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