The Gazette, 1893-09-21, Page 2a
NOT WISELY, BUT TOO WELL
CHAPTER XXII1.
"HEILLS COME BACK."
Tout vient a point a qui sait attendro.
"My darling Lauraine," writes Lady Et-
wym.le, sitting at the desk in her pretty
morning room, "I am so happy—so happy, f
don't know how to find words to tell you all
about, it. He has come back. Now you can
guess the rest,can you not? For thirteen years
my darling has been true ; thirteen years
during which I have made no sign, given no
token of relenting. But it is all over and
forgotten now. Once more I seem to wake
and live. The old, cheerless, weary years
that I have dreamt away, have lost their
pain, are only full now of a soft regret that
my folly delayed my happiness ; for oh !
how short life seems when one is glad, and
the possibilities of the future seem limitless.
My poor disciples are in despair of course.
I am bound to neglect then, for Cyril is a
more exigeant lover now than in those, days
of old. He says too much time has been
wasted, and I cannot find it in my heart to
deny it. We shall be married in February,
so I shall hope to have your presence. I
wish you would come up soon. I am long-
ing to see you, and your letters are so un-
satisfactory. You told me Sir Francis was
away. Will you come and stay with me for a
few weeks? I should be more than delighted
to have you, and I am sure the change
would do you good. It seems a long time
to wait till Christmas to see you.; and we
might then go down to Northumberland to-
gether. Do make up your mind and say
`Yes. You would if you knew what pleasure
it would give me."
The letter finds Lauraine in the lonely
splendour of Falcon's Chase.
She reads it and a little pang of bitterness
shoots through her heart. But gradually
it subsides, and gives way to softer emo-
tions.
" So Etwynde's pride had to give way at
last," she says to herself, folding, up the let-
ter, and half inclined to accept its invita-
tion. " Ah, how great a lord is love !"
Lauraine has been almost glad of the en'
tire peace and quiet of the Chase since her
guests have left it. There had been nothing
bat noise and excitement in it then. The
Lady Jean had come thither radiant
in novelties from Worth, and in
highest spirits at the success of some new
end gigantic speculation of " Jo's " which
rromised her unlimited extravagances for
The season. She had been the life and soul
of the party, had organised endless amuse-
ments indoors and out, and had, in fact,
made herself useful to Lauraine,enchanting
to Sir Francis, and popular with everyone
in the house.
That infatuation of her husband's was
unsuspected by Lauraine. She neither
noticed his devotion nor heard the hundred.
and -one comments upon it that were utter-
ed often enough, even in her presence.
They were old friends—had been friends so
long, it never occurred to her that there
fact, furnished with any amount of excuses
that seem perfectly- natural and innocent
enough to leave the lovers to themselves.
"There will be one happy marriage
among my acquaintances," she thinks to
herself, as she sees them so radiant, so en-
grossed. "And, indeed, they deserve it.
Fancy, thirteen y ars' constancy, and in
our age, too ! It seems like a veritable
romance !"
One evening they go to the theatre : the
piece is Robertson's comedy, "Caste," and
as Lauraine takes her seat and glances
round the well-filled house she sees in the
box opposite the well-known figures of
Mrs. Bradshaw WoolIffe, and her niece,and
Keith Athelstone. Of course, they see her
directly, and exchange bows. Keith keeps
at the back of the box, and behind the
radiant little figure of his fiancee.
Lady Etwynde is deeply annoyed at the
contretemps. As for Lauraine, all the
pleasure of the evening is spoilt for her.
After the second act she sees Keith leave
the box. A few moments afterwards he
appears in their own.
"I am the bearer of a message from Mrs.
Woollffe," he says to Lady Etwynde, after
greetings -have been exchanged. "She says
I am to insist on you all coming to supper
with her. She has secured one or two pro-
fessional and literary celebrities, and it will
be very charming. She won't take no.
There, I have delivered my message verba-
tim."
He speaks hurriedly and a little nervously.
Colonel Carlisle looks at his "lady love,"
and declares he is quite ready to accept if
she is. Lady Etwynde, seeing how calor
and indifferent Lauraine appears, is at a
lose what to say.
"We, I mean Lady Vavasour and h were
—" she stammers. Lauraine looks quickly
up,
"I should be delighted to meet such
charming society," she says. "I am quite
ready to waive our previous engagement if
you are, Etwynde."
So there remains nothing but to accept,
and Keith retires to inform Mrs. Woollffe
of the success of his mission.
"You are sure you do not mind ?" asks
Lady Etwynde, kindly as she bends for-
ward to her friend, when they are alone.
'Not in the least—why should I?" an-
swers Lauraine. "And I always liked Mrs.
Woollffe. I should be sorry to offend her,
and we have no excuse to offer."
"And
you never tell white lies,'" smile
I•ady Etwynde. "Isn't she wonderful
Cyril ?"
" Lady Vavasour is indeed an exampl
to -most of her sex," answers the Colonel
" I thought they were all addicted to tha
harmless little practice. But I am glad
you have decided upon going to Mrs
Woollffe's. I was delighted with her and
her niece, although I have a remembrance
of being ` questioned' within an inch of my
Life five minutes after my first introduction
to them."
was anything more between them. " Do you remember that evening ?" asks
She was not acquainted with the numer- J Lady Etwynde, softly.
ou3 changes that society can ring out of the " Do I not ?" his eyes answer for him,
little simple air it calls " Platonics." She as under cover of the dim light he touches
had felt grateful to Lady Jean for her hand
s
e
•
t
•
taking so much trouble off her own She looks up and meets his glance and
hands, for the energy and invention
which had organised and carried out
so much that was entertaining. It never
occurred to her that her husband might be
drawing comparisons between her and his
friend, and those comparisons infinitely to
the advantage of the latter. In accordance
with her resolution, she had set herself to
work to please and study him in every way,
but now he no longer cared for either. He
rather seemed to avoid her as much as pos-
sible, andher very gentleness and patience
served to. irritate him.
Her mother had been there with the rest
of their gaests, and her eyes had noticed
with much disquietude what Lauraine never
seemed to see. It made her seriously un-
easy, and in a measure irritated her against
her daughter's stupidity.
"She has lost him by her own silliness
smiles softly back with perfect understand -
g.
inAh, no shadow of doubt or wrong will
ever come between herself and him again.
Lauraine notes that fond glance, that swift
comprehension, and her heart grows sick
and cold as she thinks of the emptiness of
herd,n life. A woman never feels the
want of love so much aswhen she sees an-
other in possession of what she has lost.
If beauty, wit, and intelligence can make
a supper party brilliant, Mrs. Bradshaw
Woollffe should have had no reason to com-
plain. None of the "celebrities" disap-
point. "Dresden China" is a host in her-
self, Colonel Carlisle is delightful, Lady
Etwynde radiant. The only silent members
of the party are Keith Athelstoee and Lau-
raine.
of course," she would sap to herself. ".',uat A strange constraint is upon them both.
as if a man he wo 'tget bored, with nothin As from time to time their eyes meet, each
notes
but cold looks and dowdiness, and all the with a heavy heart the chsupe wrought
fads and fangles that Lauraine has occupied in these few months. On Keith it is even
herself with lately.'
Which was Mrs. Douglas's method of ex-
plaining Lauraine's grief for her child's
death, and her friendship with Lady Et-
wynde .
It had been an intense relief to Lauraine
when her guests had all departed and she
was once more alone.
She had tried hard to interest herself in
things that used to please him, to occupy
her mind and thoughts ; but the efforts
seemed to grow more and more wearisome.
apparent. His face is as pale as if the
hot young blood had been frozen in its cur-
rents, and no longer could warm and colour
that passionless exterior. The half petulant,
wayward manner which had been charming
in its very youthfulness and caprice, was
now grave and chill, and had lost all its
brightness and vivacity-
" He is not happy," thinks Lauraine,
sadly, and she glances at the pretty little
sparklingcreature opposite, who is chatter-
ing and laughing as if she had nota care
The mind and body were at variance. in the world, and had certainly escaped the
contamination of her lover's gravity.
As now she sits there with Lady Et- " Do you make a. long stay in London ?"
wynde's letter in her hand, she thinks it asks Keith, in a low voice, when the
will be better after all to go np to town and clatter of tongues and laughter is at its
leave this solitude, for which she had once height. t
yearned ; and when she sees in her mirror Lauraine looks suddenly up, and meets
how pale and thin she has grown she begins the blue eyes that seem to have lost all
to think the place cannot agree with her,as their fire and eagerness now. " No ; only t
everyone
eryone says. Of course it is only—the
lace. two or three weeks. Lady. Etwynde comes
back with me to Falcon's Chase for Christ -
She will not,dare not, allow that there is mss."
anything else—that the mind is preying ! " I—I have something to ask you " he
on itself, and trying to outlive thought
and banish memory, and that the struggle
is too hard a one. No ; that old folly is
over, done with, buried, so she tells her-
self. Of Keith she has heard no word since
they met -in Baden.. He may- be mar-
ried now, for aught she knows, and yet
somehow she feels he isnot—that.
"Yes, I will go" she says, at last. "The
Rolitude and dreariness are oppressing me,
and Etwynde's happiness will rouse me,"
And she dashes off an immediate accept-
ance of the invitation, and the - next day
bids her maid pack her trunks, and starts
for London.
Lady Etwynde is overjoyed to see her,
but shocked at the change in her looks.
Yet she dares not breathe too much syme
pathy, or touch on the old sorrow. "Of
what use?" she asks herself, "of what use
now?„
Colonel Carlisle and Lauraine are mutual-
' ly delighted with each other. She cannot
but admire the handsome physique, the
I don't thi
nk you ought to affect th
cynical style of talking," says Lauraine
gravely. "It doesn't sit naturally on you
years, and itis too much like the caught -up
cant of society. Women are no worse now
than they have always been, I suppose, nor
men either."
" It is like old times to have you 'lectur-
ing' me," says Keith, with a sudden smile
—the first she has seen on his lips to -night.
Lauraine colors and remembers. "Well
you deserve a lecture for speaking so.
hate to hear men, especially young men
abusing women ! As if the worst of us were
not, after all, better than most of you. And
what do you know, really know, of women?
At your age a man is hardly conscious of
what he wants except amusement and ex•
citement ; and the woman who gives him
these, be her moral nature ever so vile, is
the woman from whom he takes his opinions
of the whole sex. `Toujoursfemme varie' has
a wide meaning. To deduce from one an
opinion of all, is the greatest folly a man
can commit."
" What a tirade 1" says Keith, amusedly.
"I know well enough your sex are enigmas.
It is hard to make out what you really are.
And I am quite sure that 1 shall never meet
another woman like you ; but I hope you
don't mean to say that I have formed my
opinion from a 'bad' specimen."
"I was speaking of men in general," says
Lauraine, somewhat hurriedly. " The
fashion of talking slightingly of women is a
most pernicious one. Certainly we are to
blame, or our age, for such a fashion. Wom-
en have too little dignity and self-respect
nowadays ; but they suffer for it, by losing
their own prestige in the sight of men."
"You would never lose your self-respect,"
says Keith, in a low voice.
"I should be the most miserable woman
alive if I did," she - answers, composedly ;
but her cheeks burn, and in her heart she
says : "I have lost it—long ago !"
"Ah," says Keith, bitterly, "it is well to l'
be you. Heaven help you if you had been
cast in a weaker mould, like those you con-
demn ; if you had to look back on life as
only a coup manque."
A burst of riotous laughter drowns his
words. The whole table is convulsed over
some risque American story told with mini-
itable point and humour by the lovely rosy
lips of "Dresden China."
As they part that night Keith whispers 1
in Lauraine's ear :
" To -morrow, twelve, I will call."
at words come out with fierce, unstudied
, quence.
r Lauraine's heart aches as she -listens,
she looks. She is utterly at a loss what
say.
"I parted from you in anger. I sp
roughly, cruelly. I said I world ne
come to you again," he goes on, looking
her white face—his own as white a
sorrowful. "I. have longed often to
, your pardon. I do it now: There is
I one course open to me. I must leave t
, country. I must leave any place that
a memory of—you. I think sometimes
shall go mad if I don't. I think you wo
be shocked, Lorry, if you could look i
my soul and see the utter blankness the
I am not old,' and there is no ice in
veins yet, and forgetfulness won't come
trying sny more than—love. Oh, if it on
would—if it only would !"
For an instant a sob rises in his thro
and chokes his utterance. He rises, asha
ed of his weakness, and paces the room wi
'hurried, uneven steps.
"I am forgetting myself. I did not me
to say such things," he says, presentl
" When I am with you I can think of not
ing else. Oh, my darling 1 how could y
have given yourself away from me ? W
ever any man love you as I have done, a
do!"
Lauraine's heart is rent asunder by t
fierce, unstudied pathos of his words. S
sees that her own weakness has wreck
two lives effect ually, and now her who
soul is filled with anguish and with drea
"I can see at last that the only course f
me to pursue is complete avoidance of yo
presence," he goes on, coming aver to th
mantelpiece as he speaks, and leaning h
arm upon it so to keep his face out of h
sight. "We should be all, or nothing, t
each other ; and I being mad and reckles
and you good and pure, it is easy to see
which of the two is our fate."
"Good and pure !" cries Lauraine, with
sudden passionate shame ; "had I been that
I should never have paltered with tempta-
tion one single moment. I should have
been deaf to your entreaties and persuasions
that summer night. I should have sent
you from me then, not weakly yielded to a
course of action that has made me as wretch-
ed as yourself."
"You could never be that," he says,
ooking down at her anguished face. "You
are too held, too proud. But so much the
better. I would not wish the worst foe I
had to endure what I had endured for you,
and shall endure, Isuppose, till I die. That
mends rather like mock heroics," he adds,
with a little bitter laugh ; "But I think
ou know me better than to suppose it's
put on.' I made up my mind when I saw
ou that I would tell you this farse could
ot go on. I shall tell Nan the same. She's
good little thing, and is worth a better
fate than she would have as my wife.
elo- A Woman In the African Diggings.
The advent of a woman marked an epoch
as in the history of Pilgrim's Rest (so called
.to because of the rest it suggested when the al-
most unconquerable task of reaching it had
oke been accomplished), and there were among
ver the diggers men who, long unacenstomed to
at the sight of such a phenomenon, could not
nd overcome their self-consciousness sufficiently
ask to approach within speaking distance ; and
but yet consumed with curiosity, they made ob-
his nervations from the shelter of friendly rocks,
has envying more fortunate comrades who
I found presence of mind to face the, unfamil.
uld lar spectacle. The privations and mutual
nto dependence which are part and parcel of
re. the digger's life call into action the best
ma' phase of human character, and the genial
for interchange of kindly aid conduces to frank
IY social relations that are undeniably charm-
ing.
at The most cordial assistance was rendered
m- my sister in every • detail : her tent was
th pitched in a < iiet and eecluded spot ; she
was advised in the selection of a claim ;
an initiated into the formalities of pegging -out
Y. and registration ; and thus found "many
h- anticipated difficulties considerably ameli-
ou orated. The cheapness of native labor
ill lessened in a great degree the hardships of
nd living at these gold -fields. The An- atongas,
a very intelligent tribe on the east coast,
he came in freely to work, offering their ser -
he vices at the rate of £1 per month, with the
ed usual rations of mealie meal ; and having
le paid the digger's tax of five shillings for the
d. month, and hired several of these natives, •
or my sister foun i herself settled down to the
us life of a digger. She superintended the
e work of her claim herself, and in the pro -
is cess of washing the disintegrated soil she
er personally took part.
My sister lived for two years in her little
s, canvas tent on the creek, which she had in
the meantime inclosed by means of a fence
of laced boughs and planted about with
vegetables. She found gold for the most
part steadily, but only in small quantities
of a few ounces at a time. It existed very
indefinitely, and there were no indications
that proved of the slightest value in search-
ing for it.
At one time she hit upon the expedient of
meeting her expenses by making ginger -beer
and pastry, a difficult task where kitchens
are not, and with cooking -utensils of the
most primitive kind. The sight of such
delicacies raised the liveliest emotions in
the diggers, whose life condemned them to
a monotonous and sorry fare, and the Kafir
who became the itinerant vender on these
occasions grew inflated with the importance
it conferred on him. He was hailed in all
directions, and when he could no longer
meet the demands of importunate custom-
ers, he would toss the basket into the air
with a smile of ironical pity. In the mean-
time, several claims had passed through my
sisters hands, and the last of these realized
some of the expectations the hope of which
gives a flavor of excitement to the monotony
of gold -digging. This . claim contained a
rich lead from which some very fine nuggets
of almost pure gold were taken, solid lumps
of metal averaging in weight from eight
ounces to four pounds. She was now in
possession of a moderate competency, and
her success was the theme of considerable
coarmcnt throughout the entire press of
South Africa.—{September century.
CHAPTER XXIV.
s
A FIERY TRIAL.
Lauraine wakes up next morning with
vague consciousness that she has d
something wrong,' something which she
grets. Why should she have granted t
interview to Keith Athelstone?
should he have asked for it.
And yet; amidst all her disquietude,
smiles bitterly as she thinks how far aw
how "over and done with," is that old ti
between -them. She is married, he ab
to be married. There can be nothing
fear now.
During breakfast she is silent and pre
cupied. She wonders what excuse she c
make to Lady Etwynde for breaking a sho
ping engagement ; but as if fate played in
her hands, Lady Etwynde tells her th
Colonel Carlisle is coming to drive her
Bond Street that morning to choose son
diamonds he }las seen, and so the dres
makers must be put off. Lauraine seiz
the chance delightedly, and says she w
stay at home and have a quiet morning fo
once, and at half -past eleven Lady Elwyn
_drives off in her- financee's mail phaeto
and Lauraine finds herself alone.
Her uneasiness increases, She can sett
to nothing. A feverish colour burns in h
cheeks, her eyes are brilliant. Eve
step in the street, every ring at the bell stn
les and unnerves her. Again and again s
wishes she had not promised to see Keit
Again and again does she find herself hopin
praying he may not come after all.
Twelve strikes. She is sitting in th
"cameo " room—her own special favourite—
her eyes watch the hands of the clock with
an absorbed facination.
One minute past, two, three, four, five.
He will not come. Ten minutes past. Now
she is. quite sure he will not. Is she re-
lieved, or sorry ? Eleven minutes past.
He is here.
"I am sorry to _ be late. I was de-
tained," he says, greeting her timidly and
nervously. "I should have liked to keep
up my old character for punctuality."
She gives him her hard. Now that he
has come she feels calm and composed once
more, and all her gentle dignity of manner
returns. "And what is the momentous
business on which I am to give my opinion ?"
she asks, as he takes the low seat opposite
her own and looks steadily at her.
a y
one
re- Y
his n
Whya
she God ! The mockery , of that word
At night sometimes it is -as if a
me chorus of fiends were jabbering it in my ears
out and - driving me mad with the horrible
1 to sound." -
" but what will you say—how explain ?"
ne. falters Lauraine.
an " Oh, you need not be afraid that your
name will suffer," he says, with -bitter irony.
"I shall take care of that. Let her think
atme the mean contemptible cur I air."
tc, The hot cruel colour flies into Lauraine's
re cheeks.
s -
exclaims.
You are ungenerous to say that !" she
exclaims. I am not afraid of what anyone
es
alt says. I know I am to blame. But because
I ha ,e erred once it is no reason that I
de should do so again. Right and wrong are
set plainly enough before us. I have tried
n' feebly enough, to keep to the straight ISath ;
le I cannot forget duty, honour; so easily. If
er I could—if I had—oh, Keith, ask yourself,
would your love be what it is now ?"
Ever
"No; it would not," he says slowly.
he " Though I am so bitter against you I would
h, not have you shamed by my selfishness. I
aIthink—somuch at least you have taught
me. But you—understand, do you not ?
1 cannot do impossibilities, and—now at
e
For an instant he is silent. Then he
shakes back the soft hair from his brow
with the impatient gesture that she well
remembers.
"It is only—this," he says. If I go
hrough with this marriage it will drive me
mad !"
Startled, surprised out of all her self-con-
rol, Lauraine looks at him in dread and hor-
ror.
" Why do you come to me and tell me
this ?" she says, piteously. " Of what use is
it ?"
"None, I suppose. I only wanted to
say I took your advice ; that with might
and main I set myself to work to care for
Ilan. I might as well have saved myself
the trouble, There are times when
the devil within me rises and
tempts me to kill her : when I hate Thyselffor deceiving her, - and her for being
deceived ; when-- But why pain
your ears with such folly ? This thing is
too hard for me. I cannot do it, Lorry—I
cannot."
" Oh, Keith !" -
It is such a sorrowful little cry. It is
just as when in their childish days some
deed Or freak of his bad grieved his little
playmate's gentle heart. It thrills through
him with a pain that is intolerable.
" For God's sake, don't speak like that
—don't pity me !" he cries. wildly. "It is
more than I can bear. Oh, Lorry; don't
think I have come here ,to -day to distress
you with the old sorrow. It is not that,
indeed. I only wanted to -say that 1 have
brought double dishonour on my head by
trying to de what you seemed to think
would cure me ; to ask you if you would
have me go through with this hrnrible farce
—for; as there is a Heaven above us, I
would sooner die the worst death you could
name, thanapeak`auch a lie in face of God
and man as I should speak did -I promise to
be a husband to -Nan !"
His voice is le* and husky, and - ti._
says, almost humblg. " I have longed to
see you often—just for one half-hour—
to say this. Yon know I have grown so
accustomed to take counsel with you that
the old habit "clings to me still. May I call
on you to -morrow ? May 1 see you alone?
Do not look so alarmed ; you need not fancy
I have forgotten—Erlsbach."
"I shall be very glad to see you if you
want my advice," says Lauraine, very cold-
ly. "But I can scarcely imagine you do.
Surely, in all the momentous arrangements
before you, Miss Jefferson is the person
you should consult" -
"Yes," he answers, quietly, "and_. her
taste and mine eo invariably clash that I find
the best thing to do is to yield her undis-
puted choice. Can you imagine me yielding
the palm in all things ? Beaten into subjec-
tion. A good beginning, is it not?"
Lauraine looks at- him, inexpressibly
gamed by hisyrords and tone. -
"She is very charming, .and I daresay
will make an admirable wife," she says, en
courtly, genial manners, the.-cultivted in- easily, "I am sure everyone aditires your
eelligence of this hero of her friend's ; and choice ! _
"Isn't that rather a disadvantage nowa-
days ?" says Keith, -bitterly. " 'The has -
they are so perfectly content and happy
with eaeh other, that even the most cynical
-disbelievers in love might acknowledge band of the pretty Mrs. So -and -sow is not a
_converts regarding these twee_very dignified appellation. You see scores
.Lauraine makes a charming "propriety." _ of men running after your wifeeand if you
Minis engrossed in a book, or inventive of j object are ,. til eaUed a jealous fool;,• or 'bad
an errand, or just into the other room style;' or something of that sort - We ser
St Write let1$er ar tri, ag.;e a -,song, our in tautly live m a delightful age for—women." t
last I come to you to say ` Good-bye.' "
A sudden mist of tears dims her eyes. It
seems as if all around grows cold andgrey,
and a barrier of ice stands between her and
any hope of happiness.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
A STEAM QUADEICYCLE.
To Gallop Over Country Roads at Ten
Mlles an flour.
Imagine two safety bicycles, the wheels
about the size of ordinaries, joined cata•
maran fashion, with a small boiler and
engine and a complicated rigging of ma-
chinery hanging between the rear wheels,
a seat for two persons up in front, with a
steering wheel for the driver to grasp in-
stead of reins, and the carriage is revealed.
The cut shows the steam buggy as it
stood in the boiler room, where Clarence
L. Simonds has been at work upon it for
a year or more ; it shows its pretty pro-
portions and indicates the fun Mr. Simonds
and his friends will have with it.
Ten miles and more an hour is the speed
expected, and hill climbing will be as easy
as rolling off a log. The little boiler will
stand more than 100 pounds of steam, gen-
erated from a three -jet naphtha flame, the
fuel being carried in a tube bent around
over the boiler like a stovepipe with elbow
joints. It holds four gallons, enough for a
seven hours' run.
-A ten-gallon tank of water is also packed
away in the works.
The engine is vertical, 2x4 cylinder, four -
inch stroke, working on a crank shaft to
which is attached a balance wheel and a
chainwheel, from which the power is com-
municated to the rear drivers.
The throttle valve, steam whistle, steam
cocks and other controllers are - under the
hand of the man on the seat as he steers
the buggy. All complete, the total weight
of the vehicle is 400 pounds.
Carrutliers-" Why don't you think more
of family ties ?" Waite-" Oh, they're all
ready-made."
The Buffalo not Extinct.
James Mundie, a representative of the
firm of Carrcaden & Peck, Winnipeg, who
has just returned to that city from a busi-
ness trip in the west, brings an interesting bit
of intelligence concerning the wood buffalo
of the north. Three years ago when Mr.
Mundie was at Edmonton, in Alberta, on a
trip similar to the one just completed, he
purchased the head of a wood buffalo, and
it was thought at the time that it was the
last one that ever would be seen, as the
species was supposed to have become practi-
cally extinct. Imagine, then, M. Mundie's
surprise a week ago on visiting Edmonton
to find there foe trader with ten heads and
another with twenty robes, and to learn that
over two hundred of the animals had been
killed by Indians this season in the Slave
Lake and Peace River districts. In the lot
which Mr. Mundie saw at Edmonton was
the largest head he had ever seen, and the
robes were of an exceptionally good quality,
the hair being very dark and grizzily. The
traders told him that some of the animals
killed were of such a great size that the ln-
dians were unable to turn them over, and
had to split the carcasses in two in order
to remove the robes. This is a point worthy
of note, as it has always been stated by
those supposed to know that the wood buf-
falo are smaller than the plain buffalo.
Mr. Secord, the trader, who brought in
the robes from the north, had also in his
pack two hundred musk ox robes from the
barren lands east of the Mackenzie river.
Another trader brought in one hundred ox
robes. Mr. Secord is the authority for the
statement that two hundred wood buffalo
robes will reach Edmonton this summer
rom` Slave Lake and Peace River.
The question, where did these wood buffa-
os so suddenly come from ? now naturally
uggests itself. The Indians and traders
ad long ago given up hope of ever seeing
ny again. The theory, and a plausible one
t is, which is advanced by the traders, is
hat the remnant of the large herds that once
roamed through the praries and forests ot
he far Northwest found a feeding ground
ecluded from the customary haunts of the
ndian, and safe ' from the Winchesters of
he hunters, and rapidly repleted their dec-
mated numbers. Last winter the weather
as unusually severe, and in addition to
he terrible cold, heavy snow storms pre -
ailed, and thus the animals were driven
outhward in search of food, and wandered
to the track of the Indians, who only too
agerly rushed among them and slaughter -
d them right and left. The heavy catch
musk ox is accounted for in the same way,
ey having been driven south from their
eding grounds in the barren lands by
unger. Raw musk ox robes are selling this
ear for $40 apiece at Edmonton.
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Brown—" How -often have I told you not
to play ball iii the house ?" - Johnny—
" Every time you've caught me at it."
Mrs. Potts—" Mrs. Flyer called this
afternoon." Jack Potts (absentmindedly)
" What did you have ?"
Philadelphia has furnished three " Fath-
ers of the House"—William D. Kelley, -
Samuel J. Randall and Charles O'Neill—ing
succession.
"What sort ofa girl is she ?" r' Oh, she
is a miss with a mission." " Ak. ?" 64 elind
her mission is seeking a man with- a man-
akin."
" The Mapl
Sung by the Cara
Reminiscences
From Egypt to
The Maple Leaf.
The Maple Le.
God Save the Q,
The 'Maple Le
The liquid note
and clear from to
cornet, disturbed a
unro:nantic echoes
oa a recent Saturd.
soft cadences of th
away on the gentl
of rapturous appi
of delighted audi,
Queen's Hotel, min
monious crash of
band of the Gret
beneath the cool, u
national tree. Th
were performing fo
three score gentle,
sion of he odic
British Military
under a spacious
the bounteous ho
visitors.
"I presume you
recognize as one o
tional airs was etre
The question wa
ing beau s•arur,
pert lancer, Lieut.
the moment was
section of cold chi'
I\ FAR
" Oh, dear no,"
placing his knife a.
ease" position, an,
at the snowy cane.
see. It was either
first heard the
which. I know it
halted waiting for
enemy. One of
apparently, and
sat around the cam
taste, owing to t,
was in demand eve
impression on my
fancied resemblanc
Boys Together,' a
42nd, and popular
I recollect that wh
son came up with
were able to cheer
Leaf.' So you se
campaigners at any
by any means."
"After that terrih
every one of us, offi
from the fight bear'
comrade and learne
stayed by orders fr•
furious indignation
to mutiny. I we
Royal Irish coming
over. It was with
prevented tired an
from rushing ahead
on their own acco
fellows truly, fine
them, but it took tl
of their own and ot,
to their normal subo
then had we been p
Khartoam would ha
the shadow of a dou
authorities, wiser i.
those in Egypt, purs
paring and delay th -
miracle, have but o
s'i'hile the band w{
" The Jewel Song"
" combined attack "
with such evident se
ently resumed.
GLAD TO BE
" I cannot descril
the reception given
said. "Coming after
es it was more thani
one proud to be a Br;
three thousand miles
loyalty as deep roof
enduring, as any to
I only wish our stay
been prolonged."
" None of your me
abiding affection fe
that ?"
" Because the peop
few exceptions, of
command even con
mean and unscrupulo
British. With the u
cans there we got
the rest went to so
to insult and ridicui
can element was espe
respect and the newsy
expect better things,
prejudices. One n•
Guardsmen walking o
insulted and assault
There is nothing of
of our fellows and in
the scoundrel a sampl
time and was about
furthur when a bull
The cowardly fellow
er and blazed away t
the soldier concluded
Chicago to be made a
a side street where he
to a policeman. Nex
had a column story
'The Valiant Life G
Latest Scarlet Runn
British Pluck,' and o
and ingenious."
TREY LOVED
" Were there man
nature during your st
" Yes, several, but
up with numerous in
to our requests and p
salt rather than diso
were occasions when fl
stand it and a prom
the morning was silen
mony to, what Pat w
argument' the night
incomprehensible how
their reporters could
" Was the boycott
was it `a combined at
"Call it a beycot
word will do as well
rate they were all the
as. They were
tournament was an ex
as they had never be
that the aeeompanim .
and that ne dept'
the performances wit
hcflTor. The applieati