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anoth en th N ORDINAIRE j VB‘S iss It On & +4 Jp#G+q*$#%4+G+¢%+e4 AND> NEW. Appoars, on@, Transcript& show n ? $ EVE tells shore, Ta®, hree bye heer x work for tle nate e is me Nerg e for nce yet atey and sip ster., y car sir u & } € "I would fain have persuaded my husâ€" band to throw up his situation, rather than serve a master who had wrought us ench bitter wrong. But John Elmer was obstinate, We remained, and I buried the bitter hatred in my breast â€"and bided my time. _ "Another year passed, The old baron died, and the young one reigned in his "Heaven knows that I never had a doubt of his hounor, or a fear of my sisâ€" ter‘s heart. I had known the young squire from his boyhood, and though we had once been sincere lovers, he had nevâ€" er done, or said, a single thing to woun.d my delicacy; therefore, how could 1 susâ€" E:t that his visits boded evilâ€" to my y* Alas! 1 did not know how maen besides classics anl mathematies he bad learned at Oxford; no, nor now the world had changed him! 1 was blind, f, senseless to all misgivings. _ At h the last day of his visit came. The next morning he was to start upon his travels. That night my sister clung to me and wept all night. 1 could not comâ€" fort her. She had been hysterical tor several days, and I sat it all lown to uvousness, never for an instant conâ€" ting her malady with the tthought of the young squire‘s departure. ‘The next morning he took leave of us, and went away; alone as we thought, That night my May was missing. Ab! I cannot enâ€" ter upon the details of this sad story. A few days of agonizing and fruitless search and then we ascertained that she was the companion of his tour. He had waited for her at a neighboring postâ€"town where according to their previous arrangement, she had joined him. My father was an old man, in feeble health; he never reâ€" eovered the shock. The baron was in a terrible rage, and swore that he would never forgive or speak to his nephew again. He did all he cocld for my fathâ€" er, retainel him in his service at ftull wages, and hired a young man, John Elmer, to do his duty in the Chase, I must hurry over this part of my story. Within tweive mouths after the flight of May father died. i marmed John Elâ€" mer, and he succeeded to the situation of headâ€"keeper and we continued to ocâ€" eupy the lodge. It was in the second vear of our marriage that we got news of May. He had deserted her, broken heart .and she was deadâ€"dead, and tr. foreign grave! lt was then that I registered an oath in heaven to avenge upon the head of her destroyer the ruin and death of my only sister _ Aad to do this more effectually, 1 resolved to eoneeal the fiery hatred that consumed my heart. Ne lerrâ€"nanint \ And so in my thoughts I separate them still, Well, he went away again, and I saw him no more for two years, for the next vacation he spent with some friends, In the meantime my young sister grow fi) as beautiful a creature as ever oomed into womanhood. She had a small and graceful form, delicate featâ€" ures, complexion of the purest white and red, glittering black hair, splendid b eyes, and an everâ€"varying, most & nting smile. 1 was twentyâ€"five, and my sister cightcen, when the young squire came to the castle to pay us a last visit, previous to departing for bis tour on the Continent. I had never seen him so handsome and fascinating as ho was then. _ Still I never thought of him except as the young master; and never associated him with the memory of my love; but during the few weeks of his stay he came frequently to our lodge, and always seemed affectionate to me I used to do all the shopping and mar keting for our little household, and oftâ€" en upon returning from thees errands in the village, I found Mr. Etheridge in company with my fair young sister, Upâ€" on these occasions he would always spring forward and greet me most affectionateâ€" ly, saying: _"I have been waiting for you, Maggy or words to that effect. T ;)l;!;dOIV to other days, when the new wmwo coL 6888868888686 8°8868°8888888882280 | TRal For LiFE . J . _ .. SA tot * :n‘ uy COESSESS8S8S8888888E8§°88S8888E00®88® CEYLON «REEN TEA Has the same character as Japan, but is infinitely more delicious. Lead packets only. 40c, 50c and 60c per ib. At all grocers ORING MaATTEER J ADULTERATION ABSOLUVUTEL v~â€" »URE "Mother, mother, 1 do not presume to do so; but oh. do not defend your erime! Repent of it! repent of it! pray God for forgiveness!" sobbed Laura. "Repent?â€"I undo my doings. 1 can go no further," replied the _ woman, gloomily. _"Ah! my mother, to undo what you have doneâ€"to right this wrongâ€"will be more difficult than you think; for though I shall immediately yield up my possession of the castle and estates that I have so long considered my own, yet. "Oh, mother! mother! mother! mothâ€" erâ€"" exclaimed she who was no longer Lady Etheridge, as she dropped upon her knees by the bedside, and buried her face in the coverlet. "Laura, Laura, speak to me! comfort me! I am dying! Laura, Laura, you at least have no resson to complain; you have not suffered by the exchange! You have received the education of a gonâ€" tlewoman; you should not blame me!" Laura, dving!‘ "My God! my God! Oh, woman, womâ€" an!â€"for I cannot call you motherâ€" what is this that you have done?" moaned the lady, dropping her head upon her claspsd hands. "I have consummated my revengeâ€"â€"" ILady Etheridge shuddered and shrank away from her. "I have filled my life with remorse Lady Etheridge again shuddered. "And I have lost my immortal soul! Laura, no longer Baromess Etheridgeâ€" Laura, my daughter, speak to me, 1 am vena« "Peace, Lady Etheridge, until you hear the restâ€"it is not much. The newâ€" born babe was likely to perish for the want of a nursing mother. I was then mursing my own child, which was but three woeeks old. My husband was down with the mortal illness that finally terâ€" minated his life. The housekeeper at the castle recommended that the child should be placed in my charge. I was applied to, and I agreed to nurse the inâ€" fant, but onmy on condition that it should be sent to my cottage .and left in my sole care. To this His Lordship consented. "He went away. And then I laid the babes side by side in the solitude of my room, and looked at them. Young inâ€" fants as they were, they were much alike. My own child and my master‘s were both of the same age and sex. and baron woed and won a young and beauâ€" tiful bride. _ She was a delicate creaâ€" ture, fairâ€"skinned, blueâ€"eyed, goldenâ€"hairâ€" edâ€"too fragile for the cares of this world, where, indeed ,she did not tarry long. _ It was some fifteen months afâ€" ter her marriage _ that _ she _ died, leaving _ behind _ an _ infant laughter of only a few days old. Her early death was a righteous judgment on him, the traitor!" "My mother, my sweet young mother, who perished in her early youth! Oh, nurse, how can you say such things of her?" 1S "Yes, my lady. Will your ladyship look into the diningâ€"room as i'our ladyâ€" ship [iv.oes by ? Mounseer, the French cook that Colonel Hastings brought down has laid the breakfast most magnificent, my lady," said the maid, throwing open a pair of folding doors on her right, and revealing a fine diningâ€"hall, with a long table and sideboards covered with snow white damask, and sparkling, glowing, and blazing ith gold plate and crystal glass, while all the piflns that support ed the arched roof, and all the family portraits that graced the walls, wore festooned with wreaths of flowers. __"No, Maberly, no I thank you; I could not sleep, I will go to my dressâ€" ingâ€"room, and evechange this habit for a loose wrapper; and you may bring me a cup ‘of ten."." ;‘ :0 / "Ah, my lady! my lady! how very inâ€" discreet! Just like your kind heart, to stay out all night nursing a whimsical old woman, instead of taking your rest with such a day as this before you. And alack, how worn your ladyship does look. Will your ladyship lie down and sleep for an hour, and then take a warm bath ana a cup of coffiee before commencing your ladyship‘s bridal toilet. There will be plenty of time." She was met in the hall by Mrs. Ma berly, her woman, who was all in a flut ter of anxiety. "Yes, she is an Etheridgeâ€"a true Ethâ€" eridge, although she knows it not as yet. And Iâ€"who am I%? This must be all a dream, or a delirium of some fierce brain fever! Oh, heaven, that I could wake!â€"that I could burst tlhese bonds of sleep or frenzy, and awake!" thought Laura, as she stood for a few moments like one in a trance. Then, recovering herself, whe told the good. neighbor to â€"«ay to Mrs. Elmor, when she awoke, that he would soon return; and, taking leave, entered the carriage and drove to Swinburne Castle, no longer her home. "I havre no troubles J.2A4Av *Wharide; those only have troubles who have hopes, prospects afd uosites, 4o NyC abuaald ; nothing but the bitterness of an acrid heart, Do not cccupy your moble mind with my poor affairs, my lady. This is your wedding day; I have the honor to wish you much joy, mmdam!" said Rose, with a deep courtesy, as she @urned awa v. "Then what other grief can a young girl like you possibly have?" inquired Laura, sympathetically. "The heart knoweth its own bitterâ€" ness, Lady Etheridgeâ€"a bitterness with which the stranger intermeddleth not," replied Rose, with a certain mcurnful dignity. "Very trwe; I beg your pardon; yet permit me to be the good fairy who will foretell to you an end, before many days, of all your trowbles," said Laura, gently, for not the slightest element of jealousy entered into her heart of the unconâ€" scious maiden who was soon to displace her from her high rank. Making a sign to them that her paâ€" tient was asleep, Laura Elmer arose to leave the house; but first she turned to gaze on Rose, the unconscious, though rightful Baroness Etheridge. Since th# preceding night, a fearful change had passed over the face of the maiden. Her chocks wore the pallid hue of death, her eyes were dim and sunken, her lips blue and tremutlous; her voice, in bidding goodâ€"morninge to Lady Etheridge, was so low and faltering as to be almost inaudible, "How this child loved her supposed mother," was the thought of Laura, as she kindly said: "Do not be uneasy, our patient is not in immediate danger." Stunned by the shock of her sudden fall, distressed by doubts of the reality of her own position, and of the stability of her own reason, tempted to believe the events of the night only the phanâ€" tasmagoria of a feverish dream, and feelâ€" ing, through all this chaos of thought, the imminent necessity of immediate acâ€" tion, Laura waited until, almost at the same moment the carriage drove up to the door, Rose, with the neighbor at whose house she had spent the night, came in. "Thank you, I know that she is not, my lady," replied Rose, in & tearful voice. The weary coachman obeyed, and, gaâ€" thering up his reins, drove of{. The lady returned to the house, and sat down beâ€" side the bed of the now sleeping woman, to wait until the carriage came back. "Wilson," said the lady, "I am really sorty to have kept you sitting here all night, while I watched by a sick bed. You shall go to sleep when you get back to the castle; but now drive round to the residence of Colonel and Mr. Hastâ€" ings, and request them to come to me at the castle upon important businces that will not admit of delay, ‘Then return hither to take me home." When Laura opened the door, the first rays of the rising sun streamed into the room. The carriage still waited before the door, and the coachman was asleep on his box. In their long interview, the night unâ€" heeded had passed away, and brought the morming. proofs. The links in the chain of eviâ€" dence will all be found complete." "It is better that it is so; «ince a question as to the true inheritrix must be raised. I am glad that the answer is susceptible of proof which will place the matter at rest forever. And now, my mother, you are not dying, nor even near death, as your fears would suggest. You must permit me to return to the castle, and make certain arrangements that must not be delayed. I will return to you immediately afterward," said Laura, rising, and arranging her disordered dress. to "Will it? The proof does not rest soclely upon my word or dying oath, Let anyone _ lead _ Rosamond _ Etheridge through a gallery of the portraits of her ancestors, and compare her face with theirs, and it will then be seen that Rosamond, in face and features, is a true Etheridge. Or, if more proof is needed, let anyone strip up her sleeve, and look upon her right arm above the elbow, and they will see the family mark, the fiery eross,with which, while in Scotland, some ancient Baroness of Etheridge was so frightened as not only to leave its image on her inmmediate child, but to sond it down to all her descendants. Havre you, Laura, any such mark, or any such resemblance?" believe me, it will be difficult to convince the House of Peers, before whom this matter must come, that the nameless girl whom you deprived of the title has any right thereunto." 0 oonen comonemenn diapet : m o nltren en In less than a month the borrowing ceased entirely.â€"Philadelphia Record. Tommy â€" "Pop, ears are always on the side, aren‘t they?" _ Tommy‘s Popâ€" "Yes, my son." Tommyâ€""Then what‘s "So I‘ve noticed," said the other neigh bor. On one occasion when her complaints to her husband were particularly sorrowâ€" ful he suggested that she keep the coffee returned to her for use when her visitors sought to borrow more instead of throwâ€" ing it away as she had been doing. And she at once put the plan into execution. The next borrower was received sweetâ€" Iy and her request for a portion of coffee complied with most graciously. It was promptly returned, but with less appearance of gratification than had been the wont. The plan was continued and applied to the others. y "Mrs. Jones‘ coffee is not of as good quality as formerly," said one neighbor to another. It was true they returned what they borrowed, or imagined they did, but the coffee they brought her back was not. of the quality of that they borrowed. She could not in justice to her reputation or her own requirements or the maintenance of her reputation so much as use it. Suburban Housekeeper Returns Their Own Coffee and Gets Desired Relief. In a suburb of this city resides a matron who prides herself _ upon her coffee, and those who have enjoyed the hospitality of her board agree that her pride is well founded. For months she bas been distressed by the propensities of some of her neighbors who have borâ€" rowed coffee, and that only, to her occaâ€" stonal but serious inconvenience. "Something has happened, Lady Etheâ€" ridge. You commanded the presence of Colonel Hastings and myself, and we are here at your orders. Speak, dear Laura, and say, can we serve you." â€" (To be contimued.) *My worshipped Lauraâ€"â€"" when something in the expression _ of that queenly brow, and those steady, luminâ€" ous cyes, st(?;;pod him. Looking wistfully in her face,. he said: CHAPTER v. Mr. Hastings was pacing the floor and turned to greet her, exclaiming: â€" And with this inspiring word upon her glowing lips, and with this _ thought lighting up her eloquent face, she enâ€" tered the library and stood in the preâ€" sence of him who held her fate in his handsâ€"Albort Hastings. "Strange! oh, most strange, but yesâ€" terday Lady Etheridge of Swinburne, the mistress of all this vast estate, the betrothed of Albert Hastings, and toâ€" dayâ€"toâ€"dayâ€"only Laura Elmer, _ the daughter of the village Jaundress. Yet still the betrothed of Albert Hastings. That was the dearest title I ever had. I have that still. Oh, thanks be to Heaâ€" ven, amid all the wreck and ruin of my fortune, I have that precious title still. Will he be faithful in my fallen forâ€" tune. Yes, yes. Oh, traitress that I should be to doubt him for a moment. Yes, he will be faithful. He never loved me for my rank or fortune. He loves me for myself. Upon the rock of my husband‘s love I may repose, for I know he will never change with changed fortune. He will throw his strong arm around me against the world. Had this calamity falâ€" len upon him, and stripped him of rank and wealth, and name and fame, I should have loved him even more deeply for his misfortunes. I should have been the happiress of my life to make him forget them. I judge his noble heart by mine! He will be faithful! Do your worst, fate. Strip me of my rank and wealth, and name and fame, and friends, and all external goods. You cannot touch my heart. where, safe as a jewel in its casâ€" ket, lies the treasure of my life, the love of Albert Hastings!" mused Laura, as she sat amid the transitory splendor of her dressing room. "My lady, Mr. Hastings waits your ladyship‘s pleasure in the library," said a footman, opening the door. & "Yes, yes, Maberly, it is all very beautiful, no doubt; but I have now other things to occupy my thoughts." "Other things, my lady." "Yes, yes; I am momentarily expectâ€" ing Colonel and Mr. Hastings. When they arrive, show Colonel Hastings into the drawing room, and Mr. Hastings inâ€" to the library, and come and _ let me know, And now leave me. I wish to be alone." ‘"Yes, my lady," said the wondering abigail, as she left the room. "Yes, my lady; and while you are restâ€" ing and drinking your tea, just feast your ladyship‘s eyes upon that bride dress and veil; and see this wreath ot orange blossoms, with the real perfume in them, such as the French only can make." "Yes, my lady; but just lift up your eyes and look upon that Indian shawl. If that splendid shaw! is not enough to restore strength to the fainting, I am no judge of ladies nor shawls. That comes from your ladyship‘s cousin, Lord Seaâ€" forth, who brought it from Constantiâ€" nople, himself, no doubt." t'tlt, is very ri(‘h and rare. There, Mab erly, give me my dressing gown." j "Do but see, my lady, if your ladyâ€" ship is equal to it, what splendid ofâ€" ferings. All these came last night, or this morning. I hope they are arranged to your ladyship‘s satisfaction. This really royal set of diamonds, my lady, came last night, with Mr. Hastings‘ compliâ€" ments. This other set of oriental pearls, "It is very well," said Laura, languidâ€" ly, as she passed on her way up _ the stairs. She entered her gressing room, when a beautiful vision met her view. Upon a center table, covered with a white velâ€" vet embroidered cloth, were displayed the magnificent bridal presents offered by the friends of Lady Etheridge. _ my lady, were left with Colonel Hastâ€" ings‘ respects, This dressing case of cbâ€" ony, with all its appointments of solid gold, was an offering from Lady Dornâ€" ton. This superb workbox.â€"â€"" _ "There, cease, Maberly. I see all these things. I admire them, and I acknowâ€" ledge the kindness of my friends; but I am very tired; help me to undress." BORROWERS TOOK THE onR hy o memie cfmieubetee tomacet W incartieniiner niiinbhdiriiecen t HINT. languidâ€" ] pea had her beasts shod with gold. But it s believed that these were not nailed to the hoofs, but the upper part drawn over the feet only was made of the preâ€" cious metal so as to give a glittering apâ€" The Greek name for the modern horeeâ€" shoe, the shape of the crescent moon, first appears in the works of the Emperâ€" or Leo in the ninth century, These were made of iron and fastened on with nails. Suetorius says that N&ro. the emperâ€" or whose name is inseparably connected with the burning of Rome, had mules with silver shoes, while the elder Pliny, says that Nero‘s notorious Queen Popâ€" Mithridates in his war with the Roâ€" | mans had to send his cavairy away while | besieging Cyzicus because the hoofs of his horses were worn down. The earliest I records show that the people of Thessaly : were the first to protect the hoofs of | their horses feet with shoes of iron, They ; were first tied on with thongs, but with | the invention of nails they were used to | fasten the hoofs and shoes together. | The first were in all probability not nailed to _ the hoof of the horse, but so made that they could be easily removed. Catullus, the Roman poet, who wrote in the first century before Christ, reâ€" fers to the way "the mule leaves her iron shoe in the stiffs and of the slough." In the old testament there is reference to horses‘ hoofs being broken by mighty prancings, showing that they were not protected by metal shoes, but the referâ€" ence by Homer to "brazenâ€"footed" horses is held by some to refer to brass shoes, although others regard it as mere poetic license. they probably made real shoes of braided rushes and of leather, which were put on the horses‘ feet only in time of need. But as these soon wore out and the working of metal became easy the use of iron shoes came into vogue for beasts of burden. The days when horseshoes were nailed over the entrances of houses to keep away witches and their malign influeneâ€" es have passed away, save in some re mote rural communities where superstiâ€" tion continues to maintain its hold on uneducated minds. But the use of the symbol has not died out, as the tiny golden horseshoe dangling from a watch chain or the diamondâ€"incrusted one on the bosom or hair of beauty testifies. And the belief in the luck of picking up a castoff horseshoe in the roadway is shown by the frequency which it is gilded and hung up and perhaps adorned with ribbons. The origin of the belief in the lucky qualities of the horseshoe is lost in the mist of antiquity, but it does not anteâ€" date the use of the metal protection for the hoof of the equine quadruped. How far back that goes is not exactly known, but it is certain that the eohippus, the progenitor of the present horse, did not wear shoes, for he had four +oes, and alâ€" though the divided hoof of the ox is frequently shod, to shoe four toes was undoubtedly beyond the powers of primâ€" itive man, even if the neolithic ecave dweller was contemporaneous with the animal whose remains are found in the fossil beds of Colorado. When men first devised plans for proâ€" tecting the hoofs of horses from damage It is by working such cures _ as the . HMorseshocing has been characterized as above that Zamâ€"Buk has made for itseif "one of the penalties which civilization its worldâ€"wide reputation. It is a cerâ€" inexorably exacts." Every time a horse tain cure for cuts, burns. brnises, eczema, is shod damage is done to the hoof by pimples, running sores, spreading scabs, PAring it and putting nail holes in it scalp diseases, poisoned wounde, festerâ€" and there is constant danger of a nail ing sores, piles, ulcers, bad legs, abscesâ€" Or A sliver of one nenetrating into the ses, boiles. ringworm, erysipelas, scrofula, flesh and causing lameness, It is said barber‘s rash,. blackheads, acne, stiffâ€" that the making of horseshoe nails by ness, rheumatism, and all injured, disâ€" machinery, which was invented in the eased or inflamed conditions of skin last century, and has almost wholly supâ€" and tissue. Of all druggists at 50e a planted the oldâ€"fashioned handâ€"grought box, or postpaid from the Zamâ€"Buk Co., nail. has contributed largely to lameness Colborne street, Toronto. upon receipt of horses, _ as a machineâ€"made nail is of price. 6 boxes for $2.50, | more likely to split when driven into the SmmpepepmriiffieGieifmmmem ies hoof and one portion to turn inward and ~~~ _ | the other outward. rAII" IN No monuments or sculptures are exâ€" tant showing any horses with shoes earâ€" lier than the second century. but a bas relief in the museum at Avignon is of "ORS[S"OE lUCK thi sdote. A coin in the British museum from Tarentum of about 200 B. C. is, ( however, supposed to renresent a shod horse. When the Muns invaded Europe (Buffaio Express). '(.heir horses are believed to have been ho ts 4 shod and the Arsbs of the Hejira in 622 H?_lxe‘ga) §”\‘.\rlu"n hom‘esl_wes were m‘uled A. D. shod their steeds. "I heard of Zamâ€"Buk, and decided to give it a fair trial. From first commen« ing with it it did me good, and it has now cured me. Whereas before I could not stand on my feet for five minutes at a ‘time, I can now not only stand, but walk about without feeling _ any pain whatever. I feel like a new woman. 1 have waited to see if the cure was perâ€" manent before making any statement, and now I am very willing to give my testimony. I shall be pleased to answer any inquiries, and if any one cares to come and sce me, I shall be pleased to tell them what Zamâ€"Buk has done for Cured by Zamâ€"Bukâ€"Chronic Uicers and So es of Nine Years Standing Healed by This Herbal Baim. "I cannot be thankful _ enough for the day Zamâ€"Buk came to Canada. For nine years I had been a sufferer from running sores on my legs caused by _ bloodâ€"poisoning. J had tried every kind of ointment and salve that I had heard of, but none of them seemed equal to my case. Last winter 1 was worse than ever, and could not bear to stand on my feet for five minutes. The pain was so acute that I could not bear to have my slippers on. The wonderful _ value â€" of Zamâ€"Buk, the herbal balm in cases of chronic ulcers, sores, etc., is illustrated by the experience of Mrs. W. E. Rice, of Lon don Junction (Ont). She says: o on RESULTS OF BLOOD POISONING ONTARIO ARCHIVES TORONTO | & To | This was done, and the supposed witch | was so enraged that she complained to | the dean of the cathedral, but he only | laughed at her. Enraged at her failure [ to secure relief from what she regarded {as an intolerable condition, she hurried Ito the bedside of the sick man, and deâ€" i spite the horseshoes over the doorway passed through it. But the sick mana | and his advisers had their faith restored | when they found that the economical ; blacksmith instead of using horseshoes had naiied up three of the shoes disâ€" i ;-arded after being taken from a donkey‘s | feet. ! _ The nailing of horseshoes over doore , and windows to keep away witches and | their malign influe had great vogue in the days when ‘ef in witcheraft was prevalent. The ancient Romans drove nails in the walls of houses as a protection against the plague and had th protection against the plague and had they known of horseshoes they doubtâ€" l less would have nailed them up. f When first devised in 1835 it could turn out fifty or sixty pairs a minute, and this was afterward increased. When Longfellow wroteâ€" Under the spreading chestnut tree The village smithy standsâ€" there was still much more interest im blacksmithing than there is now, when the automobile has to so great an exâ€" tent served to dispense with horses and horseshoers. A use to which horseshoes are often put in country districts is in pitching a game of quoits when regular quoits are not tni‘Lble. The heavier Qloo_oâ€"thg it, the less worn they areâ€" the better for this purpose. As belief in witches has almost wholly passed away so has the belicf in the efficacy of horseshoes to keep them away. In fact, the poetry and romance of the old fashioned horseshoe, hammered out on his anvil by the busy smith in his grimy forgeâ€"the sparks flying from the beaten steel, thrust into the fire at intervals, while with one hand he blew his huge bellows to supply the oxygen to keep the metal at white heatâ€"almost wholly passed away when the horseshoeâ€" making machine was invented. Only a few years ago the story was published in English newspapers of & carpenter in Ely who when taken ill imagined that a woman whom he had cjected from one of his houses had beâ€" witched him. Certain wise old women counselled him that the only way to secure protection from her «upposed inâ€" cantations, sorceries and evil influence was to have a blacksmith nail three horseshoes over his door. In the latter half of the seventcenth century a writer mentions that most of the houses in the west end of London were protected against witches by horseâ€" shoes nailed in them. As late as 1813 there were seventeen horseshoes nailed up in one London street, but in 1841 only five remained. When horseshoeing _ first came into vogue the art of the smith was regarded as ranking with that of writing postry or giving instruction, so that noblemen, bishops ‘and equires and even kings did not disdain to practice it and the first smiths: were men of high rank. Many noble families have horseshoes in their armorial bearings. The popular tradition that it is lucky to find a horseshoe has great entiquity, as has the custom of nailing them up for preserving the same good fortune od as an antidote to ill. In a book written by Dr. Horne in 1650 reference is made to the good luck of finding pieses of iron and the ill luck of finding silver. In Holyday‘s _ comedy "Marriage of the Arts," published in the same century, he writes that the horseshoes may never be pulled frem your threshold. In his "Reflections," published in 1695 Jhe says: "The common people of the country have a tradition that ‘tis a lucky thing to find a horseshoe and though ‘twas to make myself merry with this fond conceit of the superstitions vulgar stoopâ€" ed to pick it up." When Boniface, third Duke of Tusâ€" cany, went to meet his bride in 1038, it is recorded that his train was so magniâ€" ficently decorated that the horses were shod with silver instead of iron and silâ€" ver nails were used, and the duke graciâ€" ously granted that if any fell out they should be the property of those who found them. As late as the sixteenth century an English ambassador in Paris had light silver shoes so fastened on his horse that when the animal pranced the shoes were flung off the the crowd scrambled for them. William the Conquerer is believed to have introduced horsashoes into England for he gave the city of Northampton as a fief to a man in consideration of hi« furnishing shoes for his horses and Henry De Ferres, who went from Normandy with the king and whose descendants bear six horseshoes in their arms. was so named because he was in charge of the roval forriers. fine, and so many shoes were received in this way and placed in the castle gates that these were covered with the emblems. No older nails used in fastening shoes to horses‘ feet have been found than those believed to have belonged to Chilâ€" deric I, emperor of the Franks, who died in 481 A. D. The shoes were fastened with nine nails to each hoof. but no part of the shoe remains. The oldest shoe exâ€" tant is one which belonged to the Emperâ€" or Charlemagne in the eighth century, in which there are holes for nails. At Oakham, the seat of the Ferrers, the rule was for cent forced that any baron of the r passed through should forfeit + horseshoes unless he redeemad â€" pearance to the hoofs of the animals when they moved. he redeemed it with a was for centuries en of the realm who of the Earl of ne of his But alas, man had ted to enjoy all th aoainst hie Creator. in consequence inheri But no one need su for the Son of God ma sufficient atonement who will accept the throuch Him. Beautiful hands are thote that do Work that is hones, brave and true Momen by moment the long day through Beautiful feet are those that go On kindly errands to and fro Down hbumblest ways if God wills It so Beautiful shoulders are those that bear The needful burdens of homely care With patient grace and daily prayer, Beautiful lives are those that bless, Silent rivers of happiness Whose hidden fountains but fow may enose (Port Worth, 'Tr-f & R«-vordilfl ‘Two men broke into a cireus car in Neâ€" braska and stole two leopards. ‘The man who stole a redâ€"hot stove may now be set down in the amateur class, peueve it even now. "For our light af fliction, which is for the moment, work eth for us more and more exceedingly a« eternal weight of glory." Our present affliction seems heavy beyond _ endur ance; it is heavy with an _ oppressior that God must help us bear up under: yet even its terrible weight is as light ness to the "weight of giory" which Guod has in store for us, and which, for rea sons that we cannot know, he could not give us save by the "lightness" of pre sent affliction. Times will come, and is near at hand when we shall see to re joice in all that now jooks dark and un loving. Let us keep faith while we can not see. Beautiful lips aro those whose words Leap from the heart like songs of birds Yet whose utterance prudence girds. | KA h as Vifr > (Gum»y $sz | Iin A£ i /.} * ~, /y ¢0mike The Lightness of Heavy Sorrow. Borrow s burden is going to be outâ€" weighed, some day, by the joy for which it is making us ready, We cannot underâ€" stand this while sorrow is heary upon us, but the loving Father will help us to believe it even now. "For our light af. Beautiful faces are those tha It matters little if dark or f: Whojeâ€"souled honesty written Beautiful cyes are Like crystal panes Beautiful thoughts Far away cown th the past, in that re: mass of seething n stead of the fair b adorn it, instead of the forests and leafy and the emerald v« many other varied , tractions which #o Lractions whien and its splendor chaos, a shapele steaming semiâ€"di merian darkness no rain, nor, prok any air; and t And every day beautios He disptays, New wondors rise; Till from my Jongâ€"closed lips a song forth Of glad surprise. For by His might He keeps m That gmoved my heart The evil which 1 joathed, and y 1 could not part. In sweet content the happy Nor time nor place Can rov of Christ‘s blest pre His matchiess grace. And now, nor joy mor pair can xoul To leave His sideâ€" My highest joy, to sit at His dear And there abide. Oh! then what grand desig souch To being brought! What wendrous transformati The Savious wrought! I never knew such bliss Buch joy serene; Such sweet communion y With naught between. *‘The peace of God, which derstanding, shail keep your h through Uhrist sesus " reace, gentue peace, pervades TiM all 1 gladly daid at Aad passive lay In llis kind hand, to f2 The shapeloss clay Nothing ju self, yet everythi ow eaim; bow biest! To bask in the sweet sunshit There swoetly rest. Conurc Westmount d ase Robbers Worthy of Name mist wiaihin my every thought, my ey eps Inom gin. The Reaims of Chaos Peare, Gontle Peace Beautifel Thires (By the happy da those that show where hearthâ€"fir that burn below suffer from that fall, made full. perfect and molt Banker) Lt us bear up . weight is as 1 gory" whic ind which, f. know, he cou mulles ft U« ything Mrs. N. < sence w ear PES li fror fe may guess and any ornal life ba feet glow conâ€" rnity diy the Neâ€" U lod uT On ild nd n al