Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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AV 1 CRUEL' | iTHE GRAVE: The Secret of DunraYen Castle. i r - ? I BY ANNIE ASHMORE, -.Author of "Faithful Margaret," Etc., Eto I ^ CHAPTER XII.?Continued. Kcnmore was too delicately faithful to his young lady's dignity to betray his 8uspicion9 of the real depth and source ?f her sufferings; but his rancor against ?dgar was all gone in the revulsion o{ feeling consequent upon recent oc ? * Va avfrapt. Tin curreuues. VYHUJLI UO tvum CAUWW more from his unwilling informant, Ed-j far told him the whole story of his accident and what followed. Amazement and wrath burst forth from Kenmore as he learned the fact of fiircombe having known all the timq what Edgar's fate was. "The foul fiend's in ths man!" muttert ?d Kenmore, perfectly aghast. "Little i kent it was your life he covetcd when I was rogue enough to clogue wi' him to row ye over to Scotland an' leave ya there!" I Edgar had fallen down an unknown distance, and lay stunned for a long time. When he recovered his senses hq found himself lying upon a bed of fine, deep sand, in a cell or cavern, whose walls of natural rock seemed to stretch aloft to a great height. He never could discover the opening through which he had fallen, which was no wonder, since Sircombe had blocked it up while he lay insensible, and besides it was far up beyond his reach. As his faculties returned to him, he laughed at his adventure; thinking that Sircombe would arrive at any moment with a rescuing party, when he would return to Ulva with the news that he had discovered the dungeon of the Bouthcrn bastion. He investigated the cell as well as he could by torch; it was dry, sanded, and y hermetically sealed by the wall of living rock. As time passed ana no one camc to release him he began to feel uneasy, and wondered whether it was possiole for tsircombo to lose the opening of the cavern, and to waste time in searching in a wrong direction. This he could scarcely credit, so peculiar had been the appearance of the *pot where they had halted; and his perplexity grew hourly, although it never entered his honorable soul that Sircombe had abandoned him to his fate. At last he set to work in bitter earnest to liberate himself. Round and round the base cf the wall ho went, scooping out the eand wiffh his hand to find some possible egress, til! at length he was rewarded. A former captive had hown out a narrow tunnel through the thickness of the rock; and this tunnel Edgar found choked with sand. He cleared it out, and crawling through, he was in a narrow passage, which in its turn brought him to another cave, and hero he lost himself in a maze of natural corridors and caverns which honeycombed the interior of Dunraver Cliff. ' He spent much time and strength in wandering through the labyrinth, climbing narrow and rugged ascents, groping down dizzy and precipitous crevasses, where daylight never penetrated, though the atmosphere was dry and pure. At length l;e happened upon the tiny rivlet, & blessing indeed to the perishing man; and after drinking and bathing his fevered temples in the crystal water, he followed its capricious wanderings with Infinite toll and patienco, until it brought him to a dead wall behind which be heard the roaring of the sea. He was etill making desperate efforts to find an outlet when the biessed sound of Kenmore's voice came to hiiu. All this Edgar told Kenmore in a few words, and not without painful excitement, for his sufferings had been frightful. "And now, all that I ask is that I may get away unsuspected," said he in con elusion. "I have stern work to do before my enemy may know that I have escaped alive." "Oh, sir, but will ye no tell the Lady Oolava?just her?" pleaded Kenmore; "she can keep faith, she's a true Dunraven!" "Hut what right have I to burden her happy heart with my grim secrets'" said Edgar, thirstinp for new assurance of her sorrow for his suppo ed fate. "The burden's on her heart now," muttered Kenmore, sadly troubled betwoen the fear of saying too much and of Edgar leaving Ulva pining under a fatae delusion. 'Oh, my man, don't tempt me!" groaned Edgar; "I'd give my life to see her sweet face before I go?but I dare not, honor forbids. See now, Kenmore, I'll tell you all. I adore your Lady Oolava: if I cannot win her for my wife, my life will be worthless to me. Now you shall know who it is who dares to look up to Lord Inchcape's daughter." "Gind gindle us!" ejaculated the amazed Kenmore?"ye ken that!" Edgar pulled out his pocket book and opened to a page where he had written ]q the dark heart of Sleat-na-Vrecken bis farewell to life and Ulva; and he held toward Kenmore the signature. "EDGAR AHDEX, OF INCUCAPK." "The heir!" cried Kenmore, blanching. "Inchcape's ain next of kin! Lord ?ake! an' I've daured to hate an' mistrust ye.'' "Never mind that now, my brave heart: it was all for love of Lady Ulva, and surely I should forgive that!" said Edgar, fervently. "And now listen tc me. I am polng homo to Inclicape, hoping to reconcile my lord with his guiltless lady. Hush! Attend. Mr. ' Sircombo has put hirr.sc!f in my power by this business, and I think I can wrest th9 truth, which will prove her Innocence, from him, in the presence of Lord Jnchcape." Kenmore stared with rapturous admiration in the young man's face. "I've just been an even-down ass!" said he. uTo think that I wadna ken Arden of Inchcapo wnen I fell against blm! Lord! but ye'll be a braw pair!" "Thank you!" cried Edirar. rapturously; "then you think I may hope."' ?\Vbv not ask bersel' afore vo' coV" > "ttecause an nonest man wouia *m Jier father's consent first," sighed Edgar. "What if Lord Incbcape should say that Ulva was not for me? Then I bbuu!u aavo uisvuiuau mi better far that she should never know who it was that loved and lost heh" He buried his fa':e in his hands, for it was a bitter potion that honor pressed to his lip:; and Keumoro begar to feel a croud al'.ection for the young man, and to own that he might even be worthy or beautiful Ooiava Then Edgar carefully unfolded his scheme, instructing Kenir.ore in tho part that he was to play. Above all, be cautioned him against betray in ; tho secret d his rescue to anybody on Meat-na ' I "VrecKen, lest it mignt come to Sircombe's knowledge, and he should fly before Edgar had made his intended uso of his fears. Long he balanced in his mind the two alternatives, whether he would indeed leave his tender friends, tho ladies of Dunraven, in cruel ignorance of his safety, or risk the success of his scheme by telling them through Kcnmoro. it atllicted him unspeakably to give them needless pain; yet. ho feared that in spite of all warnings, their changed dcmonnnr tooiiIH hetrav the truth to Sir combe, who would be doubly watchful and suspicious in his guilty solf-consciousness. Ho was determined in tho first alternative. namely, to leave them in ignorance of his safety?by the following considerations: Jf his hopes on behalf of Lady Inchcape came to naught, and she was doomed never to be restored to her husband and homo, then it would spare her much humiliation and distress if she never knew that her champion wa9 Arden. the heir. If Lord Inchcape refused to give him tho hand of his daughter, it might be as well to spare her the painful knowledge of the black tragedy which had brushed so closely past her in Sircombe's attempted crime, as well as the embarrassing revelation that her would-be lover had presumed to conceal his iden-, tity from her. "It's farewell, perhaps forever, sweet I TTIvn.i" sirrhoH hp? whufc t.hoiiffh I leavol yon, I leave my heart with you, and I' shall never get it back again!" Then Kenmore brought his own clever skill to the little haven, and helped the young man in; and in the darkest hour before the dawn Edgar Arden sailed away from Sleat-na-Vrecken, blessing it for his sweet love's sake. CHAPTER XIII. THE PLEASURES OF THE CIIASB. The Sporting Gazette of Salford advertised the meet of the hounds at Dorimant a few weeks afterwards. Hal Crecy, being Master of the Fox. Hunt for his county, and an ardent sportsman, was in his glory, and presided over the hunt breakfast, taken at daybreak in his hospitable hall, with the jolliest air imaginable. Quite a party were staying in the house, and many came from distant points of the borough; not only masculine huntsman graced the board, but many a dainty drawinp-room queen was tht.re, transformed into a dashing Diana, in business-like habits and hunting caps, their beauty shining out all the fairer for the severity of their costumes. wo a cnlnrt/lirl frt./IO-TT ?r? ^UCit 1UU Iiac TTUO OpiV/ilUlU ?-W uurj ?II I her Lincoln green, heavily frogged across the elegant bust in military style, with her darkling glances and rich, red, laughing mouth; Auberon was by her side, clear-eyed and radiant, as usual, and frankly amused with all her Drilliant tallies. Lcveday was not present; she would join the company as they passed the Pavilion; she always went to the hunt under S.juire Crecy's special care, and skimmed along by his side like a spiritualized shadow wherever he led. Accrington was not present either; he had never intruded into Dorimant again; but he was the theme of conversation now, and every one seemed to have something interesting to say about him. He was determined to be a power in Salford, said tho gent'emen; there was no doubt about it, he meant to stand for the next election, ho was setting everytl'ing in trim; and with his wealth and push, his popularity and finesse, Edgar Arden was like to find him a touph antagonist. Could Inchcape know how hard ho was working? He ought to I cummnn liia hoir hnmfl to look After hia | interests; it would be an ugly disappointment to Inchcape if Arden was to lose the election. Meanwhile the ladies were discussing the magniGcence of Sheldraik Castle, which Colonel Accrington had purchased and was now iitting up for immediate ; occupation. They thought he only wanted a wife now to be perfect ?a lady wife, who would play the hostess successfully, and use her influence on the right side always?that was what, Colonel Accrington must get at once. And then some one sent a whisper round, which blanched Mrs. Crecy's cheek when it came to her, and she emphatically contradicted it "Oh, it's true, I assure you, whatever Mrs. Dellamere may give out," insisted a lady, laughing; "nobody could see the look in his eyes when they rest upon her, and not discover that the attache's inscrutable heart was taken captive at once. And ho is furnishing a boudoir with peach-blossom color; he has had it frescoed with nympbs and cupids sporting amonp the flowers?a love poem in paint; what does that portend?" *t A ...t Wo waI Af V? o mi fn R ~J\ W iIU% jJViuapo, JWW uu u vuuu HUV) returned Mrs. Crecy, anxiously. "Peach-blossom ana go:aon natr, ana every nymph a Loveday!" whispered the gossip, with groat zest; for ii was generally guessed that Mrs. Crecy and Mrs. Dellamere would have been well pleased to see their children marry. As Mrs. Crecy turned away she met the earnest eyes of Auberon fixed questioningiy on her; he saw her trouble, and longed to learn tho cause An idea occurred to her; she would confide this miserable rumor to Auberon, and confess her knowledge of Accrington's baseness. Auberon might savo Loveday if she was in danger. A few moments afterward the party broke up and scattered to their horses. Mrs. Crecy beckoned her son to foliow her to her own room, and there, in a few hasty yet succinct words, she made him comprehend the character of Accrington, and Loveday's peril, should ho really be trying to win her. "1 felt that he was base!" cried Auboron; "at tho touch of his hand tho blood in my veins seemed to shrink backward; and in tho glance of his eye, however bland or smiling, an inscrutable spirit lurked behind the smile. Yet Loveday likes him " Mrs. Crecy was silent; fain would she have read his mind about that sweet girl whom she had always pictured as her future* daughter: but. she would Dot ask a confidence which was not volunteered; and Auberon pondered silently. "He will be at the hunt to-day, I hear, * said he, at last. "I shall do my best foi flittlo Loveday, mother. How is it thai T J U O Tr. ? iiovuuuy Utui IUJ uiiiir A3 i/uuic uu saving instinct, then, for pure women?" "Jt must be a mistake," faltered Mrs. Crecy, with quivering lips; "save her, Auleron. oh, my boy, save her! you can." ! He started, and fashed a keen glanco at her; the suggestion seemed to coma upon him like an e'ectric shock. Soon 3 faint, very sweet smilo crept about thq corners of his mouth, and his eyes shone. ' "I wonder if I really can?" said he, dreamily; "I would like to know." A long bugle call sounded tho sum AUUilO AU1 kUU J3 mi u. I . I Mother and son kissed each othei i tenderly, and ho bounded down stairs 1 and out among the animated company.' What a fine sijiht It was! Beautilul equestriennes and their cavaliers, mounted on iiery horses, thun-! dered along the avenue, followed by the doss and their keepers; it was early yet; splendid hunting weather, for a faint south wind blew und the sky was cloudy, and as they streamed over tho cleanshaven champaign lawn outside tho Dorimant gates, satisfaction was visible on every face. The Pavilion reached, hero came Lc day on her jet-blank barb, which > passaging all down the drive with wicl grace, without, iu the least disconcert the accomplished little horsewoman her back; and Mr9. Dellamero in ] pony phaeton, with her companion her side, as usual. Mrs. Dellamere ways drove to tho meet when Lovet hunted, and saw her off at tho squii left hand. As she rolled through own gate this morning, she iiashec searching glunce around tho compa and Auberon guessed that she was lo ing for Accrington. As the youth proached ^ier, her eye brightened; shooks hands with him warmly, i drew him closer, saying, in a low vol "I see tho Squire heads the hunt to-d will you, then, accept tho caro or Lo day and bring her saf? back to me?" Auberon promised, with sparkl! eyes, and adroitly getting his horse side Loveday's pretty "Ahmed," tl rode away together. There wore many carriages in 1 train; even the aged Duchess of Ca: brooke was tnero, in spuo 01 iae c barity of the hour, for the pious purp of setting "that scoundrel, Accringto to his day's work?namely, storm the heart of Lady Merrion Rae. The whole assembly came to a halt a gentle eminence, with the carriages the road which wound round its bs and here they waited in the silence death while the hounds were thro into cover. The hunters sat like equ trian statues, only their eyes gianc with life, and listened breathlessly the first ringing "View-halloo" from huntsman's horn which would annoui "the find." Auberon looked from right to left the two ladies nearest him; he scam the dark, glowing beauty of Merr Rae, subdued by love's consciousness melting tenderness; and he lingered o little Loveday with her radiant, spiri head, and witching mirth. And again a strange shock thril through him, and his heart beat fast he recalled his mother's words: "Save her; you can." Not a sign of Accrington yet. "Will you keep by mo, Loveday?" m mured Auberon, in the lowest of tor There was no time for a reply words; she had turned toward him w a start and a keen look, when the pected signal sounded, the ringing I Inn a hurst. nf ha.vinp from the docs. a the wild "Tally-ho!" as the fox br< cover and away, with the whole fi streaming after. Loveday flung Auberon a brlllla mocking smile, set her little teeth, i sped like an arrow with the best of th< scarcely heeding the presence of Aube: close beside her, in the delicious, n excitement of the chase. To her deep chagrin, Merrion I soon discovered that her hunter co not keep up to the pace, and that s must gradually fall behind. She was far too sweet-tempered to fume or cha and as one by oro the riders slid p her, she pulled out of the course, moun a little hill, and watched through 1 field glass what direction the fox y taking. Suddenly her face brighten and she swept onward in a new dir tion; the fox bad doubled on his p suers, and was twisting in and < among the bushes, and by taking a cr cut she could fall in with he,: friei again. As she emerged from a copse she s Ricnard Accrington on a height not from her, coolly watching the hi v lu k/1# UlirUU^U 1119 1HSO CL3 out! uau UVUO UU11 him. She pursued her way without tracking his attention; that brief fat view she had held with him had stroyca forever all chance of unc strained intercourse between them, i the broad nints of her hostess, 1 duchess, that sho intended to make match of them, effectually kept th a; art except when under her autocra eye, when they played at cordiality self-dcfenso. But that quick eyo of Accringto had noted the solitary rider long a and she had not gone far when ho ca lightly swinging over tho cradle-hills her side, with a world of gentle con lation in his greeting. Sho cou d not help admiring his i appearance in the brilliant uniform the hunt, as he managed his fiery hun with consummate skill, controlling impatient efforts to break away ? join in the mad race over hedge i ditch, with a turn of the firm right he on the reins, all tho while seemln quite engrossed with the lady bes him. Jtlavlng drawn irora ner me rea: of her lagging behind, and condo with her on her disappointment, promised to stay by her until she 1 lound more desirable company. "Or until you find your golden-tres Ariadne," retorted she, laughing a blushing suDerbly. for shg entirely lieved in what he had asserted conce ing Auberon's proforenco for anot! than Lovcday?for hersolf, she tr< blingly hoped. Ho looked sad and depressed. "I fear I am not to have that harr nss* to-day," said ho, "unless you. kind ally, help mo to it. I see indi tions of interference, probably by t] immortal, tho Carisbrooke. who 1 long outlived tho sympathies of manity. I believe Miss Deliamcro ] been specially placcd under guardi ship for the day. 1 can perceive no ot reason for young Crccy'b close atte ance." The insinuation dropped like hoi into Merrion's hurt; sho had wonde somewhat shamedly that Auberon 1 allowed her to fall behind alone. That was the axnlanation. th?> an Plundering old oueness nad m some mi ner contrived it that Loveday should placed in Auberon's special charge, that Accrington should bo forced to sociato with herself. Her proud he swelled with wrath, she would not thrown at any man's feet so! She was quite ready to respond In 1 right spirit when Accrington entrea her to give him hor aid in winning Lo day for his companion for a short tir The idea of thrusting herself upon 1 beron was humiliating, still she mil manage to liberate Loveday wltlu quite that, and at tho worst, surety would not bo unmaldenly to claim attention for a little while, for Loveda sivke, and knowing that Auberon loi herself. She almost felt repaid for her conse when Accrington took her hand with lingering pressure, looking down at 1 with a deep glow in his eyes thatsliov how moved ho was. Tho pair halted on the crest of a ror ridse which cominandeJ a view of bi valleys. The swift flight of tho fox had thlni on mo illrorig unm uniy me crau* hu era w re in sight, spreading far ? wide, each following as best he mi| the course of the hounds, which strean along tlio grass-land in full view of 1 came, "like the white trail of a plum in hunting parlance. A pair of riders diverged from 1 course, and at a hail from Aceringl came lightly amb ing toward them. They all met on thes edge of a vvooi glade, and stopped Loveday was in high spirits, Aubei quiet and resolute-looking. "You won't be in at the death thei said Merrion Kae, wonderingly. To \ KoiteU') mmio o xfi nw /Inctrnlllf) ' umph in her eyes, and Loveday's b: was quite equal to it Lovcday made a comical grima "Whisper it low; I've never been in the death yet. and I don't mean to b said she. "The meet is Dicturesq the chase is .glorious, and stirs upevi heroic particle in tne Diood; Put ine ive* finish is so piteous that it would make vas me cry. I loathe such sport as looking ted on while a panting, helpless little brute ing Rives up its life to a score of enemies, , on after running its cleverest, and afford* her ing them hours of exhilarating pleasure, by That is heresy, I know!" she added, look* al- down timidly under the ardent gaze of ( laj Accrington, who had skillfully edged in re's between her and the other two, with a her meaning look for Merrion. I a He answered suitably, handing Lovony, day his glas9 meanwhile to view the ok- field; and Merrion drew Auberon's atap tention entirely to herself, by dropshe ping her whip with an ejaculaind tion of dismay. Auberon was on the ice: ground immediately; he handed her the ay; jeweled toy, and was about to mount , ve? again when she said, capriciously: 1 "Don't lat us follow the hunt any fur- ? ln_ ther, since Loveday does not care for it; i be. I should like to tread on this velvety t 1C- moss with my own feet?your shoulder, g please." And lightly leaning one hand on e tjj0 Auberon she lit like a bird on the ground c rj3. by his side, and with a word of warning. ^ iar? to her horse, ran to the moss-banlc os? nearest, and knelt before it in ecstasies. . n." Auberon glanced round to see how c ing Accrington was employed. Accrington c was employed in pouring a 9wl/t whisper 1 on Into Loveday's ear. 1 on She turned her bright face, all its glee 8 -se; and Joyance blanched out of it, and i > of looked earnestly at Auberon, with a sor- z wn rowful widening of the eyes; then she es- tightened her reins, and next moment * ing she and Accrington were riding away foi side by side, Accrington throwing back the the carelessly spoken words, "A fair ex- f ice change is no robbery, Mr. Crecy; you c have monopolized my lady and I shall c at carry off yours." ? ie(j "Loveday!" called Auberon, amazedly. ^ jon She turned In her saddle, forcing an arch smile. vet "I shall be at home long before yon ? tad will!" said she, and vanished among the c trees. f lei "Come, dear Miss Rae, let me lift you 1 , a3 to your saddle," said Auberon, looking t strangely white and firm; "we must ^ overtake them at once, for Mrs. Deliamere placed Loveday under my escort, ur. and I dare not lose sight of her." ies# Merrion sprang up, laughing and rela bellious. itb "Follow her, If you please?I shall, not ex- venturo to mar CoL Accrington's plans," ial- sue cnea. in(j "I shall notjeave ycm?and yet I must jko follow Loveday; it was a special trust," eld said the youth, insistently. "You will not prevent me from acting loyally, I nt, am sure." ind Incredulous still, she detained him yet ;m, a moment longer. ron "I <io not prevent you, Mr. Crocy?do iad as you please; only do not ask mo to intrude upon two people who have >ae just shaken us off," she said, haughtily, aid His countenance filled with grief and sh? reproach. by "Merrion, dear," said he, "to spare m? fe, future remorse, will you come with me ast and spoil that tete-a-tete?" ted She saw that he was in earnest, ar.d iter In burning humiliation she dropped all t ras opposition. c ed, Accrington had deceived her then; n ec- Auberon did love Loveday, and the inur trusion was when Merrion sought to c mil fnma hatVAAn thprn! P oss "I will do whatever yon plcaso." said a ads she, In low, shamed tones; "I did not a understand." u aw Lightly ho swung her to the sadtflo, T far each touch of his hand sending & ihriil * jnt through her, while she bitterly strove 1 ora against the fcolinz; and not quite three c at. minutes aftor Accriugton and Loveday D er- had started, they, too, were on their 1 <je. track. t on- Accrington had won the game by a a in(j ruse, simple and unscrupulous. Tho r the moment he saw Auberon ongagod with i a Merrion ho had whispered, with a meanem ing smile, to Loveday: "Evidently thcie n ttio is a quarrel to bo mado up hero. Shall e jn we be indulgent to truo lovers?" s [to be continued.! r n's c PERU IN A BAD' V/AY. I me a 1 to Atrocities Which Are VTorge Than the Mar i ftacres In Armenia. a e According to the report of a newspapei o j correspondent in Peru, atrocities are almost 6 ' 01 daily perpetrated there which throw the Arte menian massacres into the shade. He save its Nobody here is allowed to tell the truth. 11 md Every newspaper office has a censor. Every J ind telegraph office is equally under immediate md Government supervision. No telegraphic T communication is. therefore, possible. To Ida ^ve y?u an ldeft the "3ks 11111 ^ anybody d ? " givi-ig information of tho revolutionary n ?0^ movement, I may state that tho residence of , lea every suspected person is invaded by the * ha police at all hours of tho night, the furniture a lad destroyed, male residents turnea into in? c street? and the female portion assaulted. ft sod People are arrested pell moll, whipped, torLn(j tured, shot or decapitated without trial. D Political prisoners disappear and their 1 families cannot even ascertain where ^ I their dead bodies are interred. The lieI only consolation allowed them is that they e sm- can pray for the souls of the departed. Re- 0 cruiting in the public thoroughfares goes on 1 continually. Often a raid is made at a church v ,pj. door when people are coming out. The men my are then entrapped, tied up i a much the 1 * same way as sIa ;e drivers convey their slaves, r ca" and marched off to the barracks to increase .c B1" the Government forces. Anybody with a has sword dangling at his side considers himself hu- thearbitrntor of life and property. Gaceres's n has hordes entered Matucana the other day. f; an- The town was completely sacked. Men were hei shot in heaps, and every woman in the town n(j# became the property of the ruffians who go e under the name of soldiers. Nothing of such d a barbarous nature has been witnessed in B ie' history, and the noted Bulgarian atrocities red pale under the .shadow of the iniquities ol lad Matucana. A friend of mine will post this e letter in Valparaiso. No such missive could t nd, bo trusted to our postoffice. lbe FOUGHT TO SAVE THEIR CROPS. t so ^ ag. Hungarian TeaiAntH Cut a Canal Dike Afcer E arj a Battle With a Land Company. ^ be The Temesvar district ot Hungary has been g threatened for several days with floods from the swollen waterways. The peasants held te(? meetings to consider means of saving their 1 crops, and finally decided to cut the dikes of r the Bega Canal, thus turning the water into ^ ne- the territory of a Boyal Dutch company, ^u* which owns much land and thousands of cat- s jht tie in the district. The company was fore- 0 )Ut warned. It posted a force of its employes at c jf the point where the peasants planned to open jijS the dike, and instructed them to drive off T v*q every one who attempted to approach the -1 ' *' ,r" ~ ~ 1-r. f h.? /im r?1 ftVPfl 1' ' j canai. ine j tritiums ubi<?ur\i>u vuv v.u^.v^ With scythe* tuid clubs, dispersed them after r a hot fight, and cut a deep ditch through the n^? canal bunk. They were obliged to fly for r i a their lives when the water burst out. Thou- t ier sands of acres were under water within a ^ed few hours. About 7500 of the company's pigs were drowned, and 10,000 head of cattle were .]?_ in imminent danger. The company claims litavy damages from the Government. The Ministries of the Interior and Agriculturo will investigate the matter. led ? nt- ABYSSINIA MAKINC PROGRESS, md i jht Country Aliout to Have for the First Time ? lid Her Own Coinage. > Abyssinia is about for the first time to have <-'i" a coinage of her own. Hitherto the only coin current has been the Maria Theresa the thaler. The new silver coin is of the same ton value, and bears on one sid<- the head of King Menelik with a tira. with the legend "Menelik IT, King of Kings of Ethiopia:" on fkrt M.titra /?f r? f*rf\vrnt?{1 lioil I IK" oiuei muo j.-. in., holding h cross in his paw, with the inscrip- J) r0D tion. "Couqm*rin? Lion of the Tribe of ji J11 dull," as Menelik asserts that Abyssinia is x i?" the Sheba of the Bible, anil that he himself is viD descended from King Solomon and the Queen 8 tri- of Nheba. On the rim of the coin is inscribed r irb "Ethiopia lifts her hand to God alone." 0 The design was made by Lagrange of the , Paris mint. There are also two other coins |C0> for smaller change. 6 i at t " The Size of Korea. ue, Korea is a.- large as Kansas, but all Japan ery is smaller than California. c CUBA'S METROPOLIS. MPRESSIONS OF AN A3IERICAN VISITOR IN HAVANA -harm of the Soft Atmosphere?Flctnresque Features of tne Outof-Door Life?Cuban Horse ?A Dairy on Legs. TT DELIGHTFUL winter cli/ \ mate, a brilliant verdure, tropioal scenery, picturesque cities and people, all com)ine to give a rare charm to Cuba, ays a letter from Havana totheWashngton Star. Here the ocean seems )luer, the sky fairer and the fields greener than elsewhere; for all is een through the medium of a marvellusly clear atmosphere. An artist airly revels in the wonderful colof iffects. Havana would be one of the lingiest cities in the world in any ither light than that of Cuba, but lere the fading paint of a dilapidated louse front, the weatherworn stones >nd crumbliDg plaster seem to take on lew and brilliant tints. Even the i arrow, dirty streets seem to get some ;lory from the light. When to this ,re added the oleasinc. nicturesaue ffeote produced by the old castle-like orts that crown eminences about the ity, the water of the gulf, the many lolors used in painting houses, the, ;ray old churches, the peculiar archiecture and the tops of palm trees howing themselves here and there toove the roofs, one would have to be levoid altogether of sentiment not to tnd pleasure in Havana and Cuba. Che city of Havana is quite as strange o an American's eyes as any city of he old world. This is true also of SSE THE PEAD he other cities of the island, but none ?f them is so interesting as Havana. ?he honses are foreign to an Amerian; the streets, the customs of the tecple, are all strange. The streets re narrow, many of them mere alleys, nil the sidewalks in most of them not lore than a foot or eighteen inches in ndth. Along these streets is a strange nmble of dwellings, shops, stores and afee. Usually the buildings are not aore than one or two stories in height, 'he walls are made thick, as a protecion against cyclones and earthquakes, nd the roofs are flat. Many of the oofs are made into gardens, and all f them are used for laundry purposes nd for family gatherings on warm venings. The walls are carried up - x- t ~ U lib LU lurui U UUpl-Ll^ aiuuuu ixic oof, making it a safe playground for hildren. There are no back yards in lavana. The houses have inner courts nd the roofs for airing places. From he roof the little boy flies his kite, nd there in the twilight the father f the family will promenade while he mokes his cigar. There are three or four wide avenues q the newer part of the city. The 'rado, a boulevard as wide as Pennsjlania avenue, extends about a mile rom a square known as the Campo el Marte to the shores of the gulf | ,ear the entrance to the harbor. On his are located the principal theatres nd hotels, and many residences of the letter class. On it, or near it, also, re found the large and fine establishaents of the clubs, of which Havana ias many, as one result of its lack of lomestic life. Another wide avenue xtending in another direction to the utskirts of the city is the avenue 'aeon, which is boulevarded, and on rhich are located many fine houses, ncluding the Captain General's summer palacc. The great business streets >f the city are narrow alleys, so narow that during the middle of the day wnings are stretched across the street rotn store to store. The exterior of the houses is covred with smooth plaster, and painted irab, blue, greeD, or any color that nay please the owner. The ordinary ne-story dwelling has a doorway that xtends from the gronnd nearly to the op. This i6 fitted with wooden doors hat look as though made for the basile. They are thick and studded with ?olts. In these doors another of comaon size is cut. This is for ordinary ise. There are no door bells, but ach door has a brass knocker. Be- | ide the door is a wide window, reachug also from the ground nearly to the oof. There is no glass in the winlow?in fact, window glass is a thing lmost unknown in thedwelling houses f Havana. The window looks like a age. Strong iron bars extend from op to bottom and from side to side, nside are wooden shutters, which can ie closed when either the sun or the 1 Thr, frz-mf ain TTl fl K fIt UV3UOU1C. iiiv. oom is the parlor, and, of course, in he small houses?tho homes of the TOVLTRY SELLER. oor?the general living room. Where t is the parlor there will be curtains or tho wiudow, and itfiide one can ce a stiff-looking row of chairs aranged along the wall or in the middle f the room. In the ordinary house his is usually all the furniture to be een. The better houses will have wo, and even three, of the immense age-like windows. The door will j ipen upon a wide airy hallway, which | nil lead into the patio. The patio is i a court or yard in the center of the i bouse. The apartments are arranged ! around it. Sometimes there ie a fonn- 1 tain or pretty garden in this court, 1 - CsT V* A NARROW EflRKET AND CATHEDRAL. and often a tree which lifts its hea d , above the roof. Sometimes a house ( arranged on this plan is a sort of tene- . ment house, and the patio is a place j for slops, rubbish of all kinds, and the gathering of scolding women and dirty children. The better houses have , floors of tiles or marble and on some ( streets have an Ionic colonnade in front. Those that rise to the height ^ of two stories have a little gallery on ( the second floor, around the inner j court. 1 One impression a visitor is apt to ( have at .'first?whenever ne is in Hav- . ana?is that he is in the slums of the city. He will ask to b3 shown the better streets. All of the streets are 0, HAVANA. I dirty. In all of them one will meet ; unpleasant smells, and then everywhere is an odd mixture of poverty ' and wealth, comfort and squalor, re- ' spectability and vice. Cafes are everywhere. The Havaaese live outdoors. The fronts of shops ' and bazaars are all open and the cafes seem to be on the street. At night the streets are full of life. The cafes are crowded and the parks in the center of the city thronged with promenaders. One sees a thousand strange sights in the streets, beside9 the houses, that seem so odd to an American. Billetarios or lottery ticket peddlers will accost you at every turn, begging you to buy a piece of a ticket. The market men from the country come into town with pack horses or donkeys completely hidden under great loads of fodder, or pigs or chickens, which * - > i v? are suspeuueu iu uuucun uvcx wc . horse's back, or of fruit and vege- 1 tables. Huge carts drawn by four oxen do 1 the draying around the wharves. Every- 1 where the porters and drivers wear 6 the flat red, blue or white Austrian j THE DAIRY ON LEGS. 1 8 cftps, which add much to their pic- c turesque appearance. There is a ten- r dency to gaudiness of color in the 8 dress of all classes, but especially ^ among the colored women, who wear r brilliant yellow or red dresses, with t bandannas around their necks or over 13 their heads. The colored woman has a ^ peculiar old-fashioned way of dressing c her hair with "rats, "so as to make puffs c of wool on each side of her head. I Many of them, and especially the old * ones, go through the streets puffing e cigars. The volante. the old-fashion- 8 ed Cuban carriage, is no longer 6een in Havana, though it is still used in k some districts where the roads are 8 very rough. In its place in Havana <3 has come a little victoria, drawn usually by a very sorry looking specimen of a Cuban horse. There are three or four thousand such vehicles moving restlessly up and down the i streets. The established fare to any ( point within the city is one peseta or I twenty cents. Compared with prices f of other things in Havana this is ridiculously cheap. Every one riiles in * them, from the bootblack to the mill- icmaire. * You will 6C0 washwomen carrying 1 their week's wash to or frum home in a victoria. The horse cars, which are very shabby, are drawn by three ( horses, one of them being hitched in front as a lead horse. Another odd sight frequently seen in the streets is a train of from ten to twenty horses, ' the halter of the second being tied to j the tail of the first, and bo on. At a point on the water side of the city f horses are taken for a bath in the sea. s When the sea is running high this is* ^ mi intfir?stiner siffht. The man in ? charge of the horses strips dowu to 1 one garment, and orders the lead horse into the water ; the others, tied nose and tail, meekly follow. When they get into the breakers the line of horses r ivill rise and fall with the wave, and a the borse6 will plunge about in a lively I(ashion. There are always scores of r horses being bathed in this way in the rocky inlets near the Hospital of St. | Lazara. j n The great numbers of soldiers every- 1 ' . A where seema queer to Americans* v Many of those that appear at first sight jjsl to be soldiers are policemen or mem- , bers of the civil guard. Their uni- r & J form is much the same as that of the soldier. The soldier wears a bine linen suit and either a soldier cap or a J Btraw hat with a rosetted cockade. Their regiments and the branch of the y'^yjjg service to which they belong is indi- ,j}&5 cated by the color of the collars andj "% cuffs. Some are red, some green,: some black, and some blue. The col- . VjM lar and cuffs are detachable, and can . be removed when the coat ia sent toi the laundry. At night in the neigh** Sffi borhood of the opera houses one will -r^ see cavalrymen on guard in the street. ' . $ The people and the authorities make1 much of the opera, and no vehicles are allowed to pass near enough the operahouse to possibly interfere with the 3$' full enjoyment of the music. In the : harbor are hundreds of little boats, ; propelled by sails and oars, that carry' jjj passengers to and from vessels or on ''-{.Q expeditions around the bay. They ', < have a shelter over the stern, an awning supported by bamboo rods bent ffljg over, bowshape, from thwart. No ves* r sels except Spanish vessels land at the docks, so these boatmen do muohbusioess taking travelers to and from the dosi lanaings. l One of the strangest sights is ^/?$48| Havana milkman on his rounds in thai morning. He brings the milk to the; l door in a natural state?that is, in the! sow. He stops at the door, kneels byi 1 bhe cow, extracts the needed amount[. Kf&fl af milk in the usual fashion, and de- <<?j livers it to the servant, foaming and! m unstrained. A milkman usually has aj irove of several cows. The method; { '.'ff* insures unadulterated and fresh milk;; X \ ? Pretty Feats With Knots. ''f The untying of knots in a string by? f-vj tying other knots in the same string: is a pretty feat, with which those who| . care to learn it may amuse and mys-j tify those'who have never seen it ddhe.1 .> It is quite easy, and there is no trickj* fmM about it. A careful study of the ac-. companying diagrams will make iti ,-w easy to learn the feat, which can be! '' vV;< performed with a stout cord or Bmall yfct rope. A simple knot is made, as ia V ; the first diagram, and then the second) .-p? trot is made, forming what is knownj as a square knot, as shown in the sec- C; ond diagram. The next move is to .' >/* carry the end of the cord marked "A"4 .. r; downward through the first loop. Thej third diagram Bhows the tangle thus' formed, and it is snch a thorough tan-*; , gle that to pull the two ends of thejY ^ string would make a hard and com- . plicated knot. But the end "A" of) the cord is now brought up over the outside of the first loop, and is carried down through the second loop,] coming out in the same direction with! " *> the end "B." Now, by taking hold,1 of the two ends of the cord and pull- ' KNOTS UNITED BT OTHER KNOTS. ncr them, the cord may be drawn out perfectly straight, the knots disap-: Dearing. The performance may be '4 rade more mystifying by asking a _ ipectator to hold both ends of the / sord, -while the operator, concealing [<f?, 43 he knotted portion in his hands, rubs' < ; he knots out, leaving the spectator; ' n possession of a smooth and un>roken string. Possibly the spectaor may follow the whole operation so Uslosely as to be able to perform it; limself on the first trial, but he wilt )e apt to make a mistake in forming he second loop and reverse the twist \ hown in the second diagram. In that ? ,^j^| ase he will succeed only in tying & mot that will be difficult to untie ifter the attempt is/ made to pull the ? :ord straight. | Jueen Victoria's Devoted Daughter. 1 Princess Beatrice, the youngest V * laughter of Queen Victoria, is un-j IrtnVitnHlv t.Vio favnritfl of all that I overeign'e many children, and exer-. ises the greatest influence upon her- ;*f, Qother, whose constant companion' , > V \ he has been ever since the death of he Prince Consort. Not even the mariage of the Princess has diminished' he intimacy of the relations between Qother and daughter, and whenever <: ler Majesty travels, the Princess ocupics the same day and night saloon /:' arriages as her mother, her husband, 1 'rince Henry, of Battenburg, being elegated to another part of the train, pj ither with the children or with the ;entlemen-in-waiting. Princess Beatrice has alway3 been nown as the most accomplished mu- ' % ician of the royal family. When [uite young she developed a wonder =. ( PRINCESS BEATRICE. ill gift of reading difficult music at ight, and this Las been carefully culiv;ited. She is also a most graceful omposer, and h is set to music various loums bv Lord Tennj6on. . -f Disraeli was the last novelist who eceived S30.000 for a single work, nd that proved no disastrous to the tublishers that the author offered to eturn part of the money. Siam has 250,000 square miles, bout the area of North and South Dakota with Minnesota added.