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 :fr:Tr^}T^ ^â- -fi :. \- n^ 'A t F t^i li ^8 [Now FiBSX PCBLISHID.] [Ail Riohts Rbmbvm).] T.TK-Til AND UNLIKE. â€" â-  BjVL'B, BRADDON, • AuTHOB ov "Lady Audlet'b Sw^bbt." " Wtixabd's WEniD."ETC.. E«. CHAPTER IV.â€" In the Hunting Field. Mrs. Freemantle was right in her diagno- MB. Adrain was in love. He was not al- together otconscioua of hia own condiuon but like most intellectual young men he fancied himself much wiser than he really was. He thought that he only admired Helen Deverill and he told himself that he would go no further than admiration until he knew a great deal more of the lady. He was his own master, free to marry whom- soever he chose for his wife, independent of all mercenary considerations. A penniless girl of good family seemed to him the most proper person for him to marry but he told himself that he must have the hijjhest qual- ities in a wife. SbelBtBtnot be beautiful alone mentally and morally she must be perfect. He was not to be scared by a lit- tle,unconventionality; he admired a girl who dared to think and act for herself, and whose manners were not modelled upon'the man- ners of all'other girls bntjhe meant to study that lady's character before he suffered his heart to go out to her, never suspecting, poor fool, that his heart was already hers, and that he who aspired to be her judge was in reality her slave. He had never ridden to hounds since he was a boy, for from the hour he found hard riding was perilous or even impossible for him, he had turned his back upon the sport, and had tried to persuade himself that he did not care for it. Yet now he was out every hunting day, dawdling at the meet, pottering about the lanes, watching and waiting at comers and outside covers, as much in the day's sport as it was possible for him to be without going fast over pas- ture or common and taking his fences with the rest of the field. Whenever there was a bit of .slow -going he was at Helen's side. When the hounds were in full cry she was oiif after them, while he waited patiently in a sheltered comer or to leeward of a hedge, hopicg fate and the fox might bring her back that way. She seemed to like his society, talked to him and with him of all things under heaven and earth, but she was full of caprices and ancertainties, wayward, wilful, a coquette to the marrow of her bones, only Adrian did not so judee her. He thought her a various, versatile creature, a being of whim and fancy, disinterested, uncalculating, in- nocent as a wood or water nymph, but full of iricks and changes like the nymphs. That she was a clever, keen-witted young woman who meanttomakea good match, knew the value of her own beauty to an iota,and in- tended to enjoy all that is best and pleasant- est in this brief, swift race across the earth's surface, which we call life â€" this he suspect- ed not. He admired her adoringly, saw only graces and charms and frank uncon- scious loveliness of person and of mind in every look and word and action. To him she appeared faultless, and yet he thought that he was over-critical, that he erred on theside of deliberation and.severe judgment. Some days, when the fox was what she called "â- * a ringing brate," and the run scarce worth serious consideration, she would spend the whole day in Sir Adrian's com- pany, utterly indifferent to the scandal such companionship might occasion. She had been accustooied to be talked about ever since she was fifteen, and would have fanci- ed her attractiveness on the wane, if people â€"womankind especially â€" had ceased to say hard things of her. She had her sister for chaperon, but then Mrs. Baddeley always had her own affairs to look after. She was asplendidhorsewoman.and rode inabnsiness- like way which admitted of no favor to that little court of admirers which sh" always had inherwake. Her admirers must be in the first flight if they wanted to see anything of her; for tiiose who rode as boldly and as fast as she did, she had ever the sweetest smiles, and the kindest words and the long ride Dome with two or three of these, after the Kill, was like a procession of lovers. ' Liauncelot and Guinevere," exclaimed iiiToffstaff, one of the county Dianas, the way those two young women go on is too astounding. I never saw anything worse in the Bow, and tAa^," added Miss Toffstaff significantly, " is saying a greac deal." There were three Miss ToSstaffs, who rode to hounds, and who rode well, and were always well oiounted. They prided themselves in turning out in perfect style, and had their habits, hats and boots from the best maker, be he who he might. Fa- shion is very capricious in its treatment of habit-makers. There is always a new man coming to the front, with advanced theories upon the cutting of the knee so the Miss Toffstaffs changed their habit maker about once a year. Mr. Toffstaff was a new man in that part of Devonshire, who had lately acquired the estate of a deceased native. Needless to say tiiat he was more " county" than the county people, whose ancestors had been owners of tbe soil ever since the Heptarchy subscribed much more liberally to the hunt, and gave himself more airs than the men of the vitUe roehe. In op^sition to, and yet in friendly rela- tions with the three Miss TofibtaCEs, were the two Miss Trednoeys, whose father, Sir Nathaniel Treducey, was of an older fanuly and owned more aristocratic connection than any other man in the neighbor- hood. His mother came of a dncu race in Sci Hand, and his wife was the daughter of a French marquis, who had fallen in love with the handsome young diplomatist at one of the Empress's balls in the golden days of the Second Empire. Lady Treducey was still beantifal, bat it was a beauty almost submerged in fat. She led a life of utter idleness In a lovely old house in the midst of a small deer-park never bestinred hemlf nve when she went to London for a few weeks in May or Jane to laanoh her daof^ten and then she only transferred her elegant langotw, and her â- ofa cushionB lAd ean de-oolo^ie bottie from the Moat, Chadworth, to duidgea or lim- mers as the caae might be. The Ifissea Tredaoey had bean ai it mn bom on hone beok, and looked down fr«m tk tremendooB alt itnde upon the lOaeeCs^- wbtS, whom they mi^e^ed of hwiag'beiK mee, and tiioy wecaai thin •â-  thev motiier il IlMir«q«i]B»BOMaad M ftediM»d-'-dyfophUiworkMit in hli n»ture to be at mjr ^^ «* ~f over the ground rather qnioker than nmial. The liw Chad is one of tiie most pictjw- eeqne streaaM In England, bat •â-¼Â« «» Sad has ibMtB of ooinBMi»lMe »d it to never less romantio than in that broiid nnch which is bounded on one ude^by Wymperley Mairii. on the ottier by w figures were an inheritance from Sir athan- iel, who belonged to an eagle^nosed race and had ihe aii of a gentlemanhke bird of The Misses Tofiataff and the Misses "Ere- ducey rarely agreed abou; any one subject, albeit they were such very good friends but they were unanimous in their con- demnation of Colonel Deverill's daughters. " It makes one feel ashamed of ^being a girl, don't it " asked MatUda Treducey of Marjory Tofiataff. ., The Miss Treducey had been christened Matilda and Isabel, in honour of their Nor- man descent; the Miss ToffsUff were • Patty, Marjorie, and Jessie, having been christened at a period when quaint rustic names were in fashion. Mrs. Tofiataff Was a woman who followed fashion assiduously, and as she never thought of anvthing else, sometimes overtook it. Everything at Wilmington, the dinner-table, the drawing- room, the stables, and the gardens was in the newest style. A fashion could hardly be heard of in -^Devonshire before it was to be seen at Wilmington. At the Moat, on the contrary, everything was of theold school, a jurious and rather pleasant ming- ling of old French and old Englisli fashions. Lady Treducey protested her abterrence of all innovations, and boasted of her husband's poverty, as if it were a distinction; in an age when parvenus are egregriouely i^h. " Since France has been a Republic every- thing new has been detestablej^'rshe said, " and England is very little better than a Republic. All our fashions have an Ameri- can taint.^ The day is fast coming when London and Paris will be only suburbs of New York." The five young ladies were all agreed as to one fact, that Colonel Deverill's daugh- ters were a disgrace to the neighbourhood by their laxity in the hunting field but as Lady Belfield knew them, and in a manner vouched for their abstract respectability, everyone called at Morcomb, and the ob- jectionable ladies had been bidden to lunch- eons and afternoon teas. Matrons and maids owned that the new- comers were pretty, but were unanimous in denouncing them as bad style. The word had been passed round, as it were. They were to be received and tolerated, but they were not to be admitted to the inner sanctuary of intimate friendship. They were received, however, that was the main point. Sir Adrian met them every- where. His life was a new life, full of new interests. He wrote long letters to his brother, filled with descrip lions of Helen, her looks, her sweet little ways, her spark- ling conversation, which lost a good deal of its sparkle when reduced to pen and ink. " I did not think it was in you to be such a fool," wrote Valentine with brotherly can- dour " the girl is evidently setting her cap at you. She has not a sixpence, and you are one of the best matehes in Devonshire. However, of course you will please yourself. There is no reason why you should try to please anybody else. I, who have only my mother's fortune to depend upon, must mar- ry money, if I ever marry at alL To my own mind at present my state is the more gracious as a bachelor." CHAPTER v.â€" As thb Sparks Flt Up- WABD. ThouGih he was much of a student and more of a dreamer, Mr. Rookstone was a true friend, helper and counsellor to the poor of his pariah. It was a sadly ignorant parish, such as one mi^ht expect to light upon could some magician's wand reverse the glass of time and and take us back a a century to the days of Farmer Gleorge and Snuffy Charlotte. Reading and writing were rarest accomplisbmente among those of mature years, and in spite of schools and schoolmasters, the youthful mind was in a state of darkness which made a simple game of dominoes in the Vicar's Readbig Room seem as mysterious and perplexing as an inscription on a Babylonian brick. Often in the long winter evenings would Mr. Rockstone tear himself away from his own comfortable fire-side to go down to the little Reading Room, where he would labour with sublime patience at the mystery of dominoes, or the perplexity of " Muggins " or "Slap Jack," two games at cards, by which he tried to enliven the dullness of a purely literary evenini;. Here, too, he would read aloud, and enlighten the rustic mind by a leader in the Standard or the Post,- and would listen goodnaturedly to the rustic ideas as to the last political crisis. Nor did the Vicar confine his ministrations to the vicinity of vicarage, church, and schools. His sympathies extended to the furthest limits of an extensive but sparsely populated parish. The Deverills had been settled at Morcomb for nearly a month, and it was the first week in December when Mr. Rocksttme set out one mild, sunny morning for a leisurely ride to Wymperley Marsh, which was at the ex- treme ec^e of Chadmouth Parish. The soft west wind and blue sky sut^gissted Amdl rather than mid-winter, and tiie Vicar felt it a privilege to exist as he trotted alons a Devonshire lane on his steady goinr old horse, Don^so called because he was as stupid and as lazy as some of the college dons Mr. Rookstone had known in hisyoul^ The Vicar, who was at alt tlmea aoinewhat a dreamer, was moat of all given to day- dreaming when he rode Ids good old bay cob, who never did wrong, except so far as to come to a dead stop now and then, when he found the Vicar's mind had wandered, to crop and mondi tlie hedgerow, or the yoong hazel twigs, for a peaoefol five minates, or to get his head doirn lnl» a 4iy ditdh after some sacoulsnt hetb, bei(M« his rider roused himself from his reverie so far am to beonne awue thct locomotion had oeand. " The Vloar loved Dm, and Don loved tiie VioH, woidd ireoogniae hie maater'o voioe alar oS in tba garaen, and fPtal to him from his staUe with load ndgninjp. Don had carried the Vloar over every -aere of Us oafaebma puWi, and Inaiw Amy ootta^ atwUA hewaa aoenitomed tojtdb^ anil tun li ^,jaaas vhlaik bite JdliiOdii, ft mfiitl and fuft hf Wei meadows, where the cattle wattow in faes8 and wade breast deep in the ranr ^^ mwfsh sustains notiiing but wfld fowl, and can only be crossed at one pomt by horse or foot passenger, who has to pick his way along a rough stone causeway, which was constructed in the dim remote- ness of an nnreoorded past, and which it is nobody's business to improve or repair m the present. Few but sportsmen intent on slaughter would have tempted the dangers ot this dilapidated causeway but Mr. Rockstone knew every stone ot it. A solitary hu$ which stood close to the river, with water on one side and marsh on the other, was the vlti-na thule of his parish and here he came about a dozen times in the year to see two of his parishoners who had awakened in Jhim a keener interest than their merits might be said to deserve. Yonder hovel, with| low cob walls and a gable roof of blackened reeds, had been ten- anted for the last forty years by a basket, maker, whose gipsy wife had died soon after his establishment in that solitary abode, and had left him with a daughter of three years old. The child had grown up with him somehow, as the birds grow iii their nests, in that lonely place, without womanly help of any kind, and she had grown into a creature of a strange wild beauty, in which her gipsy blood was manifest. She had grown almost to womanhood when Mr. Rockstone came to the parish, and he had been interested in her as a curious growth of savage ignorance in the very midst^ of civilization. She had grown, up knowing hardly anything which civilaed young wo- man know, but she had on the other hand the innocence of ignorance, had no more knowledge of the outer world, its pleasures, temptations and sins, than she had of the great shLaing worlds in that unfathomable universe above her head. She could neither read nor write, she could not count her own ten lingers without breaking down two or three times in the attempt, and she had never been inside a churcb since she was christened. Her father's excuse when charg- ed with his sins of omission was that he was a very poor man, and that-hd lived four miles' and a half away from every thing. "How oouli I send her to school?" he asked. "You might have moved to a more civil- ized home," said the Vicar. " Moved Why this cottage isi my own freehold, parson. I'd as soon part with my right arm as sell the house that shelters me^ 1 should never get another if once I sold this. The money would all go in drink." " You might at least go to church once a week," pursued the Vicar. " You wander many a mile in the week to sell your baskets. Could you not walk a few miles on the Son- day to save your soul " John Dawley shook his head. " When a man has been on the tramp all the week he wants his rest on Sunday, he said. The Vicar talked to Madge Dawley, tried to teach. her the elements of Christianity^ but the task was difficult. He could not ask her to walk nine miles a day in quest of eidightenment. He rode over to the cottage by the marsh as often as he could, and he took more pains with this beautiful young ignoramus wan with anybody in his pariah. After be had been engaged thus for about a year, he began to thmk he had^shed some rays of light upon the dimness of the girl's mind. Intelligence seemed to be a wakening. Madge was less childish in l.er remarks upon the Gospel, and more curious about the world in which she lived. Mr. Rockstone was full of hope about her, when she disap- peared suddenly from the cottage, the marsh, and parish of Chadmonth, without leaving the slighteek clue to the mode and motive of her departure. All that her father could toll the parson was that he had left the hovel at daybreak to carry his baskets to a remote market town, where there was a f edr and on coming back at midnight he found the house empty. Had he ever seen a strange man lurking about the cottage? Did he suspect his daughter of any acquaintance with a person who might lure her away No, to both questions. Mr. Rockstone took infinite pains to trace the fugitive, but in vain she had not been seen in the village, nor at the nearest rail- way station. The local police could do no- thing, the metropolitan police were equally at fault. John Dawley's daughter was but another vanished drop in the great ocean of humanity. Five years afterwards the basket maker, returning towards midnight from the same market tovn, and the same annual fair, upon the anniversary of his daughter's fi^ht, found a child, apparently between two or three years old, sitting on his hearth staring at the fire, which had been lighted not long before by unknown hands. He had no occasion to puzzle his brains about the child's identity, for she was the exact reproduction of his daughter's infancy, and she wore round her neck the yellow glaes necklace which Madge had worn from fanoy to womanhood, her mother's favor- ite ornament, without iriiioh she had never considered herself dressed. He searched the hovel, thinking to find his daofhter in hiding somewhere, but the place was empty save for that young thing squatting buore the fire. He questioned the ohHid, but she was backward in her speech, and could only express her own wants in a very infantine fashion. Maggie tired, Maggie hungry, Maogie want ^Ik. She did not cry for her mo^r, or make any objection .to her dianged surroondings. SMiitohersanper oi dry bread contented- ly; bat she rwased to rit upon the basaet- miJier's knee. She curled herself up Uke a Utteiiopcm tiw bed where he pother, and dmt aa peaoefnlly aa a kitten. ^Die basket maker took to hia new bar- dan with a stolidity which mit(htbe dther terigMtion or indUferenoe. He would have bcowitap theganddaaij^ter exactly aa he ^adttoagfatop «he dai«h«ar, bat here ttie Vtakr Jatatead. Ha anonged HuNk **»t diQd dMNdd be koMdad fortwoweaakaoot intfiklMMto of I of Cl i l a i y a tli, thaaoioal. and batM^bfiuia eai«l'teM la » ed witii her grandfather, and aa aoon as her babv fimnra were eapaUo of work ahebMwa to hslpbim in hia baaket-making. Her friend theoottayer taught her domeatto wk St all KindN m trained her to oa^iSaa; in the earUert agau She wm able t» keep the hovd in ordar from ibe tune ah* waa eight years old. Her boarfwaa paid forby ti^ Vicar, who asked no wie's help in titis irood woric When she was deven years old the oottager'a wife died, and Madge, who was able to read and write and cipher, now took up her abode permanently in the cottage on the marsh, and was only expect- ed to appe-ur at Sunday school and church onfineSandays ^,. Sometimes she tramped about the coun- try side with her grandfather, sellins; b^- kets. At other times she spent long, soU- tary days in the cottage garden, a quarter of an acre redeemed toboriously from the marsh, a paradise of flaunting wallflowers, stocks, and nasturtiums, hollyhocks and sunflowers, with patehes of potatoes and cabbage, and a tall screen of scarlet-runners bright against blue river and blue sky in the hot summer afternoons, when M*dge sat on a little mound at the edge of the stream, basket-weaving, and watehing the lazy tide flow by, her flc^ers moving softly with a monotonous regular motion as if ahe had been weaving a net to catoh the souls of men. She was beautiful enough for an enchant- ress, with those great dark eyes and raven hair, a skin like old ivory, and features of purest Roman mould. The Vicar was mor- tal, and he could not help feeling^ a deeper interest in the soul that dwelt within this lovely clay than in his snub-nosed apple- cheeked villagers. And the girl was shy, or proud, and held herself aloof from all sympathy, which made the Vicar only the more sympathetic. Mr. Rockstone had deferred his visit to old Dawley's cottage longer than usual, and he approached the marsh to day with a cer- tain anxiety of miufl, inasmuch as Madge had not appeared in her usual place in the ALOHEUr A White â- â- â-  A«,a, ayoaBgsSKSK2£;j8-l shown remarkable a^?*4% iwv^ roach«d the UrgJSL' 3 tic and Indian Oceans b2?»*« 4 latitude. He dS'*^.«l2o* h^s bade^ He decided to I^^^.^ lived alone in the hearth* ..**. wl this mtereating and hStSo'^*?*' pie. For some years the nam.^' has appeared on the man, m Roichard and Bohm aDmiJkJ* short; distance of the tritwonHT " the route of Capello and?~^ *?.»«*;• export inland gallery of his church for more than a month. The weather hd been either bad or doubt- ful on all those Sundays, and he had taken that to be the cause of her absence, yet when a fifth Sunday came and the darkly beautiful face was not to be seen in Ite ac- customed place, the Vicar began to think theie must be some more serious reason for Madge's absence than rain or wind. The smoke rose, in a thin, white column from the low chimney of the hut, and a gleam of fire-light showed in the wind3W that looked across the marsh. There was some life in the hovel at any rate. Old Dawley was sitting by the hearth which occupied one side of the low, dark living-room, making a basket hia grand- daughter knelt by the window with her arms folded upon the sill, looking out across the broad, level marsh to the road on the edge of the low hill which shut QUt«Il the world beyond. The marsh was about a quarter of a mile in width, broken up here and there into pools where the wild fowl congregated along stretoh of waste land and dark water very dear to the sports- man, and not without a charm for the land- scape pamter, but of no value to anyone else. ' The girl turned her head with a listleaa air as tbe Vicar entered, but she did not rise from her knees or offer him any greet- ing. " How d'ye do, Dawley, how's the rhue- matism No better, eh," as the old basket maKer shook his head. "That's bad. The weather has been against us old fellows for the last three months. But I didn't think weather was bad enough to keepa healthy, active young woman like yon from cburch, Madge," added the Vicar, with good-hamor- ed remonstrance, smiling at the girl whose dark eyes were looking at him dreamily, as if she were but half- conscious of external thiuits, in the absorption of her own thoughte. " She's neither healthy nor active now," said her grandfather, oiscontentdly. " I don't know what has come over her. She's just as if she was half asleep all day, yet she's awoke admost all night, for I hear her toss about t'other side the lath plaster, and sigh as if she'd a mort o' trouble, half the night through. She breaks my rest, she do, as well as her own. She's the most dis- contentedest young female as ever I met with." "Come, come, friend, you musn't be hard upon her. It may be that the life is too lonely for her, and that ahe'a not well. Young women most of them seem subject to neuralgia now-a-days. They all seem to want tonics, quinine and iron, sea air, and change of scene. What's the matter, Madge?" askod the Vicar gently, laying his broad fatherly hand upon the raven hair. " Nothing's the matter," the girl answer- ed moodily " I am sick of my life, that'a all." " You are tired of this lonely place, you want to leave your poor old grandfather " "No, I should be no better anywhere else. It isn't the place I'm tired of, it's my life." " This is a caae for quinine, I'll aend yon a box of pills," said the Vicar cheerily, Madge turned her back upon him and looked out at the marsh, just as she had been looking when her patron entered. The old man got up from his three legged stool, and pointed significantly towards the door. " Come out and have a telk, Dawley," said the Vicar, " your cottage is too warm for me, and I've got Don outside to look after." (TO BS dONTINUXD.) territory on the south. bnTl"^* first to describe the couitr? J** • i He is living near the Lufira Ri^' the head streams of the Como fl*'** journey from the nearest whi.J!!.' LakeNyassa. It is thTcoZ^^** « «;fulChiefMoshide.who3Xt the white stranger when he Zn, across the continent with a fe»7 ' tendanta and asked leave to JS^ *| Araot has buUt a house at m3â„¢" "'I large and straggling town of the IS" the country is thicKly populated a!^**' two-hours' tramp Amot counffio^^r villages. **â- ' pie demned to speak to the wW^Lt unless he first addressed them. ThaiU to the white man's country as t'hrl.?Tl the blacks. Stories of the Wdav,M slave trade have reached 4at kl ^^°T% '^^y,?*? that the rtS man s land otters nothing but miwv Zl slavery to the negro. Mr. Arnot hSbSI gained their sympathy and affectionbr »l ing for their sick. The potency of ioimZt skill won him fame and friends, and heall roams through the large conutry at til and no one disputes his right to do ukl pleases. ' It is a country of grain fieldi, thai strange to say, the men themselves till tkl soil. All the land u cultivatei The Dt.l ried men toll Mr. Arnot that it would 1,1 dancrerous to go home after their day'i m without a large bundle of wood to feed M fire during the night. Woman in Gual ganze, it appears, is not a downtroddsl menial, as in many ether parts of AJiuf She believes she has rights, dares to nriI them, and the missonary credits her «iit| great talent and fluency as a scold. Onl would suppose from the immense qnulil;| of grain that there would always be nl abundance of food. A lartie part d k\ grain, however, is Uoed in brewing leeJ which is stored in receptacles made of biiil and holding thirty or forty gallons. Evgjf body xB free to drink everybody else's lw| as long as it lasts, and in a few dayi tk fruits of many weeks of toil are connimil The beer does not excite quarrels, uit i| chiefly somnolent. In October the land is spaded for the«it| crop. The chief himself often goes to ii\ fields in his litter, accompanied by hiBnuii ciana, and watches the long files of hia si^l jecta at their labors. He inspires great i«l among his people, for his government i«»l vera, althonsrh he does not employ tortims means of punbhment. The death peDili!| is inflicted for grave crimes, but not for i* of sorcery, as in most parts of savage Aftia Here and there one sees groups of tai* twelve men fastened together with as ii« chain while working in the fields. Theyw thus punished for minor offeaces. Ubb many important African rulers, Moihii has no body of counsellors, but govenu b aided, listens to all who come to him, u4 in the missionary's opinion, hisdedsjoniBl usually just and good. Cases are sn to him wherever he maybe, and .at aU ton of the day. In transacting buMnessW his people he has around him none olBi notables or sub-chiefs of his country, w only his pages and women, and "f^^'J'J tolerato the presence of persoiJ who im\ simply to listen to the proceeduigs WW they have ousiness with him he sends t» quickly on their way. .A The calm and peace which reign m w country, Mr. Araot says, are I^^^A able. It is only, however, because MwMrt people are far atronger than their n«g»| Who lead anythin? but a peaceful exi^l Moahide often sends out expeditions sg^l his neighbora, for the sole f fPWjl der. The men are killed, their women m children are dragged into caP'iJ' ' their ivory is seized. Mnr Hore W^. wrote from Lake Tanganyika t^t ae^l of the slave trade, as the wrld «eM bji along the coasts, are triflmg '^Vf^Z\ the^Uery inflicted upon scor^ oUof J nate tribes by the internal ^\^^h^d hide's slave caravans are sent t'^«^l miles west to Bihe. Arabs whotovej^ ed his country also purchase manyJJ captives. As all hU human c^PfT^ men and children, the females of G^ ^â- Mle a"^ri.me by '4.** oelabrated mad -*SLrl4isthatbel -»-- Sraris, Linn Coun 5»**t'is«-1« atone was form S*^tiS in Virginia, wl r • «*• .feotod wonderful cm V^^V^JTm- It bos be« i^rSStownerfcra %rfn?Ai?timeithasbe I**'£,d has always gi^ l*»-SJer failing to effe p-jS^cure" is perhaps not »«?*Afa connection, for if I .5!rfast to the wound, -» t«»«Ji^ereishydrophob. P* *!i. SiTiBCome from this s kJgKin 1880 a^nt ^•w?dJrthoStttol •»»«5iSobU?IreffrtoD N**5::L the possessor o ^here the '"»^"n,'r\i..^"~°' possessor soon McGi .i«gian ' r»wfnl d**^*^ „ I "iS'right, was hurried inl ,nme ^,^1 niadBtonem return whit death, havu (hydrophol its seeds He arrived at Ce lUght, itakentothe li^Se After his ll**â„¢!:* nf the facte our TheTrseofPain. Our very existence depends upon sen^ility to saring. Without the i mg of pain we might lose one limb after another until we had none left we might work till we dropped dead from riieer phps- ioal exhaustion. Without pain a " burnt diHd " would not dread the fire, and might be oonsamed by it. Without pain we might all bocome dyspeptics and be hope- lees invalida before we were aware of it. Paia is the sentinel that watches perpetaal- over oar safety, and gives notioe of the first approadi of tbe diseases whidiareoar first enemies. Bemove the sentinel, and the foe woold sorprise aa before we were •ware thathe vaaaaar, and would be in raU amft total pgaeasion of the very citadel ft o«r eodstaioe before We oould make the laaal^attanvbWMsiitUm. Thia warder oatta waiof «nr hnaaaki hsWieiluii my ""WTâ„¢*^ «*«-p -»^ pltaaant draami Imt vata ittmi a ai os l ta a aoKbaitliia doing. i!ii»» Tery limited. The foUowiM "ir^ Motw odamn ofadsily P»2; SSS Immediately „ify»"«* onSatarday." He __ most of G^iadinthis article. " heaved Mr. Evans. Jltha pin (he had been SdfSd applied the Stone. r2.rtofpwlog««.Mr.Fvan. fe^sticStthltifthehydrc the ^^ t his system fast to the spot whi li J^. *Y =-- lie had not be AristoUe, beine asltlr« "" gam by telling a?aU«hood.reP^. Be credited wEen he tells the °^ ^^ Nothing is more beantifui i^ jidif viSuS^happy ?W.^ J.4 if •*»* belongs to every individual" «" knows how to build it A magasine writer ask^vy, ,^ tanesb^mifedr ^^l^^^^ pMFle's fortaoes is that tbey fast to Red but ii "the fatal poison It won a case my mformsjit sa L.leMh." aid that when re '"on a pond in August said, was the poisoc been taken from the sy k, stone had been f^ked for » Kth composed of about "toee of water it w^ .operation was repeated f „"ui8,Vter which the atone " and the operator pr .tiwtout ofdMger McG ,,toneasawhitei8h,Bpong IS. not larger than a hlber nd full of fine pores. A Jechanicsville, this State, Emlied something like seven «fore bJl the poison was (1_ em, the time consumed t iODs being something like inn. J. M. Bates, of Osceola, I Jortunate possessor of one of 1 ones. Another is in the possi llelion, of Savannah, Mo. In May, 1883, Frederick k, was bitten by a mad dc others of the same ci( rent to try the virtues o one. I believe Remy vi at died of hydrophobia, ^y 18, and showed no 83 Idiead disease for thirty -f 01 iJune 21. He died after th lUe suffering. T am xinable Itite madstone is found |lihatis,to any degree of ffieve it is found in the Uflier animals of that kind 1 gall-bag instead of the |»te,Ithink it is found I the skin of taat class of an I It all It is rarely found, " iPadden, one of the best-in I South, says that it is ' IttieSouth, but that mof I madstones are of a very ued on the bites oi anal I poisonous insects. He al er in blissful ignorance of I » I Didn't fielieve in New- " Don't you want a fe I is the best policy,' hung 1 laa who Imd soch signs â- r " there's money in '^o, I guess not," 'Tve been doin' busines tea year in a stiddy, cons I SB* I dont blieve in mat dtpartares.' W menauu uii."iiii"» •" „_i.«on. Urgely outnumber the male popJ"°' polygamy is extensively Pf?""f";ti,e«li| ^MfAraot has a high opimoa £^^ brity of thb country around ^^^^jiyrfl sourloes of the Congo. He is »P^Jii«l of the exceptional white m^n wW w-^s and thrive in equatorial Afncfc ^^^ sionariesleft the coast monttaa«»^„ him, and before thin, itis P«^baW^„„^. most isolate among the white sojo s Africa hasTad the pleasure of »6«» » ing men of his own race. BitsomingB. It takes a great deal of grace to be"*- bear praise. „iffscie"l To will what God willa istheoniy^^l that gives us rest. One may live a conqueror, a »"'6i trato,buthemustdie«a^-^^^^ The innocence ?( *7,u"^mpl«- nothing of the mischief of the «»^ii* The great high road of h-'^^^ «*• along flie old highway of ateaoP- Climbing the La Gentieman (to tramp «r only a pennv; my 1 fsopls want nickels anc Iramp â€" ^Yes, sir, bu Ihe business, an' I I vske it a dime, though APearfal Wif»_«« Now this «iight you in the ki Husbandâ€"" Yes, I- Wifeâ€" •• Well, the yni'talking to tbe coo "•d do the cooking m' That cured him. OKTei The«BBtimomalsw( â- sdhr any person Kcffldr, Deo, 18.â€" *M«asedNsBviLmi JK?41«yN.C. Pols( ^Mdowtify gy to colds, cough â- â€¢^a bttve no heail agifce caUio. W 3a 5 ttnniY W. ^Bgitt:CKPHAfl -^^-st trial bot Z2^-*™« store, pun ittiiiiiiMiiiMii '".â- 't MHilii iMiifliifiiiiiiiMiriiiiT I ' ^- iii.«tv^