We arrived there about three o’clock, and the young man was still alive, though fast weakening. In an ordinary conversational manner he told us that his home was in Bunker Hill, Illinois, that his father was a banker, and that, after leaving school, he had been sent on a Western trip before assuming the business himself. Informed of his grave condition, he expressed his best wishes for all of us, and went under the anæsthetic with a happy smile. He died without ever returning to consciousness. At the coroner’s inquest it was decided that the Chinaman had suddenly gone insane from an overdose of opium, for, as the evidence showed, he had been pleasant enough during the day, and had talked to several ladies in the car, telling them that he had been recently converted to Christianity and that he proposed to preach in San Francisco. After his burial expenses had been paid, the balance of his money was forwarded to the Chinese Consul in the city toward which he was bound. There was an amusing sequel to the tragedy, though an exasperating one in some ways. Some months afterwards the keeper of one of the eating-stations, calling me to one side, inquired rather pointedly, “Have you noticed that the Chinese seem to be afraid of you?” I replied that I hadn’t given the matter any thought, either way. “Well,” he added, “Agent ----, of the U.P. (an opposition road), has told all the Chinks in the State that you killed their countryman for his money!” My Experiences in Algeria. BY THE BARONESS DE BOERIO. The Baroness’s husband, an officer in the French army, was ordered to Algeria, and took his wife and children with him. There, located at a tiny post far from civilization, in the midst of fierce and unruly tribes, the authoress met with some very strange adventures, which she here sets forth in a chatty and amusing fashion. I. How well I remember the day when my husband, an officer in the French army, was nominated for service in Algeria! I was still plunged in slumber when I was suddenly aroused by a diabolical yell (if you ask my husband he will hotly deny this, but men can never be believed). I sat up, thinking the end of the world had come, and saw my husband frantically waving a white paper and shouting: “Named in Algeria--1st Regiment of Spahis! With a wife and children it’s impossible! Why am I married?” “Well!” I said, still half asleep, but seizing the sense of the remark that referred to me. “_You_ ought to know why you are married. What’s the matter with you? Do you want a divorce?” “Don’t be frivolous; it is a serious matter,” he groaned, holding out the paper for my inspection. “Do you understand? I am nominated to an African regiment, the 1st Spahis, and in a fortnight I must be _there_.” “Do you mean that we--you and I--are going out to North Africa?” I cried. “Really? Hip, hip, hurrah!” “Are you mad?” he demanded, in astonishment.