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 f'v-^ :•â- â-  :t ;s:y;T [Now FiBST Published.! [All Rights Eesebved.] i LIKE AND UNLIKE. By M. E. BEADDON. Atjthoe or " La»t Acdlet's Secbet, Wyllabd's Weisd, Etc., Etc. A V,. T ' ^HHW I flower beds, palms, and iree ferns, daughters, Mrs. Biddeley ^^^^^ rfders cwitering up and down the Row. SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS. This story opens by introdncing the read- er to Sir Adrian Belfield and his twin brother Valentine, the " Like and Uulike." There is a close resemblance arid yet a mark- ed difference between them, the elder pale and delicate almost to effeminacy, the younger dark, stron;; and self-willed. Their mother. Lady Belfield. although fond- ly loving both her sons, still has a warmer place in her heart for the younger and more troublesome. In a week after the opening of the story, Valentine leaves for Paris with a college friend en route for Monte Carlo with an " infallible " system for breaking the bank. During his absence his mother and brother hear that Co' Deverill, from County Clare, has come to live at Morcomb, a residence in the neighborhood. This rather startles Lidy Belfield, as the Colonel •was in their younger days a suitor for her hand, but rejected on account of wildness. Adrian soon calls at Morcomb, and finds the Colonel's and Helen Deverill, two charming young ladies, engaged at a game of bi'liards.They welcome him warmly, and please him by their frank, open manners. Next day he takes his mother to see them, hospitalities are exchanged, and before locg it is ap- parent to all observers that Aarian is in love with Helen. Mr. Rockstone, the vicar, takes espccia interest in Old Dawley, a parishioner who lives by basket making. Years ago this man's daughter, a beautiful girl, had been decoyed from her home and had never been heard of since, except that three years after her flight the old man had found a little girl whose appearance told that she wrts his daughter's child. He had kept her and given her the best education he could afford. At the time of which we speak, this child, now a lovely girl, -is giv- ing her grandfather considerable uneasi- ness by evidences which he sees of her being in love. The vicar interests himself in the girl and induces her to take a situation at Belfield Abbey as house- maid, to raise her from the low-spirited moping condition into which she had fallen. Meanwhile Sir Adrian receives Helen's con- sent to accept him us her lover, in a rather brusque and off-hand way. Her father and sister being away, Helen goes to stay at the Abbey till they return, where she makes Adrian and his mother supremely happy by her bright, winning ways. Adrian writes to Col. Deverill in Paris and receives his consent in a characteristic Irish letter to his marriage with his daughter. The other young ladies of the neighborhood were, of course, extremely jealous, the more so as they considered the Deverills bad style from the beginning, bat were still profuse in their congratulations. As Adrian's phy- sician had discouraged hunting on his part, Helen considered it her duty to give it up al- though it was a sport of which she was pas- sionately fond, and she did not conceal from him her regret. The time at length came around for Valentine to return; One afternoon on her return from a ride, Helen stole up on tiptoe behind Adrian's chair and kissed him. The kiss was returned with interest, but she found it wasn't Adrian. After some in- dignant words on her part and a few I mollifying ones on Valentine's, she reluc- 1 tantly half- consented to forgive him. For all that they did not seem to get on well together, and Helen appeared to shun her future brother-in-law as much as possible. It now appears that the gentleman who has stolen Madge Dawley's heart is no other than Valentine Bslfield himself, for, on the day of his return, they have an encounter on an upper lauding, when he uses his most seductive wiles to induce her to leave her present occupation and live happ'"'y with him in some secluded spot, to which her only answer is that s'ne can be nothing to him if not his wife. Darirg this conver- sation Madge karns that her mother, about whom she ha 1 always wished to hear, is living in style in London as Mrs. Mande- ville. Helen shortly receives a telegram from her father, announcing his arrival in London and requesting her to go home. She goes, but not before consenting to allow Valentine to accompany her on any hunting excursions she may take. After this they are a good deal together, having evidently overcome their aversion. Major Biddeley, ilr. Bseching and Lord St. Austell help to make up the party at Morcomb, and the latter gentleman very â-  soon perceives that Helen is falling over head and ears in love with Valentine. Soon there comes a letter from Lady Belfield, ask- ing Helen to come back to Belfield Abbey, and she does so. Lidy Belfield is puzzled and grieved at the apparent antagonism be-^ tween Helen and Valentine, and asks him to treat him in a more sisterly manner. The summer passed gaily, enlivened by company, lawn tennis, etc. Towards autumn the serious mood which seemed to have taken possession of Helen, vanished, and she and Valentine were gay and free as could be desired. It was at this time that Adrian found a slip of paper in his room with the words "Somebody is false, â- watch." He tried to put down all suspicion of Helen, but on returning to the dra wing- room he saw her and his brother in close and confidential conversation, which sent a throb of jealousy to hb heart. That evening he followed them out into the garden, and heard Helen's confession of love to his brother and inconstancy to him and at the same time her unwillingness to be false to him. He came forwsurd and reproswhed them with treachery, released Helen from her engagement and left them. Lady Belfield was grieveo. Col. Deverill was furious, and the whole neighborhood down on Helen for the part she mid played, but she and Val- entine were allowed to become engaged and very soon were married, Adrian baviog left for the continent immediately after hia dis- covery. In the meamtime, on the day after the finding of the scrap of paper, written by heraell, Madge Dawley left] Belfield Abby myateriooaly, leaving only a note for the housekeeper. She went to London to find her mother, having seen an acconnt of her attempted soicide in a daily pi^er. She ionnd her and tried to peniaade her to go away with her aad let her earn tor her an honest Uring, with; what result we shall Helen and Valentine spent a honeymoon of three months of delicious, uninterrupted happiness on the continent, but on their return to London Mr. Belfield began to snow himself as a selfish, club-loving overbearing husband, and Helen's spell was broken. They occupied a suite of rooms in the same house with Mrs. Biddeley, whose husband had once more gone to India, and who was living in the height of fashion in London, ekeiog out her income by writing newspaper articles. CHAPTER XXX.â€" Mes. Poxsoxbts Ulti- matum. Helen was ushered into Lady Belfield's sitting room next morning as the clock struck ten, and found her mother-in-law and Sir Adrian ready to receive her. The breakfast table had been placed near the open window looking out upon the park, with its brilliant • â- â-  and its ^. 4 i.«™. T fancied we 1 your humble servant. If we don't succeed Adrian came forward to meet his sister in- law with frankest greetings but Helen grew paler as their hands met, and it seemed to him that her beauty had a wan look in the morning light. The freshness bad vanished from the young face, and that bright and joyous outlook, the careless happiness of girlhood which had charmed him at their first meeting, had given place to an expres- sion of weariness and languor. It was not the face of a happy wife in the early years of marriage. Helen grew more at ease presently as they sat at breakfast, reassured by Adrian's fra- ternal manner. It was a relief to her to find such perfect friendliness in the man she had jilted, and yet her vanity was wounded by the idea that he could forgive her so freely, could meet her with frank goodwill. "He could never have cared very much for me," she thought. His presence recalled bitterest memories. She had been false to him, and for whom For a man who neg- glectcd and abandoned her, left her to F«te and to the chances of evil, left her to run the gauntlet of London society, without a husband's sheltering care. Adrian was eager to see hia brother. He had written to Valentine in a friendly spirit twice during the last year, first on New Year's Eve, and again on their mutual birthday, and his brother had answered botl; letters in a free and easy tone, taking their reconciliation as it W3re for granted, ignoring t ne past and the wrong that had been done. And now Adrian yearned after that other half of himself, from which he had so long been separated. He was vexed at Valentine's absence, and still more vexed at Helen's vagueness about her husband's return. " I'll telegraph to him," he said, "if you'll give me his address in Paris." " I don't know where he is staying." "Y"ou don't know! But surely he has written to you." " Yes, but he wrote to me from his club or from a club that he uses when he is there. I'm not sure that he is a member. I sup- pose if you telegraph to him at the club he will get your telegram." " Sooner or later, no doubt but there may be a considerable delay," answered Adrian. " I want to hasten his return if I can. Our time is short in London." Helen gave biai the address of the Paris- ian club, and he went downstairs to send his telegram. Lady Belfield carried off her daughter-in-law for a morning in the picture galleries. She took possession of her son's wife, as if in the exercise of a natural right. Helen had promised to be in the Row be- tween twelve and one. St. xlustell would be there, no doubt, expecting her. She had parted with him at four o'clock that morn- ing, after a ball, and he had stopped at the carriage door to ascertain her arrangements for the day. He knew all about her morning arrangement with Lady Belfield. " Less than a couple of hours will polish off your mother-in-law," he said, " and you can be in the Row by twelve. You musn't lose your ride. It's the one thing that keeps us all alive." She had promised riot to lose her ride but now that she was asked to go to a picture gallery she had not the courage to say no. " I want to have you with me as much as I can while I am in town," said Lady -Bel- field. " We have seen sd little of each other since you have been my daughter. Adrian is full of business this morning, so he cannot come with us." Helen was glad to escape from Adrian's thoughtful gaze. It seemed to /her that he must be able to read all her secrets, that he must know how false and wicked she was, she who had begun her downward course by falsehood to him. That morning with Lady Belfield was slow torture. The wife's guilty conscience, her remorseful sense of her own unworth- iness, changed every tender word into a scorpion. Sfie tried to appear happy and light-hearted, but she felt all the time that her gaiety, was a miserable assumption that could hardly deceive anybody. It certain- ly did not deceive Lady Belfield. " My dear child, let us go and sit down," she said. " You are looking so pale and weary, I am afraid you are not well, Helen that they did not take enough care of you after your long illness." " Oh, no, it is not that; I am very well, but I was dancing till nearly four o'clock this morning." " And you are going out again to-night. Do you think it is worth anyone's while to lead such a life " "I don't know. I suppose it is natural to like dancing and gaiety while one is young. And there is no other kind of life for me to lead. If 1 were to stay at home, as I did last year, I should onlypiave leisure to be unhappy, and to fanoy myself a de- serted wife. When I am out in the world, among a lot of thoughtless people, I too am thoughtless. It is better than thinking bit- ter thoughts." " My poor girl, 1 wish Valentine were fonder of home, and that yon two spent more of your lives together. There is some- thing amiss in your present life. I am griev- ed to see it I amlgrieved to speak of it yet I feel that I ought to speak." " Oh, please don't say any mote," said Helen fretfoHy. ^* It can do no good. Val- entine has ahraya had his 9ffn ynqr, and I have left off thwarting him. I osed at first might be so happy ridiculously fond of him. " Was fond of him I Why you speak as if your love were a thing of the past. " No, no. Lady Belfield, you mttunder- stand. I moan that in those days I had a foolish way of pestering him with my aOec^ tion. I was too demonstrative, and I thought I could keep him at home of an evening. A fatal mistake. We get on ever so much better now that we each go our own way. " My love, it is all wrong. It cannot mean happiness for either of yon." " Indeed yon are mistaken Valentine is perfectly happy." " And are you perfectly happy 7 " Well, yes I suppose I am. We are havmg a brilliant season. Leo and I are in- vited almost everywhere. It is very plea- sant, and " with a faint sigh, " one has no time to think." They were sitting in the inner sculpture- gallery, where there were very few people, though the other rooms were full. L*dy Belfield left at one o'closk, thinking that Helei was tired. „ ,. " Shall we drive through the Park before you go in " Helen asked, as they came to Hyde Park Corner. t. " Yes, dear, if you like," and Lady Bel- field gave the order. ,, "Go slowly up and down the drive, Helen said to the coachman, and then added to Lady Belfield, " if there are any people we know we may as well see them.' •• By all means we have half -an-honr to waste before lunch." Helen was thinking of Lord St. Austell. Would he be angry with her for having broken faith with him? She had given him in some manner a right over her life from the moment in which she had listened to the confession of his unhallowed love. He had the right to be miserable when he was away from her the right to accuse her of cruelty if she avoided his company. She had allowed him to tell her of his love but she had affected to make light of it. " This means nothing from you," she said. " I should be angry if it were anyone else who talked such nonsense. " And under that lightness her lover had seen indications of the deepest feeling, and knew that she was to be won not so easily won as other victims had been, and for that reason all the better worth winning. The Row was almost deserted, but a little way past the barracks they met Mis. Badde- ley and Lord St. Austell riding'Bide by side, while Mr. Beeching skulked in the rear on a thick set, bull-necked, black cob, very smooth and sleek and stoutly built, and having a kind of fanciful resemblance to his rider. "Everything belonging to Beeching is like him," said one of the gentleman's friends " his horses are like him, his dogs are like him, his guns are like him, arid his furniture is like him. The fellow has his own image and superscription upon every- thing. When ha bothered me about the lines of his new tandem cart I told him not to worry. "However you have it built, it's sure to come out like you,' I told him and, by Jove, it did." Lord St. Austell was one of the few men who look well on horseback, and yet do not disappoint people when they dismount. He was tall and slim, dressed to perfection, in so quiet and subdued.a style that nobody had e^er rucceeded in imitating him. There was an indescribable cachet, a subtle neu- trality of tint, which the copyist never could attain. To-day he had a languid air as he sauntered slowly along, talking with Mr. Baddeley, who looked fresh as a June rose, arid seemed in high spirits. She was to act for a charity that evening, at one of the most fashionable places in London â€" half picture gallery, half ballroom. She was to play Peg Woflngton, in " Masks and Faces," for the benefit cf the Sick Chimney Sweepers' Fund, and she wai telling Lord St. Austell about her conception of the part, and her gowns. The character was important, but the gowns were the pivot upon which success depended. " They are my own idea, worked out from Sir Pater Lely," she said " but that wretched Mrs. Ponsonby had not sent them when I came out this morning. I am in a state of suspense till I see them. They may be failures after all." ** You employ Ponsonby, do you " asked St. Austell, who was learned in all the ways of women " I've been told she's dear." ' Dear I She is exorbitant, a perfect harpy But she is the only woman in London who can make a gown. " " She must be as rich as Croejus. Lord Pevensey told me the other day that he nearly lost an estate he was negotiating for in Yorkshire, because Mrs. Ponsonby was bidding for it. He was not told who had been bidding against him till after he had secured the pioperty. " By Jove, St. Austell, I felt humiliated," he said, " to think that I had just missed being out- bidden by my wife's dressmaker." " I have no doubt she is richer than Lord Pevensey," replied Leo, laughing. " I am longing to see how she has carried out my ideas. I am like a child that is going to have a new frock for her birthday." They saw Helen and stopped, and the coachman drew up by the rails. They talk- ed for a few minutes, Helen explaining how Lady Belfield had been so kind as to take her to the Academy. "You might have sent me a message," said Mrs. Baddeley. " Your horse and I both waited half an hour for you." " Y'es, I ought to have sent a meswge. It was very forgetful of me. Poor Rkvioli " Ravioli was the horse. " I am glad you find it in your heart to pity Ravioli," said Lord St. AusteU, with one of those looks which speak volumes at the initial stage of an intrigue. Language and looks become mnoh less subtle in later stages. He timed that pathetic glance at a safe moment when Lady Belfield was talking to Mrs. Baddeley. Leo was begging her to go to the perform- ance at" The Victorian." " I daresay the acting will be very bad, though we all think onnelves geniaaes," she said "bat we shall have all the best people in London to see xu, and it is for a good cause, so if you and Sir Adrian are duen- gaged " " I believe we are disengaged. It is only as a favour that we are to get stalls for the Lyceum next Saturday, and we are aot to go to the Haymarket tOl to-morrow. It is not so easy to do a round ot tiie Q^watns «â-  w:e fanded it would bfe." Then ai a pis aOer oome and see *Muk8 and Faces,' by tha Kentish BamUen and "Don't be too sure of that," said St. Aus- tell, " there is a painful condition of the mind between laughing and crying, which I have seen produced by the performance of your real painsUking amateur. He is ]ust too good to be laughed at, and he is not good enough to draw tears. His performance produces a dreary vacuity of mind, a middle state between sleeping and waking, a sense of the intolerable lengch of time. 1 think the feeling is most acute during such a piece as •Plot and Passion,' which, being tedious and long-winded, is naturally a favourite with amateurs." " You talk like a disappointed man." said Leo. "1 have no doubt you tried to act in early youth, and are embittered by the mem- ory of your failures." " No, I was one of those few sensible peo- ple who are aware of their incapability be- lorehand." " Are yon coming home presently, Helen," asked Mrs. Baddeley. " She is coming to lunoh with me first," answered Lady Belfield " I'll drive her home some time after lunch." " Pkase don't keep her late. She has the Charity Play, and two parties after it. To-night is one of our field nights," said Mrs. Baddeley, and then with -a smite and a wave of her whip hand, she yielded to the impatience of her horse and trotted away, her two cavaliers accompaning her. St. Austell left her at the Piccadilly end of the Row, hut Mr. Beeching rode back to Wilkie Mansions, and lingered at the door when ho had helped her to dismount, and given her horse to the hireling from the livery yard, who had been waiting for that animal. " Come in and see my gowns," said Leo " they must have arrived by this time, or I am in for a fiasco. Come and tell me what you think of my gowns, and then I will give you some lunch." Mrs. Baddeley was eminently hospitable her little luncheons were delightful in a small and studiously simple way. She gave herself no airs of eqicureanism, but her chicken a la Main tenon, or her mayonnaise of salmon or lobster wa^ always perfection. Even a tiny shoulder of lamb and a custard pudding had a grace on her table, and satis- fied hec admiring guest. She rarely dined at home, and so her cook was able to con- centrate her energies on that wholesome two o'clock meal which everybody eats with a better appetite than the evening's elaborate banquet. She ran gaily upstairs. Mr. Beeching following, ashamed to confess that his less agile legs would have preferred the lift. She opened the door with her latchkey, and pounced upon fhe page, who was discovered in the lobby reading the wonderful adven- tures of " Sixteen String Jack," reclining in a luxurious bamboo chair, with his heels on the card table. " Get up, you horrid little monkey," cried his mistress, indignantly, " Has the dress- maker sent my costumes " " No, ma'am. There ain't no basket come, but there was a young lady brought this," and the boy snatched up a brass salver, took a letter out of his pocket, put it on the sal- ver, and handed it with all due ceremony. " A letter," exclaimed Leo, angrily, ai she tore open the envelope. " What can the woman mean by writing " Mrs. Ponsonby's meaning #as clear enough. With profound respect shel reminded Mrs. Baddeley that her account had been run- ning a long time, and that she had not re- ceived a cheque from her honoured customer for over a twelvemonth. The costumes were fiaished and r« aiy for delivery but oa referr- ing to her ledger she had discovered that Mrs. Baddeley was much deeper in debt than she had supposed, and she must therefore re- gretfully decline to send the costumes un- less Mrs. Baddeley favoured her wit' at least a hundred pounds on account. Leo read the letter as she passed into her drawing-room, followed by Mr. Bseching, who felt that the atmosphere was tempes' tuons. "You are too good to ask me to stay," he muttered, "but I have just remembered a most particular appointment at the Junior Carlton." He was going, but she stopped him with her hand on his coat sleeve. " You are not such a poltroon as to run away because I'm in trouble, are you, Beech- ing?" she asked, comtemptuously She called him Beeching, or Joe, indiffer- ently, with a familiarity which seemed half scornful, but which he liked,' nevertheless, in his dull way. " I'll step if you like," he said. " What's the row?" He had seen her in trouble before to-day, and had been ordered to help her, and the result had been duly recorded in his bank book. He could see the figures on the clean white page now, as he stood there, helpless and half reluctant. Nothing had come of that former chivalry on his part, nothing except that he was called Jee, or Beeching, and was occasionally bitten by Tory, the poodle. ' Tory was under a sofa now, represented by a pair of fiery eyes gleaming in the dark- ness. Tory had taken it icto his over edu- cated head to detest Mr. Btechiaj. "What's the row?" he aoKed again, as Leo pored over the letter. " The row is that I shall be ruined, hum- iliated, disgraced, unless I can produce a hundred pounds in the next hour or two. Does the creature think I keep hundred pound notes under my pillow " " I don't suppose she cares where you keep 'em as long as she gets 'em," replied Beeching, broodingly, bending down to poke his whip handle at Tory under the sofa, and receiving a growl and a glare from that celebrity for his pains. "You'll have to pacify her somehow, I suppose," he went on, still intent upon Tory. " If you can't give hsr money you most give her money's worth. You've got your diamonds." He seated himself on the carpet at this juncture to be nearer Tory, who was waxing furious. " Of course I have my diamoni's, and I must wear them to-night. Everybody knows about them- â€" " "Well, not all about them," muttered Beeohinr, under his breath. " Everybody knows I have them, and will expecc me to wear them. What nice things would be said of me if I didn't wear them. My diamonds, indeed 1 am to take my diamonds to Mrs. Ponsonby. Upon my word, Beaching, I thank yoii for the gene- rotu suggestion." "Yah 1^ cried Beeching, sharply not at this sub, but at a very tangible bite from the aggravated poodle. "Luncheon ig „ gomg to sit there tLr.t*" a noon, or are you^r**'»I»lu" me?-' asked M?,.\'33«5i "8 t^« conversation; y' ""Q Mr. Beeching got,,„ " to the dining-room^ ooL*"'"^.-, of sheepishness. ft wi*«,*« V' Side of an oriental cart!i»^^ l^k- snuggest little room ""' rouih winds that blow i^ '«" wood screens and cln.l '*^«dr' On the small round 3 """^S silver and hothouse flQwer,*'!^^'^^ a dainty little lanch,::'^|W5' a duckhng, with all aecLi •'"'"' « fectioD, and a botC??!^'"^^ aelicately wrapped :»'" cl d'oyley. The gWw« v.*° â-  "^^•. and dishes werfweS^itu.,,: were being discussed there ,,^ '^k word spoken about Mrs T.» ""»«iii^.u..^ hundred pounds which h^iTv^' 'tM^d it oo f her: onlv Xf- P„â€" u: """oe fon.jTM'T.hp. will ^ce of "PbyBi" Training. jBport» exercise is an essential oon- LtJ*y*uh cMi not be doubted. Toe Lf* ' erowing more and more faxed ^b.pp»ly.«fa that the body requires .plOl'^^Jlfthe intellect; that bones, /g.»"^tew» require to be conserved " »»^J'?oaally with the gray matter •' X question of to day is how I bri»»- Ark be done without inter- i l^*^^her duties i°l"^- ^,. P*vniw that sedentary habits are 'rtitfol*"^^:. from which a tram of To' ^y^^ffiees follows, and yet it i "*t?.ere is no good reason why the ,toiDet'^«ff\:{e should so tyrannize »**'" «abiugate hie will and hold fli««J^ge little better than a hvmg *• _.relv the continuance of prac [»b»? ^tl requires the determined ef- 1 her only Mr. Beechmg oWJH hostess, although she miir"^;^ to his wants, ate hardly any 7^1 --' it. The moment the man becomes a slave, and broken air whicn trade him i'A'i" comfortable. "'""nfeeU^^ "Don't mind me,' she said caught him looking at her, must be faced somehow As have my diamonds. I may iJl ate myself so far as to offer thatMi man one of my bracelets as a " her debt." h.m for its own. Daring the itdiinw nw» ^^^^ -^^ ^j^^ physical J'^y rhundreds of men whose whole jtmeDt to gain and enpy goea "ThediSa P"" wh^did not feel-in fact, wo,: d F^'^ndieir excessive " habits." wi-.h- j |P:\" health could not be obtained r'"*ilceM»ry that everyone *lio trams "°?*°tpvenw:8itobecomean"athla:e.' â- â€¢^ir modified forms or degrees ml stearin This was a concession to the .w- Fate and Mr. Beeching felt tEt! was becoming more reasonable " Was Peg Woffiagton the sort of who would wear diamonds?" he presently. " She was a famous actress, andih, very beautiful. I leave you to jadge " "}^*' rJ,. »"PP°s^ she would hU monds. They always do. Bat are i not stage jewels that you could hire" "Stage jewels,! wear stage iev. When every chorus girl in London' wi diamonds of the first water. I woadei you don't know me better." She leant across the table to fill his for him. She had filled it so often „ that friendly, almost motherly air, thit had finished the bottle unawares, not hi ing that his hostess had only taken asp; ful. He began to be more sympathetic t. he had baen before luncheon, and to really concerned about her dilemma, A hundred pounds. Sach a sum n mere bagetelle to a man w'no counted thousands by the hundred, and felt a ilt uncomfortable when he began upon a hundred thousand, just as humble povi does when it changes a sovereign. A I dred pounds more or less could not nuke difference to him, and yet he did not lending that beggerly sum to Mrs. Biddi intensely as he admired her. He had her a good many hundreds before, someui for Mrs. Ponsonby, sometimes for the Oi tal warehouse, sometimes for the livery ble. She han not paid him, but he expebted she would be grateful. He felt more kindly disposed aftet i duckling and champagne, which were ' exjellent after their kind. He trifled some olives and helped himself tea ^lui claret, a wine he had himself chosen I Mrs. Baddeley â€" and paid for. She took such contril utions ia the lightest way, si flower absorbs dew, taking no heed oi giver, never oppressed by the harden of ligation. He looked askant at her as sipped his wine. How handsome she and how well she looked in her habit; there were tears in her eyes, yea, absolnt tears. She was not crying about her gon but it was the sense of humiliation wt crushed her. " Don't be unhappy," he said; U? and see this woman, and see what cia " done. Do you owe her much?" " I'm afraid I do owe her a good dejL " Tell me the worst. Give me her account." .,, "You'U be shocked, I'm afraid, m Leo, taking a paper out of her daveupir " Her prices are so extortionate, and 1 m been so unlucky at all the races thisy* Last year 1 paid her a heap of m *4 »"» Ascot, and another heap-weli, oyer».W| dred ea tchimeâ€" after Dancaster. " I'll see what I can do," said making a wry face as he looked at the.^ It was just under nine hundred p^mni (TO BE COSTISCED.) rre^eTn Other duties in hie. We " *k X man to take any ume from j " tfk h„t we do ask him to eive thir- ibounesB, Du. " j^^ bodily ex nhTmTwho me'^ditates on ca,h -fthrstate of the market will "niave not tie time." How strange r These gentlemen can tind time "°' evtryth^g except that which! except OI be An Eftective Sermon. The Portland, Me., Advertiser si?^ rainy'Sundays lately have h»J "f;^ moializing effect on the cau «h "^^ J^ tions, but one P»rrtand mimste -i^ let this discourage him, having m rm^ story that Dr. Payson, of th" «' • ^^^ tell." One very stormy Sunday h^« u church more from habit than b«a^^^| expected to find anybody f"' -.i^ he had stepped i°"de the do^ w ,, came in and asked if '•,^^, that^ preach there that dav, •^PJ^'^^^been was a stranger in town, and ^^' vised to goto bis church. v ^^ said Dr. Payson. "I"""^^ " ^S ca«^' preach my sermon if "°°?%^^„rM Nobody else did come, so the docM P ^^^ ed to the choir and thcnegr^ S^-J^ ^^ afterward he happened to meei ^^^^ and stopping him. asked^how ,.g^j^ the sermon that stormy Sunday. „j,^i dat sermon," r^'plied the old man, ^„ doctor, I nebber heerd a b «er see I had a seat pretty ^f" â- /prevtyk*^ whenebber you'd say Bomethw F ^^^a like' gin de sins ob men ^la^^. ^dj ^l'"** nrk^pThebod/in 8^ Btate of] Bch'oSi5e'tocomfortanduse-| •"••i-- „f= tn be attained by a thorough ""' of ph?ri^l^»^ing -ay be described' The removal of superfiuous fat and The increase or constitutional po-v- 'in^d endurance of lasting pow- •• Wind "â€"that U a power of deep and circulating the blood steadily innt violent exertion. teitodis improved by ruanuig. wnich tolSuined only when the respiratory ^^ating organs do their duty fairly. uT ruSiing, skipping rope, raising ffi from th^ floor, walking upon the Ke foot-do a little of this each day ' Sle the muscles of the legs stronger^ eTand more elastic and considerably T when put in a state of contraction. ;,ms and shoulders may be improved ^nened by the curling and working dmbbells, Indian clubs, pulleys od Mights. These exercises can all at home, at the store or m the ofiioe ill not only improve your general healtfl i strengthen the muscular system in qua! and Efficiency. It may not tnake the lbs as large as you expected, but the Ifeel stronger and lighter, and the whoh ly will have received its share of the re i for what the legs and arms have done ly men complain because, after a reason tune spent in exercise, theulegsanc have not increased a number of inches rt this the case we should find the legso baUet dancer and the arms of the blacb grown out of all proportion to thei extremities. The aim and objec [d be not to work for large arms an but for healthy bodies. i skm of the man who trains (if he t jt to hunself and the work) will becorr ith "without pimple or blotch, almoi iparent, so that the red bloom of yout IS through it like a brilliant." lere is something more than exercise r id. It is to live regular and be tempe in all things. Temperance and exerci J act as the uhysician of the soul, as w the body, the best guardian of youth ai iport of old age, the parent of health ai irersal medicine of life. It clears t and cleanses the blood. It eases t ch and purges the bowels. 1 1 stren^i the muscles and nerves. It enlight« brightens the eyes and comforts t In a word, it secures and perfe ion. Health, cheerfulness and vi{ well known to be the ofTspring ol iperate life. 1 don't mean temper ^y upon the subject cf drink, but temp in all things. The man of moderat rorely taste the sweets of many pl without excess but the man of ite character will go on in his excess es lie finally reaches the botto-n. life of irregularity has the certain et destroy persons of the most robust coi "i, even in the very prime of life. •ats sparingly, drinks little and i tebacoo he is almost certain of brin; "lease upon himself. To have a c one must have a clear stomach, " the grand reservoir in which the fiwt deposited, and thence the pow ^Wtion is distributed throughout all F roun says tor see who youf wouldn't sernobody' o^'^^Z, P"' to m'self, he muss mean y ' g^, you-8 sech a dretful '^i^^J',^ vb.i» Lt er sermon set me » »l?g thech sinner I war, an' I went an ]««;, down home. I'se a deaconnow^ .^ â€" • â€" r ••, aBi" When you reflect that a* P'^Bifor ^J dred yea«ago it "" JJ^S let fj girls to stand up m a row an ^^^^ kiss themaU good-by.^a^Jt^beaP*" about national progress seeu- mUtake. „-«walki»8"'jf«« Asamanand.wonjan T^^V^^ iSl ife Ji rif xi rbi with ii^^_r::,u^ wasdisch^ged. sending^ the woman's heart, ine"" ffbofl"" bii wife. great grief .^dthatshej .^^ querque the other day » PJ?^gthe«J««;' L man'spocket, and. sttilun|^,t df:;^ i. the sV^'pathizing f *^\"'J Jkir»i^5 buri^ her decently. JJ^^thU *2^ ward that the woman J*^» h„,bjj^ another's, and had de^rgf/^ wbf „,. was running away with the^j t„,„ch. volver brought the elopem«»' gio end. the body. ^n»m a practical expsrience of over t in this work 1 am firmly impre '*« necessity of physical trainin f to advanoe athletic culture. I ha( of being one of the twenty-eight •â- â€¢ho u 1838 formed the advance g ew York city. Ihaveoften felt sad t â- gaen who had made marked imp "IJ^^their physical condition by acti and endurance, enter the 1 ave agendes that hnve been i IliJIf *** fatally in operation amor li^W especially have amateurs re: .•ost there is danger in emul ^^•l" Professional athletes J^ demand upon their vital p ^*M made by their specialty, wl ,^2'«li»ve (or should have) other rjU* 'itikUty arising from their oc .?'»^ intellectual or whatever e rjv. " amateurs will insist upon jij* of profesuonals and theii 2J2**»thwmu8texpecit^ fain Cannot Stay â-  ^^^•on's Nkrviline is used. j« ttie most powerful pain eul i^SjUiown, Nerviline cannot liffl'^P^ relief in rheumatism, neu Jyt"ln the back and side, a Jwfnl affections internal t ' from inflaminatory act ,^ i_ bottle of Nerviline w JJ^?* *•' i*" superiority ovei •tSsS^y- "7 Nerviline. Lar ^^ trial bottles only 10 c« :^..S»d£ K^