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OR, AT CROSS PURPOSES. dey Dyson and two servants, the lady’s maid and the housemaid, were‘ grouped around her. She looked from one to the other like a. person in a. dream. She was ghastly pale, and there were dark rings round her pretty eyes. 7“V‘Vherelis lie-10h! where is he?" she gagped. .--.. . . .. .1 .u “ What can she mean 1 her mind must be wandering !" said Lady Dyson. “ I think we had better get her straight to bed, Barnes, and send for Dr. Graham.” “ I’m sure I hope she isn’t going to have an illness, my lady,” said the lady’s-maid, in a sygxpathetic whigper. . .. u. I 'v‘I-hope not; i} will be mosé incon- venient,” said her ladyship, frowning slight- 1y'_. That a governess should faint was annoy- ing enough, but that she should presume to be actually ill was a terrible suggestion. What on earth was she to do about the children and their lessons, if Miss Finch were going to be ill I ‘ “ I'Tl haire the doctor at onceâ€"perhaps it is 01;}y a. trifle. Do you think you can get Lily dragged herself to her feet with diffi- culty ; but tottered so, that had not Lady Dyson caught hold of her_, she would have fallen again. “Wlih happened to make you faint?” asked her ladyship, not unkindly. “Had you Been feeling illâ€"had anything frighten- up? you ‘2” Lin put her hand up to her head. “ I don’t know,” she answered, stupidly. “ 0h 1 I wish I were dead !” and then she never spoke another word. They‘ helped her upstairs, and put her into bed, and when Dr. Graham arrived in an hour’s time she was tossing about in high fever. with hands and cheeks that burnt like fire, am! in a state of wild delirium. But Sir Edger knew nothing of all this for a long time. When he had turned his back upon that dreadful scene in the school-room, he had gone his 'way with the rage and des- pair of betrayed love in his heart. He had heard nothing of what had passed between his brother and Lily ; he had only just open- ed the door, and there, instead of the sweet, smiling face that was Wont to lift itself brightly and delightedly at his entrance, he be seen only a sight that had filled him with horrorâ€"Lily’s smooth head upon his brother’s shoulder, her slender form en- circled by Walter’s arms, and Walter’s face bent down, as it seemed to him, upon her cheek ! That was enough for Edgar. He wanted no explanationsâ€"n0 excuses for what he had seen ! It did not matter to him that it was his own brother more than any other man who had been with her. She had betrayed his love and his trust, and there was nothing more to be said about it. Henceforth she was nothing more to him, and he would have none of her. ‘ He had not heard her despairing cryâ€"not seen her struggle to free herself from the hateful embrace. What he had seen only £3019 to him one interpretationâ€"she was alse I Thus he said to himself in the first wild tempest of his jealousy and his passion against her. He stood by himself alone in his study, motionless and almost heartless, and he knew that all his sweet dream of happiness was vanished and fled for ever- more. He flung open the window, and called to him. ' Instead of being pure, and true, 'and stainless. she was degraded, and untrue, and unworthy; there was nothing for him but; to gust her utterly out of his heerforevey. V‘V‘VYesâ€"yes,” interrupted Walter, patiently. “You saw me spooning 8°YFE‘RFS: . Then, as he stood there, he saw his brother cross the terrace-walk outside. “ What do you want?” be said, shortly. “ Only to ask you one question, Walter,” said his brother, with unexpected‘ gentle- ness. V “ Ask away, then, and be quick about it.” “ I saw something just: now in the school- roomâ€"â€"-” began Sir Edgar with forced calm- neas. Walter turned round sulkily, and rather defiantly. He had no mind to be lectured by his brother about such a. trifle as a. flirta- tion with an insignificant chit of a. gover- ness. a, “ I wish to know whether you have been in the habit of what you callvspooning the governqss ?_” Walter laughed. , “ My dear fellow ! what a moralist you have become I Of course, I spoon every pretty woman who gives me the chanceâ€"a. man is an idiot who doesn’t I" ' “Nothing more, thank you,” and the baronet withdrew into his study. with a, face stern and white with contempt and despair. “ Afi'd Miss Fifich amongst the rest ;â€"of course!” answered VValher, airily. “ Have yog finyfibing further_§o a_sk, Edgar ?" . CHAPTER XXI. CAUGHT AT A REBOUND. The horses stood ready at the doorâ€"two flue, thoroughbred animals, that carried Sir Edgar and Lady Honoria upon their daily ride. But the groom had to walk them up and down for many minutes this morning, and Lady Honoria, dressed in her faultlessly- fitting dork cloth habit, had to wait too, for Sir Edgar sent her a polite message by the footman just as she came down stairs. He was very sorry indeed, but would Lady Honoria be so good as to excuse his keeping her waiting for a. few minutes, as he had some very important business to transact before he could go out, which he could not very well neglect ; he would come as quickly as he could. “And Miss Finch amongst the rest of those who ‘ give you a. chance 2’ ” inquired SirrEflgar, gragglyt Whatever Sir Edgar‘a business might be, it; was transacted in his library, with locked door, and it took him about twenty minutes to get througl} it, y- . .. 1 ‘ .1 r'fdeanwhil; Lady Hororia waited in the drawing-room. Lady Dyson was upstairs 9n t?” CHAPTER XX.â€"-CONTINUED. STELLA ; HOW LILY FAI NTED. the with Miss Finch, but that Lady Honoria did not know. She was quite alone in the room. She was not the least annoyed or vexed at being kept waiting; nothing ever annoyed or vexed her. Of course she knew that men often have business which keeps them from dangling about women, and she would have been sorry had Sir Edgar neglected his on her account. Indeed, she was rather pleased at his treating her with so friendly a want of ceremony ; had he been more ceremonious, she thought it would argue that he liked her less. So she walked up and down the drawing- room. She looked at the pictures upon the wall until she had them by heart; and at the portraits in the photograph-books until she was sick of them ; but all with the same imperturbable good temper, and without the slightest symptom of irritation or im- patience. A At last the door opened and he entered. He was instantly struck by the pleasant, smiliflg face with whigh_she welcorped him: “ Hére you are ! I hope you have not hurrjgd yourpelf on my acgount_.” “ Not in the least, thanks. I really must apologize very much to you, Lady Honoria. I am ashamed of myself to have kept you waiting." “ Pray don’t speak of it ; I didn’t mind waitigg. Are you ready now? Shall we start ‘2’." “Certainly.” He helped her on to her horse and they started. One fresh cancer across the soft grass in the sunshine, with the keen air bracing his senses,’ and the sight of that handsome bright-faced girl by his side, seemed to re- store him to himself. He glanced at her admiringiy.“ h ‘ “ After all,” he said to himself, “there is certainly something in birth. I ought to have known better than to place my trust in that poor little thing. Her father, it is true, was a gentleman, but her mother is an un- derbred, vulgar-minded woman. It was a. mistake to expect nobility of soul and high notions of honor from the daughter of such a. mother. It is my own folly that has blinded me to the improbability of her being trust-worthy. Now. with Lady Honoria one would be safe. There is no flaw in her ancestry; the men of her race have been always honorable, the women have never been false. One would have a. certainty here. There can be nothing sly, or mean. or false about her ; she may have faults, but they will be such faults as would only endear her to one.” She turn-ed round to 'him smiling, but raw?! surpris9d- _ And as they reined in their horses, being full of these thoughts, Sir Edgar turned sud- denly to his companion, and said to her earngst}y : “I dan’t suppose you have ever told an unfiyuth in yqur life,_ Lady_ _Honoria_z_?” “ No, I don’t think soâ€"nob to my know- ledge, at least. But what an odd question, Sir Edgar. Why do you ask ?" For all reply he put to her another : “You will not be false or double-faced ! You would sooner die than be one thing to a. man's face and another behind his back, wogldn’t you?" " I cannot e€en under-515.116 such things as you speak of, Sir Edgar. It is quite natural to me to tell the truth ; it is no merit. M father is so honorable and sincere himself, cannot conceive a. greater shame than to be unworthy of him.” She cofored alittle, and wondered what made him so strange this morning, but she angyzered hi_m quite simply : _ The simplicity and nobility of her answer filled him with admiration, no less than did the perfect good temper with which she had replied to his somewhat uncalled for quesfions. “ Forgive me," he said humbly. ” I have no right, I know, to ask you such things ; but if you knew how highly I prized truth ant} sincerity in a. womanâ€"â€"” She was silent, and her heart beat a little, wondering to herself what he would say next; for she liked him after her fashion, and why should he care so much to know if she was truthful unless he took some special interest in her? For some minutes he did not; speak at all, and they rode in silence side by side. Pre- sently, however, he turned to her again. “ Lady Honoria T" “ Yes, Sir Edgar.” “ You and I are very good friends, are we “ Yes ; indeed, I hope so.” “I cannot tell you how much I like and admire your character in every way.” he would have given anything to have been able to word it difl'erentlyâ€"to have said : “ How much I love you,” instead ; but some- how the words stuck in his throat, and he could not say them. The declaration of his affection came out lamel enough to his own ears. “ I have always a mini your beauty, of course, but that is nothing ; it is your frank, honorable, generous self that I think so highly of, and that has won my deepest esteem andâ€"affection. I think that you combine everything that I most desire to find in a woman. Lady Honoriu, do you think you could be.happy as my wife ‘2” not “ You are very good {0 ine,” he murmur- ed, raising the hand, glove and all, to his lips ; and then for several minutes neither of thgm_spo}5e. But what about him? Five minutes after the fatal words had passed his lips, Sir Edgar Dyson knew that he had done a. foolish, if not, indeed, a wicked action. By the way in which his heart had suddenly stood still, cold and heavy as lead, within him, he knew that whilst asking this woman And then she turned to hlm, smiling, and radiant, and stretched out her large, Well- ahgpgd hand ig itg taggl‘ovefio him. Lady Honoria was quite satisfied. It did not occur toflher that there was anything lacking in the proposal which she had just accepted. He was always kind, and courte- ous, and pleasant to her; she had not ex- pected rhapsodies of love and passion from him. They were well matched in years. in tastes, in position ; it was the most natural thing in the world that they should marry each other. Why should he go into heroics over it? It never struck her that anything more was needed then what he had said. He told her that he admired her person and her character, and he expressed his convic- tion that they would be able to make each Iother happy. That was quite enough for er. ".I am sure I shouldube happy as your wife,_’_’ she answered simply. “ _ 9v) for truth and for sincerity, he had spoken words to her himself in which there was neither truthfulness nor honesty. ' There arose before him the image of Lily, with her soft, pleading eyes, her timid step, her gentle bent headâ€"Lily who, as he believed, was false to him ; yet even so, he knew, for all his anger and all his contempt against her, that her image alone reigned in his heart. It was not likely that he could have cast her out from it already, for love like that is not _killed in a day. He did his best, however, to stifle these miserable and unprofitable nelfâ€"reproaches, and to persuade himself that ley Honorid's beauty and virtues were, after all, what would make him happy and contended with his life. And as he had the heart and- the manner of a. gentleman, he never allowed her to perceive that there was anything wanting in his bearing as a. successful lovar towards her. They rode long this morningâ€"longer than usualâ€"and all at once the heavens became overcast, and the bright sunshine vanished, and :1. heavy storm came on. “ Let us shelter at VVrexham.” said Edgar : ” you will get wet through ; it is not more than a mile off. I dare say the Miss Kings will give us luncheon, and be. glad to see us." So they hurried on their horses through the fast-driving min. Presently, as they pressed along the narrogv lane, they met the doctor’s high-wheeled gig coming along at full speed towards them. He raised his whip to his hat as he phased them, and Sir Edgar nodded back to him. The wheels splashed up the mud upm Lady Honoria’s habit. “ What a. pace those country doctors do goragvl” she. obsefved, when l_x_e had gon_e by. H “Yes, they have, long distance} to go sometimes, and get; very badly paid for it ofbfn epoqgh!" answexied Sh: Edg_ar._ But he thtie guessed to whoseubedside Dr. Graham _was ‘poyv hastenip g. They found the two sisters sitting alone in the morning-room, and were most cordi- ally welcomed by them. Norman was out, and Mr. King shut up in his OWu room. Stella insisted upon Lady Honoria‘s taking off her wet habit, that it might be properly dried, and she dressed her up in one of her own gowns. It was, of_ course, soon’ settled that the unexpected guests should remain to luncheon, and after that meal was over, that they should wait until the weather had thoroughly pleated up again. During the course of the two or three hours spent thus at Wrexham in pleasant; and friendly chatter, it was not wonderful that Lady Honoria, who was brimming over with happiness and satisfaction, should con- fide her secret to Stella’s sympathiziug ears, when she went up with her to her bedroom to change her dress. There was no occasion to make a mystery of it ; a marriage so suit;- able in itself could not; be anything but; a subject of congratulation to everybody ; and it was not in Lady Honoria’s temperament to enjoy the delicious mystery of unspoken love. “I wish you joy with all my heart,” answered Stella, kissing her. She cauld not say less, and yet thexe was a. startled’and puzzled look in her blue eyesâ€"Stella. re- membered Lily’s hesitating mention of Sir Edgar’s name on the day when she had offer- ed to venture upon her service into his library. and all the sweet confusion in her glowing face, when she had returned after the short interview: and Stella. had thought that she had read the meaning of it aright. Lady Honoria’s confidences, therefore, were a. surprise to her. But perhaps, she told herselfâ€"perhaps she had been altogether mistakenemdeed', she must have been! “I have something to tell you,” she said to Stella. "Sir Edgar has asked me to be his wife.” Her bright, handsome face look- ed both happy and proud as she apok_e. It was Tate when the newly-engaged pair got? bagk to Bayfiejd: But her heart aéhed a. little for Lily, and she wondered how the news would come to the: little goverqess in her school-room.» “ Hallo ! Graham's gig I" said Sir Edgar, dismounting, and going to Lady Honoritm’u assistance. " Has Lady Dyson got one of of her headaches, John '3” he: asked ths ser- vant. v As they reached the front door, they were surprisad to see Dr. Graham’s gig waiting before it. Lady Honoria. sprang to the ground, and the man-sermntpqswegeq respectfully : _ “ No, sir, her ladyship is qfiite well ; Miss Finch is seriously ill 1" LILY’S REVELATIONS. She was very ill indeed; for days she lay between life and death, tossing to and fro in wild delirium on her narrow bed, and no one could say_ho_w it_wquld end. People said that Lady Dyson was little else than an angel, because she nursed her so unwearily and devotedly. She and'her maid did it all between them; she would allow no one else to come near herâ€"not at the first, at least. It would have been natural that Mrs. Finch should have been installed at her daughter’s bedside, but Lady Dyson would not hearof it ; she would not even allow her to go into her sick child’s room. It could do no good, she said ; there were nurses enough in herself and her maid, and the illness was fever. Fevers were terrible things, no one could tell whether they might be infectious ; why should another person run the risk? She and the maid had been with her at the first ; it was safer to confine the danger to themselves. Lady Dyson and Barnes, the maid, shut themselves up in a sort of quarantine, therefore, in three rooms at the end of a long upper passage, and lived there 'n a seclusion into which Dr. Graham's daily isits were the only intrusion. And people said, of course, that dear Lady Dyson was nothing less than a saint to nurse apoor little sick governess with such courageous sell-devotionâ€"for, of course, like all women who are mothers, the bare mention of the word “ fever ” must be terrifying to her. In the long watches of that first night, when Lin had been taken ill, Lxdy Dyson, wrapped in a. warm, satin-quilted dressing- gown, and a. comfortable knitted can, had ensconced herself by her bedside, for she was neither heartless nor uncharitable, and she had thought it her duty to spend the first night :of her illness in the sick girl’s room. In all probability she would have delegated the offite to a. hired nurse on the But there were other thifigsvwhich had frightened Lady Dyson far more than the nature of Miss Fitch’s illnes-v. C HAPTER XXI [. but morrow; but there were things that were revealed to her that night which made her determined that no stranger should be ad- mitted into Lily’s room, no one who had ears to listen, or a, tongue to repeat, should be allowed to be by her side. For, during Ehe wild ravings of the un- happy girl’s delirious slumbers, L udy Dyson hegljd some very terrible; tbipgs. There were murmured sighs and muttered words, as she tossed about helplessly, and sometimes wild cries burst from the fever- parched lips, and whole sentences broke from her with terrible and unmistakable distiz ctness, revealing things to Lady Dyson which she inwardly determined no other ears but: her own should have a chance of hearing â€"Mrs. Finch, indeed, least of all i For alwavs the burden of these cries and moms was the name of her eldest son. “ Elgar, my darling, I have been true to you, indeed I have! 0h! do not; look at me like that ; as if I could think of your brother or any one before you! I will do what you wantâ€"I will be your wife in spite of everything, if only you will believe me ! Oh! Edgar, don’t look so angry with me! I know that you love meâ€"of course I know it ! What does it signify about your mother? I will marry you whenever you likeâ€"indeed I will, only forgive me, dearest !” These, and much more in the same strain, were tne very dreadful things that Lady Dyson sat wide awake and listened to with speechless horror during the whole of that first night’s vigil. Edgar must have made love to this girlâ€" must actually have asked her to marry him ! and Lin evidently had drawn back from the Baronet who had offered her his hand 1 What had possessed him to make love to little Lily Finch? A thousand times Lxdy Dyson cried shame upon herself for her own short-sightedness, and her own blindness and folly. That Lily should have set her affections Above herself, upon the unattain- able altitude of her son, had not been out of the range of possibility; but that her son should have fallen in love with Lily to the extent of offering to marry her, that was what seemed to Lady Dyson to be a thing that no living person could possibly have foreseen. And then she thanked her stars that the fates had mercifully revealed this dreadful thing to her before it was too late. Little by llttle, listening carefully to the poor child’s broken utterances, and writing them down as she did so, Lady Dyson pieced out: thievhole story. Edgar loved Lily, and had proposed to her, and she hadâ€"‘miraculous as it seemed â€"apparently held back from him, loving him in return, but fearing to give him her troth : and then there must have been some quarrel, and Lily had been stricken down with illness ; whilst Sir Edgar, driven wild by pique and jealousy, had evidently sought forgetfulness and consolation 1n ofiering his hand to Lady Honoria. For, 0t course, Lid; Dyson had heard we news of her sons engagement on the evening of their event- ful rideâ€"the same evening that poor Lily lay senseless and fever-stricken in her little room. Oh! what a. terrible thing it would be if Lady Honoria were to hear of this disgrace- ful complication with the little governessâ€"â€" for to Lady Dyson’s ideas such a. thing was nothing short of disgraceâ€"or still worse, if Sir Edgar, touched with pity and remorse, were to own the truth to her, and withdraw his pllghted faith 1 Lady Dyson quaked when she thought of these contingencies. It was a, real relief to her when Lady Honoris settled to go home at once. In her kindness and good-nature the Earl’s daughter would have been glad enough to help her hostess to nurse the poor little governess, to whom she had invariably been kind and friendly ; but, of course, Lady Dyson would not hear of it, and when she found she could do no good, she decided to go home, for her father, who was nervous about illness, desir- ed her to come as quickly as she could. Lady Dyson urged her eldest son to ac- company his betrothed ; but Sir Edgar was not to be persuaded to go away while Lily was_in danger. _ The two brothers, therefore, stayed in the house during the first days of Lily’s illness. Sir Edgar haunted the passages and stair- cases, white with anxiety and sick with suspense. If she should die 1 he said to him- selfâ€"great Heaven 1 He believed her to be false and fickle, and he had bound himself in desperation to another ; but he knew that if Lily Finch died he should never have a light heart or a happy moment again ; for false, and fickle, and untruthful though she mightAbe, he loved her still. It did not occur to him that he might have judged her too hastilyâ€"what he had seen seemed to him to be too plain for that ; but he felt an infinite pity for the weakness and the timidity which had led her to betray her troth to him. Sometimes he felt as though he hated his brother, and yet he was anxious to propitiate him. How would Walter treat her he wondered? He was on his knees before her, and with a. voice tremulous with passion he said : “Nothing shall separate us evermore, my darling ! For your sake I will heard the lion in his denâ€"I will face death on the battle field! I will skim the seas ! I will endure all hardships, all sufl‘ering, all misery !" He paused and looked eagerly at her, with his whole soul quivering in his eyes.â€"â€"-“Will you do all this for the sake of my love 1'” said she, gazing earnestly at him.â€"” Yes, yesâ€"a. thousand times yes l"â€"“And if we get married” [here she blushed slightly] “will you get up first; and light the fire 2” With a. shriek of despair he fled. Walter wandered about the house and grounds moodin and sulkily, with his pipe in his mouth, and his: hands in his pockets. He looked bored and wearied beyond des- cription, but Edgar could not make out that he was unhappyâ€"at least, he did not go away, and that, at all events, argued some. thing in his favor. A What might be the feelings and the medi- tations of that incomprehensible personage Mr. Walter Dyson, was certainly a mystery into which his brother had no chance of pegetrajiing. ‘ One dayvhe boldly addressed him upon the subject nearest his heart. “ What are you going to do when you grow up if you don’t know how to cipher?” asked a teacher of a. slow boy. “ I’m going to be a school teacher and make the boys do the ciphering,” was the reply. (TO BE CONTINUED.) DM<OWI Sad Suicide or a Young Dentist. Mulford S. Hunter, a. young dentist, shot himself while insane in New York recently. Hunter’s friends say that he had shown evidences of insanity for some time, and had frequently threatened to kill himself. He said he would poison himself. so that he might suffer as his wife had suffered. UHunter's insanity seems to have been caused by grief at the death of his wife. She died 1115135 Esst Thirty-first street on July 23rd last, of cerebro spinal meningitis. Hunter declared that she was poisoned, and demanded an autopsy. Ha afterward changed his mind and took the body on to Detroit, Where it was buried. Mrs. Binck- lay, the grandmother of Mrs Hunter, asked for an investigation, and Cn‘oner M trtin looked into the circumstances of her death and found nothing wrong. Hunter returned frovaetroit on Aug. 4. occupied a room at 264 Sixth avenue, and resumed business with his partner, Dr. V. Van Vleck, at 284 Sixth avenue. A great change Wis noticed in his disposition. He was 30 years of age. Before the death of his wife he had been cheerful angl attentive to business. He now became melancholy, irritable, and indisposed to work. He told Dr. Snow, with Whom he bmrderl, that he had read in the Bible and had failed to find any comfort there. He said he had talked with the Jesuits of St. Francis Xavier’s with a. view of joining the Catholic Church, to which his wife had belonged. but had got no consolation. He roamed about the streets at night. Once he paid a. hackman $10 to drive him about for hours. On Thursday night last he attemptel to enter the residence of the doctor who had attended his wife. The doctor was out of town, and Hunter went away, He was home to dinner in the middle of the day on Friday, but did not come in to supper. Be- tween 10 and 11 o‘chck that night he went to the doctor’s resxdence again, and entered the parlor by a. Window. The doctor’s Wife was sleeping in a rear room. She screamed when Hunter tried the doors, and he ran down the street. He went. to his room and wrote the following on cards and pieces of blank paper: : . Gone to meet my darling. No inquest o: autopsy, if you please. Ship my body to Capt. M. T. Hunter, 25 Miami avenue. Detroit, Mich., care of Gier & Son, under- takera, at petroit. Brother Henry, please place me beside my darling. No funeral ; no crepe to be worn by any one respecting me. All property, personal or real, I give to my father, to dis- pose of as he sees fit. Now I am out of misery. The doctor killed my darling, and I have spared his life, therefore it is no sin to take mine, and God will receive me. But the doctor has murdered two innocent people, who never did him an injury or gave him cause, as we were entire strangers to him. He has admitted to me that she died from blood poisoning. But I cannot bring her back again, and 1 am lonely with- out her, and she is as lonely as I am, as I discovered by that last yearning look she gave when she breathed her last. That in- vitation to come follows me, and I only re- gret I _did not go before now. Good-bye, every one. I am happy and hope for future happiness. Yours, MULFORD s. HUNTER. 0n the card of the doctor the word “ sur- geon” was scratched out and “murderer " was written in its place, and on the back of the card was written : This doctor is the man that murdered myself and wife, and the public will novy understand it. I demanded an investi -, tion, but they would not hear to me, 533,14 ' I was insane. But people know better. ‘If hope you will all understand. 0:) a. piece of paper was written : To whom it may concern; Please return this revolver to Joseph Tiltou, as I took it from his house to-day. Oblige, MULFORD S. HUNTER. After writing Hunter stooi beside his bed and shot himself in the right breast. The bullet pierced the lungs. The shot and his groans alarmed the household, but they were afraid to go near him. A police- man was sent for, and Dr. Snow entered the room with him. Hunter was leaning against the bed, conscious and suffering great pain. Dr. Snow asked him if he was not sorry for his act, and he said “No.” An ambulance carried him to the New York Hospital, where he asked the doctors to let him die in peace. He- died just be- fore 1 o’clock. “ He ain’t eggsactly my neighbor eyther,” said the man. " You see, it’s the new baby, and the wife calculates to bring him up by hand. and this bottle’s for him, bless its pootsy tootsy, Where’s the rigging oh’b ?" and, diving into another pocket he fished out some India. rnbbfr. tpbing, etc. _ _ The woman didn’t wax}: to finish her dis- sertation but got out yvithout asking the driver to stop. It is believed that he had intended to kill the doctor Whom he visited and the doctor’s wile also. The doctor returned to fihe city and, hearing of Hunter entering the house, was about to have him arrestedas a. danger- ous lunatic when he learned of his suicide. A. Slight Mistake. She was a. thin, narrow, dark-viaaged wo man with “specs” on, and she carried a package of tracklets and leaflets which she scattered broadcast among the sinners in the Cass avenue car in which she rode, When only one or two of the pamphlets were left; a. man got in. He was on his way to the depot, a. countrymen, going home, evidently. He had a big watermelon which be disposed of tenderly on the seat next to him, and a glass flask with a. rubber cork stuck‘bolgliyput of his coat pouket. “ Oh, I see,” Eaid the man, smiling good- humoredly on his sour-visaged vis-a-vis; " but the bottlgain’t for me, mg’am.” 7 L, “ Woe unto him that givébh his neighisr drink,” qugted the woman figrggly. "Heughi" he panted as. be stuffed his‘ fate in the bax. “ Hotter than harvestin’ up here, aip’trit ?” r Everybody looked cold disapproval at him as good, polite, Christian people do when spoken to in a street car ; all but the woman with the “ tracks.” She fished one out and extended it to him. "No sir,” said the woman, firmly, in a. high falsetto voice. “ It’s to save your im- mortal soul. Touch not, taste not, handle not the wine,” and she pointed with a crook- ed fore-finger to the glass flask protuding fromjhe breasflt pocket. “Thankee,” he said, receiving it in a. brown paw; “comic almanac, hey '2” C R. A ZED BY HI i WI FE’S DEATH.