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“It is hardly that," he replied. “It is nether aquality that directs many others. Lady J esmond is not sensitive. I am sure,” Mr. Benson went on. “She did not seem to think how th’s change would afl'ect any one "‘71 tili'nk aengltiven‘éaa a. noble virtue,” I remarked. “Not all,” he rejoined. “Many women have the most a utter of fact natures; they are sensitive neither for themselves not for others; yqt they are good wcmen.” “But she is Enid to be as good as she is beautiful,” I cried; “and good women are sensflive. '“I saw no sign of nervousness in her," he observed. ‘ She seemed perfectly self pos- sesssed and mistress of the situ ation." The words jarred upon me. "You must feel the position apainful one," he added kindly. How kind and good she was to me at this trying p riod of my life! I ought even to lave been grateful for the misfortune which brought to me such disinterested love. She would h‘ ve been pleaied and pond to carry me [3 there and then. but I Vi as destined to remain lor nanv a. long day at Jesmond Dene. I knew little of the world, my ex- pexi‘nce being limited to the few acquaint- ances of my aunt and Lady Saxon's; but I knew enough to be sure that it was 3 mar- vellous thing to find one perfectly disinter- ested frit nd. “She will doubtless feel n'ervous," I re- marked, "and slightly uncomfortable. It is no§_a. ve_ry pleasgnt‘pogition for gel-3i . Mr. B'en-son look-ed at me with his eyes oprerged to thei_r widest extent. “I think," said Mr. Bsuson. "that it would be as well to eqnd a carriage to Hon- ton station to meet Lady Jesmond. Ido not know the hour at which like will arrive, but she said she should come to day.” "Flltcia," she said, “you shall share my home and my purse; you shall be my dear adopted daughter, and I will make you so happy that you sl all not miss Jermoud Dene. I love you the better now that I fee how bravely anl how well you czn bear such a disastrous stroke of ill fortune. I wonder what this Lady Jesmoud is like?” "Beautiful aa a dream, I am told,” I an- awered. “A wrrshi: per of beauty, adr amer of dreams.” The words returned to me w'th vivid fcrce. They were Lady Saxoafi de- scription of her son. But no! Now that love had dawrel in my toul, the dreariness of my past life could never recur. I knew by instinct that Lady Saxon would love me none the less for my loss of fortuneâ€"that she would be superior to such son id mcanness as 10 allow her feel- ings ton ards me to change because I was no longer mistress of Jesn ond Dene. And I was equally certain that Lord S»xou, thm whom a. more generous hearted man never lived, would love me as hitherto. My heart found perfect rest in these pleasant thgu gh1 s Early on the following morning my aunt Annette tell izl, and Lady Sax: n c the over to see me. I looked full and star-eight into my old friend’s kindly face wh le I told my story. If I had detected the slightest cold- ness towards me, the slightest shade of dis- appoin’ ment,1 should have shrunk from her. But there was nothing but the most loving syn psthy and motterly affection depicted on her countenance. She listened for some time in silent amizement; and then she spoke. When I retired to rest that night, slee came not to my weary eyes, for my ming was full of the ron ance of this beautiful young widow who “as coming lo Jesmond Dene to r- iguin my stead. As a mat er of course, I felt most bitterly and keenly the loss of this my princily inherilance. It was as much lost to me on that first evening when I heard the news as after-Wards when others reigned there eu preme. Crushing and keen was the evcr‘recurrinq thought that I was no longer “queen and mother" of my people; they were no long<r my loyal and affectionate subjects I thought of the half built almshouses, ol the lo~pitals and schools, of the thousand and one plans I had conceived {0‘ the benefit of those lix ing around me, and my heart ached at the thought that my dreams would not be real- ized. SH“, if the gtodness of her heart were in accord with her personal charms, the probahllltks were that Lady Jeunond would be pleased with the work 111 a1 be- gun. and carry it on. Wlat a dram of wealth and luxury, benew lence and happi- ness it had been to me! And now I must go back ‘.0 the (it ary seclusion that had been mine 1 efore. “Wait until you see her, Miss Gordon, until you know what she intends to do. You have many under akinga on hand; she may desixe to 50 (n with some cf them. and ask your cooperation. Be patient and Vi ait." Uniil long after mid: ight aunt Annette, Mr. Ber son, and I eat discussing thisâ€"to meâ€"n omenfous matter. One thin was certainâ€"there was no dtception, 10 aw in the evidence no informality in the nar- riage; everything was perfectly straightfor- ward and e-riotly 1 gal. At nt Annette wanted me to dispute the claim-possess- icn was nine po'nts of the law, she contend- ed. But Mr. Benson declared that it v ould be absolutely uselessâ€"Lay, he added gravely that it would be wrong to contest a. cla'm so fully estellished. There was not the hast doubt about any of the facts. and the case as strong ea it well could be. Indeed Mr. Benson, who was an upright man as well as a clever lawyer, pointed out that, even if thnre sl ould be a. slight flew in any of the evidence, that would not altu‘ the fact that Paul's son was entitled to succ¢ e1 him. Womanlike I was most curious to know why he did not Bike Lady Jeemcnd; but to this question he would give me no sat's'actory insgur. She was beautiful, glazeful, well- re . “She gins me the idea of one who has been brought up in France," he 1 aid. "And, entre nous, Miss Gordon, I do notlike French training.” Thtn came the question, what was to be done with mt? Whatnourse ought I to pur- Iue with regard 10 my future? Aunt An- nette. who was vexed and angry at this un- toward arpaerance of a clalmant for my throne, declared that I sl ould go la k with her to the lit 19 house we had left but a few months before. But that had been let just as it stard, thu‘efme we could not return to it for a time at least. Mr. Benson counsell- ed us to wait. THE STORY OF MY LOVE. N ELLO. CHAPTER VII. “Yes, I know thatâ€"Mr. Benson told me; but I was not aware that you knew him,” she remarked. Then her voice softened a little as she said, "I shall like to talk to you about him." When she utteren these words, the bright handsome face of my dead cousin rose be- fore me, and seemed to ask pleadingly for kindness to h?s Wife. She should receive it from me for the sake of‘the olden days. Lady J esmond turned to me quickly, and there was a. strange inflection in ’her voxce. "Did you know Paul?" she asked. ‘ I knew him well when he was a boy," I answered. “I knew him here at J esmond Dene. I was his cousin." Then I turned from her, and Heaven knows, although he had deprived me of my inheritance, tears of honest affection filled my eyes when I saw Paul’s little son. I should have known the child was Paul’s, no matter where I had seen him, his face was so like his father’s. He had the same dark laughing eyes. with a golden light in their deplthg, the same brows, the same dark cu: s. “Why,” I cried, "this child is the living imggq of ('16 at Papll” in "Seven she repeated. “Why, it is only jus_t_ six ngw!" I had had some iaini idea. of falling on her neck and bidding her welcome to the home that I “as a.‘ out to relinquish to herâ€"some faintides. of telling her how I bade her wel- come for Paul’s sake; but the manner in which she met my advances checked my ar- dor. It was evident the lady felt no emotion on reaching the home of her husband’s boy- hood. She was hungry! _ “Dinner is at seven'f’ I answered; and she must have noticed the change in my voice, for she looked at me. I went out into the entrance hall, and thcre I law three figures. One nasthat of a. tiny child crying with fatigue; the second was a. tall elderly woman dressed in deep mourning, who set med to be a nurse; and the third a tall graceful lady dressed in deep black crape. This was the young widow, Lady Jesmond. I went to her with out- stretched handsâ€"fcr was she not Paul’s widow‘Iâ€"but she did not or would not see them; for she merely gave me a. cool little nod, and saidâ€"- "Are you Felicia H eron?” "Yes," I answered. “ Mr. Benson 1;le me about you,” she said. “Is he here ? I am Lady Jesmond.” "Mr. Benson is here," I replied, “and has been anx'ously expecting you." ” Shall you go to meet Lady Je amend?” asked Mr. Benson. “I hope," '3be'kaid, v‘:tha.t we will be in lime for dinner; I am very hungry. It has begq agigeaqme joqrpeyt’: "Yes," I replied; “she shall lave A kindly welcome home." But no warning came to me of what was to follow in the wake of the home coming of Lady Jesmond. “I cannot stand much more of this kind of thing,” said the lawyer. ‘- I do not think I ever kLew whet smprnse meant before,” "I have ordered dinner for seven,” I said. And just as I uttered the words we heard the sound, so long and anxiously awaited, of carriage wheels. “ They are here!" I cried. The long afternoon had passed, my visit- ors had all de; arted, and Mr. Benton had awaked frcm his slumbers; still there was no sound of caniage wheels to herald the ap~ preach of Lady Jl smoud. That aft rnoon many callers came, for the news had spread tl roughout the district. I ought to have been. and I was. consoled by the many expressions of kindness and sym- pathy. N a one seemed to think it strange that Paul lad married, or that his widow should come home to claim his hezitage. The general impression seemed to be that it wasa thousand pities Sir William and hi son had not been on better terms, when Cap tain Jesmond would have had, no reason to conceal his marriage, and the unfortunate mistake would never have been made. “They are devotedly ¢ttaohed to you,” he said; and my heart was comforted by the knowledge that I retained the affection of those about me. Noon came. but still there was no sound of carriage wheels. Then followed a. long sultry afternoon, during which Mr. Benson, who was misembly anxious and nervous, dropped ( if to sleep. He said 120 more, but when he was gone I sought Mr. Benson and told him what had occuired, and that I thought it would be preferable to call all the servmts together and tell thrm what had happened lather than that they should be left to hear it piecemeal from strangers. He quite agreed with me, and the whole household was gathered tonether in the servants’ hall, where Mr. Benson told them the story of Paul’s marriage and death, and announced that the widowed Lady Jesmcnd, with her little son Sir Guy. was coming that day to take possession, Mr. Benson told me. with tears in his eyes that when he had finished his narration there was but one cry among the servants, and that was for Miss Gordt 11. They all loved Miss Gordon; they did Lot want to lose Miss G rdou. “True? I did not believe it. There will ha a revolutio l among the people. for you are grza'ly beloved here, MiES Gordon.” " Right is right,” I answered ; “ and my cousin’s little am is the heir to J esmond Dene." but herself. You will send the (arriage for big, [33}, tbq-byez': _ I did send it', with orde rs tl' at it was to re- main at the railway station and await all the London trains. I sent also for the doctor from Honton to see my aunt Annette. On his arrival he spoke rather gravely of her condition. I told him that she desired to go away fnm Jeamond Dene at once; but he said she would impenl her life if she were so rash. So perforce, whether we liked it or not, we must remain as guests within the walls of what had for a brief period been our own lome." "Forgive me, Miss Gordon.” the doctor said before leaving; “but as I came along I heard a rumor which I v: nture most earned? ly_to hope is not truer: ’ I kneav at once that the story in some v1 ay or other had leaked out. H‘V‘You mean," I said slowly, "that we have bad news from India, and that my cousin Paul has left bothawidow and a 50D 7 ‘ That is what I heard. Is Gordon?” asked Doctor Bland. i'ilti ié perfectly true." I repfied. We ex pect the young widnw. Lady Jesmond, and her ton here today}: __ I took the bonny little fellow info my ,n CHAPTER VIII. 's it true, Miss sfie looked a’t him with a world oi mischief in her eyes. Tail and slender, her fi ure was the very perfection of grace. She ad such shapely shoulders as are rarely seen; and, lightly veiled by thin b'aok crepe, they shone white as alabaster throuah their gauzy covering. Her hands were delicate and white, and were adorned with many valuable rings; her arms were as though they had been sculptured. She was a blonde of the purest type; even the hot sun of India had not marred the faultless delicacy of her complexion. Her eyes were blue, large, bright, and clear, full of fire, with a gleam of passionâ€"eyes that could smile and flash, that could woo with all sweetness "and scorn with all fire"â€"eyes that startled by their unusual brightness and their depth of expression. The brows were dark and straight. Her mouth was perfect, with the most alluring of dimples; yet there was in the short upper lTp something that told of pride and scorn. From her crown of golden hair to her dainty lit‘le feet, she was simply a masterpiece of nature's handiwork. without one blemish in her fair loveliness. Even Mr. Benson’s calm face flushed as he hastened to greet her with a low bow and ex- tended hand. ‘ I am glad to see you looking so well Lngy Jempogd,” he said. I cannot deicribe what I feft when I be- held her ladyship’s marvellous loveliness. I have never seen anything like it; it was per- fect, surpassing loveliness; and with it was that subtle irresistible charm which men call fascination. As I gazed at her, Lady Sax- on’s words came back to meâ€""a worshippcr of beauty, a. dreamer of dreams." Why did those words haunt Inaâ€"“good as she is beautiful"? 1 did not 0 down stairs until tka dinner bell rang; w en I did so, I found Mr. Bau- son alone in the dining :'o;m. Hit ladysnip had not yet come down. "VVelI?" he cried eagerly, mad wa. ted for me_t_'.o speak. The ‘11th; moment the rustling of silk and Lupe told us that Lady Jerunnd was I hastened to give aunt Annette. who was anxicudy awaiting me, an account of the in- terview. I could not tell her what I thought of Lady Jesmond, for I had no definitely- formed opinion upon the point. I told her all about the pretty child with his father’s face, and the elderly nurse, and of Indy Jes- mond's solicitude for her. “That speaks well for her," said aunt An nette. ‘ Good women ale alvnys thoughtful for their servantr." My mald Was summoned, and showed her ladyship to her room. I was left with con- flicting mensmions. and I seemed quite un- able to form any idea of the character of my newly found cousin. If any one had asked me whether I liked her, I could not have answered the question. I did not ark her where she had been staying, or with whom. She was not. the kind of person with whom I felt I could take such aliberty. however kind the intention might be. r "Yes; I suffered greatly the first few days after my arrival in England. I did not attempt to leave the house for a fortnight. but poslponed my visit to Mr. Benson until I felt a. lxttle seasoned. Now I will go to my room.” “Most people suffer much from cold when they first come from India,” I remark- ed. "Yesâ€"a great tria'," the replied; but there was no note of regret or ain in the calm sweet voice. “I thii-k, res Gordrn, I will go to my room now. I have brought no maid with me; perhaps I can have a little assistance fr om yours?” “With pleasuro,” I replied. During all this time she had stood with her travelling cloak, which was alighily edged with fur, even though it was summer- drawn tightly around her and her face close, 1y veiled. “ Cold i " she repeated in a. voice of won- der. "1am afraid," I said, "that you fee cold. And then Iwondered whether she had any heart, whether she felt any emotion on coming to this her husband’s home â€"the ance “here hia boyish days had been speqt. "He is very cross (to-night,” said Lady Jeamond. “I wishIcould break him of that absurd habit he has of always crying for me.” “It is natural enougo,” I answered. " Children generally cry for their mothers.” ‘ Tuirga that are moat natural are not always most pleasant,” said Lady Jen mond deqidgdly. “It must have been a. trial,” I said to hen “for you to couo home without Paul.” The c! ild continued to cry as he was car- ried (if to the nursery, and the sound was strange in that (1d house, where children had not lived for so many years." I thought lha't speech showed decided consideration for others, and it pleased “Ste that you have all you want yourself: nurse. ang for wine or tea, and see that you have every comfort,” said Lady Jaa' mond, much to my astonishment. ' “Unfortunately for me, I have bem but little with children,” I said; “but I do not think qyyatienqe would fail." "Qhali I take Sir Guy now, and give him his bath, my lady?"aaked the nurse. "Then I can C(me and help your ladyship to dress.” The sound 3f bar vbica sweet and musical as it was. did not seem toappe‘lse the child. Again in a. piteous voice he criedâ€" “Mammafl” “I am here,”La"ly Jesmond repeated. "You rad better take him. nurse; he seems inclined to be cross. I lave but little pa.- tience with crying children,” she continued. Then, turning to me, she Baked. “ Have YWZ’I _ arms and crressed him fondly. He ceased grying. and looked with pxneous eyes into my ace. ‘ Mamma,“ he cried, "mammal" "I am here, Guy." redlied Lady Jesmoud quielilv: ' Be a aged law-flew! _ "He. is tired,"‘VI said.- Shall I take him to the nursery we l‘ave prepared for him? It is the same his father had.“ I saw her make aquick gesture to the woman who ttood near. She came forward inatgntly. “I am the child's nurse,” she said, and prepared to take him from me; but the little tellow resisted all her efforts and clnrpad his baby arms tightly round my neck. "Never mind, nurse," interposed Lady Jesmond. "If Miss Gordon likes to trouble herself with a. tiresome clzild; let her; I am sure it is very kind of her. Guy must be good," she added, turning to the littlefillow will) still clung eagerlyfio me. A New Jersey Porculne. A most remarkable conquest was made by four hunters at Millbrook, N. J., recently. James and Frank Kimble, Amos Van Gor- den, and Abe Warner went on the moun- tain huntzng raccoons. Their dogs. late in the evening, lurked up a tree. Hastening to the tree they saw on a. limb about 40 feet from the round, what they supposed to be a “coon.’ Mr. \Varner climbed the tzee and shook the animal out. \Vhen it fell to the ground the dogs attacked it, but it suc- ceeded in running into the rocks and was followed by the dogs. Here they managed, after a eharpe and severe slruggle. to kill it. The men then took sticks and succeeded in getting it out. when to their great surprise. it proved to be a large porcupine, which would have weighed at least 25 pounds. Some years since as ch lfonnitr (or rag and refuse gatherer) died intestate in France, having literally “scraped " together 400,000 lrancs. the whole of which went to the heir- at-Iaw. At. Northfield, England, there died in 1772 a. Mr- Page, dealer in limestones 1nd gunflints, by which occupation, and by a most penurious way of living, he had ac- cumulated a toxtuLe of some $60,000. He lived alone in a. large house for several years. no one coming near him but an old woman in the viliage who once 3 day went to make his bed. His death was occasioned by his runn ng a knife into the palm of bin hand while openirg an oyster. S r Thomas “Colby, an official high in (flice, shortened his existence by his'passion for this world's goods, as appears by the followug, onec‘lote : “He rose in the middle of the night, when lie was 11 a very profuse perspiratitn and walked down shire to luck for the key of the cellar, which he had inadvertently let: on a. table in the parlor ; he was apprehensive that his servants might seize the key and rob him of a. bottle of port wine, instead of which he himself was sewed with a. chill and died intestate, leav- ing over $1,000,L00 :11 the funds, which was shared by five or s'x day laborers, who were his next of kin." Marvelous good luck fu‘ his poor relations I An instance of m serly habits in the great and noble is to be found in the case of that renowned captain, the Duke of Marlborough of whom it is chronicled that, when in the last stage (f lite and very infirm, he would walk from the public room in Both, to his lodgings on a. cold, dark night, to save six- pence in chafr hire. He died worth $7,500.- 000 it is recorded of Sir J ames Lowther that, after ohang ng a. piece of silver in George's clfl‘ee house, and paying twopenoe for his dish of coffee, he was helped into his chariot (he W95 than very lame and infirm), and wmt home. Some time after he re‘ tamed t: the same coffee house (11 purpose to acquaint the woman who kept: in that she had giv n him a had half penny. and de- m_uded another in exchange for it. Sir James is stated to have then had about $200,000 pu‘ annum coming in, and was at a loss whom to appoint his neir. » The neighborhood where Msry Luchorne died seems to be st:ll‘fsmous for its misers. In 1877 there died at Woolwich, England. a. Mr. John Clarke, aged 86. He is described as being a man of educntim, but a. very singular character ; although reputed as immensely wea'thy. he was wry miserly in his habl's, and lived to the last In a. squalid level in the poorest part of VVoolwieh ; the greater p)rticu of his life was spent ’n the accumulation of backs, of which he left a. large sttra. It was reported that the frrnt shutters of his house had not been open for over thirty years ; he ner er took a regular meal, nor did he know the tastes of wines 0r spirits. Yet, notwithstanding that he lived in such a. den and suffered such priva- u'ons, he reached an octogenarinn age, and died wu-th 52001000 or thereabouts. It is pretty certain that misers of both sexes existsd years ago, as they do in our own day. and the following notes concern- ing some notable exam [es of this class of moncmaniacs may not a un interesting. Of those who made it a. rule of their lives to “gather gear by every wle," the case of M. Osterwald, who died at Psris in 1791, is re markshle, as showing that the richest mm in a. city may alto be the most miserable 011°. He was the srn of a po r minister, and began life as a clerk in a. binking-house at Hamburg. where he acquired a small sum, which he augmensed uy his specula- tions in business and his econmicil mode of living : he afterwards came to Psris, where he accumulated his enormous fortune. He was a bachelorâ€"the expenses of a w fe and childnn be ng incompatible with his frugal mode of living. He had ftl‘ a servant a. poor wretoh. whom he never permitted to lflttl‘ his apartmnnt ; he had always promis- ed that at his death he should be laudsome- lv recompensed, and acerrdingly he left him a. pittance of six months’ wages and a suit of clothes, but. as he expressly stated, "not the mist new.” A few days before his death some of his acquaintances, who saw that he was reduced to the last ex- tremity by want of nourishmezt, proposed to him to have some soup. "Yes, yes," he replied. "It is easy to talk of soupâ€"but what is to become of the meat 2” Thus died one who was reported to be the r‘cbest min in Paris. more from want of care and pro- per notrishment than disease. He is stat- ed to have left to his relations, whom he, had probably never seen, the sum of £3 000,000. Under his holster was found 800 000 in peper m ney. Mr. Bens(n was quite at a. loss how to reply to these candid utterances. It seemed to me that: her teauty tad robbed him of all power of speech. She then turned to me wish an amused smile, and I could see that she was gratified by my look of ad. mimtion. Famous Glubbers of Gold and the Wealth they Hid. Thcra is every reason to believe that the boards of money and Valuabws one often reads of as having been discovuad by work- men while engaged in pulling down old houses ha\e been secreted by miBEI‘B; the result is that. in many cases, pro erty thus found is taktn possession of fly persons whom the misu‘s never inttnied to benefit namelyâ€"their heirs-at-Iaw and next of kin. “You do not say ‘V‘Velcomn to Jesmondl’ " she renarked playfully. "That is because Miss Gordon is here, and you think it would lardly he in good 1Mam. You are right, but Miss Gordon and I are already very good friends.” MISERS AND THEIR HOABDS. (TO BE CONTINUED.) Sewer pipes are sometimes hid, bit we 11 var heard of any being hatuhad. Don't do it. 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It raises more com to the acre, than ;anything else the world can supply. Safe, sure and painless. Take no substitute. Only 26 cents. Try your hand. A good crop guarranteed. Beware of flesh-eatinngubstitutes. N. C. Polson & 00., proprietors, Kingston. A milkman is justified in making the as . serti.n that he is "pump-kins.” Young Men lâ€"Besd This. The Voltaic Belt 00., of MarshellfiMioh. ofl‘er to send their celebrated Electro- Voltaic Belt and other Electric Appliances on trial for thirty days, to man (young or old) alflcted with nervous debility, loss of vitality and mmhood, and all kindred troubles. Also for rheumatism‘ neuralgia, paralysis, and many other diseases. Com- plete restoration to health, vigor and mm- nuod guaranteed. No risk is incurred as thirty days trial is allowed. Write them at once for illustrated pamphlet free. Active. pushing 111.911 (.1an ;h;108â€"IIB mylhmom beta co consumers. Sulariea from E to W nu gem! lamp for pmioulm. J “fit. at , oron . tuna. Tue “as re and yellow leaf " Is not the hay- day of lnfe. * * *‘ * Rupture, pile tumors, fistu; Ins and all diseases of lower bowel (except cancer), radically cured. Address, World’s Dispensary Medical Association, Buffalo, N.Y., and enclose two (3st.) stamp for book. French Grape Brandy, distilled Ex- tract of Water Pepper or Smart-Weed Jamaica Ginger and Camphot Water, as combined in Dr. Pierce's Compound Ex- tract of :mart-Weed, is the best possible remedy for colic, cholera morbus, diar- roeha, dysentery cr bloody-flux ; also to break up colds, fevers, and inflammatory attacks. 50 cts. Keep it on hand. Good for man or beast. "I do not like thee, Dr. Fel‘. The reason why, I cannot tr”.- It has often been wondered at, the bad odor this oft-quoted doctor was in. 'Twas probably because he, being one of the old- school doctors, made up pills as large as bullets, which nothing but an ostrich could bolt without nausea. Hence the dislike. Dr. R. V. Pieroe’s “Pleasant Purgative Pellets" are sugar-coated, and no larger than bird-shot, and are quick to do their work. For all derangements of the liver, bowels and stomach they are specific. The “palmy” days exidently refer to childhood. How People Enter a Car. ‘ Have you ever noticed how different people enter new? It is a. study. the ex- perienced traveler drops into the first v8.- oant seat; if there are more than one, he takes the one on the shady side. Hue are two In lies: they fuss two or three seats ; they are all Alike, but neith: 1' seems just the thing. They pass down the aisle, pass m( re seats, walk back again to where they came in, then carry their luggzge back to the texts they first looked at. and c‘rop down exhausted. Now comes a party just from the farm. They don't ride much; the old man 11 ads the pa rty, and carries the baby ; the madam drags two sm 11 boys, and the four take the side seat just by the door, look around with a. satisfied air, seem to think they are in luck to get inside. But it was a w ll western passenger whose en- trance was peculiar. He had been accus- tomed t) riding in s'age coaches; the door 0! a. stage ’3 on the side, and is about the size of a. car window. The passenger knew of no reason why a. (a' shoull have a. door in the end, so when his first train rolled up to the platf: rn he a.” the window, it was onen, and it was big enough, so he got inâ€" - “ Lucifer” is the name of a Kama“ paper. Who dares make light of it? J 10”, concession lat; choice land. good buildings. chard, and fencing. G. S. KING. Oannington. BOB. Guwwu' & 00., Canon. "when1 But. 0:: pet. md‘Wonkgggutjle may“ panda. om Tne song of the mill is always hopper- NE HUNDRED ACRESâ€"Townsmp’nmox M E II viii T70 choice laud. good building. VS;KING.V Gap]: install. 201.