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That day the young ladies chose to gather in a cluster round the fire in the breakfast room. It was wet, and there was nothing to be done or seen out of doors. The gentlemen were playing billiards, or read- ing newspapers,or at least doing something which carried them out of our society :only Bertie lingered among the girls by the fire. Bertie displayed an unusual liking for female society just at present. I could not any that my matchmaking scheme made de- cided progress; but certainly Bertie kept most perseverinzly in the vicinity of the young ladies,and I thoughtâ€"hopedâ€"began to address himself to Alice more than to any of the rest. But then, being anxious for this result, I believe I gave undue imâ€" portance to words which meant but little. Alice was unusually grave, as she had been for some time. Clara, on the contrary,was in high spirits. and I could not help think- ing that if she ever had been troubled, something must have occurred this morn- ing to reassure her heart. That was true, certainly, and no advant~ age to be got out, of it either, for Derwem. was imperturbabie, and never gave one the least satisfaction in geuing angry ; so we went to breakiusc, and Lucy kissed me.aud we were all as harmonious and friendly as possible downstairs. Mary Crofton of Stoke had been reading a novel which she held open in her hand. She was inveighing against the hero, whom she could not tolerate. “If 1 had been Julia,” cried this young lady, “I should never have married him .'â€"never, if he had gone on his knees twenty times a day! And as for breaking his heart! A man who forgot; his first love, and went and fell in love with a second lady, Idon’c believe y sensibly. many tin‘ “i am very glad to hear it, Clare, ” said my husband, laughing, “though I am not aware that 1 said anthing about time or providence. Come to breakfast. Ar. any rate, there is not the slightest reason for being out: of temper with me.” he} “Do you think her artful and (lemming, Clara '3” he said. “These are the words you ladies use when you suspect one of your number; come don’t be unjust. I dare say Lucy likes to talk with Sedgewick he’s a clever fellow, and has seen a great deal of the world. But what has that to do with your dear little girl '3" “Upon my word, it is quite possible; what passes every night in my own house I don’t know,” said Derwent. “I dare say it is some invention of Mre.Roberta. \Vheu little girls are so ambitious, Clare, they must tame the risks. How can Sedgewick talk to that child '2” I had almost said “she is Worth ten such as Lucy :” but paused in Lime; for Mr. Grafton had a. warm heart to his own blood. So I did not say anything, but remained looking a little sullen, as I supposed Der- went; thought. “I mean that,” said I ; “she draws Hugh Sedgewick to her side constantly, they are never apart, and I tremble for my dear little girl.” “Is it possible you can see what passes every night in your own house,” said I, “and yet ask me that question T'" “You ask if I have any influence with Lucy. Do you mean that 1 should use it to prevent, her from talking to Mr. Sedge- wick '3" said Del-went gravely. “No ; certainly that is not what I mean. There is nothing to be done, I perceive, ” said I. “It must be left: to time and pro- vidence ; you ate quite right.” “ 1 have no influence whatever over her” said I; “ but, she is making great, unhapp- iness, or I am very much deceived.” My husband repeated over my words again, in amazement. “ Making great unhappiness? Good litsle Lucy Crotton ! My love. what: do you mean ?” Dex-Went. opened his eyes wide, stared at me‘ and then laughed. Dex-went, who was in his dressing-gown, came forward to me, swinging in his hand the tassels of his girdle. “ Have I any in- fluence with Lucy Crofton'.’ A very odd quesbiou, Clara. Not so much as you have, I dare say. But why do you ask ’3” This scene continued to go on still for a few days longer; Lucy was less liberal of her music. but quite ready to talk with anybody, and particularly with Mr. Rodge- wick, and I can not say that Mr. Sedge- wick neglected Clara. When he spoke to her, the very tone of his voice was tender: 1 caught his eye following her light steps about the room many times, and he never passed by her chair without a caressing look or word. But this thing was certain, that he did not seek her society; that he chatted with Lucy by the hour, about subjects quite out of Clara’s range, it is true but by no means beyond her intelligence, looking very much as though the child helon ged to him and he was fond of her, yet never expecting that there could be companionship between them. And it is quite true that when the sisters burst into my dressing- room to tell me of the wonderful event which had startled their youth, Clara was quite a. child; but these days were aging my little girl. This week would count for more in the history of her life than many years. and I do not think she was such :1 child now. “Derwenn” said I, one morning, when my patience was near givmg way “ do you think you have any influence with any Croften ‘2” THE NEW INMATE OF HILFONT. ‘ ‘Bht heart to break 1” people,” said the other "not- only full in love Lw es. He was not, so bad a: |y should he no: in]! inlove UHAPTER XI A THRILLING STORY OF OLD ENGLAND. ady, “l -uever. if y times 2 m I A m: Went and , I don’t than ‘wice M gr)“ but “At all events, say nothing to Clara,” 1 exclaimed at. last, in despair. “ I am not. in the least afraid of Hugh Sedgewick’s second love.” he might fall in loye Lhreertimes,’ Clara now it. is cruel, cruelâ€"Clara v‘vill die 1” “Hush, Alice!" 1 said peremptorily, not another wordâ€"it, is mere fancy, and you must not, tell her. If you do I shall be veyxmuch diaplegsed.‘ “Oh, please, Mrs. Crofton, do not be angry ; I am very miserable. I would die to save her any pain,” said Alice ; chen grad- ually calming down to her dignified expres- sionâ€"“Clam is only seventeen,” she said, quietly. Here was a pretty business ! Clara was only seventeen, and Hugh Sedgewick’s boyish presumption was a. serious love and disappointment in the eyes of Aliceâ€"- doubtless in the eyes of Clara. also. I could have laughed,and I am no: sure thatI could not have cried also, with sheer vexation and helplessness ; for I might preach to them forever without being able to move these children from the unreason of their youth. “But he might {all in love three times,’ said Alice with meaning. “Oh,M rs.Crofton, I am very unhappy ; I wxsh we had not come to Hilfum. I know very well what they all mean, and why he does not seek tot “Alice,” I exclaimed, “it was a piece of nonsence on the partuf a achnol-boy-â€"a boy of sixteen or seventeen; do you not under- stand what I mean ‘3” Alice conserfied wit had to separutc hast i could not be sure. Clara was playing with the little Fortescucs, cutting out pretty things in paper to amuse them. Her face was very much flushed, and she turned her head away,but w s so busy,aud worked away so quickly With her scissors that l was rather at a loss to know. Yes, Alice had heard! Her cheek, too, was red, her eyes shining, her whole face beaming with indignation and pity. Lucy Crofton had meant it for their benefit, and not for Mary’s. Had Clara her rd it, too? But I found it quite impossible to decide upon this. Clara sat between the twolittle girls, merrier than everâ€"~talking to them, laughing with them. cutting out dogs and cats, children and flowers, to the intense admiration of the little onesâ€"~but never by any chance looking at me or at her sister, and, indeed, avoiding both eyes and speech of any one in the room. I was greatly dis- tressed What to do. If Iexplained to her the real story, perhaps she had not heard Lucy’s words, and would find in the ex- planation only an incomprehensible inten- tion of giving her pain ;and if she heard it, what must the child think? Not that Hugh Sedgewick's first love was a school- boy’s fancy, but perhaps that it was a sad disappointment, out of which pique and wounded nride had driven him to seek her own innocent heart and make it sad. 1 Was anxious to speak to Alice too, yet afraid to leave that poor child alone, per- haps to hear something furthur insinuated against her peace. At last, to my great comfort. little Mary Fortescue dragged Clara. oil in triumph to show mamma her achievements on paper, and I seized the opportunity to call Alice also out of the room. Alice followed with a proud step ; she had always been aserious child. She felt herself outraged and insulted. as well as her sister ; and Alice began to look stately and majestic, as she had never looked be- fore, and as I did not think it was possible for her to look ; she was rather tall, and her hair had darkened since she became a woman, and though there was a certain swell of youthful heroics in her demeanor, it became her well enough. “ What is wrong!“said Bertie, with a sudden per- ception of something which must have happened, as she passed him ; but I hasten- ed her out before she could answer. I could see that Alice was bitter in her own heart, and classing all those happier young people together; I did not choose she should reply to Bertie now. “ It 15 entirely a misrepresentation,“ said I. “ I might almost use strong words, and it was certainly said with malice and evil intention. Listen, Alice, the lady who refused Huge Serlgewick wasâ€"But never mind who she was. It occurred when he was a. boy at schnol. > " My dear, do you-think she heardit?‘ cried I, anxiously, when we were out. of the room. “ I do not know,” said Alice, slowly and sadly, “ she never kept her face away from me before; but she had better know it. I do not think is can come too soon. To my-utter amazement. Alice answered, “Then in is really trueâ€"-you say it? Ah, Clarygughgto kpow, if she did not, hear!” “Lucy Crofton ! ah, I suppose it‘s be- cause you Lave lived so long abroad,” said the firsL speaker. “I only know that I should never marry a man who had been in love before. I should always suppose he was thinking of the other lady ‘. 1 would not for all the world l” “I think every man has been in love before,” said Lucy. “Oh, how shocking ! I never would marry anybody ifâ€"I thought so,” cried the novel reader. “Mr. Nugent, is it true?" Now Berke was generally bold enough of speech. In the present instance, however, whether it was that he stood alone, the sole representative of the lords of creation, whether it was the eyes of so many girls upon him that confused him, or whether it was some secret sentiment in the young gentleman’s heart. I can not tell ; hut Bertie etnmmered, hesitated, blushed, and made final answer with a. nervous laugh, that “really he had so little experience on the subject, he could not say.” W'hereupon my niece, Mary, a merry- hearzed girl, began to “cease” Bertie, and under covert, of this, to my utter amaze. I overheard Lucy sayâ€"“ You know Mr. Sedgewick, Mary ; he lnoksjuet like a hero doesn’t he? [)0 you knowl heard a lady tell Aunt, Clare that she had refused him. So he you see can {all in love again.” “The more shame for the lady to say anything about it 2” said Marv Crofcon, indignantly, throwing an anxious glance back; at Clare ; “but fierhaps he mighE even fall in love three times, and I hope nobody would care T” And Mary rose and changed her seat, fullof virtuous resentment, but comforted by the thought that she had discharged her last arrow smartly. and to the point. Had any one else overheard the aside but me? and I almoz le will non why I) h reluctance, and we fly, as some one sud- mk she Lk to me HOWS not surprisedâ€"not very, when I come to think,” said Clara, one sudden sob inter- rupting her against her will. “ It meansâ€" it is not anybody’a fault, and just a. mistake â€"â€"all a mistake; and I cannot let it go on any longer. Though I am only seventeen,” said Clara with a pathetic girlish dignity, “I am awaman, and nobody must be fond of me and do me disrespect; nobody must want me for a wife, and somebody else for a. companion. You think I am little and young, and do not mind; but I do mind,and you would despise meif I did not. 0h, Mr. Sedgewick, I am not angryâ€"l am not blaming anybody; butonly it is all a mistake.” There was a little silenceâ€"n time of great anxiety and trembling to me ; for I knew Lliatsilence was the very thing to overpower Clara, by leaving her free to the recoil of fur own feelings. I have no doubt it was to her also the hardest time of the whole interview, for I heard one sob and then another extorted from her by the violence of nature, while still her lover paused, and did not speak. I “It meansâ€"oh, I am not angryâ€"I am I Knowing this, I was much surprised, a few minutes after, to hear Clara’s voice in the library. My door was open, and I could hear what. she said. I rose suddenly, that 1 might not be a clandestine listener, when I remembered that; Clara. knew where I was, and took my seat again. It was, I suppose, an innocent artifice of her own. poor child, to let. me know what, she was about to do. But I started painfully when I heard the other voice. “Clara, don’t run away. child” said Mr. sedgewick, ina tone of pleased surprise. “Submit, you little rebel, and tell me what you mean by keeping away from me. I did not see you all yesterday; you shall stay now.” “I mean to stay,” said Clara’s soft young voice, trembling ye: strangely firm. “But please don’bspeak, Mr. Sedgewick ; Iam going to speak, please." “ Clir-a; what. does this mean ‘3” cried Sedgewick ; and for the first time there was a little of conscience in his voice. CHAPTER XII. Next morning, atlll somewhat excited and nervous about this matter, and having it much in my thoughts, I went to a. little inner room within the library to write some letters. Both Clara and Alice knew me to be there, and I had given them some little matters to do for me, which I sup- posed would occupy them till I was at liberty. for I wished to keep them as much as possible out of the society of Lucy. “And so you shall, sweetheart, as much and as long as you will; you could not please me better,” cried the lover and certainly in a voice so lovelikc that I could scarcely even be provoked with him for appearing so totally unconscious of his own misdeeds. “No, no‘. Let me stand here,” said Clara her voice treml-ling more and more. “Oh. don’t say anything ! Let me speak. Oh, Mr. Sedzewick, it is all a mistake. I would not believe it for a long, long time: but 1 see it plain now. Perhaps you were fond of mea. little, for I know you would not say anything that was not true. You were iond of me, as if 1 were your little sister ; but all the rest was wrongâ€"all a mistake. Uh, do not say anything, Mr. Sedgewick l I know it now.” “What was all a mistake? Clara, you must not trifle with me,” said Mr. Sedge- wick, with the tone of a man injured and superior. who is determined to check at once an unwarrantable caprice. “And you must not trifle with me,” cried,Clura with asudden inspiration. “ You are in. man, and you know everything better than 1 do ; but you asked me to be with you all my lifeâ€"you asked me to be your Wife. You said you were happy when I was with you, and would be happy any- where with me. You said so; it is not my fancy, though sometimes I almost think it must have been. You said so, and be- cause you said it I was sure it was true. That is only a month ago.” said Clara, her voice breaking and falling once more. “ But now we are both in the same house and in the same room, andwhether you are happy or not I cannot tell; but you are not happy because of me." That. evening passed like the former evening. Lucy played, and Hugh Sedge- wick stood behind her chaxr. Lucy left; the piano, and by and by, quite namrally and simply. it came about that Hugh Sedgewick WM called to her table, laugh- ingly appealed to about, something Whlch nobody else knew. But the drama. by this time had become painfully interesting to the women present. None of us spoke to Lucy except. in ‘he slightest, manner, and the two Mrs. Croitons, Icould see. had even come so for as to confide to each other their disapproval of her. But Bertie and Mr. Sedgewick, sometimes Derwenn, made up to Lucy for our withdrawal; and poor liLLle Clara, out. of sight, looked on and watched, with a. strange change upon her child’s faceâ€"perhaps as strange on her tender little heart. rtmug to overpower ree to the recoil of ve no doubt, it; was time of the whole one sob and then let by the violence "Clara," he Clara» ! do you forsake me 201 an 0W“ He to make such an appeal! as if the innocent child did it, out of caprice and perverseness ! But I dare say he knew i'u was good for his own end. She could not. bear it. The sohs came faster, and whether or not she yielded in resolution, she had beyond question yielded already to bears. Clara, Is my angel to lorsake me as soon as I do wrong? I rose from my chair in impatience lung- ing, I confess it, to interfere and convict him. Could Clara be satisfied with this? “Mr. Serlgewwk,” she said, with a steamer voice, Ngaining courage, "it is not. proper to any ‘when you do wrong.’ If you did wrongâ€"real wrongâ€"I should be very sorryâ€"more sorry than for an) thing in the world ; but I never would forsake you. But oh, thisis so different, ‘. You are not doing wrong ; in was only a. mistake. And please say good-by to me now, and let me go.” “I must beg you to forgive me,” said I : “I thought Clara knew I was here in the first place, and then I found it impossible to interrupt, you. Mr. Sedgewick; Clara wxll forgive her eldest friend.” “.I am very glad. Be merciful to my breach of honor for the sake of it," said I; and stooping to kiss my poor Clara’s cheek, l was hastening away, when Mr. Sedgewick stopped me again. “ You are her oldest friend,” he said- “ You give her to me heartily, do you not ‘3" For a moment 1 hesitated. Alas for Clara’s resolution 2 I saw her shy, wistful, rleprecating lookâ€"the glance of a moment. She no longer thought it was all a mistake. Then I looked into Hugh Sedgewick's eyes â€"â€"into his eyes ; my reason was urgent. And then I said, heartily, " I do.” You did not expect. me to be faultless,” he cued again. “Yes, I am older Lhau you: I am stained with the world. But, Clara, Clara. is my angel to forsake me as soon as VII! the drawing roomI found Alice, rest- less, wandering about, going from window to window, and from table to table. No- body else was in the room. Her wlioleface grew crimson with anxiety and excitement as I entered. She made & choking pause, to commani herself, evidently thinking that. Clara. would follow me; but when Clara. did not. follow me, and I sat. down quietly in my usual seat, Alice could no longer control herself. She came to me, and dropped on her knees by my side. “Clara, our Clara. l”cried Alice. “0h, Mrs. Croiton, do you knowâ€"" “Good-by? I defy you,” said Hugh Sedgewick, suddenly adopting some violent means or other, which of course my eavesdropping concealment could not pry inm. “ Yes, go by all means, if you canâ€"go ! I shall let my life go sooner. Go ! when I only begin to know, a dolt than I am, the treasure I have got. Don’t speak-it is my turn! Yes, Clara. you are right. I have nmale a mistake; I looked to you only for love, comfort, fine secret spring and joy of my life. I did not look to you for everything. It was all a mistakeâ€"â€"bub I too have found it outn0Wâ€"” He h'esitated for a. momentâ€"only a momentâ€"and then held out his hand frank- ly, “Congratulate me I he said. “ We have had a quarrel and found each other out.” Yes, he had madea. mistake ;but, thanks to Clara‘s courage and his own candor, he had found it out ; and I do not Lhmk he was likely ever to make such a mistake again. “Take comfort, my dear,”said I: “Clara is very well and very happy. Don’t be afraid.” Alice got up quietly from her knees when I said that, and went about the business I had committed to her. She was happy and pleased, and satisfied in her heart; but still a little, just a little, disappointed. Clara had been a sad and lofty heroineI “sacrific- ing” herself half an hour ago in the imagin- ation of her sympathetic sister: now she was a happy little bride ugain, much beloved and better understood, and self- sacrifire of any kind was totally unnecessary. I am not. sure that Clara, happy as she was, did rot feel the downfall even in her own person. Alice was extremely happy too, and wry soon recovered her entire pride and pleasure in her sister's prospects; but she was beyond question disappointed when she rose from my side. i “ Yes: you do,’ said, this disrespectful lover. “ You understand everything about it hatter than I can tell you. You under- stand this 8.58 thought himself wiser than you and expected that only by-and-by years after this, you would begin to care about his tastes and enter into his pleasures. Yea, Clara you were right. my darling, but not as you suppose. It is all a mistake. I was taking but the half of what God has given meâ€"but now you shall find to your cost, you rash little girl. if anything will content me that is a hair’s-breadth less than the whole.” 9:: “Do you mean it is allover cried Alice, gm.in at me with hegasfonieiled eyes. " “ILâ€"ls all over,” said I. “It w'as only panly his fault. an worst, and he sees his mistake.” governors and pumps all stood on a. space only one-fourth of an inch in diameter and less than seven-sixteenth of an inch high. The engine had 148 distinct parts. held together by fifty-twoscrews. The diameter of ihe cylinder was but one-twenxy~sixth of an inch, and the whole affair, noninciud- ing the base plate, Weighed but three grains. only less: The toget “ 0h, Mr. Sedgewick 1 don’t, understand you,” said Clara; but she did not, say, Let. me go. ' 'om . A as 80 and pumps (TO BE COVTINUED.) nad 'D ypn said after a mean to cast, each an appe did it out. of But. I dare sa Aarn rtgldellfi of Waterbury a perfec?~ steam engine than Lhe engine. boilers, ‘a.l away and 1 1 called u( if the 11am, The Earl of Derby draws froth his tenant. farmers upwards of $830,000 a. year. This is supplemented by his Liverpool property. This fortunate family owns nearly all the towu of Bury. The total inanme of the Earl of Derby is close on $1,750,000 a. year. The Earl of Sefton’s is another family which has done well out of Liverpool. for, in addition to estates producing $250,000 a year, and ground rents $3.30,(K}0 more, they received $1,250,000 for 370 acres of land required by the corporation for a. public park. Mr. Gladstone, in addition to $500,000 left him by his father. has the rent-roll of the Hawardeu estate, which came into the possession of his wife on the death of the last, male Glynne. Add to the estate, which is worth $90,865 a. year. another $10,000 for royalties and $25,000 as Prime Minister, and you have in round numbers $125,000ayear. Earl Vane has The reports of the plague at Hong Kong and Canton show the deadly effect of a. disease that seems to be due mainly to filth and insanitary conditions. From private letters from Canton it is learned that the plague broke out in the old inner city in the Mohammedan quarter, and that as many as 100 dead a. day were taken out. For some time little attention was paid to the deaths from the disease, but when the supply of Collins ran out and orders had to be sent to other places, then the alarm spread. The disease followed the alarm very speedily, and soon deaths from it oc- curred in all parts of Canton, and even in the suburban villages, Where the wealthy residents had fled. The humnuw Sums of "our; ern by flush Lnndiu $300,000 a year, ill-addition to his coal royalties, which extend over 12,000 acres. $680,000. the value of his estates, in York- shire and Ireland. The Marquis of Lon- donderry, who sells his coal wholesale and retail, has, with land, a. rentfiroll of $915,- 000 a year. The Marquis of Selishury’s London property in the neighbourhood of St. Martin’s lane and the Strand is said to bring him $330,000 a. year. The Marquis’ other estates produce $165,000 per annum. As the Duke of Devonshire owns 193.315 acrps of land, producing a revenue or $865,- 000 a. year, he is not likely to accept the million which has been offered for Devon- shire house and grounds at Piccadilly. The Duke of Hamilton’s mining royalties amount to no less than $570,000 a. year. His 0t} er estates bring in $363,000 per nnnum. Lord Burton, of Bass fame, is worth over $500,000 a. year, and the family of the late Mr. Crawshuy, the \Velsh iron- monger, has the handling of $10,000,000. When the iron trade was brisk, the Earl of Dudley netted yearly $150,000. The Dud- ley diamonds are worth $2,500,000. The Duke of Norfolk has an income of $1,845,- 000 a. year, the Duke of Northumberland $880,000, and Earl Rnsebery $180,000, to say nothing ofSl0,000,000 his wife brought him. intone-y In the Path of [he Pestilenceâ€"The Thl-‘rln (lu- I’Iagnealrlclu-n Home. The old Mohammedan quarter of Canton, where the disease first appeard, is probably as filthy and crowded as the worst parts of Bombay or Calcutta. No attempt is made to remove night soil or the debris from kitchens. Huge heaps of decaying refuse maybe seen on every corner, the stench from which is fearful. According to all medical laws no one ought to be able to live in such an atmosphere, but those people not attacked by the plague appear to be vigorous. Now signs of death are seen on every hand. It is estimated that 60,000 have (lied in the native quarter of Canton. One big charitable dispensary announces that it. has given away 2,000 coffins. No attempt is made to provide coffins for children. The little victims are wrapped in pieces of matting and thrown into the grave. . Usually a. funeral 18 the scene ofnoisy mourning. and white and blue lanterns are the symbols that death has visited a house Now the lanterns are frequently absent,and many bodies are buried without any of the customary ceremonies. From Hong Kong reports are very dis- couraging‘ The latest news says thirty-five deaths occur daily, and that the malady is spreading to all parts of the native city,a.nd now threatens the foreign quarter. The slaughter of pigs has been prohibited,“ well as the catching of fish, for fish are said to be infected by the disease. So virulent is the plague that many have been struck down as they were being name through the streets in sedan chairs. Tue physicians attribute th disease to ioul smells,aud the death ofthese people in chairs would go for to bear out this theory. A native paper gives a curious incident showing axe lawlessness that prevails in the infected quarter. All of a rich Chinaman’s household had succumbed to the plague ex- cept one daughter. She was sitting in the lonely house, but felt too ill to go out; and buy coffins for her dead. Suddenly a. thief, who had broken into the premises,appeared. She oll'ered him money to buy coffins and promised if he fulfilled the commission to leb him take any article he wished. He soon returned only to find the girl dead. He set to work to loot; the premises. but. was seized by the plague and died be- fore he could gen out of the house. anl tar, formerly considered a waste and a. regular nuisance to gasworkera, is now utilized as one of the most valuable color producers. Chemists have extracted from insineen shades of blue, the same number of \arious tints of yellow, twelve of orange, nine of Violet, besides numerous other colors. shades and tints. A late magazine writer in summrng up an article on “ Uses of Coal Tar," says: " The amount of color- nine of Violet, besides numerous other colors. shades and tints. A late magazine writer in eixmmrng up an article on “ Uses of Coal Tar," says: " The amount of color- ing matter stored in coal is so great that one pound of the common bituminous varie~ by will yield sufficient magenta to cover 500 yards of flannel, aurine for 120 yards, vermilion for 2,560 yards and alizarine for 235 Yards of turkey red cloth,” COLOSSA L BRITISH F9} DEATII'S CARNIVAL IN CHINA. Colors from Coal Tar.