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The Gazette, 1893-08-17, Page 6r, w= NOT WISELY, BUT TOO 'WELLE CHAPTER XVI. i•Cry, O lover, Love is over. When Lady Etwynde comes hack, she finds Lauraine lying cold and insensible on the little balcony. In great alarm she tries to recover her to consciousness, and at last succeeds. With a heavy sigh the dark eyes open, and Lau- raine rises and goes back to her low lounge by the window, and there lies faint, white, and exhausted, while, with a great pity, her friend hovers about, speaking soothing words, and asking nothing of the cause of this strange fainting fit. She can guess it well enough, Half an hour passes. Then Lauraine lifts her head with a little languid smile. "You must think me very foolish, she says. "Why should I?" asks Lady Etwynde, simply. "My dear, I think I know what is troubling you. I have known it long. Do not speak of it unless you wish, if it pains you in any way. But be sure of my sympathy always." "I am sure of it," answers Lauraine. "I think I have never made a friend of any woman but you. Yon are always so good, and one always feelsone can trust you, But you are right. Something is troubling me very much. I feel to -night as if life was altogether too hard !" "Who of us does not feel that at some- time or other?' says Lady Etwynde, sadly. "A time when to look back or to look for- ward seems alike equally hard; for during the$ine * think of what 'might have been' andduring the other we dread to think what ;may be. There are two very sad things -in this life: the waste of love, the dearth of happiness. Both of these are with you now. They were with me once. But I lived through the struggle, and you will do the same. .You think it is impos- sible now. Ah, my dear, so do I ; so does everyone who suffers. And yet physical ,force drags us on whether we will or no." "I have been very foolish," says Lauraine, the tears standing in her eyes as they look out at the quiet night. "When I wag young, a mere girl, Keith and I betrothed ourselves. You know my mother was his guardian, and all our childhood was passed together. No one could influence him or manage him as I could. He was always impulsive, reckless, passionate, but oh ! so loving and so generous of heart. Well, as we grow older the love seemed to grow with us. Then my mother began to notice it. She became alarmed; we were parted; but still neither of us forgot. At last Keith spoke to my mother. Of course she laugh- ed, and treated it as a boy's fancy. He had nothing, and we were not rich: at least, so she said always. He grew angry, and said he would go abroad, and make a fortune. She said 'very well; when he had made it he could come back and claim me.' In the end he went to America. We were not allowed to correspond, and year after year went by. I heard nothing from him or about him. Then I was in- troduced to London life. I had a season of triumphs, gaiety, amusements. I will not say it weakened my memory of Keith, but at least it filled up the, emptiness of my life, and I was young, and enjoyment seemed easy enough. In my third season, I met Sir Francis Vavasour. From that time my mother's whole soul was bent on a marriage between us. I cannot tell you now the thousand and one things that combined to throw us together, to wind a web about my careless feet. The memory of Keith had grown less distinct. Four years had passed, and no sign. I began . to think he had forgotten. Later on, I found my mother had deceived me. He had written to her, speaking always of his unalterable fidelity ; then came the news of brighter prospects of a great fortune in store ; of entreaty to tell me, and let him hear from me. She did nothing of the sort. She only told me that if I did not accept Sir Francis it meant ruin to her. That her debts were enormous ; that I had cost her z small fortune in these three seasons ; that —oh, I cannot tell you it all now. I am tot naturally weak-minded, but I suffered nyself to be persuaded. I never attempt to hold myself blameless ; still, had. I known about Keith. . . : Well; on my wed- ding -day, Ireceived a letter from him. He was possessor of a large fortune, he loved me more than ever, and he would be in London at our house on that very dap pitied him so, and he seemed so desperate, and I had done him all the wrong. I am not a bit of a heroine, Etwynde. I have little moral strength, and he promised he would speak of love no more, so--" " So you believed him ?" interpolates Lady Etwynde. " Of course, manlike, he —kept his promise ?" " Until—to-night," falters Lauraine. " When I saw him, when we met as we did, I cannot tell you how awful I felt. It was as if Fate had purposely thrown him across my path when I was most weak, and most unhappy." "And what have you done ?" asks Lady Etwynde, pityingly. "I have sent him away—forever !" "Lauraine, had you strength--" "Oh," says Lauraine, with a little hysteri- cal laugh, "we quarreled desperately first. He said some dreadful things to me, and I —I don't know if I was not equally hard and unjust. But in any case it was better than sentiment—was it not? The next thing we shall hear is that he is going to marry Miss Anastasia Jane Jefferson." "Lauraine, you are jesting !" exclaims Lady Etwynde. "What, that little Ameri- can doll who 'guesses' and 'calculates,' and is only a few degrees better than Mrs. Brad- shaw Woollffe? Impossible! I know she has a penchant for him—at least, it looked like it—but after loving you--" " Oh, it will he 'moonlight after sun- light,' " says Lauraine, bitterly, " if I may copy Tennyson and say so. Why should he make a martyr of himself? I can be nothing to him, and it is all shame, and sin, and horror now. Oh, God ! that I should live to say so—my darling boy--" A sob breaks from her. She thinks of Keith—bold bright, debonnaire Keith, with his sunny smile and his bold, bright eyes that for her were always so soft and loving ; Keith, with his merry ways and answerable argument that her husband does Keithd freaks, and steadfast, tender heart ; not mind, and therefore no one else need as he was, as he never again can be to her, in all the years to come ! trouble their head about it. " It is all my fault—mine !" she -cries She seems so horribly, unaccountably between her heavy sobs. "And I have changed that it fills Lady Etwynde's mind made him so unhappy ; and if he goes to 1 with dread and pain. the bad, if he gets wild and reckless, oh, f Better the -morbid grief, the dreary what shall I do? How can I sit still, and apathy of the past, than this feverish and bear my life, and look on hie, as if it were unnatural gaiety, this craving for excite - nothing to me ?" ment and pleasure. Lady Etwynde kneels beside her and Just as suddenly as she has gone to puts her arms round her in silence. Baden, so suddenly does she tire of it. "It will be hard, terribly hard," she says " She will go down the Rhine,"she de - tenderly. "But oh, my dear, you have had strength to do what was right to -day. You will have strength tobear the consequenc- es." "Was it right ?" wails Lauraine, in ex- ceeding bitterness. "He said not. He called Inc cold and calculating and said I looked grey, colourless as an autumn sky without a `past' of some sort," she resumes that has known no sunshine. But there " But I, in my childish ignorance, imagin- was something in this dull stupor that kept ed him another Bayard. He had been so the sharpness of pain in abeyance, that left brave, his name was crowned with so many her, to outward seeming, much the same as laurels. He seemed the very soul of hon - ever, and rejoiced Lady Etwynde's heart. our, of truth, and I—I loved him so. And " After all," she thinks to herself, " she one night, oh, shall I ever forget that night? could not have loved him so very much. We had gone down to Richmond to dinner. She does not attempt to allude to the We had been out on the river at erwards. confidence of that night, nor does Lauraine It was a warm June night,- so fair ,so still, return to it. J ust for two or three days so fragrant, and he rowed the boat himself she watches withanxious eyes the arrival and the rest of the party left us far behind. of the post ; she is half fearful of a letter Suddenly another boat passed us ; there from Keith, a letter that will be a sort, of were two men in it, and a woman. I re - blaze of anger, and upbraiding, like his own member noticing she had something scarlet last words. But there comes neither letter, wrapped about her and was very dark ; for - nor sign. eign-looking I fancied. They were rowing After a week or two Lauraine begins to fast, their boat shot by. I heard a cry, the get restless. sound of a name—his name—and he was sit- " This is a place to sleep and dream in," ting before me, hie face white as death, his she says to her friend; "I want to see some eyes full of horror and doubt. ' Good God !' life again. Let us go to Baden or Monaco." I heard him cry, ' and she is not dead ?' Lady Etwynde is amazed. (TO BE CONTINUED.) " Will Sir Francis object ?" she asks. Lauraine smiles with -faint contempt. " He never troubles himself about what I do," she says. " We will go, and if he objects, we can leave again !' Lady Etwynde yields, and they go to Baden. Lauraine seems now to. have as- great a horror of solitude as before she has had of gaiety. She is always out, always restless. No one they know of the fashionable world is at Baden, it being yet too early in the season. It is crowded with Germans and Austrians, and adventurers of all nationalities, who throng the pretty Kursaal under the shadow o�£ the 'pine -crowned hills. Lauraine makes numerous acquaintances, and is always inventing projects of amuse- ments, such as picnics, excursions, fetes, drives, and balls. She goes to concerts and theatres, she is one of the loungers in the shady alleys of the Liehtenthal ; she goes to supper -parties that to Lady Etwynde seem reckless and risque, and meets all her friend's feeble remonstrances with the me= PRINCE EDWARD ISLAND. BRITISH NAVAL PO WEB. The importance of the Navy Over the ArmY-A Writer Points Out That Brit sin CanOnly be Attacked by Land at Two Points. There is no more interesting and attrac- tive subject just now than the navy ot Great Britain. It costs the taxpayer off the United Kingdom $75,000, P annum. It guards the vast world-wide commerce of the British re, amount- ing all told to $3,000,000,000 in value every year. Its vessels have cost over $300,000,- 000. It protects half the merchant ton- nage of the world. It enables the British Isles to be fed in safety from abroad, where a hundred years ago their people lived upon home grown food products. It commands the seas—br is supposed to do so and thus saves the people from having to . support stupendous standing armies. It holds the Empire together and wherever British interests are menaced, whether by Russian or American ships in the Behring It Is a Great Farming Country—There are Sea or by French men-of-war at Bangko , its cruisers appear and command instant Indiansdsstill Living e, the Island. PP respect. Canada's island province, though general- Hence the deep interest attaching to an ly very little known, is one of the most unusually wellwritten and thoughtful arti• peculiar and interesting parts of the domin- cls ii: the current Nineteenth Century by ion, says the New York Sun ;and as with Hon. T. A. Brassey, ex -M. P. The writer Canada it is likely at any time to become a comes to the definite conclusion that Eng - State of our Union, a few facts about it max land's naval supremacy is only be finterest toA i St. Lawrence, separated from Nova Scotia and that is France. But he believes that and New Brunswick by Northumberland we still retain command of the seas and Strait. It is the smallest of the Canadian seems to think, on the whole, that a war provinces, with an arregula17c crescent, miles, with the French Republic would not seri- and is in shape an irregular crescent, 105 ously endanger British power or commerce. miles in length. The long struggle with Napoleon is instanc- The shore is indented by numerous bar- ed in this connection. While British com- bors, those on opposite coasts twice ap- merce has enormously increased since then, proaching so close to one another that only yet the use of steam, the necessity for narrow isthmuses connect the three penin- coaling stations and depots of supply, has sulas that form the island. Many of the entirely changed the situation and made the bays terminate in tidal rivers that run far balance even more favorable to us. From into the interior. The coasts are bold in 1793, and on for twenty-one years, the most places high cliffs of red sandstone whole maritime energies of France were rising up from the sea between twenty and devoted to the subjugation of England one hundred feet. Part of the eastern shore, through the destruction of her corn - however, is Iow, and bordered by long, merce, with the result that 11,000 curving lines of sand dunes, in places brok- merchant -vessels were captured dur- enin the whole period,while the num- through by winding channels leading g back to shallow, sandy bays. The island is ber of British vessels engaged in foreign generally flat, and nowhere too rough for trade increased steadily from 16,875 in 1795 cultivation. The vegetation is very green to 23,703 in 1810, and those entering and and luxuriant, thick tart growing in every clearing from the ports of Great Britain vacant place. averaged 51,000 a year. And prize ships Nearly all the trees native in the North- and merchandise captured by our cruisers ern States and Canada are to be found in compensated in value for all that were seiz- ed by the enemy ; to such an extent indeed that the French Directory in 1799 was con- strained to admit that " not a single mer- chant ship is on the sea carrying the French flag." Mr. Brassey then concludes that British commerce would once more be rea- sonably safe if only the navy is maintained at its proper strength and is efficiently officered and manned. That strength is to be gaua-ed by the impossibility of a serious expedition leaving an enemy's port without a -British fleet being immediately sent in pursuit. Mr. Brassey is a firm believer in the superior importance of the navy to the army. Provided the former is sufficiently strong the Empire can only be o Americans. Prince Edward Island lies in the Gulf of THREATENED BY ONE NATION, Blares, " and stop anywhere that is pretty its dark moss -carpeted forests. There are and picturesque.': 1 large reed -bordered marshes and. ponds of The change of programme delights her i fresh water separated from the sea by only friend, and they leave their circle of new , a barrier of drifting sand, strewn with the acquaintances desolate at their sudden de- 1 wrecks of many vessels dashed up and lost parture. � in the storms of spring and autumn. There The lovely scenery and the constant ! are large mossy peet bogs, whose products have spoilt all his life now, sand he is so change seem for a while to quiet Lauraine's ' give off sweet smells in burning, and it is young, and I—Oh, how I could love him ; restlessness. She takes a fancy to Bingen, said that hidden away far under the island now !" !and stays there for a month ; but it dis- lie seams of coal, too deep, however, for "Hush!" whispers Lady Etwynde, gently; tresses Lady Etwynde to see how pale and profitable working. "you must not think of that. Right ! Of ; thin she is getting, how weary and sleep- The soil is usually a layer of decayed vege- table matter over a strata of bright red loam. It is very fertile and yields abund- antly to the rather primitive farming meth- ods of the natives. Oats, wheat, and barley are grown in large quantities, and almost everything does well except Indian corn, which needs warmer weather than is fur- nished by this northern;clima,te. The sum- mers are not cold, but. rather cool. The weather is usually clear and sunny, and peculiarly free from the fogs which are a prominent feature in the climates of Nova Scotia and New Brunswick. The island winter is milder than further south on the mainland; though to us, who consider zero cold, the long months of icy weather and short days would in no way suggest mild- ness. Northumberland Strait freezes over solidly, and it was the custom, if it is not now, to ferry passengers and. mails from the mainlands to the island on iceboats. Prince Edward Island is more densely populated than any other part of the Cana- dian Dominion. It has about 110,000 in- habitants, or 54 to a square mile. Of these the greater part are of Scotch and English descent, but about 10,000 are French Acadians come over long ago from Nova Scotia. They live apart, speak French, marry among themselves, and mix little with races. On the northern coast still lives a remant of the once powerful tribe of Micmac Indians, dwindled now in num- bers to about 300. They are conservative and keep up old customs, gliding softly up the streams in birch -bark canoes or prow- ling through the forests, wearing moccasins as did their ancestors of -long ago. Most of the people are farmers, and live in the country. There is but one town of much importance. Charlottetown, the capital. The Government of the island has been guilty ot a very common fault. It has spent more than its income, and isin conse- quence in rather an embarrassed financial condition. All this notwithstanding • a large yearly subsidy from the Canadian Government. Though there is no large four -footed game left, wild birds are still about in plenty and the forest streams hide thousands of speckl- ed trout, while a few salmon still remain in some of the large rivers. The fresh water lagoons by the coast are the summer resorts of enormous eels and countless herring and smelt. There are the sea fish which swarm all summer along the coast, mackerel the most plentiful, then come halibut and cod. Of the half dozen ways of reaching the island, all are part rail and part water. One of the most interesting passes lengthwise through Nova Scotia, affording a good look at that interesting old peninsula. Like everyone else, the Prince Edward Islanders have half -chimerical schemes for improvement. Their particular one is to build a great railroad tunnel under the Straits of Northumberland to connect Nova Scotia roads with those on the island. The island has much railroad for so small a ter- ritory, and is also traversed in all directions by tolerable country roads. course it was right. Men are so selfish, that unless a woman ruins herself for their sake they will always say she does not love. Love ! Faugh, the word as they mean it is different to our interpretation I have not less her eyes always look. A letter comes one day from Sir Francis. He is coming to Baden for the races ; he is going to run a horse for the Prix de Dames. They had better remain abroad and meet patience to think of it. Love is something him there. He will arrange for rooms at purer, holier, nobler than sensual gratifica. the Bairscher Hof, or D'Angleterre, as a lot of people are coming gat the same time. tion., It is sympathye it is fidelity without reward ; jk`is consecution without a vow. Did -,we take our teaching of it from them, Heaven help us all. Thank God, something within us helps us to the right, the pure, then hands it to Lady Etwynde. the better part of it. Lauraine, do -not "1 can scarcely expect you to continue giving up your time to me as you have done," she says. "But this arrangement suits me very well. Itis quiet and pleasant here, and I shall remain on till the time fixed for Baden. But you—there is your home, your own friends--" " Unless you are tired of me," interrupts have ruined his life, that is cowardly. He Lady Etwynde, "I am not going to run does not love you worthily or he would away. I do not think you are either in never have uttered so weak a reproach." health or spirits to be left alone." She ceases. She feels the shudder that They are at the Victoria Hof. Their runs through the siendet figure. She knows rooms are very pleasant ; their life has her words hurt and sting, but she is pained been more like what it was at Erlsbach, and angered and sore distressed. She feels spent chiefly in the open air, in drives and a hatred and intolerance of Keith Athel- rambles and excursions on the river, and visits to the beautiful old Rochus Capelle, stone's selfishdpassion. which, for Lauraine, has endless interest, "You do not know,"murmers Lauraine; "you cannot judge. Of love no one can, save just the two who love. For them it is all so different, and everything else looks of such small account." A warm flush comes over her face; she aside her heavy black dresses, and wears dashes the tears away from her eyes. Lady chiefly white, with knots of black ribbon Etwynde unloosens the clasp of her arms, here and there. Lady Etwynde thinks ' and stands up, a little stern, a little how lovely she looks, sitting there, with Imagine my feelings. It was all too lata troubled. the sunrays touching her dgsky hair, her then. Nothing could be done. I had to "You are might. An outsider must al- soft . snowy gown, her slender hands that school myself as best I could to meet my ways take a calmer and more dispassionate are idly folded on her lap. girlhood's lover an hour after I had become view of the matter ; but I hope in time you Instinctively she comes forward and will see him as he is. Once you were mar- kneels by her side. "Am I to go, Laur- ried, your lives lay apart. He should not sine?" she asks, softly. have come near you, and, from your own For an answer Lauraine clasps her round. account, he has broken all laws of honour, and put the selfishness of passion before everything that isgood and honest and pure." " You are hard on him," says Lauraine, quietly. " You don't know him as I do. No one ever did seem to understand Keith but myself." " He is certainly no paragon of virtue," Lady Et wynde answers, contemptuously. " But, n y darling, don't let us quarrel over him. He is a man, and I know what men are when they love. As for you, you have behaved; nobly, despite your pain. Believe me, the thought will bring its own comfort in time, and—you say—he will never come back again ?" said, Keith had been a sort of brother to me " So he said." _ so long. We left Rome and came to Lon- - " Has he never said that before ?" don. Then it was that he betrayed himself ; " Yes," answers Lauraine ; " on my then it was that I too learn I cared for him wedding -day." as I had no right to do." "I hope he will keep his word this time " And the Gloire de Dijon roses were left then," says Lady Etwynde. " He can do under the cedar tree," murmurs Lady you no good, and he only makes your life Etwynde, faintly. more unhappy. My dear, be wise for the Lauraine starts and blushes. " Yea, it future and avoid him." was that night. I almost hate to think of " That is my only wish now," answers itaand yet—oh, Etwynde, can I help loving Lauraine, rising from her low chair and him? Can I tear him -out of my heart ? passing her hand wearily across her aching Tell me that ?" - brow. " And my only safety, too," she adds, in her own •heart. - But Lady Etwynde hears only the first sentence, and is glad of it and content. " He - will not be faithful," she thinks, as she moves by Lauraine's side to her chamber on the next -floor. "-Men never are. So much life has taught me !" Meanwhile he hopes Lauraine is tired of moping, and intends to be reasonable again. She reads the letter quietly through and waste your pity thus. What right had he to dishonour you in your grief, your loneli- ness, by any such words as these ? If in- deed he loved you, you should have been sacred to him for your child's sake, even though he ignored your husband. Can you not see it too, dear? As for saying you and of which she never seems to tire. This evening they are both sitting by the open window overlooking the Rhine. In these hot summer nights Lauraine has cast Sir Francis Vavasour's wife. It was a ter- rible ordeal. Poor Keith ! Oh, what I felt when 1 saw what I had given him to bear. He was half mad, and 1—oh, how sick and ashamed and wicked 1 felt, We parted again, and for eighteen months we did not meet. Then he came,to Rome one winter, and I was there. He greeted me like any. other acquaintance. I thought he had for- gotten. Gradually our old friendship was resumed. Gradually he became my constant companion, and the confidence and sympathy and interests of the past seemed to awaken, and be with us both again. I dreamt of no harm. He never by word or look be- trayed that he loved me still. I thought it was all over and done with, and feared no danger. I was not unhappy. Sir Francis was very kind, and I had my boy. I trou- bled myself in no way about what might be " My dear," says her friend, gravely, " if love were within our power to give, or to withhold, life would be an easy enough matter for most of us. It has been at cross purposes always. I suppose it won't change tactics, even for our advanced age." " Well," sighg Lauraine, wearily, " I did what I could, but Keith made me promise that I would not banish him ; that I would let him see me sometimes still; that----" , "My dear," murmurs- Lady Etwynde, "After a storm cornea a calm."—It seemed `" gently, " you were never: so foolish as as if a calm, the Balm of a great despair, had ' as she kneels there in the radiant moon - ,that ?"settled on Lauraine. All human love'had light. mi," ensjvers "raj""I—I pissed out of her We and that life itself "No man comes to thirty yearn of age to find fault with show or equipage. CHAPTER XVIL FB,LLOw5RIP- OF PAIN. the neck, and bursts into tears. "No, no ; a thousand times no !" she cries, weeping. " You are the only one left to me to love. Don't leave me quite desolate." "I will not,'' answers Lady Etwynde, softly. "1 wish I could be of acme use—of some help ; but in these cases the tenderest sympathy seems to hurt. No one can help us." "You speak as if you too had 'loved and lost' ?" says Lauraine, wiping the tears from her eyes, and looking at the beautiful, noble face beside her. - A faint warmth of colour comes over it ; the proud head, with its golden halo of hair, droops a little. "Yes," she says, "I have. Sometimes I think it was my own fault, after all, I was too proud, too exacting. Shall.I tell you the story ? Would you care to hear ?" "Indeed, I would," said Lauraine, earn- estly. " He was a soldier," begins Lady Et- wynde. "I was seventeen; romantic to my finger-tips. He, thirty years or more ; bronzed, bold, stalwart, a king of men, I al- ways thought. We met at my first season in London, loved, were engaged. He was of good family, but not rich. My parents objected strongly at first ; but I was their only child, and they had never crossed whim or wish of mine. Of course I gained my point. Oh, how happy I was ! It was like all the ecstasy of dreams, all the fancies of poet, all thepurity and waking passion of first love steeping mylife in golden glamour. I only lived, watched, thought for him, and he all the time—he deceived me !„ Her voice - breaks. The 'bitterness and anguish of thattime seems present over again. The colour fades from her cheeks Lucky Fridays. In all American history Friday has been pre-eminently lucky, a fact which should go a long way towards refuting one of the moat senseless superstitions of modern or ancient times. Columbus sailed Friday, August 21st ; Friday, October 12th, he discovered land Friday, January 4th, he sailed from the new world back'to Spain, reaching Palos Friday, March 25th. In 1483 he discovered Hispaniola on a Friday, and November 22nd of the same year, . that day being a Friday also, he discovered the mainland. The lowest people are generally the first ATTACKED BY LAND at two points—Canada and India. Should the former country be attacked by the United States, its defence would depend on the power of transporting rapidly and safely British troops by sea. Should the latter be invaded by Russia British reinforcements could be landed more cheaply and expedi- tiously from a sea voyage—and he might have added via the Canadian Imperial high- way—than Russian troops could be trans- ported from their distant centres. For a foreign power to conquer partially or hold briefly either Australasia or South Africa would require an army of at least 50,000 men. Under proper conditions their abil- ity to transport them safely would be nil and should somewhat resemble Napoleon with his 130,000 men waiting on the Bou- logne heights for nearly two years a -chance to embark and cross the Channel. The writer regrets the expenditures upon Melbourn defences, upon London, and upon the forts intended to protect Chatham, Portsmouth, etc. He thinks coaling places such as Aden, Ceylon, Singapore, Hong Kong, Cape Town, Simon's Bay, St Helena, Mauritius, Bermuda, and those.in the West Indies, do well to be protected against chance attack against one or TWO HOSTILE CRUISERS, but that further expenditure is a waste. Their best defence, as that of England's shores, lies in the navy itself. Not neces- sarily upon the presence of British ships in the vicinity, but upon the navy's ability to keep a distant enemy confined to a narrow circle of conflict. Halifax, Mr. Brassey considers the one British coaling station connected with Canada, Australia, South Africa or India, which comes between the radius of action of fleets in European waters. Gibraltar and Malta require to be specially defended and held at any cost. So with the Cape of Good Hope. In the event of war with France Mr. Brassey con- siders the necessity and policy of Great Britain to lie not in effective armies and pewerful fortifications, but in possessing : 1. Battleships enough to command the sea by overpowering any large fleets which might be combined for offensive action. 2. The maintenance of a sufficient force of cruisers to act as a sort of commercial patrol of the seas and to deal with any small expeditions against the Colonies which might escape our principal fleets. 3. The immediate capture of the enemies, coaling stations and colonies. The posses. sions of France in China, Tonquin and Africa with the possible exception of AAs geria, Mr. Brassey thinks, would fall an easy prey. But, in any ease, the author of this most interesting article considers the navy is all- acnpOrtant to Britain, and instead of costing £1 ,000,000 a year as compared with the army expenditure of £20,000,000, the sit- uation should be reversed. - The Swords of Japan. - Modern cutlers despair of reproducing the ancient sword blades of feudal Japan,. as modern artificers in iron despair of imi- tating the artistic sword guards of -that country. According to tradition the test of the ancient Japanese sword was even mare rigid than that of Saladin's blades. - It was enough ifthelatter would cut in twain at a single blow a clown pillow, thrown in the air, but the Japanese blade, suspend- ed horizontally beneath a tree, -must sever any leaf that, falling, should accidents' light upon the edge of the weapon.. Gr of eve BE Monu LY RE It your CG WE REPF P E E PE c Can Or cat Dr. ne cit Or AN feu Or& Or ate