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 Her Fature. Oh, what will you do, my little girl. And what will you do, my sweetness. When woman's life shall come to you. With all its grand completeness I cannot tell yon, my father dear. And indeed I often wonder For each of the married friends I know Has made a distressing blunder. You need not marry at all, sweet love. And you need not marry, my dear one Yet still yon may make that life of yours A rounded, complete, and clear one. Xo. no, my fatier, your words are wrong There stUl would be something lacking A weary and painful sense of loss. My brain and heart would be racking. Bnt if you should marry, my darling child. My innocent, tender, and glad one. And make a mistake, as so many do. Your life would be such a sad one! I think, and I think, my father dear, That true love is never mistaken Though heavy its fetters maybe, like leap. Like down they are lightly shaken. AMiatever may fall, my father dear. True love is ever victorious And sad and bitter though life may be. To liue and to love is glorious. I need not have asked you. my little girl. )f your woman's hope hereafter. For I sec that your heart is already full Of a woman's tears and laughter. Edwakd Willett. HIS SACRIFICE OR X-'^oi* Love of" Hei' CiiAPTEF. III.â€" [Continued.] Simple little Muriel, wiser in her inexperi- ence than was K,ussel Anthon in his love or lier father in liis worldly wisdom! Mr. Trowbridge laughed. "What a fanciful little girl you are, Mur- iel," he said. "I do not know that Russel Authon is particularly high,-minded, but I do know that he is a roblo fellow, and would make you a perfi y devoted hus- ijand." The girl shivered. "1 don't think he will ever be my hus- band," she murmured. "Muriel!"' There was a rinfr of bitter dis- r.ppointmcnt in (iraham Trowbridge's voice. "Then you do not like him?" She clasped her small hands tightly to- gether, her eyes growing dark with excite- ment. "That ii not so, papa,"' she said passion- ately. "I do like Mr. Anthon, like him bet. ter than any gentleman I have ever met but it seems to me a woman should do more than like the man shewould marry." It seemed so to Mr. Trowbridge, so he did not attempt to argue the (inestic-i, he only 8iid, sorrowfully. "1 see no reason why you should not love Paisscl Anthou can't you try and lo\-e him, Muriel I do not think ycu wc u'd find it a verydillicult matter;you haver.cer tliought of it, have you tb.at is what mrd^es it seem sjstrango." "Xo," sho auswored truthfully, "I have never t'uought of loving him " then almost sadly, "Is it your wish that 1 should marry him, papa " "My dearest wish," her father said earn- estly, and then drawini,' her into his arms, he talked long and seriously, speaking in the highest terms of Russel Anthon, telling her how dearly he loved her, and how terribly he would feel if she should send him word she could not be his wife. Very eloquently Mr. Trowbridge pleaded Russel Antbon"s suit, and Muricd listened, her face very thoughtful. "And now, my darling," he said, by way of conclusion, "don't j'ou think that in time, perhaps in a very short time you ^v ill learn to loveMr. .-\nthon very dearly?" "It may be," murmured Muriel "at s.11 events, papa, since both you and he so much desire it, I vi 1 try." ' "And may I tell him, Mu iei, that some day you will be his wife " !Slie looked at him a few mcmeuts with a li.'lplcfs, prrp'.excd expression in her eyes. "Papa," slie said, at last, "taero is no one in the world I like better, honor and respect tnore, than I do Mr. Anthon perh^p^, as vol! say, there may be more love for him deep dov n in my heart than I myself am aware of. 1 have perfect conddeuee iu him, I am always liappy with him, I miss him when he is awaj vft lor all that I know I do not lovi: hun, as I have thought 1 would love tomebody. 1 want you to tell him all this, and if he is satisfied, if he thinks he can be content with what I can give him, I am willing to many him. and I will try to be a faithful, lovinj,' wife. " (iroatly relieved, Mr. Trov.'bridge kissed her warmly. "My own I'.ccr little c;irl," hi said "Ye." 1 will ttdl him. Hark here cor.es mamm?.. Shall we tell her to-night '" "Oh, of course,'" said MuujI. If scutle Mrs. Trowbri Ig-j was surprised, she was also very much pleased when she heard the news. She had .always liked Russtl Anthon â€" they were few indeed, t'.iose who had met him and did not like him â€" and windicg her arms around Muriel, she told her that she had ahvays hoped this which had happened would come to pass. So sitting there, Muriel listened dreamily, while her parents spoke of her future, which seemed so bright and a thrill of pride went through her as remembering the position Russel Anthon occupied in society, the at- tention that was always paid him, she thought, " he lovjs nil?, little Muriel "Tr ox- bridge." She stood for a lorg time in one of the â- windows of her room that night looking out into the darkness, and thinking as she had never thought before in all her short, happy Ufe. " I know I am not half good enough tor him," she thought " but if I marry him, I will trj-, oh, so hard, to make him happy." Russel Anthon, too, watched the stars from his â- window that night â€" watched them â- with eyes that were very wistful. "How I love her," he said to himself, "dear little Muriel and if she â- will give her- self to me, I will strive to make her life a bright, happy one, free from every cloud of fiorro^w and care. I â- wonder if many men love women as I love her. Nothing would be too much fcr me to do for her I think for Muriel's sake I would give up everything in the world," Would the time ever come when Rassel Anthon's love would be put to the test? Ah, only the future could show, the mysteriouji future that looms so darkly before us all, that our weak, short-sighted earthly eyes cannot pierce its heavy, dusky shadows. Two years previous, the Trowbridges, stop- ping at one of the many quaint little inns that are to be found in Switzerland, had met for the first time Russel Anthon he happened to be travelling in the same direc- tion as they were, and so joined the party to which he had prove 1 a pleuant acquisition. In a very short time the acquaintance grew into friendship, from that into a warm inti- macy. He wandered with them over Europe, they came home together on the same steamer, anl from th»t time scarcely a week had ever passed that Russel had not dined at least once at Mr. Trowbridge's table or spent an evening in his parlors. They knew that ie belonged to a proud, rich old Maryland family, that his parents were deal, that he had very few near or dear relatives more than that, they neither knew, nor cared to know, if there h»d been any dark, unclean places in Russel Anthon's private life. Mr. Trowbridge's keen eyes would long since have discovered them. The following morning da^wned as clear and cold as the preceding night had been, and when shortly after ten o'clock Russel Anthon entered Mr. Trowbridge's well fur- nished private oliic-j, hefound that gentleman waiting for him. He had been waiting some time, and while he had waited he had concluded that under the circumstances it would be just as well to omit the proviso Muriel had stipulated. "For what would be the use of telling Anthon all that " he saidtohimseU" by way of appeasing his own conscience, which was muttering rather unpleisantly. "All he wants to know is whether or noi Muriel will be his wife. She was excited last night and did not know very clearly what she â- n-as saying. Of course she will love him. I dare say in a week's time she will think she could not live without him. It will only make him feel badlj and it won't affect her one way or the other. Muriel is a little sentimental and romantic â€" all girls her age are â€" and they think they sacrific some of their maiden modesty if they confess to lov- img a man, but they soon get over that. No, I shall not say anything about it. I shall simply tell Antlion, Muriel's answer is yes." So, 'naving (juieted his conscience, Graham Trowbridge told Russel Anthon, in a few â- words, that which brought a flush of hap- piness over his face, a look of great joy into his eyes. He went that afternoon to'aee Muriel, and when she came shyly down into the parlor, her lovely eyes downcast, he drew her into bis arms, saying only "ily own little Muriel." And, feeling those strong arms around her, a sense of perfect security stole over Muriel such as she hat never known before, anel un- consciously she nestled closar to him as fha thought "I'apa was right; it will not be hard to learn to love him dearly." She went with him into the hall when he rosj to go, and, standing in the opea door- way, watched him go down the stone steps antl away from the house with proud eyes â€" watched the tall, upright figure until it wa out of sight then she went back to the parlor, and, sinking down into a low chair, sat looking at the magnificent diamond that blazed, star-like, in the heavy golden band he hael slipped upon her finger. "Leo," she said, solemnly, looking down at her dog who had followed her into the room, antl lay stretched out on a Turkish rug at her feet, "Leo, I am going to marry Mr. Anthon I am going to be his wife, and, Leo, 1 am not one bit sorry." And L30 gave a short birk, as though he approved of what his little mistress had said. Society was very m^jch surprised when it was announced that Muriel Trowbridge was engaged to Russel Anthon â€" had won the heart which so many women had tried in vain t-o win. The remainder of the winter passed swift- ly and happily to Muriel surrounded on every side by love and tenderness, no thought of care or sorrow entered her mind she did not trouble herself as to 'whether she lovsd her betrothed husband as he deserved to be loved she was content that he loved her. The shadows entirely disappeared from Gra- ham Trowbridge's face gladly and willingly had Rassel Authon lent ths money he re- C]uired, saying, "I don't want you to thank me, Mr. Trowbridge, ycu know it is a plea- sure for me to do anything I can for you 1 would give you half uiy fortune if you desired it, and that would be nothing compared to the precious thing you gave me." K irly in the pleasant month of June Muri- el Trowbridge and Russel Anthon were mar- ried a-id certainly no woinin'-s future ever lookcl brighter or mere beautiful than d'.d Muriel Anthon's on her welainw- day. CHAPTER IV. A dreary, gloomy March af:crnoou. All day the rain has fallen steadily from the leadea-hued clouds that hang low over the ci'y the wind is blowing furiously â€" a gen- uine March gale â€" and it hurries tlurough the^ streets, now moaning and" sobbing mournful- ly, now shrieking as if in mad despair, dashing the rain in slanting lines against the w iadow- panes, and threatening with utter destruction the gilded signs in front of the stores, which creak dismally as it sweeps by them. The large front room ou the second floor of the house which was Muriel Anthon's wedding present from hsr husband, is fitted up half as library, half as sitting-room, a cheerful pretty room, with, besides its oth- er furniture, an upright piano in one comer, which Muriel usps far more than she does the magnificent Steinway grand down stairs in the parlor, a well-fitted book-case in an- other, wherein may be found all Mr. Anth- on's favorite authors, and a crimson-covered library- table in the centre, a table always strewn with the popular monthly magazines and the daily papers. At this table Russel Anthon sits this gloomy afternoon, busily writing, looking up now and then from his paper, as a sudden gush of wind dashes against the window-panies with snch viol- ence, that it is a source of wonderment that the huge sheets of glass can withstand the furious assaults that are constantly being made upon them. Nearly a year has passed since that sunshiny June day when Russel Anthon and Muriel Trowbridge took each otJier for better for worse, until deatk should part them not quite a year, yet twelve months ago there was not the sorrowful look upon Russel An- thon's face that there is to-day. No man ever entered into married life with a happier heart, â- with brighter hopes, than he did, no man ever took upon himself the vows of matrimony with a fuller sense of their sacredness and solemnity, their purity and holiness than he had done. For a month or so his dreams of happiness had been realized, then, slowly, but ah, with what terrible certainty, the truth began to force its way upon him â€" his Muriel, the beautiful young wife he idolized, for whose dear sake he would have lain down his life without a murmur, did not love him as he loved her, as he had thought she did love him when he married her. You ask bow did Muriel show her husband that her love for him had in it nothing of the depth, and strength, and intensity which made his love for her the grandly noble passion it was In a thousand ways she showed it inexperi- enced in the ways of the world, accustomed from her childhood to act out her feelings, she all unconsciously laid bare her own heart before him. The little things she did so many times a day that hurt him cruelly, she did ignorantly and innocently, without a thought to wound him. If any one had said to her, " Muriel Anthon, you don't love your husband, " she would have opened her lovely eyes very w de, and answered, "Why, of course I love him " and she would have spoken truly she did love him, though her lo/e for him in comparison to his love for her, was as the light of one small star compared to the glory of the full, round moon. Deep in her heart Muriel knew she felt bored and listless when she was alone with her husband, that his earnest conversa- tions wearied her inexpressibly, that she found herself wishing many times that he was not quite so high-minded and when she mentally acknowledged it with a pang of self-reproach, as she did very often, she al- ways tried to excuse herself by thinking, "I knew I was not half good enough for him that I did not love him as he deserved to be loved, but so long as he knew it too, and knowing it, was willing to take me, I don't see how I am to blame for it." Before their m rriage Russel had thought her restlessness, when sometimes he slipped his arms around her, the passive manner in which she accepted his kisses, was only be- cause of her maiden delicacy, but after they were man and wife, he found, to his sorrow- ful surprise, that it was just the same; when with his heart throbbing with love for her, he would fold her in his arms, she would draw herself away ft cm him, saying, with a little pout, "I wish you would not do that Russel, you muss me all up." So, after hav- ing been repulsed many times, he learned his lesson and even when he yearned to fold his wife to his heart, to feel her head upon his breast, he woukl sit in silence, watchic g with wistful eyes the daintylittle figure that seemca so much more comfortable lying among the velvet cushions of the low couch, which was Muriel's favorite lounging place than he did in his arms. If Russel Anthon had been less sensi- tive than he was, if he had been more of the earth f arthy, it would have been better for them both Muriel would have yielded if her husband had laid siege to her heart with more violence and passion as it was, they had drifted apart. lo you wonder now at the sorrowful look that has come upon Russel Anthon's face sines his marriage "There, that is finished," he murmurs, as having written the last words, he lays his pen down on the table and leans back al- most wearily in his chair. "Five o'clock!" as the little French clo k on the mantel chimes out the hour. " I thought it was later than that, it has been such a long, dreary day how it rains, and how the wind blows." With something like a sigh, he draws his chair closer to the fire, that burns brightly in the grate, and, taking a cigar from his cigar- case, is about to light it -when there is a knock at the door. "Come in," he says, pausing with the match in his hand. "Ah, Mary, "as the door opens to ,admitone of the servants, "a letter for me ' "Yes, sir," giving him a letter as she speaks, "the postman has just brought it." He rises from his chair, lays the cigar and the match upon the mantel-piece, and with the letter in his hand, walks toward the win- dow. As the servant turns to leave the room, he asks, "Mary, do you know whether Mrs. An- thon is iu her boudoir T' "She's not, sir she is in her room dress- ins. She rang for Annette a fewmoments ago sir.' "Very well." The door closes after the giri Russel An- thon is alone again. Although it is only five o'clock, the room is beginning to fill "with the dusky shadows of the approaching nicht. It will be a dark night, the clouds are set- tling lower over the city, the rain still falls unceasingly if anything the wind is rising. Sweeping aside the lace curtains, Mr. Anth- on steps into the embrasure of the window, aud then looks down â- with some curiosity at the letter he holds in his hand. It is a very different looking letter from those he gener- ally receives the envelope is of coasre thick paper, and it is soiled and crumpled though it has passed through many hands; the »ddre3s is scrawled rather than written the letters are instinct and uncertain, they look as if the hand that had formed them had been a weak and trembling one above all, it bears as postmark the name of a Mexi- can city. A puzzled, perplexed expression settles upon Russel Anthon's face, as having studied the envelope to n i purpose, he says to him- self. "I wonder who my Mexican correspond- ent is I was not aware that I had any friends in that charming country." Then tearing it open, he takes out the sheet of paper it inclo es, and begins to read its closely -written contents. Even at the first few words the puzzled, cnrioc laok upon his face, gives way to one of blank astonish- ment, bordering closely upon horror the astonishment fades and goes out, bnt the hor ror remains, growing deeper, more intense- as Russel Anthon's eyes travel rapidly down the pages, covered so closely witb the same uncertain, weak-looking letters tiiat chaM.c- ter ae the writiag upoa the env^pe at last he has read all, every word of that strange letter The shadows have deepened in the room' in the grim, gray whne hia face looks white, almost haggard, as, stepping out of the embrasure of the window he sinks heavily down into a chair. .^ "My God!" he mutters, "can it be true It does not seem as though it could be pos- sibleâ€"that the letter explains it all never- theless it eeems as if the dead had risen out of their graves, only to go back again per- haps, dMigerouslv ill when that letter was written dying, perhaps-now dead, may be, before 1 can gee there. I must ^o. How can I resist that pitiful appeal, dying am- ongst strangers in a foreign kndâ€" ah, yes, I must go and yet, how can I leave Muiiel?" ,, At the bare thought of leaving her every nerve in his body quivers with pain, yet the written words he has just read rings strange- ly iu his ears, "For the sake of the love you once bore me, come to me, Eussel, be- fore I die." It seems as though the wind moaned them out as it swept by the win- dows. Low and lower his head droops upon his hands, and while the gloomy night shadows -deepen and darken in the room, he sits there motionless. He does not heed the sobbing of the wind, the patter of the rain, the crackle of the fire in the grate, whose bright glow alone lights up the room heavy reve- rie has fallen upon him, his thoughts are wandering back over the past. Oneâ€" two â€" threr â€" four â€" five â€" six. The silvery strokes sound clearly through the silent loom, yet he does not raise his head. Five minutes slip by, then the door is pushed w?de open, there is a rustle of silk, the faint odor of a delicately sweet perfume, a clear, ringing laugh, an I a musical voice rings merrily "Why, Russel, -what are you sitting here alone m the dark for It is surely not pos- sible that you are moping, yet it looks very much like it. Do you know dinner will be ready in a few minutes All the time she has been talking Muriel has been busy she has lighted the argand burner and two or three gas jets, has pulled down the shades and arranged the curtains, and when she has finished the room is bright and brilliant, and the black shadows have taken to themselvis wings and flown away. Although she is not aware of it, Muriel her- self contributes largely to the general bright- ness the room has gained since she entered it in her rich dinner dress, of wine color- ed silk and velvet, diamonds flashing in her small ears and upon her busy little hands, her wavy hair gleaming red gold as the gas- light falls upon it, she seems to be the center from •which emanates all the brilliancy in the room. She has changed but little since her marriage the pretty figure is a trifle fuller, its soft curves more richly rounded, and the loose, heavy curls that used to fall upon her shoulders are gathered up in a shining mass low at the back of the small head other than she looks exac*^ly the same as she did that January night, ^\ hen, sitting at her father's feet in the library u.t home, she told him eagles did not ma^e with little brown thrushes. "Come, Russel, she says, as a clear-toned bell sounds through the house "there is the dinner-bell. Come ' Very lovingly his eyes rest upon her. "I â- will not tell her until after dinner," he thinks to himself as he follows her along the hall. As they go down the broad staircase together, he throws his arm about her. "You love me, don't you, Muriel j" he whispers, pleaelingly. Shelonks at him a little surprised, he sel- dom speaks like that. "Why, of course I love you," patting his hand softly by way of emphasis "and you know I do. Come, let us hurry down to dinner. I am awfully hungry. It seems like an age since luncheon." Though he helps himself to a little of near- ly everything that is on the table, scarcely a mouthful passes Russel Anthon's lips. But Muriel does not notice it busy with her own dinner, she talks and laughs in her pretty way, alternately scolding and praising the cook, until the meal is completed. "Muriel," he bays, as they leave the din- ing-room, "come up stairs into the sitting- room with me I have something to tell you." "Something important " she asks then, as she looks into his grave, and face, she adds, quickly "Yes, it is important I see it in joareyts " He sighs heavily. "Yes, it is of the utmost importance," he murmurs. As soon as tliey are iu the sitting-room Muriel closes the door, and, hurrying to her husband's side, lays one hand upon his arm. "Tell me now, Russel," she says, anxious- ly. "Isit something concerning you " "It is something concerning a part of my life of which you know nothing, my darlinsr," he answeis, as he loads her to a smpll couch and seats himself by her side. "It is a strange, sad story, Muriel, that â- which I am about to tell you." And sitting beside him, Muriel listens to the story which, but for the letter that had come that day to her husbandâ€" the letter with the Mexican postmark â€" she would have never heard. (to be coktinckd.) The New Sed Rifiin, j The subject of this s'setch »«, little girl, who derived her odd Dii*, n»iiul The Bey Leaves 365 "Widows. A large number of widows have been made in Tunis by the death of the Bey. The de- ceased potentate was not a very remarkable person in history, and would have been but l-.ttle heard of but for the action of the French Government with regard to Tunis. When the French bombarded and threaten- ed his capital the unfortunate monarch was compelled by M. Roustm to sign a treaty which left him as completely in the power of the French as the Khedive is now in that of the English. He was, however, the most married man in the world, the number of spouses who now lament his loss being about equal to the days of the year. French finance is in a plight very satis- fastory to Prince Bismarck. The Paris cor- espondent of the London T%mt» writes: "It M easy to see the ruin that the criaia of last year has left behind it. The Bourse is com- ^tively empty. A few groups stand on ftie steps talking of anything but business, luside It lathe same story." Rents have for tAW years been declining while so many toi^ign securities have been risiBg. Slie oikJ wearing on her head the sleeve father's old red flannel shirts. independent little piece, and wK " why her mother didn't buy her a b said she would "just sleeve wear*' had on. " When one of the mighu ren sneeringly said, " Your page?!" Little Red Riding Hood responded pa would too, but he can't afford 'â-  when the next-door ill-naturedly Jj mother takes in washing, ' Little p ing Hood answered, "She don't tab' when your mother gets the first v the line. " ' It will be seen from these inrir her life that, thou^ h little read, t " posted, and the confidence â- witli \\:\ mother d ispatched her to carry codfe down into Stoord Township to her sid J mother is easily understood. â-  Holding the lead dime which her had given her for car fare tightly" hand Little Red Riding Hood star streetcar, and, having a few niinl wait improved the opportunity by \A a howl that attracted the attentioc nevolent old gentleman, to whom shetii ed her cause lor grief. She was miii said, to her poor, sick graDPnidt had just been put ofTa car because L was counterfeit. The gentleman garJ quarter and put her on the next catT conductor in due time called \xk\ Red Riding Hood for a fare, when sf duced the lead dime. ' 'This is eoun J .said the conductor, whereat Ridinj] fell to sobbing as if her heart woulcfj the conductor passed her, an old Iaa| her a dime, and a boy shared some • bread with her. Arrived near her- mother's house Little Red PLidin'-H,] down and ate the codfish balls^ t.; bought some milk from a drunken ni'i upon whom she passed the countc:iei-1 receiving from him sixteen cents in j after which she -proceeded to her mother's and stayed with her icr weeks. In contrasting this story with thesj Little Red Riding Hood the leiderii bear in mind the disadvantage c^^r labored under in having to be her m a role â- which she sustained with signah There does not appear to be anythit; to add, except that the town is fall kind of Little Red K,iding lIooilJ cinnaii Satuday Night. i«rrfi the farmer sat " .rSiWOS 'i vTi V./^me to woo »"*-^-S?Sy °^ir^^g care .. fwoof you. child," £ should be two ^^^^omo mo Sonldbe tjrow ^^ field at m con'« "t^tiieold home.bnght. .nidmake the " jj^ his child lai.w?S,*?,fdberin: witb i I one more, my dear. [play Shut Out the Cold. The temperature of the living anir;.i. cannot vary greatly, and therefore \r;i weather grows colder there is an Ik demand for food to be consumed ink- up the natural heat. A low tempera: an expensive condition, as every larae has wintered his stock well knows. t^wo general metlicdscf cvcrccmii; wearing or exhausting effects of sever weather giving the animals an ah:: of rich and palatable, heat-forraingioo securing them from exposure in war: comfortable stables. A happy cuii'l: of these two methods is the one to ';â-  vided by every stock raiser who loo; to the comfort of his animals and their ableness. If stables generally could be wara- stoves, there is no doubt that a savin; amount of fodder would result. Mk be done in this direction by keepi: animals in â- well-built stables, and irt: all chilling currents of frost-laden air writer has in mind a stab'e, where row of milch cows sufl'ered, almost point of freezing, on many winter nip: cause the stable was full of large crai the doors only partly shut out the c snows. A few hours of patching t'ne flooring, and doors, with very liuli n for lumber, would have made its gooi' evident within s- single week at the room. A cow is not at her best â- when she shiver with the cold and have her rou: covered with the frost and. snow of a winter night. Looked at iu simply:; uniary light, this method of keepis; stock does not bring the best returns. is no farmer who, being able to owns. cows or a flock cf sheep, can aiibrJcot:: them well. He may let t'leui ea: from the stack of the best liay that is but if they have no more shelter tiai stack affords, he may come to the con; common to all bad agricultural pnc::fi farming does not pay. Let tiiis 1" in seasion for all those who n:ay poi' Stop the cracks iu the stables, aiidsa^ for your animals and money ior "â-  Take special care not to have tiie iin; exposed to the chilling winter Idasts;: s'lut out the cold. A Baby liillcd by a Bear. One cf the eight little cliiliirui h to thegaiif of Arab gypsies â- vv:u-; t a large half-starved black bear at i sies' camp, twenty miles from here. of the children were te jsing the am:i:' had been cliained to asaphns by hi--" when sudd nly a .3-year old youii-"^- had been poking a stick at Bruin, apP epend chieflv nn tt. ed too near, and was seized sudden!} animal, and crushed to death. Oct men hearing the animal growl, triei»lofof the'haij'ah"""'^-' "" but arrived on tlie scene » *? of air that eithc 1, seizing a large cub. J al ggaieg and t.b« â€" r occur bctv. *? .® and the medullary his infant. Whereupon, the poor bear nearly to ^1^=^,^!" ;;j^l.in"thel^Tnterior.' was buried a few hours later by tf^^^ 'lUsisso and tba ^u and the band packed its luggage and au are correct thi, 7/ ' along, hardly missing the little dea. hair in c^mnkratH If " from the motky throng of bears, r. f to an abnoS nr 'T '°'"' dogs, donkeys, and vdlahious loo.^ ^^ air w\°St .^^^tTv' mans. t â€" a,i„c.\. The ceremony over the grave of was a very curious one. The eDtu^ taking hold of each other's hands, circle round the open holeâ€" for it ' tainly not a grave â€" chanted â€" â€"-J """ " gicKv.' â€" " J j]«, s~" "ruwn hair T melody, and then went around ana tg^ „{ • x Suddenly stopping one of the men r^ erav o^. .T ^^^^ « a jargon prayer, then in concert » men, and children chanted " Melah " " Melah " This endea i remony, and all hands engaged id up the corpse, which had been f-^-^'^^ grave on a bed of dried leaves, ana 1 copiously with the saa:e. An enormous bunch of grapes, enclosed in a glass case, T^as sboffo ^^^ Michigan by a peddler, who ba^ sprouts from what he said was .*.^ the same varietv. The exhiW' length discovered' to be waxworfc Bd waited ^a^W love call hcai VboW he ^«^t^the blushes stirre. either cbfl^nd knelt her dow ],' she cried, ana '-^as ^^^ and S^^^.'^^Xbetwotf you will ^.jJ^Tnl^^/aughterstiil. .^ovoubomeatniKhL, t^tftbeJld man bright; '"'*^w^velse." Isee. somebody e'^^ j^^ jnay soinct e farmer, anu ^^^^^ 'with t?e Wushes at hide a aS-edJ^^g^ze she turned her hes Sbbofaray's children, s:r, â- A the farmer "make it plaiJ •^^ilice â„¢MaryJaner '^â- ' rnn the aged hand, """t^a^mertounderetand- iP^-j Ji^farmer "Yes, 1 sec ;Ksaid the iarâ„¢er for yo'J'^PJL're caS t.e but one tfaL^dlormj'he^tiU^lif^o- â- ^^^J^G SXTDDENI.Y gsion of a Singular Phenoi: rpart Hair Dyes Hav3 E me Noted MetamorpHoses. efollowiDgisfrom.Vo^.-:an' ' atherh.-rdtobeluggedniadn St one's -iviU; but suc:i is the c£ I never â- Nvrote one syllab ,t of this note, and -^ riumbUng two notes together ntesasif 1 had, and tells mei physician, I know tlsat a tioD," etc. I am a pliy--^'" dly, though I have long ci but I do not know, and I dc to know, that a hair is a.se such "without any real yrtal: I look upon bile, saliva, 10D3 or excretions, but i cons;- growth, and as such 1 considi ,owedwith real vitality, just i skin is, of which it is, perl.a ils, but another form. Toe ou a hair, like the outer layers cuticle or scarf skin), and like t ree (for I see considerable rose: ica the trunk of a tree and th no doubt but comparatively litt tbem, but this is not tlie ca layers. I ;dtogetlier deui'ir 's dictum that a'hair has not tl get rid of the coloring matter ited in its substance. If so, never begin to get gray at t yet everybody almost wl:o )i at middle age, must have ips getting gray lirst, and ictly notice 1 it mysel; upo)i :. hoe, for hair )ility of turning sadde:ily v,u\ its doing so is CL-rtai lly admitted by medical m paid attention to the subject, new a lady (a French â- woma: le that the hair of one side of In le ^ray in a single night o:i th' the death of her husband, mIi; Ed suddenly and under ioculia ng circumstances and when her, though years had ela .- nee in color between bo ch si" landing that both were then gr; Host marked. Andmywifeh an almost pre:iscly similar c. r's wife was the first to see imc id's ricks on fire. The shock and very shortly afterward been the next morning) she nc "hite band running across one 'ead. My wife did not see vears afterward still then s 30, and her hair was p rith the exception of the brua sy years ago I reinembcr rcr.li "1 medical magazine a paper h\ inysician, in which he lcscribod fbich had come under his own had gone further he had the hairs under the niicroscu J found that the coloring mat nere, but that a quantity of bul wmtroduced themselves into t ers of the hair, and produced PM of whiteness. Vet, thot »esswaa thus really due to w; f'«n expected to be onl- • '^- the whiteness persisted 'gas the casis remained „ â„¢n, and seemed likely to â- It seems that a cer:ai:i iv,;i 'esof air are always pre»c ,t i ^a that the color of tho hair, ^°*,' depends upon tiicm. 'â- '" "Human and 'Jomparativ. i: y a tci uiilin uudcr c 1 ler's ' (New Sydenham Society" V A^^ '" "° following different colors prcscntcJ hair cells, that eith Y granules, or e pigmsnt ct. er exists Lir also depends th »,. "iiii-u are always pre bkl^T^ *° J- «• L. A 's exp rinrif °S °{ ^l^^ie Antoinet PJ^'ble. Marie Antoinette v and I It is rare, era.tr «4. '"*, '"' ^f this col lor mnoKl^ ^**'°« i'^s ^^urda 45Si°^8^Ftbanthatofm ^pwmg Marie Antoinette h: iye.^Lr" "° longer able 'alSSt^ B'lfficieSt to res: ^^P^^ the surface. Le â- "wlonl^ *v® **°»e thing. *OttlduT *^P«e before ^•iong enough for theii