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“ Yes,” I respond ditfidentfy, “ but Jud- ith is not Miss Napiue ; she is Mrs. Thorn- « ton.” An inexplicable change passes over Mr. Thorold’s countenaucu, darkening it ter- l‘ile._ w ' so i stayeu wui do not look i rather delirious i 1 was better. I s “ \Vho are yowu “ I am Martin Napine. Nay, at me as if I were a leper or a madman. I .am accused of ahideous crime, of being a tljess SUmGWhaF- ,parrieide ; but my hands are as clean as i SW8 1,113 the .h‘ fiyours. Misfortune, inischance, has dogged I that “1‘70 thh ’me for many years, but I have not stained ,vbe “oflmrnage my title of ‘ gentleman.’ My defence will my “fie i but t soon be before the public. Do you care to ‘ Tyler’s Power t‘ he“ it privately 1w my father for c I went to Napii d t I! ' . . . . . , ' g " nhut your doors and sit down; it is a 1‘?Wl)t1°“' I ll disclosed all t lon ' sad storv and will need patient hearâ€" I ‘ 3 ' ' l ‘ ' ‘ terribly li'trd w in Against my father’s Will, in express . ‘ . ' 1 not only blighti n1: ace of his commands, I married Cicely , , 1‘} Le: \ ie. I loved her ; that is my only ex- “Went 811'1 3! “'1 «Aide for my disobedience. \Ve loved each n? her sincerely, but neither her people nor ‘ “ ‘inine regarded this ; we were constrained '0‘ (Judy! and? to take iii-\tters into our own hands~at least that also i but c I was. We left our homes and married. I I went abroad' was three-and-twenty, she a childish girl. have “1 home! 3‘ Judith is like and yet unlike lief; Cicely her? It‘was bfit .had none of Judith’s savoirfaiw. She was than hnerdle‘ «eminently a woman to be treated caressingly. mom)”, b“er we were very happy for a while ; Cicely dm'lmgs fmd In] :fretted about her father’s displeasure, but I “F15 Puymg "151 persuaded her that time would soften his re- Slde Of her Who .sentment and his ohduracy. I believed this “ I missed 111‘ invself, hoped it most earnestly, as the went to l’etre, weeks went on. I had not much money ; that I could go my father had vowed to cut me off without morning. It s the proverbial shilling. \Ve had exoensive ere I' got home. lodgings, and lived more extravagantly than our apartments rour means warranted. Cicely had never come to me had hid a \Vli‘h uiigratified, and I had hitherto and she died cli “given the reins to my tastes. Therefore we ‘ I pain you witl: thought not of poverty till it stood at our that I had a lit threshold ! I was forced to see that our 1‘! My darlin halcyon days could not continue; I was The white rigid nearly peiinilcss. I had written pleading was not Cicely. letters to my father and mother, letters . wild, despe‘ate which had been returned unopened. I was on the walls ref at my wits’ end. I was ashamed to beg, ping, eto., attrz‘ and I was not used to work. I sold a few resolved what ] costly jewels, and hid my anxiety from (lies and chain, and 'ely. She was in very delicate health, need- v London Dock inc much care and attention. I thought, consider thatI if we could tide over this period, and if a lit- unburied? I a t e son should be bestowed on us, Cicely er, and fled fro: in person should ask that we might be re- ‘Vllcll we reach had wrecked would do for ii ” ‘Vhat I” “5371);: Squire is dead. Judith married at his desire, before he died.” “VMarriedf’ he groans deeplyâ€"v“ mar- ried to Silas Thornton 1 J udithâ€"my daugh- The plash of raindrops wakes me. \Vhen I enter the breakfast-parlour our trim little garden bids fair to become a pond, the rain is coming down so heavily. 1 eat my break- fast trumiuilly. I have no longing t.) walk, ride, or drive. I have letters to write, books to read, wurk to arrange with Letty. Also ibis \Vill’s sermon day ; he can shut himself in his study, and, if it shall please him, we can have a cosey family eveninoI to- He comes in, looking, thin, worn, ill, yet singularly elate ;looking-but it seems pre- poster us to say itâ€"a. younger man than when he, left us, I scam him with amazement : very heartily does he grip \Vill’s hmul and mine. \Ve introduce him to Letty. After «w few cummonplaoes, she disappears to super- intend baby’s toilet. “ Have you been ill 3” Will interrogates. “ Yes, I have haul a touch of low fever, I have been to America since I was here.” "“ America 1” . "“ Ay, it was coming back I was ill. Miss Delu rah, I have come to beg you to go with me to Ellerslie. I have u very important communication to make to Miss Napine. “W ill you assist me with your presence?” U “ “'ere you dull while we were away 2’” Letty asks, us I butter some toast for her. “ N0 ; Judith called.” “ Judith ‘3” Letty speaks, but I notice that \Vill‘s hand shakes so that he cannot cut very suc- cessfully. ~ “ Eggs, she difl not stay long \leo is Some one is coming to the house. I spring from my chair. “ Mr. Thorold I” I exclaim ; and the bell rillgs loudly. p-xmed from banishment. I cheered myself w th the vision of reinstatement, not dream- ing of the avalanche about to destroy the . beauty of our home for ever. I remember vividly my last day of lightheartedness. I had sat with Cicely all the morning, touelr ing up some sketches of hers. After dinner I went for a stroll, and, having sauntered round the park, strode homewards, carrying some flowers for my darling. The servant who admitted me toldme that Mrs. Napine had a lady with her. A wild idea seized meiâ€" my mother! I stole noiselessly lip-stairs halt« ed at the drawing-room door. No, it was not her voice. \Vhat words did I hear '3 Surely I was mad ! “ ‘ You are not Martin Napine’s wife. ram, alas !’ “ I lmrst in. Cicely, with a great cry, ’flnng herself into my arms. “ ‘ Martin, Martin,’ she screamed, ‘ stop that woman ; she says she is your Wife 1’ I that “ ‘ I run his wife !’ Oh, how pitiless and cruel was the ringing tone 1 ‘ Martin Na- pine, you dare not deny that you recognized Marian Tyler as your wife years ago in Scotland. ’ “ I looked at tlre intruder ; then great drops stood out on my forehead. I shielded my darling’s face, afraid that she would see my terror. “ I answered not. A thousand memories ‘were crowding upon me. I was dizzy with fear. Cicely raised herself in righteous wrath. “ ‘ It is a lie,’ she said, her gentle face scarleta‘ a. base, wicked lie 1’ “ ‘Is it ‘2’ the intruder returned. ‘ Ask him.’ “ Heaven help me I I loosened my lov- .n clasp, and broke down. All her tender 3 ection was astir; she soothed me. At lengthIput her aside and confronted my foe. “ ‘ It is true that I said you were my wife, but my words were of no value ; you were then married to Tom Cuncombe.’ WITHOUT A STAIN. “ ‘ I was not. Tom never married me. It suited our purpose to befool you; you were very straight-laced in those days. You would not have given your bosom friend a “ Yourdaughtfn‘ 2" “'ill is on his feet. m w: (CUNTIXUED). TOLD BY DEBORAI-I CAREY- i acknowledged her or paid her to be silent. The former I Iwould not do, the latter I could not. After stormy recriminations, we narted. I resolved to go to my father, tell ,‘ him what evil had befallen me, and implore t his aid. I could not believe that he would 1forsake me in the hour of darkness. The landlady expressed some alarm about Cicely, ‘so I stayed with her all night. She was i rather delirious ; but, when morning came, i was better. I succeeded in allaying her dis- tress somewhat. I told herâ€"Heaven for- Igive me the lieâ€"â€"that such a marriage as I that into which I had been inveigled could ,be no marriage ; that she and she only was 'my wife ; but that, as it was in Marian Tyler’s power to trouble me, I must go to ' my father for counsel. She did not object. n 1' [LANFL "___ éI assisted him with money and advice. He and the girl professed gratitude. During ;Vacation, at their earnest solicitation, I eon- _sented to go with them to the Highlands. Here unexpectedly an old friend of Dun- eomhe’s family discovered us ; he smelt lnis» Vehief, and would haYe spread disaster, had not I come forward and pretended that Mar- Iian was my wife, Thinking as I did that ; she was 'l‘om’s wife, I avowed this without 7 hesitation. I knew the Scotch marriage laws. Tom was wonderfully wary in avoid- [ing pitfalls. He had passed Marian off as his sister until Sir Rufus appeared. When Sir Rufus had gone, the whole affair was treated as a bagatelle. I \ 'as soon summon- .- ed to London to meet my father, and, from [then until the moment 1 heheld Marian ’I‘y- lcr in Cieely’s presence, I had not seen her. Q “ The woman returned, as she said she would. Cicely, shaken and ill, was in bed. I saw the woman alone. She vowed that l she wouldreharge me with perjury unless I third of your income if you imagined it was to support one who was not his wife. “'hcn old Sir Rufus Gray met us in Scotland I atuv Lt grand chance. Did I not tell you, with subs, that we should be utterly ruined if he conveyed word of me to Duneombe Hall; and did not you, to save us, declare yourself my husband T Yea ; by the laws of Scotland I then became yeurlegul wife.’ " It. was indeed so. Cicely looked at me imploringly ; but I could only kiss her again band Agni: If I could but get rid of this vile crczuure ! By dint of threats and re- , monstrances I managed this. She went, as- ’ suring me that she would be back ere long. 3 \Vhen once we were quit of her, I told Cic» ely allâ€"how my comrade, Tom Duucombe, had played me flerie#1‘()111, in whom I had ,4 trusted all my lifo. He and I had been schoolmates, friends, college chums. \Ve 'helped each other into many and out of many a. scrape. \Vllen he told me thth he ,had wedded a pretty, poor girl, and that he ' dared not confess the rush act to his. father, “ I missed my train ; I caught one that went to l’etre, only to find when there that I could go no further till the early morning. It was Thursday consequently ere I' got home. Ah me ! \Vhen I entered our apartments I knew the worst that could come to me had come. Cicely was dying ; and she died clinging to me. But why need i I pain you with my grief ? They told me that I had a little daughter. \Vhat cared I‘.’ My darling had flown to Paradise. . The white rigid figure they took from me {was not Cicely. I went into the streets, . wild, desperate. As Iwalked along, notices on the walls referring to emigration, ship- ping, ete., attracted my attention, and I . resolved what I would do. I sold my watch and chain, and that night sailed from the v London Docks for Montreal. Do you ( consider that I was heartless to leave Cicely z unburied? I accounted myself her murder- er, and fled from the land of my crime. “'heu we reached Montreal I was ill for several weeksâ€"so ill that I rose from my bed of sickness an old man. I heard no- . thing of my father’s murder. I stayed some time in America ; afterwards I wander- , ed nor 11, south, east, west.” “But Lady Napine believed you to be ' dead ‘3” i “ Yes, and the story of my death was singular. Australia was a likely place. I went there. On my road I fell in with a young fellow named John Martin, I, you may be aware, called myself Martin. Circumstances threw us much together. I \Ve fraternised. \Ve had both a few pounds, and we agreed to be partners. Exceedineg well we didâ€"made money fast. He thought and talked of going home. I had to go a few days’ journey into the country, and was away a fortnight! e When I returned he was dead and buried. \Vord had been sent to my mother that I Hvas dead and buried. My desk had been prised. M y mother‘s letters and likeness . had been forwarded to England. I was as- _ tonished. Very zealous had the med- ! dlers been. Hovvever, I let the the mistake be. I had no intention of revisiting the 1 old country. Later I felt a strange desire : to see my daughter. I could not overcome , it. I gave in to it, and embarked for my l native land. I adopted another name! called myself Thorold. My daughter must ' not know the injury I had done her. I had ,altered beyond recognition fortunately, I I thought, when I found that I was suspected E of being guilty of my father’s death.” "‘J ‘ ' , I went; to Napine. Shall I ever forget my reception? I did not see my mother. I disclosed all to Sir Percival. He was terribly hard with me. He said that I had not only blighted my own life, but an in- nocent girl’s, and probably my child’s. I had wrecked his hopes. One thing he would do for me. He would take charge of Cicely, and, if the babe should live, of that also ; but on one condition alone#that I went abroad. I consented. Cicely must have a home, and my mother would cherish her ; it; was better she should be at Napine than Ellertlie. I left; one line for my mother, beseeehing her to be good to my ,Ll v., VVVVVVVVVVV .VV ( (n 113;, and thenfn-nt “Iaitingvfor hepâ€"slfe was paying visits ~I left, to hurry to the side of her whom I loved so well. o a V v . “ \Vere you not anxmus to proclalm your innocence ‘3” “ Yes ; but mine was a prudent anxiety. My dear father was dead. He was dear to me, in spite of our estrangement. My mother was ill, aged. I must work cautious- ly if I would prove my innocence and estab- lish the guilt of the guilty. My father’s blood cried out to be avenged, and I must avenge it. I rented Ivy Cottage, came here, made friends with you, saw my child was all I desired, learned my mother was dying, believing that she was about to join her husband and son. I did not disturb her be- lief. ‘Why should I tell her I was living, r‘ Tlie min is less heavy," Mr. Thorold says . “ Miss Deborah, I must see my daughter’shusband, and gny daughterfl’» _ I Teave the rooquuicklyvâ€"notvso quickly, however, but that I hear \Vill sayâ€" “ The murderer I’ \Vho is he Y” Mr. Thorold shuts the door. W'hen I open it, VVill’s face is ghastly. and so harass her few reinsining hours 2 1 Waited. He wen knows, when I looked upon my daughter’s and face, that the wait- ing was well nigh intolerable ! Just as love was getting the upper hand of patience, I received a. startling communication from my lawyers. They knew who I really was. it appeared that some woman, named hiarian 'J'yler, dying in America, craved to see Martin Napine or his representative, for she had foully cheztted him, and could not die till she haul confessed her sin. I went to London, and from thence to Toronto, where I saw the woman who had taken the joy from my existence. The story that had sent Cicely to an untimely grave was un- true. Marian Tyler was neither my wife nor Duncombe’s. Before she knew either of us she was married to a cousin, married in her own sphere. She told me a 'zunbling,r story of his proiiigaey and unkindness, and gave me the certificate of her marriage, and also that of his death. He had died a few months previously, having, after years of absence, gone back to her. I returned to England with the proofs of Judith’s legiti- macy in my possession, an idea also Occur- ring to me as to who had struck my father's death-blow. " " Yes 3" “ Sometimes, when pondering who had murdered him, I was inclined to think it must have been a. common thief for the pur- pose of robbery; but one fact upset this opinion. My mother never saw my father alive after I left him ; he was dead when she drove home. Yet she must have known that it was alleged that Judith was basely born, or why should she have bequeathed Napine to Squire I‘lllerslie, failing me ? She must not only have known my secret, but she must have told it to the Squire. \Vould he otherwise have hurried Judith into mar- riage with Silas Thornton? Would he have left his property to him ‘3 Of course not. To whatdoes all this tend? Listen. W ho- ever killed Sir Percival knew what passed between 'us in our last interviewâ€"knew, and divulged it to my mother.” “'ill glzfilces at; Mr. Thorold, whose face is inscrutable; and “’ill shakes his head slisfléfly. Mr. Thorold rings the bell at Ellerslie sharply. Aservant answers to the peel, Quail the butler. I wonder what is amiss, for he looks worried, agitated. We are shown into the i‘eception-i'oom,and have not long to wait. Silas Thorton comes speedily. He too looks unlike himself. Before we can speak, he cries»â€"~â€" “ You have come to tell me, Miss Carey, that she is at the Vicarage. Confound her, giging me this frjghfc !” U I s‘tdare at him iii bewilderment, and res- pond with asperityâ€"for I do not like his toneâ€" “ “"110 is at the Vicarage? \Vhat do you “ \Vhy, my wife Judith, to be sure ! It was a stupid trick ; but she is no better than a baby. I declare I have felt positively wretched. \Voxnen like Judith are not to he depended upon. Suicide seems to charm them ; and, though no one would throw away life bepmuse of an angry word or two, I was really dreading ' mean He brealis off wifh an emphatic si 11 of relief. I am helplesst silent, and Mr. ' hor- old comes to the rescue. “ If you are thinking Mrs. Thornton is at the Vicarage, disabuse your mind of the notion. She is not there. Is she not here ‘3” “ No. Not at the Vicarage ! Then where is she ‘.’ Silas Thornton is unafl‘ectedly alarmed. I sit down trembling in every limb, and Mr. Thomld is very Bale. “ Have you and your wife quarrelled ?” he asks. “ Yes," the other answers plainly, “ Late last night I spoke my mind, and, in doing so, offended her. I had been drinking, and did not know what I was saying”â€"half apologetically. “ I did not intend to hurt her feelings ; but I must have done so. She has left Jllerslie." “ Left Ellerslie !” Mr. Thorold repeats. “She must have stolen out before the house was closed. AfterI had spoken to her I went to the card-room. I had some friends. Idid not see her again. I slept in my old room. Her maid awoke me, an hour ago, with the intelligence that her mistress was missing. Her bed had not been slept in." r “GooAd Heavens 2” Mr. Thorold ejacu- laces. Silas Thornton gazes at Mr. Thorold. \Vho is this man, that he shows such con- cern? Apparently Mr. Thorold thinks it well to state who he is. He draws a. step nearer, and says deliberately, looking un- flinchineg at the other’s scared counte- minceâ€" The door is unfastened noiselessly. Mr. Brenton hears Thornton’s words. His lips twitch and his sallow face takes a, yet more yellow tint. He shivers like one unnerved. Not Pbservilig h‘iInLMr: Thorold procgeds: W‘W‘VIV‘ook at me well, Silas Thorton. You knew me when you were a, lad. I am Mar- tin Ifgpin-e. "" any n“ . :- n V “V‘Mzirtin Napine !” Silas Thornton falls back inAdislymy. ‘ _H“7Irum Martin Napine. You} wife is my daughter. \Vhat have you done with her ‘3” The authoritative demand stirs the young man’s ire. “ Your daughter ?” he says scornfully. “ Have you given her a parentage of which she can be proud, that you claim her thus unblushingly ‘2” .- 1-1 ‘ -N‘â€"“‘V‘;i‘li;l£? Youthink me ignorant. Iwould I_1ave you l‘mow that I am aware, though 1“ unblushingiy ‘2” 7 “Ihave given her none of which she need be ashamed. ” I was iiot when I wedded her, that she is illegitimate. I would have said something stronger, but for Miss Deborah’s presence.” “ Ah I” I can see that Martin N apiue is curbing his passion with diificulty. “ Have you acquainted her with this ‘2” ..--.. .. . uL L”. 3‘3" J V * w V ‘ l 7" ' “ \Vhat if I have? She, with her dain- ty airs and mincing graces, was too good for my friends! Why, she is not good enough !” . .. .. II 'II’ .- \Y ,r , He gets no farther, for Martin Napine throws him volently. “ Scoundrel !” he cries. Mr. Brenton interposes blandly. “ Pardon me. It is best to apply titles appropriately. If you are the man you pro- fess tobe, we apply a. termof infamy to you. You may not know it, but there are war- 9n .,n They are summoned, but they have little to tell. Judith has lied, leaving neither word nor line. She hm; taken some linen and a quantity of her jewlry. Her maid saw her about eleven the previous evening. J udit‘i told her that she did 11 )t require her services, and dismissed her without admit- ting her to the room. Her mistress did not look as though she had been. Weeping, but seemed very weary. “ Do not be distressed on my account,” he says. " Justice has tarriml ; but she will be speedy now. Heaven bless you and my darling child ! \Ve will find her. If I am perforce inactive, your brother and my layers will do my work. J uditli is pure and good. Heaven will watch over her.” I hurry in. Letty is in the parlour. I bury my head in her lap, and sob uncontroll- nbly with bitter pain. J udith, my dear one, driven from her home by that course fellow she calls husband ! Twenty~four hours later Napinc is electri- fied. Mrs. Thorton has run away ; and Martin Napine has come back, and has given himself up to the police. The village is thrilled with a rare excitement. Tongues wag fast, and the most sensational reports are circulated. Every one is uneasy, un- settled, amazed. I have cried till I can cry no longer, and am now~red eyed and quiet. \Vill is out. Dale I have not seen. I talk to Letty, and follow her up stairs and down-stairs, into baby‘s chamber, the burden of my dirge be- ing that Judith might; have come to me in trouble. Going hoine with Martin Naipine, I tell of her visit to me. At the Vicarage gate we Burt. He hfilds my innit]. “I see. I will relieve you of your em- barassment. lint you will not let him escape 1'” Martin Nupiue stops Mr. iii-entail. “ It will not he well for you hy-and-by if the public recollect that you caused my ur- l'est,” he says gravely. “ I ezuue here with this young lady to see my «laughter. Since that is impossible, 1 shall take Miss Carey home ; then I will announce iu the proper quarters who I mu, sir”â€"-tuming to Silas, who is moorlin biting his nails. “ Will you permit me to see my daughter’s maid and the housekeeper?” “’0 are now in a study. Letty has her needle in her hand, and I am drumming on the window-pane impatiently. I wonder what is keeping Dale away. Suddenly I perceive aman’s headâ€"only the postman. I run out to meet him, and he gives me a letter for myself. I am familiar with the handwriting, and cry wildlyâ€" “ From Judith ! From Judith I” Letty glances over my shoulder while I read. It is but a pencilled scribble. “ My darling, good-bye. \Vhen I kissed you an hour or two ago, I did not think I was kissing you for the last time ; but I was. I shall never see you again. I cannot live with my husband. To-night he has told me. that he hates me, that, had he known I had no legal right to the name of Napine, I should never have been his. I know my unhappy father’s secretAâ€"know what killed my mother. Oh that the same Iniowledge would kill me I But, alas, it will not I Do not grieve about me. Heaven will protect me. I have money, and I shall find work. Your loving JUDITH. ” The sheet flies to the ground. “ I do not know where she is,” I say. “ N0 ; better not, just at present. I do not think she has acted quite wisely. \‘Vives should condone much ere they desert their homes,” Letty says, with a. matronly air. ” But poor thing, she has suffered terribly, and has noted on a very natural impulse 1” “No,” he answers slowly. “I cem- not do tlmt. I have married his daugh- tor.” Martin Nupine looks into M1: llrenton’s eyes, mul they Illift and blink mstlessly. H “You will send for Qua pnlice_‘?” My. Bl'entunsnys with n would-1x; careless air to Silas 'l'hm‘ton. “ Yes. Don’t be hard. She was right. I would leave any man if he ill-treated me, or told me he wished he was quit of me !” “ “"0111d you Y” “Oh, Dale, how you startled me E” He kisses me fondly in spite of Letty’s smiles. She departs, shaking her head dexnurely. “ Have you heard '2'” I say. “ Yes. It is a. sad affair mas Cherie. \Vili is with my father 110w.” “ Have they locked up Mr. Thoroidâ€"Mr. Martin N pine Y” rants out for your apprehension. You are accused of your father's death.” “Ay. Your brother is impressed in his favour." “ Are not you ‘3” “ My dear, how can Ibo ? Who is guilty if he is innocent? His tale is plausible ; but you have not forgotten the testimony given at the inquest? Martin Napine was admitted to his father. He was closeted with him a very long time. After a while, sounds as of altercation were heard; then a noise as of a blow and of a. falling body. Tile servants were alarmed, but afraid to in- trude, knowing of the dissension between father and son. At last the butler, when the angry sounds had subsided, plucked up courage. He tapped at the door, and, get- ting no answer, entered, and found his master on the carpet, dead. Martin Napine had disappeared !” ” Mr. Martin must have left Nupine be- fore Sir Percival was murdered. By what train did he go ? \Vhat time was it when the servant discovered what had been done “ I can’t say. All that will of course be i thoroughly inquired into. Martin Nupine’s case Will be in able hands. At the inquest ! he was absent, and that told terribly against him.” “ Try to believe in him, Dale.” “ I will. Until a man is proved guilty, his guilt must not be taken for granted. ~ His coming forward looks like innocence. g “ Try to believe in him, Dale. ” “ I will. Until a man is proved guilty, his guilt must not be taken for granted. ~ His .coming forward. looks like innqcence. other campaign. If 111s story 18 true, It w111 not be difficult j Dom; use any more nauseous purgafives such as to underfiand Why he kept durk‘ Here 13 ‘ Pills, ‘Salts, etc., when you can get in Dr. Carson's “lill l” i Stomach Biiters, a medicine that moves the Bowels \Vill advances with Iago-ing- steps, and I gently, cleansing all impurities from the system and D D . . . . . l ‘ r th Blood ure and 0001. Gr ts 'r flings'r himsslf‘into a. cllfaau' he1a.V11y. 1 I [pass a $235021$cfi50§enm p 9“ Pm“; Count Von Blumenthal, although (56 years old, still commands the Fourth German Army Corps, and he says he is ready for an- \Vill advances with lagging steps, and flings himself into a. chair heavily. I pass him J udith’s letter, He reads, and, for a moment the shadow vanishes from his brow, only however to return directly. “ Heaven bless her 1” he says. Regard- less of Dale and myself he puts the paper to his lips, folds up the letter, and pockets it. I do not remonstrate. Will says he will have his lunch. I wait on him assiduously. He eats but a few mouthfuls, and then pushes back his plate. Nu m. . u “ I have just seen Mr. Silas Thornton,” he says. “ Yes ?” Dale returns. “ He owned, 011 my questioning him, that he had taunted his wife with the supposed 9n stain on her birth. He is something more than an ordinary cur ! He is little ashamed of having driven Judith from the home that is hers by right. I asked him who had told this storyfiso well preserved hithertoâ€"of Martin Napinc. ” Mrs. Nul‘cissa Buux‘kc, who recently (lied at Winthrop, Me., provides in her will for the establishment of A $1,000 scholarship at Bowduin College in honor of her son, who was killed in tho civil war. 7' The Empress Eugenie, having passed a. month with Queen Victoria at Osborne, has returned to Fax'nsworth. Among her guests at the present time are the Duo and Duchess (1e Monehy, Prince Joachim Murat and Princess Eugenie Murat. A French Count, Paul dc l’el‘donne, was arrested for swindling at Nice and taken in- to a private apartment for examination. \Vhile unobserved he got to the door, locked the magistrate and detectives in and escaped over the border before they could be released. It came out in a recent, racing quarrel that Capt. him-hell, the English turfman, paid 4,000 guinea»; for a horse two years ago, and the beast had never won a Sixpence. The Duchess of Montrose lately sold this patron of the turf thirteen ycarlings for 9,000 guineas. Rumor ham it that; the Due d’Aumale was morgmmtiually hurried to his housekeeper on the eve of his expulsion from France. A plucky Dakota. girl, Miss Smilley, spent the summer alone, without own a cat for company, on her claim, four miles from \Vaterbiu'y. She had ten acres of grain, a fine garden and a Watermelon patch. Prince Karamoko went to see the French soldiers at Chalons and much admired the polished breastplates of the cuirassiew, whereupon the commanding general gave him one of the bits of armor. The negro put it on delighted ; and then his face clouded and tears came to his eyes. “ W'hat is the matter Y” inquired the general. “ Alas !" cried Karamoko, “ as soon as I get home my father will take this from me and wear it himself.” Then the general gave him another one and all were happy. M. Chevreul, the "distinguished savant, whose centenary was celebrated in Paris the other day, was the associate of the celebrated Scribe in the writing of the numerous dramas attributed to the latter. M. Chevreul’s first work was published in 1806, and his last work in 1836. Though known to the world as a great scientist only, he is the author of sixty-five “ pieces ” and 137 vaude- villee. M. Chevreul very clearly remembers having seen the head of the Princess Lamâ€" balle carried on the top of a pike after her execution, in 1792. Alfonso’s Widow has had to banish from Madrid an officer who was continually on duty about the royal palace, He fell violentâ€" ly in love with his sovereign, and making no concealment of his passion, revealed it in various ways. One day he made his way to the Queen’s boudoir, and throwing himself at her Majesty’s feet, poured forth his tale of passion. The gentleman belongs to a, Rowerful aristocratic family. Nevertheless, e is likely to have a warm time in the regi- ment, which, in consequence of his escapade has been ordered into virtme exile. Where Are You Going ? If you have pain in the back, pale and snllow complexion, bilious or sick headache, eruptions on the skin, coated tongue, shy);â€" gish circulation, or a hacking cough, you are going into your grave if you do not take steps to cure yourself. If you are wise you will do this by the use of Dr, Pierce’s “Gold- en Medical Discovery,” compounded of the most efficacious ingredients known to medi- cal science for giving health and strength to the system through the medium of the liver and the blood. The (ax-Empress Eugenio possesses a valuâ€" abl: collection of trinkets, medallions and books that once belonged to Marie Antoinette. Life seems hardly worth the living to-day to many a tired, unhappy discouraged wo- man who is suffering from chronic female weakness for which she has been able to find no relief. But there is a, certain cure for all the painful complaints to which the weaker sex is liable. \Ve refer to Dr. Pierce’s " Favorite Prescription” to the virtues of which thousands of women can testify. As a tonic and nervine it is unsurpassed. All (lrnggists. Mr. Fansmbe, who is President of the Im- perial University of Japan, is about to set out on a tour of the United States and Europe. Sick and bilious headache, and all de- rangemth of stomach and bowels, cured by Dr. Pierce’s “ Pellets”â€"0r anti-bilious granules. ‘25 cents a. vial. No cheap boxes to allow waste of virtues. By druggists. The grain reputation of Briggs Electric Oil is such that it has induced unprincipled persons to adopt other names as near like it as possible. The proprie- tors of Bn'g'gs’ Electric Oil have the name and style of the Electric Oil registered both in Canada and the United States, and no one can use it but themselves In fact so determined were they that they brought suit at Law, in the High Court of Canada, to deprive Briggs & Sons 01 their right to control the same ; but the Can 1;; and the Minister of Agriculture at Ottawa fully Hus ' _eI1_tiieir_i'33gistere§i ‘tra’de iiiark. __ Others hearing of the success of Briggs Electric Oil have adopted other names similar, such as “ Eclectric 011,” “Electron Oil," &c., and are striving to induce the public to buy them instead of the genuine Electric Oil. A new billiard table ordered by W. K. Vanderbilt will cost $20,000. It will be of solid oak finished in inlaid work of Moorish design. Bl'iggs' Elentric Oil cures Rheumatism, Neuralgia, Sprains and Bruises, complaints arising from Colds such in; Sore Throat, Cough, Asthma, Bronchitis and difficult breathing. Liszt said that all the Hobenzollerps he had known cared nothing for music. ‘0ch Prince Albert once declared to him that he only regarded it as an expensive noise. opium, morphine, chloral, tobacco, and kindred habits. The medicine may be given in tea. or coffee Without the knowledge of the person taking it of so desired. Send 60 in stamps, for book and testimonials from those who have been cured. Address M. V. Lubon, 47 Wellington St. East, Toronto Ont. Cut this our for future reference. When writing mention this paper. A CURE FOR DRUNKENNBSS, M EN AI“) WOMEN. (1‘0 Bh.‘ coxnxvnn.) A Free Fight.