MY POOR WIFE. BY J. P. SMITH. CHAPTER XIX. “Great heavens! Was It an accident, or do you mean she committed sui cide?'’ “Suicide, ay, that’s what they called It—I didn’t remember the word until ye mentioned it—‘suicide while in a state of trumpery insanity’ was the Jury’s verdick. For nigh on six months afore poor little Helen came into the wurrld her mother wus a hopeless Ijlot, that ought to have been locked up safe In a ’sylum, as I ought to know well." . “Great heavens! And this was kept from me—Intentionally kept by that wretched old woman who flaunts her religion-" “Charity an' religion begins at home with wan o’ her kind. If she bad tould you, the chances are ye’d have aloped off an' left on her hands a burthen she hated an’ had fretted against sore for the last eighteen year. Hhe saw her chance and didn’t let it slip. Who'd be after blamin’ her, when ye come to think of it?” “The mildness was Inherited in the family, I mean?’’ 1 asked, with sullen hitter ness. “No, it wasn’t. Horry a Casey I ever heard of bein’ took that way before or since." “What was the cause of It?” “Sorrow, treachery, cruelty, an’ wrong, them was the cause of It— wrong such as 'ud drive women o’ my hind by degree* to the whisky bottle an’ the county Jail, but which, In wan summer’* day, turned r"*or Nora Casey from a light-hearted sunny lass Into, as I’ve already tould ye, a broodin’ hopeless ijlot!” “Tell me all about It; nothing must be kept back from me now. What was the mother's story? Quick!” “Alsy, alsy, I’ll tell It ye soon enough,” remonstrated Molly sooth ingly, squatting herself on the ground, her bands clasping her knees. “Nora was the ould wan's only daughter, an' the youngest o’ tho family; when the boys all went their ways she had to remain at home. She was me nurse child, and as purty a girl as ye'd care to meet In a day's walk, and as like her daughter as two peas, only brighter an’ more wlnnln’ in her ways, an’ never wld that broodin’ heavy look K Miss Helen often had. She was let grow up Jest as yer wife was, with no more eddlcation or care or lookin’ after than If she was thrown on the wurrld without a sowl of her own. She used to wander about the mountains all day long, and In course of time met a scoundrel. ’’lie had come in a grand yacht that anchored in the bay. Every day he used to meet her somewhere or other, an* soon won her heart, for he was handsome an' elegant, like no wan she’d never met before. On# day he tould her to meet him next night at 11 o’clock in St. Brlgld’s ruined church beyond the point below, an' that he would have a minister to marry them, making her swear she was to tell no wan, for If It was known he was about to myry a poor girl he'd be ruined for life. But after a few months he said he was to come In for a large fortune and be his own master, an’ then he’d brlngf her to hts home In England au’ introjuce her to his people. "Poor Nora believed him and went to the abbey, where sure enough there was a minister all in white ready to make them wan. She kept the naycret uafe, poor sowl, an', when the cowld rain and the bleak wind came, he Balled away In bla yacht, an’ after he’d been a couple of monthB gone news came wan day from Droomleague that he bad been married over in England to itome grand lady with a lot of money the week before. But Miss Nora only laughed when she heard It, an’ didn't seem In the laiat put out, though 1 watched her close, suspectin’ there was somethin’ between them, though not the cruel truth. Heaven knows. “Well. Just three days after we heard the rumor, a letter came to Mias Nora enclosin' a check for fifty pounds, and tellln’ her that the marriage up at the old church hadn’t been a rale one at all, that the minister was only hia valet dressed up, as he’d dare say she’d sue* peeled all along. An’ he was mortal sorry be had to give her up; but hard necessity obliged him to marry bis prssent wife, to whom bo had been engaged for the last two years, an’ he beggsd her pardon an’ wished her well an’ would never forget or cease to lots his dear mountain nuld. That was all “Whan shod read H an’ understood It at last, aha want ragin’ through tha house Itka a madwoman, tha letter In bar hands; an’ when her mother read l* too, as' learnt the cruel story for tha first time, aha Just opened her hall* duor, an' wld bar own hard hands thrust tha poor maddened rraythurs out Into tha eowid night; an* beds her never cross tha doorstep of the house •ha had disgraced It wasn’t until tha middle of tha n«st day we heard what bad bean dona; an' me ould man an' me. arid our hearts la our mouths, set out to search fur her. Wa didn't And her until tha evening after, thirty miles away, lyin’ In n ditch, half" famished and frosea, her poor wits completely gun*? "Ws brought bar home, cussed an’ nursed her an well an we rould, but she sat all day lung on a stool before the fire shiverin’ an’ not seeming to hear or understand a word that was goln’ on. We thought that perhaps when her poor child came. Heaven would aee fit to give her back her eenrea. but It wasn’t *o; an’ In leas than a week after Helen was born ber mother one night stole out of h*r bed and threw heraelf from the cliffs down to the beach below, where, as I’ve told ye, her body was picked up next day. That's her story.” CHAPTER XV. After a few minutes I looked up to whisper brokenly “And her—her daughter, you mean to say she Inherited you mean I—I married a-" “Her daughter,” she Interrupted eag erly, “grew up In me keepin' like every other child I reared; there was nothin' particular about her, except that she was a bit quieter an' slater to mind than most babies maybe. When she was three year old, her granny took her from me; whether because she was touched with remorse or because of the Ill-will and sharp tongues o’ the neigh bors—some o’ the daylera at Droom league refusin’ to buy the praties she sent Into market—I can’t say; but, at any rate, she took her and kep' her un til you came.” "Molly, Molly, you mean lo fell me you aaw no signs of the mother's dlsesse—that you believe her to be free free from—Oh, for Heaven's sake hide nothing from roc now! I have been used basely enough among you all. You rouHt tell roe everything now —everything!” I cried, roughly seis ing her hands. "I »aw nothing wrong about her— nothing, I tell you, until until, as had luck would have it, when she was a slip of a girl of fifteen, she heard her mother's story, an’ it certainly—I won't decalve you, sir preyed on her a Right. She bad a bad fever, an’ raved a lot, always talkin' about the say and the shore, wlahln' she was a mermaid under the water, and a lot like that. Hhe several times tried to gat out of her bed and go outside; an’ we had some trouble in bouldln' her down. An' when she recovered she told me she was sorry she didn't die, as she was no use to any wan In the wurld, an’ her granny was disappointed she didn’t die too. Well, for some time aftber, I must say, a sort of a shiver always came over me when I saw her walkin’ too close to the edge of the cliffs; but by degrees the feelln’ wore away, an' she became almost herself again." "Then, Molly, Molly," I whispered piteously, "you—you have no fear about her now! You feel she is safe safe—only hiding from me In a fit of temper. I—I will be sure to hear from her In a day or two at the farthest; you have no apprehension—no-■" I stopped, for Molly turned her head away, and, with her hands shading her eyes, stared mutely out to sea. I remember feeling the ground surge strangely under me, seeing the stony beach where poor Nora’s mangled body lay move slowly out with the reced ing wave, and a lurid darkness creep ing over the clear sunlight; it was only for a moment. I shook off the dizzi ness, staggered to my feet, to find a ragged boy holding an orange envelope toward me. “A telegram! »ne Ik round!” ‘‘She la found—where—where?” gasped Molly, seizing my arm. “It does not say. The message Is from my housekeeper telling me they have news; I am to come at once. That's all.” Twenty-four hours later I was stand ing In the hall at home. Mrs. Murray's hand resting on my shaking arm. "Hush, hush!" she said in answer to my Incoherent inquiries. ‘ In a mo ment—in a moment I‘ll tell you all. Come into the study. Master Paul. I’ve a letter you must read first.” 1 followed her in; she laid an en velope, directed to me in my wife’s writing. In my hand. "It was found Inside your desk a few hours after you left. I—I don’t know how you missed seeing It.” 1 broke the seal and read the fol lowing slowly twice through— “Paul, I followed you last night into the wood when you thought 1 was sleeping quietly In my bed. I saw In your arms the woman you love, I heard you begging ber to give up home, for tune, fame, and fly to the other end of the world with you, for you could not and would not live another day apart from her. And as I listened to you the cure# which had bung over me even before I caws tsto the world suddenly fell, “The dark still air t>eranie thick with a thousand faces I had never seen he fore, yet which I seemed to know as well ns I knew yours voltes whispered In my ears, lights, red, blue, yellow, dsneed before my eyes; n turaih of rushing buoyant life filled my body; | felt ns If 1 could have flown round the world for ever and know no fat Vine, ail the fever, sufiulsh. struggle ssi horror of the peat week died In me. a horrible esullstlun look tbelr |>la<* *'i felt that tha supreme momeat of my life had eome, the moment fur which I had been bom, lived, and euf fared until then. I felt that It 1 could not kill you my brain would burnt I rushed forward blindly, stumbled over the trunk of a tree, and came to the ground, where I lay stunned for a few moments. When I rose, you had gone. "I went back to my bed, slept for some time, and awoke at dawn with the murderous fpver on me fiercer than before. I stole Into your room, Paul I, your wife, the nameless daughter of a mad mother, who had deceived you basely, robbed you of peace, hap piness, honor and love, yet who had received nothing in return from you but countless benefits, Infinite forbear ance, noblest patience. I leaned over you as you slept, a razor pressed to your throat. The touch of the steel or the fire of my murderous breath awoke you. You looked at me calmly, and 1 slunk away rowed, loathing my self, cursing the dsy that gave life tr such a wretch as I, "All that morning I knelt by your pillow in an agony of shame, of re morse, praying for strength to leave you before you would gupss my hor rible secret. Strength seemed to come; I rose to go when you were driving up the avenue with her. 1 went to the window to take my farewell look; you were standing in the porch together whispering eagerly, her hand was clasping yours. I struggled fiercely for a moment, but passion overmastered me again. ! ran quickly down to your study, unlocked a drawer where I had seen you hide a packet of vermin poison one day, and poured It into the glass of wine you asked for. You took It unsuspiciously; and when It was half way to your lips you turned with u smile and a kind word to me—and, thank Heaven, I was able to dash it from your hands-thank Heaven, thank Heaven! “And now I go from you, Paul, for ever, with a prayer on ray lips and In my guilty heart for your peace and welfare. He happy with her you love, and forget the wretched woman who deceived you. rut her from your mem ory and your life m If she had never been. Now, I can write no more—my hand shakes; strange lights are burn ing before my eyes; a torturing thirst consumes me, though 1 hear the splash ing of tool water everywhere around. 1 must go—oh, love, love, how can I write Farewell?’’ The paper fell from my hands. I turned wildly to Mrs. Murray. "Where Is she, where Is she? I>et me go to her at once. I tell you, she Is desperate, maddened; there la not a moment to lose!" Mrs. Murray, with her hands to her eyes, answered with a weak whimper. I rushed toward the door, and then became aware for the flrat time that the room was full of familiar faces— my Uncle Oerard from Kibton, my two cousins from Leamington, General Btopford, Doctor Finlay, and some others I had not the power to recog* nlze. (To be Continued.) j DAUDET'8 CHILDLIKE NATURE. Pass tonal* Desire to Live, Act and Knjoy Without lalcrmlMlon. I beg to Insist for a moment upon tbe childlike nature of Dsudet’s character, says Fall Mall Gazette. It Is true that everything seems to have been said In praise of Daudet. All the forma of eulogy have been exhausted In enu merating his great and lumlnoua qual ities. Hut I have not seen noted In any of tbe studies of the novelist this striking feature of his character. Dau det was a child, a marvcloua child, ex ceptionally gifted and possessing all the beautiful and adorable qualities of childhood—confidence, generosity, fe verish imagination and a passionate desire to live, to act, to enjoy, with out intermission or cessation. And to the end of his life, although riveted to his armchair. Daudet gave the best advice, showed us how ardent was bis passion for Justice and humility, and made us share with him the Joy of liv ing by Ideas. If I Insist upon this childlike nature of Daudet's character it Is because I assign to this trait the place of honor; It la to the artleaa na tures, to children and to enthusiasts that we owe all great progress, splen did ideas, marvelous inventions, gener ous and charitable Impulses. Ilrt ween Two Fire*. lie was a passenger on a faat train bound for Si. Louie, and when about fifty miles from that village he Jumped from the rear platform. “Why did you do It?" asked the phy sician at the little way station, when he had recovered Ills senses. "It was fate,” replied the sufferer, with a faint smile. "! might have gone farther aud fared much worse." < II dm T Is F allien ess. l’ldlle Old tlenlleman 1 perceive, madam, that I need not Inquire about your health. Nice Old Iduly—Tbank you. air; I confess that I feel ten years younger then I am. Polite Old Gentle man 1’osalbly, madam, but you can not f*el a day younger than you look. Why He Wan Id l*o you think that Hoeckle, the tail or, would glva me credit for a suit ol clothes?" "Poee he know you?" "No." "Oh, In that ease he would."-* Das Klela* Wltahlalt. Ill Pwnehstesa Isrinry. Waggles This a si has ehuwa that powder should be uellke a child Jag plea Whsi lu lbs world do you mean? Waggles ll should be heard but net seen. Prince Albert of Monaco la having a magnetie observatory bu.lt tn the t lures. TALMAGK’S SERMON **A NEW YEAR'S GREETING” THE SUBJECT. rr»m Hook of (iuBtab, Chapter slvll., Tara* «. aa follow*: "How Olil Art TkouT" Sow a I.eaauru from l.tfa. The Egyptian capital was the focus »f (he world's wealth. In ships and barges there had been brought to !t front India fianklucense and cinna mon aod Ivory and diamonds; from the north, marble und Iron; from Sy ria. purple and silk; from Greece some of the finest horses of the world, and »ome of the moat brilliant chariots; and from all the earth that which could beat please the eye, and ch&rin the ear and gratify the taste. There were temples aflame with red sand stone, entered by the gateways that, were guarded by pillars bewildering with hieroglyphics and wound with hrar.en serpents and adorned with winged creatures- their eyes and beaks and pinions glittering with pre cious stones. There were marble col umns blooming Into white flowerbeds; there were stone pillars, at the top bursting Into the shape of the lotus when In full bloom. Along the avenues.llnrd with sphinx and fane and obelisk, there were princes who came In gorgeously up holstered palanquins, carried by ser vants In scarlet or Hsewhere drawn by vehicles, the snow-white horses, golden-bllted, and six abreast, dashing at full run. On floors o" mosaic trie glories of Pharaoh where spelled out In letters of porphyry and beryl and flame. There were ornaments twisted from the wood of tamarisk, embossed with sliver breaking Into foam. There were footstools made out of a single precious stone. There wpre beds fash ioned out of a crouched lion In bronze. There were chairs spotted with the aleek hides of leopards. There were sofas footed with the rlaws of wild beaats, and armed with the beaks or birds. As you stand on the level beach of the sea on a summer day, and look either way, and there are miles of breakers, while with the ocean foam, dashing shoreward, so It seemed as If the sea of the world's pomp and wealth In the Egyptian cap ital for miles and miles flung Itself up Into white breakers of murble temple, mausoleum and obelisk. I* was to this capital and the palace of Pharaoh that Jacob, the plain shep herd, came to meet bis son Joseph, who bad become prime minister In the royal apartment. Pharaoh and Jacob met, dignity and rusticity, the grace fulness of the court and the plain manners of the field. The king, want ing to make the old countryman at ease, and seeing how white bis beard Is and how feeble bis step, looks fa miliarly into hla face and says to the aged man: "How old art thou?" Last night the gate of Eternity open ed to iet In, amid the great throng of departed centuries, the soul of the dy ing year. Under the twelfth stroke af the brazen hammer of the city clock the patriarch fell dead, and the stars of the night were the funeral torches. It Is most fortuuate that on this road of life there are bo many mile-stones, on which we can read just how fast we are going tow’ard the Journey’s end. I feel that It is not an inappropriate question that I ask today, when I look Into your faces, and say, as PharAoh did to Jacob, the patriarch, “Ilow old art thou?" People who are truthful on every other subject lie about their ages, so that I do not solicit from you any literal response to the question I have asked. 1 would put no one under temptation, but I simply want, this morning, to see by what rod it la we are measuring our earthly existence. There Is a right way and a wrong way of measuring a door, or a wall, or an arch, or a tower, and bo there is a right way and a wrong way of meas uring our earthly existence. It Is with reference to this higher meaning that I confront you this morning with the stupendous question of the text ana ask: How old are thou?" • • It la not sinful egotism for a Chris tian man to say, “I am purer than I used to be. I am more consecrated to Christ than I used to be. I have got over a great many of the bad habits In which I used to Indulge iu. I am a great deal better man than I used to be.” There la no sinful egotism in that. It Is not base egotism for a soldier to say, ‘T know more about military tactics than I used to In-fore I took a musket In my hand and leurn cd to ‘present arms,' and when 1 waa a peat to the drill officer." It Is not base egotism for a sailor to say, "l know better how to clew down the mltaen topsail thun I used to before I bad ever seen a ship." And there Is no sinful egotism when a Christian man, fighting the battles of the Lord, or, If you will have It, voyaging toward a haven of eternal rest, say, know more about spiritual tactics and about voyaging toward heaven than I used to." Why, there are those In this pres ence who have measured lames with many a foe and unhorsed It There are Christian men here who have be roue swarthy by hammering at the forge of ralamlty. They eland on an entirely different plane of character from that which they once occupied They are measuring their life on earth hy golden gated ffaldwihe, by Pente costal prayet meeiinj. b> e»iunniitton tables, by baptismal fonts, by hallelu iahs In the temple They have etood on fflaai, end heacd It thunder. They have stood ua ftegab, and looted over Into the from lead Ishd day In which to be gin a new styla of measurement. Itow old art thou* You aee the Chriettau way of measuring life and the worldly way of measuring It. I leave It to you | to *ay which la the wlseet and best way. The wheel of time has turned very swiftly, and It haa hurled us oa The old year haa goaa. The new year haa come. For what you and I have been launched upon It, Ood only known Now let me ash you all Have ><>u made an, prcpareiion |.»r the future* You have made prepare* ilou for llius, mr dsai brother; have you made any preparation for eter nity f !hv you wonder that when lhal man on the Hudson river. In Indiana* lies, tore up the tract which waa branded him. and Juet one word landed on hta coni sleeve the reel of the irart being pitched lots the rlrdf* that oae word aroused his soul? It was that ona word, so long, so broad, so high, so deep—"eternity!” A dy ing woman, in her last moments, said, “Call it back.” They said, "What do you want?" "Time," she said, “call It bark!" Oh, it cannot be called bark; we might lose our health, and, perhaps, recover It; we might lose our good name and get that bark; but time gone is gone forever. • • • What fools we all are to prefer the circumference to the center. What a dreadful thing It would be If we should be suddenly ushered from this wintry world Into the May-time or chards of heaven, and If our pauper ism of sin and sorrow should be sud denly broke it up by a presentation of an emperor's castle surrounded by larks with springing fountains and paths, up and down which angels of God walk two and two. In 1M6 the French resolved that at Ghent they would huve a kind of mu sical demonstration that had never been heard of. It would be made up of the chimes of hells and the discharge of cannon. The experiment was a per fect success. What with the ringing of the hells and the report of the ord nance, the city trembled, and the hills shook with the triumphal march that was as strange as It was overwhelming. With u most glorious accompaniment will God’s dtar children go Into their high residence, when the trumpets shall sound and the Isist Day has come. At the signal given, the bells of the towers, and of the lighthouses, and of the cities, will strike their 8wcetness Into n last chime that shall ring Into the heavens and float off upon the sea, joined hy the boom of bursting mine snd magazine, aug mented hy nil the cathedral towers of heaven the harmonics of earth and the symphonies of the celestial realm making up one great triumphal march, fit to celebrate the ascent of the re deemed to where they sbsll shine af the stars forever and ever. GREAT SPANISH ACTRESS. The Daughter of a Hloh Mara haul ol Madrid. One must love Madrid and be famil iar with lie history to know how rep resentative ia the Kpaniah theater of Its glory, Its genius and ita beauty, says the New York Herald. It aroae phoenlxlike from the very unites of the fainotiH Collgcum of the Croon, whoue performers, toward the rlone of lant century, created that atmonphere of abandon und fantany which la the very breath of life to the modern Spanish stage. For twenty years the famous Kafae) Cairo made (he Spanish theater the representative of the choicest dra matic art of hiH people. His death left a vacancy which wan not Ailed until the appearance of Marla Guerrero. The Henson in Madrid lasts barely six months. During the rest of the year the company makes tours to the prov inces or abroad. In 1897, for example, it scored brilliant successes through out the countries of Spanish America. This year a tour of Europe Is con templated. with a Arst appearance at Paris. The choicest classic and mod ern drama will form its repertory. The company, which the Figaro has hap pily called a “company of hidalgos,” Is managed by Mme. Guerrero and her husband, Hcnor Fernando Diaz of Mendoza, a fellow-actor, and by title the marquis of Fontanar. The daughter of a rich merchant of Madrid and carefully educated in a convent, ar. Irresistible vocation at tracted her to the stage. She made her debut at the Spanish theater In 1890. In 1892, at the Comedia, she made her Arst great success. She has ever slnre retained her place at the head of her art in Spain. Euctljptsi I'm t« mm I*. Germany la about to make a radical departure In paving Home of the atreeta In its big cities with the wood of the eucalyptus tree. The substance has been tested thoroughly in the Antip odes, and the German authorities are satisfied that it la better than stone for the purpose. Eucalyptus wood has been In use in Sydney, N. S. W., as street paving material for the past ten years. It has proved to be so service able and durable that nil the principal streets of that city have been paved with it. The great density, hardness and elasticity of the wood of certain kinds of eucalyptus trees, rich in pitch and fatty oils make the wood more adaptable for the purpose than that of uS>' ether tree. It Is said to be proof against rapid deterioration and does not absorb the moisture of city streets. For hygienic us well as economical reasons Germauy la now experimenting with it. in l^lpclc a street In the busiest section of the city has been paved half with eucalyptus wood and half ordinary material under equal cir cumstances and conditions. Despite Its hardness, the wood surface does not get slippery and It seema to be su perior to asphalt In many ways. Dres den t.iid several other German cltlee are inaklug similar experiments. SxalStr A anecdote to show the evils of I intemperance la found In Modern So ciety. A Ituaalan peasant returning from town, where he had bought a new pair of boots sad drunk a few glasses of spirits, fell asleep by the rue debit. ts4 a as stripped of his boots by a light Angered tramp The fellow s sleep remained unbroken until n pane tag wagoner, seeing him lying halt sc rose the track, shouted lo him lo take hie lego owl of the way,** “My legsT" echoed the half aroused sleep ee, rubbing hie eyes, ' those lego ain't mine mine had boots oal" Why but a man who wear* speeU clea troubled with see-ol*.hasset