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LORD KILLERâ€"REVENGE. CHAPTER XLII.â€"(Continued.) He had grown almost superstitious about the necessity of seeing Constantia toâ€"day and putting her affection to the test. He had no fear of the result if he were given time to explain away cer- tain compromising matters; but as it was he felt he should have the first word. If it hadn’t been for that unfor- tunate mistake at the masked ball he would willingly have let Barry go to his destruction, knowing that she would refuse him; but just now, with a sense of injury full upon her, it was impos- sible to know what she might do even though her heart might lieâ€"nay, cer- tainly wasâ€"his, Featherston’s. Of that he had no doubt at all. As for this game of chance, why should he hesitate about it? Luck was on his side beyond doubt, he knew, he felt it. Should. he accede to Barry's wild proposition it would be to his rival's downfall, not to his. A sense of exultation fired his breast. His heart rose within him. But true to his role of good young man, he pretended a mild horror of such a scandalous pro- ceeding as tossing on a, public road. 7 “Whatl Here l" he said, in a tone of pious alarm. "Considerâ€"-" “The lilies of virtue," put in Barry. with a peculiar smile, finishing a sup- positious sentence for him. "If it of- fends your tender morals," he said, "to sin before the World, by all means let us wink at your doing in it secret. The' leafy recesses of your own woods hold out to us a helping hand, let us enter them and there penetrate the deed of darkness." "So be it,” said Featherston, calm- ly. He was determined he would not be offended by anything this man could say. A stile led from the road into this part of the wood that was quite close to the grounds of The Cot- tage, and he stepped lightly over it to the grass beyond. Barry, while follow- ing him, looked back at Stronge. "You will come, too," he said. “No; there is really no necessity," Stronge was beginning when Feather- ston interrupted him. "Every necessity," he said, strongly, with an insulting glance at Barry; “there should be a. third person to see fair play." In reality he was afraid to go with Barry alone into the silent Wood. “You mean that for me: ," said Barry, softly. “For you," returned Featherston. i'Other matters press just now,” said the Limerick man, ever so sweet- ly, “but I shall break every bone in your body for that speech some day." He smiled genially, and led the way into the wood. Featherston followed, and so did Stronge, who somehow inisliked that smile. He hated Featherston and lik- ed Barry, so he went after the two to protect; the latter, though, in truth, the ormer had more need of his assistance. They all walked on in a deadly sil- ence until they came into a little grass dell hedged in by rhododendrons, very near the spot where Constantia had heard of Lord Varley's pei‘fidy. Here Barry came to a. full stop. "As Stronge is present to see fair play," he said, looking full at Feath- erston, who paled beneath the irony of his eye,. "and lest I should have sharpers’ coms in my pocket, I suggest that he should be the one to toss for us. Agreed? Now, then, Stronge." Stronge slowly and very unwillingly drew _a florin from his pocket and flung it into the air. There was a mo- ment‘s suspense, and then they knew that Featherston had won the toss. He stood back a little from the other two, and glanced at them curiously. His eye brightened; his whole face he- came transformed; he drew himself up into a rather triumphant attitude. Yes, he was'in luck assuredly; he had not been mistaken when he thought that he would win. This happy victory was but the beginning of the end; success Enid surely crown his every deed to- y. .He secured the florin that had done him so good service, and held out an~ other. to Stronge. '.'W'ith your permission I shall keep this one," he said, “as a memento of this happy hourâ€"as a sort of trophy, you Will understand. It is, I feel as- sured the harbinger of future joy." Z’Hope, they say, wins half a battle," said Strange, coldly if courteously. He would have liked Barry to win, though he honestly believed, now that he was in his clearest moments, that to nei- ther of them. would Constantia con- fide the precrous treasure of herself. He was about to say' something fur- ther when a slight rustling behind the shrubs on their right hand caught their ears. A footfall could be distnctly heard. Featherston and Barry glanced curiâ€" ously in its direction. But Stronge (grew pale. He knew! Another second, and Constantia step- ped quickly into the light. CHAPTER XLllI. Barry burst out laughing: Here was a. situation with a vengeance! There was nothing infectious about his laugh- ter, however; it was suggestive of ra- ther malicious amusement, and struck Stronge unpleasantly as being singu- larly out. of place. But Barry saw only Constantia and a chance of revenge on Featherston. “Ah! You, Constantia l" he cried, Tay- ly. He moved quickly toward her with something in his air that convinced Stronge he was wholly reckless now, and that, to interfere, would be but to make bad worse. "You have come in a happy hourl See, here is Featherston flying on the wings of love to lay his name and fortune at your feet.” "Are you mad?" exclaimed Stronge, roughly throwing out his arms to forcefihe other backward. “\Vhat folly is this? Have you no respect for her or for yourself?" Constantia had stopped short; she did not look frightened, only a little troubled, ii little vexed. “What is it i” she asked, looking slowly from one to the other. After awhile she grasped all the meaning of the scene. Upon Stronge her glance lingered longest. “Come, Fezitl‘ierston, why don't you speak?" said Barry, with a sneer. His face was as colorless as Constantia’s, his nostrils dilated. Passion had full sway over him. “Take heart, man I. So sure as you are of a good reception, whv need you hesitate to declare your- self? Come, as you have already told us, the game is in your own hands. Xou have but to open your lips." , There was Something very akin to murder in Fentlicrston's eye, as Barry finshed. Hs breath came iiqucikly. He was evidently about to take one step, when Constantia’s voice broke in clear and distinct. She took no notice of either Stronge or Fezilherston. "Garrett," she said, in a low tone and very gently. "go home!" . There was something; so calm, so dignified, yet so strong in the fresh young voice, and in the slight, girlish figure now drawn up to its fullest height, that Barry was sobercd by it. “As you will," he said, and bowing, profoundly, he turned and left the spot. , "Is this thing true ?" said Constantm then, flashing a curious glance at Feaâ€" thcrston, whose demeanor was any- thing but cosy. He was flushed, self-conscious to a painful degree, and almost trembling with vindictive anger. By a supreme e fort be controlled, himâ€" self, however, and preparer] to answer her question with an air becoming to the moment. "That I meant to address you thus in publicâ€"no,” he said, with a touch of exalted resentment that did him credit. "That I am indeed here toâ€"day as a suitor for your handâ€"yes. You must pardon me the coarscncss of my approach. It was, as you know, thrust upon me. I would willingly have come on bended knee to sue for the one thing that can alone make my happiness." He spoke with extreme humility and sensitiveness, making a great effort to undo the effects of Harry’s fatal speech. His face was pale and earnest, his tone eloquent. He looked wonderfully hand- some as he stood there, pleading to her With head uncovered beneath the soft Widening branches of the trees. Stronge made a movement as if to leave them; but Constantia put up her hand, and by a slight gesture check- ed him. ‘ _ "Stay," she said, rather imperiously. lifting to his two great eyes ablaze With scorn; "since. you have been at the trouble of bringing Mr. Feather- ston here, I will ask you to remain a. moment that you may take him back again." Something in her tone struck like a chill on Featherston’s heart. He look- ed up quickly and marked the coldness, the unrelenting of her eyes. Yes, the old wound was open, no doubt; she thought of that hour on the terrace at Ballymore; yet. despair was far from him even now; he assurred himself, that if time were given him, he could combat successfully that damning mem- ory. "Grant me five minutes aolne," he asked, boldly. ‘ "Not one," returned she softly. “There is no necessity for such waste of time. You say you came here toâ€"day to ask me to be your wifeâ€"" "To entreatâ€"to implore!” interrupt- ed he passionately. "Constantia, if it be only one minute. ive me that." Some vague sense 0 his coming over- throw now dawned upon him. He felt niaddenedâ€" savagely resentfulâ€" desper- a e. I "Not one," she said again. And then“. 'Do not make the thing harder for yourself," she said, with cold kindliness. lDonnot descend to entreaLyâ€"it is use- ess. "'Am I to understand that you deâ€" cline my proposal 2" demanded he, as one might who finds it impossible to believe the evidence of his own ears. “Oh, I hope you will not misunder- stand that,” returned she, gently. :‘Do you know what you are doing?" cried he, now pale with vehement an- ger. "If you refuse me today it shall be a final thing. I shall not come backâ€"" "I am glad of that"â€"quietly. ' “Constantiaâ€"think!” cricd he, mak- ing a last violent effort to regain his hold on her. "If 1 haveâ€"offended you â€"still, you do not know all about it. I could, if you gave me an opportunity, explain it away. And is it nothing to you how I have loved you f” He broke off abruptly, and looked at her With all the heart he had in his eyes. She returned his look bravely, and a little pale smile curled her lips. "Tour love!” she said. The con- tempt in her low voice was terrible. H_e shrunk beneath it. Yet it gave him hope. "Ah, it is that old offense, then, that stands between us," he cried, quickly. "You judged me too harshâ€" ly there, believe me. 1 could make you understand. And if that is allâ€"" "Alli Is it not enough? Is treachery nothing ?" said she. She regarded him earnestly for a moment, and then: "But it is not all," she said, in a tone) that had fallen almost to a whisper. ‘:\Yhat more?" asked lice'igerly. Some trrvral girlish grief, no doubt: some vague neglect, but worse in her eyes, no doubt. than a heavier sin. If he could conquer this! Once more, delusive hope took possession of him. He felt a sense of coming victory. "Tell me," he said. Constantia went up to him. She put out her right hand, and lightly touched the blue ribbon on his brcast. "Should you wear that :7” she said. He fell bark from her. His Whole face changed, and grew full of on abject fear. 1 "You mean ‘3” he slammercd, faintâ€" y a " You know what I mean!" The pretty, ringing voice was now con and stern. “Should. such a badge be lying on your breast ‘2" She paused. " You see that I know all,” she went on, more kindly. “Spare yourself and me. then, any further pain." She drew back with a soft. gcsture meant. as a farewell, but he still lingered. "Oh go!” she said. There was a suspicion of contcinpt in her voice, as these two last words left her lips; and. roused by it, he turned asrde, and, like a beaten hound, left her presence. He who had come to confer an honor on her as he insolenily decni~ ed it, now crept from her sight, strick- en, crushed by the weight of her scorn. He went quickly, as though he could never'soun. enough escape from the scorching furnace of her clear eyes, and presently a kindly clump of laurestinas caught and bid him from view. A heavy sigh broke from her. It was a last tribute to a first illusion. She moved her head restlessly, and Si) came face to face with Strange, who, obedient to her commands, had remainâ€" ! ‘ . ed upon the spot, but at so great a dis-‘l‘ fame that whnt she and Featherston had said to each other was unheard by him. He was now gazing earnestly at her, and met the frown with which she greeted him with extreme fortitude. She had started violently. indeed, on first iiiccii’ng his eyes. as one might who had bccn suddenly awakened from some painful dream; but she had rccovercd‘ herself quickly. , Did you come here. to advocate his Virtues?" she asked. slowly. CHAPTER XLIV. She hardly noticed that he did not answer her. Her voice quivered with ill-suppressed emotion, and a sense of loss, of injury; and then dicd away al- togctlicr. That this man, who so late- ly had bch himself at her feet, should come here coldly toâ€"day to say a kindly word for another suitor, was very bitâ€" ter to her. \Vas all his boasted devo- tion, thcn, worth just so much that he could fling it aside and forgot. it so entirely that it cost him nothing to bring her another aspirant for that hand he had once considered priceless? And yet, of all others, she had believed that heâ€" Tho Scorn died out of her eyes, and a little mist rose and blotted. him for a. moment. from her sight. She was dis- mayed. astounded at the rush of feel- ing that threatened to overpower her. Was it disappointment, or grief, or de- spair? She felt suddenly dead cold as it were, and, by an heroic determination only, kept herself from openly shiverâ€" l 2‘. She felt very lonely, very unstrung. This parting with Feathersion, which was of course the final touch of all so far as they two were concerned. lilad af- fected her more than she knew, and had saddened her inexpressibly, There was almosti aversion in her regard now for Fcalherston, yet she could not all at once forget that she had believed in him, and that he had proved himself unworthicr than most. And Mr. Strongel A pang shot through her heart. \Vas he, too, unâ€" worlhy '3 She sighed a ain as though her heart was full, and ifted her heavy eyes to his. He had not answered her, as if he deemed the question unrleser'ving a response. But she compelled him to speech of some sort. . " \Vas it you who brought him ?” she persisted, fixing two aggrieved eyes on his. "No: it was he brought me. I was on my way here when Barry and he met me. They asked me to accompany them." ” And you consented? Probablyâ€"it was a farce that promised so wellâ€"you were desirous of seeing it played out. Well, has it contented you, may ask?" coining nearer to himâ€""a mere poor matter of curiosity, mindâ€"butâ€"did you think I should favor him?” "No." quietly. "I know you would refuse him. I confess. however, Icould not resist my anxiety to make» sure. I should have gone when you command- ed me to stay. but I was glad of that command; though I heard nothing._ I could see that he left hope behind him when he went. Do you imagine," he asked, sharply, " that if I had thought otherwise I could have stayed Z" 1' I can not imagine your coming," she said coldly. "If you will let me tell you about tha ." he said. She gave him an unâ€" spoken permission, and he told her the whole story of his meeting with them. and of how he feared a. quarrel be- tween the two men, and how he had gone with them into the wood to be ready to separate them should they, as he feared, come to blows. “ It was just then you came on the scene," he wound up, briefly. “ It was the first time in my life 1 was not glad to see you. I remained ,there at your request, becau$e I do not trust Featherston. and.be- cause I knew that, however you might still regard him, you would not now consent to be his wife.” Something in his tone surprised and annoyed her, ‘_'I regard him as a hypocrite," she said coldly, " In no other light. Do not make any mistake about that." He flushed warmly. “There was a time, however," he said, “when youâ€"youâ€"thought very kindly of him.” “ Was that folly so apparent to all the world ?" demanded she, with a frown and an unmirihful laugh. " Can not a girl have a silly fancy without its be- ing magnified into an undying attachâ€" mentfl" ? "Yours died then 2" He asked the question standing straight before her and regarding hcr steadily. “ When?" "The night of Mrs. Dundas's ball!” She answered him quite simply, without any shadow of displeasure. She (lid not even seem to have grasped the fact 1 hat his'right to question her bad no foun- dation, and that the question in itself was unusual. Her thoughts had flown to that miserable night, and like. a flash she remembered her meeting Qliere with. Strange; how he had spok- en to her, and how she’ had mistaken him for Featlicrston, andâ€" The hot blood mounted to her brow. No wonder he had called her “ kind" to Fcalliei‘ston. Oh, the shame of it all! As she grew crimson before him, her eyes slowly filled with tears. _"I know," exclaimed Strange, hastily, divining the thought that hurt her, and longing, in a vain, unhappy way, to be allowed to comfort her. "Don't look like‘ that, there is no need. for it. It was only a very natural mistake, after all; but it told me how you felt toward h‘calherston, and it told me, too, that any Icilish hope 1 might still have en- tertained afterâ€"after your. rejection of incâ€"was at an end." She made no answer to this. Her eyes “'t‘l'c lowered, and she was busy blink- ing back the tears out of them. “ You tell me now that li‘ealhcrston is no longer of any account in your sight," he wcnt on presently. “Of course 1 know nothing oil that, or why it should be so.” He paused. He did not ask for an explanation, but she) knew he was hoping for one. (To be Coni inued.) .â€"â€".â€"_â€" CONSCIENCE MONEY. A merchant in Biddeford, Me, afew days ago received a letter inclosing $1 and a sheet of paper, on which the word “Conscience” was uritten. This calls to mind an old story of a. thief who broke into a store in Skowhegan sev- eral years ago, and secured a good sum of money from the cash drawer. A few months afterward the merchant. receiv- ed a lettcr 1n “'hlt'il was a $10 and the following note: " I stole $73 from your money drawer. Remorse gnaws at my conscience. “‘h'en remorse gnaws again I will send you some more." ELUSTLUN THE OCEAN WIDE. TALES OF SHIPWRECKS AND HER-, OES OF THE SEA. llow Ilic dialliuu (row of [he liirkciilicml “'cnr flownâ€"Standing shoulder to' Sliolllilcr ’l'licy )lcl Dozilh .ll'tcr Having Siivcil Ilic “onion and d'hildrcnâ€"(Illicr Mcmoi-nlilc “'rci'ks. The sighl of a battered and SHL-WUI‘D piece. of wrer washed ashore by the sea fills one with pathetic thoughts that words cannot fully describe. Back of that bit of wood, which once formed a part of a noble ship, lies a story of thrilling incidentsâ€"anguish. privaâ€" lion, despair and sorrow. Perhaps that old ship~wrcrked spar, green with sea age, was the last hope of some ocean- iossed mariner; to it his last earthly hope clung, but weakness and the bil- lows of ocean drove him from it. LOSS OF THE DRUMMOND CASTLE. About a monlh ago ‘the civilized world was shocked by the loss of the Castle Line steamer Drummond Castle while en route from Cape Town, South Africa, to Souihampton, England. All the passengers and a majority of the crew had gone to bed, numbering about 300 in all, with no thought of danger. Without a. momcni.’s warning the steamer struck a rock on the coast of France. She sank in a few moments. There was no lime to put; out the boats, and but three were saved, All the olher’s just as they were nearing their journeys end, met with a watery grave. Such was the fate of the Drummond Castle; and her disaster calls up the various notable shipwrecks and dishppcarances of vessels that at the time of. their occurrence cast a sorrow over the civilized world. Every schoolboy and girl has read these lines: "Toll for the brave. The brave lhal are no more; All sunk beneath the wave Close by their native shorei” These stirring words recall the sad loss of the English manâ€"ofvwar Royal George, August 29, 1782. She was anchored off Spithead, with a crew of officers and men numbering 800. The Admiral had given orders to have a re- pair done on the outside of the vessel. In order to do this it was necessary to keel the vessel to one side. All the guns and heavy materials were brought 10 one side. Just. at the time a heavy squall struck the man-ofâ€"War, and the. Royal George sank with every soul on board, without a moment's notice. SINKlNG OF THE BIRKENHEAD. Who can ever forget the heroic con- duct of the soldiers and sailors on board the British transport ship Birkenhead. which sank February 22, 18:32, off Sim- on‘s Bay, near Cape of Good Hope, South Africa. The Birkenhead was bound from Quccnstown to South Africa with a larg‘»> number of troops, accompanied by their wives and children. It was on the morning of the above date, the waves were running mountains high. that the Birkenliead struck on a rack. The Captain at once ordered a call to quarters. It became evident that the ship was fast sinking. But there was not a least excitement on board; every man quietly went to his place of duty with a determination to die at his post if it was necessary. The boats were lowered. Hastin the sick women and children were transferred from the sinking ship. It was known to all that it would be impossible to save any more. DIED SINGING "RULE BRITANNlA.” The British ensign was hoisted, the sailors and soldiers were arrayed in line as on a review, they presented arms and sang “God Save the Queen.” Lower and lower the vessel sank; the waves swept over the vessel. A volley was fired-a volley over their own graves. They once more presented arms and went down with the ship unbroken in ranks singing “Rule Britannia." Shoul- der to shoulder did this noble band of 454 souls meet their fate. Their conâ€" duct became the world’s wonder. Well might England mourn the. loss of such brave and noble men. Such heroism has never been surpassed on water or land, and seldom equaled. \VRECK OF THE ROYAL CHARTER. The loss of the screw steamer Royal Charter night of October 25. and mornâ€" ing of 26, 1839, off the Welsh coast, near Moelfra, Angleseashire, was specially distressing. With this wreck 446 lives were lost. The Royal Charter was bound for Liverpool from Australian ports. There were a large number of passengers (in board and £800,000 in gold ($4,000,000) The voyage had been a pleasant one . Not a thought of dan- ger hzid entered the minds of any one on board. Many of the passengers were returning home rich from the Australian gold fields. They had pictâ€" ured their future and the happiness they would bring to a dear mother, wife or sweetheart that had been left. at home while they had gone out to win a fortune. All had progressed well during lhe voyage until the vessel reached the Irish Clianncl. A terrific slorm then come up. The Captain ran the ship into the nearest shelter. which was a little cove opposite Moclfra. Both an- chors dropped, but they were not suf< ficicnt to hold the vessel; she dragged away. The engines were set in motion. but all. to no avail. The storm increasâ€" ed in fury and at last the Royal Charter struck on the rocks. By this time the waves were running high and threatenâ€" ed every moment. to tear the disabled stcamcr to pieces. Distress signals Were fired. The population of Moelfra gathered on the bench, but they could render no aid, and it was a human imâ€" possibility to Iowa-r a boat. A MALAY HERO. There was a Malay on board of the ship. Like all of his race he was an expert swimmer. He volunteered to swim ashore, a distance of three miles, with a rope tied round his shoulders. This would be the means to draw a hawser on shore, and in this manner those on board would be saved. Dis- robing. he jumped into the angry sea, with a small lead line attached to his person. Braver he fought against those fierce waves. As billow after i l i billow, and surge after surge mel him, i he dove under the waves. At times it éscemed that he was lost. It did not {seem possible lhzit a. human being could accomplish such a fcat. Men on shore ; with glasses had seen him dive from the l ship. Anxious hearts on ship and shore Weru fervenily praying that he might ,be granted strength to be successful. BATTLlNG \VI'l‘H THE WAVES. The moments went into the hours. It sometimes Seemed that he had fail- ed, but a tug would come on the line a hcad would appear above the crest of lb» waves. which made it known that the hero was still battling for their lives. At length the task was com- pleted. The Malay was tossed by a surf on the. beach more dead than alive , Willing hands came to his wane and carried him out of danger. A mighty cheer rang from the shore which was carried by the storm to the ship. Those who were doomed felt then that there was some. hope. SAVES TW'O HUNDRED LIVES. The lead line was drawn to land, then a small rope and finally a large haw- ser which had an endless rope attach- ed to it, had been fastened to the mast of lhe ship. and the other end on a hastily rigged derrick on shore. Nearly 200 persons were carried ashore safely by this meansâ€"â€"and all would have been saved had it not been for the fact (hat a. panic ensued on board the ship. Too ;many scrambled for the buoys, and the hawser broke, and 400 lives were lost. : A very distressing case on board of lbs! Royal Charter was that of a young \Vclshman who was drowned within four miles of his home. “'hcn the ship first came to anchor opposite Moelfra, on the night of October 25, he could see the li lit shining in his mother's win- dow, ut, like many others, his body 'ivals cast on the beach, torn and mang- er . The news of this wreck flew through England like wildfire. The heroism of file Malay rang throughout the civi- lizcd world. The. Queen expressed a desire to meet him. He was presented wilh the Victoria. Cross, and, if ever a man deserved the honor, it was he. The hero was made ~the lion of the hour. Popular subscriptions were rais- ed for him, and the poor Malay pus- scnhger found himself both famous and no . SWALLOlVED BY THE OCEAN. Missing ships have caused anxiety from time to time. There was the Eng- lish training ship Arethusaf, which had. taken a large number of boys from England in 1878 for a cruise of “’6le India stations. She was a. sailing ship, brig rigged. The Arelhusn left Bermu- da on the homeward trip with her freight of nearly 300 boys, but was never heard of again. Not even a piece of the vessel was ever found to tell the story. She and all on board were swal- lowed up by the angry Atlantic Ocean. It was in the earl part of 1893 that the freight steamer aelic, of the White Star Line, left Liverpool with a valu- able cargo for New York. She. Like the Arethusa, was never heard from, and her fate to this date is mysterious. The steamer City of Glasgow, which. sailed from Liverpool in March, 1854, for Philadelphia, with lfO passengers on board, was missed from the ocean, and not a particle of wreck left to lell the sad story of how the noble ship went down. Hundreds of other vessels, with all on board, have gone down. swal- lowed up in a moment, and never a soul escaped to tell the sorrowful story. It would take volumes to narrate the loss of missing ships. The mind of man would be astonished at the number of lives lost, and it would be impossible to realize the amount of wealth lost in the briny waves. It was a fearful shipwreck. that of the Norwegian barque ’l‘helkla. This wreck took place in December, 1892, in the Atlantic Ocean. The vessel be- came water-logged with only the masts sticking out of the water. All but four of the crew had gone off in boats and were lost. LIVED ON THEIR SHIPMATE. Three Scandinavians and a. Dutch- man had secured themselves to the rigging. For days they were in that position without any thing to eat or drink. The Dutch sailor offered his life to save theirs, To this the others would not agree unless lots were taken, which was agreed to. Strange to say. the Dutchman drew the fatal number. The three Scandinavians killed him, drank his blood and lived on his body until they were rescued from their perilous position. It is impossible to‘ imagine such a position without a hor- ror and a shudder. The. narratives of sailors who have saved their lives _by eating a shipmate have time and time again been printed in the newspapers. It is next to impossible to realize the awfulness of such a posil ion. Yes, back of every piece of an old wreck that is washed on the seashore there is a story, and could the wreck- age speak it would probably spin a yarn that would surpass in pathos, sentiâ€" ment and horror an romance that was ever written. Unti the sea gives up its dead the fate of the missing ones will be unknown. A WONDERFUL PRODUCT. All Article “'liicli (Yuri Be Adapted for a Variety of Uses. A new material has been put on the market in England, which has a per- fectly bewildering variety of uses. In its raw state it is a pulp, but by a patent process it can be made available for all manner of things, from an im- itation of leather to lhe manufacture of artificial flowers. By imposing the jelly on cotton cloth it forms a very cheap substitute for real hide, most difficult of detection, and it is claimed to be the only imitation which can be embossed like leather. It is waterproof, and. can stand any amount of wash- ing. The appearance of chairs and coucth upholstered with it is distinctly attractive. and a thin solution over wad paper keeps the most delicate col- ors from staining; even ink spots can be promptly removed. It has a further use in the covering of books, and here its ability to \\'l.lll‘él.’.lntl water and grease is particularly valuable. That it makes cxrellent shoes will be welcome news to that extreme section of the vegetation fraternity which objecls to make use of the ouler covering of slaughtered cattle. Crclonncs, legâ€" gings, advertisement posters, awnings, and many fancy articles are made by this peculiarly convenient provess. which is also bcing utilized for the makin of cartridge cases, the treatment 0 cloth, and the protection of posters and maps. â€"