The following text may have been generated by Optical Character Recognition, with varying degrees of accuracy. Reader beware!

Nob'that I am in prison here, either. Nobody wanted me to come hereâ€"I came of my own free will. Indeed a great many people wanted me not to come, and Rosa among them, who thinks it very I wander away from the window and round the room aimlessly, my hands clasped behind me, my long blue gown trailing over the carpetâ€"the ugly shabby old-fashioned room which is “ my doleful prison this sixth of May,” as poor Anne Boloyn wrote in the Tower three hundred and fifty years ago. Not that this is the sixth of May. This is the sixth of March, and dear old uncle Tod’s birthday. He is seventy-two to-day, I glance at the open piano, but I cannot bring myself to sit down and finish that song. I had been longing to learn it; the Deane: raved about it, but I have had enough of it. It: was unkind of Olive not to comeâ€"we could have had a plea:- ant chat and drunk tea togetherâ€"Mary Anne has carried up the tee-things, the tea-pot stands under that hideous dark blue knitted cosy on the little square table near the fire. I do not care to drink tea all alone. ‘~-__.- .vuu.“ :. unavu the window convinced on this point, just as Mary Anne opens the door and admits the stranger, without a. question appar- ently, and certainly with but little delay in closing the door behind him. He may be related to the two maiden laldes whom the maid-ofâ€"sll-work calls “ the parlors," as I suppose she calls me “the urawing-room,” when relating all she knows of me and my affairs to some body else. I can distinguish the initials “G. B." printed in white on the black bag. “ G. B.” stands for nothing that I can think of on the spur of the moment but “Ginx's Baby.” The name is not sstisfactery, nor are my surmiseslikely to lead to any appil'eclable result. 1 leave He is coming to stav. evidently, for he carries in one hand a black leather valiee, in the oth¢r what looks like a large pic- ture, in a kind of reugh wooden case. Of himself 1 can see nothing but a dark overcoat and the round but already men- tioned, except the glovea hand which holds his valiae, his figure. s-a visible from my stand-print. being so foreshortened that it presents very little beyond the felt hat and the toes of his boots. I wonder who he is 1 Sandy n tradesmen, though at first I had fancied he must ha a glazler, with his tools in the black bag and his pane of glass in the wooden case. And certainly not Mrs. Wenchope's non, for he in a small boy of eleven and to my cer- tain knowledge does net wear a round hat, That is not the Deanes’ carriage, that hansom drawn up before the door. Nor is this Olive Deane running up the steps. I draw back from the window infinitely disappointed. It is horribly unkind of Olive not to come ; she drves not know how lonely I am in thsso stupid 0“ lodgings, how long the afternoons and evenings am. She cannot c \mprehond a feeling of lonelinesh with that great houseful of broihers and sisters In Dexter Square. But she might keep a. promise when she makes one. I shall scald her when I meet her at the singingclass to- morrow, and tell her she (it/EB not crab-36y .3.â€" Fri But, iflfis nlzyzidOlive, who is it? The hansom has driven away. but the door has not yet opened ; and I flatten my nose against the glass to see the door-steps, which are partly concealed by the open ironwork of the balcony. A yonng man is standing below waiting, patiently or inipstientlyâ€"the top of his round felthat ‘ giving no clue *0 his moodâ€"until such time as Mrs. Wanchnpe’s mald-of-all- work shall see fit to ascend from tho bagment storey to open the street-door. A knock at the streetdoor, and a knock wherein the knocker gives no un- certain sound. I hear it through the melancholy wail of my own high-pitched voice, through the plsnoforte accompani- ment. I leave the instrument and rush to the window. Olive Deane promised to make her mother set her down here, in- stead of going to the Rollestons' “At home ” in Berkeley Street. I hope it may he Olive, though I had given her up half an hour ago. I have spent such a. stupid afternoon cooped up in this dingy room that more than once I have been tempted to break my promise to uncle Tod and sally forth into the street. Why uncle Tod thinks it quite permissible to go out in the morning for my musicâ€"les- son, yet out of the question that I should put my head out or doors alone in the afternoon, passes my comprehension, I ‘ suppose he knows, or thinks he known ; more about London than I do. Poor dear uncle Tod 1 A drawingmum in a. sombre house in a gloomy London streetâ€"unmistakably the drawing-room of a lodging 110058. A girl sitting before a pianoâ€"an Erard, hired by the monthâ€"looking at the music on the desk before her and yawn- ing undisguisedly, it being no breach of politeness to yswn when there is nobody but oneself in the room. The drawing- room is the drawing-room of the house No. 33, Carleton Shreet, and the girl in myself. My name is Al‘ie Somers Scott, and I have come up to London for the pox-pone of having singing-lessons. I had a lesson this morning, and I have gone over it again and again bill I am tired to death of words and music both. Bob I have aetit; up before me now with the laudable in~ tennion of going over it once more before it grows too dark to see. To that end I play the prelude through conscientiously, and than I lift up my voice and sing : STRENGER THAN LIFE. , Where we phitedrye’aieririgh'tl Oh I Wishâ€" ,' He thinks I do notlova him Ir He believed each word I said; Ard he sail! d away in narrow Ere the sun had left its bed. I'd have told the truth this morning. But the ship was out of sighr. Oh, I wish there Waves wouldgbglng him CHAPTER I. I , 7 fl .. r - v v v V L MU": We've got a gentleman-ledger Thirty-three." “ A gentleman lodge! ’3 ” “ Yes. He arrived about t' ntes ago, with a black valiae a wooden ccse." “Who is he?” “ I don’t know. Mrs. Wauc told us a word about him mm _..._ -v any PAuugl" I won’t turn backâ€"yet) awhile. And it’s not so had here, after all, only a little lonelyâ€"and the music-lessons are great: fun." “ How do you like the new song 7 ” “ I have murdered it till it threatens to haunt me for the rest of my life,” I laugh, glancing at the piano. Then, struck by a sudden recollectionâ€"“Oh, Olive, I've a. piece of news fer you! “rniwo nnl- .. ....\_1.l-__ , , “ Oh, because I won’t give aunt Rosa. the satisfacfiion of going home before the end of the month 1 She would only tell me for the hundredth time that it was a. pity I didn’t know my own mind." “ Then why don’t you come to us ’1 " “ And practice scales half the day for your delectation and that of your visitors ? No, thank you, my dear. I came up to get singing-lessons. not to amuse myself ; 2nd, having put_my hand to the plough. “ 50 I should have supposed. You must find it lonely here in the evenings, Allie "â€"lookinz round the room. “Lonely!” I echo. “You may say so, my dear ! I never felt so lonely be- ere ‘n my life." “ Then why do you stay here, you rid!- cnlous girl 7 ” “ Oh, because I won’t give aunt Rosa. «.1... -_Ll,,t~ . a “ I don't do crewel-work;1 I don’t: want to insult Mm She Inde that ppay herself." “Utterly hideous!" Olive answers, looking at. it through her glasses. “ Why don’t; you throw it behind the grate and work a new one for yourself in crewels on peacock velveteen, like what I am making for Ellinor ? ” “Ellinor is to come out next season, and then mamma. will have three of us on her hands." Olive rays meditatively. “ Bab Poppy is engaged.” “ Oh, yes, Poppy ls engaged I And I’m going to retire into private life and take up aest-heticlam or women’s rights I " Olive laughs. taking her cup of tea out of my handa. “ I can't: compliment you on the beauty of your 'tea-eervlce. Allie. You won't find it very hard to ‘llve up to ’ that tea-pot] " " Or the obey l "I any, holdlng it u for her impaction. Isn’t it ‘ ubter,’ Olive 7 " “Yes, if I were a. beauty, perhaps, and likely to make a. sensation. But I‘m not a. beauty-quite the contrary; and, be- sides, it would be a joke to ‘ come out ” at one-and-tweuty." 7/“LIy dear Olive, I don’t cal-ea pin about, balls and garden-parties.” “That’s because you know nothing about them.” “ 011, is it? I’ve been to garden-par- Hea at the Tower: and at Dumandle. They were enough for me.” “But you on; aociety, Allie." and “ Uncle Tod (ioesn't care for London sociqty.” “ She can't any a word when mamnn is chaperoning you. It is not to be a grand ntfair, you knowâ€"only a nice llttla car- pet-dance. We'll call for you in the car- riage at nine." "But; aunt Rosa will object to it,” I say, shaking my head. "As if you really minded your aunt Rosa l You know it’s a shame you haven’t regularly ‘ come out,’ Allieâ€"mamma says so, and everybody.” “I'don‘t kno§v what aunt Rosa. will say. I came up to town for ainglng lessons." “That’s why I want you to come on Friday. You haven‘t been at a dance sings; y_ou gauge up to fiown." “ Oh', I can send down for the dress I were at the Hatcnells’ I We don’t; go out much at the Vicarage, so don’t to shocked when I tell you that I have only one ball- dres in the world." m to the Reliesboni’ dance on Friday. Won’t that be fun ? ” “ But I have no evening-dresses here, Olive I ” “Then you must send down for one, unless you choose to buy a. new one." “But it wasn’t my fault,Allie ; mamma would not let me go ;and. oh, I’ve got an invitation for youâ€"you’re to come with m to the Rollesbops’ dance on Friday. “ I intended to give you a. great scold- ing,” I confess laughingly, " But. now that I have got you, I can’t find it in my heal-17 to say anything.” _ An hour and a. half I It is an eternity of enjoyment to look forward to. I put Olive into my own hammock-chair, and take 013' her fur tippeb. I turned my hpad. Olive Deane is standing in the doorway, with her gold- rimmee glasses on her saucy nose, laugh- ing at me. “You wretch I ” In my aaluatlon. “ Where have you bean all the afternoon?" “ At the Rollestnns’â€"mamma would not 1915 me off. But I got her to put me down on her way home, and she has pro- ;iniaed to send Fred for me at half-pasts ve.” Defines. “Why, Alfie. you look exactly like Mr Millais's picture of “Yes, or No." outre for ayoung girlllke me to live lodgings in London all by myself, in she objected very mush to my comingand to town, even for the laudable purpoa up imppving myself. ‘9 of I knewotbese furnished lodgings 15n be eminently respectableâ€"was noh Mm. Wauchope housekeeper at Woodhay Manor when I was a. child ’lâ€"and I have promised uncle Tod to be very steady, RD 1'6 know. Mrs. Wauchope never word about him. She said there He arriveé’ abbut twepty pain- .:4.L _ LI, ,1 not; to go anywhere witfiout the V - ..â€"...u ‘vv ‘loulgfgoiqgrh‘ane before the ,. -_-J mAu’ black valiaé find a huge £116 to be introduced into 1 came up to amuse myself ; to hhe plough, hlle. And it’s ,‘Bnd. besides, rs. Wauchope. at Nur'nbéi- ' “I don't want it. He leba me have my horse and my dogs; and nobody dresses much at Yattenden.” So “Ginx's Baby " drops out; of the conversntlon. And so completely have we forgotten his existence that, when Fred Deane comes in, we never think of “ Then why don’t you make him you pore ?” v u 7 , 7W â€"â€"-vâ€"â€"â€"Av “KAUMPU- “Then it is sure to be all right,” Olive says, with s biéh of as complete satisfac- tion as if the crepe and silk “ confection" were absolutely before her eyes. “ I wish I could order my dresses from Ms- dsm Garoupe." “ I can afl‘ord it ; I get so few of them. " “ Afford it 1 " Olive laughs, shrugging her shoulders. “ 011, “all, you know uncle Tod doesn’t allow me much for dress! " 7 “I'm affaid so. Allie, what color is your evening-dress 7 " “Blue, my dearâ€"the most delicate shade of bird’s-eggs blue." “ Gauze or gren M11119 7 " "Nelnher, silk and crepe. Oh. it 153 very decent dress! I was entravagant enough to get it from Madame GE?0H})6.” 66"‘L-.. I; . ,_,, .. u a.» Llqu u nu nuuw» any ' Ur. b. ' " “I am afraid the ‘four pair buck ’ is an artist; as yet unknown to fame," I laugh, poking the fire intoa bright cheery blaze. It has grown dark already in Carleton Street ; but I do not care to light; the gas yet; It makes the evenings seem so interminably long to light the gas at half-push five. “ ‘ G. B. ' ” Olive repea‘n musingly‘ “ Fred knows a great many young artists. I'll Ink hlm_if h-e _]fnoyv§ any ‘ G. B. ’ ” You could cvome with me to play propriety, you know ; or would it be necessary to have up Mrs. Wauohope ? I wish we knew his name.” “ I shall soon find It out. Ginx'a Baby, I call himâ€"the initials on his valiae were ‘ G. B.’ " “I should, very much. I wonder lf he ‘akes portraits, Allie? Wouldn’t it be fun if I got hlm to palm; _my picture 7 Vv_ ‘__l.1 A “I don't; mind his, friendw, or him- self either. Only I know aunt Rosa will think my being here more ontre than ever. I my, Olive, wouldn’t: you like to see his studio 1 ” “ You'll never see him," Olive says, “ unless you happen to meet hlm on the stairs, and that’s not very likely.” And, as for his friends, I dare say Mrs. Wauc- hope will give him a hint not tobriug them about the bonus while you are here.” “ Indeech dozf't know,” Ianswer more seriously. “ I only hope she won’t know anything about it for the next fortnight. I aha'nt tell her." “ What will aunt: Rosarrsrsfyo?“ Olive ex claims gleliglltgdly. A Pérmitted to take away the tea-things, Muy Anne returns with them to the lower raglons, whence we had Evolved her. The moment the door closes behind her Olive and I begin to laugh, u xxn . ~n “On a sketching tour,” Mary Anne an- swers glibly, “ up in Scotland or some- where. Oan I take away the teabhings now, ma'am ? ” “ Where has he been for the last fort- night?” I inquire, thinking of aunt Ros». a name for himself. He do work hard enough sometimpn, but it’s only by fits and starts. And he has a lot of idle Voung friends that come bothering himâ€"- I don't, doubt: but he’d do well enough if they let him alone." “ 0h, Ino-â€"a painter! And a poor thing he makes of it, though the mistress do say thgt, i‘f‘he 791-ng at it, he’d make “ He’s an artist,” Mary Anne answers, with such an inimitable air of pity, not. to say contempt, that Olive and I were abso- éutely afraid to look each other in the ace. “Is he a photographer?” Olive asks innoqently. “Then how do you know he in poor ’I ” OIiva inquires with interest. “In course he wouldn’t live up four pairs of stairs if he had much money to spare. for all he wants to be near the sky- light.” _“What does he want with the sky light 7" “ What is his name? " Olive Inquires, without a. change of countenance. “ I forget: his name. We call him the Count." " Is he 3 Count '1 " “ Oh, noâ€" no more of a Count than you are I But he's so dark and foreign-look- ing, and no short-like of money, we calls him the Count. Not that he’s mean or thahâ€"~ he's as proud as Lucifer, and wouldn’t owe anybody}. fin-thing.” v “The atticka." Mary Anne gnawers, putting some finishing touchen to the coal with her fingers. “ Wlio was the gentleman who came in just now 2 ” I ask, trying to speak with a gravity whic‘h_migh_t_excusg the quesbirm. Mary A'nne put; coal en the fire pon- 66mg!» “ You rang, miss,” she says. look of atolid inquir; “ Oh. yea! " Olive answers, in ( sprightly way, “ You want coal firg, Allie, didn’t you '9" “ We need not expect her for ten minutes or so," I say ; and, pending her arrival, we drift into talk about our sing- ing-lessons, of the concert we are to take part in with the rest of the pupils on the twenty-first. Poppy'sbridesmaids‘ dresses, and a hundred other thinga. When at lash Mary Anne does make her appear- ance, we stare at her withavague surprise in both our faces. “ Well, he wasn’t in the house then. I suppose 1 ” Oiive says, laughing. “ Whit} 1s he like, Allie? Young or old, dark or fair? ” “ Why don't you ask Mary Anne? ” “ She has not been up here since he came into the house.” “ Then ring for her now, and we’ll cross-question her," Olive suggests, with animation. Olive is more up to mischief than Iatn, nnbwithahandlng her spectacles. I ring the bell. was nobody in the house but those twc old maiden ladies down-stairs." give uibe a. on the with a. fl _- _.. vu uni-II . r r r you need tw0 horses 7 Brother 07, of the Methodist church, has only one horse, and Brother D., of the Baptist church, drives only one horse, and I drive only one. Why do you need two horses 7” Brother A. â€"- Because I am not a one - horse preacher.” A trustee of the Providence Public Li- brary has undertaken to cure the small boy of his interest in the dime novel, and can be said to have succeeded. He has met the antecedent with its consequent. He has gathered into a scrapbook the ad- ventures of the boys who read dime nov- els, and ha made it his business in a quiet way to ask the boys one by one who are interested in these stories to spend an hour or two in reading, not the imaginative story, but the way in which the small boy has attempted to realize how boys ought to live and what they ought to be allowed to do. It is said that the dime novel boy usually reads the scrapbook, which is rapidly increas- ing in size as the fresh exploits of the dime novel adventurers are added to it, about two hours. He then lays it down in disgust, and nothing can induce him to return to those stories again. He asks the person in charge of the reading room for a better class 01" books. This cure of a disease with its own poison has been no efl'ecxive in Providence that the trustee in question is thinking of taking out a pat- ent for the process,lest other libraries and the heads of families and the guardians of small boys generally may appropriate his invention without due credit. This gen- tleman is the first among moderns to give point to the old saying, “ Look on this picture and then on that,” and it is the other picture that is powerful enough to wind up the dime novel business. These are the realism in literature, and this man goinv further than Mr. Howells or Mr. James, or even M. Zola, has substituted the pastepot and scissors for the imagina- tien, gathering his horrors and tragedies from actual life, in the firm belief that if truth is not stranger than fiction, it has a wonderful power at the right moment over an awakened mind. ‘ 'Brot_her A‘ , how other. Yet rate gave him one road a careless young laugh It was I It rings in my ears still. To drive it away I throw down my book and go to the piano. Apiece of music lies on the car- pet ; I take it up and set it open on the dank before me. It is a tongâ€"a favorite of mlne~“The Cross-Roads "â€"and 1 play the prelude dreamily, lingering over each familiar chord. In the days to come I may wonder vaguely what led me to sing this song to nighh. On to the very last verse, I sing it through : "Wee! not made for him? We loved nanh Yet he must be as loner 851 am, up there at the top of the house. The even- inga must seem junt as dreary and long to him as they do to me. Not a bit of it! Before I have finished my dinner I hear him run down ataxrs, cross the hall. and go out at the front door. On the door- step he pauses a moment to lighta match, and then he walks away down the street quickly, as though he knew where he was going, and Is glad to go. How lonely it looks I How wearisome it will be wlthoua a voice to break the al- lence! I envy people who have other people to talk cuâ€"I envy Mra.Wauchope â€"â€"â€"I even envy Mary Anne. That boy’s laugh is an ofl‘ance to meâ€"I, who have nothlng to make me laugh. shall presently try of the evening wi! monds- andvrninins How lonely it look will be without. a lance! I envv n “ What's to be the color ot your dress, Mllfl Scott ? " Fred lnquires, thinking no doubt of Covent Garden. “Blueâ€"cerulean blue.’ “ ‘Taking cwlor from the skies, can heaven’s truth be wanting '1 ’ " he quotes sentimentally. looking into eyes which were certainly not “ made for earnest granting,” blue as they may be. “ Come home, Fred ; we shall be late for dinner. Send him away. Allle ; you’ll have lots of time to flirt on Friday even- ing. Good-bye, my dear, and mind you 'write down to Yattenden for your dress. I‘ll see you at Madame Cronhelm’s to- morrow. Farewell till we meet again 1 ” An hour later, while I am engaged in demolishing my solitary chicken 1 hear voices overheadâ€"high overheadâ€"Mrs. Wauchupe’s wice and another, and then a cnroleas hoyiah laugh. I glance at my closed door, at the great empty silent room, at the chair by the fire, where I he knows of any artist whose initials are “ G. B." Fred wants to engage me for the first waltz on Frldag evening, and, as he dances very badly, want to reserve myself for hi brother Gus, who in sure to ask me, and who denpea very well. gakjng him ‘if he knows of aaking hlm if The Dime Novel Cure. e him one road. and me another I" (TO BE CONTINUED. looks #095 it{_ hanen that to ivhlle away; the real: 11 aid of a dish of al- and Oct-ave Feuillet. him? We loved each _â€"â€"vrv|vu, A HUD “Penjdeh” written, the real sound being "Punjdeh ;" that is “five villages," “punj” being five, and “deh"a territorial division, not necessarily forming a single village, but generally including several inhabited places. much as a village or parish at home often includes subordinate hamlets. An analogous instance in our own Indian Empire is "Punjab," which signifies five rivers, from “punj” five, and “ab,” water. Again, “Pul-i-khishti," meaning a brick or masonry bridge, from “pul,” bridge, and “khisht,” brick, should have the short accent over thy “n” in “pul,” so as to produce the sound of pull (a boat) in English. In both in- stances the names arcPersian.â€"[Pall Mall Gazette. Islt not very desirable (writes an Anglo- Indlen correspondent) that during this Russoâ€"Afghan business the names of places on the disputed boundary should be so spelt as to produce when possible the actual sound of the name in the lan- guage of the country concerned ’I N ow, in all the pspers, without exception, I see (1D___‘J_Ln,,,r.. The company controlling this great in- vention has been organized upon a capital of $2‘000,000, but no stock is for sale, all being held as an investment. Persian Names In Afghanistan it one of the most wonderful achievements of the ago. Should it: only do half what is claimed for it, and that it shows it can do, it would practically revolutionize tele- gm:th- ,, , _____ __r-v-... uvwruulcfl, uuunuru, brokers, merchants, and the general pub- lic. There are no formidable complica- tions in its construction, and expert elec- tricians who have examin_e<_i igpzonounce :4. ,___ At” sent over a wire by this instrument can be read by sound, so that it is much more favorable to the privacy often desirable in business than either the Morse system or the telephone. Inasmuch as the in- strument can be adjusted to any system of wire communication and will work to as great distances as is required in tele- graphy, it will be of inestlmable value to railroad and express companies, bankers, L__,L , The instrument used is both a. trans- mitter and a receiver. The two instru- ments used in this exhibition were con- nected by about one hundred miles of wire coiled about the oflices. Each ap- peared in its front part to be simply an ordinary type-writer, with the letters, nu- merals, etc., on raised keys. Behind this rises s. small column, with blank paper wrapped around it and moved up line by line as required by a simple de- vice. Inside that column is a small ham- mer that strikes outwerdly,so as to, when- ever a key is touched, press the paper against the periphery of a horizontal wheel that lies between the keyboard and the column. On that periphery, in high relief, are the letters of the alpha- bet, numerals, and points for punctuation. The wheel spins around with lightning-like rapidity as the keys are successively touch- ed by an expert. When it has to recede in an alphabetical order it flies back to a fixed point, as does the wheel of agold and stock indicator, but very much more swiftly. All the deli- cate and intricate electrical attach- ments necessary are below, and when un- derstood are much less complicated than they seem, their apparent complication being caused by their multiplicity. A separate wire leads from each key tea I in ,le common wire, and each of these key-connected wires serves either for transmission or reception of messages. The sending or receiving of a particular letter or figure is governed by the strength of current required for just that individ- ual one, and for no other. It seems very strange that all those various impulses should be flashed alone! a. wireâ€"even in opposite directions at the same timeâ€" without jostling each other or getting mixed up, but they do. Many messages Were sent and received during tests by non-experts at a speed of from forty to fifty words per minute with greater accu- racy than is usually shown by expert “sound” operators, and that speed, it was afi‘irmed, could be very greatly increased. . A noticeable and valuable feature of the system is that it prints clearly in the sight of the person transmitting a. message just what is being sent to the receiver, so that errors are avoided, or if committed are readuty Ioorrect_ed._ The messages An invention has recently been perfec- ted at Philadelphia that bids fair to revo- lutionize all existing systems of electrical communication, both telegraphicand tale. phonic. The secret of it has been care. fully guarded by the inventors and by the small company of large capitalists who control it, while it was being fully covered by patents, both American and foreign. Now that all is secure, it is to be suddenly sprung upon the public by an exhibition at the Continental hotel, prob- ably during the present week, as one of the gigantic scientific surprises of the cen- tury. To state in brief What it is, it is nothing less than making telegraphy as simple, rapid. and easily within the com- mand of everybody as is the operating of the caligraph or type-writer. Efl'ecting what is claimed for it. in will be the means of greatly reducing the cost of telegraphy, ‘of enabling the opening of some forty thousand new telegraph stations in rail- road and express offices throughout the United States where there have hitherto been none, and of taking the place gener- ally of the telephone. Any person who can pick out a word on the keys of a. type-writer can transmit a message by the system accurately and With rapidity, only restricted by the. speed of the pick- ing, while, as for receiving messages, the instrument does that automatically,wheth- or there is anybody superintending its op- erations or not. There was a private ex- hibition of the system recently, the re- sults attained at which seemed to fully sustain all that is claimed for this most remarkable invention. An Astonishlng Inventlon That to Supersede all others. v , REVoLUTION If. NG TELE- GRA " i3: ....v......; we a'wire byghia {pathâ€"117mm can'be V._V_., vauvrvluu, 1 Be” :tlen, the real sound being that in “five lvfllggea," .M __.1 u; u .. ‘as to, when. a the paper a horizontal 1e keyboard Threatens