HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Wingham Times, 1888-02-10, Page 6---•- ArTC.701145Prerwritar
A GREAT SECRET.
OR,
SHALL IT BE DONE.
CHAPTER. XVIT.—.•(CONTINu D.)
111adame Fournier, good soul, who'came
pf an ugly race, and looked upon handsome
people as eocentrigities of Nature that should
not be judged too harshly, tried to heal the
breach by a well-meaning buttaotloss inquiry
when Madame de Lancry and M. le General
would leave Calais,
Not for some time, I think," answered
Madeline suavely, "' I have just matte up
my mind to ask my husband be take a hones
a little way out of the town for a few
months ; the p'ace is so cheerful and the so-
ciety so charming."
Victor,glanced uneasily round to see how
his relations took this speech ; but it excit-
ed nothing more than surprise in most of
them.
" 1 don't think you will find it so gay if
you settle dawn hero," said Madame Four-
nier doubtfully.
" And poultry is so dear here !" hazarded
a cousin ; addiug hurriedly, with an awk-
ward laugh, " but of course that would not
effect you„ madame."
"No,' said Madame de Lancry, slowly,
assherose to go, " it will not effect me much,
for while I am here I shall live upon ex•
oitement.'.
The ladies present came one and all to
the conols;afon that Madame de Lanory was
mad; hut the gentlemen viewed her eocen•
tricities more leniently,
" I could never have believed that I should
have found a romantio, robber -haunted dis-
trict so near • to civilisation," she went on.
" I really feel a delicious dread of being at-
tacked on my way bank to Calais,"
And she glanced at Gerald. Before he
could offer to escort her back, however,
Viotor sprang forward with open jealousy
burning in his face.
" Let me go with you, madame ; no one
knows the road as well as I do."
Madame de Lanerylaughed as she laid her
hand on Gerald's arm.
" What; would your fiancee say?" said
she, in a low voice, which, however, Peggy's
keen little ears overheard.
" 0 you may take him, Madame, I don't
mind," she broke in with alacrity, glancing
alternately at Gerald and the beautiful
lady, with open disapproval of their friendly
attitude.
" You are not jealous, then," said Mad-
ame de Lancry, playfully raising the un-
willing little face, and bending to look
straight into the elfish eyes.
"•" Not of—Victor," answered Peggy, bold-
ly, but in so low a whisper that it needed
the sidelong look of anger she cast at Ger-
ald to make her meaning clear.
Madame de Lancry kept the indignant
face between her hands for a few moments
longer, her interest evidently deepening as
she looked. Then she turned very sudden-
ly, to try to get the light of the lamp upon
the girl's face. But Peggy wriggled herself
out of the lady's grasp, and. plunging into
the groupof,whichkMadame Fournier formed
a member, put her head into the motherly
lap and effaced herself. Victor, who had
recovered his self-possession, wisely refrain.
ed from forming one of the party 'that
gathered'in the hall to see Madame de Lan -
cry off, but devoted himself to dispelling the
momentary consternation caused by his be-
heviore to her, with animation still more
marked, still less spontaneous than before.
No one guessed how he loathed every mem-
ber of the dull society he was entertaining,
and how madly he envied—for the moment
—the gentle English lad Madame de Lancry
so unaccountably and openly preferred to
him.
The little square omnibus which had
brought the unexpected visitor to "Les
Bouleax" rumbled slowly for some distance
on the road back to Calais before either of
its occupants broached any subject of parti•
cular interest to item. Gerald felt shy of
doing so, and Madame de Lancry was not
talkative.
"" So that little wild girl is the queen of
women 1" she said, at last, smiling rather
contemptuously, as he thought.
" Yes, madame," he answered, feeling
hot and not very happy, but resolved to
stick to his colors.
" Well, I have examined her and thought
over the situation, and I think it would be
much better for you to give her up."
"I know that, madame," said he, sim-
ply, " but no fellow worth the- name of a
man ever does give up a girl for that rea-
son. Besides, you can't give up what you
haven't got, and what you never had a
chance of getting. Please don't talk about
her. It won't make any difference, and I
can't explain myself, and it only makes me
look like a fool,"
" Well, what shall we talk about, then?"
" Won't you tell me why you came to see
Mr. Beresford ? I can't help thinking it
was about—about that awful night's work ;
and I know you went to see old Moonier
about it. You have told me just enough to
make me half mad to know more."
" What do you want to know?"
" The name of the man who killed my
father. Only tell me and I will hunt him
out and—"
"That is unnecessary, for I know where
he is."
Gerald started violently.
" Tell me—for God's sake, tell me 1" said
he hoarsely ; " I would give anything for
something to do now—like that."
And in the dusk she saw on the young
man's face the hungry look brought by un-
satisfied passion, and she knew that the tool
was growing sharper for the work.
"I can nob toll you. For I have so little
proof of what I have told you that, if the
murderer wore arrested now, he would be
able'to prove that on the night Mr. Shaw
died he was where he is now—two hundred
miles away."
Gerald's face changed.
"' It is gruel of you to play with me like
this, madame," said he, with bitterness and
energymoat unusual in him. "" You led me
to believe—"
" What I believed myself—that I had a
clue between my very fingers. I have found
ont to -day that I was mistaken—that the
Work before us is not even begun."
Well, how am 1 to begin it ? Give me
eoxnething to do, some reason for getting
away from this place, or I think I shall go
Mad.
"Ah 1" broke out Madame Lanory, rather
bitterly. It is the girl, always the girl,
who is in your head. 1f you could have her
and be happy with her, you would boon for-
get all about clearing your father's name.
"You are hard upon me, madame, I
have nursed the hope of avenging shim so
long and so vainly that it hangs aboutmo
like an old dream, and 1 can hardly take in
the belief that it will ever be realised."
" And the other hope—isn't that a vain
one too ?"
" Yes, I --I suppose so."
" then you have still some idea of en-
tering the lists with Victor, and coming off
conqueror after all!"
Gerald stared et her in wounded astonish-
mont. She had always shown the best side
of her nature to him before, so that her
sneers were disconcerting..
" No, I haven't, madame," ho said at
last. " Rut if one were to let all one's hopes
go out at once, one wouldn't get on very
well, and—I suppose you don't know what
it is to—to be quite cracked about one ?''
And he looked, at her with shy admiration,
" But can't you understand how the fellows
felt who were cranked about you ?"
She turned toward him with a sudden
gust of kindness, as if he had struck the
right note at last.
" Yes, Gerald, perhaps I can," she said.
""And ib is true that you can do nothing
until I have found out, something for you
to do."
" Is awfully good of you to take so much
interest in this business."
" Good ! No, that is not the right word.
Disinterested help is weak and capricious.
Luckily for you, in helping you I am help-
ing myself."
Gerald watched her face silently for a few
moments, and then said, quietly, "" I think
I understand. You have same grudge of
your own against the man who killed my
father?"
" Yes."
" And you have been brooding over it all
these years, just as I have done?"
" No. I had almost forgotten it when
chance—or—or perhaps something higher—
brought me face to face with you. Then I
remembered, having nothing better to do,
that I had a promise to keep and an oath to
fulfil ; the promise concerned you, Gerald,
and the oath concerned your father's mur-
derer."
The young man said nothing. This wo-
man's nature, that could lie calm so long,
and then be stirred by strong waves of pas-
sionate impulse, was quite a new and inex-
plicable thing to him; and her cynical sug.
gestion that she had set herself to this
bloodhound's task for want of anything
better to do excited in him alarm and mis-
trust. He glanced at her shyly, and waited
for her to explain herself.
But as the little omnibus began to rattle
through the stone -paved Calais streets, Ma-
dame de Lancry shook off her melodramatic
mood, and teased the poor lad by talking of
nothing but trifles ; and when they reached
the door of the Hotel de la Gare he helped
her to alight in a rather crestfallen manner.
" Good -nicht, madame," said he, hesitat-
ingly, as she Was sweeping past him into the
hotel.
" 0 come in," she said lightly, glancing
behind her at him.
" But Mr. Beresford will not like me to
stay away longer ; I know it will displease
him very seriously."
" Mr. Beresford's freaks need no longer
disturb you. You are not going back to
'Les Bouleaux.'
She laid her arm firmly on the arm of the
astonished lad, and drew him within the
doorway, speaking at the same time in a
very quiet and careless voice.
" Do you know where Mr. Smith is,
Gerald ?"
" Mr. Smith ! He is in London."
" You know his address ?"
" 0 yes ; I write him long letters at Mr.
Beresford's dictation very often."
"That's all right. Now come upstairs,
and we'll see what we can do to equip you
for a night journey. ion must cross to
England to -night."
CHAPTER XVIII. •
Gerald Staunton heard Madame de Lan -
cry's mandate very calmly, and let her lead
him up -stairs into her sitting -room unresist-
ingly. But no sooner had she closed the
door, and looked well at his face by the
light of the candles, which had been burn-
ing some time in anticipation of her return,
than she saw that she had overrated his do-
cility.
" I am sorry I can't do what you wish,
madame, for you have been very kind to
me. But I could not think of going to Eng-
land without Mr. Beresford's permission.
Good -night."
He was at the door before he finished
speaking, and would have been cut of the
room in another moment if Madame de
Lancry had not darted across the room
with the lightness of a girl, and caught
both his hands in a grip so unexpeotedly
savage and muscular that Gerald instinct-
ively tried to wrest himself free as angrily
as if she had been a man.
" Wait," she said, looking straight into
his indignant face with lurid, dilated eyes.
" What has Mr. Beresford ever done for you
that you haven't overpaid him for ? What
clerk in his office has worked so hard as you,
or received so little pay for it? What has
he ever done to make your life worth living ?
Can you doubt now that it would have been
better to beg your way back to England,
when fropicked you up in Paris six years
ago, than to spend the best years of your
life in the dull drudgery from which he
never means to set you free ? You want to
find the man who killed your father—Mr.
Beresford wants to keep you off the track.
Break away from this man now—it may be
your last chance. Follow my instructions,
find out your old friends, and there is atill
time for you to clear your father's name and
to live a happy life in your own country. I
giveoyou my solemn word you are not oven
safe in this one,"
Gerald's face grew white and wet as he
looked at her and heard the burning words
she was hissing into his ear like an enchant-
ress, At the end he tried again to free him-
self from her grasp, with the manner of a
man who is shrinking from some spell.
" I cannot go, madame. He is my em
ployer at least, if he is not my benefaotorn'
She drew back a little way from him sud
denly without releasing him, and, as she
spoke again, her voice was no longer whir•
peringly persuasive, but rang out in sharp
clear tones like a bell.
" you know," she said, " that it is
your presence at ' Les 13otileaux' that is
hastening Miss Beresford's marriage with
young Fournier 1"
The young man's limbs began to twitch
and to tremble, and he was: again like wax
in her bands, She pressed her advantage
inetantiy,
" The old man knows of your fanny for
hie daughter. He does not care a straw for
any pain you may feel, and he will avoid all
danger from a possible return of your affec-
tion by marrying her before -your eyes,,
within a few days, to this man, whodoes
notthis Ire her. Are you willing to witness
" My going away would not. change Mr.
Beresford's plans. You do not know him,"
said Gerald," hoarsely.
" My poor boy, you have no one else to
trust. You may as well trust me," said
she with a change in tone and manner to
oaressing softness, as she again drew nearer.
to him, " If you will do as I wish, and
cross to England to -night, I will not only
get you Mr. Beresford's permission to re-
main away, but I will swear to you that his
daughter shall marry no one against her
own will."
Gerald raised his head, breathing heavily,
and looked with dull, dazed oyes wistfully
into the passionate, hard, yet swiftly -chang-
ing face before him.
•" f must go—away--from her?" he said
brokenly. " You will only be good to her
if I do that ? Madame, wny won't you ex-
plain ? I am not a child. It is not fair to
push me blindly on in the dark. What
power is it you have over us all.
" Simply the po ver of a wilful woman,
my dear boy ; but there is nothing in the
world like it," said Madame do Lancry,
dropping some of her tragic earnestness, the
moment that it had made sufficient.impres-
sion.
"" And you want me to trust only to
that ?"
" All, you are not yet bribed heavily
,enough 1" she broke out impatiently. " It
is not enough for you that the girl should be
svfe ; she must be safe with you. Well,
then, follow my instructions for the next
week and you ,shall be free to :marry the
girl—if you' will."
The magnetic influence of this woman's
glowing beauty and passionate, capricious
earnestness was so strong that a tide of joy
rushed up in the young man's heart and
swept away all doubt as to her power of
fulfilling:her promises.
" will go, madame," he said, almost
staggering, as at last he felt himself free
from her strong grasp.
And he turned toward the door, his brain
dizzy, his senses quickened, his heart on
fire. A. faint sigh of relief, which involun-
tarily escaped from the lady's lips, roused
his dulled conscience, however, and he
turned, not irresolute, but with resolution
changed.
" 1 will go to " Les Bouleaux,' and ask
Mr. Beresford to let me return to England ;
if, as you say, he wants to get rid of me, no
doubt he will let me go at once, and I will
come and receive your orders."
"! You are under my orders now," said
she imperiously, turning him like a child
from the door, and half forcing him into a
chair beside the stove. " You will not
leave this hotel except to go straight to the
boat, and by the time you arrive in London
you will find Mr. Beresford's permission to
remain there awaiting you."
Gerald did not try to resist any longer.
He sat as if etupified, answering with an ef-
fort the remarks his hostess made on indif-
ferent subjects as she opened her writing -
case and prepared to write letters. As he
furtively watched her movements, Gerald
was surprised to see that her manner of set-
ting herself to this task was fussily feminine
—not at all simple and business -like as he
had expected from her strength of will
and firmness of purpose. In the midst of
her busy play with blotting -paper and pen -
wiper, the door opened, and a gentleman,
whom Gerald guessed to be M. de Lancry,
came in. He glanced from Gerald, who
rose, to his wife, who nodded to him, and
saying briefly, " Mr. Staunton, a young
friend of mine," went on with her occupa-
tion.
So the old and the young man sat meekly
down, and, after the exchange of a few
commonplaces, the two seemed to take to
each other, and, as the lady left them en-
tirely to themselves, they chatted very ami-
cably for some time, until the General, who
persisted in speaking laborious English in
spite of Gerald's efforts to keep him on more
familiar ground, asked him what Madame
de Lancry was doing for him.
" Some trouble with your sweetheart,
and my wife made it up," he suggested
good-humoredly.
" No," said Gerald, growing suddenly
shy and husky, " I haven't a sweetheart,
monsieur."
" 0, tell me not that ; no, no," said the
General, laughing ; "if not a sweetheart
forever, sill a sweetheart for to -day.
" No, Monsieur," said the young fellow,
who was scarlet by this time ; '" a sweet-
heart forever is not eo easy to get, and a
sweetheart for to -day wsuielnoteat'sfy me."
" Right, very right," said the General,
nodding his head slowly from time to time
to eke out his labored senteboes. " Give
up lova for pleasure when you are young,
and when you are old you get neglect in the
.stead of either."
Involuntarily Gerald's eyes stole, after
this gloomy speech, from the grave old
soldier to his still young and handsome
wife. She rose abruptly from the table,
and rang the bell, saying that Gerald must
have supper before his journey,
• You travel ts-night?" asked the Gen-
eral, surprised.
" Yes, monsieur, I am going to London."
" Ah, there, among your beautiful
countrywomen, you will find the sweet-
heart for ever."
"No, monsieur," confessed Gerald simply,
" I am leaving her behind,"
And the old and the young man exchang-
ed looks of quiet sympathy as their tete-a-
tete broke up.
From that moment—perhaps guessing the
danger that the young man's firmness might
fail him if he were allowed time for reflec-
tion about this separation from the girl he
loved ---Madame de Lancry never left him
one moment to himself or to her husband;
and, when the time drew near for the de-
parture of the boat, she sent for her mantle
and herself accompanied him to the quay,
leaning on his arm, and enohaining his un-
willing and wandering attention by kind
questions about himself, his tastes, his
pleasures, and his prospects. She was so
sweet, se sympathetic, that he blamed him-
self for not feeling more grateful, and, aa
he shook her hand before stepping on board,
he said humbly.
'" You must think me a great bear,
Madame de Lanny, for not saying more to
you about what you have done, and have
promiseddo. Butee"
:Menke given for promises are always
unsubstantial things," she interrupted lau h-
ing. '" In a month from now you shall gall
at my feet and bless me.
Then eke shook both his hands again
heartily, and watched him as he made his
way among the crowd of passengers burry.
ing on .board the float. She had intentional,
ly waited for the arrival of the Paris train
before bringing him down to the quay, and
even now oho followed him carefully with
her eyes as he walked about the boat in
search of a seat. When the gangway was
drawn up she breathed more freely, but it
was not until the boat had steamed away,ancl
Gerald raised his hat to her, with a safe die-
tance of some fikty yards between him and
the shore, that her face relaxed and boat its
expression of eager anxiety, Then she
walked briskly to the end of the pier, and
looked out over the dark shifting sea at the
boat as it became a speck in the distance.
Then she laughed, neither musically nor
sweetly, and turned baolt towards the hotel,
Poor boy," she paid to herself, with real
pity in her voice, " it is not quite fair, per-
haps, to triok him ; and he is not the sort
of man I should have chosen for his task, if
I had been able to choose. But one must
use suchtools as come to one's hand, and ho
will do as well as another if he will only
follow my instructions."
These instructions, so far, had been very
simple. Gerald had only to go to Mr.
Smith's London logings, to pub a letter
from Madame, de Lancry into his hand,
and then to remain in London uutil he
heard from her again,
On the following morning Madame de
Lanory drove to " Les: Bouleaux," and ar-
rived there just as Mr. Beresford Dame
down -stairs. In spite of Miss M'Leod's en-
treaties, he insisted on reoeiving the visitor
himself.
" I won't trouble you long, Mr. Beres-
ford," said his tormentor, sweetly, as she
was ushered into his presence, and advanc-
ed toward him with a hand most sympathe-
tically outstretched.
He gravely raised her fingers to his lips
with his left hand, and thanked her for her
kindness in visiting a tiresome old invalid
so often.
" Not at all," said she imperturbably.
" We had such a pleasant interview yester-
day that it is a pleasure to come again."
You have come to tell me that you
have brought my boy Gerald safely back, I
hope, madame. I should have been nervous
about him last night, if he had not been in
such good hands."
" It is very kind of you to say se. He is
now in good hands, better even than nine ;
for I have sent him back to his friends in
England. Ah, I knew you would be grate-
ful, ' she broke out suddenly, in a different
tone, as Mr. Beresford gave a slight but
perceptible start. " There is no doubt he
would have proved a serious obstacle to
your daughter's marriage—girls are quick
to find out who loges them best—and you
have borne the generous burden of the boy's
maintenance too long."
" You have taken a most—"
" Unwarrantable liberty ? Yes, I have.
But you will forgive me, won't you ? And
now that the boy is once away, you will
write him permission to stay away, will
you not? He is at Charing Cross Ho-
tel. See how perfectly treads I am with
you : I have given you his address, so
that you can recall him if you like ; but
still—I would advise you to let him remain
in England,"
The autocrat was cowed. He took up a
pencil in his trembling left hand ; and play-
edwith it and with a •sheet of paper ner-
vously.
" And what if I recall him ?" he said at
last, very quietly.
" Then, as I have taken a fancy into my
head to befriend thelad, 1 must do it in some
other manner.
He raised his head, and his eyes, from
under the green shade, peered at her
penetratingly. Then he scrawled a few
lines slowly with the pencil on the sheet of
paper, which he handed to her. She read
it aloud :
" Dear Gerald—lf you want a holiday,
you are welcome to it. Let me hear
from you.—Yours affectionately,
MARTIN BERESFORD."
Very kind of you," murmured Madame
de Lanory softly. " May I,send this to the
boy ?"
If you please, madame,"said the paraly-
tic indifferently.
And with profuse apologies for disturbing
him so eariy, Madame de Lancry left him.
In the hall she met the autorat's little drag-
on guardian, to whom she bowed moat grac-
iously.
" How is Miss Beresford, after the excite-
ment of yesterday? These betrothal dinners
are trying ordeals."
"I cannot imform you, madame," said
the housekeeper stiffly. " Mise Beresford
ran out of the house this morning before
breakfast, in fit of petulance, and has not
returned." And, with a sweeping curtsy,
Miss M'Leod retreated into the salon with-
out another word.
(To BE CONTEVED.
Electricity is about to be put to a new
use. The emptying of the sewage of Louden
i Ito the Thames has necessarily polluted
that river; and, in searching for some means
of preventing this pollution, it has been dis-
covered that electricity transmitted into
the sewage produces the equivalent of
chemical change. The electric current seta
the particles of mottos in is circulatory mo-
tion, and the result is that the organio mat-
ter collects at the top in a semi-solid form,
so that it can easily be separated from the
transparent fluid beneath. The (steed
ments have so far boon conducted on a limit-
ed scale, but if the plan should prove to be
Cheap and practicable it would, go far to.
ward solving a problem that agitates every
large city.
Natural history tells us that every beast
or plant, in fact every living thing, has its
parasite, What is true of animated life
ie true of still life. There is no
obiect, animate or inaminato, that is not
subject to some canker, some destroying in-
fluence. Banks and financial institutions
are no exception to the rule, and this should
be the idea Uppermost in the mind of every
director, every cashier and every officer.
All men would be glad to dip into their
coffers if they could but do so with impunity.
Knowing this, it hithe ono great duty of
the board and its subordinators to sit on the
lid and only to hoist it'when there is as near
as possible a certainty that doing no finally
means putting more in,
The Large Deer Estates of
t cetland,
It ie alleged that a stag has lately been
shot in the Duke of Portland's forest at
Langwell, in Caithx;oseshire, under peouliar
oireumetances, says the London Telegraph,
Inside the "" muokle beast" were discovered,
when the stomach was opened, no fewer
than eleven oases of cartridges, which must
have found their way into it when the stag
was alive. It is to be presumed that the
cartridges, after being discharged from a
rifle, fell upon the ground and were licked
by the stag, which, like all animals of the
bovine, ovine and cervine species, was
doubtless very fond of salt. The saltpeter,
which is one of the chief ingredients ib gun-
powder, was apparently so grateful to the
stag's palate that it swallowed the paper
oases containing it, There aro indeed few
things which the digestion of wild animals
is not capable of assimilating, although it
was said by Dr. Johnson that the stomachs
of man and of the pig, which boar a close
resemblance to each other, are stronger than
those of any other creature, whether tame
ox wild, A man in the highest condition,
who has passed day after day for some
weeks is deer stalking, is probably able to
parry and digest almost as much food as
the staghe hunts. The season for deer
stalking is now upcn us, and it is under-
stood that the Prince of Wales will soon
pay a visit to Mar Lodge as the guest of
Lord Fife, who has also had the honer of re-
cently entertaining Prince Albert Victor,
the eldest son of the heir apparent. There
aro said to be upward of 100 deer forests in
Scotland, occupying between them an area
of rather less than 2,000,000 acres, Five
of these forests exceed 50,000 acres in
extent, the largest of teem being that
at Mar, which covers not much leas
than 100,000 acres of ground. Next in
order come respectively the Blank Mount,
in Argyllshire, with about 72,000 sores;
the Forest of Reay, in Sutherlandehire,
With 65,000 acres ; that of Glinstrathfar-
rar, in Invernessshire, with 52,000 ; and
that of Auohnaabellach, in Ross and Crom-
arty, of about the . some extent. It is
in the counties of Inverness Ross, and
Cromarty, that, according to an authorita-
tive adeount published last year, more than
three fourths of the Scottish deer forests are
to be found. Not to a shallow or scantily
filled purse does it fall to own or rent a deer
forest.,,. Even a small domain of the kind
will command a rent of £600 per annum,
and for the immense acreage of whioh an
American gentleman, Mr. Winans, is the
lessee, an annual rent of more than £12,000
is paid.
There has been an outcry raised against
Mr, Winans because he includes four or
five of the finest forests in Scotland , within
his dole ain, and, being naturally unable to
live in more than one house at a time, leaves
the others unoccupied. Yot it is maintain-
ed, on the other hand, by his friends, that
the Baltimore millionaire spends more money
in Scotland than four or five wealthy Eng-
lishmen would collectively disburse under
similar circumstances. There appears to be
better foundation for complaint against Mr.
Winans if it be true that he attempts by
absorbing and occupying an enormous area
of ground ' to confine the deer to his
own hills, or, in other words, to pre-
serve whole ranges of mountains as senotu-
aries. In the winter of 1884 a body of hill
men—or, to give them the right name.
poachers—broke one night into Mr. Wi-
nans' sanctuary at Kintail ani killed seven-
teen of his deer. It was alleged that on the
ground so invaded the American lessee had
not allowed a shot to be fired for four or five
years. The onslaught made upon it by an
organized band of trespassers was regarded
as a protest against the system, of sanctu-
aries in deer forests, which has always been
unpopular in the Highlands.
Much would it astonish the lairds and
clansmen who were "out in the Forty five"
—or, in other words, took part in the Jaco-
bite Rebellion of 1745—could they bo made
aware of the amazing prices now paid for
barren hillsides, mosses, heather clad slopes
and lonely forests, which in their time could
not have been let for 61. a square toile. Sir.
John Ramsden, for instance, is said to have
expended nearly £200,000 during°his resi-
dence in the Highlands. There are many
English lessees of. moors and deer forests
who spend £5,C00 a year or more for the
pleasure of killing moor game and deer, or
hooking salmon and grilse in the "Land o'
Cakes." Swift express trains, which con-
nect Aberdeen, Inverness and Perth with
the British metropolis, have added incalcul-
ably to the value of 'estates in North Britain
which were once abandoned to the scream of
the Curlew and the undisturbed reign of the
golden eagle.
41.
The Central Bank's Victims.
As in all cases of bank -wrecking, many
instances of suffering caused are reported.
If it were cnly the rich and well-to-do thi t
were injured by these smash-ups, the reason
for regret would not be nearly so apparent,
but it is the poor that experience the
pangs. In one instance we know of an office
boy whose savings and scrapings of three
years, representing a hoarding of half a
dollar a week, were swept away. In
another, we know of a poor woman who had
invested her all, with the fond illesinr,
that some day her innocent little ohildren
would be happy in reaping the benefits of
her frugality. In another wo know of the
collections of a firm, who were behind with
their employees, being lost just when they
had scraped tip enough to divide something
between their men, and twenty families were
given more misery to endure. Instances of
poor people having lost money intended to
make payments on houses, furniture, pianos,
etc., aro i umerous, And while this has been
the result, the wreckers, tho causes of all
this misery, thanks to the law's delays, have
nought safety in flight aad will probably -
never be brought to account. If the moral
of the thing were to bo heeded and poor
people would bo cautioned henceforth not to
trtist their money to any but absolutely safe
repositories, we could almost cease to re-
gret that the calamity happened ; but it will
not, and the next bank that goes up will re-
veal exactly the same state of things. What,
then, is tho good of hoisting the danger sig-
nal if people persist in disregarding it
Tho Far (teaching.
Perfume of a good name heralds the claim
that Putnam's Painless Corn Extraotot is a
mute, certain, and pintoes remedy for oornr.
Fifty imitations prove it to be the best. At
druggists.