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 mm ri4 fe !* t;fP ' 'i "i;! 'â- â- ^M.^i ?v ^-1- .1 â- 'I --rar- [NOW FIB8X PUBLI8HSI.1 [AXX BlSHSB RXSIBTXD.] LIKEitKDUN By M. E. BRADDOit. ..# i« a*C:' â- â- * iii*^ AuTHOB OF " Ladt AvJUXt'^MaBXt, Wyllaxd'b Wbibb, Bi(^Eih#5 it becansd It wm ntoaatf to hM?t6 be up uid doing. He was •crry that he waa not CHAPTER XXXV.-^APAJBtE of Strange Things. Ccdonel Devprill'a brief Tint bring endsd, life at the Abbey resamed ite old come, c«ch of the brother! following hii own par- tionlar bent; the elder aednded with his books, hia organ and piaoo; the yoooger demoted to sport, and living for the most part out of doors. It seemed sometimes to Lady Belfield as if Valentine's married life had been an evil dr^am which had vanished with the morning light as if all things were again as they had been before the Deverills came to Morcomb. Yet this was but a momentary feeling, for althongh all the details of her daily life with her two sons were almost exactly as they had been, there was a change in the spirit of her life, a change which involved all the difference between happiness and nnhappiness. The brothers were not the same as they had been in their mntnal relations. There was some- thing wanting, as if some subtle mystic link had snapped and left them wide asunder. They never quarelled. There was no sign of angry feeling between them yet to Lady Belfield it seemed that brotherly love was dead. Adrian was especially forbearing to Valentine; never did anyihinji to provoke him, or resented any rndeness of faia brother's but there were no signs of that affection and close sympathy which had once been so sweet to the mother's eyes. She never saw her sons linked together arm in arm, strolling up and down the lawn in front of her windows. She never saw Valentine lolling in at the library window to talk to Adrian, trying to tempt him away from his books, as she had been used to see him al- most daily in the time that was past. There was a change in the spirit of both brothers, as if both were haunted by the memory of an unspeakable misery. A woman had come into their, lives and poisoned all things for them. A woman's fickle love bad blighted tiiem both. Never since that first evening of his return had Valentine spoken of his wife. For the first few weeks he had put on a spurious gaiety, had tried to convince everybody that he^was in excellent spirits, and no way affected in hia loss. The men who met him out hunting â€" men who had known him from his boyhood â€" found these forced spirits painfully oppressive. Then there came ^a gradual change, ihe forced hilarity died away, and was followed by a settled gloom. He hunted three times a week, uid shot over the Abbey preserves but he went no- where, and refused all invitations from old friends or acquaintances in the county. He refused an invitation to spend a week at Wilmington where pheasants were more abundant than anywhere else within a hun- dred nules. The Miss Toffstaffs were indignant at such folly. " Why doesn't he divorce his runaway and have done with it " exclaimed Dorothy. " It is absurd that he should make so much more fuss than other men. And his brother is just as bad. Mother has asked him to dine and sleep three times since last Chrut- mas, and he has made an excuse for refus- ing each time. They are a conple of unman- nerly savages." " Sir Adrian has been nowhere since his uster-in-law's escapade," said her sister. " I suppose he never got over his attachmeat to her, though she jilted him so shamefully." Everybody in the neighborhood was out- raged at Sir Adrian's secluded life. Since that awful night he had isolated|himself so far as it was possible from his fellow men. He would hold no converse with men whose consciences were clear of all guilty secrets. It seemed to him that this knowledge of crimeâ€" his guilty reticence â€" made him a creature apart, stamped him with the brand of infamy. He would not mix in society nnder false pretences. He would not give his friends the power to say by and by â€" should this dark secret be brought to light, " He had no right to come among us â€" to touch our hands and sit beside our hearths â€" knowing what he knew." Again, he wonld not make the distinction between his brother and himaeU more mark- ed than it need be. Valentine held himself aloot from everyone, and darkened no man's threshold. Valentine's brother accepted the same isolation, with a single exception, and that was in favour of Mr. Rockstone. The vicar was his chosen friend. He never shrank from crossing tiie Vicar's threshold, knowing that in that bouse, had he dared to nnbosMB biniMlf he woaliA Jmtb found sympathy and premise of pardon. nae as a refuge for thow of iiv jatleBtis who He had of tail lon|cd ta ^burden nimieli! of that dwadfnl sedra^ to.4xnfe8s all» know- ing that hia aecret weald be safe In ptieatly keeping, bot^ albeit there wonld -itave been infinile eonfort in Rudi eonfidoMM^ ke felt that his duty towards Valentine;, involved inexorable silence. It was not df himaelt, or of bis own feelinga that he had to think, but of Hie oriminal who had put hintaelf fal peril of the law's worst sentenoe. Seong her two wna bent on isolation. Lady BeJfield withdrew from society aa much aa she could without giving offense to h«r neighboara. She still kept up her old iatfoMM^ with Mrs. Freemantle, and worked wtth tug among the poor of Chadlbrd Pariah, which was a large one. ShereceiTed alloallen witii her aoonstomed eerdialitv, msH after- noon tea in the Abbqr drawn^; room or in the Abbey sproonde waaaa pleeaant as at eld. Bat thoe were no more diwisr periiee, and Lady Belfield declfaied all Inritationa. "lam getting an old woman," liia told bar friends in coBttdeaee. **!EiJa Midtnmble of my na'a has aged me br ten yoKti, I be- Ueve and I feel that tite mld9 ia th* beat plaoeior meaow." At wfaieh a ehoroa lAiaiAtpBmwa^'maSd- ena proteetod. ' Deter' j:«dy lSeUl«3, imm raaelMk " a Midiar, obliged to obey ecders, |e iuike forced mapehea under a troafo^iky. Some- times he even thoucht of rainn% away; UM enlisting fai a regiment, Ipii*; was under orders for active aervM: Sdmetimes |e thought of going out to Australia and dig- ging for gold, or to the Cape to dig for diamonds. There would be excitemsnt in such a life as that, he thought excitement which would help a man to forget He would have carried out one of these plans, perhaps, since he loathed the dull quiet ot his present existence, but for one revtraining influenoe. He dared not ^go far from the spot where his' secret lajr hidden. He dared not leave the fteighborhdod Mlhat aUent pool under the rushes, where his mur dered wife was lying. He haA an idea that were he to leave the Abbey, the- body would be discovered the next day. During the brief interval after the murder, in which he had been absent from the Abbey, he had suffered a perpetual agony of apprehension. To leave the spot again wonld be madness. He had passed the basket maker's cottage a dozen times, sometimes drifting slowly by in his boatj sometimes pasting iton foot by the causeway. The place looked just the same as of old, except wiat no woman's figure appeared at the door. There was no smoke from the chimney, no sign of life. Old John was tramping wearily about with his baskets, no doubt. Having passed so often and seen no change in the aspect of the place, Valentine got out of the way of looking at it as he rowed by, and forgot his old intwest in the poor, tumble-down cottage; but one November afternoon, rowing.slowly by, with his head bent, one of the spaniels gave a short, sharp bark, and an instant after he heard the shutting of a door. " There's someone there," he thought, " old John, most likely. I may hear some- thing of that Jezebel." He moved his boat to the caofeway, sprang on ahore and went to the Qottage. He opened the door, and found himself face to face with the Jezebel herself Altered since he had last seen her altered for the worse or the better? He could scarce decide which, as h« looked ac her with keen and rapid scrutiny. She looked considerably older than when he had seen her last, in her housemaid's livery, the coquettish mob-cap, red gown and muslin apron. She wore a cap to-day, but a cap of a peculiar pattern, pinched and plain, made of lawn, Quakerish, Puritani- cal. She wore a black gown, ivith a long straight skirt. It was a uniform of some kind, he knew, a nursing sister's uniform. "So you have come back. Mistress Madge," he said. " Are you livin? here " " No, Mr. Balfield. I am only here for two or three days to look after my old grandfather." " You are a very nice person. I am in- debted to you for some of the happiness â€" and most of the misery of my life," said Valentine, flinging himself upon the bench beside the door, the bench upon which he sat years ago, when he was in love with this girl. ' Your anonymous letter brought things to a crisis." "I am sorry I wrote it," said Madge, with a proud carelessness. "I was tired of seeing your underhand conduct. I wanted Sir Adrian to know wliat his sweetheart and his brother were worth." "You mean that you were consumed l^ jealous malicnity, and yon wan ted to do all toe harm you could," retorted Valentine. " You may say that of me, if you like. I shall not try to convince yon different- ly." " Oh, yon are monstrous proud and prim. You have turned hypocrite, and are full of pious cant, I have no doubt. Yon 1)61011? to some sisterhood, I suppose." " More than tiiat, I have founded a sister- hood." "Indeed." " Yes. I and a handful of women like myself â€" there are just twenty-two of us now ^faave established ourselves as nursin? sisters among the fallen and the unhappyâ€" among broken-hearted women. We seek out these cases of abject misery which seem to lie ontside the limit of ordinanr help." " What do you call yourselves?" ' Sisters of the Forlorn Hopa. -^We have' a small house in a poor neightoarhooci which is called the Forlorn Hop^ juii-^hich we attss-;; liave no other shelter. Oils y^lrj'^emall, bat we hope to milce it largecj^t.^^ ji^ in baning for fnndaill anpi ' " We are no( aahamed find that peopla are very ki vat funds have been gathei ii^ people who lean ill affosdi. It'"-.- â-  and we f«^ua. Half mong work- nee they aU the give OB, bat the good bjw bij^ ft sanie." " And yonr fallen womeal" asked Yalen- tine, with hisoynicsJ air. "Are they pleas- ant patientar' "Notalwaya; but. -they ariKrarely un- grateful." â-  .-sT ' "And wheatbeyare. wrilâ€" theygo out Into the world and lorgtt a you have done for Aem, I eu^poae '° ' "Not always. There anp wme who re- member ua, and who lie^ -qK with their •mail meaas and large MarteJ^' ' " And yaa really baKeve ym^teve made oonvenioae â€" tiiat somjB of yobr bdlen wo- meahave walked atraigjit, a^yobr ad- adalatntioM " • .-, f â-  ' " Ye^ wo know efjMM wli»|taire^ed to lead better n^i^m^i^iMj^me for wlmm we have â- ea^Mi'itMMimalttd iw^ jdeath before tra fiAMS^ '^Fb* "^^ have be^i|blet6.ainoo^^l||(^qPg^^t That thiaw^ aaelfiA re^ereaoed' He knew â- boat It ^.- .V; " •« She loved me wy dearlyâ€" at the hurt," "^e efcaoi^^iLlii^^Meineii' Jeorpoet, fai herjitr%bt Uaok Af)|b iAd::Nritaii w wiiiM he aat oa theiMnoh and lightednu dgar, joat as ia the old days when he was her lover. But tbisre ^aa ao talk of love be- tween them now. A ahajlett^ of aerionsBeas rested upon both. In her it was deep thoughtf olneaa in him it waa aa impene- trable gloom. "The Voilora Hope," he aaid. " A queer name for a honae. I rather like it, thonrfa, because it ia queer. Waa the name your fanc^" ,^ â€" " 4^d' yon' taiw bx ^ea women, and nnrsib^i^m in^hdr last illnesseii, atd make believe that they are not altogether worth- lesa?" ' " They are not orthlasa^they are those over whom the ang .3 re joice-7-they are those who have been lost and are found " " Ah," he said, listlessly, " you believe in all that. You ^belif ve in repentance and the washing aifaF .of sins. Though your sins are as scarlet they shall be white as wool.' I remei^ber hearing that sentence read in oharA when I wiks a child. I think the idea of vivid colour in it must have caught my fancy â€" though they are as scarlet â€" scarleti^the colour of bloodâ€" and of sin â€" they. 8^11 bo white â€" whiteâ€" white â€" " The woriw' dropped slowly from his lips, with a pauM after eich, dying into silence, as he sat wfj^ibia head bent, and hia eyes upon thfbtftbiM.. ' " The.^oripm Hope," he repeated by-and- by, still Itm^H;' at' the ground. "I like the namej^^Wnere is your house " " In^Uiason^^ve. I don't suppose yon know anything of the neighbourhood. " " Not much but I have a vague idea of its • whereabpnts The Forlorn Hope. Would yOd tilai\ fallen man if he came to you marked^fur death? Or do you care only for your, ojep sex'" " It is for our own sex we have pledged ourselves to work," answered Madge. " But you would not shut your door against a peigtitent pinner?" "I think ifitt-^if be were utterly help- less except for us, and we had any power to help him.'*., l^" "And your ifiission is to smooth the pillow of death; and to make the end easy for those who have liv;ed hard and have rioted in sin. Well, I daresay it is a good mission. Ydu are a strange girl, and seem capable of straoc^; thiogs." He looked at h4fr thoughtfnlly, admiringly even, but- with a grave and respectful admiration, .whioh waa very difierent from the young man's sensuous worship of beauty. It was not a lovei^a gaze which rested on the pale face to-day.' She had age4 and altered from the glow- ing gipsy-like\Deauty which he had wor- shipped in his â-  bkchelor days, but she was handsome still, and while her face had lost its richneas of colouring, it had gained in distinction. The lines of the features were sharpei; ^d more delicate, the ivory tints of the complexion had a more spiritual beauty than the warm carnations of her girlhood. She was thinner than she had been then, and looked taller. The straight tall figure in the straight black gown, the noble head in the nedkt Quaker cap, had a grand simplfcity which he admired with almost reverent admiration, he in whom reverence for anything was so rare a feel- ing. He sat silent, his cigar extinguished, his eyes brooding on the ground again, as he re- called a past which seemed ages away, and the day when ^e.bad fancied himaeU desper- ately in love with this woman. _He had \^ooed her passionately, and had tried to win her, yet had wondered at her folly with a contemptuous wonder, when she told him she mu^t be his wife or nothing. He had laughed within himself at the idea that he should be thought capable of marry- ing a basket- maker's granddaughter, a half- bred gipsy. He had chosen a mate of his own rank, thoroughbred like himself, penniless as the basket-maker's spranddaughter, but a lady by birth and want of education. The girl taught in the National School conld have beaten the Colonel's daughter upon any subject on which they could have been examined, from the mnltiplioation t»ble to natur^i science. And now he asked himself what his life might have been like had he flung conven- tionality to the winds, made light of caste, and married Mrs. Mandeville's daughter? Would things have gone aa badly with him Would he have been aa careless of her as he had been of Helen, and wonld some other man have found out that ahe was fair, and tempted her away from him? Would any man haVe dared to tempt tins woman? Would any fashionable sybarite have ventur- ed to approach this Egyptian sphinx, in silk- en dalliance, with the light airy courtesies which smooth the brimstone path ot seduc- tion? Looking at that grand, calm face, those dark, deep eyes With their steady out- lookji^it seemed^to him that this woman- onoeliaving taken upon berseU the vows of a wife, would- Itave kept them until death. It seemed to him also tbat no man who was her husband would have dared to trifia with her happiness. â- ".^i. fcHAPTiSfe X2t3dvi; ' " Would She have Iouched my Hand t" Valentine»^eld w«a^ back tothe marsh next day with, hii gna and. hia doga. ahot a brace of birda, aad .the made his way to there irreditaUy. He mMed to aeetiiat f^yMoeSJvwbioh fell npoa the ear aaii "^!'!fSL* "IWbttrg inflaeaoe, like orsan wan^aret un^^rb^yll catEedrafaoor. ^^ There had beeb.^ii«t«edbifort to hunhi y^^yj»^flygj«^|i*fli Madge than in the^oi4oftKiO!hfi J^ted'SH foAiver from UriUloir-maB. He fonxtd leaif lie •wiw^w uwut turn Tenow-maii. M« ^!f^^ ^iWiHlftft«^iib^fbDbr help against the evil aj^t that waa reading him. " If it ia her miasioB to reeone the fallen, •he ought to care for me," he thought. ** None ever fell lower â€" aone waa ever dcmer dyed with the ataini of m I" Between him and hia brother there had not bem one allasion to that awful act whioh had blighted both lives. Had Valen tine nnboeomMl himaelf, Adtian would have beard him and lym^tiliBed with him, and would have given him help and counsel, so far as either waa posaible in so desperate a position. But the yoiuger brother had maintained an obstinate silence, and the elder brother had deferred to hia will. The door of old Dawley's cottage was shut, and it was the old basket-maker himself who appearei at Valentine s knock. " How d'ye do, Dawley ' said Valentine. " I have been shootins about here, and I thought I'd look in upon you. The rheuma- tism ia better, I hope." " Well, no, sir that complaint ain't like good wine. It don't improve with age," answered the old man, not altoi(ether un- suspicious. "Did her ladyahip send any message for me or my daughter " " No my mother did not know that I was coming this way. I was surprised to see your daughter here yesterday. She left the Abbey very abruptly three years ago, and I don't think any of our people had heard of her since." " I beg your pardon, sir, I think Mrs. Marrable had. I believe my girl wrote to her â€" after her poor mother's death," an- swered Dawley, placing a chair for his visi- tor, and resuming his own seat beside tne fire. "I know she must have seemed un- grateful for cutting off from such a good place, and a place in which she has been so kindly treated, without giving proper warn- ing. But she's a strange girl, Mr. Belfield, ia my grand -daughter, and. she thought she had a mission in life, and tba^ that mission was to look after her poor sinful mother and look alter her mother ~«he did, and brought her out of a burning fiery furnace, and cared for her and worked for her, and nursed her to the end, and buried herâ€" all with the price of her own labor. She work- ed like a galley-slave, did that girl ot mine And she did what she wanted to do, and what she thought her duty which is a good deal more than most of lis do." "Has yonr daughter been dead long? ' "Nearly two years. She was in i* de- cline when Madge found her. She'd lived like a Isuly, and drove her own carriage," Eaid the old man, with a touch of pride, " tho' she'd had her upa and downs." " I saw her in London four or five years ago," aaid Valentine, "the remains of a magnificent woman." "She'd spent more money in her time than many a lady born and bred," pursued Dawley, waxing prouder, " and she died a penitent woman, and heartily sorry for all she'd done," he concluded, with pious unc- tion. " Is this the first time your giand- daughter has been to see yon since she left the Abbey " " No, she came onoe before. She came to tell me of her mother's death. I wanted her to stop with me altogether then â€" or to go back to the Abbey, if her ladyship would forgive her and take her backâ€" but she had set her heart upon what she calls her mis- sion, and she would only stay a few days. She's a good girl to me, all the same. She writes to me once a month, and she sends me a little money now and again. She's- gone to see Mr. Rockstone this afternoon, and she's going back to London to-murrow." " How does she get money to carry on her work in London 7" "All manner of ways. Sometimes by begging, sometimes by the sweat of her brow. She goes out nursing now and again, among people who can afford to pay her handsomely for her services. She learnt how te nurse consumptive patients in at-, tending upon her mother. Sae had a long lingering illness, had my girlâ€" died by in- ches, as the saying isâ€" and Madge nursed her throngh it all. There was a famous doctor that had known something of my girl when she was in her prime, and the tip-top of fashion â€" and he attended her in her iU- ness, and waa kind and ^nerous to her, so that she never wanted for anything. And he took to Midge, and told her she had a genius for nurainjâ€" and it was be who re- commended her afterwards to his rich patients, and aet her going as a sick nurse." " And in her leisure hours ahe had found- ed a siaterhood," interrogated Valentine. " Yesâ€" and the other sisters are all ladies â€"ladies, born and bred. They're none of 'em young â€" and there's been some kind of blight upon 'em, one and all â€" diaappoint mento in their love affaire â€" or the loss of a relationâ€" or a bad husband. They've aU of 'em had their own sorrows before they began to think of other people's trouUea. Some of 'em have a little bit of moneyâ€" «so^e haven't a sixpenceâ€" bat they all live alike, upon the poorest fare, and they all work alike, taking their turn to go out nursing among the rich, and taking their turn to work at home for the poor, and all the money they, earn, ex- cept juat enough to ciothe and feed them, and all the money they owa in the way of income, goes to help the poor wretched crea- tares thmr take, aiok or dying, off the cruel atoeets of London. Km a jgeod bit of work, Mr. Belfield^ for a yonng womaa like my Ma^ to have doae in less than two yeara.^' " Yes, it ia a ga«d work-:«ad yonr grand- danghter ia a woaderfal wamaa," aud Val- entine, musingly. ^Heiemnabered ho^trOiglui^be had thought of this girt three years «go, aad witii what an faiaoreat sense of his own snperiority he had apwoaohad her, deeming ber Iris pr«. ?**â„¢ftFW' And ajiprjie knew, that she was, aadliad always beea, iiiilpltely his sap- enor a ooUe nnalelfish wbnud^ gieSit in her taueity elpdfyoM siid^d^MriihoiiarM*. _,ji«fniiiti«ted loid^foha.JEtewley with a ff"-.«F M#«». tft Iftujw, 1i«bapQ(h,.and a ' ' bacoo, for iqune^ rowed broad rivCTTkelS^ ,»"«»«,« " About haUra"WKS, i^Sn^atll^SS?-^^^ "iSr^BTA WHALE. Breton Advertiatr aaj from the tow-path, •^Fte-^:sSss "wr Madge."'^h:«it"«^',_ yon." Andthenheur„^*»WS."7 mother on the follo»i«* "*to *r.? ••ShewillbeinaeS*^ " she will give von non.. *- /-w*^ thenhefarneXtt^,»37:"h;r*' gave her a little he J J ^;^P«cW 1 amounMng to between ,i,\„7* «d " It IB not much " 1,1 '^^•«*«D w^ I h.ve left of t^U ;rj'.^ta don t refuse it," as J.'J'^X^ repudiation,.:ihUtaf'^? thu place. Don't refuse iS" "««? to wound me. " " ""'mi j^^* " Why should I ».„* .^ "fh.wby indeed* te*My a cad to you but I amn^T^" ' I was then. I may beT '^*"'ai hapsâ€" but anyhow, I am hT(?" " 1 am sure you will not » .1. in^gatMmearnestly.with;«S::^m hiftlf?s'eLXt;?Jr»^ that Valencioe B.m^i£^^^- SD altered that his intimate fri "I'"" pMt felt as ifhe wereai?"'" them. She was sorry for hi? *f. 'S «elfin.pme.measuLX'SS misery, smce it was her -anonv™™ " S with Helen Deverill. S'ae took his gift for the Forlorn It„»l and promised to go to theAKM day, "I have been with Mr. Rockstone J afternoon," the saiH «i,. 1.. .â- " ""I seventeen own gift, and the among his grandfather now. bhe said, "he has ., pounds. Ten pounds are bil rest he hat cojle,^ friends. 1 must hurry b«itj sir," she concluded. have^so little time te spend witJihim. "Good-bye, Madge." He held out his hand, and she took i frank friendliness. His clasp waa iin and fervent, and he sighed as he releu her hand, and then walked on in silence. "Would she have touched my hudil she knew all " he asked himaelf, « he lul back to tiis boat. (to be continued). gift^.maev small npply 01 Slave. Catching in Africa. The anxiety felt in Europj and Aoetitl concerning Henry M. Sunley, haaledtoJ further interest in the condition of tkl part of Africa which he set oat topenetntt' Undoubtedly his expedition awakenedtbi hostility of the slave-catchers and_ iIit^I traders. The worst of these are Anki They make a business of it. One principal purpose of Gen. Gordooi taking up his abode in Central Africa, m to break up this nefarious trade. Bmi Bey has remained there, when he ni^ easily have escaped, with the same tmd humane purpose. Recently news comes from Francethii Cardinal Livigerie, Archbishop of Gartlu|i and Algiers, is preaching a crusade in Fin and other places, against this relic of ha- barism. It is said that bis elcquencei creating great excitement. He ahowi thu 400,000 slaves are annually sold for tnifr portation on the east coast of Africa, ui that every one represents ten persons wl» were killed during their capture and job ney to the coast. These man-hunters a- round towns, set fire to the bnildbga, ul kill every man, woman, and child they cw not capture. They only want the yoifl and middle-aged. If they can obtain theee, they will leivo the infants and the old» suffer. Only the vigorous are able to staM the long march from the interior ofti» country to the coast. Elephant hunting as now practiced, tends to keep up the slave trade. The slaves an trained to the business, and their value « thus enhanced when they are taken to tie Cardinal Lavigerie is doing a i?ood worl in awakening the attention of Europe aan the civilized world, to the horrora of tM business. The Great Powers of Chruten^ dom should unite in practical «teps »« only to send relief to Emin B«y, and reacw Stanley, but also, to quote from l^m, stoneâ€" "to heal this open sore of the woria ' ^m^ â€" Miss Oakley's Marvellous Perfornaiiofc Annie Oikley, the celebrated^ diatene;«i# c% biki hat aad go bMlt«to'4iip MMtttUd his «isr. «*heuseai!ne»»v«---â€" ^^^ a»«tiie score herewith given «w times being nanecessaty. jaied, â- */* 'rt-SJ.jKv* ran a uA W m^gf fmrntt *«^ Grove. Adc bei^vgaito MMm^ki Abb6^ Miwii MM MiM ail her aiiad to go baok ^y°. '^Jffir?S!lg.^*! B to»^B or«ow." Bat atB^nMnluwC mdi i Askherto two. I diflBtreiHi|i^ for a day of woiildlike to bad departsd hom Iiim. He oaly pornad and wingshot, eclipsed hersetf on July 30tt, at the Wild West show, Gloucester W N. Y., and tte ten thousand people ppM»; showed tiieir appreciation of her wondej skill by loud and continued applanw »•» brought down her birds, «.med^ were rapid flyers and would i^^^^ to hit even by tiie best male crwk J^* The Hurlingham rules governed toe w ing and fif tf birds had bf«'L'^»%'fot. taJ an^d fly away from " LitJI^Snre Sho^ » as tiie score will show, only her f^^*^ bird was declared out oibowdt,!^^ one died but tiiree feet o«ts.de the to^ The live taraps were pl*""*," P!Sia»S genial Frank Butler the *eUJ«»J»^ shot, who manages Mub OM^V^ „f Frank Klehitz, the champtonjnM Pennsylvania, was reUree »aa' Johnson who has never been o* Jersey soil, pnUed the trapt ^^^ Miss Oakfcy, by her AiO^"^^^ pff) of doUars for her fnen4 ««^, "5^ U^li purse for kiUing forty ^^^^Z^obui; Theatde Udy used • f8^^ px' .«d wiA i oz shot, "'^.•^fL^tsnfio*. She used the second bw"^^, four bTeas ti^fB^^5w/^ BlIIIDt' W^^J^ nsaay Zitbesabi««*»^^**^ wh O*t.j;"ieo«ved ••**^ aStnt on the Banks, 1 ^^fchat they have met witl .**^^ee that of bein ^^\«l an eye on the dories, 'Ifite ana no motive power â- â€¢i^Bsiderable te startle a fii "T^throaab the water *^ASWedandanch ^*bl^^bokabkrmed. I *^ -hale aroae to the surf. •kM- fast rftberin his j iw or t| •"^thro^h the water at a i'^^^SKn- fast taking the »'?fl« the dories, thus lea| "i«o.ed; and besides this, " "Tthe vessel being tow| • .w remedy was to cut the at fS^rr hiswhaleshipwen Sorintow. The jib an '^oSU, and the vessel in picking up her doriei| â- â€¢Â»v to Newfoundland, "Zr and cable were secured. rftSe^ but two other sumla i M^we have any record, whicl| in the files of our paper, viz f H Price vras towed a day ,^;wbarin 1873. when the fl w broke and she was release '*f^theT6thofDec.,1874, oner Sultana, Captain Petere Son the Grand B*nk, a and. felt, and soon the vessel wa| ,Mh the water at a twelve »ntMn, not wwhing to lose limen. cut the cable after h, mei »nie distance, otherwise miaht have captured the monsi 7a companion whale which h. one who had the anchor, a fidently astonUhed at the pre( liiimate. How to Treat fioad Hor A correspondent of the Rural alls us that old owners and dri ome horses that they have no ji their mode of going, or, m ot at they will go till they drop _jated and stiffened. Horses o tre not usually ratei at their courage and willingness to mo load are rarely found in horses 1 «d of a liberal daah of good bloc hands of men who appreciate an animal ia likely to last v». age; while under the lash ate driver he may succumb earl; yet in his prime be found at itableB to be put off at a verrg tion from his former value. A considerate driver, if up loads, wiU select the ground horse the advantace of a good die same time avoiding mte ai ing rooks. It shows want o driver to follow the beaten trac ot its condition. During the h it lA more importance to stop n ipving the horse an opportunit Ui wmd and cool off, than if Dade in cold weather. Heat i while oold is am excellent tenic. tmded drive no horse should with a tout checkrein, but th either entirely let loose or alack bs most conductive to the ami No man ahonld indulge in thei with high ciurriage forward nnl from uphead parentege anc earrying hia bead well up wit of a check rein. A road horw ihonld be for road use, needs 1 •ad shows to best advantagew without a check. But when the road, for rather a long or s horses gendered uncomforta hones are by the check, sbon kaada released at suitable int driven in this form till res fatigue of the strained positioi ahonld all restraint by the ch aioved on aiscending a hill, this be not a long one. fioecies in Traini The number of boraes now run in cowardly f aahion is ve likeUhood comparatively mu («merly, says the London Spi matic Ntvos. I was asking 1 other day for hia experience snd adso tor an explanation, 1 ed a very dmple and probabl is amch more ratoing than th ly, horses run oftener, the; oftener, amd the result it ^k of racing. They know, ♦hat a finish meamaâ€" very li the spur if it is a close thing two or three smart cuts witl old buteher bey ftog^^g }oc mon in England, though h nle ia Framce â€" amd almo ^We prless desperate and d Who oaa doubt many of 1 ~tUat it they do not get too 1 •f sjEi^ bnt take it qnietl m^ the finish will 1 '•Jy lik»ly the jockey will with his'baiids, at any rat Ua ii(h{{i aad lAiere is no n ^wses be' WiU give it np ^Msaa, aa a rate, baow so lag ^hi« tfafgr are apt w de e« SP. Bare yen Veoii 'tiij^lf'l^ve saff^riag the a )rdraiief,wewaaty A'^Vo resMdy it kycifaiagUke the sa }iJt»M(aoaonne it is pi .no B^eai^i 'Poll powe