The Exeter Times, 1894-11-29, Page 7WOMANSSTO.RY,
CHAPTER R IX. we(CoeiTesweu.) oak ni g myself as lett by her aide that
aiAxalr'a aaxnxty xrr slxxnrl, evening, our first evening in Italy. ShetriesiDoneuutptfaary, •+ttghat,trou; sora looked so young and go beautiful that
roar. ! Sold by a12DrnFgks on a Cauapnteo. Lucerne was very gra and dime when wo uight in her calm, reposeful attitude, ae
ora 7 arms Side, yaan flr etas on a a, Pautee. bade ft oo y she eat slowly tanning herself add' idly
.Aster 'll give met_sutiafackion;-=-a9 acrid, g d -bye yesterday morning, the watohinG the shifting groups in the specious " ;a haat clay of November; but When we had, vestibule. Iler brown brocade gown,t.
a i Re. With
' . wif ns Cha a , n . ea a alitnbed nearerthe s its sable collarand
t uaoGta,�e n naw -peaks the sun borclorin made he
L,sye tax t•`,5p'p l�'dlf7? I♦�3 '7st I shone out over the beautiful white world look like an old picture, The O s 2 mama, of tGc%1t2iitaterx tai looking head,withfee crown of dark aeb zrn
01 used. tray see sig +ideeardlcdney above tis and the dark lake below, and the hair, rose out o thet
raullvitaxcos,laeaoir, a f deep sof) fur like a
q ylily dilater of leavee, Her hazel.
Sr t of the journey to the mouth of the out of a
res
6��`�° greet tunnel was like a journey in fatty eyes seemed to have ennlight in their clear
darlraess. ,Sha looked perfectly q Banti, Wast could be o pe ectl. °elm and.
ra � more ex melte than y
q ha
,and. assnhusband's pPY assuredly if
1 .. Af/q qw to go winding upward and upward into,the. votion a yhusbands de-
lleaeyonOtpitern? TrythisIteinedV. }twill po could makes wife ha her ha
Thisositively relieve and Cure you. Pelee G0; pts. great heart of the mountain, andto lookPPY ppt-
cot o rn,
Tnj o' r its a??scpaeiui treatment;e done 'onvi 1
eurnishedfreie,,.-.Oern,emeer,.eldiobesttem diets village roofs, and winding stream.
'sr a' d'o f ee 'Ma miteet' liVe'iatisi'actlan.., :lets, and brides end rooky Y gorges, and
vineyar'de, and gardens, and church tow-
ers, even so far below the wonderful,
iron,road that was takingus toward the
akioe,; I ,felt
so sorry when that part of
our journey was over; and though I longed
to &`nd out What Italy was like, I felt very
Sad AS I sat at the snug round table int e
little station; the last Swiss station, and
LEGAL.
H
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I r
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)E. EtYNDMAN, coroner for toe
County of Huron. O 'ste
tTcerhngBros.store,Esoter'
. o opp,tltte
S.
Se
.� parato,0@2cos. ' l Resideno a same as former.
+1 YAnr
•/` dew
st. Offices:
i Mair st• Dr Spasir fora y
o ' son eame as formerly, north,'
�i°door; 7)r. Amos" somo builds
A. Ror i- n south door.
4e
3
•
sipped a•. farewell: oup of ooffee with mother
and Uncle Ambrose. •
It ;ewes a .disappointment after leaving
sunshine end blue skies above the Swiss
snow -peaks to. find Italy gray and rainy,
with just that incessant drizzling rain
which ono has, known from one's childhood
as the mark of a hopeless web day, and
which has been politely called a Sootoh
mist. Of all the things I had thought to
meet with in Italy a Scotch mist was the
last; but there it was, and nothing would
havereonnciled ma to, the grayness and the
rain except the red cotton umbrellas, which
were delightful, and which made me feel I
was in Italy.
Next to the red umbrella, as an Italian
institution, came the berceau, the verdant
colonnade made by vines trained over cane
or wire, leafy aroadeswhioh 1 saw in ever
garden, and in front of
—sometimes on
the
sometimes Imes f
o m'
r in
g
story. r
y. Th o vine the le
gg and red with to
. iM•D, T. A• AlVIOS M, I) lw'x-erl greein e
ehat • the, men a w
o g
by and by we Dame u
blue lake lying inthoboso
ed hills, and mother and I agr
for the bell -towers, the berceaux, •
red umbrellas of the peasantry, we otit but.
have fancied we were in the Trossachded the
And so, as Mr. Pepya ..saya;`-��!
Ci t:
nese was well founded. Sueh gentle defer-
ence, such chivalrous affection t mus :
very rare in the historyof men andbe
if 1 may women,
judge; by the of domestic
misery that 1 have heard, andby the few
married couples I have kuown,
There is the dear old rector, for instance
a delightful being for all the world outside
the rectory, but a pestilence to his wife.
Thera is, Dr, Tysoe, always grumblingabout
his dinner, and wanting to have thcooly
discharged instantly if a joint is not roast-
ed to a turn. Then there is Dr. Talbot, a
man in whom society delights, but who is
always' irritable or out of spirits at, home ;
whose sudden appearance in the drawing
room oasts a cloud over his family, and
seems palpably to ohill the atmosphere..
No, in my brief experience I never saw
the perfect and ideal husband whom we
occasionally meet in a novel, till I saw my
mother's husband, Uncle, Ambrose,
Rochester, He is not a bit like ochester, though he
has. Rochester's commanding intelleot, He
is more like a spiritualized John Halifax
and I who have known him all my lifeknow
that his placid temper is no honey -moon
garb to be put off by and by. ,I who have
known him all my life know that he is the
most delightful companion, the most unsel.
fish and sympathetic friend—a man always
abreast with every intellectual movement of
the age, a man rich in resources, keenly
k
n
interested in art a»dsoienee, as well as in
dry learning. •
Ther ever was a s° ' ike `: ,' u rid He is as m • his father
erainent as he is 2 pees like Ambrose
2ski all thought; Oy
lke my. own dear raj. i •n, He is
movem pt, as fall of life a • ' orgy and
hi:. it
in as i
' er f
-silt'. Y
ere' e
e
uicl�
h q
t
1
t
he
Abu lie '
e to
ed
, wl
o ,
ti g
ii
eag him' .
s to et t}
s5
li
a
Gc
om
e to
t
bha
e
lips
le
d s
�w
o .
o
i;
f
nt
o .
;i,, theo
ir
d
�wort,he. leas use
body's' never , y.
a
model fsea �ovel..
Yet in app. - nee of th
element, CyriQ' elihtfn
help liking hi 4� g
is always gay a
affeots to have
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Charges moderate. llxeter P. 0'.
BOSSE14B11BBZY, General Li-
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ENEY EILBER Risen
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During the Past ten years this company has
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Assets, strso.00.00, consisting of Gash
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secretary J. B. Itueires, Impector
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•
writteu to his father to propose joining us
on our journey to Venice, and with this
intention he had made his way to Milan,
amusing himself here and there as he came,
exploring odd nooks and out-of-the-way
He was looking in high health and very
happy, 1 thought, as he stood smiling at us
In the electric light
"Well, wee modeat flower," addressing
me in his usual grand manner, after he had
shaken hands with mother and Uncle Am-
brose. "Welcome to the ancient kingdomof
Lombardy. I wonder if you are as enrap-
tured with Italy as you were before your
foot had ever touched the soil? I'm afraid
upon such an evening as this you'll find
Milan uncommonly like Glasgow.
He took us to a fine roomy 1andau which
he had epgaged for ma, and. we left the man
and the maids to look after the luggage,
and drove off to the Hotel de la Ville, in a
narrovish, busy -looking street that mfght
have been Fleet Street or the Strand for
anything distinctive that I could see in it
under that gray rainy atmosphere. Yes,
there was one superiority over Fleet Street
in spite of the raM and the mud, and that
was the electric light, which filled all the
city of Milan with its silvery radiance, so
that the night was like unto the day.
The hee,d-weater at theetotel told us that
there had been three weeks rain, andI found
afterward thab this fertile plain of Lom-
bardy, whieh I am told is very lovely in
spring, owes its chief beauty to the damp
and cloudy winter climate.
At any rate I was in Italy, and the very
idea was full of delight. kept telling
myself that this was Italy, and trying to
cheat myself into brief forgetfulness of the
dreadful story on which my mind had been
fixed ever since that night at Lucerne. It
was to be only brief forgetfulness, for I
had resolved to confide all my troubles to
Cyril, to whom I could talk freely.
Oh I what a painful effort it had cost me
to keep my feelings hidden front my dear
mother, with whom till now I had
shared every thought and every fancy 1
In spite of my endeavor to seem happy and
untroubled, she discovered that there was
something wrong, and I had to pretend
that young -lady -like ailment, neuralgia,
from whieh I am thankful to say I have
never suffered. I was conscience-stricken
at the thought of my own falsehood when
I saw. mother's anxiety. She almost insisted
upon calling in a doctor, so I had to reas.
sure her by a prompt recovery. told her
the pain was quite gone, but thatthe climate
had rather a depressiog effect upon my
spirits. This* accounted for my talking
very little, instead of talking ' almost
incessantly ; and thia accounted for my
sitting in my cotmer of the carriage,thinking,
thinking, thinking, all through that long
railroad journey.
felt so glad to see him as I felt that night
et Milan. I wanted so muoh to talk to a
man who kaew the world, and a man to
whom I could express myself freely,without
any fear of inflicting an unpremeditedod
wound, as I had done in the case of Uncle
Ambrose. So after dinner I asked Cyril if
he evould take rrie for a walk, and show me
the outside of the cathedral ; to which
request he cemented eery gooddeaturedly,
only bargaining for a cigarette in the hall
before we etarted. We had dined in bur
sitting -room tin the first floor, and we all
went dowa to the gay -looking vestibule
after dinner, &red took our Oaten at a litble
in a cornet where eve could. look Oh
d
aid
lista'
�. Te has eYetr'
ed atanything; �..,rgrey „ces when:
—hair which curls obee ,eisoe
closely it is cropped, very pretty
which suggest the poetical temperamene,:
suggestion which Cyril certainly does nee
realize. He has a sharp, log uisitive nose;;'
he calls mine tip -tilted, and Iam sure hist
has the same upward inclination -but it is
a very nice nose all the same, and it has no
affinity to the snub or the pug. He is tall
and slim, with moderately broadahoulders,
and quick, active movements, and he
always dresses well. I believe he oousiders
himself an authority upon dress, and he is
certainly very severe upon other peo-
ple.
I took his arm, and we went out into the
drizzling rain. There werea great many
shops open, late as it was, and they looked
lovely ; but my mind was too full of Serious
things for me to be easily distracted.'
” Take the first to look at the cathedral,"
I said ; " and then take me into some
solitary place where we can talk quietly."
" Gracious, madame, what an alarming
request 1" he cried. "I think we had better
get the sacristan and his keys and go down •
into the crypt where St. Charles Borromeo
lies in his silver shrine. I can not conceive
any other place solemn enough to match the
solemnity of your tone."
" Don't laugh at me, Cyril ; I am very
serious."
He looked down at me, with ar'eeertled,
inauisitive air.
What is it, Daisy?" he said, very
sharply, almost, angrily ; " a love affair 2"
" No, no, no. There is nothing further
from my thoughts to -night than love."
" I am glad to hear it. When a young
lady is an heiress, and something of a
feather -head into the bargain, one is easily
alarmed."
"You have no right to call me a feather-
head, when your father, one of the cleverest
men in Europe, has educated me," 1 said,
indignantly.
"My dearest child, book -learning is not
wisdom," he answered; and a grain of
worldly knowledge is sometimes more use-
ful than a pound of book knowledge. I
know that you are far in advance of the
average girl in your acquaintance with
European literature. I lrnow that you
have read more than some college dons, and
that you are an excellent linguist, and al-
together deeply, darkly, beautifully blue.
But all the same, you have not learned the
alphabet of the world in which you
live. All that kind of knowledge has yet
to come."
"It is a hateful kind of knowledge," I
said, angrily.
"My child, you can't get on without it,"
he answered, with his superior air,
We were in the great open place in front
of the cathedral by this time, and I stood
breathless with wonder, looking up at that
matchless building. I have been told since
that the exterior, which looked so lovely in
the bright white light, against a beak -
ground of dull gray, fe overrich in decora-
tion, that thoseinnumerable statues of saints
and rnarytrs, angels and archangels, priests
and prophets, are a waste of power ;; but to
my uneduoated eye there was not a touch
of the chisel that seemed 'superfluous ; not
a niohe or pinnacle that did not seem ,a
necessary part of the vast scheme of splen-
dor.
/told Cyril what 1 thought, as we walk-
ed slowly up and down, eilrveying the
mighty church from 'different points of
view; and then we crossed the square and
he took me through the lofty, bright.11ook-
ing arcade, and then into aquieter part of
the city se beyond the great opera -11° and
Leonard'o's statue. Here the houses were
large and palatial, and,. there Were no more
shops, and vpcy sew 'People walking about.
at the people coning in and going outs 1 ' Now, Uaisy, for this oottfidenco of
Was mother happier than I Y 'gad, she I yours, which is not about love," he said,
forgotten the dead /,Wildse were two kindly.
gnestious -whiok I could not refrain from t" 1 want yeti to toll ino all you know and
all you: think about my father's, murderer
I Paid, •
Nobody h 9yto have
I hexa d two Yuen
talking about my mother and her Brat hurt
band,"
And their talk revealed the.eeoret that
had been kept train you so carefully. Hard
lines!"
" I atn, glad I knew, It was hateful to
dta,
" Deau ohild, what good can it do you .to
know z"
"Only this good—that I eau look forward
to the day when his murderer will be dis-
covered and punished,"
be kept in the dark—roving my tether as I
"I'm' afraid that day will never Dorno,
Daisy...A pursuit that failed seven years,
ago is net likely to succeed Hereafter. Your
mother offered drat five hundred and t
a thousand pounds reward. for t hen
tion of the murderer, and some oof he f the
sharpest brains in London were engaged in
the attempt to find him, They failed igno.
minioualy; and 1 take it there is only one
chance of his being brought to book."
"And is—"
"Alis being arrested for some new crime.
The cool deliberation with which the deed.
was done, the quiet way in which the man
got off and disposed of his plunder, argues
the professional murderer. He may Som-•
role more murders in the comae of his pro-
feasional career, and sooner or later his
work may be clumsily done, or his luck
may change—and then, perhaps, when the
rope is round his neck, he may confess him-
self the murderer of your father."
"Tell me all you know about the men—
and the crime."
"My dear child, I know very little,"
he said. "Seven years ago I was at
Winchester, a oatteless young sooundrel,
thinking more of cricket and football, and
of my chances of a scholarship, than of my
friends .,• although 1 think you must know
thatI loved your mother and your father
next in this world to my own father and
the dear old granddad in Radnorshire.
Seven years ago my father was a poor nom,
and I was ever so 'much more ambitious,
and ever so much more willing to work,
than I have been since he came into his
fortune. I'm afraid I was a selfish young
beggar in those days ; but Ifelt the shook
of your father's death very deeply, in spite
of my egotism. I was mentally stunned
by the blow when 1 took up the London
paper and saw that xny father's friend
had been murdered, and thought of the
desolation ton in
that happy home, the misery
of that once happy River wife. ifs a
R"
Lawn w was
my ideal home, Daisy. I had never b
able to piobure to myself a fairer domesticsen
life than that of your father and mother
with
m sweet
brown -eyed Y
about in the Daisy flitting
of
sunshine incarnate. If youlrhad ke a changed
into anything it would have been into
a sun -ray. I felt the full force of the
catastrophe, Daisy, and I devoured the
althou= mount of the inquest, but the details have
every Plea own dim, in my memory. I only know
eon I t your father was lured into a sjiabby
ow evl >,`ng, upon .some hollow pretense, and
murdered and robbed of nearly four
nd pounds.
hen he argued with me as my step -
d argued. He tried to make me
the history of my father's death
ry which I ought to forget. He
the same words that Uncle
used, at I.uoerue when my
g kith grief and indigna-
�gt 3ther .could say had
eleelings.
„for a long time in
11 stone houses,
and here
lit, Qardeli 'seen
tell, I shall
n ag long
putt.father's
ep4ntg the
ttnpon
neverethen
as I live ew
dreary senses
me last nigh b
and heard his,
favor of oblivio
To -morrow ,
many memories Pe
devoted to med
on to Venice, thedEeneel.ret
books about the City of the rid4
at my leisure, and he is eleve.ys,re
his own store -house of informatliene
seems to me to hold more than -4
books that were ever written. Iiieheitedre
memory equal to Lord Macaulay's, I viry
She was so absorbed iuu sad thoughts
Oat she did not hear the enter the
room or leave it. She was talking of
River Lawn Hi the evening; and I fan-
cied that her mind had been dwelling on
mtheidst aldof happythisbeandaytsifl; anpity shd that e ellen
itt thde
eadan
lonely. She has seemed all at once to grow
languid and lletleeg, and to feel no more
interest in Bowies and buildings whose in•
toreat seeins inexhaustible to nee. I only
hope ehe is not fel, 1 have questioned her,
but she assures me there is nothing the
metier. She never was in better health,
but she is haunted by visions of the old
home where eo much of her life has been
spent.
How full thin -region le of memories of
Byron, and how prodigious an influence a
poet can exercise ever the minds of men
when he has been lying half a century in
hie grave I We think and talk of Byron at
every turn. In the Doge's Palace, on the
Bridge of Sighs ;, on the Lido, where lie
used to take . his mornrug ride; on the
staircase,. where Marino Faliero's noble
head rolled down the blood-stained marble,
to testify for all time to the ingratitude of
nations ; in the convent where he sent
such happy, innocent hours 'learningspent
Armenian language --everywhere one&ods
the traces of his footsteps or the shadows
which his genius clothed with beauty.
Mother is growing tired of Venice—no,'
that
rsim
ble
Po9ai. g
No body could ever weary
of a place so full of loveliness -a place
whose every phase is poetry incarnate in
marble- She es not tired of Venice,; but
she begins to weary for home --the familiar
house and gardens she loves so well, where
every room and every pathway and tree
and shrub are interwoven with the histor
of her happy married life—the days before
calamity came upon us. I think I can un-
derstand her feelings almost as well as if
she and I were, indeed, what we have some-
times been taken to be. I think T can read
my mother's heart as well as if she were
my sister:
I believe she is happy with Uncle Am-
brose. I believe thathis society is as de-
lightful to her as it tato me, that his ehival-
rons devotion gratifies her es he would any
woman upon earth. I believe that she is.
grateful to him and fond of him, and that
ah`e has never repented, and is never likely
to repent, her second marriage. But all
the same do 1 know that her heart goes back
to the old love. I found her a few days ago.
sitting with my father's photograph on a
table before her. She
was sitting looking
atit�
withclasped ed
hands, ds
, and tears stream-
ing m
en
n
gr cheeks.
"dow he
1 dreamed of your father's grave last
night, Daisy," she said; "I dream of it so
often, so often ! "
I could not tell her that I too
had had
m y dreams, not of the grave, but of my
father himself -horrible dreams sometimes,
filled with vague shapes and unknown
faces. I had seen my father struggling
with his murderer; I had seen the cruel
blow struck; bat ]: had never been able to
remember the murderer's face when I
awoke, though it seemed sometimes in my
dream to be a face well-known to me.
I can see that Uncle Ambrose is perplexed•
and uneasy about my mother, and he too etaasdWeena
seems to have become indifferent to Title,
and Paul Veronese.
This being so, Iam thrown upon Cyril
i
for infants and Child,'+
"Castorfawissoweliad P*Idochiidrenthoit
recommend lees superior to anypreeerl;,tion
known to toe." R..:, elsomsu, ti, D.,
lei So, Oxford St„ lrooiflyee N. Y.
"The use of'Castoria"is go universal and
its merits so well known that it seams a work
Of supererogation to endorse it, Few arethe
intelligent families who do not keepCastoria
withineasyreaoh."
°Amos Men'rsx,, D.D..
New York City.
Late Pastor B2 r
Bloomingdale Reformed Church.
Felin
btu.:tH:meta e
8.
Castoria mute Collo, Cmstl tioxt,
Sour Stomac Flair a.
Stomach, Flextime , atndtprom
MilsggeeWS rros, dives sleep, and promotes 31
Without nr
iztluticus msdlcutlon,.
" For several gore ;s have reaommend
your 'Case:rim: and shall always continue
do so as lb .tan invariabi roduced lre e
results." y p n i%1si
ginner 10, Peapns. 21f. A,,
"The Wintiuop,"125th Street and tithe vet
NewFork City.
'I'ax CsuTaua CouwA.rr, 77 iltra tr Srauen, NEW' 'YOWL
�f�t H1�W
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for society in my rambles and explorations,
and he and I go roaming about these de-
licious waters in our gondola—our own
gondola, built on purpose for us and to be
sent to England after our reeurn. How THE L
surprieed Beatrice Reardon and all the rest
of them will be to see us in this :mysterious -
looking boat with its swan -like prow and
blick curtains—a boat which seems to have
been deeigned on purpose for mystery and
My good old Berkshire nurse and maid
goes everywhere with me, as a kind ef
duenna, and exists in a perpetual...se '-
wonder. I doubt if shre-dia'a
awakened in the lavelfie o
• sindeed she told me
eadwe
Venice ae
A- token, I like the i ieeMiss Daisy," she
an-, said, "because- there's a bit of life there
with the shops and the people, and I like
-the shops in St. Mark's Square, though I
aliquld like them better if the shopkeepers
didn't stand at their doors and tout for cu.
teem d•s, which is an annoyance when one
wants to look at things in peace and hasa't
no thought of buying anything. 13ut even
that isn'b up to the Pallerroyel in Paris."
"It will be seen, therefote, that Broom -
field's tastes are essentially modern. Poor
soul! she is so patient and so gondtempered
in going about with me to churches and odd
out•ofethe-way corners that haven't the
faintest interest for her. She stands smil-
ing blandly at the pictures and statues,
while Cyril and I are deep in our Hare or
our Ruskin, peering into every detail.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
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THE ITERRY
Give
Dere
LONDON STASI
8 Battle to IndingaS,
CHAPTER X.
DAISY'S DIARY IN VENIGE4
Charles Dickens' unfailing artistic in-
stinct was never truer than when he
described this oity as a dream. It is a
dream—a dream in marble and precious
stones and gold—a dream lying on the
bosom of the blue, bright sea—a dream of
she.dc,wy streets, where. every glimpse of
garden, seen above a decaying well which
once was splendid, has a look of fairy -land.
Oh 1 those little bits of greenery, an
orange -tree, an aloe or two, how they tell
where all the °hid beauty of the place is
in marble ! Uncle Ambrose laughed at nae
once because I screamed with delight at
the vision of a boughy orange -tree where
the sun hardly enters. The green leaves
and waving branches seemed strangely
beautiful amid that wonderswerld of
We seayed for a week at Danieli's, and
now we are in an apartment of our own, on
the first floor of a palace which is next
door but one to Deaden:tone's house—
the house in which she was born and rear.
ed, I suppose, and from which she fled
with her tawney warrior. She was about
my age, I believe, but much simpler and
more confiding than I am. I don t think I
should ever fell in love with a farnoue soldier
for telling long stories about his fights and
his travels, unless he were o f a fairly present-
able complexion. Poor little Desdemona 1
I gaze up at her windows, every day from
my gondola, a,nd wonder which was her
nursery window, and which was her
schoolroom, and whether her mother was
a more agreeable person than her father.
I wonder by the way, What kind of
father Shakespeare lied. Judging by old
Capulet, Brabantio, and one or two other
speuimens, I should conclude that the /eel;
stapler, glover, or butcher of gtratfor -on.
Avon was not the most indulgent or ami-
able of parents. The Shakespearean idea
of paternal govhrnment is not alluring.
We have been nearly four months in
Venice, and have seen the city under
many and widely different aepects. We
have had days and weeks of almost sums
mer brightness ; we have had intervals of
wind and gain and wintery gloom. We
have visited every nook and &Miter nf the
city., have seen every picture and eveest
shrine, have read and reread, azia
in Some inetances understood, our
&Wein. We have explored the neigh-
boring islands ; we have dawdled sway
sunny days on the Lid0 ;^ we know the
Armenian souvent by heart ; and Cyril
has reproached me with having established
what he calls a %ratan of flirtage with the
dearest old monk m the world,
A Trance and Narrow Eeape.
Jules Carle, of Juneau, Alaska, is one of
the few men who are able to tell how it
fdels to be buried alive from experience.
He was living at the time at New West-
minster, B. C. One morning he had gone
into a restaurant. and ordered his breakfast
when all of a sudden he fell dead. At least,
that is what the doctors said of him,though
he was cons,cious of what was passing
around him all the time. lie was laid out
for burial, and his friends kept the usual
vigil oveihim, he was put intim coffin,and
borne to the cemetery, all the time realiz-
ing the terrible fate that was about to
overtake him, but uneble by word or sign
to do anything to prevent it. He was
lowered into the grave, but happily as the
first olod rattled on his coffin, he began to
feel the blood puleteting at his heart, and
his poveers returned to hhn. He found
that he oould move his hands, and began to
hammer on the ooffin-lid and call for help.
The startled pall -bearers stopped shovelling
ditt into the grave, while the majority of
those gathered at the grave fled away as
for their lives, He called again, and one
00urageoue friend jumped into the grave,
and unfastening the cofEn.lid, Carle was
taken out, feeling as well as he ever did in
his life.
The Thrifty 11411110naire.
Jingle—" Why didn't you tty to borrow
the ten fie= that common -looking old
irate. somebody who veon't miss it."
guestionable Demand.
." Why is that turkey so puffed tip and
vainglorious I" asked the hired man Of the
Ax hitro'i', replied the farmer.
Children Or,i for Pitcher's Oratorio)
aye). o the ape
praotical
Darwinism,
„that people
ay. His face
ag —every journal, where he brings
good tidings of a certain soap, and his lat-
est appearance is in the music -lolls. The
stately stage of the Alhambra is tranemogs
riled nightly into an island inhabited by
the artful ape, -while Mr. Charles Laura
the prince of animal mimics, has been per-
sonating a monkey at the'Canterbury, with
marvelous fidelitertete the actual creature.
There may be a priseciple in all this monkey
mimicry—nowadays, there is a principle in
everything, even in the music -hall, which,
the young man in The New Woman says,
embodies all that was best in the old Hell-
enic spirit It is probably the peculiar
fascination which the hideous always more
or less poseesses, and the monkey which
Mr. Lauri has been impersonating is of a
peculiarly hideous type. The monkey was
OHABLES Wand arm MISS AMY BWINS.
introduced in the aourse of a North
American Indian play without words, The
argument of the play is simple. A settler
in the Wild West has pitched hia tent in
the primeval forest There ho lives with
his two daughters, one a buxom maiden,
and the other a little girl about four. The
femily group is increased by the return of
the settler's son, a 'middy, who brings
with him Chadi, a monkey of almost human
senile s.nd intelligence. Ooe day the set-
tler and his son go out in pursuit of
some Sioux Indians, who are in the
vicinity, and leave Medi in charge
of the hut Soon the Sioux, who here
eveded the pursuit of the settler and
his 0011, arrive. Obeli defends the little
forttess with marvelous skill and activity,
at one time showering missiles on the Ilea&
of the attacking partyt at another delta*
polished Dutch oven. But in the end) the
Ittt to set on Ore, and its door is beaten in,
Medi. performs prOdigies of valor, finally
rescuing the little giel from the flames,
Then the riettler arid his son return, and
the Slotted are beeten off ; but before they
fiy one of buries his hunting knife
deep in tbe bosom of the poor monkey,
who expires, after dragging itself up to
the child, and taking her tenderly in his
arms. Such, in outline, is the story of the
pantomime, which was admirably staged
at the Canterbury ; but the main interest -
centers, of course, around the monkey.
Mr. Lauri bas made a stertlingly life -like
study of the animal. His agility in scal-
ing a taut rope, right to the roof of the
stage, was wonderful in its way, and he
has caught many of the most charaoteristio
movements of the monkey with remarkable
fidelity. There was a fine sense of con-
trast m the proximity of the hideous crea-
ture, and the pretty little girl (Miss Amy
Eosins) over whom he keeps watch and
Cleanliness is a virtue, no doubt, but like
other virtaes it may be carried to a vicious
excess. So it happened with an old fisher..
man in Nartle, Devon, who made it oue of
the chief ends of his life to keep his boat
ein one occasion a gentleman had hired him
to take himself and young lady out Mr an
afternoon's fishing. The boat could not be
brought near enough to the shore for them
bo step in ; so the old sailor removed his
shoo and stockbags, and taking the yoting
lady in his arms, was about to deposieher
on board when he caught sight of some mod
on her pretty pair of boots.
Distantly tie stopped and dipped both
her feet up to the ankles in the sea, paddt
ling them beak and forward to remove the
mad, in spite of the protests oe the owner.
Bis only remark as he &telly put her on
board was :
" Bless yer, miss, este water won't give
She Wen.
Clara—" My fiance bet me lase eighb
that he could toll a bigger fib than I could.
I took the bet, mid he seed that he had never
loved anyone but me."
Laura--" A pretty good fib, watin't it 2
Could you beat it V'
Clars,—" Easily and utterly. I told hint
I had never loved anyone but him."
Johann Strauss, at, his late jubilee coke
bration of his entry into the xnusitel world
teceived a gift of two giraffes from ex.
Hhedive Ismail et Egypt