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“ I reckon I hit him square.” George said. " He ainb only jest akeared. that he mint. He won want no more gold this side 0' Jordan. Let's make no punkina about it. Dead men tell no tales, and we'll jest make cock-sure of it." CHAPTER III. The two men were George and Dave Mnclnne. Herbert saw them come down the incline, peering werily, and reloading their rifles as they went. He could hear the dull thude of the wooden remrode, and the clicks of the cooks of the weapons as the murderers brushed ofl‘ the exploded caps. His rifle was lying about three paces from him and he tried to drag himself toward it, hut. the pain of his shoulder was intense, and he seemed powerless to move Io far. VViLh an efl'oxt of despair he raised himself on his uninjured arm, and at the same time'pulled his double-berrelled pistol from his belt. He cocked the weapon and laid in down on the ground by his side, within reach of his hand. In the same manner he drew his knife from its sheath and placed it within easy distance, keeping his eyes upon the Msclenea all the while. “Cowarda l” he muttered becween his teeth. “ Cut-throats ! I wish I had the use of my arm to defend myself." The two Maclwes had reached the bot- hom, the taller, elder man, creeping along with bended knees and stooping shoulders. bead foremost, stealthily, like an Arapahoe savage. Dick Aehland was lying some six or eight paces nearer to them’than Chauncey. The two men strode up to the fallen yeomen, Ind George. dropping his rifle. knelt down, and. with both arms, turned the body on its back. The impluee of his movament made it roll e little further down the incline on which it lay, with a nearly grotesque motion, as if at each turn a new swing had been given to it. It rolled until its feet was stopped by a little boulder of rock, and then it lay with ghastly eyes turned Ikyward and with the hands clenched as if in agony. Herbert; lay without moving, his eyes furiously devouring the two ruttmns. Dave had pulled his big butcher's knife from its sheath, and in the greenish white liJht of the big moon, Herbert could see him drawing in, with a. swift, downward mobion. across Dick Ashland’s throat. He could see the hot blood spurting all over the murderer’s hands, face and breast. and, hardly knowing what he did, the nervously twitching fingers of his left hand gripped the pistol and, lying as he was, he directed his weapon and fired. A yell of pain ans- wered the reverberation of the shot. and George Maclane, who had been standing an approving witness of his nephew’s murder- ous act” with an avalanche of oaths and curses, drew out his pocket handkerchief And hastily pushed it underneath his hunt- ing skirt. blind fury seemed to possess him. He clutched Chauncey by the throat, digging his long, irony nails into his flesh, and rain- ed blow afterblowof the heavy weapon upon Chauncey’s head. The young Englishman fela crash upon crash against his skull, he felbthe grating of the injured bone as the blows rained more fiercely. The blood started to his eyes, and everything seemed to become black to him. In that awful moment just: one flash, one thought, of home, crossed his mind, and vanished, as the blowa suddenly ceased, and be heard a bright female voice shouting “Stop ! stop I" Then all was dead and dark. “He's shot me I" he cried. “ Kill the swine ! Kill him!” The younger man had risen and crept toward Chauncey, knife in hand. A second shot startled the midnightlsfiflfliional than fiction- silence, and ' David Maclbue’a glittering The aged Earl of Cleve had died in the weapon flew into a dozen fragments out of course of the previous year. His two elder his grasp. One of the pieces. glancing sons had been killed in a terrible railway against the young r1 l‘n‘au’a wrist, made a accident, and the old nobleman, thoroughly deep cut, from which the blood flowed - prostrated by the shock. was soon laid by freely. With a. savage whoop, more like 3 their side in the family vault at Chauncey beast’e thanahnman being’s, the asaaasin'Towers. The Earl's youngest son, the threw himself upcn the prostrate man Hon. Herbert Chauncey. had succeeded and wrenched the pistol from his grasp. A l to the titles and estates of his forefathers, AL,‘ x “What. the damnation brings you here 2" yelled George Maclane. “This jest tops it; all, I regkon." Dave Maclane was on his feet again, and still holding the pistol by the barrel. His glances were as furious as those of his uncle, and he guashed his teeth in a hot raga Luvy drew herself up to her full height, with her head set back like a. defied empress. She stretched out a. warning baud. “Dad .'” she exclaimed. “Dave I if you T‘Yew've killed lum ! Yev’ve killed him !” the girl cried. “\Nhat has he done he y_ew ?’V' "‘I ain’t quite done in yet,” replied Dave, grasping the knife, which his uncle held out to him; “but I mean to." u: last A furious yellfl sounded in 'rep] guilty father for a second stood before his accusing and threatenin “What do yew mean ‘2" he sh “I mean what. I’ve said, dad," Lucy answered, quietly, “an’ I mean it true. If yew lay another finger on him I’ll tell on yew both. I'll raise the ylaius again yew.” George Maclaue guashed his teeth. and his eyes flashed in silent fury. His face already disfigured by that deep scar, betwme demon'um AS FORTUNE SMILES. A TALE OF THE OLD AND NEW “’01 ‘ 'reply. The Itood abashed Lteuing child. he shouted at “Yew’ll tell on us 7” be hi raise the plains agin us 2 yew; fapheiand yewr cousin His hands twitched convulsively and assumed the shape of a wild bird's claws. His head shrank down upon his shoulders, and his whole body seemed to qulver'with fury. He made a pantingvstep toward his daughter. .‘ . 1‘ Ҥ'ew’ll raise the plains again us. would yew '1 Yew’d have us lynched, would yew? Yew'd have us hanged. would you '2 Waal, I aint so dernatiou sutin"â€"His rage stop- ped his speech ; he seemed to foam at the mouth, and stretched out an arm as if in command to his nephew. Lucy stood there, solemn and queenlike as before. Her face shone in the moonlight, with a white and brilliant; glory, and the younger ruflian bowed his head before her glantffs. . ._ . . ... . .. “run a, George Msclsne rsised both his arms above his head and clenched his fists. He drew up his long, gaunt figure until he stood on tiptoe. Then he opened his hands sud stretched out his bony fingers. In the meantime his face was alive with muscular distortions ; his teeth were clenched hard, and his thin lips drawn out full. He made several convulsive efforts toward his daughter, hislang arms waving wildly, until at last. with a. cry which seemed to make the night horrible, he rushed upon the girl and caught her by the shoulder. A slight. sound of pain escaped her, as her tender flesh was bruised by the brutal contact, but she stood still and looked him straight in the face, eye to eye. “I’ll do all that, dad," she said. “I'll do it all]. Yew daren’t kill me as yew killed him. ' The murderer shrank before that brave glance, and his wretched purpose trickled from him and left him a foaming coward, he he met. his child’s calm gaze. His fingers loosened slowly and his arm dropped by his side. With heaving breast, and claw- ing his head with his long nails, he retreat- ed a. step or two. and the pent~up savagery in his breast found an outlet in nearly hysterical aobs. He was no less infuriated than his uncle, but he knew better how to suppress his rage. “If this man is ’lowed to live, the first. thing he’ll do on gettin’ to the plains is to denounce us, and I don’t see as it’s much bebbex to be told on by him len by yew.” "‘1 reckon yew know what, yew’re threat- I” enin, Dave said, quietly.‘ “It’ll be weeks and weeks,” she said, “More be can move. Yew can get sacks of gold from heyar, an’ be 03‘ away East long More he can say a Word agin yew. I’ll stay behind and see in all out, when yow’re gone. ” “Len her have her way. Georg e." Dave amid, quietly. “I guess it’ll be best to let her have her way." The tall froncrieraman cast one savage glance at. his daughter, then burned on his heel and strode away. . Lucy stooped down and knelt by Chaun- cey’s aide. Her dainty fingers travelled over his wounded and blood-beameared face, and gently brushed the gore-clotted hair from his battered forehead. She rose and walked to the water’s edge, and dipped her handkerchief in the cool, rushing stream, then she returned and began to moisten the sufierer's face. During the height. of the season of the year 1860 London society was mOVed winh pleasurable excitement by one of shone oc- currences which make real life more sensational than fiction. The elder Maclane had stood by grim and voiceless. but the young man had gone abroad some years previonely, and 1115 family had been left Withous tidings from him {or some time. It was only after a prolonged and difficult search that he was discovered leading a nomadic life on the Northwestern prairies. He was recognized beyond possiâ€" bility of a doubt, but he had, in a murder- ous conflict of which he had no recollec- tion. received some terrible wounds on the head, and had entirely lost the faculty of memory. The post, was a. blank to him. He had no remembrance when he came to the West, where he was wounded, by whom, or under what. circumstances. He could not even compelhis mind no unburden itself of some of the commonplace secrets of his earlier life. He had no remembrance of lather, mother, brother, nor of his own boyhood. ' With all that, so said report, he was a cheerful, bliLhe and pleasant young fellow, extremew intelligent and kindly, and as straight. and handsome as an athlete of heroic times. Eleven o’clock had already struck, one beautiful June morning, and Lady Evelyne Wynter, only daughter of the Marquis and Marchioness of Gwendale, was etill tossing sleeplessly on her down pillows. The golden day was peering gayly through a little chink of the drama curtains, and A bright streak of opal light fell upon the lady’s face, as she turned and rolled, throw- ing oli the blue satin quilted Coverlet, which fell upon the Aubueson carpet, and left, her in all the vshite glory of the rich lace that enveloped her rounded limbs. Yawning like meener mortals, she stretch- ed a pair of creamy, Velvety arme,a.nd locked her dainty fingers above her head, adding asecoud frame to the handsome face which was already surrounded by her wealth of glossy, brown, silken hair. One lrosy foot was peeping shyly from beneath the clinging, half-transparent fabric, the big gray-blue, dreamy eyes were gazing into vacancy, and a, sigh, barely audible, but still distinct and unmistakable, escaped from my lady’s lips. The 'fact; was that. Lady Evelyue was perplexed. Conflicting currents of thought agitated her ordinarily so calm and even mind. They had banished sheep from bar couch, and had left, her weary and nearly distressed. Lady Evelyne \Vyuter, had for nearly a monL'n already. been engaged to be married CHAPTER IV. he hissed. "Yew’ll Is? Yew’ll tell on LD to Mr. David Mnclane. a. young American gentlemanmf reputed immense wealth. The young man was one of the lions of the sea- son, and Lady Evelyne Wynber, whose twenty-six summers had warned her that. it was time to look about for a. husband, had taken a. rather morbid pride in securing, as her prize, the sensational hero of the year. The daily papers, and the Weeklies. boo,for that, had described the young Westerner- wit-h n fervent, eulogy and a graphic pic- !»nreequeness which would not have been out of place in telling the story of a god of mthology. He was the hero of a hundred fights,and as many hair-breadth esoapes,and like all heroes, he was as gentle as he was brave and strong. In these very words, that fashionable journal, “Albert Gabe,” had described young Machine. and if the writers on " Albert Gale" were not; in a position to know everything of everybody. who was ? 0n the night previous to the commence- ment of this second part of our history, Lady Evelyne had been to a ball, given by one of the leaders of fashion. Congratula‘ Lions had been showered upon her, and she knew that she was the object of such envy and mild hatred as. even in the highest so- ciety, is the punishment, of success. She had been at her heppiesa, and at; her brightest when suddenly the neWs was whispered about the room that the young Earl of Cleve had not only been discovered in America, but. that. he was actually in England, perhaps even in London. r ‘ I will not go do far as to say that Lady Evelyne was a. flirt, but there was no doubt that she had allowed a. good many suitors to hope, and than she was extremely fond of playing with her numerous admirers. She had flitted from one foamy, airy infatuation to another With the grace and seriousness of a butterfly. and she had accepted the ofier of Mr. David Maclane’s hand and fortune, to spite all the other girls in town, to start with. and, secondly, because Lady Gwendale, with homely. motherly assiduity, was a very Caseandra in her admonitions, that it was time for her daughter to get married. I am inclined to doubt that such a. thing as a. real serious attachment was at all in the nature of Lady Evelyne Wynter. But she had been very fond; in fact, fender than she herself imagined she could have been, of Herbert Chauncey. He was barely two years her senior, and they had known eaCh other since childhood. daughter to get married. I am inclined to doubt that such a thing as a real serious attachment was at all in the nature of Lady Evelyne Wynter. But she had been very fond; in fact, fender than she herself imagined she could have been, of Herbert Chauncey. He was barely two years her senior, and they had known each other since childhood. Lady Evelyne had returned home from the ball with the broad summer day, and had not been able to banish Herbert’s revived memory from her mind. She babbled about him while her maid undressed her : she found the subject more interesting while the girl brushed her hair ; and when the young woman was dismissed, Lady Evelyne was left by herself to dream of fancies. Herbert Chauncey’s picture would persistently intrude itself upon her not unwilling mental eyes. During the first quarter of an hour or so she thought the ireshly-called-np reminiscences very nice. Herbert had been a sweetheartâ€"woe of the many moths that had fluttered round her brilliant light. Now he was back, and she would see him again, and as he was an earl, and, doubtless unmarried, they would be able to speak freely together. It was then that Lady Evelyns remembered that she was engaged to Mr. David Maclane, and, for the first, time, she considered that her engagement was rather a bore. It proved easier to Lady Gwendale to give that advice to her daughter than to Lady Evelyne to followit. All through that morning and afterward Herbert Chauncey remained the absorbing object of her thoughts. The bright, handsome, boyish face, the tenderly flashing dark eyes, the youthful form full of stalwart promise, the frank and open hearty laughterâ€"all these forced themselves upon Lady Evelyne’s memory whether she desired it or nay. and compelled her to draw comparisons between her former boyish lover and her present afiianced husband,which were not altogether to the latter’s favor. Clhere was something about Mr. Maclane which Lady EVelyne had never really liked. He Was good- looking enough, as far as a sort of savage comeliness went, and the young lady of fashion thought his quaint Western dialect fresh and amusing; but now and then there came an expression into Mr. Maclane’s face which harmonized but indid’erently with his usual gentlemanly and kindly demeanor, and, which once very nearly frightened nis afiianced bride. The result of the young lady’s self-com- muniugs was that she dawdled about her toilet, that she took an unconscionable long time in dressing, that she hovored over her lunch. and persisted afterward in continu- ing an animated discussion with Lord Gwendale, who was pleased to find his mkinh Raul-an. amen-nanny! :n .. anlu‘mn These aelfâ€"commuuings protracted them. selves through the early morning hours into the late morning hours, and gave rise to the unusual fact that 11 o'clock had struck without Lady Evelyne having rung fogs cup of ten. Lady 'Evelyne was lying 6rowsily.moving one hand about, the streak of golden sunlight that broke into the room, and playing with the scintillating atoms that danced in it, when the door of the chamber opened ani Lady Gwendale appeared upon the thresh- hold, followed by Evelyne’a maid. She was a. stately personage, whose iron-gray hair out: well against a kindly face. “Whgt of it. my dear?" was Lady Gwendale’s remonstrance. “ What of it? How can you be so forgetful? The Duch- eas’a garden party commences at 2, and you have arranged to sit m Delauria. at languidly, " yvhat of I will'not go to Delaun’a’s to-day,” Lady Evelyne answered, poutingly. “and I’m not so sure that I shall go to the garden n . . .. n ‘ “ M); bfiild ! my chili 1” she exclaimed. “ Do you know that; It is past 11 o'clock 1’" “ ngl, ma,” rerprliefl Lady Evelyne, finished. Evelyue held out a pair or pleading arms, and the old lady approached her daughter, who drew her mother's face to her own and kissed it, aflectlouapely. “flNo;7mB, dear.” afie whispered. “I’m not ill. but; I do not, want to go out. I want to fifty at. home and think." Lady Gwendele‘a temporary anxiety changed to amazement. That; her volatile daughter should desire to Lhink, no matter what the subject, ws‘s in itself an anomaly, but. 1he tone in which the wish was ex- pressed, bhe tender pleading of the voice for apparently so trivial a cause. told my ladyâ€"a. shrewd, experienced woman of the world ~â€"that something was not alto- gether asib should have been with her child. A momenu’s reflection guided her on the right; treck for the solution of the problem. “ I know what troubles you, my dear.” she said. " At least I think I do. Her- bert has returned to England, and you have been thinking of him." The young lady’s eyes brightened ; she took her mother's plump hand between her owu soft fingers and sucked it: caress- ingly. Her eyelids drooped dreamin for an instant, then she looked Lady Gwendale straight in the face. and with a. smile dimplmg her cheeks, nodded her head Lwice or thrice. “ I thought, so,” the old lady exclaimed, with a. suppressed sigh. ” Really, my dear Evelyue, you must become a. little more settled in your intentions and decis- dear Evelyue, you must; become a. mule more settled in your intentions and decis- ions. You are now engaged to Mr. Mac- lane, and it can make very little difference to you whether young Cleve has reburned or not.” idy Evelyue pursed her lips But, ma.” she whimpered, Th3}: portrrfi't of yours will never be in?” it dogs The result of the young lady’s self-com- munings was that she dawdled about her toilet, that she took an unconscionable long time in dressing, that she hovared over her lunch. and persisted afterward in continu- ing an animated discussion with Lord Gweudale, who was pleased to find his daughter interested in a subject which interested him, and for which she had not. shown any prekus sympathy. MN Lédy Gwendaie’a reply was solemn sud ceremonious : “ My child 1" she exclaimed, “ you can bear no bener name than your own." ” I did not. mean that, ma,” pleaded Lady Evelyne. “ I meant; that if I married M r. Maclane I should still be Lady Evelyne Wynter, but if I am married to Herbert I should be the Countess of Cleve." " You really must not think of such a thing, my dear,” Lady Gwendale reman- atrated. “ You are engaged to Mr. Maclane, and your father and I both consider it, a dealrable engagement. You are well aware we had. sufficient reasons for closing our doors upon young Chauncey, and I‘ have learned nothing which would induce me to alter my opinion or intentions on the subject. Come, now! brush the matter from your mind. Think no more aboutjb. make a difference. Herbert and I were engaged to one smother once, andâ€"- the young lady raised herself and threw both arms around her mother’s neckâ€"" You know he is now the Earl of Cleve. Lady Evelyne resorted, in fact, to a dozen little schemes, and as many of the recognized privileges of her sex, for the purpose of avoiding the dnchess’s garden party, where she knew she would meet Mr. Maelsne. Not that she had taken a sudden dislike to the young men. or had resolved upon a breach of their engagement, but her volatile mind had discovered a novel and pleasant indecision which is the cream of excitement in the life of a'young lady of fashion. It was nearly as enticing as the tasting of some forbidden fruit. Lady Evelyne knew that her duty bound her to Mr. Maclaue, and that no image but his shouldobtrude itself on her waking thoughts. There was something spicin charming about feeling a kind of stolen afisction for one man.while,in promise,bound to another, which pleased Lady Evelyne. and made her fingers tingle with nearly voluptuous sensation. The marchionesa was already waiting in the drawing-room, dressed for the garden party, when her daughter wna still in the dining-room, conversing with her father about matters for which, as any other time, she would have evinced not: the slightesc interest, and the details and particulars of which she now seemed most anxious to acquire. Lady Gwendale was a patient. lady, and wellaccusmmed so her daughter's foibles. \Vhen she found that Lady Evelyue had made no preparations whatever for the function of the afternoon, she ordered hei- carriage and drove away alone. Evelyue was happy when she found that her strategy was successful. She skipped upstairs be her own room, and thew herself into an armchair, whence she could look out upon the lawn and the green trees beyond, and lose herself in a delightful reverie, while her maid brushed and kept; on brushing her luxuriant hair. It, seemed entrancing to her to abandon herself to this day-dream, and a full hour or more passed before the young lady was aware of the etfiuxion of time. Even then it was only a message from Lord Gwendsle which brought: her to a sense of the everyday commonâ€" place. My lord, being for she once particu- lnrly pleased with his daughter, sent. up to know if she would accompany him in a walk through the park. It had been so long since the marquis and thus honored her that, she accepted the invitation with alucriby, and the balmy summer after- noon saw the pair among the crowd of promensflders by the side of the Row. Lord Gwendale had never been a very prominent personage, either in politics or the world of fashion. His inclinafiions were purely scientific, and his habits modest. and reciting ; therefore, he was not as well known as his rank might have warranted. Yet, many a hat was lifted in respectful ceremony, and many a. courteous acknowl- edgement. greeted my lord and his daughter as they passed along. The shady gravel E7811; was not as its habitufl aristocratic throng as it; have been had not the big garden and an equally attractive fancy claimed the attention of many votz fashion. Un1ike her father, Lady E boasted of a large circle of acquain and, though she had hoped to flu durimz the Walk to indulge in the n The shady gravel inalk was not as full of its habitual aristocratic throng as it; would have been had not the big garden party, and an equally attractive fancy fair. claimed the attention of many votaries of fashion. Unlike her father, Lady Evelyne boasted of a large circle of acquaintances, and, though she had hoped to find Lime during the Walk to indulge in the musings which had proved so pleasant: to her earlier In wvaa a Tmudsome face, bronzed by the sun, and two or three scars gave it. a - culiar charm wichout disfiguring it. Re bright, dark eyea flashed iu animated con- versation with a. gentleman whom Lady Evelyne did not know, while the brown nervous hand twirled a. small, dark mus- tache with unconscious dandyism. in the day, her attention was now fully occupied in saluting and returning salutes. She stopped to exchange a few gords with my Lady This, or to ask a questing or two of my Lady That, or again with banali- tiea with the young Lord So-and-So, while a continuous smile played round her pretty lips. Under the influence of this airy occu- pation her previous purpose vanished into thin haze, and WAS momentarily forgotten, when, on a. sudden, at the sight of a young gentleman who was leaning aguinst the railing, Lady Evelyne’a face turned pale, and her heart went pita-pat in an alarum, whichâ€"whether it was painful or pleasant â€"the young lady knew not: Lady Evelyne looked the gentleman straight in the face, but. he gave no signs of recognition. and continued an apparent;- ly agreeable couVetse. Lady Evelyne's fin- gers tightened, and her breath became tardy. She nervously gripped her father’s arm. “ Look there,” she whispered. “Surely that is Herbert Chauncey '§" My lord put up his doubleeye-glasses and stared at the young man, who avoided th: old nobleman’s glance with wen-bred ease. Lord Gweudale did not know what. to main of is, for surely that was the young Earl of Cleve. It was true my lord had forbidden the young man his house. but. why thin absolute want at recognition 2 " Really, my dear,’rstamn1ered the mar- quis. “ lâ€"Iâ€"l do not know what; to make of it. This is Herbert Chauncey. I am sure W is Bethe“. Chauncey. He seems purpqsel'y to avoid us: let us walk on." . Lady Evelyne, however, was not to be chug easily frustrated. She walked right up no the young gentleman, and, with her face beaming with the sweetest smile, she said : “ Surely 1 cannot be mistaken. You are Lord Cleve '2" “ That is my name,” the gentleman replied, afiably, but his manner showed that, he behaved he was speaking to a total stranger. “ But don’t: you know me 1" Lady Eve- lyne continued, in amazement. “ [have not. that, pleasure,” Lord Cleve replied, as pleasantly as before. Evelyne felt a ball rising to her throat. “ You don’t; know me I" she exclaimed, in hali-sutfocued wonder. “ You don’t know Evelyue Wyuter_?" ‘ “I am very s'orry.’ the young man answered, in an even-tempered, common- place manner, " but I do not.” ‘ n ‘ Lady Eveiyne stepped back and named atiffly. She iooked the young man up and down, with a. winhering glance, which seemed to produce no impressiofi but. a faint and curious astonishment. “ Thank you, my lord,” sne exclaimed. nag! rejoiqed hex fgther. Lord Cleve’a face had assumed an expres- sion of puzzled anxiety, and her quickenod ear caught the wordsâ€"barely whispered u oheyyere, to the young Elan’s cowpanion: Yet: she could not; help turning her head. ' g‘l Evely'ne Wynier !u Evelyne Wynter! Oughj I to knew her? D9 I know her 2" 3 Let, us go home, pa, dear,” she whil- pered. when she was again leaning on Lord Gwendale’a arm. “ Let. us go home. I do want, to cry.” Land .dyâ€"Oh, dear! oh, dear! He's killed, lure. New bourderâ€"Hrc-â€"never min’ me. Allush come down slairsh thash Way, The crew of the White Star steamship Teutonic was mustered on hhe saloon deck the other morning by Capt. Cameron, and six of them received from their commander medals for their gallantry in rescuing the skipper and Crew of the little fishing schooner Joaie Keeves} off the Long Island coast, in a hurricane, on Feb. 8. ()npb. Cameron made a little speech complemen- coast, in & hurnc: Cameron made a I 3,ng the men, wh Orton, who had William F. Fitzpat McLaughlin. Dav Hawley. Mr. Ort and the others 5‘) by the Life Saving of New York. Medals for Teutonic‘s Life Savers. why. Mr. Urtou 3 the others s'flve the Life Saving B: New York. No Cause for Alarm (TO BE CONTINUED.) are ul‘ Jot hnb‘ h comple Jul-th 0 an (01d me presente \‘illiam Alfred Minn