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0 light pnir Mom awoke and left her (Ie< V I**l, O'er her fair cIh^'Ic a flush of r«-Msa red in healthful clow was richly overspread, And. upon her royal car she st )|M 1, A golden ; lory o'er thf mountains swept, And silvery beams to every nook lot. crept Fnhold! how Karth, expectant, smiles to StSJ This bright-eyed queen unveil her royalty 1 Night's sable curtains glide by hurriedly, Anti pe.itlaut leaf, and grass in dewy tears, Hat-ten lheir toilet brief ns she appears Dispelling in her warmth all doubts and fears. —Eduard K Jiicharda, in the Cunre)i£. A Grand Old I CHAPTEH I. I never shall forget those happy days when we sailed on the tranquil bosom of a mountain lake. To make this state¬ ment comprehensively clear, I should doubtless introduce myself. My name is Madison West ford. It is an old and aristocratic name, even though I do say it. To bring out ihe real points of this recital, it is necessary that I say a few words with regard to our family. We lived in Arkansaw, my father, my mother and myself. Our roomy, comfortable old house was pitched among the graceful mountains of the northwestern part of the State. My mother was a quiet woman, without pronounced characteristics. My father was a character, noted for his learning and for his pride. Having de¬ scended from ancestors who won glory in the old Revolution, and wishing to for¬ ever be numbered among the lovers of the union, he did not go into the Confeder¬ ate army when Arkansaw seceded. Ile alizing*tlie the uselessness crises, he quietly of attempting to prevent sat down, still a lover of the union and a worshiper of his family traditions, and awaited the terrible result. One day a party of Federal soldiers visited our house, and while searching for arms, came across a grand old paint¬ ing, which having been done by an Ital¬ ian master, and having come down from generation to generation, was regarded as a priceless treasure. “What will you take for that paint¬ ing?” asked the commanding officer, ad¬ dressing i|s my father. “It .not for sale. There is toot Ft.” money enough in the country to buy “1 iim sorry,” replied the officer. “I am much devoted to art. Those trees arc hear strikingly the natural, rippling and I can almost water over the stones. Bay, you won’t sell it?” “No, I could not bo induced to part with it.” “I am sorry. Say, you wouldn’t lend it, would you? We are going to have an art exhibition at headquarters, and this picture would greatly add to the collec¬ tion. day Suppose you let me have it for a or two.” * ‘Such a request coming from a stranger is absurd.” The officer haughtily drew himself up and replied: “Tlio request of a stran¬ ger may be absurd but the demand of a soldier is ever reasonable—especially during war. Sergeant, take down that picture.” homo seemed the Our never to be same, after that picture was taken away. My father, I could see, actually grieved over its loss. He made numerous at¬ tempts to recover it, but could never learn the name of the officer who had raided the house. My father and mother passed away. It would have been pleasant to look upon the grand old painting which my father had prized descended so dearly and which would have to me. CHAPTER II. No, I shall never forget those happy -days when we sailed on the tranquil bosom of a mountain lake. The war was almost forgotten except by politicians. I had gone north to enjoy a summer’s va¬ cation, where, free from the annoyances of a law office, I could regain the strength of which the wear of business had deprived me. One afternoon while I was lazily dreaming in my boat, drift¬ ing in the shade, I saw a woman rowing toward me. She seemed to be excited for ghe was pulling with all her strength. I had begun to think that her boat was cutting deeper and deeper into the water, when she shrieked. I snatched up ray oars and skimmed rapidly to ward her, but before 1 had made a dozen strokes, her boat sank. She ---- was .. Struggling in tlio water when I I reached her, Hhc had sunk once eud was, I discovered upon lifting her into my boat, almost drowned, I took her to H bouse not far away. The in unit on of the house were much excited. They knew the young lady- Her nanv* was Zilda Mo«s. Her neighborhood. father, a prorai nentman, lived in the Miss Moss soon recovered. I called every day to see how* she was getting along The first time I saw h. r lustrous dark eyes, ’ they were gazing gratefully upon me. The people of the house with a dash of romance, had told her how 1 li d played the hero. I laughed at the idea but could not help feeling a pleas ant sense of pride. I soon learned that her father and mother were away from homo* on a visit and that she was guest of the family to whose house I had 'taken ,lier “ 'The first time we had any thing like a conversation, we were walk ; iug in the garden. “So you will not allow me to thank you,” she said. under obligations “Why, you arc discharged no duty to me. I not only a hut at the same time experienced a sreat pleasure. ” • “You endangered your life.” “Not at all.” “Your boat tipped over an ou sprang into the lake.” Deceitful wretch that I was. I knew that this was added by the family, but I could not undeceive her. I enjoyed the grateful expression of her eyes. I was honest enough, doubtless. I would not have cheated the man, but is there one among us who would not cheat a worn an? Man can be honest with man, but he who is thoroughly honest her with worn an, exposes himself to contempt, The blunt practicability so much admired by man, is despised by woman. This, on her part, is not an evidence of intel lestual refinement. “Dy not think of the little service I have rendered vofi, Miss Moss. Women place so great a stress upon so slight an action.” “Oh, men arc all unconscious heroes,” she laughingly replied. “If of I were to I risk my life to save the life any one, would never tire of hearing a recital of the brave deed; but I suppose men, so careless of themselves, look with indif¬ ference upon a risk of life. Let me pin this rose-bud on your coat. There! Does not the background enhance the beauty of the flower?” “ Yes, but it loses much of its assumed attraction when you are near it.” i * Oli, wlu^a flatterer yon are. No* J know What you thought. When you saw me floundering in the water, you said to yourself: ‘There is a girl whom I can flatter.’ Then you sprang to the rescue, took me out and are now flatter¬ ing me. Dear me, I wish papa and mamma would come home.” i i Why did you not go with them? ” ‘ ‘ They went to visit relatives, stupid ones, too. Distant relatives are at best far from being entertaining.” “ I am glad you did not go.” that “ So am I, even though the bark held—” « 4 The princess went down,” I added. “ There you are again, Mr. Flatterer. Let us go to the house. You’ll flatter me to death if we stay out here.” chapter nr. toilet Attain those*happy^days. I must say that I shall never ^/bright We skimmed sheen of the beautifullake. The cliffs sent back she echo of Zildas sweet voice. I could see that she was hamw “Zilda” Ziivua, isamoueuajwueuivc I said one day when we had uau landed to eat our lunch on a rock,which far and wide was known as the “Ban at y Sn ll0us f ? t 4 Why, of course you may. W hat . foolish Questions vou sometimes dXhted ask. yoT Paua and ^apalsTarTawf mamma will be to see uljfine' looking maig taller than vou are. He was a captain in la the Unionarmv ^ ” “Zilda-” “Why do’nt you say Miss Zilda? If papa were to hear you Zildering me he would snap his eyes like a steel trap.” Zildi-" 11 b ° CarefUl "' henh<! 18 “ ear ’ ‘There you go hall. again. I Stop toset'the trying to take hoid of my went ta - ,ny S oodn6SS ’ y°? d f 18 l )a P a * a , : whom faf affair *° meet Mr - me. ^Ve"'‘tHc^to'U^Cn? to expressing liis gratitude. He his knew daughter. that I had risked uiy life to save lie ...------------- wished that it w*as in his power , to re pay pay me. me. tv Knew now that that lie he emild could never never do ftn it. Would I visit him at liis home? Yes, I would. Could I uotspend could. a few wocks with him? Yes, 1 The Mosses lived in a place that to me was particularly attractive. Howers, graceful trees and everything tending to make a home complete surrounded the house. Mrs. Moss shed tears when she took my hand. She thanked the Lord that I had been born. 8o did I, declar ing that the service which I had rendered her daughter was to me more than worth thecombined performances of a life-time, ! After supper we went into the parlor. I could scarcely repress a loud cxclama tion. The grand old paiuting so highly ' prized by mv lather and his ancestors hung upon the wall. “That is a beautiful painting, Miss Moss. “Yes, it is a masterpiece.” suppose?” “An old heirloom, 1 “No, it is a comparative stranger in our family.” doubtless, at great 1 ‘Bought it, some art sale?” “No.” “May I ask where you got it. She Hushed and changed the subject. I saw it tdh H er f a ther had robbed my father; and, proud of thp theft, had told his family how he secured the painting, I was in a most unenviable position. loved What to do I did not know. I Zilda, and almost knew that she loved me, but could I, in justice to the memory of my father, marry the daughter robbed of him. a man who had insulted and My manner toward Zilda must have changed, for the conversation during the entire evening was constrained. I was glad when bedtime arrived. As I lay in bed, I tried to decide upon some plan of action. Would it be right to confront Mr. Moss and demand the picture? No, I could not mortally offend the man whose daughter 1 devotedly loved. I would go away and try to forget it all. CHAPTER IV. The next morning 1 told Mr. Moss how sorry I was that I could not longer re¬ main, that a business letter received sev¬ eral days before and thrust, unread, into my pocket, had, upon being read, in¬ formed me that a certain law suit de¬ manded my immediate attention. Mr. Moss was very sorry. Mrs. Moss ex¬ pressed deep regrets. 'Zilda was out in the garden. I would see her alone. “Miss Moss, I shall leave to-day.” ‘ ‘ What! ” she exclaimed, dropping a handful of roses. ( “ Yes’, business*Js*fc«i|taway.” said, “Iam very sorry,” she looking down. “It cannot be helped.” her Tears were dripping from long lasliGS. “ Why can’t it be helped? ” she asked. “ Let us sit down here a moment.” We sat down. She clasped her hands. “You made me very unhappy last night,” she said. \ “ I never spent a more miserable night,” I seemed replied. with “ You to get angry me as soon as you began to talk about that hateful old picture. I wished, an hour afterward that I had told vou all about it.” “Tell me now,” I eagerly replied. quit “Well, I will. Shortly after I school, I became engaged h“ad to a man, who with papa's consent addressed me. I did not love him, but to please papa, J.agreed fought me that picture. He bmi ht it at an art sale in New York, .binding that I could not love him, and becom ing ® more horrified at the thought of marrying • *. mm, 1 t hmto broke tne pniriwmr»nt enga cment. 0 I offered to return the picture but he S^ Oh, 11 I r doffit don t blame^vou blame you, 0 ^she sue said said. “I I —take your arms from around me. We are not engaged. yoVlove You haven’t even told me that me.” - “If I have not, it was because deep love cannot be lightlv expressed; but I do love you—love you devotedly.” She began to untangle herself from my arms. Looking up I saw Mr. Moss. I began to stammer an apology, when h °“zi?da, I have often anything told you -ound no t to sit out hero without you and I see tnat you have followed my a 1 ■ rp , hlmhpd t and a fJ^^ I felt the blood tJZuX” comforter. “Yes, “^es, vou ta are quite a U don t Ki. let __ me interrupt you. “Our arrangements are very ncarlv completed, completed, ’ said said . I. I. “Have you any jeetions to our marriaero?, ‘INone whatever, a The grand old painting hangs on ray “Look here,” wife . said to tUo , ray me other day. “Well. ’ % “Hid you know that you never asked me to marry you?” “i don't believe I did.” ought “Vou good ashamed for nothing thing, you to be of myself.” ^No I should not. T am so proud of you that I entirely forget yourself.” pu\led “I actually believe that you me out of the lake just to flatter me j but X like it, dear. Always flatter me. The husband who ceases to flatter—” “Ceases to please his wife,” I re¬ joined .—Arkansaw Traveler. A Bermuda Lily Farm. W. A. Croffut 9ays in a letter . m the Bermuda Islands to the Detroit fires Press: The onion is a loud-smelling plant; but there is a Bermudian offset to it—the Eastei* lily. This queen of odorous flowers grows here all the year round in the open air, and attains a majesty and fragrance unknown else¬ where in the world. On the Trinidad came down General Russell Hastings, the father, I believe, of this curious in¬ dustry of furnishing Easter lily bulbs to the New York and London markets. He began it three years ago, and this year will send off half a million bulbs. I visited his lily farm. “Soncy,” yester¬ day—a sort of fairyland on the winding shore of the inner harbor. Scattered over the estate arose the luxuriant tropical growths of the island—palms of varieties many kinds bearing fruity clusters; of cactus—the club, the maguey and other sorts; the bamboo, tall and sup¬ ple; the mangrove, standing margin tiptoe the on its rooty stilts along the of warm cove; the oleanders, trimmed for a windbreak around the roses and lily field. The lilies were cultivated in rows, like onions, and thousands of them are now spreading their great snowy blossoms to the sky, and burdening the air with sweetness. These are of no value whatever, and sometimes they are torn off systematically, in order to give vigor to the bulb beneath. In all the fields, even those containing several acres, all the lilies turn, to the sun, like obedient soldiers to their commander. Perhaps it would be more nearly correct to say that they turn to the for it is noticeable that they turn resolutely a Way from the shadow, even if it is necessary to turn their backs to the sun. This often happens on the southern fringe of a field. The Burro. Apart from the Indians and the Mexi¬ cans, these animals are the most char acteristic and ubiquitous objects in New Mexico. The shaggy little brutes range from the size of a small Newfoundland to that of a six-months-old heifer. It is practically impossible to overload them. They will carry all that can be piled on their backs. I have frequently seen a solid heap of wood gliding mysteriously into town, with no apparent motive power, but I knew that somewhere un¬ derneath the pile there was hidden a burro. When released from then* burdens will immediately ,. . . setto . . work . with ... ofdTcaZ^ Swou^sta™ ^ to death . eded to attach them U Y a wonderful wondenui series series of ot knots knots to to thp me supporting posts under the house I watched him curiously as he tied knot after knot, and at at length len 0 tn ventn-ed ventUaea to to in in Joe romnounded regarded me of with a smile which ^as compounded ot onp one nart part of or goott- mmi ? ^ atur f, ^ contempt, two of superior amUSG ‘ “Wo’al ” aa1 ’ ” he said ® a .7’ J von wt are summit of ot Labomd°evU” S ^ ^ * u ° a J VO u mean to sav Y that a burro can ^ 0f * tS th ^ h S teeth?” teeth ' don’t profess to say what he does ‘ . ^ Ho may_ do . w^h.s a,l for ^^“nndo, if™ h* 111 ^ me enough, I will tell you thanks, "'by, ot *» ”» ^ not_ a patch — -ischief.”_/W The total number of recognized spe cies of Australian fishes now reaches The guinea hen never lays a golden egg-