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THE SILLIEST QUESTION.
A d/>ar littlo girl with ojr-i < f bine,
And yellow curls end a "dimple, too.
And loved to tea* Lor, ns Runic folks dc :
And u.-k her the eUlicMi questions.
“Oh, what 13 poppy, ray, little Ann’"
‘‘Poppy? Poppy? Why, poppy's a man.
She emilo.l at m brightly r.s onward wo ran
With th» liiliost, .••i’iiest questions.
“And whr.t is ei.-sy?*’ Tho blue eyes gleam.
“Sissy's a Ru-nrl,” she ~-jys with a scream
of lau:;':' . a ■ hjht as a rippling stream
At thi silliest, silliest question.
“And botty—botty i snrely a toy
Os golden r.ictal with no alloy?”
“Botty? liottyt Why, Ixstty’s a boy.”
The si.i.. st, silliest question.
“Then what is mommy?” Tho blue eyes shed
A faint love glance, 1 iw dropped the head.
“Why, mommy is mommy,” little Ann said
To this silliest, silliest question.
Oh, dear littlo girl with oyt-s of blue.
Arid yellow curls and a dimple, too,
Y<-s, mommy is mommy tho whole world
through.
80 goodl y to tho silliest questions.
—Philadelphia American.
MISLED ills ENEMY.
Wells Compton was tolling the
story. It was about a duel to the
death in which he had engaged
while in Arizona, and we all listened
at; ntivt ly. He had told about the
causeof thecombat. Bill (’rockford,
the bully of the camp, had thrown a
glass of whisky in his faco because
he did not like a remark that had
be“Ti made by the tenderfoot, and
Compton had retaliated by striking
him a hard blow on the cheek.
Crockford was for using his six
shooter right away, but the crowd
made him desist and insisted.
“I knew tho man was likely to
kill me before I left tho groggery,”
said Compton. “So I said:
“ ‘I will light you, and light you
now. But mark you, we will light
on something like equal terms. With
revolvers 1 should be nothing but a
victim to your skill; so, as I am en
titled to tho choice of weapons, we
will use winchesters, for, although
1 never fired one in my life, I can
use the rifle better than the revolv
er; ’
“A dead quiet fell on tho group as
Crockford nodded his head in token
of assent. I had, as I knew, chosen
the deadliest stylo of dueling in
force out there.
“Old Mottram broke the silence
by saying: ‘lt seems, hoys, that this
affair must .go on. Crockford, hev
you your weapon here.’
“ ‘No, but I will soon bring it,'
was the response as he turned and
walked out.
“I now had about an hour at my
disposal, and taking Dalziel aside I
asked him to be my second, which
he acceded to. I gave him all the
money I had on me, some S6OO, and
told him that if I should be killed he
was to bury me decently and that
he might keep the balance left over.
Then on a sheet of note paper I
wrote a brief will, disposing of my
interests in certain concerns.
“I did not waste any time in think
ing of my poor mother, my sisters,
or any dearer one at all. The fact
was that I hadn’t any sweetheart
or relations of any kind except my
dear* old dad, and well I knew that
ho, a major under the flag of old
England, would rather have helped
to bury me with his own hands than
that his son should turn tail in such
a case. Neither was I disturbed in
my mind about what respectable
old ladies (of both sexes) would call
thoawful responsibility which must
j est on mo if I killed this man. No,
sir! I just meant to drill as many
and as deadly holes in his rascally
carcass as good fortune and my skill
could together effect. Brutal, no
doubt you will say. Perhaps it was,
but I was going to shoot to kill for
all that, for if ever a man meant
bloodshed in this world. Bill Crock
ford meant it when he went out of
that saloon.
“What I did think of, however,
was how to increase my chances of
success, as I certainly did not want
to be killed, or even wounded. So I
mentally laid down a plan of cam
paign, or method of operation as it
were.
“There was still about half an
hour before my adversary could get
back. So Dalziel proposed my hav
ing a few shots to get used to the
winchester which I was to have.
About 200 yards away stood an old
shanty, empty and tumble down. On
this Dalziel Stuck the white lid of a
box, offering a plain mark of per
hajfls 12 inches square. I took tho
rifle, and after firing two shots for
i.ia-eetion and elevation I walked
over to seo how I had got on. Then
1 came back and resumed firing.
X .’hen I got through three and twen
ty cartridges, we all—that is, the
j est of the men in the store—with
Dalziel and myself, walked over to
the target.
“‘Great Scott!’ exclaimed old
Mottram. ‘Why. there ain't a single
b diet within five feet of that box
hd. You ain't got no show at all
again Crockford, Mr. Compton, and
if 1 was you I'd own up and apolo
gize.’
“ ‘I thank you for your advice,’ I
replied. ‘I believe I have more
chance than you fancy; but if I had
none, this affair would have to go
o:<. unless, indeed, your man should
bog my pardon for throwing his
glass in my face’
“ 'There ain’t much chance of
that, I fear. He’s dead set on shoot
ing you, sir; but I wish there was
some way of stopping this affair. It
seems unreasonable that you should
meet a man sich a tremenjous lot
better ner yourself when your life
will most likely hev to pay the
stake.’
“Crockford • soon arrived at the
store, bringing his rifle with him,
and, of course, a whisper or two
from his friends made him acquaint
ed with the results of my target
practice. Dalziel made a last attempt
to prevent a meeting and addressed
Crockford upon the evil of carrying
this affair to a termination which
must almost inevitably result in
murder on account of my poor tar
get practice.
“Crockford said:
“ ‘There ain't no particular reason
for fighting if he will apologize for
striking that blow; but he’s got ter
do it. and got ter do it humble, too,
or else let him git hold of his rifle.
I won't say no more.’
“I impatiently waved to Dalziel to
desist and signed to Mottram to pro
ceed with the necessary pre I’’ 1 ’’ i
naries. Taking the two rifles n
our hands, he pressed one b i
into the magazines of each of m
seven cartridges.
“ ‘Now,’ said he, when thi. as
done, ‘you, Crockford, are well post
ed as to how these affairs are man
aged here, but for fear that you’—
turning to me—‘may not be so well
acquainted with them, I will tell
you the conditions. These two rilles
will be laid down on the middle cf
the road, where it goes over tho
plain in a straight line. They will
be placed about 200 yards apart, and
you will stand each beside his gun.
We—that is, Dalziel and myself—
will stand between you and to one
side. When I throw my hat up, you
are each at liberty to get your gun
and make the best use of it against
one another. You may stand and
fire, kneel and fire, or lie down and
fire, as you please. You kin run in
on one another, or if either of you
chooses, he kin run back. There’s
plenty of road too. Each oi } you has
about 50 miles of straight traveling
behind if he don’t like the looks ot
things in front. But neither of you
must leave the road, and the seven
shots in each of your guns must de
cide the affair,hit or miss. Mind, if
these conditions arc broken by ei
ther man, me and Dalziel here are to
see fair play, and we have guns and
will use them too. ’ Without another
word we all left the store, and the
two seconds, placing the rifles on
the road beside Crockford and my
self, retired to the little hillock to
give the signal.
“I perhaps ought to give you a
description of my feelings at that
moment, but really I can hardly do
so; nor do I remember any very
predominant emotion, save that I
felt a sort of stony calm, mixed with
a strong desire to draw a bead on
that figure standing quietly beside
his weapon some 200 yards away.
“As I before told you, I had laid
down my method of proceeding, and
the basis of it was to remain on the
defensive, for I felt sure that Crock
ford, despising my abilities with the
winchester, would advance upon me.
Nor was I at all mistaken. Directly
the signal was given, he seized his
rifle and almost instantly discharg
ing a shot—-which passed within a
few feet of me—he started on a zig
zag run toward me. Meanwhile I
had gone down flat on the road,
bringing my rifle to bear upon him,
and getting sight after he had run
in perhaps 50 yards I fired my first
shot.
“I shot primarily to stop him, of
course, if I could; but also with the
intention of throwing a thin cloud
of smoke immediately in front of
me, beneath which I could again
take sight. The day was still, bright
and warm, and far away along the
road behind Crockford a little white
puff of dust told me that I had
missed my man. Jerking the lever
of the rifle forward and back to its
place again. I had my second shot
ready for delivery. This time I
waited, judging that when he came
to a stop, either to lie down or stand,
I should have the best chance I was
likely to get. But still my rifle muz
zle followed his every movement.
On he came, till less than 100 yards
separated us. Dropping on his hands
and knees, he was just reaching the
prone position when once more my
rifle rang out. This time I did not
see the puff of dust betokening a
miss, for I had no time to speculate
about results; but, hugging the
ground closely, I jerked the empty
cartridge out and got another into
its place.
“Zip came a bullet not three
inches from my cheek, and again,
as I brought my gun up, another
struck the road almost straight in
front of me and tore its way through
the cloth of my coat on the arm.
This shot nearly blinded me and
rendered it impossible for me to re
turn the fire effectively for the dust,
and so I might say for the next
two. both being in front and fortu
nately a little to one side. I abso
lutely could not see even the end of
my own rifle. In a few seconds the
dust was cleared sufficiently to al
low me dimly to sight my opponent
My finger had almost pressed the
trigger when somehow or other 1
seemed to feel that I need not shoot.
There was no motion about my ad
versary, nor was his face visible,
and even at that distance I could see
that his rifle was not in position,
but was grasped in his right hand
wide out from his body. I kept toy
rifle on him, hesitating what to do.
He still had two shots in his maga
zine, and I had a right to fire on
him and make certain. But still, as
I say, I hesitated. As I did so Mot
tram waved me to hold my fire, and
leaving their position on the hill the
two seconds ran hastily to the silent
figure in front of me. A wave of 11 e
hand released me from suspense and
informed me that the duel was over.
On reaching Crockford I found him
insensible from pain and loss of
blood. My second shot had struck
him fair on the shoulder, shattering
the bone at the joint in a terrible
manner and flooding the road with
blood. Even then the man had, be
fore insensibility had set in, man
aged goodness knows how —to
send those four bullets in rapid suc
cession. one of which, had it been
three inches truer, would have killed
or badly wounded me. We got him
to the store, and Dalziel, who pos
• sessed some surgical skill, managed
to stanch the flowing blood, and in
a day or two he was pronounced out
of any absolute danger of his life.
Recover he did. although it was
three months before he could leave
his berth. As the ranch had passed
into my hands during that time, I
saw that he was properly attended
to, but when he was able to travel
I directed that he be paid up all
wages and given an extra SSO, but
ordered that he be discharged from
the employ. You see my life felt
very unsafe while he was within 50
miles. I heard that he ultimately
recovered the use of his arm, but it
was a long time before it was any
thing like sound.
“Little more remains to be told,
excepting that I gave Dalziel SIOO
for that winchester as a souvenir of
the affair.”
“But, Mr. Crompton,” said I,
“how on earth did you manage to
make such a good shot at your man
on your second attempt, when, as
you pointed out, you shot so badly
at the box lid? Was it simply a
fluke?”
Crompton looked at me rather
curiously and said:
“I notice that you sometimes play
at whist, but I don’t perceive that
you let the adversaries see your
hand. It is true that I was never
within five feet of the box lid; but
then, you see, I never shot at that
lid at all. I aimed at a dozen differ
ent parts cf the shanty—knots,
blotches on the wood, etc., but nev
er at the lid. Knowing what I was
shooting at I was satisfied, because
all my shots were within six or ten
inches of where I aimed them, and,
of course, the others thought I was
blazing away at the lid all the time,
though, mind, I never said so, and
Crockford naturally got the impres
sion that I was a very bad shot from
what the others told him. I rather
expected the result would be that
way, and it was unlucky for Crock
ford.
“Suppose we have a drink now.
I can never think of those infernal
bullets whizzing past me without
feeling a certain dryness in the
mouth and throat. Upon my soul,
the remembrance makes my flesh
creep more now than it did at the
time; but, you know, I was fighting
mad then, and was ‘shooting to
kill.’ ” —San Francisco Examiner.
Wonders of Insect Fecundity.
Away back in 1850 the people of
east Prussia had a little experience
with an imported insect which re
minds us of the growth of the Eng
lish sparrow pest. There was a
young entomologist living near
Cheron who had exchanged some
insect cocoons with a brother bug
fancier. Those obtained in ex
change by the Cheron student were
cocoons of the insect known to the
entomologists as Laparis monacha.
In due course of time a male and a
female laparis broke their silky cov
erings and came out to breathe the
Prussian air. The young student
figured that in the future he would
go out and pick his own laparis co
coon, and accordingly he gave tho
insects their liberty. The patch of
woods into which they were turned
to pasture comprised 30,000 acres
and was one of the finest preserves
in that country. It was April when
Mr. and Mrs. Laparis tried their
wings for the first time, but by Sep
tember their progeny had so in
creased that the air was full of in
sects. By October of the following
year there was not a live sprig in
that forest of 30,000 acres, the entire
wood having been converted into a
desert covered with lifeless tree
trunks. During the 18 months
which elapsed between the time
when the insects were turned loose
and the last date mentioned, when
the forest was pronounced a com
plete ruin, the people of the vicinity
had collected and burned 600 pounds,
or 900.000,000 single eggs, and had
destroyed more than 3,000,000 fully
matured moths! How is that for in
sect fecundity ?—St. Louis Republic.
THE SONG CF THE OX WAGON.
This is the seng of the straining span, the
tune of the tattered tilt.
Os the slow essays in per.lou3 ways of the
Wragcn stoutly built!
The song that v as sang in the ancient tongue,
When th-days of the world dawned gray.
The breaking croon of the disselboom, the
Eong that is sung today.
£ast rhd west and south end north tho first
born herdsmen
From th- waters clear of the high Pamir, from
the ancient Oxtts bed.
On and on to the plains of the Don their creak
ing wasons run,
And the disselboom shewed out the doom that
has given tho earth to man.
Over the sands of the thirsty lands, under a
brazen sky,
Whero the only law men bow before is the law
of the cssrsrai;
Forth and forth to tho dim far north whert
the broad Zambezi flows.
Still today in the ancient way the rumbling
wagon goes.
Through the forest ways wherr the wild things
graze, tho dappled, tho fawn, the gray.
Where the tall “Kameel” nt sunset steal like
ghosts to the silent vley,
Where tho lions drink at the reedy brink Os
the slowly shallowing pan.
The disselboom shows out the doom that has
given the earth to man.
Slow r.nd slow tho wagons go by thicket and
thorn and pool.
But their thin path traced on tho homeless
waste is the road of tho coming rule,
And in dread of that track the wild slinks
back and the thief and the beasts give
place
To the farm and field and the yearly yield of
the men of the wiser race.
East and west and south and north, from the
days cf the dawn till now,
Ero grass was burned or sod was turned by
the share of the furrowing plow,
This was the tune cf the tattered tilt, the
song of the straining span,
How tho disselboom points out the doom that
has given the earth to man.
—St. James Gazette.
IN PERIL.
It was night. I was in my bed
room at the Pera hotel listening to
the silence, if you will allow me to
make a bull. It was but half past
10, and the Turkish city, never very
wide a\vake, had now gone calmly
fast to sleep. All lights were put
out, and no sound was to be heard,
even in Pera, but the occasional
howl of a street dog that some bit
ten watchman had beaten with his
staff. Dervishes had ceased their
holy waltzing and their demoniac
howling. Priests had left their lofty
minarets for the night. The sultau
had sunk into a trance. The ba
zaars, where notions of all nations
are sold, were barred and bolted up.
The coffee shops had quenched their
charcoal fires. The beggars on the
bridge had dragged home their
stumps and sores. The soldiers of
the porte were in their barracks
dreaming of a revolt. Viziers laid
their uneasy heads on silken pil
lows. The “sick man's" dying city
was dead asleep, and it made one
sleepy to feci even near 600,000 sleep
ers. Human nature is imaginative.
When it sees eating, it wants to eat,
and when it sees sleeping it wants
to sleep. Besides, did I not know
that my countrymen in Pera were
wavering in their allegiance to the
pleasant king of midnight and
were half of them yawning and
stretching over billiards and domi
nos and looking with affright at
the two uplifted clock hands ? Turks,
who have no amusements, go to bed
early.
I was sitting at the window of my
bedroom, meditative, one boot off
and one boot on, wondering if there
was ever a minute, day or night,
since Constantine was placed in his
porphyry tomb that some wild dog
had not barked in Pera, when a tap
came at my door. I put my boot on
and bade the visitor open the door.
It was Antonio, my dragoman, or
courier, whom I had hired that day,
and thus he spoke:
“Monsieur, sare, nous avons. We
’ave got the fareman for the night. ”
Firman, you must know, is an
Asiatic word, signifying, in this in
stance, a passport.
“Oh, have you? All right, Anto
nio. lam ready, ” said I, buttoning
up my coat to the last button and
adjusting my hat before the mirror.
“Vera good,” returned my Alba
nian guide, who, by the way, had
the most villainous face imagina
ble. “Come on, sare.”
That firman, the sultan’s gracious
permission—gracious, but expensive
—cost me 250 piasters, or about S2B.
Be it known unto you, reader,
that over so many Circassians—re
cently whipped by the Russians in
spite of their devoted courage and
the genius of their leader, Schamyl
—had been offered a few piasters
per diem to join the army of the
porte, had accepted the offer read
ily, knowing that Turkey was the
natural enemy of the land of vermin
and steppes, and had been apprised
on arriving at Stamboul after many
hungry days of forced marching
over countries innocent of bridges
and of roadg that the porte was un
able to pay the native troops, let
alone foreign ones. That was enough
to make the hungry Circassians an
gry, was it not? A little way be
yond the valley of the Sweet Wa
ters, which is a place of fashionable
resort, equivalent, or thereabout,
to our Central park, those soldiers
of a hundred patriotic battles had
located their camp and were utter
ing discontent in away that was
very disagreeable to the Turkish
government. It was in order to see
them that Antonio, and I left the
Pera hotel at 11 o'clock at night.
Escaping being torn to pieces by
tho rival boatmen of Tophana, ]
tumbled down into tho cradle of a
neat caique, which, because it is a
pattern boat, I will describe. It is
I long and sharp at both ends, and at
both ends it is boarded over, to pre
vent shipping seas, with varnished
planks, crossed at the top with little
i crowning rails of gilt carving, very
dainty and very smart. The cradle
where I lay, my back against where
the cockswain would be seated in an
American gig. was lined with red
cushions and white lambskins.
There were two boatmen, because
the Sweet Waters, where we were tc
land, was far up the Bosporus, and
it was tolerably hard work, even
for them, brawny and accustomed
I to rowing as they were.
Antonio, my scoundrel of a guide,
held forth on the white minarets,
looking ghostlike in the moonlight
i andon the dark cypress trees, throw-
I ing their heavy shaking shadows
athwart the phosphorescent water.
: He bade me observe how the caique-
I jee (boatman) fastens his oars by
j leather loops to pegs on the sides oi
the boat, which had no rowlocks—a
simple plan that prevents them evei
being lost unless they break in some
j of the whirling and impetuous cur
i rents of the Bosporus. Every time
I looked the boatmen laughed with
all their teeth and said afirmatively,
“Bono, Johnny,” upon which I call
ed out authoritatively, “Cliapuk!”
(Quick, quick!) and to which they
invariably replied by saying, “Ya
wash, yawash,” meaning: “No hur
ry. All in good time.”
Antonio, as we progressed, grad
ually transferred his conversation
from myself to the boatmen. At
that time I knew very little of their
sweet sounding jargon, and natural
ly feeling uninterested I closed my
eyes and sunk into a reverie, to be
aroused therefrom by one of the
boatmen using a Turkish phrase, the
meaning of which was known to me,
in tones of the deepest disgust.
Their fierce and furtive glances, to
gether with the frequent use of that
one phrase, which might be trans
lated thus, “Dogcf an infidel,” con
firmed a sudden suspicion that I was
in a serious scrape. I was so seated
that, although my face was not seen
by them, I could discern their fea
tures and gestures plainly.
“Chapuk!” I cried imperiously,
knowing that it is generally best to
show no white feather.
“Yawash, yawash!” replied the
boatmen defiantly.
“No hurry, sare,” said Antonio,
lighting his chibouk and puffing
away complacently.
How I regretted having left the
Pera hotel at that unseemly hour to
see a parcel of Circassian ragamuf
fins, who were perhaps not worth
seeing! How roundly I swore that
if it were permitted me to issue
scathless from that scrape I would
never’ be out after dark again in
Turkey!
Past the Maiden’s tower, a sort of
legendary lighthouse that stands on
a rock at the entrance of the Golden
Horn opposite Scutari; past long
lines of vessels and rows of dark red
wooden houses with broad flat roofs
and cellarlike boathouses; past plane
trees and cypresssos, silent caiques
and coffee houses, with here and
there a dead lump of carrion bob
| bing like a float in the moonlight,
! swollen and horrible, we reached
at last the Sweet Water meadows,
; where the deserted caiques were
gathered thick as carriages round
i the door of the Theatre Francais.
I had a mind to make those two
villainous boatmen row me back
again, because, as we were near one
of the sultan’s tinselly Italian pal
aces, neither they nor the audacious
Albanian dare attempt violence just
; then, but unfortunately I was trou
bled with a weakness called pride,
■ which troublesome infirmity I
J should advise my readers, if ever
: they are placed in similar circum
' stances, to conquer right away. Al
though I felt I thereby placed my
life in jeopardy, I could not for- the
life of me take the certain way of
escape that offered itself and deter
mined tc pursue at all hazards tho
object for which I had set out.
The two boatmen jumped on land,
and drawing the caique almost high
and dry so that we should not wet
our feet stood with ready palms
held out to receive their pay. I gave
a few piasters to each, and then an
animated conversation ensued be
tween my dragoman and them, con
ducted in Turkish, and in which the
constant repetition of the phrase be
fore translated again occurred.
“Dey will wait, sare,” said the
Albanian at its conclusion..
i “All right,” I returned, affecting
more coolness than I felt, for I had
no arms with me bigger than a pen
knife, and I had seen them produce
during the palaver bright, ugly look
ing knives from their voluminous
sleeves. “C’hapnk! I want to get
back soon.”
Antonio uttered a valediction to
his (as I supposed them) accomplices,
and we entered a defile whose quick
ly heightening sides were topped
with regular rows of cypress trees.
In a little while on either side, be
fore and behind, there was nothing
but impenetrable darkness visible,
and above, the sky, now overcast
with clouds, was starless and gloomy.
The dragoman led the way, stealing
bn with a lithe, cure step and waft
ing clouds of perfume from his Chi- •
bouk. Trying to divest myself of
the conviction that I was about td
become the victim of an already
concocted plot, bringing forth a
whole array of arguments to justify
that attempt, and yet peering nerv
ously into the darkness right and
left, anon in the direction of the Al
banian and then shrinkingly behind
me, I followed without a protest in
his footsteps, just as a lamb goes to
the slaughter house.
He carried a lamp such as all drag
omans carry in the nighttime, and
suddenly bethinking myself of this
I asked him to light it.
“Presently, sare,” lie said. “Wo
shall come into plenty light soon. ”
To the best of my belief we had
now gone about haif a mile. Once
or twice I fancied I heard a footfall
in our rear and with a contraction
of the heart half turned to face an
anticipated assailant, but nothing
emerged from the darkness, and I
resumed my journey, perturbed and
painfully suspicious. The clouds
suddenly thinned before the watery
moon, and the irregular walls of an
old tumble down ruin, formerly a
mosque of much repute, but now a
playhouse for all the little Turks in
the villages roundabout, loomed di
rectly before us, the defile endik'g
abruptly at the mouth of a rude
road on the right.
The Albanian proposed lighting
the lamp in this ruin, as on accoturf
of a gusty wind it would be difficull.
to light it outside.
I thought his proposal rather un
called for, since we had the moon,
but acquiesced quietly and followed
him into the mosque, which had
been built up in that semioriental
Byzantine style that, back through
"V enice, spread throughout Europe,
even in Canute of England’s time.
I was interested in this relic of an
other age and momentarily forgot
my suspicions. Antonio stepped into
a vault which was still almost En
tire and which had once in all prob
ability been the refectory where tho
dervishes, or priests, partook mod
erately of food. He opened the door
of the gau(Jy lantern, which would
have reminded you of Aladdin’s,
and striking a match lit the wick.
“You wait. Me fill chibouk,” 1
said he, setting the lantern down. *
I was seized, from behind and )
thrown violently to the ground, !
falling with my hip on a sharpstone
that made me lame for weeks after. ■
I turned round without rising, be-'’
ing then unable, on account of thd
wound I had received, and saw one
stalwart assailant cover me with 9$
gun and the other behind him grasp
the hilt of a disagreeable knife.
Antonio held the lamp aloft an<| j
seemed to regard the whole affair
as a capital joke.
The boatman with the gun spoke
fiercely in Turkish, and the Albani
an, turning to me, said: “Want
money, sare. Give ’em money, you
go safe.”
It was very unpleasant looking up
the muzzle of that gun and feeling
that the slightest movement might
endanger my life, but I am an
American and disliked the cavalier
manner of those Turkish dogs. I
was just about to defy them to do
their worst when I heard the tread
of men outside. I shouted opt for
help at the top of my voice, and six
Turkish soldiers, headed by an offi
cer, came into the ruin at a trot and
halted at the entrance of tho vault,
covering us all with their match
locks.
That villainous Albanian, as soon
as he saw how quickly the tables
were turned, ran forward and com
menced a fierce denunciation of his
accomplices.
“Inglis subjek?” asked the Turk
ish officer, turning to me.
The English, you must know, have
so bullied and browbeaten the Turks
that they would rather allow an
English murderer to go scot free
than come into collision with them.
“American subject,” I answered,
succeeding in a painful attempt to
rise. Then I made him understand
by suitable gestures that the Alba
nian and the two boatmen were all
alike culpable, and they were pres
ently deprived of their knives and
the gun, each one of them placed
between two men and marched off
toward the spot where we had land
ed.
Outside the ruin the road was full
of Turkish soldiers, all going in the
direction of the Circassian encamp
ment for the purpose of overawing
that brave and turbulent people.
Judges are very corrupt in Tur
key. The Albanian contrived to
bribe himself out of the clutches cf
the law, but the two boatmen were
very properly punished.—New York
News.
Milk In Spain.
The Spanish milkman or maid, as
the case may be, has no chance to
impose upon the customer. When
the milk is delivered, it is literally
in bulk. The milkman drives around
his flock of goats to each customer’s
house, ascertains how much milk is
needed, sits down and draws the
uisite quantity.