HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Wingham Times, 1888-02-03, Page 3TWO CHRISTMASES
OR,
THE MYSTERY OF THE HAUNTED GARRET,
CHAPTER VL-(CoxrINUED,)
He seems ala"oat to have recovered his
old gaiety and good spirits, or elae he is
playing a part to deceive me, iior his own
sake, 1 hope --I do truly hope and believe
that he is beginning to forget that old mad-
ness of the spring.
" Won't you come in to tea, Joan ?"
It is Leslie's voice, shrill and clear and a
little sharp I fancy ; but she oan scarcely
be vexed. because Hugh and I spoke to each
other while she was talking and laughing
with Kathleen and Doctor Nesbitt at the
piano. Tea is laid in the oak parlour. I
have not been in the room since Aunt Wills's
death -they never sit in the oak parlor till
they begin fires in September, nor in the
blue room till they give up fires in May.
The table is spread as bountifully as ever,
with fresh home-made bread and butter,
cream and strawberry jam, Leslie pours
out tea, sitting in my old plane -a pretty
little figure in her black gown and glitter-
ing ornaments ; but Hugh leaves Nesbitt to
attend upon her, while he takes care of me.
After tea I find that it is time to set out
on my journey homewards. 1 half expect
Doctor Nesbitt to offer to escort me, as I
suppose he must soon be going bank to the
village ; but it is Hugh who puts on his
cap in the hall, though Le'glie pouts a little,
and kisses me rather coldly, wishing me
good -night in the poroh.
The nun has set, but there is a warm r'oey
flush in the west yet, in the midst of which
burns one great solitary golden star. In the
east the colours are blue and silver, where
the harvest -moon Domes climbing; over the
woodland, just showing her broad solemn
disc over the tops of the sleeping trees.
Hugh walks beside me over the long gray
moonlit field ; but, •though he says nothing
for a long time, I am conscious of some
strange intensity in the atmosphere, of some
odd presentiment, such as they say precedes
an earthquake or some awful storm. '
"Joan," he says at last, speaking in a
curiously quiet way, " I read the poem."
"You read it?"
"Yes 1"
Silence again for a hundred yards or so-
no sound but the sound of our footsteps on
the short dry grass.
" Joan"why were you crying over it ?"
" I -I do not know." •
" Joan Ludlow, tell me the truth once for
all in Heaven's name 1 Did you ever care
for me ?"
" What is the use of -of speaking about
it now -even -even supposing that I did ?"
• " The use 1 The use of it would be that
it would make me so intolerably happy that
I would pray to die -yes, die -here, this
very moment, while the blessed words were
on your lips 1"
" Hugh, you forget Leslie 1"
" I forgc.o everything but you, Joan. Do
you love me ?"
We have come to n,tand-still in the mid.
die of the moonlit meadow. He is holding
both my hands looking at me. As I look up
our eyes meet. My face has grown as white
as death before that long look has ended,
" Hugh, you must let me go—"
" Let you go 1" he cries passionately.
" Let you, go now -now when I know you
love me ! Joan, do you •think I am mad?"
"I know that you belong to another wo-
man ; and -and you should never have for-
gotten it."
" I belong to you. My heart is yours.
Feel how it beats ; every throb is for you,
Joan --for you --for you 1"
" Then why did you wreck the happiness
of that poor girl ?"
" Ih tought you hated me, and that if I
married her I aright forget you -in time.
And only today I thought I had conquered
myself -I thought I was beginning to for-
get you. But the moment I naw you I knew
I was more mad about you than ever ; I
could not endure the sight of her, or the
sound of her voice ?"
" Poor Leslie 1 Poor unfortunate child 1"
" Yon pity Leslie -why don't you pity
me ? Oh, Joan, my love, my darling, is it
thus that I find you, thus that ourhearts
meet, after all my grief and pain?"
Is it thus indeed ? As he holds mein his
arms for one brief instant, as our lips meet
for the first time, I` feel that the world oan
hold no greater pairs, no greater bliss, no
moreesaguisite torture than I tun suffering
, I cannot
ng up," I
ing to my
y from me.
you to mo
band. We
nese. We
t that poor
ves for the
Hugh. It
own blind
ght to make
she marries
band for an-
ith a bitter
11 be doing
marry Les.
w," I reiter-
be right or
miserable a
ace of mind
er to marry
red for the.
o should auf-
y blindness,
•
11 bleep you
ho goes on,
" Would
ded vanity,
e sent With
ithanother
11 soon eare
ono else in
things hap-
ry fent that
ke would em -
were so mad
truth, hon.
of a passion
which the very fact . of having yielded to
the temptation would helpto kill,"
" T love you, Joan, and you love me. If
you argued for ever, I could not believe we
were called upon to give oath other up for
the sake of any third person."
" You might as well say so if you; were
married to Leslie ?"
" And if I were ?"
" Hugh 1" I exclaimed coldly and calmly,
meeting his miserable defiant eyes, " Do
you want to lose me even as -as a friend ?"
" I don't Dare. It is all up with ire.
You have destroyed me, body and soul 1
Is this how you come out of the furnace
Hugh Tressilian ?"
" It is all very well for you to preach
self-sacrifice, You do not feel like me."
I do not contradict him. It will be better
that he should think so perhaps.
"If you loved me as I love you, Joan
Ludlow, you would let the whole world go
sooner than fiend me away from you 1"
"1 love you, Hugh Tressilan, but I love
truth and justice and honor more. Whether
you marry Leslie Creed or not, from tbia
night form and you shall never speak to me
of love again." -
" How can you prevent me ?"-doggedly.
•" I shall take means to prevent you.
And, if I thought you capable of such base
behaviour, capable of refusing to fulfil your
saored promise to the girl who loves you, I
should no longer love you but hate you. I
tell you so plainly ; and now you can choose
your own course. Marry Leslie, and I am
your friend for life. Desert her, and I shall
never speak to you again."
"Your heart is as hard as iron, Joan. You
consign me to purgatory as coolly as if you
were telling me to take Leslie out for a
ride."
" Existence in this world is a very matter-
of-faot kind of thing, Hugh, and you will
find that to do your duty simply and con-
scientionsly brings yon most happiness in the
end. As for the romantic idea that, if one
does not marry this or that person whom
one fancies for a minute, one is miserable
for life -that is the most egregrious nonsense 1
The only happiness worth having comes
from the knowledge that one has tried to
do the right before God and one's own con, -
science."
"If you can so easily console 'yourself,
Joan," he begins; as he stands with me for
a moment at my own gate, looking at me
with all his heart in his miserable thwart-
ed eyes.
" It is not so very easy, Hugh ; but it is
best, dear -best for you and bestfor me ;"
and without another word I leave him stand-
ing there in the moonlight, looking after
me.
CHAPTER VII.
The preparations for the welding go on
merrily ; the bride and bridegroom are to
start for Canada immediately after the cere-
mony. When they will return to Grayacre
I do not know, nor what arrangements my
cousin has made with Curtis & Winder, nor
whether he has made any arrangements with
them at all. Old Michael Foote manages the
farm, Hugh still refusing to act unless ab-
solutely forced to do so, and always speaking
of the place as if it belouged to me and not
to him. I fancy he has some idea of mak-
ing the place over to me by a deed of gift-.
the attorneys have hinted as much to me ;
but I'do not know whether such o, thing can
be done, and I do know that I will never
accept Grayacre as a present from any man,
not even from my cousin Hugh.
I do not see him even inchurch now, and
he never goes to the town -at least, he never.
rides past our windows. But I see Leslie
very often, and she sometimes pays ,me a
visit at the hospital, and I am always hear-
ing about her -and not things that are
pleasant to hear, either, since she is so soon
to be my cousin's wife. A oorintry place
like] Grayacre is always rife with gossip,
and, though I,never listen when I can help;
it, I hear enough to make me very sorry for
Leslie, and very angry with her for Hugh's
sake -I count pity Doctor Nesbitt, for
what he does he does with his eyes' open.
If a man is such a fool as to flirt with a girl
who is to be married to another pian .in a.
fortnight, he does so at hie own risk.
One day she comes to see me, driving the.
pony -phaeton. Doctor Nesbitt is with her,
and she leaves him in charge of the trap" in
the road,
" I will send Doctor 'Nesbitt back to the
village for some Dandy for the. children -
they like candy -and I quite forget to bring
some with me 1" she exclaims presently,
and would have ,gone to the door if I had
not prevented her.
" In't• Dare to have 'the children eat
sweets, Leslie -they get too many at it is
from their own people. Generally,. when
their sisters have left, I go round and con-
fiscate all the .bull's-eyes and oranges and
buns."
" What a shame Well, I'll bring them
some toys next ;time -toys can't do them
any harm."
if Leslie," I say very gravely, " why
don't you get Hugh to .drive you about ?"
" Oh, he hates it l I never could per-
suade him to get into the phaeton."
"But he ought to do it."
" My dear, I don't want to fore, him.
Doctor Nesbitt makes himself very agree-
able."
" That is not the question. Dootor Nee -
hitt is not engaged to you."
"My dear old-fashioned Joan, do you
think a girl is never to appear in public
with any man but the man to whom she is
engaged ?"
• " I do not think you ought to be con-
stantly seen with any other man, Leslie."
" But I am net oonstantly seen ' with
Doctor Nesbitt."
" You are always riding and driving with
him."
" My dear, you 'should go to Canada 1
All the girls drive and ride with the young
men of their acqunintanco there nobody
thinks anything of it."
'4 They talk of it here, Leslie ; you
would not care to hear the unkind things
they say of you,"
" As if T cared 1" she exolaires, redden-
ing angrily.
" Butyou ought to Care, dear, for laugh's
sake if not for your own."
"Oh, Hugh does not trouble his head
about me N"
"Leslie !"
t" He does not -he is always otos and did.
agreeable. Sometimes I feet half tnolined to
bate him l"
"I# you give him reason---'"
"I do not give him reason, If any one
has a right to be cross, it is poor AI -.Motor
Nesbitt,""
"1 do not see what right Doctor Nesbitt
has to be °roes with you."
" Oh, you think of no one but Hugh 1"
"I think of you, Leslie ; and, if you were
really Dootor Nesbitt's friend, you would
not encourage him to make a fool of hint.
self,"
"Joan, you are a privileged person, or
else I should feel very much inclined to
tell you to mind your own business 1"
" consider it my business to warn you
when' 'see you doing whatI think danger-
ous and wrong,"
" Well, I don't," she says, her pretty
faoe red and angry. "I am quite well able
to take care of myself."'
" I am afraid you will drive Hugh to do
something desperate,"
"Take care you don't drive him to it 1"
she retorts, and walks away out the room
and out of the house.
I am sorry she has taken my reproof in
this spirit, and I hope I have not said too
much. I try to recall my words, and I can-
not see that I said anything to rouse such
wrath and indignation. I fret a good deal
over the result of my interference however,
and, when Leslie comes of her own accord
a, day or two afterwards, and kisses me as
cordially as if nothing happened, I feel
quite glad.
The autumn days pees very quickly -
very monotonously for me, as "ar as my
daily routine at the hospital is concern.
ed=one day is so like another in an
institution of the kind. But, if my life
is dull to weariness, my heart is not
equally quiet, though I have tried to
look forward to a time when even this my
grief shall not be pain to me if I know my
darling to be happy and contented, and no
longer suffering because of me.
The weather is all that could be desired
for a wedding, calm and sweet and still,
the sun shining all day long from a sky as
blue as the bride's happy eyes, the woods
growing more glorious iu their orange and
crimson tints every day; even in our hospital
wards the air breathes sweet from the
mignonuette outside the windows and from
the late -blowing roses and stocks and the
bushes of lavender and rosemary. Leslie
has gone to stay at the Rectory, from which
she is to be married, and, to my great satis-
faction, Doctor Nesbitt has gone up to
London on business -I fancy the business
is an excuse to be out of the way on Leslie's
wedding -day -
Two days before the wedding old Dorothy
sends to beg me to go to see her, as she is
confined to her bed and " very had" with
an attack of bronchitis ; and, as the old
woman has more faith in me than in the
Doctor, I walk over to Grayacre the same
evening to see what I can do for her.
The walk through the familiar "ields re-
freshes me, though it makes me feel very
sad. They were mine once, these fertile
pastures, that fir wood, that quaint old
house 1 How long ago they seem, those
happy days 1 I feel as if I was an old, old
woman as I push open the porch door and
walk into the dusky wainscoted hall.
There is no one in the oak parlor. Hugh's
whip lies on the table, a chair has been
drawn to the fire ; but there is no one in
the chair, no sound or vdiceor footstep in
thedreamyhouse. I make my way to;D oro thy's
room, and find the old woman propped up
with pillows, in her huge four -post bed with
its ancient chintz curtain ; there is an enor-
mous fire in the room, and I am sure the
windows have not been opened ,within the
memory of man. .
" It does me good to see your bonny face,
dearie," she says, when I have inquired
into and prescribed for ,her ailments; and
token my seat, at her desire, on the foot of
the bed. "." And there's more than 'me has
been pining for a sight of it'in this house."
"You'll soon have a bonnier face here
than mine ever was, Dorothy."
" I never•bould see the beauty of it. But
others aid;:" and the old woman shakes her
head mysteriously. -
"Nobody could see Miss Leslie without
'admiring -hes, Dorothy."
," Doctor Nesbitt couldn't, Miss Joan."
" Yon cannot blame him. I don't think I
never saw a prettier face."
"But I blame her. What business had
she bringing him here, and singing 'with
him, and flirting with him all day long ?"
"She had different ideas from ours,
Dorothy; she was brought up in a country
where they do not think it any harm to do
such things."
"I know what ;is harm and what isn't.
Is it no harm to let one man kneel at your
feet, and kiss your hand, and your lips too,
and you going to be married to another ?
Miss Joan, you know right from wrong as
well as I do, and better, and you won't tell
me that is right, or you won't persuade me.
into it."
" I cannot believe Miss Leslie capable,"
I begin, very rfuoh shocked.
" Mies Leslie could buy and sell you for
cleverness, Miss Joan, and for trickery.
She's a clever lady„ young as she is, and
knows what she's about better than you do,
or I either. Many a time I was eager to tell
Mr. Hugh what was going on behind his
back, but I was afraid of him ; he was in
that humour he'd have killed the Doctor,
Miss Joan, as soon as turn round." '
" Miss Leslie will have more sense when
she is older, Dorothy," I say, to put an end
to the subject. "And now tell me, how is
Mr. Hugh ?"
Dorothy looks at me from under the many
Mlle of her night -nap.
"I don't know how he is, Miss Joan."
" What do you mean?"
The old woman raises herself on her elbow
and bends forward till herquaint nut-
cracker face is within a few inches of .my
own.
I'm afraid of my life he's going Wrong,
Miss Joan. There's more brandy drank in
this house in two days now than there used
to be in a year in the' old master's bine.
Nob that he's ever to say tipsy," Dorothy
adds, lowering her voice to a whisper ;
" but he takes too much, Miss Joan, and it's
making him cross and cantankerous, er else
fit for nothing but to sit with his head on
his arms down on the table. 1 went into
the parlour the other night, by way of see-
ing that the shutters were fastened, but
having it in My mind to force him to let me
look up the brandy, and there I found hit
I thought at first he was asleep ; but, when
I touched his shoulder, he raised his head ;
and, Miss Joan, his face frightened mo -it
was that flushed, and -and his bloodshot
eyes were full up of tears 1"
" 1#e fretted greatly for his mother, Dore -
,d
thy," I Nay, trying to speak quietly, though.
my very lipsare trembling. "" He may
take a little just to -to drive away his
grief.'"
"It's to drive awayhisgriof, sure enough.
But We not grief for hie mother, Miss Joan
-it's grief for you 1"
"For me, Dorothy ?"
"Ay, then, tor you ! 'Tis a pity you
couldn't care for him, Mims Joan, for he's
SI fine a lad as ever stepped, and too good
for the wife he's getting, goodness knows 1.
But they say love won't be bid by any
body; and, if ye couldn't care for him, ye
couldn't, dearie, and that's the truth ! Only
I thought you might give him a little touch-
up about the brandy, without letting on
who told you, He'd do anything to plea
you."
"I don't know about that, Dorothy"
With a sorrowful shake of my head.
"' Deed and would he ! Sure we all
know he was dying for you as far bank as
Christmas ; and I used to hope ye'd grow
fond of him at last, dearie, though you
couldn't forget poor Master Laurie. But
sure Mr. Hugh was better able to take care
of you than poor Master Laurie ever could,
that we all knew had death in his face the
day he put his ;foot inside the doors; Not
but Mr. Hugh is going a fair way to kill
himself too, drinking so much and eating
nothing. It fairly breaks my old heart to
see him, though I thought I could never
fret for anything again after the day you
left Grayacre
I sit looking at Dorothy,but I amscarcely
listening to her, thy mind is so full of this
new norrible idea. If Hugh takes to drink-
ing brandy, there is no hope for him ;. he
will be as obstinate in this as in everything
else -he will go on from bad to worse,
Heaven only knowing how it will end. It
may be too late even now to save him -peo-
ple are so seldom saved who once yield to
this terrible temptation. As long as his
grief lasts, he will try to drown it ; and
how long will it last? As long as my own
perhaps, I think with a shudder, and, if so,
Hugh will know where to find the Lethe
which deadens the pain for a minute -but
at what a price 1 If Hugh Tressilian once
loses bis self-respect, he is a ruined man ;
and, of he is ruined, his ruin lies at my
door
He is to be married the day after to-
morrow. Will Leslie wean him from this
terrible propensity? Will she be wise
enough and tender enough to lead him back
to the right way ? Or will she drive him to
desperation by her scorn and disgust?
I dread to think how it will be -heart -
sink, I turn my ayes from the terri-
ble picture. I was miserable enoush
when I came to Grayacre just now,
but my misery was nothing to the re•
morse and anguish I feel as 1 depart from
it with old Dorothy's piteous story in my
ears.
I ought to speak to Hugh -and yet I
shrink from accusing him of the unworthy
weakness. I suppose he is somewhere about
the farm ; but I neither Bend nor go to look
for him -I will put off the evil day till to.
morrow. I buoy myself up with the hope
that when he is married to Leslie he will
grow fond of her aid be happy, and in his
happiness forget the fiend that tempted him.
I wish Leslie were another kind of woman
-a tender, gentle, wise woman, who would
know how to lead him, how to win him back
to peace and content; but the poor child
is so vain so frivolous 1 The thought comes
to me with an ugly rusk, Have I driven
him into the jaws of destruction by
forcing him into this marriage? Ought 1
to have threatened him 891 did ? Was I
justified in holding him, by means of the
the love he bore for me, to a promise
breaking of which would scarcely have
broken. Leslie Creed's 'art, but the fulfil-
ment of which has cer''tinly broken his -
and my own? I kno ebt whether I was
right or wrong. I onl snow that the mis-
ery of it is driving me d,
The evening light is slanting across the
sodden field as I cross it,1piercing the green
solemn depths of the wood. • From this end
of the wood a gate leads into the road tlot
very far from the village. Just as I reach
the gate, I find myself face to face with my
cousin, walking slowly between the red fir -
stems, his hands behind him and his eyes on
the ground. He looks up when he hears my
footsteep on the pine needles, and the col-
eus'rushes into his face.
" Have you been at Grayacre, Joan?"
" Yes. I went to see old Dorothy."
"Is Datothy ill ?"-" Only one of the old
bronchial attacks."
." Did you prescribe for her?" -smiling
slightly.
•' You don't believe in my prescriptions,
evidently 1"
" I did not say that."
" You look as if you wanted to be pre-
scribedfor almost as much as Dorothy."
" Do I look ill ?"-" You do not look
well."
know what would cure me."
"Do you indeed 1" -with a doleful smile.
" A dose of prussic acid."
"Huh, you ought not to joke about such
things..'- It is very wrong."
His quiet tone fills me with a horrible fear
and dread.
" Yes -I was only joking. No, I suppose
it isn't right -of course not. May I walk
with you as far as your own gate, Joan ?
We sba'n't have many more walks together."
He speaks quite quietly. He certainly
has not been drinking, though at first I
fancied his look a little strange. But there
is nothing about his manner or conversation
as he walks beside me up the road and
through the `village ; he never alludes in any
way to our last interview, or to his marriage
-he merely talks about the weather, and
the crops, and the new road they are putting
on the sehool•house, and asks me questions
about my patients and the opening of our
new ward. I find myself growing almost
happy as I listen to and answer him. Hugh
Tressilian is too sensible, too brave and up-
right, to yield without a struggle to any un,
worthy temptation, He will conquer the
the sorrow that has unmanned him for a
while, and come out of the ordeal 'a wiser
and better man.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
-r-
Senator Stanford's gist of $20,000,000 to
establish the university in California is one
of the largest of the .kind known to history,
and this gift is three times the size of the
fortune which Stephen Girard left. Girard's
fortune amounted to about $7,500,000, and
of this heleft•$6,000,000 to his university,
He (save nearly all his property to the
public, and out of his whole fortune his re.
latives received only $140,000.
The Montreal police tome is to be reor-
ganized and increased. One hundred and
fifty additional men are required,,
socLNT,IFJa AND I LFA' ►L.
The road to suooess lie open to all, but
too many want to get there without the
trouble of going.
1'hyeicians now claim that there is ggieat
virtue in onions. Onions are strong enough.
to be virtuous.
It has been disoovered by naturalists that
it takes a dog ninety days to forget his old
home and take to a new enc,
Scientific tests in Hungary Chow that
porn will produce the largest yield of milk,
while sorghum will. produce milk of the risk -
est quality,
The Adrian, Mich„ Press says one of the
questions asked by the members of the
Verniers' Club up in Franklin lately was
" How does a chipmunk dig his hole with-
out throwing out dirt ?"
M. Guimarass, a Portuguese inventor, is
said to have made a new repeating gun
called the Archimedes, which requires
neither powder nor compressed air. It is a
clever arrangement of extremely powerful
springs, and is said to carry quite as far as
any ordinary army rifle.
An umbrella with a patent arrangement
in the handle for attaching it to any object
Bo that no one but the owner can release it
will supply a long felt need. •
Very correct people in Boston spell Han-
del's name Haendel. But they don't go far
enough. The family name of the composer
was variously written Hendel, Handeler,
Hendeler and Hendtler.
Several years ago three Russian " Lady
doctors " started at Tashkend a consulting
hospital for Mussulman women, From the.
beginning the experiment proved a success,
and the popularity of the hospital has been
increasing ever since. During the last
twelve months no fewer than 15,000 consult-
ations have been given.
A LIFE•sAYING BRIos.—Prof. Geo. H.
Thompsor, of Reading, Pa., has just had pa
tented "a lifesaving brick." The inven-
tion consists of a hollow steel brick to be
coloured the hue of any ordinary brick.
The brinks are to be firmly cemented and
anchored in the front wall of any building,
two feet apart, running from bottom to top.
They are so constructed that a fireman or
anyone can touch them in front and instant-
ly a steel rung of a ladder pushes itself out.
The m an can climb up any height securely
and safely, as the steel steps are strong
enough to bear a ton. A company will be
formed at once to manufacture the brick.
James Payn is shocked at M. Pasteur's
proposal to propagate chicken oholera
among the rabbits of Australia "I confess,"
says he, " M. Pasteur's suggestion fills me
with horror. Of all the 'riddles of the pain-
ful earth' this is surely the most inexpli-
cable, that bountiful nature should have so
mismanaged matters that it is neccessary to
disseminate a malignant disease among the
most innocent animals in order to counter-
act their fecundity, The poet has drawn
us a picture of a certain little creature
' fondling its own harmless face,' which if
its race is to be destroyed wholesale by
artificial cholera, we had better dismiss
from our recollection."
The London correspondent of the Scoia-
nran writes : Chemistry seems destined to
play almost as important a part in the
annals of trade as did the substitution of
machinery for hand -labour. I hear that a
chemist has discovered' a substitute' fot-
quinine, whick can be produced at much less
cost than the article which now plays such
an important part in the medicine of to -day,
and the artificialproduction is said to pos-
sess all the medicinal qualities of the famous
bark. This, it it indeed be so, will almost
certainly destroy the trade in India and
Ceylon, which has grown of late years to
suoh proportions that it has practically
stopped the export of the bark from Peru.
A substitute has also, I believe, been found
for vanilla, and should this artificial pro-
duction obtain the place in commerce which
is predicted for it, there can be little doubt
that the sugar planters of Mauritius and
elsewhere, where the vanilla pleat has
gradually been introduced in place of the
sugarcane, will find that their new industry
has been stricken with a blight as severe as
that which has overtaken the sugar in-
dustry.
Oue of the simplest of barometers is a
spider's web. When there is a prospect of
rain or wind the spider shortens the fila-
ments from which its web is suspended,
and leaves things in this state as long as the
weather is variable. If the, insect elongates
its threads it is a sign of flue palm weath-
er, the duration of which may be judged of
by the length to which the threads are let
out. If the spider remains inactive it is a
eigu of rain ; but if on the contrary, it keeps
at work during the rain the latter will not
last long, and will be followed by fine
weather. Other observations have taught
that the epider makes changes in its web
every .twenty-four hours, and that if such
changes are made in the evening, just before
sunset, the night will be clear and beautiful.
THE MOON A MIGHTY 80MENGEi.
Itis chiefly as the producer of our ocean
tides that the moon renders us suoh signal
service. The sun, it is true, as well as the
moon, bxercises an influence in the produc-
tion of this diurnal phenomenon ; but it is'
on the moon chiefly that we depend for that.
important recurrence. By inland dwellers
the tides are thought of as monotonous
events of no great moment ; but they have
a far wider significance than many imagine.
Exactly as the sun preserves through the
agency of winds a healthy circulation in the
atmosphere, so the moon performs a similar
service to the waters of the sea, and the
great tidal rivers which flow into it. But
for this work as a mighty scavenger our
shores where rivers terminate would become
stagnant deltas of corruption. Twice a
day, however, the decomposing matter which
our rivers deposit is swept sway by the
tidal wave, and a source of pestilence is
thus prevented.
The Blizzard.
Residents in the Northwest have always
been disposed to ridioule the idea that they
really ever had any blizzards in that coun•
try, but the recent storm was so widespread
and terrible that there is nothing for than
to do but to go to the other extreme and
claim that there is no part of the world
where worse weather is to bo found. This
latter claim would not be unreasonable,
Outside the Artie circle such a record of
suffering as has been made during the paitt
week in Dakota and the adjoining States Is
without preoedent. The stories of the
fierceness of the storm and the extent of its
ravages would indeed be incredible if their
were not substantiated by overwhelming
evidence,.-•N;2"r. Pone.
1