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„aaa-.^. ^mmmm^tm. LORD KILLEEN'S REVENGE "It was a mere trifle; a mailer ol •â-¼ery-day occurence," she said, with a flavor of bltUniecB in her low voice. "I happanod to find out that he waa making love t<>â€" to another woman, whilst pret«ndin« an af£et;tion for me," "I set'," said Stionge. He understood M well as though she bad said it that) It waa Mrs. Duudaa who liad worked this mischief.. He dug little holes into the ground at his feet with bis stick, and watched them with what seemed an extraordinary interest, because he could not bring himself to look at the proud, pained face of this girl who was ao inexpressibly dear to himj He could only think that Featherstun had made her unhappy, and a kind of rage of hatred rose in bis heart aeainst him. "The ouui is very poor," he said at last, in a tone, low, but so bitterly con- temptuous that it startled her. " So poor that one must pity himj And for such a woman to lose so much t To lose all !" "1 have a great deal to thank him tor, however," said Constantla, with a aurious smilej "if be bad out, by a fortunate chance, betrayed himself that night, I might perhaps have permitted him to â€" maJ(e me wretched." The smile was tremulouii, and Slronge told himself that she still regretted Fealberston, though to herself »be would not acknowledge it. Uu.t in this he was wrong. "That waa a hateful night," she said, after a rather lengthened pause that she bad not sought to breaks She alluded to Donna's ball. . "Kor many reasons." He was study- ing her as be spokci "You are great- ly changed since then in some ways." "So are you," abe responded, quickly, "in every way." "Not in one, at all events. For that, I am the sanie now as I was then, and as I shall be always." Her color deserted her, and the flow- ers she held in her hand, and on which her eyes were bent, began to Iremblej "How in earnest you can be I" she iald.i "It is a great charm nowadays. I wonder, however, if your own way â€" is worth it t" "I am quite sure of that." "Is it a Becret?" said she, with an air ao indifferent that it roused bim to ang- K. "Not from you, certainly," be said, with badly subdued Indignation. "What does it advantage you to know me still your lover f What puri>oae do you gain by making me again declare that lean not drive you from my heart 1" He turned asi<le uuimtiently, and moved toward the distant stile, as if det«rmiiie<l on thus leaving her abrupt- ly, without HO much as the courtesy of an adieu. Ho walked quickly, led by his thoughts, which were now levorUb. Ue cuat no look Utbinil. Constantia, left In this way alone, let the flowers she held fall t<i her feci, and l<K)ke<l with trouliled eyes at Blronge's rapidly retreating figure. Did ha iiu-.au to go ?i And if he went now, would it !« forever ? She liotiit- ated for a full minute, until be ba^l al- most reached the corner, and then na- ture gr«'W loo strong for h«'r. She look a step forward; a sudden dctiHsrale re- solve fir«*<l her eyes; .she threw out her bands Iminilnivefy. "Andrew I" she cried. CHAPTKll XLV. He started as the soun<l reached bim, •.ml turned to Uxik at h«r. lie could not sea very dwtinclly the expres.sion on her fac<-, and all that was clear to him was tliat she nuxvl there a very griicioUM preH«ince on I be soft groens- wunl, l<i all a|>i>earaniiVH calm and self- {X)«.se«|>«d. Yet surely slve bad calird to lim. lie had bear<l her. And l)y a name sbn bad never used l)efore, that he b.Td never hoped to bear her use. W'liM it mere cxxiuelryf "You called me?" he said, when he bad returne<l to a proper .speaking dis- tance, but no farther. He felt pa.s.sion- alely Nelf-conlemplii()u.s, as be knew how ihis voiiMj must ixilray Ixj her the in- tensity of thfl emotion he was feeling. "Y<w; l)eojiuseâ€" " Her face was as whil« a.s snow.! "You say you love me â- till," she said at last very faintly. Ho came nearer to her. "1 seo no one as sweet, as beautiful, Bit lovalile," h« r«plie<l, simply.' "Why then should I ever cease to love you?" "Once â€" you asked mo to marry you." "And you refiuwvl." "I know," aloviy. "But if you still love meâ€"" "Connie! Conniel What is it you are Boing to say to met" crie<l he, in an agony of doubt. Hut a moment laler \ui forgot everythiiiK, even his doubt, and caught her in his arms. "Why don't you ask me again?" Vhispered she, half laughing, half cry- ing. Stronge, with a hardihood be would not an hour ago have Imlievod him.self <!apal)lo of, actually put hi'" away fnmi him for a moment, to look into her face. It waa the shorto.sl moment on record, yet it salisfioil him. Il wan all true. then! .She bad yielded to his embrace. There was no anger, there was only love in the upriiLs««l eyes. He held her unre- buked within bus arms, this sweet, dear girl, whose hand he would not have tfared to kiss only yesterday. Who waa be, that such happiness .should fall to his lott "I never bopeil for this. 1 never l)e- lieved in il," bn said at last. "Nor I." 8be WHS now looking at him in a sort of strange, if glad .surprise. "I itever know, until five minutes ago, that I loved you." This was an opiKirlunity not to l>e la«t. He .sifted the tender matter thor- oughly (luring another five minutes,and having made ner say she really did love him, In half a ilozen different ways.woa l>artially c<mlent. "flut how did you know it five min- utes ago f" "Wall, I think it must have l)ecn a little more than thatâ€" [)orbap8 even t«n minutes. It jiusi dawned u[)on me when I knew that Mr. Featberston had oome here toâ€" to ask me to marry bim â€"and when I thought you had come to advise me toâ€"" "To what darling ?" "Oh, I don't know; it was alieurd, of course. I know that now," with a lit- tle happy laugh; "but I was stupid en- ough to think then that you were going to befriend him in his suitj Ob, if you bad !" she said. She looked quite angri- ly at him, but this anger was inexpres- sibly sweet to the innocent culprit, "Why, all that hapi)eniBd quite half an hour ago," said be, with a view to diverting ner thoughts, "and you said five minutes." "It's all the same," said she, with a truly delightful broadness of thought; "don't you think so?" This sudden question put him out a little. He did not think five minutes the sanoe as thirty, but he felt it was his duty so to think, now that he knew she thought so. His hesitation was in- tinitesimally abort, but she noticed it. "No ?" she said, regarding bim with a certain severity. "You found, then, the time- (this half hour, is itjl)>â€" speait with me ItMigâ€" terribly lonj; " "Nonsense," said he, ao indignantly that they lx)th laughed. "I should have found it long, however," be said present- ly, " coiLsidering how you scolded me from the first minute of it to the last." "I was unjust to you," she said, re- morsefully. "1 am glad of it; you wouldn't have been unjust if you hadn't loved me." He started a little as be said that, as if at the prestunptlon of it. "You do love me," he said, drawing her into his arms once more with a gentle, tender, protecting touch; and then: "to think 1, of all mea, shpuld be oble to say that!" I "Why not you above all men?" said she, softly. "I do not believe there is one on earth so good as you." "We won't go into that," said he, smiling; "but, at all events, there is not one so hapi>y." Then a thought struck him.i "Connie, say that you atre happy toc»," be said. All at once, as the word fell ui)on her ears, there rose liefore her the .scene that bad taken place on this very siiot last evening. Happy! â€" was she really permitting herself such happiness as ex- cluded from h<'r mind all remembrance of Lady Varley's impending trouble ? Even now time was pressing. If any- thing were to lie done to help her, it should Ije done at once. To-morrow would Ije 1<K) late, and already it was drawing toward evening. She had promised th»' girl Kitty to interfere in some wise for the defense of her mistress and the overthrow of her en- ejnies, but as yet, even after a sleepless nitiht, inspiration had not come to her. Oh, if this terrible thing should hap- pen! If Lady Varley were to I* crush- ed, .ind r«>ndered even more muserable than she now was through Donna Dun- dasâ€" through her. Const antia's cousin- she felt as though she could never again look at Yolande with bonosi eyes, or clasp her band. Dishonor would come to her through her friend's kinswoman, and surely s<mip of the taint would fall ui)on the "friend." Hiiw time was rushing awayâ€" not glid- ing Iieac<-fully as it often did, but hur- rymg, as though eager to see consum- mated this baleful crime I And wh.at was to l)e done f To R|>eak to Yolande to disclose all to her, That would lie the kindest, the wisest, the cruelest course; and she felt she could not be the one to do it. •Slronge had put bis earnest question to her, and was waiting in a slranf^e silence for her answer. How long it was in coming I A little chill seized ui>- OM his befirt at last, and, imable to en- dure tbi' .suspense, b" reppated bia words more slowly, mure feariully, this tune. "Connie answer me. Are you hap- py »â- ' It was t<io much. Happy ! Shef With Yolamle on the brink of such a hdrrihio pit f .She drew a quick breath and all su<ldenly burst into tears. "Happy 1 No ! I am wretched," she cried, f<irg»'tful of all .save Lady Varley ju.st then â€" even of him. "Wretcbo<l! Constantia, what a thing to say to me! Are you now go- inir to tell me," growing very pale, "that all my boiMi isâ€"" "No, no," clinging to bim, "you are everything to me; it is not that; how could you think il ? Rut I have heard such dreadful news. Yesterday, after you and (Jarrett left me,. 1 beard it; anil I have iMMsn .so miserable ever since, until," lifting her eyes to his, "a little while ago." He made her a lover's aclcnowledg- menl of this sweet admission, and then she went <m : "It Is a terrible thing. All last night I lay awake wondering alwut it, and trembled, liecause 1 could not see my way to be of usti to her. Hut you â€" you are very clever. I will tell you all alxml il, an<l you, (lerliaiis will think of something." She lified her pretty, n<irrowful face (o bis with such [lerfccl trust and ex- pp<'la(ion in it a.s made his heart l>ejit. Something In his earnest glance gave her lio|K\ "Oh, what a c<nnfort it is to have you t<i consult wit hi" she said, with a sigh of deciiest relief, layuig her cheek agalii.sl his arm. Was there any man in all this world, then, BO pr<md as Andrew Slronge? He drew her closer to liLs heart and held her there. "I never thought 1 should live to 1iq OS happy a.s 1 am this minute," he said, in a low tone. "Now go on, my sweet- heart, and tell me all aliout it." As yet he wa.s in the <lark as to her exact meaning, but she Irusttxl him, she lean- ed uiKm bim, be Wiia not ignorant of that. He was, too, when all the .sad story was laid before him, as concerned, as ustountled, by her intelligence, as she could iHiHslbly desire. Hut \\h\m) lie could not give her.. Il was plain to her from the iM-ginning that bo Utlieved the iniseralile affair to be not only {lossible but probable. "Good heavens I what is to lie done?" he said at last. "At all risks Lady Varley must be prevented from hearing il," said Con- stantia, eagerly ; "it wimld kill lier, coming .so soon on that last grief. Vou rememlmr ? That little childâ€" «lie will never forget. Oh, no. she must not I bear of this thing. We must manage I it so that it never cornea to her ears." I "Hut is that a very wise arrange- ment, do you think f" asked Stnmge. g«'ntly. "Why should she, whouk it most c<mcerns, be the last to bear of it ? Connie, do you know 1 often think (.hat half the fatal mistakes in th«^ world are caused t)y keeping back the truth from -.Ihtise who should l>e the first to learn it I Why should I,ady Varley 1)0 left in ignorance, dar- ling, of what \a of auch vital impui^ lance to her, whilst you and I. to whom it is a mere outside sorrow, are ac- quainted wilb it i Surely she, Ijeing one of the chief actors in this evil dra- ma, 8bi»uld \>e the l)est judge of how to bring the play to a successful con- clusion." "1 understand. I follow you," she .said, in a distressed tone. "But who would have the courage to lay the truth bare tx> her? Oh, think I The cruelty of it !" "It may be cruel ; but nevertheless, it would be the kindest thing to do," replied he, gently. 'And 1 think i.«dy Varley, at leaal, would agree with me. Darkness eventually leads to greater depths of darkness where the human brain is conccriiwl. And to keep Lady Varley in the dark now woultl be to increase her misery hereafter, when all the bold Jigbt of a cruel truth was forced upon her." "But the misery of the presentâ€"" "It would not be so painful to her as it might be to oibers. There is al- ways this savings clause, that .she is not in love with her husband." "Ab I you have seen that ?" said Con- stantia, quickly. "I was glad to see it, because it helps me to believe that she will not feel so much â€" thai she will tear the news better. She may even, if told in time, be abb: so to manage as to lift the- man to a sense of decency, .^.t all events, I know she should be told." "But who is to tell her?" asked Con- stantia, faintly. CHAPTER XLVI. Stronge, thus appealed to, released her in part, and putting her back from him, seized both ner hands in his kind- ly grasp, and looked into her eyes. "You she lovoi" he said, simply. "Ab I you would lay this task upon me?" she faltered. "You think I should go ?" "Not unless you, too, think it, my beloved." "I have thought of it, though I shrunk from it. But, ob, Andrew, is there no one else ? Must I be the one ?" He felt sbp was trembliny. "Have you the courage, darling?" he said; or is it too much fur you ? Yes, I see it is. Come, then, let us decide up- on some other plan." "No. I shall go. There is no other," said the girl sadly, wiih a little catch in her breath. "If you ihink she should be warned, who should warn her save me? I am her friend. What right have to snrink from it ?" Tears rose to her eyes again, and somehow this time she lost her bold up<m them, and they ru.sbed over her lids, and ran triumphantly down her cheeks. They cut Slronge to the heart. "To think you should be crying in this our first hour together I" be .said, with deep remorse. Was it not all his fault?" "In this my very happiest hour," replied she, sweetly. Indeed, it seem- ed to her just then that all her own fears "and difficulties had passed away from her forever, and only pea^je re- maimMl. He was so gooil, so true, so honest I Such a sense of rest, of com- fort, stole over her as she gazed into his gentle, kindly eyes, that for this ilisgrace that threatened her friend, and the terror of having to face and tell her of it, .she would have counted herself only t<io happy. "1 liave no right to' lay Ibis burden on you," he said, earnestly. "Will you hate me f'lr il, Connie ( Will you"â€" wistfullyâ€" "always look hack with dis- taste upon tliia (lay becaii.se of it ? And yet I could not rajunsel you otherwise. I feel"â€" lifting her hand, and kLssing the palm of itâ€" "it is only what my brave girl should do." "It is what you would do yourself," said Constantia. "1 follow in your footsteps, and"â€" warmlyâ€" "I desire no bettor model than you." "Wher^did you first think of me in â€"in that way?" a.-ked Slronge, draw- ing her down upon a garden seat. "How ilid it all oome alxmt? It .seems to me the mosL marvellous thing! Just when I liad given up all hope, lo! hofie. was in the ascendant. Well I 1 think we shall agree very well to- gether." He spoke so gladly. Indeed, he felt as though be would like to get uii and publish this joy lo all the world. "1 think .so, too," said Connie. She -slipiMMl her hand into bis and Uxiked at bim from under her long lashes with a glance that was halt ahv. half amiLsed. .\ .soft little laugh broke from her. Again she bad forgotten everything, save the strange, sweet fact that she had really given her lieart to this plain, lender, most loval)le man. "Yet it has been a sad engagement- day," said he. "'bere were tears, and .surely they should not have lieen in it. Perhaps"â€" he looked at her nervously, with all a true lover's superstitious dn-ad- "perhaiva it is unlucky." "Oh, no. .She smiled at lliiu very prt>ttily. "There is no ill-luck where you are." "No? You think not! That only prov*^ how awfully cummonidaoe I am. I never carod about it lielore, but I wish, for your sake, Connie, tha,t l was less prosaic, le.ssâ€" you know what 1 meanâ€" that Is, I wish I was better- looking, at all evenls." he blurted out, shamefacedly. "What folly!" indignantly. "Now 1 shall tidl you simietbing. Do you know that the very fir.sl day 1 ever saw you 1 thought to myself ihot you bad the very dearest face, s;> kind, so earnest; not"â€" hesitating as if still a little un- certainâ€" "not haiiiLsoiiie, exactly, butâ€"" '^tnmge gavs way to unlimited mirth. "Well, no, not handsome," he said. "I'll commit myself so far. Ob, Con- nie, wluit a huiiilmg you are I Audâ€" wliiit a darling Kirll" The .sound of a childish voice trilling some fanciful lay cjiine to them lichind the flowering .shrulw. ''It is Norah," .said Constantia, in a quirk whi.sper. "She will lie here in another minute. Shall we toll lierf" â- Of cour^«^l Dear little thin,?. Il is another pleasure lo know that she will Ix!, in reality, my sister." "Uut not a word of Lady Varley," entrealod ConslniiUa, hurriedly. "She would not underslmidâ€" slie could not. And alKHit that. I shall go to her this evening, when the diusk tails." "Very well. I shall bo at the gate to go with you." "Will you?" brightening. "Ah! that will give me courage," She mov- «d quickly awnv fn>iiiiii^a|^Norah came fiY>in l>ehiiid.tJio^B|HHMkkran to\>:MifaiAbuudiMMI^^^Hfl^H| of a^'tiTlJAve' found -fffay" she 'a I'OHtica! bloBdiotf^rf' plea- iialii'ious aiiiusemetft? in her preiii>ft*t<'rt herself upon "Oh, Connie. Aunt Brid- get has lieen in such :i dancing rage for the last hour, asking for you. and â€" " She stopped short suddenly, and looked from Cooslautia to mruuge, aud btLck again. "I say, how funny you two do look I" she said, at last, in a subdued sort of way . â- 'How do we look (" asked Stronge, laughing. "As il something youâ€" as it you had seen something something bad happened to queer. I think you bolh lookâ€" aabaju- ed," said the child, with a curious glance. At this Constantia joined in Stronge 's mirth, lhou.<li her color deepened. "You are right, Norab," said Stronge; "something has bap[iened. Shall 1 tell you what it is ?" Norah ^rew instantly full of the live- liest curiosity. "Don't go explaining things" she said. "Tell me all at onoe." "Promise me first that you will be pleased." "What OQ earth can it be?" said Norab, half to herself. There waa evi- dently a mental struggle. "Yes, I'll promise," she said, giving this rash word because so liorne away by her de- sin*, to please. "Well, then, Connie has made me a present of you." "Oh, fudge !" said the younger Miss MacGillJcuddy, with a disgusted air. "What's the, meaning of that, I'd like to know ! We aren't African slaves, are we, that we can Ije sold to people?" She looked with wrathful reproach at Con-stanlia. Was their grand secret nothing, after all I "Nevertheless, she has given you to lie true lo vour promise, and say you me â€" as a little sister," said Slronge. "ijbe has given me even more than that ' she has given me herself. Now, are glad." "Butâ€"" said the child in a l)ewildered tone. "Connie has promised to marry me," said Stronge, pb ! so proudly. "No! Oh. Connie, I am so glad I" crie.d Noran, flinging herself into her arms. "He is ever so much nicer than Garrett, and as for Mr. Feaiherston I" She turned up a very contemptuoua none. "You are a lucky ^irl !" "Y'ou will notice tliat it is I who have received ail the congratulations," .said Constantia. wilh a smile, half shy, half (xnuical, at Slronge, who seemed almost aunoye*! with Norah. "Come," he said, "am 1 not lucky t<x>? 1 have won Connie. I have won her whole heart, she tells me." "Y'ou have won two whole hearts," crie<l the child affectionately ; and, re- leasing herself from her s'.ster's clasp, she ran to .Stronge, and treated him to a loving hug. "I'll call you An- drew, now," she said, as a sign that she wa.s spei'ially friendly toward him. "I'd go even further, and make it Andy, but I m afraid Con would think that horrid.' (To be Continued.) ITALIAN CHEESE. The Prorru of lis Maiinrnrlnreâ€" .4b Im- portanl Indnitlry. Every morning two hours before dawn in winter and one hour whien the days lengthen lo spring. It is ibie duty of the cheese maker to call the shepherds by beating a drum. The men who live in the open emerge from their straw boxes at tbe souud and begin to drive their herds tou^ard the milking shed. There each flui-k enters its own pen, theae smaller i>eins communicating with a larger one, into which the flocks are adiuilted in turn ; from this cv^itral in- closure there are 10 or 20 narrow open- ings which lead into as many short pas- sages. Near tbe end of each a man is sealed on bis stuol wLib milking pail rvoAy, and as ewe after ewe crowds down th<^ narrow corridor tlie milker throws a two-pronged wooden fork over its neck, thus holdlug it until it Is milktHl, and so on until the i.OOO or 3,000 ew«« have given their tribute of milk. 1(1 :«>iiie dairies it is the custom, to niaiie tbe e>\es pass twice through the milking shed, aud it is said tUi.t this systeru iias lieeii known to give an in- crease of production otover '7.000 pounils of cbe«»e. The flocks are then driven I lo tbe grazing ground allotted lo each I by tbe neaiLman, unlit tbe suu sets and I the evening milking time i-oiues round ! o^jaln. The milk is mentnwbile carried j by the milkers lo the ' veig"h«ria. " ! where it is {louitwi through c<\ar3e linen ' sieves into the caldron ; the milk is lirsl slightly warmest, then lilted from the fire till the rennet is aitded ; after that it is lx>iled until the curd forms a sol- id blov^k, which sinks to the bottom, of the caldron, leaving only the milky whey. The cheesemaker's duty is now to di- vide this curd among the men. who manipulate and press it with their ro bust arms until It is <lry, wheji it is formtvl into the round, flat cheese, on »bicb tb<^ luiiue of the man who made il is slamp<.'<l. The remaining whey Is Ijoiled a second time, and now it is the duly of a le«s dignified subordinate tu divide large .smiuituls of the coagulate<l mass, now called " riivlta," to the men, not forgettuig the absent shepherds. It any n-malns it is put into small bowl- shaped baskets of woven wLtbes and sold. And In this routine, repealed each morning and evening, Ibe days pass slowly by. LIFE BELTS. Proved dUerly i:»eleiu la the UriininioiiU t'aalle Wreeh. The terrible disaster to the Drum- mond Casile has been followed by a largo numU'r of letlerA lo the Lon- don Times on the disgraceful inade- quacy of the lite belts usually provid- ed on o<'««n steamers. All tbe Indies that were recovered from the sea after the wreck of the Drumniond Castle were eimipiMHl wilh life lielts, and life IksU.s of tbe most moilern type. One of the t4urviviors ot the catastrophe re- laleks that when he. was .struggling in the water he saw spots of light on the wa all around bim. He could not at first uu<lcrstand it, but noon reiuem- iK-red that the life belts were of a .special kind, which as s«Kin as they touched the water emitted a light. Ami' yet only three men survived the wre<^. The question naturally arises of what use are. the lite liella it they do not .save life? An investigation is to W' made, and it is iivsisted that if modern life lielts are useleAs th«y should at once bo .supBrse<led kiy a more service- able appliance. ACROSS THE CHANWEL. A New table Is .iboat T* Be Laid Ccm- nrrtinc Lcudon aud ParU. The London and Parijs telephone waa opened on April 1, 1891. There were some cautious souls who were incUned to be apprehensive that there would not be found sufficient use for it to make It a paying concern, and, indeed, it has not been so extensively used by tbe general publlo of Paris or London as waa thought probable. There are, it appears, not many peo- ple who are willing to pay eight shil- lings for three minutes' gossip with a distant friend on general topics. Edwin, who baa been ruthlessly lorn away from Angelina, and compelled to stay in Paris longer than be expected, is, of course, feverishly anxious for tbe sound of her voice, but be cannot stand the price, and whatever little billing and cooing is done over the 297 miles between tbe two capitals is still car- ried on by letter or telegraph. Even ordinary business people make com- paratively small use of the lelepbone. though inere are some business houses that find it very useful occasionally. Neverlhelees the use of the new means of communication has pretty steadily increase/1. and is now three oi tour times as great as it was when first established. Tbe fact is, it has lieen pretty nearly monopolized by memliers ot the Stock Exchange, who at busy time, and during certain hours of the day, make a great demand up- on the wires, so great a demand, indeed, that it has been found impossible to satisfy all comers, and the two Uovern- ments have determined to DUPLICATE THE SYSTEM. Tbe existing cable has four wires, but as, tor telephonic purposes, a complete metallic circuit is required, tbe four wires constitute only two circuits. Only two persons can use the telephone at the same time, therefore, and during busy hours of the ilay this neceaaarUy Involves a great deal ot wailing. All applicants tor the use of the wires are registered, and have to await their turn, however urgent their bualneas may be. For Stock Exchange operations this is sometimes rather trying and vexa- tious, and, ot course, Il tends to re- strict the use of the system. The greater tbe taciliiies the more they will be used, and though, of course, it is a very coolly bujsliie.ss to duplicate lines, and aa purely telephonic exten- sion probably would not pay for a long time at all events. It is thought ex- pedient to do it. partly for the sake of telephone cuslomers. but partly be- cause the new cable will 1,« available for telegraphic communications, also. If it is required for the telephone it will be used ; if not it will lie a- valuable and sometimes a mucb-nee<ied aiceasion to the ordinary telegraphic system be- tween Paris and London. For some time past land lines have be*>n in course of construction on both sides of the channel, and ibis part of tbe business lieing now on the point of completion, the new submarine cable will shortly Ije laid, starting on the English sule from a point between l>>ver and Folkstone. ibe extension will, of course, make no difference In the practical working of the thing, nor does there appear to be any prosiiect of reduceil charges for tbe use ot th6 telephone. WISE SAYINGS. The carving-knife is mightier than the sword. Mustard improves lol>ster, but ruina fowl. .\ good digestion Is more to be de- sired than great riches. Ue is a fool who indulges to excess either in eating or drinking. Peace at a dinner-table assists diges- tion, angry words hinder it. The tmkle ot the dinner-liell is a pleasanter sound than tbe blare of the trumpet. Praise your housekeeper for her suc- cessful dishes, aud regard her failures leniently. Never accept tbe Invitation of a mao to take "pot luck" with him. Ha de- grades tbe name of dinner, and Insults you. Nature is a great physician. Don't lie afraid to trust her; she looks carefully after tbe interests of fber patients' stouiachs. Let au invalid have whatever he calla tor to eat; it is not he who craves it, but Nature, and she will not permit him to eat to excess A few spoonfuls of good soup taken on an empty stomach give it tone, and prepare it to receive acceptably more Huletantial tare. In the progress of civilization the fry- ing-pan disappears with the advent of ibe gridiron. A drop or two of lemon juice and a dash of cayenne on an oyster may I* tolerated, but it is best eaten directly from the shell, flavored with its own juice. A dyspeptic has no right to dine am- ong civilized lieings. He should take a sea voyage or go into the wilderness and live tor a while, like John the Baptist, on locusts and wild honey. De fox U in Ue jury box when de go<ne am trio4 LITTLE CURIOUS NOTES. It is estimated that a lightning flash is only visible 1-20.000 fxirt ot a .second. It is lielieved that the temperature of tbe earth at depth ot 200 miles is not leens than 18.000 degrees Fahren- heit. The exact distance to either tbe North or South Pole from tbe equator U 6,- 000 miles. If cannon ball could maintain its in- itial veloi'ity tor 24 hours it would beat tbe sun in bis apparent journey around the world, A bl«'k of liest steel four feet square would 1h( reduced to a cube ot llLlle more than nine inches it it could 1» tfaj|u| lo tbe center of the earth. ^^^1 water e.ntozo.^ is but one-tenth otJaW iu>-h in length. Il lay.s 30,000 t'gg|iL in a single season of less Ihui 17 ^Ifcta b««n disi-overed that the col- orii^SSUjiatter In the emerald Is of or- ganic Ki.sls. and that it Is easily deslroy- iit hj- the heat. J .' -ITuliobt, a French opera house mauiiger, hw "invented a rainliOM Ihat shows up naturally on lb« stage."