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â- â- -i y pg* t \ â- \ a.iad the two womea hear* th'e Utoh of thK» gftte. Tnen Joyce,turning,saw 'hit* th« mother bad falnt«d. But it was only momeutary By th* time she renched th« bed h«r mother had recovered ron- I sc'iouiiness. "Go," said the old lady, breathlessly; "go and let him in yourself." T>o^vnstH(rs on the doorstep the girl found a tall nuin of 30or thereabouts with a browner face than En^liAh Huns could account for. He looked down into e that the old woman divined thsjlitr eager eyes with a strange, ques- longing glance from the change in the li',>.^^K Tt^'^Ute? "Yos, mother, h« will oome. Of course ke will oomet" and the girl turned her drawn and anxious young f»r« toward the cottage door, just as if her Wind mother could see thei action. It is prob- fl glrl'« tone, for she.too.half turned to- wartl the door. It was a habit these two women had acquired. They con- j •tantly looked toward the door for the arrival of one who never came through the lojg summer days, throagh the auiet winter evenings; moreover, they rarely siioke of other things; this ar- rival was the topic of their lives And how the old woman's life was drawing \ "•^1 %' lie asked, in a voice which almo.st seemed to indicate a hope that It mi^^ht lie so. "No, Stei>hen," she answered. "But mother cannot live much longer. You are just in time." The youag man made a hesitating little movement with his right hand and shuffled uneasily on the clean stone step. He was like an actor call- ed suddenly upon the stage, liAving no knowledge of his part. The return of this prodigal was not a dramatic suc- a ftsubtle sense of clinging ii wijo naa remainea ceniuu lo uo an lue â€" 1 *« ji. -ifKnn* tniicliiiir ihe' I'urden, .seemed in some subtle manner rd to die without touching me ^^ ^^^^^^^^ ^ .^ ^^ ^^^ romanc* that of a wondrous patience It was ^ j,^ ^^y^ atUch«d itself to him She to aolo«e,as som« lives do, without itsi fe«s. J^o one seemed desirous of learn- ^, . ou . i» , .. f .-^ ),.r 'nsr whether he had lived uiK>n husks Ibject. She herself felt it, and her ^^ otherwise, and with whom he had daughter knew it. There was in both ,,ten xhe quiet dignity of the girl, of them ftsubtle sense of clinging It who had remained behind to do all the iiraa bard Mward ot a wondrous paiience. n- won ^gj,^ ijroel to deprive the girl u( this burden, ignored his half-proffered hand, and Ibr in most burdens there Is a safe- 1 turning into the little passage, led the «wrd. in all a duty, and in some the! ^fy ^^[j^- Stephen Leach Wl°«ed •*" • r ,, ,.. , i I, , silently. He was rather Uirge for the greatest happine-ss allotted to buman , j^^j,^ ^j^,, gspecUlly for the sUiirs; eijlstence. | moreover.lie had a certain burliness of It w:<..s no new tliing.this waiting for walk, such as is acquired by men liv- ii. -. n,. »i.i \.aA irrnu'H 'ig Constantly in the oix-n There was tb« scai*«rare «>n; the girl had gro«n ^ ^^^^^^^ ^^.^^^ ^^^ .1 j^.^ ,^,^^ ^^^^ !!.{> to It. for 8h«-, would not know her ^^ jf ^,,^y ^j suddenly l)e<>n opened brother should she meet him iu the to his own shortcomings. His attitude street Bince sight had left the old toward Joyce was distinctly aiologelic. ., , . . J,.,, i,„. h^rt 111,- When he follo>ved the girl across the mother s eyes she had fed her heart u|h j^^^^,,^,^ ^j ^^^.^ mother's l*droom on this hope H'* had left thl-m eighteen ^^^ „|,j [^jy ^^^^ sitting up in bed, jrears before in a fit of (Kissionate re- holding out trembling arms toward the MDtment against his father.whose only door. Here Stephen Leach seemed to . ,^ , , , , . • J !„.„ „ f,„ know liettcr what to do. He held his fault had l*en too great indulgen. e for ^^^^^^ j^ ^.^ ^^^^ ^.,^.,^ ^^ ^^,,,,^j the son of li. old age. Nothing had ^^^ murmured out her joy. He had been too good for dear Stephenâ€" hardly no word.s, but his arms meant more anything hal l>een good enough Kdu- than his lil>s could ever have told^ It , r L 11 1 1 i_ If 1 1„ would seem that the liest i>nrt of hai>- cat*d at a charity school himself, the ^.j^^ ^s the sharing of it with .ome- aimple old clergyman held the mistuk- i one else. "Joyce" was the first dis- en view that no nuin can !« educated linct word the old lady spoke, "Joyce, : he has come at last. He has come I Come here, dear. Kiss your broth is oannot do so much longer. Strikes, la- , Steve." bor trouble* and this difficulties of <lo- 1 The young man had sunk upon his above his station There are some peo- ' ,,,.,. , ,,,, , . ,1^ Lome here, dear. Kiss your pie who hold this vie-- till, but 'Hey >r. This is my first t»rn-my little mestic. service; no-oalled gentleman kn««s at the bedside.pruliahly becau.se , , , .it n.-is the most convenient position. •hop-keepers and Udy milliners-al«)ve Ue did not second his mother's pro- all, a few colonies iieopled i>y univer- |)osal with much enthusiasm. Alto- sity failures-will t«ach us in time «ether he did not seem to have dis- n.„i t^ .j..„.t „., - „„„„ .!.„,.„ »i.„;, ""overed much Kympiilliv with his .sis- that to educate our sons aLx>ve tiieir 1 , _ , u i. j , »» • u jn. , .. , , . ., ., .. . ter whom he had left in her cradljB. station is to handicap them cruelly in Joyce came forward and leaned over tltB ra<M for life. , the bed to klis her brother while the Stephen Leach was one of the early old lady's hands joined theirs. Just wufllly Incomes «»ony at . Jngi^ ^^er his fac«. touching the deep .Stephen Lea.h lefl Kug-I,,ut from cheek lH>n6 to jaw with soft Bfoie he landed in Ameri-^nquiry. 'This rauHt have l*e.n very â-  r nsiil flat, ,11 r tail <vr, a inm>- . ^ ... ... •' victims to tlii.s craze. His fuCher, bav- iag ri.sen by the force of Ids own will rpa>e^ej< of%W w» b - miint" from the people to the church, held, as such men do, that he had only to give his son a good education to insure his career in'life. 80 everythingâ€" even to ttU) old parson's sense of right and wrongâ€" was sacrificed In the education of Steplien r#ai-li nt public school and Oiolverxlty. Here he met unil selected for his friends youths whose futures were insured, and who were only jiass- iag through the formula of an educa- tion so that no one could say they were Vnfit for the snug fro^-ernment appoint- ment, living or inheritanre, of a mora aulatantial sort that might lie vsait- ing for tiiem. Stephen acquired their ways of life without po.s.se«8ing their advantages, and tlie consequence was •oiiiethiug very nearly approaching to ruin for the little country rector Not having been a university man him- self, the rector did not know that at Oxford or CambriilKe, as In the army, pne may live according to one's tastes. Stephen liOach had expensive tastcH.and be unscrupulously traded on his fa- ther's ignorance. He was good-look- ing, and had a certain brilliancy of manner which "goes down" well at the varsity. Everything was against him, and at last the end came. AUIust the rector's eyes were ^icned, .iffrt v.l>«.r %t narrow-mj.niijwk man'^s eyes are once d. ^usually bee heart nd, and befor oa his father had departed on a long- #r journey. The ne'er-do-well had the food graoe to send liack the little sums St money saved by hi.s mother in her rldowhood, and gradiiall,ti his letters Vensed. It was known that he was in Cbili, and there wus war going on tMre, and yet tho old lady's faith nev- er wavered. "He will come, Joyce," she would say, "he will surely come!" And «<«niieho«' It came to be an under- atood thing thnt he was to come in the afternoon when they were all ready for him â€" when Joyce, had clad her pretty young form in a dark (Ire8.s and •when the old lady was up and seated In the chair by the fire in winter, by the door In summer. They had never Imagined his arrival at another time. It would not U> quite the same sliould lie make a mistake and come in the ihi'TiHK;- Jwforei Joyce had got the house put right. Yet lie never came, A greater infirmity came instead, and at last Joyce suggested thnt her mo- ther shoald not get u|i in bad wea- ther They lioth know what this meant liut the episode passed as others <lo, and Mrs. r>each was liedridden. Still she said : "He nill come, Joyce] He will surely come I" And tha girl would go to the window und draw aside t.lve curtains, looking down the quiet country road toward the village. "Y'es, mother, ho will come," was her Mual an)iwer, and one day ijh^ g{kve fi Uttle exvltiinatioti ot surprise and al- most of f«a>. â-  '->â€" • "^'- â-  ~ , ' Mo(,Jj^r," she exclaimed, "there is •oineone coming along the road" The old liidy was already sitting up tB >ied starinur with her sightless orbs Iftward tb<" window. Tliu.sthey wailed rjl* atti stopped opr»o«<itn the cottage. | IS her fresh young lips came within reach he turned his face .aside, .so that the ki.ss fell on Ivarren ground «a his tanned cheek., "Joyce," contvntied tlie old lady fev- erishly, "I arri not afraid to die now, for Stephen is here Your brother will take care of you, de;ir, when 1 am gone." It was strange tliat Stephen had not •|iok«u yet, and It was perhaps just lus well, because there are occasions in life when men du wis«ly to keep silent. "He is Ktrong," the proud mother went on, "I can feel it His hands are large and steady and quiet and his arms are big and very hard" Tlie young nuin knelt upright and subiiiittad gravely to this maternal inventory. "Yes," she said, "I knew be would grow to be a I ig man. His little fing- ers were so strongâ€" he hurt me some- tiim-H. What a itreat luuatachel I knew vou had been a soldier And the skin of your face is brown ami a little rough What is this? what is thi.s, Stephen, dear? Is this a wound?" "Yes," answered the prodigal spe.ak- ing for ihe first time "That is a sword ci^, I got that in the last war. I am a Tolonel in the Chilian army, or was, liefore 1 resigned." The o/d lady's sightless eyes were fixed^>»n his face as if listening for the^clio of another voire In his deep, quivt tones. '-^'our voice is deeper than your fa- ther's ever was," she said, and all the while her trembling fingers moved lov ne ilea'' qui IHT, your eye, Stephen. Promise me, no more soldering." "I (>romi.se that," he replied, with- out raising his eyes. Such was the homecoming ot the pro- digal. After all he. arrived at the right mimient in the afternoon, when the house was ready. It sometimes does happen so in real life, and not only in iKKjks. There is a great deal that might Im altered in this world, hut sometlmfts, by a mere chance, things come about rightly. And yet there was sumetliing wrong, somethinr: subtle, which the dying woman's duller senses failed to detect. Her son, her Steph- en, was quiet and had not much to say for himself. He apparently had the httliit of taking things as they came There was 110 enthiusiasm, but rather a restraint, in his nuinner, more e.s- pecially toward Joyce. The girl no- ticed it, but even her small experience of human-kind had taught her that large, fair-skinned men are- often thus. They go through life iilacldly, leaving unsaid and undone many things which some think they ought to say and (l«. After the first excitement of the return was over it lecame glaringly apparent that Stephen had arrived just in lime. His mother fell into a hai>- py sleep liefore sunset, and when the active young doctor came a little lat- er In the evening he shook his head. "Ye.s," he said, "I see that she is asleep and quiet â€" too quiet. It Is a foretaste of, a longer sleep. Some old peop)(j h»ve it." . yot the first time Joyce's courage nceiued to give way. When she bad iK'en alone she was brave enough, hut now that her brother was there,woman- llke she seemed to turn to him with a sudden fear. They stood side by side near the l«d,and the young doctor in- voluntarily watched them Stejiben bad taken her band In his with that silent symjiathy which was so natural and so eloquent. He said nothing, this big, Bun-stained youth. He did not even glance down at his sister, who stood small, soft eyed and gentle at his side. The doctor knew something of the his- tory of the small family thus momen- tarily united, and he bad always fear- ed tliat if Stejdien Leach did return it would only kill his mother. This, indeed, seemed to lie the result about to follow. Presently the doctor took his leave. He was a young man en- gaged in getting together a good prac- tice, and in his own interest he had been forced to give up waiting for his patients to finish dying. "I am glad you are here," he said to Stephen, who accompanied him to the door. "It would not do for ytur sis- ter to be alone ; this may go on for a couple of days." It (Ud not go on for a couple of days, but Mrs. lieach lived through that night in tlie same semicomatose state. The two watchers .sat in her room un- til supper time, wlien they left their mother in charge of a hired nurse, w hose services Joyce had lieen forc- ed to seek. After supper .Stephen I^ach seemed at last to find his tongue, and he talked in bis quiet, almost gentle voice, such as some men possess, not atxiut liimself and the iiast, but aliout Joyce and the future. In a de- lilierate, business-like way he proceed- ed to investigate the affairs of the dy- ing woman and the prospects of her daughter; in a word, he as.serted his authority as a brother, and Joyce was relieved and happy to obey him. It is not in limes of gayety that friendships are formed, liut in sorrow or susjiense. During that long evening this bro- ther and sister sud<lenly l^ecame in- timate, more so than montlis of pros- lierous intercourse could have madp them. At 10 o'clock Stephen quietly insisted that Jojce should go to lje<l, while he lay down, all dres-sed. on the sofa in the dining-room. VI shall sleep perfectly; it is not the first time 1 have slept in my clothes," he said sim|>ly. They went uistairs together and told the nurse of this arrang«ment. Joyce remained for some moments by the bedside watching her mother's peaceful sleep,and when she turned she found that .'!teph«.n had quietly slipped away. Wondering vaguely whether he had in- tentionally solved her difficulty as to the fraternal good night, she went to her own room. The next morning Mrs. lieach was fully conscious and ai>- Iieared to le stronger; nevertheless she knew that the end was near. She called her two children to her bedside and, turning her blind eyes toward them, spoke in broken sentences: "I am ready now â€" I am ready," she said. "Dears, I aiu going to your fath- erâ€"and • • • thiink Go<l, I can tell him that 1 left you together. I always knew .Stephen would come lieck. I found it written everywhere in the Bible. Stephenâ€" kiss me, dear I" The man leant over the bed and kiss- ed her. "Ah," she sighe<I, "how I wish I could see youâ€" just once before I die. Joy- ce!" she added, suddenly turning to her daughter, who stood at the other side of the led, "tell me what he is like, liut I know • • • I know â€" I feel it. Listen I H« is tall and 8|pare like his father. His luiir is l>lack, like his father'sâ€" it was black before he went away. His eyes, 1 know, are dark â€"almost dark He is jialo- like a .^imiiiard !" Joyce looked acro.ss the l>ed with slow horror dawning in her face, looked in- to a pair of blue eyes beneath tawny hair.cut sliort,as a soldier's bair should lie. .She looked upon a man big, broad, fairâ€" English from crown to toe â€" and the quiet command of his lips and eyes made her soy : 'Yes, mother, yes." h'or some moments there was sil- ence. Joyce stood pale and breath- less, wondering what this might mean Then the dying woman spoke again: Ki.ss me," she said. ••! » • • am going. Stephen firstâ€" my first born! And now, Joyce • • • and now kiss eauh other across tlie l>ed I 1 want to hear It • • • 1 want, • • ♦ to tell • • • your * * • father." With a last effort she raised her hands, seeking their heads. At first Joyce hesitated, then she leant forward, and the old woman's chilled fingers pressed their lips together. That was tlie end. Half an hour afterward Joyce and tliis man stood facing each other in the little dining room He began his explanation at once. "Stephen," he .s;iid, "was shotâ€" out thereâ€" as a traitor I could not tell her that I I did not mean to do this, but what else could I do?" He paused, moved toward the door with that strange hesitation which she had noticed upon his arrival. At the door he turned to justify himself. "I still think," he said gravely, "that it was the liest thing to do." Joyce made no answer. The tears stood in her eyes T'here was something very pathetic in tlie distress of this strong man, facing, as it were, an em- ergency of which ho felt the delicacy to lie tieyond his cleverne.ss to handle. "Last night," he went im, "I made all the nece.Hsjiry arrangements for your futureâ€" just as Stephen would have made themâ€" as a brother might have done. I • * • He and I were brother officers in a very wild army. Your brotlier was not a good man. None of us were." His hand was on the door. "He asked me to come and tell you," he added. "I sliall go liack now." They stood thus, he watching her face with his honest, soft blue eyes, alie failing to meet his glance. "May I cx>me l>ack again f" he asked suddenly. She gave a little gasp, l>ut made uo answer. "I will come l>ack In six months," he announced quietly, and then he clos- ed the door liehiud him. A YEAR'S KMBEZZLEMENT. A New York fidelity company has compiled statistics «if the embezzle- ments of public Hiid private funds dur- ing last year. The ikim aggregated 911.154.590. READS LIKE A DIME SOYEL DESPERATE GANGS OF MEN IN THE KLONOIKt: REGION. .4 Keturnrd Kloadlker filveii illii Rxperl- cureâ€" .Sone •> Bin I'riesd* Murdered r«r Tbeir «ald-A t:hlcs«o Muii's Ex perieace HItli the «houlii ar Ihe M«uu- (â- !â- Â«. Tie expected is happening. The sud- den rush of desperate men into the Klottdike region late last season Is be- ing followed by the apiiearance of tales of violence and robbery in the new El Dorado. l)aw.son City itself is believed to be fairly safe, as the desperate characters there are overawed by numljers. The worst that aun happen to a man is to be cheated of his hard-won gold-dust iin a gambling den. But in the spar- sely settled region round about mur- der and roljbery are rife. George F. Harry, a recently returned KloAdiker, makes this statement : "My story sounds so much like a dime- novel adventure that I am al- mo.st ashamed to talk about it. I went over the Dyea. trail vtith a porty of six early in Marchi 1897. The trail wa^ then new and in bad shape, and we were cumpelled to throw away u lot of suiilies. We finally settled in what is now known as Dead Mule Val- ley, and laid out our claims. W'e had fair luck, and before the winter set in had cleared up nearly |2.().ill apiece. In the mean time twenty other miner* had <:ome down from the Klondike re- gion and made their home« iu the val- ley. "Toward the lost of September, two strangers, claiming to be unlucky pros- pectors, wandered into camp and spent a week with us. Ily that time we were all anxious to get back to Dawson but had not made up our minds as to the best way of reaching the town. The two strajigers said they could lead us through the passes to the Dawson trail. A deal wa» made with them to act as guides lor the party, their pay to be 3500 each. "I dont know how it was, but in some majiiner I became suspicious ot the I^traager8, and at the last minute Fete Karrel. Dutch' Bauer .lud I drop- jied out of the party. Our only fear then woci that the guides were making a bold 'bluff to earn, the fl.UUO. and might get us LOST IN THB MOUNTAINS. We tad no idea they were pilots for a band of ghouls, as they afterward turn- ed out to be. We tried lu induce the other camiiers to wait, but the strauig- ens had woo. them over, and early in Oetolx-r Farrel, Bauer and my.self bade the others good-by. Nobody has even aeen or heard of any member of that party, except the guides, siaice that day. "One week later Farrel, Hauer an.l I ^t^uck camp and took up a trail to the west. Alter a five-weeks' struggle an<i great suffering our little baud of three reached Dawstui, and wo were surprised to learn that our fiien.ls had not arrived there. \N'e waited nearly a mouth for them, and then .started for home. DawHou is lull uf energetic newispapcr man and the arrival o£ a party ot tweatty men with fully JIUO,- 000 in gold dust muld not have been overlooked. All three ot us made ef- forts to in«luce the Duv>son people to get up a rejscui'Qg party, but were un- successful. "As I have said, we wailed tor nearly a month, and then got ready to tslart for home. Just as we were about to leave town I ran into one of the ghou- lish guides iu a gambling house, and at itai-*' asked him where our friends were. The chap wius drank und ugly and replied, with an insolent leer; "It you'll go bai-k a few hundred miiles on the trail you'll find them walling foi you.' I'ho boldness ot bis an.swer made me lose my head, a'ld instead of letiiug the matter drop there I .started In lo 'mix up' with him. This was a job 1 got the worst of, as the room was full of tle.speradoes who were plainly in sympathy with him. ami at the first i.p- (Hirtunity I luin'd tail and ducked out of the den. something? 1 should have done at the beginning before speaking to the bandit.' 'Hunting up Farrel and Bauer, 1 told them of what had occurred, and we at oioce went to the authorities and laid the matter before them. Inside of an hour a posse of THIRTY AHMED MEN wa,s ready to .surround the gambllng- houste an<l take out the ghoul, IjuI the fellow had beem token away by hia wimfiajiionsand we could not pick up the lr:ul. "Later we learned that the man went un<ler the name of 'Yello^v Tom,' and was aji all-round had muu. 'two days before we reached L)aws(vn lie had shown up with a big lot of gold dust, which is now plain was stolen from the men lie murdered. Slrimger proof than thin was found in a sled which was owned by nn.i of our Dead Mule Valley party. Thi.s was unearthed in a second-hand supply store along with some guns and lilanket.s which 1 bad no trouble in identifying, and the pro- prietor .said positively he had bought the stuff fnun 'Yellow Tom.'" F. L. Keating is a Chicago man who has had experience with the ghouls of the Klondike. Mr. Keating's story is as follows: "I came out of the Klondike district with two comrades early in November last by the overland route. For two weeks we struggled on over mountains of ice and snow, and, being pi-etty well tired out, got a little carele>sa. Suddenly two strange men were with us. Nobody seejued to know where they came from; apparently they hod lust spruog u|i out of the underbrush. and I didn't like ^ce waf the tblntf lotjked. "We left Dawaor wltb 916,Cat (n nuat. and thiji fact nrurt have been knoiwn to the gang, for n jthli^l else tvauid kave iirooght thoi«e meA out there In that weather. They insisted that they were prospectors bound to the dig- gin^rs, but they had nu paoka, no min- ing outfits, and only two days' rations of foo.-f ajid their rifles. " We ware then crossing the Daltoa trail and were heading for Fort Sal- kirk. Repeatedly we Had to lay dowa our we^poxiK and assist in handling tha packs and helping each other up and dowin the hills. The two strangers were always together Ini the centra ot the party, and their guns were alwaya close by them. I did not believe they would attack us alone, but auspected they would try to LE^D US INTO A TRAP. At the first halt I ln.forined Av com- panions of my suspicions. we de* cided upon a plaoi. We were to drop behind the strangers at the first open stretch of country and then do a little hold-up busijwss ourselves. We wera convinced that the strangers were rob- beri, and that they were after our lives and gold, which prautloally meant the .same thing to us. f(ir we had risked our lives for the (,'old ajwl were detarmia- exi to do so a^ruiini. Phil Daly, one ot my partners, was a big, strapping tel» low, always ready for a fight. Nelso Thrimpsjwu Diy other comrade, waa a fighter and full of nerve. "All went well until about 2 c'clook that afternoon, We managed to keep the strangers in front of im, and oun gums always ready for action. When the right moment came I soag outt Hold up your hands,' and at the same time our rifles came to a level. Tb» strangers faced about, looked dow n tha mu/zle of our rifles, and up went their han<Ls. Then Daly gave the strangers a short talk, plain and to the point. "'We don't like your c.ompaay.' said Haly, 'and you can't travel with us any longer.' "Daly then ordered them to retraea their steps. Tli* rascals swore and pleaded, but when, at la.st Daly lost pa- tience, and lifted his rifle, saying: 'Get along now, or you are both dead men.' the pair started on a run back over the trail. We could hear their cursea and threats for ten minutes. "^^'e were determiijued not to be tak- en unawares, and 1 stood guard for the first three hours, of the night. Nelse took bis turn next, and 1 went to sleep near Daly. Daly went on watch just before dayli»rht.' ' Suddenly I w»» awakened iiy THE .BOUNDS OF SHOT. -â- â€" 1 jumiied up, grablied my rifle and ran toward my comrades, whom 1 saw kneeling behind a group of Ijowldera to the left of our camp. I did not know what w.is up. but Doly soon en- lightened me by shouting. "Tbe devils are behind those trees and the woods are full of them.' "We opened a .ste.'idy fira. and tha unseen enemy was just as wasteful of ammunition a.s we were. Finally, just as the light was growing, six men broke from the olump of trees and made a msh for a steep hill a hunr dred yard.s to their left. Two were wounded ami had to tje assiated. We recognized one of the wounded men as OUT companion of the day beJore, and am< ng the uninjured bandits we distiugoishe<l the ugly features of the set'ond stranger. We winged another of the bandits as he reached the bot- tom of the liill. hut he was quickly caught up by his comrades. "By the time we had made our way a*"ros8 the stream that divided our camp from the hill over which the bandits liad retreated all trace of them had di.-.appeiirBd. We hunted for ad hour, but finally gave up the chasa and reitumed lur march. "GhouLsf The mountain trails are full of them and many an honest fel- low, after months of sufferiaii and hardrthip. has come out with a happy heart und full sacks of dust, oaly to be cruelly robbed and murdered. "ITie tran,s|)ortalion and outfitting companies will deny my story, but they have good rea.sona to keep tha truth back." ^VISE WORDS. They who forgiive most shall be moot forglivem.â€" Ilailey. Charm strikes the sight, but merit « ins the soul â€" I'ope. lA^arning makes a man fit coinpanr for himself.â€" Voung. .Sorrow's crown of sorrow is remem- liering happier things. â€" Tennyson. To 'Know how to wail is the great seo- ret of success.- De Maistre. Who niake« quick u.se of the moment is a genius of pendence.â€" I.aviiti»r. Opportunity sooner or later coiuea to all who work and wish.â€" Lord .'Stanley. Hard workers are usu.illy honest ; In- dustry .â€"Bovee. To see what is right, and lo do it, is want of coiira^je or of principle. â€" Con- fucious. The diyimg up of a single tear has more of lui honesit fuiue, than shed- ding seas ot gore. â€" Byron. A man's own good breeding is the l«.sl security against other [leoplc's ill manners.â€" Chcsl erf ield. Judge thyself with the judgment of sincerity, and thou wilt judge others with the judgment of charily, â€" J. Ma- son. .Make no dispjiiy of your lalents or attaijimenta for every one will clearly see, admire and acknowledge them, so long as you cover them with tbe beau- tiful veil of modesty.â€" Emmons. Let falsehood be u stranger to thy lips; shame on the policy that first liegan to tani|ier with the heart to hid* its thoughts, and doubly shame on that righteous tongue that sold its honesty and told a lie ! -- I a s 'i -H CROWN OK PERSIA. The royal crown of Parsia. which dat«A back to remote ages, is 'm the form of a pot ot flowTer*. surmounted iQr aja uncut tuhg the vises »( a hen'a y â- *r*" 7fP •iBfttv 'W i nur r yt*^^ â- ^ .â- o *lfci..MHNWT.iirflMI*l i|MM I Iff'' I II I 11^ .â€" ..hunfc Ma -