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,______.__,'_.__-_._.â€"â€"â€"â€"â€"â€"â€"" DAWN- ClHiAP’I‘IER XII. then the doctor had gone upstairs, I Philip went into the diningâ€"room to eat something, only to find that food was repugnant to him; he could scarceâ€" ly swallow a. mouthful. To some ex- tent, however, he supplied its place by wine, of which he drank several glasses. Then, drawn by a strange fascination ho wen-t back into the little study, and remembering the will, bethought him- self thnt it might be as well to secure it. In taking it off the table, however, a folded and much erased sheet of man- uscript was disclosed. Recognizing Bellamy’s wrilting, he took it up and commenced to read the draft, for it was nothing else. Its substance was as follows: The document began by stating that the testator’s former will was declared null and void on amount of Lhe"treachâ€" erous and dishonorable conduct of his son, Philip." It then, in brief, but sweeping terms bequeathed and devis- ed to trustees, of Whom Philip was not one, the unentailed property and per- sonality to be held by them: firstly. for tlhe benefit of any son that might be born to the said disinherited Philip by his wife Hildaâ€"the question of daughtâ€" ers, being, probably by accident, passed over in silenceâ€"and: failing such issue. than to the testator's nephew, George Caresfoot. absolutely,i subject, howev- er to the following curious condition: Should the said George Caresfoot, either by deed of. gift or will, attempt to creâ€" conivey the estate to his cousin Philip, or to descendants of the said Philip, then the gift over to the said George was to be of no effect, and the whole was to pass to some distant cousins of the testator's Who lived in Scot- land. Then followed several legacies and one charge on the estate to the. . ,bitter humiliation and selfâ€"reproach extent of £1,000 a year payable to the separate use of the aforesaid Hilda Caresfoot for life, and reverting at death to the holder of the estate. In plain English Philip was, unlert this draft. totally disiniherited, first in favor of his own male issue, by his wife Hilda, all mention of daughters being omitted, and failing such issue, in fav- or of his hated cousin Geoxge. who, as though to add insult to injury was pro- hibited from willing .the property back either to himself or his descendants by whom the testator had probably undâ€" erstood the children of a second mar- ridge. Philip read the document, over twice carefully. "lihexvl” he said, “that was touch and go. 'l'hank Heaven he had no time to carry out his kind intentions.” ~But presedntly a terible thought struck him. He ran-g the bull liasth. It was answered by the footinzin, who, since. he had an hour before uolped to carry the poor master upâ€"siairs, had become quite demoralized. It was some time before Philip could get an answer to his question as to whether or no any one had been with his father that day while he was out. At last he suc- ceeded in extracting a reply from the man that nobody had been except the young lady-â€""leastways, he begged par- don. Mrs. Caresfout, as he was told she was." "Never mind her," said Philip, feeling as though a load haj been taken from his breast, “you are sure nobody else has been 2" "No, sir, nobody, leastways he beg- ged pardon, nobody except Lawyer Bel- lamy and his clerk, who had been there all the afternoon writing, with a black bag, and had sent for Simmons to be witnessed.” “You can go," said Philip, in aquieb voice. the saw it all now, he had let the old man die after he had executed the fresh will disinheriting him. He hal let him die; he had effectually and beyond redemption cut Ihis own throat. Dcubtless, too, Bellamy had taken the new will With him; there was no chance of this being able to destroy it. _ By degrees, however, his fit of broodâ€" ing‘gavewvny to one of sullen fury against his wife, himself, but most of all against his dead father. Drunk wrth excitement, rage and baffled av- arice, be seized a candle and staggered up to the room where the corpse had been laid. launching imprecaii. ns as he went at his (lead father’s lnazl. But when he came. face to face .v.w_th that dread Presence his passion died, and a_c-old sense of the awful quiet and‘om- ni‘potence' of death came upon him and chdled him into fear. in some indis- tinct way he, realized how impotent is thew-hating of the waters of Mortality against the iron-bound coasts of Death. '10 what purpose did he rail against} that solemn, quiet thing, that husk and mask of life which lay in unmoved mockery of his reviling? His father was dead. and he, even .he, had killed his father. {He was his father's murderer. And then a terror of the reckoning that must one day be struck between that dead man's spirit and his own took possession of him and a foreknowledge of the awful shadow under which he must hence- forth lie crept into his mind and froze ‘ the very marrow in his bones. He looked again at. the face, and, to his excited imagination. it appeared to have assumed a sardonic smile. The curse ofCain fell upon him as he looked, and weighed him dOWn; his hair rose, and the cold sweat poured from his forehead. At length he could bear it no longer. but ‘turning, fled out of the room and out of the house far into the night. - When haggard with mental and bodi- ly exhaustion, he at length returned, lit was after midnight. He foundk Dr. Coley wanting for him; he had just ’and perhaps it is as well. come from the sickroom and wore an anxious look upon his face. "Your wife has been delivered of a fine girl," he said; “but I am bounds to tell you that her condition is far from satisfactory. The case is a most com- plicated and dangerous one." "A girl I" groaned Philip, mindful of the will. “Are your sure. that it is a girl?" "Of course I am sure." doctor testify. "And Hilda illâ€"I don't. understand.” "Look here, my good fellow, you are upset; take, a glass of brandy and go to bed. Your wife does not. wish to see you now. but, if necessary, I will send; for you. Now, do as I tell you. or you will be down next. Your nerves are seriously sha’kem." Philip did as he was bid, and. as soon as ho had seen him off to his :room, a nswcred the ‘the doctor returned up-stairs. In the early morning he sent fon two of his brother practitioners. and they held a consultation the upshot of which was that‘they had come to the con- clusion that nothingg short of a mir- acle could save Hilda’s lifeâ€"a concluâ€" sion that she herself had arrived at some hours before. ":Doctor." she said, "I trust you to let me know when the end is neat]. I wish my husband to be present when I dlie, but‘ not before," "Hush, my childâ€"never talk of dy- ing yet. Please God. you have many years of life before you." She shook her golden head a little sadly. “No, doctor, my sand has run out, . Give me\ the childâ€"why do you keep the child away from me? It is the messenger sent to call me to a happier world. Yes. she is an angel messenger. 1\Vhen I am gone see thatyou call her‘Angela,‘ so thatl may know by what name to greet her when the time comes.” {During the course of the morning she expressed a strong desire to see Maria Lee, who was accordingly sent sent for. It will be remembered that old Mr. ‘Caresfoot had on the. previous day, im- mediately after Hilda had left him. sat down and written to Maria ln this note he told her the whole shameâ€" ful truth, ending with a few words of that such a thing should have befallen her at the hands of one bearing his name. Over the agony of shame and grief thus let loose upon this unfortun- ate girl we will draw a veil. :lit. for- tunate for the endurance of human rea- son that life,] does not hold many such hours as that through which she passed after the receipt of this letter. As was but natural. notwithstanding old Mr. C'az‘esfoot’s brief vindication of Hilda’s conduct in his letter. Maria was filled With indignation at what to her- selft she called her treachery and deâ€" I‘QI . \\ hile she was yet full of these thoughts a messenger came galloping over from Bratham Abbey. bringing a note from Dr. (any that told her of her old friend's sudden death. and of Hilda’s dangerous condition and her de- sire. to see hcr. 'l‘he receipt 0! his news plunged her into a lrcsh access of grief, tor she ha" grown fond of the'o‘d man; nor had the warm affection for Hilda that had found a pace. in her gentle heart been altogether wrenched away; and now. that she heard that her! rival [was face to face. wth that King of .lerrors before whom all earthly love, hate, hope and ambition must fall down and _cease their troubling, it revived in all its force; nor did any thought of he‘rpwn wrongs come to chill it \\ IthD half ant hour she was at the door of the Abbey House,'where the doctor met her, and, in answer to her] eager-question, told her that, humanly speaking, IL was impossible her friend could live lhrough another tWenty- lour hours, adding an injunuion that she must not stay with her long. the entered the sick room with a heavy heart, and there from Hilda's dying lips she heard the story of her marriage and of Philip’s perfidy. Their reconciliation was as complete as her friend's tuning voice and strength would allow. At length. she tore her- self away, and, turning at the door, took her last look at Hulda, who hail raised herself upon .her elbow, and was gazing at her retreating form with an earnestness that was vcry (touching. the eyes, Maria felt, were taking their fill of. what they looked upon for the last time in this world. (latching her tearlul gaze, the dying woman smiled, and lilting her hand pointed upward. lhus they parted. But Alarm could control herself no longer; her own blasted prospects, the loss of the man she loved, and.- the affec- tung scene through which she had just passed, all helped to break her down. Running down stairs into the dining- room, she threw herself on a. sofa, and gave full passageto her grief. l’re- sently she became aware that she was not alone. Philip stood before her, or rather thewreck of him whom she knew as l‘_IlLllp. indeed it was hard to recognize in this scared man, with dis- heveled hair, white and trembling lips, and eyes ringed round with black. the bold, handsome youth, whom she I had loved. 'l he Sight of him stayed her sorâ€" row, and a sense- of her bitter injuries rushed in upon ther. "What do you want with me ’6" she asked. "Want. 1 want forgiveness. 1 am crushed. Maria, crushedâ€"quite crush- ed," and he put his hands to his face and sobbeld. She answered him with the quiet. dig- ‘ nity that good women can command in moments “of emergencyâ€"dignity of a. very different stamp from Hilda‘s. haughty pride, but perhaps as impres-l stve in its way. "You ask forgiveness of me, and say that you are crushed. Has it occurred to you that, without fault of my own, escept the fault of trusting you as en- tirely as I loved you, I too am crush- ed '1 Do you know (that you have wan- tonly, or to gain selfish ends, broken? ,my heart, blighted my nnme, and driv-r en me from my home, for I can live here no motel? Do you understand that you have done me one of the greatest injuries one person can do an- other? I say, do you know all this. Philip .Caresfoot, and knowing it, do you still ask me to forgive you? Do you thunk it possible that I can for- give 2” He had never heard her speak like this before, and did not remember that intense feeling is the mother of eloqu- ones. 'He gazed at her for a moment in into his hands again and groancd, mak- ing _no other answer. After waiting athle, she went on: “I am an insignificant creature. 1 know, and perhaps the mite of my hapâ€" piness or misery makes little difference in the scale of things; but in me the gift of all my love was evcrything. l gavn it to you. Philipâ€"gave it without a doubt or murmur, gave it with both hands. I can never have. it lack to give again! How you have triatcd ll lyou test know." Here she broke down la little, and then cont'nued: "it may seem curious, but though my love has been so mistakenly given; though you to whom it was given have t1"£lil so ill with it, yet am [anxious that on my side. there should be. [no bitter memâ€" ory that, in looking back at all this in after years, you should nevu be able to dwell upon any harsh or unkind word of mine. It is on that, account. and also because I feel that it is not for me to judge. you. and that you have. already too much to bear, that I do as you ask me, and say, ‘Dhilip, from my heart I forgive you, as I thrust that the Almighty may forgive me."' He flung himself upon his knees be.- fore her and tried to take her hand. "You do not. know how you have hum- bled me,” he. groaned. She gazed at him with pity. "I am sorry," she said; "I did not wish to humble you. .I have one word more to say, and then l. must go. I have just. bid my last earthly farewell toâ€"your wife. My farewell to you .must be as complete as that. as com- Iplete as though the grave had already swallowed one of us. lVe have done with each other forever. I do not lthink that lshall come back here. In {my waking moments your name shall never willingly pass my lips again. I will say it for the last time now. Philip, Philip, Philip, whom I chose to love out of all the world, I pray God that He will take me or deaden the edge of what I suffer, and that He may never let. my feet .cross your path or my eyes Ifall upon- your face again.” i In another second she. had passed out lof the room and out of his life. That night. or rather just before, dawn on the following morning, Hilda, knowing that her end was very n‘ar sent for her husband. I "Go quickly, doctor," she said. “I shall die at! dawn." 'I‘he doc-tor found him seated in the. l1slaine spot where Maria Lee hart left I Lm. lowed him. . A sad Sight awaited him. The mom- ent. of the gray dawn was drawing wear, and by his wife’s request, awinâ€" dow had been unshuttcrcd that her dimmed eyes might once more look up- on the light. On the great bed in the cent-er of the room lay Hilda who-w. life was now quickly draining from her. and by her side was placed the. sleepâ€" ing infant. She was raised and supâ€" ported on either side by pillows. and her unbound golden hair fell around her shoulders, inclosing her face as in a frame. .Her pallid countenance seein- lshadows that lay beyond. ‘ \Vhen Philip came the clergyman .C-eased praying. and drew back into the lfurther part of the room, as did Pigott aland the nurse, the former taking the :baby wtih her. ‘ Hiildu motioned to him to come close lto her. He came and bent over and 'kissed her, and she, with an effort. threw one. iwory arm around his net-k and smiled sweetly. After about a min- ‘ute. during which she. was apparently , "What. more misery l" the said, when he had told thS errand. "I cannot bear it. There is a curse upon roeâ€"death and wickedness, misery and death!" “You must. come if you Wish to see. lyour wife alive.” ‘ "1 will come," amt he rose and folâ€" ed touched with, an awful beauty that had not belonged to it in life. while in her eyes was that dread and pres-iâ€" e‘nt gaze which sometimes come to those who are about to solve death's mystery. By the side of the bed knelt Mr. Fraser, the clergyman of the. parish, re- pealing in an earnest tone the prayers ifor the dying, while the sad faced atâ€" Itendants moved with muffled tread ,llac-kward and forward from the ring lof light around. the bed into the dark collecting her thoughts, she spoke in a “low voice, and in her native ti ngue.' i. “I have not sent for you before, l’hllj tip, for two reasonsâ€"first, bemused §w15hed to spare you palm and next. in iorder that I might have time form my mind of angry thoughts against iYou. They are all gone nowâ€"â€"gonc with levery other earthly interest; but Iwas lan‘gry with you. Philip, And now list- em to me â€"â€"Ior [have not got: much timeâ€"and do not forget my words in future years when the. story of my .life will seem but as a shadow that lonce. fell upon your path. Change. yonr ways). Philip dear, at andon deceit, atone for the. past; if you can. make. your, peace with Maria Lee. and marry herâ€" lalil it is a pity that you did not do lthat at first. and leave me to go my waysâ€"and above all humble your heart beforethe Power that I am about ,to face. I love you, dear, and, not- '\\'ithstanding all I am thankful to have |been your wife. Please God, we shall meet again." , _ I She paused awhile and then spoke in [English llO tl‘le astonishment of all in the D0001. her voice was strong and (clear, and she uttered her words With an energy that, under the circumstan- ces, seemed almost awful. I "Tell her to bring the child," There was no need for Philip to re- peat what she said. for P'i-gott heard ihler, and at once came forward With ‘the baby, which she laid beside her. The dying woman placed her hand upon its tiny head. and, turning her eyes upward. with the rapt expression of one who sees a vision, said: “ May the power of God be about you to protect you. my motherless babe; may angels guard you and make you as they are; and may the heavy curse and everlasting doom of the Al faltl upon these who would bring evr upon you I” husband. " Philip, you have heard my. words; lint your charge I leave the child; see ithat you never betray my trust.” t Then, turning to Pigott, she said, in a fainter voice: “Thank you. for your kindness to me. You have a good face. if you can. stop with my child. and give her your love and care. And now. may God have mercy on my so-ull" ‘ t Then came a minute’s silence, brok- en only by the stifled sobs of those ‘who stood around. till a ray of light 1 from the rising sun struggled through touching the heads of mother and child. illunnn-ed them as with a glory. It pass- ed as quickly as it came. drawing away with it the mother‘s life. Suddenly. as it Ind-ed. she Spread out her arms. sigh- ed and smiled. \Vlien the doctor reachâ€" ed the bed, her starry was told: she had fallen asleep. Death had Men very gentle with ilK‘I‘. CHAPTER XIII. Co, mfy rudder. if the day is (lull, whatever may be said to the contrary. there are less useful orcupalions~and look at your village churchyard. \Vhat do you see before you' X ilot’ of in- tnloc‘red ground. basket by a gray old or less decrepit. and a grca I of little oblong mounds covcrel with rank grass. If you have any imagina- L1011 any power of thought, you Will sue more than that. First, with the instinctive selfishness of human nature. you will recognize your own future habitation; perhaps your eye will mark the identical spot where. the. body you love must lie through all seasons and that will flit so fast for you. till the crash of doom. It is good that you should think of that, although it makes you shudder. The English churcliyar takes the place of the. Egyptian mummy at the feast, or the slave in the. Roman conqueror's carâ€"it mocks your Vigor and whisper off the end of beauty and strength. Probably you need some such remind- er. But. if giving to the inevitable, the sigh that is its due, you pursue the vein of thought, it may further occur to you that the plot before you is in a. sense. a summary of the aSpira- tions of humanity. It marks the rea- lization of human hopes. it is the crown of human ambitions, the grave of huâ€" man failures, Here, too, is the end of man, and here the birth-place of the angel or the demon. It is his sure inâ€" heritance, (me that he never solicits and never squanders‘, and, last, it IS the only certain resting-place of sleep- less. tired mortality. Here it was that they brought Hilda and the ollrl squire, and laid them side by sidle against the coffin of yeoman Caresfoot, whose fancy it. had been to be buried in stone. and then, piling primrose-s. and blackthorn blooms up- on their graves, left them to their chilly sleep. Farewell to them, they passed, to where, as yet. we may not. follow. Violent old man and p lovely woman, rest in peace, if peace be the porlion of you both! To return to the living. The news of the sudden decease of old Mr. Caresâ€" foot; of the discovery of Philip's secret marriage and the. death of his wife; of the terms of the old man’s will. unâ€" der which Hilda being dead and having and having only left a daughter behind her, George inherited all the unentailed portion of this property, with the cur- leave it back to Philip or his children: of the. sudden departure of Miss Lee and of many other things. that were some of them true and some of them heels of the great dinnerâ€"party. and the announcement made. thereat. threw the. countryâ€"side into a state of inde- scribuble ferment. ‘Vhen this settled down, it left. a strong and permanent residuum of public indignation and conâ€" becuse he was no cordially, perhaps, do very rarely longer a rich man. Peo; express contempt or indignu a rich man who happens to be their neighbor in the country, whatever he may have done. They keep their virtue for those who are impoverished. or for their unfortunate relations. But. for Philip it was felt that there was no excuse and no forgiveness; both his character and his money. and must therefore be cut. and from that day forward he was cut accordingly. As for Philip himself. he was fortunâ€" ately, as yet. ignorant of the kind in- tentions of his friends and neighbors, who had been so fond of him a week ago. He had enough upon his shoulâ€" fl-ers without thatâ€"for he had spoken no lie when he told Maria Lee. that he was crushed by the dreadful and reâ€" peated blows that had fallen upon him. blows that: had robbed him of every- thing that had made life worth living. and given him in return nothing but an infant who could not inherit, and who was therefore only an incumb- runl‘e. Who is it that says, “ After all .let a. bad man take what pains he may to nush it down. a human soul is an aw- ful. ghostly, unique possession for a bad main to have?" During the time that had elapsed between the death and burial of his father and wife. Philip had become thoroughly acquainted with thle. truth of this remark. (To Be Continued.) â€"â€"â€"â€"*-_‘_ ENGLISH SERVANTS' WAGES. The official statistics show that the general average of wages for all class- es of domestic servants in London is only $76.25 a year, or $6.35 a month. Good butters are paid as much as $150 a year. those who have accomplishments get very nearly the same wages. cial statistics show that the average for all of London is $121 average for cooks is $107.75 a year: for housemaids, $81.25; nursemaids, $89.50, land laundresses, $94.25. These aver- ages are drawn from many thousand and you feel inclined to Illulilillvâ€"Iori l L sons. church, a number of tombstones moral. t quantity. lweathers, through the slow centuries have. mud and 1 ions provision th'tt he was never to: false, following as they did upon thev tempt directed against Philip, the more, tion against‘ he had lost, Ladies’ maids come next. and] The offi-l .75 a. year. The 1 SKELETONS LINE THE TRAIL. And Gold Dust Is “'ciglncd lee Bags of “on! on lhc. scales at liznvson (’Hy. \Vildo C. Curtiss. of \Vii‘nsted, Conn., who is. 22 years old llil'l went to the Klondike lust July has sent. his father an account of his adventures on the way and his [II‘lisp-el‘ls. “ It is through sheer good luck that 1 am hem to write you now," he says. ” I Sell in with a party of seven other follows and at Lake Linderman we found a man who had constructed a large boat or scow. roughly built: and. capible. of carrying about a. dozen per- He offered to take us through the rapids and down the Yukon for $40 each and let us have the privilege of . working our own passage. \Ne were not long in acuepting his offer. so we put aboard our outfit atnd tied it on the l best we could, and started on our jour- l ney through the several lakes and rap- lids to and down the Yukon. It was {a case of hustle from the beginning of ‘ the journey to the end to save our lives as well :is our outfit. \Ve ran the dif- dl. ferent rapids without losing anything 'to speak of until we reached the treach- erous \Vhite Horse Rapids. Here we lost much of our outfit. as we were subâ€" merged many times. Among the min- or things whiich I prized most highly was the loss of mv films and developing materials. as I had taken many views all along on the overland trail from Dyea. Alaska, and through the differ- ent canons. "It takes about two anda half minâ€" utes to shoot Miles Canon, but we ran It without accident, although four difâ€" ferent times I came near losing all. "The journey from Diyea to Klon- dike is DOTTED \VITH STAKES. :marking the last resting place of those less fortumlc than myself. I also saw many skeletons and bodies of men‘, who had lost their lives in the rapids and could not be reac‘nel to be buried. \Ve lran on to piles of wreckage. logs. and ‘l sadns bars. but the worst. are the Sharpe isand bars, but the worst arethe sur- nfaoe of the water in the White Horse ,as to strike the bottom of the boat. : which throws it’out of course and makes it exceedingly dangerous for its Occuâ€" pants. " But I am here at Dawson City at last, in what is supposed to be the richest mining camp in the. world .Where dollars are as nickels in the 'State andwages are. 815 a day. mcal's $1.50 each, and consist of moosestealo or fried salmon. two pieces of potato, and a cup of tea or coffee, with alitâ€" ‘tle bread and butter. Whiskey is 50 lcents a. drink and never saw a still. “Talk about rat poison; it isn't in it. .Gainbling houses are thicker than mosquitoes in Maine which are not half as thick they are here. ‘In order to get a letter you must . begin at one end of the town and take each gambling hell and saloon in roâ€" tatinn for you will be as likely to find Eyour letter in any one of them as at the Alaska Commercial Company's store, which is considered the head- quarters. Everybody brings in let- ters and they are left promiscuously about the town. I brought in over a dozen myself. Every letter costs $1 each. the carrier of which is willingly paid. "I have been offered $15 a day of ten hours at the mines and shall go up to-morrow and take in the situaâ€" ttiotn. They claim some of the mines there are running $500 to $300 to a pan. I do not know that gold is being brought into Dawson in abundance. I have seen them throw it on a scale to weigh in bags like meal, I saw the ‘ first day here what was claimed to be 1 several millions. One. man had nearly l a quarter of a million dollars’ worth. Nearly all dealing is done in gold dust here." â€"_____.__â€"â€"â€"â€" HAPPY THOUGHT. Saved Ills Life By Shouting “Vivc La France." An amusing frontier incident is re- ported by Dalziiel from the village of Schoelbach, in the neighbourhool of Metz. ‘ A boy who was minding a flock of sheep on a small island in the river was caught in a violent storm. during which the rain fell in torrents. Theriver rose rapidly and threatened to cover the island. The 'boy shouted for help and his cries were heard by two German policeman and several villagers. but none of them would venture into the swollen stream. ' he boy had almost given himself _up for lost, when he remembered hearing [some of: his playmates say: “if you want a policeman shlout ‘Vive la France l‘ " He immediately began to shout “ Viva tla France," whereupon the two police.- imien plunged into the river. seize'l the to the mainâ€" iboy. dragged him across '1 land and off to the police station, where mi gl‘i by I ‘ She paused' and the“ addressed her houses of the nobility and aristocracy. individual cases reported to the burâ€"I they charged him with uttering sedi- eau of labor and statistics by the em- tious cries. ployment agencies in London. and may be regarded as accurate. although they . ‘â€"-â€"‘.“" “ do not refer to the highest cllass of servants, such as are found in the OLD MARRIAGE CUSTOM. The. people of Lithuania believe in FAD'REâ€"-fi[â€"LLâ€"_I(EEYRE& being forearmed for emergency. At least so a curious custom in regard f 5mm???er (Kgiggdsog‘; In? I? fad b0 the marriage ceremony would sr em or wed mg uger to in‘li ate. It is said that before the 33%” “:1 fithfigfgonbfiiriioiifi,marriage is celebrated the mother of e - , tthe bride gives her daughter a part- shall have a. tiny gold Lap made for . ‘ . but their fingers‘ . lln; maternal box on the cars In the hymn the. cap is. _ v. V _ V T suspended on the outerside u 1,19,. di,,_jp1'e'~'en:-e of a number of witan 8.3. .he mond drop, which spirkies most satâ€"ireason for this remarkable procec ling iisfacrboril‘y‘. there is one large sparkle' isthat if the wife should at any true for each finger nail. Of course. the wish to secure a divorce she would sparkles are not so conspicuous hysicul force “as as have to plead that p they would be if a. large number of used to make her enter the bonds of astonishment; then he dropped his face we gray mist of the morning, and_ flags, were not worn at the same time, matrimony.