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“ My father almost lost his reason ; he was like one distracted. He would not be- lieve that she had run away. \Vhy should she gn‘.’~â€"whither should she go? Some accident had happened, he declared. She had gone into the grounds, and had fallen into the lake, or she had been murdered by abberswanything was preferable to the elief that she had left us. “ The whole country was arousal, woods were lmznpcn, ponds and lakes V\'(r1‘u«ll‘uggml, 1'U\\'ill'«l>‘. oil'crcd, but all in vaini we heard (me word of Anicu Vane. My father was like 2L lllzulumn. “ ‘ l lmvc lost Allieds chiLl,‘ 1w mumch from morning to nightâ€"f l have lost her child .7 “ It was pitiable to see him, Gladys ; he was like 0116 distracted ; he culled continv Illely to Anicc, his dead luve, that it was from no lack of care that he had lost Iwr child. THE MYSTERY OF THE HOLLY TREE. ” The door was broken 0])ch at, last. “'0 found the 1-0sz empty ; there was no trace of [mice-s presence. She had not slept therrinothing was out of place. She had takvn neither clothes nor jewels with her. Conjecture as we might, there was 110 an swer In our thoughts ; there was nothing)r to be learned or gained from those elnlny rooms. “ No ouc could arouse him, no (mo wuhl comfort him ; he never seemed to sloop, to out, to i'cst ; only one thng moved him and drove him almost maul with indignation-~ the idea» that she might have olopcd. He would not sulfur it, he would not allow it. There were not wanting malicious people who Siblll it was strange Miss Vane should disappear on the same day that; Sir Guy and Arthur went away, but it was danger» nus to hint at such a thing before the squire. His 21mg knew no hounds. “ I Lhnugjhh t-hn same, and went away. \thn Lhc rhyme uzunc home, his first idea, was tn ask for Aniuv. I told him that she wasill, and hail gum», to her own room. \Ve nei.,h ,1' of M Mmpcutcd anything wrong. Quito, eiu'ly the next morning, Tirm, my maid, calm: to inc, and runnu'kud how stun] it was there was no round from Mint; \eis mom. I thought she was still asleep, and saw no cause for four. “ She- was not at; the breakfast-table, and my fulhor, whose fondness for her was smnuihing wonderful, sent; up some little dclic ‘ which he insisted upon hur eating. Aftcx-u fuw minutes Tirza. came back with the tiny, saying she could not make Miss Vane hcru'. 'l‘hen I felt; frightened, and run up-slniirs. I tried to force open the door, lultzul in Vain ; and then] sent for the squire. 1h: came in hot haste, his face whit - and his hands trembling. .\.~ “ ‘ D0 they furgot,’ he wouldicry, ‘ that Aniuc was but a fair young child, immw M; as 41:] :mgul, untrained in guilt: and deceit, incapable of having; her home and me? Do they know that tlwv are ma‘. 1g of two Enghsll gentlemen who would disdain to rob me of my child 11my would to pick my pocket ‘1’ V. r .4 1 “ \Vhen winter cam: my father grew wovse; all the comfort of our home was destroyed. \thn the wind blew Ind the rain Mat against the window, my father 0 11M not find one moment‘s rest. “ ‘ Where is Anice? (Jan the rain be falling on her? 0h, Philippa! where is she i" “ ()110 day near the end of March the rain had poured down in torrents, a, cold north wind had been blowing-4111 was cold, dark and dosolutc. My father hml been more wrctuhcd than usual, and I persuaded him to have a. bright fire in the library, and to let me read to him. It was night, then, and quite dark. 1n-1111 “ In the long, dark winter nights I heard him walking)r up and down the corridor al- ways calling llt'l‘ name, and crying out that he haul lost the child of his duar, (lead in due. time letters camcfmlii (in)! and r H Ai‘thn illuy}; was full of \\‘m)<l0rmciit, Al‘thili A full of indignation. The s< mire reml Them through WiLll quivering lips, and 1 then threw them down with an air of triumph. “ ‘ Elem is the answer to all cnlumny,’ he said ; ‘ read these, Philippa. You see Guy and Arthur both offer to do all that they can to help in the search. English; gentlemen are not such hypocrites aml' chemt . I fear Anice is doud.’ ; “ Time brought no tidings of her. She seemed to have disappeared from the face of the earth. The long months brought no comfort to us; there were times when I feared that my father would lose his reu- SON. l “ More than once 1 fancied l hoax-(la sound outside amongst the treasma rustle as of some one moving. 1 went to see, but: all w s (lurk and still. love “Then I tried to comfort him ; but it was dreary work, Gladys. “ Months passed, and no tidings came of the lost one. \Vich wonder, with pity and compassion, Guy mentioned her in all his letters ; but he, like ourselves, seemed per- fectly unable to imagine What had become of her. Arthur never failed to mention her; but: it was with imli mation against some one or other which could hardly understand. “ Suddenly, 011 the silence of the nightâ€" itil‘, thoremse a long, low, piLiful moan. The squire started from his chair with :1 cry. 1 went tothc window, and, upuuing it, stopped 011: on to the lawn ; my father follmn‘d me. “There, 0n the grass, lying I’nw’wtl‘ate,‘ drenehed with rain, blllVUl'lllg with enldy dying, us we believed, luy Aniee Vane. \Vith 11, ei'y such as 1 never heard before, my father raised her. Gladys, it was the most awful sight that ever Inethnnmn eyes. The ruin had heuten upon her, and 15110, in coughing, had broken 2:, hlnodwessel. The squire raised her in his arms and carried her into the room; he laid her before the fire, and rung for help. I have seen fond mothers with sick children; lmtl never saw anything like my father's tenderness to her. “ ‘ She has come hawk to 1110, my Amigo W my poor \Yollndfld lamb 1’ ‘ F . . . 1 r. 111-‘ . “ P1111; Anicc wst do,sz t0 (L11 his lovingr words. She was taken to her own room, and laid upon the had. Doctors and nurses were summonedim'm'ything that was pos- sible to hnnmn skill and human service was done for hur ; but it was in vain. The doc- tors said she was dying of inflammation of the lungs, brought on by the exposure to (JHAI’TEI‘l \'I.~r((,'nx'x'1rwr:1).) “ ‘ He persuaded meva loved him so long, he persuaded me.’ “ The squire'S face flushed until every VClll in his temples was swollen. “ ‘ Who persuaded you 3’ he asked ; but, Gladys, the poor child mentioned 110 name. She tried to turn toward me. l “ ‘ It was Guy Brooklyn,’ repeated my fathei' ; ‘ and I pray Heaven L0 punish ’him as he has injured this poor child. The ftraitor, the hypocritevto pretend to love you, and to betray her 1 He shall answer for it with his life.’ i “ ‘ I went up to him and seized his arm. I “ ‘ You are utterly wrong, father,’ I said. ‘ ‘ She did not accuse Guy.’ , “ But my father stood erect and proud, holding the domllizunl inhis. “ ‘ I tell you it was Guy ; no one else pre- ‘ tended to love you. She uttered his name. .3 He beguiletl her away with him, and now $110 will return and want to marry you for Iyour money: the, curse of the living and gthe (lezul shill rest upon him, Philippe, if i you listen to him. i o )k at that face and ghate him. “ ‘ He pretended to love you, 1’hilippa,’ she gasped, ‘ but he did not. It; was me he loved all the time; he prayed mu to go zu'ay with him, and I went. “'0 were 111211‘1‘icd»~-1 am quite sure. I 1‘<*1110ml>ci‘ an early morning and a thick fog, and we stood tngctlmr to be married, for l. uttur, for \VOI'aC, and l afterward travel-3d with him.’ “ The efforts she made to say this much worn: fearful ; now her cheeks v r w crimson, and she puntcd for breath. U1 “ ‘ My darling, why did you leave us I” he .'«I. To our surprise, she whispered something. handing down, we caught the word “ ‘ He told me 1 must not write, or you wuuld know, and fetch me away. I prayed him tn lut mu send one line, and he would not; then four months ago he told me I was not his wifeAâ€"not rcnllygand I went mad.’ r?”- “ Anice never recovered snilicieiitly to tell us her story. 011 the norm (1f the day inl- lowing the squire was kneeling on one, side of tlu: bodwl was on the other. Thcchzmgc that had (101110 over that lovely young fame was tUlI‘llllt‘, to beholdmâ€"it was livid, with great drops of 1§CThI)iI'iLtl(>ll (m thu lmuw. It was terrible to hczu‘ the labored ln‘cuth. The squire, my father, completely lost his sulfwontroliho cried like a child. “ ‘ No wonder,’ moaned the Squirc#‘ my poor, betrayed child.’ “ ‘ I wont mud and ran away from him, I do not know V\’1\Cl‘c,. I have been “1111' daring in some large city, and I have been hungfy and cold ; and then some one told 11m 1 must die, and I longed to come home and die at your feet. Iwaxlkud thmugh the hold and the rain, and when .l rc' «had the house, I was afraid. I stood untsidu your window whore the bright firclight shone, and than I fuiutud.’ “ My father‘s tears fell like rain upon her the cold, and from exhaustion, caused hy the breaking of a bloodwesscl. There was no hope of saving her life-wine hope, even, of ever hearing her story. After a few hours we felt sure that she know uswhor eyes lingered on the Squire's face so loving ly. He subbed like LL UllllLl m‘m‘ hur, zunl she put out her hands to him, and tried tr; Ipeak, but the weal; whim lips coulxl utter no wordx “ The doctor told us she would not live beyond sunset of the next day. “‘ She must have sulfcrcd tortures. of hunger and cold,’ said one of them, ‘Lo bring her to this.’ “When the squire heard that, he beat his breast and tow his hair like one beside himself. $ “ All attempts tn soothe him “L1 11 V:th ,hy the side ofthat unhappy gin]. Howrnh: ‘ two Itel‘tul's, one to Uin 211131 (me to Arthur. ZArler‘s reply came first» it was iL simlrh‘, iindignfint duhi‘tl. “ ‘ My (10ml lm'c’s Child,’ he moanedri ‘ how shall 1 answer for hm ‘3‘ “ ‘ I was; m:u'ried,’ she midi,” 1, mn an sure of it ; but he will come back, and he will want in marry you, Philippa». He loved me 1: all the time.’ “ The squire could contain himself In) longur is “ But she did not seem to hear him ; she was looking wistquy at me. “ ‘ He will want to marry you, Philippay, but he loved me best. You will not let him forgut 1110?” dead. “ Gladys, 1 wept and pleaded in vain ; my father would not heurmo. “ ‘ Give him the right given to every :Le- cused 0110,’1 SzLM. ‘ Let him defend him- self.’ ‘7 ‘ Is it that villain, Guy B1'0uklyn, who 111s dong this 1’ my father cried: “ Anice heard the namein crimson flush lit up her face, her eyes opened wide. “ ‘ Guy 1' she said, and then fell back “ ‘ I will do so,’ he replied, calmly. ‘ 1 never thought, never believed the poor child had elnped. I repudiated with scorn and Contempt the idea that my ward, or your lover, had beguiled her from us. There were but two»~(luy Brooklyn and Arthur lmndon. 3y her own confession she ac- companied one, and was haser betrayed. I say that, judging from her own words, it was Guy Brooklyn. 1 will write to lmth, but should the 1mm that she has accused swear by all that is most sacred, 1 shall not believe him. She is (lead, and the (loud keep their uwn secrets". He will think he is justilied in denying~ it nilw ; he will think his secret may remain hidden, but it shall not.’ l “ Aniccwus buried under rho largo oyâ€" [press tree in Ahcnhu'c churchyard, and in H120 afternoon of the day (luy :n-I‘ivuzl. F171]th W2 ‘his unmmr to my father’s lcttmx 0h, Gladys, never while thu sweet Hummm‘ ‘sun shines, zmd fair flowers blomn‘ shall I forget that terrible scene. My father would ‘ not speak to him in the houseâ€"they must ace “ 1 You wish to know the truth,’ he wrote: ‘come down tn Dover, \thx‘ I have been living, and make Stu-h iuqun' as you “ill. I, demand it 21521. right, and am content to abide by your devisi :21 ’ “ Before Anicc “as buried, my father went. Ne tnld me on his return that ho had made the most comploté and searching inwstigution into ;\1‘l]1111' Bmmhm‘s nflhix's and mode 0f lifc, and was quite muvinm ‘l of his innoccn “ ‘ \th is it 3' he cried. ‘ Tell me who it.7 “ My father drew me an "1‘in zLXn'uy. “ That poor dead girl warned us that; you wouhl come back and try to marry Philip- pzm,’ he. said, ‘ but you shall not: do so. the has always Ween a true, obedient, loyal daughter to me, and I forbid her, in your presence, under pain of my curse, over to marry you.’ “ ‘ It; cannot be,’ said mylovcr, proudly. ‘I luwc borne more from you, Squire {fur- luon, than I would luu'c borne from any other mortle num. I have my faults, like others : but l never yet sulliod my lips with EL lie ; and l repmt to you that 1 mu innocent. Sincel first became acquainted with and lonxl your daughtur, Ilium: ncv c‘mngivcn one thought to any mlicr W0» mun ; the wholc world is blank and empty to me cxuept wh’src the is. You have most cruelly mi :«lged me. I run us; proud (as you, Squire (,zurlcon. Standingr here by poor Auicc’s grave, 1 repeat llnL‘c l mu us in- noucn‘u as ynurseli uf all wrung toward her. \Vill ynu retract your wertlw i” “ ‘ Nn,’ replied the squirc, ‘ never 3’ “ My luvcr’s {mu lurned Very “hilc. “ ‘\Ve must reinuiu strungu‘s, Squire Curloon,’ hosuid, haugh‘rily, ‘ until you do so.’ Then he turned to me. ‘ Philippa,’ he said, ‘you believe in my inmmenoe. cam sue you have faith in 1110. I shall keep my truth plight to you until you relcusc me.’ “ 1 take my dismissal from no lips but llcra,’ llC said, proudly. ‘ I laid you fan,» well, Squire Carbon; the day will come when you will (l0 mo justic .’ “ He turned sway, and my fathcr has never seen him since. That is two years ago ; and oh. Gladys, how will it end ‘.’ He is innocent, 1 am sure ; hut my father will never believe it. Time will not clear up the mystery of that blighted life and early death. No one may mention (.uy’s name before the squire, so intense is his hatred and anger ; for he helieves implicitly that the death of Alliee lies zit hi3 dour. 1 know he is innocent, but I can never marry him, fearing my father‘s curse. My father loves Anice‘s memory dearly. On the day she was buried we colleelcd everything bekn; ing to her, and placed all in the mom where she had (lied ; then he kissed the white pil- 10w where her head hzul lain, and looking the door, 4.th the hey into the depths of the 11110. He could not hear to look at he: portrait ~the innocent, fair young fame al- most mmldened him. One 633', while he was {run home, I sent, it away, and he has ‘ never spoken of it.” “ ‘ Do you believe m0 2” he asked, look ing steadily in my father s face. “ ‘ 1 do nun,’ replied the squire. ‘ She accused you. Her last word was your nxum‘.’ go to Anice's grave ; and I, fearful of some grgag _tm_.ggdy followed them. “ My father’s auger was stern and deep ; he accused Guy of having lured Anice from her home, and of deceiving her. He said the curse of Heaven would fall on the be- trayci‘ of the innocent. He bade him rcâ€" nouucc all thoughts of me, for he Should never marry 1ne~~that we should be pal-ted from that hour. Such in Il>lu we (ls he said to him 1 Oh, Gladys, can I ever for- get them? Then, Wha-n Lhu squire had given Vent to his {minus anger my lover rp- plicdi Ht: looked so nolilu, so true-«how uouldzmy one doubt him? He raised his right huml to Heuvm, and swore he was in- unueut. “ It. is a. strange, Silil story,” 1 grid, when she had fiiiishml. “ 'l'lvuy are both so proud,” she continu- ed, sadly. “ My father is proud in his anger and what he thinks just indignation my lm’m‘ is proud in his injurml innocence. They will never spoakfiâ€"ncver meet again ; and my liczut will be broken behiccn them.” “ But, Philippa, if you are sure of his in noceucc, you are at; liberty to marry him.’ “ No,” she replicdâ€"“ not against my father’s will. 1 would not, and I dare not 1 hold obedience to one's parent as a great and sacred duty. Idid one thing that I thought my unbroken troth plight to Guy excusedâ€"4 wrote to him assuring him of my unchanged, devoted love, telling him of my entire faith in his innocence; and I toli him that once a yeui‘raon Christmas eve~hc might write to me, and once a year â€"â€"-on my birthday#I would see him for a. few minutes.” ‘ “ Yes,” she replied. “ \Ve dare not send letters by the post, and I Would not bribe servants. \Vc had often lett little notes for each other in the clefts of that old holly- trucwwe used to call it our p05‘50fiicc.” “ Is that the secret of the bolly~trcc ‘3” I asked. “ \Vus it in going to mee‘t', him that you dropped your bracelet, *hilippu ‘r" I asked “tum. U“ Yes ; I could not remain with him more than ten minutes. He looked so ill, so altered, my heart achcd for him. 011, Gladys, how will it end ‘3” “ If you do not marry, yuu will lose your fortune, Miss Cui'lcon.” “ Yos ; but 1 care little for that. “'hiit would money do forme when fate deprives me of my love ‘1” “ Suppose that, at. any time, anything should happen that would tend to prove Sir v s innocencei Avhut than ‘1” G11) "‘1‘11cn all would be well; but 1 have prayed for it solong, and ii- ths nub happen- ed yet. 1am growing (>141 in my youth, patient instead of hopeful, res- éncd instead of happy. There is the bdl flwc must go now.” It was such a. S‘Ll’l story ! Now I under- stnml tlw trouble that sccnlul to undm in every moment of the squirc’s lil'u ; 110W 1 saw why lovers might mine and lovers might lbw, but 1110 smiles of Philippa Czn‘» 1mm worn for none of them. llm‘cdlmr dearly, hub} “:14 pmmrh‘ss to help her; 1101‘ ynu‘d) and her bounty would wane, and day by day her unhapp'k ncss wnuM iHUI'CLtSU. \Yhut cunld i do for 1101‘? I would fail) ha J {-01311 her happy, but the ('I‘ii'icc of my his could not have hclpud hm: q \Yho could help hcr ‘3 Nuthiug but prmfi of the innocence of Six-Guy. \Vm; Lo innaâ€" ccnlz? Yes ; though :Lpptrzu'uwc-s \ntru against him, I 5011M not think him guilty. The man whom ’hilippzb (Eu-Mun nun} muid not be anything but juwt, pun", and upright. \Yhmtlu‘n, was guilty? I would not to” not fiil'Uny, nzt Arthur Ul'undun, if 1110 word of cit'uur of Uh was in he hw lieu-d ; yet Hurclj :3an one must haw [nu-<1 tho pwn' 0.x] :1‘,'.'2Ly»--_<:mu 0110. Li , who protrnxlcd to low: J’luih‘ppd. it mm :le mfigum I could not solve ; my whole thoughts hcmmo ungmsscd in the one Men how could I help hm‘ '.’ Christmas Vas coming round again,:L1u1 UHAI‘T E { VU said my lover, proudly. from you, Squire {fan'- hzu'c borne from any I have my faults, like “ I do not know, GladysvHeavun only knows. Some one was guilty. It us not my lover; the squire says it was not my cumin Arthur ~l dare not decide.” Nor would she. Thinking over all that had hccn told me,l cnuhl not form any opinion. I luftmy decision until he came. i‘e arrived one bright July evening, and I W‘ ' prepossesscd in his favor. He was tall, with military Greatness of figure, an easy carriage, and a. very handsome face. if then: was any faith in his appearance, it was Lhathc was “too brown.” His eyes andhuir were brown, the mustau/he that shaded his lips was brown. He had a. czirv less laugh, and talked in the highest spirits. 119 V. very cordial and kind to me. “ Do you {any pardon the questionidu you think 11c was the one who wronged Anicc Vane ?” “ Candidly, I do not sue how he could have been gullty ; but it was no"; Guy. I say 110 11101' ” “ There has been 21 deep shadow on it, Arthurironc that; has darkened it forever for n10. ” “I feel film a. schoolboy coming home, uncle,” he said. “ \thw a. happy, beauti- fulhomu it is 1” V“ I do not know ” she to. flied ; I 2an not . . ’ 1 11mm Uuz'c. ” The young man’s face grcw \‘ex‘y grave, his voice took quite another tone. she would be twenty-four in January. Only one your mute, and this magnificent fortune would be swept away from her. It was not only the loss 1 deplored; but it was pitiuble to think of her youth and her beautyâ€"her wasted life, her unhappy love, Icould not endure to think that the re- mainder of her llfe must pass in this fish» ionâ€"she is so beautiful, so giftml. That same day the squire seemed much excith by the arrival of tlm post-hag. “ Philimm,” he cried, “ hero isa letter from Arthur. He is coming homcisix mouths’ leave of absence. Hue that, his rooms are prepared,” 111” b “ But wth (10 you think about him pom/gm; __ “ Poor Anicu I" he said ; “how dreadful it was 1 I suppose that you have no clcw, uncle But what 0015611110 to help her? IFI could but find out the secret of Auim Vune’s flight ! \Vus it, likely that; I could discover a secret that had baffle-.1 the most clever mm 3 If love couM work wonders, then Icould do mulch, but at the best, it would be groping in $120. dark. I Went one‘dazi; to the hmlhcr-room, and turned her portrait to the light. I looked at the blue eyes, with their shadow of sad. ncss~ at the sweet red lips and the golden hair. “ If you could but speak and tell me rith whom yuu 10ft King’s Norton,” 1 said ; “ if you could but clear the dark shadow from Philippu’s life !” Thu squire summed pleased ; even Philip» pa liked the. prospect of a vis-itor. “ Philippa," 1 said to her that evening, “ aru you pleased that your cousin is com- “ I know who did it I” cried the squire, sudden )assion fizuninbr in his leccwr“ I know! ‘kcvcr mention the subject to me again, Arthu 1‘ 77777 I am not a patient man, and 1 cannot hear it.” I thought Mr. Brandon seemed very much inclined to obey. The evening was spent more happin than any I remembered of 1atc,b\1tnext morning, while the young suldier sub watching Philippa.th her drawing he Sui 1 suddenly : “ Philippa, if you have no objection, I should like to sec poor Anico Vunc’s grave. “"111 you and Miss Ayrton accompany “ Yes,” she replied, gravely; qultc Willing.” “'0 went ; it was 2L pleasant walk through the summcrwoods. The sun was shining, a thousand birds made music in the spread- ing trees, the wildflowers were all in the fairest bloom. Arthur Brandon and Phil- ippa. talked all the way of Anice. Once he stopped under (L large tree. A student of natural history gives a most interesting account of a battle witnessed by him between two colonies of,hlack ants, one of which occupied the space between the ceiling and roof ofa little shed near his house, and the other a sheltered place some hun- dreds of feet away. The nest in thereof was the one attuelud, and a broad, woodcn step beneath it was the scene of the conflict. On the morning of the battle, the large, soldier ants of the colony in the shed were out on the wall and floor in great numbers, a strong foree holding,r every approach to the step, while Slllit ler bodies Were formed in regular lines on the top of it. Pretty seen there appeared, str ‘aming along the fence from the distant nest, a horde of warriors, numbering1 many thousands, which presently descended to the ground, and threw for ward an attacking column. The skirmish that ensued was exeeedingly brisk, the antagonists rushingnpon eaeh other, and, with their strong jaws, cutting 01? here a leg and there an antenna, until the floor was strewn with dead and dying. l\1ean~ time, the main body of the enemy was mov- ingr deliberately onward in close array, not less than 15,000 strong. \Vhen this phalanx reached the step, regiment after regiment of the defenders poured down upon it, and the carnage became terrific. Slowly, but surely, the superior numbers of tha- invaders coni- p'lhtd the brave garrison to retreat, until the stop had been gained. Then a number of guards, who had not previously been on- gagbd in the light, ran quickly up to the nest, from nhieh, a moment later, afresh army rushed, and, descending the wall, fell upon the foe The latter, their shattered ‘anhs unable to withstand the fury of the charge, “are,er and fell back. The battle lasted altogether about five hours, and ed (led in the total rout of the attacking party When the iightiubr was over, the workers came down from the nest and carried away i}: ir (mu dead, but the corpses oi their niies thty left to rot upon the field. 011‘. Trump *(l;L1)’ir_\‘(lH slim-01LlitilcChi‘istnms mum-iii, inl‘ am old thlicr who lost his leg in "he (.‘hmge :Lt Cold lim'hmn‘,’ Virginia 2’ (/11 mm ~ But, look how, man, last month ymi tnl‘i mo ymu lost that log in the butth of Corinth, Missi. ippi. Tman 30 I (lid, so 1 did;hutthe ( Lm’g/ for this; month says thchuttlc of Corinth was fought at Gold llzu'hour, undl ain’t: the mun to go buck on the history of my country. .,n Battle of the Insects. (TO BE CONTINUED). 21 111 Travel on the shores of Hudson’s Bly in rnid~winter cannot be called pleasant, al- though the Eskimo, and occasionally the 'Jompuny’s ofiieers, indulge in it. There is not a tree or shrub to breal; the force of the gale as it comes howling down from the Arctic circle with a temperature of perhaps 30° below zero. Horses and cattle are unâ€" known on these inhospitable shoes, the dog supplying their place as a beast of burden. The sled used by the Eskimo is known as a komitik. It is of peculiar construction. its ordinary length is about twelve fort and its width about two and a half. The floor is made of slats placed about three inches apart ; and these are laced securely with seal thongs to the the runners, which are shod with bone taken from the walrus. Ivory isalso used in some cases. In order to make the hometik run more easily the bone shoeing is covered by a thin coat- ing of ice; this latter is continually wear- ing off, but may be renewed very easily In order to do so the hometik is overturned (whether loaded or not, for if loaded everything)r is securely lushcd on), on or by some lake or other source of water. Al» though the ice may at at any time be six or seven feet thick, :1 native with a seal spear will very soon cut a hole throth it, and having done so \\ ill first of all let the dogs drink. Then filling his own spacious month he will go to the kmnctih and, liming scrap- ed the old broken ice shoding oll', deposit the water along; the runner in a line stream and with as much precision us if it were pressed through a straw. ll'he temper- ature, being probably down to 30 O the water of course freezes very rapidly and in a few seconds forms a smooth hard sur- face. The number of dogs in a team va- ries from four to twenty, and depends upon the condition of the animals, the snow, the load to be drawn, etc. Each dog is attached to the kometik by a single line, the length of which varies directly as the merits of its owner. Thus the best dog in the pack is chosen as the leader, and has a. line of 20 or 25 feet in length. In order to have control of the team it is necessary to have a whip of ~ather extraordinary dimensions. This in- strument of torture has only a short wooden handle of length about 18 inches, but what it lacks in stock is made up in lash, for this latter, made of the hide of the square flipper seal, is about 30 feet long. An Eskimo can, of course, bundle his whip with grc‘ t dex- terity, being not only able to strike any particular dog; in the pack, but any part of its body, and with as much force as the case may require. Zeuxis was one of the most celebrated of painters. His last great work was the pic ture of an old woman. The face of the anti- quated (lame displayed all of the deformities and defects which make age deplorable. The form was lean and shrivelled. The eyes were hlcared and the cheeks hung ghostly on the cheek bones. The gums displayed were toothless. The mouth was sunken and the chin was far protruding. These great; de- formities were presented in a style. of such ludriemus combination that when Xuixis, as is usual with artists who have eumpleted a great work, drew back to contemplate the offspring of his fancy, he was excited to such an innnmlei'ate fit of laughter that his joy was turned to pain and he died on the spot. “’nen the famous comic poet Philemon reached a Very advanced age he. happened one (My to see an ass cut up some figs which 2L boy had left upon the ground. The huy returned and stood wondering what had be» come of the figs. “ The ass lms eaten them,” said the aged wit; “go now and fetch it some water to drink.” The old 111an was so tickled with the fancy of his own jest that, ifwc may place any re- liamce on history, he also died of laughing. The cream of this jest consisted of i‘os being his own. I have often compared the size of the thread spun by a fullvgrown spider, with a. hair of my beard. For this purpose, I placed the thickest part of the hair before the mi- croscope, and from the most accurate judg» ment 1 could form, more than a hundred of such threads placed side by side could not equal the diameter of one such hair. If, then, we suppose such a hair to be of round form, it follows that ten thousand of the threads spun by a full-grown spider, when taken together, will not be equal to the size of a single hair. To this, it we add that four hundred young spiders, at the time they begin to spin thcirwebs, are not largw than a iull-grmvnone, and that each of them minute spiders possesscs the same organs as the larger ones, it follows that the exceed- ingly small threads spun by these little crew tures must be still fourhundrcd times slend- erer, and consequently that four minute spider threads cannot equal in substance the size of a single hair. And if we further conâ€" sider of how many filaments or parts each of these threads consist, to compose the size we have been computing, we are com. pelled to cry out, “ 0h,what incredible min- utcness is here, and how little do we know of the work of nature 1" The Size of the Spider’s Thread. One superstition which is firmly believed along the coast mc the Maritime Provinces is that of the phantmn fleet of St. Mary’s Bay, a. wild and roukbounil inlet onthe (oust of Newfoundland. In August, 1862, a terrible storm swept over the Newfound- land comic and the hemewui'dbmunl fishing fleet, 100 vessels in all, put into St. Mary’s Bay for shelter. There every one of them went down and new \vhvn the fog is thick and the storms are high over St. Mary’s Buy the fishermen believe theta ghostly fleet sails thereiithe phuntmne of the lost vessel. I have seen fishermen ready to swear thth “hen seeking shelter in the buy they have seen through the fog and storm that unearthly fleet sweep by and have heard the shouts of men whose bones for yours have been the sport of the icy waves that break on that atoi‘mbeunil coast. Show} don’b see why women shouldn’t make as good swimmers as men, He iYes ~bub you see a swmlmcr 11:15 to keep his mouth shut. Anastasia (about to be nun‘rivd) 77“ Ned, see if this roads all right for the invita» tions : ‘ Your presence is; l'cqucstC(1v~â€"’ ” Devoted brothch 7“ Stop there, sis; ! It, isn’t grannuuticul. You muau : ‘ Your presents are requested.’ ” How the Eskimo Travel. Laughing to the Death. A E’lizmémn Elem.