wll’

a

ers an

oe

*.

ae a.

be ee

Ae Sy geet Be PH

oy

i

A ~~ i i * ‘1 \ oO 1} 1. i ; Ui So eves \ S \ , i ; i camumesntmameenmns ashi at a 7a S CHAP I \

With the i able kn ‘ ves f stran ‘ . £. t o a Wou i

; - ‘ i é a © & o r ‘ j rh } g j gy . Ss r } rT i - . ed i - was, prod i tn i s in i , ne | n g } the dia. 4.4 net is hing l) res bod pep wt ning, i it j i the D9 ¢ i > - toms aba ghtly after so:ne hours’ active treatia t € ould bo out

ype of very

*W I ns r know us & s t se 4 1 ber aands,

Poss bl; gh I fear it ¥ y be durir . ' y $10 ii » 8nd Woen ifs pus r r s 3 m5 7

. n ’ eT J ~*% tring ia ao tha t t him ‘ L WW ed: kt may rem nu any 1ré and lif lf ¢ f

+}

ence t he drt and th periect i

*4 t!

Cc 3 ” ut wa i I + a Droken i tiivg that ean be d takes place I wiii send com? oO intly

‘7 t I him t Wut i 1 = OTe nothug 4 I l:e.s toiat has killed him

Kate's head drocped — ‘ten since her unele’s se zure, b 0 had whiss

yw 60 harsh+

pered toi rt

ly uttered ore he accuzer lag i yim of ine vect ve she had

* Yee,’ cor women, talkiny herveli in . Was @D evi day {or we ae ue lil ¢ feot in my house, w J’ brttul Yilog way there's bee. no | ‘ 1 it ever since, what with rob j—for ot sucha foo as to Lieve @ r e tales, ’m not to be tsken in t edit t you'd etick by the tricf lk you a aie , You ‘re nothing to him, or t yi--then ’ticins Edward away his } : eilli his poor father Qo! you mass of wickednes, | hi -¢ h don’t swal- low you up, ttand: ur smooth false airs! Get out of mys git, do!’

Slowly, with « fa en pon the grownd, and & counten ‘ ed rigid, Kate eroseced the roow, and went out at the open d r > ¥ h cn i i t polni e It was more by instinct than éisht that she found her way, and dea th ple with Wiomn th } 2.4 ‘ or r eves seemed t ' ) I I t, hike al! e s, appeared to be fursaks ing her

Close by t © chamber « if Was M ~ I u Val, the strang: With an angry feeling

of disgust e had lissened to Mrs. Groge’s vulgar, biting words, but bow much of his syupathy, and confidence in her innocence, Ka'hirims owed to her beauty «nd grace o manne’, it would be to tell

Walking blindly or, as Mr. foreezon, Katharine did n stairs, until she stambled upon the first; bat befora eh» his ready hand ‘was ouls'retched tosave ber, and thon, firm- ly drowing bor arm within b's own, he led her down into tke sitting room he had found out t» be Mr. Grove’s, and placed her ona chair.

For many mi

difficu!

cou'd fal’,

utes neithe

‘poke.

She seems ug but her own

dalive to nt bitter r:flectio.s, and |e in gazog

>

s tco oceup'ed upon the beactiful face, over which every passing thong vt left its traee, to wish to i.t-rrupt the il .ce,

At last, roused by the soun'’s of lamentas tion which came from the Katharine lookedygsudden'y up fret t'm ¢ ec e oft a

room above, , and fer the

presence tanger. Under a: stanees she m slit

o her cireum<- have been embarrassed

aod shy, but now all lesser things were |

j

Du Val had | see or heed the!

|

eae

t aron f remorse— that ber uncle was| ber away. | . { are . : a ; : : ; . ‘ieanwh'le Katharine, who, far too anxious ft hor a ¢ : i 1) eo. hor | tO remain below, bad erept up stirs oe f al Mr. Du Val, end s‘anding timidly outst | I aS avd= | * . ae : 7 the door, bad hoard the surzeon’s leame | } ime { NI words, now resentered the room. : ri ry, that Mr. e : } ] It was empty; for all the people, who had : r been ~ ie sin : l swded the chamber to hear and ese what y { } 2110 r ‘ ; : ' + | th uld, had disappeared with the doctor r 1 m rene : } and Mr. Du Val; and there, alone, but hap Ww 8 wilh 1 . " : pily unconsst the desertioa, lay the dy- } ‘ . +} { \ _ } lieved by the eurgeon’s asaurance from sai oe pies é e terrible idea that she was the cause of | ’ yoker t e@ourteous ' ’ iw } uncle’s iInese, Katharine’s energies was t 0 ¢ nd'iy hones ae | , wy | set fr again; ant recollecting all the in- t in v y : } mi i ns she had reesived. she began at ence ich nttared ther st d misers , L bind : ,|to carry them out. Fora long, long time Rise } k Ine 2, | : j had giv there was no change, to all appearance ; but Ie eh wive t i t! yf th tlenoththe heavy ey ds began to quiver « i eu pie ‘ ? ’ ¢ hefore he htly, and the whole countenance to los Ww j befor : , | mewhy { its senseless looks. t her head forward upon the somewhat of its sensel < : oa ; : o . } *) 7 c t ir ‘ ‘ : Isas impuise of a child | Eagerly, though gent'y Kate went on wil L ro aSs x tg t a : » wita : : f with the applications; but although her »abanito { herself to her bitter griel. . : ot ti than he could have | anxisty was 60 intense as almos' to stil the ( a iouger tithe ian he uid hav ‘ ’ ae ! I du Val ree atines of her heart, and sha felt as if sh looght it p ssible Maurice Du Vai perzes beatings of he :

ej in his attempts to scothe his compan-

till at last Katharine, raising her head,

asked, in atone of such utter wretchedness eG @ire li, ave I rea ly killed my uncle ? say that the shock was indeed the| se of this ( No, certsin'y not,’ answered Mr, Du Val | ecided’y ; ‘h “said such thing ; on the | he said that the attack must have | vnzo rs time, end that, al-

Are you sure, ovite sure?’ demand-

ed Katharine, who hed listened breathleis-— |

ly, ‘or,’ sxe added, w

iut-nee avxiety, ‘are you cnly saying this} ‘ It is very near the end now. I aA aes a ’ ¢ ¢ © : . to f me ?* ‘ Do you feel weaker, John, tO CO & 4 . j : ‘nN I on! peat what the surgeon said ‘No, but I feel—dying. Come closer to d ney I { woat (f z is . 5 : eh me, my Wife. I want to talk to you. + r YO i 3 yi exXagvera a we } y ave ‘ ha j “ae were true,’ | She is seated between the bed and the ‘ c i oly i ere 6, : . f 1 woman still young, and strangely & ed pp gir ee 4 ' wn. if || beautiful, bul with the pahent gravity of a < i s P that ed e | middle age se ttled like a Waxen mask over c u + ia y Veil . & = , son’ ¢ warrantable | 2¢T | ile fair face. Her movements, too, are if i buaty ns nu tL unWwa Ln sa die : : ; i bef et ii” filer and quieter than usual at her age, as iW i 2 t you before, ba : : ‘ an . she rises, and going to the bed, stoops down cou not ceive it poss ble that you did ; ‘ gee ' ce . . ul the face wrinkled and worn, deeply 1 not imagine that 1, OF aby Ona, i ji ; ei " : ' oe ned and fringed with thin grey hairs, placed the slizitest confidence aad § . his , : ‘ which lies there upon the pillow. A “ me itreu 2 , a ee , ‘You have been crying,’ he says, his keen ) t i rrible to! 1 ' : : ’ anxious eyes peering curiously into her face, this way, for indeed you are

atharive.

}

t you must not allow ° > made ii too. Your own & 5 ite enough to eudure, ing aggravated by iasolence and ‘ 1. Do not think me impertinent if I ask hether you reside here - whether k it me to escort you home ?’ s my home,’ renlied Katharine, ipoessib oe ou cant elong y uncie and aunt gave me a home WAS 5s S pw dreadful! | r that this is not

t me tiat you hare been exp. sed to

is bes O34 & Wo > ne J st ovcur< te, rom her seat, ata shril] ery rang through the houee,

*What can that be? Sureiy he is not

springing

’repiied Mr. Du Val,

tickly. ‘ Promise me to remain

[ retarn, and | will bring you word ; > unht for

ere until only euch

do no’ move, for you a

scenes, indeed you are.’

Gently replacing the shivering, trembling girl in her chair, be went out.

When be reached the sick room a mourns

ij itself. Upon the bed,

Xternal impressions

Grove, while his unhappy wife was

rlieg in the arms of her

violent paroxysm of hyster-

Beside her, weepiug helplessly, etood

poor Jane. The surgeon looked, as in leed

completely bewildered by the noise

lication of his duties, and bailed appearance with delight.

‘Where is the youhg lady who was here

ust now?’ he said anxiously. This room »b 1 nd ela nd sce into ) passionate we ib I + 5 7n A pave Sent her soni r. De Lys, uniess we can quiet her we cannot be of much service to her bus- ban i

Call Kate!’ exclaimed Jans, crying. She ought to come and do what she can, for she has caused all thie misory.’

‘She is not fit to come; and if it is to hear such aceusations as these, I will do my best to dissuade her from making the attempt,’ irmily.

» Miss Grove,’ auswered the n, ‘you ave labouring under a grave i think thatthe disappo ntment d your father to his pre- tate, and it is cruel both to yourself and

in to persist in such an assertion.

ha state of health which has found its cli.

I fit, dates from some months

‘I dare say it does, and she has been vex-

and agsravating him for years,’ replied n®, Sp teu I; m *

,

2 #0," avuswercd the surgeon,

yet unwilling to aecuse a father of teimmpera'e and evil ha! to his child;

‘but ifshe will not give you the help of ber Jo not very wellsee what you or any of us will do.’

courage and Common seus. now, I vil ber then ; she dare not refuse to con i

‘IT wil not, replied Mr. Da Val, answering Jane's look.

‘* Nobody asked you, sir,’ said the girl, perily; ‘1 suprose there are people in the house who can take a message as well as you. vo down and tell Katharine to co: e instant y, for l wart her; this is no time for | zne-s, and sol ehali teach ber!’ she added, iously, a8 if desirous of showing Kate’s bandsome champ on her state of depentance; The look and the emphasis roused the restless Llood in Maurize’s heart; but hile it awoke his passion, it awoke his cau- ten. Powerlees os he was at preeent to he p ths girl whos? singular beauty and fate

} Thal

had so interested him, Le saw the danger of |

inc easing the malice of her enemies by his open champ.onship; andalthough be would glad'y bave retoried Jane’s impertinence, yet he prudently controlled the impalse, and re- pied, Carelessly, ‘You are right, Miss Grove; tis is indeed no time for idleness; the sooner therefore, you and I do what we can to ase sist the better ; and first, would it not ba wier to take advantage of your mother’s prese.t cu:nposure to remove her into anos ther room? You must not think me too oflic‘ous, if, under present circumstanegs, I mike th 83 suzgestiors; I shou!d not vens ture to do eo were your brother here, or either of your parents in & pesilion to advise and direct you,’

And so, without waiting for Ler «ssent, he went f.rward, and, czehanging a glance with the surgeon, assisted bim to raise Mra.

Grove from the arws of the woman whg sup. | potted her, aod th n, simply saying to June, ‘Will you be so good as to show us the

th the, misgiving of |

the way?’ aided the medical men to carty

would give half her life to know whether her | 3 unele could speak or see, She went on ster)

Her |

| lily. But soon Kate had her reward.

| uncle’s eyes slowly and partially opened ;

* wet] Did the | and although they were dim and heavy, yet |

they fixed themselves upon her witha gaze | of perfect intelligeuce. To be continued.

o +: <m++ +

MIZPAH,

initia

N { a k 1, aroom where the

| ip in weird, flashing I

ra t l 1; wi the

i lama ‘ ay awn | \

t windows, as to shut out all

j}sound, even of the rain | against the panes without. HP

| ‘Mizpah, are you there ? | ‘Yes, dear,”

withered hand

tightening on

‘Itis so hard to

see you suver.

‘My dear, the bodily suffering is nothing to that which has tortured me for the last SIX urs. Torture! I wouder I have lived | so Jong under it.’ }

She makes no answer. He ofien utters

but Mizpah is

Perhaps she has

these ambiguous allusions; { an in juisitive woman id secrets of her own.

aS iw } } n lenly Mizpan ie Savs suddenly,

‘do you re- ember why you married me?’

‘ Why taik of that now, Juhn ?’ she asks, ‘

is the only time I have. neteen, Mizpah, and you

You were only n

married because yo parents’ death had thrown you on my care; because the world said ill-natured things of your living with a

" ‘

guardian of forty

ed to keep a delicate little

uld not aiford to do because—chiefest reason of all—the man you away in Canada, had because yon saw his marriage in an American paper, after for six months your letters had received no answer. Because of these reasons you married me,’

‘And because you were the best and

sister with you, and ¢

ed, and who to you

was

proved false

truest friend I had in the whele world,’ she!

broke in with quivering lips; * because Minnie loved you, and I—liked and honored you with all my heart. John, I told you all this then. Have I disappointed you, that you go back upon it now.’

‘ You have been an angel of light to me,’ he answers hoarsely. ‘ Oh,

only knew what you areto me; if you only

child! if you guessed how madly, , old enough to be your father, have loved you from the first moment I saw you Mizpah, try to think of it.

passionately, I

till now! Try to bear it in

mind when you turn from my memory with hatred and loathing.’

‘John! Could that be possible ?’ ‘I wish to Heaven it were possible to avoid [had meant to leave it till after | was gone, to keep the kind i sweet face till after I was dead; but I cannot, I— ‘ John, don’t say any more,’ she interrupts trembling very much. ‘ If there is anything wrong which you have done, do not tell me. Even though it has hurt me let me remain in

k on your

ignorance. f it be written in your papers, I will burn Trust me.’

He smiles faintly—a sad, hopless smile,

them unread. i No, child, this you could not nor shall you promise to do so. me while I have strength, and answer first. Did you not meet Gerald Dacres the day be- fore you were taken with that long illness, { nearly six years ago?’ ‘Yes, John,’ she says quietly ; but how fast her heart is beating. ar And he told you that he had never mar-

ried—that he had written to you constantly, |

and got no answer?’ ‘Hespoke of his letters in the one that reached me—the one that told me he was coming here—but not of his marriage. Since it was not true, the report may not have reached his ears,’ ‘And you! Did you not speak of it?’ ‘No, John.’ ‘No? What explanation, then, did you | give of your marriage with me?’ | ‘IT gave him none.’ Her voice is faint with remembered anguish; but the answers are | ever straight and true. | ‘I don’t understand you,’ he says. did you say to him?’

‘IT told him I was married, and bade him go away and forget me.’

‘What! no more than that? And was he satisfied ?. Did he ask no explanations— nothing ? ’

‘No, John, he was satisficd.

‘What

Do not talk | about it—please do not’’ The pain even | now is greater than shecan bear. He presses | her hand more tightly. | «Twill only ask you one thing more, Miz-— | pah, I know that you will answer it with | perfect truth. Why did youdo this? Nay,’ (as she hesitated) + I wish to know.’

‘Because I was a married woman, and my husband trusted me, Because—oh, John! forgive me—I loved Gerald so dearly, he loved me so long, so well and fondly, that I dared not tell him any excuse for my appar- ent falsehood. I knew his perfect honor. I knew wy own innocence; and yetI could not—John, I dared not trust to either while we loved each. Please do not think ill of

me. 1 knew that I loved Gerald more than my owf life; and because I loved him I sent him away.

She is on her knees now, weeping bitterly, | with her face hidden on the wrinkled hand in which hers is clasped. The fire light | flickers on the wall—on the bent golden j head. Only the shadows of the curtains | fallupon the tortured face of the dying man. | Very slowly he speaks

‘ql thank God that the sin which dooms me | has purified one saint more for heaven. You have made your confession, Mizpah, listen to

-eight; because you want- |

it unmarried ; |

I will forgive it, whatever it be.

forgiv C3)

Listen to |

mine. It was I who kept back your lover's letters; I who stopped yours; I who had the that inserted in the New Brunswick papers; I who invented all the | uncharitable gossip which so worked upon your sensitive delicacy. And I did this be- cau » t loved you—because [ thought that time, and patientidolitary,jand every luxury that rm love away from the remembrance of a young fellow W ho probably did not love you half so have led you into

advertisement

well, and could only

God only knows how 1 have been punished: not only now, but in every hour and moment of these months—

seen you mine, For a few

nota year—I hoped. Then you and he mat; in your fever you told me that; and hope died forever. Every day since then—every mo- nt that has witnessed your patient obe-~ your silent,

1

-your sad little face sebered into age so

early—so early—has been but one long | punishment.”

‘Hush!’ she interrupts—she has sprang to to her feet long before, shrinking back and

away from him, with hands clenched upon

her bosom, and face white and horror-stricken | —‘* Hush, for pity sake! I begged you not to tellme. Oh! why, why did you do it now when itis all over, allended past any re- call?”

“ Mizpah !* he began feebly.

“Not now, John, not now,” she cries, | breaking into bitter tears. “I will be good ina@moment; but don’t say any more just this minute, I—lI can’tthink.”

He makes no answer. The shadow is dark- {eron her face; and she turns to the door | when something, some tender womanly im-

ulse, make her come back to the side of the

Don’ thin! she says; j

unforgiving,”’

I do forgive you—l! shal! soon, when Ihave |

thouzht of all your love and kindness. I~ John !”

But there is no answer still. The fire-light | has died down in the grate, The rain beats and wails against the window. Outside the | wind raves, and the branches creak the cri- | es of a tortured spirit; but within all is silent,

John, do you hear me?

all still; for earthly love is gone—called out to meet its God —and love unselfish, love pre- sanctified is left alone.

‘Mrs. LeFuill, may I introduce my hus- band’s cousin, Mr. Dacres? He is quite a lion with us; years’ travels in distant lands,”’

Mizpah looks up. Sheis sitting slight and

gracefulin her widow’s dress, one ofa fash, |

ionable crowdjin a fashionable London draw- ing-room. ‘Two little red spots rushed into her cheeks, aud her eyes leap up with a sud- den light, as she puts out her hand, say- ing :-—

‘Mr. Dacres and I are old friends.’

He does not act like an old friend. He nol even seem to see her hand, but bows with grave formality ; and after a word

does

the beating of her heart will hardly let her

answer, ie moves quietly away, and leaves |

the room.

So they meet again and so they part. The locket which bears her name—the name with its quaint sacred meaning. ‘ The Lord watch between me and thee when we are absent one from another’— still hangs at his watch- chain ; but he has not forgiven her yet. He never will.

Has the Lord watched in vain ? Twilight again. The sky a green, fading into blue in the east, One long bar of liquid gold low down on the western horizon. Above it a bank of greylish violet cloud fringed with fire. Far away, behind that dark clump of trees, a jingle of bells ringing for evening service. Indoors a wood | fire sparkling merrily, an open window draps ed in lace curtains, which rustle softly in the sweet flower laden breeze ; and beside tho window Mizpah seated in a low chair, the broad tuller streamers of her white cap float- ing like a veil round her slight rounded figure; her golden head resting against a stand of azaleas, white and pink, in ful] | bloom; an open letter in her lap, and a flush

bright as a moss rosebud in either cheek.

There are steps in the passage, and the | flush grows deeper, The bells kept ringing, but Mizpah’s heart beats too loudly to hear | them. The door opens and she is on her fect | her beautiful eyes shining through dazzled

tears,her clasped quivering hands outstretchs | ed, her whole womanly form heaving and panting with silent, passionate gladness.

Against the gold-green back-ground of the sunset sky, Gerald sees her standing like some medieval saint. The next moment she

is in his arms, folded down upon his heart |

as though he could never let her go again,

and kissed—lips, hands, and brow—as if the | |

of ten long summers of waiting had to be paid in that ene moment. }- It is not for a long time that any sensible words is spoken. The bells have rung the joy- peals all upheeded, and up abovethe purple hills the moon hangs hke a lump of gold on high. ‘ My darling,’ Gerald says, ‘‘do you know

arrears

| I could hardly believe it when I got you | letter this morning. I never deserved such an | answer, Mizpah — indeed I hope for one at all.’

scarcely dared

‘ Love does not go by desert,’ Mizpah | answers, ‘and you see I could not help lov- | It grew in me. Besides, I felt it would come right some day. But, oh! I am glad it was not delaying much longer.’ .

‘ Thank Heaven for my meeting your sis- ter Minnie last week,’ says Gerald, stroking the bright head fondly.

ing you, Gerald.

| ‘* And for yuurconfiding to her your hats

red.’

‘Hatred! I tried to hate you, love bur I never could.’

‘And [tried to forget you, but I never could. Ah, Gerald !—nestling closer to him, and laying one hand on his locket—-* you kept the name but I keptthe Verse. Ver- ily the Lord has watched between me and thee when we were absent one from another.’

—_——_—_—— -- + see

Lack or Coxversation.—The author of the celebrated saying that ‘Silence is golden,’ must surely have been little addicted to mingling with his fellows on occasions of a festive sort; and, above all things, can never have been in the habit of himself play- ing the part of host. The position of the giver of a feast, when the entertainment is presided over by the same ‘ goiden’ spirit of silence, is a sufficiently distressing one. What pains will not he or she take to exer- cise the evil genius, trying to lure the dif- ferent guests on to speak of what they un- | derstand—the banker to discuss finance, the painter to hold forth on art, the Eastern traveler to treat of turbans and dromedaries, There are seasons, however, when all such efforts are entirely fruitisss, and when the silent influence seeems to assert itself on the company with an irresistible power which nothing can dispel. Most of us have, in our time, assisted in more than one social cele- bration, which bas been distinguished by a complete dearth of talk. We most of us | know what pauses are at a dinner table; the silent influence, indeed, seems somes times to act almost like a spell. Everybody wants to break it, but nobody can succeed in doing so; or, if they do, it is only fora very short time,and there is an almost imme- diate relapse. When some one, gifted with extraordinary nerve, dares to make a remark in the midst of one of these awful pauses, what a sensation thereis! All the members of the fafilicted company look up eagerly ; They rush at the new subject as the ducks do at. a morsel of roll when it is thrown ins to their pond. They pounce upon it, tear it into little bite, which each carries off with him, and makes the most of it in his own corner,

«> 668

The other day an unstamped letier was deposited in a country post-office. On one | corner of the envelope was writlen the fol- iowing: ‘Mr. Postmaster, don’t charge no

postage on this ; the stamp wouldn't stick, so 1 tore the thing up.’ '

hes eculd supply, would win your |

seven years Which have |

uncomplaining gentle- |

only just returned from two |

Fi st or two of common-place civility, words which |

pale apple |

MISCELLANEOUS.

PRP PLLA AAA A ALL LALALLALLLAIWw4d

Elihu Burrit is believed to be dying of hemmorhage.

The first bridge built over the Ganges, has just been opened for traffic.

The Central Post-office in Vienna, Austria, | wos lately broken into, and 1,595 register-

| ed letters were stolen.

Dugas Carrurep.--John Dugas, tho | murderer of Captain Charles Robichau, has been captured at Gloucester, Mass,

The native suspected of being Nana | Sahib, has been removed to Cawnpore for further investigations as to his identity.

The British Government has contracted for the construction of two iron clads on the Clyde, each 5000 tons burden, with engines | of 6000 horse power. | It is reported that Serrano has secretly | oflered the Spanish Crown to the King of Portugal, who for political and other rea- sons declined the otler.

Cremation of the dead is to be carried into operation in Vienna immediately, by order of the muncipality of that city, under the advice of the Board of Health,

Germany will add 20,000 men to her ans nual contingency, om account of the in- crease in the French and Russian armies.

A young lady of Great Falls, N. H., was shot on Monday night, it is supposed by a man whom she had sued for breach of pro- mise.

At the request of the British Ambassador at Constantinople, the Porte has promised to put down the increasing slave traflic be- tween Turkey and Egypt.

The son of Ameer of Afghanistan has res belled against his father, and it is said that a conflict is imminent unless the latter agrees to the exclusion of Lritish influence from the country.

So great was the interest taken in the State elections that some negro women at Huntville, Ala, fired with patriotic en- thusiasm, donned male attire and recorded their votes, for which they were promptly incarcated

|

A man near Titusville, Pa., recently committed suicide by deliberately laying his neck on the rail, in front of an ap-= | proaching train. His head was completely } cut off,

Wild hogs are said to be the most dan- gerous animals ih the forests of Virginia, ‘They go in droves and attack men on sight and flight or tree climbing 4s the only way of escaping them.

| M. Thiers is reported to be unwell. There is a story current that the aged statesman remarked { I only gained a single thing by the Presidency of the Republic —a bron- chitis which has not since left me.’’

The monster 80 ton gun in the Royal | Arsenal at Woolwich, England, continues | to excite newspaper attention. The canal bridge over which it will have to pass to | reach the proof butts is about to be made | stronger to bear its enormous weight.

Brick vaults and safes are now manu-~ factured so that any attempt to reach their interior, breaks sundry bottles filled with sulphuric acid into powdered carbonate of lime. This produces, instantaneously, carbonic gas enough to suffoeate a regiment of burglars.

| A great change has been wrought in China within afew years. The violent opposition | to Christianity, which was so strong in Cane / ton, has nearly ceased. Free schools have been inaugurated, hospitals erected, and even preachers are sent to preach through

country and city. , The wild cats along the line between

| Canada on the one side and Vermont and New Hampshire on the other hand, are re-

ported as being not only numerous, but |also ferocious and daring. They make | great havoc among poultry and sheep, ‘and have in several instances attacked ' children,

Representative Government has beeh ess | tablished in AlsacesLorraine. [he Governs /ment will be allowed to expres views on | the Budget, bills not meant for imperial | legislation, and on those not subject to diss | cussion by District Diets. The Emperor | reserves the right of fixing the time and | place of the sittings, and of expressing any | opinions, the Assembly are to give also the | views of the minority. | Great Britain will be well represented at the Centennial Exhibition at Philadelphia, the Disraeli Government having decided to make arrangements worthy of the Mother | of Nations and her vigorous progency on this side of the Atlantic. It is thought | that the Prince of Wales, as in the case of | the Austrian Exhibition, will head the Brit- | tish Commission, and Mr. P. Cunliffe Owen will uct as secretary. Many distinguished -noblemen and gentlemen have expreseed | their willingness to serve on the commis« | sion.

RANDOM READINGS.

— } ata tatterretatattattetatata | Drawing materials.—Corkacrews. | A Dish fora Lawyer.—Suet.

Coquettes are like weather-cocks — only

fixed when they become rusty,

Ministers of the interior.—The cook and the doctor. | What is the best key for a Christmas box? A tur-key.

When does a chair dislike you? | can’t bear you. | An unpleasant sort of arithmelie—Division among families.

Why is grass like a penknife? the spring brings out the blades.

‘Thieving in the outskirts’ is the latest for picking ladies pockets.

A young sailor asserts that he always finds himself more at sea when on shore than when he is on board his ship.

Dr. Johnson used to say that the habit of looking at the best side of things was worth more than a thousand pounds a year.

From an Unhappy Spouse.—Man’s bappi- ness is said to hangon athread. This must be the thread that is never at hand to sew on a shirt button that is alweys off.

Probably the oldest timber subjected to the use of man is that which is met with in the ancient temples of Egypt. It is found in connection with stone—work which is known to he at least four thousand years old.

When it

Because

A lawyer engaged in a case tormented a witness so much with questions that the poor fellow cried out for water, ‘ There,’ said the judge, ‘ I thought you would pump him dry.

‘What are you going to do?’ asked a man of his friend who had been injured in a railway accident. ‘I am first going in for repairs, and then for damages,’ was the re- ply.

The chief native industry of Jerusalem is the manufacture of soap and what is called ‘Jerusalem ware,’ consisting of chaplets, crucifixes, beads, crosses, and the like, made principally of mother of pearl and _ olive- wood, and sold to the pilgrims who annually resort to the Holy City to the number of from six to eight thousand.

‘Think ef it, Mr. Bobbs, the United States drinks $90,000,000 worth of spirits every year!’ Bobbs (excitedly)—*‘ How I wish I was the United States.’

An erring husband, who had exhausted all explanations for late hours, and had no apology ready, recently slipped into the house about one o’clock,very softly, denuded himself gently, and began rocking the cradle by the bedside, as if he had been awakened out of a sound sleep by infantile cries. He bad rocked away for five minutes, when Mary June, who had silently observed the whole manmuvre, said, ‘Come to bed, you fool, the baby ain’t there.’

Cheer Him.—At a fire in a large city, while the upper stories of a lofty dwelling were wrapped in smoke, and the lower stors ies all aglow with flame, a piercing shriek told the startled firemen that there was some one still in the building in peril. A ladder was quickly reared until it touched the heat- ed walls, and diving through the flame and smoke a brave young fireman rushed up the rounds on his errand of mercy. Stifled by the smoke, he stopped, and seemed about to descend. The crowd was in agony, asa life seemed Jost, for every moment seemed an age. While this shivering fear seized every beholder, a voice from the crowd cried out, ‘Cheer him! cheer him!’ and a wild ‘hurrah’ burst from the excited spectators. As the cheer reached the fireman he started upward through the curling smoke, and in a few moments was seen coming down the ladder with a child in hisarms. That cheer did the work.—How much can we do to help the brave ones who are struggling with temptation, or almost fainting in their efforts to do good to others. Don’t find fault with your brother in his trial, but cheer him. Give him a word that will urge him on his way, and if you can’t help him in any other way, give him a cheer,

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