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 LiWSp||p|,ip|^ LIKE AND UNLIKE. if Pi «;,.# r $: • t I By M. R BRADDON, AtJTHOK OF "Lady Audley's Secbet," " Wyllard's Wbibd,"Etc., Eia CHAPTER XXIII.â€" Oy the Tebrace. It took Mrs. Baddeleya considerable time to transform herself from Peg Woffington to a lady of the period. The concert waa over in Regent Terrace when the sisters arrived. Patti had sung and departed, and a stream of smart people were flowing out of the lofty â-  hall on their way to dances but the pleas- antest features of Lady G'andore's parties was ti;3 lamplit terrace, where her ladyship's guests si-untered up and down, or sat about in friendly groups among groves of palms and pyramias of flowers, and listened to a band stationed at the end of the terrace. Whatever band waa best and most fashion- able was to bs heard at Lady Glandore's and the change from the brilliant rooms and operatic music, the crowd, and the dazzle of the house, to this cool reigion of palms and f owers and lampions clustering among the greenery, and Japanese umbrella canop- ies, and little tables provided with straw- berries and cream, and talk, and flirtation, and ic^d drinks; and stirring national melo- dies, was a change that delighted everybody. And there, across the shadowy Park, in sombre solemn grandeur, showed the dense bulk of Abbey and Senate House; the place where the dead, who seem so great, are ly- ing and the place where the living, who seem so small, are trying to talk themselves into fame and immortal!^. There were many people in London who preferred Lady Glandore's terrace to the smartest dance of the season, and who lin- gered and loitered there between lamplight and shadow, strolling up and down, or lean- ing on the balustrade, dreamily contempla- tive of that dark bulk of towers and roofs, touched here and there with points of vivid light. Mrs. Baddeley was neither dreamy nor contemplative, and the only ideas the Abbey or the Senate House awakened in her mind, was that death in any form, even when glo- rified in marble, was an inevitable nuisance, and that politics were perhaps a still greater bore. She was of the earth, earthy, and -always made the most of the present mo- atent. She speedily took possession of one of the strawberry-and-cream tables, and had a cluster of admirers about her, whom she sent on errands to the supper-room. " I am going to frighten you all by eating Bi moat prodigious supper," she cried. " Re- member, I have been acting comedy and tragedy, laughing and crying, and loving and suffering, for three hours, and have had ncthing but one poor little tplit and a tea- spoonful of brandy. I am on the verge of exhaustion, so now feed me, good people. What, is that you, Beeching " she cried, as a dark tigure and an expanse of shirt front rose up in the shadow of a neighbouring palm, like the ghost in the ' Corsican Bro- thers." " I did not think I should see you here to-night. How did you like my Peg " She was lifting a champagne tumbler to her tosy lips as she spoke, and Beeching ckought she was alluding to some particular order of drink. "â-  How did you like the playâ€" and â€" my gowns " she said, impatiently. "I suppose it was all very fine, but I ain't mtioh of a judge of anything but a burlesque." " Oh, but I hope I made you cry," said Mrs. Baddeley, attacking a plateful of deli- cacies, which a practical admirer had col- lected for her; foiegras, chicken, lobster salad, all on the same plate. ' It saves 80 much time," he said " and you don't seem to be eatinc so much," to which Leo laughingly agreed. " When I have finished my supper I mean tc Wallow in strawberries and cream for the rest of the evening," she said, with frank viJgarity " and you will all have to amuse me. I am much too exhausted to do any talking myself." •' Then I'm afraid you must be at death's door," retorted Beeching, â-  ' Ctood gracious! ' cried Leo, starting up siidenly and looking about her. " Have you dropped anything?" cried a tnorus of admirers. " Your fan â€" your bandkerchief t" " No, it's my sister. I'm chaperoning her don't you know, poor young thing, and I haven't seen her since we left the cloak- room." "Oh, she's quite safe," said Beeching, in kie slow sullen voice. " I saw her at the ether end of the terrace â€" the dark end â€" looking at the view â€" with St. Austell." ' I'm afraid I ought to go and look them np presently," said Mrs. Baddeley, piuhing away her plate with a sich of satisfaction " and now, you dear good Colonel, you may gc and get me some cream,and things, what- ever looks nicest. Yon are such a good cat;rer. St. Austell is a dear fellow, but it's unlucky he has made himself such a bad re- p-.itation." "I don't think he took much trouble acHJUt it," answered Beeching. •• I fancy it c-ame naturally. "Such a pity," sighed Leo. "He is so handsome â€" and distinguished â€" and clever â€" 80 altogether nic" â€" as if the last word ex- pressed supreme merit â€" "and yet people will talk about him, and it's almost danger- ous for a yonng married woman to be civil V him." "Y'ou are not afraid, tho'" said Mr. Mountnessing, a man about town, who was very devoted to Mrs. Baddeley, but who had never imperilled his peace of mind or de- pletedhis purse for any woman living. " You are nncommonly civil to him." " Oh, I don't count. I am a Bohemian of the Bohemians, I make no diaticntions. I know 80 thoroi^hly well how to take care of myself," said Leo, devoaring aa iced eouflle. ' Upon my word I believe you do," said Mr. Beeching, to which the chonu agreed. " But my sister is younger than I am, and knows very little of the world, and ought T« be looked after," atid Leo, attacking a pine apnle cream. " Not nearly ao good as the Bouflle, Colonel yoa ihonld liave brought me more of the aonffle." " And Mrs. Belfield baa act the advantage of a hnsband in India," nid Colonel Catter- elL "Xo, indeed, poor thing!" agreed Leo. " A neglectfal hnsband at home is not nearly so great a protection for a wife as a dear kind feUew in India, tmliagfor one andera tropical snn." So tooching " said tiie ColoneL There were fewer lamps and less people at that end of the terrace where Helen lean- ed against the stone balustrade, looking across the low level Park, with its rows of lamps, like strings of jewels hanging across the darkness, and its distant boundary of gothic pinnacles and dark walls, pierced with spots of light. St. Austell was by her side. They had been in the same spot for nearly an hour. Ihey had talked of many things beginning in the light«st strain, fieen intending that there should be only the lightest talk be- tween them that night, such talk as all the world might hear. Yet they had drifted somehow from gaietv to seriousness, from airiest talk of their neighbours to tenderest talk of themselvesâ€" and from seriousness they had lapsed into silence. She leaned her chin upon her hand gazing at the distant Abbey, with eyes dimmed by tears but it was not the associations of that solemn pile which moved her. It was no thought of the dead lying there, or of all that the living had lost by the death of greatness. It was of herself and of her own sorrows she thought, and of the lover who stood by her side, and whose lips had been pleading to her as never mortal lips had pleaded before, with a silvery eloquence that thrilled and subjugated her senses and her soul. What was that rough power, the mere force of a vigorous nature and a dominant will, by which Valentine had conquered her allegiance and won her to himself, com- pared with this tender and spiritual charm, the fascination of a man who seemed all in- tellect and emotion, a creature compounded of fire and light, rather than of gross earthy substances. She had never known what love meant before this magical voice whispered in her ear, before this light hand touched her own, and conquered at a touch. " There are tears in your eyes, Helen," he said, trying gently to draw her face to- wards his own. " I know it, though I can- I not see them, Love, why are you crying? I I tell you again the gulf is not ' impassable. All good things are on the â-  other aids. If your life were happyâ€" if your ' fate were what it ought to be â€" I would not j ask you â€" what I have asked to-night. But I have seen how you are ignored and neg- lected â€" I know how little there is to lose^ while for me there is all to p'ain â€" and for you â€" at least this much â€" to be loved and honored and cherished as you deserve to be." " Honoured Oh, how can you use that word " she said with a sob. " Why should I not use it Do you think dearest, if you were to make this sacrifice for me I should not honor you so much the more for that sacrifice than for all else that is loveLjr in your nature." And then he went on with arguments that have been worn threadbare in the cause of illicit love but which always seem original and unanswerable to the yielding ear of the woman who listens. He went on in that low melodious voice which had charmed honour and conscience to fatal oblivion many a time before to night the voice of the accomplished seducer, who has just heart enough to fancy himself eternally in love once a year, and who pleads to his mistress in all the glow and fervour of a pasaion which seems as true as a boy's first love, and which is foredoomed to change and f orgetfulness even in its golden dawn. He talked as a man who had never loved before, and could never cease to love. He believed in himself, and the reality of his own emotions gave himtheforce of sincerity. He was sincere, only it was the sincerity of a single season, and would be gone and for- gotten before next year's roses bloomed on Lady Glandore's terrace. Helen heard and seemed on â-  the point of yielding. He had been imploring her to leave a husband who neglected her, who was obviously unworthy of her fidelity, and to trust her lot to him. They would leave England together for ever, if the chose. She should not be made unhappy by the vicinity of people she knew, or who knew any- thing about her. He cared not where his lot was cast so long as he was by her side. He had been told that if he wanted to escape early death he ought to winter in the East- Egypt, Algiers, or Ceylon. Would she not go with him? They could spend the early autumn in Northern Italy, and then in October they could start for Ceylon â€" a land where all things would be new, where life would be as fresh and full of wonder as if they were children again. They would live for each other, apart from society, under an assumed name. No one need ever know their history. " We would have no history except the story of our love," he said. She listened with dropping eyelids, listen- ed with one hand locked in his, listened al- most in silence. Yes, she could imagine that ' life which he described, a life in the liberty of strange lands, in perpetual sunshine a- mong picturesque people a life forever changing, forever new, and brimming over with love, such a life as she had fancied pos- sible in that long honeymoon among Swiss mountains and lakes, when she had waited aa a slave npou her Sultan, made happy by a smile or a careless caress. She had fancied herself happy in those days, and had been a willing slave butpie who now pleaded to her was to be her slave, and she was to be Sul- tana. His tova was devoted, reverential, even she felt for the first time, what it was to be yonng and beautiful, and adored. ' St Austell looked his beat in that dim light. The delicate features, the pale com- plexion, somewhat wan and haggard, after many seasons of reckless dissipation; the dreamy bine-grey eyea, the refined mouth and chin, and the iaaHi intellectnal brow, on which the hair grewthinly, were all charac- teriatic of a type that women call " inter- eatinr." Helen felt the charm of that pale, emotional oonntenance aa deeply as ahe felt the magic of that mnaicai voice. She atood by his side in silsnoe, letting him plead, Iettin|| him clasp her band, letting him aa- sure himself of victory. The band was at tiie other end of the ter- race, and it was near that md that Ltdy Glandore and her fiienda were dnaterinff in little gronpa, which tiunned momeBtty. The faoond of a waltz came softly, bndcenby i from the distaaoe, to tiioeetwo in their ai^- jtnde. They heard aothii^ bat that fitful ebb and flow of adody, no aonnd of roicee; tiU a voice dose to them startled them like a clap of thunder. " I have been looking for yon every- where, Helen," said Mr. Belfield, " and I began to think Adrian bad made a fool of me when he told me you were to be here." The two brothers were standing side by side in the uncertain light of the Uttle gold- coloured lamps dotted among the palms, and twinkling among the flower beds. They stood side by side, clad exactly alike in their evening dress, like and. yet unlike. Valen- tine, broad-shouldered, vigorous-looking, taller than his brother by an inch or two; Adrian slender, fragile, with pale, intellect- ual face, and features delicate to attenuation. It was as if spirit and flesh were embodied in two different forms. Helen's voice faltered aa she greeted her husband,bnt a little agitation which wasonly natural at so unexpdcted a meeting, " When did you come back, Val " she asked. " It isn't like you to look me up at a party." " Of course it isn't like me," he answered, with a carelessness which reassured that guilty heart. " I should not be here if it waa not for Adrian. I went to look him up at his hotel before going to my club, and he made me come here witb him instead of going to the club with me, as I wanted him to do. How white you are looking, Helen." "It is the light of the lamps," she fal- tered. " Then they must be dooced unbecoming lamps. How d'ys do, St. Austell " The two men nodded to each other, but St. Austell kept in the background, leaning against the balustrade. It waa just possible for him to avoid shaking hands with Mr. Belfield without appearing constrained or particular in his conduct. It would seem al- most that he held himself aloof from delicate feeling, loth to interrupt the meeting be- tween husband and wife. Mrs. Baddeley came sweeping along with her satin train trailing on the gravel, and Mr. Beeching, Colonel Cotterell, and Mr. Mountnessing in attendance. "Do you know t'^at we are outstaying everybody?' she exclaimed, "and I have no doubt Lady Glandore is dying to get rid of us all and go to the Duchess's ball. What, Valentine, is that you I am glad you are back again. Helen, do you feel fit for going on to Grosvenor Gardens?" "No I shall go nowhere else to-night. I am tired to death." Not a word of satisfaction at having her husband back again no reference to him in her reply. Adrian marked the omisson, and wondered at it. Was love dead between those two The fire that had burned so strongly that night by the river; the flame to which he had sacrificed his own rights â€" was it quite extinct ' He looked at Helen thoughtfully. She was no less lovely than in that old time when he had loved her bat he saw the beautiful face with a clearer, calmer eye now, and he saw weakness of char- acter in every lineâ€" a sweet, loveable, yield- ing nature, perhaps, but not a woman for any man to build his hopes upon, not a woman for whom to venture all things. • • • • • •*• (to v.e contikced.) Great Storms m India- India has been visited by a series of phe- nomenal storms, partaking very much of the character of the Dacca tornado. At Mora- dabad 15Q deaths are reported, caused chief- ly by hailstones. Most of the houses were unroofed, trees were uprooted, and masses of frozen hail remained lying about long after the cessation of the storm. Tel^raphic news received from Delhi states that there has been an extraordinary hailstorm lasting about two minutes, which waa virtually a shower of lumps of ice. One of the hailstones picked up in the hospital garden weighed 1^ pounds, another secured near the telegraph office was the size of- a melon, and turned the scale at 2 pounds. At another place the Government House suffered severely, 200 panes ofglstss being broken by hail. In Lower Bengal^ at Rayebati, 2.000 huts were destroyed, while 20 persons are reported to have been killed and 200 severely injured. Telegrams have been received from numerous points containing accounts of local tornadoes. Chudressur, close to Serampore, was almost completely wrecked. The storm only lasted three minutes, its course extending for a mile and a half, and its path being three hundred yards wide. Its advent was pre ceded by a loud, booming noise. Large boats were lifted out of the river, and a small boat was blown up into a tree. F/om the report of the Dacca tornado it appears that 118 persons were killed, excluding those drowned, and that 1,200 wounded were treated. The amount of damage to proper- ty is wtimated at 678,428 rupees. Three hundred and fifty- eight houses were com- pletely destroyed, 121 boats were wrecked, and 148 brick-built houses were partially and nine were completely destroyed. Shortly after the Dacca tornado anotiier visited part of the Murchagnnie subdivision, and 66 deaths and 128 cases of injury are reported. All the houses struck were completely des- troyed. The Dicca tornado traveled alto- gether three miles and a quarter. Its rate of apeed varied from twelve to twenty miles and its greatest width was twenty yards. It was accompained by a rumbling, hissing sound, the clouds over it were illuminated, and liquidmud was deposited along its track, and was ingrained in the wounds of the in- jured !â€" [Calcutta Dispatch. A German Exhibition. An exhibition has been projected, under the sanction of the German Government, to take phMM at Berlin from April to June, 1889, the object of which ia to ulostrate and spread the knotvladge of all devices for the prevention of accidents. All nations have been invited to partidpate. AU lifeaavio^ inventipna or artidea or maohinea that n- late to the protection of labourers, and all plana for the promotion of the welboe and aafety of peraona and property, will be ad- mitted and conaidered. The scheme oovera a very wide range of prodnotion, and mnat reralt bt great benefit if the general co-oper- ation of dvillzei conntoiee Aall be aeonred. The Ckrman Government in its oompre- heu^-patemaham haa given great ateen- tun to aohemea of inanranee afpdaat aoddent. and this ezhUdtfen will no doabt enable it to make new mlea and rwnlatioaa that will reduce the preaent life rial. Lata woman buy heradf with hunmer and naik, and it ia naaUy tUffieoUrtodetar- â- toe what she ia driving at-[1«tn^ Free Pr«M. HEALTH. .-â- _â- - *â-  Heart Disease. Formerly when the phyaioian with his stethoscope detected a certain abnormal soun^, called cardiac mnrmnr, indicating heart trouble, he said nothing about it to the ^tient, or if he did revtnJ his discovery he did so in such a way as to take away na- ture's most powerftd restorative â€" hope. But a change in the methods of physicians has been taking place in recent years. Says the Medical Record " The opinion is now rooted in the minds of the advanced guard of the profession that cardiac murmurs are often devoid of the grave significance formerly attributed to them. So, too, we have come to learn that considerable damage to the valves may be so thoroughly compensated by hypertiophy" (enlargement) " that it seems permissible to speak of recovery from organic disease of the heart. "True, the anatomical le«ion persists. But the individual thus affected may live for years without impairment of his health, and with a working capacity in no way re duced from his normal standard. " The time has come when the prognosis of despair must make way for the modern doctrine of hope in the possibility of a cure. What was formerly equivalent to a sentence of death may oe commuted to carefulness for Ufe." Rheumatic fever, or some other disease, may have caused inflammation of the lining membrane of the heart, and thus laid a foun- dation for permanent obstruction to the flow of blood through one or more of the valves. But nature in time overcomes this obstruc- tion, not by removing it, but by enlarging the heart and increasing its force. True, there may be at length a weaken- ing of the walls of the heart, and a conse- quent lessening of its ability to do its work and there may come on palpitation, diffi- cult breathing, cough, and signs of dropsy. But this failure may be due to preventable causes. An eminent medical authority enum- erates some of these causes. They are omitting those which are the result of dis- ease in other organs of the body liiuscnlar overwork exhaustion of the nerve system, caused by worry or excitement and the daily use of alcohol, tobacco, and, in some cases, of tea and coffee, which act as car- diac poisons. In any case the patient should obtain the best medical advice and be ruled by it rigidly. Tlie Gospel of Pain. The power which rules the universe uses p lin as a signal of danger, just, generous, beautiful Nature never strikes a foul blow never attacks us behind our backs never digs pitfalls, or lays ambuscades never wears a smile upon her face, when there is ven- geance in her heart. Patiently she teaches us her laws, plainly she writes her warnings, tenderly she graduates her forces. Long be- fore the fierce red danger-light of pain is flashed, she pleads with us, as though for her own sake, not ouis, to be merciful to ourselves, and to each other. F.he makes the overworked brain to wander from the subject of its labors. She turns the over- indulged body against the delight of yester- day. These are her caution signals "go slow." She stands in the filthy courts and alleys that we pass daily, and beckons us to enter, and realize with our senses what we allow to exist in the midst of the culture of which we boast. And what do we do for ourselves We ply whip and spur to the jaded brain, as though it were a jibing horse, â€" force it back into the road which leads to madness, and go on at full gallop. We drug the rebelli- ous body with stimulants; we hide the signal, and think we have escaped the dan- ger, and are very festive before night. We turn aside, as did the Pharisee of old, and pass by on the other side, with our nose closed. At last, we have broken Nature's laws and disregard her warnings, she comes, drums beating, colors flying right in front, to punish us. Then we go down upon our knees, and whimper about its having pleased God Almighty to send this affliction upon UB and we pray him to work a miracle in order to reverse the natural consequences of our disobedience, or save us from tne trouble of doing our duty. In other words we put our finger in the fire, and beg that it may be -not burned. Tiie Fatal Eesnlts of Tieht Lacing. The following is from the London Lancet, of recent date and teaches its own moral without comment â€" " In our issue of June 25tL we draw at- tention to the abuse of. tight lacing, which possesses, for many wearers of the corset, such a fatal attraction. Shortly before that date, an inquest held upon the body of an elderly female, revealed the fact chat death had resulted from this practice. Only a few days ago a nearly similar instance was re- corded. In this case a young lady who suffered from fatty infiltration of the heart, died suddenly while dressing hastily after a hearty meal. Here, also, tight lacing play- ed a prominent part in determining the fatal resnlt. " We had hoped that sensible reflection upon the bad effects of this injurious custom, as illustrated in the history of a former gen- eration, might have impressed upon the would-be- fashionable the obvious teaching of experience. The cases just quoted,, how- ever, are probably but a representative min- imum of larger number, which do not come before the coroner's court and the evil they exemplify, though certainly less general than of yore, still continues to act as a potent cause of ill-health. "It ia htrdly necessary to repeat, at length, the causes which render this abuse of the corset so effectively mischievous. Pathologists have a clear perception of all that ia implied in its doubtfully graceful dis- oomfort. The displacement of almost all the organs in the chest and abdomen, the oompreadon of aeveral of theae npon the heart and great veaaels, and the restriction of breathiiw Jspace which is thns entailed, have in thw eyes no beauty, but the sad Mpect of feobleneaa willfully acquired, with the promiae of a life-time as brief as it ia practically useleaa." Oorsets and Bad FignnB' Notwitiutanding that tiie prindpd excuse wbioh women give for wearing corseU i« thdr •nxiety ta have a good figuw, there b ao wtide of droM whioh w deforms and diatorta tiw ^|«i« M the oonat. Leas than a mo- mamf a oonaidemtkm b nonatairy to bring rally More the mind tiie fact that oornpna. don of tiw wabt doaanot diainbh a oer- son'a actud bulk. increase EomewhM«? **»«* btiiat fleshy wom^thn'^^ afflicted with most iiShJ^^ below the waist q^'^^ypnS?* Soott Siddons was ^^'.»*»ir? maker to "leave offhJr^ by fi lose my atigB^.^^%,'«*t."u^ possible,!" ThrlreS;„«H?! was losing her figu^raSfcuSft, means of saving it » • NhT" njeasures at once. "wLi^^H* Btaya," said the actrcsj ' J maker proceeded to fit ' "" iW fire mch waist. At the ^^a T » a came back again. " fukf ' *« «i inch waist,"W deman^S time her figure below S i'^H had resumedjitsnormaKJlr " had grown two shades f2!?^°»-li9* and she looked youlr^;*' S has never worn a staTLflT' *« whereas before she ZS^y I all she could do to drae ZTv*?- after She had disSSft"-* so fresh and vigoWthS .^°^ *• doneasixth^d^l^ta:,^^-!!! Thy Company. Gather to thy heart anfli w. j i Truth lies deep in a well, th»t A. By day as well asnighi mv W To teamen its starUtlS^ And read her name in God'Bo».m HiflOwnPault. "This is about the slimmest dinnerl sat down to," he said as he anrvS table;"butIs;poBeIoughtt«,2 tarn allowances." "Yes, John," replied his wife "ii, would make certain allowances touiI have no occasion to qnarrel with your foU The Prosaic Broker. " for the wings of a dove '" aL poet. ' "Bosh!" said his friend the „™ "The breast of a turkey is much bettel fill up on. " A Ourious Enor. "Yes," said the general, "our „ allies were very helpful, although their, of knowledge of the English langnipii quently gave rise to embarrassing ahuliiL 1 remember particalarly at the batM Tippo-Tibtati an alarm was soanded, ui| gave the order " to arms," and i mother's son of them m istook my nei and took to their legs." Domestic Intelligence. Mistress. " \\'hy, Bridget, what onei are you doing with two keys in your i door?" Biddy O'Gal way. "Twokaysisit,!! The one beyant is for barrin' the i whin I'm out, an' the one foniiutiil barrin' the doore whin I'm in. How i you bar the two sides av a doore widi kay?" HigblvFlatterina;. Mr. Hopperâ€"" May I have the p of this dance. Miss Snob " Miss Snob (wishing to show her ence)â€" " Thanks, Mr. Hopper, I don'ti with every TomDick-and-Harry.bttli make an exception of yon." Somewiiat Dry and Dustj. Brownâ€" Have you got a quarter i you, Robinson? Robinsonâ€" Certainly. Brown-Thanks, I'm jnst back frosij races, and I want to get a drink m" my boots shined. â- ---,. Takinf no Chances- Pa Jones (8oberly)-"Clar». ?»"»?, Sampson came to me to-day, ana w" had promised to be his *ife if he cooldi my consent." Clara "Yes, papa.' " But yon are already e Babbit." â-  „„m "Yes, papa (with dwp'ne «J« "1 beautiful ftush), but I wanted to be " safe side." An Average Cook. "How do you like honsekeepJJi.; dear." inquired Mrs. Matron of M» '^::^h, it's just lovely iChjrleyq delightful I lt's8Uch»ple««t^'JiJ says, from boarding-honse j^^j^I raves over my cooking, i"" 'i^i prepare our little meals. "^^ I J really must It ^-^^Jo^J me in the least AllU»ve»« ...J lay another plate. I ^^'^^' .•â-  ready, and will only l»^«'",^eJ5| girl,\nd tell her there. B to l-^a And when she spoke *« f j^T "Run around w*eb»kerV^J dozen fresh rolls, aPO'"""/rt«p •'.T and some lady fi°g""-„*^beefl' grocer's and get some cianea some cdd boiled tongue »tttie| store and a jar of '"gpbS»n»J •" some tarts. I g""" '^^'Le th»t but the teaâ€" and yon can m* IJBa and Loo^tude. i..Awn that in wiUng aroui *? Vm in â- M^B more than hi i the odendar u changed upoi •^ hundred ana eightieth ^. To understana the rea e and how it is done, onew to imagine a particular -,^11 call for tha making for instance, we are at 1 ^0»th of March. Atsixoc ••iStflt U niMet. The half c^MiAof *ho meridian line, is fSM the hdf to the east of the l^^low On the opposite half of t 1*"^^ that is, on the meridian "â- â- Tjiddghty degrees, itissui tk to be the next day at London T^gavpoae that at this hour of ?2iP •etoidl from London to go •3d eastward, and another sets '^e voyage sailine westward Jmike eqnal speed and they will i ^nThnndred and eightieth dej ' tede. They carry each a ohron muA keepa London time. ISS the ahips aaU by locd time, a l^rected every day when the sun i croaaing the meridian at noon ifcrence between locd time and "" i, easily road in longitude east ^London according as the local I or dow of the chronometer, a minutes' difference of time for Bte of longitude. IWe will now suppose the speed of J is such that they will reach t mdred and eightieth meridian, an .chotiier in just sixty days, and onr when it is sunset at London. JB it is sunrise at the point wl Buiels most. The ship sailing east, that is, m tl ection ui which the earth turns, h inst twelve hours by going ha and the world, and thb is the its sixty-first recorded day. Tl iog west has lost just half a di if ^e sunrise of its sixtieth r |»T, though the time has neceesari he same. ' Now if they were each to compl cuit of the globe, the ship sailii jd will keep on gaining, and wi rfthrr twelve hours in going over i the way, so that it would come i Ben at sunset of the one hundred and lat day if no change were made dendar. By the chronometer it w josetof the one hundred and twentii On the other hand the ship sailin ard will go on losing as before, ^â- st half of the voyage its local time len back from sunset of the sixtieth onrise of the same. In completing ge it will fall behind juat the ear p^oming to London at the same ti [other ship arrives, its reckoning w that it is sunset of the one hund: nmeteenth day. The difference the calendars of the two ships will days, if no chsinge is made; and neii indar will be correct. To make the calendars tally wit'.i Idates it is necessary that the Ebi| least have its calendar set back one dd Jthat of the other ship must be set Jjust as much. The place for rnak â- change is at the one hundred and Beridian. The ship sailing east is half a da lof London time. By calling its I sunrise the sixtieth, j a bt: what t I the morning before had been called I its time twelve hours slow, and tb' I gain, and come to port at the one 1 and twentieth suntet. j On the other hand the vessel sail I reaches the one hundred and eig I idian at its sixtieth sunrise. It I behind London time. Call th.e I sixty -first, and that will make its I hours ahead of London time. I hours, however, will be lost on I the voyage, and the ship will coin I with the other one at the one huu I twentieth sunset. By this change of the calendar ed, the locd time can never differ don by more than half a day, an change than that of one entire I aiade in the calendar, the method I tecnres the closest correspondency loca^time and that of Lsndon, ace which we reckon longitude. AExious. After agonizing for eight niont ragffed edge youcg I'erkiiiE mu courage enough to declare his fte beautiful Misa Wiswall, and ly and graciously accepted. " My own darling " he cried folding her to his heaviDg breast ^6ry, very happy you make me I wlove me?" " Ye-e-s, Harry, Iâ€" listen V ••What is it, my angel?' "Nothing. I was mistaken. dew." • My precious one Ij you onl ••.Listen dear." '• What is it No one is cor 'M be happyâ€" happy inâ€"" •Hush â€" listen Ko I am noi "w« time. The newsboy is comiii J^^ing paper, and I am so anxio "me Toronto or Syracuse club " Wi't you nm and get the paper H« went, and never, never can thi ;hti 8U tin Th a ice Hice Time All 'JJo'"'^^ Will you Try NeiviliiK F« dl kinds of pain. Poison's " the most efficient and prompt 2"t«»ce for neuralgia, lumbago ?*«• For internal use it has A flicei""'*â€" .^Ut'^m S^\ *or internal use it nas n KK, /fy, nailer)-" M»«»,»^ â-  »"?.*» ^^e minutes may be obi '?i?r^Sl«tweet:^." .â-  5^^ »".-y of the fofiowing. Bobby ttocauer;-- ---, time at your party Iwt " p^bbT. Cdler-' 1 am 'e'yjSc«**«Sfl Bobby-" And I ^^'J " tb-^^?! Cdlef-" But yf° '^CgMi»'»"l Bobby-^'Noibutp*!""" the cake and fruit Theatrical Show J Mr flam [tha ^^L^S*^ j deder)-:2irrah, »«*^^gtf*;^j of theatricd shoes I •"S Ijfl Sirrah-Yes, «ir;«?»JrS.«^" double soles, wrought irw plates? One Advantage of rwjj;,, Fond Papa i^^^^^Si^i think you must learn *ft'yi%j Daughter-Yes, ^f^-K/" dety there are 80 m|*y2d*^.» French that wouldn't »»«-• yon know. Fond Papa-B-» 2*J Crampe in the stomach, ij^tpaina. Ttiitr i in /.onf. as «ervi **** remedy. jj---guna. Bay a 10 cent samp ««rvaine at any drug store ar " Large bottles 25 The Methodist Church at 2,^. had a debt'of «70S and t u removed ^-^ ° '«' "^^ St. thet removed. So a few Sunda; Ltion went to -churc .â- '!*!**S â€" 'Wp*t h»g blacl idnwn.ar mountain. •JhS ilS?*^ ^*° j^parent goolo nSffi' trainun was inarked a '^SftS^I?^'" "$2,'» "?5,"« ^*?»' 'Thfr*prtBtor wid that b inonntaia of debt wiped â- ** i^erf,anno«ooea fi oorrespon^i^ miili fnmiih^bc fiatm 4b« who ^^"1/