fV'i THE AVOWAL. * t love thee! oh, do words can say Ono half idv love, howo'nr I try, And yet my hoart must have Its way And seek expression in a cry * X call to thoo with p*nga forlorn I lovo thoo I oh, 1 love thee, «wo>t. rt Though met with anger and with scorn; /• Still would my lips my love rope&t * I love thoci oh. would thou couldst know I lie hunger of my lonely heart Amid tho throng 1 hide my woo • ’f And mask with smiles the .secret sravrt. X love thoe! oh. X lovo thee, nil My hopes and dreams around thee ran?® Thou, li storm betide and wreck befall. My deathless passion no or can chunjo. Xlovo thee: lo, all pomp and pow>r IXesfdc thy lovo would sink from altfhfc: W, A»»d even Olory's crimson flower 1. *\ould pule before that pearl of lljfbt I ;* Owfttehkwi pearl! If It wore mine, & 8o happv all my days would be. My he.irt would throb with bliss divine, And antfcl oyo§ would envy mo —Samuel Min turn Pock. THE MERCHANT'S CRIME. BY HORATIO Af.OKIt, JR. CHAPTKIt VI—CoNTiNr'F.u 5t5 As Paul Morton ontored, tho dying man turned his glaring eyos toward him, and then toward tho boy at his < sldo, as if again to commend him to his caro. l’aul understood, and with . palo faco ho noddod as if to assure the dying man that ho undertook tho trust. Thun a more cheerful look carnn ovor tho faco of Ralph. Uo looked with a glance of tender loro at his son, then his head sank wuvu. iiio ujbk ciusou, ana uio o.cutu loft his body. 'l'ho deed was consummated! Ralph % Raymond was dead I •‘Poor gentleman! So ho’s dead:” •aid tho nnrso with a professional sigh. “and no doubt ho’s bettor o!T.” No answer was mado to this ro mark. Noithor Raul Morton nor Robert seemed inclined to sneak. The former was brought fuee to faco with the consequonue of his crime. Tho Inttor was lillod with the first desolation of grief. Throe days . later tho funeral took place. l’aul Morton took caro that everything should bo in strict accordance with tho wealth and position of the do ceased. Ho strove to sutlsfy his troublesome conscience by paying V the utmost respect to tho man for whoso death he had conspired. Owing to the long absence of Ralph Kj Raymond from tho country there >-wore not very many who remember ed him, but Paul Morton invitod his owu friends and acquaintances liber ally, and the invitation was accepted by a large number as thoro aro ol , ways those who havo some morbid 'toolings and appear to enjoy appear ing at a funeral. Tho rooms wero T. draped In black. Tho door boll was 1 mu fled in crape, and tho prosenco of jy death In the house was ostentatious ly made known to all who passed. if>- Among these there was James Crora well, who for some reason, nearly .every evening, after his hours | Of labor were over, came up to take •• # look at the housos in Twenty* ninth street, which appeared to havo • great attraction for him. When f he saw tho qrapo ho managed to learn through a servant the precise hour of the funeral, and applied to his employer for loave of absence on that dav, “ft will be inconvenient,” said his employer.. ••I must go," said tho olerk, “I wish to attend a funeral.” -y Supposing that it must bo tho fu neral of a relation, or at least, a friond, the employer made no iur , ther objection. As tho timo. of tho service approached, James Cromwell attired himself in his best, and m>vte i. hla way to the house. His entraWSo - was unnoticed among the rest, for y: thoro was a large number present. I'f Ho got into an out-of-the-way corner, . and listened attentively to the sol If emu service for the dead, as per y formed by one of tbe most eminent clergymen In the city. Among the rest his eye rested on Paul Morton, who sat with his face buried "in his handkerchief. At length Paul looked f rom-be hind ’ the handkerbhie f, and his eye roved over- the company. Suddenly be turned livid. His eye met that of a thin young man, with light hair, inlan out-of-the-way cor ner, and he remembered at once un x1 der what circumstances they had met before., • ,_ . CHAPTER VII. Paul Morton Has a Visitor. Paul. Morton’s^ consternation can hardly, bql described, whop, in tho number who had oome to witness the funeral ceremonies of Ralph Ray mond. ho recognized tho shopman in the obsouve , druggist’s shop whore he had purchased the poison. The •weat stood out upon his brow, and he eagerly questioned himself—how much did this man know,or what did . he suspect, or was his presence pure ly accidental r * 1 But he could hardly believe that a .man in suoh a position would attend the funeral, unless he had some ob ject in view. How bad he found out Ills name and residence? Was it pos ' aib'.e that he had been tracked? He looked furtively at the young man, now grown an ob:ect of strange and - dreud interest to him. He noted his insignificant features, and tne gen j. eral meanness of his appearance, and *'•' he began to pluok up courage. - ••Suppose hp does suspect any thing, ” he thought; “will his testl , mnny be bolieved against mine? A miserable druggist’s clerk, probably nm a starvation salary. At the worst 4 can buy him off for a small sum." Feassured by these thoughts, he ... recovered his boldness, and in look ing about him, did not hesitate to meet the gaze of James Cromwell, without suffering a trace of the first .agitation to be seen. But that first Agitation had been observed at the time by the.druggist's clerk,- and he had drawn his own Conclusions from : ■■ It, . ! 1 -■ 'i • “ f •«He has used the poison." he said j t> to himself, '-and it is for that reason that my presence alarms him,’’ he Mil • »<.■■>■... -t ■ ■< ' /» • ■ '. ' * -• %v. * -W,- -Ajk, Tho company who wore assembler, loft tho house, and with them Jumes Cromwell. Ho wept back { to his room, not feeling that it was or Im portance to remain heigor. He had shown himself at the funeral, ho bad boon recoermzoJ, and thus ho had paved tho way for the,. Interview which he meant to have, and that vory shortly. Two evenings later, ho approached tho house in Twenty ninth street, and ascending th<^ stops, boldly rang the boll. Tho servant who answered the summons, looked at him inquiringly, suppos ing from his appearance that ho had merely como to bring some message. ••Is Mr. Mortou at home?” “Yeti, ho is at home.” "I would liko to see him.” “Ho doesn’t bee visitors, on ac count of a death in tho family. I will carry your mossage.” “I must soo him,” insisted the clork. boldly. “1 don't think ho will soo you.” ‘•I do. So go and tell him I am hero.” ••What name shall I carry to him?” “The name Is of no consequence. You ean toll him that the young man whom ho noticed at the funeral is horo, and wishos to soo him on vory Important business.” "Thut’s a queer message,” thought the servant, hut concluded that it was some one who hud something to do with furnishing something for the funeral, and wils anvlnas to .r,»t iu P»v Mr. Morton was sitting: in his library, or a room furnished with hooks, which went by that name, when tho servant entered. “Thoro is somebody to see you, sir." sho said. “Who is it?” “I don’t know his name." “is it a gentleman?" “No, sir." ••Did you toll him I was not receiv ing visitors now?" ••Yet, sir.” “Well?” "Ho said ho wanted to see you on vor.v important business.” “Why didn't he give his name?" "Ilo said that I was to tell you it was the young man you noticed at the funeral,” said tho servant. Mr. Morton turned pale, but at once recovered himself. “I am not sure that I know who it is," ho said, “but I can easily ascer tain.^ You may bring him up.” “You are to come up,” said the girl, reappearing. James Cromwell smiled in con scious triumph. “1 thought so.” ho said to himself. ••Well, now for my game. It will bo a difficult one, but I will do my best.” Loft aiono, Paul Morton began to considor how ho should treat tho now-coraor. Ilo resolved to aflfeet no recognition at first and after wards indl.Terenee. Ho thought ho might bo able to overawo the young man, from hi3 own superiority in social position, and so prevent his carrying out tho purposes ho pro posed. Accordingly, when Jumes Cromwoll ontorod tho room he arched his brows a little, and looked in quiringly at him. “Have you business with mor" ho said, abruptly. “Did not my servant inform you that, on account of a re cent death, 1 am not receiving callers at present. ?” “I thought you would see mo,” said the young man. with a mixture of familiarity and boldness. "if you havo no business with mo, I am at a loss to know why you have intruded yourself upon me at such a time. Perhaps, however, you were unaware of my recent affiiction.” “I am quite aware of it, Mr. Mor ton. In fact, I was presont at the funeral, if you refer to the death of Mr. Raymond, and unless I am greatly mistaken, you yourself ob served mo there." “You wore present at the funeral! What brought you hore?" “That seems rather an inhospitable question. For some reasons of my own, I felt an interest in what was going on in this house, and made it my business to become accualnted with all that passed. Whon'l heard of Mr. Raymond's death, I resolved at once to attend the funeral.” “1 suppose you must have known Mr. Faymond, then,” said Paul Mor ton, with something of a sneer. “No, I had not the pleasure of a personal acquaintance with the gen tleman," said James Cromwell, who, far from being overawed by the evi dent haughty -tone of the other, pre served his composure with admirable success. “Was Mr. Raymond rich?” he asked nonchalantly. “You impertinent scoundrel! be gone instantly, or I will summon my servants and have you kicked down my front steps'” “That might not be altogether prudont, Mr. Morton,” said James Cromwell. “Might not be prudent! What do you meun by your cursed impu dence?” demanded the merchant, glaring furiously at the druggist’s clerk. * “What do I mean?" repeated James Cromwell. “Do you wish me to answer your question?” “I demand that you answer my question, and that immediately,” said the merchant, hardly knowing what he did. so carried away was he 1 by his unreasonable anger. i “Very well. I will do so,” said the clerk, quietly; “but, as it may take a brief time, will you not be kind | enough to resume your seat?” j CHAPTER-VIII. James Cromwell's Triumph. The coolness displayed by James Cromwell had its eflteot upon the | merchant. Mechanically* he obeyed, and resumed his seat • ! ••Sav what you have to say, and be ' done with it,” he muttered.. ! “It may be necessary for me to re mind you that 1 am employed in a druggist’s shop on tho Bowery.” ••I hope you like your situation,” said Paul Morton with a sneer. "No, I don’t liku it, and that is the reason why I have come to you. hoping that you will help me to something bettor.” This was sukl with quiot self possossion, and Paul Morton began to reull/o with umiasiness that this young man, whom ho had looked upon with contempt, was not so easily to be overawed or managed as ho had expoctod. ‘•This is a cool request, consider ing that you are a comparative stranger to me.’' “Tlivn,” said James Cromwell, leaning slightly forward, and look ing intently at Mr. Morton, "may I ask to wliut uso you have put tho subtle poison which you purchased of mo ton days since?" Tho color rushed to Paul Morton’s fuce at this direct interrogation. "Tho poison?” ho repeated. "Yos, you cortainly have not for gotten tho purchase.” ••1 think you must bo mistaken in the person.” “l’ardon me, I am not." "Suppose that I did buy poison, how should you Idontify me with the purchaser, und how came you to know whore I lived?” "I sent a boy to follow you home,” entn f'pnmtroll ••You dared to do that?” ‘•Why not? We have no curiosity about our croinary customers, but when a person makes such a pur chase as you did, wo feel inclined to learn all wo can about him. ’’ “A praiseworthy precaution! Well, I admit that I did buy the poison. What then?" “I asked to what purpose you had put it?” “Very well, I have no objection to tell you. although 1 deny your right to intrude in my private affairs, which I regard as a piece of gross impertinence. I bought it, as I think I stated to you at the time, at the request and for the use of a friend. “Would you tell me the fr'iond’s name?” asked the clerk imperturba bly. “Ho livo3 in Thirty-seventh street.” “What is his narao?” “None of your business.’’exclaimed the merchant passionately. “I beg your pardon, but I was blamed by my employer for non tak ing down the name of the purchaser, and I told him in return that I would gather full particulars.” ‘•You may tell him it is all right. He must have heard of me and of my firm, and that will satisfy him.” “But the name of this gentleman in Thirty-seventh stroet—” • Is not necessary to the purpose." “Has thero been a death in his family within ten days?” asked the clerk in quiet tones, but there was a significance in them that sent a thrill through the frame of the lis tener. “What makes you ask that?” he stammered. “I will toll you,” said James Crom well boldly.throwing off his reserve. “It is as well to be frank, and there is no use in mincing matters. I do not beliove this story of the man in Thirty-Seventh stroet. I think you bought tho article for your own use. Since the purchase there has been a death in your house.” “Your inference is ridiculous,” said the merchant nervously. “My intimato and dear friend, Mr. Ray mond, was sick of an incurable dis ease.as the physician will testify.and it could have terminated in no other way.” “I am quite willing to believe you are right,” said the clerk. Still, un der the circumstances, you will not object to an investigation. I feel it my duty to inform a coroner of the facts in the case, and if on. examina tion no traces of the action of poison can be found in the deceased, of course you are entirely exonerated from suspicion." [TO BE CONTINUED.} Counter Irritation. One of the popular English authors of the day was wholly incapacitated from work by a lady who lived next door and strummed through Han del’s “Mossiah.” His idea of the in violability of an Englishman’s house did not allow him to send in any messago, and he was at his wits’ end until he saw in a daily paper that steam-whistles could be bought to fit on kettle-spouts. He provided himself with one, and put the kettle on the fire in the room nearest the singer. As soon as the whistle be gan he went out. Of course the bottom came off the kettle, but it cost little to solder it on agaiu, and after two or three solderings the lady took the hint—Argonaut llrotherijr Love. Tommy Hardnut—Will my brother go to heaven, too? Sunday School Teacher—Yes; it he is good. Tommy—Well, if I’m there I’ll bet you he’ll go out quicker than he came in there. Teacher—I wouldn’t let that worry mo, Thomas. You will probably be somewhere else. —Texas Siftings. The Central American Ape. On an island off the Mosquito coast, Nicaragua, Central America, there is a species of ape very closely resembling the African gorilla, both in size and in its sunny disposition. How it came there is only a matter of conjecture—for it departs unduly from the characteristics of the American monkey tribe. The Silk Industry In Crete. Measures are being taken by the authorities of Crete to revive the silk industry of the island, which was once flourishing, but which has boen dwindling for some years owing to the use of bad seed. A good sup* ply is to be furnished free. THECAMORRA IN ITALY. CUSTOMS OP A TERRIBLE BLACKMAILING SOCIETY. All Classes Fay Tribute to the rowerful Organization Which Defies the Gov ernment—Chief Clcclo's Remarkable Career of Crime. As an organized secrot society the Camorra was doubtless introduced into Southern Italy at the time of the Spanish domination. Little by little the institution crept into the nation al life, and to-day, in spite of the repeated knocks that it ha-i had on the head from a determined govern ment since the unification of Italy, it is still so powerful that even its namo causes a shudder. There are all grades of Camor rists, from the olegant signore who cheats at cards in parlors or clubs, or who blackmails families whose skeleton in tho closet he has dis covered, and who imposes his medi ation in business matters in order to get some profit out of tho affair, down to the lower strata. The Camorrist of ths lower classes works on servants of all classes—the cook in her kitchen, the butler, the coachman and the gardeners. Of course, he reaps a rich harvest from all gambling houses, lottery estab lishments, and from usurers, who have to pay him a regular foe. The Camorra of the lower classes threatens with his knife.or his razor, or his revolver. The Camorra of tho upper class threatens with the sword, or the knife, or some hired assassin. The youth who has entered the Camorra remains for some years al most the slave of tho chief Camor rist of the section in which ho lives. Incidents are very common in the Southern Italian cities of the im prisonment of a young Camorrist for a crime which is known to have been committed by an older one. Toward 30. if ho has good luck, the novico, having passed through the various grades, is admitted to the rank of Camorra proprietor, or be comes a partner in tho co-operative ■enterprise of theft, murder and blackmail. The Camorrists have their special cafes, their hotels, their houses into which no others penetrate, and where they live in luxury. The punishments for offensos against the Camorra are terribly se vere. Treason, spying, the stealing of the society’s money, the unau thorized murder of a member of the society in quarrel or for jealousy are all punishod by death. Less grave offenses, like rebellion, are punished by fines, or sometimes by exclusion from the society, or with beatings which often break the limbs or disfigure tho features of the culprit, or—and here is a very cu rious detail of Italian life—with the “Sfregia” This is a slashing blow with a koen-bladed razor in the face, and is the most common form of vengeance exercised by the agents of the Camorra in the lower ranks of society. There have boon many celebrated Camorrists whose relations have ex tended even to the highest circles of nobility, says the New York Jour nal. The famous Ciccio, a Neapol itan type, whoso many exploits have been legendary for a quarter of a century, exercised an almost royal power. Many amusing incidents of his magnanimity are given. On one oc casion a professor of- music in Na ples came home to find that his splendid grand piano had been car ried off. Evidently the Camorra was the only society big enough to un dertake such an extensive theft as this in broad daylight, bo the poor professor went to Ciccio and submit ted his case to him, explaining that he could not gain his livelihood without his piano, and humbly ex pressed the hopo that the Camorra would not ruin him. "Go home,” said Ciccio, "and your piano will bo in its usual place very soon, although I haven’t tho slight est idea where it is now.” in a few hours Ciccio had sum moned all tho Camorrists of Naples before him, and given orders for tho restoration of the piano. He was at once obeyed, and the delighted pro fessor went to him with a fine gold watch as a present. Ciccio flew into a rage, and literally kicked him out of the place. Ciccio was quite a magnificent prince of blackmail. On great oc casions, festivals and holidays, he used to parade in a carriage lined with satin and gold lace, drawn by three magnificent black horses, har nessed in the Russian fashion, with yellow leather trappings, plated with thick silver. uruve ms spiencim team himself, and saluted right and left almost as if he were a roydl per sonage^ About three-fourths of the people of Naples daily felt his power more than they felt that of the reigning monarch. A person who accompauied Ciccio one day to a great festival remarked that ail the carriages on the road allowed him to pass them, and all the women crowded to the windows of the houses to admire the mag nificent Ciccioi Little by little, however, the power of Ciccio began to decline. His al most regal sway had aroused many rivals, and the authorities took ad vantage of this to worry the sig norino, as the populace called him. lint a little later he was arrested for some one of his innumerable crimes, and was sent into foroed ex ile in a little island of the Sicilian coast It was said that when he went to the steamer between two carabineers, chained to each of them, a vast concourse of people on the docks and in little boats is the^ harbor saw him off with as tnaujr honors as if ho had. boon a I isiting prince instead of ft blackmailer of a distinguished reputation. No sooner had Ciccio reached the island whore he was to pass a cer tain time a virtual prisoner than he had a quarrel with some ambitious Camorrists who had been sent there before him, not, perhaps, without a secret hope on the part of the gov ernment that they would kill the famous Ciccio. One of them came up to the great man, and, to annoy him. familiarly offered him a cigar. Cic cio boxed the fellow's ears, bringing the blood to his nostrils, and said to him that he did not allow inferiors to offer him anything. The Camorrist called a dozen of his comrades to his aid, and they rushed upon Ciccio, but they did not know their man. The hardy hero of a thousand armed encounters in the streets of Naples, the great chief of blackmail, armed himself with a huge piece of wood, backed against the wall and laid the whole party out in about five minutes. The num ber of broken heads and arms and disfigured faces was great. Ciccio was master in the island as long as he remained there. This celebrated Ciccio diod about two years ago at the age of 52 of an epileptio attack, and not a single journal in Italy spoke of him in terms otherwise than extreme politeness. BEFORE THE CRUSADERS. The ImmcDse Trade Carried on BetweeL Europe and Asia. Tho trade and manufactures ol the Christian realm in Palestine were regulated. Moslem caravans were protected by treaty and mer chants of Mosul were established in Acre. The imposts on every kind of merchandise wore fixed and custom houses and toll-bars were established along the roads or at the city gates. There was also an excellent law, says a writer in the Edinburgh Review, that none might carry arms in the streets, which must have pre vented many violent outbreaks. in tho bazaars of Aleppo and Damascus were to be found the carpets of Bagdad and Persia, with glass from Irak, and Chinese por celain, ivory and perfumes, sandal wood-musk and aloos, olives and spices, silks, velvets, satins, cloth, including camlets of camel-hair curtain from Syria, and cotton. Many precious eggs were sold, such as opium and rhubarb, tamarind, can thaiides, cardamons, scammony and senna. A great trade with Northern Rus sia, having its port at the mouth of the Don, brought from the “land of darkness" rich furs of ermine, the Siberian squirrel, the red and white fox, the marten, beaver, otter and wildcat. The Latins were very fond of fur for dress and for the “mantle" of scarlet, fur-lined, in which they slept The furriers had a street in Jerusalem, and the Moslems, also, especially in the north, were equally accustomed to the use of precious furs. The trading stations of the Jews, the Genoese and the Venetians ex tended far into Turkestan, north of Oxus, and at Aden, the Arab traders of the Red sea met in Chinese junks and brought the wealth of India and of tho far East to the Italian markets in Alexandria. Moslem laws al lowed the pilgrim to Mecca to trade on his journey. Hard to But. Playwright—Is her acting natural? Manager, enthusiastically—-Natural! Why, when she appeared as the dy ing mother last night an insurance agent who has her life insured for £4,000, and who was in the audience, actually fainted—Pearson’s Weekly. A Sasadoan Wooer. Mabel—Papa is getting anxious about your calls. Yesterday he wanted to know who you were. Adorer—Urn—I say, Mabel, if he mentions the subject again, tell him you heard me grumbling about high taxes.—New York Weekly. CONVERSATIONAL WAIFS. ‘‘These girls that marry foreigners ought to be very careful.” “Well, as a general rule they examine the titles pretty closely.” Figg—Chestermead is a very gentle manly fellow. Fogg—You may well say that. I have known him to-pur posely run into people on the side walk m order to say something polite and pleasinsr. Bertha—Sometimes you appear real ly manly, and sometimes you are-abso lutely effeminate. How do you ac count for it? Harold—I supnose it is hereditary. Half my ancestors were males and the other half females. “Yon are indeed kind to me,” said the bore, languishing, “but, Ethel, I would rather have you sincere than kind.” “And I, on the contrary,” said the eoinmonsense girl, earnestly, “would rather be kind thau disagree able.” * “Mr. Silverback, who are you sup porting in this campaign?" Mr. Sil verback—My son-in-law, sir. “Well —oh—1 didn’t know he was a candi date.” Mr. Silverback—^issibly, not, sir, possibly not; but 1 have to sup port him all the same. ’Then, when you have finished your lecture,” said the professor of elocu tion and deportment to young Dulle, “bow gracefully, and leave the plat form on tiptoe.” “Why on tiptoe?" queried Dulle. “So as not to waka the audience,” replied the professor. Auntie—How very industrious you are, I love to see little boys studying at home. Little Johnny—Yes’m 1 always learn all my lessons at henna Auntie—That’s exactly what all chil dren should do. Little Johnny—Yes’m. 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