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 SSSiS^^I^^^zI^^^^^^^SI sas 7^i'v ,. .__ â- ::* « ' f SST ^UBUSHXD.] epartmenta in Fine Art. I â- cial Science with Gr«2^ 'iplomaa and CertifiSj!] ^^a^«,« of the School fol anad ian College for yonniil Calendar addre«Prt3 gea thia year |l,200f(B •waa restores grey ud oi • and prevents lalUiij; oat ipe. «' *f bad bre»lh, fog] oouk sr of the StonuolL cm U»» pr. Oareon'i StokSM " Iv. Aak Tonr Dmcdn n't melt for makit, colm, Ontario, writes :- g Z)/-. Thorns' Edectn and haye no hedtatioii laa given better aatiafacl er medicine I have even the only patent medioin in it is recommended t rk horse, originated le Young Duke. IN« PILES. intense itching and rtiogliijl by scratchiQff. If allowed tJ which often bleed and Dlcar] •e. SwiYSB's OiimiBn stop ins, heal3 ulceration, andlL e tumours. It is equally ellj kin Diseases. DR. SWATSf 'biladeiphia. Swatki's Owk dru^gista. Sent by mtil Io| a popolition «.$f .c^'^.iKl r directory, ires In one minate. o be crossed by tnime'J laoti or Bowela gal oal c Dyspepsia, or Indlgeatlad is, take at oooe a dose ol D^ ters. Best iamUy midtoli Patdijt Attorneys and expei I' ltkaouttC«.,Tar eat eni foT III. Catalogue. .\CiLMH, Peterb«re,*it4 Iâ€" Illustrated deeorlpUvaC ree. R. Chamberltn, loroak lan Bros.. UipUIIIE l. 930 •week and c aluable outfit :._J ?*„,_. i .Y»CteBKY. Angart«.»"»1 'a»lier. Address AlEf. s: Ctaarcta St., TarftaK Fn^VEaYWHEBE in LU Dominion for our Hou 13 rxBBOx Bao8.,Toronto, Ona ded without pasaidg; liKu ii coin money semnifthen 15c., dozen pacKetsU W. nrlns Co., Toronto. HE DOMINION DIXON CO., Maketj I) Kins Street Eist, T* Its and" Diacounts. 10 DR.^GS uis wTi^, mff » must be too n«».?,»»j^l Baif Holder, *hichvnllW* -=,c. Sold by agents, xs" ALLEN CO., ^^ World" Building, Torow j }oI.ool.-ScientiflcMrf«^ â- ht, whereby 9«yh«h, I^^l .duced. Catters having «M| â- stems and ensure faturMaj on 'aaranteed. §'»" '^^ .re'chanca«oryoun^m«J .rofeteiou. S. t;0»~ 1 :. Terms on^applic*""" i AGENTS! Hajrnificent P«»J'«'.^ VithroWs P0P'i^,L_|ir rpTon^3v«otJ 'l^; MAKE^MOH ,1 affaire.. I* SS {ALL KlOBSB R mJMVU .] AND UNLIKE. By M. E. BRADDON, Author of " Lady Atolby's Secbkt," "Wyixabd's Weikd," Eta, Eia -,pj£RXXVIlI.â€" Leaves from Lokd " gx. acstell's Journal. uidarowwith Beeching, who declared Thad undermined bis inflaence with '^^ ybom he adores, and that I have spoil- if his chances without caring a rush for th« 2 myself. There was a time when I •*^ J good many rushes for the lovely Lao, iffould have gone a very long way for f sake, but a lovelier than Leo appeared â€" 'Hrer star rose above my horizon, and ' " .aniers, vendangea sont/aites. tell Beeching -thia, but rather oy'ed "' jealousy, and let him storm and fiieas be liked. After he had raged like I did noi stock exchange Othello, he began to talk 'vcnt money ma'.ters, and to " throw out," ' ffiV valet calls it, about my obligations !j [lira in regard to the stable. He had 'oaad most of the cash, and I had swaeger- jj and made money at his expense. This fis uitolerable, so i told him that I was htar'-ily sick of the stud and still more so of ^iai, " There's not a thoroughbred one iioBg ^^' M-hole lot," said I. He flared -r a: thie, and we became exceedingly The matter ended in a way that was emi- ceatly agreeable to me. We agreed lo part Mmpany as joint proprietors of a racing itnd, including Postcard, and I surrendered Jl interest in that distinguished animal and uistable companions for a consideration â€" uid coDsideration being total release from ii liabilities on behalf of the stud. A very 'ood bargain for me. The gentle savage was parage. His hereditary instincts as the ton and grandson of stock-jobbers should iure warned him againet transacting busi- seiB while he was in a passion. " Give me the man whose blood and, judg- ment are so well commingled," c. My blood and judgment areâ€" for I have never yet allowed temper to make me blind to my own interest. I really made an excellent bargain with Beeching. I bate quarrels, and it is always painful to me to cut a man with whom I have been Tery familiar, so when I met poor old Joe at Harlingham on the following day â€" Satur- day, and a capital Saturday â€" I clapped him on the shoulder and suggested that we ought 13 be the best possible friends now that our bBsinesB relations were at an end. I told him that I was nut of health, lungs altogether unsatisfactory, and that my doc- t-)r warned me against wintering in Europe. The Riviera mignt do for most people, but it wae not good enough for me. I must go to Algiers, Egypt or Ceylon. This, by the way, is unvarnished truth, I seldom get through a winter in England without a bad attack, and I have been strong- ly advised to try the East. Egypt I have done â€" to its list cataract, and ite last muihmy. I have seen the first rays of the morning sun shining upon Mem- noD'B head, and have learned and torgotteu a KCDStrous number of lies about Cleopatra. Algiers 1 know as well as South Kensington. Ceylon remains â€" the land of spices and tea, lo Ceylon I will go if If she will go with me. Will she That is the question. I think she will. She has owned that she loves me and when a woman once makes that confession all the rest is a question of patience and time. She is too lovely and womanlike to be false to the destiny of womaaly loveliness, which is to reward a devoted lover. She is more to me than ever woman was before her, more to me, dearer » mc, utterly beautiful and utterly beloved. I would make any sacrifice to win her, wcnld accept life- lone exile, and, what is much worse, life long poverty for her sake. My affairs are in rather low water, and she iis not a sixpence but I think I have enough to rub along upon in Ceylon, where life is easier and society less exacting than IS England. Stables and baccarat have ab sorbed more than two-thirds of my income, and away from the turf and the clubs I shall be comparatively rich. With her for my companion 1 shall be infinitely happy. July 22nd. She has bolted. When I called at Wilkie Mansion, this afternoon, the door was opened by a maid -without a cap, who emelt of rank tobacco â€" lifeguards- man in the dining-room, I daresay â€" and who told me her mistress had gone to Devonshire. She left by the 11-45 from Paddington on a visit to Lady Belfield. " Will she be away long " The maid had no idea no date had een mentioned for her mistress's return. Mrs. Baddeley was out. No information on the other aide of the staircise. My Helen has tnn away from her Paris instead of running »way with him. We sat out three waltzes ^t Lady Montracket's last night, and she g»ve me no hint of this departure. She **8 very melai7oholy. I saw tears in her eyes more than once while we were together, wd thought them a good sign. They were a oad sign it seems, for to- day she bolts. Does she think Devonshire, and the tegis w a mother-in law, can protect her from 5ie Parinit of a lover? No more than the temple and the shrine could save Cassandra trom Loxias. I shall not follow her im â- nediately. I have a good many enjage fflents and some business transactions to de- n me in town. I will give her time yiongh to be mberable without me, to find Me emptiness of life without me, to pine «a mope in rustic monotony. My chances d li '" ^^ â„¢^^^ better for a judicious August 17. Here I am, without a servant, seeping dark at the ion where Beeching and of u^ °P nearly three years ago. I thought 'bringing my man, as he is a shrewd fellow «a: would be useful to me in the event of j^";^â€" lw)king after a carriage to take us the station, getting cflf luggage and so on ^n 1 could rely on his discretion. But one ?n never rely on that class of mui. The •^"Perheis the most certain to talk. A ^1 trained fool would be an invalaable ^an^ if one could have such a combina- ionr smart fellow inevitably gives afternoon in a big baroache, she looking the image of sadness. She la martyrialne herself â€" and for what? Is it conscience, daty, honour, chastiry, feai of the world's opinion, or fear of me that weighs heaviest with her Her heart is mine and she must know that she would be happier as my mistress than as a wife of a clown, who leaves her in a state of semi-desertion, and has so little knowledge of her value that he exposes her to the pursuit of every profligate in London. With me she would be safe, guarded by an infinite love, sheltered from every harm. IQth. I have seen her. We met thb afternoon in the cypress walk beside the river. I had been rowing easily up and down for an hour, when 1 saw her white gown gleaming between the tall dark trees, and in five minutes I had moored my boat to great weeping willow, and I was by her side. We were together for two hours walking up and down by this river, or sitting on a bench under the willow. Not a creature pasted that way to my knowledge, except some men in a boat who had been netting salmon further down the stream. For two houM we had the world, and the sunlight, and the summer air all to ourselves and duriag all that time I was pleading my cauR, and she listening and agreeing and disagreeing, andcontradictingherself, divine- ly insonsistent and illogical, after the man- ner «f her sex. Bit I know that she is won all the same. Sle went so far as to talk of our life in Ceybn, even the kind of clothes she would havi to wear there. There is no situation in lie, be it ever so aole«in, in which a woman doeanot think of her clothes. "I do not beliwe I have a gown fit for the place," she said How like a woman 1 "Bring three or four white mnslin dress- ing gowns," I said, " and leave all your smat frocks behind. You shall have a toil- et o banyan leaves and orchids. Yon shall hav cobweb mnslina and silken robes that you3ould pull through a wedding ring, and Indui embroideries dazzling with jewels. Yotshail have a gown of peacock's feathers ove;a cloth of gold petticoat." "Would not that be too warm for the tro|cs," she said, smiling at me through her ears. Sh** ir alternate sun and show- er lie an April day. " But you know I am onl; joking. Y ou kuow i am not going wicn yoo" 'I know that you are going with me, tha you could not be so cruel as to break myieart. You know that for me the east mens life, but that life without you would be ieath. So if yon refuse to go, I shall stajin England and let the climate do its wort for me." "rou will stay and die," she said, with a scari look. Tie little chronic cough of mine has al- •waysui eflPect upon women, and It attacked me jtt at that moment. 1 believe I am ^jonsiiiptive, and I know I detest winter and td weather. Afbr this we shed a few sympathetic tears,tier head upon my shoulder, under the wiow. The westering sun steeped us in goUn light, the air breathed rustic per- fume, lingled odours of June woods and wild fivers, the ripple of the river was like music. If life could have gone on forever thus, flving on like the river in sinless ecs- tasy, I lould have been more than content. Heaven cnows I am not a profligate. I have ne^r loved a woman who was not a lady. Ive without sentiment or poetry has ever een hatefnl to me. It Is the un- ion of souwith soul that I have sought, and In Helen have found my ideal, my Arche- typal wonn. 1 told h- my plan. She was to receive a telegram -xt morning between seven and eight, ostisibly from her husband, sum- moning hoto London. She was to leave hurriedly V an early train, carrying her luggage wi; her. She listeid and promised to obey, and I believe shewlll keep her word. I have been up th4iiie to Barnstaple, and have telegraphed J my servant In London, in structing h| how to telegraph to Mrs. Belfield. ancin Mr. Belfield's name, from South Kensijton. She will be able to show her motber-ilaw the message, and short of Lady Belild offering to go to London with hfer, I s« no risk of the dodge failing. She will gi away quietly by the 10.40 train, and I ^1 start by an earlier one, so as to escape nice and to be ready to meet her at Exeter. Then we shall go on to Lon- don together, lne in a private room at the Grand, and le* Charing Cross by the Con- tinental mail. There will be no time lost, and very littleear of pursuit, for I know that Belfield t^ at York the day before yesterday, and? likely to bo there till the end ol this wee. »»»yhi8 inuter. So I decided on ooming J • â€" • "Moiicr. oo i. aeciaea oi. »ne, and here I am, ostensibly on the In ^t of salmon fishing in the Chad. I went tjckf " *^.lring some of my old Norwe^Mi toon, m, °^ " '»*^ adonuMt my dttnig- «at«i ^?^!^ " •^""Uy d«^ nrighbwhood J«i the hunting season, andiOe hoara I li^ rJP*" ^â„¢ ^e*- wUl be unattenbly Idll4 °'^PP'0Ml her wlU be dfOonlt. M "•at want her here. niotltiHr-^i4ijir-'to Iqiow They droT* put ilw iwa CH APTE BiX I X.â€" Afterwakds. It was snmmtatill, yet Adrian shivered as he sat and wched the slow dawn, the dawn that was ling with such an air of gladness for eagihnntiiic; men round about Chadford, start^ up from their pillows briskly, with th^hts of trying new horses and new hounds rose the dewy moorland, or the heavv grq, Adrian felt as if his limbs were lead, td his forehead iron. He sat by the emptyearth In the library, with his book lying o^ on the carpet just where he had flung it la night in his agony of fear. He sat wb the sun rose glorioiuly, shining with paicolonreid light throagh the emblazoned dndows, steeping the sombre old room irightnessand splendour. He heard the coo crowing triumphantly In the potiltry yai the horses netting as they were brongfaont of their atables for early ezerciae. 11 world was awake and astir again, earth d sky were bright and blytiie and she .s lying face downward In tiiat dreadful pi where the great raven- ous pike miistete She wm lying there, mnrdered on the ttsh«^ of sin, wuhriven and impeiutent, tiHotim of a moet miser- able bad M often wntoiMd, ^Tiehfng aOwttj tmder the dnli graea watar. And then ha mBMnberad heraa ha had firat behdd her in her gfrUah beanty, li^t- minded ud gay, gentle, pliable, a craatnv to entwine herself about a man's heart, grow dealer to him by every f dly, and more sacred to him 1^ every tooeh of weakneae. So would ahe have been to him had she become hia wife. It would have bean the delight of hia daya to cherish and protect her, to strengthen that which was feeble in her character, to develop all that waa good. Oh, If he could have readied the paat, and that fatal evening by the river, when he surrendered her to his brother.. It waa a base act ao lightly to have renounced her, he thought, to-night. In his anguish. He ought to have saved her from herself. He ought to have claimed and held her against the world, anything rather than to fcave given her over to a scoundreL " My brother," he said to himself. " My own flesh and blood, so near and dear to me that I could not think htm utterly bad, though I knew that he was selfish and self- willed. But I ought to have held her to her promise â€" she was mine, my very own, to protect and foster and I let her go to another. I had not strength to stand against her folly. I should have understood better what waa best for her happiness. I should have known that she was not to be trusted with her own guidance." His mind, utterly unhinged by the horror of the night, wandered vaguely from the dreadful circumstances which he had to consider, dallied as It were Idly with the memory of the past â€" lost Itself In futilities. What he had to think of was his brother, and his brother's position. A murderer I He, Valentme Belfield, the beloved son of a tender-hearted mother â€" he was guilty of murder. He had committed that tremendous crime which stands alone among all other wrong-doing, and by which in one mad Instant of ungovernable passion, a man may forfeit his life to the law. He may forge, steal, swindle, break hearts, be- tray friends, beggar the widow and the orphan, work ruin on the widest scale, and he niay still posesa that dastard life which to him means the universe. But for the sfaedder cf blood, the law has no mercy for him society has nothing but abhorrence. Adrian looked up at those old armorial bearings, through which the sun waa shining. How proud he had been of those historical qnarteringsâ€" every one of which had ite meaning for him. Had crime ever stained these shields before Those oldest arms yonder, had been borne by his Norman ances- tor, the Chevalier de Belchamp, crusader and hero. The family had divided after- wards into Beauchamp's and Belfield's. Yon- der was the shield of the Champemonnes, with whom the Belfield's had Intermarried, and there on a scutcheon of pretence, ap- peared the crest of the Prideaux Branes, marking a marriage with an heiress of that family. Had any son of those good old families ever stained his name with the red brand of inurder Those men of the older times had lived in a violent age â€" when the sword was ready to the hand, and anger, hate, revenge, jealousy, were wont to recognise no higher law than impulse. Yes doubtless there had been crimes committed, blood shed by men who bore those honoured names, and the Church had heard the murderer's con- fession, and had absolved the sinner. Had not the Church thriven and gro#n rich by such stories of crime The very stones of old abbeys and minsters might show dark stains of bloods, could they but tell of the motives which had prompted the benefac- tions of their foundersâ€" of the craven'spirits whose gold had been poured oat like water to win forgetfulness on earth and mercy be- yond the grave. Bat murder to-day â€" In this civilised, well- regulated world, bears a more hideous aepect. Murder to-day means the news- papers and the hangman and perhaps the. newspapers are the more appall ing ordeal. "What will he do?' ihoughc Adrain. "Kill himself?" There waa a new horror. To Adrian it seemed only a natural consequence of last night's work that Valentine should put a pistol to his mouth and blow out his brains It seemed the only obvious issue, He knew that religions scruples would not stop his brother's hand. After what he had done, his life must needs be hatefnl to him, and the most natural thing for him to do was to destroy that life. It was of hia mother he had thought, much more than he had thought of Valen- tine, during those long hours In which he had been sitting there, waiting helplessly for the morning having no plan or thought as to what he should do, no capacity to think out the future, for himself or for his guilty brother. It was of ber agony â€" her luiaed life â€" her broken heart, that he thought â€" and he would have given his own lifelgladly to save her. Would it be better for her peace of mind If ber son were to destroy himself, and thus end the horror of last night by a double tragedy. However terrible the catastrophe, It might offer the only petosible escape from a deeper horror- -the shame and agony of seeing that eloved son in a criminal dock. What was to be done with him If he lived, if he clung to the burden of existence with all its chances of infamy He had chosen the secret path, which to Adrian's mind stamped him for ever as a deliberate assaaain, he who had sinned almost unawares In a mome'it of passion,and who might have confessed a Is crime and held himself erect before his fellow-men, guilty, but not dishonoured. He had chosen the darkerpath the way of lies and concealments. He had made his choice, and would have to abide by it. That murdered corpse lying in the quiet grave yonder, might rise up to bear witness against him, as other hidden forms had arisen out of strange, and unlikely places, to teatafy against other murderers. After sunrise it seemed to Adrian aa if the moments hurried past with inexoraUe apeed. He ao intenaely dreaded the awaken- ing of the houaehold, the reaumption of the oidlnsry courae of eventa, and theaHlie in- evitable ahcick of Helen'a disappearance, the fear, the wonder, the confusion, hia mother'a diatreaa and perplexiiyf It waa of her he thought alwaya to aave her pain he would do anytiung, aacrifice even conacience and honor. He, who waa the aonl of truth. in; uuHwK» f would Btoop to lie, and would lead himself He thou^t of i tying titen â€" ^pictured 1 to the concralmat erf hia brother'a crime. ir nndier the mrii the I6very]hur, dark. The first aonaa of a honaemaid'a footfall on the Btaira, fall heavy ott liiaheait. Then came the vfmagai a afaattar oathagnHmd floor, lb day had fawu; Tlfa hoar chimad bom t£» staU* eiodt-ris i AH tha hooae waoU if aitfr hajow Jhalfi jaat Adxaia iMst riwwly af -ft- Mi. Man to her ., wiA tfareadaof gwi k, aargiag loooely to aad £c« widt thejnr movameat of the water. Eet^tougltf water rata uid.all i^ iool araatanauk haaiife the maigfa ofativw; hdiiniti tamm Hbami^M of tkoaaah^qg, d(|y Beaatan-whi^W f-'.* -t"fr'7iiJfriSit ateady hia aervaa bj a cold bath, aad to prenare himaelf to moet hia modier. He ahaddend aa he caught sight rf hia haggard fooe in the glaaa. It ia I who look like a murderar," he aaid to himaelf. Ha remembered having paaaed an under- fcotmaa on the atalra,.aad how enrioualy the man had looked at him. He had been acaroely conadona of the fact at the mo- ment, but he recalled it now at the sight of hia own face. No wonder the man had ataredathim. He made his tmlet slowly, deeply thon^ht- ful, and with a strange incertitude aa to the duration of time â€" thinking he had nwn^ houra in hia dreasing room when he had been there less than an hour. His vakt knocked at the dressing-room door presently. "Your shaving water. Sir Adrian. Is thero anything wrong, sir " How the question stuUed him. Was every interrogatory, every sotmd of a human voice to have the same power to shock and scare him henceforward, until the dreaded discovery was made, and all was over. " Anything wrong," he answered quietly, opening his door as he spoke. " No. What should be wrong ' " Nothing, sir. I beg your pardon, sir, only when I went into your room jost now I saw your bed had not been slept in, and It frightened me a bit, sir." " Oh, was that all Yes, I daresay you were astonished. I was reading very late in the library last nieht, and I fell asleep over my book. And after I had slept in my chair till daylight, I did not feel inclined for bed." Toe man assisted his master with the final details of his toilet, brushed invisible specks of dust off the neat g^ey lounge coat, handed Sir Adrian his wateh and hand- kerchief, and glanced at him furtively now and then, wondering to see him so pale and weary looking, even after a comfortless night. Eight o'clock. The prayer bell rang, and Sir Adrian went down to the breakfast room where the old servants and their newer subordinates were quietly slipping Into their accustomed placs in front of the sideboard. It was Lady Belfield's habit to read prayers at this hour, no matter who among her visl- tora came or stayed away. She expecte 1 no subjection from ber guests in this matter but she deemed it her duty to her servants that she should be one with them in their devotions. The prayers were not too long, nor the. portion of Scripture too abstruse and when they had all risen from their knees. Lady Belfield would enquire after the health of any one among them who was ailing, or would ask the last news of a sick parent,, or would detain Mrs. Marrable for a few min- utes' chat between prayers and breakfast, or take her into the garden to look at some »mall improvement, or a newly marked geranium, which the gardner had, asit were, evolved from his inner consciousness by scientific treatment of the parent plant. The bond of love and duty was very strong between mbtress and servants at Belfield Abbey. Helen had rarely appeared at prayers dur- ing this last visit. Indifferent health was an excuse for late hours, and she was seldom downstairs until long after breakfast. If she did show herself at the breakfast table her presence there was merely an" empty form, as she ate hardly anything. Lady Belfield made no remark therefore when prayers were finished and when breakfast began without her daughter-in-law. " Yon are looking very pile this maming, Adrian," she said, as s'le began to pour out tea, with her son sitting opposite her in the morning light, "I hope there is nothing wrong " Nothing wron^ It was just what his valet had said outside his door an hour ago. " Nothing. Only I sat up later than us- ual last night â€" absorbed in a new book. In fact I was so foolish as t read on till I ex- hausted myself and fell asleep in my chair." " Thac does not seem as if the book were very interesting." " Oh, but it was interesting â€" a nnst en- grossing back." " Wnat wa" it about, Alrian I am al- ways interested in your new books." "Tnis wasn't new," he said hastily, fear- ing further interrogation. " It ia a book of Mnller's. and I was interested in tracing some of D.irwin's ideas to their source in the older writer." "And you fell asleep in the library, and you were very late going to bed, 1 suppose," interrogated the motber anxiously. " Very late. In point of fast, What is it, Andrew " " Cin 1 speak vrith you, if you please, Sir Adrian " aaid the footman, with a louk that foreboded evil of some kiid. Adrian rose hastily, and went towards the door. " Yes, of course." " Stop, Andrew," exclaimed Lady Bel- field, " What can you have to say to youJ master that you can't say before me Has anything happened " The man looked from his master to his mistress, and then bask again to his master, with a troubled aspect. " It ia about Mrs. Belfield, my lady. Mrs. Marrable felt a little uneasy at what Jane told her just now." " What do you mean by all this mystery â€" Jane told herâ€" what? Is my daughter ill " asked Lady Belfield, hurrying to the door. "No,my lady â€" It's not that, my lady only Mrs Belfield Is missing, and her bed has not been slept In, and her boxes are packed and strapped, my lady, as If she had prepared to go away, and Jane, whose rtram Is on the floor above Mrs. Belfield's roonos, not exact- ly overhead, but very near â€" heard her mov- ing about very late last night, and wondered ahe should be up ao late." " What can It mean, Adrian?" exclaimed Lady Belfield. "She had no idea of leaving ua for montha to came. Whv ahonld ahe have packed her trunka 7 Where can she be Li the grounds, porhapa, wandering about aomeiraere i^ter having been up i3l a^^t. Let ua go and look for her, Adrain. Thero ia nothing really amiaa, perliapa," and then in a lower tone ahe added, "Servanta aro such alarmiata." " A telq^ram, my lady," aaid the butler, appearing with_ the weU-known orange en- imiope on a nJver. " For Mrs. Belfield," aaid hia miatreaa, loekiag at tha addreaa. Shall I optti it, Adrktt " ** Tea, I think yoa had better," utawered toMra. Belfield, handed ia *t Keaaiagtaa at thirty-five miantea paat aevea, reoalvad at Caiadford at three mutaa before e^t. (TO BK OONTINUXD.) Used Up. Trampâ€"" Caa you help a poor aick man T" Ladyâ€" "Sick! What ia the matter with you T' Trampâ€" "Well, mlaans, it would take too Ion? to name all my affiictions. I think I have every diaeaae la the world but tha gout." Ladyâ€"" Well, I think yon will get tha go out here." Employed The Wrong Man. Dr. S. â€" ^You don't mean to tell me that old Sawbonea charged you fifteen doUara for cutting off your arm Mr. P.â€" Yes, fifteen dollars. Dr. S. â€" Now, why didn't you send for me I would have cut both arms off for leaa money than that. A Case of Beal Distress- Judge â€" " You are accused of having re- ceived stolen property. Didn't you know that you were receiiving stolen property " Accusedâ€" "Shudge, if I had sushpeoted dose goote vas stolen, do you perleeve dot I, ash a pishness man, vould have paid terven- ty-five toUars Not mooch. I vould have chewed him down to two tollars and a ha luf. I vash schwindled myseluf." They Quit Even. Dnsenberry came lounging Into the gro- cery. " What a stock of beets, turnips andoab bagea," he commented. " Why, you're quite a green grocer. Since I think of It, send me round ten pounds of coffee. I'll pay yoa next week." " I may be a green grocer, but I am not green enough .to trust you," the shopman said. "It's bad policy to trust." Dnsenberry rubbed his chin and gazed at the floor In a ruminating way. " Yes, it's a bad policy," he assented. " Still, there's a worse one." " What one, pray " "One that's run out." They shook hands and agreed that they had quit even. Omitting Certain Servioes. Just before the collection a country min- ister said " Dearly beloved brethren, owing to the extreme heat of the day I think It will be wise to omit certain portions of our morning service." This seemed to. please sooie of the mem- bers and they began covertly to return dimea and quarters to their pocketa. Then the minister went on " The collection will now be taken up.** Willine; to Bisk It. Store Clerk â€" " A hammock, miss Cer* tainly. Here is one warranted to sustain a weight of tw hundred and ninety pounds." Young Lady (s lus)â€" " Two ninety â€" let me see. John weighs 164 and I weigh 125- five and four's nine with nothing to carry; two and six is eight with nothing to carry j one and one is two total, 2S9. (To the clerk.) Well, that's pretty near, but I guecs It will do." It was Fast Color. "I'm afraid that calico will fade," she ob- served as she. looked tt it in a doubtful way. " Oh, no, ma'am." " Ever tried it " "'Xes'm. A woman who had a dresa of this pattern fell int^o the river and her body was not fished out for a w6ek. The color hadn't started in the least, I assure you." A Wider Experience. Dumley (who has given Featherly a cigar from bis private box): I've smoked worse cigars than these, Featherly. Featherly: Yees, Damley, I s'pose you have but yoa must remember that you are an older mbn than I am. A Fine Distinction. The Court How is this, Mr. Johnston The last time yon were here you consented to be sworn, and now you simply make affirmation. Mr. Johnston Well, yo' Honah, de reason am dat I 'spscts I ain't quite so suah about de facks oh dis cue as de odder. to ao^ol bfaaaelf to ttafabe- naed Kovm hia oonchiet i^allttlBga Itaacingapm tlie ySlpiHt^ iSdWvttM Belfidd Passes for a Joke. " She signed a contract," grumbled the yarsimonlous man, " to want only one sateea dress » year after we were married. ' "Well, -haven't you the contract?" In. quired his friend. " Y.e-s. but she spells it different in that, and it reads E-a-t-'-n." " I'll tell yon how to spoil that," said hie friend. " Just tell her that every drras she has will be satin after she has worn It â€" ha 1 ha!" Hot as Bad asHe Feared. Office Boy (to editor)â€" A gent outside wants to see you. Editorâ€" Great Heavens 1 ia it another poet Office Boyâ€" No, tu he says he wants to lick de editor. Editor (rolieved)â€" Show the gentleman ia, Jamea. Chaige For Paper. Drummer (indignant at being chargep with writing paper at a Hamilton hotel)^ How did I come to be charged with writing paper? I never had any. Waiter (deairing to mollify him)â€" May be not, aar. Hit'a de paper de bill waa atade ont on. A Model Sosband. Homely Daughter â€" Mother, I apoke to Jdm .laat night about hia kiaaing me ao ranly ainoe we were married, and told him that yon had oommented oa hia appareat Motherâ€" Did yon aad what did ha hav* toaay liarâ€" Henva k* a Ilk J^r ia the: JMMMkni that ever Ifved 1 '-dollar -:0M^ â- -"':^-.h .... '^rr^V :*i-. It: â-  h' ..1;-t m rh\r 1 -UM ifii \m â-  i â- â- 'X i *J 1 â- -.';. -.i;'^--. li :5r- â- K-'t' ::|J "Â¥U -::i-*yy. ^^'!:•V. â-  ^^ '-â- u â- fji â-  â- 3j.. .â- '^-...'..-/