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 .lJ,-i J,«J! yJlSJi '*sV|^J '•ij.^?^,- Uf. ni^' 1*1' A CAST FOR FORTUNE. By Chbistiaw Beid, in " Lippincotx's Magaziki." CHAPTER Xn. •' I am sorry," said Don Maurizio, coming out the next morning to find the usual group ealjiered under.the arcade, aroimd the great aoorway, â€" to wit. Dona Zarifa, Derwent, the horses, and the »moio«,â€" " that I shall have to disappoint you about our ride this morning. I find by a letter which I have joBt received that I must go on business to Eitzatlan, and it would not be agreeable to either of you to accompany me there." "Of course not, papa," said Dona Zarifa, who was standing by her horse's head, feed- ing him with sugar, which the beautiful, intelligent creature took daintily from her hand. " And it is really as well â€" at least, so far as I am concerned â€" that the ride is deferred," she went on. " When I went to the hospital this morning, I found poor Benita wandering in mind, and my presence seemed to soothe her. So I will go back at once. Adioif, my beauty," she patted the horse's arching neck " are you sorry that you will not have to carry me this morn- ing?" " I am sure that he is, if I may be allowed to interpret his sentiments by my own," said Derwent. " And you are going to the hospital, senorita.^ I can say nothing against such a charitable intention but before you spoke â€" so quick is thought â€" I was about to propose a visit to the Canada. Ever since you said that you would like a picture of it, I have been anxious to try what my efibrts can accomplish in the way of a sketch." " But I thought that you disclaimed any artistic skill?" she said, with some surprise. " I said that I was not an artist. That is true. But I have a little facility in sketch- ing from nature, though not much training. I cannot promise you a finished picture, but I may make a passable drawing of the ravine. " "I shall be delighted," she said. "I hope that you will tiy. And suely iny absence cannot matter. You do n t need assistan ce in your drawing " "Oh, yes," said Derwent, though he had the grace to blush, " I need your assistance to determine the best point of view. â€" that is, the one you would prefer. But I will take my materials and follow my own judg- ment. Then, when you have finished your charitable ministrations, you will perhaps come and tell me if you like my choice. " "Yes, I will come," she said, smiling. And then, without waiting to change her dress, she walked away toward the village on the other side of the gardens Derwent stood and watched her as long as she was in sight. The close-fittmg habit show- ed every line of her statuesquefigureand the perfect grace with which she moved, as she passed down one of the shadjr avenues, her favorite companion, a beautiful greyhound, walking beside her, and looking as thorough- bred as herself. All around stretched the grounds, dappled with sanshin e and shadow while the vlong vista of the tree-arche avenue held only the one moving figure, as a perfect picture, in tlie heart of the green loveliness. Derwent gave a deep sigh. "If I could only paint that I" he said, lialf aloud, and then turned, with some confusion, to find Padre Francisco beside him. "What is that you would like, to paint " asked the priest. ' 'This view of the gardens Yes, is is very charming. But is not that Dona Zarifa thatlseewalkingaway, yonder? How is it that your usual ride is not to be taken " Derwent explained, adding, "So Dona Zarifa has gone to the liospital to see some poor woman who is wandering in her mind " Benita. Yes, she will die, I fear." ""And I am going to try and sketch the Canada. Will you come, padre mio, and see my failure " "I will come for a little while and see yoiir success," the padre, answered, "for I do not think that you are likely to attempt any- thing in which you would fail." "I should not wish to attempt what I knew to be beyond my powers, certainly. But a man cannot always tell beforehand whether he will succeed in an effort, even when he thinks he may. " "If he has gauged his powers correctly, he can generally tell, â€" at least in some degree. You, Senor Derwent, know pretty accurate- ly, I think, what you can do." "I wish I did " said Derwent, devoutly. " But I am like other men misled by vanity, I sometimes essay tasks beyond my strength and fail. I shall probably fail in making this sketch but I mean to try. Fortunately, I have sketching-materials with me for I thouglrt I would do some- thing of the kind in Mexico. This will be my first attempt." A few minutes later, with a portfolio under his arm and accompanied by the padre, he was on his way to the ravuie, where he had spent many delightful hours since the day when he was first introduced to it. They tried various points of view, and it was finally decided that the sketch should be made from the pavilion. So Der- went settled himself, with the more satis- faction because he had a support on the rail- ing for his book, and a roof overhead to keep away the intrusive rays of the sun. Padre Francisco lingered, talking pleasantly, imtil he was finally at work and then, saying that his own work awaited him, he took his departure, with many Moshes for the success of the picture. As his slender, cas^ked figure went down the glen, Derwent rt-atched it with, a smile, saying to himself that if his picture was a success that figure should enter into it. •Dora Zarifa will like that," he thought; for he knew how dear the gentle priest was to every one at Miraflores. He had heard from Don Maurizio that he belonged to one of tilie proscribed religious drders, which, robbed, exiled^ atiidcleauded^by the gfiieaanent, are yet quietly doing the work of God in poverty tod obscurity all over Mexico. The young man was thinkil^ of that figure, and of all the long line of such figures which had Christianized and civilized a savage people, as he worked with a facility that surprised himself. Perhaps the stimulus was the desire tagratifjDoaa Z^i£b, â€" for love can do wonderful things and develop powers almost imdreamed of, â€" or perhaps he posseted more talent than he had hitherto imagined. At aU events, his sketch was growing in the most satisctoiy manner, and he was so absorbed in its progress that he had iJiDOBt forgotten to wonder if Dona Zuiia would appear acoording to her praniBe when anddenly, in soch qxdck snooeaaion aa to be almost simultaneous, two shots rung sharply on the air, the last â€" a rifle-ball-^ just grazing his ear, aiid then flattening it- self on the stone colunm beside which he sat. The book dropped from his hand, and the sheet of paper on which he was sketching was borne by a current of air over the railing and fluttered unheeded into the cur- rent ^low, as with a violent start he looked up, to see Dona Zarifa standing on the path below ,with a still smoking pistol in her up- lifted hand. In an instant he was by her side, for in- stinct told him that the shot had not been fired idly. " For God's sake, what is it?" he cried, gazing witli astonishment at the pale, set face, the shining eyes, and the up- lifted hand pointing so steadily without a tremor in the direction of the pavilion. " There is a man, an assassin, behind yoii- der rock," she answered, in a clear vibrant tone, pointing to a low, long boulder that crowned the hill which rose immediately in the rear of the pavilion. " I saw him about to shoot you, and I fired just as he had his finger on the trigger. His aim swerved, and he fell. I think 1 killed him. " " I will see," said Derwent, turning quick- ly but she stopped him by a motion, and extended the pistol. " He may be merely wounded," she said. " Be cautious." With no recollection of his weakness, he sprang forward and hastened up the steep ascent. Eighteen or twenty yards brought him to the boulder, and there on the ground behind it was the assassin, his rifle where it had fallen beside him. At the first glance Derwent thought he was dead, but on ex- amination discovered that, though insensible, he was still breathing. Throwing open his loose white upper garment, the young man saw that the pistol-ball had entered his chest some little distance below the heart. A stream of dark blood was flowing froni it and Derwent's first act was to place his thumb on the bullet-hole. The next mo- ment he heard a step, and, turning his head, saw Zarifa standing beside him, looking down at the man's face with an expessionof intense pain. But she asked, in a hushed tone, â€" • "Is he dead " "No and I am not sure that the wound need he fatal, if we can get speedy help. Can you go for it " "Yes, certainly," she answered, starting away impetuously. But before she had gone three steps she turned again, and, picking up the man's weapon, carried it a short distance away. "Have you the pistol in your hand?" she said. "Be on your guard some of these people are very treach- erous. I will soon bring assistance and Padre Francisco. I left him at the hospi- tal." When she was gone, Derwent for the first time looked closely at the man's face. It was. dark, with finely-cut features and a mass of black hair but not even the closed eyes and relaxed muscles could soften its fierce and sinister expression. A desperado in appearance as well as in deed, he looked thoroughly capable of the dastardly act in which vengeance had overtaken him; and Derwent felt with a sense of shuddering hor- ror, such as he had never before ever im-. agined, that but for the strangely fortunate chance â€" or was it the mercy of heaven ?â€" tliat had brought Dona Zarifa upon the scene at the critical moment, he himself would now be lying with his life-blood welling out and his eyes closed.forever to the things of the earth. The man must be indeed insensible who, having, as it were, felt the very breath of Death upon his cheek, is not thrilled by the touch of that great and terrible mystery. Nor was the thrill lessened by thinking of hand that saved him, â€" the gentle woman's hand that had never before taken even the life of a bird, but that had not faltered in striking the murderer down. What a fire of fierce indignation had been in the dark eyes when he met them first It was like the deadly flash of a sword from its sheath. He found himself recalling it with such a sense of conflicting emotions that it was well for him that the sound of quickly-approaching steps tore his mind from the subject. Padre Francisco had been met by Dona Zarifa be- fore she had gone far, and he hurried on at once to join Derwent, while she proceeded quickly to the hospital, and, in less time [than they dared hope, several men bearing a lit- ter made their appearance. With the practised skill of one accustomed to such work, the padre bandaged the wound, and the man was placed on the litter just as Zarifa once more appeared. "The doctor will be at the hospital by the time you get there," she said. Do you think, padre mio, that " "He will live?" the priest said, concluding her faltering sentence. "I cannot tell. He is still insensible, but I believe he will re- cover consciousnees soon; and I shall stay beside him. Go home now, tiy child. This has been a great shock to you. Go." But Dona Zarifa shook her head; and Derwent saw by her pallor and the expres- sion of her face how much she was sufiiering. "I will go to the hospital," she said. "I can render assistance there " "None," said the padre, gently, but firm- ly. "You must go to the easa. If Don Maurizio has returned,- send him to us but you can do nothing. Take Senor Derwent with you." "No," said Derwent; "my place is cer- tainly here, to help you with your burden. But Dona Zarifa must go. It is too painful a sight for her." "Nothing is to painful when one can do anything to he^," she said., "But is there nothingâ€" â€" " She cast one more glance at the man on the litter, shuddered, and turned away. Derwent followed her with Ms eyes and with his heart, but an intuition told him that it was best t© leave her aloue, even if there had not been work for him to do. It was slow and difScult work conveying the wonnded man to the hospital, whei:e Our Lady of Guadalupe stood above the door- way, as if to welcome all who came, and where he was laid^ down on a., white bed, the mdstj wild»;g%unt; tjoodj object iOiat had ever co«ie nhthin those qipEt ynJia; TO BK OONTIinjKD. Hiiman Sympathy. BTBBV. T. E. BBOWN, D. D. "Rejoice with them that rejoice and weep with them that weep." Romans xn. 15. Standing as oar text does in a summary of Christian virtues, it is to be taken as a com- mand and to be reasonably expected of us. As this is a command for sympathy, we may well consider what sympathy is. It is any kind of fellow feeling we have towards an- other, a substitution of ourselves for another, a look at life through another's circumstances This is not an easy matter but is a task that Christianity places upon us. Sym- pathy is not mere sentiment, which is feeling related only .to ourselves sym- pathy is feeling for another. Men may in- dulge sentiment for the mental excitement it may cause. Sentiment is selfishness, sympathy is love. Why should we have this sympathy, this quality that is not weakness but strength, that puts us into the place of another and makes us think his very thoughts Because sympathy is the great way in which Christ- ian love can express itself. To love a man means to make his need ours, and further, sympathy is essential to a life of helpfulness. How can we ever get a true knowledge of those around us unless we have enough sympathy for them to be a part of their life? The true teacher is the man whose boy- hood is not so far behind him that he cannot recall it; No, the true teacher knows all the difficulties of his scholar and sets his task by the boy's capability and not by his own. So with the orator. You have heard speakers who have had every advantage and gift and yet who never moved you why was it They were not in sympathy with you. So the critic. If he has any reason for existence it is to be helpful, and to do this he must put himself in the place of those he criticises, in short, have sympathy. How many a stinging criticism would be un- written if thecritic had in sight and a desire to be helpful. How often sympathy lessens antl softens the bitterness of grief. When your friend in affliction doubts the justice and kindness j of God, by the example of your sympathetic nature he may be made to reason, 'My friend cares for me, may not God care for me also? ' His heart is larger than any earthly friend." How much misei'y has been caused by not i having sympathy for our fellows. We used to hear a good deal of hazintrin college. That has become a thing of the past, but social hazing exists that is worse than any bodily injury the social cut, the gossiping story, the look of scorn, these are weapons which always have their sting. If we have sym- pathy instead of sconi for those less fortun- ate than ourselves they will remember us as those who helped to make men of them. Then sympathy is the only firm foundaT tion for social life. In eve.-y country there is a deep rift between classes. The sectar- ianism of lo-day is not in religion nor in science, but the dangerous sectarianism of to-day is between social classes. On one side is selfish wealth and on the other envi- ous labor. How is this chasm to be closed Argument will not do it, force only widens it. There are many elements which shall enter into the solution, but the fundamental principle will be sympathy. Let us reach out the hand and realize the burdens which each has to bear and let each learn to care for the other because he is a man. This craving for sympathy is as great as the craving for bread. One can steal bread but no one can have sympathy unless we give it. Who does not want to be loved by his fellows? If you hear any one say he does not want sympathy tell him he does not know himself. Poor is he who has no tears for another's woe and smiles for his joys. The soul without sympathy is one without wealth or music, except the discord- ant music of selfishness. How, then, shall we win this quality of sympathy If God has endowed you with a nature of this kmd, thank him. But if we have it not, we must determine to gain it. This we can do by picturing ourselves in our neighbor's place and then doing as we would be done by. Then speak the words and do the deeds of sympathy even as Christ felt, joy in others' joy, and grief in others' grief, so must we preach our message to the world and hasten the time when all shall meet in universal brotherhood. TheyAllDoIt. Two women leaned pyer the back-jpapd fence (The same old fence) as the sun went down, ' While each told the other, in confidence. The scandals she'd gathered around th e town. ' For women most gossip, or they can't sleep, Their idea is that secrets weren't made to keep So they lean on the fence in the gloaming. Two women sat out on the front- door stoop, In the evening glow as the sun went down They told how their children had skipped the croup And they sneered at the minister's wife's^ new gown. For women delight in a friendly chat. Without it their lives would be stale and flat So they sit on the stoop in the gloam- ing. Two husbands came home from the base ball game (From the office, they said), as the sun went down. Both ready and eager to hear the same Sweet scandals their wives had himted down. For men, though they work, love gossip, too. And that's why their wives seek some- thing new. As they meet and talk in the gloam- ing. Theli First UnpleasantiiesB. Mrs. and Mrs. Bolivar Pyke had been married about six weeks and were still oppressively .happy. Not a ripple of dis- cord had stirred the frog pond of their domestic harmony and their life ran smooth- ly and unobstructedly. This may sound like exaggeration, but you have positively no idea how unreasonably and absurdly happy these two young persons were. It was an evening in Alay â€" an ordinary evening in May, 1890 â€" and the rain hadn't stopped. " Buenavista," said Bolivar, looking ab- stractedly about the room, "if it wouldn't be aking too great a favor â€" " "What is it, dear?" asked Mrs. Pyke tenderly. " Please try the other knee awhile. Tliis one is getting tired. " " You have never said anything like that before, Bolivar," she protested reproach- fully. " Perhaps I'd better go and sit on a chair. " "Now- don't get hufiy, darling. You don't look so pretty when you frown." " I am not frowning, Bolivar." " You certainly are, Buenavista." " Then I don't look pretty " she ex- claimed, bouncing up and seating herself ten feet away. "All right, Mr. Pyke! You^ â€" you â€" you're getting tired of me. I â€" I â€" wish I was â€" " "Now, look here, Buenavista,. don't be foolish. There's nothing to quarrel about. " "I'm not quarreling, sir I'm not going to quarrel, either. If there's anything of that kind done, you will be the one who does it, Mr. Pyke." "I am glad to hear it, my dear." "You needn't call me your dear. lam not dear to you any more. " "I thought you said you were not going to quarrel. " "I did, sir, and I am not. In spite of your conduct, Mr. Pyke, I am still your loving wife." "Then, dearestâ€" " "No, sir, I am not your dearest." "Well, Buenavista, then â€" if you prefer it â€" if you are still my lo\ing wife, won't you please sing something?" "What for Are you afraid I'll try to sit UTEST BY '-H. '«Bism that has been done is to circular note from Capriv] Ambassadors, inst with deferential Bismarck and 1 Chancenor'sEccentricitiLr^l AgricdtiireEstablish^t^BJ From the reports cabled utterances in American, r^^'lere I prominent German-America?*^^^ evident thatalotofnonsenT.,!"' i and the Kaiser has beel" this side. It is ridiculously „„, ^i Kaiser made any attemnt t 'M Chancellor or thItheZ„Ir^^^l to l'"' Ambassadors, mstruethig then, IS-"' ^th deferential gent^:'^^-:. Bismarck's utterances as thl" gentleman, if any of them should '1 run counter to any deuil of Ir" foreign policy and sliould tk^! ' foreign inquiries. PN Asfor.Bismarckhimself,hei,„,d„,,. y saying at great random .11 tj that come into his head. I hj^ i turned from Beriin, where dr«. ' ^^' an authentic account of some fresh festetion of Bismarck's garrulous raw is difficult to speak definitely of the J man's attitude toward the Kaiser auf, Berlin Government, for the reason tha' i himself shifts f.bout witli varym. n« all over the extensive gamut of his°te-„ ament. His general average condkloj though, IS one of amazed wTath at fip,;; afi-airs going on smoothly without hini " is as much out of them as the man who i from a balloon. I don't believe Bismark has anv sf.'J plans of any sort. He is in a dozen Vd about everything. One day he decide'*y he will enter the Reichstag as a v4 member and pulverize everybody r-J reach. The next day he resolves ta deiJ the remainder of his life to WTituigbisr.eJ oirs which shall crush half the Km~m m Europe. On the third day he vieliH the charm of the dream of Uvingtranqci with his pipe and dogs and trees, mvd like a philosopher upon the fngratitusl princes and then the next morning he eir gets out his railway time table and orders for his trunks to be packed fort-jJ He has written a little for a few hoars d and then on these memoirs of liis, but 1 e too angry and unsettled for regular v,j and the publishers in Leipsic don't e;; afiy book while he lives. The establishment of a Board of ki culture in London, with its chief in Cabinet, has undeniably had a good eff The Board keeps the farmers regiilailyii formed of all that coiicenis them in fora countiies, and already old-fashioned me;!;(3 of cultivation are being abandonc-i favor of more scientific r.ieans. Tlie k movement is directed to the estallishtt of agricultural schools all over the com. endowed by the State and controlled l.ytij Board of Agriculture. Moderate counsels have prevailed i^ t gasworkers' dispute, and an amicable worl ing scheme is in course of arrangemen| owing to the increased cost of coal i labor. This was the company whicii. the way, paid 13^- per cent, dividends! year, and has increased the price of gas. on your knee again You needn' "No, no, Buenavista. I thought it might clear up the atmosphere of this room a little. That's all." Second Nature. " This room is very close," remarked the guest to the head waiter, " can't I have a raised his Rttle fresh air The well-drilled automation voice to a high pitch. " One air !» he yells after a pause add- ing, " let It be fresh " HadBe«aThnni^It ' Mother (to baby): "It's mnzzer's HftW «*V .tootsy mnzzer loves het little darlin i] mbUti Tackling a Bed-headed Woman With a BoiL "I beg your pardon," he said, as a woman came to the door in answer to his knock "I am looking for a man with a hare-lip and a wooden leg named Johnsonâ€"" "Is it his wooden leg that is named John- son, or .are his hare-lip and wooden lee both named Johnson " she demanded. "I didn't mean, of course, that his wooden 1^ was named Johnson. 1 " • 'The^j^bitt did you say so for " " *! *^* " *** explain, niadam, I i^ have 1^"*° ** ^^^^ ^°" ^°^ ^y explanation, find^i^"*^ "ot- My. object in trying to "Have I asked you to state why you are tryme to find out anything " "Of coarse not, madam, but being a stranggfm the neighborhoodâ€" " "No, madanv certainly not. Iâ€"tâ€"BtiaA morning, madam." .u^l^^"®^ ioment when safely outside the frpnt.#U^tp mop the prespiratipn from his face, and thtai started Sown thertreet. W?( ever I taeklea red-h«vled wdman with a boU on her nose for mformation aeain " d:g!^ned'r ""' """y .^ ""y She Said Pshaw !afld So Did He: With the aspect of a martyr going cheer- fully to the stake, Mrs. Pyke went to the piano and sat down before it. "What shall I sing " she asked meekly. "Perhapsâ€" h'mâ€" perhaps it would make thmgsseem more cheerful if you should tackle 'Home, Sweet Home.' " Mrs. Pyke fixed her eyes on a spot near the ceiling where the wall-paper didn't ex- ' actly match and wailed out the touching melody "'Mid ple-a-a-sures and pal-a-places tho-o-ughâ€" I know well enough, Mr. Pyke, you have only asked me to sing this to make me appear ridiculous, but I am going to do it,â€"' we may ro-o-am. Be it e-e-eve-e-er so â€"I think any man who tries to make his wife the object of ridicule never, never cared anything for herâ€" 'hu-u-u-inble there s no-o-o place Uke 'â€"I have always done everything I could to make home pl- pl-pleasant, and youâ€" you know it â€" ' h-o- ome. A cha-a-arm from the ski-i ies seems to â€"seems like the ghastiliest mockery in the world, but you would have itâ€"' ha-a- Uoo-ow us the-e-ere. Which, se-e-eek throngh-the wo-o-orld is ne'er me-e-et with elsewhe-e-ere. Hc-o-o-ome, ho-ome, bW 'â€" lU smg it through if -it k-k-kills meâ€" swe-e e-eet, swe-e-eet home. There's no-o-o Place like â€"ain't you ashamed of yourself. BoUvarPyke, to sit there pretending you care anythingabout our home any more, or me either?â€" 'ho-o-ome, Ther«?8 no-o-o-oo place bkeâ€"B-B. BoUvar, dear, I qaa't! Ym, I wiU I will !â€" 'ho-o-o-ome ' " As her quavering voice sounded the last word of the song a maidy Voice jomed in with a d^p bass, her taremblingUttlefiiiaers i Itt S^S'I-*' ,in,^a olose gnip, her sank on Bohvar's shoulder, Sidâ€" 1 But what business has, ahy butside bar-^ bwian to be iatrudingliere Let as retire. HisGiaiidAtlitaotion. Auntâ€" "But Ed is bo».» How Hot to be liien for a aidaickra^e ,oSL^°1 *^o?^oon tourjâ€" "I how the ^«ci*i%i fiicear woii't take ng for a fedal couple and make fnn of us " Bridegroom-"IVe got a plan thra-hebevp-wef have been Tereseâ€" "True, but'l kn-e ianu" Auntâ€" "Old." ^^^ •True. Not a pretty word, perhaps, but theuaj said it so prettilv She was a sweet little thing, and when put her hands on her hips, lifted up her w' little face, and, lookingat youmthhei shut eyes, emitted this provoking monosy, able, it flew as straight and swiftly ta' mark as any shaft in Cupid's quiver, i just because the httle minx w-as penK conscious of the effect of her "Pshaw. uttered it on all public occasions. She said "Pshaw!" to everybody without any apparent reason, ouYhr one to whom she said it more frequeni than to anybody else, and for the w:=. reasons. For he loved her and she prew ed tliat she didn't love him, and so tora time " Pshi.w " was all the answer ta fellow got to his prayers and protestawq "I love you " " Pshaw " â-  1 • t, "I would give my life for aKi-«s ' your lips." " Pshaw " ., „„ „i- " I will blow my brams out il yo" to listen to me " " Pshaw " said she, bringing Her face still closer to his so that her «*!' red lips fairly touched his beard. She wasn't a bit afraid oihm,r«T^ he, poor fellow, was stiU a httle Ji«J» and she drove him almost cra^ coquetry. At last he low all F'"" coming upon her unexpectedly on« he said never a word but toot ner ^^, and covered her face with k'ftjbird- • ' gled and screamed like a capt"/^ ^i L uselessly, for the victonouslovwi^,^ attention to her remonstrances ^^^ her hair, brow, cheeks and UW ^^ concentrated passion of montns" i,. And as he grew bolder, »^'°^t on his knee, kissed her w*'^* j. she hhteped her yet more P'°^^r eamValarmed. She gave up sW" had recourse to teai^wd »5Tg8f " Let me go, oh Plea^ l«f y^y «' " Pshaw P said he. He g'j^«9i' pwttfly asshe did, ""d he diJB a saucj little face, but tto l is it to make J^^ed a jf«air KaVeyoalnn Brid( aajpbya .31 be has ff fasciaated dear Stronger, and- Z^^g^ Ibase her, there were more ««" an^ W' Terese â€" ' Auntâ€" "Ugly." • Tereseâ€" "•frue." Auntâ€" "How you " Hear l^mtf^jHun -juula oonâ€" About U q'cIocIu reproachful glances and «^^nttl« ' kiss of forgiveness, given !^'7prii»*' compulsion. She never r' ' â-  â- ' is not i wai ii order, and they are Weaki I beUeve,-[From CJatnlle Mendes. the fnsm •Itnt Tramp-Jim, let**" ;«onj»tiy it's dangwonsj I foun Sendly, but the climal irk was presently left -v knions. He continued 1 f d at Boossa, where the Ireen precipitous walls, liag of Yauri attacked tl murderous rain of h tones, and Mungo Park llie waters of the river Ine of his journals was i jained with the savage ttruggle and small meed b his life at thirty -five. A very different fate f r las ihat of Marco Polo, a kmeflve and a half cen' pe inspired by no such hij lis father and uncle hav: [trading expedition that fee Black Sea, through mt was called Cathay, k yet twenty, on their r ping given them letters '•"m of Tartary. They les, crossed deserts, plies, and were at last m« fcndueted into Pekin, wh jerred great honors on A; !»ce about the throne ani B embassies to neighbori ply the Venetian beauty Tactive youth, but his p fflse and daring won sucl esaw the most sacred 5 loaded with wealth ai Mr of a city, the ruler- vrhom Coleridge in "ote: In Xenadu did Kubla A stately pleasure hou [efusing to let him leave h tie. [At length a Persian em Te ^lighter of the Khan »n King, Marco and his '-en leave of absence, oi 1. and went with the I 'around Borneo and Si 1 Gulf, and were enter 1 Me year in Persia bef m magnificently enric 1 yenice twenty-four ye 't. and no one would I tney, long thought U ft-^esun, agedby year! sing their own dialec *nt. Giving a great f ' nch oriental garments '^oneU to have been t ^tebemg seated, these "iged after the first c I yy crimson velvet. L^t the close of the bam aT' Venetian dress, yne superb and curi taken off am( i;. â„¢ey brought out 1 Z* *ey had Been wea fr.:^ "«i there, out [Piceless jewels. This y *ere soon recognized nad left them so m 'r'^yreceived many h »* Marco being giv "*^m one of the nav ^_Marco was one of iL:a:--.:;'.i^-^-V'