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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Exeter Times, 1888-9-27, Page 2LIKE AND UNLIKE. ATTreon By M. E. 13RADDOIN; " LADY AUDLEz's SECRET," " WXALABD'S WEIRD," Era., ETC, CHAPTER, XXXVIII--(Coserteneo) Colonel Deverill did not go back to Devon er - shire next deas he had proreleed, He wee abeent from :Myrtle Cottage for nearly a week, and whet he retuned he was emelt"- ponied by a gentle:Irmo wbone he introduced to Mrs. Baddelv as MS old friend Melnotte, the famous Airmen traereller. Leonora was not learned upon the :subject of A.frica or the Royal Geographical Society. She had heorcl much names as Cameron and Stanley, whicb, the arisoofettece vaguely with :sand, camels, black men, end yellow fever. She had no love for the Dark Continent. It gave her nether gowns nor high art furniture e and she was proud to remember that her diamonds were genuine Braziliens. She yawned when her father expatia,tel upon the interesting experiences of his guest, and put hire forward as a man whom it wee an honour to know. "He seems an inoffensive little persou," said Leo, "and Tory evidently likes hitn. But ominot imagine him getting the better of alien, or discovering the source of a river. And then he is so dreadfully lame 1 Rove did he ever get about Africa with that lame leg ?' " He was not always lame. His gun burst one day when he wan shooting antelopes, and wounds:11am in the hip." "Well, he is rather nice little soul, and I hope he will put you in better apirits," an- ewered Leo lightly. Her father told her nothing about his in- terview with Si. Austell. He was unusual- ly grave and silent after his return from London, but on the arrival of an invitation to dinner from Lacey Belfield, he hastened to accept it "My. friend, Melnotte, the African -era- yeller, ia staying with me," he wrote, "and I should much like to be allowed to include hine in our party." The messenger who (serried Colonel Dever - ill's note brought back Lady Belfield's reply. "1 shall be charmed to make Melnotte's acqnaintance, though I confess to a lament. abie ignorance about Africa. I am. proper - ed, to be interested, but not intelligent." Leonora Baddeley had described Mr. Mel- notte inaccurate) y when she spoke of him as an offensive little person. He was small, with a smell round head, close cropped hair, and rather insignificant features. But his eyes were remarkable—luminous, keen, quick., and yet steadfast. Those rather promment blue -gray eyes had a, kindly look too, keen as they were. Mr. Melnotte was not handsome; bat he was a pleasant.look- lug little man, and :seemed thoroughly at his ease in a dress coat, in apite of Africa. "1 almost expected to see you with a ...esthete of ostrich feathers standing etraight se -seafront your head," mid Leonora, laughing, as,abe stood ready for her fur cloak, gorgeous •in black and gold, one of those gowns which defy .deseeiptiou and leave only a vague impression of Bruesels lace, brocaded velvet, _mad bullion. "1 left my feathers in Beehuto Lend," . answered Melnotte, " but I sometimee regret a continent upon which I was not e -.obliged to dress for dinner." He seemed to enjoy himself at the Ab- bey, whatever his reindice against civilisa- tion. Ile was graciously received by Lady eBelfield, and Sir Adrian talked to him for a segmat part of the evening, and questioned lisim closely about: his African experiences. '‘ I have read moat of the books upon Atria," said Aserien, " but I blush to say I have not read youre." "1 have not written any book. I have been content to jog along in a very quiet way. I am pretty well known in a certain part of Africa, but I doubt if anybody has ever heard of me or my adventures. I an not a Fellow. of the Geographical." Sir Adrian knew this beforehand, as he had Looked up the list of Fellow's, and had been surprised at not clitscovering Mr. Mel- notte's name. The traveller's conversation was not the has agreeable because his fame had been samewhat exaggerated by Colonel Deverill. He told a good many interesting anecdote, some of which were rather familiar to Sir Adrian's ear; but then there must needs be a resemblance between all adventures in a primitive world, where the changes had to be rung upon blacks, buffaloes, lions, alli- gators, and fever. Mr. Rockstone, Mr. and Mrs. Fremantle and their daughter Lucy, were of the party, and every one at the table, except Valen- tine, seemed interested in the lion and buf- falo stories, the serious aspect of desert life beingrelieved by recollections of a comic American, who had been Mr. Melnotte% fel- low traveller at one period. Mr. Belfield heard these anecdotes with a gloomy brow, and did not trouble himself to be particular- ly civil to the narrator. It was the first time Valentine had seen Is father-in-law since the Colonel's journey to London, and when they were in the bil- liard -room after dinner, Colonel Deverill took occaaion to mention St. Austell's return. Mr. Freemantle and Mr. Melnotte were playing billiards, while Valentine and the Colonel sat on a raised settee at the end of the room, in a pannelled recees decorated with breech -loaders of the latest fashion, and rapiera that had been carried by bucks and bleeds in the days of Addison and Chesterfield. Mr. Melnotte played a neat game, but he w as a very slow player—aggravatingly slow, Mr. Freemantle thougbt, whett he lead to • wait through a longish break, Me opponent deliberating before every shot, and looking down his cue meditatively before he took his aim. "A man who can play as well as he does -needn't be so confoundly Mao" thought Mr. Freementle, Colonel Deverill smoked haif his cigar in ailence, while Valentine sat by his side, ap- parently eogrossed by watching the game. • Have you known your African friend long ?" he asked, presently. "A longish time." " war never at Morcemb, wag he I" "No, he was in Bashuto Lend when I had Morcomb." " Ah, to be sure. He is tot very yellow, . considering he ha e been so long Wider an Af- rieen sun." "Oh, he has been back over a twelvemonth, knocking about in Ireland ;" Answered the Coloncl. "Eat never mind him. I've get something more important to talk about I have Satt St, Austell." Valentine's lorow darkened, and Me efikuz• elowly faded, till even his lip were why' white. "When—where ?" was all he lurked. The Colonel described the meeting at the Bad rah: ton. " There has beet a mistake," he said in eonelitsioet. "I no longer Ask you to divorce your wife --for in all probability ahe into. omit a erty Bin eget/1st yeu, except the errer huebaed wee the writing cif that fate]. letter," " Thenk God 1 Rat why tney I not knew, her ret-reat ? Veey may 1 uot see her again? You know that 1 loved her ASp. dalaghter, having kuovvn the Abbey and the Abbey' people all her We A few years ago when she had. been in the nureery eke bed looke'1 up to Sir Adrian ea a very growl personage, standieg as it were apart from ali other levee, a oho can never be rani:abed to leer young mei upon the riteength of superior buaband she meg at Wert bo eetnred in ; ettehmeents, but of late ribe tied felt herself some meessuee to me. And there ift her poor more, upon a level with him, and more at her fethen too, Why should his be tortured by ease ii his society. He called her Lucy, as uncertainty ; or allowed to think that his a matter of mirth having knewn het, in pi. of Saftsring her affectioh to be Won bY aW 1 duty to reveal the truth, Adrian. " " my brother at homer. he asked, aa daughter is leading a wiallea life ? It ie your naforea, but she callecl him Sir Adrian. other man. I ask you now te died her. It ri le es oly duty to keep iny oath. Mother, is your duty to do thee, end without an if yon ov. one word mom owl ewes hour's loss of titne."having trusted yop. I beseech you to keep Thee is all mighty' fine," exclaimed Nee- faith with ree. Noe 00.3 syllable to anyone, lerathe savagely. My wife chows to run least of all tie Valentine,' away and hide herself after peeining a ttehibe- %, poor valentine, cell you see men so rate avowal of her love for another man --and you tell inc it is my duty to find her. I tell you that from the hoer she wrote that letter, she was dead to me. It was our Anal irre- vocable parting. Living or dead she was my wife no theger. You are her father; she has not outraged you—ehe haa not coat you off with soorniul words as she did me, It was for you to look after her." " gou may be sure, Mr. Belaeld, that I shall not fail to do a father's duty," an- swered, the Colonel, throwing down the end of his cigar, and grinding it under hi's heels somewhat eavagely, to the detriment of the polished parquet. •He could not hut f eelth atVal en tine lied some justification for repudiating all obligation towards a wife who had written such a letter as that in which Helen had declered her intended flight, That bar courage had failed, or that her conscience had been awakened at the last moment, would hardly make atonement to an angry, insulted husband. CHAPTER XXXIX.—A DzorDED GABE OE DRY ROT. • After that brief oonvereation with Colonel Deverill in the bilhard-room, Valentine Bel- field. withdrew himself still more from the aocieey of his fellowmen, Even hie appear- ance in tee hunting field became spoor:Iodic. He was rarely seen at the meet, but would contrive to fall in with the hounds about the middle of the day, and would ride till the finish like a modern Zatniel, or any other demonism character, with a reckless disre- gard of his own bones which was only a little less offensive thah his carelessness about other people. "I believe Belfield rause offer a premium for kicking horses, or he would never get such brutes as he rides," said Mt Free - mantle, who rode a sober well-mannered weight carrier, in a sober and gentleman- like way, and who coatrived to keep pretty near the hounds without exerting himself mole. • There was a general feeling that Mr. 13e1 - field had gone altogether to the bad since his wife's disappearance. People pitied him, but wanted to see as little of him as possible. He had never been a favorite ni the neighborhood, and of late, his sullen manner had been caloulated to alienate even friendship. And now it lead become known that St. Austell was in London, and people -- especially the feminine poitIon of the com- munity—began to be exercised in mind as to what could have become of Mrs. Belfield. Had she eloped with St. Atietell, and had they quarrelled an.d parted after brief. mien ? Or had she never gone offwith him ? That was the question debated with hushed breath over many an afternoon tea table. "Has she any old aunt in Irelend with whom she would be likely to be living?" asked- one of the Miss Traduceyee "Moat girls have an old aunt that they can go to on an emergency." . "I don't believe Mrs. Belfield hoe anything so respectable as an old aunt belenging to her," replied DorothyToffstaff, wbo, was sour- ed by three unsuccerieful sermons in London, during which all the attentions she had re- ceived had been too obviously inspired by her father's wealth rather than by her own charms. "My idea is that she went off with St Austell, as everybody thought at the time of her disappearance, and that he has grown sick of an empty-headed beauty, and has left her in India. She would be sure to get picked up by somebody," added Miss Toirstaff, with the air of coasigning Mrs. Belfield to the Oriental gutter. Thus lightly did society at Onadford cuss the problem of a fallen sister's fate ; bat it was not so lightly that Lady Belfield oen- eidered the mystery of her daughter-in-law's disappearance. In a conversation with Col- onel Deverill, she drew from him much that hadpassed between him and St. Austell, and the idea that Helen had changed her mind at the last, after writing that teiTible,letter, filled her with a new hope. What more likely than that the erring girl had turned to some conventual sancitimey as the peosible shelter from temptation i • as Louise Lt, In Valliere in the dawn of lovefied from her royal lover to the convent. There only could she find a safeguard against her own passionate heart, and aid for her own weak will. Such ts course would account for,the unclaimed trunks in the bed chamber. For the handmaid of heaven, vowed to holy poverty, fine clothes and feminine luxuries were a dead letter. Impressed with this idea, Lady Belfield resolved to travel quietly through the West of England, visiting all those institutions, Anglican or Romanist, to which Helen might possibly have attached herself, She had taken Mr, Rookstone into her confi- dence, and with his aid she had obtained all the information neemary to guide her searcb. She told Adrian nothing of her purpose until her plan was made and she was on the point of setting out with her old servant for her companion. The journey Would not be a long one. The furthest point was to be the Convent in Lanherne Valley, on the north coast of Cornwall. To her disappointment, Adrian strongly opposed her scheme. Dear mother, no good would result from all that fatigue and anxiety on your parte" he said, gently. "I am sure that Rehm m not ia any such retreat."° "But how con you be sure?" "Mother, I have reason to know. You must ask me no more. You Must have some pity nen me," raid Adrian, deadly pale. • at know that lest girl's fate, and yet hide the triith from me." "There are Monte that must be kept - that are sacred. Mettler, you know how fondly I love you. In iny.own life theth has never been a secret; but in this: ease I can not tell you all I know without betraying another person. You would have rae guilty ef dishonor ?" No, no; you know I would not. But let me understaad—give me borne kited of hope and comfort. You know where she is, then :you have known all along ?" Adrian bent his head in £1131301A. " And yet you let me puzzle and torture myself about her ?" " I was tongue tied." "I see. She oonfided it you. It WAS to her You bound yotraelf to eilerice?" "I can ainwer no question' "But you can tell me that the is safe— they walked towards the .6,1s1ee "No,there is no OM but lady Belfield and mother, They are talleeng parish talk— about the poor old people and their ailments —euols dreadful complioations. How nerd it seems that the poor should ;suffer in all ways. People who know nothing about them. LATEST FROM EUROPE An AfriOeu 4xplOer StaillaY all Right—Infant XOrtality in blanches- tere-Thirlee Ripe for Trouble in efliria. A. A Johnston the gallent young African xplorer who made the anent of the moun• ain, Kilimendjam, writes to the "Daily Telegraph" expressing confidence that Stan- ley is all right. He flaps that frona the quick- nas With Which the news of BertteloVe death wee received it is certain that if anything had happened to Sthuley we should long ago " eisellCi tell would belle hims think they are healthy and hardy because f hieayvewhaesatrudronfeit noilLeefveeerida cbeyzIlit'lluebthrell'Sst:pn-- miserable and yet not tell him ?" Mother, the best thine you eau do for your their scanty fare and open air lie: wile% ptaitLan and is approaching the Nile by sewn peace of tnind---and for us all—is to for- one comes to know them, one and'a that get the peat as far ars it atm be forgotten. theory a hollow mockery. The Open air may Bahr- al.Gozal, because the Mahal a power is There m nothing that con be done ; nothing, be very good for us, but the poor get this weaker there than on the main Nile lewer I think yon know that I am not without much of it." down. He believee Stanley th be the White Praha, and disoredite all rumors of nis death. It there were anything that could be done, sitting by the Are in the inner drawing room, I would do ib; but there is nothing. As I Babies are dying so fast in Mancheete hope for the life eternal, :there is no eett of yours or mine that can be of any aervice to her whose loss -we both deplore." conscience—that I have e em e sense of duty, Lady 13elfield and Mrs. Freemantle were the cosy tea table and hissing kettle between them. They had been joined by Me, Rock - stone, who set in one of the moat luxurious of the large arm chain, with his legtretch ed out in front of the hearth, basking in the Hie words ancl looks were so deeply earn - eat, that' his mother could not disbelieve. Adrian had been her strong rock in the last few years; her friend and companion, the one being wboae presence always brought brightness and comfort, upon whose souna sense and unselfish affection. she could rely. She was,mystified but she was submissive ; and the journey. to lanherne was given up. Shetold Mr. Rockstone only that she had changed her mind. • "I think you have done right in aban- doning your idea," he said. "11. sure that if Mrs. Belfield is in any retreat of thee kind, she will communicate with you before long. Her heat will yearn tor you aa time goes by, and the longing to see you or to hear from you will be too strong to be re - premed by any ascetic rule, however se- vere." * * * * * * After that conversation with his mother, Adrian had an uneasy feeling that he had raid too much, that he had gone too near the betrayal of his brother's dreadful secret. Yet to have allowed his mother to follow a phantom, to wear out her heart in false hopes and disappointing researches, was more than his duty as a son would ellow. His firat thought had been of hie mother ; it was for her eake he had kept Vedenbine's secret; and it was for her eake that he had lifted a corner of the veil. It was for her sake that he had tried to seem happy and at ease when his heart was gnawed by care, and his life darkened by the shadow or fear. "Let us forget," he had said to her; and often in the long slow days, he had said to himself, "Oh, God, if I could but forget." • His daily -walk was by the river. He seemed drawn there by an irresistible at- traction. Scarcely a day poured on which ID did not stand beside that silent pool be- neath which lay the murdered wife. He went there oftenest in the twilight, when all things had a vague and ghostly aspect, or when the eye created. its own speotres out of the conimonest forms. He wondered some times that her spirit had sever ap- peared to. him, when his thoughts were tie full of her. He gaeed with melancholy eyes among the shadows of the willow tamales, half expecting to see a spectral ferra waving trerauloue.ly above the bank, like a ghostly Undine. But there was nothing. The dead made no edge. One evening he saw a red spark shining brightly amidst the gray. It came nearer. as he advanced along the path, and present- ly he found himself face to face with Mr: Melnotte, who was strolling quietly along, smoking a big cigar. "Good evening, Sir Adrian, A mild 2iltand alfilarrthe. qua spot" it at seem "Very. u 1. uncommonly tarne to you after the Zambesi Falls." "Oh, but I am catholic in my tastes. 1 can admire an Englieh landscape as heartily 943 if I had never seen Air'thee. A favorlee walk of yours, Sir Adrian?" "Yea; it is one of my favorite walks" "1 thought so. I have seen you here nearly every evening for the last ten days I generally take my afternoon stroll in this direction but en the opposite bank. lady Belfield was so good as to say I might make free with the park and meadows." " Naturally. Any friend of teblonel Deverill's would be welcome. Ie this: your first experience of Devonshire ?" "Of this side of the county, yes. I know the south coast pretty' welL .A. delightful county." "You are not s Devonshire man2" "1 have not that privilege." There was a silence. Mt Melnotte Mid not volunteer any information taste his birth or pea -outage. He was a curious little man in this wise, and, except for hia African ex- periences, eeemed to be a man without a history. Sir Adrian wondered how hie friendship with Colonel. Deverill could have oome about. The two men seemed to have so little in common. From a good natured impulse, rather than for any particular reason, he asked Mr. Melnotte to dinner, an invitation which was promptly acieepted. "Ib is always a pleasure to visit such a house as yours, Sir Adrian," he laid ; "A house with a history. No doubt the Abbey has its history." "les. It has a good many histories, or i‘traditions."Anyghosts. Any story of e, dark crime in the remote past ?' "1 have heard of neither ghost or orime." "Well it la a noble cld house, even with- out those embelliehments," said Melnotte, cheerfully, "and the park and garde= are perfect This is a tributary of the Chad, I suppose, this river in your grounds." "Yea it unites with the Chad lower • down" "A deePish river, eh 2" " Swift and deep." "le makes a very pretty feature in your grounds. Nothing like water for giving beauty and variety to a landscape. To- morrow evening, at eight, think :you said, Sir A.drien? Good aight." Mr. Melnotte crossed a rustic) bridge and disappeared in the twilight on the further bank, while Adrian strolled elowly along the cypress walk- , WOS met ley Limy Feeetnantle, who uncommietuay auggested reminiscenee of ShakOspeare's 13eatrice, ‘' I have been sent to ask you to tea," she said, blushing s. little, her complexion of lilies and roses looking brighter Veen evet in the gray winter atmosphere, ",You are very geed to take so mob trouble about rime answered Adrian, as they shook hands. "Oh, it was no trouble. I acia °leave glad of a run. Mother and I came to oval upon Lady Belfield, and Lady Belfield waa getting fidgetty about you, go Mother told me to run end loolc for yom and r guessed 1 heppy ?" should find yoti this way.' "She is safe. She did not ;slope with I it Row elever of you." Lord St. Austell, Her Teat flit isgaitet her 1 hey were on very friendly tortes, Lucy that the city is arouthcl over the eubjeot. The great majority are overlaid by parents ID bed, four suoh deaths having occurred last vesek. There is a general auspicion that such glow of a friendly fireside, after A long thy, deaths are wilfully caused or permitted, (nth. among his poorest parbillioners, er for the purpose of gettieg rid of the child They were talking of Valentine. , or obtaining club money or Insurance. Near - "Re ouflet to make an ern t, my, dear Lady ly all the cases othur on Saturday nights, Belfield, ' said the Viol.. "T1e bp that bas fallen upot him is a heavy one, ut it is semost unmanly to succumb as be has done. His whole being is undergoing deterioration, He has brooded upon the one great wrong until his soul has become steeped in gall. He is a misanthrope at an age when men generally love their fellow creatures. Some- thing rause be done to save him from him- self. " " Yes, something‘must be done," echoed Mrs. Fremantle. It is terrible to see a fine young man like Valentine 'lapsing into physical and moral cleoey. My husband tells me that he Churls all his old friends— does not even show at the meet, and rides in a way that shows he cares no more for other people's lives than he does for his own. He ought to go to Australia." "Thee is the remedy, Mrs. Fremantle," maid the Vicar, "a new country—Austral/a, or the Red River distaict—a new and not too civilised country—utterly new atirround- Inge. That kind of thing is your only Lathe; the only remedy for a mind diseased. I know it would grieve you to part with him, my dear Lady Belfield, but you woukl have Men back in t rvo or three years, a new men. Whereas, if you he him stay here, decay is inevitable. You remember what Dickens says about the dry roe in a man. I'm afraid poor Valentine's is a case of dry rot." "1 would do anything for his welfare -- sacrifice anything," replied Lady Belfield. "Then you and Adrie.n must put your, heads together and persuade him to travel; —California, Texae, Red River, or even Africa, if he fancies ehooting antelopes, or dealing in buffaloes. You can take advan- tage of this) Mr. Melnotte, who I am told its a mighty. traveller. The grand thing is to rouse Valentine from his present apathy, and set him going in some way." "1 am entirely of your opinion, Vicar," said Adrian. " My brother wants new surroundings. A young man without aims or interests, moping awry Ms life in a coun- try place, is a sorry speetacle. I will take him in hand to -night." Valentine was sitting in a Glastonbury chair in front of the wide fireplace, the bargandy decanterbefore him, almost empty. The hemps over the billiard table were un- lighted, and the specious room was hall in -shadow. The firelight. Bickered on guns and swords in the recesaat the farther end, and there was a circle of soft light round the spot where Valentine sat, from the oolza lamp on the small Sutherland table. "A good run, Val ?" asked Adrian, seat- ing himself opposite his brother. "Pretty good." "Von must have billed uncommonly late." "We killed at stureet, on Plimpsted Ridge." ' "Bat that means five o'clock, anclathree- cparters of an hour's rkle home. Where have you been since ?"' • " I fien't know." ' " Videntine 1" • "Dont stare at mes MOM I tell you don't know. I have been riding about somewhere—loeing myself on the moor, if you like. Great God, if I could only loes myself altogether—ride away into some en- chanted valley, and go to sleep there, for over." Our self•tortere can do no good to yon or to anyone else. Par away, in the wild free life which Emits your temperiment, you will at least suffer lees. Anything would be better than the stagnation of your existence hare." "You are right. Anything would be better—bat I think the best would be death." . "Don't say that, Val. Men have °Waived: worse sorrows than yours." "Men are made of very hard wood, and I flattered myself—till last summer—that I was teak or iron -wood: but the dry rot of remorse has got into me, all the same. I am wornaeaten to the very core. Yes, I think you are right, Adrian. I must get away from this place, if I den'e want to become a howling lunatic. I have stayed here in a kind of gloomy despair, thinking that I could hardly be more miserable here than anywhere else—but you are right. I have stayed too long. I will stay no longer. Here 1 am a cause of misery to others as well as to myself. In the deriertoor the bush -1 shall be ray own man again. There will be no need for hypocrisy. I could lie on the ground feee downwards end, groan aloua without anybody calling me to ao- counts "Your mind will clear and lighten face to face with uneophisticated nature, Val," said Adrian, who throughout this converge. - Bon had spoken with ineffable tenderness. "You will begin a new life. Even the memory of your sorrow will be softened in that far off Barnes here. You will look baok upon your old selfgently, as we retneinber the dead. You will have opportunities of helping othere—of doing brave and generoue deede, You will be born again, a better and a wiser man. My brother --my beloved brother, the tiecond hell of myself, have infinite faith in you yet." He laid his hand caressingly upon hill brother% sheulder. lie felt as i great burden was lifted off his heart by this conversation of to -night. For the first time due the catastrophe that hect wrecked both their live, the brothers had spoken together freely. It was like a re - !rowed of brotherly love. "My dear Adrian, you are a great deal too good to me," said Valentine, and this from hitt Was much. (To 1M corientune.) All great men, all the SOWS who govern the world and leAd. on :society, ere great in proportion to their Strength of conviction. They ea ha by What they see, but by their strong eonvietien in What they do not See. when the parents are more or leas stupefied by drink. Manchester's Deputy Coroner makes out a statement which demand e legia- lative consideration. He points out that in Germany parents are arreetecl and convicted under such circumstances and slays such a law is greatly needed in England. The railway frora Visit to Zermatt, hith- erto considered impractioshle, is about to be commenced. Int length will be 28 miles and its grade 3,160 feet. It will be narrow gauge without any cogs. After 18E11 Euro- pean trevelere will enter a carriage in the Rhone Valley end leave it at the very foot of the mighty Matterhorn. Thin.gs look ripe for trouble in Servia, and Milan is said to be hurrying baok to Bel- grade. It is expected that the Matfett will openly espouse, the cause of Nathalie. All this is intimately connected with the agita- tion among the Croats in South Austria. The Emperor's sharp publie rebuke of Bishop Strosemayer the other day shows how acute the danger of the Pen -Slavic move- ment in those latitudes becomes when a (Filet and exclusive man like Franz Joseph takes such a atop, The Bishop, however, so far from abandoning his pro -Russian eta- tude has defiantly returned to Agram, where the Slavic Croats gave him a big reception. On the Continent everything is subor- dinated to the immense military manceavres. Prectice,Ily half the Princes of Europe are pleating at mimic; warfare. Those who have no armies of their own are visiting the camps of geese who have. Never before has ouch a colonial massing of troops occurred in time of peace. There are rumors that the French cavalry- is not so good as had been hoped. Some riders fell off their horses in front of the President's stand yesterday. Parislain But the great thing just now amongthe not exactly demi-monde of Faris, but say the working women out for a holiday, is to ID dresved all in one or two colors. This idea is more comprehensive than ever be- fore. It includes not only the costume, hat, parasol, gloves, hosiery, handkerchiefs, " panne," that is interior collar and cuffs, but skirts, corsets, underwear, stockings, veil, and, in short; every important and un- important part of the toilette. The dress may be a tmrdotted, sprigged, or ;striped foulard or percale. The parasol will match, the hose will be dotted, between the lines of. embroidery on the front, handkerchiefs will be Meted upon the color.. The enemies and the drawers also, trimmed with white lace 1 torohon), which here la so fine and real and at so low a pokes. The corset will be blue and the gloves a dull grey shade of the same oolor, and if they oan be found, ter suoh a costume, with meow of Small white embroidered dote round: the top, below the stitehed edge and upthe back, instead of the ugly solid white or black stitching which has been fashionable lately; any true Parielan would bug her soul in extreme centent, not at getting rid of the horrid thick black or white stripes on the back always emerging to the bend, anal dreadfully unbeocening, but bermes° the dear little dots match her costume. This fitness of things is at present the sole source of Parisian superiority in dress and fashion. A. Noiseless Cloak for the Sick Room. A curiously considerate invention has been prodaced by a Fthetchman in the shape of a mi noiseless clock, for uee ore specially n sick rooms. In place of the usual pendulum, the hands are setin motion by the unrolling of a chain, the end of which is fastened to a bouy floating in a tank of liquid. This fluid esoapes at a uniform rate, and can be utilized to feed a lamp wick, thus giving the appar- atus the double character of clock and lamp. When the lamp is lighted the necessary dim- inution of liquid tales place by combustion, at other times by carefully regulated drop- ping. A Convenient Thisbe,' iid• liusbend—" Wife, you are everlestingly reading books." Wife—"Yes, I find them very interest - "It's a pity 1 ain't a book; then you might take some interest in me." "1 wouldn't object if you were the right kind of a book." "What sort of a book do you think a husband ought to be ?" "An alinterace so I oan get a new one e mry year." Wasn't Built That way. " Herele a piece of ie," said a woman to a hungry tramp at the beck door. "Thank," he replied, catching eagerly at it and biting a horseshoe out of it, " Don't you want a knife to cut it with 2" ;she iequired. The tramp looked hurt. "Madam," he isaid, ite freezing tones, " do 1 look like a man who wotild eat pie with a knife?" Next Thing to a Fortune. Woman--PCave you been a tramp long? Tramp—Pretty much all my life, ma'am; it rune ID the &tidier, Mer poor old father weei a professional for twentereseven years, hue the other day he struck big luck. Woman—Did lie come itto an immense forttine ? W t itA -ramp— e —er—no, nO Some influential friends of bus got him into the poorhouse. The temeon why a great many sick people difs te en account of the 4:100tOrre sktlL AGRIOULTD RAI). POn't spoil e 00lt by petting him. Be very good to ialm, but elsveys treat hire in a atrictly bueineefelike way, It will prove the greatest kiudness thin a in the long run. gew farniere seem to understand, the value of root crops. Five hundred bushels per are of carrots and beets can be raised and harvested o,t to greater cost than an sore of corn, For wiater feed for horsee, cows and hogs fed in coenection with grain, they are of equal value, to say the very least. The wise men tell us thet no cow can ever be produced that can excel at the but. ter tub and still excel at the block. Are we to get the same argument regarding sheep? Is the generelpurpoee sheep—one that can excel at wool production and still make a good carcass of mutton—a posalbi- 118372 Stagnant water not only ruinsithe milk of the cows that drink it, says tbe " Jersey )3011etin," but it affects the health of the °awe as well, by producing a feverish condi- tion of the blood, which is found to oontain minute living. organism, identical with those present in the stegnaut pool and in the milk. - The Thorburn potato, estimating the field from 100 feet of row, gives 295 buehels to the acme. This variety is a little later then the Beauty of Hebron and of splendid quality. In an adjacent field the Thorbuen will not yield over 150 bushele to the Dore an account of the Nimes being killed by the flea -beetle. One method to mire a balky horse is to take him from he wagon and whirl him rapidly around until he is giddy. It re- quires two men to do this, one geethe horse's tell. Do not let him out, Hon.' him on the smallest possible circle. One close ivin often cure him. The, dothe are, fund with the worst horse that ever refused to etir. The total area under cultivation in corn, wheat, rye and oeas in the United States this year is about 140,000,000 acres, or near- ly 219,000 square Miles. This is less than half the 3,22,000,0130 acres of public lands which' have not yet been surveyed, much of which is well adapted to the cultivation of the bermes. The erop possibilities of this country are far from having reached their 121S1XiMUT11. Frogs' legs, as the excellent journal above quoted, remarks„ have bthome a staple della- troy on the eill-of-fare of ell our farst-elass hotele and restaurants. The supply has hitherto come mainly from parties who made a buethees of frog fishing among the inland ponds and menthes. There ars no doubt many ferns on will& profitable frog istr1391J1g might be eanied on, and that without detri- ment to the other ineerests of the farm. The price of wheat on the London Corn Exchange now varies from 27 shillings to 35 shillings a quarter'st000rding to quality. In the fast year of this century it wap sold at £8 a quarter, and at the time of Walterloo the price was over £5. Every available acre of land was pat into cultivetion. Evea now, on the north country moors may be seen furrow marks, thatr were made when the growth oi wheat was such a profitabhaunder- taking. If cattle relish tomatoes, says the Risnsa& City Live -Stook Indicator, there is no reareen why such an addition should not be hailed: vrith'great pleasure by those who are spe- cially engaged at present in preparing show herds for the fairs. There is nothing at present knownthat has such beneficial effect „• on the dyspepticthat suffers from asluggish liver as tomatoem and, properly handled; a - there is no reason why they should not be a veritable boon to cattle, not so much, we think, as food, but as a. cortsective and al- terative. It is an amazing blander that a dairyman will choose a cow that will yield him $5 or$10) more at the end of a profitlees life th the shape of beetrather than a cow of no value tor beef, but which will give him $20 a year for eight years, or 50 per cent.—leas oost of keeping—more than the more popular ati- mad. ichia ise about $200 in the life of the one cow spinet the $10 at the death of the other cow. Ancithis is the delusion remarks Henry Stewart, which lies at the bottom of the ?velar demand far "asenora-purpose cow, ' of which so much i13 SOld. It is in the yield of milk and butter, how- ever, to which the breed has attained in America that the Gaaette specially directs attention. It seems Pshat a yield ef 2,000 gallows is quite common and easily obtain- able, while theastounding figure of over 30,- 000lb. of milk from one cow in twelve months ham been reached by an animal in the pos- session of Mr. Whipole, of Cuba, New York. in other words a yield of from three to five times that of fsarly good animals in England, seems to be commit among these Plolsteiti- Friesian cows. Tlaese results have been watched by official inspectors. If butter is packed into tub, jar, or other package as directly from the churn as pos- sible, these serious objections to print butter are avoided. Major Alvord wonders that housekeepers end smell consumers do not learn the advantages of small packages, in which butter is peeked in bulk. In some markets isle -pound boxes, and little peels holding six, eight and ten pounds, have be- • come canite popular. Bat, while cheap and convenient, wood ie by no means the best material in wetich to pack butter.. Masa is the best, or porcelain, and stoneware next. For local trade, or near -by ' consumers, he knows of nothing better than well glazed stone jars. A great many men and women who have had a chance, at least, to know lusher. will persist in putting fresh skimmed cream into I the churn, says Hoard's dairyman. Mr. N. 1 G.,GlIbert, of,New York, made a little ex- periment to see what the result would be. For a week he had been getting about five pounds of butter from a 100 pounds of milk; but not being aatiefifid that he wen getting all the better from the milk, he tried the experiment of keeping the two skimmings , separate until the Second mess of cream wee; well cured and then putting them together' and churning, Froin one churning thus treated„ he obtained six pounds of butter to the 100 pounds of milk. Here was a ge..in of 20 per cent. all for the tree of a little in- telligent experimenting. The print, says Major Alvord in the Roe - ton Cultivator, "is the very Worst Lorin in which butter pan be put 'for preserving its delicate flavors, Small toile stand best in this reapeoe, In both cans the danger of injury ut leseened by wrapping in a 'napkin, or cloth saturated with brine. The waxed, or parchment paper which has come into tied within a few years, alto furnishes a good protection. If bottek is to be printed at all, every print or lump Ethoula be carefully and closely wrapped in the weter-proof paper, to make a pacarage as nearly air, tight es poesIble before leaving the dairy. room where MS male. Thue protected, if well cooled and firm, the closer the prints are pecked ad kept, till sold or heed, the better. To facilitate close packing the square and briek forme are preferahle to the roll and raved print or "pat."