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CHAPTER IX.-Cuntinned.
The maid thought it rather strange;
but there is no accounting for lovers.
She took the letter, and her mistress pass
ed on. She went up the steps and found
herself on the crowded deck. No one no
ticed her; each was intent on bis or her
own business. Looking forward she saw
her husband at the end of the boat; her
eyes rested on hini for some minutes; then
she turned away, her eyes full of hot, bit
ter tears. A man stood at the foot of the
stairs.
"I want to go on shore," she said.
She slipped some money into bis hand.
In a few minutes she was walkiDg rapidly
down the pier, never stopping to look be
hind, never pausing for one moment. She
went back to the railway station, where
a train was just starting.
"Where is that train going to?" she
asked.
"To Liverpool," was the reply.
Without loss of time she hastened to
the ticket office, purchased a ticket, cd
la less than ten minutes after she had left
the steamer she was on her road to IJv
erpool. Then she flung herself back in
the carriage, and wept as only women
weep once in Ife.
"I am safe," she said to herseif, "safe
nnd dead to him."
Meanwhile the British Queen went gay
1y on her -course. The sky was cl 'ur. the
sea was calm. Lord Dunhaven' eiiiam
were excellent, and he enjoyed then.
lie felt happier than he had been for
ome rime. His worldly prospects were
brilliant, and he believed it quite possible
that in time he might like his young wife
very much, even if he did not lev-? hor.
She had piqued and perpleKP-i !tim; ho
had far more character than a" had :m-"
agined. lie must try to underlain! !.;jr,
for, nnless he was mistaken, th-;ra was
plenty of spirit as well as character.
He went to the cabin stairs, but did not
see his wife; he went down, b it she was
not there. He blamed himself, Iwliev.ns;
that she was among the crowd on deck
He saw Annie was also look'i: about.
"Annie," he said, "where is your mis
tress? Tell her she will be left behind.
The pretty maid looked at him in dis
tress.
"Lady Dunhaven I thought she was
with you, fljy krd. I have not seen her."
"I bronpht her to the eubm," he said,
""before the boat started."
"She left it again before the boat start
ed," said the frightened girl; "she chang
ed her bat and cloak, then went on deck
again."
"Then she is there now," he said, hast
ily; "we must look for her."
"Mr lord, I beg your pardon. My lady
.asked me to give yon this and I forgot."
This! What is this? He holds out his
hand. She gives him a letter.
His handsome face grew pale as he read
the first words; then he said:
"I fee I understand it: it has all been
a mistake; the lady went ashore: it will
be as well to say nothing of this."
He stood on French soil when he read
"her letter; it was not very long, but to
'the purpose:
r '"Lord Dunhaven." it began, 'when you
receive this I shall be far away; I shall
be for all time dead to you. Let me tell
you that on Tuesday, when you were in
the drawing roojn, talking at the open
window witb Lady Dnrel, I was sitting
among the rose trees. Before I had either
time to go away or to warn you, I heard
you say to yotir shame it was the mon
ey you wanted, and not the girl. My lord,
I rtpeat your own words, it was to your
sharoe I heard you say also that I bad
nothing in me to win any man's love. My
lord. 1 had learned to love you with ail
the strength and force of my heart. I tell
you that because I aha!: ;:ever look upon
your lace aga'u. Yon have what you
want the money; as for the girl, your
eyes will never rest oil her aaln. She
is dead to you for all time. I nm grateful
to you for the kindness you once showed
me. It is in return for this lunduess that
I leave you the money and set you free.
1 hope you will wate no time in lookin?
for me; to you and yours, so cold, so hard.
o cruel to me, I am dead for evermore.
I would rather die by any torture than
inflict my presence on you again. I hope
the money will make you happy. Good
by forever and evermore."
'CHAPTER X.
Lord Dunhaven read the letter twice
over, to be quite sure of its contents; then
he went direct to the telegraph office and
aent a telegram to Lady Darel. It said:
"Join me at the Hotel d'Or. Calais, with
the greatest possible speed. Say nothing."
Lord Dunhaven was at the station to
meet her. She did not know how great
her suspense had been until she saw him
there alive and well.
"My dearest. Leonard," she said, "I
have had a terrible fright."
"My dearest mother," be answered, "I
have been driven almost mad; bu-t we will
not talk here or in the streets -we may
be overheard; we will not speak one w'ord
until we reach the Hotel d'Or." .
When ther entered the pretty salon
Lady Darel's Brat words were:
-Where ia Lady Hilda?"
And one look at her son's agitated face
tuld ber where the wrong lay.
"Sit down, mother," he said, "that
which I have to tell yon will be a shock
to yon, as well aa to me. Lady Hilda
has left forever. She did not come to
France, and we shall never see ber
again."
He in right ia thinking that it wonld
be a ahock to her; ber .face grew very
pale and she trembled.
"Oh, my dear Leonard, the disgrace.
What shad we do? We shall be the
laughing stock of all England. She ran
away, roa say? Why did yoo not prevent
itr
"I could sot Read this letter, and then
you will understand."
As she read her eyes filler' with tears.
"Poof cMM, ctIW "Oh. Leonard,
to she has suffered. "
' Her first tsaartsa Was one of unutter
able ssrssw ami regret, her sext of anger
a tfcegjr! who had breegbt this disgrace
ffMmV' -"'".
"1 am sorrr she aferaeard ue, Loom-
wsmt , r""
r -r tci ex 5 M
the money, mother, and she believes that
I shall be happier without her; I am sor
ry, for I really meant to be kind to ber,
aad I am grateful."
"What can we do?" asked my lady.
"After such a wedding, too everything
so well arranged, every one so compli
mentary. We shall be the laughing stock
of all England. I never heard of a man's
wife running away on her wedding day.
You will never hear the end of it, Leon
ard." "I shall never hear the beginning of it,
mother, if you will help me,", he said.
"Why need I surely you and I can keep
a secret.
"You and I can, but ; ou forget the ser
vants yjwi had two with you; and only
thiiikyhat a perfect godsend such a
piece of intelligence must be to them."
The young earl told his mother that he
had heavily bribed them, and that they
had solemnly sworn secrecy. She looked
up in wonder at the sum he named.
"I shall go to Paris," coutiuned Iord
Dunhaven. "You see what Hilda says,
mother, that we need not waste any time
in looking for her, that she would rather
die by any torture than live with us again.
Still I shall starch for her, aud to you 1
intrust the search."
"I will do my best to find her. 1 wish I
had been kinder to her, but she was so
strange, so unformed, so different to every
one else. 1 was stern with her for her
own good; she was but a child."
"We did not understand her, mother,"
he said, sadly. "She was a self-sacrificing,
generous, tender-hearted, sensitive
girl; but it is of no use wasting time in
regret; we have to think now bow to save
ourselves from being laughed at. First of
all, I shall go on to Paris juct as though
this had not happened; you will return to
England and look for her wherever you
think there is a chance of finding her. I
shall stay there six months, and with good
management, no one will know but what
my wife is with me. At the end of six
months,, which was the time I intended to
take for my wedding tour, I shall, if she
be found, return home, and all will be
well."
"But if I cannot find ber," said Lady
Do rel.
"If she cannot be found," he said,
"there is still no reason why the world
should know that we are not together. At
the end of that time you will receive let
ters from me sarin,-; that we intend to pro
long our tour; you can read them to your
friends, and still no one need know that
she is not with me."
"I see." said my lady; "and then?"
He sighed deeply and paused again.
"Theu. mother," he said, "I see no
chance but for me to remain abroad for
some years at least. 1 shall not like it.
but I prefer that to being laughed at. I
shall remain abroad fire or tux years;
snrely we shall have found her or beard
something of her."
And if not," said Lady Darel, "I like
to see my way 'aid straight before me."
If not, I must come home and brave it
out, he answered.
Lady Darel went back by the evening
mail taking the luggage all with ber; this
she ctored away in one of the many ware
houses in which Indon abounds. She
returned without having aroused the
least suspicion as to where she had been.
Then be began a life that could only have
been carried ou by a clever woman. She
talked of her son Incessantly; she .read
extracts from his letters, always using
the word "we" using it as though it
meant himself and his wife, so cleverly
that, f at any moment the whole truth
had come out, no person could have found
hr out in fhe slightest untruth.
Then, after a time, sjie dismfssed her
servants, gave up her houe, and told ev
ery one she was going to travel, in order
to see. riot the beauties of the Continent,
but of her native land. That wa but a
way of disguising the fact that she in
tended to go in search of her son's lost
wife.
Sne went first to Hurst Sea, half hop
ing, half believing that there she stionld
find either herself or some news of ber,
but there was none. On the contrary,
news of the wedding havi ig reached
there,' he had many iiKjuiries to answer
about i he young countess. She went from
one place to another, from the seaside to
the country and back again to town. But
nowhere, and from no source could she
glean the least information of her. She
was indefatigable, but it was quite use
less. So the time passed on. At the end of
sis months, Lady Darel announced to all
her friend ffcnt her sen would prolong
his stay on the Continent, t the end of
six ye;irs, sim announced that her son
was returning to England for a short
time, but that he would return alone.
CHAPTER XI.
Lady Hilda Dunhaven threw herself
back in the railway carriage with the air
of one relieved from an intolerable bur
den. She was alone now alone forever more;
she was dead to them for all time. She
could not collect her thoughts, not one
idea was clear to her except this that liv
ing, she must live with a thorn in her
heart, and that for all time she was dead
to him.
When the train stopped, she walked out
of the Iomlou Bridge station, feeling that
he was indeed alone In the world.
She would not go to any hotel to sleep,
lest by so doing she should leave any
traces of her flight she would walk
through the streets nntil morning. As she
walked np and down the deserted streets,
she thought of her young husband on
French soli.
"He will not regret me," she thought,
bitterly; "he has the money, he will be
pleased that I am out of the way."
The night was long the stars shone out
brightly, the clear, sweet sir was Inter
mingled no longer with the busy sounds
of busy men. Morning came, and at six
o'clock she was at Enston Square. She
had Dot decided where to go she said
to herself that fate should decide that for
her. A train was in tbe depot, and wher
ever the train was going shs would, go.
She listened it was for Rugby, Crewe
aad Chester. She would go to Chester.
Orn mora aha yarcnaaed a ticket and
was aoo m tbe old, jvth taw of Cbea
tat. Tata, feeds- a srmost aato!eeU,
he remembered how long It was u, h I
ha.f t.ith,p fititt tt-in, Uk. I
...... ...... . ........ .. Birrj,, iuf Wfllt
into a coffee hnuse and asked for a room.
She could hardly drag ber weak, wearied
limbs up the stairs; she coold hardly kei p
her tired eyes open until the tea she or
dered was brought up to her.
When she had drunk it she fell into the
deep sleep of exhaustion. It was ereuing
when she awoke; her idea were much
clearer, but there was a strange, terrible
feeling in her b ad; a red mist seemed to
float before her eyes and obscure every
thing; a sound like the rushing of waters
filled her ears. She thought that perhaps
the fresh air would do her good. She
arose i.nd went down stairs.
She walked dowu the high road, and
than a lovely green lane charmed her. She
went down, and found some grand clover
meadows; she crossed those, wondering
why the earth and sky seemed to meet
why the green world whirled round her.
Then c-uaie a long, white, hard, high road;
she went down it, little dreaming that she
would never repass it. The shadows of
evening were beginning to fall, the golden
ngiit or the sun was fndine.
She walked to the middle of the whito
hard road; she heard the sound of car
nage wheels, but it did not seem to he
that she was in any danger; that she bud
Defter go out of the rond: that if she re
mained where she was she would be run
over; it was dusk then, in the evening
uwing to a sharp corner, those driving did
not see her. The next thing was a cloud
or oust; the quick gallop of horses; a
woman's scream; a low cry, and then a
moment of unutterable anguish. Lady
Hilda Dunhaven was lvin under the
horses' heels, with a gaping wound in her
temp.e, and the gray look of coming death
on Her face; ber hat was crushed, and
the golden hair streamed on the ground
A minute of horrified silence, then a
girt s voice cried:
It is a woman. We have run over a
woman. What shall we do?"
mere was great consternation; the
coachman jumped down from his box, the
footman from the back of the carriage
one held the horses' heads, while the oil)
er raised the prostrate figure. His fact
grew pale as he looked at her; the great.
gaping wound and the gray hue of that
young face startled him.
"Is she hurt?" asked the lady, quickly.
' very much, indeed. I am afraid sue
is killed, was the answer.
The lady, who seemed to be quick and
decided in all her movements, came hast
ny ironi tne carnage, and went up to
Lady Hilda.
"Killed," she repealed. "I hope not I
hope not. Lay her down ou the grass,
Smithson."
Tbe man laid her on the grass. The
lady kntit by her side and laid her baud
over her heart.
"She is not dead '' she said. "Her heart
beats. 1 will tell you what we must do.
She iu;m 1 placed in the carriage, aud
we must take her home."
"Home," said a sleepy, indolent voice.
"You don't mean home, my dear."
"Where should I mean? Do you sup
pose we can drive her to the moon, or
leave her lying here? Nothing of the
kind. Most certainly she goes home."
"Well, my dear, do just as you like.
There is nothing in' the world worth
troubling about. Take things easy. They
are sure to come right," quoth Sir Peter
Pitcairn, who was one of the most indo
lent men of his time.
"The pior creature would die, most
probably, while you are tnkirfg things
easy," replied Lady Pitca.'rn. "This comes
of rapid driving, Sroithson."
"Indeed, my lady," said the coachman,
"I was not driving quickly at all. but the
young lady stood quite in tbe middle of
the road, and did not stir."
"It looked to me like suicide," snid the
footman, as be helped to place the silent
figure in the carriage, and during the
short drive home. Lady Pitcairn was busy
in discussing the idea.
CHAPTER XII.
Branksonie Hall was one of the mwt
Important estates in Cheshire; the owner,
Sir Peter Pitcairn, ought to have held
the chief position' in the county; as it
was, he was too indolent for anything
but the most ordinary and indispensable
needs of life. He ate and drank Indus
trionsiy; he siept well; he enjoyed sitting
in the coziest of easy chairs: but more
useful occupations, he had none. Thosi.
who knew him best said h was a good
tiling he had married as he did. Lady Pit
cairn was a woman of business keen,
shrewd, quick, callable of managing an
estate a woman of plain, practical com
mon sense; active, industrious and ener
gy ie.
They had two daughters two beautiful
and aecou.prmhed girls-and every one
wondiTi d that such commonplace parents
should have such beautiful, graceful chil
dren. The eldest, Anice, was a lovely,
graceful blonde, fair as a lily, with huir
that shone like threads of gold; the
youngest, Cecile, resembled her, save that
her hair was of a darker trown, and her
eyes of a hazel hue. Tiiey were the belies
r,i the country, feted, admired, and eager
ly sought afTT. It was to this household.
Miii;oed of such ojsjxsHe choractew.
thst Lady Pitrsirn in h"r kind, impulsivi
activity, brought Lady Hilda Duuhaveti.
"Such an adventure, my dears," sin
said to her two daughters., "Smith. n
drove over a young lady on the Hering
stone road; we have brought her houn
half dead. You must none of you go 1'
see her. Let her be taken to the blip
room. I have sent for Doctor linrhicon.'
The doctor's decision was favorable
she had certainly injured her brain, but!
he did not fear for her. With great can
and good nursing she would recover.
"Who can she be?" cried my lady
"Here is a purse with more than a hun-J
dred pounds In notes in it. Who can
be? And what can have brought a lady
to the Ueringstone road alone in the duski
of the evening? What docs ahe say
Martha?" hp added, quickly.
She was standing with her tady's maiill
near the bedside, and suddenly the wbltJ
lips had .opened to murmur some half In
distinct words.
"What does she ssy?" my lady repeat
ed, as tbe faint, feeble words nunc again
"I cannot hear distinctly." said tb
maid; "but it sounds like 'a thorn in mji
heart.' "
"A thorn In her heart, poor child! Wha
nonsense! She had more likely a wounil
in ber he,.d. She must be delirious. .
"It Is a thorn in my heart, and 1 ami
dead to theru for ever;nore. Oh, mother
ask Jod to take me home."
The words were 'cried ont In a tone o
keenest pain; a burst of Dssslonate tear
relieved fhe burning brain. They did not) And all of them so different! "Wash
interrupt her; they stood by calm and still ngton 8tar.
until the passion of grief had eihaust - -
itself, then Ladr Pitcairn went to be !TL
and aald! i I
. . '1' '
'try to aeep rovreau Met; you aav
bad a very serioaa acclttat."
l.adv iMIllnvin rai.ed hei e;j to the
ihrcwd. kindly fare heiiduiu nvi-r her.
"I do not uinVr-'a.ui." she .'Lid, Uiully.
"Never mind about underniai.diiig."
repled; "drink this and go to iU;. u
muM rest."
She did as he nil lulil. and the Ion IT.
cuiet sleep seemed to restore in r. It was
morning when she ojwned h-r eyes, and
the sun was shining iu the room. Laoy
Pitcairn, who was deeply interested iu her ,
protege, was by her side again. j
"You are better, my dear," itbe said.
"You wonld like to know where you are.
This is Branksome Hail, my husband's
place, and my husband is Kir Peter Pit
cairn. I am Ledy Pitcairn. Would you ,
like me to send for your frieuds?" '
The troubled eyes fell before ber.
"No, 1 thank you, she said, gently.
nui, my uear, iucj i.i ue aui.ous
about jou. lou were walking by jour-
man drove over yon. You will let me
write, at least, to say where you arc'"
"I would rather not," she replied.
And l.er face grew so troubled that
Lady Pitcairn could not continue her
questions, i-ady Dunhaven said, iu a
low voice:
"I am very grateful to you for your
wonderful k.udness; but as soon as I cau.
I must leave you."
"It is impossible that you should have
no friends. IYrhajis yon are not oil good
terms with them? Tell me you may
...... i
UWWl ui-.
"My father died," sfce replied, "one year
ago, aud since then I have beeu worse
than friendless. I ought to have bad
wealth, but I have lmt it."
Poor child! But who was your father,
and what was bis name?'
I cannot tell you. Dear Lady Pitcairn,
you have been kind to me, and you wi.j
you of my past; I nin dead to it; or to
my friends; I am dead to them. Despair
and death were In my heart on the day
the horses trampled me under foot, and
your goodness saved me,'
You are too young for eirlier despair
or dcaNi." said Lady Pitcairn.' j eating one or two general laws, lie
"I am young, but I have suffered." she : n, , is: ".mrtlier defect is tile short
said, with a quick shudder. D.ar Lady i wm f(j'f whMl M,,H.rvlsr8 nre elects
Pit.-airn: she said, half raising beix-if, , , Me
will you believe me if I shv this: 1 am '. ' , . , , ,i
of good family; against mv name there ' riki:r l ""' l'n" '
is not one faint whisper. I am worthv i !l"nt fUI'iTvlaor may cudvor to
of your kindness; I have no mystery or j 'Try out and giving :i sense of iiiocur
guilt to coneial, but I have a secret. My 1 ity In the Hieitl:n."
name, my story are secrets that will die j The iovemor advocjites three siiK-r-with
me; and that secret does not arise ! visors to le ele-tel for three .vents, one
from any wrongdoing of mine, but from ' polng out of ollice etich year. Alw that
the faults of others. Can you will you ! . i.if n, ,.,,1 .,.t iJnnbl In money.
take me on my word?"
"She must be n lady," thought the mis
tress of Branksome. ' She treats me quite
as an equal." Aloud she answered:
'I am willing, as you say. to take you
on your word, but I must have some
name to cull you."
The young Countess of Dunhaven
thought for a few moments, rhen she an
swered :
"Call me Miss Dunn; and, dear Lady
Pitcairn, I owe the gratitude of a life
time to you for your goodness to me."
So the conversation ended, and the
Earl's lost wife was known by the name
of Miss Dunn.
To be continued.)
The 1 too 111 that Never Came
In Balubrldge, Cuyahoga County,
Ohio, not far from Cleveaml, In the
queerest country general store I ever
ran across, says a writer in the Chicago
Times-Herald. Balubrldge Is a umall
hamlet, but the store la as large and an
well stocked an tbe average suburban
store. It Is kept that Ih predsely the
word for It by an old widower, who
has no relatives In that section of the
country -nd Is practically a hermit.
When the civil war liegan lie was run
ning 11 flourishing general store In Balu
brl.:'? and made money rapidly during
the micceedlng four years. Vhen jienee
was declared prices, which had been
greatly Inflated, took a sudden drop.
The old fellow believed that thin would
be followed by a loom which would
semi prices tikywanl again, and refus
ed to tell his goods for less than what
be paid for them. Down went tbe
price down, down, down and finally
he was forced to close bis store for
want of pprchasers.
To-day his store Ktnnda almost exact
ly as it did thirty yearn ago. It was
stocked with such goods as are usually
found In country stores, but, of course,
the Mock Is now practically worthless.
Lvery day the old man opens tin the
place to give it an alrinjr. He Is there.
too, for business, If any one chooses
to ImyTvuat he has to sell and Is will
ing to pay w hat he asks.
Why, sir," he said to me, "some of
the calico I've got here cost me fir. cents
a yard in 1807. Wouldn't I be a fool to
sell it now for 5 cents?"
Small Creatures of Mighty Muscle.
The shell-less limpet pulls 1,084 times
Its own weight when In the air, and
about double when measured In the
water. Fleas pull 1,493 times their
own dead weight. The Mediterranean
cockle can exert a pulling power eual
to 2.071 times the weight of Its own
lKidy. So great Is the power possessed
by the oyster that to open It a force
equal to 13.185 times the weight of Its
soft Inxly Is required. If a human be
ing possessed strength as great In pro,
portion as that of the shellfish the av
erage man would lie able to lift the
enormous weight of 2.07,0(M) ponnds;
pulling In the same degree as tbe
cockle be would sustain a weight of no
less than ,lOC,Vs) pounds.
His Comment.
"I always (Unlike men who have no
ear for music," said one girl, "ami now
I dislike tliein more than ever. Char
ley Nailrgo called to see me yesterday
evening. At 11 o'clock I went to the
piano."
"And played 'Home, Sweet Home""
said the other girl.
"Yes. Klrat I played It aa a ballad.
He didn't move. Then I played It'as a
waits aud next as a two-step aad then
aa a Jig."
"And what did be dor
"He said: G radons, Mis Jones.
what, a JoUj lot of tunes you know I
V U CODSUI.BWW a gUOQ JOMT"
Th- mtmtt mm r fl t-1
"The rfajbt sort of fallow to teU
V(iW''-v-'T
r Wif-S? , . '
("tft" '-rnzWf1?
Twonlil Ket Him Thinking.
If the man pulled the load
While tbe horse held the whip,
He'd fix up the road
When he'd mnde the first trip.
A Good i on (In Governor.
Oovernor Hunting, of l'eniisylvnnia.
In hlK iiMtssMgc to the legislature, de
livered .fan. ;"tb, mU In part:
"It npMiirs that we have alHittt Whv
(: miles of public ro;tds In the various
i , , , , . .1,1. ,.
wnHn!j -' '"" " "
lnclndiiiir turnpike rond anI those lit
j the cities and through, ami. although
nlmoHt foljr million dollars huvt? lieeii
, expended each year for their improve-
incut, they are Iu a most unsatisfactory
condition. This great mm, avci-igltv
:ill)nul e.4s.7:i r mile, should, If I.ibl
out with iiitcl!.:t' nee and .-.oiioiny,
during the p:ist lift; n years have mii'lc
: every public thoroughfare equal t "r
1 liCht turnpike ivhuK"
Aftur Milting tlutt the nid hiws
t numerous and too local, and trlvo-
and tlmt every mile of tin rood os
tein lie under the care of Individuals
whose daily duty should ! to see that
the roads are In good condition nnd re
pairs made when needed, 'if these
suggestions were carried out, the way
would be open for the Ktnfe to grunt
stieh Hid from time to time as might 1-c
Deritrary In relieving the burden now
wholly iMirnc by the rural people."
Koadx and Kond Mnklnit.
The famous Applnn Way, mentioned
by almost every Konmn writer, con
nected tbe Kternal City wiili all parts
of South Italy, For many miles from
Home the space on each side was filled
with scpulchn-s, many of them of jier
sutUh ilihtluiiuikhml in bi.'or'. To liuw
a sepulchre on tbe Appian Way was
equivalent to leliig burled In (Ireeii
wood. In New Y ork, or Pere hi Chaise,
In Paris.
At the eoroniUlon of'tjueeii Kllzibet h.
In l.Vis, the roads In the neighliorbood
of Ixmdon were so liad that tbe QuocD'n
coach twice stuck In the mud on the
way to Westminster aud tbe 'Jucen
was iii,icr.od to aliifht while the ve
hide whs pried out of the ruts by the
attendants. During the remainder of
the royal prociKlon. half a dozen la
borers with fxdrs formed n not imrtlc
ularly imposing but very necessary
part of tbe cortege.
The Pioman Empire had a system of
paved roads, radiating from Home In
every direction, to the utmost limits of
Uoman territory. One great road Jed
across the Alps Into !aul, to a point
near Cslnis, and is.nning again in
Britain it ran directly north to the
wall of Severns; another down the Val
ley of tbe Danube, ami fprmi Constan
tinople east, thmitifh Hyria and Pales
tine, to the Ikj I: tries. Still another
ran west, along the seaoonst Into
Spain, while Africa had Its own sys
tem. The Roman roads were built on tbe
Telford plan, with a subMnitum of
heavy blocks of Hie stone most abund
ant in the neighborhood, covered with
a layer of smaller stones or gravel.
They were highest In the middle, with
a trench on each side to -arry off the
water, and no trees or shrubs were al
lowed "to grow within 1H) puces on
elth r hand. The ispulation of the dis
tricts through which these highways
passed were required to keep them In
order and to cut down weeds nnd
fchnibhery within tbe proscribed dis
tance. "ISweetness and IilirM."
Prof. Skeat, who has writbh more
.thati fifty lssiks ou etymology iuid
kltulred subjects, has acquired Uie half
It of delving after the roots, instead
of Hijoylng the, bloom and fruit of
literature. In bis latent lok, "A Htu
(IrtrtV Pasttme," he siiys if Iteuji
Swift's famous phrase, "Swis-Uii-ss
ami light," that It "Is n meaningless
t'Xpresslon, unless we know the con
text." He then explain, - what ail
readers know, that Swift referred to
rswrn"nn - wrote dial they fill their
"hives with honey and wax, thus fur
nUblug uiiinklnd with the two juil.lest
of tilings, which are sweetiu and
light." Whatever Swift may have
meant by tbe phrase, It no longer, on
tbe Hps of any thinker, refers to the
"sweeituoss of the honey iu the honey,
comb and to Hie "light" of a taer.
Swift shows tlmt he meant more than
tbta by using the words "hlie two
nphbwt of things." Hut, the Dean
hnlde, the phrase "sweetae and
"light" now hchmg to Matthew Arn
lrWl, who first used It to express the two
Jgreatest qualities of mind and soul.
Ht has lieen said that hewho quotes
u thought w next in mertt to hini who
Conceived It; but be who fashions a
phrase la aural not so pnUaoworwiy
as It wtM ennobles It by a bhjber use.
i
told his mother that "everything
feitf exi-ept lienor ami life, which are
saved." has len made sublime by some
thinker who compressed the thought
into "1111 Is Uwt; save honor." Matthew
Arnold, rlsln aUve the Imi-s, either
of Furne I-Vlls or of Hybla, exalted
Swift's won.-., and they n-v meii,
wherever English Is st.okt -r read,
the noble w:: of tcmisT and the
luminous and l.iumimitiiLg iower of
soul. We no longer quote Swift; wo
quote Arnold.
"Magna Charts" of Knglnnd.
The English mnim wis no written
constitution. The Goveramcut of Eng
land Is based uinui certain charters,
grout, royal edict. coiK-ed.n-S aiid
ulsive all usiu a mass of precedents,
tle Uwvsy !. Aug that what bus oiu-e
leen done may be repealed nnd t,ia
Its ls'im,' done the first time must have
by Authority. The foiunlatin
stomf of Brit Wi llls-rty Is the "Maua
Ciiarta," or Cixat Charter, which the
Batons of England comjHdled King;
John to sign In 1215. Tbe provUUms
of the IJriU't Charter have been con
firmed by over fifty nets of Parliament
U-tweeu EMo und the prient day, aU(l
thus this famous Instrument Is, la a
certain sense, the law of the land now,
a.s It has Isvu for over fHs years. 'The
fact that tlie English have no written
constitution must not lie undirstoisl
to nliUfy that Uiey ate not tenacious
of their liberties, for, ns a matter of
fact, the unwritten prenslent, bunded
down as It Ls by tradition from father
to son, generation after generation, Li
quite us binding as though it had lcen
dvawu up In Hieclfl: form ami g-lveti
tin; authority of a legal emu-tmnt. TJm
"Magna Cliartu" dotjiu-d the preroga
tives of the King, stated detluit-Iy
what the monarch mlchf and might not
demand of his sub-ct, fixed the xsl
tion of the. uoblilty anl what duties
they owed to the sovereign, and pro
vided, with great. partieulnrMy, for Uie
protections of artisans, farmers and la
lsrr.T'. forbidding craftmen's bsils to
lie s.'isw'd for debt, or a lalioivr's
agricultural Implements, furniture or
clotJiLng to ls distrained. It wa thus.
In a very broad sen', a const it.ut.ioH,
fixing tliewtcuil, illtlcal ami industrial
statiw of ail classes of Bubjc"tH.
An English Dinner in 1HIO.
Of sis-lcty In 110. U me tqenk
only of the wcal'Jdettt city elas
the Hnjd" who lived In ldjr bouses in
B!isuiL4lmry or In the suburbs. They
had "evenings" with a little mtilc;
they were very decorous; the young,
men st-sl round the wall or In tbe
doorways; the little music ImdiKb-d
songs of tbe affection; there was a lit
tle rcfri-shmeut handid alsmt or set
out In the dining room. It con-dsti-d of
nn.it wb-bes, cuke mid lK-gus. Some
times there w as a dinner luirty.
The company were Invited for hair
past (5; tbe dinner, always tlw same,
or nearly the same, consist! of salmon
cutlets, bnimcli of mutton, boih-d fowl,
ntid tongue, birds of some kind, and
pudding of iVne or two kinds. Tlw
dUhea were put on tbe table; eviry.
Is sly helM-d each oilier; nolxsly drank
anything until the twist had first taken
wine with him; there was nothing to
drink at dlntwr except slurry. After
dinner the ixirt went around once; the
ladles retiml; thU wim alsmt half-jxint
7 or a quarter to 8; tbe men then
closed up; fresh ib-canters were placed
on the table and they drank port
steadily till 10:.'!O-l. p., for three long
hours. Then tJiey went upstairs to tbe
drawing risiin; ami, ns If t!n iort wn.i
lut etuiugh, they then had brandy and
water. ltot. Ur Walter ltsiuit Lu Hdf.
t!ultutv.
Tomato (iravy.
Mn-h ls said, and none tsi much, of
U10 dietetic virtues of tin- apple. Next
to U, perhaps, w may rate the tomato.
It lias one virtue that we have neve
witi mentioned; tbe property of eiuttl
w'fylnt,' faw. To this may be added a
iugul,f faculty of assimilating itself
to Uie flavor of mwnt gravy with which
: Ju'u-e may Is- osiked. Our hoilse
keeping frle.mU may try a fried stwik,
fur ojwe, by cooking a little tomato
JuUi- in ilw slxil'oijf piui Jitst after n1
movhvg tlw meat, Any meltwl fat. or
i..:kcd elin-ds and Ju!-e albirln to the
IcoJi, or butter applied to tlw tnmt, en.
tlrely dlsapiM-ar In an envulslon, mak
ing a rU-h, -oiious, reI4lsh brown
gravy, with tlw true men.t fla vor sea rce
ly imsilfied by a slight plqimtit a-blity
from the fruit. If Uie s'.enk ba m-:ji
left in a vwl u save Ms drain In.;.'
since lit was cut, ami tbta juUv be put
lti with that of tlw tomato, the gravy
will lie by so much inriched and en
larged, as well ns thickened, by the
conciliation of the additional albumen,
tlobimlered tomato jiuljwlth this nn-sit
Jub-e nwilnti a thick sam-e of like rV-h
Ha vor, for rouM or tow. Tlie Sanitary
Era.
The Wealth of 1'arls 3,200 Millions
One of the French iiewspacrs has
recently given the following estimate
(lately made by the public authorities;
of the wealth iu both real and personal
proisTty of tbe city of Paris. The total
Is about 3,2iK) million dollars. This,
however, does not include the valuable
proierty of the Government nor that of
the prefecture of the I eparttneiir of the
Seine. The S2.NH) private pieces of
property nre put In at 2,0711 million dob
lars; the streets, avenues and Isiule
rnrds at OH) millions; the property of
the city, which Includes most of the
churches, at JEW millions; property n
transit. 12 millions; per-Honnl property,
WI millions; the canals and shops of tile
gas monopoly (of which the city will
get one-half in IWXIi, .Kj,-ri0,0i)0; tb
railroads and stations, 30 millions.
United States Investor.
Ast re to NaslHM.
Ooldrlngskl (tbe rich pawnbrokers
No. meln young frendt, I can'd be your
fader-ln-law; but (suavely) I uj h
an ungia to you.-Jude.
Ttm word mtiti'V In whW'b
2
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