B* 'Wl * 11 " ^ - - —1 — ■-tbb | | (ofJWAY. i «"«"» "■•■ sssassi— -1 CHAPTER IX.— iCoxtinosb.) An unpleasant, sinister look croseed tny listener's fare, but his voice still remained bland and suave. "I am sorry to differ from you. Dr. Brand,” he said, "but I know him better than you do. I have seen him as you bsve never yet seen him. Only last night be came to me in a frantic state. I expected every moment be would make a mur derous attack on me.” "Perhaps he fancied he had some reasons for anger,” I said. Ralph Carrlston looked at me with those cold eyes of which his cousin had spoken. "If the boy has succeeded In converting you to any of his delusions, I can only say that doctors are more credulous than I fancied. But the question Is not. worth arguing. Vou decline to assist me. so I must do with out you. (Jood-mornlng, Dr. Brand.” He left the room as gracefully as he had entered It. I remained In a state of doubt, It was curious that Ralph Carrlston turned out to be the man whom I had met. In the train; but the evidence offered by the coincidence was not enough to convict him of the crime | of endeavoring to drive his cousin mad i by such a far-fetched stratagem as the Inveigling of Madeline Rowan. Be •Ides, even In wishing to prove Charles Carrlston mad, he had much to say on Ms side. Supposing him to be Innocent of having abducted Madeline, Carrls ton's violent behavior on the precedlug evening must have seemed very much like Insanity. In spite of the aversion with which Ralph Carrlston Inspired roe, I scarcely knew which side to he- | lleve. Carrlston still slept; so when I went out on my arternoon rounds i i«n a note, tagging him to remain In the house until my leturn. Then I found him up, dressed, and looking much more like himself. When I entered, j dinner was on the table, so not until : that meal was over could we talk un- j l-estrainedly upon the subject which whs uppermost In both our mind*. As soon as we were ulone I turned toward my guest. "And now," I said, ' "we must settle what to do. There seems to me to be but one course open. You have plenty of money, so your best plan Is to engage skilled police as sistance. Young ladies ran't be spirited away like this without leaving a trace.” To my surprise Carrlston flatly ob jected to this course. "No,” he said, "I shall not go to the police. The man who took her away has placed her where no police can find her. I must And her myself." "Find her yourself! Why, It may be months— years—before you do that! Hood heavens, Carrlston! She may be murdered, or even woise-” “I shall know If any further evil happens to her—then I shall kill Ralph Carrlston.” “But you tell me you have no clew whatever to trace her by. Do talk plainly. Tell me all or nothing.” Carrlston smiled, very faintly. "No clew that you, at any rate, will believe In," he said. "But 1 know this much, she is a prisoner somewhere. She !« unhappy; but not, as yet, ill-treated. Heavens! Do you think if I did not know this I should keep my senses for an hour?" "How can you possibly know It?" "By that gift—that extra sense or whatever It is—which you deride. I knew it would come to me some day, but I little thought how I should wel come it. 1 know that In some way 1 shall find her by It. 1 tell you 1 have already seen her three tinges. I may set* her again at any moment when the strange fit comes over me." • X. LL. this fantastic nonsense was spoken so simply ami with Nucb an air of conviction that once more my suspicions as lo the state of his mlml were aroused, in spite of the brave answers which I bad given M> Itslph t’arrlaton I felt that common fense was undeniably ou his side "Tell me what you mean by your strange tit," 1 said, resolved lo Itnd out the nature of t'arrtslou* famsra or hallucinations Is It a kind of trance yau fall into?1 He seemed loath to give any it formation on the subject, but I pressed him tor an answer vYe», * be said at last "It must be a bind of trams. An indescribable feel ug eotnee ever me I know that my *yea are tied aa snm* object yuwin ly that object vanish**, and I see Made Una.1* “Hoe do yan see her** (the seem* In stand In a blurred circle of light as cant by a magi- tan tern that la the uni) way that I > an (escribe it Mot her Kgote t* *t«at and • iam -ah* vtokl be < lose ta as* The >art** ** eMet she ateads I vaa se*, iba abair en whkh *h* cu# tha labr • «ut *ht«h aba teabs hat head, amthl.g atm touch** I ran «aa but no swir ) ban* seen b*r bribing Ome abe • ** •stiHUai some earn but that some one wae in visible Tet. II sh* touche# Me far an I >s»m saw t'arrtMon a earn typMrel in be abe af u«*r »h> *ghi «e unduly stlmata>*d t>nsaiuait>m Ilia I bad always cadatdered in be a mind af Ihn aauat peculiar mustru* km In lb peasant atat* ef lev* ffief and uagTitT thee* bnlinataatktbs mlahi come in the same way in which dreams come. For a little while I sat in si lence, considering how 1 could best combat with and dispel his remarkable delusions. Before I had arrived at any decision 1 was called away to aee a patient. I was but a short time en gaged. Then I returned to Carrlston, Intending to continue my inquiries. I’pon re-entering the room I found him sitting as I had left him directly opposite to the door Ills face was turned fully toward me. and I trem bled as I caught sight of It. He was leaning forward; bis hands on the table-cloth, his whole frame rigid, his eyes staring In one direction, yet, I knew, capable of seeing nothing that I could see. He seemed even oblivious to sound, for I entered the room and closed the door behind me without causing him to change look or position. The moment t saw the man I knew that he had been overtaken by what he called hie strange lit. My first Impulse a natural one-— was to arouse him; but second thoughts (old me that this was an opportunity for, studying his disease which should not be lost—I felt that I could call It by no other name than disease so I proceeded to niHke a systematic exam ination of his symptoms. I leaned across the table, and. with my face about a foot from his, looked atralght Into his eyes. They betrayed no sign of recognition no knowledge of my presence, I am ashamed to say I could not divest myself of the Im pression that they, were looking through me. The pupils were greatly dilated. The lids were wide aDart. I lighted a taper and held It before them, but could see no expansion of the iris. It was a case, I confess, entirely be yond my comprehension. I had no experience which might serve as a guide as to what was the best course to adopt. All I could do was to stand and watch carefully for any change. Save for his regular breathing and a sort of convulsive twitching of his fin gers, Carrlaton might have l>een a corpse or a statue. His face could scarcely grow paler than it had been before the attack. Altogether, it was an uncomfortable sight, a creepy sight this motionless man. utterly regard less of all that went on around him, and aeelng. or giving one the Idea that he saw, something far away. 1 sighed as I looked at the strange spectacle, and foresaw what the end must surely be. Hut although 1 longed for him to awake, I determined on this occasion to let the trance, or fit, run ita full course, that I might notice in what manner and how soon consciousness returned. I must have waited and watched some ten minutes- minutes which seamed to me interminable. At laat I saw the lips quiver, the lids flicker once or twice, and eventually close wearily over the eyeB. The unnatural tension of every muscle seemed to re lax, and, sighing deeply, and appar ently quite exhausted, Carrlaton sunk back into his chair with beads of per spiration forming on his white brow. The fit was over. In a moment I was at his side and forcing a glass of wine down his throat. He looked up at me and spoke. His voice was faint, but his words were quite collected. “I have seen her again," he said. “She is well; but so unhappy. I saw her kneel down and pray. She stretched her beautiful arms out to me. And yet 1 know not where to look for her my poor love! ray poor love!" I waited until 1 thought he had suffi ciently recovered from his exhaustion to talk without injurious consequences. "Carrlston.” 1 said, "let me ask you one question Are these trances or vi sions voluntary, or not?" lie reflected ror a few moments. "I can't quite tell you," he said; "or. rather, I would put It in this way. 1 do not thiuk I can ex>'irl*« my power at will; but I can feel when the fit la coming on me. and. 1 believe, can. if I choose, stop myself from yielding to It." "Very well. Now listen. Promise me you will light against throe seixures as much as you can If you don't you will be raving mad In a month " "I can t promise that.' said t'arrlaton 1 quietly. See her at times I must, ur I shall die Hut I promise to yield as seldom as may be 1 know is well as you do that the very exhaustion I uow feel must be Injurious to anyone ' la truth he looked utietly Worn out Very much dlssailslled with his con > essoin. the beet I could get from him I eeai him to bed knowing that natural test If he could gel it. would do more than anything else toward restoring a healthy ion* to hia mind XI. l.rMot UII t arn. ■»u guff that ■». ■ pn»*vtioa he nsan if**t*d the groat** tslm tan ■ * I off* *1 him f|« toaat to afctoto »h# 4wm«s>« of the ptotto placed m* la a predicament Thai Madettoe K«*«* had really dm appealed I was >*» .wore* .wwpsllsd «* believe li might **»a ho possible tbsi too • a* kepi ago iw d her atu la mm* ptore of concealment la oo*h *ase It behoo«ed «a Is tahe prop** steps to traee bet Her *»ir*t* should am 4« pea# opto the WaiivMtmsiioa* and as centric ideas of a man half out of his j sense* with love and grief. I all but resolved, even at the risk of forfeiting Oarriaton's friendship, to put the whole matter In the hands of the police, un less In the course of a day or two we heard from the girl herself, or Carris ton suggested some better plan. Curiously enough, although refusing to be guided by me, he made no sug gestion on his own account. He was racked by fear and suspense, yot hla only Idea of solving his difficulties seemed to be that of waiting. He did nothing. He simply waited, as If be expected that chance would bring what he should have been searching for high and low. Some days passed before I could get a tardy consent that aid should be sought. Even then he would not go to the proper quarter; but he allowed me to summon lo our councils a man who advertised himself as being a pri vate detective. This man, or one of his men, came at our call and heard what was wanted of him. Carriaton reluctantly gave him one of Madeline’s photographs. He also told him that only by watching and spying on Ralph Carrlston's every action could he hope to obtain the clew, J did not much like the course adopted, nor did I like the look of the man to whom the Inqul ry was intrusted; but at any rate some thing was being done. A week pawed without news front our agent. Carriaton. In truth, did not seem to expect any. I believe he only employed the man in deference to ray wishes. He moved about the house In a disconsolate fashion. I had not told him of my interview with his cousin, but had cautioned him on the rare oc casions upon which he went out of doors to avoid speaking to strangers, and my servants had Instruction* to prevent anyone coming In and taking ' my guest by surprise. I nail miring tiione days opened : a confidential Inquiry on my own ac count. I wanted to learn something about thin Mr. Ralph Carrlston. So I asked a man who knew everybody to find out all about him. He reported that Ralph Carrlston was a man well known about London. He J was married and had a house In Dor setshire; but the greater part of hi* I j time wa* spent In town Once he was I I supposed to he well off; but now it was | the general opinion that every acre ! j he owned was mortgaged, and that he 1 l was much pressed for money. “But,” > my Informant said, "there Is but one j life between him and the reversion to ! large estates, and that life is a poor ’ one. I believe even now there Is a j talk about the man who stands In his j way being mad. If so. Ralph Carriaton ! will get the management of every- j thing." After this news I felt it more than ever needful to keep a watchful eye on my friend. Ho far as I knew there had been no recurrence of the trance, and 1 began to hope that proper treatment would effect a complete cure, when, to my great alarm and annoyance, Carria ton, whilst sitting with me, suddenly and without warning fell Into the same strange state of body and mind aa pre viously described. This time he waa sluing in another part of the room. After watching him for a minute or two, and Just as I was making up my mind to arouse him and scold him thoroughly for his folly, he sprung to his feet, and shouting, “Let her go! Loose her, I say!" rushed violently across the room—so violently, that 1 had barely time to Interpose and pre vent him from coming Into contact with the opposite wall. :to hc coxTi.vusa.» A .lu.lgr of Kiblmim. In one of the large department stores up town is a pale-faced, red-headed child with a pair of heavy spectacles that impart a solemn look to her deli cate face. She stands all day In front of a counter hung with gayly colored ribbons, and it is her particular duty to take ribbons out from the electric light of the shop to the street dooi and decide there whether or not they nr» exactly the same shade. The shop girls have learned that her Judgment Is to be relied upon, and it was the acci dental discovery of her exactness In ea tlmg ing color# that gained fur her the novel place she occupies at present. All day she Is kept running backward and forward between the ribbons and j the door deriding whether ribbon la ‘ream or white and the complicated . iiiu-ul Inna a a las llhla .taut sha.l us tlku j la an Important perauuagt* In her way, ctnsiilrrablv more rxultr.l !u poelllon j limn the > on us . «mh glrla of bar own : age liar dm Ira are really Imiortinl. I and out of iba yard* of ribbon that ara dally Bold utar the Mad by fear Saw York dun 4a I mpurtaui id|«»i Sadia lw all rigkl but bar faibar don < Ilka m« ’ ' Nut youra not going to many the i father.’* Not eyaall* tat he tool rule the ; ■ ha> h booh Philadelphia North | 4 merit an ] —-- -m I thee amt IMtidn *1 hwh It ta raid that bird# ara neatly an >**t«Ulva in th. 'r Ilk'* and dlellhee tan { d«fg» Sum* p*v*pi« an never gain Iba | trt*Md»htp al g .aged bird A bird ban J ta tear* by enperteaug that It In eafw ! «Nb • human being be foie M wit) »* •goad to bind ireatmegl Hum Ittitt uun Miaat* that Unit t'gg bad tba tin god* to* la tal* me that t wee ba am* tag to abo« my age yi*n.t*i tUgu.nibg Ut* laitrg tioaya dM have a iuao>itillty nay gf ,ma *1 doling anything IndtaaggnMIa four I hat FARM AM) GARDEN. MATTERS OF INTEREST TO AGRICULTURISTS. Monir Hints About i'ulllru* tiixi «»f tl»* Hoil slid Viritis Thereof - Horticulture, t ItInilltire xmi Mori rnltnre. UR1N0 the long dry spell In sum mer the wagon tires become lnoae and cause mu ny a break down ami re pair bill, beside* the setting of the tire*, write* Clar ence J. Norton In Kiiitn Farmer. Blacksmith* charge 60 cents per wheel, or $- per wagon, for setting tire*, and every one knows that after the dry spell is over and the wood In the wheel* become* soaked vtp with moisture Instead of air. they tthe wheels) must of necessity swell, or vio late a law of nature As they canno: swell any larger in circumference on account of the tire, they turn out or dish, as we call It- and thereby greai ly weaken the wheel. A wheel with inn,i, ,ii.h i. verv easily broken down, and can never be depended upon until it is entirely re built, so It will be seen that to set tires Is only equal to ruining the wheel. A new wagon does not need the tires set, simply because the woodwork Is full of moisture and oil when the tire Is set and the paint prevents all evaporation of the moisture and oil, hence, of course, the tires remain tight. Now, It will occur to many that If we keep this paint from coming off, the wood will not shrink and the tires will remain tight. This Is strictly true, but how can we do it? Some will say, “Paint the wagon wheel often.” Very well, this Is a good plan; but how many of us do It? When a new wagon Is about one year old the paint has got rubbed off and the tires can be seen to be slightly loose—that Is, a well-defined erack can be seen where the Iron and wood touch each other. Now, could this tire he shrunk about one-sixteenth of an Inch It would be perfectly tight and go through the summer all right. But we can not get a smith to do so delicate a Job. He must shrink them nearly an Inch and put them on quite hot and "tighten up the wlie.el.” In either of these cases the wheel will swell out of shape, more or less, after wet weather comes , on. Now, as the tires be come loose because the oil and mois ture evaporate out of the wood, why not, remedy the evil by supplying the oil and moisture? We all know that If we should submerge the wheels in a pond of water they would soak up perfectly tight and as good as new, but will soon dry out and be as bad as ever. This could not happen If the wheels were thoroughly painted before they dried out, so it will be seen that to swell the wood with water and then prevent It escaping by painting the wheel takes the place of setting tires and avoids after dishing of wheel. By the same rule, If a wheel with a freshly-set tire be well painted the wood can not ab sorb moisture, and of course can not swell and dish out of shape. But there Is a better way than all this. It Is to run the felloes In hot oil. There are Iron and zinc trouahs made for this purpose. The zinc or galvanized iron are the cheapest, and, to my notion, the best. Take a good-sized sheet of zinc, sheet-iron or corrugated iron, say two feet by four feet, and cut a slot in the middle to sink the oil trough through, having the trough drop nearly but not quite through. Nail this metal to the edges of two six-inch damp boards and stretch the boards on the ground and pin them solid with old harrow teeth. Build a Are of old shingles under the oil trough, that is about half full of paint oil, then set up two posts with spikes driven in them to hang tbe wheels on. 1 used a tumbling rod to a horse-power, but a crowbar or post auger will do as well. Mark the top of tbe hub, and Just as soon as tbe oil comes to a boil, turn the wheel until the next spoke is down in the oil. In about a minute the oil will boll again, and you must turn the wheel again. Serve the wheel this way three times, and the hot oil will drive out all tbe air in the pores of tlio wood and take pos session of the poies Itself. As soon as the wheel is turned a little, the oil on tbe felloe will be constantly seen to bubble, which Is the air coming out of the pores to give place to tbe oil. Should the wheel iu any one place be allowed to boll Afteen minutes, the wood will be ruined and will break off abort just like cast-iron will, so you see there la ' too much of a good thing" In runuing a wheel In hot oil. A email piece of ahlugle must be added to the tiie at every spoke of the wheel. 1 have an old coat Iron cuokatove bottom that baa a low place la the center, and by putting the oil in thle depression and setting the etove bottom upon Its lags and building a lire under It. a good Job can be done. It tahee about half a stilus of oil m start with, and a half g-tllua mure will We enough for eae farm a agon, • buggy and cart and per bape a pair el hay rake wheela There are iwu dun is. and- they are lot t boll the wood over half a minute aa I dua l attompl to do the Job In the bay bar* Take a good, yktMti, dry day and do Ike Job well, aad tbe oil will U»ly coat you lb sente fur tbe ball gal |«a used- Tbe rim of tbe wheel* will nbeerb «» muck oil that a real hoi day will esfNMtd It so aa lo bate It mart out some To make a pet feet Jab, petal the wheela well after wiling ib*to tluw ewer, without pointing the tub will taat I pent, and if repeated yearly the Urwa will a*«er become home and hoove owed never be rowel by ebrloklog- It will take as long to go to tbe ebop and wait lot tbe rcootllag af tbe tti ta aa It will three wegwoa. an I th* hill for •* sett tag ollt b Id per wagea while Ik. oil eewid aoly ewet 9k aeoia. i t I iinnlr* of 111** THK GUAPKVINK FID1A. During midsummer the leaves of grapes are frequently riddled with ir regular holes by the attacks of a little acetle which, wheu dlaturbed. falls to the ground with Its legs folded up against its body, feigning death, or "playing 'possum." The beetle Is about a quarter of an inch long, rather robust and of a brown color, aotnewbat whitened by a dense covering of yel lowtah-whlte hairs. In the nature and amount of (he Injury It does at this I stage It resembles the rose-chafer, for I which It Is sometimes mistaken, hol ! lowing the Injury to the foliage, the j vines may be oapccted. If the beetles I have been abundant, to present a sickly ! appearance, with checking of growth I and ultimate death, due to the feeding I >m the roots of the larvae; for. aa In the | case of the phylloxera, the root Injury I Is much more serious than the Injury I to the foliage. Vines sometimes die i after having developed half their | leaves, or may survive until the fruit | is nearly mature. The Insect occurs very generally In the Mississippi Valley states, from Dakota to Texas, and more rarely east of the Alteghanles and southward to Florida. The beetle has caused serious damage to foliage, no ! table m Missouri, Illinois and Ohio, having been recognised over thirty years ago In the first mentioned state a* one of the worst enemies of the grape. The work of the larvae has been recognised only recently by Mr. Web ster and others In northern Ohio, but It may be looked for wherever the beetle occurs. • • • i-ne History.— i ne me oisiwiy worked out by Mr. Webster Is, Briefly, as follows: The yellowish eggs In large batches are thrust In cracks of the bark of the old wood, usually well above ground, as many as 700 having been counted on a single vine. Very rarely are they placed In cracks of the soil about the busc of the vine, but so loose ly are they attached to the bark that they not Infrequently fall to the ground. The larvae, on hatching, fall clumsily to the ground, and quickly dis appear In cracks In the soil, chiefly near or just at the base of the vine. They feea at first on the fibrous roots uear the point of entrance, but soon reach the large roots, and completely denude them of bark, gradually extend ing outward through the soil to a distance of at least three feet, and downward to at least a depth of one foot. Most of them reach full growth by the middle of August, attaining a length of nearly half an Inch, and con struct little cavities or earthen cells In the soil, In which they hibernate until June of the following year, when they change to pupae. The beetles emerge about two weeks after pupation, and begin to feed from the upper surface of the leaves. With thin-leaved grapes they eat the entire substance of the leaf, hut with thick-leaved varieties the downy lower surface Is left, giving the foliage a ragged, skeletonized look. They feed on any cultivated grape, also on the wild grapea, which have prob ably been their food from time Imme morial. Most of the adults disappear by the first of August, a few scattering Individuals remaining until the first of September. • • • Remedies and Preventives.—It Is evi dent that if the beetle can be promptly exterminated the Injury to the foliage will be limited, and the subsequent much greater damage by larvae to the roots avoided. The first effort should therefore be to effect the killing of the beetles, which may be done by the use of an arsenical spray, with lime, ap plying it at the customary strength of one pound to 160 gallons of water. The feeding of the beetles on the upper sur face of the leaves makes them especial ly easy to control by this means. If this* deferred until Ir nnuafo tn i apply an arsenical spray to vines, the beetles may be collected and destroyed in the manner hereafter recommended for the rose-chafer. The larvae may be destroyed about the roots by injec tions of bisulphide of carbon, made In the way already described for the phylloxera. A safer remedy and a very effective one If applied before the end of June, or before the larvae have scat tered, Is to wet the soil about the vines with a solution of kerosene emul sion. The emulsion should be diluted nine times, And a gallon or two of the mixture poured In a basin excavated about the base of the vine, washing It down to greater depths an hour after wards with a copious waterlog. Cultivation. In the minds o! many (he sole object of cultivation la to de atroy or keep down noxious growths which interfere with the growth of u rrop. Now while this Is an Importaut min ilnn of cultivation, It is by 110 means the only one. "I he intellige nt cultivator has three objects in view In working the soil to promote the growth of his crop*, the hist Is to supply the glowing plants with food; second, to conserve fur the use of that crop as much moistuta as I* prmtieable; third, tha destruction u| weeds.- fig Poor and Hr. a Holt It senna para duiksl that a soil may have been eg haueted aa to nop producing power and »*t he rich In plant luod the ele ment* necessary ta plant giowth ‘I ha •oiultnn I* iM». that In every till the Utgef pot l leu * nf plant food tbeseia in ln*t>. unavailable so far aa being taken np by plant loots Is concerned. I bey nre lev bed up. w t« speak, by lunge Nature, Nhe only aliens tv he ,tteased lor euf Me an annual strata ektek I* gt*a!*r or lees e«> vrding g «Urn y aiming in intern* ta an honornbt* ailing because our farmer* ate fairly well educated and rommsivd tfce re vpect . Who. when I hey were come dow n, prayed for | them, that they might receive the Holy Ghost. HINTS TO THE TEACH KB. The lesson opens with the picture of the persecutor. 1. He was sincere. Haul's tierce and apparently bloodthiisty con duct Is set in It* true light !• such state ment* as Acts 23, 1; Acts +y>. >. 10: 1 Tim. 1, 12. 13. Such bigots have been seen in ♦•very age, honest, but mistaken. Such was the spirit of Dominic, of Calvin against Servetus, of the Puritans in New England. 2. He was Intense, because it was his nature to be earnest in every thing. Saul, like Paul, could do nothing by halves. What aroused the persecution was the doctrine, launched by Stephen, that Jews arid Gentiles were to become one In the Gospel. 3. He wa« neverthe less, lighting against conviction. What were “the pricks’ against which he was kicking (Arts 9. 5j but a feeling which he could not overcome, that Hyphen was right, that Jesus was the Christ, and that the? salvation was for all men? The next picture is that of the Church. The time to estimate a church or a character is not when it Is prosperous, but when it. is in the midst of trial. Notice here the traits of a true Christianity. 1. It has. growth--germinal lve power, it propa gates Itself. It is a seed which spring* up wherever It is dropped, whether in Judea, Sarnarla, or Antioch; in America or in Japan. 2* It has breadth. Verse* 5, 6. It overcomf?s the prejudices of race and nation, breaks the bonds of sect, and brings Jews and Samaritans into one fel lowship. 3. It has power. Verse 7. The physical miracles of the apostolic age were pictures of its spiritual working in all ages. Even now th** Gospel drives out unclean spirits and gives power to the Impotent. 4. It brings joy. Verse x. Ev ery truly converted soul tastes the joy of salvation, and has within a fountain of happiness. it has discipline. Verses 14-16. The Church was a unit, whether in Judea or Hamaria. It recognized tin* central aumorny or me apostle-4, aim sun mltted to It. The last picture is that of Simon the Sorcerer, showing the traits of a false Christianity. We need not waste much time In the profitless Inquiry about Simon's powers, which were not unlike those of so-called "mediums" now adays. I. Even In the true Church, and iri Its purest days, there was a false dis ciple. Simon, among the disciples, and. believing after a fashion, he was not al together a hypocrite. 2. lie was a Chris tian in form, a baptized member, hut not In heart and life lie carried worldly alms and methods Into the Church 3. Me supiHised that other disciples were on his own plane, uud offered money to the apostle* to buy the gift ot the Holy Spirit. Ill* spirit was that of selfish am hltlon. seeking power over men, rather than power with Uod. I onsal Jones *ud yuren Marglirrllu a The Washington Post tell* this glory of Col. Wallace 8. Junes I'ttlle I State consul general at Horne, Italy, now on a visit to this country. Col Jones la a Floridian, and has been In the consu lar service In Italy for the last ten years. He Is a gentleman of wit tact and culture, aud his ability to make a happy response at the right time htoughi him luto the good graces id Queen Maigherlta on his Amt appear ance at court. Tha queen asked him Horn which elate he hailed and on be ing told, said that she had often heard Florida described a* a Very lo-aullful country. "Vea," your majewiy." was th* prompt reply, "we mi! it «t haute the Hal) uf America." The neat com pliment was nor lost eg royalty, and the colonel waa rewarded with a turn log smile from one of the loveliest women In Hump* HRAA.TM AND KRAUT V MINT* tllov >-» uum at night m u9 , •re apt rather la teiU w ike hands th m whiten them Vw »lm* yellow* tha shin, tllicerta and lemon (on* aofteg and i portion* It Is it itolli nt remedy for 1 < Ki(^p4 lumb t tf«****! ittfti In if*# f%»| jMrfulfill I* wmmI# i*I fv-AtjilMt tfeftivr m ( u»iA« «Um! «a«#cu* *! **!*#«• «* uviiv