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"lAyperson who takes it pap ern:igulaelefee it tbepoet.oillee, whether direc ted in his name or enother's,er whether he has subsoribed or not itresponsible for payment. 2 If n person orders his paper discontinued Lemust pay all arrears or the publisher may ontieue tosenci it until the payment is made, d theti collect the whole amount, whether !paper is taken from the office or nob. ha In suits or subscriptions, the suit may be stituted in the pleat) where the paper is pub Ji ed, al thouqh the subscriber natty teside n di eds of miles iteray. The courts have decided that refusing d k newspapers orperiodicals from the pos !tie ,or retrieving &tad ieaving them uneeile b ep reef:tote evidences of Ottawa. 3.1 tet ij- T11..E EXETER TIMES . AFTER MANY DAYS, or if it is quite given. up to bats and owls, and the spirits ot the dead? He stopped under the stone balcona which overhung Marchbroole, on a lev- el with the eight -foot wall. In Gil- bert. Sinelair'e—or his architect's—plan CHAPTER XV.—(Continued.) " Yes, lee bees -come <1.0‘511 ShOOt SOM8 of ray pheasaxas." "1 didn't know xou arid he were so thiek." "1 base known bina ever since he was a boy, and knew his father be- fore him." • " I wonder, as your estatee joined, yoa did not knock up a match between him and Constance." " That wouldn't have been much good as lie coutdoet keep his estate." "No. It's a pity that old man in Lincolnshire didn't die a. little sooner"' "I find no fault with destiny for giv- ing me. you as a sou -in-law, and I hope ' you are not tired. of the position," said Lord Clanyarde, with a look that show- ed Gilbert he must pursue his iusbau- ations no further. Lord Clanyarde went home and told Sir Cyprian what he had seen, and his fears about Constance. He reproadaed himself bitterly for his share in bring- ing about the marriage, being; all the naore induced to regret that, aet now that chang,e of fortune bad made Cyp- rian gooil parti as Gilbert Sinclair. " How short-sighted we mortals arel" thought the anxious father. "I did not even know that Cyprian bad erica bactelor uncle." ir Cyprian heard. Lord Clanyarde's account, in grave sileoce. "Whitt do you mean to do?" he aelted, " What can Ido? Poor ebild, she. is alone, and. must bear her burden unaid- ed. I cannot come- between her aud her ausband. It would take very litt•le to said Dr. Webb, "1.221 Pll tell you why might call be half the great men in London and be no wiser than I am now They would only make Mrs. Sinclair more nervous, and she is very nervous already. am a ait u o a che og,an. at the first indication of danger I will take measures. "You don't apprehend any danger to the mind?" asked Sir Cypnan, anxious- ly. " There is no imxnediate muse for fear. But if this naelaneholv continuee. if the nervousness increteses, I can not arawer for the result.' "You have told Mr. Sinclair as inuele , as this?" "' Yes, I have spoken to him. very ' frankly." It IV,94ald have been difficult to imag- ine a life more solitary than that which Constance Sinclair contrived to lead in a house full of guests. For the first two or three weeks she lead bravely tried to sustain her part as hostess; she had pretended to be amused by the amusements of others, or, when unable to support even that poor simulation, had eat at her embroidery frame and given the grace of her presence to the aseerably. But now sbe was fain to bide berself all day long in her own rooms, or to evalk alone in the fine old park, restricting her publie appearance to the evening, when she took her place at the head of the aumer-tabla and endured the frivolitiee of the draw- ing -room after dinner. Gilbert secret- ly. resented this witadrawal, and refus- ed to believe that the death of Baby Christabel was his wife's sole cause of a,rief. There was something deeper—e. sorrow for the past—a regret that was intensified by Sir Cyprian's presence in the neighborhood. -"Sae knows of his being at March - brook. of course," he told laimself. "How do I know they have not met? She elves her owe lite. alm.ost as mewl' apart from me as if we were in separate houses. She has had time and oppor- tunity for seeing him, and in all prob- ability' he is at Marebbrook only for the sake of being near bor." But Sir Cyprian had, been at March - brook, a week, and had not seen Con- stance Sinclair. How the place would have reminded aim of her, had not her image been always present with hirn in ail Wiles and places I .Every grove and meadow had its memory, every change in the fair pastoral landscape its Latter -sweet easociation. ala.rehbrook ana Daveaaant were divid- ed in some parts by an eight -foot wall, in others by an oak fence. The Dave- nant side of the land. adjoining Mareh- broak was copse and wilaerness, which served as a covert for game. The Marela brook side, a wide stretch <A turawbich Lord. Clanyarde let off as grazing land to one of his tenants. A railed -in plan- tation here and times. supported the fietion that this meadow land was a park, and for hie own part Lord Clan- yarde declared that he would just as max look at oxen as at deer. The one 02113' feature of Marchbrook Park was its avenues. One of these, known as the Monks' Avenue, and sup - po'n'd to have been planted in the days when alarchbroole was the site of a 13enedictine monastery, was a, nob ms le ar- cade of tall elplanted sixty feet apart, with a grassy road between them. The inouastery had long van- ished, leaving not a wrack behind, and the avenue now led only from wall to wall. The owners of Davenant had built a classie teinple or summer -house close aganast the boundary wall be- tween the two estates, in order to se- cure the enjoyment of this vista„ as i it was called. n the days of Horaee Walpole. The windows of this summer house looked down the wide avenue to the high -road, a, distance of a. little more than auarter of a mile. This summer house had always been a favorite reaort of Airs. Sinclair's. It overlooked the home of her youth, and she liked. it on that account, for al- though Davenant was by far the more beautiful estate, she loved. Marca.brook best. of iruprovenienis tlas classic summer • house, a, retie of a departed taste, had been. forgotten, Sir Cyprian was glad to find it unchange,d, uuchanged in any wise, save that it bed a xnore forlorn and negleeted air than of old. The stone- ork of the balcony %MS green and gray with masses and lichens. The tramiework of the. window had not been painted for a quarter of a century. The ivy had wandered as it listed over brick -work and stone, darting ,sharp - forked tongues of green into the crev- ices of tne decaying mortar. Sir Cy- prian looked un at the well -remembered window. full Of thoughts of the past. "Does she ever come here, I wonder ?" he said to himself; "or do they use the old place for a tool -house or an apple shed. ean Hty, far there fell upon his ear it few bars of plaintive symphony, play- ed on it piano of ancient tone—the pen- sive Broedwood dear to Ws childhood— and then a voice, the pure sweet con- tralto he knew too well, began Lord. Houghton's pathetic ballad, "Strangers Yet." He listened as if he lived but to hear. Oh, what pathos, what profound mel- ancholy in that voice, pouring out its sweetness to the silent wall! Regret, remorse, soerow, too great for common language to expre,ss, are breathed in that flood of melody. And when the song is done the singer's hands fall on the keys in a crashing thord, and it wild cry—th'e sudden utterance of un- controllable despair—goes up to heaven. She is tbere—so near him—alone in hev, anguish. She, the only woman he has ever truly loved, tbe woman for whom he would give his life as freely as he would spill a cup of water upon the ground,. and with as little thought of the sacrefiee, The lower edge of tbe balcony is within reach of his hand. The cen- tury -old. ivy would afford easy foot - big for a less skilled athlete. To climb the ascent is as simple as to mount the rigging of his yacht. In a minute, before he had time to taiula he was in the balcony, be had opened the French window, he wee standing in the. room. Constance Sinclair sat by the piano, her ernes folded on the satibby old ma- hogany lid, her drooping head resting on her arms, her face hidden. Sae was too deeply lost in that agony of hope- less grief to heax the rattling of the frail easement, the footstep on the floor, "Constance I" She started up and confronted him, pale as ashes, with a smothered scream. "Aly dearest, I heard your grief. I could not keep away. Only for a few minutes, Constance, only for it few words, and I will leave you. Oh, ray love, how changed, how ehanged!" A flood of emotion rushed into the pale face, and as quickly faded. Then she gave him her baud, with an- in- nocent frankness that went to his heart, so like the Constance of old— the pure and perfect type of girlhood that knows not sin. "I do not. mind your hearing me in nlY sorrow," she said, sadly. "I come here because I feel myself away. from all the world. At the house servants come to my room with messages, and, worry me. Would I like (bis e Will I do the other? What carriage will I drive in? At what time? A hun- dred questions that are so tiresome when one is tired of life. Here I can lock my door, and feel as much alone as in it de.sert." "But, dear Mrs. Sinclair, it Ls not good for you to abandon yourself to such grief." "How can help it? `Grief fills the room up of mg absent child!'" with a sad. smile. 'You. heard of my loss, did you not? The darling who made life so bright for me—snatched ewer in a moment—not one hour's warning. I woke that morning a proud and happy ' inother, and at night— No, no one ' can imagine such a grief as that." "1 ha,ve heard the sad story. But nbeewsuhroevesH2,a, ven will send comfort- - "Don't talk to me like that. Oh, I if you knew how I have had Heaven ! and the Bible thrown at my head— by people who talk by rote! I can read my Bible. 1 read of David. and his great despair; how he turned his face to the wall, how he wept again for Absalom; and of the Shunamtte wo- naan who said, 'It is well;' but David had many children, and the Shunamite's child was given back to her. God, will not give my darling back to me." "He will—in heaven." "But my heart is breaking for want of her here. She will be an angel be- fore the throne of God—not my Chris- tabel. I want my darling as she was on earth, with her soft clinging arms —not always good—naughty sometimes — but always dearer than my life." 'What could Sir Cyprian say to com- fort this bereaved heart? He could only sit down quietly by Constance Sin - elates side, and. win her to talk of her sorrow, far more freely and confiding- ly than she had talked to her father; and this he felt was something gained. There was comfort in this free speech — comfort in pouring her sorrow into the ear of a friend who could verily sympathize. "Dear Mrs. Sinclair," said Sir Cy- prian, gravely, when he had allowed her to tell the story of her bereavement, "as a very old friend—one who has your welfare deep at heart—I must en- treat you to struggle against this ab- sorbing grief. I have seen our old friend Doctor Webb, and he assures me that unless you make an effort to over- come this melancholy, your mind as well as your body will suffer. Yen, Constance, reason itself may give way under the burden you impose upon it. Perhaps no one else would have the courage to speak to you so plainly, but I venture to speak as a brother might to a. fondly loved sister. This may be our last meeting, for I shall go back to Africa as soon as I can get my party together again. You will try, dear friend, will you not, for my sake, for the sake of your husband—" "My husband!" she exclaimed, with a shudder. "He has billards, and guns, and race-leorses, and friends without number. What can it matter to him that I grieve for my child? Somebody had need be sorry. He does not care." "Constance, it would matter very much to your father, to all who ever loved you, to yourself most of all, if you should end your life in a luieatio asylum." This startled bare and she looked up at him earnestly. . (To Be Continued.) make me quarrel with Sinelair, and then where should we be? lf she had a. mother living it would. lee different." "She has sisters," suggested Cyprian. " Yes, womefl who are absorbed, by the care of their own families, and. who would not go very fax out of their way to help her. With pragmatical husbands, too, who would make no end of mischief if they were allowed. to in- terfere. No; we must not make a fam- ily row of the. bueiness. After alLthere is no specific ground for complaint. She doee nio complain, poor child. I'll go to Davenant early to -morrow and see her alone. Perhaps I can persuade her to be frank with me." " Yott might see the doctor, and hear his account of her." said Cyprian. " Yee, by the way, little lir. Webb, who attended my girls from their cra- dles. An excellent little, man. I'll bend for him !al -morrow and consult him about ley rheumatism, 114.0 must know a goal deal about my poor child." Loral Cianyarde WZ1S with his daugh- ter soon after breakfast next morning. He founul her in that pretty old-fash- ioned room which had been Christaa bee's day nureery, and which had. a door of communication with Mrs. Sinclair's dressing -roam. It was a eurious angle of the lieuse at the end of the north wing, and W115 overiooked by the oriel - window of Gilbert's study—which oc- cupied the opposite corner of the wing —study par excellence, but dressing - room and gunnery in fact. Constance received her father with affection, but he could not win her con- fidence. It might be that she had nothing to confide. She made no corn - plaint against her husband. "Why do I find you sitting here alone, Constance, while, the house is full- of cheerful people 9" asked Lord Cianyarde. "1 heard the billiard -balls going es 1 canae through the hall, early as it is.' "Gilbert. likes company, and. I do not," ,answered Constance, ,quietly. "We each take our own way.' " That does not sound like a happy union, pet," said her father. ".Did you expect me to be happy -0 with Giibert Sinclair?" "Yes, my love, or I would never have asked you to marry him. No, Con- stance. Of course it was an understood thing with me that you must marry well., as your sisters had done before you; but I meant you to marry a man who would make you happy; and if I find that Sinclair ill-uses you or slights you, egad, he shall have no easy reck- oning with: me," "Aly dear father, pray be calm. He is very good to me. I have never com- plained—I never shall complain. I try to do my duty, for I know that I have done aim a wrong for which a life of duty and obedience can hardly atone. "Wronged. him, child? How have you wronged him?" "By marrying hien when my heart et..? !given to another." "Nonsense, pet: a mere school -girl penchant. If that kind of thing were to count, there's hardly a wife living who has not wronged: her husband. Every romantic girl begins by falling in love with a .detrimental; but the memory of that juvenile attachment has no more influence on her married life than t he recollection of her far- orite doll. You. must get such silly no- tions out of your head. And you should try to be a little more lively; join in Sinclair's amusements. No man likes a gloomy wife. And remember, love, the past is past,—no tears can bring back our losses. If they could, hope would, prevent our crying, as somebody jud iciously o hsprves ." Constance sighed and. was silent, whereupon Lord Clanyarde embraced his daughter tenderly and departed feel- ing that he had done his duty. She was much depressed, poor chi1d, but no doubt time would set things right; and as to Sinclair's ill-treating hr,'that was out of the question. No man above the working classes ill-uses idswife nowadays. Lord Clanyarde made quite light of his dau.ghter's troubles when he met Sir Cypri.an at lunch. Sinclair was a good fellow enough at bottom, he assured Sir Cyprian; a little too fond of pleasure, perhaps, but with no harm in him, and Constance was inclined to make rather too much fuss about the loss of her little girl. . Sir Cypria,n heard this change of tone in silence, and was not convinced. He contrived, to see Dr. Webb, the Maidstone surgeon, that afternoon. He remembered the good-natured little doe, - tor , as his attendant in many a child- ish ailment, and was not afraid of ask- ing him a question or two. From him he heard a very bad account of Con- stance Sinclair. Dr. Webb professed himself fairly baffled. There was no bodily ailment, except want of strength; but there was a settled melancholy, a deep and growing depression for which' xnetticine was 'of no avail," . " You'll. ask way I don't propose get- ting a better opinion than my own," CHAPTER, XVI. Sir Cyprian had told himself that, in corning to alarchbrook, nothing was fur- ther from his thoughts than the d,e- sire to see Constance Sinclair; yet now that he was assured of her unhappi- ness, the yearning for one brief meet- ing one look into the sweet eyes, one pressure of the gentle hand. that used to lie so trustingly in his own, grew up- on him hourly, until he felt that he could not leave Marchbrook without having seen her. No motive, no thought that could have shadowed the purity of Gilbert Sinclair's wife, had his soul's desire been published to the world blended with this yearning of Sir Cyp- rian's. Deepest pity and compassion moved hire. Such sorrow, such loneli- ness as Constance Sinclair's were unut- terably sacred to the man wan had loved a,nd surrendered Constance Clan- ya.rd.e. Sir Cyprian lingered at Marchbrook, spent the greater part of his days in riding or walking over familiar grounds. He was too much out of spirits to join Lord Clanyarde in the slaughter of in- nocent birds, and was not a little bor- ed by that frivolous old gentleman's society in the winter evenings by the fire in the comfortable bachelor smok- ing room—the only really snug apart- ment in that great bare house. Every night Sir Cyprian made up his mind to depart next morning, yet when moan- ing came he still lingered. One bright, blank day, when there were flying snowstorms and intervals of sun and blue sky, Sir Cyprian—having actually packed his portmanteau and made arrangements for being driven to the station to catch an afternoon tram --took a final ramble in Marchbrook park. Ile had not oace put his foot on the soil that had been his, but he could get a peep at the old. place across the railings. There was a melancholy plea- sure in looking at those wintry glades, the young fir -trees, the scudding rab- bits, the screaming pheasants, the withered bracken. The sun had been shining a few min- utes ago. Down came the snow in a thick driving shower, almost blinding Sir Cyprian as he walked swiftly along the oak fence. Presently he found him- self at the end of the Monks' Avenue, and under the classic temple which was said to be built upon the very eget where the Benedictines once had their chapel. Ten years ago that temple had been Cyprian Davenant's summer retreat. He had made it his smoking -room and study; read Thucydides and the Greek dramatists there in the long vacation; had read those books of mo ern travel waich had fired his mind with a long- ing for the aelve.ntures, perils, and tn.- uniphs of the African explorer. Twenty years ago it had been his mother's chos- en resort. He had spent many a sum- mer morning, many a pensive twilight, there by his mother's side, watching her sketch or hearing her play. The old- fashioned square piano was there still, perhaps, and the old engravings on the s. " Poor old place," he thought: " I wonder if any one ever goes there now; When Bab, WAS MAX we nave her CastorNi. When she was it Child, she cried for Castorla. • When she became Miss, she clung to CastoLia. When slashistankiren,shegavethens castor* THE QUEEN OF ENGLAND, THE LOYAL BRITISH VIEW OF THE PRESENT SOVEREIGN, What Xs Said by n Thouglitini British Journal of Her llienitirlenble itelgoi—A Close. View Through. Friendly Eyes. There is something in the position. of Queen Victoria, as she approaches the confines of late old, age, which deeply moves the European imagination, says the London, Spectator. In all history there has been no such reign, so long, so little marked by collisions between sovereign and subjeats, so little brok- en by publio calamity or failure of any description. George III., when he died, had reigned a. few months longer, but George HI, though at intervals person ally popular, was at war with the ma- jority of his subjects during the great,- er part of his reign; the advisers he chose for hanself, from Bute to Ading- ton, were usually inferior men, and. he lost by sheer mismanagement the great- est possession of the British crown. The Queen throughout her reign has lost nothing Which was hers waen she as - °ended the thrall° Meek the :seven Greek islands, which her people never valued, and. in part no doubt from ig- norance, do not miss. Her advisers sure rendered. the Transvaal after shedding much blood or its protection—Isand- lana was fought and lost in protecting the Boers rather Ulan ourselves—and that surrender has turned out •disas- trous; but the Transvaal was no part of the Queen's hereditary dominion,and the loss, as Englishmen have reapet the profit of the gold. mines, is trifling , when compared with the TOTAL ACQUISITIONS I of the reign. New( Zealand in the South Pacific, kingdoin after kingdom in Asia, 'provinces in Africa, whose vastness Eng- lishmen even now do not realize, have !been added to the empire, until the Queen. though slue calls herself only Empress of ladia, is practically also Empress of Ave and of the Nile. It is however, when we employ the termin- g/logy used by the diplomats at the Congress of Vienna, that we realize the ! full degree in which Providence has raised aer Majesty's position, for uu- der her gentle and tolerant rule pop- ulation has increased. even, faster than , the area acquired by conquest or set- , • tleinent and she probably reigns to -day over 120,000,000 more "souls" than obey- ed her when, as a girl of 18, she first ascended the throne, the total ;math- er of her subjectnow amounting to ! 400,000,000, or nearly one dear fourth of mankind. The revenue drawn from this vast multitude is more than twice the sum of which her Majesty's advisers all ov- er tlae world disposed of in 187, yet so lightly does taxation press that i there is no division of the empire which is not far richer, while at home the in- , crease of wealth has been so vast that the demand of the royal taxegatherers may he said to be comparatively un- felt. We say nothing oi the increase of trade, for we cannot admit that ex- ternal eommerce is the best barometer of a nation's greatness, or that Amer- ica, Franee or Itu.ssia are so far below England in importance as the returns from the Custom Houses would seem to indicate. We 'would rather point to that increase in loyalty which, but that the length of the Queen's reign has nearly killed out the generation which knew her predecessors, would seem to all men the most striking of the polit- ical changes that have marked. the Vic- torian era. The Queen has been call- ed. upon to suppress ONE INSURRECTION so widespread and terrible that it threatened for a moment to terminate her power in Asia, but it was never from the first a. successful insurrection; SO little was it universal that during its course her Majesty never control- led less than 100,000 soldiers, all vol- unteers from among the peoples in re- bellion; and since its suppression the feeling of loyalty to the Crown has widened and deepened throagb the em- pire, in the white pro' inees as vell as the brown and black, until it is diffi- cult to write of it without using words which seem to savor either of vainglori- ousness or adutation. We may, how- ever, without being guilty of either, de- clare that the most radical among us could admit that the throne, as one of the institutions of the country, was never so safe, and that much of its new popularity, if in part due to an access ot imperialistic feeling,is also due in part to the deep personal respect which the lady who now occupies it has inspired- We hope the Bishop of Peterborough did not say in St. Peters- burg on Monday, as Sir Edwin Arnold deelares he did say, that the Queen's face has become "almost divine' to her subjects, for that is language which would naisbecome either ecclesiastic or layman; but it is true that the Queen has slowly accreted to her own person - an affection indistinguishable from reverence, and that evidences of this feeling come up at intervals from the most distant corners of the world. There is no country within which her face is on the coin where the news of a real personal misfortune to the Queen, a severe carriage accident, for example, would not be received with a quiver of pain, or where the man who had at- tempted to assassinate her would not be overwhelmed by the messes of the entire population.; There is, no corner of earth within her dominion, or one in which the English language is spok- en, where the Queen would not be as safe as within THE WALLS OF WINDSOR. How much of all this can be fairly carried to the credit of the Queen? No one will be able fully to answer that question until, some fifty years hence, the secret memoirs of this reign have begun to poor thic.k and fast upon the mends, possibly the slightly bewildered minds, of intending Instoriansl It is one proof among many that the Queen has been a good queen that to this day, when she has reigned so nearly sixty years, her Majesty's personal seclusion has been maintained, and she is still to the mass of her subjects, indeed probably to all except three or four close relatives a,nd friends, something of a veiled figure. The veil whieh shrouds our monarch would not be re- spected for a week if the monarch were had either personally or politically. Some few facts, however, may be taken as certain, and are indeed matters of common knowledge# The Queen, at first through her husband, afterward in her own strength, has for the last fifty years exercised a great influence ' •• 2.; !1! upon affairs, especially upon foreign politics, has accelerated or impeded the choice of Ministers, has been the close confidant of every Premier, and has on every adequate ocoasion exerted the full influence which must belong, be the Constitution what it may, to the per- son who, being armed. 'with the impre- scriptible and self -derived charm of the throne, has the right to compel all Ministers and servants to explain to your wife, your wife has influence, and the Queen throughout her reign has been at least the wife to the Ministry of the day. Yet in all that time no one can point to an occasion on which the Queen and her Ministry have been in eollisiou, or in which she has done anY act ever which wise Ministers grieved, or in which she has in the slightest degree, we will not say for- fheeilt.edpehouptiedinainished, the confidence of Rumor, probably false in detail, has attributed to the Queen many prefer- ences for one Prenaer over anotheaand it is incredible that she has liked them. all equally, but she has invariably ACCEPTED THE PREMIER whom the nation expected her to choose, and the most malignant of talemoog- ors has never amused the palace of in- triguing against the party be Power. Rumor again, possibly accurate this time, has attributed to her Alaje.sty strong prepossessions as to particular measures, but can any one vont to a measure, even in relation tO the gov- ernment of the army—always the sen- sitive place in every sovereign's mind —whicli a Minister has definitely re- commended, and which has not !been carried out? Doubtless one or two have been delayed; doubtless, also, the lines of foreign poliey have in one or two instance.s been deflected, and doubt - leas, also, the Queen has occasionally veteoed a political promotion; but thou that is not, resistance, but only the in- fluence which the head of the perma.a- ent service of tile stale must necessar- ilY exercise, and, indeed, when convinc- ed, could hardly fail to exercise with- out neglect. of duty, The, Queen, it must not be forgotten, governs by tak- ing counsel, and in insisting that that counsel should be distioet and in- telligible, and should be tile result of strong conviction in the counsellor, she does not fulfill the function withal 1 be iC.eoignsntitialyt loan suaeseeisnstrorr oeftedsidrUninagng alipodT thoughtful men, has entrusted to the tbrone. It must often, if the Queen is mortal, have been a misery to her lo find her view rejected, bat whenever the Ministry has been of one mind, she has postponed her own judgment to theirs, and has loyally supported the plan adopteel and hoped for its success. To have played that part for nearly sixty years in the midst of persons so greatly differing. and events many of lbein, so intolerably exciting seerne to us proof absolute tint the Queenahough neither a...divine" fhture nor a woman of genius, bas been adequately equipped with sense, perception and nerve for the immense _position she has been call- ed upon. 1)3' Providence., to fill; a posi- tion, we must add, walial would of it- self have turned any but A SOLID BRAIN, just think of the blunders all living monarchs have made, even Franck Jos- eph of Austria, whom men now areount a Nestor, and all the Premiers of °lir time, and then refleet on this reign, in which there has never been a blun- der great enough to be perceptible to tile xnillion eyes wallai always watch a court. It seems to us Hatt wholly apart from the diffieult question of the prop- er limits of loyalty to an individual, there is enough in t•he known faets to justify all the reverenee with which the Queen is regarded, and which extends far beyond the limit of her sceptre wide as that limit bas now become. Foreigners occupy in many respects the pesition of posterity, and among for- eigners capable of judging tbe rever- ence for the Queen is at least as great as in England, her opinion when known to foreign courts weighing at least as heavily -as it does with her own Min- istered That is due, say several of our contemporaries this week, to the inter- marriages whirl have made her Ma- jesty the common anceetrese in so many courts, in every court, indeed,not strict- ly Catholic: and no doubt the strange position of the Queen in that respect is one reason for the special honor in which she is beld abroad; but it is not the prineipal one. Relatives can hate one another very hard, and the Queen is as greatly respected in 'Washington or New York, as en Berlin or St. Pet- ersburg.. Her Majesty is great because her reign has been great in its enter- prises, great in its successes, great, above eta -in that compatability, which, owingmainly to the character of the sovereign, it has shown to be possible between a more than republican free- dom and monarchical institutions. The British empire is the greatest object lesson ever given to show that a state can enlarge its borders without living under tyranny and without universal military services. • NOT AS A SISTER,: Do I love George, mused Clara, soft- ly, or is it simply a sister's affection that I feel for -- just then Bobby burst noisily into the room and interrupted her sweet medi- tations. Get out of here, you noisy boy, she shouted, and, seizing him by the arm, she shot him through the door. Ah, nol she sighed, as she resumed her inter- rupted train of thought; my love for George is not a sister's love. It is something sweeter, purer, higher, and holier. A MATTER OF BUSINESS. A short time since a workman em- ployed by a, wealthy firra of manufact- urers in Birmingham committed suicide. On behalf of the man's widow and child the firm was asked to state what money was due to the deceased, but no satisfactory statement, could be obtain- ed and ultimately a solicitor's letter was sent: To this the firm replied that the sum owing by them to the deceased was is, 10d, which they forwarded, less ld for postage. 1'0 GHOST OF A JOB. Nora, you didn't stay tong at your new place? • Nem; thim baythen people ixpicted me ter elane 'leven bikes Wry marnin' before breakfast. Police officers in Morocco have little accounts to settle with the prisoners whom they arrest. The prisoners must pay them for the trouble Of taking them to jail. PAPERCOFFINS. Many undertakers are now using Cheap coffins pressed out of paper pulp. When polished and stained such coff WS look almost as Well as those of wood. They last longer in the ground than coffins of wood or metal, and they can be hermetically sealed better than heavy metal ones. Children Ca for Pitcher's Castoria) There are soaps and soaps but only one Sunlight Sap i • `, '',. which is the soap of soaps and washes elpthes with less labor and great- er comfort. Makes hornes brighte Makes beads lighter Books for F°#',;17,7.121747,feas,V Scott $t., Toronto, it LIIM" Wrappers fat gtnter.bound book will CARTER'S ITTILK !VR PILLS. Sick Headnehe oil relieve all the troubles Mot. dent to a bilious state of the system, soh al Diszinnes, Nausea, DrowsinessDistress atter eating. Patti ba the Side, ete. 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Eastern Man—Anything stirring in real estate out your waytbie season ? Western Man (gloomily -No-o, not even a, landslide. • 4