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,,...n. »-- ’17‘“ ‘ U... ....... gun...“ ___â€"â€"â€"â€"â€" "When them a great deal of smoke. and no’clcar fl-imc. i’. argues much mois- turo in. the matter. yet it witnesseth aortailey. that there fire there."â€" Leighton. Long before the night has set in he comes; and as he enters the men: when: his uncle sits awaiting him.L0h Sartoris tells himself that never before has be seen him so handsome. so tall. 30 good to look at. "Tour telegram made me uneasy." he says. abruptly, "so I cams back sooncr than I had intended. Had you mine '3" “Yes; some hours ago." "Did you want me Arthur 3" "Yes; but not your return here. I sent my telegram principally to learn your address. as I had made up my mind to go up to town. You have frustrated that plan." There is a meaning in his tone that puzzles Dorian. "You going to trust yourself alone in our great Babylon '3" he says raising his brows. "Why the world must be com- ing to an end. What business had you there that I could not have managed for you 3" “My business was with you 2" "Anything wrong 2” says the young man. impatiently, tapping a table light- ly with his fingers, and frowning some- what hedvily. “ Your tone. implies as much. Has anything happened in my absence to cause you annoyance. -If so let me know it at once, and spam me any beating about the bush. Suspense is unpleasant." “It is,” says Sartoris, rising from his chair, and moving a few steps nearer to him. "It'is slowly murdering poor John Annersleyl" “I am still hopelessly in the dark,“ says Dorian, shrugging hisshoulders. "What has suspense got to do with old Anncrsley i” . “Are you really ignorant of all that has occurred? Have you not heard of Ruth's mysterious disappearance l" " ‘liut h's disappcarancc '3' I have heard nothing. Why, where can she have gone?" “‘l'hat is exactly what no one knows, except she herself, of course. andâ€"one other.“ Then. turning impulsively to face his nephew, "1 thoguht you could have told me where she is," he says, without giving himself time to think of all the words may convey to Dorian. “What do you mean f" demands Branscombe. throwing up his liezid.und flushing darkly. His eyes flash,his nos- trils dilate. "Am I to infer from your last remark that you suspect me of having something to do with her dis- appearance '3" "I do," returns Sartoris, slowly, but with his eyes upon the ground. “flow can I do otherwise when I call to mind all the causes you have given me to doubt you ‘3 Have you forgotten that day. now some," months ago, when Imet you and that unhappy girl together on the road to the village? I, at least, shall never forget the white misery of her face. and the unmistakable confus- ion in her manner, as I greeted her. Even then the truth began to dawn upon me.“ . "The truth i" says Branscombc. with a short and bitter laugh. “At that timc. I was unwilling to bar- bor unkind doubts of you in my breast." goes on Sartoris. unmoved, nay, rather confirmed in his suspicions by Brans- combc's sncer; "but then came the night of the Hunt ball. when I met you alone with her, in the most secluded part of the grounds. and when you were. unable to give me. any reasonable explanation of her presence there; and then. a little later. I find a handkerchief (which you voursclf acknowledge lrwing givcn bor) lying on your library floor; about that, too. you wore dumb; no excuse was ready to your lips. By your own actions I judge you." “Your suspicions make. you unjust. my lord." says the. young man. haughtily. "They overrule your bcttcr judgment. An- such paltry evidences its you have just put forward sufficiont to condemn Inc. or havc you furthcr proofs ’l" “I havc,â€"â€"a still stronger one. than any other I havc mentioned. The last place in which Ruth Aiincrslcy, was seen in this neighborhood wa< in Hurston “'ood at night o'clork on the evening of her dcpzirturc. andâ€"you were with her !" "l was?" th‘_"l‘lic man who saw you will swear to l<lti "lln must ho rathcr a clever follow. I congratulate you on your 'man.’" “Do you (lcny if f" 'l‘hcrc is sonic- thing that is almost hope. in his ionc. "If not llvre last Tuesday. at that hour. whom were you 1'" "Wall really. it woull lakc me all my time in Tomcmbcr. Probably dining; 'ul to my fish by that limo. no doubt. Inn-r on Iwns at Lady (‘hcfwoode’s (‘3‘!1~'h2 but that"-â€"wi1h a sarcaslic laugh â€"â€"”is a very safe thing in say. is it not? One can hardly provo the prcscnce of any one at a gnl’hcring together of the clans. such as ilicrc were at her ‘at homo.‘ I wouldn't believe I was there if [were you." llc laughs again. Sartoris flushed hotly all over his lean earnest face. “It is needless lying." he says slowly. “The vcry cost you woreâ€"a light ovcr- ma!.â€"pmbably" (pointing to it) “tho one you arc now wearingâ€"was accurately describcd." Dorian starts visibly. "Do you still bone to brave it out i" ".-\ cont like this do you my?" asks iBmus‘comlw. with It nervous attempt at unconccm. laying his hztnd upon his alcove. ".A light overcoat. Such was tho dc- arrmtimi. But" (with a longing that is terribly patbcticl "many ovorcoats arc alike. Andâ€"l dnrc say you have not worn that gne for months." "Yes. lhave. I weir it incessantly: I lmvc taken rather a fancy to it." re- plics Bumscomlx‘. in an uncompromising tonn. "My pcrsislent admiration for it has driven my tailor to despair. I very eoldom (except. perhaps at midnight rc- vols-or afternoon bores) appear in pub- lic without it." "Thou you deny nothing i" "Nothing !"â€"- mmemptnously. making a movemcnl as though to depart. "Why atrium I! ll’. aftnr all tit-Ase years that you how haunt me, you can imagine me cannula of evil such as you describe w graphically. it would giro me. no out Vl.CAB-_’§_ SEVEREâ€"BESS pleasure to vindicate myself in your .63’535- Think of me as you will; I shall itaxq no steps to justin mych.'_’ I 'jlou dare not!” says Sartoris. in a .stiflod tone. confronting him fully for the first time. . "That is just as you please to think." {3's Branscombe. turning upon him ith flashing eyes. lie frowns heavily. .-.nd. with a. little. gesture common to him. raises his ham-d and pushes the end .if fair mustache between his math. .. n The next morning he had called again. and' found the coat‘in the very self- same place where he. had_thrown it. But in the mean time. during all the hours that intervened between the aft- ernoon of one day and the forenoon of another. where had it been? "The very coat you wore was minute- ly described."â€"The words come back up- lon him with a sudden rush. causing him I 5 E l l a keeper pang than any he has evcr yet known. Must he indeed bring hmiself to believe [hit his own bro:her_had made use of the coat with the deliber- ate intention (should change fling any intruder in the way) of casting sus- picion upon himâ€"Dorian? In the dusk of the evening any one i hen. with a sudden effort. he_ controls might easily mistake one brother for the shall always («ml regret in that you found it so easy a nutter to bciicvcme guilty of so monstrous a deed. I think ‘uc can have nothing further to say to .himself. and goas on more quietly: "I each other, either now or in the future. I Wish you good-evening." Sartoris ,standing with his back al- most turned to his nephew, takes. no hood of this angry farewell: and Dorian. going out, closes the door calmly be- hind him. . _ Passing through the Long Hall, as it has been called from time immemorial, he encounters Simon Gale, the old butl- er, and stops to speak to him, kindly, as is his wont, though in truth his heart there is no ‘hair to speak of, his barber having provided against that. he speaks kindly, carelessly,â€"if a little wearily. ilis pulses are throbbing. and his heart beating hotly with passionate indignation and disappointment. “Very warm, sir,‘ returns the oldman, regarding him wistfully. He is not thinking of the weather, either of its heat or cold. He is only wonderingnvith a foreboding sadness, whether the man before himâ€"who has been to him the apple of his eyeâ€"is guilty or not of the crime imputed to him. With an effort be recovers himself. and asks, hastily, though almost without purpose, “Have you seen my lord l" “Yes; I have only just left him." "You will stay to dinner, Mr. Dori» an t" He has been "Mr. Dorian" to him for so many years that now the more formal Mr. Branscombs is impossible. "Not toâ€"night. Some other time,whcn my uncle " He pauses. “You think him looking well i" asks the old man, anxiously, mistaking his hesitation. “Well! Oh, that doesn't describe him," says Branscombe, with a. shrug, and a somewhat ironical laugh. "he struck me as being unusually lively.â€" in fact, ‘strong as Boreas on the main.‘ I thought him very well indeed." . “Ay, he is sol A godly youth brings a. peaceful age; and his was that. He has lived a good life, and now is reap- ing his rewart.” "Is he?" says Dorian, with a badly- suppressed yawn. “Of course I was mis- taken, but really it occurred to me that he was in the abominable temper. Is a desire to insult every one part of the reward '3" “You make light of what I say." re- turns Simon, reproachfully, “yet it is the very truth I speak. He has. no spec- ial sin to repent, no lasting misdced to haunt him, as years creep on. It were well to think of it," says Simon, with a trembling voice. "while youth is still with us. To you it yet belongs. If you have done alight; amiss, I cutreat you to confess. and make amends for it, whilst. there is yet time." Dorian, laying his hand upon the old servant's shoulders, pushes him gently lxickward. so that he may look the more readily into his face. “Why, Simon! How absolutely in earnest you are!" '. he says, lightly. “What crime have I committed, that I should spend the rest of my days in sackcloth and ashes Z" "I know nothing," says old Gale, sadâ€" ly. "How should I be wiser than my master 3 All I feel is that youth is cai‘clem and headstrong. and things once done are difficult of undoing. If you would go to your grave happy, keep yourscl- from causing misery to those who love you andâ€"trust in you.” His voice sinks, and grows tromulous. Dorian. taking his hands from his shoulders, moves back from the old man, and regards him moditatively,stroking his fair mustache slowly, in a rather mechanical fashion. as he does so. "The. whole world seems dyspeptic to- day." he says. ironically. Thcn, “It would be such a horrid bore to make any ~ one miserable that. I dare say I sha'n't try it. If, however, I do commit the mysterious serious offense at which you broadly hint. and of which you plainly believe. me fully capable, I’ll let you know about it." He smiles again.â€"a jarring sort of smile. that hardly accords with lhe beauty of the. dying day,â€"und, moving away from the. old mun, crosses. the. oak- cn flooring to the glass door that lies at the further and of the room, and that Opens to u gmvclcd path outside. on which lilacs are flinging broadcast their rich purplc bloom. As hc moves. with a pale face. and set lips (for the bitter smile has faded). he trziuiplcs ruthless- ly. and without thought for their bounâ€" ty. upon the. deep soft palcbes of colorâ€" ing that nrc strewn upon the flooring from the stained-glass windows above. Throwing open the door. he welcomes gladly the. cool evening air that scams to rush to meet him. “Pall!” he. says. almost loud. as. he is sore. “Ah! Simon! How warm the weath- er grows i" he says, genially. brushing his short hair back from his forehead. The attempt is praiseworthy, as rcally strides onward beneath the budding clms. "To think after all these years, they should so roadin condemn! Even that old man. who has known me from my infancy, believes me guilty." Then a change. sweeps over him. In- sults in himself are forgotten. and his thoughts travel onward to a fear that for many d=iy< has been growing and gaining strength. Can lloracc have committed this base. deed? This fear usurps all other con- sidemtions. Going back upon what he has just heard he examines in his mind each little detail of the wretched history imparted to him by his uncle. All the suspicionsâ€"lulled to rest through lack of matter wherewith to feed themâ€"now come to life again. and grow in size and imgmrtancc. in spite of his intense de- sim to suppress them. On Tuesday night the girl had left her'hcuin. On Tuesday morning he had boon to Romeo's rooms. had found him rlicrc. had sat and oonversed with him for upwird of an hour on different sub- _l“€l‘-‘.-â€"'.'liléfl}". he now remembers. of Clarisn Peyton. The dry: had been warm. and he had Nikon off his coat (the light overcoat ho had effected- for the past month),"nnd bad.tlir0\vn if. on, a chair. andcleft it there. when gaing l l .manugcs to catch the evening train to town. Lord Sartoris, miserable thoughts fish and flesh“ In truth, now he is on the spot and face to face “'th his broth- er, thuenormityof bis errand makes itâ€" other. They are the same height; the likeness between them is rcmaxkablg.‘5 Ilc almost hates himself for the readi- mess with which he pieces his story to-l gethcr. making doubt merge \\'ll’.h such entirety into conviction. ’ The. evening is passtng brings no comfort to his soul; the trees; towering upward lie heavily against the . sky; the breath of miny flowcrs make. rich the air. Already the fault moon. ailing. th ours "her silvcr light oer half tns world." and nukes more blue the azure depths above: _ "Star follows star, though yet days: . golden light _ - Upon the hills and headlands famtlyv streams.” ; The far-off grating sound of the corn- : crako can be heard; the cuckoo’s tunelcss ' note, incessant and unmusical, tires the early night. The faint sweet chirrups of many insects come from farand near. ' and break upon the sense With a. soft_ and lulling harmony: ; “There is no stir, nor breath of air; the“- plains ' f Lie slumbering in the close embrace of; night. . All nature seems sinking into_ one grand repose. wherein strife and misery : and death appear to have no part. ’l‘o Dorian the tender solemnity of the scene brings no balm. To go again to town by the night mailâ€"t0 confront. Horace and learn from him the worst â€"is his one settled thought, among the, multitude. of disordered ones; and upon it he determines to act. I 1 But what if he shall prove innoccntu or deny all knowledge of the affair}. What then' can clear Dorian in his; uncle's eyes? And even ‘should he (ilk. knowledge. the fact that he had antic-i ed thegirl from henhome, how can it _ benefit Dorian? He is scarcely the one to defend himself at another-'5 expense; and to betray Horace to clear himself; would be. impossible to him. ' . Hc grows bewildered and .heart-Sickw Reaching home, he orders his dog-cart. to be brought round. and, by taking it‘ fair, yet. itl a. good deal out of his good gray mare. i sitting brooding over‘ in the library at Hythe, has tidings brought him of his nephew’s speedy return to London. and endures one stab the more, as he feeds more than ever convinced of his duplic- it . . {Xn‘ived-in town, Branscombc drives to Horace's rooms, hoping against hope that he may find him at home. To his; Surprise he docs so find him,-â€"m the midst of papers, and apparently up to his eyes .in business. . I "Working so late 'l" says Dorian .m- voluntarily, being accustomed to think of Iloracc, at this hour, as one of a chos- en band brought togcther to discuss the lighter topics of the day over soup and self felt, and he hardly knows what to say to him. . _ . “You Dorian 'l” Horace, raistng .hlS eyes, smiles upon him his usual slow im- penetrable smile. “Working? Yes; we others, the moneyless oncs, must work or die; and death is unpopular nowadays. Still, law is dry work when all is con- fessed." lie presses his hand to his forc- head with affected languor, and for an instant concatls his face. “By tlichye, it is rather good of you to break in so unexpectedly upon my monotony. Any- thing 1 can do for you? ’ ‘ “Let me speak to you." says Dorian impulsively, laying his_ha.nd upon his arm. “If I am "wrongiug you in my thoughts I shall never. forgive myself. and you, in all probability, wrll never forgive me either; yet I must. get it. off my mind." “My dear follow, how you have flung away undoubted talent! Your tone outâ€" Irvings Irving; it is ultraâ€"tragic. Posâ€" itively you make my blood run cold. Don't stand staring at me in that aw- ful attitude, but tell me. as briefly {is you can. what I have done.” He laughs lightly. . - Dorian togards him fixedly. Has .he wronged him? Has instinct played him false? “Where is Ruth Anncrslcy?”_hc asks, awkwardly, as though gel ting rid of lhc quest ion at any price and Without proâ€" amble. He has still his hand upon his brother's arm. and his eyes upon his face. _ "Ruth Annersley f" reiterates Horace, the most perfect am'tzcmeni in his tone. If purposely done. the surprise Is very cxccllcnt indeed. “\Vhy? What has: happened to her '2" _ ; “Have you heard nothing i” ‘ "My dear fellow. how could I? 1 have not been ncar Pulling-ham for _ a full month: antl its small gossips fail to m- tcrcst our big city. What has happen- ed 3" "The. girl has left her home; has not been heard of since. last Tuesday. They fear she. has willfully flung up happiness and honor to gainâ€"misery!“ "What a charitable plu_co is a small village!" says Horace, With a_ shrug. “\K’hv should the estimable Pullinghzim- , ites imagine so much evil? Perhaps. finding life in that stagnant; holc. unen- dumblc, Ruth threw up the who-lo con- cern. and is now seeking a subsistence honorably. Perhaps. too, she has mar- ried. Perhapsâ€"" "Why do you not suppose. her dead ll" says Dorian. tapping the table. with lllB' foirfinger. his'cyes fixed moodin on the pattern of the maroonâ€"colored cloth. "All such speculations are equally ab- surd. I hardly came. tg'London to list» . on to such vain imaginings.” ‘ "Thenâ€"I think I barely understand you," says Horace. ammbly; “you came because. you-â€"?" "Bccaure I fancied I hid here the best chance of hearing about her," interrupts _ Dorian. bluntly, losing patience a lit.-' tle. ~ "How fearfully you blunder l" re-i turns Horace, still quite. calmlyâ€"nay; in even a tone that might be called: amused. f'If you human that I have had, anything ,to do with her vamoose. I beg to say your mmgination has run wild. You can search the place if you like. ' wonderfully cleanly. »b0rc.rs would seem to have re The old lady who attends to my wants will probably express some faint disap- probation when on invade the sanctity of her chamber. pleasanfness need be antici ted. This is her favorite hour for imbi ing- brandy I â€"my brandy. you will understand (she takes it merely as atouic. being afflict- edâ€"gs she tells meâ€"with what she is pleased to term 'nightly trimbles’); so if, in the course of your \vandcrin . you chance to meat her. and she. 0 mo- lests you, don't blame. me." ‘ (To Be Continued.) more. infill 11mins SCENES IN THE COMPOUND IN WHICH THEY DWELL. Precautions Against Theftâ€"Cleanliness in Spite of Obstaclesâ€"It Is No Trouble to Tell the Diamonds from l’l‘lmlcs. There can be no doubt that the most. interesting sight in the great De Beers mine at Kimberley is the compound. says a. Johannesbury letter. The com- pound of a. South African mine, be it a gold or a diamond mine. is the place where the miners'live, the miners being the Kaffiis of the native tribes. The De Beers compound is a. vast tri- angular space, encloscd on each side by a. long, mud~built shed of one story. furnished with an overhanging roof to keep off the sun. and cut up into inâ€" numerable little rooms. In the centre is a. huge bathing tank, while overhead from side to side and from end to end of the compound, is a. network of wires. the meshes being not more than an inch in width. . Under the porches of the sheds, in the sheds themselves, and about the bathing tanks in the centre swarm hundreds and hundreds of Kaffirs. It is here for the first time that the trav- eler "up country" sees the Kaffir (for under the generic head "Kaffir" the South African groups all the surroundâ€" ing tribcsâ€"Basutas Shanghans, Zulus, Matabelcs. &c.) in something approxi- mating his original state. Most of them are naked to the waist, reckon- ing from whichever extremity you like. One follow that I was shown was drumming upon something that looked and sounded very much like a xylo- ,phone. little sticks of Wood strung up- 'on wires, and I declare the monotonous sequence of little CLEAR LIQUID NOTES sounded very well indeed. Another one. very old, his beard braided into a score of stiff little pigtails, was mak- ing, anklets. rolling one bit of ‘wirc around another; for Sixpence he gave me as many as I wanted to carry away. A third was smoking. Observe the manner of it. He had cut off about ;four inches of bullock’s horn. bored a ’holc near the tip in which he insert- ed the mouthpiece, and had filled up the born with some. fearful unknown wood which sputtered and rocked when ho. drew upon it. As the smoke filled his throat and lungs he would cough and cough until the tears came into his eyes. "Unless it makes them cough," explained the. timekecper, who was my guide. "they don’t like it.” A little further on. “where the Basul‘as worn. quartered (for the tribes affect. different. corners of the compound. and rarely if over mingle With each other). some. great game was going on. “’l‘hoy get very excited over this game," said the timekccpcr, "and gamble. over it. but no white man has ever been able to learn it." It looked very much like a variation of checkers. They had cut regular hollows. some fifty I should say. into a heavy board; about half a dozen were playing, and as far as. we could soc the game consisted of remov- ing certain handfuls of pebbles from one hollow to another. But one. of. the most su rprising things about these Kaffirs, especially those that _we.re of Zulu origin. was 1 their cleanliness. Fancy 850 Chinamen’ hud- dled to ether, or oven the same numâ€" ber. of :he lower class of almost any . nationality. They were ragged; they were (some of them) nearly naked. They lay prone upon the ground in the Sun and they cooked and ate. some very queer looking dishes, but they were A throng of them (especially such as had just come. up from tho. mine) continually gathered about the great bathing: tank in the contra of the. compound, and upon go- into the sheds, in each of which some half a dozen slept, there was no perâ€" ceptible. odor, not: even that of stale htÂ¥(l(ll‘,‘(r. But think of the condition of ’lunomonls in which people who claim to belong to the. civilized nations dwell. I believe. I said as much to the time- keeper. "Ah. but you know," he answered. "the Zulus arc. a very supcrior race: -thcy are much more intelligent than thoâ€"Dutch Bunn- vou find in Johan- nesburg. Clcanly? I should say 50. Here's; smnclhing you can tell your papcr. You'll never see a Zulu finish a meal without washing his teeth very carcfully afterward." I answered that the. detail would be duly reported, but that 'I would not answer for its acceptance as trulh. But the compound Kaffii‘s of the De 139ch are human. sometimes. like Arth~ ur Joncs’s Cabinet Ministers. very hu- man. and they will STEAL DIAMONDS if they_can get the chance. The mine regulations, however, govering the la.- uced the opportunities for theft to a minimum. The Kaffir who is taken on as a miner at the De Beers signs a contract who. eby he allows himself to be kept prac rally a prisoner for. the period covered by his contractâ€"a month. Dur- : ing this time he is not allowed to pass beyond the limits of the mine, or to hold communication With any outsider. . He is restricted rigidly to the precincts ' of the mine itself. and to the compound. ' an underground passage connectin the two places havmg been construct for this special purpose. He is allow- ed to use only "compound roomy" brass tickets. each good for a shilling’s worth of provisions. clothes.~ tobacco. "ginger pop." &c., at the compound store. The overhead wu'c netting revents him too- sing diamond; over. 9 o walls-of, ,the pound. to be picked up by 'a confeder- option. of _ mnowi throwing it u ). -___.~_. “ mm“ site or' by the nefarious "1.13.13." (illicit diamond buyer.) During the time he is ' be d th t. mti‘h‘iothedmfttfge ‘ ism ut you a no um i an c a company amass. in as ans sick he ism for attire haspital (and an admirable hospital it is). and if he is hurt in thymine. his wounds are drmd and his welfare looked after by the company‘s surgeon. At the. end of his month he has the his contract or If e throws it up_he gm into who is called the "detentioni house." Here he is stripped tothe skin and remains in that condition under; constant surveillance for a week. Every. act of his daily life is performed un- der the eye of the guards. Stealing diamonds by swallowin them is the most difficult and has ous method a Kaffir miner can employ. _ _ The pulsator where the “pay dirt" is treated and whens the diamonds are found is about a quarter of a mile away from the mine itself. and the work hero is done by convict Kaffirs and a fow. white men. The pulsutor is o. contriv-i mice that by a constant oscillating moâ€" tion sifts out. the heavy diamonds from the gravel and sand and rotten uartz. As a matter of course, a gneat cal of worthless chaff, bits of gravel, pyritco, crystals, and thousands of garnets pass through the ulsator along diamonds. an all this stuif has to go through a. final process of sorting. where the diamonds have to be PIGKED OUT BY HAND. This is the most interesting process of all. for you can “stand at the sorter's elbow and see him pick up the diamonds wrth as much unconcaru as if they were bits of iron. I havo been told all my life that. dia- monds m the rough loo ed lika ordin~ ary brown pebbles. that the inexper- iepccd observer would them by Without a. second look. and that only an expert could tell a. rough diamond when he saw one. It is not so at all. After watching the sorters five minutes I would undertake to change laces with apy one of-them. and in a itth while pick out diamonds as well as the best. A child could do the same. The dia- monds of the Do Beers may not look like cut diamonds, but they pertain- 1 do not resemble the brown pebbles t at you have been told you must ex- pect to sea. They are brilliant enou h. I don't think any debutante would ta 3 them for glass. and the only difference 1' could note between them and the finished stone was in the bluntness of the edges and in an occasional irregu- larity of shape. That same afternoon I went down in- to the mine itself. The entrance to the shaft is half way down the. tremendous liop‘c. You are let down over the edge of t o enormous pit in a. flat car run- ning on .an inclined (horribly inclined) railway, with wire cables for tracks, and you try to talk of Something else on the way down and endeavor to seem interested in the machinery. while all the time you are looking out for soft spots on which you can jump if the cable should part. - The mine itself does not impress one as particularly intarestiug. ciscly like other nuncs which you may have. visited. l'hcrc is Ibo sonic velvetâ€"- almost palpableâ€"darkness. the same mud and water under foot, the same dripping rocks on the walls and roof, the same queer-tasting atmosphere, the same old smell of condensed air from the pneumatic drills. , I, . ’ BEN. FRANKLIN’S KITE. “'ltli “'lilcli llic l'lzmmiplicr First Drew nghlning from the Clouds. It was a square kite, not the coffin- shaped affair shown in storyâ€"book picâ€" tures. To the upright stick of the cross Franklin attached his pointed rodâ€"a sharp wirc, about a foot longâ€"--and pro- vided himself with a. silk ribbon and a key; the. ribbon, to fasten. to the string after he had raised the kite. as some possible protectionâ€"how much he did not. knowâ€"against the lightning enter- ing his body; and the key: to be secur- ed to the junction of the ribbon and string to serve us a conductor from which he might draw the sparks of mi- estial fireâ€"if it came. ‘ \thn the thunder storm broke he went out on the open common near Philadelphia and faced deathâ€"faced the tremendous power of the lightning stroke, before which all people of all ages had quailcd in terror; faced what most of the world then believed to be the avenging blow of an angered God. 'l‘ruc, he believed that electricity and lightning were the same thing, and therefore had no different properties or effects; but he did not know it. The best existing theory which accounted for electrical phenomena at. that lime was his own. The laws of elrwtrical conduction or rwislancc, now so famil- iar. were _not even suspected. Who could predict that the lightning “'Ullld obey any law? llcsules. i:,-. had produc- c.d lerncndous shocks with his Iniydcn Jars in series. and had killed birds With them. More than that. be haul been terribly shocked himself by the same uiuvnsâ€"stuuocd llliu insensibil- ityIand nearly killed. llc had said. again and again. that an elm-trio shock, if strong enough. would blot out life, though Without .a pang. If his idea was correct, if his conviction was tr no. ho was now about _to face an clot-trio discharge bestdc which that of thcmrmt powerful of man-nimlc lotterics would seem weak and insignificant. All the _world knows what lizippcii- ed. The kite. soared up into the black cloud. while the philosopher slowlraluu ly in the drenching nun watching tho string. intil finally he saw, the little fibres of the hemp raise themselves. Then “lthout a tremor he touched his knuckle to the keyâ€"sand lived. For the spark crackled and leaped to his “11- gcr as harmlessly as did lhzii from his old familiar electrical machine. and alâ€" lowed him to chargediis jars with it With the same impunity. He sent the story of what he had done abrond,with- out a pprticle of trumpeting. He Was not a discoverer for revenue. Nostock market awaited the. announcement. of his claims; no newspaper stood ready to blaze foth ho; achievement in the zinc for Oct. .1752, and it has at its and only the initials 8.1". 7; 5.1- ., ....-..V I- in... wild animals amlond-oi W. fumes. Lions and tigcm in... captivity “aka a special tlflllle'il’ in odors” such as those. of roses and Violets» " ” " Safod. with the - being preâ€" - . - yr . .R. 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