In the past it has often Christians in been noted that Christian Jerusalem. consuls in Armenia and

other Western Asiatic Christian districts, were slow to condemn the Turks and uphold their Christian brethren, and it has leaked out on more than one occasion that if there is anything more detestable than the Turkish Mohammedan it is the Turkish Christian. King William, of Germany, has just made a pilgrimage to the Holy Sepulcher with his heart filled with sacred emotions, and he has just returned relieved of the burden of such emotions. His address to the evangelic clergy of Bethlehem has been published in Berlin. He said to those representatives of the church at the birthplace of Christ that," To describe the impressions of the last few days, I must say that I am, above all things, very disappointed. I did not want to say that here, but as I have heard that my court chaplain felt

They must be prevented, even by force, from quarreling with one another at this sacred spot. My visit to Jerusalem has shattered the dearest

illusion of my heart. Its squalid and undignifed decay are indescribable." W

EMPRESS OF AUSTRIA

seem from the fate of Luccheni that there is more horrible punishment than the noose or the guilotine. The Neues Weiner Tagblatt of Vienna gives some details of the dungeon in which Luccheni is now confined at Geneva. It is subterranean and entirely isolated from the other parts of the immense prison. It has no windows; its walls are of cold, generally damp, stone; its floor of stone, its ceiling of stone. It is as dark as night and not a sound from the outside world ever penetrates its thick and massive walls. In the awful darkness and maddening solitude of this dungeontomb Luccheni will probably pay for his crime by the loss of his eyesight and his reason. Only once a fortnight is he permitted to walk in the prison courtyard for half an hour. With this exception, his whole life will be spent in darkness aud solitude. He does not even see the attendants who bring him his daily rations at six o'clock every morning and pass them through an opening over the iron door which closes the dungeon. A more terrible fate than that of the assassin Luccheni can hardly be imagined. Luccheni has appealed against the life sentence passed upon him by the Assize Court. w

Luzon.

An official report from MaThrough nila gives an interesting account of a tour through the island of Luzon by Paymaster Wilcox and Naval Cadet Sargent, of the United States monitor Monadnock. They spent six weeks in the interior, during the months of October and November, and were well treated by the natives. Traveling, however, was most difficult. They crossed the provinces of Pang Asina and Nueva Noija, and then traveled over the mountains. The scenery was magnificent, but the roads were execrable. The officers next visited the water shed of the Rio Grande and Cazayan. They say its fertility is marvelous. Not a yard of barren land was seen, the towns were quiet and prosperous, the plains were highly culti

vated, and the mountains were splendidly timbered. The rivers were mostly without bridges, and are almost impassable during the rainy season. Near Ilagan the natives mistook Mr. Sargent for a Spaniard and opened fire, but nobody was hurt. Messrs. Wilcox and Sargent enjoyed three days' festivities at Ilagan. There were dinners, theater parties and a ball in honor of the Americans, who were immensely surprised at the culture and education of the people. The latter wear western dress and the ladies are beautiful, entirely falsifying the anticipations of semi-savagery.

The insurgent troops have everywhere, apparently, settled down, and there were no signs of dissatisfaction with a guideless government. There are many Spanish soldiers and friars in captivity, but no sisters of charity were observed among the prisoners.

They sailed down a splendid river to the extreme north of the island of Luzon, where they arrived in November, on board the insurgents' steamer Philinos. From there the apparently idle travelers took a steamer to Oslow, on the west coast, and landed and tramped through the province of Ilocos, near the mountains inhabited by the Negritas, or black aborigines. They saw none, but they collected a number of interesting weapons and implements. That part of the country is apparently quiet, except in the mountains, where a state of primitive savagery exists.

The insurgent officers had just received Aguinaldo's proclamation not to permit foreigners to carry weapons, so the Americans arranged to have everything of that nature forwarded to them later. The two officers reached Santo Tomas with difficulty, because the bridges had been washed away a century ago, and had never been rebuilt. Only temporary bamboo bridges are erected during the dry season each year. From Santo Tomas the travelers went by boat to Dagupan, where they took the train for Manila.

yet his eyes were as clear as those of a man of thirty, and his voice together with his movements suggested a man much younger.

I wondered what kind of a woman his wife would prove to be. I did not have long to surmise, however, for the negress had barely cleared away the remains of my lunch when the door opened and in came Mrs. Walters; a fine looking woman of twenty-seven or eight, with brown hair and liquid blue eyes, a beautiful complexion little tinted by the sun and a bearing that well marks the college bred.

She did not stay long, for after Mr. Walters had introduced me, she excused herself saying she hoped to meet me at breakfast and having a headache would retire.

My host suggested a smoke before retiring, to which I readily acquiesced, and we were soon seated before the open fire-place watching the smoke from our cigars as it was sucked up the chimney, or floated in wreaths toward the ceiling.

As I looked at his grey hair I fancied there might be a story connected with it, and I resolved, if possible, to hear it. So I broke the silence by remarking that if he were not loth to tell me, I would like to know how a person to all appearances so young had such very grey hair.

My host looked up with a smile, and after flecking the ashes from his cigar and blowing a number of rings of smoke toward the ceiling, said:

ha! ha! But Jim was a married man; had a wife and one daughter, a wonderful specimen of budding womanhood about eighteen years old, good looking and just as good as she looked.

"Well, I had such a cordial welcome at Jim's house that I became almost one of the family, so to speak, and Fannie and I came to know each other quite well.

That was ten years ago; I

was a poor young man then twenty years old and had been on the road but two years. Miss Fannie had graduated with honors at the high school of Wilton and was attending college at Maynard, spending her vacations at home. We were, consequently, thrown into each other's company a great deal, and very pleasant company I found it, too.

“Jim and I were at the postoffice together when the letter came, and noticing his face light up as he read the contents, I asked what the good news was. Good news to be sure,' said he. Fannie is coming home on No. 5, we'll just go up and tell mother to wait lunch for her; it won't be very late, only 10:30.'

"So we went up to the house and told Mrs. Swanton. Jim always called her mother, and after lighting our cigars, settled down to a game of chess.

"I looked at my watch. It was just 6:40. We had one hour till leaving time. I bade Mrs. Swanton good bye and hurried to my rooms to change my clothes, and a few minutes later found me in the yards and on the engine, having secured a lunch on the way. I felt ready for most anything, though I hated to leave town on this particular night.

"The 99 was a good engine, a ready steamer and ran as smooth as a top. She was very fast, had large drivers, having been built for passenger service, but she was no good as a freight engine. "I hurried around and filled my lamps, looked at the ash pan, filled the lubricator, examined the sand box, measured the water in the tank, and after seeing everything in good shape commenced to oil around. I had just finished oiling when Jim came up with his orders. We coupled up to eighteen loads of merchandise and getting the signal ran out on the main line.

'As we were pulling out Jim called my attention to an engine standing on the coal track. "That's her,' said he, that's our old mill, she is just out of the shops and as spick and span as ever you please; she's ready to go out on her trial trip.'

"I looked out, and sure enough there was 77, I could see the number on her headlight. She was another one of the heavy passenger engines which had been put into the freight service during the heavy rush of business, and I looked back with some regret, thinking it rather unfair that they did not give us the trial trip instead of the extra. I had little time to think of it, however, for we were out in the open and on our way to Sidney, a run of ten miles.

"We pulled into Sidney at 8:02 and stopped for orders, which were: Hold

extra south, engine 99, for Number 5.' "That meant we were to wait there until the midnight express had passed, a matter of two hours to wait. I was disgusted, but on second thought, we would be able to see Miss Fannie for a couple of minutes.

"I looked at my watch. It was 8:15; she had not reached Dalton yet, the only place at which she would stop until she passed us at Sidney. The only thing we could do was to get in the clear; that is to say, back up and head in on the passing track, to be out of the way when she came. So we backed up and pulled in on the next track until opposite the depot.

"Jim went into the office, and after putting things in shape I followed, and soon the whole crew were sitting in the ticket office talking to the operator and listening to the click, click, of the instruments, as the messages flew over the wire to hold this or that train, or to pick up the president's car at Dalton. This was all Greek to the most of us, but Jim could understand it very well, having been an operator in a Western Union office before he went to work on the road.

"After lighting our pipes, we settled down to listen to the click of the key and to quiz the operator about his 'best' girl, to his evident discomfiture.

"Finally the clicking stopped and the operator looked up. 'Number 5 just left Dalton,' said he. Looking at the clock I saw it was just 8:35, she was late and was no doubt trying hard to make up time, I thought, and I imagined I could see her as she flew into the Cherry Creek tunnel, with the sparks flying from her stack like a volcano during an eruption, and as she came out with a roar, my chum, Dick Carney, moving her grates and watching the steam-gauge, then a bright flash as