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 [Now Fbsx i^uBLumto.] [All Kiohts Bisxbtxd.] iV' ly ::M 4ih LIKE A ND U NLIKE. By M. B. BRADDON, Antlior of « Ladt Audlr'b Sxobxt," •• Wtixabd's W«ib»," Etc., Brq. CHAPTER XXXIIl.â€" Lna a Bomak. Lady Belfield went back to the Abbey â- iter haviiuc Bpent nearly a week in London, without having obtained any tidings of Valentine, fie had not appeared at Wilkie Mannons he had not written either to his mother or to his wife. That aozions mother had looked throngh the newspapers every morning and evening, fearing to read of fome accident to her son, bnt the papers bad told her nothing. She had questioned Phcebe who assured her that there was nothing unusual in Mr. Bel- field's prolonged absence. He would tell them that he was going away for a week and he would stop for a fortnight, without writing to his wife of the change in his plans. Sometimes he would send a telegram, but not always. It was his way. His mother knew very few of his friends, and these tew were away from London at this season. She had no means of -obtain- ing information as to his whereabouts, yet she was intensely anxious to see him, to be the first to tell him of Helen's Sight. She went back to her country home deeply despondent, dreading to re-enter the house upon which so dark a shadow had fallen. She had been away only a week, yet the sense of trouble and apprehension had hung so heavily upon her, that it seemed a long time since she had crossed that familiar threshold. She looked at the landscape with a vague wonder as the train drew near home, astonished to find the foliage un- changed, the light and colouring almost ex- actly the same. Adrian was at the station to receive her, with the barouche in which she and Helen had been driving about the country roads and lanes ten days ago. If the landscape was unaltered, there was a marked change in her son. He looked thin and wasted his eyes were sunken, and his complexion was pallid. There were unmistakable marks of suffering in face and figure, though he tried to welcome his mother cheerfully. " I am heartily glad to get you back," he Bud. "Ton see there was nothing amiss with Valentine. Your fears there were needless." Nothing amiss I How keenly the false- hood of those words stung him as he uttered them but it would be the business of his life henceforward to deceive his mother, in the endeavour to save her from overwhelm- ing misery. To betray Yaleutine's ghastly secret would be to break her heart. "No, I suppose there is nothing wrong, " but I was disappointed at not being able to see him. I wanted to tell him that which he must be told sooner or later. It will be harder tohear it from a stranger. Is there any news of Helen " This last question was asked in a subdued tone, like an enquiry about one that is dead. " No, nor likely to be, I should think." " She has not sent for her luggage " "No." " That is strange." " IHm't you think, mother," Adrian began gravely, " that as this mitfortune that has befallen us is without remedy â€" a trouble which no act of yonrs or mine can modify in the future for which thought and counsel can provide no help^it would be far best that we should never more talk of that trouble, nor of â€" Helen. She is gone from us, let us think of her tenderly and in silence, as of one whom death has taken from us, under sikddest circumstances." "You are right, perhaps, so far as that silence will be best. It makes one's heart ache to utter her name, the name she has disgraced, the sweet ^lish name which seemed so suited to her girUsh beauty," answered Lady Belfield, in uow sad tones, as the carriage rolled along the road where she had driven with Helen only the other day, the same scent of autumn flowers, late-ling- eting woodbine, travellers' joy, and wild thyme on the air, " but I am not going to thLik of her as among the dead. 1 look forward to the day when her eyes will be opened to the fooUshness of her sin, when I may take her back to my heart, crushed and br(«en, perhaps, but redeemed fromi among the lost. I do not forgot the parable of the piece of silver. I hope to find my treasure before I die." Adrian did not answer. He sat looking at the high-tangled blackberry hedge, with its luxuriance of leaf and bramble, clusters of blossoms and fruit, in all its stages be- tween bud and berry. The sky shone blue behind the tracery of branch and leaf. A newly turned field beyond sent up cool odours from the rich red earth. All things were beautiful in the stillness of afternoon, a golden afternoon, steeped in warmth and light but in his breast there was not one gleam of hope. Everything at the Abbey was ordered as of old the exquisite order of a perfect establishment, presided over by a clever conscientious housekeeper. Lady Belfield's rooms were a haven of repose and comfort, full of floirers and perfume, and beautiful objects all things in their right places, no confusion, no overcrowding of ornaments or furniture, not a discordant note amidst the whole. If externals could make the sum cf happiness. Lady Belfield and her son had every reason to be happy. She sat in the library with Adrian after dinner, and asked him to play to her. He chose the ors;an rather thim the piano to- night, and played the greater part of one of Mozart's masses. Those solemn and path- etic strains had a soothing influence upon them botli, and seemei to lift them above the r^on of their own troubles. He was still playing when Lady Belfield started up at another sound from without, the sound of carriage wheels in the avenue. " It must be Valentine," she said, as Ad- rian left the organ and went towards the door. "Dontbe too sure of that, mother. It may be Colonel leverill, or somebody from him. He has taken no notice of my tele- gram so far." They went to the hall together, and tha bell ran^ just as Adrian opened the door. The camaite was a fly from t^e statioh, and the surrival was Valentine. He kissed his mother, and shook hands with Adrian, as easily as if aU things were goins weD with him. " Hare I am at last," he add " and very and." " Whwe have you come from, Vakatine Â¥ asked his mothor, lo^ig at him anxtouly in the lamspighk He was smiling at her, evidently ignorant of the trouble that had fallen upon him; yet there was a change in him, his mother thought, a change iniiefa riM^eeuld B»t4efine. Every feature seemed to have hardened and sharpened in outline. He iiad grown thin- ner, perhaps, and was worn with travelling and excitement of some kind. "I have come from Paris. I went over there after the York summer. I was in a furious temper, and I felt that nothing less than a week's rest on the other side of the water would quiet my nerves. " "Things have gone wrong with yon«t York then?" said his mother. "Damnable wrong. The horse I had baok- ed proved aduflFer. Where's my wife?" His mother laid her hand upon his shoul- der caressingly, and answered in a voice bro- ken by tears " Come to my room with me, Valentine. I have something very sad to tell you." "Put it into as few words as you can," he said, "Perhaps I can guess it. She has run away from me, I suppose. " "Yes, Valentine. She has left you. How came you to guess " "Oh, only because the kind of thing is facbionable â€" and she liked to be always ia the fashion. Don't look at me like, that, mother, for God's sake. Whatever I may have to bear, I can bear it best by myself. Nobody can lighten my burden for me. Come now, I'll make a compact with you. Don't you ever speak to me about Helen, and I'll never plague you about my troubles. If you â€" and Adrian- -like to have me here, I'll come and go as I used when I was a bachelor, and let the past three years be wiped off the slate. Forget that I have ever been anything but what I used to be before Colonel Deverill took Morcomb." "Of course we shall like to have you here, Valentine. This is your natural home, and here you are always welcome." "Thank you, mother. I ahail sell the furniture, and get rid of my Kensington rooms as soon as I can." He had taken the matter so coolly, had dismiEsed the subject so briefly, that his mother wocdered at the ease with which the ba;d news had been broken, and when she went back to the library with her two sons, she felt as if the burden of grief had been considerably lightened. Yet, no doubt it was wisest to try to forget; to forbid the utterance of a fatal name. Let life slip back into the old channel, if possible. Valentine would have his old occupations, hisoldamuse- ments, horses, dogs, guns, country race meet- ings, occasional holidays in London with old college ohums. Hia life need not be empty or purposeless, even after this great sorrow. She did not contemplate the legal consequences of a wife's infidelity the possibilities of a divorce and release for the iojored husband. Her tender nature took only the woman's view of the circumstances, and to her, such a loss and such a sorrow were enough to darken a life time. Her younger son, there- fore, had a new claim to her love and devo- tion. She gave him Helen's unfinished letter, when they parted that night, without a word, and he was equally silent about it next day. He never re entered the rooms he had oc- cupied with his wife, but resumed possession of his old quarters over the billiard room the rooms that had been his from tiie time he left the nursery, a bedroom and dressing room adjolninc, with windows looking into the stable yard, windows from which he could watch his horses being washed of a It orning, or taken out for exercise, and from whi jh he could give his orders to the grooms. These rooms were remote bom the library wing, had another aspect, and belonged to a difierent period of architecture. In a week, Valentine had sealed down to his old life, and was going out club hunting every other morning. He was dull and silent of an evening, tired after nis early morning with the hounds, and he seemed to have lost a good deal of the elasticity of his youth but upon the whole, his mother felt very well content that things were no worse with him. It was an unspeakable comfort to her to have him under her roof, to see him resume the old life. She did not see the sleepless sights â€" the awini hours when the house was wrapped in darkness, and the sinner paced his room alone with the memory of his sin. Between Valentine and his brother there had not been one word about that fatal night. Adrian had felt that silence â€" com- plete silence â€" ^was alone possible. To live together in peace, to be even externally aa other brothers, they must studiously avoid every reference to that hidden crime they must both appear to forget.albeit Ixth kn«w that forgetfomess on eithe r side was impos- sible. CHAPTER XXXrV,â€" What Fatheb Thought. Her Nearly six weeks had passed before there was any sign from Colonel Deverill. He had left Scotland before the telegram reached Glasgow. He had been yachting in tbo Mediterranean, and the messagehad been delivered to him finally, after many vicis- situdes, at Ajaccio. After that he had lost no time in crossing to Nice, and making hia way to England and Belfield Abbey. There was not much that he had to say when he arrived, and very littie that could be said to him. Valentine was gloomy and reticent. " Talk cannot do either you or me any good," he said, when the Colonel grasped is hand and tiireatened to become effusive. " I am very sorry for you, and I have no doubt you are sorry for me. That is about all that can be said." "Butâ€" butâ€" I should like to know all that there is to be known about this devilish business. Poor deluded girl Surely you must have seen her danger, yon must have had some cause for suspicion." " I had none, or I should havy looked af- ter her better. I trusted lier im^loitiy, asd thought she was safe with her elder sister." "Leo is a noUe creature," said the Colonel, "but she is frivolona. She has been spoflt, Mr. Belfield. All beaatifnl (roown ai« •poilt, nowad»ya. There k yn open homage paid to beaa^ whieh' wnt detcrlorats duuractcr. I dont think y«a finite MaHied wbat tk lovely woman yon had nniried, and how ineTitnUe it waa aha fdioald have admiraia." « I thought my honour waa safe in her keeping. Colonel DaveriU. That waa my only miataka." ,^ " Have yon heard of her aiaoe ahe left herer' " Not a word." " I telegraphed Leo to meet m« at Water- loo this mmrning, and we have had half-an- hour's talk before my train started. She thinks St Anstell is the man." " I don't suppose anybody has any doubt «bont that" "Yon will ^(ply.{or a divorce, I snpposet' "I suppose so, eventuallyt" HeKuswered with- a gloomy indiffereaoe which raised him in his fathier-in law^s esti- mation. He was evidentiy in n* eager haste to shake cff that dishonoured tie, to free himself for second nuptials. He was not a pleasant young man, bnt in this matter he acted generously. He showed Colonel Deverill Hel«i's un- finished letter, tellit him how the house- maid had found it on che morning of her disappearance. "Wretched girl, it was like her to leave an unfinished letter," said the Colonel, "and half an explanation. God help her, with such a protector. If I had been more among beaten tracks on the Continent, I might have met tbem â€" or heard of them but I keeper. On one aide of tiie room atood two Inrge basket tmnka, oovwed with blaok leather, on whioh Helen'a initials were paint- ed in luge white lettera a smaller box for bonnets a travelling deak, and a travelling bag. " Strange :that she ahonld not have takeii some means to iret theae things sentv after, her," said the Colonel, contemplating the: luggage. "Sjhe has been afraid to ask for them, perhaps." " Yes, that is it, no doubt Bnt it waa rather a feeble proceeding to pack everything so carefully, and then to make no effort to get the things away. Poor Helen t It is so like her." -He took up the travelling bag, whioh was large and heavy, made of crocodile leather, clamped with brass, and provided with all the latest improvements. He had reason to know the bag, for it was his own, and only, wedding gift to his daughter, and it waa not yet paid for he received dunning letters about it every three months, and he felt that there must eventually be a settlement, somehow. And to think that she had left it behind her, not valuing it any more for all the trouble it had cost, and was likely to cost him. He felt more injured at the thought of this ingratitude than if be had paid for the object with solid sovereigns. He opened the bag, and looked dreamily a the silver gilt stoppers, the ivory brushes ... ivory waa not much upon terra-firma after I lef ft and glove stretchers, and shining cutlery. Maraeilles." 1 All her little luxuries of the toilet had been Lady Balfield begged the Colonel to re- main at the Abbey as long aa he liked, and he accepted her hospitality for three days, during which time he tried to discover some further particulars of his daughter's flight, but could hear very little, although he had several conversations with Mr». Marrible, and more than one chat with the woman at the Lodge, whose husband was employed in the garden. No one had heard her leave the house â€" of that Mrs. Marrable was certain. No one at the Lodge had seen her go out of the gate but there was a gate in the fence about half a mile from the Lodge, a gate which was sometimes locked and sometimes not, and she might have gone out -that way. No such thing as a carriage had been seen waiting about upon the road near the park gate, either late iu the evening or in]the ear- ly morning. This fact did not surprise the ,CoIonel,^ as he had been shown the telegram purporting to be sent by Mr. Belfield, and no doubt despatchedjby some agent of St. Austell's. If Helen had known that such a summons was to arrive in order to facilitate her flight, she had lost her head at the crisis, and had antioip3kted the intended hour of departure. She must have walked all the way to the station in the early morning, before any one was about to notice her. Colonel Deverill was tempted to make further enquiries at the station, where a young and beautiful woman starting alone by an early train, would most likely have attracted somebody's notice, even if she were sot recognized as Mrs. Belfield of the Abbey but he shrank from an investigation which would lay stress upon his daughter's disgrace. What good would it be to him to learn the details of her flight 7 The evil was done she was a disgraced and ruined woman she had eloped with anotorioua profligate, and^a mar- ried man into the bargain, a man who would not .be free to make her reparation, were her own bonds broken to-moirw. A divorce would give world-wide publicity to her dis- grace, and would not help her to rehabili- tate herself. The Colonel shrugged his ahonldera and gave up his daughter to perdition. He would have helped her if he could he would have taken her back to hia heart aa tenderly as the Vicar of Wakefield received his de- luded daughter, could he have found her in remorse and abandonment. He had been very fond of his children, after hia own par- ticular fashion of fondnessâ€" as beautiful creatures flitting about his house and bright- ening it â€" bat he could not move monntunt. If hi^anghter had gone wrong, it waa not withm his power to oring her right again. He shed a few fatherly tears over her fall but he was inclined to resent the perversity of Providence which had tamed all thingi to evil in his younger child's destiny. " She might have been mistress of this fine old place," he told himaelf, as he amok- ed his e^ter-breakfast cigar in the cypress walk, " but she must neMa throw henelf at the head of the younger brother; and then ahe cannot keep her silly littie head in the whirlpool of a London season, and elopes with the very worst man she could have chosen. She might Iiave gone off with a Duke, by Jove, if she had likedâ€" a Duke who could have mado her a Duchess in good time â€" but she chooses St. Austell^St Aus- tell, whose property is mortgaged up to the hilt, and who has a Mrife he can^t get rid of." The case was hard, and the Colonels spirits sank as he dwelt upon his daughter's diark fate. He was not a man to add to his affliction 1^ taking to himself blame in the matter. He felt uiat Pro^dence had dealt hardly with his daughter, that was alL The Abbey was beautiful in itself and its surroundings, and, Ufa went as smoothly as upon velvet, administered by an admirable cook and irreproachable servants in every department, presided over by a woman who was still handsome and whom he had once adored, whom he might still adore had he been in hia usual spirits. Bat the Colonel was weigheddownoy gloomy thoughta, and even those picturesque gardens had a funer- eal air, and the cypress walk suggested a place of tombs. Even the oheerfal babble of the river had lost its soothing power. The Colonel flung hia half amoked cigar into the stream with a groan, and stood Idly wateMng the movementa of a heron on the oppoaite bank, until it apread ita wide gray winga, atretehed ito long neck, andakimmed away aeaward. He waa not intereated in the bird, but watched ita movementa in a dull lassitude of mind and body. He made up his mind to atart for London next day, but before he went, a morbid curiosity prompted him to aak Lady Bel- field's permission to see hia daughter's rooms â€"the rooms from uriiich she had stolen away unseen by anyone, like a thief in the night. " I suppose they have not been mnch altered since she left," he said. "No, there has been no-Jiing changed. No one hasoccapied that wing unce that sad day. I'll show voa her room nrvaalf if day. I'll show yoa her room nraaelf. if you like," rapUed Lady Belfieli, feelins fw him deeply in hia affliction. Mra. ManwUe brooght the km of the outer roHn, tiie door of which had beenkent locked, and Lady BelBeld and the Colonel wut into tiie room togetiMr. Tkm4 had been no obangae qMda^ e» oovariiig n fnnStite' ap|g|| packed in this great silk-lined receptacle. White rose and eau-de-oologne. Lavender Ambrte, attar of rosea. Aclcnl of perfume came out of the bag as he opened it. " There may be wtters or papers of some kind that may help us to find out a little more about her plans,' he said. " Don't," pleaded Lady Belfield, streteh- ing out her hand entieatingly, aa if to stay the violation of a secret. "What good can it do to know any details. She is gone â€" we cannot hope to get her back yet a while." "My dear friend, it is my duty to know all I can," replied the Colonel, sterely, «nJ thereupon he proceeded to ransack the bag. He turned out all the treasures, the bottels, and caskets, and thimble cases, and house-wifes, and brooches and bracelets in their morocco boxes, treasures of ivory, crystal, and gold, of agate and silver. These he flung out ruthlessly upon the empty dressingtable, and then with cruel hand he searched the silkei pocketa, until he found what he wanted, a letter, the last that Lord St. Austell had written to her. It had been written after their long talk by the river. It recapitulated hia instruc- tions aa to her flight, explained the trick of the telegram whioh was to summon her to London in her husband's name, told her how he should be waiting for her on the up-plat- form â€" South- Western â€" at Exeter, advised her to take her luggage with her, and then after being strictly practical, the man of business vanished, and the passionate lover repeated his assurance of an undying love, a devotion which should know no change â€" urged her for his sake to be bold and firm, to fe*r nothing, think of no danger, remem boring that in a few hours she would be safe in hia arms. " For God's sake, do not falter," he wrote. " I think I have proved myself worthy of your trusting love, by a devotion which has survived all rebaffs, and has stood firm against every discouragement. You have given me your promise, my darling, the sacred pledge of responmve love. It would be as dishonorable as it would be cruel to break that promise and to break my heart at the same time. I cannot live without yon." " I may aa well keep that letter," aaid Colonel Dieverill, when he had read it and givei^it to Lady Belfield to read after him. " There would be no good in showing it to Valentine." " No, there would be no good. Pray keep it from him. There is nothing I dread so much aa a meeting between him and Lord St Austell." "Ob, thedayaof duelling are past There is nothing to bs feared nowadays, except the divorce oourt and the newspapers. Publicity Is the fiery dragon that liea in wait for the dnner." " With a man of my son's temperament, thereis always reason forfear,"said Lady Bel- field, gravely. "Hehas taken|hi8troublevery quietiy, too quietly, perhaps. I should fear the very worst consequences if he were to meet Lord St Anatoli." The Colonel ahrugged liis ahouldera. " I fancy yoa meaaure your son's feelings by an old-fashioned standard," he said. " The young men of the present day take all tiings lightiy. A man gets rid of one wife and marries another within two or three seasons. The change is made so easily that one half of socie^ knows nothing about it, and the other half takes no notice. If your son meant mischief he wouldn't be here hunting and shooting. He woiUd be half way to Ceylon in pursuit of his wife and her seducer. He would be hunting them. Lady Belfield, instead of Dsvonsnire foxes. Colonel Deverill left the Abbey in a very despondent stete of mind. " I am a broken man. Lady Belfield," he SMd. "I have been tottering for a good many years; weak in health, weak finan- cially, and in low spirits but this last blow has annihilated me. Leonora is a splendid creature but she ia the easence of selfish- ness. She lives her own life, and cares about as much for her old father as she does for the gatekeeper in the Park. Helen was always fond of me. Her disgrace will bring my grey hairs with sorrow to the grave. I don't feel aa if I could ever hold my head up again among my old pals. I have boasted of that giriâ€" I have been so protad of her. I shall go and hide myself at Kilrndi. The cottagera and squireena will point the finger of aoom at me â€" ^but that won't count." "Yon might abnoat aa well stay in Dev- onahire aa bury yonraelf at Kilraahj" aaid Lady Belfield, pitying him In bis deaolatfain, feeling that she would like to oomlort him if it were possible. " Oh, bat I have ties in Kilrnahâ€" tiea of some kind. I have a stake in the country. The aoD la mine, and though it pays me no rent it belonga to me. There is aomething in the aenae of poaaeaaion. Otherwise, for choice, I ahonld infinitely prefer Ch§dford. There ia a famisbed cottage a qnartor of a mile from your gates, which would auit me "Yoa mean the iriiite oottago with a thatdud roof end a verandah aU round r' »Ye8,thbiathepbMM. Baaitbeenfing toktr* "Oi^ aiaoe Juw. • It.balonfli to two vuidmai^en.^ Ona of titam wA ndand to C^«nB^ «i^a ilta«Balfe^£MBtt^ ieaving their oottsg, j. ,. looJ agent, who bSLl" Wit ' find a tenant for iZ*^Ct*«^ beletforatwelvem ,ViS5 money. You had ^^••"iJdr*!?*^ DeveriU." '*•'** Ukah^lilJl '•My dear Lady Belfi.u,, '^l I abould like so muShMli^'ii-t.l yea mtet consider that S.^"***?^! wojildbe fuU of p*iS5iV»'i«fil5l and thU my pres^"^^eUaiSr^l would be foUof pl^^ »t» i^£*5| aon rtOenrtne. SiS°^SSl IS to bid you good bve ^j^y lx»t«i?l old bones off tf hJlSd'..^^ '^krlyj (TOBEcONTIXPEn,! Come to Canada! It IS stated that Sir HenrvT.i I SuTk'f!ii:;-H^L7d?l^^^ sife-;^p?rt%-rlt^^^^^^^ holdera andLndhoWeralho^J^ je ^\ 1. To place at the heart " i*^«tt«p,. s no doubt, would 'belhe"'"-^" ^^^i .c'-- some one more thorom-hlv A "" aCl the detaiU of the worrinr"**S ment than it ia possiblefn?. " "^n^l dent in C^ada^cotttT' P' no doubt, would be the propw^^' place m the poEition no o£ '^*""»l could £0 acceptably fill th° bJ,'"?! '»i.| noother has hal the oppr.rtStiS,"'** ing the basiness of the GrZ tT l"'" in all its ramification, aSet^L "'t*! beat management as long as this d^i H .a kept np. The Execuie htd SoX" m a position to deal prompt lywi^^ varioua queationa which ^i^ St t^\ day and «ill for immediate aetjo? ^A the Enjsliah board may have thi 1^1 confidence in Mr. Hickson's ate management, the refereuce to EdM important queationa, callbg for mnd* planatoon and corretpondence, anditt H^ best necessitating considerable delav «!! more or less hamper the action of 4e w of managers. As Ions; as thisrefeâ€" â-  ' fore final action ia required, the .,«™ ment of the Grand Trunk mnitT^ a disadvantage in dealbg with rival v2 and even in negotiationa and arrangemZ with friendly allies among the itreatlbetrf the continent Our United State, nefe bors have brought railroading to great w. fection; and one secret of their success ul be found in the fact that the compiiiiB employ men of the hiijhest ability txTZ them their fullest confidence and alffloa absolute authority. The Canadian Pad ia managed on the same principles, whilsthe Grand Trunk has been ia a meaaim handicapped by the necessity of a refei- ence to London for the final wori The Grand Trunk is too hn?e an instj- tution, its relations both with the trade and the railway system of North Ameria are too intricate and too intimate, to pa- mit,of its being much longer aanaged iroin England. As a matter of fact, the Londoe management must always have been i drag upon the road, and the incubus nu; be expected to prove more injarioas utlie Grand Trunk grows in mileage and tnffic »nd fn it« coDnf-cHons with other r*rti The Canadian people, especially, would be glad to hear tbai Mr. Hickwo repucs Sir Henry Tyler and that the headqnutea of the company had been transferred to Toronto, our sister city having become, uii were, the terminus, rather than the cestn of the Grand Trunk system. ' There is another company, and a purel; trading company, whos? headqnarten ihoiild be brought without delay to Canada. liie business of the Hudson's Bay Company- save the management of the salee, for which an agency in London or elsewhereii Europe would sufficeâ€" is done in Cauadi Their poata. their working staff, the n* material of their trade, are all in Cmdt. A special cable announces that the company will not remove their headquarters totto Dominion. This is much to be regrettw The old policy of managing the eompioy'i business from London isâ€" to useaneipwj- sive vulgarismâ€" "played out." Not mJ the Hudson's Bay Company, but othen wie head offices in Eoglana, while all t|ii ability and the active work of thecompanw are required in Canada, wil' yet see «« necessity of gettii^as near tie seat of tiw operations aa possible.. Time, ecoDOBJ commercial success, all considerationslaTM the transference of the govemmg wa» to Canada, and these will ultunately cob- pel achanee, Deaf Mutes And Marriage. It is evident that the loss of the sense rf hearing has an effect on character, mow and inteUectual. Whatever may be »« education of the deaf mute, he wiU reM«, in some essential and not easyto be cdk acterized respects, different fromotheri It is exoeediSgiy hard to cultivate "tha. a spirit of self dependence or e^*"" notion that society owes them FrP«^^ care and support The ff^^'l^J^'l mutes and the teaching of tlic^^Sve that they become intelligent f prcKluoB membe^of society, of cou«e, f ^ac^^^S ages among them. I' »fV Tmntes" Df- to increase the number of deaf nin^ri,tici Gillette thinks not The vt»l ^â„¢" show that consanguinous ^^^^,q pet large factor in deaf -mutism about w t- â-  â-  -mated, of thede! of parents relate !CU are not alway id in kind they may descend inpy formity, in deafness, in large factor in aew-'""""""j Vmntes «« cent, it is estimated, of the dftrfmo^^ the off spring, of parents related bv lescendinphy"*?,. Ancestral defecto are i imbecility. neaa is more apt to descend branohes tiian in a straight ^lin ,. Peaf; in wltal?* Itii» striking fact in a table of rel»«P 5iO deaf mates enumerated had 770 rdja ^p^ to other deaf mutes, making » "â- ^-^811, only twelve of them had ^^"J^^ P*""*- and only two of them one ^^ "y, » b«« the mother of these ^^"^^^JLtim** and that in no case waa the mow ^j, deaf mute. Of the.pupi!8whoji»je' ^d stitotion 251 have married de" have 19 hearing persons. These marn^^,^ been aa fruitful as the averag^ »^^ them all only 16 have deaf mow In some of the famiUcs b*'"?.'^. "^^ there are otiier '^^^Ai^i*" iaote, aaya tiie ^voxt, i.t^^^^ derf thepiobibiiity o'/«;h^??s2i^; parentage u remote, whU« »^„ pp)brfw has 6r win have a deaf rdtottw a child.-[ Harper's Msg n;;^ Nevwiindtlnoabadinotivetf**^ b ooBoeintUe. j^^TotmentBofBrni .in all oonntrlea often \«wer of annoyance -kwfth their diminutive m â- Loombia* the maximuml »iii«i Br.aU U apf tallJ l^3totormente;and eve! ^ilTto *b« manor born becl • ri the traveller from cUml **â-  he wholly reconciled tl artwngf^l spirit against U "S minute assailants, whi snd powerful. â-  r-£ A» bush-tick, for example •^♦LuSeetia about threequal itStaS. We are told than *ii«watothe anciente bnt I 'wv that they e«ioyed its acq! J, Jre three varietiM :/a:od "'.Vmfeew, ««d /xoies rj^ name waa derfv*i f rom i ^^lanoe to the ripe b^ l*7^(i. The BrazilMin naJ ,. and when exammed undd I'fflaaa. it is aeen » *°™'l iJ^ of offenoe in the form oj ;2S; which are serratod mj 'IS three pair of legs, and J prided with strong hooked cUv Sbs Quantities of the eggs are *^nnd;and the young onl Kt oBmb up the plants anJ 7rLaaa. animal which brushed ,ii:S1t WhenMr,KW.l rS«lu£hlands of Brazil, hehadi •tiilttheendof his daUy Boff the carrapalos thatj rtiioir incisive fangs, Th«P ba dreadful, that horses and c^ I die from the exhaustaos ca« of tkeae oreatnrea, which traveller aoon has the appea WD suffering from shingles « attacks brlnjg on rldnian fevi jtassia. people may «ff",/j^ â-  The ramy season kills m mtos, and they also f aU a g^tioA the ciriema, in particul ,t by the natives, because thej Ine of ite aervicea in thinning t ,e mnltitndinona blood sucking Another insect torment of Br er, or PvUx irritas, Puiex t irwix mirUm us Pulex peneirans. Lasting creatures make their h the human foot, and hence an Brazilians as bichoa dope(i lib H. C. Dent had five of these nests from January to June, an up their abode in the foUoviing Iju first on the right big toe, sec rifht heel, third on the left bee uderthe sole of the left foot loot them out Still worse are the vemc, wl indifferentiy cattle and hnmi ^ith animals, they appear to rs hard lump, so that they probabl the skin aftor the fashion of thi in this country. Sir Richard 1 that stories are current of um tiitir Uvea from the bemo. T deponted in the nose and other body, and if squeezed to death, extracted, it festers, and prodi oonsequenoes. Children of thi old may suffer from a visitation Some of the natives, in the can apply a burning atic^ to the w dsr to deatroy the worm. Mr wu one maaa of aorea from the Kehea do pe, and it waa pitiable when running about, turn re eveiyminate and, with a pitiful Us wounds until they were wk loms of the pleaanrea of the ina BnaL Usefnl Aeoipes. Quekk's Cake.â€" Cream ac irith two and a half cups of anj beaten egga; one cup of mill ssant capa of flour tlmngh whi rifted two teeapoonfala of ores laifly a light teaapoonf ul of soc JixltBoix.â€" Beat four eg; •op of sugar and three-fourths lour. Bake in a large pan a1 minutes, having the pan lined " paper. Spread with jelly an^ covering with cloth afterwards Bbide's Cakk.â€" Cream toj eup of butter with one and â- agar add half a cup of milk eggs, and two cups of flower tsaspoonf ul of oream-of -tartar. â- poonful of soda dissolved i â- ot water. Avery inappropr â- 0 plain a cake. GiNGES Snaps.â€" One cup â- ad a half cup of molasses, o ttr or half butter and b*lf lard Mid water, a teaspoontul of g â- â- Ball teaapoonf als of soda dis Bg water. Flour enough to the littie ones skre home f ron U not keep more than 24 h Jwked box. CosTASD Souffle.â€" Beat â- earn tableapoonlnla of bntte floor add one cup of boiling â- ightmfarates atir in the yel **I1 beaten and two teblespo â- bA tot away to cool add tb *tjBt to the mixture when col ^Btes in a moderate oven. viUiaanoe. Soda Spokok Cake.â€" B *n one and a half cup of at gjjbt add half a cup of mi ?y disaolved a very scant ^1^ and atir in one and a 1 J*ad irlth two teaapoonf uls **;adda very little salt, VMnfula of melted butter ^goodoake. ^^eiL Cakb.â€" Sift tdgeti ^^ear and one and a haof ti W^P. toaapo o n fnt of oream S*^ Thelaattime uftit £heiunatio Fa «o description, ainc â- B aft aoma time h BJienmatiai tiio moat V iNMwIltaqaeBtly â- -tr tian â- Polaot "â- ^,f,u ..""' y^ ,-:* aqnali ' tm. be made 1 oCHarvdine 10 mm%;