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 iH! \l\ i » ntii Vj^^s*" ^^ 1^ m [Now FntST PlTBUSHXO.I [Au. BiantB Bibbbtbd.] LIKE AND UN LIKE By M. E. BRADDON. AuTHOB OF " Lady Audlet's Secbkt, Wyllakd's Wkibd, Etc., Bra CHNPTER v.â€" (CojmifrKD.) Don waa browring contentedly upon some nuik grass on the edge of the causeway, and had no more intention of goinyr away than if he had been the original antedelavian horse in a mnseam. The two men went oat together, and atarolled along the causeway side by side. " Of coarse yon can nee what it is, can't yon, parson?" bet^an Dawley abruptly. " Ko mistaking the signs in a gaL" " Yon think she's in love," hazarded the "near. " 0' coarse she is, parson. That's the way it alias begins â€" sighin' and salkin' and sleepless nights a thinking of him. Curse him, whoever he is He'll lure this one away like the other one was lured away, of a sadden, without a word of warning to tbe poor old father. I dursen't leave the cot- tage, lest I should find it empty whan I •one back. I haint sold a basket for a fortnight. I'm here to guard her from the aarpent." " Who can it be," asked the Vicar with a paazled air. " Is there anyone in the vil- iftge that she cares for " " Lord no, parson. It ain't no one in the Tillage â€" it ain't a working man, or a gentle- man's servant, or anyone of her own station ^-else it would be all fair and above-board, and she wouldn't be afraid to tell her old grandfather. It's somebody whose love meaoB ruin. Some lying, fine gentleman, who'll speak her fair and tempt her to go away with him, and leave her to rot when his fancy's over. I knows the breed." " Have you any reason to suspect mis- chief " " Too many reasons but I'll tell you one or two, and you can judge. It's just about six weeks ago that I noticed when I came home late at night that there was a smell oi "baccy in the room yonder. Well, I'm a smoker myself, but this wasn't my 'baccy that I smelt, and it wasn't twelve hours old, neither. It was a gentleman's 'baccy as different from what I smoke as the cham- pagne you gentry drink is from the cider they sell up street. I know'd there'd been a stranger here when I smelt that 'baccy. I asked my gal if there'd been anyone come to the cottage all day. She said ' No,' but I ooald see she was lying. I noticed the same smell three nights running; and on the morning after the third night I found another trace of my enemy. There'd been rain the day before, but the wind shifted to- wards evening and there was a sharp frost in the night and when I went out onto the causeway there were my gentleman's foot- prints, as if they'd been cut in a rock â€" the prints of a gentleman's strong-soled shooting boots. There's no mistakin' the cut of a fine gentleman's boot it's as different from a poor man's clodhopper as a gentleman's Iteooy is from mine. Somebocly had been hanging about tbe cottage and talking with my gal." " Was that all Did you never see the man himself " " Never, he was too artful. I've scarcely been three days away from home since I saw the footprints in the causeway but my gentleman has never shown up hereabouts, and my gal has moped all time." "Have you. never questioned her since tfaeD?" "Now and again, careless, likeâ€" Had there been anyone shooting the wUd fowl, anybody going past in a boat? and such like. But I might as well expect to get ans- wers out of a stone. Not a word would she say to me, except she didn't know, she hadn't noticed â€" what reason was there for her to watch for people in boats " " Well, Dawley, we munt be on our guard for her, poor child. She is too handsome to be exempt from danger and temptations. I don't think she ought to be left to live this solitary life any longer. Solitude encour- ages brooding. She wants change and oc- •npationâ€" the sight of strange faces." " How is she to get them " asked Daw- ley despondingly." "She might go into service." " And be ruined and broken-h^urted be- fore she had left me six months. I know what servant gals are, and how little care there u taken of 'em. She's not old enough or wise enough to be left to take care of herself. Send her out to service anywhere hereabouts, and the fine gentleman who left his footmarks on this causeway would soon find out where she was, and be after her. She'd have her evenings out, belike, and he'd be waiting for her aomewheres in the dusk. I know the world, parson. She don't, po» child and knowledge of the world ain't to be leam't second hand. I might preach her sermons as lone as my arm, bat ahe'd never be warned by uiem." " There is service and service, Dawley. I know of houses in which the maids are as well looked after as nuns in a convent. Ill talk to a lady I know about your grond- danehter, and if I can interest her " "It wQl be hard to port with her," said the eld man, " bat I can't keep watch over her always and sell my baakets and if I don't sell them we must starve. And she's gettin' to hate me for being' so watoh- nil of her, I can see that, it's a wicked world, parson." „It's a troublesome world, Imy^friend, and we must make the best of it for ooraelves and each other. Man was bom to trouble as the sparks fly upward. Have yon hesjrd •aything of Madge's mother lately " " Not a word, parson. Ah, she was a bad lot, an out and ont bod lot, with a heart as hard as the nethermost millstone." " You must not judge her, Dawley. She ma brought up in darkneu and ignorance. Ko one ever taught her her duty." " There's duties that dm't need to be toaght. The duty of loving yoor father and mother. That ought to come natural even to a savage." " Your daughter may have died years â- go." "I don't think so, parson. I heard ot her six or seven yean ago â€" ^not a word bora her, mark youâ€" bat I heard from a man who hod seen her in London â€" riding in her car- riageâ€" or in aomebody's carriage â€" oa bold aa braaa â€" as fine a lady oa any in London, Joe Tnmnitm said. He'a a giapy hawker, aella bcooma, and baaketa, and aach like, and tnvela all over the conntry. He mr my She did, not aeran year agone, oil gantle f olka in TiMidon, dxeaaad in ' and satin, as brazen as you like, she that never came to look after her child since the little one was three year old." " Well, we had beat forget all about her, Dawley, till God puts better thoughts into her mind and brines her bock to us. I'll see what can be ^done about Madge. She wouldn't suit everybody, never having been in serviceâ€" but I think I know a! lady who will help me." " In this or in any other emergency, he said to himself, by way of postscript. He mounted Don, and rode slowly home- ward across the open waste to the lane with its tall tangled hedi^es, bare now lor the most part, save where the foliage lingered on the pollard oaks, and the beechwood showed copper-coloured leaves that were to last till late into the coming year, when the young growth oame to drive them away. Very slow was the homeward ride, for Don had exhausted all his freshness in the out- ward journey, and only quickened his pace when he saw the old church tower and smelt the clover and hay in the vicarage stable. But to his astonishment the Vicar took him past that familiar gate, and trot- ted him snorting with indignant protest, to the gates of Belfield Park and along the avenue to the Abbey, where there was some consolation, as a groom came oat at the sound of hoofs, and condacted the clerical steed to a loose box, while his master went into the house to see Lady Belfield. She was in her usual place in the inner- most drawing-room, a woman always ready to see her Mends, and give them cordial welcome not one of those women who have to be hunted for on the arrival of a visitor, and who are never fit to be seen except when they are en grande tenue, Constance Belfield was sitting with a bookstand on one side of her, and a capaci- ous work basket on the other. She was a great worker as well as a great reader, and her needlework was the admiration of all her female friends, who went to her for ideas and inspiration in satin stitch, and copied her achievements with the needle at a respectful distance. She gave her hand to the Vicar with a smile, and he sat down in the luxorions chair at her side, and felt that life was worth living for. Ho told her the state of things at old Dawley's cottage, the young life wasting, the young, undisciplined heart pining for want of womanly care and sympathy, and he had enlisted her feelings before his story was half finished. " You want change of scene for her, a brighter, busier life, a home where she will be taught and cared for," she said, when she had heard all. " Let her come here by all means. My housekeeper is an excellent creature â€" but you know my good Mrs. Mar- rable as well as I do." " I have reason to know her. Yes, she has a heart of gold." " Well, I will place this protegee of yours under Mrs. Marrable's especial care, and I will do all I can for her myself " You are always good. Lady Belfield. Y ou have taught me to rely upon your good- ness. But I must warn you that this girl may be of very little use in your establish- ment. She is nntausrht and inexperienced. " " I don't expect her to be of use to me; I want to be of use to her. Bring her to me as soon as you like. Vicar. " God bless you. I will bring her to you to-morrow, if I can." CHAPTER.â€" East to Love Hkk. The Vicar rode Don across the marsh early next morning, a liberty which that sage animal felt inclined to resent, so rarely was he taken far afield two days running. But the Vicar was too intent upon humanity just now to spare horseflesh. Old Dawley had gone to the market town with a load of baskets, his exchequer having sunk to the lowest point, (^re necessity forc- ing him to abandon his post as guardian of a girl's heart and honor. Madge was alone, in the same moody at- titude â€" with the same moody countenance which the Vicar had observed yesterday. She took bat the slightest notice of his en- trance, scarcely stirred from her place by the window, scarcely ceased from her. con- templation of the marsh, only looked at him with a bored expression and muttered a sul- len good morning. " Madge, I have got yon a place," he said, plunging into the core of thii^ without cir- cumlocution. "What place?" "A plaoe in a lady'a honae, where you will be kindly treated, and taugh to be use- fuL I am going to take yoa to a new and cheerful life, to a good home, clean rooms, good wholesome food, and companions of your own age." " You mean that I'm to go into service," she said, with the same sal^ air. "Folks have oft-times talked to me about that.' " Yes, my dear girl, the life yoa ore lead- ing here is altogether an unnatural life. It ia high time you went oat to service, and leomt to get your own living." The girl was ailent for some moments, looking across the marsh with that dreamy air of hers; then ahe turned alowly and looked at the vicar, liolf in wonder, half in acorn, with large dork eyea that were capa- ble of looking unfathomable thinga. " Did my grandfather put wkt in your head !» ahe oaked. "No. Tour grandfanher told me only that you were unhappy. It woa I tfaonght of the cure." " A pretty cure 1" ahe cried contemptn- oualy. " Yoa think it will make me happy to scrnb floora and pota and pana, or per- haps yoa would send me ont as a nunemaid to mind squalling balnea. I would rather starve and have my freedom than be a well- fed aUve." " There ia no such thin(( aa slavery in the honae where I am going to take yoa. L\ij Belfield ia one of the kiodeet women I know. She will take you into her aervioe aa aiavor to me, and alie will have yoa treated Uadly and tanght to be na^oL "Lady Belfield," cried Madge, j^trnfing np and finahing to the roota of mt hair, " Lady Belfield wffl take me inW her aer- vioe." '• Yea, Madge, and wffl iBtanrt hflfidf in 'onr weUora. She haa heard of your diamal "!e hen, and aha. baa promiaadto do all ia S her power to moke yoa happy. Yon won t refnae anch a aerrice aa titat, will yon " "No," anawered the ffttl, after a Ions' panae, " I won't refoae. I ought to be very gratefal, I sappoi e. It'a a fine thing for dirt like me to be let into anch a house as that." " It will be the making of yon, Madge," anawered the Vicar gravely, " And I hope you accept the aitnation in a right spirit, and will try to do your duty to that excel- lent lady." ' The girl vouchsafed hina no assurance as to her intention upon this point. " When am I to go?" riie aaked, aul- lenly. " At once â€" ^to-day." "I have hardly any clothes but tiioae on my back." "My honaekeeper ahall get yon acme more clothes. Yon can come to the Vicarage oa fast as you can, and Deborah shall buy you what yon want, to begin with, in the village." The girl took up his hand and kiaaed it in a burst of gratitude. " You are a good man," she said. " Yes. I'll come. Poor old grondiather. He'll miss me of an evening, when he comes home â€" but anythin;; will be better than it has been lately. We've both been miserable â€" and perhaps some day " She smiled, her face flushed again as its had flushed, at the first mention of Lady Belfield's name. " Will they let me come and see my grandfather sometimes " she asked. " Of course, and if you learn to be a val- uable servant, by and bye you will get good wages, and then you can be a substantial help to him iii his old age. " Yes, I hope I may be able to help him when he is old.^s. Madge appeared at the Vicarage before three o'clock witlr all^her worldly goods tied up in a cotton handkerchief. She was not overcome by the grandeur of the Vicar- age, for that grave, gray old house, with its sumbre old rooms, cool in summer, and warm in winter, had been familiar to her in her childhood, when the Vicar catecliised her on Sunday evenings, with a class of Sunday-school children, in his library. She remembered the look of the pannelled hall, and the old Oriental jars, the Vice's fish- ing tackle, and the perfume of rose leaves and lavender. Deborah, the housekeeper, who was a very homely personage compar- ed with Mrs. Marrableat theAbbey, received her instructions from the Vicar and sallied ont with with Madge to the village shop, where all the indispensables of this life were kept in stock, and here the two women sat for nearly an hoar, choosing and bujdng, Deborah keenly interested, Madge curionaly indifferent, looking with incurioua scorn upon tho pure white calico and the neat prints which were being bought for her. "I suppose you can make your own gowns," said Deborah, rather snappishly, provoked at an indifference which implied ingratitude to the good Vicar. "I have never had anybody else to make 'em for me," answered Madge. "That one you have got on fits pretty fair, though I don'i like the s^Ie of it," said Deborah, eyeing the supple form from top to toe. "I wouldn't let one of our m^ds wear such a gown aa that, and you'll have to dress different at the Park. And you will not be allowed to wear beads round your neck." "And yet they say service isn't slavery," retorted Mads;e, with a soomfal laugh. Deborah spent a couple of sovereigns grudgingly, knowing how many claims Mr. Rockstone had' upon his benevolence, and having very little sympathy with this nn- grooious young woman. "You're to come back to the Vicarage and have tea with us," ahe said curtly, "and then John is to walk to the Abbey with you." John was the Vicar's valet, butler, and general confidant and factotum. He waa known only as John, and seemed to have no occasion for any surname. The Vicar's John was known and respected all over the parish. He was a tall, lean, sharp-nosed man, very chary of speech, and never talk- ing except to the purpose. He was a great reader of newspapers, and a profound politi- cian. Of books he knew none but the Bible, and that he knew better than five curates out of six. He had a way of talking about the patriarchs, and the kintrs and heroes of Israel, as if they had been Peel and Brong- ham; or Bright and Gladstone, which was curious, and quite unconsciously irreverent. " I don't want any tea," Madge answer- ed, ungraciously. " Oh, but you must want your tea yon must be almost sinking. What a queer girl yon are. Come along now; let's get home as fast as we con, Martha will have got the kettle boiling, and John will be wanting his tea." John was a person whoae wonts must al- ways be studied He waited upon the Vicar with exemplary devotion, but he expected that the women folk should wait upon him. In the kitchen and servants' premises he was first in importance, and tJl gave way before him. The Vicarage kitchen looked very cheery in the winter afternoon, with a bright red fire burning in an old-faahioned open grate, and the hearth apotleas, and the fender shin- ing like silver. The Vicar dined at eight, BO thia afternoon hoar woa a period of leisure and repose. The large oak table at which Deborah did her cooking was pushed on one side, and a snui; roond table covered with a anew- white dcth atood in front of the fire-place. Martha, the honae and parlor maid, a rosy cheeked boxom laaa, prepared everything except the ootnal maUng of the tea, a aaored office in which Deborah al- lowed no interference with her privilegea. The tea Imy waa apread, and there waa a diah of hot-buttered cokea frizzling on the hearth, by which aat the Yioor'a John in a dignified attitude reading the Standard. (10 BK cxtiimnTBD.) AOies of Anarohy. It ia aaid of a noted Anorohiat that, when poasing a coady temple of worahlp, where a few Tiok people worahip, he pointed to it in a menacing manner, and exclaimed :â€" "Thoae are our olliea they make the people hate the ofanrohea and CSiriatiaaity All we fear ia the Carpenter'a Son, and thoae who tread in liia footatepa, preachms to the poor." May there not be some tm«£ in the aaaertum? If ao, ni%htit not be well for Cfariatiaa pai^ W faMga :Oie g^ tfet aeiM*tea Oa maaaea if die poor bom the ohnroheaT Not all ohurdiea ore weoltiiy uid oioafe of tiiwB wdooBetfae poor, bat eaet rMMiii% tliay dmt ooma to any ax- tant What oaa be dona T CJtery tiie Qoa- palto**- â€" â- - ' HOUSEHOLD. Why? Ahd Ttf b Rbasovs Appbndbo. We are all prone to very light self judg- ment, and I suppose it ia a hard thing for any one to believe that effect in our own in- dividual coses follows cause, and what we firmly accept as Fate ia rather machinery set [in motion by finger-touch of our own. For others we see it clearly, and for our- selves not at alL Thna Mra. Brown aays to me, and Mrs. Brown la a dear little woman, not very old, not very wiae, perhaps, but capable of making heraelf moat charming. "I don't see why, even when a huebuid does ot cease, in all things, to be a lover, he atlll doea grow Indifferent to his wife's aociety. Now John won't take me to any place at all, if he can evade it without, as he Bapp9Bea, a hurt to my feelings." Most emphatically, I don't blame John. I sat behind them once at some entertain- ment. It wasn't a very good entertoin- mect, but, dear me John thought it waa. And that sharer of his griefs and joys She w*a in a draught, she wanted her ahawl pulled up, and ahe wanted a window pulled down ahe know the baby waa crying at home, and her fseat was very hard. And, through fall the stage performance, the tip- tilting of that dainty, saucy nose, the per- sistent murmuring of â€" assuredly â€" a very sweet toned voice 1 " How any one of sense enjoys this sort of thing passes my compre- hension t Well, Jock, whenever yon can tear yourself away from this brilliant affair, I'm ready 1" And then she aays why diesn't John care to have me with him, as in those bless- ed courtship days Ah, but in thoae daya ahe cared to be with him so truly that every sight was gilded in her eyes atraightway, and every pleoaure glorified. John woa not made uncomfortable by sarcasm, nor harrassed by complaints, never, in that time. And Mrs. White wonders why her hus- band never cores to stay at home one even- ing In the week why ao quiet and amiable a man, seemingly made for a domestic life, alwaya haa aome excuse ready to take him out o'nights. Now, Mr. White smokes. I don't doubt he^ smokes too much, stilly â€" His wife can- not bear the smell of tobacco, and that must be altogether given up at home. His wife's reading i* restricted toa fashion maga- zine, and she never glances at a newspaper. Her evening work is generally some crochet- ing where one has to count and pay strict attention. Perhaps Mr. White thinks sometimes of their youth, and the evenings spent together then. A man can't live for- ever on syllabub, nor always be a- wooing, bat few women whoae Lu^bands once were true lovers need ever lose that love. And Mrs. Gray laments, with bitter tears, that Willie is not straightforwardly true that he " shuffles" and equivocates. And I don't blame Willie. Sometimes his punish- ment is heavy for a tiny fault for careless- ness, not open sin sometimes, when the parents are unusuaUy good natured, or in- dulgent, or otherwise occupied, no stress is laid on a sericus misdemeanor. Willie never knows whether a tornado will whirl about his ears, or a smile reward him, when he makes an apt and saucy speech. And Mrs. Green, (so verdiant 1) thinks it aa remarkable as sad that Henry, senior, does not interfere with Henry, junior, now he has grown beyond her own control. One must condemn him, because he Is that most useless thing, 'a man who dares not assert his mauhood. And yet the trouble is of Mrs, Green's own brewing. When Harry was a little fellow, (jast beginning to lie naughty, one word and correction from his father vas enough to bring forth his mother in defense. And not that alone, but ahe arguedâ€" before the child â€" the parental in- justice and unreason, that, who could wonder so much when the disgusted man finally threw aside all control, and left his offspring to a very weak pair of woman's hands. And Mrs. Green needs must wonder too, why Harry is so dissipated. Why, when he hears one parent's wisdom doubted, and opinion set at nought, can he not supply himself, a little scorn for the other? There ore so many whys, so many reasons why, perhaps each one's conscience can tell bim others, and where he needj not go farther afield in asking the monosyllabic question for the answer. Vegetables. The farmer'a wife usually has a variety of vegetables to use, but sometimes lacks a variety in waya of cooking'them. A few re- cipes have been collected which may be ang- geative Cabbaob Sai^d.â€" Two eggs well beaten, one tablespoonful mustard, one teaapoonful pepper, two teaanoonfnia aalt, fonr table- apoonfnia melted bntter, aix tableapoonfnla aweet milk, one teocnpfnl vinegar. Stir all on the atove until it thickena like custard. When.cold, mix with finely chopped cabbage. Extract of celery or a littie cekry aolt is an improvement to thoae who like celery. Bboiled Potatobs. â€" Parboil pared po- tatoea; cut in alices half an inch thick; place, in a wire girdiron, over a moderate fire; turn freqnentiy, until well browned on both aidea aeaaon with aalt and pepper, and aarve hot. Boiled potatoes when cold niay be nsed for broiling, and can be done in the same manner. Potatobs Bakbd with Meat- â€" Pare and puboU, then place in the pan containing the fowUor roast. Turn over when portiy oook- ed, ao they may brown evenly. They can be baked in this manner without parboiling, bat require a longer time. They con also be baked in drippinga, without fowl or meat. PiCKLKD Bebts.â€" Pickled beata are a deli- cjona reliah to keep conveniently on hand. Bail tender half a pe*^ of beeta. They Aonld oook at leaat two honra alowly. When thoroughly done allow a alioe of raw omon to every beet. Slice them into a jar, put m a teaspoon of horae nuliah, oiz dovea, and a tableapoon of whole peppera to every half doaen beeta. Ponr bcntg Tinegar over them and aet them away. Whoiwaoovar. Cold Bbbt with Pubke op Potatobs.â€" A^^'Jril! " "?â- * twelva large pototoea, t^ *?,*•»?«» "J*. P«PP«f. and two tMa- apoon^ of butter lihen beat in gradiudly «eigntofb«amgmak. Bpread^^ porotlonona warmdiahond thenplocTon 22**»^^t*atbaef. PntoitabS »• edw of tlia diah with any kind of Br»en. S^!.ff^'*«**««^- Other uS of ooft meat CM ba .erTOd ii tUa MMwr^ ftuBD Apn«t.-ii.k, » Uttar of L, Mga, a pinch of siltTa^TT^ t^laapoonfnhi of floor V"^w. coie tort apples as SaraClS.' m tiie batter aad^ ^^ fi dared sugar. 'â-  ^•'•iijj Man in the Moon. This individual U faoUttr i,.v taona and the literaturTrf e?*«tH from tiie earliest tia.e« to IV There are atones which Z, date back » period earlier TaB'Sf^ Moses, telling of a man who i^'" 5 death for gathering sticks on a^P" W and was sent to the moon to .u^tkS^* after. A German story aUoSr? " man who cat stioka «i ti.- ,!*"• vmi A similar story is told in Sb-v this case the punishment w^f^^^y*! stolen the wood, rather thj foV J!JI?« the Sabbath. '°' '»«iia| A Dutch myth relates that tk. was g^ilty of stealing cabbagSonte» evening. Hb neighbours St ht^ as he was making off with feeTnS* '" they " wuAed" fim up in Se SS^A^ he 18 to-night with his stolen cabW*^ ^In some of the provinces alongXNort Sea the man in the moon was a sfcepS IS with cabbages is accounted for W„ • ^etJ?br""^°""'""-P«S Still farther north the people talk iU,. a giant who lives in the moon, and tIH supposed to cause the ebb and flow of ik tide. When the giant stoops, the mL flows and when he stands erect, tne ^Z ebbs again. â- " Li Greenland the sun is a female divinitv and the moon is her brother. Dorine M mortal Uves upon the earth, the Irothtf teased hu sister. She flew np in the »b and became the sun; he coold not Sy 80 hisfh, and b ecame the moon but U still pursues his sister, hopin? some d»y to surprise her. ' " WhMi he is tired and hungry, in \m last quarter, he leaves his house, on a sledie harnessed to four dogs, and hunts for seTenl days. On his return, he eats so much tbit he again grows into a full moon." The Russians have several account* to give of the phenomena uf the moon. On is that a man was looking for a land when there was no death. He look up his ainde in the moon, but after Le had lived a hng. dred years, more or less, death found bio out, and came there after him. A fnrioia struggle between the moon and death took place. While it was going on, the man vu caught up in the sky, and now shmcs "u a star near the moon." The variety of these stories is by u means exhausted, but enough have beei given that the reader may judge of their character. Ip. them all the man in tiie moon is a veiy bad fellow or a coward. In a feiv instances he is identified vith some hbtorical scoundreL The Freocli have a theory that he is Judas Iscariot, who was transported there for his treason. Othen have been inclined to think that he it Cain, carrying a bundle of thorns on his shonlden in punishment of ofiering to God the cheap- est gi: t from his field. Dante refers to thii notion in the second canto of his " Pan- diee," when he speaks of " the gloomy gpoti upon this body" (the moon's), ' wnich below on earth give rise to talk of Cain." |i***tatfie interest whi( Li*J*^ innotional ape r^l^SSf^ea^ ^feftoSty called the b(«*W rrz he made charg Pi5f Se whom he did jiSSestlyiBthe"^^"^^ I* .. ««. nractically, was i C*J^^goneofhiso. f?L? means to prevent hi r*5^J«: A well-known. PTr^ee Chetwynd, £ eJ«ii aimed at, and very P^tp»veniy with Lord hjjjpnotahownhimseli *;g_„al interest t^en in •«^S%he fact that Lo iTwMO excitedly discusse T^and that the prmtipt ffr^ it a number of long rJthey would to a great p « to a serious cnsia Jl"«f the weighty matters t "Xther the investagati ',^rd Durham's accusi ^e by a court of law L^ of the famous " J fjâ„¢key Club is composed Icemen of r»nk and we, Withe great national rase V at various seaaona, at Cheater, Newmarket, a '"toSeb the jockeys w a- lays down the rules un( !iewon, investigates al wneaty and corruption oi a, and jockeys, and sees M are run under proper coi «T as a result of the conti I» the lioenaea of two jock I away, and these two mt in any race in Englai ca are restored. B chief officers of the Jo fi its " stewards. " Th |» an executive committee, t to try offences against lonable acts on the tur: ^_j stewards are three in tjways men of high social perience in racing, and cter and judgment. O rds. Lord Hastings is I Lowther is a relative o ki a and a member of 1 ETministry, and Mr. Fits fof Earl Fitzwilliam. national, indeed, is thii 1 Houses of Parliament al r Derby Day. In recent lence of the turf has indue l to try to stop this adjoui int for such a purpose. Lyi been out- voted by a li t mch statesmen as Gladst to the custom. i-racing even under tl I and strictest regulationi of harm, especially to y 9 rise to numerous tempta are too readily yielded as gambling, which is c I by reputable people it men into coarse and ci hips, and causes the [might otherwise be usef EEGASDDTG HEAETS. frUcta Conclulvely Proves Wby Man ««!• erally Proposes te Women. A German doctor has lately been making some investigations as to the size of mea â-  and women's hearts. He found that there is a difference in favor of the man, the mas- culine heart weighing more and being larger than that possessed by the fadrer liIf of creation. A heart, it would appear, giows moit during the first and second years of life, and between the second and seventh year it hu again almost doubled. In the fiftieth year, and until a half century of birthdays have been kept, the heart grows a little, Snmmff after Summer. At 50, however, the growtt has stopped, the only change from now v the close of lUe being a slight diminutioii. In childhood the male and female hearts are the same size, but after manhood, the maa- online heart develops much more Hi*"" female, and the former ends with heme two square inches larger than the latter. l»i •• the poet says, the centre of the »ff«ctioni lies in the heart, the reason for man w*?^ proposing to woman and becoming the »nec- tionate bread-winner, the thoughtful na^ band, and the loving houseband, m^b» meaning of the word really is. "»«" " found in the region of his heart A Unique Dowry. The late Sir Robert Garden's i^^J. the London Times began, ^ys *?%i;C (London),-before he was bom. Hu wn«- a barriater, married Jero"" **J^ daughter of tiie first and sister «.»« *^ John Walter, proprietor of the 7^i»i«- ^^ paper had but lately changed its aty" ' title, having been aforetime knojnM Uy UfUvtr^al RgUUr. A»the«JJJ oreakfast of Mr. Garden and Mu« "â- " ' the fadier of the bride rose and ""^^ j^j. DaUy dowed her, as a marriage gift, ^^^rf^ nnin of advertisements in e yo"?* 1^^ ing journal. The particular «^°J^,, the third, or, as it is sometnnes oauw the " agony column," and it is «««a PT^^ famUy lawyer, who was prese^ "^j^, not been oonanlted in the ^^^^, im- was not well pleased with Mr. w« pnleive generoaity. Whatever the w^^. in question was worth at that "P^^^ » mercial valne must have ^wtly inwf^^ the yean roUed on, and Httle Mww ^^^ bame into the world proprietor «"' veloped gold-mine. Hapoleonni'BManfloleiun'^^j^ The Empress Eugenie has "P*"^p)agt 000 on the mausolenm « """g^^ »Bd The bnflding Is constructed oi^^^^ Fortiond atone, in the French w" 5,0- style, and it ia surmounted by f "J^^ t^. olo, which is a conspicuous °^^j^^^* The Cotintiy Ko il the old country hon tly named " the new hea I calculate ita influence o Distinct it is from th »ry Kthere written in li from' every hillside In e-ery city ho; I are lovingly drawn of 1 »y have been a wood- co with the well near the well-sweep stai which the bucket deso* lid nectar so grateful to 1 |or it may have been tl Chouse with the green t y the old and graceful e |le builds her nest and f) t branches he swings an( â- Â« notes; or it may have I .^Poor and bare in twL " children, who P« to supply all deficie ahinga of ita roomsâ€" br â- J* M kingsâ€" its b( t « Its happineas to the j ha%gone out from the- "• ,the power of whi( •boa, and it ia ne^ "tted, by the on-roUi Uwet of old age, the ^wUefanddelLhtto l^r?„'**b their bleâ€" »*efuUyj^i5jg^U thi tfi^cred in home la the loving tht ., -r^ all that man 1 "'*«*«kven,ri8ewii "w borne, for they V XTtiliziiur gg Jl£«w York World I "™«««DeputioBhaa] J* »«â-  ofejcct tiie T»«Paru for fe iljl2"l carrying â-  ^Wng Um aai I Z/TTwoi into (JSr?^ OfaU ttJ^Begnnow r J?*!? ttieWertil »iSl.5z?« •nruAed] ot^i^W'oirtfnkaaiJ E??^» in it. 3 |bZr'?iatfceoaae\ aac«^-r«%»f « ttiO*-««ar of aronnd. The altar, a highly m^^!» work, ia of Caen marble, and «« » ji,,,.* ofivd and white Ck)rMcan'narWj the a whita marble altar in the '^ijok ' two ooiiiBa are depodted, above w jdrar omoifiz. Sj^-^ ^*-^' â- i^iMM dii liMiiii iihi^^ isMM^ItmSMk l^i^^^'"^^ *i^^^.- â- â- fc'c