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tinder an Afric Sun CHAPTER I.â€"Con‘tinued. “Where is your master 1" said Red- ‘xave sternly. "In bed. ill," replied the man. "What does he say!" asked Digby lwarsely. "’I‘hat Bataan is in bed ill." "It is a lie!" roared Digby. "He is not here. Redgrave. get horses; we must follow and hunt him down." "What is this noise!" said a famil- iar voice; and Ramon, looking pain- fully sallow and ill. came into the open ball. “Ah, Rndgrzu‘eiâ€"My dear Dig- by, what is this? Some one has at- tacked you i" “No,” said. the young man. “Yes,” he added fiercely. "An! enemyâ€"a cow- ardly. treacherous ememy struck at my life, but failed. Struck at my life, so u to separate me from the woman I love. Do you hear? you Spanish dog! â€"from the woman I love, and who loves me. Now, answer. if you value your lifeâ€"where is Helen?" “Helen? Why do you ask me 5‘" “Because I can. see through your cursed plot. Now. sir, once more, if on value your life. speak the truth. hora is Helen f" “In the young senor mad. Redâ€" grava i" said Ramon: coldly. "Let me answer. Redgrave.â€" Yes, sir, madâ€"mad against you. Once more, if you value your life, where is Helen?" "Oh. yes,” said Ramon mockingiy, “I value my life." - “Then Where is she l" ‘ "The senor thinks I have taken her away I" "Dotnrt madden me. Ramon. I am a quiet, easyâ€"going fellow, but danger- ous when roused. \Vhere is she l" "I do not know." "You lie, hound!” cried Digby; and, weak as he was, he sprung at- the Span- iard and caught: hitmi by the throat. 'Ilhe moment before, Ramon was calm and smooth and soft of word; but, as he felt Digby's hands at his throat, he flashed out into a rage that was al- most volcanic. He struggled, but vain- ly, weak as his aggressor was, for he too seemed to be suffering from some injury which tunned. him faint. But his words were fierce and strong, and bile eyes glistenied as he cried menac- inglyz. "Ah, then. the senor is jealous. He feels pangs, and fierce with: rage, does he, because the pretty child is not here i" “\Vill you cease this before I strangle you i" cried Digby savagely. "Where Is Helenl" ' . "Fool! idlotl dog l" hissed out the Spaniard, delivering eacib.‘ word as if it Were a deadly blow. "Don't ask me. Go and ask your cunning, false friend. Ask Fraser, when you can find him. He has taken her away." "What? It is not true. It is an- other of your cowardly tricks to throw us off the scent." v "Indeed? 'Ilhen. where is Fraser ‘3" "Murdered, for augh-t I kn‘ow, as you tried to murder me," cried Digby fierce- ly. but with a horrible suspicion gain- ing upon him fast. r “You are a boyâ€"a w‘eak boy," snarl- ed Ramon._ “Your friend, where is be? ‘Ab, it is always the friend who decewes." "Ilainon. for Heaven's sake. the truth," cred Redgrave. "Mycbildl my child!" "Gone with this idiot's false friend. â€"'Iihcre, go both of you.â€"I tell you I am ill.â€"-Pedro, your arm." He reeled. and would have fallen, but: for his servant's quick action; and as he was lowered fainting to the mat- ting-covered floor, Dilgby saw that his head _had evidently received some se- vere injury. I -â€"â€"â€". CHAPTER XI. “1 cannot understand it," said Red- grave wearily. "I was outtihe greater part of yesterday; and when I returnâ€" rd ileienl had disappeared.” "But you heard what he said, Mr. Redgraveâ€"Fraser â€"gone. Oh. it seems impossible!" Re rave sank weari‘ly upon a stone. and at the cool wind which came fiercely from the north blow upon his busted brow. "ljou donrt speak. sir," cried Digby, passionately. "What can I say, sir i Teiil me about yourself. What did you mean: by charg- ing Senor Ramon with an attempt to murder you i" - Dlgby impatiently explained. "It Ls strange." said Redgrave; “but {almond think 1% would go so faras "cher mlnli whether he could or would." cried Digby. "Helenâ€" we must find Helen. is that man deceiv- infikus l" *dgraye shook his head. "You saw the wnditmn he was in. There was no deceit in that." "Could be have taken her away? ls Sbk‘ hidden. in seine place he owns!" "No; it is too improbable. These are notthe days of abductions. young man. â€"(‘ould Helen have deceived me i" he muttered. . But Digby caught. what he said. "No." h» cried proudly. "she is incapable of deceit." i ln_an instant his hands were grasp- ed tightly and Redgrave was gazing almost affectionately to his eyes. "God bless you for that, my boy i" he cried in a c g voiceâ€""Lde bless you for that l" Digby returned the (rank warm pres~ sun; and from that moment it seem- ed as if they worked together with mwed spirit and as one. "i tunnel. think that Fraser would fight against me or play a deceptive rt," cried Digby warmly, after a long lscuraion which follovwd a vain search {or news. "It is hard to doubt one you believe a; be a friend." said Redgrave. "But there is no doubt of one thing." "And that is!” . "Fraser loved my child.” "Ob! Immi‘blel" Digby‘s ejacu- lation was full of wonderment and doubt. "\V'as she not sufficiently beautiful and true and good!" I . “Don’t talk like that, as if she were no more." “i noticed it from the first," con- tinued Redgrave. “I saw how he was barranco. I felt sure there was some- thing on the way. “It is a plan to get rid of us for the time.’ I said. And after turning the matter over in my _ mind, I thought I would let him think ;we were go‘ . and see nastart. and. struck by her; and in my trouble with 1 Ramon's advances, I found myself thinking how much happier she would 1' be with the quiet, grave. middle-aged Student, andI hoped that she would re- turn his affection.” 1 “And I, sir i” cried Digby resentful- y "Ah, yes. I saw that you loved her too; but I looked upon you as the hot changeable lover of a day attracted by the first pretty face he saw. But Helen chose you." 1 "And Fraserâ€"did he everl”â€" _ "Speak to me? No. I watched him care daughter's hapEilness at stake; but he seemed to thin that his chances were hopeless, and to acquiesce in your p051- tion. I do not think Helen ever sus- pected his love." "She could not. I never dreamed of vsucha thing." said Redgrave sadly; "when . "NO," one is _ all but eel‘. You both. were blind.” "Then all this points to the fact that Fraser has playinga dou‘ble part against us all; and that, by some cun- nmg jugglezry, he has persuaded Helen to listen to himâ€"to accompany himâ€" No; I‘ll never believe that. My old friend has fallena victim to the fate I escaped. Nb, Mir. Redgrave, I can’t believe that.” * ' ; Inquiries were madei-n every direc- tion. especially down In the port; but no vessel had touched there; not even a fishing-boat had left the little place; and it was blowing so hard off-shore ' that no boat would have dared to ap- proach or leave from that side of the islanil. ' "Let’s go back to Ramonfs; I am| sure we shall leann something there,’ cried Digby at last. "That scoundrel is at the bottom of it all, I’m sure." They went straight to the Spaniards house to meet the English doctor of the place, about to Leave. I . "Bad, sirâ€"very bad. Quite insens- i‘ble. Concussion of the brain from a fall or from some blow. The case is serious, I’m afraid." Redgrave and Digby exchanged looks. “Do not have him disturbed. I shall be here again ina couple of hours,’ said the doctor; and he walked brisk- ly away. . “No deceit here,” sand Redgrave. "No; but question his man Pedro. Promise him any bribe so that we may get at the truth" ' "We are on the wrong scent," said Redgrave, dismall-y, as they walked away. “Pedro kmmvs nothing, I am slurs." . l -. .- Digb did not feel convinced; but he could 0 no more, and he followed Red- grave to the desolate home, sick and. wewried out, his injuries from his fall forcing him to keep his _‘bed for the next three days, and submitbo the doc- tor’s ministering. At the end of those three days, during which time tRed- grave had soolured the island an every direction. Digby was able to le'aive his bed, while the news of the doctor as he tended Ramon was of the darkest hue. . - “He may receiver; I lean say no more." was the only reply Digby could obtain. it was on the fourth morning that. with the gentleness of one who bore for him a real affection, sallow and haggard-looking, Redgrave helped Dig- by toaseat in root of that once pleas- anit: villa, where he could breathe the sweet“. pbrre sea air. and wt ‘the same time be sheltered from the fierce rays of the sun once more shining in all. its glory, for. the gale had blown over. and the sea softly rippled in the gentle breeze. . "No newsâ€"no news!" groaned Dig- by, as he- lay back with his head .rest- ing upon his pillowhis host had laced at the back of his chair. "Amd used to think this place a perfect heaven i" That day had nearly passed, and after being within doors during the hottest time, Digby was again scat- ed beneath the tree. gazing sadly out to sea, and asking himself how long it; would be ere he recovered his strength. . “I must find themâ€"I must find them," he groaned. And then he start- ed up, tattered. holding on by the back of the chair, dizzy with excitement. for unmistakably that was Fraser's voice he heard; and directily after the gate was opened, and Helen entered with him. leaning affectionately upon his arm. ' The moment they ' gate, Helen darted into the house; and from where he sat, Digby could hear Red rave’s cry of joy, and real- ise as we] as if he had seen it that the sobbing girl had thrown herself into her father's arms. “My darling," said Fraser softlyas he took off his hat and stood gaznng toward the house. Then, With a bitter sigh. he turned away. and caught Sight of the pale drawn face of Digby stand- ing motionless in the shadow beneath the tree. "Ah. my dear old Tom!" he cried; and his whole manner changed, as be literally ran at him. "What is it?â€" Hlurt‘ i" ‘ "Keep backl" cried Digby. in a suf- focatin voice. “You mean, despicable traitor “Whatâ€"Oh. I see." said Fraser. genially; and then a mocking look came into his face as he added slyly: "Don't take on about it, Tom. we can't all win." Digby was too weak to reply; he, merely darted a bitter look at. his friend and sank helpless, and with his brain swimming. in the chair. He was conscious of vetoes and of seeing fig- ures come as it were through a mist. Then. as he struggled back to himself, it Was to find that Helen was leana ing over him with her arms about his neck. "You I" he panted. "I don’tâ€"I dont‘ understand." . . “Have you not! told him. Fraser. my. dear fellow?" cried Redgrave. "I? No. Poor boy; he was too cross. No: too upset.â€"- There. Tom. my dear lad." he cried. goxng down on one knee and taking his friend's hand, "don't let's lay at cross-purposes.” . . “Iâ€" don't understand." said Dig- by hoarser. _ ' . "Soon explainmy dear lad. I was very suspicious of Ramon. as you know. though youenubbed me ; and after the last pressing way in which he proposed that we shobld visit the head of the- were inside the -‘ Helen clung L " Well, there uliy, asa man would who ‘had his - 1 your: , one is selfish and blind to ' theta stegp baci Dang watch."l l “ 'es " sai ig y, eager - " \Vell, I started early, and Ieft a line for you to follow; and of course I let {cu go on while I dropped into the ushes and watchedâ€"you first. then’ our friend." A " Quick! you torture me," cried D19- y. "That ought not to be torture." said Fraser quietly, as he glanced at where to her injured lover. is little to tell. I saw you go; and an hour after, when I was beginning to grow suspicious of myself and my doubts. I saw Ramonl come out, and I followed him right up to here.” - u Yes.n ‘ " Here he came as with a message‘ imploring help for you. You had fallen from one of the rocks down by the seashore and wanted brandy and bandages." “ The scou-ndrell” " Yes; the scoundrel was very sorry ‘ our host here was outâ€"so he said, but 1 glad to escort poor little Helen down to her wounded lover. She followed! blindly, thinking only of you; and when ' ,she reached the spot, you were not = lying there. but a boat was ready. to l l l . ,had been 4 l I sail somewhere or another, Ramon only knows. " And then._ Tom." cried Helen, who listening excitedly, "hfr. Fraser came up as he was trying to drag me into the boat." “ Come," cried Fraser, laughing; " that isnft fair. Let me tell my own story..You’ll knock all the gliding off. I don‘t have a chance every day to play knight-errant." b “Go on, for pity's sake,” cried Digh y. " All right. He dragged her on board, pushed off; and I thought I was too late, but a wave checked him, and I rushed into the water and got hold of the aide. Then he raised the boatâ€" hook and struck me. Well, that nat- urally made me feel savage. -My hand went to my belt; and somehow, I hardly know how, I gave him a. topper With my geological hammer; and the next thing I saw clearly was Ramon crawling out of the sea. while I was trying to manage the boat, for afierce puff of w1-nd came down the barranco and nearly capsized us. That’s all." " No, no; that can't be all," cried Dig- by. excitedly. "Well, not quite. The squall inâ€" creased to a gale. It was impossible to land; we were blown right out to seaâ€"ocean. I meanâ€"and later being nearly swamped about a hundred thou- sand times. we managed to get under the lee of Palma, right across yonder; Miss Helen here behaving like a hero- ine; and there we stayed with some friends of Mr. Redgrave till the wea- ther lulled, and then we sailed back, Thereâ€"that is all." > "No; that is not all,” cried Helen, flushing. "He has said nothing hard- ly about his gallantry in defending me form that man, nor about his brave true chivalry all 'hrough our perilous trip. ” You ought to be proud "â€"â€"She aused, and took Digby’s hand between rs as she looked blushineg in his eyesâ€" " \Ve ought to be proud to have so true a friend." "Horace, old man.” whispered Digby, as he held out his hand, "can you 3” "Can I?" cried the other, warmly grasping Itlhic extended hand. An hour later, when they two were alone. and after all further explana- 1310118. had been given. Fraser said soft- ly, his face-nearly hidden by the cloud from his cigar: "Yes, old man, why should I deny it? Who could help lov- ing so sweet and pure a woman? I love her too well ever to let her think obhierwrse of_me than as her true and chivalrous friend. The rest, is our secâ€" ret, Tom." Andafter a pause: "She loves youâ€"her every thought is yours; and as for me, I have but one wishâ€" to see her happy-There; you see I can take‘yonr hand." There is little more to tell. Ramon! did not due; but he was still anything. but the same man, when the -Red-. graves returned to England, with? an escortâ€"Redgrave pere having found means pay off his indebtedness to‘ the Spaniard, not a very large amount â€";w1hcni he had successfully parted with his interests in an island of which he had long been weary. How. he obtainâ€" ed the monby he did not say. Digby suspected that it came from Fraser; but the latter would not confess. The other matter was a year later. and there were no cards. The End. PROF. HUXLE Y. Favored Tobacco. and Disappointed an Ancllcnec of Reformcrs. At a. debate on smoking among the members of a certain! British associa- tion many speakers denounced and others advocated the practice. Prof. Huxley said: "For 40 years of my life tobacco has been a deadly poison to me. Loud cheers from the anti-tobaxxonists. In my youth. as a medical student, I tried to smoke. In vainl At every fresh attempt my insidious foe stretch- ed me prostrate on the floor. Repeated cheers. I entered the navy. Again I tried to smoke, and again met with defeat. I hated tobacco. I coqu al- most have ienti my support to any in- stitution that had for its object the putting of tobacco smokers to death. Vocifcrous applause. A few years ago I was in Brittany with some friends. We went to an inn. They began to smoke. They looked very happy, and outside it was very wet and dismal. I thought I would‘try a cigar. Mur- murs. I did so. Great. expectations. I smoked that cigarâ€"it was delicious. Greens. From that moment I was a changed man. and now I feel that smoking in moderation in a comfor- table and laudable practice. and is pro- ductive of good. Dismay and confusion of the anti-tobacconist. Roars of laughter from the smokers. There is no more. harm in -a pipe than there is in a cup of tea. You may poison your- self by drink: too much green tea. and kill yoursef by eating too many beefsteaks. For my own part, I con- sider tobacco in moerat.ion.isa sweet- ener and equalizer of the temper." To- tal rout o the anti-tobacconists and complete triumph of the smokers. old fellow. ' T° “Win and Sow. reap and mow. an mm \4\ “~'\ ~ ‘\‘. “W THE FAMER'S BOY. The sun went down behind you hill, across the dreary moor; \Veary and lame, a boy there came up to‘a farmer’s door. "\Vill you tell me if any there bethat 1 will give me employ To plough and sow, reap and mow, and be a farmer's boy. Chorusâ€" ‘ l AGRICULTURAL _ .........~.._...-..~_.._._._ . ..........,...._â€" insufficient in quantity to furnish one- fourth of the plant food. and the bum- us needed. it can be made to furnish . many~fold its original amount of vege- table matter in the form of a clever sod. and the clover insures an available stock of mineral elements for succeed- ing crops. _â€"â€" TAKE CARE OF THE CHICKENS. {Many farmers have from fifty to a hundred head of chickens running around their barnyard and stables. " ‘ ‘And to be 8‘ tamer,” boy' to be ‘ scratching and trying to take care of farmer's boy, To plough and sew. reap and mow, and be a farmer's boy. "My father's dead, my mother‘s left with her five children small, And what is worst for my mother still, I'm the la est of them all' Tho' little I be. fear no work. if you will me employ be a farmer's boy." Chorusâ€" "And if that on won't me employ. one favor 16 me ask. I l l l themselvw, which never have any special care, because they are regard- ed of little value. It is true that by scratching for themselves. and protect- ing themselves as best they can. they manage to keep the farmer’s table sup- plied with eggs and chickens during dithe year. and at special seasons to furnish a surplus for the market. But all this seems of little accqunt. be- cause thay do it all themselves without any car . and so it never enters in the \Vill yiou sfhelter me till the break of farmer's calculation that chickens can 1,13;th thls com and “may be made the most profitable live stock At break of day I'll trudge along else- where to seek employ. To plough and sew, reap and mow. and be a farmer's boy.” Chorusâ€"- "0 pray, try the lad," the farmer cried, "no further let him seek.” "0 yes, dear father,” the daughter cried, whilst tears ran down her cheek, " For those that can labor it's hard to i want, and travel for employ To plough and sow. reap and mow, and > be a farmer’s boy.” Chorusâ€" In course of time he grew a man; the good old farmer died, .And left the lad the farm he had. and the daughter for his bride. The boy.‘that was, now farmer is, oft - smiles and thinks with joy The lucky day he came that way to be a farmer's boy. 5â€"...â€" APPLYING MANURE.’ If one may judge correctly from exâ€" pressions made at many farmers’ instiâ€" tutes, no matter puzzles a majority of farmers more than the one of getting and holding good catches of grass and clover, says the Practical Farmer. .A field is broken for corn or other spring crop, seeded directly to wheat, and is then in such condition that clover, or timothy and clover, is needed to restore it to a profitable condition for future tillage. 'But the patch of grass is often a failure, causing a break in the ro- tation and making it necessary to have too large an acreage of the farm in tilled crops. Nothing is more disheart- ening than such failure to get stands of grass when wanted. More cultiva- tion only decreases the chance for sucâ€" cessful'seeding, and the land is not in shape for profitable crops. If stands of grass could be assured, the farmer, his plans would not be so often upset, and his profits would be larger. Unfor- tunately no assurance can be had, and the only thing to do is to make the chances great as possible. I am confident that on most farms the true function of the manure made on the farm is to make a manurial crop grow. It should be used to start a crop that will add much more fertility to the soil than the manure contains. It should not be treated as a source of plant food for cash crops. unless the farm supply is so large that all is not needed to insure heavy growths of grass and clover, There are Occasional stock farms that furnish all the plant food, including humus, needed by the soil in the form of stable manure, but such farms are rare. \Vhenever catches of grass and rank growth are not reasonâ€" able certainties, the ‘stable manure should be made to do the most possible to insure success in seeding down the land. In what way can manure be made to do its best for grass? Certainly it is by being thoroughly mixed with the surface soil of the land intended for seeding. The first step in seeding is to prepar ethe ground early so that moi- sture will rise. Then topdrem with manure, cultivating the surface till the imanure is fined and mixed with the surface soil. Many object to this way of handling manure. They agree that the unfer- mented manure snould go to supply the wants of the corn plant, which is a gross feeder, and that fertility is left in the soil for a succeeding grain crop, This is doubtless true, but the man- ure that is left by the corn is not where it can do the most good for the young grass. It needs the soluble plant food and the mulching that is gotten by top-dressing. If there were abund- ance of manure, the unferuiented should be applied to land intended for corn, but. with a limited supply 'thc needs of the clover and grass are of the greatest importance. There is least waste and expense when manure is drawn direct from sta- ble to field and this is an argument against. saving a supply for top-dress- ing land that is being prepared for wheat and grass. but 1 write of the cirâ€" cumstances by those who are far from sure of good stands of grass. The add- ed expense in saving a supply for top- dressing is richly repaid in the vigor- ous clover that is usually assured by surface manuring. All over this count stacks and fodder. 'i‘ e latter is not shredded, as a rule. and when these conditions exist all this long stuff that is refused. by stock should be kept in a sort of pit or basin by the barn. where leaching does not occur. and the mass thoroughly rots by midsummar. This affords material for top-dressing early lowed fields, intended for wheat. Vhere the long stuff is cut and all refuse through the stables for bedding. a cheap shed will serve to one sees straw- protect the manure from severe loss. The secret lies in the thorough tram ing of the manure in the shed as it is evenly spread over the floor. from time to time. In such {ways a supply of manure may be kept till such time as it can be made to make a manuriai crop grow. \Vhere the block of manure i8 l 1 that try to live upon his farm. They have, in his opinion, done all that can be expected of the fifty or one hundred chickens that have accumulated on his . farm from year to year. {These are. 'indeed, often of the most indifferent | l l I I kind of dunghill fowls, with an over- useless and are a perfect nuisance, be- sides being a dead loss of what they eat. Moreover, as they runat large at all times, they often destroy grain and garden truck, which, besides the annoy- ance is often a serious loss. The chickens must have the blame when it should [all on the careless household whom they are trying to serve. Now, all this can be changed. and instead of p.11 this annoyance and waste, with a doubtful profit. there can be a certain income of a hundred or more dollars each year. from these same chickens, or others better adapted to do the work at the same expense. This would certainly be no unwelcome income added to the spending money of the farmer's household. This is but a small estimate of the income from _a flock of chickens no larger “11111.13 found on many farms, and kept with almost no profit. \Vith a little tune and a little care and, it may be, asmall outlay in the beginning. arrangements may be made whereby chickens maybe kept with very little trouble and With much profit. . Instead of making it a necessdy for them to pick around the stables and barnyard for an uncertain livmg and finding shelter where they can, in all kinds of weather. they should have a large yard somewhere near the barn for a range, and in this or connected'xvith it there should be a warm chicken house for shelter. This house should be large enough lto have a feeding room, roasting racks, and, separate from these, but of easy access, a room for nests and hatching. The feeding room should have a covering an the floor of clean straw, better if some of it is out to two or three inches in length; among this straw, when fed in the house, the feed should be scattered, to necessitate the exercise of scratchingwto find the grain. Every room should kept clean. and the walls should be whitewashed, and lime with a little dilute carlmlic acid should be scattered around the roosts. The yard. where the feeding should be done in mild weather, should .be supplied with pure water and may In- clude a grass plot for summer use, and access to the barnyard. where the chick- ens may be permitted to run when con- venient. The feed here should be well scattered and should be varied; corn, wheat, barley and cats, with scraps from the table, and a couple of times a week round bones and meat from the butcxer's. This arrangement may seem at first to involve a good deal of trouble, but that will be owing very much to the interest taken in the chick- ens and what they are expected to do for you. If you once get. in the habit of taking care of your chickens asyou now take care of your other stock, you will be astonished how they will grow in your favor, and how much real mon- ey they will make for you. Of course, it must be understood that you have egg producing chickens and that a very small per cent. of them are males, and that these be kept from a free range, except in the early spring when you expect your hens to prepare for batchâ€" ing. It is found best to kill or otherâ€" wise dis ose of most of the cockerels before t ey are a year old. SING AS THEY MARCH. â€"â€" Russian Soldier» Resort To illunlc ’l‘o Lighten nhcir Drenry Journeys. A correspondent from Russia writes: ” In no civilized (truly, I believe, is the use of song to enliven toil so pre- valeut as among the Russians. "Shabbily and scantly attired. be- grimed with dust and sweat in sumâ€" mer. bespatiered and bedragglcd with mud in autumn, clotted with snow in winter, with lciclcd lips and boards; at all times and in all weathers, along Russia's wretched roads and ways, um: may meet her soldiers, briskly cover- ing the ground, after long and forced marches' forlorn, and {weary-looking objects, drab-colored specuwlcs, not al- tractive to the eye, but ever with the cheery song issuln from throats which swallow no better [food than a thin soup cooked from refuse cabbage leaves, and " chunks" of course black brood. "And that almost ceaseless song, plaintive though the airs invarrably are, seems not only to buoy their spirits up, but to raise them in the eyes of the s ectator from overdriven hopeless saves of an autmmtic military sys- tem to cheery and willing cndurcrs. " Hordes of Cos-«sacks may be met. too.'who have not stirred from the sad- dle for long, weary hours. and In. their case. the never-flagging choruaOIs en- livened b tambourine wzompamments from perhaps one warrior out of each fifty. BIG BEST lNllABl'l‘El) POINT. The Buddhist Monastery, of Haine. in 'l‘hihet, is the lollies! inhabited point, in the world. It is 17.000 feat above sea level. '94,. avenomm. A’.J ’.AMJ- 'r-AM NA...