Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 17, Number 28, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 1 January 1887 — Page 2

NEW EVERY MORNING.

Every day 1* afresh beginning,

Every morn fs a world made rww You who are weary of sorrow and sinning, Here Is a beautiful hope for you

A hope for me and a hope for you.

All the past things are past and over, The tasks ure done and the tears are shed Yesterday's errors let yesterday cover

Yesterday's wounds which smarted and bled, Are healed with the healing which night ha* shed.

Yesterday now is apart of forever, Ilound up in a sheaf which God holds tight. With glad days and sad days and bad days which never

Shall visit us more with their bloom and their blight, Their fullness of sunshine or sorrowful night.

Let tliem sine*: we cannot relieve them, Cannot undo and cannot atone God in his mercy receive, forgive tliem,

Only the new days are our own To-day is ours and to-day alone,

Hero are the sldi-s ail burnished brightly, Ilero is tho spent earth nil reborn, ire are the tired limbs springing lightly

To face the tniu and to share with tho morn In the chrism of dew and the cool of dawn.

Every day is afresh beginning Listen, my soul, to the glad refrain, And spite of old sorrow and older sinuing.

And puzzles forecasted and possible pain, Take heart with the day, and begin again. Susan (Jooudok.

air introd'

There, old anil feeble, sitting by the Are— Their hearts as constant as in days of yore— They patient wait, yot roady to retire

When lie who gathers beckons at the door.

AT OLD SOL'S TAVERN.

RECOLLECTION OF A BACKWOODS NEW YEAR EVE.

"This litis been 'bout the snappiest day we'vo had in a month, on' yit th' hain't been 'nough frost in it to a barefooted boy curl his toes."

Old Sol, the landlord, was disgusted. The oldest inhabitant of the Ridge could not remember such a spell of unseasonable weather as they had had ever since the winter opened. There had been warm weather, and soggy weather, and wet weather, and everybody had tho blues. It was New Year eve. The hickory logs snapped in the big, old fashioned fireplace, and a kettle ft cheery so:ig as it wreathed itself in vapor that suggested something hot and savory by and bye but in spite of that there was anything but cheerfulness stirring the usual collection of loungers, who sat in the glare of the lire and among the dancing shadows of the low-ceilinged old barroom. Tho weather had been such that venison wouldn't freeze, and it was hanging up all around the Ridge and almost spoiling. This in itself was enough to put the average dweller in the bailiwick of Sol's Ridge in the worst of humor, and the fettling in tho community was probably excellently represented at the tavern by

THK

tho

crotchety and contrary Old Settler, and the equally irascible and obstinate Squire, two ancient landmarks of the Ridge, who

OLD 8STTUUI ANT) THK SQUIRE,

never agreed on anything and never met, even in the beat of times, without falling into a tuore or less bwited argument. On this particular Now Year eve, when every body had the blues, except the district school tmcber—who boarded 'round, and had got nwd to taking erythtng as it «une. and always expected the wont—the Old Settler and the Squire occupied their Javorite places in front of tbs flrcplace, and the hunters and woodsm*® grouped here and there in their vicinity xxpected to hear the two old growlers at their very

"We didn't usety hev sech betwixt an* between weather as this at this time o' year," said Old Sol, the landlord, lighting his pipe with a pine knot splinter, in the light of which his red face glistened. 4W» didn't never hev sech meat sp'ilin' weather ez this at New Year's, an' I know it" "Course ye didn't 1" exclaimed the Squire. "An' why do we hev it now? I'll tell ye why. It's cause we've degen'rated. It's 'cause we've slopped over an' fone clean back on good ol' Dimmycratic principles. "Who ever heerd o' havin' sech weather ez this fer New Year's in the days o' Gov'nor Wolf r. i' Gin'r'l Jackson? Wen them ol' warhossos was runnin' things in this kentry, things was right ev'ry time, an' we didn't hev no April weather a worryin' us when th' raometers orter ben a bustin' out their bulbs, 'cause the mere'ry couldn't git no lower. Ye kin bet yer last gallus button th't if Gov'nor Wolf an' Gin'ral Jackson was a bossin' things now, th't ven'son 'd be friz stiffer'n a flag pole, an' a feller wouldn't be afeerd to kill a turkey a day 'fore he wanted to eat it." "Me an' you don't often 'grce together, Squiro, thanks to your unfort'nit disposition," said the Old Settler, "but I'm with ye on them last sentiments o' your'n, ev'ry time. Now, in 1840 an' up'ards, w'en Wolf were Gov'nor, th' never was sech New Year's weather ever heerd on ez we hed.that year." "In 1840 an'up'ards?" said the Squire, bristling a little. "Wolf wa'n't Gov'nor arter '4(». an' any 3-year-ol' baby orter

-A'r-

THE DISTRICT SCHOOL TEACHER ENTERS,

know that. Come to think on it, he wa'nt Gov'nor, even, in 1840. His time run out in '39." "Wolf wa'n't -Gov'norin '40, hay?" replied tho Old Settler, settling his cane emphatically on the floor. "Ho want, hay? VV'y, Squire, ye mowt jist ez well tell me th't I wa'n't bom in 18181" "I don't euro whuther you wus born in 181m or afore the flood," exclaimed tho Squire "but I do care.'bout tho time cz Wolf were Gov'nor, an' I tell ye th't his time run out in '39!" "Do you meanter set thar an' tell me th't I don't: 'member tho year th't Ebanezer Spriggs were e'nvicted o' hoss stealin'?" said the Old Settlor, shaking his cane at the Squire. "Do you meanter toll rne th't me an' Deacon Vogel didn't go down to see ol' Gov'nor Wolf to git Ebenezer pardoned, 'cause the hoss he stole was nothin' but a blind one, an' b'longed to a man who voted an' workf

fgin' the Gov'nor? K„ ^-^om

mean to JfcU me th't I don't 'member" that, aa' th't it wa'n't in the year o' 1840?" "I meanter say jist this," replied the Squire, emphasizing his remarks by pouuding his list on his knee, "an' that is th't you nor nobody else didn't never go to see Gov'nor Wolf in 1840, 'cause his time run out in '89. That's w'at I meanter say, an' you liaint a gointer stop me, even if you was born in '18!" "Ebenezer Spriggs were your cousin, wa'n't he?" shouted the Old Settler. "Yes, he were," replied the Squire "but" "An' didn't ho steal that blind hoss an' have to go down tho river fer doin' of it?" "What if he did?" Does that" "An' did he git pardoned?" "No but w'nt's that got to do with" "Thar ve be!" shouted the Old Settler, triumphantly. "Thar ye be! Yer cousin stole a hoss an' Gov'nor Wolf didn't pardon him, an' yit yon stan' up an' argy with me th't. I don't know what I recomember. That's primy fishy ev'dence th't Wolf were Gov'nor from '40 up'ards, or you 'wouldn't try to make out that he wa'n't, jist because you feel mad agin him fer not pard'nin' out yer cousin!"

This logic of the Old Settler's had anything but the effect of convincing the Squiro, and he whetted up his memory and turned on the Old Settler in kind. "Some folks, mebby, don't hev no longer niem'rits th'n some other folks," said he "an' I know 'twere in the fall o' '39 th't my father missed them four shoulders o' mutton, an' gittin' out a s'arch war'nt he foun' 'em in Peleg Dibble's cellar, an' that wero the fall th't Gov'nor Wolf's time run out, an' well I 'member it. But, dura it, Major, you'll hef to 'scuse me, fer I f'gt th't Peleg Dibble were your uncle, or I wouldn't said nothin' 'bout it!"

The Old Settler was about to pour hot shot into the Squire, when old Sol, the landlord, took his pipe out of his month, and sjxkc. "Th" hain't nothin' like havin' a good inem'ry," said he, "but thuz sech a thing ex havin' one th't leaks a leetle, an' lets a few fac's drop by the wayjide 'casion'ly. "That's'bout the way with you an'the Squire, Major. You both 'member a good deal, but thus also a thing or two ye don't neither ov ye 'member. Fer Instance, Gov' nor Wolf hadn't ben Gov'nor fer ten year the time yon fellers is speak-in' of, fer he were 'lccted in '29, an' consekently that's the time lie were Gov'nor. Otherwise, I b'lieve both o' yer fac's is 'cordin' to history. Wolf were Gov'uor in '89." "Thar Squire! cxclaimed the Old Settler. "Didn't I tell ye? I know'd ye was way out o' yer reckonin'! W'en I say a feller's wrong ye kin set it down fer a fact th't he is wrong, an' no mistake! Mebby ye want to stan' up now an' deny th't this weather is wnss th'n wa't we usety hev, an' make yerself giner'lyno company fer nobody!"

But further dfspnte between the Squire and the Old Settler was interrupted by the district school tea .-her. "There might be worse things than having such weather as this at this festive sea son," said he. "It's better to have bad weather and something to eat than have the jolliest of cold and hracing air and a lean larder. We have ft good deal to be thankfnl for." "I dntuio bat w'at yer 'boot right, sonny,*' said old Sol. "Frost makes the blood hop, skip and jump, an' it's wuth a bushel o' doctor's stuff, frort is, if it only ounce 'long w'en it's doe. But fer a stiddy diet to put meat on yer bones, the shank of a turkey or a hunk o* sparerfb la wuth a torn at the hull blame Arctic region*." "That's so, Sol," said the Squire "sb*

ERRE HAUTE SATURDAY EVENING MAIL.

ex long ez folks has got the turkey an'the Epareribs an' all the trimmin's. an' a wife ez knows how to dish 'em up till yer mouth waters a lookin' at 'em, they hadn't orter flnrl fault with nothin' at this time o' year. But some folks hain't got 'em, an' it'd be a mean man ez wouldn't divide with a feller, to start the year with." "Yes, and I knew such a man once," said the school teacher, "and as he had all the meanness knocked out of him one New Year's day, now will be a good time to tell you the story. His name was Jansen Jacobs, and he had the name of being the meanest man that ever lived. He was a great hunter and a great eater. People used to say that it was a common thing for him to eat a whole turkey, and that his wife always prepared his meali as if she was getting them ready for four men. Hi never allowed any of his family to eat until be was through, and, if he was in a bad humor, mado them wait until ho had also satisfied the appetites of half a dozen dogs from the table. He wasn't a very cheerful man, and you may well imagine* that his popularity in the community wasn't great but that did not disturb him in tho least. "One season there had been a terrible flood in the streams, and a great deal of lumber was carried away. Several mill hands were drowned in trying to save property. They all left largo families destitute. When the holidays come around some of the folks thought it would be a good thing to make up a wagen load of things and distribute them on New Year's day among those poor families, as otherwire their chances of beginning the new year with anything to eat would be decidedly slender. Besides that, almost every man in the settlement volunteered to chop wood" for two hours on New Year's day for the benefit of the families. The committee was certain that, mean as he was, Jansen Jacobs would do a little something in a case like this. When asked if he would give

turkej*, or a piece of venison, or anything he pleased, he said: 'Wall, I've got some turkeys, an' I've got some ven'son, an' I've got some b'ar meat. An' I've got plenty on 'em, too. An' I'm agoin ter keep 'em. If anybody 'copt me an' my ol' woman an' young uns, widders or no widders, orflnts or no orfints, socks their teeth inter any o' them provender, it'll be because I don't git in from the woods New Year's to see to it—an' I'd like to see the power th't '11 stop me from doin' o' that. Ez fer cuttin' wood, I'd ruther be ketched in a b'ar trap!"

New Year's morning Jansen started for tho woods as usual. He told his wife he wanted his dinner ready by 12 o'clock. 'W'at I don't eat betwixt 12 and 1," said he, "ye kin divide twixt yerselfs an' the poor,' and he went out laughing at the good joke ho thought he had made. "Well, 12 o'clock came, but no Jansen. One o'clock, and still no Jansen. This was most remarkable, as he had never been known to be a minute behind time to his dinner. But his good wife kept his dinner hot, and suppressed her own and her children's cravings for its sav tv viands. Two o'clock, anil still no Jansen. 'Mother,' said young Peter Jacobs, a lad of 15, 'don't let's wait no longer. Dad's struck the trail of a deer an' he'll foiler it till he kills that deer, an' no mistake. Anyhow, he said that w'at he didn't eat 'twixt 12 an' 1 we could distribit 'twixt ourourselfs an' the poor. Let's take him at his word mother.

OLD MAN JACOBS STARTS FOR THK WOODS.

"That was enough, and they did pitch in. Jansen's family had such a New Year's dinner as they never had before, and the widow and orphans that were to have no reminder from Jansen's house had no such treat, after all, as came from his house that day, for Mrs. Jansen was a famous cook. "Old*man Jacobs did not come home that night, nor the next day, nor the next night, and then his wife began to feci alarmed for was he not her husband and the father of her children* So she prevailed upon a party of neighbors to go in search of him, much against their will. Four miles back in the woods they found him. Jansen had doubted there being any power that could keep him from returning home to eat the dinner be had boasted no widow or orphan should taste, but there bad been one and as ho had vowed that he would sooner be caught in a bear trap than chop wood for his unfortunate neighbors, his choice had been given bin—Jansen was found a close prisoner in one of his bear pens. He had gone to it to arrange it for the night, and while inside the log enclosure in some way had sprang the fall, and down came the heavy door, which could only be opened from the outside, and Jansen's visions of New Year's good things vanished. When taken out he was nearly dead from cold and hunger. He was brought safely around again, however, but he was not the Jansen Jacobs of old. The lesson of that New Year's day had been accepted by him as a special Providence, and the poor never had abetter friend than he was ever after, and he was a model man in his family to the day of his death. "Served him right I" said the Squire. "Jansen's family had sum pin to be thankful fer, an' that's a fact. But jist tell mo w'at we've got to be thankfnl fer, this New Year's, will ye?" "'Cause we'm livin', coasarn ye!" exclaimed the Old Settler. 'Cause we hain't ncme on us ben called on to leave no widder's an' orfints ahind us. sence last year this time. That's snmpin' to be a leetle thankful fer, leastways fer then ex has a disposition th't's halfway humak. I know I be, an' I was only savin' to my oP woman this morning: 'Mariar,' I says, 'ain't yon thankful.' I says, 'th't you wont be wearin' no widder's fixin's t'morrer? Ain't yon thankful fer that." I says. M'riar kind o' thunk a minute an' says, 'Well, I s'pose I be,' she says, 'fer it don't take much to me thankful,' sba^ says. 'I don't know 'zac'ly Wat M'rfafir meant, bat Pm dreadful read the roomytix is ketchin' on to her ag'in."'

After which old Sol brewed

Sot's Ridge would have a Happy New Tsar anyhow. Ed. Mott.

THE HERMIT'S MESSAGE.

Kurse not a grudge, nor feed a spite— Freely forgive each other Your prayer will never go aright,

The whib that you hate your brother. merchant had suffered a grievous wrong. And, his heart with anger swelling, He turned his back on the city throng,

And made in the woods his dwelling. All ways of men his feet forsook

He dressed as a hermit dresses His draught he took from the running brook, And his meat was herbs and cresses. On the Holy Book would he grimly pore,

Till he knew its every fetter Yet there came no balm to his spirit sore, No loosing of rand aiy1 fetter. In the dead of night his voice arose

In wear'ful supplicatic 3 Yet the gate of heaven did none unclose To whisper him consolation. His fame spread far, and the sLire grew proud

Of a saint such gifts pc ssessing Whenever ho stirred the foik would crowd And kneel for tho good m. Va blessing. But alas! and alas! he mist fudly feel,

That to kneel to them wore Jitter What message could come that had grace to heal From a heart so hard and bitt. rr Ten years he prayed and nursed his spite

Nor suffered its fire to smolder, Till his beard was blanched to a snowy white, And the hair that swept his shoulder. The Christmas came with snow and frost-

Four days anl nights together The mad flakes danced, till the paths were lost— Oh, wild and whirling weather!

Four days of snow. then, round and grim. A moon of a steely brightness: You gazed away to the mountain's rim vwfe*

On a world of muffled whiteness. Oh! fair to see, but fell to feel! The grip of the frost was cruel: The folk cried out for a pinch of meal,

And a stick or a sod for fuel. One day to the cave a robin comes, And waxing bold and bolder. From the hermit's hand it would peck its crumbs,

Or perch on his hooded shoulder. And still no change in the ruthless sky! And now, as their need grew direr, Btole warily nigh, witn watchful eye,

Full many a shy inquirer. The deer would stand and gaze in his face, With her Drown fawn, darkly spotted, Till slowly gathering heart of grace.

They came for the share allotted.

The Irtrds perched round in friendly flocks, The hare was no more a stranger At the mouth of the cave a peering fox

Woidd waver twixt need and danger. And now, as he gazed upon beast and bird, Thus thrown on his weak protection, 'J I? In the heart of the hermit there woke and stirred

The thrill of a soft affection. It deepened and waxed till the lo^ he felt, From his wrath began to win him His hardness and hate did yield and melV

And his heart, was changed within him. "Lord, I forgive," he knelt and cried "The rock of my heart is riven." From heaven it seemed that a voice replied, "Yea, and Ihou art forgiven." Then forth to the town, forworn so long,

After which old Sol brewed a savory Ifamn who would "hit it off with the Farbowl, and tqr and bye they all agreed tint*: Lians." Such a man was Sergt. Breckenridge a tall, fair, good looking fellow, who was liked by everybody, a man who hstst

The hermit fared on tlje morrow .* At the grave of the man who had wrought the wrong

He knelt in pity and sorrow. ^J _* And back to his cave no more lie went, But, housed among needy neighbors. He lived thenceforward, spending.and spent,\

In gentle and loving labors. And this New Year message he spoke with might: "Freely forgive each other Your prayer will never go up arigli

The while that you hate your brother

FLYING" FliOM PERSIA.

HOW SKROT.

,*"*

'saw* the

BRECKKNRIDOK

DAWK OF THE NEW YEAR.

of Sergt. Breckenridge

The story

lirmly believed by many of the Eurojieans in Persia, though whether it is a fact, or merely a yarn or myth, I am unable to state. This is the story, however, as I heard it in Teheran. f.

In the early days of the telegraph line through Persia to India, the employes were few, the stations very far apart, and many of the signalers were sergeants of engineers. These men were frequently alone in the towns or villages, where the testing stations were situated, for months together. If, as it was termed, they "hit it off with the Persians," their pay was raised a little and they remained in the town or village, occupying a position of some importance, the sole representative of the department, End in the eyes of the Persians, the outitard and visible sign of the great Dowlet Ingl«*« Hence these men occupied a sort of semi-diplomatic rank, and were respected and treated ac cordingly.

Kum is a holy city. In its huge shrine, under a dome covered with a sheet of pure gold an eighth of an inch thick, which glitters for many a mile in the glaring sun, reposes the body of the sainted Fatimeh, one of the most sacrcd and best beloved of the Shiah saints. This shrine and its precincts are an inviolable sanctuary. In fact, Kum is what the Jews called a city of refuge. Hither fly all murderers, and political offenders, and here, once within the huge chain of the sanctuary, they are safe. And the sanctuary is not the shrine alone, but a large quarter of the town, with its bazaar, its bath and its mosques. Woe betide the importunate creditor or the messenger of justice who attempts to arrest the bankrupt or criminal within the sacred bounds! He wookt be literally torn in pieces by an infuriated mob of priests and pilgrims.

Of coarse Kum is fanatical, for it* very subsistence is drawn from religion tho large revenues of the holy men, the streams of p«'%»i«n») the very graves of the faithful, whose coffins arrive by hundreds to be interred in the holy groond, all depend on the sacred shrine: and the signaler who lived at Kum many years ago had need to be a solid man, a man who could at least be tolerated, even liked—in fact, a quiet

drank—an intolerable thing in a ci6y so holy that the-mero existence of the unclean liqpid would be the most horrible defilement.

THE SERGEANT DRINKING TEA WITH THE SYUD.

The sergeant lived in a neat little house between tho two residences of the principal holy men of th9 place. On one side of it was the dwelling of Syud Mohammed Bagher, the leader of prayers at the shrine on tho other, that of Hadji Aga Mohammed, the head of tho law. Breckenridge was on the best of terms with both his neighbors. He frequently drank tea with the leader of prayers, and smoked tho kalian of peace— his own kalian, bo it remembered for the Syud, who traced his ancestors to the family of the Prophet, would rather have died than have smoked the kalian of tho unbeliever, and if ho had allowed tho Englishman to use one of his own sacred pipes it would have had to be at once destroyed. As tho Syud's pipes were of solid silver this could not well ba done and so Sergt. Breckenridge always brought his own hubblo bubble and a special tea cup was kept for bis use. Possibly the hospitality of tho Syud was not wholly disinterested. Tho dream of his life was to convert an infidel, and frequent, wero tho exhortations which he delivered to the sergeant. Hadji Aga Mohammed, the other neighbor, also tolerated Breckenridge, but it was from motives of policy, and in the hope of securing some share of tho golclon shower, which in those days descended on those men of position who could be useful, from the liberal hands of the Indian government.

Tho Hadji was a man of 70, and hadn't a tooth in his head nevertheless he was a man with three wives, and he was quietly looking out for another, to complete the full amount of married bliss allowed by Mohammedan law. Now, the reason why Sergt. Breckenridge never applied fo. change of station was a fair one—a ven fair one. Tho fact was that the good looking sergeant was over head and ears in love with the daughter of Syud Mohammed Bcglicr. Not that ho declared his lovo— that would have been dangerous indeed the

NISSA ENTERS THK SERGEANT'S STUDY,

death of both parties probably, or tho forcible conversion to Islam of one of tliem, Would have

been the

certain result, and of

the two contingencies the former was much the more likely. No: Sergt. Breckenridge determined never to tell his love, and, like a good fellow as ho was, he would have been the last- to endanger even tho lady's peace

mind, much

less

her life. In Per

sia the infidelities of the fair sex are punished ruthlessly ladies are walled up alive, cast into we'1% stoned, poisoned, or, being rolled in a carpet, are trampled to death while such ail abominat ion as an intrigue with a EuroDcan would be visited with punishments even more horrible.

But though Sergt. Breckenridge might lovo in secret, it was another thing whon ho found his love returned. In Persia, in tho warm weather, everybody sleeps on the roof. One very hot night, as the sergeant lay awake on his flat roof, only the starry sky for his canopy, he heard a sly laugh. He looked up at the spot whence it came, and above the low wall, only a yard high, that separated his roof from that of the leader of prayers, he saw the unveiled face of Nissa Khanum, the Syud's pretty daughter. Nissa was true Persian beauty unmarried at the mature age of 15, she had remained single so long merely because her father demanded too enormous a price for the hand of his pretty child (in Persia wives are bought, it must be remembered) around plump face of the brunette type, ruddy luscious lips, waving masses of hair falling to her knees, and eye*—eyes like the gazelle of her country—eyes so large that she seemel to be all eyes. Suddenly a plump arm, glittering with bracelets, was raised above the gold embroidered scarlet silk kerchief which framed the lovely face, and something was thrown to him. "Hush!" she said, once more putting her finger to her lips—she disappeared.

But the sergeant knew that it was not safe to show his face over that wall's top not safe for him, dangerous perhaps to her. So he seized the object flung to him—it was a fhinn rowbud—and pressed it to his heart, after covering it with kis*es. Time rolled swiftly by -the meetings were many and always at dead of night.

Olio day the sergeant received a bouquet and a huge loaf of sugar candy they were from Hadji Aga Mohammed, the toothless of the law. That worthy invh -d him to be present at his wedding feast, to take place on that day week. The bride was Nissa Khanum—the Hadji had found bis fourth wife. That day week his legal amount of happiness would be complete. The sergeant gent a polite answer, and smiled on and feed the bea-rx of the present then be went into his little office and raved. He could not prevent the marriage, elopement or escape was impossible. Every Persian house is an inaccessible prison for its female inmates, save by the roof.

That night Nissa wept on her lover's bosom in his tiny office. "Ho! murderthieves—help—my daughter! Ah, Aga Hadji! Help, help!" Footseps were heard on the roof. Nissa rushed from the room, lights appeared on both sides of the sergeant's house. Men half dresnd, but armed with swords, guns, pistols, daggers and big swarmed tato tbs Earopeas's

house. Women, veiled women, yelled curses from the roof. "Where is my daughter?" shouted the Syud. "Where is my betrothed?" shrieked the toothless Hadji Aga Mohammed, each in disordered nightgear. -jj

The sergeant answered never a word* "Infidel, give up my child!" ^relied the father. "Search the house," screamed the man of law, who had turned a blotchy yellow color. They did search it, and found—nothing. The sergeant was unhanded. Tho father apologized, the Hadji tore his beard.

Ere dawn tho house was empty of all save the sergeant and his Armenian cook and his Arab horse keeper. Breckenridge sat at his office tuble and pondered. Where had she hidden? How had sho escaped? They had searched the chimneys even. Breckenridge went to tho telegraph instrument and reported, as in duty bound, "lines clear disturbance last night in this office mob of armed Persians searched tho house." In

HOW THK SERGEANT WAK FOUND,

When Sergt. Breckenridge reached the Caspian sea, he just caught the Russian steamer. Ho had mode tho quickest post journey on record, before or since. But fear and grief were pursuing him. He never stopped to sleep or rest the whole 630 miles, and he never drank a drop of water. He hated water worse than one bitten by a mad dog the thought of it mado his flesh creep. On the steamer, the sergeant, the abstemious sergeant, lived on vodki in Russia he bought more and the morning after his arrival in London he was found dead in a cheap hotel in Fleet street, sitting at his table, on which was a half empty bottle

fc,-

few hours ho got a reply. "Keep quiet and indoors. Prol obly a mistake." Breckenridge did keep qui 3t. lie spoke to no one. He did not leave his house. In vain the Sj*ud and the Hadji wished to see him he would not receive them, he, said ho had been insulted. r?

Three nights afterward his cook went to draw water from tho well. Something was in the well. The cook, though an Armonim Christian, was a reliable fellow for tho last three days ho had shivered in his shoes. He went to Breckenridge. "Sahib." he said, "I have found it." "It! what?" "Come and see, sahib,"' said the old man.

4r'

OHE SAW THE NEW YEAR'S SUN.

Ah, sad sight! There lay tho littlo child love, drcnchcd and running with wat oilier long look !, liko dank seuweed, lay iu a piteous fringe on tho stone floor her licriief, sodden with moisture, surrounded a face that—Ah, that face! Jircckenridgo could not look oh it, as he nv il then. IJe reverently stooped, cut oil' lock of 11 poor wot hair and placed it within his lit pocket Bible: then ho filing whius she over tho body, tho lftst poor respect ho could show to the dead. "MenaK," he said, "you will have to turn Mussulman,«aiitl at once." "It's all tho liamo to old Meitas," replied that philosophical Armenian Christian.

Tho sergeant walked to his stable he saddled his horse in one wallet of his saddle ho put a bottle, in tho other a store of silver coin. Ho put on his boots, buckled on his spill's and his revolver belt, ho jammed his lar topee down over his eyes, and seizing his big Persian whip, with its five foot lash and its one foot handle, ho cantercd out of Kum. As soon us lie reached the open, he galloped hodi:l not spare his horso, ho know ho should "lover ride that trusty beast again. Ho rode the four-and-twonty miles to the first lonoly post house in the desert. As he reached it he tinned toward Kum, and saw tho rising sun of the New Year light up the golden dome. He got a ]ost horsd saddled there wero three in tlio stable, and onlythree. He knew them all well, and he chose tho best. IIo told the post house k'.Hjper to stand at ita hoad when he had led it out then he went into the stable, and silently with his pocket knife he houghed (cut tho large tendon of tho hind leg) tho other two horses and his own poor beast. And then ho rode—rain for the Caspian a or if II a in capital, it was too dangerous hen ,'ver reported himself at the central oflice and he a a a cut the telegraph wire—there was only ono.

brandy. In his hand was a long lock

wavy hair and a faded rosebud. This was why Sergt. Breckenridge left Persia, and how he died of drink. Was it drink, do you think, or horror and grief, that killed him? Major Norrister. trv,"

"Und be clinks bit gtssi mlt raine.'*