Old Friends* Th old, old friends! Borne changed; some buried; some goneontof * Sight; Borne enemies, and in this world's swift flglit Mo time to make amends. The old, old friends— Whore are they? Throe are lying in one grave; And one from the far-off world on tho daily wavo No loving mossage sends. The old dear friends! One passes daily; and one wears a mask; Another, long estranged, cares not to ask Where causeless anger ends. The dear old friends, jBo many and so fond in days of youth! Alas that Faith oan to divorced from Truth, When lovo in severance ends. The old, old friends! ,They hovor round rao still in evening shades; Buroly they shall return whon sunlight fades And life on God dopends. IF. J. Linton. IN THE FIRELIGHT GLOW " Miss Thirza told me if yon called, tar, to ask you if you'd go up and see Miss Amy, as she's all alone." A shade of reluctance crossed the face of Charles Biekard, but he an swered . " Certainly, if she is well enough." Perhaps it was selfish, but it seemed hard to him just then to leave the sunny 'brightness and fresh air for the depress ing ntmosphere of an invalid's cham ber, especially when he had oome ex jpeoting to see some one brighter and fresher in his eyes than the November sunshine and leaf rustling breeze. He entered, however, with a smile, and was soon seated opposite Amy's eoooh, noting with inward compassion that the dark eyes were more sunken, the face more wan and eager, than when he last oconpied that place. "Poor little thing I" he said, cross ing one leg over the knee of the other, and staring at her. "How long have you been left alone ?' " Only a few days," said Amy, return ing bis gaze with one so pieroing that tie felt as though she must read his in most heart, "Id >n't mind. I like it. I'hoy have gone to London to be shown —at least, Tita to be shown, and Thirza lo take care of her." Biokard uncrossed his legs. " To be shown 1" he repeated. ' Yes. You know that Madelon and her hnsbatd were coming from the rape, didn't you ?" He nod ltd, and thoughtfully jingled the pendants to his watoh-ohain. " Well, they are here—children and ail; but must go back on the third —in about a fortnight. And they have hronght back with them an unreason able brother of Freds—Bernard by name—who wants to marry a wife and lake her back with him." She paused, but her anditor said nothing. "So Madelon thinks it would be very rharming if he would take a fancy to Tita. So it won d for her. She came down here at. d told us all about it; what a nice fellow hor brother-in-law is, how handsome, and a great deal more, and lias carried those two back to Londen to see him." " Pf! How stupid !'' as there was a crack, and a little gold pencil-case, de clining to be bent any farther, came in two pieces. " Very," said Amy, drily, " ■ a should break yourself of the habit of fidgeting things abont. For my part I hate handsome men." "No—do you?" and he called up a look of concern that brought a sudden laugh from the invalid. " Don't be uneasy. I, at least, don't inolnde yon among that class." " Does any one ?" he asked, with in difference, " How oan I tell ? Probably not. By the way, this Mr. Bernard Oolvin has eight hundred a year." " Has ho ?" said Biokard, adding, in an undertone : " Confound him 1'" " For shamo t" said Amy, whose ears wero unnaturally quick. " What made yen come in this afternoon ?" "What indeed I" he said, trying to fit together the brokea pencil-case. Amy was silent, and when he raised Mi eyes after a few minntes he saw in hen a gleam of tears. He looked away foiokly and reddened with oompuno tkm, though ignorant of what he had ■aid to bnrt her. "I suppose it was to hear abont Tita," she said,sharply, recovering her aatf. "Mr Biokard, do yon think you eight to oome here so often ?" " Why shouldn't I ?" " Because yon are poor, and so are we. Yon're angry, but I can't help it. We have* no father or mother, and Thiraa is too soft-hearted to say anything, t ui see yon are vexed that Tita is gone k London, but yon can't ask her to marry yon. Yon couldn't support a wife, nor have yon any prospect of being hotter off soon. Yet yon oome here wostantly and try yonr best to make bar care for yon. I don't think n*, wawly or fair." 9e did not answer or look up ; bnt br a space surveyed his boots. At last in broke the silence with : Hsf| yon anything to read? I'll send yon some books up. Well, I must be off. Good bye." They shook hands and his largo form filled the doorway, then vunished, while tho cripple, having listened till the_ front door closed after him, sank back and pressed her thin fingers to her eyes. "I wish he had said something," she moaned. "I have sent him away, when perhaps he would have stayed. I have hurt him throngh my wretched spite and jealousy, and he wonld not oven be angry." She lay with her eyes hidden, and burning tears squeezing their way through the closed lidf; bnt when Mrs. Judd, who was half-honsokeeper, half nurse, appeared with her tea, she had conquered herself sufficiently to avert inquiry. Poor Amy had al ways been a cripple, bnt of late she had given up tho crutch, with the aid of which she had enoe contrived to move from one place to another, and resigned herself to lying on a couch day after day, conscious of her increasing helplessness. She was a little soured by tho eontrast she af forded to her three sisters, who all reveled in the possession of health and beauty. A few days later, Thirza, the elder, who had arrived at the sober age of thirty, and Tita, the youngest of the family, returned to Milhurst. They entered Amy's room together, before removing their hats, alike yet widely differing. Tita ran forward and pressed a warm kiss on each slim cheek. "Here are we two selfish wretches back again at last, with heaps of things to tell you." " How have yon been, ducky?" asked Thirza, advanoing as Tita drew back, kneeling beside the sofa, throwing her hat aside, and laying hor faoe, wiih its tumbled fair hair, against her sister's; then lifting it to look anxi onsly into her eyes. "Just as usual," said Amy; "but I am glad to have you back. After tea you must tell me everything." She repressed her impatience until the evening, and then all three settled themselves comfortably for a long chat, having previously excluded the lamp, in de(Terence to Amy's preference for the firelight. Thirza hod all the narration to her self, for Tita gazed into the fire; and Amy silently watched Tita, abont whose eyes and month hovered a look of pain and weariness that should not have be longed to her years' She was evidently debating some point in her mind, a point the shrewd cripple qniokly di vined. "And do you like him, Tita," Amy ask d, when the account of the last few days was ended. She looked round with a sta^k " Like whom ?" " This Bernard Colvin." "Yes, well enough." " Well enough to marry him?" "What! on a week's acqaaintanoe? No, thank you." "I should know a man throngh and through in a week. Thirza, did he ad mire her ?" "Of course he did," and Thirza smiled at the absurdity of the question. " Bat have yon had no one here while we have been away ?" Amy's blnsh was visible even in the uncertain light. " Only Charlie I" A perceptible quiver passod over Tita, and her dreamy look changed to one of attention, though she did not move. "He sent me some books," Amy added, and there was an uncomfortable silence. After a few minntes Tita said she was tired, and with a good-night kiss to each went to bed. " I am afraid," said Thirza, later on, "that she wonld marry this man out of pique, because Charlie says nothing. I th.nk he ought to speak out, and oome to an understanding with her. I am sure it wonld be better." " Thirza," said the cripple, irrelevant ly, " have you never, never once, been the least bit in love?" "Never, dear." " Are you quite sure ? I can't under stand it." " I am glad that it has been so,' 1 said Thirza, kissing the thin hand that was laid on her hair. " And I," Amy answered slowly, "I should not have lived all theae years without yon. Since father and mother died yon have been—oh I I could never say what yon have been to me I I know I sometimes seem ungrateful, bnt I am not really. You are crying I What have I said? What is the matter ? Is it for yourself, Thirza, or for me?" " Not for myself, dear. I have no troubles bnt yours ; and all yonrs yon do not tell me; bnt I guess." She turned a glanee on Amy, and saw the transient color flood her cheeks—a self-betrayal that the cripple instinct ively hid with her hands, while her bosom heaved and a choking sob wou d hive vent. Thirza drew her bead to her own breast, and kissed and fondled her m • mother wonld bare done, crying over her a few quiet tears of love and pity. On the following day, when the Inst red tinge from tho wintry sunset was fading out of tho sky, and the firelight, seeming to gain confidence now that the sun was gone, was danoing over the old-fashioned furniture of the Haw thorno Deane drawing-room, Thirza sat by the hearth, holding in her hand a letter which she had been reperusing by the uncertain light. It was from Madelon, who wrote in high spirits, resulting from the belief that her project with regard to Tita's fu ture was to be realized. Thirza was re folding it when she started, for there struok upon her ear the infrequented sound of wheels upon the grave) ( While she was still wondering, the door was opened, and the servant, without seeing that the room was occu pied, ushered in a gentleman, with " What name shall I say, sir?" to whioh he replied by giving her a card. Miss Nicol came forward. "Mr. Colvin!" she said, in a low. startled voice. "Has anything hap pened ? My sister—" " Your sister is perfectly well," he said, as they shook hands. Ho was a trifle embarrassed—a thing unusual with him —but the dusk con cealed the fact. "Pray sit down," said Thirza. "I will ring for lights." Bernard Oolvin remonstrated. " I like the twilight," he said; "And it will make it easier for me to tell you why I have come." " I think I can guess," she said, placing Madelon's letter in her pocket. " I heard from Mrs. Oolvin this morn ing." He looked at her suddenly and in tently. "You know how I am situated," he began—" that lam compelled to quit England when my brother does—not a fortnight hence." Thirza bowed. J "Think of that, then, and do not condemn my present proceeding as hasty and ill-considered. Miss Nicol, I have come to ask you to be my wife." She was silent from extreme surprise, and he wont on: " I know too well that it seems very abrupt—that it i* at least unusual; but I can only plead that this course is forced upon mo. On tho first evening on whioh we met at your sister's I re solved to ask you as soon as I dared." " I did not expect this," murmured Thirza. " I thought it was Tita. lam very sorry—" " Sorry I'* "It is impossible, Mr. Colvin. Do you know that I am older than you ?" " Yea; your sister told me so. That is nothing to me. I see in you what I never thought to meet—my ideal of what a woman should be. Miss Nicol," and he took her hand and held it firmly, " for heaven's sake set aside all preju dice, all conventionality, and answer me simply from your heart. I have never cared for any woman before and I want you for my wife. I have seen you but four times, but if it were a thousand I could not admire and respect you more. Dare you trust me with your self ? In other words, do you—oould you ever care for me ?" The hand he held trembled in his and Thirza was silent. It was tho first time such words had ever been ad dressed to her, and in her heart she knew that she dare trust him implicitly, that she would follow him to the ends of the earth. But—there was Amy. Besides whioh, she was saying to her self: "He does not love me. He wants a wife and thinks that I should suit him; but that is not love." For Thirza Nicol at thirty had not lost her faith in senti ment. "lam very grateful, Mr. Colvin," she Baid, slowly, " but I cannot be your wife. lam sorry if you are feeling dis appointment, but forgive me if I think that it cannot be very keen." He droppod her hand, and stared hard at the fire, where, from the glowing coals, a mocking face seemed to smile at him in derision." " But it is," he said, in a low voioe, "My life is a very lonely one. I thought—l was too sanguine. Will yon not take it into consideration ? May 1 not oome baok after six months and ask you again ?" The undertone of pain in the first words went direct to Thirza's heart. Bat there was theoripple. He met her soft, compassionate gaze as she shook her head, and in that long look what had been a dull souse of pain and loss grew into something more like despair. "You are sure?" " Quite sure." He rose. "Then good-byel" " You will stay and have a oup of tea or something? Are you going to walk baok to the station ? It is seven miles." "No, nothing, thank you. I shall just have time to oatch the up-train." And a few minutes later he had plunged out into the now thiek dark ness, with very different feelings from those with whioh he had oome. He strode along the gloomy, lonely road; whose high banks increased the obscurity, as unconscious of his sur roundings as if asleep, with head bent, and mind lull of new sensations of any thing but a pleasant charaoter. He was in love, and he knew it, for the first time in his life. He had come to England in the hope of finding some amiable, good woman to share his in ture, and he was to return with his future all dark before him. That he should never marry he knew. For him there was bat one woman in all the world. Charlie Riokard, wandering uneasily through the leaf-carpeted lanes, bad seen him go to the house, but not also seeing his departure strolled away in another direction, with a heart almost as heavy as that of the man he envied. And Thirza ? She listened until she heard the gate swing to, and then sat down by the fire. When the tea bell rang an hour later she roused herself and ran upstairs. " Where have you been ?" was Amy's greeting. " I have been awake an hour at least. What have you been doing ?" " Sitting by the fire thinking," said Thirza. " Are you not well, dear ?" "Perfectly," Thirza answered, with a smile, and the invalid withdrew her great eyes but half satisfied. * * * * * A year had skimmed as lightly away as years generally do, and it was again winter. The leafless trees were marked out darkly against the pale afternoon sky, as a young man turned in at the gate of Hawthorne Deane. As he skirted the cedar that bad at first hidden the house from view, he saw the draw ing-room window red with the firelight glow. He advanced slowly, and stood looking. There by the mantelpiece stood Tita, and by her side, with her hand in his, was some ono whom the looker-on did not know. He sighed heavily. " She has yielded?" he said to him self. "Will mine?" He saw Tita lay her fair cheek againsj the sleeve of her lover's coat, and turned away to the door, ashamed of his min ute's espial. Still he stood on the step, prolonging hisown suspense, from fear that when it should be ended the reality should prove even harder to bear. As he waited in the increasing dark ness the slight figure of a woman came slowly along the path that wound round the house, drawing a shawl closer about her with an audible shiver, and stopped where he had done, looking in at the pair by tho fire. " Amy is gone 1" she murmured; "and now Tita will go I What is to become of me?" The echo of his sigh escaped her. Bernard ColviD half moved to speak to her,yot hesitated for fear that his sadden apparition would be too startling. Bat the reflection that the next step wonld probably be to the door, induced him to step out from the shadow of the porch with outstretched hand. "Who is It?" said Thirza, shrinking back. "It is I," said Colvin, with perfect faith in her recognizing his voioe. "I have come back." She gave him her hand, which was trembling, saying, as if to account for it and for her agitation: "You surprised me I I have been ill—in trouble I We have lost our sis ter !" He retained her hand, and made a motion with his other to the occupants of the room. "I have been envying that man," ha said, in a low voioe. " Thirza, I have come to ask you again—to see if such happiness as his may be mine I And I was waiting—l dared not put it to tho proof I Thirza, love, life is worthless without you I Can yon love me? Spoak, love, for Heavon's sake I Don't keep me in suspense I" Thirza oould not speak—her voice was choked with tears, but she held out both hands toward him with a gesture that was sufficient answer. He caught her to him—the pain of. twelve long months compensated in that first kiss on Thirza's proffered lips. An Amerioan walking through a town in Wales saw a procession with flags fly ing, trumpets blowing, and a man hoisted shoulder high, and asked, "What is all this about ?" "Why, that is the pig man," was the reply, A little while and he met a similar procession, and another man uplifted. "What ia up now T" "Oh, that is the anti-pig man." There was an eleotion fight over the question whether some pigstyca were to be removed. The styes carried the day. The figures whioh represent the spread of the telegraphio system in Europe are enormous. Russia leads, very naturally, in total length or miles, her aggregate being over 50,000 miles. Bat in length of wires Germany comes first, as she has nearly 100,000 miles. Finally, Oreat Britain is highest in the number of messages in which si • reaches 80,000,000. Franoe stands very high in all these respeets, without being first in any. Tlie Causo or Hydrophobia. And what," said a visitor to Pas teur's laboratory, is the result of the experiments which you have recently Leen making on hydrophobia ?" "If yon desire," said M. Pasteur, "we will go down to the cellar where the animals inoculated with the rage are, and you can there soon see for your self." The visitor descended into the base ment in company with M. Pasteur, with oortain uncomf jrtable sensations in the calves of his legs, fearing a possible on counter with some one of the inoculated dogs ; and ho found himself in a vast cellar, into which air and light were poured through groat tunnels. Immense cages were ranged round the sides of this subterranean apartment, and in each of these cages was a dog. Here were all sorts of canines, the bulldog, the terrier, the spaniel, the poodle, etc. Over each cage was a placard indicating the day of the inoculation of the animal. "Up to this time," said M. Pasteur, "I have been able to discover but little ; still, I consider it a first step. Before I began my experiments it was believed that hydrophobia could be communicatod only by the saliva, and people were frequently astonished at seeing dogs that had been bitten by mad dogs remain, sometimes all their lives, without manifesting any smptoms of the dreadful malady. I have dis covered the virus of hydrophobia in the brain of the dog, in the spinal marrow, and in the whole of the nervous system generally. One drop of this virus, pre served from contact with the microbes of the atmosphere and introduced into the brain of a healthy dog. invariably gives him hydrophobia, and he dies of it within fifteen days.' 1 " Lnok," said M. Pasteur, "Here is an animal inoculated with the virus about ten days ago. Just put your loot up to his cage.'' The visitor did so but with fear and trembling. ' You see, he licks your foot with every man ifestation of affection. In two days he will be dead. He is now in that period of affectionate manifestation which generally precedes by two or three days the period of violenco, in which he will bite anything that comes near him. Here is another one. Just give a kick at his cage. See how he springs at you ! He will die f o-morrow. Notice his harsh and curious barking. He is affected with hallucinations, and no longer recognizes anybody. He was inoculated just fourteen days ago, and he will be dead to-morrow. Men have the same symptoms, with this exception, that the duration of what may be called the inoubation is usually thirty or forty days, and that thoy "nave a horror of water, a phenomenon which is never seen in the case of dogs." " There are five cases on record of I men who have not died after being bit ten by mad dogs. That was because the saliva had been subjected to the influence of the atmosphere, and that a kind of straggle was going on between the microbes of the virus and the mi crobes of the circumambient air. These I latter appear sometimes to neautralize j or modify the effect of the virus; but with the virus in the pure state, as I extract it from the brain of one of my dogs here, death in a fixed period is certain, and up to this time we have found no remedy for this pitiless afflic tion. " Now, I hope, if my life is spared, that, after many comparisons and ex periments, I shall finally get a remedy; but, before getting to the end of my researches, must exactly establish the organic constitution of the microbes of this virus, for these invisible beings differs from each other as a man differs from a horse, and a horse from an ele phant. Thay are also subject to divers influences, and that which diminishes the power of some augments the ca pacity of others. This accounts for the manner in which I treated the oharbon, which was slaying thousands of sheep every day before the invention of my vaocine matter, whioh is nothing less than the virus itself reduced. By exposing the virus to an atmosphere of forty degrees during a certain time, the microbes becomes so feeble that when they were in the body of an animal they only oommunicated the very light est oharbon, and thus forever guaran teed the animals against the epidemio," —Par it Letter. A "Son Thing." Young Bmailed, who had married a rich wife, was discussing the subjeot of marriage with a number of friends the other evening over the rear fence, when he wafl heard to remark : "Itis a faot, gentlemen, that I am not fond of bard work, and when I married I was determined to have a soft thing." " Well, Smalled," replied Yeast, "you may have been successful; bat there is one thing oertaia, and that is it would be a pretty difficult job for any one to produce a softer thing than your wife got when she married."— Statesman. The exports of wheat from Ban Fran oisoo from July 1, 1881, to July 1, 1882, amounted to 22,560,622 centals, valued at 986,905,317. SKOBELEFF'S LAST VICTOR!. Grnphic Story of IIj H Detent of the Turko in a ii m. On tho failure of the first expedition sent against the Tekke Turkomans, in 1880, Bkobeleff undertook to subdue them. This task was a serious one, for tho Tekkos, like all fighting Asiatic races when flushed with victory, were dangerous* enemies, hard to beat. When the mud fortifications of Qeok Tope, in which they had concentrated some 20,000 fanatical warriors, were in vested bv Skobeleff's small army of about 7,000 of all arms—tho remaining 10,000 men of the force being occupied in keeping the communications open— the real difficulties commenced. Sword in hand the Turkoman " Ghazis" made furious sorties in bodies of two or three thousand just before jdawn ; falling heroically on tho parallels, approaches and breaching batteries, which they more than once captured, driving such of the Russian troops as were not at once cut to pieces com pletely out of the trenches; so that these points had to be strongly re inforced and covered, keeping the whole force often day and night under arms. In one of these sallies Sfeobeleff'a famous white charger, on which he had made the Turkish campaign, was killed under him, and he himself was in immi nent danger. The loss of this horse, which he took for a bad omen, seemed to shake his resolution somewhat. He telegraphed to Tiflis desiring that an other general should be sent to take command "in case ho was k lied" in the final assault, which he proposed delivering almost immediately ; and General P.u(off actua'ly left for this, purpose, bkobeleff said openly that he would not survive if the attack failed, and significantly observed to his staff " that if it did fail there was nothing for it but their revolvers." The assault was made by escalade, at a point midway between a breach effected by the batteries and one made by a mine run under a bastion or mud cavalier some 300 yards distant from the first breach. Now, the defenders ex pected tho assault to be made by the breaches, and had made every prepara tion to repel it at those points; and thus they were taken altogether by sur pri>e. On their being driven from the rampart, which took seme time to effect, the artillery was dragged through the breaches, and, being mounted ou the wall, opened an effective cannonade on the crowded interior of the encein'e, while the cavalry moved round outside to cut off the retreat of the fugitives. Organized resistance having ceased, the Russian infantry descended into the enceinte; and, orders having been issued to give no quarter, some 6,000 to 7,000 of tho enemy were massacred, an equal number being shot or cut down by the Cossacks and dragoons outside while attempting to escape. Many of the Rnssian officers them selves were completely sickened by the slaughter, which was horrible. The as usual, spared no one, and made no difficulty about cutting women's arms off to get their bangles, and so forth. As contingents from the Akhal, Silor and other, Turkomans were in Geok Tepe (all the hordes having for the time made common cause against the Russians), this severe lesson joined to the subsequent plundering of cattle and all the available effects of the Tekkes, completely broke the spirit of these hitherto unconquered nomads. In a few days all the tribes sent in dele gates tendering unconditional submis sion. SkobclcfT's loss during the siego and assault amounted to 1,700 killed and wounded, among whom were many good offioers, and one general (Patrosaie vitcb), a man of considerable literary ability, who was much regretted. The justification of the massace at Qeok Tepe is that the Russians having determined to annex Turkomania a severe example was absolutely neces sary ; a war of a very harassing and protracted nature would otherwise have probably dragged on for years, involv ing great expenditure both of men and money. And then, in the storming of fortresses hold by warlike and fanatical Asiatics, who invariably expect to be killed if the plaoe is taken, isolated re sistance is going on throughout. Few if any Ohazis will acoept quarter ; it is even dangerous to go near them when they are lying badly wounded. On the conclusion of the campaign Qeneral Bkobeleff repaired to St. Pe tersburg, where it is said he was very ooldly received by the emperor. Any how, he almost immediately applied for leave and went to Paris, made his famous speeoh against the Germans, and returned to Russia, where he re ceived an ovation on arrival and en route. His sudden death is generally thought to be rather mysterious ; and certainly no man alive seemed less lisely to die six months ago than Sko beleff, and none more litely to be en tering upon a new career .—St. Jamn' Gcuette. It is estimated that the copulation of the United States on Jane 1, 1890, will be 64,470 .000; by 1900, 81,629,000, and on June 1,1910,101,810,60a
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