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The Hair of Huihwell Chase. Fanny Dale raced up the thickly-carpeted stairs which led to the upper floor as she had rever raced before, and burst into Theresa‘s room, the door of which had by this time been unlocked. Mrs. Marchment’s maid had put away her French novel and resum- ed her ordinaty attire. At the moment of Fanny’s entrance she was arranging her hair in front of the glass. She turned in the act of thrustinga long pin through one of the coils, and regarded the panting, frightened girl with coldly-questioning eyes. . ... wWU‘L 5.” uuuuuuu J _________ c, v “ O mamzelleâ€"jâ€"the childâ€"Master Frank â€"-he’s missing !” blurted out Fanny. “ Missing ! What do you mean by miss« ingr 5 . “ He’s goneâ€"I can’t find him anywhere. When I left the nursery to take missis her tea, he was playing quietly among his toys; but when I got back he was gone and the window was wide open. 011 ! what can have become of him ?â€"â€"Yonâ€"you haven’t, seen ahything pf him‘, have yoh ‘3 a... n u. .. ......, ..__ V .. a J “Nothing whatever. How should 1 ‘? As you must know, he would never come here of his own accord.” Fanny knew that quite well_ To her mistress Therese might pretend to be as at- tached to the youthful heir as Fanny was in reality ; but the latter knew how hollow was the pretence, and that Therese disliked all children without expeptjqn. ‘ r an VIA-Amy;- .. "uh" _..7_ “Perhaps he has shut:â€" himself in one of the empty rooms on purpose to frighten me,” went on the glrl. ” Oh, do come with me, mamzelle, and help me to look for him !" “ Certainly I will, Fanny. You may de- pend on it, the little imp is only playing you a trick.” Then, after a moment's thought, she added: “ But you say the window was open when you got back. That; looks strange, very strange. " They went quickly down-stairs together ; and Therese taking. the lead, began at once a. systematic search of the rooms. of which the nursery formed one, on the floor below. They were chiefly spare bedchambers. none of which, except on rare occasions, had been occupied for years. The bedrooms used by the family opened out of a corridor reached by another staircase on the opposite side of the entrance-hall, or otherwise through the picture-gallery, into which latberapartmcnt in the faint hope of finding the missing child there, Therese and Fanny now ven- tured, but, ofcourse, to no avail. The door It the opposite end of the gallery, which gave access to the other wing of the home, being locked, was sufficient proof that Mas~ tier F rank could not have made his way into the rooms beyond. There now remain- ed only the small drawing-room; but. as Fanny said, how could the child possibly be there, when it was from that room she her- self had gone direct to the nursery after her second journey below stairs? m. u .--_~ ......-._-, V __ Fanny began iéwwhfmper. The other grippgd her by the arm: “Don't make a , I‘-._L “A; , v . V . _.__V._, ___- H , J V , you have made sure that there is noth- ins:r else left to do.â€"â€" Venn." burl" "’ ‘J "’ fool of yourself,” she saiq ; “ gm legst, not ~"7~‘JV"'7'J 7" It was to the nursery that Therese and her white-faced companion now mechanii cally bent their steps; their search had not occupiedlonger than six or seven minutes in all. The nursery was just as Fanny had last left it, the toys scattered about the floor, and the window wide open, except that by this time the roam was nearly in darkness. The first thing that Therese did was to light the candles in the girandoles over the chimney-piece, then turning to the girl, she said : “ Bnt one thing remains to be done, and that is, to tell Mrs. Marchment.” At these words, Fanny dropped cn her knees and broke into a. tempest of hysterical subs and tears. “I daren’t tell her,” she exclaimed. “ Oh ! what shall I do ‘2” 7 “ If you dare not tell her, I must,” re- plied the Swiss without the slightest change in the low, even inflectipps of her yogce. For a. moment or two Therese stood regard- ing the crouching figure before her with a. stare of chilly contempt. In her eyes, half- veiled by their white lashes. was the glitter of a. malignant triumph. Without a. word more she quitted the room, and traversing the corridor with the noiseless stealthy tread of some soft-footed predaceous creature, she tapped lightly at the door of the small drawing-room ; and then, after a moment's pause, during which a. film, so to speak. gathered over her eyes and robbed them of all expression, she turned the handle and went in. 7‘ ‘V‘WCShIin’you only would ! moaned the girl through her sobs. Strong woman though she was, Mrs. Marchment seemed to reel under the shock 0f Therese’s news, briefly and clearly told by the waiting-woman. She pressed her hand to her side and for a moment or two was powerless to speak. Her first words were an order to Therese to summon Sir Harry, who was engaged with his steward in the library. Then. accompan- ied by Miss Fenton, who was scarcely less ahocked than she, Mrs. Marchmeut hurried to the nursery, where Sir Harry made his appearanca two minutes later. Fanny Dale a. limp, grovelling figure, was powerless, in the utter abandonment ofher despair, to an- swer any question coherently. The baronet, to whom her moans and bewailings were irritating in thefitreme, sternly ordered her to her own room, and then turned to the composed Therese for the particulars he had failed to elicit from the nurse maid Three minutes sufficed to put him in posses- sion of all there was to tell. “ It’s a pityâ€"it is a. thousand pities,” he said, when Therese had come to an gag], Hillier/7 so much time has been wasted ixi searching the other rooms, when it is evi- dent that the child has been carried off by some miscreant by Way of the windowi. You ought to have summoned me immedi- ately the boy was missed. However, no more time must be lost. This room must; be left exactly as it is till the arrival of the policeâ€"You, my dear,” turning to Mrs. Marchment, “had better go back to the drawingâ€"room; ami'Edeline will keep you company)” He spoke very quietly and col- lectedly, It was only by the spasmodic openigg and shutting of his hands that he betrayed how deeply he was affected by the mysterious disagpearin of his grandson and heir. With tHIt Sir arty went his way, and the two women returneq slowly and Wif‘rirx'v'é mi'nufiés litter, Tom Abrey, the ugoqm, was spinqingalpng in the dogcart on iis way {Amrriefield to summon She police, éfilyqfio the drawing-room. Theresa; find- ing §hegasrnob wanted further at present hag! already ygpislggd. 9n BY '1‘. W. SPEIGHT CHAPTER. II while in the huge flagged kitchen were al- ' ready assembled the gardener and his assis- tant ; the coachman and two stable helps : ‘ the butler, who quivered like a. blanc- ‘ mange in human shape ; a couple of stalwart but overfed footmen; the gamekeeper and his under-ling : Dickson, the half-Witted man-otall-work ; and lastly, Sir Harrie, with Mr. \Varde, the lame land-Stewart. (After Lady Marchment’s death, the estab- lishment at the Chase had been considerably cut down.) The baronet’s questions with the View of ascertaining whether any suspi- cious characters had been seen loitering about the house or grounds having failed to elicit any information, the little company was divided into three parties, Sir Harry taking charge of one of them, the gamekeepcr of another, and the gardener of the third. Each party took lanterns, and each man was armed with a. stout cudgel, of i which the amnekeeper had an ample supply ‘in stcck. Fl‘hen, after a few final instruc« ltions, they all filed quietly out by way of i the back entrance, watched from a. distance. by the women portion of the belowstairs l establishment, behind Whom, silent but oh- 1 servant, stood Therese Cobran. As soon as servant, stood Therese Cobmn. As soon as the door was shut behind the last man, Therese turned and Went slowly-upstairs without speaking to any one, a. faint, amused smile flickering round her thin lips ; but it “as not a pIZnsunt 5111119 by any means. ‘ Poor Sir Harry !‘ she renmrkcd to herself with a shrug. “I am afraid that he and his men will come back no wiser than they went.” In the small drawing-room sat Mrs. Merch- ment and Miss Fenton, one on each side of the fireplace. waiting and listening for the tidings which any moment might bring. They spoke but little to each other. Ede- line, who had dearly loved the lost boy, and had made far more of a pet of him than his mother had ever condescended or cared to do, would fain have sympathised with Mrs. Marchment had she been permitted to do so but such timid overtures as she ventured on were so coldly received by the widow that her feelings shrank within themselves, as the petals of a. delicate plant shrink and shrivel before the first breath of frost. Mrs. Marchment was one of those women who are sufficient unto themselves, who, how heavy so-ever may be the burdens they are called upon to bear, not merely sco n to crave the sympathy of others, but repe it even when ofl'ered unasked. A deep sigh that was almost a. sob broke from Mrs. Marchment, and then she sank into he.r chair again. Edeline’s heart went out towards her, but encountered no re- sponsive chord. The widow’s face might have been nothing but a beautiful mask for aught it betrayed of whatever feelings and emotions were at Work below. Presently the baronet cleared his voice. “ Every square yard of the gardens and shrubberies has been ' searched,” he said, “ and the park itself thoroughly examined, but to no pur- pose. Yardley, the superintendent of police ‘ 3, has just arrived with two of his men, and I am now going to consult with him as to the next steps it behaves us to take.” That night was one which the inmates of Rothwell Chase were little likely ever to iforget. Although the telegraph had been ' set to work and the country was being scoured in every direction by the mounted constabulary, hour passed after hour with‘ out bringing tidings of any kind. It was long after midnialit before the household separated. Mr. arde had kindly offered to remain up all night in case of the arrival of any news, which he would at once conb municate to his employer ; and his offer had been accepted. It was with a. heavy heart that the baronet kissed his daughter-in ‘ law and bade her good-night. At the foot of the stairs Edeline offered him her arm without a word, and without a word, he took it. Never had he felt the need of help as he felt it to-night ; never haul the ‘ burden of his years seemed to weigh so heavily on him before. I "A “AA-Le “-4 And yet, deep rooted in Mrs. Marchment's heart was a passionate love for her child ; but even to the object of that love her he- trayals of tendernessâ€"her moments of weak- ness she termed them to herselffiwere brief and infrequent. For the ordinary fond and foolish mother whose happiest hours are those she spends among her darlings, she had nothing but a. feeling of quiet contempt. They were poor invertebrate creatures, with whom she was glad to feel that she had nothing in common. Frank had a child’s intuitive consciousness that his mother loved him ; but her caresses were matters of such rare occurrence that he al- most shrank from them. In point of fact, his love for his beautiful mamma was over- weighted with a, sort of awe-not fear, be it understoodâ€"so that it was a. relief to him when the drawing-room ordeal was at an end and he was at liberty to race back (0 the nursery, where laughing, sweet-tempered Fanny Dale more than made up to him for whatever he lacked in the way of caresses elsewhere. The Chase was so large and some parts of it were so far removed from the domestic offices, that our two ladies were unanvnre of the return of the search party till Sir Harry in person opened the drawing-room door and walkediin. Both of them started to their feet at his entry ; but his face told the news he brought before his tongue could frame a. syllable. It seemed to Edeline that he look- ed five years older them he had looked at luncheon a. few hours before. He sank into a chair with a. groan, The‘i‘ese, who seemed to have quite got over her temporary indisposition, was wait- ing for her mistress when the latter reached her dressing-room. She was much too astute a person, and read her mistress too thorough- ly, to venture on any spoken expression of sympathy. To have done so, as she was well aware, would have merely resulted in a snubbing. But sympathy may be conveyed by manner, by an inflection of the voice even, and, more subtly still, by an indefin- able something in the mere act of adminis- tering to the needs of those whom it is our privilege to serve in a subordinate capacity. And after such a. fashion it was that Therese strove to convey her sympathy. It is to be presumed that she was successful in her efforts, seeing that Mrs. Marchment’s last words as she quitteri her for the night were : “ You are a good creature, Therese.” Therese pafisedoutside the door and laugh- ed a. low sardonic laugh. “ I’m a. good creature, am I, madame ? To hear you talk, 0119 might take you fora. dtrch'ess born, in- Mrs.1\’[arch- each side of ning for the stead of for what you areâ€"the daughter of a. wandering fiddle-scraper. But it may be that you will have occasion to change your opinion before you and I have. done with each other.” Next morning, while the family were at breakfastâ€"such a breakfast as they could eatâ€"Inspector Dimwade from Scotland Yard was announced. Superintendent Yardley had met him at the station, and they had driven over together to the Chase, the inspector being put into possession of the facts of the case en route. It may be here remarked that. so far. the efforts of the Yardley had met him at the station, and 5] they had driven over together to the Chase, the inspector being put into possession of the facts of the case an romc. It may be here remarked that, so far, the efl'orts of the police had been productive of no result. Inspector Dimwade was a man five-aud- forty, or tlicreabouts, with a florid com- plexion and a somewhat full habit of body, sandy hair and short side whiskers match. He had a pleasant smile and a5 quietly plusible manner, which he found of _ great service to him in his profession. When the consultation with Sir Harry. had come to an end, which it did in' the course of a few minutes, Inspector Dimwade asked to be conducted to the nursery. On entering the room he walked at once to the window and submitted it to a close examination, fastening and un- fastening the hasp several times, and then with his eye measuring the height of the to‘ balcony from the ground. Then he instruct- ed Yardley to shut the Window While he re- mained outside. This being done, he prov- ed, by means of the blade of his pocket- knife, what an easy thing it was for any one to force open the hasp of the window. “ You have certainly scored a point there, Mr. Inspector," said the 'oaronet as Dim- ' wadere-entered the room through the Window he had so readily opened. “But before a man could do what you have just done, he must get into the balcony from below, and how pray, would he manage that '3” “ Pardon me, Sir Harry ; I have not implied tliatthe nursery was entered from thebalcony. l Imerely wanted to satisfy myself that it could ‘ have been. I think I understood you to say when we were in the library that there are several unoccupied bedrooms on this floor which are rarely entered by any one but the chamber-maid whose duty it is to keep them in order '3” “ That is so,” responded Sir Harry. As a matter of course, such a house as the Chase must have a number of doors. To begin with, thereis the main entrance ; then there is the side-door through which Mr. Yardley and I were admitted; I noticed, too, a door in the conservatory ; and doubtâ€" less there arc one or more entrances by way of the back premises.” The baronet nodded assent. ” Such being the case, would there, in your opinion, sir, be any insuperable diffi- culty, supposing a person to be wishful of so ‘ doing, more especially if he happened to have u. ready-made acquaintance with the run of the house, in stealing into it unobser- ved, hiding in one of the the unused rooms, Watching his opportunity, and the moment ‘ thegirl’s back was turned, making his way to I the nursery, flinging (let us assume) a cloth over the child’s head so as to smother its cries, opening the window, dropping from the balcony to the groundâ€"the height, even when burdened with the child, would be a trifle to an active manâ€"and then, aided by the dusk, making off through the shrub- bery, it may be to some rendezvous previous- ly agreed on with his accomplices, suppos- ing him to have had any : would there be anything out of the range of probability in A all this ‘2” Sir Harry gasped a. little. Dimwade’s ‘ way of stating his supposititions case was lsuch that the baronet seemed to see the l whole afl‘air pass like a panorama before his L | eyes. “ As you state the case, there seems to me nothing whatever out of the range of probability, ” he murmured. “ Indeed, quite the contrary,\vere it not for one thing: what possible motive could any one have for l acting as you have suggested ‘2” '; n ,3”.- l l l l l 'V‘â€"O "7 J uu Dimwade showed his teeth. “ Motives are very queer things, sir, and very hard to get at. Just now, I am concerned more with the method than the motives of the abduclion ; but we shall probably have to consider that part of the question later on.” Then, a. moment. later 1 “ By the way, have the unused bedrooms been searched for any traces ot a. possible intruder ‘2” n 1 _,, “ Suppose we throw an eye over them, now we are on the spot,” suggested Dim- wade. ‘Ixééordiugly, not one eye, but six were brought to bear on the rooms in question, but without being productive of the slight- est result. “Not so far as I am aware," answerc Yardley. .. u, “ Low, as to the ground below the bal- cony,” said the detective ; “ has it been ex- amined for traces of footsteps, 01‘ any other marks which Would trend to prove it was by that way the child was carried elf." r‘-‘ “ That was a. point which I did not over- look," replied the superintendent ; “ but I thought it bust to leave the examination till we could have daylight to help us.” “ Quite right. Suppose we go and ex- amine the ground at once.” ' “ Yes,” said Inspector Dimwade a few minutes later, “ these are undoubtedly heel- marks, and the assumption is that they were made by the rascal when he let himself drop from the balcony with the child in his arms.” He had gone down on one knee, and was examining certain dints in Lhe gmvelled drive which would hardly have been dis~ cernible had they not been sought for by the aid of a small but powerful magnifying o “ Now, if this surface," he went on, “ in- stead of beinghard gravel, had been turf or garden mould, it might possibly have furnish- ed us with an important link in the chain of evidence ; that is Lo say , we might not improbably have been able to find a. pair of boots or shoes which would have exactly fitted the impressions. As it is, however, I am afraid the marks will prove of no service to us for, although they are palpably here, yet they are little more than surface scratch- es, and might have been caused by one pair of boots just as readily as by another.” He rose and put away his glass. “ From this point, I presume, the fellow would have little or no difliculty in making his way out of the park ?” 1,. 1 “ Nane whatever,” answered the baronet. “ There is a. public right-of-way across the lower end of Lhe park which is open night and day to anybody who may chose to make use of it. ” Most rivers banks. A soldier once went into the 7lst. Regi- ment in order to be near: his brother who was in the 72nd. (TO BE CONTINUED.) have runnifig accounts 1. two I did not over- udent : “ but I xummation till A Triumph of Art Over Natureâ€"The Result of Judlcnous Blendingâ€"Modern [Ils- lory ofa Much Slandered Animal. The development of the pig is a triumph of art over nature. Nature’s pig, the wild boar, is not a very gainly animal ; nature’s pig, again, simply domesticated and fattened ‘ in the form of a common farm pig, is little better than a necessary evil; but nature’s pigs from different quarters of the world, mixed together, remixed, and judiciously blended by the scientific breeder, eventually produce a creature which is a joy, if not exactly a thing of beauty, fore\'er-â€"or, at least, until it is made into bacon. It is absolutely painful to a. man who knows what - a. pig ought to he, may be, and often is, to hear people who should know better say that ' they “ hate pigs.” Such people have no ‘ eyes for form,_or they would not speak thus of animals showing the graceful curves of the best breeds of Berkshires, Chinese, and Yorkshires. ' Undoubtedly the British pig of the end of last century must have been an ugly ill- favored-looking bruteâ€"indeed, many of his modern representatives are little betterâ€"but by degrees there came importations of Chinese, Siamese, Maltese, and Neapolitan pigs, which, if not altogether satisfactory in themselves, brought “ corrective influences ” to bear upon The native monstrosity, again, acted as a. corrective upon the alien, and so we went on breeding, crossing, selecting, effecting the survival of the fittest and the curing of the less fit, until we obtained those glorious pigs which are only so far short of perfection as to make us zealous in the hope of some day attaining to it. It is mortifying to the Englishman to Know that, while he was still content with a. great le gy pig, theJSouth Sea. Islands, on their iscovery, were found to be well stoeked with a. small, black, short-legged pig. As to the Chinese, they have been far ahead of us for centuries, and in most of the provinces of China-pork is, at present, much more abundant than mutton. it is some consolation to reflect that America. has been behind us, and that the pig is not indigenous to North America, although his first cousin, the peccary, is a. native of South America. The Americans, however, have made up for lost time, and we have nothing in this counâ€" try that can vie with the great pig-meat factories of Chicago. In respect to the treatment of pigs in other parts of the world it is sad, when we look at our own refined' and well-cared-for favorites, to remember that in some parts of India. semi-Wild pigs are allowed to work their own sweet will on the streets asscavengers. In short they take the place of drains, and they go where they please in perfect safety, for nobody has the least desire to eat such evil livers. Yet it is of faith among pig fanciers that their pet is naturally a clean animal: that he only rolls in mud for hygienic purposes ; that he hates a. dirty sty, and that, if left to himself, he would feed almost exclusively on chestnuts, acorns, and truflies. Achange of fashion has taken place of late in the modern British pig, not through the taste of the fancier, but, through the more practical if less artistic demands of the bacon curer. The fact is that curing has been revolutionized. Formerly the lean of bacon and ham used to be hard, unpalatable, and fearfully and wonderfully salt, while the fat, as fat. WEB good enough; now, under the system known as “ mild curing,” the lean is excellent. It may easily be un- derstood. therefore, that of bacon curing the chief objects of the pig- fattener was to produce the largest possible amount of fat t0'lea.n. Whereas at present it is to produce the greatest possible propor- tion of lean to fat. There have been changes, again, in the ideal shape of the pig, and these have been brought about by the alter- ations in the prices given per pound in the market for certain portions of the pig’s car- cass. For instance, the shoulder and neck are now about the least valuable parts of his body,consequently the immensely devel- oped crests and shoulders, which used to ‘ excite so much admiration, are now odious in the eyes of the practical breeder. \Vith- out entering into the details of “ sides of bacon," such as “prime Streaky,” “ thin strcaky,” “ middle of gammon,” “ fore end,” (to. , we may remark that there are about seven distinct prices for seventeen difi‘erent parts of the “ sides,” to say nothing of the head and trotters. If we were asked which modern breed was probably themost direct descendant of the aboriginal pig of this country, we should be inclined to say Tamworth. This breed has been steadily increasing in favor during the last few years. The common idea. of a Tamworth’s color is dull red, with black spots; but it varies from a deep, rich red to a brick-dust tint, and in some cases it is of a dark slate color. The uncultivated Tamworth is hardy, ugly, leggy, long-nosed, and slow in growth; the improved Tamworth is also hardy and long in the nose, but he puts on lean quickly and fat slowly, which makes him the big of the period for curingon the modern system. The black Berkshire is still a very popular rig. and for many years he was generally li ed better than any other, although he had to make a hard struggle to OVCI'COHIC which existed in certain localities against his color. This pig, as well as the Essex, was improved many years ago by a cross of Neapolitan blood. The probability that the Berkshire breed has been black for a very long period has been questioned. Black pigs with white points can be traced back for seventy years in Berkshire ; yet it has been confidently asserted that the pig 0 the district used to be a tawny with black spots. At any rate, crosses of Berkshire with white pigs frequently produce offspring with a certain amount of red, which shows that this breed, like the Tamworth, origin- ally sprang from the old red pig of the country. The produce of a. Berkshire sow by a white boar is almost always white, but, curiously enough, dark colors often appear in later crosses. The chief faults to he guarded against in buying Berkshires are light flanks, short, dropping quarters, some approach to legginess, unduly coarse hair, and deeply furrowed skin. They should not "be marked with white except on the nose,, "forehead, tip of the tail, and feet; but it; they have no white upon them at all it is, i robahle that they have a cross of Essex lood' in them. The Essexis quite black and is something sbetween theBerkshire and smadlYprk'shire” I"Ln shape. If not very well" known, he- is-a Till-1 DEVELOPMENT 0F TllE PIG. OUR NATIVE MONSTROSITY DURING THE DARK AGES STRO NC I’RF JUDICE J‘ters, some toarse hair, 'should not 11 the nose, eat; but it 1 at all it is )53 of Essex very good pig and shows considerable breed- ing. It has often been contended that the large Yorkshire is the truest living repre- sentative of the aboriginal pig of the country. So far as his drooping quarters, large head, long nose, strength of bone, flat sides, and tendency to narrowness are cencerned we willingly admit it ; l‘mt we cannot truthfully say that this enormous, white farmyardy- looking pig is exactly our idea. of a wild boar. A few years ago, pigs of this breed used to be fattened until they weighed, in some cases as much as bullocksâ€"one which was a winner at theRoyal Agricultural Society’s shows at Carlisle and Derby weighed nearly half a tonâ€"but they are killed much young- er now and, being rather lean pigs until they reach a certain age, they are curers. The small Yorkshire is a breed formed by cross‘ ing the large Yorkshire with the Chinese. He represents the highest pinnacle to which art can attain in the production of fat, and for this very reason he does not meet with the approval of the modern curer. His breed, too, has been very much inbred with the usual results of delicacy and unproduc- tiveness. It may be observed here that all breeds much crossed with the Chinese are less in favor than they were a few years ago. The Middle White Yorkshire is a variety of the Small \Vhite, and it may be that this breed has a great future before it. lhus far it is somewhat undefined in its form and uncertain in its produce. The Lincoln- shire pig is like the pike, “ a voracious feed- er,” and it is large, lop-eared, and ugly. The common white pig of Scotland is a long- snouted, leggy animal something of the large Yorkshire type and a. slow fattener. nevertheless he makes an admirable cross with the Berkshire. “ Gallant little Wales ” also has its pig. and from its red and black hueâ€"plum-pud- ding color, as it‘is profanely calledâ€"it may claim to be descended from the aboriginal wild boar which used to be hunted by those Welsh kings from whom nearly every \Velshman claims to be descended. Both the Welshman and the Welsh pig have be- come a little mixed in the course of their long descent, and the pig is an exceedingly vulgar looking beast, whose only value con- sists in his making a. hardy outcross with other breeds. One great drawback to pig breeding-and observe that this is not the fault of the pigs -â€"-is the violent fluctuation which is con- stantly taking place in their prices. When your bailifi' urges you to sell because you have got ” sadly too many," you get wretched prices,and the only consolation of- fered toyouis that “pigs is very low.” When pigs are “up” and you want to sell you either find that you have none to spare, or else your bailiff declares-that it would be a “ thousand pities " to part'with them now that “there’s such a. lot 0’ keep.” An average pig fattens most quickly from the time he weighs nine stone to the time he weighs twelve stone, and, in the present condition of taste in bacon. it pays best to kill when he weighs about twelve stone. Sows should be fattened aftei' they have produced a. second or third litter, however great the temptation to have “just one more.” “ Oh that we were all as fit to die as that pig 5” said the pious farmer ; but it is not so easy to say exactly when a pig is fit to die as some people suppose. In dis- missing the subject, let it he said to his credit, that the pig is the most economical meat producer on a. farm, and that he is about the only living creature about a. gen- tleman’s establishment that pays at all.â€" Saturday Review. The Fly Makes 609 Strokes a Second When in a flurry. There are many insects which one would little suspect to befiurnished with apparatus suited to swift and more or less continuous flight. House flys frequent the inside of our windows, buzzing sluggishly in and out of the room. But what different creatures are they when they accompany you on a hot summer's day. A swarm of thesefittle pests keep pertinaciously on wizé about your ears ; quicken your pace, and still they are with you ; let ggust of wind arise achéa-ry them backwar and behind, the breeze hav- ing dropped, their speed is redoubled, and they return to their post of annoyance. But ‘ this example gives only a. partial proof of the fly’s power of flight, as the followmg will show : The writer was travelling one day in autumn by mil, at about ‘25 miles an hour, when a. company of flies put in an ap- pegrarnce at the carriage window. ,,,:I, LAN; _ll_ r They never settled, but easily kept pace with the train ; so much so, indeed, that their flight seemed to be almost mechanical, anda thought struck the writer that they had probably been drawn intoa sort of vor- tex, whereby they were carried onward with but little exertion on the part of themselves. But this was soon disproved. They sailed forth at right angles from the train, flew to a distance of 30 or 40 feet, still keeping pace, and then returned with increased speed and buoyancy to the window. To account for this look at the wings of a, fly. Each is composed of an upper and lower membrane. between which the bloodvessels and respira- tory organs ramify so as to form a. delicate network for the extended wings. These are used with great quickness, and probab- ly 600 strokes are made per second. This would carry the fly about ‘25 feet, but a. sevenfold velocity can easily be attained, lmaking 125 feet per second, so that under certain circumstances it can outstrip a race horse. A postman in Egypt who carried the mail to the villages in the neighborhood of Minieh was in the habit of announcing his arrival by shouting so that the villagers should come at once for their mail and not keep’him waiting too long. He was placed on anew route, and shortl after leaving the first village one of the in abitants died. 5Twojdays later he called there again, and another villager_ died after. his‘departure, After his thirfi visit a. third villag‘er died. The villagersattributed these deathsto the evil influence of the new postman, called him .tlie messenger of Satan, and determined to put a. stop to his visits. On the occasion of his fourth visit to the village a woman, who was related to onelof the dead men, insulted lhimgrossly and threw mud at him. The postman went to complain to the sheiksof ‘the Village, whereupon the latter turned on himin a. rage and reviled him inthe most outrageous manner ai the cause of the vil- ‘ Women are so font ‘fineljy that they even ruffled“ once in a. while. iager§ misfortunes. The poor postman was obliged to resign his office. THE SPEED 01' INSECTS. Though! He “’85 n Hoodoo fond of trimmings and 'en have tE-‘Til tempers, mm_‘