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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Exeter Times, 1893-9-21, Page 6•---� ice; ✓ .s„ 4�,.,,_• MEV, =REST, BEST. Contains no Alum. Ammonia, Lime, Phosphates, or any Injuriant. LEGAL, ^^f�iirr.Ii. DICKSON, Barrister, Soli- * s• cite' of Supreme Court, Notary Public,a 1.1, Ire yeacer, Oanameesionor, 4c Money to Goan. O0leein anson'sBlook, Eseter, ii.�COLLI�T'S, Barrister, Solicitor, GonveY ancer, Etc.. SaS1;TER, - ONT. OFFIOE : Over O'Neii'e Bank:. ELLIOT & ELLIOT, Barristers, Solicitors, Notaries Public, O011'ey"anCers &c, &o. ta'Sloney to Loan at Lowest Bates of Interest, OFFICE, MAIN - STREET, EXETER. v. itLLXCT. IMEDERWIC RTLIOT. DENTAL. 11111,1,1.11111.1. F. :KINSMAN, L. D. 3, D, D. fl. Gr;oduate of Ronal College of Dent et Sur• gems, rand of the 'Dental Department of Toren to C niversity, /with honors./ Specialist in bridgework, and gold and pereela,rn (rowns, Pore Nitrous Oxide Gag and local anaethet. ieafnr painless extractions. At. Lite,an nvery Wednesday. Otlica: Fanion.s Blook. Exeter. -V. O. H. INGRA, DENTIST. t J Successor to IL L. Billings. Me mbar of the Royal College of Dental 0u'eeons,) Teeth inserted with or without Fiala, in Gold or Rubber, A sate Anresthetto gnitu far the painless extraction of teeth. Fine Gold Fillings as Required. Office over the Post Office, MEDICAL T W.BROWNING M. D., M. C • P. 8, Graduate victoria Univers ty; office and residence, Dominion Lobo a tory,li titer. 'R, EYNON:IAN, coroner for tie County of Buren. Office, opp.,site Carling tiros. atore, Exeter. ID RS, RROLLI S & AMOS. Separate Offices. Residence same as former. lv Andrew st. Otliues: Spacknan's building. 1I Lin at; Dr Rollin/ same as formerly, north door; Be. Amos" same building, south door, J. A. ROLLINS, M.D., T. A, AMOS, M. D, Exeter, Ont. AUCTIONEERS. HARDY, LICENSED AUC— J. for the County of Huron, Charges moderate. Exeter P. O. BOSSE1v13ERRY, General Li- -1 • eensed .'Auctioneer Sales conducted inal/parts. Satisfaction guaranteed. Chargee moderate. Bensall P 0, Out. ENTk Y EILBER Licensed Ana _L tioneer for the Counties of Surat and Middlesex . Sales conducted at mod- - erste rates. Otiee, at post-odiee Ored. ton Out. LIMOIMEnssINNOMMeszli MONETTO LOAN. -TONE/ TO LOAN AT 6 AND percent, $5,000 Private Funds. Best Loaning Companies represented. L.$ DICKSON Barrister • Exeter, VETERINARY. Tennent& -Tennent EYETJci0. ONT, 'key Gradcateeofthe Ontario Veterinary 031 Jere. Oi+Xrcn : One ?tow Snuth of Town Hall. INSURANCE . neo rpHE WATERLOO MUTUAL FIR'S INK/RANO EC0. Establlshedin 1863. HEAD OFFICE • WATERLOO, ONT. This Company has been' over Tweetpp-etch years is successful operation in Western Ontario, and continues to Insure •against Loss or damage by, Fire. Buildings,, erchandise llanufaclo..ries nus all other descriptions of insurable property; Iaten ling insurers have the option of insuring, on the Premien :Vote or Cash System. During the past ten years this company has issued.57,09; Policies, covering,Oroperty to the amount of $t0,872039; and paid iniosses alone S709;75100. Assets, :5176,100.00, consisting of Cash inBank 'Government Depositand'the unasses- sed Premium Notes on hand and in force 3.W.wAr.nx,N, M.D., President; 0 M. T.trros Seerotary . J. 11. IlUcus9, In specter , 08.A5 SNELL, Agent for Exeter and vicinity The , Melaena Bank (CHARTEREDBYFARLIAOXENT, 1855) Paid np Capital ... S9,000,000 lice Fund .. .. l,lov•oc HeadOffice, 6fontreat, • F. WOLFERSTANTROM AP.> Gminanr i1f. ,,. Fit; Money advanced to good their own' note with one or mere endorser at 7 per cent. ger annum. Exeter Branch, Cpen every lawful day, from 10 a. m. to p.rp SATURDAYS ,10 a m, to 1 p.m, Current rates of interest allowed on deposi N. DYER HURDON, Sub -ti anaR•er, NOT WISELY, BUT I00 WELL, cerApnes, XIV.—. eioNasesr0o,l The present instance is no exception, There is a long silence. He still jeans Lauraine has sunk baok into her chair,fainb there, his head on his hand, his face turned an spent with eutction; scarcely conscious of what is going on around her; and indeed towards her es if to gaze his last on the [ in this state her husband's rough voice beauty be loves and remembers with so ab- breaks upon her. amidst the rbed anda blinding tears, litmieet hisr oOW11 i " What the devil's the matter ? I met longing gaze She rises from her seat and holds ant her hands, while her voice, broken and full of unutterable sadness, cries out : " Oh, Keith, what should I say --what should I do? May 0 od Have mercy on us both." "If you wish his mercy on you, don't cry," says Keith hoarsely, " or you will make me so desperate that I shall forfeit any little bit of kindness you may still feel! Be Gold, cruel scornful if you please, bat don't drive me mad with sight of your sor- row. Mine I can bear—it is no new friend. But yours--" Lauraine dashes the tears from her eyes, and makes a violent effort at serf -Control. "I cannot ask you to forgive me," she says ; " it would be better if you could Learn to hate me, I wonder you do not, when you thick of all the sorrow I have brought into your life." "1 have tried my best to hate you," he says, gloomily; "I cannot, Do you sup- pose that if, by any deed, any power of will, I could tear your memory from my heart, and once again know peace, that I world not do it? God knows how gladly'1 But I can not ; I must go on thinking of you, lov- ing yon--" He ceases abruptly, then goes on " And once you put your arms round my neck and told me yon would be mine 'Inc ever,' There are times now when I seem to feelthat soft touch and the thrill ofyour un- asked kiss, ane—them Lorry, I remember that ' for over.' meant leas than—feel' years." "You—you promised," falters Laur- eine. " Yes, you are right. So I did. I seem to do nothing but make promises and break Athelstone flying out like a bombshell, and you look like a ghost. have you been hay. ing—a fraternal quarrel ?" She starts to her feet and looks at him with wild, wide eyes. "Francis, you---" she gasps. "You don't seem very pleased to see me," says her husband., lookiugat her suspicious- ly, " What on earth have you beeu doing with yourself? You look as ill as possible,' He takes her hand and kisses her eareleee- 1y on the cheek as ho speaks. Iz have falters, a e not been well,"she fol rs, y- ing bravely for composure, " and Ltwyude asked me to conte to her for a few weeks and I thought the change would do me good. How is it you are in London? Did you l:uow I was here?" " Yes. I got your letter at the °lab and came on. I only arrived last night." He throws himself into a chair, and looks at her curiously. ,; What was the row withAthe t one , —you haven't told tie," Lauraine grown very white. " He is going abroad --an, ay for years. Hiseengagement is all over. He came to say good-bye." Sir Francis gives a long whistle, " Nom de Dieu ? Is that so ? And have you had a hand in breaking it off; my lady ?" What da you mean ?" she asks, looking at hint with grave surprise. " Mean ? Uh, you and Keith were each 01111108 always. I thought he had clone it because you—objected. I know you never Eked the marriage." "It had nothing to do with ate," says Lauraine, coldly. "And the airl was very fond of him. 3. ata sorry for tier." them with you. \Veil there is one comfort, "It strikes me that Jean wasn't so far tout, after all, says Sir Francis, with a after to-daI shallhave no chance of doing harsh laugh, "Yon and Keith do seem to either one or other. There can be no die- have a remarkably goad understanding with twice too wide to set between our linos. colt other," And—oh, God, to think of what mighthave Lauraine looks at him, her eyes dark been 1" with anger. "Life is full of mistakes," says Lauraine, "Since when haveou taken to speak so weeping unrestrainedly now. "" Oh, had familiarly of Lady Jean Selomens ?" she I but known—had I but known/ Yet, Keith asks; and by what right does she discuss something tells me that time will bring yea my actions with you?" consolation—time and the censeicmenese "Come, that won't do," says her h113 - that you have done right." band, throwing himself bock in his chair, "Your words are beyond my powere! and looking at -her defiantly. "It's rather acceptance, he answers, gloomily. If I too like the proverb of the pot and the ket- am doing right now, it is from no good tie, You discuss me with Keith Atl;el- mative, Iassure you. If again you sold to stone, I have no doubt, and other things me ' Stay, there would be no more parting too," this side the grave, Lorry, for you and "Do you mean to insult me ?" asks Leur- tne. aine, rising from her seat, and looking His voice is very low and unsteady, but steadily at him. she hears every word, and all the svilrl love He shrugs his shoulders. and longing, the weariness and emptiness " You are always so tragic. Insult you? of her life, seem beating like waves against No. Only before you question my actions, it the poor weak hurlers of honour. might be as well to look at your own, Are " I think I would give all the world to they quite—blameless ?" be able to say it to -day," she cries, with She stands there, and all the colour fades sudden passion. " But oh, Keith ! the 'to- from her face ; her limbo tremble. " I will morrow,' that would follow ; the sin and not affect to mtennderstand you," she says, misery that would b9 with us both forever ! slowly. "" But--" Is life or love worth one's eternal ruin? Is He interrupted her roughly. " Don't our parting now to be compared to that trouble to explain, Of course we all know 'other' parting that would have to follow you are sou reprocho. Only don't turn the —the eternal parting that would be so coldshouldertootherwomen,whenyouyour- hopeless because of the guilt that lay upon self are no better than they—seem. Were Ia our souls ?" jealous husband 1 should have forbidden "I do not think a great love can over be Keith Atbelstone your presence long ere sin," Keith answers, passionately. "And this." mine would last you if ever human love did " There would have beea no need," she last. So much I know of myself, bad as I says, proudly. " I am not a woman to for- am." get honour and self-respeot:" "You are not bad," says Lauraine, " Oh, fine words are easy,"scoffs her lins- gently. "And I am sure you won't band, " To tho•.untempted virtue is no threaten me with the worse misery of your merit. And although anyone could see Keith recklessness as once before you sin, The A.thelstonewas making himself a fool about nobler and better your life, the less will you, yet you never cared a straw for him. be my suffering. And you won't be cruel If you has --e enough to add to that, 'will you Keith?" "Well?" she asks, very low, as he pauses. The pleading voice, the tearful eyes, un- He laughs again, "You would have bean man him. "VS. hy don't you abuse rte, con- no better than others, I suppose. What demn ine, call me the selfish brute I am'?" you call .self-respect is only another word he says, with that rapid contrition that so for cold-heartedness." oftenmarks his wildest moods. "No, Lorry, I won't be 'bad' if I can help it. I wouldn't wish to add to your sufferings, though I am so selfish. Let me go now, while I have strength, while the good fit is on me. It mayn't last, you know, and then--" Re is standing facing bar, and white as death she looks up and meets the mournful gaze of the "bad blue eyes." There is no badness in them now, only a great anguish and a great despair. One long, long look they give -a look that seems to read her heart, and alt its love that she denies, and all its suffering that he has given. Ile takes her hands and draws her near, nearer. She trembles like a leaf. • Her eyelids. droop, her lips quiver; " May '— kiss you?" he whispers. She makes no answer in words, for speech is beyond her. She forgets everything now, save that she loves, and that this is an eternal farewell to her lover. There comes such a moment of forgetfnl- ness to all women who love, . otherwise, in. deed, there would be none to fall ter love's sake only. Otherwise, how eas, hould be the conflict that, of all others i5 the wild- est, the fiercest, and hardest to wage. She lifts her head. The anguish, the entreaty in her eyes frighten, and yet gladden him. For in this moment he feels he is master of her fate, and she is uncon- scious of the fact. Did he but hold her in his arms—did the tide of passion, locked back within his throbbing heart, find vent in one word, . one caress, he knows he could not answer for himself—for her ! It is the critical moment of Keith Athel- stone's life. All that is best and worst in his heart are at war ; all that is most hard to resist wraps him in a flame of tempting that burns away all good resolves, and al- most stifles the faint whispers of a con- science that pleads for her. For her—for her. To save her from her- self as well as from his own mad love, To leave her unharmed, untainted by the baseness of his selfish passion; to be worthy of love, as love had been in those sweet, glad, childish days. These thoughts flash like lightning through his brain, even as he meets her mournful eyes, and reads their unconscious betrayal. " Oh, love, good-bye ! Let me go 1" he cries, wildly, and throws her hands aside with almost cruel force. He is blind and dizzy with pain. A word, a look from her, and he knows that his strength will be broken like a reed—that. he will never leave her again ; and in his blindness and dizziness and agony of heart he rushes away, flings the door wide open,. and finds himself face to face with -Sir Francis Vavasour 1 CHAPTER XXV. "nee' 1iEATT's 0118100," Fate delights in playing mankind spiteful tricks. t"auraine thinks of the scene through which she has just passed. Cold-hearted ? 'Well, if she be, she thanks God for the fact. That her husband should speak thus to her fills her with an intense shame. After all, would he have cared so very much, if -- The evil thought coils round. her like a serpent, she feels sick and stifled, and full of pain and fear. "I am going to my room," she says, hur- riedly. "Will you excuse me? I—I am not very well;" "Ma there," laughs her husband, roughly, "one doesn't stand on ceremony after a few years of married life. Don't stay here for me. I'm off too, now. I have .heaps of things to do." " Will you dine with us to -night?" asks Lauraine. "To -night? Well, yes. I suppose it will look better, and I should like to see what sort of fellow your ;esthetic friendlies captured. ,love ! if men only knew what fools they are to marry 1" But Lauraine has left. Sir. Francis takes up his hat. His face is dark and disturbed. ''Jean was richt. There is something," he mutters. "But Lauraine is not like— lier. Should I be better pleased if she were? Sometimes I think 1 would give the world for freedom ; and yet--" The door opens. Lady Etwynde sweeps, in, as radiant and fair a vision as eyes could wish to behold. "Sir Francis ! You Here, and alone ! Why, where is Lauraine?" "Gone to her room. Not well, or tired, or something," he says, as he shakes hands. "I am glad you have had her here ; she mopes herself to death down at the Chase, I can't see what she is so fond eef it for. I letest it myself." "There are associations, you see," says Lady Etwynde, quietly. " Her child was horn there, and there died," He feels somewhat ashamed. Re thinks of bis wife—how young, how sorrowful she looked; bow all the life and radiance seemed emailed out of her heart. But then the old weariness and impatience assert themselves. Life with Lauraine has been so flat and monotonous a thing. "Well,at all events it does not agree with her," he says brusquely. "I was glad to find her in town. I got her, letter at the club. I' am only up for two or three days myself." "Will you dine with us' tonight?" asks Lady Etwynde. "We are quite alone, so it won't be very lively, and yon have had s much brilliant society lately." He looks quickly at her. He is always suspicious of women's words ; always given to looiring under them for some ;hidden meaning. But Lady Etwyndo's face is in. ooeence itself. " Thanks, Yes. Rohl Lauraine I would coin,'' he says, riot very cordially, for in- deed an evening with these two women looks a dreary penance to him. "And you will stay here, will you not?" says Lady Etwynde. Yon won't go baok to an hotel while Lauraine is iu town ?" " Oh, I could not thick: of inflicting my- self upon you," he says, hurriedly: 'and it is such a .flying visit—thanks all the salve. And now, good-bye till to;"ught." " Uood-bye," cava Lady Etwynde, coldly, She thinks his behaviour both strange aiid callous, aiid very uncompltineutary to his wife. Then he leaves, and she goes to Lauraine, and Ends her lying in a darkened roons, white, spent and exhausted. "My dear, what is it'?" she asks,, in alarm. "Has anything happened? Are you ill?" For a moment Lauraine hesitates. Then the sight of the sweet, compassionate face melts. the hardness that she fain would keep about her heart, and in a few broken words site relates the whole sad tale of that inter- view and farewell. "My only comfort is that at last be will go—surely he will leave me," sho says, 10 conclusion. "Indeed; it is time. The strain is :::ore than loan bear. Besides, Sir Fran- cis has noticed it—he said so; and his.w ords were scarce a greater insult than I deserved,. for if I have not sinned as the world counts sin, yet I have not been guiltless—far frodt it," Lady Etwynde looks at her wistfully. In her own great happiness she can feel ten. toll the sorrowful fate of these sundered lh'es, ca And he is going to brook off his mar- riage?„ she says, anxiously, t� }, es," says Lauraine. "Re says to go through with it is beyond his power," Poor fellow: exclaims Lady Etwynde with involuntary compassion, She is angry wtth him, and yet, sorry for' hien, for he has proved so faithful; and, after all, is any love quite unselfish if it bo north the name? My poor Lauraine 1" she murmurs, in. voluntarily, " Your marriage hos indeed been a fatal erro,r ; but, as I :hava said be. fore, there remains nothing butte make the best of lt. The only thing for you and Keith is separation. All other feelings exeept that one forbidden one are a poor pretence.. I feared that long ago, • I am glad you have been so brave, and he too. Believe me, hard as duty is, the very effort of doing it creates strength for further trials. The consaiousness of right is a satisfaction in itself, even when one is misjudged." Lauraine listens, and the tears stand on. her lashes, and roll slowly down her cheeks, ".My life is very hard," she says, bitterly. "Would it be less hard if you had ceased to respect yoarself, if you had lose the Greeds and faiths which still make honor your one anchor of safety? I think not," "I esti think of nothing now save him and tis unhappiness," cries Lauraine, al - .most wildly. "I have never loved him as I love him to -day. 011 !I know it is wrong, shameful to say such a thing ; but it is the truth, and I must speak it --this once. 1\ hy, do you know that when ho said good-bye to me I could have flung myself et his feet and said, 'Let the world go by, let sin or misery bo my portion for evermore—only do not you leave mo 1' It seemed as if noth- ing in life was worth anything beside one hour of love 1 And yet—well, how good an actress I must be, Etwynde—he called me cold-hearted." '" Thank God he did 1" exclaims Lady Etwynde. " Oh, Lauraine, year goo angel must have saved you today. I dial not think it had come to this ; anal cannot find it in my heart to blame you, for—I love too." "And my husband taunted me with being no bettor than other women, simply because I had never been tempted," continues Laur- aine, presently. "Well, perhaps in heart 1 am not. He may have been right, and vir- tue is, after all, only a matter of tempera- ment," " Oh hush! I cannot bear to Hear you talk like that," cries Lady Etwynde, "Does to—does Sir Francis suspect any- thing?" "He said he knew Keith loved me," an- swers Lauraine, wearily. "Fanny hearing one's husband speak of the love of another man 1 I felt treacherous—shamed in his sight and my own. He could not understand —he would not believe in the long, long struggle, the pain, the suffering of it all. I feel as if conscience and honor had both suffered in the conflict, as if with my child I had lost all that was pure and of any worth to me. And now the world may say what it likes, I don't care even to contradict it." "That is not true," exclaims La-ly Et- wynde. "You have struggled nobly, you have done your best, and the fruits of the victory will be yours in time. At least you hold the hope of meeting your 110013 child, innoeentaudunshamed,despite fierce tempting' and all the weariness and sorrow. of your life." - Lauraine's tears fall faster and more fast, "My child I Oh, why was he not left to me? The touch of his innocent kiss, the sound of his voice, the clasp of his arms were strong as all the chains of duty cannot be. And now there is no one—no one. And I am so lonely, so desolate, and life looks so long, and death so far away 1" The tears rushed to Lady Etwynde's eyes. " Oh, my darling ! What can I say to com- fort you 1 Do you know Lauraine, ouce— in years that are gone—when I' felt reck- less and despairing as yourself, I left the house, and went out full of some wild re. solve too terrible to mention. It was a Sunday evening, I remember well. The bells were sounding everywhere, and I walk- ed on through the quiet streets with mad- ness in my heart, Suddenly, as 1 passed the open door of a church, I heard a voice singing. Involuntarily I stopped, listened, entered. It was a large church, and full of people. Someone gave me a chair, and 1 sank down wearily enough. Then, peeling above the chords of the organ, floating up to the great vaulted roof, I heard again the beautiful voice, and it sang these words : 0 rest in the Lord; wait patiently for Rim, and He shall give thee thy. heart's desire.' You know them, do you not, and the music that weds thein so exquisitely from the ' Elijah ?' I knelt there with my head bowed. on my hands, and the tears falling down my cheeks. T remembered nothing ; neither place nor presence. It only seemed as if an angel's voice was breathing comfdrtto my passion. wrecked soul, as if that beautiful promise fell over my spirit and boought peace, and healing, mud zest. ' Thy heart's desire 1' Oh, Lamina, think of that 1 Twelve long years ago that message came to me, and I was comforted and soothed! Twelve years, and now God has fulfilled His promise. My heart's desire is mine." Laurine'has listened, stilled and awed. " Thy heart's desire," The words sink into her very soul, and awaken a thousand varied emotions. • "" Bat•my 'heart's desire' is all wrong— all sin—whichever way/ look at it," she says, ball despairing: 'God can make it right," whispers Lady Etwynde drawing the white, sad face down upon her bosom, and softly kissing the weary lids. "If you can take those Words hometoyour heart as I dill, my darling, your burden will grow easier to bear ;. the strength you ask for will be giv. en. Oh, life is hard, terribly hard, ninety! • There is much sorrow, so little jay; and then the errors, the sins which beset, the weakuess that shackles us !—but still, still, we are not tried beyond our strength, and we tray be able et last to look baok and see it was ell for the best 1" " What would I mat give to recall these last four years l" cries Lauraine, bitterly. t'Bow different my life might have been " There's no 'turning back," says Lady Etwnde, solemnly. " Errors, once commit- ted, are irrevocable ,•' for theta we must suffer ; by them we must abide. Ah, my dear ! who would not live their time again if they inight,ancl by the light of the pres- ent alter all the mistakes of the past? But it cannot be done. All the remorse and all the regret are so futile. Tears of blood cannot wadi away one iuemory, take out the sting of one mistake. We must just ar life as it is, till Death seals alt its woes into forgetfulness," You are so good," criesILauraine sadly. " I ata not like you. I am wicked and re- bellious and I cannot acre fate e h it patience,t m p yft with even though I know my own past weakness is to blame for all my present- misery." resentmisery" " I am not good. Do not praise me," says Lady Etwynde, humbly. " And I know 1 do not deserve my present happiness. it makes the fearful of my great joy. Por I was so wicked and rebellious once, and I. wonder often that God did not take my life i acof este 1 sparing it and, blessing it b1 tg as he has done. ow Now, you look worn out, and must needs rest. I will leave yon for awhile, If your husband suspects any thing you must try to banish such suspicions, or your married 1[fe will grow yet more unhappy. The great wrench is over, the worst is past. Time, and the consciousness of having done what is right, will give you peace and comfort at last. Youth and strength are yours still, and many good gifts of life and if you throw yourself into others' sufferings, and widen your sympathy ivitli the inter. este and trials of those around you, believe ine it will do much to making your awn troubles less, 1 speak from au experience as bitter as, if less hopeless, than your owit." Anil once more kissing the closed lids which seemed too weary for tears, she lays Lauraine back on the pillows, and saftly leaves the room. " ' Thy heart's desire ! " Lauraine .cries to herself, " Oh, God --not that—not that shoved be my prayer. Teach my heart to sal, " Tliji will, not mine i' (TG an nONTI$uc1,,) THE WOB,tD'd MARINE interesting Harte about Ships anis Slat►- piim . The Spanish Armada consisted of 132 abips, 3101 vennau, 8760 tailors. 248S galley slaves, 21,835 soldiers, 1:3555 volunteers and 150 monks. The navigable river mileage of Europe, Asia and America is 1.44,73'3 miles. The United States has the greatest river mileage 47,355. The most notable sea fight in Roman his. tory was the defeat of tete Goths by the Emperor Claudius II. Over '2+.100 Gothic galleys were sunk. Turret ships were proposed m 1855 ; wore recommended to the British Admiralty in 1861. The Mouitor was the first of this class to be built. The longest artificial water course of the world is the Bengal Canal, 900 miles the next is the Erie, 363. Each cost nearly ;*10,000,000. Some of the steamship companies employ more men than are enlisted in the second. - Claes navies of Europe. The Cunard Line employs 10,01'O.. During 1S92 there were thirty-two acci- dents to steam vessels in this country in- volving loss of life, and 200 persons were killed in these mishaps. • In 1388 15,820 merchant ships entered the Dardanelles, with a tonnage of 10,460,- 000 ; of those 7,030,000 tons were British, or about seven -tenths of the whole. Great Britain and her colonies have 27,. 906 ships of alt kinds ; France has 15,278 Germany, 2635 ; Russia, 4406 ; Italy, 6810, United States, '22,623; the world, 107,137 Italian ships are worked cheaper than those of any other nation. The monthly expense of an Italian ship with a crew of twenty men is about $475; of an American ship, $1000. During the Revolutionary War large whale -boats were fitte3 out by both -sides, which made very eflbcbivo gunboats. They were about 40 feet long, mounted two small guns, and carried a crew of thirty to fifty men. The most singular ship in the world is the Polyphemus, of the British navy. It is simply a long steel tribe, deeply buried in the water, the deck rising only 4 feet above the sea. It carries no tnasts or sails and is used as a tarn and torpedo boat. The greatest naval review of modern times was by Queen Victoria in 1854 at the beginning of the Crimean war. The fleet extended in an unbroken line for five miles, and comprised 300 men-of-war, with twice that number of store and supply ships. The fleet was manned by 40,000 seamen. In 1880 there were 947 American vessels on the lakes, 681 on the Mississippi, 473 on the Ohio, 463 in New England, 1459 in the Middle States, 1,116 on the Gulf, a total of 5i30. They carried 168, 510,000 passengers and 25,540,000 tons of freight. The crews of these vessels aggregated 57,100 man. "Lloyd's Register " says that in the .fif- teen years ending 18S0, 1,403 ships were missing and never again heard of ; 2,713 wore sunk by collision ; 2,903 were burned ; 17,502 were stranded; 8,026 were water- logged or otherwise lost, a total loss in fif teen years of 32,587 vessels, or over 2,000 a year. The British ship Inflexible, the typical armored battle -ship, is 320 feet long and 75 beam. The citadel is 15 teat high, 9 above and 6 below the water; its walls are 41 in- ches thick, 24 of iron, the rest teak ; the two turrets are 9 feet high, with 28 feet internal diameter, each holding two eighty- ton guns capable of firing a 1700 -pound shot With a charge of 450 pounds of pew -der. It carries 1600 tons of coal,.enough to make a -voyage of 3100 to 6000 miles at a speed of ten knots. - The Suez Canal is the moat important shipping enterprise known to history. .It enables two ships to do the work of three in trading between Europe and the Ease From London to Bombay by way of the Cape is 10,595 miles ; by the canal, 6330. It cost 217,000,000, was begun in 1856 and finished. in 1869. Its length is ninety-two miles, depth 26 feet ; the tolls average £800 per vessel, or 8 shilliuga par ton of net ton- nage. The estimatedsaving to commerce is .£5,000,000 a year. In 1889 3425 vessels went through, the mean time of passing. being, twenty -coven hours. Electric lights aro now used to enable ships, to, pass at uightas readily as in the daytime. Children Cry for Pitcher's Castari4: 1 H.iN .uw'% swi.,GdNhw ...e "I speak not out of weeee sisee tisetl, but from proof ' UST CO. since COTTOLI~N13 has come to take its place. The satisfaction with which the pee* ?lave hailed the advent of the New Shortening evidenced by the rapidly increas- ing enormous sales is PROOF POSITIVE not only of.,its great value as a new article of diet but is also sufficient pros r of the general desire to be rid of indi. gestible, unwholesome, ur/;K pe- tizing lard, and of all the ills that. lard promotes. Try ott lerie at once and waste no time in discovering like thousands of others that you have now Made only by N. K. FAIREIANK & C0., Weliington and Ann Sts. MONTREAL. Scientific American Agency for CAVEAT%, TRADE MALIKS, DE!IIQN PATENTS, COPYRIGHTS, etc, For Infonaut ion and free landbook write to ?\1LNN is Cu., µo1 )luun0wAv. New Yong. 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