you mean?" "I mean that you did not tell the i quest all you knew. You suw the po 1 man " , "What poor man? You very stran [ gentleman, sir." "Cooch?you know who I mean?tl murdered man." Comelis shuddered at this referent to the crime. "You saw him, I say, speak to sor one; something passed between him ai one of the other visitors? Is it not s Come, tell me?at once." Comelis hung his head, still doggedl obstinately siient. "Suppose I tell you?you promise n to bring me in, not to mention n name?" "I promise conditionally. If the poli insist on knowing, or if the law requir it, I shall have to give up the source my information." He shook his head, apparently dissati fied. "But I cannot waste time in treatii f nn TaII tv*a flf nnPfl or take t] | consequences. I will go straight to t] manager." And I moved toward the door. "Wait, sir, wait. I did see the Strang talking fast, very fast; quarreling, think, with one of (he gentlemen here. "With whom? Where was it? Com out with it at once!" "In the upper smoking-room. The: was no one else present. They not s< me. either of them; they too angry, t< excited. But I see both, him that w; killed last night, and the other." "Who was he? Quick!" "I not know his name for certain. I stay here for some time?fair gentlems with two eyes." "You fool, that's nothing peculiar." "Two diiferent eyes; one blue, 01 brown." "Captain Fawcett, a friend of Mr. an Mrs. Sarsfield?" "Yes, that's him,"cried Cornelia, catcl .ing at the name eagerly. "I rememb< him now. Fair gentleman. Speak shai and short to we waiters. That him." "And why did you not tell this to tl Coroner to-day? It is most importnj information; you had no right to wit! hold it." "I afraid. The Captain very croi man. Don't know what he do to me if accuse him." "You would have accused him of notl ing. Only he would have been oblige to say what he knew about the murderc man. "I hope you not get me into troubl sir. I very quiet man; try to do righ Don't tell the manager, jf lease, or th Captain; he is Bure to be very cross wit me." "I shall have to do what is right, n friend; the mattter cannot rest here And 60 saying I took my departure, lea^ ing Hans very woe-begone and unhapp The new factB thus wrung from the ui willing Rurally made a deep in pression on me. They intensified u suspicions of Captain Fawcett, and, ij deed, supplied very damaging eviden< I nooincf him Mra SnrafiAlrJ'n insinni tion was now corroborated in the mo convincing way. Here was the wait Cornelis, who had overheard the inte view, altercation, quarrel, between Ca] i tain Fawcett and the murdered man. If Cornelis had only understood wh had passed between them! In this heat< conversation, overheard, but unhappi not understood, was doubtless the cle to the crime. On leaving Cornelis I went straight the upper smoking-rcom, the scene of tl AUAvAnfinn <lacnviho/l K\r V?trr? Tn r* disgust I found I was not to have theroo I to myself; some one else was alreac there. But my annoynnce gave place surprise and satisfaction when I saw th the other occupant was Captain Fawce ; himself. We had a nodding acquain ance, besides which there was a curio' I camaraderie that makes all smokers a quaintances, ready enough to talk t [ gether over the fragrant weed. "So you have found out this quiet ai s retired* spot?" began Captain Fawcel "Do you often come here?" "Not ofcen; do you?" "Only when I want to get away fro [ the ciowd. I have not been here for week." j "Liar!" I thought to myself. "Ai Cornelius Baw you here yesterday wi I i your victim." . I "But the rest of the hptel has becoD I unbearable since that horrible affair. [ was re illy glad to get away from eve , one. There is only one topic on th? > lips." t "It is very natural, however," I sai j "that the murder should occupy every oi j to-day. For myself I can think of not ing else " [ "Oh! come, if you nre going to tal about it too, I shall take myself off. Pe > ^aps down upon the beach I shall escaj - from the inevitable subject. It begins . weary me, I confess." i "Pray don't let me drive you away; \ will talk of romething else. I suppos j like most men of your cloth, Captain Fa1 r cett. you have beon a great traveler." "1 have done my share. India, tl West Indies, Canada, the Cape of Goi n [ 5 "Have you ever been in the South i Europe, in Italy or Spain?" "Spain, yes; I was quartered at Gibra r tar ten or twelve years ago." I "You can tell me, perhaps, is n j Xavier?Havier, I believe, is the rig] way to pronounce it?is it not a pure , Spanish Christian name?" And i.s I asked this in the most ui , concerned way I fixed my eyes upon hi keenly, to notice whether the name mac anv impression. His eyes, this curious dissimilar pa of tyes. met mine lor a second or *n TURKISH GIRLS, HOW ORIENTAL MAIDEN'S ART PEXTED AND SPOILED. How They Aro Educated?At Pour teen :i Bride?Their Pleasures Extremely Limited and Simple. k' i a stranger's stare. Then quite suddenly n_ | he dropped them in confusion, I thought. "Havier is the right pronunciation; the t , X 16 pronounced as a strong aspirate." to ; "And it is pure Spanish?" jje | "So far as I know, yes." j "Are there nny otber Christian names in Spanish beginning with X?" 0(j "For the moment, 1 enn recall none. ^ But why do you ask all this?" I8_ "I am only taking advantage of your knowledge, which is not common, and is likely to be particularly in request just v~ now." "In what way, pray?" "You may be called upon to givo eviI dence as.to the Christian name. Through it ttie police may yet suc ceed in identify^ ing the murdered man." "I thought he was called Cooch." int "That is, and I think rightly, thought to have been only assumed. There is another name the police have unearthed" "In what way?" "His portmanteau bears the initials? P-T they weje concealed under the address to labels?the initials X. de Y." en | "Pshaw! He may have bought, bor0ii rowed or 6tolen the portmanteau. "Who at knows?" 5B- "Have you any idea what this is?" ed And I produced from my waistcoat ch pocket the little brass ring which Hasnip ir- had picked up in No. 99 and given me in ed exchange for the hair-pin. ;ev "That! Let me look at it in my hand." The ring was transferred from my palm to his, where it lav for a minute or two nt while he examinea it curiously. "No, it beats me. I have not the least gl idea what it is. Is there any history atin_ tachedtoit? Who gave it to you? Where ~ did you get it from?" Should I tell him? Why not? This i j ring, or whatever it was, had been picked a up near the scene of the murder; but there ou was nothing to connect it with Captain Fawcett. Why Bhould I conceal what I - knew about the ring? 6' "The ring is of no intrinsic value, nor ed of any use, possibly; but I, like you, am or in tho dark as to that It is only interesting from the fact"?I paused, slightly k- ?"that it was picked up "?I again paused ill ?"in the bedroom of the murdered man.'" This shot told. His hand closed conro vulsively on the ring as though he would retain it Was it, then, a tangible piece n- of evidence, what the French call piece or de conviction, a clew tending to incriminate the guilty person? ge "I must ask you to give me that back," I said with some sternness. "I haye told ie you where it was found, nnd it belongs or right to the officers of the law. Give it :e me, please." "Oh, of course, directly!" Q0 But I gathered from his hesitating id manner that he would like to convey it o? away anywhere, for choice to the bottom of the sea. y, "I must have it at once," I went on, growing more and more peremptory, ot "Don't be J " not ij done looking at it." " I don't like this, Captain Fawcett; I ce must insist upon your surrendering it at es once." of "Come, come, 6ir, don't talk to me in that tcne," said Captain Fawcett, evi8* dentlv nettled. "What's all this about?" cried a new 3S voice. "High words? Don't lose your k0 temper, Fawcett." 16 It was his friend, Mr. Sarsfield, who had come into the smoking-room unobserved, and overheard the last speech. er "I appeal to you," said I, "a friend of I this gentleman. He is not behaving as he ought. I lent him something to look ?> at, and he will not restore it to me." "I was on the point of restoring it to r? him. It is a ridiculous thing to quarrel 56 about. See, Sarsfield," and Captain Fawcett put the little ring into his friend's is hand. "It is a small thing, I will admit," said . I, angrily, "but it has an importance far 6 beyond its . appearance, although neither in of us know exactly what it is. Do you?" Mr. Sarsfield stood eilentlv examining it for so long that I was disappointed *? ttVioti V>n kniri at loot* , "I fear I cannot help you.' Perhaps you ia will tell me why it is bo valuable?" "Simply because it is one of the only 1" clews that have yet turned up about the 9r murder." "P "Can it be possible?" cried Mr. Sarsfield, as much moved as Captain Fawcett had been. "How is that?" at "This trumpery bit of brass may yet 1_ lead to the detection of the murderer; it was picked up by the bedside of the 5j corpse." "Yon are right to say that it is of deep j. importance. There it is," and he handed ,<] it to me; "but if I were you, sir, 1 should j(j not allow it to pass out of your own possession. " e, "You are quite right, sir. I shall not t. part with it again until I can surrender it is to the police. And as I spoke I darted h a meaning look at Captain Fawcett. But he was busily engaged in'refilling 1V his pips, and as I bad no desire to get ? into ;i fresh dispute with him, I rose and J. left the room. y" [to be continued.] a- ' A Chinese Country lfonse. i- A Chinese farm house is a curious :e lookicg abode. Usually it is sheltered with groves of feathered bamboo and s* thick spreading banyans. The walls are " of clay aud wood, and the interior of th< 3. house consists of one main room extend' ?? ? 4-vtn flfa filnfl rnnf wifl* 1L1?? iiULll tUC UUW1 tv vuv ivv> at closet looking apartments in the corner* for sleepimg rooms. There is a sliding ^ windos on the roof made out of oystei shells arranged in rows, while the side to windows are mere wooden shutters, ae The fioor is bare earth, where at night1>' fall there ofteu gathers together a miscellaneous family of dirty children, fowls, tQ ducks, pigeons and a litter of pigs, al; at living together in happy harmony. Ic itt some districts interested by marauding t- bands houses are strongly fortified with 118 high walls, containing apertures for fire~ arms and protected by a moat crossed by a rnde drawbridge. "With grain, swine ? -J- L! f ? C ,.?A id anci a wen unucr ms ruui mu lauuci ?uu tt. his men might hold out against a year's sie^c.?Jewish Memnjer. im a A Battle Rose. q(1 One of the Wars of the Roses, the th fiercest and deadliest of thein all, was fought on a field, where, cnriouslv enough, a rose peculiar to the spot grows, or used to grow. It is a rare (jr plant now, and the reason is explained by Mr. Leadman iu his account of Yorkd, shire battles.. After describing the terrible conflict at Towton ou Palm Sunday, 1461, he says: "I caunot conclude iv this story of Towton Field without au rl allusion to the little dwarf bushes pecuje liar to the 'Field of the White Rose and to the Red.' They are said to have been plentiful at the commencement of this century, but visitors have taken them away in such numbers that they have become rare. Such vandalism is simply tie shameful, for the plants are said to be unique aud unable to exist in any other soil. The little roses are white, with o red spot on the ceuter of ench of then j_ petals, and as tlrjy grow old the unde: surface becomes a dull red oolor.?Louoi ion Neics. tit ? "y if you want to find out whether or j a. not your son has been robbing peach. iij trees, set a dish of peaches before him. If he ignores the fruit, he in ir guilty. If he eats heartily, he U to either innocent or a hos. i TUe importance airacnea oy mioieraoi Moslems to the separation of men anc women is shown in the method of build inj* houses which still prevails at Con. stantinople. Every Turk who can afford to do so divides his residence into haren and selamlik, and while connecting th< two from within, gives, if practicable, i street door to each. This arrangemeni is symbolical of the reigme which com. mands the sexes to live apart, unless united by ties of closest relationship,and requires them even to conduct theii intercourse privately, and, so to say, unrecognized by the outer world. A Turkish girl is petted and spoilt, especially by her father and the slaves, often to a dangerous extent, and what is worse, not frequently a witness to sights and recipient of chatter demoralizing in t.h? extreme. Besides this the harem. and-selamlik system stands in the way of instruction which, under favorable circumstances, her father might quite possibly give her. She dwells almost exclusively with women, perhaps all of them, including her own mother, purchased slaves, for as a rule her brothers, particulaily if pupils in the highei schools of Constantinople or Europe, are seldom at home after their education Tairly begins. A further drawback it the rapidity with which she develops into womanhood. At ten years old she may be an unlettered child, and al fourteen a maiden ii* the marriage market. Girlhood is tco short in the East for the welfare of mind and body. Some twenty or thirty years ago there wa3 a great educational movement in Constantinople, a Ministry of Public In> A TCRKISn GIRL OF THE WEALTHY CLASS. struction was instituted, schools were founded, and everything seemed to herald the dawn of a new intellectual era in Turkey. Previous to that time the only schools for girls existing throughout the Empire were the Rushdieh or primary schools, generally attached to the mosque oi eacn quarter. A pretty custom, which r^y still be seen in many of the old -juarters of Stumboul, prevailed on the admission of a new pupil to one of these schools. On the day appointed for her arrival the children of the school, headed by the imam, and perhaps somebody with a "musical" instrument, go in procession to the house of the new scholar, who awaits them decked in her mo3t splendid finery, a new satchel, gaudily embroidered, hanging at her side. If she be very little her father or some goodnatured man will carry her, while the quaint procession, singing hymns to the Padishah, wends its way through the streets to the school. Afterward all return in the same way to the new pupil's house, where a feast of cakes and sweetmeats awaits them. At these schools the imam, or reader of jthe mosque, provides a scanty mental nourishment to boys and girls together. Under his care the girl learns to repeat a few verses from the Koran, and to read and write a little. But when she becomes old enough to wear the yashmak, that is, about ten, she is taken from school, as it is no longer seemingly for her to keep company with boys. The smattering of the two R.'s which she acquires is never kept up and gradually slips out of memory, her time now being occupied in learning to wait deftly, and to perform gracefully all those elaborate obeisance* and genuflexions which occupy such an important place in Turkish society. In rich families the girls used to share, and still do in some ileuses, with their brothers, the instructions of tl;<s hodja, a species of resident tutor. Any of the sluve girls who desire to learn are-also free to do so from the same teacher. From the hodja the girl may, if inclined to intellectual pursuits, acquire, besides reading, writing and the rudiments of arithmetic, something of Ottoman history and literature. It is interesting to note that neither singing nor rlnn/>infr i? rnnsiderHtl a desirable an complisbment for a girl; it is decidedly 4lfast" for her to do either. As many Turkish gentlemen object to their women folk shopping in the town, on account of the opportunity it affords for flirtation,it is a common practice with Pcra tradesmen to send their shop-girls to the harem with goods for sale, or dresses to be tried on. These girls,generaly French Levantines,bright ta\cing in manner' and atftearaa ces, sometimes catch the fancy of their customers, and it is a common fallacy of the Turk that a person gifted in one capacity must be equally so in every other, a shop girl will often be engaged as nursery governess by some semi-enlightened human anxious to educate her girl a la Franca. Utterly unfit both a3 regards knowledge and character to undertake such duties, theso girls impart to their pupils little beyond a slight knowledge of the French language aud a taste for novels of the Zoia school. The impulse to extreme fli^htiness which results has brought Frank education into disrepute, and checked the movement, still in its infancy, for the better instruction of girls, the Turk generally being ignorant of the world and judging by his own limited experience. The serious Mussulmans are shocked at the levity of the girls brought up in the new fashion, and perceive in it a justification of their objection to Christian teachers, while the ardor of the progressionists has been damped by the unforseen consequences of haste. To obviate this prejudice and prevent the corruption of Mussulman girls, a Normal School was founded in Stamboul in 1870 by Sp.vfet Pasha, a polished gentle- \ man and an accomplished scholar, who 1 wa3 the Minister of Public Instruction at i , that time. The plan was to take girls < 11 who had left the Rushdieh schools and give them a strictly orthodox education j i which would fit "them for teachers in j Eecondary girls' schools nnd lor govern- ? esses in the harems of the rich. j This, however, is not the only effort ( that has been made to raise the standard j of education. In Constantinople and } some of the larger towns of the Empire ( ' jecondary girls' schools have been ( founded. The subjects taken up in these | schools are the same as in the Normal j 1 School. No European language, It will 1 be noticed, is taught in any of the girl*' j 1 schools. g 1 The pleasures of Turkish girb are ex- t ' tremely simple and limited. Shut out ^ ' from that limitless world of entertain* 5 ment which the literature of civilized ? ' I countries opens up to the European child r directly she can read, with the exception ^ pf festivities in the harem, cn red-letter t days, her pleasures consist in an occa- y i sional picnic or accompanying her*elders ^ i on the visits which occupy such a large t ! portion of a Turkish lady's time. 1 On household festivals or great relig- 1 1 ious feasts wealthy people will often or * - i-i???... gamze entertainments on n very ciauumw> r scale. Gipsy dancers or a troupe of " ' clowns with some sort of pantomime oi ! show, are engaged for the occasion, and : the neighbors, rich and poor, are invited ' to the performance. The Turks being ' exceedingly hospitable, a friend of th? > hostess is free to bring all her sisters and her cousins and her atints, with thcii i families, on such occasions. These are i high days for the Turkish girl?for hei elders, too?though an English child ol i ten or twelve would think the entertainI ments very poor performances indeed. The dances are at times rather graceful, and the music, when one is used to it? > everything depends on your being used to it?is not always excruciating; bul : the coarse, almost brutish humor of the i pantomimes,would be decidedly distasteful to a western audience. A more pleasant side of Turkish girl life is that which may be seen any day in early summer, at the Sweet Waters of Europe or some other favorite resort on the outskirts of Constantinople. The family will set out in the morning and ipreading their rugs in some field, spend the day there doing nothing, and apparently very well contented with the occupation. The women squat on the ground with their feet under them. It | * I t-..i A iv ?... | \ is dot. romantic, out iruuu cumpcia uic m state that all Turkish girls ultimately be- * come bandy-legged; the fine, wel'-made women one occasionally meets in Stam- r boul are mostly Circassians. A few cakes ' and some rahat lakhoum or other sweet suffices for both young and old. A stranger is invariably struck with , . the prematurely serious air that Turkish . children wear. The elder girls do not ; 1 play and run in the manner that English i people expect of healthy children. , 1 They sit or stroll about, quietly and. ^ I gravely, their yashmaks loosened and ; forming a snow-white framework which i* displays to advantage their complexion, as yet unspoiled by paint and powder. ! On the approach of a man they will hast ily draw over their yashmak, not so .j close, however, that the stranger cannot p admire their face if he has a fancy foi; J Turkish beauty, which, though in girls p !? A DRUSE GIRL. and young women sometimes very attractive, is too frequently of the half-bred Tartar type, lacking intelligence and refinemeut. In tbe accompanying engraving of a Turkish maiden may be seen the fashionable yashmak and feridjeh, which, if not well adapted for walking, aro distinct improvements on the thick linen facecloth and ungainly over-garment even yet affected by some plain and venerable dames. When thi9 new-cut and coouet tish costume was first remarked in carriages and caiques the Turkish Sirs. Grundy, who happened then and for several years afterward to have an ally in the Sultan Aziz's mother, raised an alarm ? and the authorities received instructions to crush the revolt. But Turkish ladies care little for the police, and notwith- 0 standing ^ne or two fanatical soldiers y the fair offenders held fast to their gay c, plumage. The example spread like s?" wildtire and soon reached the palace it- C1 self, where hundreds of prett^ creatures g speedily followed it and the struggle was S( virtually decided. Mrs. Grundy is beat- jj en, and beyond an occasional idle protest tacitly admits her defeat. ^ Dead now is the prudish Sultana, and just as well for her peace of mind, seeing jj that the triumphant Turkish woman has w no intention of resting satisfied with her ^ first victory. She now proposes to establish her right to shop l.-eely, listen . to public bands and otherwise enjoy ^ harmless privileges, and that she will j eventually dc so unhindered nobody .l acquainted with Constantinople can doubt. But it is always the few who J fight the battle, the mass remaining 5V neutral nntil the day is won. Than these timid ones gladly benefit by the success they have not helped to obtain. Another illustration shows a girl in the c< harem, but she is too smartly attired for ol everyday life and evidently expects a' friends. Visiting forms the chief rcc- ' reation in winter, but it cannot be very P1 cxciting for the gir l,as she is expected tc to speak only when directly addressei, ?' and is moreover, not allowed the solace m of a cigarette, that indulgence being con- 111 sidpred onlv proper for married women. The picture of the Druse girl is produced to give a specimen of the head- d dress, once common to all Lebanese females. The^laronites have, however, it ceased to wear it sincc a woman when t< kneeling at the altar, awkwardly knocked w the Host out of the hands of the officiat- w ing priest. $ The most highly instructed girls are, I comparatively, so few in number that C 3 they hardly ret constitute a clasI refer to the daughters of certain wealthy and powerful pashas, who, having shaken Wil ail the trammels of bigotry and pre- One judice, cducate their children in, as far An is is practicable. European fashion. Anc: These fathers send their sons abroad, i md provide capable foreign governesses 41 for the girls. In such homes, daughters, while occupants of the schoolroom, are, jften encouraged not to neglect museum lar exorcise, which is essential to healthileas of both mind and body. They walk, irive and even ride over the paternal estates. Returning to Turkey, the boys are de* ighted to find their sisters sympathetic >ompanions, and naturally seek to marry t dies of the same cultivated stamp, and; 10 very slowly but surely the wall be- Wil ween harem and selamlik is being un- Ah, lermined. ?TW Generally about the age of fourteen or The Ifteen, sometimes even earlier comes the h ;reat event of the Turkish girl's life? arriage. It is the end she has been h rained for, the goal she has looked forward to, and the subject upon which she las probably consulted the gypsy fortune- The ellere who frequent the harems. . fciul Marriage is considered a civil rather ' than a religious ceremony, and its preiminaries, unchanged for generations, t8 AH ARAB DOMESTIC. 3 hough prosaio enough accordipg to, pm vestern notions, are to the native girl ( illed with romance, and there is certain. v one thing to be said for her view of nc matter, for in all probability, since . \ icitlier of the parlies most concerned has in nr\n/irfnnili7 nf in/lflriniT til ft rtthftr h?. 1 " j?a?ft ? orehand, the fancy untrammelled, by be i accs, is free to range the field of specu- j ation as to what the coming spouse will cry je like. ? As a matter of fact, the girl very sel3om has a voice in the selection of her n lueband. The mother, or some other ^ remale relative of the young man who kis :ontemplatC9 matrimony, having dis- ^>Tt covered a suitable maiden, goes in etate 1 bo ask her hand. . The marriage is then wh< legotiated by friends appointed by the Jou girl's parents on the one side and the nan on the other. Such at least is the it c roceeding in the great majorily of be- jor rothals, but here again the leaders of rogress are anxious to introduce , , hanges. Their efforts have not yet, lc*} owever, made sufficient impression on P *urkish life to check to any appreciable "V itent the practice of arranging matches gen without reference to the young lady's ?J istes and perhaps wishes.? English j lluttrated Maqazint. the low An Americanized Znln. I( Among the queer odds and ends of njg] umanity that have lodged in New Yoik jjav one is queerer than a certain Zulu who lay be seen any morning at the Court treet station of the Kings County Eleated road, where he now pursues the parpfnl nwn nation of Dorter. This entleman cay be recognized from other ^ ifricans by a huge topknot of natural 1681 rool which began to grow many years y?u go in his native land. He also wears a -P"71 (i HE IS CIVILIZED. us air of large goggles, through which his yes gaze with an appearance of great sstfuluess. # ^ The Zulu is put down on the pay-rolls f the company as Thomas Murphy. s^01 iTheu he is at home in Zululand he is day itiori Oiinncrn Perceriah. Mr. Murphy Yovt - A tys he was born in Gilou in 1850. He Thoi ime to this country with Chief Two trike and wa3 exhibited by Barnum for s| jveral years as a native warrior, which Re e was. He also whistled. He says that in his native undress, " lth an assegai in his hand, he is impos- to tl ig to see. In the course of his wander- go'os igs he came upon an American colored 3adl; oman, whom he loved and by whom he Detr as loved with a passion all too fierco \ )r lasting. They separated, but not yet efore he had got a good vocabulary of that ngiish words. Of the nine years of his she viDgaway from Zululand six were spent it.? l museums. The last three veara Mr. [urphv has earned his living by the Fo veat of his brow. ? Gkicxco Neies. Then Frequent, shallow cultivation of the rowing crops is one of the secrets of sue- y( )si. Have the soil in condition at time menI f planting, work it deeply once or twice, a a ad after the roots have well started keep ??j^n ic surface loose and porous, but do not raorf lunge t:ie cultivator down among the jjuu, inder, spreading roots and break them I, thus depriving the plant of the very . * eans of gathering up its needed nourish- 8 icat. ^ cry. dici 1 Borus (aspiring author)?"Naggus. , id you read that last novel of mine?*' j "aggus (literary editor)?"Yes, I read Cu . If I remember rightly, in the next . ) the last chaptcr the hero aud heroine 1S> 'E ere drowned." Borus?"But thej ere resuscitated in the last chapter." 'aggus?"I wa3 afraid they would be. didn't read the. last chapter, Borus."? bomi "hicago Trilune. ruusi .1 w INTRY-M1NTRY. ? lie and Bess, Georgie and May? *, as these children were hard at play, v] -> \ old man, hoary and tottering'came - , ' AI watched them playing their pretty game. e seemed to wonder, while standing there, What the meaning thereof could be? ha! but the old man seemed to share . yt Of the little children's innocent glee ;hey circled around with laugh and shout 1 told this rhyme at counting out; "Intry-mintry, cutrey-corn, Apple seed and apph thorn; Wire, brier, limber, lock, Twelve geese in aflock; Some flew east, some flew west, Some flew over the cuckoo's nest! lie and Bess>, Georgie and May? the mirth of that suumraer dayl : v as Father Time who had come to share -/ innocent joy of those children there; e learned betimes toe game tney played And into their sport with them went h?? ow could the children hare been afraid, Since little they recked whom he might- j be. y laughed to hear old Father Time mblingthat curious nonsense rhyme Of "Intry-mintry, cutrey-corn, / Apple seed and apple thorn; "Wire, brier, limber, loci*, Twelve geese in a flock; Some flew east, some flew west, ^ Some flew over the cuckoo's nestP' _ . lie and Bes?, Georgie and May, i joy of summer?where are they? i grim old man still standeth near oning the song of a far-off year; nd into the winter I come alone, Cheered by that mournful requiem, j . oothed by the dolorous monotone That shall count me oil as it counted . them. s solemn voice of old Father Time in ting the homely nursery rhyme He learned of the children a summer morn When, with "apple seed and apple ' r thorn," Life was full of the dulcat cheer That bringeth the grace anear? The sound of the little ones hard at? playWillie and Bessie, Gaorgie and Hay. . ?Eugene Field, in Chicago Newt. . ' ^ PITH AND POINT, f Nothing to speak of?A stolen kiw. 1olysyllable8?""Want a cracker."? % >Jc. 4 J$i 'Bread upon the waters"?Hard tack. M;?ame in with a rush?The freshmen. ' J Vale Record. V > Phe infantile prodigy in music cannot wi classed as a note-shaver. " t's the Irishman who wants his mem* ' kept-greeu.?Tale Record. 'he man who rides a wheel often ies to whoa.?New York Journal. l man may be lantern-jawed and yet face may never light up.?New Y&rli: 00 L j3 L distant relative-?The rich old uncle "|3 ) won't speak to you.?New York rnal. 7hen you feel it is all for the wont, .,'J? heers you greatly to be told It is all . the best. J t is easier to take thing? philosophly than it is to part with them loBophically. Ve have a high opinion of the intelU ce of the man who takes our advice. 7eu York Journal. f you want to get up with .the lark in morning keep away from the swal~ , s at night.?Yoniert Gazette. 'Going to the donkey party to- >; j it?" 4,No, sir." Well, then, thejil e to postpone the party."?Puck. t $|s| The wisest of all mortals is The man who, doll and slow, Doth silent keep the tongue that's his On what he doesn't know. , ?Bazar. risitor?"You say you are here as the lit of sowing wild oats. What did raise?" Prisoner ? "Checks^"? % tch. , What was the row at the Zoo this ?? ning?" "The boa-constricter got e and tried to fight with the fireon can't blow up a student waiter., will stop and argue the point with while the soup is getting cold.? as Sifting8. [amma?"Why, Johnny 1 why do you grandma grandma?" Johnny?' >z papa said he was an old woman." per's Bazar. nek?"That is a beautiful dog Diana Ihunter leads on the street." Tom? ;s. It is trained to point eligible a? men."?Puck. tie?"Why do you always refer to ic as a woman?" He?"Well, you dn't conceive of music as existing in ice, could you?"?Lift. usband?"You look very happy toit, my dear." Wile?"Well, why ildnTt I? I made twenty calls to- i and found everybody out."?New t Journal. . lgh coldly sweeps tho ni^tat breaza o'er the lea, chilleth not the autumn girl's affection bettered by k<?r lover's strong arms she ijoices in tlie doctrine ot protection. ?New York Press. Oh, do tell me," said Mrs. Glanders le tailor's wife, "what is the tailor's ie?'' "1 am," replied the woman, y, "for marrying Mr. Snips."? oit Free Prest. n Austin (Minn.) cow is the proud puzzled mother of u young animal seems to be half calf and half bear. 1 ought to start a board of trade with Chicago Tribune. u the mercury monkeys with zero r several w?jeics together, ; we may remark, wituout stretching the truib, here are uo flies on this weather." ?New York Journal. jn Crussher?"After the encourage; you have given me, to refuse me is bitterly rude thing to do." Laura? d to accept you would be a still j bitterly rued thiog."?Pilt&urg :tin. jmniy?"Papa, I was playing with tickle this morning and I fell down cut r. finger." Papa?"Did you ' Tommy?"Nope, but Willie ' Papa?"What did Willie cry ' Tommy?"It was Willie's finger ;.''? Brooklyn Citizen. ^osin is a very fine violinist." "He ideed; but there is something strange t his musical ability." "There "Yes; he plays first liddle in the estra, but plays second fiddle at i. and his wife isn't much of ft cian either."?Cape Cod Item,