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CHAPTER I. It was market day in Fulford; and, more over, it was the day of the October cattle fair. Farmers and their men, young and old, from twenty miles round, wandered about the crowded market-place, chewing straws or grain, or cracking nuts won at the coekshies, thoughtfully feeling the fat on the rumps of heifers, or on the backs of sheep and pigs, or looking into the mouths of horse# to see how old they were. Young Stubbs, of Sorooby, was an excep tion to the general rule of occupation. He eeemed to have nothing to do, and to have no interest in anything that went on, from the cock-shies at one end of the fair to the Jokes of the Cheap Jack at the other. He neither chewed straws, nor cracked nuts, nor handled cattle; he merely wan dered about, sad, disconsolate and limp, with hie dog at his heels, a collie, as,limp and disconsolate as himself. "How do, John?" his acquaintances cheerfully said, as they met him. "How do?" he murmured in reply, and passed on. He neglected the farmers' ordinary at the Red Lion; he only ate a chunk of bread and cheese In a corner of the tap-room, and drank there with a pint of ale, and then resumed his wandering. The short after noon was drawing in when, on the out skirts of the fair, he met the parson of the parish he had lately moved from. "Well, Mr. Stubbs,” said the parson po litely, but kindly enough, "how are things going with you?” "Very bad, sir!" answered Stubbs. “Coudn’t be worse. I’m fair broke!” "Broke?” said the parson. "How’s that?" " ‘How’s that, sir?” said the young man as If It might be partly the parson’s fault. ‘Bad weather, sir; crops selling for well nigh nothing; half-a-year’s rent overdue; hill o’ sale on farm stock fallen in; and three days o’ grace will be up day after to morrow. That’s how it is. “Oh, come, John, cheer up; you’ll pull through,” said the parson. "You have a good, brave little wife, and both she and you are young yet.” “Ay,” said John, “she is a good un, bless her brave heart!” And hie lips began to with emotion; a little more and he ■would have broken down, but he held him "How is she, John?” asked the parson. | "She’s chirpy, sir,” said John, “but she’s ’ sick in bed!” I “Oh!" How’s the baby?” “The barin’s dead a week ago!” cried John, at length bursting into tears. "And the wife's fair dowiv—and so am I” By the young farmer's outburst of grief and despair the parson’s official hopeful ness was smitten into silence for, a mo ment. “You must look up, John,” said he at length. “Look up to the Lord for help. ‘I will lift up mine eyes unto the hiljs,’ you know, 'from whence cometh my help.’ You know' the verse; you must look up, John— you must look up.” “Yes," said John: "I look up; but I see nought—nought!" “You'll be going home presently, I sup poee,” said the parson, moving away; it was evidently a case in which i>rofessional •words of comfort were of no avail. “Yes," said John; “i’ll be going home presently. I only came to see if 1 could do anything; I thought, you see, that maybe somebody might-—But there, 1 dqn’t know why I should bother you, ,slr, with my troubles." "No bother, John, no bother,” said the parson. “I am sorry for you—very sorry indeed. But remember “The Lord is a pres ent help in trouble.' Good-bye. Trust in the Idled.” Ho the parson shook his hand, and went off He did not mean to be either hypo critical or unkind; only he did not know what in the world to say or do in so des perate a case; he wa« very poor, and he had a wife and children of his own. When the parson was gone, John Siublat uttered no word, and oherished no thought in re sentment of the parson's behaviour; he merely looked around him in wild helpless neae and hopelessness, and returned into b the town. Ho had came to the fair in the hope—a one, but still hope—that he might •■neet *'hh a kind friend who would lend HBmini no much or so much, or that at least he might prevail on the holder of the bill of Sale to give nlm time; for a man buried in detyt and difficulty dies hard; it taken him long to give up hope of himself and of other people. But John Stubbs was almost done; he was nearly at his last gasp. He had met no kind friend who was likely to be gither able or willing to lend him mon ey; and the solicitor who held hla bill of sale (upon whom he had called a» soon us he entered the town) had refused any ac commodation. After parting with the per son he thought he would try the solicitor again. He resolutely nerved himself and entered the man's office. “Now, Mr. Stubbs!" complained the law yer, "It's really too bad! No, really; 'pen my word! I know all you want to any I’m sorry, but things must take their course! I can't hear you. I'm busy.” And John Stubbs wont out again and stood in the street, his heart ism ting Herceiy. He wttH commonly an inoffensive, good-tempered man, but Ik* was driven in to a corner, and even a sheep will turn and fight in a corner. "Things must take their course.” Must they? he thought, with growing resentment and desperation. Why must they? fie wandered a»ny, and it grew dark He was dropping with weariness (And with hunger, but he did not know It), and he ?ntered an inn down for a lit tle while and had something to drink. How could he return to his poor sick wife—“the bravest little woman that ever without having accomplished any- Wng? • t was ('Bet ft o'clock when he came out and found himpelf by the pkt Theater Royal, which was brilliantly lighted. He l stopp'd to look. There were people crowd- A Ing in. for there was an ear';* evening performs m e to untie* the many who might willing to enter, and yet who wished to ■ retch the trait* home. John garni ■ at a great picture tvla -ed on the front of ■ the theater: “For two nights only." tie read. "Jerry Ow» ns’ traveling company ■ in the world-fagMd 'LeaCloches d< Corne ll Ville.’ H He read, and he looked long at the brd ■ liantly vdt>red picture which had been for ■ years throughout the world the pictorial ■ a*h«r - isetnent of that • i lining m — Sidney ills | <rc can set! by |*oi»on that S Bm j in4i|pe*tion creates. Stop the 1 ■ 1 pe»on and you find the cute. (* : 11 HRRAM’S MAIZIR APERIENT < Jg \ itops indigestion. It cleanses j gBI and strengthens ( stomach. liver anti C few ) I*"* . A BAG OF GOLD. J. MACLAREN COHBAN. Copyrighted, 1808, by J. Maclaren Cobban. al comedy. He saw an old man in a strange dress raking at a vast collection of golden sovereigns which poured from a table to the floor. “'Lord!” was the ex clamation in his heart, “that I might only pick up the crumbs that fall from that rich man’s table!” After a moment’s debate with himself, he paid his money and entered the pit. It may seem incredible in these days, but it is true that John Stubbs had never in his life been in a theater before; theaters had not been “in his way” nor he in theirs —they had not met till then. He had, therefore—being a man of little reading no notion of what he should see on the etage, or, indeed, that there would be a stage at all. But when the curtain rose the illusion was complete; he believed all he saw and all he heard, from the twittering of the girl in a short frock to the rich singing of the flsher-lad. He saw neither actress nor ac tor, but real people, “in their habit as they lived” —somewhere where he had never been. When the act ended he would have sat on in a dream, waiting till the busi ness on the stage went forward again; but an acquaintance came along and insisted upon his going with him to get a drink. “I want to bide here,” said John, “and see what they do next.” “Come on, man,” said the other. "It won t take us nobbut a minute or two, and you’ll be back in your seat in no time. Hast never been in a theater before?” John Stubbs confessed that he had nev er been in a theater before; and then he said something which might have been taken to suggest or fancied that the par ticular play he had seen part of was al ways being performed—that and no other. “I haven't seen yet,” said he, “the old gentleman with his mort of sovereigns on the table. I suppose he’s a very rich fel low-rolling in money.” His acquaintance laughed. “Very likely as poor as a church mouse! Don’t you know that when fellows and fe males just pretend all that?” But the strong illusion of the etage still held John Stubbs, and he could not believe what the other said. They went outside the theater to get their drink. Over a side door way they saw a lantern on which was painted, “Stage door.” "There!” said tne acquaintance, “that’s where you’d see ’em come out when it’s all over; and I’d bet you a dollar they’d look poorer than you or me.” John Stubbs thought that if they were as poor as he they would be poor indeed. But if they were poor really, how could they “carry on” as they did on the stage? No. He could not believe it. Presently they re-entered the theater,and the play went on. John Stubbs left hip place no more. He became more and more engrossed with all he saw and heard. Es pecially when the picture outside the thea ter was realized, and he saw the old miser fingering the gold and heard the chink of the beautiful yellow metal, then he was moved and fascinated. “The miserable old hunks!” he murmur ed to himself in bitter indignation. “And a handful of that money would save me and the poor little wife! Only a handful —a good handful!” When it was all over he left the thea ter in a dazed condition. His eye caught sight of the illuminated face of the town hall clock; there was time enough yet >o catch the last train home. He would like to see what kind of fellow that old miser really looked, and he slipped swiftly round to the stage door. He stood back and wait ed. He saw girls and young men come out, but he had no eyes for them; he look ed for the old miser’s figure—the grey head and the knee breeches. At last it came. He could not mistake the man, though he was dressed in ordinary hat and trousers, and did not look so old as John had thought him. But there could be no doubt about him for there in his hand —(John Stubbs’ heart leaped with a fierce desire)—Ln his hand he carried a canvas bag of gold!—certainly, gold—for the mis er, after a shambling step or two. stuffed the bag into the outer pocket of his big overcoat, and in the action John Sjubbs heard distinctly the chink of the metal. The miser did not turn round by the front of the theater as the others had done but walked down the dark and solitary lane in which the stage door was situate. A wild and horrid suggestion thumped at the door of John Stubb’s heart and was admitted. John grasped his heavy stick with a ter rible resolution and strode after the miser. The miser’s money! The miser s money! What a salvation it would be to him If he only had it! And the old scoundrel had only got it by all kinds of rascality! Hearing heavy steps behind, the miser stopped when he had passed some distance down the dark lawn. John stopped, too. "Look here,” said the man. “What do you want?” “I want your money,” said John, slm pie. but resolute. “My money, you fool?” said the man "What money? You’re mad. If you foi low me any more I’ll call the police.” He went on again, but John went on also. Again he stopped, and turned. •'Police!" he cried once, and once only John Stubbs raised his stick ami struck a terrible blow—where he hardly knew. The miser fell like a log, and without a cry. With determined, but trembling, fin. gers, John Htubbs then drew the bag of gold from the miser’s pocket, crammed It Into his own, and set off down the lane. He had the presence of mind not to run but he walked with ail possible expedi tion. At the end of the lane he found himself In a street he knew, and seeing by a clock in a shop where they were putting up the butters that the time had sped on ho set off at a run to catch his train. It smote hint with a terrible shook what a difference ten minutes’ had made In him. When last he had seen the time ho was poor and desperate; now he was rich but he had committed a terrible deed which there was no recalling. Hd was a mur derer, Without quite making up his mind to do anything wrong he had become both a murderer and a robber. And vet he was still John Stubbs, farmer, of Seroobv lie entered the station and found his train just as the guard had got his whistle in his hand. Every carriage and compart ment seemed filled with noisy travelers. 1 he whistle sounded while he searched sot room. '•Hero you are, sir.” cried the guard. He jumped in just as the train began to move; jumped almost into the lap of the acquaintance he had met at the theater. '•Hallo. John!” cried the man. "that was touch and go. What's made you so late? I was here ten minutes ago." • Yes." thought John, "ten minutes ago. Ten minutes ago I was not a murderer and robber.” But he said nothing like that. What ho said was; "I had to get something for the wife—something I had nigh forgotten.” ‘Something for the wife, eb?” s»|.| the other, who was half-drunk. "Something nice? Is that it in your pocket? Let’s have ii out. John, and look at It." "No. no." said John, In great terror, but affecting archness. "You must excuse m Only the wit* mu.M sec It.” "What? Shall we have it out. ehaps?” mH the man. At (hat John Stubbs felt himself turn white to the nape of his neck. That a*v rd him. The man's half-drunken atten tion was turned off. "Eh. Joint, but you do look dickey! Have a svp o’ this?” And be handed a fiask, at which John sucked and was pn««t;tl> re fresh, d. "But where's your dog, John?” the man asked "You had your dog at >our heel, hadn't you?” "Sake* alive!” cikJ John, with sincere THE WEEKLY NEWS (TWO-TIMES-A-WEEK): MONDAY. JUNE 13. 1898. concern; for, truly, he had forgotten his dog, “where can the feller be? I had to run to the station, and I he lost me! Dear, deary me!” CHAPTER 11. John Stubbs felt somewhat easier in mind when he left his noisy fellow-farm ers in the train at Scrooby, and set oft homeward down the dark road. He was easier, too, that all connection between him and everything in the town of Ful ford seemed now cut. He felt as if It were a long, long while ago that he had watch ed the miser in the theater and followed him down the lane. There were but two things that sharply troubled him as he tramped along the dark road; what should he say to his wife? and what was become of his dog? The loss of his collie he felt like the desertion of a stanch friend at a critical moment; and he felt it all the more that he fancied the desertion must have happened at the same time as that—that business in the lane. The beast, however, was very intelligent, and would find his way home. Now and then as he tramped on he thought he heard the pad of soft feet behind him; but he dared not look round; it might be his dog, or, on the contrary, it might be—nothing! Were there such things in the world as ghosts—haunting ghosts; ghosts of men steadily pursuing those who had hurt them? “Bob! Bob! Bob!” he ventured to call, in a low voice. But no dog came for ward; and still he heard the soft pad, and a chilling shudder crept over him. He walked faster, and presentely he ran—ran like a scared child, and never stopped till he reached his own gate. All was silent. No bark saluted him, and again he felt with a strange pang the absence of his dog. A light was burning in the kitchen of the farmhouse; the maid-of-all-work bad gone to bed. His wife had been in bed all day. Everything at home was as he had left it, but on him what a change had come! When he thought of his sick wife a gush of tenderness came over him. Whatever mighXhappen,«he had no pity for himself, but he had the softest pity for her. He could not terrify and burden her with his secret. He would be cheerful, and he would merely say that he had rpanaged to arrange for some money; he would not even say he had got it. He took the light from the kitchen table and went into the dark parlor. There was an old oak secre taire there. Into a drawer of that he crammed the bag of gold; he could not bear to open the bag, or finger its contents yet. Then he went up to his wife. “There you are, John,” said she, in a weak voice, as he crossed the floor to kiss her. "Home at last! I thought I heard you come in.” “Yes, Jenny, lass, here I am,” eaid John, stooping over her. “And are you glad, John, to be home again with your poor little wife?” “Glad? Yea, lass,” said John. “More glad than I can tell.” “I’ve been so lonely all day, John. I’ve been thinking over and over everything that might be happening to you, and every*, thing you might be saying or doing. It has been a hard day, hasn’t it, John?” “Hard, yes,” said John, almost forget ting himself and breaking down under her tender solicitude. “But,” he added, striv ing after cheerfulness, “after all's said and done, it’s been none so bad.” “Any news, John?” she asked, bright ening with hope. “Summat,” said he. “I think—l’ve made a kind o’ an arrangement—a settlement, you understand—l think the bill of sale will be made up—kind of held over—and I think, lass, that we may manage the tent.” “Oh, John!” she cried, in immense relief. “Really and truly? I begin to feel better already! But how have you managed it, John? Has somebody lent you the money?” "Well, lass,” sa!d John, reluctantly, and at a loss, “I cannot exactly tell you. It’s a kind o’—a kind o’ a secret, you see.” “Oh, John,” she cried, “a secret?—a se cret from me? We hain’t never had* a se cret from one another since we was court in’, John, and we are to begin now?” John look’ed at her piteously, and pluck ed with his fingers at the fluff of the blanket; he was strongly tempted to tell her' all, and have done with it, but he thought how ill it might make her, weak as she was, and he held his tongue. “Eh, John!” she eaid, considering nim, “but you do look ill! Whatever’s the mat ter? Where did you have your dinner?” “At The Red Lion,” said he. “And what did you have for dinner?” “Bread and cheese.” “Bread and cheese, indeed!” said she. with contempt. “For a big strong fellow like you! That’s what it is! You’re fam ished, you are; fair famished. Now down you go and eat your supper; Liz has left it i’ th’ oveh for you. Away you go.'” John went down, and made an attempt to eat his supper, but after a mouthful or two he gave it up; his mouth was dry and baked, and not even, palatable food could provoke its moisture. He drew him self a glass of ale, and he tried a pipe to spin the time out. But he found neither satisfaction nor comfort in anything; and yet he shrank from returning to his wife, who was sure to ply him with questions to get at his secret. It was surely mu«h bet ter, wasn't it, he said to himself, that he should keep it from her. His pipe went out. He would not relight it, but he thought he would just look forth into the night to see If by any chance Bob had come back yet. Bob had not come back. He could make no more pretence of occu pation, and so he made up his mind to go upstairs to bed. But first he made a reso lute advance into the parlor, lamp in hand, to be sure that the secretaire still stood in its place, and that a certain drawer was locked. Being assured of these things, he turned away in haste and rejoined his wife. To his relief she did not worry him for a revelation of his secret, but maintained a silent and thoughtful attention, so that at length her forbearance, instead of be ing a relief, was like to become a burden. He knew—and she probably knew too— that her silent waiting was certain to draw his secret from him ere long. But he had a respite. “You're dead beat and tired, my poor John,” said she, at length. “Come to your bed and sleep.” John went to bed and slept, but with such wild starts and tremblings that his wife waa troubled to think what was wrong with him. He rose betimes, as us ual. to go about the business of his farm, business that would not wait—such as the feeding of horsts ami the milking of cows —but he showed a face as worn and as un refreshed. almost, as that of the night be fore. And thus his day went on, with some cheerful attempts at intervals to think that he would get over it in a day or two. that perhaps the man, the old mis er. was not dead, and that in any case he had the bag of gold wherewith to pay his debts and to start anew with activity and resolution. His wife was still Ignorant, both of his trouble and his gold; he had got off with the prom .-e that she should know al: in a day er two. In the meantime there was great excite ment in the market town of Fulford. A whole sensation and mystery of Its own Fulford had not had for many a year, and it made the most of the latest. Fulford was too quiet a place to have a daily pa per. even in these days; it had only two Cure sick In-attache, bad a ■ q iaste in the mouth. coated t I 1 S* tongue, gas in the stomach. | tistrsM w 4 indigvstxm. IK> ■ ® ao» weaken. b«t have trnrie etfect. » «(., IM <Kd; l-..» u Uae «Ui> Horta MaaaawrUi*. IwfW ■ ■ THE EXCELLENCE OF SYRUP OF FIGS is due not only to the originality and simplicity of the combination, but also to the care and skill with which it is manufactured by scientific proc esses known to the California Fig Syrup Co. only, and we wish to im press upon all the importance of pur chasing the true and original reme dy. As the genuine Syrup of Figs is manufactured by the California Fig Syrup Co. only, a knowledge of that fact will assist one in avoiding The worthless imitations manufact ured by other parties. The high standing of the California Fig Syrup Co. with the medical profes sion, and the satisfaction which the genuine Syrup of Figs has given to millions of families, makes the name of the Company a guaranty of the ex cellence of its remedy. It is far in ad vance of all other laxatives, as it acts on the kidneys, liver and bowels without irritating or weakening them, and it does not gripe nor nau seate. In order to get its beneficial effects, please remember the name of the Company CALIFORNIA FIG SYRUP CO. SAN FRANCISCO, Cal. LOUISVILLE. Ky. NEW YORK, N. V. weeklies, and the reporters of both these were busy in cooking up the mysterious circumstances of the death of poor Jerry Owen, who had played the part of the old miser in "Des Cloches de Vorneville” for ever so many hundred times—played it so often that he had got into the habit of car rying home nightly the bag of ’‘Hanover ian sovereigns” which was his great nec essary “property.” It was that, apparent ly, that had led to his undoing. For when he was found dead in the lane, dead from a terrific blow on the temple, the only thing missing from his person—strange to tell!— was that same bag of “Hanoverian sovereigns.” There was another strange circumstance about the murder which was worked for all it was worth; this, namely, that an un known dog—a sheep dog, or collie—was found watching the body, and that it flew savagely at the policeman, who, on his rounds, had come upon both. The dog vas now at the police station, and his identification might perchance (there was no saying) give some clue to the discovery of the murderer. These things, of course, were not yet published; but they were freely known and canvassed among those who movj^actively about the town. Os all that seething, boiling and ferment ing gossip John Stubbs, being ten miles away on bis own lonely farm, was bliss fully ignorant. He still wondered what was become- of his dog; he Still cherished, white he abhorred, the thought of the bag of geld; and he still lw.p-4 and prayed that, when ell this difficulty was past, he might be able to farm comfortably, and keep his head altove ihe waters of debt and bankruptcy, even if he did not make much of a profit. On the morning of the second day, which was the last of the three days of grace after the falling in of his bill of sale, he debated \\ ilmseif whether he should take nd go into the town to the solicitor who held his bond and pay it off, or whether he should wait for the appearance o f pome one to make the de mand. He decided to wait. About 3 o’clock In the afternoon, Diz, the maid-of-all-work, came to him in the barn. "Mr. said she, “here’s two gen tlemen to s<e you—leastways,' a gentle man and a man.” John Stubbs knew then that the solici tor had < ome. or s-ni, i<> claim she rights of the bill of sale. He screwed up his confidence, and went in. Not the lawyer, but the lawyer’s son, who was a pleas anter person than his father, waited for him in the parlor, and with him was an other—the kind of humble and furtive re tainer who was easily to be recognized as “a man in possession.” “Well, Mr. Stubbs,” said the young law yer. “I suppose you know the business I've come upon?” “Oh, yes,” said John, "I can guess.” “The bill of sale, you know,” continued the young man, “must be met to-day, or I take formal possession. Are you prepared to pay It, Mr. Stubbs? 1 suppose you are not.” “Don’t suppose too fast.” said John, go ing to the secretaire, and fingering in his pocket for the key of a certain drawer. He yet felt a singular reluctance to open the drawer and produce the bag of gold. But he must do it; and he did it. He drew the horrid bag out, and flung it on the ta ble.* There!” said he. ‘There’s enough money tn that to pay your ‘Billy Sale’ two or three times over!” The young lawyer and his man looked on In some surprise. John, with uncertain and trembling fingers undid the bag.thrust In his hand, and drew out a handful of the gold, and l*egan to count the individual coins, one. two. three, and soon, under the eyes of the young lawyer. They looked good gold, but—but there was a something in the sound of them that made the young man suspicious—something also that seem ed queer in the whole situation. The young man picked up one, and rang it. He shook his head and looked at it; and then he looked hard at John Stubbs, who was watching him. ‘ This won’t do, Mr. Stubbs," said the young man. “What won’t do?” asked John, with a blanched face. “This money. It isn’t money. Where did >ou get it?” “Where did I get It? I reckon they’re as good golden sovereigns as ever was coin ed.” “Look at them.” said the young man; “at any one of them. You should know good com as well as I do.” John reluctantly picked a coin up and looked at it. Certainly it was not marked like a sovereign. He rang it on the table; nor did it sound like true gold. Horror and despair seized him, and showed in his set pate face. He said no word, but looked fix edly at the young man. I’m very sorry for you. Mr. Stubbs ” said the young lawyer, awfully sorry! But this looks bad—worse than you think.may be! These things are only counters; they’re called Hanoverian sovereigns. I suppose you haven’t heard that the night before last an actor, Jerry Owen, was murdered in a lane by the theater in Fulford, and that the only thing mussing from him was a bag vs Hanoverian sovereigns—the sham money that he used in playing the miser at the theater!” “Sham money!” exclaimed John Stubbs below his breath. “Besides.” continued the young lawyer, “ a dog was found watching by the dead man. The dog is now at the police station; I’ve Mtn it. I believe I know it." My Cod’" moaned John Stubbs. “Oh, my poor Jenny!” He looked about him wildly. He stepped back suddenly and took a gun from a cor ner. Before it was possible to guess what he would be at, or to interfere, he had turned the muzzle to his breast and pulled the trigger. He fell, and the two men ran to him. The report of the gun had alarmed the house, and presently John Stubb’s wife fluttered in, just risin from her bed with a shawl about her. She flew to her husband, and knelt by him. “Jenny, lass,” said he, fixing his blazing eyes on her, “I’m sorry, but I’ve messed it all up!” And so he died. The poor woman was frantic with grief, and the young lawyer and his man stood back and permitted the maid from the kitchen and the man from the barn to press in and forward. The young law yer quietly put the few exposed “Hano verian sovereigns” back in the bag and stuffed the bag into his pocket; then he drew his man to the door. “You see he’s dead,” he said, “so there’s no need for you or me to say a word about this bag. I’m going out to throw it into the pond. I’ll be back in a moment.” When he came back he talked a little while with the poor, distracted wife, and tried to comfort her. He gathered that she knew nothing of the bag of sham gold, and so he felt safe in what he had done. And thus it came to pass that, while the neighborhood was inexpressibly shocked by John Stubb’s suicide, and was exceed ingly kind and helpful to his widow, It was never known who killed Jerry Owen, the miser of “Les Cloches de Corneville.” (The End.) SANTIAGO DE CUBA. Features of the City and the Prov ince—Productions of the Country. From the New York Post. The town of Santiago de Cuba is situated at one side of the harbor and about six miles from its entrance and overlooks it at the widest part. The entrance to the harbor is very narrow, not more than about 150 feet wide, and the channel is winding until it reaches Punta Gorda, after which it widens into a beautiful har bor. At one side of the entrance is Morro Castle, a very old fort. “Morro” is a typical name given to all these coast fortresses. On the opposite side of the harbor is Socapa. The town of Santiago is low, but rises as the ground slopes up from the coast to wards some ranges of hills. It was quite a business town before the war, and there are three companies there that have handled a great deal of ore, one of them as much as a thousand tons a day. The houses are mostly one story high on account of the liability to earthquakes, but there are some of two stories. The dwelling-houses are surrounded by spa cious verandas, which look on beautiful gardens filled with a wealth of gorgeous tropical flowers. The poinsettia, with its heads of brilliant scarlet leaves which people in the North cherish in little flower pots and in greenhouses, is there a large tree, and other trees with their clusters of gaudy fragrant flowers make these gar dens a fairy scene. There are various insects among the flowers and mosquitoes innumerable, but none of the insects are poisonous. There is a large spider about the size of one’s fist, whose bite produces a swelling and a slight and a scorpion whose bite causes some irritaion, but is not deadly. There are no venomous reptiles in the isl and. There is one enormous variety of boa, called the Maja, of immense strength. It is perfectly black, as thick as one’s arm, and capable of swelling itself out to nearly five times its natural size, and has a blood-red mouth—all of which sounds very alarming until you find out that he is a lazy fellow and does not trou ble himself about human beings, being sat isfied with pigs and goats, and even small game. There is a small snake called the jube, and some other varieties, but they are not venomous. The repose of the streets is not disturb ed by the rush of cable or trolley cars. The usual conveyance, the volante, Is a long bodied vehicle on two wheels. The town of Santiago is the see of the archbishop, and contains the largest ca thedral in the island—the Cathedral of Nu est r a Senora de la Caridad del Cobre. Here is also the Theological Seminary of San Basilio. In this region is. the highest land in Cuba. A mountain range called the Mon tanos de Maestra or Cobre extends from the Punta de Maisi on the eastern extrem ity to Cape Cruz on the opposite side. Pico de Turquino, the highest elevation, rises 7,670 feet above the ocean. These moun tains are very rich in ore, and the Cobre copper mines, some twelve miles distant from the city, have yielded fifty tons a day, the hgher grades being shipped to Europe, and the inferior grades smelted at the mines. All this work has stopped since the war became serious. These mines were worked as early as the seventeenth entury, and were then abandoned for more than 100 years. Iron is also found there, and gold and silver have been taken out, but not In sufficent quantities to make it profitable. However, none of these mines have yet been fully developed. Bitumnous coal is found which givs out a high degree of heat and leaves scarcely any aches or cinders. Near the coast i( is often found in semi-liquid masse resembling petroleum or naphtha. There are some very extensive caves in these mountains, which have never been thoroughly explored. There are forest of mahogany, Cuban ebony, cedar, and other hard woods in this province, among them one called the que bra bacha or axe-breaker, and the jpeero, which does not even decay after long sub mersion. The marqueterie work in the room occupied by Philip II of Spain, in the Escurial, was made from these woods, of which the Spaniards know the value, and they are exported from the island in large quantities. There are no wild animals, properly speaking, except wild dogs, which play havoc in the poultry-yards. A small ani mal called jutia that resembles a coon and probably belongs to the same family is found in great numbers, and has furnish ed many a good meal to the hungry Cu ban soldiers, who trap it by the dozen. When eaten with a relish of garlic and onion it is delicious—to those who like garlic. The city of Bayamo, tn the western part of the province, was very important a century or more ago, and a great strong hold of the insurgents—for there have al ways been insurgents in Cuba. But of late years business has moved to Santiago and other coast cities, and Santiago now has about 45,000 inhabitants, while Baya mo bas only 10,000. It was a lawyer of Bayamo, Charles M. de Cespedes, who, in 1868, at the head of 128 wretchedly armed men, rose in rebellion at Yara, and in a few weeks was at the head of 15,000 res olute though badly armed fighters. The Hymno de Bayamo, the revolutionary hymn of the Cuban patriots, originated in Bayamo. This was the Marseillaise to whose music Maceo marched. Santiago de Cuba was the birthplace of the broth ers Maceo. On the opposite side of the province from the town of Santiago is the Bay of Nipe. The Bay of Cienfuegos is said to be one of the most magnificent harbors in the world, both for area and depth of wa ter; but it is surpassed by the harbor of Nipe, which embraces aixty-five square miles of deep water. No other preparation has ever done so many people so much good as Hood’s Sar saparilla, America’s Greatest Medicine.— ad. aS JBFI m J ELStTAiLS. “tw 81 jpg Best Cou#h Synzp. Taste® Good. Use K« Jwrt tiling*. Bold gy| ! Ydmif Boggy Ji S lacks the feature that is essential to comfortable riding if it hasn’t the Thl I Coil Springs. Better and easier than any other side-bar springs. May be «H attHrhd to buggy or surrey —old or new. g . THE THOMAS BW’WS! fl'"' Coil Springs 9 are noiseless, durable, perfect, economical. Your wheel- O wright or carriage maker can get them tor you, or we'll ship you u set 7 wSsPSWaWSy A direct. 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Now I eat at every tn fl LIPPMAN BROS., pp %sLVh°»B’ock, Savannah-jS SMALLER CAMPS OF SOLDIERS TAMPA TO BE ABANDONED AS A MILITARY RENDEZVOUS. Board of Inspectors Composed of Army Oflicers to Visit Savannah, Charleston, Columbia, Fernandina and Miami to Look Over and Re port on the Sites Offered as Camp ing Grounds—War Department Leans to Savannah and Charleston. Washington, June B.—Tampa i« to be abandoned as a military rendezvous and a number of small camps will be estab lished along the southern eoast. A board of officer# appointed by the Sec retary of War is now making an inspec tion of certain sites in the vicinity of Columbia, S. C., Savannah, Ga., Fernin dina and Miami, Fla. Charleston is also to be inspected. This board was selected and started upon its mission before it was known here that the order had been Issued. Charleston was not included in the orig inal order, but Representative Elliott of the Charleston district, was advised that the board had been appointed and upon his request the secretary ordered the board to make an inspection of the facili ties offered at Charleston in addition to the other places named. There is a strong sentiment in favor of establishing camps at Savannah and Char leston, because of the excellent facilities at those points for the embarkation of troops, to be sent to Cuba and Porto Rico, as the occasion arises. It is not believed that Columbia will be chosen, although Gov. Ellerbee, and a delegation from the state capltol of South Carolina arrived here to-night to urge the claims of Columbia. At the war department there is a decided preference for Charleston or Savannah. Atlanta is also contending strongly for the privilege of entertaining the volun teers, and former Secretary of the Interior Hoke Smith is pulling vigorously at the official wires in behalf of Atlanta. The selections will depend largely upon the character of their report submitted by the board of inspection. The depart ment has decided that the establishment of a number of smaller eamps will prove beneficial. It will allow of better drill, better dis cipline can be observed, and it will be much easier to fix the responsibility for infringement of the army rules and regu lations. Under this programme Tampa will be practically abandoned. peports from there show that fever is feared at that point, and that it will be inadvisable to keep a large force there. The board engaged in making this in spection is composed as follows: Col. Charles R. Greenleaf, assistant surgeon general; Maj. Frederick G. Hodgeson, quartermaster; Maj. George H. Hopkins, assistant adjutant general, and First Lieut. Edgar Jadwin, Corp® of Engineers. The board will proceed to Columbia, S. C., thence to Savannah, Ga., thence to Fernandina, Fla., thence to Miami, Fla., and thence to Charleston, S. C., with a view to selecting suitable camp grounds for the forces now in the field. NAVY DEPARTMENT GIVES NO NEWS Rashing Preparations for Expedition to Philippines. Washington, June B.—No bulletin® were posted to-day at the navy department, and, although there were signs that the department was in communication with the South, the newspaper men were as sured that there were no events worth reporting treated of in the messages. The department is also very busy In ar ranging the details for the Manila expe dition. having undertaken to make ready the transports which will carry the sol diers from San Francisco to Manila. Work on these is being hurried under telegraphic orders, and by the end of the week there will be sufficient military force afloat as to enable Admiral Dewey, when it reaches him, to do pretty much as he pleases at Manila. This is an object very much at heart Just now, for fully recognizing the good military qualities displayed by the insur gents, according to the newspaper reports, in th'ir combats- around ('a fl/' :i is in i tot h to n ix ei.tir.d.fl for any ]. i o K on their part into savagery!? .-la'tlc tile . .vnizf.l world. fl WAII HI?. I M i: I IIU I« til UitbiiniT. Expected t® tied at To-tlny's Meettinfl Washington, June B.—Unless most«fflH fully-arranged plans fail of realization, thefl conferees of the two houses of Congress onfl the war revenue bill will make their repor ® to the Senate to-morrow soon after the> beginning of the day’s session. Practically all of the Senate amendments in phraseology and penalties have been re tained, as have also a large majority of the Senate's more material changes. Among the most important of these which the report will show as agreed on are those providing for a tax on Inherit ance, a duty on tea and for taxes on sleep ing and palaoe cars, petroleum and sugar refining, mixed flour, and on bankers, brokers, theaters, circuses, etc. All these ’ provisions, which were inserted by the Senate are retained in practically the lan guage of the Senate amendments. The Senate bond provision has been mod ified so as to constitute a compromise with the House. The most material alteration made in this amendment is one fixing the amount of bonds at $400,000,000 instead of $000,000,000 as agreed upon by the Senate,' and $500,000,000 as proposed by the House. There has also been some change in the general phraseology of this provision. The provision in regard to the time cer tificates also will be amended, but tlia amount, which was $100,000,000 in both tkfl Senate and House bills, will remain at tiiliSS figure. The change® will be of a making the proposed loan more Imm/fl diately available, by doing away with thfl requirements for advertising.lt will also bfl clear that this loan is intended merely foifl temporary purposes. The tobacco schedule is proving to one of the most difficult with which tlfl committee has to deal. Two points in dfl<? pute are the size of packages of manuffl Hired tobacco and the House provisfl making the tax of 12 cents per poiß-® agreed upm by both houses apply to siM. on hand. When the conference adJourflSll to-night it looked as if the Senate win in its contention striking out the flbfi troactive clause, and as if the provisiflfl in regard to the size of packages would be compromised and a medium size agreed upon. 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