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A TIIRILLING STORY OF OLD ENGLAND. CHAPTER 11. , Not very long after our great troubleâ€" but about that time I lost datesâ€"for the first week looked like so many years, and all the months following that were such a blank,that to turn back upon them,paasion- less and uneventful, they look as if they must have slid past likea single dayâ€"Der- Went showed me a letter he had just rcceiv- ed. It was from a cousin who was very illâ€"- dyiu_, indeedâ€"eat. one of the German baths, whose illness had been so long taken for granted, that nobody could suppose it to be mortal. Mortal, however, it had sud- =enly turned out:to her, and this .Mr. Crof- ton wrote in sudden alarm and terror to the head of his house. He had an only daughter â€"a motherless and almost portionlcss, child. What was to become of her when he died ‘3 “ IL is for you to decide, C'lara,’ msaid Derwent, putting the letter in my hand. Of course there was but one decision possible. “ She must come here,” said .1 ; “ but who is to bring her ?â€"â€"must you? Poor Child! I grudge you to go, Derweut ; yet she must not come alone.” “I grudge to leave my pale Clara." said Dcrwent; “but poor Croftcn still lives. He may be making twice as much of it as is necessaryâ€"he always did so~we'll write and see.” “ I think the man was dying who wrote that letter," said I;and the hurried, unâ€" steady hand, the words too earnest in their diction for anything less than the last ap- peal of nature, were witnessesindisputable. And so it proved ; for even while we were discussing this letter, the writer of it was already, dead. The next post brought us the intimation. His daughter, a. girl of eighteen, was totally alone; we were not even sure that she had a servant with her. Derwent rose up on the moment in one of his rare bursts of rapid action. Almost be- fore I could say good-bye to himself or I had half realized his going, be was away. I was still heavy with the lassitude and dullness of great grief: weak in health, too, for my sorrow had told upon me : and exacting as lonely women are, I cannot jus- tify it. I havenevertried to justify myself : but the very suddenness with which Der- went set out upon this mission of mercy gave me an involountary pang. “’hen he was gone, I went to my window to watch him, as I always did, and he never looked back. My mind was exhausted and irritable. I was not myself. I actually cried with a mortification and annoyance which amaz- ed me. So that from the very first moment, one might say that I was pre- judiced against LuCy Crofton, and had in connection with her coming a thrill of un- accustomed pain. I shall not easily forget the night she came home. It was winter, a so rmy night and finowing heavily. I expected them eVery evening, but was not sure that they were coming then. I was myself in the drawing-room. The drawing-room at Hilfont was a very large room, always bright and cheerful. It had been newly furnished at our marriage, furnished brightly, with a great deal of gild- ing,and as much white as Derwent could per- suadehis craftsmen intotolerating. Perhaps Mr. Crofton had rather a florid tasteâ€"wen tainly he liked, with a child’s liking, all manner of pretty colors. The carpet had a white ground, with boquets of the bright- est flowers on it. I remember how warm and velvetv it looked under the glow from the luv. '~ “7 fireplace, where all the polished .nd gilt ornaments reflected ruddy light. The curtains were drawn ; the fire was bright; the unlighted warm- colored room looked the very picture of home and comfort. I sat by the fire in a low easy-chair, which was my usual seat. The clock ticked on the mantelpiece ; the fire sparkled in the grate; the snow came with a mufllcd heavy fall upon the window. I was longing for Derwent. I was anxious lest he and his young charge should be traveling on such a night ; but beneath all, I was sad in my own heart, which was closest to me, over my own trouble. Now and then a sudden rcmcm‘ brance struck upon me, sharp and unlooked for, like an arrowâ€"remembrances of hopes I used to have when I sat here in this same fashion before that grief cameâ€"but for all that I must have looked, and no doubt did look, a very impersonation of domestic warmth and happiness. I had a. book in my hand, though I doubt whether I got through a page of it in an hour. My mind was very busy with my own thoughts. I heard no sound of wheels, though my ears \wre sulficicntly keenâ€"the snow had Illil'cilml the road and made it noiseless --bul I Heard suddenly a bustle in the hall. and felt, or supposed I felt, the cold sudden blast of air from the open door. I rose up to listen, wonder- ing what it might be, when suddenly the door was thrown open, and Dcrwent ap- peared leading the stranger in his hand. He was glad to see me, imd glad to come home; flushed by the cold and rapid jour- ney, he looked exhilarated, bright, and cheered, more than seemed possible to me, and came in, in this sudden hurried way, rather to introduce his charge than to meet his wife, from whom, since our mar- riage, he had never been parted before. It was the most momentary pang in the World, but it was a pang “ hich startled me out of my solitude. Then I went forward to meet them. “This is Lucy, Clara,” said Derwent, giving her over to me. I took her hand and kissed her, in an anxious revulsion of feeling,determined not to be unkind to the orphan ; and strange to thidk of. she, look ing more self~possessed than I was, kissed me. _When I felt the firm light touch of her lips upon my check, I was more startled than I can describe, and involuntarily drew back a. step to look at her. She was a fair haired and blue-eyed, a pretty girl. The journey and her grief. and her sudden en- trance Into a new home, had not not decomposed Lucy. She looked at me, but not as a timid girl looks atlhe elder woman in whose hands the comfort of her life is henceforth to be. There was nothing wistful, not-hing downcast. nothing propi- tiatory in her face. She looked so emirer able to his care of herself that insensiny l. my compassion evaporated. Every uncon- scious movement she made, every detail of her appearance, helped to extinguish my sympathy. Her big shan was thrown on firmly over her arm with not a. shadow of drnginit. Herhairwassosmcotlionlicr fore- head, her step so unlicsitating, no one could lielpfeelingsui‘e thatcvcrythingLucywanted was there, exact and in the most beautiful order in that bag which she carried in her hand, and that there was not the remotest necessity for uulying her bonnet and loos- ening her cloak, and making her sit down by the fire, as I did instinctively. I said, " Welcome to Hilfont, my dear; are you very tired ‘2”-â€"â€"meclianically. They were such words as I should have addressed to another girl in her circumstances. And Lucy said, “How do you do, aunt ‘2” The girl quite disconcerted me with her compos- ure and sensiblcncss. I (lid not know what to say next; while she sat locking up at me, quite brightly as if She milicrcmn-, passionatcd my unremilmess. It was ihc‘ oddest change of position I ever knew. “It is too late for dinner." said I. “Darwent, you must. be content with a nondescript meal, such as lidiOslovc, for I dare say Lucy will like some tea. I did not know you were coming tonight." ” I thought it better to pll-lll on Ellen to waste time writing,”said Dcrwent. “ What a famous fire! It is almost worth a ten miles’ drive through the snow to enjoy it, eh ! You look quite bright tonight, Clara." , “ Yes, said I, hurriedly, “ we always look bright in this room, but I fear your rapid traveling nny have been rather too much for Lucy. Are you very tired, my dear?" “ Not in the least, thank you, aunt,” said that e'isy young lady, who sat upright' in her chair, still holding the bag and shawl, and looking quite ready for action. “ I was very glad when uncle proposed to come on without stopping. And we have got in in very good time after all.” “In capital time,” said Derwent. ” And now, Clam. for your nondescript meal.” “Immediately,” said I ; “but have pati< cnce, let Lucy rest for a moment ; remem- ber Hilfont isnotso familiar to heras to you. Do not mind Mr. Crofton’s rapidity, my dear. There is no haste. You must rest and be refreshed now.” ' “Then, please, I willgo to my own room, aunt," said the prompt Lucy, “ I will not keep you waiting ; but I should like to accustomed to be useful,”she added, quiet- ly ; “uncle says you are a good deal alone, Aunt Clara. I should like to be of some use to you, and I hope you will Ictme try.” “Time enough to lbink of that Lucy," said I, withdrdwiug my hand ; “in the meaulime you must rest, and recover YOU? strength. I fear you are exercising an unnatural self control, and if it is so, you will feel the reaction all the more severely. Have confidence in us, my dear, and do not think that anything is expected ofyou, just. yet at least. I am almost afraid you are keeping up too well for your own peace.” “Oh no, Aunt Clara,” said Lucy, with a tear in her eyeâ€"a tear which looked quite sincere, and really seemed to evidence the full extent of her emotion. “I am not re- straining mysclf, I am not very tired, and I am sure I shall be all right to-morrow, but I will not keep you; goodnight.” So saying, she look my hand again and bent forward to kiss me, which farewell token I rcccivml in utter amaze and confu- sion, humbly withdrawing thereafter; yet I could lint find the very least fault with with her, either. When I looked round from the (lou'r‘, I flattered myself I saw a balfwlstful, (leprecatary look from Lucy, but sue was busy opening her bag, and I licid no encouragement to stay. And this was how Lucy Crofton name home. W) m; CONTINUED.) 77*â€" CANADA DESERVING 0F CONFID- ENCE. What is (Inn! {and}: Finnuclrr Says on llle I'm-willing Depresslon. Mr. Thos. Skinner, the great London financier, who hasbeen exploring the North- ‘Vest as far as the coast, returned to Mont- real on Tuesday. Speaking of his impress- ions, Mr. Skinner snubâ€"“It is five years since I was through to the coast hefore,and the improvement I observed, both in coun- try and town, has made a. deep impression on me. Notwithstanding the prevailing depression, tlicimprovement is very murk- ed, particularly in Calgary and Vancouver. All branches of trade, such as lumber, mining, and other works, have increased in volume, and have beConie solidified. Of Course, the general complaint is the depress ion, which affects that side of the moun- tains just as much as it does this. But the people are cheerful through it all, and have every appearance of being the kind to weather it, too." Regarding the present depression in business, Mr. Skinner said he did not anticipate any continued depression leave my bag, and make sure that I am fit to sit at table with you who look s) nice and neat. \Vill one of the servants show me the way ?" “I will show you the way,” said I, as she ran and looked to the door, and I led her away accordingly. The room I had pre- pared for her was a. very pretty room close to my own, closer than 1I should have chosen bad I known how independent :1. young lady Lucy was. She looked round it With an approving glance as slte put down her shawl and her bag. “How kind of you to have taken so much trouble,” she said. “ Thank you, I shall be ready directly. But please, aunt, don’t let me detain you. I can quite well find my way downstairs.” Thus dismissed, I succumbed with quiet wonder, and left her to herself. Derwent waited for me on the staircase to ask how I was, and to make up, if that was wanted. for the coolness of his first salutation. “ I in Canada. “Panics, such as occurred in the States, are due to an active and money making community being surprised, and there is no doubt they were surprised. The worst, I think, is over, but I would not be to sanguine as to the period When the depression will finally disappear. Afailure in the wheat crop in England or India would have a good effect hero, because then India, which exports to us would want all her grain for herself, and then you would supply us with wheat. The mistake made the last time when a Wheat failure was declared in Russia. Will not be repeated. It was thought then that Russia would buy the world's surplus but that was wrong. If the Russian peasant cannot raise wheat to feed himself he has simply to starve. He can- not afford to buy it. It is where a. failure or famine occurs in a well~to-do country like England that makes wheat go up. think my fair Clara looks brighter to- night,” he said, “ and, my love, you will have a companion now.“ “I have you Derwent,” said I. “ Who am not a compinion, mad- ame, if it please you,” said my husband. “but the other portion of the same individual. Lucy is a nice little girl: no nonsense about her; don’t you think so, Clara?" ' “Why did you have so little considera- lion for her ‘2" said I :J‘so rapid and breath- less a journey might make her ill. Did that never occur to you 'Z" Derwent was only a. man; with all his ex- cellences, he never suspected meof disagree- ing with him about the nice little girl, nor perceived what my evasion meant. “I thought it the kindest thing I could doâ€" kccp her from thinking," said Mr. Crofton; , “besides that, I was very anxious for my own part to get home. Poor old Grafton was under the sod before I got there. She does not say much about him, and keeps up her spirits wonderfully for one so young, and has borne the journey like a hero. I made her quite easy by telling of you, Clara. She knew, before she came, that you’d be a mother to her.” “All 3 if she does not turn out older than me,” I said to myself, under my breath. , Dcrwcut did not hear me, which was so much the better. We went into the dining‘ room, where the table had been spread for the travelers ; and by and by Lucy joined us, as calm and easy as though she had lived here all her life. She was really quite a pretty girl. Somewhat dismayed as I was at her self-possession, I was disposed to think her blue eyes cold, and even her preltiness of a common kind ; but Lucy Crofton was really, truly, unmistakably pretty, and her mourning did not harm her appearance, though she was totaly black from head to foot. dull, heavy, crapey, woolen black, which owned no sparkle, and enveloped her like a pull. She took her chair and her supper with perfect propriety, but no symptom of indifference. She talked without hesitation, quietly, I cannot say without feeling, but she was perfeCtly. able to manage her sorrow. I, who could not diVest myself of the idea that some chance n ord might wake her dormant grief, and that one ought to be specially tender in her circumstances to this orphan girl, was much more embarrassed than she. It seemed so odd and contrary to all establish- ed notions, that an orphan so young and so fricndless should show herself so entirely mistress of her feelings the first night’ of her entry into a. strange house and anew life ; and I could not suppose any other ex- planation than thatslie was heroically sub- duing herself, and by and by, when she reached her own room would give way}, Once more I ascended the stairs with her when it was quite bed time. And then Lucy made a. momentary pause of consider. (LLIOH, and Spoke. “I hope I may not trouble you, aunt ” I believe that Canada is just as deserving of confidence as she ever was, and as good a place to invest now as ever. Depression is not an unmixed evil. The steady front shown by Canada to it, and the Wholesome way in which the period of trouble is be- ing met, is calculated to promote the confidence of'distant investors." Ave SOME ENGLISH CHILDREN. A l’atliclic Picture of Some Lives in England. If the reader will imagine 102,000 chil- dren passing before him and observe each child as it goes by, he may form some ade- quate idea. of the extent of the child suffer. log with which, within ten years, the National Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children has actually been on gaged. The first 24,000 are sufferers from violenceâ€"from boots, crockery, pans, shovels, straps, ropes, thongs, papers, fire, boiling waterâ€"any weapon which came to recklcsi and vengeful hands, which bruised, out, burned, scaldcd, plastered, bandaged them. Following these came 57,000 suffer- ers from neglect and starvationâ€"miserable with irritations and filthâ€"shivering, rag- ged, nigh naked, pale, limp, feeble, faint, dizzy, puny, sinking, faiuine‘strickendying, many carried in arms of the nurses of infirm- aries and hospitals. After these would come 450 funerals,where illvtreatment ended fatally. The society obtained its information too late to make their wicked parents cease from troubling, and its sole and miserable succc'ss was in punishment. Still following these come 12,000 little things exposed to suffering to draw the gaze and cruel charity of the street [0 those who were responsible for their pallor, emaciation, and cough_ mostly, too, in urmsâ€"butof idle drunkards and vagrants. Then come 4,000 pitablo girl-child victims of monsters who devote their victims to their terrible sensual pleasure. Next comes 3,000 little slaves of improper and hurtful employment and dangerous. performances, and child mon- strosities in travelingshowsncrobats attairs, trapeze, tight-rope performers in Circuses, and tellers with burdens too heavy, The procession is forty-five miles long, and would tnke‘ twenty-four hours to pass by. A pathetic feature would be the smallness of its members. Whilst ranging from four. teen and sixteen years downwards the immense proportion would be under five years old, the relative number of these in- creasing as the ages reached naked and helpless babyhood. Could this method of teaching the public be really adopted what results would follow ! .r._.__._..__.._. In the days of Sir Joshua Reynolds, Chlldren‘s BICYCLE RIDING EXTRAORDINARY. Thousands “'nl‘cliod the Feats Which “’on [he Cilamplonshlp of“ Eur-Ape. “Professional Riding for the Champion. ship of Europe in 1594.” Under this title two of the most celebrated artistic bicycle riders competed in Albert Hall, Crystal Palace, Leipzig, recently. They were the American, N.C. Kaufmann, and the French- man, August Gouget. Kaufmann has often been in competition with Gouget, and has now Won the championship. The competi- tion was so arranged that the champion was to perform feats which were to be per- formed afterward by his adversary, and vice versa. There were two referees, who were to select a third. These three judges chose a jury consisting of five men, who were to fix the number of points to be giv' en, the highest number of points to be giv- en for one exercise being five. The two competitors put up a stake of 1,000 marks ($238), and besides this the victor received agold medal worth 300 marksl$71). The contest lasted four hours, and was watched with the greatest interest by an audience of thousands. Each rider performed feats in his own way on cycles of all kinds. While the Frenchman excelled more in AGRICULTURAL Work For Rainy Days.‘ A correspondent writes:â€"I wonler if all my brother farmers can find enougn work to keep them and the hired men busy in the continued rainy weather. What do you do while the rain is falling and you can’t work out of doors? We have a good shop to work in, and plenty of tools; so the carpen- ter, the harness repairer, the painter and the blacksmith can find plenty to do while the rain is falling. We found our harnesses needed oiling, and taking them apart for this purpose we found a great many places that, by the use of the needle. thread, awl, etc, we put in as good shape as a. harness- maker could have done, and thereby saved a trip to town, found something to put in the time, and saved a few dimes besides. We find, by looking around, that our drill and borrow need repairs, so the car peutcr has a chance to show his skill. There is a board broken out of the gate; of course, any one could nail one on, but that would not make a neat looking job so the genius that can use the carpenter’s tools takes one head ofl‘ the gate, fits the board to the mor- gymnastics and acrobatic feats than in bal- ancing, Kaufmaun surprised the audience by a number of tricks such as had never been seen before, which he performed with tics and puts the gate together again, and then a little paint makes it look like a new gate. Perhaps some one of your farm tools would look better if they were to receive a Wonderful skfll, surety and elegance. Kauf- mann won by 284 4.5 points against 228 2-5 points for Gouget. In the accompanying engraving we show a. number of the exercises which were per. formed by the two men. Figs. 1 to 6 being feats performed by Kaufmann, some of which were well copied by Gouget, and others not as well,- wbile Figs. 7 to 10 illustrate exercises in which Gouget far surpassed his opponent. The remarkable exercises on the steps and ladder were not attempted by Kaufmann. Gouget was not, many ugly women of the nobility thought to he scorned as an opponent. his skill was so great that he could picture them on the canvas as beauties, and his were her first words, said with a very be- coming gentleness of toneâ€"then a. little’ pause. I Oxpcctell she would cry, and took ; her hand in mine to comfort her, but Lucy ' dlfl not cry. “But I have always been studio was overrun with them, much to his annoyance. He frequently said, “ If Ipaint them as they are, they will hate me ; if I shall hate myself. ’ A. Sir Augustus Harris has engaged no less than fifty artists for thecoming opera season at histhcalrre in London. Of this number there are sixteen sopranos, five contraltos, don‘t paint them as they are, I thirteen tenors, nine baritones, and seven basses. new coat of paint. Do you have timothy hay? We have been working several days now cleaning up the seed which falls from the hay as it is forked over in the barn. The mangers have a. lattice work bottom, about one foot above the tight floor. We are very careful to save this seed, and by running it through our fanning mill twice the seed is clean enough to place on the market, and. as this seed is quoted at 32,25 per bushel, we are making good wages these rainy days by cleaning timothy seed. This is a good time to scrub out the cellar and whitewash the wall. \‘Vhen the rain lets up so we can get out to Work we find the fences want repairing. As we have not yet adopted the selling system, we can- not dispense with the fences. We have been building, of late years, quite a lot of post and rail fence. I think we have an improved and rapid way of setting, or rather driving the posts. We have a. sort of pile-driver placed upon a wagon; there is a heavy wooden block which drives the post; on awagon we place a two-horse power gasoline engine; the wheel of whiOis connected to the wind- lass of the pile driver by a belt; the block is raised by means of a. rope, which passes through apnlleyatthe top of frame,aud then to the wiadlass, around which it is given a. couple of turns. \Vhen the Windlass is in motion the block is raised the desired height, and then dropped on the post. A team of horses draws the wagon to the next place where the post is to be driven. Ifyou have not the engine to turn the wind- lass, two men can turn by having a crank placed on each end. We have the posts sawed four inches square and seven and. one-half feet in length and drive them in the ground three feet. Two men can sharpen and drive about. 225 posts in ten hours with this driver. 7 Treatment of the Dairy Cow. The proper treatment of the heifer to de- velop her best milking quality is notalways followed, and by such mistakes cows are injured by losing the capacity for doing their best. A writer says upon the subject, that it is his practice to leave calves with their mothers in a box stall about three dflysâ€" or until the milk is suitable for the dairy; then the cow is returned to her accustomed place in the dairy stable, and the call is tied by her side where it can receive its mother’s caresses and learn to eat from her manger ; but cannot reach her udder. When it is five days old, it has learned to drink readin from the pail set in the manger, and at ten days its diet is warm skim‘milk and the ensilage, clover hay and meal shared with its mother. In winter, while the cows are confined in the barn, this is an excellent plan much better than to separate them and put the calves in a. pen by themselves. The cows are more contented and happy, and the calves are more com- fortable from the warmth of their mothers’ bodiesâ€"they do look so cozy lying snugly between the cows. They sooner learn to eat and seem to grow up with better manners when thus under the eye and influence of their mothers, than when confined in a pen with others, where they acquire annoying habits which they are often long in overcom- ing or outgroWing. I would never think of leavinga calf four weeks with its mother, to take its fill of fresh milk at pleasure. The butter which the milk should make, would be worth double the amount the veal would bring, if sold. If to be raised for the dairy, the skim-milk calf is equal to any, while it is much better for the cow to be milked by hand than by calf. Mycows are thorough bred Jerseys, and the boilers invariably drop their o ilves at sevenâ€" teen to nineteen months of age, and are again bred when their calves are about five months old; they are thus twelve months In milk and drytwo months before dropping the second calf. I prefer to milk them a full year which seems to better develop “the milk- ing habit” than to dry them ofl' at eight or nine months, as many do. A year is long enough, however, with the first calf, and after that they are allowed to breed as fast as they will. I have one cow, eight years old next November, which has dropped eight calves. iu anecession, and is now bred for the ninth; the calves were equally divided as to sex, all healthy and hearty and the heifers make excellent milkers. This cow has been dry, is in good flesh and has gained in milk with each succeeding calf. ____.o_.__.._ Hypnotism and Insanity. Prof. J. W. Sutherland,amind-reader and hypnotist, made such strong’representations to the authorities of the New Westminster (8. C.) Asylum as to hi1 Ability to cure insanity by hypnotic suggestion that he was permitted to experiment with pewral patients last week. He utterly fade to hypnotiZe anv of the subjects.