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 " ,.s.jj»e«»5- *»*»***:"' Im \rA .â- â- ' [Now FiBST PUBUSHXO. [Au. Smrts Bksxbyzd.] THE MESSAGE OFTHE BELLS AN ENGLISH CHRISTMAS STORT. ADELINE SERGEANT," Author of "Jacobi's Wife," "Under Falsb Pbbtences," c. By c. CHAPTER I. The Christmaa bells were pealing over- kead. The chimes, flang out from a lofty Bt«eple into the wild and blustering night, rose and fell upon the win^s of the wind now lost entirely in the rush of the winter Btorm, now sweeping with magical clear- ness across the ears of listeners in the silent streets below. Thus changing from moment to moment, the sound had a curiously ethereal effect it seemed to typify the eternal order of things, whereby, above the darkness, tempest, and desolation of earth- ly sorrow, celestial voices were continually proclaiming peace and goodwill to men. But transcendental meanings of this kind were lost upon one listener, "those are enough to deafen one," said Stephi Hatfield to himself, as the chimes broke clearly upon his ear in a momentary lull of the driving wind. " Haven't we din enough all day without having it at night as well " Din enough there was likeiy to be in the places he knew beat. Bedford was a large manufacturing town and a great railway junction, and Stephen Hatfield was a sig- nal man on one of the lines that stretclmti away from the station in bewildering; intricacy. His box was a lonely sput. Sounds from the town, however, reached it easily enough â€" the clank of hammers, the throb of great engines, the whirr of wheels from neighboring factories, the clash of beL's from the church steeples, the thunder of heavily laden wagons over stony streets â€" these were familiar to him, and almost in- distinguishable one lxo\k\ another. But late Ml Christmas Eve sucli disturbances had •eased. The howling of the wind, the peal- ing of Christmas bells, could alone be heard; and yet Stephen Hatfield grumbled at the neise. There must have been eomething peculiar- ly disturbing ^to him in ti.e sound. He was a dark faced, reticent man, with " Thompson's waiting for me. Is there an(;ht else you want to say " " Do you mean that yon won't be friends with me " asked Dene, with a gliiLmer of truth iawning upon his denser niina. Hatfield turned on him with an oath. " Why should i be friends withyon " he demanded savagely. " Why have you the insolence to come and ask me? Didn t you rob me of the only woitiau I cared for, of 'lie home I wanted to have, of all that makes a man's life worth anything ?â€" Then you ask me to be friends with you !â€" Get out of my way i I'll not answer for myself if you come too near. I hate you both, you, with your ies and your boastings, and her with her bells foolish, fa'se face and her fickle heart â€" " phen " Stop " shouted George Dene. " You shan't speak of my wife in that way â€" you â€" " " Out of the road, you fool " said Hat- field contemptuously. The younger man had squared up to him, bis face aflame, his eyes alight witi passion. Ho was devoted to his wife, and Stephen's worda roused all the devil within him. j "Take back what you said!" he cried. " I'll have her called false and foolish by no man I'll teach you better manners I Stephen Hatfieldâ€" by tiie Lord, I will." j. "Out o' the road 1" repeated Hatfield. I "What, you won't, you fool? Take that, ' and go to the devil " I He stnick him and pushed forward. He heard a cry, a thud, as oS a body falling, bu!; I he would not look round. He expected that j G orge would be after him in a moment, I swearing, foaming at the mouth with rage, and vowing vengeance. George Dene was in the main a good natured fellow, but sub- ject to fits of unbridled passion. Hatfield was prepared for one of these. But no sound of voice or step pursued him. The wind perhaps drowned the noise of either the wind and the pealing of the bells. Presently Stephen stood still, raised A»ff^had has a stoop iu his shoulders, and a way of look- his lantern, and looked behind himâ€" nothing ing at the people from beneath his heavy but the darkness, and in the distance the eyebrows that was not particularly agree- • I'gtts of the station could be seen. It seem- able. A perpetual frown had settled upon j ^d to him that the lamps ought to show him kis low, broad brow. Hia countenance was j the figure of a man making his way back to yet sad rather than morose; the mouth was the platform but there was nothing of the •«ntracted as if from constant pain, and the i ^i^^d to he distinguished. Wait 1 what did dark eyes were melancholy when seen in re- he see A dark something rising from the peee. The face expressed power cf a certain ' groundâ€" stumbling again and lying prone kind something lay behind its quietude, •' across the line Hatfield laughed grimly to ^it"?- something hidden and suppressed. What it was, perhaps he himself could have scarcely told. He was making his way along the line to kis box, going slowly, because it was not quite time yet to relieve his mate, and swinging a lantern in his hand. With his head down, and his lips muttering objurga- tims on the bells, he did not notice the fig- ure of a man that came towards him, passed him, ard turned back with a start. He keard, however, when his name was called. " Hatfield 1 Stephen Hatfield 1 You're the man I came to see." •• Who is it " "It's me; Geor^je Dene.* Don't you re- member me " Hatfield started in his turn, and raised the lantern so that its light fell on the new- •emer's face. His own countenance became Mddenly tinged with a dull red flush, though IB the darkness this change of color passed â- â- â- oticed. After a moment's pause, he Mud, in somewhat unsteady tones. " George Dene 1 Ay, I remember. And ^R^at brings you toRedford, (Jeorge Dene?" " Ain't you going to shake hands, Ste- pken " said a friendly voice. " Don't you bear malice, old maul I've come to tell ym that I've got work in Redford, and me smd Grace thought we'd find you out first tWag." " You â€" and Grace " repeated the man strangely. He continued to swing the lan- tern to and fro, without looking at his old ae^naintance or seeming to notice the offer of kis hand. " Why should you try to find me â€" youâ€" and Grace " The other â€" he was a much younger man â€" burst into a cheery laugh. " Why, to make friends with you, old man 1" he cried. " Friends, as we used to be, you know, be- f*re thisâ€" this â€" shadow, this â€" sort of cloud â€" came over us. It's all past now, surely. It's hve years ago, and you've not remem- bered it against me all this time, have you, Stove?" " Yes, it's five years ago," said Stephen, meedily, with his eyes upon the ground. George Dene stared at him for a moment, bat saw that .Hatfield's words were not in- toaded as an answer to his appeaL He went Ml, hoping to conciliate, blundering as only ^A emljarrassed man could have bumdered. "We've had a very happy five years on the wole. Our second litde baby died, but the eldest is alive and hearty. She is a rare one for four years old, our Polly is. And we took the comer cottage in -road, the one with the sweet-briar before the door and the green shutters. Why, now I come to think of it, tka Tery house you thought of taking for yaarself â€" Good Lord, Stephen are yon ill " He had caught a glimpse of Stephen's face, â- â€¢d the look of suffering upon it staggercNl " No, I'm not ill," said Hatfield, more ly than ever. " Go on with your tale. Iiat were you saying " Bat what George sud he did not hear. In the darkness of the might- a picture rose belwe hia mind's eye â€" a vision, ot the little kouae that was once to have becm hia own ef thi trim little garden, the shining win- dews, the spotless deanlineas of i£e tiny roemn the mistren of the whole, a slim fair girl with nniling eyes, and the aanahine in her hair, who went abont h«r work with raoh a sweetness of love and hope upon her gcotle ce 1 â€" ah, theae belonged to another man, and he was homeless and alone I House, wife, (duldien â€" George Deae had taken everything, and now he eanw with his fooikh offw oi bienddii| hb hope thikt aU the paat bad been torg otten Wbat didhemeonT Was the mafa mad to 1)Aik that h^ Stephen Hatfield*eitier f«get an lajoiyorfotjgaTeitT Weaia theae fcsli never oeaae,tlMn, with their e tmaati eftr ai a of p ea c e aadMod-willâ€" pe«fDe mi p^ te man 1 B» hstai «ba whole wwld, and and aU of the woiM%1nhaWtM6uiMi hated C ee» ge Ieaa the moat. « I«nife«aMaj)v WMdCr' 1 himself. " I've given him what he won't forget in a hurry," he muttered. Then he turned his face again to the blacker and wider space of darkness through which the many diverging lines of railway travell- ed into the night, and, swinging his lantern, set offence more to the signal box. The whole interview had not taken five minutes, but he was astonised to tind that he was not late at his post. After so great an upheaval ef feeling he could scarcely be- lieve that only five minutes had elapsed since he jumped down from the plat*'orm and made his way along the line. He no- ticed vaguely enough, that a man brushed against him as he arrived at his placeâ€" a stranger, not George Deneâ€" and he wonder- ed what a stranger could be doing in that unfrequented and somewhat dangwous spot. Dangerous Ay, that was the word. Dangerous to those who did not know the ins and outs of the line a forbidden place to the general public, of which George Dene was one. Had he got up and gone away? Or was he still roaming inreckless fashion about those iron ways? Hatfield paused before entering his box to wonder whether he ought to go back and satisfy his mind upon this point. But why should he trouble himself? he thought. George Dene was a man who took excellent care of himself no fear abont his safety. And thus sneering, he took his place in the signal-box. The London express was due in ten min- utes' time. It occurred to him, with a shudder, that this train passed over the lines close to the spot where he and George Dene had stood talking. " Lucky we didn't stay much longer he might not have got away so easy," he said to himself taking it for granted that George Dene had git away. Then he devoted his attention to the signals, and tried to think no more of the scene that had passed. But his brain seemed to be on fire. He was hot confused in mind he was, on the contrary, unusually alert and keen-witted, but he was restless, ready to start at every sound, to exaggerate every impression. The wind had dropped a little, the bells had ceased to ring. In the silence, which seemed to him almost unnatural, he heard the dis- tant murmur of the train long miles away Little by little the murmur grew he saw the lights in the distance, he saw the red- dened vapour as the black monster rushed out of the darkness, sweeping round the curve of the line, thundering over the metals and shaking the signal-box aa it flew by. He stood in his placie, lampe glowing brightly above him, business-like, apinirently impasiive aa usual â€" bat conscious of a curi ous keenness of all the senses, as if he were endowed with eyes that saw farther, ears that heard more, than those of mortal men. What did he see What did he hear It was as if lightning had flashed and shown him a graeeome scene. There was a man lying on the rails, in the track of the advancing train. He did not move bf did not drag himaelf away aa it came o^, No- body saw him. Hatfield woold have aiioat- ed to him if he had been able to qpeak hot his tongae was glned to tli^itiroof of his month, and he could not get It free. Jnst as the engine roahed fbr^rard^ die doomed man lifted his head and knew, hii fate. Hatfield saw tiie agonised ooant^panoe, jth« look of lorror in the diatende^ 70Bi the agony of the shrinking Bnba. JEhen the flying wheals paased on. ^Ih* sig- nalman Anr no mne. Only w, uoniaed shriek, a teirible moan, niiw in^||^^;|||r a moment: tiwn, aU waastiu, Hatfield oame to himaelf wilitk start. Kot at firat did he realfsa tiiat he,faad been the^tim «f « aiera meusBtii^ ffltfiak -« vivid dieam w vision pindnoad' tgr. wTpr-ex- dtMnento tiie hninâ€" aaa dootor woold have explained it. He foond himseK tram- blfag from head to loot, ooMMd wiOi ooid thai ooeured. Ihai â- Â«;«J^iif^i;£ • UP^ Mi^QB^^WSl laiKHasdid'^vl the shri^ rf the tortured man as the trun passed aver his body seemed still to re echo in his ears but he knew well enough that it was utterly impossible for him to have hahjH aqyttiag^^ tin kiad^^w^^havv' qitesiant tewrd^ a hundred «irs aa the deafening roar 'â- ^~* '•" *• of the expk«9a team, passed down, the line. Aiad yet he had seen it all so plainly I Just aa one might behold a whole landscape il- luminated by a lightning flash, so, he re- flected, he aad caught sight of every detail â€" the various interlacing lines, the distant station, the platform, with its rows of lights, the poplars, and the old church- tower in the background. And in the midst of all, that prostrate form, that ter- rible advancing train He turned sick and cold when he thought of it. In a few minutes lie remembered the trains and, on looking at his watch, found that not more than five minutes had gbne by since the passing of the express. There Tras not another train due for some little time. He was glad tf it he wanted to col- lect his thoughts and steady his shaken nerves. What does this vision mean T " It means a Warning," said Ha^eld, shaking as if he had the palsy, and casting his eyes around the signal box in awful fear of supernatural powers. ' It was no ordi- nary thicg. I couldn't have seen all that if 1 had tried. It's what might have hap- peueU if George Dene had not gone away whas might have happened, not what did happen â€" I pray God I" â€" How many a year had elapsed since he last took that sacred Name upon his Ijps 1 â€" ' It's just my fancy, playing me a trick â€" Godgraut it â€" suppose he didn't crawl off the lineâ€" Oh, he must have got away. I did nat strike him hard he wojld never have goi.e down at such a little blow. When I i:ee hini again, I'll tell him what I've gone through to night. He's a good-natured chap he ll be ready enough to make matters up. Acd^ I'll say that 1 didn't mean to call Grace fake or fickle. I'll make friends with them both when they come to Redford for if any man ever had a Warning, it's 1 that am that man " So he reflected, starting and staring, the very hair upon his head lifted by the fright. ii e would have given all his belongings if he could have dared to quit his post, run along the line, and see for himself that Dene had got safely back to the station. But he dared not go. Several trains were shortly due, and to leave his duties inyolved risk to more lives than hia own. Looking out, however, he espied an ac- quaintance â€" one of the porters â€" tramping down the line. Hatfield hailed him, and he stopped short, looking up at the signal box in surprise. H was making his way by a short cut across the lines to his home. He knew the place so well that he could do it without thought of danger. " What's up " he said, catching a glimpee of the ^hite scared face above him. ' ' Anything wrong?" " Do me a favor," said Hatfield hoarsely. "Go back â€" that way â€" to the station, and see if anyone has come to harm by the Lon- don express." " Why do you think that anyone's come to harm " "Don't stay to ask questions. Go back, Tom, for Grod's sake. I saw a man run along the line I heard a cry. I can't tell you everything now. Go and find oat the truth for me. You know that I musn't leave." Tom started back, grumbling yet curious. "This is a rum start," he said to himself. Hatfield lost sight of him in the darkness as he went. The man was left alone. He Jiraited and waited but the porter did not come back. Hatfield went on with his work, as occasion required, in a dull, mechanical fashion. Hb mind flew back, whenever it was released from the occupation of the moment, to the scenes of bygone days. He had once been young and happy he had been in love with Grace Emery, and had walked about the country lanes with her and thought that she koew his love. He had had a friend, too, and to this friend he had confided all his hopes and fears, ^^reat had been the shock, terrible the awakening, when be learned at last that bis friend, George Dene, had won Grace's heart had carried the fair fortress, as it were, by storm. " Your wooing was too long a-doing," Grace's mother had said to Hatfield when he demanded an explana- tion. " We thought that you had given up the idea. You hadn't said a word to her about it, and she had no thought of you. I won't Say but what if you'd asked her out- right three months ago you might have had a chance. I watehed her, and I think she'd have said ' Yes ' then. But you let the time slip, you eee, Mr. Hatfield and I ain't one that would force my girl against her wilL You're a day after the fair." George said something of the same kind. " He thought that his friend had given up trying." Hat- field swore vehemently that George lie«L Then, quite suddenly, he restrained him- self and begged that nothing more might be said. They were right he did not want to marry. They need not say anything to Grace about him. No, he bore no malice to anyone. Only â€" would they have the good- ness to hold their confounded tongues and let him go I Thus, with a dark brow and a sadden ex- cess of rage in his deep tones, he had stalk- ed oat of the house, leaving Mra. Emery and George Dene astounded, affiighted, at his. demeanour. He had never seen either of them again â€" ^antil thia di^. He had thrown up hia employment on the line, and left the town that same night, not knowing, not caring, whither he went. Chance guided his feet to Redfradi and threw him into co mm u nic ation with the railway officials at the Janction. He buv a good charactw, and had no difficulty i a getting work. He did not write to hia oldfnenda, Irat he knew that they had heard where Iw waa living. Shame, he thought, kmt them silent i3l theae yeara. And now George Dene sought him out, offoed him f riend^pâ€" as if there could be friendship between theee two, Hat- field lefleoted bitterlyâ€" and flaunted hia hf^pinesii in the deaolate man's face. It waa for thl^that Hatfield coiddnot forgiv* him far tUa that he ha^abvdc kirn oat of hia path and left' him to hia dooau Midnight came, and Reporter had not, retamcd. TfarbieDsbralce' oat " again, W^ei: coining in thn rhristeiaB aw "Peace and goodwiUl" .Hatfid42«t«W9d alo^ aa tiieaonndstUlntiicnlSaeBlr. 'Wsera^to himaaifthoae Chriatmarlnlla would aink him daiwfcto tta awlliiriiiuatfcaB. ;^yed *9 ^*J9(i*I^PnAie toiptOBt i^.h«a^Mg,(^ Bat hoar after hour went by, bring- freely, iug bim no news. if he were not mistaken. however, some- __.. ,.«lt4: _^_ arovsed he was -sure ^at be had seen an ,un mooted gtoap of fig- ures doing unusaal work npon the line-^ bearing someihing away with reverent foot stops wjd lowered heads. Stephen Hat- field's blood ran cold to think what that something was. But not until the grey dawn was mounting in the sky, and the cold breath of day made itself felt through all his veins, did any one come to him with eirs. It was a foggy morning. A footstep was heard btfore the p3S8erni)y could be seen. A voice came out of the fog, followed by the burly figure of the man who relieved him at his work. " Morning, Hatfiled. Merry Christmas." Hatfield could not reply. "Aocidiuton the line last night. Man killed by the London express not far from here. Tom Burton says you saw him." "I don't know that I saw him," said Hatfield, struggling to free himself from the haze that seemed to envelop him, blinding his eyes and blunting his faculties at the same time. "I saw several folks on the line last night." " But Tom Barton says you ent him in search of cue â€" " " Yes. I had a WMrning." " What do you du a.a " "Nothing. Was the' man dead " "Quite dead." " 1 knew it," said Hatfield, as he turned away. The Bridge Of an OceajBt.. ^ith stedai-nower ,. "*- power took,anew deptftuM 'J*' *mtn,-! ^iipiiibns f«'"SeqS£2?5: steamer as long m .re!^?"*- ' roA, to Seable to Je w'^^l'Si â-  » point ox. the deck, ah4d^*l«^ necessitv. Tha «, ' ""eULli.^" fa?^r« necessity. The man at right above the rndaer i.»*v-i«»«i past. Certainly the idU"'oftfe.' a steamer derived its origin I *^»a houses on American BtS^^Sj built near the bows, andb^!'^»i ^n ia """' " t'u'V V7erf. l-T-.. of .:. !. .. u iiuuucal turn of mind »,*«««» these huge vessels is bronght 1 « °* without a he -^W nalmiii rSapagaiuttLto His words to Tom Burton and to the signalman made it necessary for Hatfield to attend the inquest upon the body that had been found. It was to him a terrible piece of work but strength of nerve returned with the daylight, and he exhibited no further strangeness of look or manner, such as had excited the curiosity of his acquaint- ances. The man who had been killed was crushed out of all semblance to hirnself the face was unrecognisable, but the fair hair, the build, the tweed suit that he had worne eft no place for doubt in Stephen's mind. He identified the body as that of Georg, Dene, carpenter, rsident in Woodley, a Kentish village, ne urly two hundred miles from Redford. Being questioned pretty sharply concerning his words to Burton, Hatfield answered that Dene was an old acquaintance, that he had stppped him on the line to tell him that he was coming to live in Redford, that they had then parted and had met no more. "What made yon say to Burton that ' there was a man on the line ' " he was asked. " I had forgot the London expressjwhen I parted from him, and was afraid that he had not gone back straight to the station," said Hatfield. " Had you any dispute with him " "No." " Why did you say that you hid had ' a warning'" " I thought I henrd a cry, but I dare say }% was only the wind," Hatfield answered stubbornly. He knew that he had lied in saying that there had been no dispute, but he did not care. What was the nee of telling the truth Would it bring George back to life again Would it comfort George's widow Would it lift from his spirit the load of an- gish which Stephen Hatfield knew he must now endure for evermore He only half heard some tolk' of writing to Dene's relations in Woodley it fell upon unheeding ears. He did not know that there were two Woodleys one in K^nt and one in Staffordshire, iind that the Cor- oner had got hold of the wrong one, and was about to wiite to the clergyman there. All that was said and done seemed to him like some strange, opprepsive dream he waa conscious only of a desite to get into the air and lose himself in loneliness. The inquest, however, was not held until the day after Coristmas Day, and how he got through that Christmas Day he could sever telL He could not have defined his feelings as those of either shame, guilt, or positive distress I he only knew that a great weight seemed to lie upon him he had got into a black shadow and could not get out. He went about bis duties as usual after the tragic ending of Gecrge Dene's visit to Redford Station nothing in his manner or bearing suggested that he bore the burden of a guilty secret upon his soul. He wad a little surlier, a little grimmer than be used to be; but there was no one to be offended by his behaviour. He had no friends. He lived alone, with a charwoman to clean his room and ccok for him now and then. The only change in his manner of Ufe after the in- quest was to dispense with'the charwoman. He did bot want any human being about him now. He felt himaelf cut off from his kind. He occupied a small house in a row of workmen's cottages, not far from the stotion. There was a tiny square of gwrden, a wood- en palling and a gate before the house. In- side there were four rooms, two on each floor, and the staircase between them. Hatfield lived in the kitchen at the back of the house, and slept in the room above it. The front room, which opened direotiy upon the garden, bad fallen into almost hopeleaa disorder. January paased away. Febmary, with ita changeful smilee and tears, had made the old earth new. Even in EDatfield'a at- terlv neglected sarden, a few erocoaMS pushed ap their solden heada, a few bunohaa of snowdrops nodded to the wind. The man did not look at tiiem. The gay spring aan- ahine tried in vain to pueroe the gloom d hia lonely dwelling, the voice at hnmaa love and pity waa yet to seek an entrance to his aouL He sat alone one March evening, prepar- ing hia supper. For the time he waa off night-duty, and at libearty to deep the heavy hours away, if sleep would visit bim. It was an intermitteat viaitor, and generally ^brought bad dreanu. He waa leaming to hato the midnight hoars. Suddenly there came a knock a timid, hedtating knockâ€" to the front door. It made him nervous. Ha apaet the Atfh that he waa holding, and growled not an oath at hia own duraainesa. He wdted tiU the knock waarepeated belinre he wait to the dopr. •' \TO BB OUMTUUCU. In Raada there i» lib cMiiM'panidiaUe by «ia:f nMONltt a wfetta hoilMfal off veai^^ cc.]iisi.,n, or eve'nTr" matter of wonder. It is !„ fffi""*?.*! brjdge who sees every thine anH """^J all possible contingencies: 0«,!"1^I*« his hand are the various "" controls the action of the enfiw' '^^ him, within call, is the quar ^* with a single word he giv^ .k "^^ «« structions, and a quick and mIiT T.* that is at the wheel. Of a T '**'*» when all is clear, a position o^Yh of an ocean steamfr is a deioWn" You are high enough above thpT l "" free from all the smells ofAe S L '^^\' placaonthe bridge v^somS'SS distinguished pisv t. :-:rs bv th. T It is perfectly enjoyable there wK' is clear and the water smoothTS J?!^ most uncomfortable of all plaoM in, i' weabber. On the bridge ev^ rolffl pitch of the ship is accentuated fll matter how ugiy are the seas, how teS the blast, must stand either one or \.! of the officers of the ship; andXiT gale is at the heaviest the captain invariaWv takes a place th^re. Precautions mZL timesused, as by stretching heavy caii»», around the bridge, to deaden somewht th^ effects of a paEsiug wave which raiaht break over the side of the ship. It often happen, that a green sea weighicg tons stiikadii bridge as if it were a huge hamnier, ud cinvas no more resists the force cf the w than were it papir. Ou more than oneoc. easion brave men in pursuit of their dntj have been carried out of the bri;ltebythi surging seas and lost. Driven as are Bto»ni. ers at a high rate of speed, thegre»t« watchfulness is necessary. Steamers fgj. low somewhat an ocean lane, and itmayU broad and wide, and yet chances of a colli- sion are always possible. Especially whei the coast is near are the officers stationed on the bridge,and eyt8 are strained for u early sight of the land if it be day, or of thi light iJf it be at night. A night at sea whei there is dirty weather is an exciting exper. ience. The wind is howling through the rigging, and the seas angry. Jnst m front of one of the officers is the uan at the wheel If a particularly ugly sea be seen coming, a word from the captain intimates how die steamer is to escape it. Just a slight tnn of the spokes of the wheel suffices, bat some- times, while one heavy mass of water ii being evaded, another presents itself on the opposite side. Then the steamer has to tab it. It comes aboard, and the good ship staggers under the blow. Drenched to the skin, the breath almost knocked out of them, still these brave men on the bridge hold their places. Certain white incnutationi, which sometimes show themselves on the smokestacks of steamers when they come into port, attest how seas have broken qsite over the -bridge. Fhosphorescenoe- The cause of phosphorescent light, sa Wei as ite nature, is, in many cases, a pnab alike to the common and the scientific «b: server. This light comes from very diffa- ent sources. The appearance of any M that is partially decayed gives the moit common example. In the case of such de cay, the light may be attributed to the phosphorus set free. But the same name is given to the li«i« emitted by the glowworm or the firefly. In this case there is no such decomposition of elemente. The phosphorescence of the sea is refenw to the presence of minute mednssâ€" cre» tures of the simplest organism. There »k ;Bome species of fungus that are prodncen of light In these instances ic seems to M a result of the functions of life, rather tiM a phenomenon accompanying death. This li^ht is 'given off in some mstHiMi where the decay does not seem likely » liberate any phosphorus, and where, it wj fungus is growing, it cannot be de^tecw easUy. A Scotch writer, Mr. W. A. smitn, tells how he was surprised at the appw- anoeof apieceof fire wood. Inthisconn^ try a decaying maple log, lying « •*" place, yields the best results. " During our walk through the w« other evening we came upon what *PP*^ to be a salt herring lying in the road. J tumins it over wi our feet it seemea uof py, and we foolishly passed it. ,.„.„, « • A few yards f sither on another bnU-J streak of light attracted our attention, «» we this time decided to attempt ito»P"^, A piece of paper was employed, to prev an unpleasintmeeting, and *« f "«S moat circumspectly, what proved to oe^ er more nor less than a piece ot aooi«» from one of the faUen trees alongside. " Apparently a new break .»" *°* J^ phoreJ^BurJace, and the night bejng *j; aa wen as dark, we supposed this ww infioenoe. After drying " "f*ri,?2iwrf agam tried it in the dark, and it sau » had nougi' ,, i^ fnngns ooul« " brilliaatly so the wet â-  oMatoioos oovesaa wna ooiA be "Tflg waMmiai ilijijui_ ji^mrftiiltir- â- Â»7nNMr a WB«» hMMtfdloffi sailed op. jlv* Oovimi' thaCar, with it 'Under a lens no n»jrr'th» aeen, only the rough, broken w surfaoa." " "" Hot Helen ofTroT- Shewaafafr, fit and i^^^^ittr- onssing tiie ooming fancy bau wiw ly bdoved huaband. Hdeao' « I have almost decided to go m ^^ « Troy," die warbled. "»» y**" " would suit me " k«haDdt *f " Wen, " murmured her W?°^»iKi ieasnre8ConfuBedh»?"r.. l- rtioDii waightaandmeasarescoi ^^liu-. te «^ on her ample V^^^^Ax^it think yoa would do better as dupdi f APttujtioalVomftn- wi* Un, York la a practical UtUe ««»•» to» '• Uim na M oomfortable as yon 'â- ^Sfffe^*' "^v- ' ' \.' â- â- â- â- ;â-  JS»J Eooldinc |. OBwond dispute, th any «oo^ •°** ' ihii they wera |i»-^Sl^lorth opposing evil |«^5U in turn brings ou bt»«**S^Uoni the first spe M* aSw have been a passing '*^ »Sa diM*tro°» sterol. t^lfiSSsayB that a scoid is i Wa^'Snl-moutbed wom( i*«*^have not realized tha N*!rmnoh as this, when^ k"!?j«L to express what we fe ««J*!^ nor elegant "'^«r excuae lor tired, « I'^S^There are such, and wit l'^l««th«n. "ho never, for oi I^^Sn and year out. know wl k?,^ This may not be owi rjnmountofwoik they ha iLTthOTCh that of course was I *^ but/having once gotten IfSTit would require a very Ic l*Sitt«e the body to ite norma! If'SS? wonder that we cf tei iSili wd that the overwrought ISt aiSnet every ««cmhty I P-SSaps husband and children L«ss«»Mi'i*'"**« of ourfeelii Is? ought tobe,and,toremi« ISeoted laty. we "cold. 1 I forcibly enough, no doul SSfmore thoughtful ne^t ti, nSi this way of doing increase If^M" On the contrary, it w Indicate every particle of natun [SoiKtretting renders us ver jadinoiiertobe loved we mv r idreadful as this result naa iMt at aU that may be expected Kloug indulged in. The ch I to tske on the same tone, and sc Ifwlt-finding soon fall as naturall; I nwtty Ups as did before the inno IS childhood. They will, of co I np a copy of their scoldms mc I thus our everyday words bsco IreMshmg as Eternity. We cannc I mnch of this matter, or be too be I pressed wfth its importance. I I import, not only to our own hai I to that of every member of the h I Bat is it possible with these 1 I and "trained nerves, to possess I u equable temper and a mild I I know of but one way. " Thou canst walk and wearj' r If ia my strength thou truste't That is what He means whea U •' My grace is sufficient for the* Defences of Young Me A mighty defence for a youn I good home. Some of my reader Iwith tender satisfaction to their lit may have been rude and rus lamong the hills, and architect or IneTer planned or adorned it. Ifresco on princely walls never lo IticiDg to you as those rough he I Yoa can think of no park or â- planted on fashionable country â- tractive as the plain brook that |(j the old farm house and sang I weeping willows. No barred lidonied with stetue of brocze, lopeo by obsequious porter in full Ihalf the glory of the swing gate. I Many of you have a second dw lyoar sdnpted home, that also ia I ever. There you built the first i â-  There your children were boru.j Itteea you planted. Each roon Ibevuue once in it, over the hot i Mthe wings of death. Undtr il â-  expect when your work is donel jsad die. You try with- many jthe excellency of the place, 1 I There is only one word in the la I can describe your meaning. It I Kow I declare it, that youn iparatively safe who goes out ial I vith a charm like this upon hiif Imsry of parental solicitude, Ipnying, will be to him a shield Iter. I never knew a man faiti lUi early and adopted home, I**? time was giver, over to ar j w dissipation or w'ckedness. 1 lius mjoyment chiefly from oJ I »»i»n rather than from the m4 I iB^esaming pleasures of -v:] I ^ksB, may be suspected to be k!!r *° """• â- A^t»8*lom despise y"" »ad you know his hist-c I â„¢.^«ath of shame. If you s, •nly isolated from your kind »wr ssBociates, is there not sol ;•" "»P «»U your own Into il â„¢ f**ires, and a harp. Hi WW the mantel Makeungodl ** from the threshold. Co| 2»L'iâ„¢ *^»« knee of prayer. o2i2. 1 ' days, a father s i I watr^ love, and a slater's c How to Carre a Gol ml I te »^?i*°*** neatly truss I W i!l?i looks very temptic I tTfl?!*" *â-  «o little meat te?'£»!rf the bird thit un I â- ^' ^â- - " lw««t of the g ke^ST-,^ ^t of a tut fhJ^J «»wently, althou; I 'is ill "" directions f i "**â-  coimecting teagfa, and m "are required tl l*slSt?L" • platter witi ;;£**lTCaat «i the bone. Cj ^ring joins tl ;^ :e int rf the knife •ody, and cut I oat throucf tiM body!^ hody, piet •f fte k nif. â-º^ Thought ""tttaaure tooatj i^ quic l^'^toth^ int parti public you ivSh ^msmnmsmf^' ^^^^^si^^i^^^^^'^^^^ â-  "^^MM^ .£L^iSi^