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W iiiflflllllciplluwél. BY LYDIA M. woon. CHAPTER III. Lotting her eyes fall once more on .to her book, Avice felt the hot blood surging up into her cheeks. Who or What was this man whose very presence seemed to fill her With uneasiness, and why had he come into that unfrequented glen ‘3 These questions rose unconsciously to her mind as she bent,. or rather tried to bend, her eyes upon the print- ed n'atter before her until such time as it should please the intruder to pass on. I But if she had hoped by her unconscious air to to send him away she was doomed to disap- pointment, for, taking up his stand almost directly in front of her, he said politely : “ Have I the honour of addressing Miss Sacharty ‘2” The low musical tones and the slightly foreign accent with which he uttered these words attracted her strangely, and with a slight how she acknowledged the truth of his words. “ Ah !”he cried, seating himself unbidden on the turf near her, “ that is indeed dc- lightful ! Your father is one of my greatest and most valued friends.” Avice did not reply for a moment 2 she was too much astonished to say anything, until the man's curious dark eyes fixed them- selres suddenly on hers with a strange in- tense gaze and seemed to drag an answer from her. “ You come, then, from India?” she said, idly turning over the pages of her book. ‘ “From India, yes,” he replied, a swrft smile parting a moment the thin line of his Ii 3. “ I am Indian myself, or rather Malay. Mpy name is Tehandar Mutwanee, at your serviceâ€"I read your name in the books," he added by way of explanation, “ and I thought it must be the daughter of my old friend.” Avice smiled. Somehow, in spite of her first feeling of dislike, the man fascinated her, and she no longer felt the impulse to run away which she had had at first : and for some time they sat on there, under the whispering trees chatting about. India, which Avice remembered but faintly, any allusion to it having always been discourag- ed by her aunt. At last the lengthening shadows warned them that time was getting on, and they returned to the hotel, Tehandar carrying the rug and book, which he delivered up into Avicc’s keeping as she went up-stairs. “ We shall meet again at dinner," he said with a smile as he turned away. “ I will contrive to sit near you, and then we can talk about India again." Avice nodded brightly, and ran up-stairs to seek her friend, whom she found already dressing for dinner. She looked decidedly astonished when the girl related her adventure. “ Are you uite sure he is what he pretendsâ€"your ather’s friend ?” she asked doubtfully. “ It would be so easy for any one, attracted by your name, to fabricate a tale in order to make your acquaintance." “ Oh yes, I know ; but he seemed to know all about papaâ€"things, I mean, which only a friend would know ; and besides, he knew Aunt Amelia by name ; he asked after her. And he said he had seen me when I was quite a tiny baby.” “ Oh well, I suppose it is all right,” returned Mrs. Douglas, examining her hair critically with the handâ€"glass. “ But do be quick dressing,my dear ; we shall be fearfully late if you don’t make haste." And Avice fled to her own room, which was just beyond, and began making up for lost time, her mind all the while occupied with her afternoon’s experiences and Tehan- dar Mutwanee. It was not long before she joined M rs. Douglas, and they wentdown-stairs together. Tehandar Mutwanee was standing before the fire, which, in consideration of the chil- liness of the evening air, burnt brightly on the hearth. He advanced to meet them as they entered. “ My friend, Mrs. Douglasâ€"Mr. Mut- wanee,” said Avice shyly, by way of intro- duction. The Malay bowed profoundly. I am c larmed to make Mrs. Douglas’s acquaint- ance," he returned in those soft mellow tones of his ; “ and shall feel proud if I, too, may be reckoned among the lists of her friends." Mrs. Douglas acknowledged his greeting with a. slight bend of her golden head, and passed on to Mrs. Barfelt’s side, leaving Avice to talk to her new acquaintance, who with no conscious will on her part, fascinated her more and more. “ It seems so strange to meet a countryman and a friend of my father’s, here," she said, smiling, as Mutwanee gallantly led her into dinnncr. “ Such an odd coincidence, you know l” A curious smile lit up the dark face of the other as she spoke. “ A pleasant one, too, I hope,” he murmured softly. “ For me, it is, at anyrate." Avice did not reply for a moment ; then again she felt that obligation to answer. “ Yes, very," she returned shyly, turning her attention to the menu card by her side. Her companion glanced at it too, with the air of a connoisseur. “ Fish, soup, part- ridge (roasted) fricasseur of muttonâ€"um, um, um. I should recommend some of this poulets au riz,” he said, as Avice laid down the card. “ As an entree it is very good." If there was one thing she detested it was poulets au riz. “ I don’t really think I will have that,” she returned as she tasted the :soup ; I am not partial to chicken." Her companion said nothing at this mo- ment ; but as the waiter whisked away her plate, he looked quietly at her, say- ing, more in the tone of one who makes an assertion than of one asking a question : "‘ You will change your mind, and take ' some chicken, will you not ‘2" And then it appeared to the girl as if, after all, she would change her mind ; and mechanically like one saying a lesson, she ordered the waiter to bring her chicken, instead ofâ€"as she had at first intendedâ€" parfridge ; and again that curious half- mocking smile stole back into the black eyes of Mutwanee. This little incident made her feel rather uneasy‘a faint va ue fear of this strange man, who fascinated while be alarmed her, came upon her, and she was not sorry when they rose from the table. ()n the hall table. on her way to the dra N- 1 «room, she found a letter from her father. 3 ‘ was dated Berlin, and bore the German Iv- ~ mark ; but in it Mr. Sacharty announc- v ‘ “ ’li‘, he was returning to England almost 1 'ly, and hoped that he might see some- wf his daughter before long, as he was d to stay with friends in the neigh- - his way. bourhood of Strath Carron. He added that he had heard from an old friend of his who was going to Strath Carronâ€"“ and who, in- deed, will be there ere this reaches you ; and I hope and trust that for my sake you will treat him with all courtesy and kind- ness," the letter went on, “for to Tehandar Mutwanee I owe more than I can tell you of friendship and respect.” _ The girl’s eyes sparkled as she read this. “How very odd !" she murmured; “ but it will satisfy Mrs. Douglas of his respectaâ€" bility.” And as events turned out, Mrs. Douglas was only too glad to be convinced of his rc- spectability and general fitness to be Avice's companion ; for she had just discovered an old friend in a certain Mrs. Dighy Browne, Who had arrived that afternoon, and was too busily engaged in chatting about old times to pay much attention to the girl. “ I wonder what Aunt Amelia would think of him,” thought Avice to herself later on that same evening as she brushed out her long wavy hair. She hada dim consciousness, some- how, that Miss Marchmont would not alto‘ gether approve of Tehandar Mutwanee ;aud yet what there was to dislike in him she could not say. Polished, agreeable, highly cultivated, with a flow of language and store of anecdote which wore surprising, he certainly made a most charming compan- ion; and in spite of her half-acknowledged fear of him, Avice drew a fairly-glowing picture of him in her letter to her aunt ere she retired to rest that evening. But one thing she did not mention, and that was the curious manner in which she felt compelled to execute his willin the veriest trifles, and the sense of nervous oppression which seized her every now and then when his eyes were upon her. It was the custom in the hotel for any visitors who wished to have letters posted for them to place them on a tray put for that purpose on a table in the hall, when they were taken to the post by one of the ser- vants. Asa. rule, Avice preferred posting her letters herself, disliking the publicity of the hall table ; but the next morning, being somewhat in a hurry, and fearing to keep Mrs. Douglas waiting, she placed Miss Marchmont’s letter on the tray as she went out. It was about eleven o’clock, and all the other visitors had already gone out, lbe easy ‘3" either to the baths or on some expeditionâ€" \ ment and the coaxing tone, the words seem- Tehander Mutwanee : ed more like a command than an entreaty. all, that is, save one. was sitting in the smokingroom as Avice passed through the hall, and seeing her through the half-open door placing a letter on the table, he slipped out as soon as she had gone and proceeded to examine the ad- dress. him, for he gave alow grunt of tllSSatlS- faction, and then, hearing footsteps coming, I replaced it. quickly and began searching for I his hat. The footsteps drew nearer, and soon the red head of Andrew, one of the waiters, appeared round a corner. He look 1 ed curiously at the dark face of Mutwanee as he passed, and the latter, who was strug- gling into a greatcoat of enormous thick- ness, returned his gaze with interest, until his pale blue eyes were obliged to fall be- neath the piercing black orbs. “Shall I take this to the post for you '3" said Mutwanee, politely indicating Avice's letter as he spoke. Andrew, as he knew, was the one generally told ofi‘for suclilWife." errands. The waiter glanced at him sharply. was not accustomed to having his work done WOUlCl marry for him, but neither was be inclined to re- thing was absurd on the face of it : and Slle he I determined to take her young friend severe- fuse a good olfer. “ Thank ye sir." replied slowly. “ I dinna ken there could be muckle harm, if ye‘re gauu lo the toun." And Tehandar, hastily availing himself of the permission, took up the letter and went, But he did not go towards the village; on the contrary. he turned his back upon it ; and Avicc’s letter never reached the post, but lay opened and crumpled in his inner pocket for many a long day. Days came and went. Tchunvlar M utwance still stayed on in the Scotch watering-place, although it was palpable to all that he had not come there for the baths, or even for the Waters, for a course of which even the strongest usually went in. He was gener- ally to be seen with Avice and Mrs. Douglas~often even with Avice aloneâ€"and besides them, he seemed to have few or no acquaintances in the place. It was pity for his loneliness, partly, and partly also a. desire to please her father, which had led Avice, and through her, Mrs. Douglas, to adopt the foreigner into their set : and having once been adopted, he had no mind to be dropped again ; and thus it came to pass that in all their rambles and excursions be generally made one. He exercised a curious subtle power over Avice herself from the first; and by degrees, it' had grown stronger as he became more intimate with her, until at length the girl, frightened at first by the strange unamus- tomed feeling, had unconsciously ceased to struggle against it, and indeed seemed al« most to court its power. Two or three days of damp uncer- tain weather were succeeded by one of such extraordinary splendour that Mrs. Douglas declared they ought to cele~ brate its appearance by some grand expe~ dition ; audafter much debating and careful weighing of all the pros and cons, it was unanimously decided that they should make up a party and visit a curious old mansion in the next village, which was said to have formed one of Prince Charlie's halting-places during the ’45. The party was quite a small one, consist ing only of Mrs. Douglas and her friend Mrs. Browne ; the latter’s daughter ; a cer~ tain Oliver Westall, with whom they had become acquainted through Mrs. Barfelt; Tehandar Mutwanee and Avice; and they set offgaily soon after breakfast, determining to lunch at the inn of Inchbothie, returning home for dinner. ~i Miss Digby Browne, having a decided horror of foreigners in general and Tehau- dar in particular, established under Mr. VVestall’s protecting wing; and as the two elder ladies were deep in the criticism of a mutual friend, it fell out that Tehandar and Avice were left to each other, a state of things which gave the former at anyrate deep satisfaction. “ You must explain it all to me,” he said with a smile, as Avice made some remark about the historical interest of the place ; “for I am afraid that I am very ignorant in the matter." And though Avice modestly professed herself to be about as ignorant as he was,he refused to be guided about the house by any one but her. It was an old house built in a variety of styles, and, when the owners were away, quite the show place of the Something in it seemed to displeasc‘ He it had never entered her head that Avice‘ or consecrated from time immemorial to none but royal use. There was even a. legend that once,during one of his periods of exile, Robert the Bruce had sought the shelter of its friendly walls, and the room was still shown where he passed the night. “ We must go and see that !" cried, Avice enthusiastically, as they all stood to- gether in the old oak-panelled hall debating where to go first. “ Come, Mr. Mutwanee, you and I will set off and lead the way. The guide-book says it is at the back of the house on the second floor." And followed by the willino Tehandar, she disappeared through the cor. Oliver VVestall gazed after herwith a look of gravedisapproval,not unmixed with anxiety. “ She is such a charming girl,” he muttered to himself: “ surely she can‘t be intending to marry that fellow ; and yet she certainly does encourage him decidedly.” The latter part of this statement seemed true enough ; for all that day Tchandar never left her side, and she appeared any- thing butbored by his attentions. It was growmg late, and Mrs. Douglas was begin- ning to think of turning home, when sud- denly. as he and Avice lcant over one of the battlemented turrets, revelling in the beauty of the scene below, Mutwanee began softly : “ \Ve have. known each other quite a long time now, Miss Sazharty." “ More than a week I" returned laughing. “ More than a week I" he echoed, turning his dark eyes full upon herâ€"“ to me it seems a. life-timcâ€"a life-time of happi- ness. Oh Avice, my pearl, my ieWcI, say you will turn the friendship of the days into the love of eternity ! Avice Sacharty, I ask you to be my wife !" A cold shiver passed through the girl's frame: it was scarcely due to the Septem< ber air. “ No. no l" she cried fecbly, rais- ing her hands, as if to shut out the power of his gaze. “ No: I cannot, I cannot !" I “Cannot !” he said softly, but with a persuasive accent in his mellow voice. draw- ing down her hands as he spoke with a gen» tle but firm persistence against which she was powerless. “ Nay ; think again : can- not? Why ‘ cannot’f' Let it rather be a ‘ can’ and ‘ will ‘.‘ " And as he spoke he bent his gaze upon her with renewed inten- sity. “ Say yes! sweet one. See, it will In spite of the term of endear‘ Avice Again that nervous shiver passed over her, and she was silent. Was it a battle with a stronger will which kept her dumb 2’ Who can say '.’ 'I‘ehandar paused, as if waiting for an answer. “ lam rich, rich," he whispered. “ In my own country I am a princeâ€"a rajah ; butif I have not you I am poor. But you will say yesâ€"yes, I feel it l" The strong will triumphed. Avice bowed her head. “ It shall be,then, as you wish," she returned wearily. “ Yes ; I will marry you some dayâ€"some day,” she repeated, as if to reassure herself. “ But now,let us go ; the rest- are waiting.’ She turned away, a strange bewildered feeling in her heart ; and Tehandar followed her, a triumphant light in his dark eyes. “ Your congratulations, Mrs. Douglas,” he said suavely as they parted in the hotel hall. “ Miss Avice has consented to by my 1 Mrs. Douglas looked amazed. Somehow, Tehander Mutwaneeâ€"the ly to task when they got rip-stairs, dim vi- sions of Miss Marchmont's wrath disturbing her peace of mind ; but the hall was too pub- lic a place for a “scene,” so she smiled her congratulations politely. One person, however, looked gravely (lis- pleased as he noted the Malay’s 100K of triumph, and that person was Oliver \Vest- all. A student of nature from his earliest years, he had been strangely attracted - by Avice from the first night of her arrival ; and if hitherto we have said noth- ing about him, it is because he had always been content to stand aside and watch with critical eye the different phases of human life which are. so plentiful in a little place like Stratli (Iarron. Avice had always greeted him kindly with a bright sweet smile which seemed like a ray of warm June sunlight let loose on the world, and for that reason, more than any other, Oliver Westall took a deeper interest than ordinary in the girl's welfare. “ What a pity !" he murmured, shaking his head sadly as he retired to his owu room to dress. “ She was such a sweet girl ; and heâ€"â€"VV6ll, I don’t know what her parents can be thinking about ‘." And later on, as he wrote to his particular chum, Jack 3 D’Arcy, he told him the little episode, with a few cynical observations of his own on the vanity of all human things, intended for his friend’s benefit and his own comfort. In the meanwhile, Mrs. Douglas, con- scious, perhaps, of having somewhat ueg~ lected her duty to Avice, was satisfying the qualms of her own conscience by rcproving the girl severely for her “ rash and foolish engagement,” in a manner not calculated to sooth or calm her decidedly agitated spirit. Did Miss Marchinont know anything of the allair‘.’ she inquired at length, having exhausted all her other argumentsâ€"or her father ‘.’ Avice was obliged reluctantly to admit that neither of them knew anything of the matter. Her father was comparatively a stranger to her ; and as for Miss Marchinont 1 â€"well, for some inexplicable reason. she declared that she had not been able to write .‘ about Tehander Mutwance to her aunt. ex- cept once. and then no notice whatever had been taken of her announcement. “ liven though I said he was a friend of papa's !” she added, as if to remind Mrs. Douglas that this was the case. But Mrs. Douglas refused to be reminded, and began attacking the first part of her assertion. “ \Vhy couldn’t you write to your aunt about him ?” she asked in some astonishment not unmixed with incredulity. “ It is so silly to talk like that, as if any one were preventing you l” “ That’s just what I felt !" began the girl eagerly. “ My tongueâ€"I, mean my penâ€"â€" 0h " she exclaimed, “ 1 simply couldn’t write itâ€"that was just what I felt.” Mrs. Douglas began to grow slightly alarmed. Was it possible that the excite- ment of it all was affecting the girl‘s brain ? Was this man exerting some strange occult power to fascinate the girl, and lure her into his toils ‘3 The idea was absurb ; but still, , for all their pleading. like commands that . which she had clung. - nd now even this had write to your aunt myself to morrow, and,’ then we shall see. " - But the morrow unexpectedly brought Mr. Sacharty to the hotel to see his daugh- ter; and in the private tete-a-tete which Mrs. Douglas had with him, he soon con- vinced her that the match had his entire approbation, and declared that he himself would acquaint Miss Marchmont with all particulars. To tell the truth, the easy-going matron was not sorry to relinquish the task to him for she stood in considerable awe of the grave spinster, who was more her husband's friend than her own, and did not care to risk an explosion of her ire. To his daughter herself Kilmur was kinder than he had ever been, and joined his entreaties with those of Tehandar for a speedy wedding. “ It would be so nice, you know, if you could go out with him when he goes back," he said one day as he and Avice returned from a ramble among the hills. “ He has such a lonely life, poor fellow, and in spite of his wealth fs often very miserable, for lack of a woman's help and comfort.” And Tehandar himself murmured the .same in her ear as they sat together under the shade of the pine-trees, or wandered up and down the heathery braes drinking deep draughts of the pure strong mountain air ; and his words, so often repeated, yet al- ways with some tender variation, seemed, could not be disobeyed, until at last Avice, in spite of herself, was obliged to consent, and promise to marry him soonâ€"yes, very soon; when she did not say, but it should be soon. She was looking dreadfully ill and worn, poor girl ;so much so, that others besides Oliver W'estall were beginning to notice it, and to say to each other doubtfully that being engaged did not seem to agree With Miss Sacharty. The fact was that she hated Tehandar Mutwanee, hated him with all her soul ; and yet she could not, do what she would, shake herself free from the fascination which he exercised over her. She longed intensely to be able to snatch off her betrothal ring, a costly one of curious workmanship, and throw it in his face, re- tracting at the same time her promise to be his wifeâ€"and still she dared not. The power of his superior will seemed entirely to have dominated hers: and with the calm gaze of those unflinching eyes upon her. she felt that had he commanded her to hang herself she could not have disobeyed. “ If Aunt Amelia were only here I” she moaned as she tossed restlessly from side to side in the dark night hoursâ€"“ or Mr. Standish l" But she would not have been able to tell them anything if they had been, for she had tried many a. time to write a statement of the case to her aunt ; and every time, as she told Mrs. Douglas, an indefinable something seemed to stay her hand, and she could not write it. It was with considerable surprise one morning that she received a letter from Miss Marclimont, enclosed in one to her father, in which she urged her niece to con- sent to a scheme which Tehandar had pro- posed a few (lays beforeâ€"that they should be married that very week by special license in the Episcopal church close by. “It would be so nice," her aunt wrote, i “for t‘ em to spend their honeymoon to- gether in London: and although she herself, on account of the infection, could not be present at the ceremony, she would join them in town, and they would have a few delightful weeks together before they went to India. " AviCe could hardly believe her eyes as she read this unexpected letter. Opposition on her aunt‘s part had been the one straw to failed her ! \Vell. since things were so, there seemed nothing for it but to submit to fate, or rather to the irresistible will of Tehandar Mutwance. “ That girl I told you of in my last is going to in: m irried, it seems, on Saturday,” wrote the cynical \Vestalll to his friend the next day ; “ and this is Tuesday ‘. There seems something a little uncanny to my mind in such very quick work. Poor little Miss Sachartyâ€"did I tell you that was her name ?â€"she does not seem to thrive on her wooing. Let us hope matrimony may have a more salubrious effect I" (TO BE coxrixr'un). WW.â€" "i‘lic Seafarer. TRANSLATION FROM OLD EN‘JLISII. The thought that was pout in my heart 1; roaming the roaring sea : It haLu sped to the home of the whale, Whore my soul ever yearned to be. It hath flown to the ends of the earth. ' It hath traversed the tracklesa main, , And back with a raveuiug swoop It hath rushed to my heart again, The lone~flier screams : in my soul A pas ionato longing ran : I must go ;I must traverse alone , 'l‘hc doath-way over the waves ; For I long for thnjoy of God. And I scorn a life that is death. And I know earth's 'i'casuros arc vain. And that life is a Hunting breath. I know the terror of death Mustcom‘! to :i‘l. soon or late. Be it age or disease. or the cdzrc 0f the sword that is steelod with hate. The praise of the living is best: The fauna {hut :vazlitctli the dead. Who wrought gool cru they went their way. \Vho shall live when the soul hath llcd; For on earth they grappled with sin. And the malice of foes o‘ercaimc; They shall live on the lips of men, And He won shall ring with their name. And gono is [he pride of power, And gone are the days of old. And none are Kaiser and Kin 1'. And gone is the giver of gold. The glorious deeds and the jo A ml the splendor that girttl’ie throne Arc gone : and the weak, in woe inherit the earth alone. For bowed is the pride of wealth, Earth's glory ago withers and scars, And the faces of men are pale, And are seamed with the furrows of years. And the hoary headed bewail The friends they shall know no more ; They are goneâ€"they are wrapped moldw The sons of the mighty of yore. For quenched is the flicker of: life. Ami no thought can flash through the )rain ; They can taste nought sweet : there‘s no touch ln the hand ; they can feel no pain. And a brother may strew the grave Of a brother with gold, or entomb His corpse with treasure untold ; But the dead must abide his doom, For the gold the miser hoards. And men struggle through life to win, Cannot save from the wrath ofGod The soul that is steeped in sin. W in tho .Neither do I," Murther I TIT-BITS. Pretty Sarp Repartee. ‘ An old man was on the witness stand an‘ was being questioned by Lawyer Have. “you say you are doctor, sir ? ' “ Yes, sir; yes, sir." “ What kind of a doctor? " “ I makes intments, sir. I makes int- merits.” “ \Vhat’s your ointment good for ‘2" “It’s good to rub on the head to streng- then the mind.” “ What effect Would it have if you were to rub some of it on my head?" “None at all, sir, none at all ; we must have something to start with. ” Appreciated Its Value. A sweet little girl was bidding her boy playmate good-bye and on this occasion her mother told her to kiss him. She offered him a roguish cheek, and when the salute was gravely given began to rub it vigorously With her handkerchief. “ Why, Laura," said her mother, “ you’re not rubbing it off? " “No, mamma," answered the little maiden demurely, “ I’m rubbing it in.” At the Art Exhibit. Heâ€"“ I wonder what the meaning of that picture is? The youth and the maid are in a tender attitude. ” Sheâ€"“Oh, don’t you see? He has just asked her to marry him and she is accepting 1m." Heâ€"“Ah l how appropriate the title." Sheâ€"“ I don‘t see it.” Heâ€"“ Why, that card at the bottom said ‘ Sold. ’ " A Close ~t‘isted Patient. A surgeon had a rich but miserly patient who had injured his leg so badly that he trgild him it would probably have to come 0 . “ How much “f” said the patient. “ Fifty dollars. " “ Fifty dollars ‘. Why, you ought to cut off two legs for that." “ Well; I will if you say so.” The man reluctantly agreed to pay the price and have only one leg taken off, but skillful treatment saved the leg. When the surgeon asked for his pay, the patient, with many a grimace, handed over the money, remarking : “ You’re a good deal of a fraud in chargâ€" ing me so much, for you did not cut 08' my leg after all.” He Might Easily Have Missed. Sheâ€"“ Did you hear about young Tompkyns '?" Heâ€"“ No. What?” Sheâ€"“Took up a pistol and blew his brains out last night.” hlieâ€"“Must have been a mighty good 5 0t." Neither Did He. Niece (whispering)â€"“ Now, Uncle Hiram/ let me give you a hint. Here in town we never eat pie with a knife." - Uncle Hiram (from Hawcreek)â€"â€"~“ Gosi'i ! Mandy. Any way suits In ‘.. (takes his piece of pie up in his fingers.) A Merciless Man. A disappointed fish peddlcr was belabor- ing his slow lzut patient horse along Jerrard street the other day. and calling out his wul'es at intervals as “ Herrin’, herrin’, fresh herrin’,” A tender-hearted lady, seeing the act of cruelty to the horse, called out sternlv from an upper window: " Have you no mercy ‘2" “ No, mum," was the reply, “notin’ but herrin'." In the Woods. Dolan (holding hand to nose) â€"" Murther! But phat’s ailin” the cloimate ! Is it mortifoyin” oi wondthur ‘3‘" VVoodmuuâ€"“ Why, you greenhorn, don't you know a skunk when you smell one 2'" Dolanâ€"“ Musha, but it’s a skoonk, is it, that’s makin the atmyshpere so conshpick‘ yous? Vt'ell. now, it’s mes’lf as do be sayin’ it. that aither me nose is igzageratin’ the sittywation or the gintleman sadly neglects his brith. ” Insulated. W egg, -‘ ‘ We had a. terrible thunder storm as I came up in the train this afternoon." \Voodonâ€"“ Weren't you afraid of the lightning ?” Waggâ€"“ No; I got behind a brakeman.” Woodenâ€"â€"“ Behind a brakeman ‘? What earthly good did that do ‘3” \Vaggâ€"“ Why, he was not a con- doctor.” V ..... "kWhâ€"â€" Imperial Parliament. An interesting review of the British Par- iliamentary session which has just been brought to a close is furnished by a London correspondent. Of the various measures which have been passed two in particular are certain to render memorable the labors of the English Legislature during the last ten months. They are the Irish Land- Purchase bill and the Free Education bill. Two others of minor interest, but of con- siderable domestic importance, and which were carried through both houses only after much discussion and opposition, are the Tithe Rent Charge hill and the Factories bill. The session is likewise destined to live in history as having witnessed the re- nunicatiau of Mr. Parnell by Mr. Glad. stone, who five years ago split up the Lib eral party for the sake of effecting a poli- tical alliance with him. With the excep- tion of this achievement Mr. Gladstone has remained very much in the back-ground during the last Parliamentary term, leaving Fifteen members of the regiment of the leadership of his followers to Sh. several others are slill very low. I Avice herself was half an Eastern by blood, and Eastern people u-n-v very excitable. And her suspicions being confirmed in a de- country-side, full of old ancestral portraits grec by the girl’s flushed cheeks and un- and curious heirlooms, many of them ren- naturally bright eyes, she promptly sent dcred sacred by the touch of royal fingers, her to bed, saying as she did so, “ I shall own cherries last \Veduesday in her park at Friedsburg so as to save the wages of pro fessional pickers. The ladder on which she and her maid stood collapsed without warn- Grenadiersvat Ulm Were poisoned on Tues- William Vernon Harcourt. day by eating bad sausages. One died and bend,” Mr, Arthur Balfour, by his master. 0n the Tory 1y conduct of the complicated Irish Land The Bar mess von Deym tried to pick her bill, annears to have successfully establish- ed his‘c-laim to the leadership of the House in succession to Mr. Smith, whose increas- ing infirmities render it necessary that he should seek that dignified repose which ing and both were thrown to the ground. Englishmen are supposed to find only in the Their injuries were mortal. House of Lords.