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D uu'wv-v- ;, p" be tumd‘gsi Ldiamonds ‘ ‘ORY- - “iii Ship. Lek. e offices of a. parcel of rting on: would b. tin-cover- as eating his considerable ounding and second officer 0, which the . cliff,” came y everything nwain of the ‘n on what. is state ex tend- idge. He saw and grasped ! man were : a hurricane. gains, left him i, as well as be My to the rail hates to loosen I. Hot. water. {i soon brought Pen the British ‘w he was none. 3 adventure. up. She has ’ lot comma;â€" boa’t. in tha; ‘ no at sea for {aptain Innis a loud cry from I the direction steered by that bobbing like a E of the stat-lit . much pe_.1 .ge price is rice vanes )8. common- 'n are used » to almost. ul stone. officer‘s name i the greatest ‘ the seafaring by which was and threw it precision that at. the vessel’s drowning {nan winds and wish Prince 21' day with srtling than ed to write. :diterranean mtside the untered the cently mak- '.lantic. She mgh stanch l time of it, r decks and ggled to ad- ne struggled s out and she Lzores, for a ernoou when :hted. Three z. Michael’s er as before. When 460 [y Book the x Innis, who thoughtwas we 343331“ tints. The It £30,000 arse would led : and I .v a few of the starboard ight, so the m as he was ging billows, : bows t5 the he was swept tain Innis lost. w, shapes, :r in much (1 out at. a 3 size from Id tnough r which 13 nonds; jet i; ship backed main could be Island threw booths of the he manpulled (1 though the! sigh. England’ being struc“ _m own at her 1n mm from d" :onsidered .11; northeast. last the man, an! the strug- him, until be A great wave Ltswain on its was val! windows giant. waves overboan ,” :fifiqndi is iimbea he: rsing gen- That httlo 5’3 in‘ i he who ’ TURN PHILOSO PIIER. One Sunday afterno’on I found myself dozing over the Encyclopaedia. It had been raining all day : my mind was slug- gish, and reading had failed to excite anew i‘dea. Giving myself a. shake, I went to the window, thrust my hands in my pockets, and looked out We: the dreary moor. Hebe sat hard by, one of the big books open be. fore her on the shelf between two pots of flowers. There was nothing to read but the Encyclopedia. m “ Don’t you think we might afford to ex- 1 tend our library ‘2” she asked. ‘ “ We haven’t read a. twentieth part of what we’ve got : these volumes contain all that there is worth knowing.” “ Do you think so '1” “ 'W'nat subject of human interest could you suggest as an addition?” I asked, with languid curiosity. “ A work of imagination.” “Ob, a story,” said I, With a snort of contempt. “ I’ll pick up a. novel for you the next time I go into the town if I re- member it." “ I was not thinking entirely of my own pleasure,” she said quietly. “ \Vell, you need not trouble your head about me. I’ve got all I need. Romance is good enough for a parcel of girls and boys â€"and women. But what on earth does a. rational man want,” I asked, stretching my arms, “with the history of courtship and marriage ? They’re all alikeâ€"those stories. A couple of young fools fall in love ;they fall out of love ; they are reconciled, and their folly ris consummated inn. marriage” 1 “ Romance is not always cdhfined to young people, and 11: sometimes begins after marriage.” There was nothing in the expanse of ‘leaden cloud and stony moor to interest me, and as Hebe was silent, I continued. sen- temiouslyâ€" - . “ Oh, if they’re not young there’s less ex- cuse for their folly. and if they can’t live soberly after marriage their adventures can have no more interest for a. sane man than the vagaries of a. couple of idiots at; large.” “ Exfaen the vagariés of idiots may eicibe our sympathy: :0.‘ “ I suppose I’ve got. no sympathy ;" then. after a long yawn, I added, “ Anyhow, I don’t want to have it excited by such profit- less stufi'.” My desnltory reading in the Encyclopedia. had led me to skim over one or two systems of philosophy, picking up an argument here or there which pleased me, and leaving the rest. “'Jhe object of lite is the attainment of happiness. True happiness is nothing but a condition of contentment. Contentment is only to be obtained by the complete sub- jection of those passions that upset the per- fect balance of joy and sorrow on which equanimity depends. A wise man avoids anything which excites his passion; and if I thougbta book could stir me up either to hate or love, I would avoid it as carefully as indulgence in an intoxicating drink.” My wife sighed. I yawned again. “I’m not clever enough to argue upon abstract questions,” she said. “But all that you have said seems to me quite wrong.” ‘ . _ - - . a philgsppfiic irritation. “If all that you have said is true, it would seem that the highest aim of man- kind is to undo all that civilisation and culture have done, and sink back to the condition of animals â€"-a.y, even lower than that, for even they can sufi'er.” -‘ Well, and suppose we arrived at the condition of vegetables, trees, heather, grass â€"I flon’t see that we should lose anything worth a. moment’s regret. But, hold hard 2” I exclaimed, waking, up with a new idea. that had for me the charm of originality ; “ what is there to justify a belief that the condition of a. tree is lower than our own? May it not be that the ultimate end of civ- ilisation is to make man as obedient to the laws of nature as the tree?” “ Gregory 2 Gregory 2” said my wife, . . , passmnately. “ Did you never love ‘3 ’ o . ‘ i 1 ,,,. A, A:_4-J -1 -‘__.3 I sat degfi because I was tired of stand- ing. My wife was opposite to me, the light falling on her face that. had lost its color end composure. ___ . . . ‘ -‘1 .I igWhatt has that to do with the argu ment ‘3”1 asked. 7 She dismissed that question with an im- patient gesture. Her agitation about such a trifle made me laugh. Then, my elbow on the shelf, my chin in my hand, Iturned my head and looked again at the slanting rain. It seemed to me that it would be better for us both if she arrived at the same style of indifference as myself; we should jog on then in this comfortable way without bother. “ I suppose every man must fall in love some time or other,” said I, mumbling my words without taking my chin from my hand : “ same as he gets measles and other childish disordqrs: I’vq got through mine, thanlg God !” “ l on were happy then ?” she said, eager- It J “ )‘I’yesâ€"sort of. One day mad with I joy ; next day mad with despairâ€"hope one moment ; fear the nextâ€"delirious always. Balancing insane delight against insane wretchedness, the result, I suppose, left me something to the credit of happiness.” “But you were happier then than you are nowâ€"~thinkâ€"answer me truly ;” and then, as I made no reply, she added, im- petnously, “ Do answer me.” “I’m thinking it over. It’s difficult tO‘ answer in a moment about feelings that are past. I know this, though : I wouldn’t change my present condition for that.” “ You wont! not ‘3” “ No, not for the world,” said I with emphasis. " Then you never loved !” she said in a voice that trembled with sorrowful emotion. “ Never loyed !” I exclaimed, as all that V‘Vh -vvvâ€" _. _.v, I had endured through my assion flashed upon me. “ Never oved !_ ghave loved as a. men only can love who has loved but once. I’ve heard that when a disease lays hold of 1 a strong, healthy man the danger is greater ‘ than when it seizes a. feeble man who has got through a dozen petty maladies. That’s why I took it so badly. Never loved !â€" why, I gave my life for the woman I loved. That isn’t much. you say ; a man’s life is .worth so little. You may calculate its value in pounds, shillings, and penceâ€"by the sum a suicide has lost on a horse race. fiow’s that?” I asked, in a. tone of un- rnot. likely to b; attacheâ€"d again, BEYOND RECALL. now on ------ --___ need my “ it’s more likely to be the other way ,anting about. Guided by reason, one can’t go ,um be wrong ; led by feeling, one can only by 1e same‘chance go right. \Vhy should a. man he should I gated for vices that; are the resuit of con- uemmn. ition for which heris npt responsible. You A. man will put an end to his life for the sflliest trifle. But ” I added‘growing fierce with my recollection of the past “ it’s not a. trifle that leads him to murder a. woman. I ; never heard of a. man killing a. woman he- caus: he had lost a. wager or robbed an em- ployer. A man must be mad with passion to do murder.” “ Why do you talk of murder?” asked my wife, quaking with horror. “Because 1 cannot think of my love and forget its effect. I tell you it brought me ' to that. pitch. It made me a. murderer at, 1 heart. I only needed the opportunity to be i a. murderer in deed. I would have killed the woman I loved.” 7‘ .n ‘ The woman you hated 1” said my wife ‘ in correction. “ I know what I say, and I tell you it was the last convulsion of love. That was long agoâ€"I had time in prison to get over it. A gaol’s good for that. A man gets the nonsense knocked out of him there; his sensibilities are stamped under foot till he’s callous to pain or pleasureâ€"like a. tire' some tooth when the nerve is destroyed. How could he live on and on otherwise?” i I glanced at my wife as I put the ques- 1 tion. A single tear dropped from her cheek ' for rerlv. She must have seen that I told the truth, for I turned again to look out of the window, unmoved by her sympathy; occupied solely with my own bitter reflec- l tions. . n I_:..J Imuum Ha n3. “ But an attack of that kind leaves its trace behind,” I Went on after a pause. “It afi'ected my brain long after it had ceased to ravage my heart. They ought to have sent me to a madhouse instead of keepin met here. Perhaps they did not see thatI was mad ; I didn’t till I got away from the punishment cell, and crank, and the irons that stimulated my mania. But I was mad. 0h, you’d admit it if you knew all. Never mind thatâ€"it’s all over now ; and I’m healthier and better than ever I was.” “ Better ‘3” “ Why, yes. I tell you I would have murdered the Woman I loved ; well. now 1 would not walk across the room to do her an ; injury. Isn’t that an improvement ‘3” l My wife shook her heard sorrowfully, h e chin falling on her breast. “ And this is the secret of my mercy,” I added. “ I’ve no more love for her than I have for that dog.” “Oh, it will come back again,” Hebe cried, suddenly, as hope re-ammated her. “ Just as the buds burst on the trees when the winter is quite gone, love will come back to your heart.” _. . . r- , , “A- :__ u. ” MAJ T LU JV“; uuuuuuu “ There‘s plenty of room for it,” said I with a. hard laugh ; “ for there’s nothing left of my heart but the shell.” This itch of philosophising took hold of me, and as the weather about this time kept me indoors, where I had no mechanical occupation for the moment, I indulged it pretty freely at my wife’s expense. Re- membering her suggestion I bought a. novel for hep-Thackeray’s “ Esmond.” n ----- while I work ‘2” she asked, thinking, per- haps, to wean me from the Encyclopedia, and humanise me. My absurd vanity led me into the trap, but without the anticipated efiect. uuu "nus-v“- -_-- V ,_V “ That’s true !;’ I egclaimed, closing the book at the end of the first- chapter. “This man lays bare the secrets which novelists and law makers shut their eyes to. 1!, “Ill! LIA-II lunw-nvâ€"v ~. “ I am afraid I donot quitje understand,” said Hebe. ‘ I ALA aalu lJ-vau 1 opened the book again and read the conclusion of the chapter. -..c‘A‘,~r \aUlen uunvu. y- --- “ I look into my heart. and think that I am as good as any Lord Mayor, and know I am as bad as Tyburn Jack. Give me a chain and red gown and a. pudding before me, and I could play the part of Alderman very well, and sentence Jack after dinner. Starve me, keep me from books and honest; people, educate me to love vice, gin, and pleasure, and put me on Hounslow Heath with a. purse before me and I will take it.” “ And what conclusion do you draw from that; ‘3” she asked, diflid_en_t_ly. “ That we are one and all mere creatures of circumstances ; and that to reward one man for his virtues is just as unreasonable and unjust. as to punish another for his vices. ” 7 ”27011, I am sure he did not; mean that. You will find. as you read on, that Thack- eray loved the good and hated the bad with all sincerity.” I .| “LL UAIlvv-nv ' . “ Then fie was inconsistent, and there’s no sincerity in his philosophy.” "”‘vawjgu‘fdwratllér his 'pfiilosophy were faulty phan hishlgeu‘mt.” ‘ Al~ AAL-_. ._-... might as reasonably hate him for being born ; he is not to blame for either.” ‘My wife laid her work upon her lap, fix- ed Iner eyes upon me while she collected her thoughts and then, ina low, earnest tone, saidâ€" vvanv, â€".V- .â€" “ Suppose that: I sanctioned the course that sens my hu band to prison, knowing that another course would save him ‘3” I nodded, and she continued with an efl'ortâ€" - -.vvu1, cuvl U7 “ Suppose that after that Iâ€"Iâ€"” she stopped short, the color, covering her face. Ne “ I know,” said I with a laugh. “ Sup- pose you were unfaithful to him? All right; I can suppose that.” “ Then, would you not hate me '3 Should I not deserve all your hatred ‘5” 1 11A‘1 “ Not a. bit of it,” said I, unmoved. “All that is simply the result of education and temperament. You had been taught to love ease and luxury and the flattery of society. You thought you could not live as the acknowledged wife of a. condemned con- vict. You considered that before the twenty years expired, to which your husband was bound to be condemned, either he or you would be dead. And then afterwardsâ€"1’ 1 “ Oh, don’t go any further,” she cried in horror. “Very good. There’s nothing in your conduct that I myself should not have done had I been in your place, under similar con- ‘ ditions and circumstances.” She looked at me in silent wonder and pain. “That must be the judgement of any dispassiona're mind,” I continued. ” It proves what I said, that a. man cannot be unjust if he is guided by reason. But I would not answer for myself if I were under the domination of emotions. I not: mean that. hvluvo Iv .v-. -v - v 3‘ And othersâ€"partners in my crimeâ€"- could you forgive them as readily?” “You mean Major Cleveden.â€"I know the whole story. You asked ifI should not hate him. Noâ€"if met him to-morrow on the moor, I should let him pass without a. curse.” - -- a 3 In ;va.s true. I felt as I walked up and down, thinking the matter over, that, tak- ing all the circumstances into consideration, ‘ -- - ‘ A, 7,,31.I- .L:....c.“.1,\,\+“ Ans an. vus VI-v‘-â€"-â€"â€"â€"â€"__- it would have been a terrible thing for both of us if I had retained any feeling of love for my wife. Our present condition was the most pleasant I could imagine ; it was en- durable to my wife. and convinced that it could only exist with a philosophical state of apathy on my side; I resolved to keep my passions under subjection to the end. ,,,J-__.1 4,1... gun ”JI rrr‘I‘ng-ligvesmfi'ell have ordered the sun never to rise again, in order that I should sleep in endless night. CHAPTER XL. Axo'rmzn PHASE. It must have been about three weeks after the foregoing discussion that, glancing down the list of household requirements Hebe had made for me to take with me into tOWu, I found at the bottom this item :â€" “A little qu.niue.” “What's this?" I asked. “What sort of delicacy requires this ingredien t.” “1 don‘t feel very strong,” she explained, in a tone of dejection. I had been so engrcssed in making myself a. forge out in the shed, and setting up a bench there, that I had not remarked any change in my wife’s condition. Indeed, her undeviating gentleness had lulled me into such a feeling of content and security that I paid less attention to her than ever. “ I've noticed nothing,” said I looking at her in astonishment. I -- â€"â€"--_--~~_, “ I am glad of that.” Her voice quiver- ed a little. I could'see now that her-face lack- ed the brightness I had noticed when she told me with buoyancy that she felt stronger Ihan for years before. She must have gone gradually back little by little in slight degrees for the alteration to be impercept- ible, even though my thoughts Were other- wise engaged. A1” â€"1» - -0-..‘ A“ u .u- '"C'TJ ‘ “ You would have noticed," she went on with the slightest accent of bitter- ness, “ if I had failed to supply your wants.” Then her lips quivered, and she dropped her head tc conceal the rising tears, as she added, “ I can't keep up my spirits as I used.” I turned away, fearing thereiwas going to be a. sceneâ€"irritated that she could not go on just the same as I did. She had her work and her books ; and, besides that, there were the dog and the fowls and the househoid things to amuse her. What else could she want? " ' ' n)! T Uuulu any n _- “ What: made you think of quinine? ” I asked. “ It did me a little good when I first name to Toruuav. Dr. Borrinzton advised “ It did me a little came to Torquay. Dr. it.” quav? ” “Yes. It thought it mig ht; bring back -m. Mummy. It. in dremgiful to £361 80 LCfi. a. run-nub.-- _- my strength. It, is dreadful to feel so tired.” I went out and saddled the pony. “You had better not sit up for me, suid I returning to the cottage “before starting. “It may be late before I come in.” ‘ 7___-.L.'.‘~ Q‘xn H LU "an ”‘4 Au.v hiv-vâ€" _ “But you may want something. She spoke almost hopefully. “Oh, if I want, anything I can get it my- self. I don’t. want to he waited on.” “No,” she said, mourniully. - “You could do as well without me as with me, couldn’t, you '2” ' 7‘4. AL:~ UUuAuu v yvu - I hadn"t the grace to protest against this. In my conceit, perhaps, I thought 1 might find just as much satisfaction in solitude. L .J __.L-.. -IA“ fon‘ llouuav “a "nun... ~w-_-__e_ ,, “Anyway, you go to bed when you feel tired,” said I. Instead of going to Tavistock I went; to Torquay. More than once on the way I looked at that last. line on the list-n“ a little quinine"â€"â€"and each time With grow- ing uneasiness, though I did not perceive ,_- LL‘_ (In T An nnur Ills ullvuu-uv~~, v--- ‘u,, its pathetic significance then as 1 30 now. I merely considered the personal inconveni- ence I should be put to if my wife really fell ill and I lost her services. At Torquay I found Dr. Borrington, a keen, dark-eyed, sallow man, with an ir- ritable manner.- He glanced at me and then at his watch as if he were in a. hurry to get the interview over and pocket his fee. 1" I told him my wife was ailing. He questioned me closely, and With increasing sharpness as my answers revealed, not only my wife’s condition, but my cum character, W hat I did not tell him he divined, and so justly that it seemed to me he must know who my wife was and all her history. “ Your wife is a. delicate, sensitive woman?” he said, taking confirmation from my face. “ A young womanâ€"affectionate dispositionâ€"fond of her children, cats, dogs, any living thing? Patient, painstakingâ€"â€" don’t bother you with her troubles -keeps ‘ them to herself? Had a. mental strain at sometime? Suffered a good deal of un- happiness ? Stops at homeâ€"don’t see many friends ‘3 No change of sceneâ€"no amuse- ments outside her home?” He paused a. moment, and went on again. “ You say she subsists almost exclusively on a. milk dietâ€" been under medical treatment alreadyâ€"â€" that diet was prescribed? Anything else ‘3” “ She took quinine.” ’ “ Before the milk diet was resorted to.” He sat down and began to write, still questioning : “ No coughâ€"â€"complains of nothing but teeling tired and low spirited ? You find her crying without cause ? Of course you do your best to cheer her ‘1” “ I have my occupations,” said I. 1:6 stopped writing, and, looking up, 38.1 â€" "You are more concerned about them than the life of your wife.” “Dr. Borrington is 1 an Iuav n-.- vâ€" '__ “ What’s thedmatte'i'intlx her ‘2” I asked, startled by this suggegtion._ ,, 3’ “ A complaint that’s only too common,” he saidfinishing the prescription and rising. “ Your wife is sufiering fromâ€"” he handed me the paperâ€"“a careless husband." 1 ,1 c_ .1 _-¢L:..~ Illv vn-v :- He strEgE-the going 71 could find nothing to say as I put my fingers in my waistcoat pocket. fox:_a sovereign. ‘-__--- u 1.. mm Uunvv JV!- " ~v - ‘_ '-°â€"- “I don’t want your money,” he said. “ If the medicine fails to do good to your wife, let the poor soul come to me.” I covered my retreat with the boldest face I could put on it, and with growing discomfort 1 took the prescription to the chemist whose address was stamped at the head of the paper. , _ LL- .....u.n.. nut-u v- u-.v rwr--V “ Vhat should you say was the matter with_the_pati§1}_t?" I asked, when the old "Lvnv- .v râ€"v-‘â€"'_ man had read it through. bhe doctor at Tor- “Vi'eak digestion. “Well, that’s not very serious.‘ “Oh, that’s your opinion, is it?” he asked regarding me over the top of his glasses. My look and manner seemed to ofl'end him not- less than it did the doctor. He put a. paperweight on the prescription, and turned to bake down a. bottle. Measuring some liquid in a glass, his back turned to me, he resumedâ€"- “If you had a. lamp, and for some reason or other the wick ceased to convey the oil properly, should you be greafly surprised if AL 7 J-_]_ 0” 1'" " a 1 yo_urwere left In the darkm ‘7 -. a 7717_ ULl "vsv av.- -â€" 7â€"- I could find no replryTWThe parable struck me with startling force, the conclusion sttlpefigd _me. -__._L__ .â€"L... Tuna- thlyuuvu l-Qv The living room was empty when I re- turned. Closing the door as noiselessly as I had opened it, I stood for some minutes there with my hand on the latch, looking around me in dull depression. There was no sound but the low grumbling of the dog, who, coiled up on the landing above kept a jealous eye on me. My supper was laid on the table, my chair placed, a glass of flowers set where the light of the lamp fell. My slippers were by the stove ; a chamber candle with a box of matches stood ready on the dresser. She had forgotten nothing. For weeks she had never failed to open the door to me on my return, to take the parcels from my hands, to open them one after the other with smiling interest when she was assured that I had all that I want- 1 ed on the table, and to draw me into con- versation'about my purchases as I ate and drank. I had never perceived that it was a. pleasure to talk and listen to her, taking it as a matter of course, and part of that con- tented state of mind that I intended to maintain for the future. The difference made by her absence astonished me, and the more so when I reflected that all my physical requirements were as carefully pro- vided tor as usual. “All the color is gone i” I said to myself. "A I ,,,,L-_r.r-a lulu [J u “v vâ€"~- “If it were always like that !” I said to myself in awe. In the morning I remembered that I had of late forgotten to fetch the water. It was a. reliet to think that she might not have felt tired without cause. I had the kettle boiling, the room dusted, and the breakfast things on the table before she came down. I was standing outside, undecided what to do next, when Howler bundled down the v 1- 1,1: “LL “U llvnv’ n .nâ€"â€" _v .. steps, and set up a. regular howl of delight at the bottom. Hebe was looking at the table in astonishment when 1 went in ; but her amazement was greater still when I held out my hand with a. bashful awkward- ness, and hoped she felt better. It was the first time since the old days that I had offered my hand to her. She put hers into L __ -__-_ VA‘V- v- __ mine, and pressed it in silence, her eyes‘ alone expressing that this was for hera. moment of solemn presage. Howler came up and sniffed at my legs, as though he were in doubt about my identity. “I thought you might sleep late, so I got breakfast ready,” I said, with- drawing my hand, and feeling it neces- sary to excuse myself, lest she should give me credit for more feeling than Ipossessed. At one moment, as we stood there hand in hand,a wild tenderness in her quivering lips made me fear she would throw her arms about mv neck. - r can. g. “ Oh, I have slept; too long; I didn’t, hear you come in. You could have made no noise at allâ€"and thank you for asking about me ; I feel much better and brighter this morning: ” - ~u ‘ 0“ 9‘7L. She spokeohurriedly, and with agitation. ‘ But she regained her composure by the time ‘ we were seated at table. “ I’ve put the things in the cupboard, but I haven’t turned them out of the bags. And the quinine is on the shelf.” “ I feel now as if I should not want it.” “ But you must take it, and when that’s gone I’ll get more. Your hand ought not to be so thin as that. ” The words slipped out involuntarily, and I hastened to cover them by adding, “ And there are some books in that parcel over there, and illus- tratql paper-e.” . , ~- --â€" ‘L_--- .1.5 She opened the packet, and bringing the illustrated papers to the table, drew her‘ chair near mine, that we might look at the pictures together. It was as if she had never seen the like before. There was ab- ‘ sorbing interest in every one ; even the i Prince of Wales “ laying another founda- l~tion stone, poor fellow !” suggested a dozen ingenious comments. I should have dismiss- ed the whole batch in five minutes ; the tea was cold before she had half exhausted the fund of amusement. UL wvvu râ€"r'_â€"- “This is like the {merging you brought the flowers home,” she said, with soft grati- tude dwelling on every word._ Luau v- wâ€" v “ If you could make some fumes we might hang the large pictures round the room, Gregory,” she hintedâ€"never forget- ful of my weakness, though perhaps giving it another name. Ipromised to make frames of an entirely original _kind‘.‘ .9, ,I _ __I_ VA "In Unav- â€"â€"â€"â€"â€"â€"â€"â€"â€"â€" “ And wh; dxdoyou {my these 2” she ask- ed, without; raising her eyes from the paper, but with an earnestness that she could scareely conceal. “ ‘ , i-~ â€"â€"_ _L:A. - vvâ€"vvâ€"_- 7; T {bought it would cheer you up a bit. I)” hear her foot- when I am occupied yiah t1. "av... 4- â€"â€" ---_ me forget. you, you know. it struck me that things weren’t exactly balanced 5’ they should be. My work is a. plenum” yours is a. duty; and you ought nob“ something to .intgresb and amuse you, 211!“ ;;___f 'hav‘é ; that’s only just ; an'd nx’fil: things are just, we can’t go on contented”. n9! ,1 , ,_L“I “ Was that the only reason ‘2” she asked without. changing her tone, without raising her eyesâ€"“ to make me content. ‘5” ~- -- ‘- a L_A______'_‘"A‘ any i (vigiv’t remember what response I made ; it was scarcely intelligible to myself I Know. “ Tap”â€"a tear fell on the paperâ€"“ tag”-â€"- ‘6 tap.” . ‘ - , _L__L__-.-_ 4.3.]... w fire you thinking about your children 2” I asked, not harshly. She shook her head. It was not her tears that moved me ; only the thought of being left alone in the world thatgushed mean to an extremity. 2‘. --_-L.u- ” 'I‘ on.” ru-uvu u-v ‘â€" -- v , o “ If you could manage It soxfiehow,” I saidlj‘ that; yoquouk-i go and see them. " ~â€"-â€"-â€" -_.1 “ No,” she said, closing the pa. 1', and hurriedly drying her eyes. “ 0 ; they are well cared for, I know. My place is here. I will waitao long as there is my hope of finding my husband.” . Lowercd Into an Elephants Stomach to Remove An lndlgestlble Iron In. Apropos to the incident related recently of the death of Zipp, the big elephant. at Barboo, Wm, from having swallowed a chain weighing 90 pounds, a reminder was called up and related by Dr. Hume of Den- ver. “ Just prior to the demise of the much lamented Phineas T. Barnum I was touring in Connecticut and called upon the great showman at Bridgeport, who invited me to see the circus animals in winter quarters. On arriving at the great caravansary where the wonders that tour the country year after year are stored, the illustrious owner was informed that Beta, the prize trick elephant, was ailing. All the symptoms of the poor beast pointed to the fact that she was suffering from acute gastralgia and means had been tried to relieve her without ‘ avail. “ It was finally discovered that Beta. had by some means wrenched ofl' an iron but from her stall, and as it could not be found it was surmised that she had swallowed it, and which accounted for the gastric irrita- tion of the valuable pachyderm. l bar of iron. , 7 _“ Mr. Barnum saw; that poor Beta. must soon succunb to the imflammation caused by such a large foreign body and with ready wit resolved on a. unique plan to remove it. Attached to his large winter hotel m 3 small colored boy who Went by the nameof V .. Nigger Joe. He was but little larger than V . a lull-grown possum, and P. T. sent for him and explained that he must take a. rubber tube in his mouth to breath through, and, with a. rope round his waist, must go down into the elephant’s stomach and get out that 1 h} A BOY IN THE ROLE OF JONAH- “ Joe rolled his eyes and demurred, but he knew his employer too well to refuse. Accordingly Joe was anointed with a. pound of vaseline and, Beta being safely gagged, he was gently pushed down the giant oeso- phagus head first, a smooth stick well oiled landing him at the bottom. According to instructions the boy soon 'gave three tugs at the rope to be pulled out again, and sure enough, tightly clasped in Joe’s hands was the ofiending and indigestible iron bar. It is needless to say that Beta’s life was saved and that Nigger Joe was handsomely re- warded for his cure of the valuable ele- I phant’s indigestion.” An Extraordinary Story- An extraordinary storyâ€"one of the real- ity-beating-romance styleâ€"reaches us fr'nn Kiefl'. The news reads like a. shilling-shock- er or a. Porte St. Martin drama, and, with- out entering into all the. unsavoury details on which our correspondent dwelli, we may summarise his narrative briefly, as follows : w ..w. -- - __, â€"It seems that, by the orders'of the Central Revolutionary Committee, one of the affiliat- ed was entrusted last October with the strange mission of eloping with the wife of one of the chiefs of the famous Third Section of the Imperial Chancellery, the object of the proceeding being to extort from Madam 1a Generale some information about a fresh system of reprisals against Nihilists, as planned by the High Police. The mission it appears was notvone of extreme difl'iculty, , ,,AL__ LL- -....."l- "an- " "'1’ "'"‘ "“‘ "’ - for oil the 10th of November the couple were travelling in Italy under the respective de- scriptions of Anna Bitter, vocalist, and Richard Werner, impreeario, and several voluminous reports had been deepatched to St. Petersburg. In the meantime, the es- capade had been made knowu in every detail to the police all over the Empire, and when the couple returned on the 12th of Decem- lber to Russia, and repaired to Kiefl', that rhot-bed of Nihilism, it_was only to meet a speedy doom. Man and woman were recogo nised immediately, and his Excellency, telegraphed for from St. Petersburg, started without delay, and surprised his wife with- her paramour in an hotel. Before the gen- darmes who were following him could inter- fere, the General, drawing his sword, began to back about, decapitating his wife with a tremendous blow, and mortally wounding ‘ the man. The body of the woman was buried the same night, and the wretched man ‘thrown into prison, where every care will taken that he does not die before he speaks out. So eager is the Russian Govern- ment to know every particular of this story that a special emissary has been deepatched to retrace the route journeyed by the two lovers. Collision of :1 Passenger Train With a Cattle Train in Hungary. A Buda Pesth, telegram says :â€"A pas- senger way train and a cattle train collided near Gran to-day. The cattle train washeav- ily loaded and its impetus forWhe loco- motive over the locomotive of t' ‘- passenger train and into the first and some '3 carriages. The other carriages of the pat-mg” train were partially smashed. In the first ear- riagea three persons were kin-d instantly ‘ and 10 more were severely, p'ethaps fatally injured. In the second carriage 15 persons were injured two so seriouslv that they are expected to die. In the other carriages 18 persons were cut or bruised, but none dangerously. The engine drivers of both trains were terribly burned, but may to- cover. Three hundred head of cattle were killed. Most of the injured who couLd be moved have been taken to the Gran hospital. The mieplacement of a switch in tapped to have caused the accident. A TERRIBLE WBEOL BE commcnn). with things simian“ 1 know. It struck an