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i is'g g . 7 i She slmted up’ "Ohâ€"that's rightâ€"that's right... It margin of the pool. 1 l AS GO AS GD. “fix’le‘ii‘i‘iii‘a‘ifétmiititao $322.5. lift-33.22;??? fl 5 g , saXLlé‘TLIS go home.” ‘ Pronderizig if her e’ni‘ln‘rrziss‘ment jusri- ‘ comm XLr.â€"Canunued~ i m had wt so much named his . meâ€"«oâ€"wm is at.13:2:l:..i..:t‘;.:“.:t3:rascal: _ "Good morning. good morning.” said'llfai'i‘imttflli ‘if-‘or‘fiiil’fiti‘msfi‘esilfiilt ‘né'tilte‘eillgy’i she answered hastily. taking 1”“ “5‘11ng ‘0 d“ with ‘he WHAT Is GOING ON m THE FOUR the stranger with profuse heartinessalas to be almost sublime. The young “They must have thrown it inio the ‘ ynrllflgrglaas nothing 3801.9, ‘in E137a_ CORNERS 0P TnE GLOBE. "Is it Mr. Henchard I am talking to?" "My name is Henchard,” "Than I caught ye at homeâ€"that? right. Morning’s the time for busi- ness, says I. Can I have a few words with you i” "By all means," Henchard answered; showing the way in. v . "You may remember me i" said his visitor. seating himself. Henchard observed him indifferent- ly, and. shook his head. “\Vellâ€"perhaps you may not). name is Neiwson.” {Henchard’s face and eyes seemed to die. The other did not notice it "I know the name well," Henchard said at ‘last, looking on the floor. “I make no doubt of that. Well. the fact is, I've been. looking for ye this fortnight past. I went through Gasteirbridge an my way to Weydon: Priors, and when I got there, they told me you had some years before been living at. Casterbridge. Back came I again, and by long and by late I got here by coach, ten minutes ago. "He lives down by the mill,” says they. So here I am. Nowâ€"that transaction between us some twenty years agone â€"’tis that I've called about. ’Twas a. various business. I was younger than than I am nonv, and perhaps the less said about it, in one sense, the better." "Curious business? "l‘was worse than curious. I cannot even allow that I’m the man you met there. I was not in my senses, and a man's senses are himself." \I "We were yctung and thoughtless,” said Newson. "However. I've come to mend matters rather than open argu- ments: Poor Susanâ€"bar's was a strange experience." “It. was." . “She was a warm-hearted, home- spun woman. She was not. what they call shrerwd or sharp at. allâ€"better she had been.” "She was nob." "As you in all likelihood know, she was simpleâ€"minded enough to think] that the sale was binding. She was as guiltless 0' wrong-doing in that par- ticular as a saint in the clouds.” "I know. it, 1 know it. I found it out directly." said Henchard, still with averted eyes. "There lay the sting o't to me. If she had known the truth she would never have left me. Never! But: how. should she be expected to to know 3. What advantages had she? Norms. She could write her own name and no more." "Well, it was not in my heart to undeceive her when the deed was done,” said the ailor of former days. "I thcfught, and there was not much vanity in thinking it, that she would be happier with me. She was fairly- My happy. and I never would have unde-l oeived her till the day of her death.I Your child died; she had another, and all went: well. But a. time cameâ€"- mark me, a time always does come. Al time cameâ€"it was some while after she and I and the child returned from Americaâ€"when somebody she had con-i . fided her: history to told her my claim. to her was a mockery, and made jest of her belief in my right. After that she was never happy With me. . She pined and pined, and socked and Sighed. She said she must leave me, and then came the question of our child. Then a man advised me what to do. and .I! did it, for Ithought it. was best. I. left her' at Falmouth, and went off to sea. When. I got. to the other side of the Atlantic there was a storm, and it 'was supposed that a lot. of us, in- cluding myself, had been washed over- board. I fot‘ ashore at Newfoundland, and then asked myself what I should do. "Since I'm here, here I'll bide," l thclight to myself; "twill be most kindness to her, now. she’s him, and the child will have a home.’ I've never returned to this country till a. mcmth ago, and I found that, as I had supposed. she went to you, and: my daughter with her. They told me in Falmouth that Susan was dead. But ElizabethJaneâ€"where is she ?" ~ “Dead likewise,” said H-enchard dog- gedly. “Surely you learnt that too?" The sailor started up, and took an enervated‘pace or two down the room. "Dead 1” he said, in a low voice. "Then what’s the use of my money to me 'l" Henchard, without answering, shook his head, as if that were rather a ques- tion for Newson himself than for him. “Where is she buried f," the traveller inquired. "Beside her mother," said Henchard, in the same stdlid tomes. “When did she die 7" “A year ago, and more," replied the other without hesitation. The sailor continued standing. Hen- chard never looked u from the floor. .At last Ne'ivson said, " y 'ourney hithâ€" or has been for nothing. I o as I came! It has served me right. '11 trouble you no longer." {Honchard heard the retreating foot- steps of Newson upon the Sanded floor. Newson‘s shadow passed the window. He was gone. Then Henchard, Scarce-1y believing the evidence of his senses. rose from his seat, amazed at what he had done. It had been the impulse of a moment. He hastily put on his hat, and went chit in the direction that Newson had taken. Newson’s back was St‘On visible up the road. Hienchard followed; and saw his visitor stop at the Golden Grown, where the morning coach which had brought him waited half-an-liour for another coach which crossed there. The coach Newson had come by was aboutto move again. Newson mount- ed; his luggage was put in. and in .a fenr minutes the vehicle disappeared With him. taken. j against me, to let heri believe me lost; ; for,’ I thought. ‘while she supposes us: both alive she'll be miserable; but if. she thinks me dead she'll go back to- may as well i sailor who had taken Susan H‘enchard on the spur of the moment, and on the faith ofaglance at her face, more than twenty years before, was still livxng‘ and acting under the form of the grizâ€" zled traveller who had taken Hen- chard's words on trust so absolute as to shame him as he stood. Was Elizabeth-Jane to remain his by- lvirtme of this hardy invention of a moment? "l’erhaps not for long," said he. Newsotn might converse with his fellow-travellers. some of whom might be Casterbridge people; and the trick wiiidld be discovered. He watched the distant highway, exâ€" pecting to see Newson return on foot, enlightened and indignant, to claim his child. But) no figure agpeared. 1 ‘He returned to the cuss half ex- pecting that she wcu'ld have vanished. No; there she wasâ€"just coming out ifrcrm the inner room. the marks of sleep upon her eyelids, and exhibiting a generally refreshed air. _ I “Oh, father," she said smiling. "I had no sooner lain down than I napped. ,thcrigh Idid not mean to! I wonder I did not dream about oor Mrs. Far- frae, after thinking 0 her so; but I did not. How, strange it is that we (10 not. often drenm of latest events, ab- sorbing as they may be." "I am glad Still have been able-to sleep," he said, taking her hand with anXious proprietorshipâ€"an act which gave her a pleasant surprise. "Father," she said, as soon as she recalled herself to the outspread meal. "it is so kind of you to get this. nice breakfast. with your own hands, and I idly asleep the while." "I do it every day," he replied. “You have left. me; everybody has left me; how should I live but by my own hands ?" “You are! very lonely, are you not 2" "Ah, childâ€"to a degree that you know nothing of. It is my own fault. You are the only one who has been near me for weeks. And you will come no more.” , . f'Why do you say that? Will, if ytu would like: to see met" Henchard signified dubiousness. Tilt-ugh he had so lately hoped that Elizabeth-Jane might again live in his house as daughter, he would not ask her to do so now. « \Vhen they had breakfasted his step- daughter still lingered, till the moment arrived at which Hemchard was accus- Domed to go to his daily work. Then she arose, and with assurance of coming again soon went up the hill in the morning sunlight. . "At this moment her 'heart is as warm towards me as mine is towards her; she would live with me here in this humble cottage for the askingl Yet before the evening probably be will have come; and then} she will deâ€" spise me." ' 'lhis reflection, constantly repeated by Henchard to himself, accompanied him everywhere ‘thrtligh the day. To the east of Casterbridge lay moors and meadows, through which much wamr.flowed. {The wanderer in this directiocn. who shdulld stand still for a few moments onaquiet night, might _hear Singular symphonies from these waters,_as from a lampless orchestra, all playing in their sundr tones, from. near and far parts of t e moor. Henchard, novwever, leaving the toiwin by the east road, pro- ceeded to the second. or stone ibridge, and thence struck into this path of solitude, following its course ibeSide the stream till the dark shapes of the Ten>Hatches cut the sheen thrown upon the river by the weak lus- tre that still lingered in the west. In g8. second or two he stood beside the fweur-hole where the waiter was at its 5 deepest. He looked backwards and i forwards, and no creature appeared in 1 View. He then took off his coat and and stood on the brink of the ' stream with his hands clasped in front l of him. v While his eyes were bent on the wa- iter beneath there slowly became visiâ€" ‘ his a something floating in the circu- llarpool formed by the wash of cenâ€" ituries; the pool he was intending to lmake'his death-bed. At first it was ilndlSLlnCt, by reason of the shadow , from the bank; but it emerged thence, iand took shape, which was that of a I human body, lying stiff and stacrk up- ‘ on the surface of the stream. I The sense pf the supernatural was 1strong in this unihappyhmani, and he Itur'ned away as one magiht have done ‘ an the actual presence of an appalling miracle. He covered his eyes and bow- ed his head. Without looking again in- to the stream he took his coat and hat, and went slowly away. 5 Presently he found himself by the door of his own dwelling. To this surprise, Elizabethâ€"Jane was stand- ing there. Newson, then, had not even 5 yet returned. “I thought you seemed very sad this lmor_ning,” she said, “so I have come :again'to see you. .Not that I am ‘ anything but sad myself. But everybody iand everything seem against you so; 2 and I know you must be suffering.” He said to her, "Are miracles still Worked, do ye think. Elizabeth? I am nota read man. I don’t know so much as I could wish. I have Uried to per- tuse and learn all in life; but the 2 more I try to know the more ignorant 1]: seem." l j'I don't quite think there are any imimcles nowadays," she said. i “No interference in the case of des- lperate intentions, for instance? ,Well, perhaps not, in a direct way. Per- ‘haps not. But will you come and ,walk with me, and it will show you ,what I mean." I 1 She agreed willingly, I hat, ' and he took her over the highway, and by the lone- ly path to Tenâ€"llatches. When they get near the weir he stood still, and asked her to go forward and look in- i to the pool, and tell him what she saw. She went, and soon returned to him. "Nothing," 'she said. again," said Henchard. "and look narrowly.” She proceeded to the river brink a. second tune. On her return, after some delay, she fold him lhat she saw some- thing floating ihe‘re; but what it was she could not discern. It seemed to be a bundle of old clothes. “Are they lLke mine?" asked Hen- chard. "Wellâ€"they are. Dear meâ€"I won- der ifâ€"â€" Father, let us go away.” A"Go and look once more; and then we Will get home.” She went back, and he could see her stoop till her head was close to the river, higher up amongst the Willows, to get rid of it in their alarm at dis- cm'cry', and it must have floated down here.” "Ahâ€"~t-o ‘be sureâ€"the image 0‘ mell But where is the other? Why that one only? . . . That performance of theirs killed her, but saved me alive!" Elizabeth-Jane thought and thought of these words, 'sitv'eil me alive," as they slowly retraceil their way to the town; and at length. guessed their meaning. "Fatherlâ€"I will not leave you alone like this!" she cried. “May I live with you, and tend upon you as I used to do? I do not mind youri being poor. I would have agreed to come this morning, but you did not ask me." l r bethslane's habitual reserve induced; and it may at. once be owned on her account that she was guilty of occasional conversa- tions with Donald when they chanced to meet. this by going to the Ring, and. screen- ed by its enclosure, keeping his upon the road till he saw them meet. His face a~snmed an expression of ex- treme anguish. “May youicome to me?" h cried bitterly. "Elizabeth, don‘t mock mel If you only would come!" "I will," said she. "flow will you forgive all: my roughu ness in former days? You cannot!” "I have forgotten it. Talk of that no more." The next morning the fact turned out to be as Elizabeth-Jane had statâ€" ed; the effigy was discovered by a cow- herd, and that of Lucetta a little higher up in the same stream. But as little as possible was said of the mat- ter, and the figures were privately desâ€" troyed. . Despite this natural solution of the mystery, Henchard no less regarded it. as an intervention that the figure should have been floating there. Elig- abeihrJane heard huu say, “who is such a ireprobate as 1!. And get it seems that even I am in Some ody's hand I" 1 CBIAPIER XLII. But the emotional conviction that he was in Somebody's hand began to ‘(lie out of Henchard's breast as time slowly removed into distance the event which had given that feeling birth. The apparition of Newson haunt- ed him. He would surely return. Yet Newson did not arrive. Ducetta. had been borne along the churchyard path; Casterbridge had for the last. time turned its regard upon her, had never lived. But Elizabeth re- relationship to Henchard, and shared his home. Lucetta‘s illness an death; and first impulse was naturally enough to wreak vengeance in the name of the law upon the perpetraiors of the mis- chief. Lucetta had confessed every- her sake, for Henchard‘s, and for his own. Henohard and himself mutually force bore to meet. For Elizabeth‘s sake the former had fettered his pride sufficient- ly ,to accept the small seed business which some of the Town Council, head- ed by Farfrae, had purchased, to af- ford him a. new opening. L Here they settled themselves; and on each day of their lives Henchard antici- pated her every wish with a watchful- ness in which paternal regard was of rivalry. Thus they lived on in ‘the shop over- remainder of the year. Going out seldom, and never on a market-day. they saw Donald h‘arfrae only at rarest intervals, and then mostly as a tranâ€" Sitory object street. it was not. He could not but perceive that by the death of IJucetta he had exchanged a Looming misery for a sim- ple sorrow. her history. which must have sooner or later in any circuiiwtances, ther happiness. By the end of a larger than a cupboard, had develop- father and daughter enjoyed serenity in the pleasant, sunny _ In which it stood. The quiet. bearing tivity characterised Elizabethâ€"Jane at this period. \ i now. In and selling, her word was law. both," he sai humbly. "Yes; I bought it,” she said. "Rather costly, I suppose, my was it not?” he hazarded. dear, u said quietly. “But it is not showy. ious not to pique her in the least. Some little time after, when in passing it. much humbler, but what struck be- I tent." fore proceeding to its work as if she - as “Time, in his own gray style," taught L? t I Farfrae how to estimate his experience life as something sacred to herself and ,lof Lucettaâ€"all that it was, and all that her fliends’ and has nave,- a'uowed any tle retail seed and grain shop, not much. Why, "Oh, no,” said the nettled lion, anx- motion of him hood, but fashion movements beyond what Hem-hard became aware of eye “Of her, too, he means to rob me!" he whispered. “But he has the right. I do not wish to interfere." (‘ould he have hearrd such conversa- tion as passed he would have been en- lightened thus much:â€" Heâ€"“Ynu like walking this way, Miss Henchardâ€"is it not so?" She. â€"â€""Oh yes. I have chosen this road latterl . I have a reason for it." Ilaâ€""Ant that may make a reasâ€" on for others." She (reddening) â€"â€""I don't know that. My renown, howc'er, is that I wish to get. a glimpse of the sea every day." He.â€""'ls it. a secret whv?“ She (reliictantlyKâ€"“Yesf' lieâ€""Ali. I dmi N there will be any good in secrets! A secret cast a deep shadow over my life. And well you knmv what it. was." ' Elizabeth admitted that she did, but she refrained from confessing why the son. attracted her. Ilenchard vowed that he would leave them to their own devices, put nothing in the way of their courses, whatever- ihey might mean. If he were doomâ€" ed to be bereft of her, so it must be. With sneb a possibility impending he could not help watchfiilness. The meet- ings seemed to become matters of course with them no special days of the week . Once he was standing behind a wall close to Thr‘ place at which Farfrae en- <"‘lln""’9’l her. Mil he thought he board the youan min address her as "Dearest u Eli7nbe‘ibnTane Had she lost her heart. to any other man in the world than the one he had rivalled, cursed, wrestled with for life in, days before his spirit “71s broken, Henchard would have said, "I am conâ€" Dut content with the prospect now depicted was hard to acquire. There is an outer chamber of mained undisturbed in the belief of her brain in which thoughts unowned. un- now‘ sn'iI-imil. and of noxious kind are sometimes allowed to warnier for a In due time the bereaved Farfrae had moment prior to being sent off whence learnt the at least iroximate cause of they came. d his sailed into Henchard‘s ken now. One 0 these thoughts Suppose he were to communicate to Farfrae the fact that his betrothed was not the child of Michael llcnchard at all â€"legal'lv, nobody's child: how thing to him before her death, and it won“ i113” MYTH?" "-Tl‘l liffidlnfl' town“!- was not altogether desirable to make man receive the information? He might much ado about her history, alike for [nssibly forsmke Elizabethâ€"Jane, and then she would be her stepâ€"site‘s own again. Henchan-d shuddered, and exclaimed. “God forbid such a thingl \Vhy should I still be subject to these visitation of the Devil, when I try so hard to keep him away?" ' i (To be Continued.) M“- KATE GREENA'WAY. Every one has heard the name of heightened by a burning, jealous dread Kate Greenaway_ the talented English artist, who has done more to revmu- looking the churchyard, and nothing tionize children's dress than any other occurred to mark their days during the living woman No woman is better but known in England and in America than she. and yet no woman’s personal life and habits are less known and talked in the “Stance 0‘ the of than hers. The reason of this lies he fact that she regards her private one to interview her, and refrains from accepting attentions and entertain- After that. revelation of ments that would bring her into acou- come spicuous position. _ ' She lives, however, in an oid and picturesque house, in the it was hard to believe that life with neighbourhood of Hampstead Heath,and her would have been productive of fur- has her studio here on the top floor, a large, well-lighted and cosy room. year Henchard's 1it- Its long windows open out into 3. lol- where Miss Greenaway loves to sit on pleasant days. She is most inâ€" ed its trade considerably. and the step- dustrious, and to her hard work, origin- mllCh ality, and love for children, is attribâ€" (‘m‘nel‘ uted her great success. Like every oth- er successful man and woman. Kate of one who brimmed with an inner ac- Greenaway toiled long and earnestly before fame smiled upon her. First she studied at the art school in South Ken- She had her own warm everything sington, and next at the life classes at gomg and 001111113. “1 buying Heathcrley's another famous London studio, and at the Slade school. When "You hill/8 gilt a new muff: Eli?" her first pictures were exhibited at the W be“ 0110 day film“ Dudley gallery they attracted some at- tention and much praise, and it was after this that Miss Greenaway devoted herself to illustrating children's books. and to designing Christmas. birthday, “It was rather above my figure." She and dinner cards, menus, and all kinds of pretty and artistic novelties. A colâ€" pretty colored sketches of children dressed in the quaint, oldâ€"fash- the ' d f tur a ubl' h- year had advanced into another spring, gfininfiiwtgi (LSBCSfIII-i Uyndgf'tge “fur he paused 09903.1“ her empty badroum dow," brought her fame. This was not The present room was 0m y confined to the artistic brother- ,quickly recognised about It was the abundance of books the charm and styla of these picture_ lying everywhere. For the fimt time sque costumes and adopted them. Unâ€" he felt 3' little hurt by What he “mught til than children had been overdressed her extravagance, andresolved. to say a word to 'her about it. he had found the courage to speak, an or unattractively dressed, and the bean- But' before tiful and numerous fashions in dainty gowns and cloaks and hats. which comi- °V9nt hal’paned Which set his lhk’u'ghts bins sensible comfort and warmth with flying in quite another direction. aesthetic taste in color and form, all Henchard, contrary to his wont, went - . _ out one Saturday afternoon towards the ([13:53 {Eggegifizagagzogrwna‘way 3 9f market-place, from a curious feeling that he would like to pass a few min- utes on the spot of his former triumphs. Farfrae stood a few steps below the Corn Exchange door, and he appeared lost. in thought about something he was looking at a little way off. ' Henchard’s eyes followed Farfrae’s, MME. CALVE. Calve. the Carmen of the century, su- perb Calve. is a boxer of no mean abil- ity. She can "hit, stop and get away" after the most approved fashion. In 331d he 551W that th "blfeCl/ 0f 11%? 8311718 her personal luggage she always carries “as no sample'showmg armer' un ms a stout inflatable bag, with the hooks own stepdaughter, who had just come out of a shop over the way. She, on her part, was quite unconscious of his ment's attention. Henchard \ven‘t’ away, thinking that perhaps there was nothing significant ous, she consens herself after all in Frafr'te‘s look at Elizabeth- Jane at that juncture. and elastic straps, by which at a mo- notice, it may be put in posiâ€" tion. Instead of sanding up before a live antagonist, which might be danger- ? with punch- ing anoncouipative but active bag. Just half an hour after her cup of But the mere thought [of separation coffee, Calve gets into a heavy sweater fevered his spirit much), mnd in evening he said, with the stillness of suspense, “Have you seen Mir. Farfrae of perspiration which toâ€"day, Elizabeth?" Elizabethâ€"Jane started at the. ques- tion; and it was with. some confusion that she replied "No." the and a short skirt and merrily proceeds with her warfare until she is in a sort she considers death. to adipose. Then after a (‘old both she breakfasts and further exer- ciscs on a bicycle, of which she is a (le- votcd advocate. Old and New World Events of Interest Chron- lcled Brieflyâ€"Interesting Happenings 6 Recent Date. Nansein is lo receive the degree of doctor of science from Cambridge Uni- verSity this month. Canon Owen. the newl a ointed Bishop of St. David's, is a {Veisllipspeak< ing \Velshmrtu. English Government ordnance and geologicil survey maps are to be sold.I hereafter at all Post Offices. . Messrs. Thorneycroft’s 30-knot torpe-l do boat destroyer Fame made an aver- age of 30.15.) knots on her official trial. The Star. torpedo boat destroyer, built. by the I’almers, made an average of 31.03 knots on her three-hour trial. Marseilles had a riot in the Grand Theatre the other day because a num- ber 02 women refused. to take off their big hats. 1 ~ l Gen. Cadctrna, who commanded the Italian troops when they took posses- 51‘!!!) of Rome in 11570, died recently at' the age oi 821 years. Mr. Bancroft, the retired English actor, has made over $13,000 for Eng- lish liwtpitals this seiism by reading Dickens's Christian Carol. “Madame 'I‘usstiu'l” paid Dir. Nansen‘ $5,000 for the b’lui;ber-soal-:ed suit be p ore when be mad Mr Jackson on the‘ ice of Franz Josef Land. Mr}. Esccimb, the new Premier of Naq tal, is a LLundou Jew who started as a. ready made clothing dealer. 'Aften gmng Inio liankrkiptcy, he concluded th. iii-e wdild be’ more successful as a: lawyer. i ’ ,An attempt to acclimatize ostriches in South Russia has proved successful; The csiricbes born in' itussia are much! less sensuive to cold than, the import- ed ones, and their pllumes are equally. » good. i Rome’s Heralds' College has discover- ed that. rthe iiLirchese di Itrudini, the Italian I‘runier, has no right to his title, Which belongs to another branch of his family. He is properly only. Signor Antonio Starabba. _Two London Italians recently had a. bicycle wedding in at Leicester square church. The bride and groom rode on a "sociable" t1.) the church, followed by. the gueSLS on twelve sociables and six- teen Single bicycles. Livingstone’s tree at odd Chitambo. which shaded the spot where his heart) is buried, has nearly fallen to piecesl n A recent traveller asks that some last- ing mark be placed over the spot where the great explorer died. Sir Richard Burton's book on "Hu- man SliCI'iIlcQs Among the Sephardim," the Spanish Jews, is abtlit to be pub- lished-soon in London. It isa thorough investigation _ol the legend about the killing of Christian children for Jewish l'bilgIOlIS rites. . Lord Brassey, Governor of South Aus- tralia and owner of the “Slinbeam,” was thrown from his horse recently: breaking his collar bone and sustaining severe injuries in the chest. He was pitched on his head and the horse roll- ed war him. Medical service in the British army, seems to be very unpopular. At a re< cent examination for thirty-five vacan- cies only thirty-one candidates appear- ed. ththgh the rule forbidding a man from trying after having failed twice, was suspended. . M. Wilson. the son-in-law of Jules Gravy, who by his corrupt practices caused the retirement of his father-in- law. and cause nean putting an end to the Presidency, now threatens to pubâ€" l.le his revelations. They will cause more scandal than even the Panama affair. - ' ‘ Hebrew is springing up again as a. living literary language in Eastern Europe. A monthly review is now. published at. Berlin in the Hebrew lan- guage, while Maspero‘s "Ancient His- tory of the Peoples of the East” has been published in Hebrew by a. “’11::- saw publisher. Papa Lew’s pontifica‘l medals which, according to custom, are struck every two years, are now ready. On one side is the Pope’s profile, on the other the figure of our Lady of the Rosary sitting on a throne with the Christ child on her arm and with the right hand giv~ ing a rosary to St. Dominick. England does not mean that France shall get ahead of' her in Ncgus Meneâ€" lek's favor without an‘, effort. She. has just sent an expedition of army officers to Abyssinia, which includes among its members the Queen's distant relative Count Gleichen. and a son of Lord Sal- isbury. None of the officers is under six feet. tall; one is 6 feet ‘7 inches, two 6 feet 4, and one 6 feet 3. True manna has been found on a blue grass in Queensland. It appears on the nodes of the stems in masses as large as marbles. It is sweet, and nearly three parts of it consist of mannite, which, thf‘hgh sweet, is not a sugar. It also contains a ferment which has the power to decompose cane sugar without evolving carbonic acid or any king of gas. The grass is not. only inâ€" dige-nohs in Australia, but it is found also in tropical Asia and Africa. A GREAT \VEDDING DAY. Ten thousand one hundred and one weddings were once celebrated simul- taneously at Susa, which at one time was the metropolis of the Persian Em- pire. Alexander the Great, having con- quered Persia, wished to unite Victors and vanquished by the strongest ties possible, and therefore decreed these weddings. Alexander himself married Statira, the daughter of Darius; 100 of his chief officers were united in wed- lock to ladies from the noblest Persian families, while 10.000 of the Greek sol- diers were married to 10,000 Persian women. _ FRISIAN LEGENDS. The North Frisians are very unmer- ciful to people who don't. marry. One of their legends says that after death old maids are doomed to cut. stars out of the sun when it has sunk below the horizon, and thc ghosts of the old bach- elors must. fix them up in the. sky, running, like lamplighters, up and down a ladder all night.