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 ~f% *- i' ' '^# |ii»|i|MiW'ITHtf.^"a "•Cij-^ :? f^Jii f'^^ ^^^*'^^t,'-j«e'" â- a*!"j*',s««i!Si» â- *â-  g^=«»sef*^i '^sE.' ' «**»«^^i-s«*5j6%'^n*s«*m* -jf* .#»• •*«N- »»lSgumy estate. ,, fiOSgfirie come. V, -^y i^«^0 CBre. Ine. '" id Binoe t^ she takeag â-  toaSg?* mplaint 1 have never loo' 5l»ef that Fffl^ nf? from iiftejj SOOK. nferenceofthel se ortheRiJ •nas" be i«,|3 r. WOET ^01- Rheumaa â- . Mitss.,Mayi ears I hare I'ith acute att illy suffered LQvice of friei erred by Vein ce that time 1 previoMlyg 'c had noretni illy a faint intii 1 taking a fewd pleasure in re ' it3 excellent a :ilt rheum, and 1 have been thn :u!lv, V^â-  Ji. T. WORl • First M. E. Ch^ 5fy1 CUREC JNTO, JIarca2 led with Bkeut ts for nearly a yi icines to effect i â- lief. A friend 1 I 'egetine, which tics of it I foe es, and the itislied it is'ai •3 respectfully, M. AUK! liioi k, Toronto.l Vj All Di .NU BUSINI on T., G.,tRl o,COO perararamj je reduced: price! liange f or Ontaril E TERS, Toronto )PaXG BUSINE cityâ€" old estaU ic of $20,000 perd nts' f urnishmgs t'ETKRS, To/ BUSINESS g for sale; staplea :ood openini! foH iremises andplar I'l-.TKTIS, TctOJ^ Vii IhcirJ .,, ;_.l cffw 1.1 Cl.iliirenorAd nary InstiJ Toronto, 0^ ,IETOK, â- cssfully treated I lie form of head, »ho3 across the w»y P^ n«'e? i» heard a huaiMr w«p 'v^'hereneer^ ^ralyzed and de*d- %rsL'pbT„eath the skies. «"« ' 'he d^ not advertise ^°f fffth^easure contemplate gfrU an advertiser great. I .nfmy fortune liea • n.e3«f*lfiiffkct which I may state 15 °"'nrtrade8men learn too late I'.oplccoffle r^attfe^ams. ^I'l^^y adveriisQ them well *ill8ur«' J*! reiterate IIS SACRIFICE OB. I For Love of Her. CHArTEKXVI--CoxTiKUEi ,,.,^ ..vr.rJ he ^ould not say Never oall \lanel know that the man °'V.n,i with wiiom she had been so "' la who was the father of her E, i not her hu.band. He had .-aid •' â„¢nor sorrow shoul i every come •"â- ^Tthrou^h him-he should keep his '.he had vowed that it should be the rfhi^liietokaepher la iguorai.ce of ,Ifan' nnsery that dur.eim .he lives of th- chiUlren of menâ€" and he would I'HiUow Becau.-e of his love for her- iZ, noble, uu=eLtisb, almost divinelove ,r-he would give up name, home, Li fvervtbmL' he would buy her hap- -he co,t of all that made his Lfe the living. Was gre^iter sacnbce Biais ever asked ot .uy man? D es hxs- J, record any braver, more heroic act than III do not think .-0. .,_, Broh the struggle, the terrible struggle, U th9 stroug spirit aud t ^e quivering ,tl-ie great soul and the stricken Ho* he writhed in lua agony, m in his despair, whi.e upon hia ^furehead g^ htred the icy ^rops of fiariel.Mu i'-l, I cancot give you up " lawastiiecy tiiat weui; up from the ludiy ir.eniory went back to that day the little cabin he had found M'j picture tightly clasped in Arun- ilever-lia hauil, hs rtmembered the lltiiat haa crept over him ad he hstened ibruthe; s wil i ravinf s about the beau- l;ad-wi:.i its sott brown eyes. ;hail b;eu the beginning of it. How til;l hni bej-'ged tain to tell him of leL huw eariieL-i-iv he Had li teued to the Wi'jtiailabuut er life. He saw it all .^niudelhad lenrned to love Muriel |R i;e fvtr siW licr, and wlieu e be- Jlinii, Ruisei, to be dying, the thought :me to go back m bis stead, to ex- LIS loutly, ueiol te, Ijveless life |.Ls of lovu iii:d rest, and luxury. it had beeu a fearful tempcation, I .-Ir^nik-l Autiioii iiad never h.id the ktj tj witliataud tcinplation in any lltliro'j^'li the long tioiirs of that terrible Kuj;t. AucliDU crouched there, busy :!i'j5e tuiti;rihg tliuugUts, uucou- th'i d:i:kiie-3, le-jliui; neither Jtr. tiiirat, o;- f j,tigue. Tlie grey Jt'jitiie i.awu cict;|diig through the our- Pi'-uaed hini, a d Le btaggered to hrs fier.ood in the ceutre of the apartment pbbtsiaht of hii own taco in a muror, ijw tulunution e^Ciped him it l-iiBged so, liia fice, lu one night. fyte went n, aver un:il he atojd in j'j; the !ur;,'e ^heet of gli.-s, and then "J stcii lily at his own reflt;eted gray, lame," he muttered "no 'Y"" iQ her youth and beauty she F" wve me wheu I was sti oug and up- ju; would U'jt love me now. No, no, |ii«iai. ia, and su Ijug as she is hap- i '^^ itâ€" tile at'oijy the loneliness, the i^ir.Ttory org;an3 medicated in conslituUonal personally »t*f| write for LiBt«| Address, tise. im is« et EALEl OCK (all the stands d.s. nks. composlUo* ooden Jf*^ furbished far •§, areunriv**'*^ elsewhere. g space â-  3 best w-j ownsano^Tj hese P^2*\, esvery.low^ Qe3tiro»tt»S inserti^a^Sil ct sfW^TJ" â-  ' ' ryiie Qr.'w fio:n his pocket a silver- uevo.ver; it was ,n. Hen y Glen- 'ifn. He had given him jf joyvtd r::i- t^,w^,^s-:i^gi{^:^^ ^^i'k btite, the long night watch, ^fwsa hours sjieat in a passion of an- W:iad u{ food, w s beginning to tell I't" " /^action was setting in, the 'el braia was commencing to reel, r"«^ was growing faint. 'Nerwhat is the use of my living," â- ^'it; " it would be better for them rx II- I" ^^,.- -*°"^- •' Iwas dead. There is Pi I n ISninS »°„f °^*° '^o '" the world. I have no r U Ul lOniMb M^r^" '^l ' niy place. God must PJ'""'ig^-iii.U deid friend of hisâ€" a louni that the Indiana had rob- '""erjthiDg. Ji'lie deadly weapon in his hand, %Cvu ' "• ^^ ^•a-' loaded, there l«idu *^ '" ' one cf them in his tie t, t v""^^ ^° Pi»t an end to this l ma It bi k slowly he raised P'wing the co;d steel axainat U'l^i^^'^^noment and Ruasel " h ve been dead by hU own |i»^ """' I leave my boy to yoo: por\l' ,f -^ m all the world but fS?;?',?^'""" ^^ o'lt of his grave *wd». "" "^^" ""^o" httt^/'*^ ^^" revolver dropped V^'^^1a\" «^"*°» o' recollection ' hr^f' i,,^* muttered. "I ^f»therthA T^' "" I promised •^w that I would take care of ;• And a litde ohUd sLall lead them." !:-^I^..±y^^ »*°P *° tb?k of the many poor.despamng creature* Â¥ti6\ii,^ been led bj a httle chUd out of misery awav from heaH',*UtrrJ!^"L!«^-* «'*!• du,?1 wlt^fi^""" *^°^ "*." K^"' ' throbbing withfieice passions, have been ' ftnd calmed by the soft hand. touch comforted of a baby Euasel Anthon never ki ew how he lived '??^i'.*" "^®"" "' o" fat follow- ed that long nijsht cf agony. For the first time he found himself brought face to face with the stem necessities of life. He had not a dollar in the world that he could call bU own all the money that had once been bis belonged now to that false Rusiel Anthon who had everything that had once been his. Henry Glenraore had said that if the time should ever come when he needed money to use what he had left jast as if it had been his ownâ€" and the time had come. He would use a little of the dead man's wealth until he couki earn some money for himseJ, for ihat he must do lile for him meant work. He felt that he could not remain in New York be must go away somewhere, where he did' not yet know but first he would go and find little Roy. It was a beautiful October day that he ar- rived at the little cottage among the hills of New Hampshire, which had being the child's home since his babyhood. He introduced himself to the kindly faced w oman who was the mistress of the house as Henry Glen- more'a friend then, when he had told her of his death, she M'ent away to fetch Roy into the room. She soon returned briuidng the little boy with her. He was a beautiful child with gieat lustrous brown eyes, and golden hair that lay in soft rings al over his pretty head, and he went fearlessly to Russel's ide, laying one tiny hand upon his knee, as he said in a sweet, clear, childish voice " VNThere ia my papa " Gently the answer came. "He 18 dead, Roy." The innocent brown eyes were raised to his with a solemn, earnest loot^ in them. " But I don't want my papa to be dead de odder ' ittle child wen have papas and mammas â€" Roy neber ha i any mamma mamma dead they tell him, dat means gone away far off, where Roy can't go now papa dead too." The litl le lip quivered pitifully, and with a deep tenderness rising in the desolato heart, Ruasel drew tiio child closer to him. They were alone together in the old-fash- ioned little parlor Roy's nurse had bustled out into the kitchen to prepare a dainty lunch for h-iT unexpected guest. " I ill take care ol you, R ly." It seemau to comfort him a little iu bis great misery to know he had something to care for. Roy nestled gloser to him. "Roy will be a velly good boy," he mur- mured, shaking his golden head earnestly, then suddenly, '-have you any 'ittle child wen like me?" How cruelly the innocent question huit him the agouy was surging over him again. "No, Roy, no I am all alone." A giad smile broke over the child's face. ' • Then you can be my papa, an' I w ill be your 'itlle boy," he said gleefully. Through all his agony, Russel Anthon had not shed one tear but the tears f 11 now, as, clasping Roy tightiy in bis arms, he buried his lace in the child's soft hair. "You shall be my little boy, Royâ€" and 1 shall not be utteily alono " CHAPTER XVII. It wanted but a few moments to the ho !r for closing, and the many clerks in the large wholesale house of R. T. Morehead Co., were preparing to leave the building. It had beeu a busy day, most of them had worked hard, but none of them appeared to be very much fatigued. Here and there well-dressed t 'g men, in groups of two and three, w«.e standinsr.tal- mg Mid laugh- ing together, telling each other their p^ tor the evening's amusement, givmg their respective opinions upon the merits and per- sonal attractions of a celebrated transatian- tic actress, who was at that time drawing large audiences at one of the fashioMble th^tres, while the older men were also talk- ing toget .er but morequi.;tly and wno^f lyf the subjects of their conversation be- ing politics, business, and affairs in VVaU street. j„_~ " Air. Fay, has Mr. Brandon come down stairs yet J" .. .^,„ The question was as! ed one of J^e •^â„¢' men by a tall, handsome man about htiy years of age, wi.o h(id walked quietly down the centre aisle of the store, and as he pass- ed near them, a group of young men hushed their laughter into respeo ful silence, for the tall man was their employer, the of the firmâ€" Mr. Robert Morehead salesman addressed raised his head head The defer- ""NifMr. Morehead, Mr. Brandon has not yet come down ihail I send up -♦-" "'â-  â- tain for I would like to see him in my him? "Yea, °^? wying. Mr. Morehead tonied and went back into hui private office, where »"»•'»«* later he was joined by the man who waa caUedEichard Bn««io»-'»'« "tL^J^ww taken thatn«ne baoaose bo i-d^eenrobbed of his ownâ€" «bo num who had been wrongaa i «aell?i^« n-n hiMi bee. wronged blto" m thj world-Eoml Anthon. A y^hZ goS by since that d^. when. Sing ii tie darkwed tartorrf.hi. cm^ Ewe.beh« hewrdtbe word, which, -»- pie and few i â-  fnTi^^ mto^*»ble agony wSn the fuU»a?uationpf his own jSonible misery «r K-^fu °S*" »»«d nevwleft it, neith- er had the drawn look npoo the month and Z^^ ^^^.'^i heavy^tieari werT^ tLn""' ^°«»»"»*'«. ifa tall .Sgnre fct^ wooUany one have beUeved hi£ if he h»i told them that he would be.thirty-fonr yean old hia nexfblrthday ?-no, they would have said, "It cannot be." ' 'uuavi. That sorrow and mental pain can make a man old long before hia time had been well proven m Roasel Anthbn's caae. You ask how it happens that since, when a year ago, Russel Anthon gave up for the sake of the love he bore hU wife, home and friends, as well as name and wealth, he is sitting now in Mr. Morehead's private office, the honored friend and trusted employee of a man whose name is well known in the fighest social and business circles in the city In this wise it happened, and it was one of those dispensations of Providence whicT show us that God does not forget His children. For a day he had remained with little Roy Gknmore among the breezy New Hamp- shire hills; then, with the child's kisses upon his. lipsâ€" the warm, innocent kisses, but for which 4;he coble, stricken heart might have turned to iceâ€" he went back to New York to look for work, by the pro- ceeds of which he could support Lfe, which, without any warning, had suddenly grown so utterly dark. But even in the great busy city was so hard to get work of any description if he applied for any position the first question which was asked him was, "What are your references- who are your friends?" and what answer could he make them Only this that he had neither friends nor refer- ences â€" he, whose frieuds a year before had been so innumerable. It was terrible to be brought thus face to face with the harsh ne lessities of life, but perhaps it was best for Russel Anthon that itw.^sso, for had there been nothing for him to do but sit down and brood over his own misery, his I rain surely would have reeled, reason would have deserted him, the brave heart would have fainted. Aa it was, if he livedâ€" and for little Roy's sake he had determined now to live â€" he must work for he would not use f r his own support any of the money Henry Glenmore had left he had kept strict account of every penny he had been forced to spend of it be- fore he died he would pay it all back to Roy. One morning he was walking slowly and R-3ki Hlf iMiknA ^«A«n ttta* poor, qatVeriiig fle^ cried out hi â- bA hitter ageay that the aaoels' in li«»v« Autimvewepttohearit. ManyweretiM oighta, vhen,. alone in his nom, Snaael AntfaiBQioaaed oat in agony ** X oaiuet heu it. J eanoet live m'thont Mtarid, I maat soand tell her the jarful wzQn^ AraBdel hat doa* ma. Sven if die dies. It will he batter than knowing that she ia livins in Amndd'a arm^ glTioJg him her love, ueepi e vitii tier head npun hia breaal" And; then alwaya the thopsht cf tiie child â€"Muriel's child and Amnde/s â€" would «ome to him. and he would whisper broken^, wfaSe great drops ot water stood thick upon his forehead i " No, never thioui{h me shall abame and Ecrrow come upon her." No man in Robert Morehead's employ had worked harder thaa he had done during the year he bad been there. He had made the interests of his friend and e ployer his own; he had brought to bear upon that branch of the business under his control, all the mag nificent busineM abilities which he had in herited f om his father he had astoidahed even Mr. Morehead. Early and late he toiled, always a^ bis place, and there was not a man, youni; or old, in the house who did not respect and honor Richard Bran- don, f^r, though he was grave and silent, he was gentle aud tender, kind and court- eous with every one with whom became in contact. â- Scarcely a day passed that he did not see either in the streets or in the store some one of his many former friends, and on y Go knew how bitter it was to have men who had taken him by the hand, who had sat at his table in the old happy time gote by, pass him now without a sign of recognition. He had seen Graham 'I'row bridge many times it was with him just as it w a with all the rest how could any one see any re- semblance between this old, gray, lame, bent man and the one they had once known Bes des, everybody knew that Russel An- thon was still abroad with his beautiful young wife. Though he longed unutterably to see Muriel's face again, he shivered, and crew famt and sick, when he thought how terri- ble it would be to have her eyes rest upon him as upon a stranger; he wondered|Would he could possibly bear that. He knew they were still abroad, Muriel and Arundel, for mauytimts he hai passed the houseâ€" the house which had once been his home â€" and it was still tightly closed he tried to thinit of Muriel with a baby in her arms â€" Arun- del's child â€" but the thought brought with it agony which completely unmanned him. Little Roy was still with his old nurse f f» a (* I -* t •• «f » •w itekMr «!»»» nHwr niiht wh^ he led M» .« Bateaed te hwrt^meriwiiilhil nra when «m ^^^.:' wearily along Broadway, wondering sadly 1 ^^^oiig tbe New Hampshire hills every _L-i L 1 1 y. ,. ., month or so he went to see him, feeling in- stinctively that the love the child gave him so freely kept him from sinkmg into des^ja r. How he grew to love the pretty boy whose brown eyes were so like his dead father's, and he spent hours sometimes, planning out the future. He had read with the greatest astonishment the letters and pa- pers Henry Glenmore had left to his care truly they were of the utmost impor ance he would guard them well he knew now the story of Henry Glenmore's life â€" it was a strange story, but the time had not yet come, it might never come, when it would be his solemn duty «o tell it to Roy. With the exception of the Morehead family, he had no friends, their house was the only one he visited. So the first year of the life of self- sacrifice which, for the sake of the love he bore his wife, Russel Anthon had taken upon himself, had passed. For a few moments Mr. Morehead talked earnestly about some matters relative to his business, tlen he said in his heirty way, "Taere! so mui-h for business, now tor pleasure. Brandon, I want you to go home with me and dine with us to-night. My married daughter has just returned from Europe and 1 want you to meet her and • er husband oh, yon must come, I shan't take no for an answer besides, Mrs. Morehead expects you, and you must not disappoint her, you know." So SusskI went and met for the first time Mr. and Mrs. Disbrow, Mr. Moreheada daughter and son-in-law. Just as her f ther had been, Mrs. Disbrow was attracted to- ward the grave man, whose refined face, with its expression ot sorrow and pain, interested her deeply, and sitting beside him at dinner she had talked with him in her own s^rac ful way, telling him of her trip abroad, when she fbund that he had visited ev!ry part of Europe. Dessert had been placed upon the table when Mr. Disbrow said "I have a box at Wallack's for to-night, and we are all going yes, Mr. Brandon, you too," and Enssel shook his head, " you certainly will not refuse the first invitation I have had the opportunity to extend to yon." "No, indeed," eald Mrs. Disbrow, smil- ing " that would never do yon will go with us, win you not, Mr. Brandon " He coold not very well refuse, yet how he shruik from going. The last time he had gone to the theatre it had been to Wallace's, and Mnriel had' been with him how lovely she had looked that night in her rich daeoa of bine velvet with a great cluster of deep red roaea st her waist, and she had been ao interested in the play she had cried at one part of it -ehe was so tender-hearted, hia little Mnriel, she could not bear even the eight of mimic grief and misery. " Bnmdm, of conrse, you will go with na," said Mr. Morehead. With a duver he came hack to the prea* eat; meefaaoicaUy he bowed hie head, he oonid notapeak,^ whaaever these thonghto of Mnriel eome aweephig «ver him, those iron finfWB aeemed to elueh hk throat, de- priving him for • m oM en t «f the power ef neeeh. The theatre waiwidl fiD^d with peof^ when the X^abcow party entered their Wfs. all tbe oth«r boxee were ocenpied, with the exoepticm of the one dhcetiy opporito thein acraeatiwclNCe. what he should find to do. It was a cold, cloudy morning it had rained during the night, and the crosswalks were black with slippery, slimy mud. As he was crossing a wide street a gentlejian in front of him slipped, lost his balance, and fell heavily to the ground, at the very feet of a huge pair of horses which, harnessed to a hearily.ladeB truck, were being driven rapidly along. Another instant and those iron-shod hoofs would have beaten out the brakis of the prostrate rnan but in that instant Russel Anthon bad seize I the plunging horses by their bridle. With an almost superhuman efibrt, and at the risk of his own life, he turned them out of their course, and held them, rearing as they were, until some one had raised the fallen man, who was noothr than Robe~t Morehead, and the danger was passed. It was all over in a second yet, if in that second Russel Anthon had not act- ed as he had done, Robert Morehead would have been picked up a crushed, mangled mass of quivering flesh instead of a living m»n. And Mr. Morehead knew this as long as he lived he remembeied it. He was not seriously injured â€" only bruised and jarred by hisfall â€" and when some one offered to assist him to his hoiite he said, quietly, "I want the man who saved my life at the risk of hia own to go homo with me." So Russel Anthon had gone with him to his beautiful home, and had been introduced to his wife and family, as Richard Brandon, for that was the name he had decided to bear through life in place of the one which had been stolen from him. From the very first Robert Morehead had been attracted toward the ead-faced man whose deep, mournful eyes had told so plain- ly that his life held a bitter, hopeless sor- row. When Rnssel told him that his name was Brandon, ho had asked in his quick way, " Any relative of the Boston Brandons?" and he never forgot the look of agony that had swept over the worn face ae Russel had answered, " I have no relatives, I have no friends, I am " I don't know anything about his life, perhaps I may never know," Mr. Morehead uid to his wife, "and if I never know ijiy thing more about him than I do now, it will not make any difference to me this I do know, that he is a gentleman in every sense of the word, and I feel sure that he has known a terrible sorrow. However it may be, I like him he saved my bfe, and as long as I live he shall be my friend." So in hia great misery and deselation, Eua- sel Anthon was not utterly alone,he had the love of an innocent ohiki, and the friendship of a true-hearted man. ..u v When Eobert Morehead found that hia new friend wanted work, it didnot t^e him long to find him » place in cue of the depart- menta of hia own large bnaineM. "But I have no refwencee, Mr. More- head," Enswjl had aaid, Wtteriy.^whoa the ood ion waa offered him, and Eobert Moro. Seed bad answered, " I want no rrferenoea ^ber than your own face, Eiehard Brandon, I oantnutyoiL.? ,..,.# k..iA.^w»M When the miaerr of hia life had fln* ooiee upon him. En-eel Anthmi had ttongW ttot STwuM not remain in New York, bat after- w«d, whea the mad, convutoiye agony had they had been, had •wep»I»M*"»'«»«^i'" A, aodden ezdanatioa from Un. Disbeew «H |fh i i i VkmfiafMkamwAkm metm liWiniUniMini Mif the bload •raufi^ heart waa tapuagip toe; for â- taiiaing m the b]raosite fmk, we erimaim diaperi'^alUi^tbMitf'liers^MieM figoia. bar wvbderfal hair atMnwinir Mhe «iett« gold in the gaaUghl^ he-asw MnricA. (io BM «OM«fnntit.V i«te'aCm»lJlef^* M fiiere'4 hillk aiM mountainn durrn thersb air." said an old eailor V tae one day as w* were acodding in toward the loaadi "aqd fields and forebts, all made of coraL Of a el«ar day eight or tea tnilea ootside, sir, with my water-glaea, Fve seen tfaingt as yon ^oaid hardly believe if I told you. Mi({ht]r Ug trees, and places like gaea plots and onion fiehls, bigger'n any ia irmuda groves liks " mettoe, and build- inV usd churehceâ€" .cathedrals, I believe yoa call 'em â€" li .e they have in London, with heaps rf steeple and.kig fiah, going to meet- in! " No fairy tale, how. Captain?" "No sir all fact, ekoept 'bout the meet* in' Fish hain't got much feelm' specially sharks, and marays, and gray snappers, yea know." The coral reefs on which the Bermuda Islands are built extend a distance of from ten to twenty miles beyond the land wast. north and east, much of the intermediate space being dotted with islands and darken- ed by innumerable shoals that are of endless torment to sailors. The shores i^re with little exception rugged, broken, made up of ov|rhanging clifis and peculiar terrace like layers of rock. In places the ceaseless ac- tion of the waves has made deed caverns, bored holes, carved fantastic shapes and made decorations that resemble stucco work. Sea moss carpets many of these weird look- ing structures, and hangs in long wreathes from escarpment and cornice, where mer- maids and mermen can go to housekeeping and find all sorts of beautiful and sstheti* articles to embellish their interiors. Her- mit crabs scramble awkwardly along the ledges near the water, lookin like criminals trying to hide, scudding for an untenanted periMmkle or vacant conch sh^U whea pressed for time, while here and 'there, ia natural aquaria, little tanks and bowls of water in the i ocks, on can see pretty small fry that seem to have concluded to drop in there and rest tilHhe tide comes up again and enables them to rejoin their oongcuora in the deep green sea. Peraian Charaeterlatlos, The great charms of the Per Una is their manliness and heartiness. These qualitiea in the Afghan are linked with blood-thirsty treachery and greed, but the Persians are not blood-thirsty or cruel by nature, and one need fear no violation of the laws of hospitality under a Peisian roof. Again,' whatever may be the ru e in Ozirbaijau and Khorassau, a Persian m the part where I travelled has no objection to eat with a European or to smoke from the same palyan, unless he believes some one of the stricter school among his country m^ju is present. I need hardly say what an element of attract- iveness lies in this one fact as a contrast ta the caste exclusiveness of India, in other respe. ts aLo the Persians have nn admir- able freedom from prejudices. They are quick witted and ingenious people, highly imitative and ready to atlopt the manners of western nations. "You English have been 100 years iu India," said a Pers an to mo, " and you have not yet tiught the people te drink out of glass, if you were governing Persia in twenty years the whole popula- tion would be wearing European clothr:ti and eating with a knife and fork." This waa perhaps an exaggerated way of putting the truth. Certainly Persia presents no deep- rooted obstacle o the influx of Kuropeaa thoughts and manners, even of Earopeaa fashions, if they could but reach the women. A nation which h s produced so many free thinking poets can never relap e into bic;»- try. The influence Hatiz is gr ater in the long run than that of all the moullah^, and one sees at once that the Mohammedanism ot Persia is very different from that ol India. Another instance of that freedom from pre- judice which distinguishes Persians is tneir love 01 travel. The one redeeming point ia a Persian servant is his uncomplaining en- durance of long marches, aud the cheerful curiosity with which he confronts the pr pect of an excursion into some half- starved region among the savage hills â€" "Six Monikt in Fergia." A Forgotten Tmaslatioa. Prof. Francis Bowen of Harvard .brings to notice aA almcst forgotten translation ef the Bible by Charles rhompeon who was Secretary of the Continental Congress, and published his work in 180S. Thompson waa a distinguished teacher of Latin and Greek in PLiladelphia, and he gpeut the better part of tw nty-eight years on his version of the scriptures. Prof. Bowen has been ex- aming the book, and it is his deliberate judgment that, in many respects, it is better than the revision of 1881. Thomson aa« ticipated some of the changes recently made. He printed the texts in paragraphs, and the songs and poetical citations as poetry ia lines of an unequal length. Heai-oomita the passage in the first epistle of Job.., oon- cenung the " three that bear record in hea* ven," and he prints in brackets the doxology at the close of the Lord's Prayer, mention- ing in " many aacient manuscripts" it it not fonnd. Wagner, the compoeer, as is well knowa, ran away with the wife of Hana von Balow* the eminent pianist, with whom he wae then on terms of intimate friendship. Von Bidow's wife and two daughters now live with Wagner, as though l e gitim ately the -biter's wife and danghten. This singnlsr â- rraagement does not seem to oaose mack- aiikal^ by dissension in the reneotivw Diliei^ and it it reported that Von Bo- low's mOtber, who ii vety wealthy, has jnst made a will beqneathing 660,000 laacfca (abont $120000) to each of the gsend- daaghtoie whom Wagner has cared for. l»iU- i 'i F;l *.•! â- |M, â- 0 -^.iii â- I I â-  u-\ ' i I I i' .1 ill ♦ jj^ '^^if /r^ss'^-ifr-'S-' a*;«-^ ;i,*9ii^