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celled count tho cost erf their acoommo- SMML He fcfsred * bed room nod sit. ting room on UaethM loo*. Ibim u old puin. «nd hli health 10 precartons that WHuESSilds time indoors, leaving Ummw only on the warm, dear days. taw Mere) a few days, Um lady who had 1 111# .sol# of T r * mn f‘ immediately 1*1* )ift for the continent, tad can engaged the## for# friend t on the way to London. The l Arrived, and two highly respectable ntiemen way now Installed other. The lint arrival— > agy Mr. A—left a considerable ram of ’ anon. In i&«<n»i» bank notea. In the earn ilnfthe manager of tbaboteL In the i of aotne car mil conversation with ansger, he subsequently save the I to understand that ha was n Chi- lwajr man of great wealth. The r Man every reason to beltovs him, . A, so far from trying to obtain “ ; at the hotel, or to cash igo, had deposited a quan- Sy money In the safe, and paid i each week without even drawing Co Ab tnl -In doe coarse the manager -learned that Mr. A'edaughter was about • to be married, and Mr. A consulted him , aa to where he ahonld go to hoy her ' * amOcieptly valuable, set of diamonda ho he went by a rich man’s daughter, •Who was 'marrying - another rich man. V,' The mniiagcr, with his fat commission iinrlCTr, arranged to go with Mr. A to rwovof the largest Jeweler* in Bond street ’And assist him In selecting the stones. He -was himself, he said, a connoisseur, and Mr. A admitted that he knew very little “*■—* -*■—landwxnd that his eyesight was As luck would have it, Mr. l grew worse dally, and the time (d when he wanted to dispatch i to Chicago without his having twenablato'go to Bond street The man ager ventured deferent tally to remind him Of this, aniMr. A said that ho bad about made np Ms anted .to let his business cor- ssnandent In New York boy the stones at Tiffany’s, even'll they were a little more expensive than they would bo in London. The manager .saw:that .little commission «f his receding .toward the conversance .Of rim lines of -perspective,.and proposed to Mr. A that the man in Bond street should send annnfi some stones for him to look at. Mr. Aexpressed .a doubt as to whether tha man would be dispoeed to send round* large .assortment.of really finagooda. The manager eatd there -would be no trouble about tha^nnd he himself went round to see the jeweler, made .an .ar rangement about tha percentage, which was satisfactory to both parties, and the jeweler promised not only to.send around the best sets he had, hat likewise to get a larger assortment on approval from the diamond brokers, according to their .usual practice, and submit those also. It should he noted here that Me. A had told the manager that he did not care to much for enormously large stones as for stones of great brilliancy—real old Brasilian and Indian diamonds. His in tention was to let his daughter have them aetln such forms as she might herself prefer, unless, Indeed, the jeweler should happen to have something very striking tn the way of hair ornaments, bracelets or necklaces already set. Tha man of Bond street was a good, old fashioned, conservative west end trades man. and when l.e saw what an enormous sum the assortment of jewels which were going to the hotel aggregated, instead of ■sending a man with them he went him self, accompanied by a porter who carried tha Imtlwrlmg containing the stones, and who was, more as a matter of habit than because any special precaution seemed necessary, armed with one of those fearful and wonderful English revolvers, which are About as convenient to carry as an 80- ton gun, and take about as long to cock and fire. It was, Indeed, more because the jeweler wanted to conduct the nego tiation in person and nee Us own judg ment as to how stiff a price he could insist upon than beeanse he had any misgivings about the good faith of the purchaser that ho went to the hotel himself. Arriving there, the manager accom panied Um and his porter to Mr. A’s room. Mr. A was reclining on a sofa be fore the lire. The jeweler unlocked the hag, which was chained round the porter’s waist, and the manager removed a num ber of books and papers from a small table which stood by the sofa. On this table the jeweler arranged a tempting dis play of set and unset stones, worth In the aggregate, at his prices, some £18,000, of which he hoped to be ahle to sell about one-fourth, judging from the way In which the manager had spoken of his ens- Now, what was the position of affairs? Around the table were the jeweler Um- self, Us armer porter and the manager of tha hotel, a man of unimpeachable integ rity. Aside from the prevumption that Mr. A was a most highly respectable Indi vidual, which in this case seemed to amount to a moral Certainty, he was a weak man, attenuated by long illness, about which there could be no deception. The odds were, in reality, far more than three to one, and a pull at the bell would have made them more than that. The jeweler pointed to the various sets and stones, stating their weight, character and price; and in the instance of one superb necklace telling Mr. A a curious history of .the great nobleman who had been re cently obliged to dispose of It among hie fondly jewels. Mr. A listened with great interest, and then said: ‘ill must be a nervous sort of business handling these things. I should be afraid ihe devil would fly away with them, I think!” The jeweler smilingly assured him that -.0 did not worry very much about that, any rate. Me. A. tlien excused himself while he '.tent into his bedroom a moment, remark- iag that he expected a friend of his who "• 7 qs in the hotel to come up there in a moment, and wanted his advice in making ilie selection. As the door Closed beliind him, the jjweler smiled at the manager and the • lanager at the jeweler, The jeweler t long tit of his profits and the manager •nought of bjs commission. A moment later then was a little noise, like the sharp closing ot the lid at a box, —• w - - Shi' r hours tha jeweler waa of thi confidential in quiry agents, who have frequently beea described as “crooks'* agents,” and a few days later be recovered the stones by pay ing the broker £9,000. If be had gone to the police instead of the broker he would probably have never succeeded in bringing the artists to justice and certainly would have lost the stones' altogether. The po lice have never haard anything about tha operation. The manager had excellent reasons for not advertising his own blon der tn having been .hoodwinked, and, as the jeweler had compounded a felony, he certainly wanted to keep his month shut. The Americans were, it need hardly he said, first class artists. They had perhaps in all invested £130 in the job, although when their trunks came to be examined they were found to contain an amaring number of newspapers, which, with all the respect In the world for the periodical press, can hardly be regarded as valuable xt— 1 in The English honk notes locked in the safe, with the exception of one at the top of the roll, were like the old Bank of Elegance notes; they were some of a quantity of advertisements having the general appearance of bank notes which a theatrical manager in Liverpool was In discreet enough to distribute through the streets of that city not long ago, and which were seized by the police as soon as they were called to their attention, but a good many of which bgd found their wayto London in the meantime. The manager lind, of coarse, not scrutinized the notes, as ho merely saw Mr. A put them in an envelope and write his name oti tt-.' This is a story from the outside. How let us look- at it from the inside. A few days before the robbery Mr. A’s friend had bought for him a carious antique table, which Mr. A intended to take to Atoeritef with them, and which, for the time being,, be had in Ida sitting room, covered with a cloth to prevent its being scratched. It was on this table that jhe diamonds had been laid, and, as a matter of fact, this table was the devil that flew away with thaqt It had been made, or rather remade, from a curious piece of old furni ture by a manufacturer dt stage conju rer’s appliances in Paris. It waa* small, round topped table, and from the top it sloped in .and titan spread ant to> ward the floor, something like -the trunk of a tree or an hoar glass without its waist being ftaehad In vary tightly. The top of the table was Inlaid, the pattern consisting of a number of pie shaped pieces and radiating from an enameled medallion in tha middle. From .the top to the floor the table wae hollow, when tbs flat piece at the bottom of it was un screwed and a lead weight which made it as heavy as a solid table was removed.. Through this hollow there ran a stoat piece of heavy fish line, fastened to the under side of the medallion in the top of the table. Before the jeweler’s visit this medallion had been replaced by a wooden ping, in which waa set a little iron ring. On the over side of the cloth a piece ot stoat dogjtidu was securely glued and the ring sewn to this. When the oonl was sharply jerked the top of the table collapsed to ward the middle, the pie shaped pieces being binged at the outside and arranged so that their paints would drop in when the cord pulled down the ping. There fore, when the cord was pulled the cloth w*uld be drawn down into the hollow pert of the table, wrapping in Itself what ever bad been lying on it when the cord was polled. The two crooks bad quietly cut a hole through the floor of Mr. A’s sitting room and the ceiling in the room below as soon as tbe two sitting rooms had been cleaned up by tho hotel servants that morning. In Mr. A’s room the hole was of coarse concealed by the table, bat tbe room be low had to he kept locked and unentered during the pioming. This the partner had easily arranged by saying that he ifos writing tetters and did not wish to be interrupted. When Mr. A went into his bedroom from the Bitting room he went ont of tbe bedroom door to the corridor and down stairs to his part ner’s room. His partner was in readiness,, and when be knew it was time to act he stood on a chair under the hole and held his overcoat ready to catch the tablecloth and . the. atones. Mr. A stood with the cord in bis left hand and an open knife in his right. Hs jerked the cord. His part ner’s ulster received what it was waiting for, and he' quickly cat the card dose up to the doth. The ulster was hastily doubled over its contents, and with it on tbe partner’s arm they walked quickly down the stairs and were In the hansom before the people up stain realized that the stones were gone; and even when they saw that the top of the table seemed to have fallen in it took them a moment to discover that it was not in that room that they must look for the vanished diamonds. The two artists must have got fully live minutes’ start, and three minutes was all they needed to be lost.—London Cor. San Francisco Chronicle. Tbe Uou Trade in London. * Is the trade brisk in lions? Yes. The week before last I sold one to the Antwerp Zoological gardens for £200. Imported forest bred lions are always worth their money, boh those that are brought np in gardens and menageries are not nearly so valuable. They become stunted in their growth and deformed. The system of breeding lions in one family is responsible for this degeneracy, and what should be done is to mix the breed by means of im ported lions. The principal source of sup ply is Africa. The war in the Soudan put a stop to tho traffic in them, but I can still import plenty. A good male lion is worth about £209, and the value of a female is something like half that stun.— Pail Moll Budget. Suspects He Is a Yankee. There’s a fellow, I think he is a Yan kee, stopping at a boarding house not very far from here, and I took dinner there yesterday. This fellow sat next to me, and everything went well until thedcsscrt was brought in, when he asked for a fin ger bowl. It was brought him. Sud denly I heard a peculiar click, nnd, look ing at mv friend, I saw him deliberately remove his false teeth and drop them into the finger bowl to be cleaned.—Cor. Florida Herald. bitterly. Upon a little taMe, drawn doee to tbe side of tbe aaochys. clean napkin bad bees placed ml two lighted tapers, for they were awaiting the arrival of tbe priest, coming to give extreme unrvisn thst sdr ot despairing adtomr, peculiar tbe chambers of the dying; rials of me cine stood about open the furniture; linens were heaped In tbe comes* either the foot or the tooom, and tbe chairs, ordered and huddled la groups, seemed as A affrighted, asd .death was there,'*an- The history«f these Osiers was a very sad and touching cate, aid talked of for and near through the neighborhood. Suzanne, the eldest, had been devotedg loved in her youth -by a young man, band- some and good, and te whom she also was much attached. They were ttancees aud only watted the day fixed by the contract to marry, when suddenly Henri de 6am- ptaxe was taken ill sad died. The despair of the young girl was frightful. She swore that she would never marry, aud, putting on tbe drees -of tbe widowed, which she never again left off, Mile, tie TheccHes kept her word. One morning as she was sitting In her room thinking sorrowfuBy of the trouble that had fallen upon her so cruelly tbe doon opened, nsd Marguerite, at that time not yet 15 years of age, threw herself iute her sister's arms, murmuring between hersoUe “Bo not cry, Suzanne. Oh, do not cry. ft breaks my heart .to see yon grieve. Surely you will notary all your life, for I—1 will uever leave yon; never.’. Like you I will never many, bat remain with you always. ’ ’ Suzanne embraced her tenderly, touched to the heart by tbe d&d’.s devo tion. Nevertheless, she did not believe her; tbe day would <come to Marguerite that had come to her—she would love, and then she would be alone again. Suzanne, however, was mistaken; years passed on, and the little one held to hex- word. In spite of the prayer* of ter fn~ rentaand the supplications of her sister she resefntely refused to marry. Beautiful, cliarnfing aud a general favorite among tbe young men of the neighborhood, noth ing aould alter her decision—she would never qnit her sister. Aud thus they , lined together side by side in Inseparable iwwpwiionthip. But Marguerite was always rod, more dejected and melancholy, if possible, than Suzanne herself. It seemed as if the sacrifice she had made, sublime as it was, had literally crushed her. She grew old faster than her sister; her bair turned as white ns snow before she was 80, and, constantly suffering, she. seemed like one struck by some strange disease which always preyed upon her. Now she was dying, and dying first. In twenty-four hoars she had spoken but once, and that only to <tsk for tne care. “Bid him come,’* she whispered hoarsely, “bid him come, and quickly.” Suzanne had obeyed. Lying upon her back, her haggard features drawn by frightful spasms, her Ups moving without uttering a souud, her eyes fixed and sunken, Marguerite Ue ThereUes was hideous to look upon. Sobbing bitterly, Suzanne still knelt beside her. Suddenly there was the noise of foot steps on tbe stairs, a moment later a priest in his surplice entered the room nnd leaned above the dying woman. As soon as she saw him she began to toss rest lessly about the bed. “God pardon yon, my child,” said the old cure tenderly; “God pardon you and give yon peace! The hour has come—you must speak!” . ‘ Marguerite shuddered from head to foot as she heard the cure's words. Again and again she struggled to obey, bnt ber voice broke and died away in a stilled rattle. “Sit by me, Suzanne,” she whispered at last; “sit by me that yon tuay hear and listen.” Suzanne. astounded, rose to her feet and seated herself beside her sister. “God give them strength and send upon them thy healing mercy,” said the old cure solemnly, lifting the hands of thetwo women and holding them in his own. Then Marguerite began. “Pardon me, Suzanne,” she cried; “pardon your wretched sister. Ah, if yon oonld only know how I have suffered, how I have dreaded this boor, dreaded it aU my life long!’’ “Pardon yon, my Uttle one!” Suzanne repeated; “butwhatam I to pardon you for? Have yon not sacrificed yourself'f or me? Have yon not been an angel?” “No, no,” said Marguerite wildly, “be *Qent, I beg. I will tell yon all. It Is frightful, frightful; but do not stop me. Speak I must, even to the shameful end. Do yon remember Henri, Snxanne?” ap pealing abruptly to her' sister. Sazan uo started and turned pole. Remember Henri? Would she ever forget him? “Yes,” she answered, “I remember him.” “He died,” continued Marguerite, “be fore I was.15—yes, before I was 15. How spoiled I was! How determined to have my own wayl Bnt never mind that now; let ns return to Henri. Yon remember, do you not, the first time he came? It was to bring ns news of father. I saw him dismount from his horse. He waa so handsome, so noble looking! I waited in the corner of the salon all the time he was talking. Children arajo strange, so ter rible 1” she murmured, in tones of agony. “After this he came almost every day. I watched him always, always. I was for more artfnl than yon knew, my sistor, for I thought only of him, and, child as I was, I loved him. “When they told me he was going to marry you it was a blovp—a blow so ter rible that night after night l spent the hours in cryiug that should have been given to sleep. Yon remember, Suzanne, that every morning after breakfast lleurl ■would come to spend the day With us, nnd that frequently you made for him a plate of thoso littlo cokes of which he was eo extravagantly fond—I can see him eating them now, and afterword drinking a gloss of wine. As the day for your marriage ap proached, how jealous I became—how terribly, cruelly jealr.i-sl At last, abouta fortnight ljcfore the wedding tlay, 1 think I must have lost my senses. ‘He shall never marry,’ I said to myself; ‘above aU, he shall never marry Sr-vaune!’ “One evening, a day or two before the him—to •Once,” continued Marguerite, draw ing her breath la sheet, quick gasps, “I had eee* the gardener preparing what be told me were ‘ballets'for stray doge that wet tbe chateau at night and dam aged his plants. They were simply little balls <ot meat, mixed with glass, the frag ments c* an old kettle pulverized to a powder. - **L too, had an <dd bottle that came front tbe drnggdriX and, crushing it with a hammer, 1 concealed tbe guttering par ticle* In the pocket of my drees. "“Tbe next day, -when you made as usual Henri’s Uttle plate at cakes, I sum- aged, without poor seeing tne, to break them open aud qprinkie them with the P«tnded glass. Henri ate several -of them; I ate one; the rest I threw away. I, tbsaigh always suffering, escaped with my Ufa Henri died. •“Ah, my sister, my sister, how I have suffered! What agonies ot pain, what tonmwnte ot remorse! 'But 1 wfll never leave Suzanne,’ I said to inyself. ‘I wiU watt on her, < will love her, and on my dyhtg bed I wtBfceU her alL* This mo ment has been always before me. Morn ing and night I have thought of the time •when I most tell pan this terrible secret —of the time, whem-dead, I would hove to meet him. Pardon me, Suzanne, pardon me, I beseech jon. Beg her, Mous. le Core, teg her tong that she pardons me. Iptmuot, I daze not die without it!” Marguerite was silent; she conhl speak no more, bnt lay with her eyes upon her sister’s face, the wasted fingers picking and scratching at the:sheets. .-Suzanne did not move; like a figure ot stone she sat with her head bowed upon her breast^ the foeeot the man she loved, the happy days that -might have been -spent with him, rising -before her in a sad •zeriew. Andffhcse memories of the cher ished dead, how they lore her tortured heart! Suddenly the old care .-started to his feet. “Mite. Suzanne."* said he in n voice strong and vibrating, -your ulster is dying; is she to go without the mercy which God himself has not-refused her?” Far* moment Suzanne hesitated; then tlirewmg herself upon her knees beside the-conch of Marguerite, she clasped her In her arms, murmuring between passion- Ate kfam . “I pardon thee, my Uttle one; with all my heart I pardon thee!’ ’—Translated for The Cincinnati Enquirer from the French of Gay de Maupassant by E. C. Wag- gener. ' - A Darfog Reporter's I knew of * city editor who had a pet bugaboo to score off flash young applicants , for positions o* Ida staff. Whenever one would present himself the C. E. would _ sign him to write np the “City HoU Cel lar.** About twenty-five graduates, each of wfiom was imbued with the idea that he was nn embryo Dickens, were scared away liy that apparently hopeless task.- Some never attempted it, and those who did were unable to puss tbe watchman who guarded entrance to tbe mysterious place aud never permitted strangers to pass. Otic day a commonplace looking young man came along and mode tbe usual ap plication. He was not a college bred, and it was supposed that the bugaboo would scare the reportorial idea out of him In stouter. In about an hour after he bad been given an assignment^ returned and wrote quite.nn interesting article upon the appearance of the cellar, the roanuer in which it was being utilized, and what use its various compartments would be put to in the future. When asked how he got into the cellar he replied: “I low ered myself down through a coal hole by means of a rope and bribed tbe engineer to show me around for a couple of good cigars.” The young man was engaged immediately, nnd is a reporter on a prom- incut daily paper in this city to-day. The lity editor had to secure a new bugaboo, and has never qnito forgiven the young man lor despoiling him of his pet scare crow.—-“Observer” in Philadelphia Call. * A Few New Definition*. Music—A polite art which serve* its highest usefulness as a stimulus to con versation. Duty—An obligation that rests entirely npon one’s neighbor. Advice—A superfluous article which everybody Is eager to give away, bnt no one cares to receive. Consistency—A jewel which frequently needs resetting. News—Old women’s gossip; ealocions scandal nnd secrets of domestic qnd con jugal life; anything in the way of rumor that does not relate to public affairs. Civility—An ancient form of behavior, popular in feudal times, but unsuited to the exigencies of modern civilization. Artist—A man of subtle (esthetic per ceptions who obtains proficiency in some such useful art as hair dressing or negro minstrelsy. l’oetry—Any metrical composition whose merit is unrecognized by the aver age magazine editor. Economy—A habit of life which ena bles a woman to save money in her do mestic expenditures in order that her hus band may keep np his end at tbe dub. Culture—The pursuit ot social folly having its origin la the love of singular ity.—Life. A Leek of Ooethe’a Hate. In tbe collection of the Goethe-Carlyle correspondence just published there is one episode of ludicrous interest not altogether without its pathetio side. It is that in which Mrs. Carlyle, in the year 1829, sent Goethe a lock ot her hair, “concerning which I am to say,’’ writes Thomas, “that except to her husband she never did tbe like to any man.” In exchange she begged for a lock ot Goethe’s hair, and this “for the heart that honestly loves yon.” “I, too,” wrote the husband, “hope that you will do so much.” Goethe, who was then in his 81st year, found him self in a painful predicament, which he thus explained: “The incomparable lock of hair almost alarmed me. The contrast was too striking, for I did not need to touch my skull to become aware that only stubble was left there; nor was it neces sary for me to go to the looking glass to learn Uiat a long flight of time had given it a disconsolate look. The impossibility of making the desired return smote my heart and forced thougfits upon me which one usually prefers to banish. In the end, however, nothing remained for me to do but content myself with the reflection that such a gift was to be most thank fully received without hope cf any ade quate requital. ’’—Chicago Herald. The amount of chocolate annually con sumed is 60,009,000 pounds, the market list being headed by France. Amt ■»«* UN *lr • AndaelkWMMdi Why ara their aaoc* tod bit that each a menace caocht Aa o'er the atactec wire* weak! For ha who Cre ''Sweetheart, to wed! Sweetheart. “Thrloeobdead! Thylotoladeodr —Wank Dmatwter Sherman to OouMpoScia. SLOW AND SURE. James Iingsrd. an old and solid city merchant, had in hie employ two neph ew*. who had every opportunity of study ing in the coanting room the secret ot a successful business career. These were John Warren aud Stephen Grey. Both attained the age of 25 the same year, and both on the first of May were summoned into Mr. Ungard’s presence. He thus addressed them: “Yon have been in my employ eight yean: you know how my busineee U conducted, and I consider you competent to manage a business of your own. Though I should be glad to retain you longer as clerks, I will not stand in the way of your advancement. I have placed to the credit of each of. you, at my banker’s, tile sum of £5,000. This will supply you with a sufficient for embarking in business. With econo my in your personal expense*, and pru dent and judicious management, yon will succeed. Success to your This was a long speech for tbe old merchant, yet after a moment’s pause be added: “I have one thing more to say. This Is all I purpose to rlo for you. Yea have five times the capital I started with, and with it you must sink or swim. You have my best hopes and wishes, hut need look for no farther pecuniary aid.* His nephews thanked him heartily, and at once took measures to go into business. John Warren securedamodeat Shop at a moderate rent, and determined to do business oo a cash basis, contenting himself with such a stock as his own capital would' buy. He made his pur chases judiciously, and oveelooked every ; detail of his business personally. Stephen Grey had larger ideas. He hired a sliop at three times the tent, pushed his credit to the utmost, and made a great show at the outset. Both young men were engaged, and both soon married. Here, again, a differ ence was manifested. John Warren hired a small, neat cot tage just out of London, and furnished it in a cheap, inexpensive manner. One servant only was employed, who together with a boy to ran errands, was found sufficient for a small establishment. But Stephen Grey tamed np his nose at the cottage, and hired a city house at four times the rent, which, of course, re quired more servants and a larger scale ot expenditure. “Fra not going to live like a pauper," be said loftily. “But can you afford such a house. Stephen?" asked his cousin. “My badness profits wfll be much greater than yours,” be answered. “I begin where you will be five yean hence.” ' “Perhaps so,” said John shrewdly; “bqt when will you be then?” “Don’t fear for me." said Stephen con fidently: ‘Tin ashamed of you for not showing more enterprise. You’ve im mured yourself in an obscure . shop, where you will do next to no business.” “I don't know about that. I’d rather be slow and sure. It's better to hug the shore than get: wrecked in mid-ocean.” “Perhaps so, but I know I am on the way to fortune. Ten years from now I shall have turned my five thousand pounds into a hundred thousand, while you may possibly have fifteen.” “I see you are not to be convinced.” “Nor yon, I suppose.” “No, my motto is, ‘slow and sore.’ * “And mins, ‘nothing venture, nothing have.’” “Y.'cll, the future can akrne decide which of ns is right.” So the two cousins separated. I am bound to confess, though my own feeling is that John waa right, that circumstances seemed to justify Ste- plien in his course. It so happened that the particular classes of goods of which be had bought so largely, rose rapidly, owing to a state of thiags which needn’t be explained, and ‘as his stock waa large, his profits were also very large. Indeed, notwithstanding his personal ex penses were three times as great as his cousin’s, his balance sheet showed, at the end of the year, a clear profit of £3,000. In other words, he had doubled his capital, and was now worth £19,000. John had profited, too, by the rise, but on account of the more limited extent of his business, advanced to but £8,000. But with this he was well pleased, ami counted himself fortunate. “How about our different matters?” said Stephen one day about this time, in rather an exulting tone, to his cousin. “I have no reason to complain of mine,” said John, “it has served me well.” “But not so welf as mine.” “It is hardly time to feel sure of that yet,” said John. “I don't agree with you. I shall keep on os I have begun. Indeed, I shall ex tend my operations. I am in treaty for a larger store, and” “For a larger store?” exclaimed John, surprised. “Yes; it may suit you to poke along at a snail’s pace, but I boost a little more enterprise.” “You can’t expect things will always “It is too large for me.” h* am not yet ready to enlarge to’ tfc>ns beyond my present limit," “Weil, it's good ad vies I'm giving yon. whether you take it or not." “I’ve no doubt you think so, Stephen I hope you will meet with no reverses to shake your faith in your motto.” So the two cousins again separated, and each continued to do business in hie own way. Not only did Stephen In rtf r Mfi Ire amisame* eXDetUM bv O06KDT Inga store at a higher rent, requiring an additional number of decks, but he alar, moved into a larger bans* and set np « But circumstances still favored Ste plum, Th# rlfi hi prtr# rontfnufwt. ihoagL not toas great an extent, and M» stock being larger, ho cleared another five pnnfylf> H* began fco think oi Mwwtif mirtntincOflei W lucky,**d is no danger of any reverses. But at tbe end of the third year, which, was ieet favorable, he burefy hekl his own. Still, he waa worth fifteen thousand pounds. The tide had turned, and hotbould have taken in Bail. Bnt this ho saw noneces sity for doing. So foe two- years longer he kept on his way. In tint time- goods fell very considerably. His stock was very largo, and his losses afco-vury large. His property bad shrunk to eight thou sand dollars, while John's had increased to uine thousand, and ho waa now the richer of tho twa John how felt author ised in renting a somewhat larger shop, while Stephen remained in hi* own. I shall not be able, no*-would it be in teresting, to detail tho varying fortunes of the succeeding years. Suffice it to my, that at the end ot ten years John was worth fifteen thousand pounds, and waa carrying oo a sate and profitable business. Stephen found himself at a paint where failure was inevitable unless be oould obtain tbe immediate use of ten thousand pounds. His personal extra va gancs and ill judged expansion may ao- count for tblw, frt this dilemma be bethought himself of bis uncle. He made Ids way to the well knosm counting toom, and was shown Into Mr, Iiogard's private room. “I hope everything- Is going well, Stephen,” said the merchant. “O yes,” said Stephen, “that is, pretty welL But, to tell the truth, I’m In tight place just at present.” “Indeed: I'm sorry to hear it." “You see my operations ere pretty large, and I am afraid I shall have to suspend unless I con raise tea. thousand pounds within a week.” “That’s a large sum.” “Well, my business is large.' “What do you estimate your stock at?” “Twenty thousand pounds," “Will ten thousaud pounds set you free entirely?” “No," said Stephen reluctantly. “I have bills to theamouutof eight thou sand more maturing in six months.” “Deducting the proper margin, it is doubtful if your assets equal your liabili ties.” “A loan of ten thousand pounds would give me a chance to right myself. Will you come to my help. Mr. LiugardT" The old gentleman shook his head. “Frankly, no. I resolved when I start ed you in business to leave you to your* self without further help. Observing how you started, 1 foresaw how, things would turn nut. You have hold out longer than 1 anticipated.' “Then wlrnt mn l to do. air?” asked Stephen, gloomily. “1 advise you to call your creditors and make a frank statement. If they allow you to go on, contract your opera tions, take a smaller store, and begin over again. \t you prefer, however, I will give you a clerkship at five hundred pounds salary. I presume my partner will not object.” “Your partner, sir? Have you *»l«« oner “Yes, I find I am getting old and need, rest” > “May I ask who he is?” “It Is John Warren.” Stephen sprung to his feet in amaze ment, anger and envy, John Warren to be placed so far above his head! “Why is this?” be asked in an un steady voice. * • “It is because John Warren is a good, reliable business man. Had yon shown the same good judgment, sagacity and moderation I should have taken you also into partnership; bat I tell. you frankly, I cannot trust my business in your hands.” Stephen left tho office abruptly, angry and mortified. Ho was glad eventually to accept the clerkship, being utterly! wrecked in business. John Warren is at this time, his uncle being deceased,: the head of the great firm, and a very rich man. Stephen is a disappointed man,: but he has only himself to thank for it, —Horatio Alger, Jr., in Yankee Blade; | Population in tho South. ! Recently gathered statistics show that the present population of the southern spates is 19,489,150, aagHinst 14.638,838 in 1880,being an increase in ten years in the whole sonth of over 83 per cent The white population of the sonth has in creased a.little over 3,200,000, being now 12,218,430, while tho colored population shows an increase in ten years of about 1,600,000, being at this time 7,270,720.— Frank Leslie’s Newspaper. ■ - ! Wnj of tho Transgressor Te Hard. Wilson (who calls on Tommy’s sister)— How did you get that bump on your fore head, Tommy? 5S 3 Truthful Tom and sister through ( night, and I struck i_ door knob.—Yankee. mtmBM H