The following text may have been generated by Optical Character Recognition, with varying degrees of accuracy. Reader beware!

LOVE REASONS NOT. CHAPTER XXXIV. A I' Mf. r.KlllEiiKilOM. The writing of that litter wa* a labor of love to Uady Lanswell She did not with to be cruel ; on the contrary, now that ah bad gained her with, ihe (elt something like pity (or the girl ibe had eo entirely crashed. Ixmi Chaado* would have been quite true to h's first love but for hit mother'* influence and maneuvers. 8h* knew that. .She knew that with her own hand she had crushed the life and lore from tnii girl'i heart. Writing to her would be the lait il isagrrrthle feature in the caee. She would be finished with them, and there would be notbiug to mar the brightoeai of the future My lady took up a jeweled pen ; ehe had paper, white and eoft, with her crest at the head ; every little detail belonging to her grandeur would help to crush this girl for whom she had so much contempt and so little pity. She thought over every word of her letter ; it might at some future day, perhaps, be brought against her, and she resolved that it should be a model of moder- ation and fairness She had learned Leone's name, and she began : My DEAR M " Noil., My son hai commissioned me to write to you, thinking, as I think, that the business to be arranged will be better seuled between you and my- self. I am glad to tell you that at last, alter many months of infatuation, my son has returned to his senses, and has now but one idea, which is at once and for- evri to put an end to all acquaintance be- tween you and himself. My son owni that it was a great mistake ; he bUme* himself entirely, and quite exculpates yon; he l.olds you blameless. Permit me to say that I do ths same. " My ton having recovered his senses, *ee that a martiage between you and him- self would be quite impossible. He regrets having promised it, and begs that you will forgive what seems to be a breach of that promise ; but it is really the beet and wisest plan of his life. Neither your birth, training, education, manners, nor appearance, til you to hold the position that my son's wife must hold. You mutt, therefore, consider the whole affair at an end ; it was, at its worst, a piece of boyish folly and indiscre- tion, while you are blameless. Il is my eon's wish that ample compensation should be made to you, and I have placed the mailer in the hands of Mr. Sewell, my law- yer, whom I have instructed to settles thou- sand per annum on you. Let me add, further that if ever you are in any pecuniary diffi- culty, 1 shall find a pleasure in helping you. ' One itnng more I.ord Chandos is engag- ed to be' married to one of the wealthiest women in Kngland a marriage which makes his father and myself extremely htppy, which opens to him one of the finest careers ever opened to any man, and will make him one of the hrppieal of men. Let me add an earnest hope that your own good seme will prevent any vulgar intrusion on your part, either on my son or the lady to whom he is passionately attached. You will not need to answer this letter. Lord Chandos dues not wish to be annoyed by any useless appeals; in short, no letter that you write will reach him, as we are travel- ing from place to place, and shall b* so until the wedding-day. " In conclusion, Iran but say I hope you will look at the matter in a sensible light. You, a farmer's niece, have no right to the position of an eari's wife and you have eveiy reason to tnmk yourself fortunate that worse has not happened. " I.I ' IA, Col'.NTESSOK KANSK-EM.." " There," said my lady, as she folded up the letter , " to most people that would be quietus. If she has half as mu :h spirit as 1 give her credit for, thai little touch about the ' vulgar intrusion' will prevent her from writing to him. I think this will effectually put an end to all further pro- ceedings. She sealed the letter and sent it, at ths tine lime sending one to her solicitor, Mr. Sewell, telling him of the happy event pending, ami begging of him to arrange with the girl at once. " If on* thousand a year does not satisfy her, offer hsr two; oiler her anything, so that we are completely rid of her. From motives of prudence it would be better for I.er to leave that place at once ; advise her to go abroad, or emigrate, or anything, eo that she may not annoy us again, and do not write to me about her ; I do not wisli to be annoyed. Settle th business your- self, and remember that I have no wish to know anythingabout it. That letter was sent wilh the other, and my lady sunk back with an air of freat relief. " Thank Heaven '" she said to herself, " thai is over. Ah, me ! what irolbert have to suffer with their sons, and yet tew have been so docile as mine." A few dsys afterward the countess sought her son. She had no ground* lor what she said, but she imagined herself peaking the truth. l,ance,"sha said, " 1 have good news for you. That tiresome little affair of yours is all settled, and there will be no need for us ever to mention the subject again. The girl has consented to take the ihouiand a year, and she she is happy and content." He lookvd at her with haggard eyes. " Happy and content, mother ?" he saiil. "Are yen ijuite sure of that? " Sure as 1 am that yon, Lance, are one of the most forAnate men in the world. Naw take my advice, and let us have no more mention of the matter. I am tired cf ii ami I am sure that you trust be the .tame. Try from this lime to be happy with Lady Marion, and forget the past. Did he forget it ? No one ever knew. Re never had the same light in his eyee, the aame (rank, free look on his faos, the same ring in his laugh; from that day he was a changed man. Did he think of the fair girl, whoae paasioual* heart and soul ho had woke Into such keen lifo ? Did he think of the mill-stream and the ripple of the water and the lines so full of forebod- ing: " The VOWH are all forgotten. The ring asunder broken." Ah, how true Leone's presentiment bad boon 1 The vow was forgotten, the ring broken, ihe pretty love-story all ended. He never dared lo ask any question fro n his mil her about her: he turned coward when- ever the English letters were delivered; he never dared to think aboul her, to wonder how she had taken this letter. Pioud, am- bilious, mercenary, haughty a* wa* th* Counteas of Laniwell, there were times when shs felt grieved for her son It wa* such a young face, but there was as lino on th* broad, fair brow; there was a shadow in the sunny eyes; tho music had gone out from his voice. Marion will oon make it all right," aid th* proud, anxioos, unhappy mother; " there will be nothing to fear when once they are married." Lady Marion wa* th* moat gentle and laaot exacting of all human being*, but even she fancied Lord Chandoe waa but a poor wooer. He wa* always polite, deferential, attentive, and kind; yel he seldom spoke of love. Afler that evening in the Al -imlira he never kissed her; he never sought any tete-a-tete with her. She had had many lovers, as was only nalnral for a beauty and a great heiress. Nonn of Ihem bad been so cool, so self contained a* Lord Chandos. Lady Lanswell managed well; she ought lo have been empress ofsome great nation; her powers of administration wer* so great. She persuaded them to have the wed- ding in the month of September, and lo travel until thai came. ' 11 will be a change from ihe common cuslom," she said; " mosl people are mar- ried in England, and go to the Continent for their honey -moon; you will be married in the Continent, and go lo England for ihe honey-moon." It was tome little disappointment to Lady Marion; like all the girl* she had thought a great deal of her marriage. She hail always fanoiod it in the grand old church al Krskine, where Ihe noble men and women of her raoe slept, their last sleep, where the Krakineo for many generation* had been married. She hai fancied a long train of fair, young bridemaids, a troop of fair, fond children strewing flowers; and now it would be quite different. Still she wa* content: she was marrying ihe man whom she loved more than anything else in the world. She had wondered so much why Ihe countess desirod the wedding to take place in Paris. She hail even one day ventured to ask her, and Lady Lanswell answered tint by kiasmg her, then by telling her thai il was beet for Lord Chando*. That ' wa* quito enough to content the loving heart, if it were better for him in any way. She did not inquire why. She would sacri- fice any wish or dosire of her own. So the day of the wedding came, snd a grand ceremonial it was. The noblest and mos". exclusive English in Paris attended il, and everylhing was after the wish of Lady Lanawsll* heart. There had never been a fairer or more graceful bride. There hail never been a handsomer or moregallanl bridegroom. Doe thing struck the Count less of Laniwell ami made her remember the day with a keen sense of pain, and it waa this : when Ihe bride retired lo change hi'i superb bridal drees for a traveling coetume shs had time to notice how while ami ill her son looked. He waa on* of Ihe moel temperate of men; she did not re- member that he had ever in his lite, been in the leaat degree the worse for wine, but she saw him go to the buffet and fill a small glass wiih sirong brandy and drink il even lhat, sirong as il was, did not pul any color into his face. Then he cams to speak to her. She looked anxiously al him. L%nce," she said, " I do nol like ask- ing you th* question bul have you really been drinking brandy?" She never forgol ihe bitter laugh lhat came from hit lips. Yes, I have indeed, mother. It i* just as well a glass of poison did not stand there; 1 should drink it," She shuddered al the words, and it must be owned they were not cheerful ones for a wedding-day. The bride and bridegroom drove away; slippers and rice were Ihrowi. after them. And the pily is lhal every woman in from her mortal enemy, tlie one on which ehe had sworn revenge. She read it through. What happened while she read it ? The reapers were reap- ing in the cornfields, ihe wiad had sunk to the lightest whleper, some of ths great red roses fell dead, ths leaves of the white lilies died la the heat of the sun, ths birds were tired of singing ; sven the butterflies had sunk, tired out, on tho breasts of the floweis they loved ; there was a golden glow over everything ; wave after wave of perfume rose on the warm summer air ; afar off one heard th song of Ihe reaper, and the cry of the sailors as Ihe shim sailed down the strean. ; there waa life, light, lightness all around, and she) stood in the middle of it, strioksn as one dead, holding tier death warrant in her hand. She might have been a marble statue as she stood there, so silent, ao motioolae*. She read and reread it ; at first ebe thoughl it must be a sorry jeet : it could not be true, it was impossible. If she took up the Bible there, and the printed words turned blood-red before her eyee, it would be far less wonderful than that this should be true. A sorry, miserable jest some one had played her, but who how ? No.it wu no jest. She mast be dreaming horrible dreams come to people in their sleep ; shs should wake presently and find it ail a black, biank dream. Yet, no no dream, the laughing August sunlight lay all round her, the birds were singing, there was the flash of the deep rivsr, with the pleasure-boats slowly dritliug down the stream. It waa no droam, it was a horrible reality . Lord Chandoe, the lover whom she had loved with her whole heart, who ought, under the peculiar circumstances, to have given her even double the faith and double the love a husband givea his wifs ; he, who was bound lo her even by the weaknee* of the tie that should have been stronger, had deserted her. She did not cry out, she did not faint or swoon ; she did not sink as she had done before, a seneeleas heap on the ground ; she stood still like a soldisr stands sometimes when he knows lhal he has to meet his death blow. Every vestige of color haxl faded from her face and lipe ; if the angel of death had touched her wilh his fingers, sbs could not havs looked more white and still. Over ami over again she rad the words thai took from her life ite biightness and it* hops, that slew her more cruelly thanpoison or steel, lhal made their way like winged arrows to her heart, and changed her from a leader, loving, passion- ate girl to a vengeful woman. Slovlyshe realized it, slowly ths letter fell from her hands, slowly she fell on her " He has forsaken me !" she cried. " Ob. my (Jod ! be ha* forsaken me, and I cannot die !" No onecaree to stand by the wheel or the rack whilesome poor body is torlured todealh who can stand by while a human heart I* clined to pui faith in the vows and promis- ee of a man was they were kept. not there to see how CH API-UK XXXV. I I LEAVE THEM MY HATHID AX D MY CUM*. Loone was alone when the letter of the Countess ot Lanswell was delivered lo her; she had been wondering for some days why no news ruin* from Lor. I Chandoe why he aid not r IN-. Sh had written moet urgent and affectionate letters to him, praying for newe of him, telling bun how bravely and happily shs was hearing tho separatum from him, only longing to know someihing of him. The warm, sultry month of August had set in, and she was working hard as sver; there wai but one comfort to her in this loug absence the longer he was away from her, the more tit she should be to take her place as his wife when he did return. She felt now that she could be as stately as the Countess of Lanswell herself, wilh much more grace. She had been thinking over her future when that letter came; it found her in the same pretty room where he had bidden her good-bye. 'Mini the maid entered w:th the letter on a salver, she had looked up with a quick, passionate sensa of pleasure. Perhaps i h.i was to tell her when he would come. She seized the dainty envelope with a low cry nf intense rapture. "At last," she said to herself, "at last Oh, my lore, how could you be silent so lon?' r Then she saw that it was not Lance's writing, but a hand thai was quite strarge to her. Her face paled even ae she opeoed II ; she turned to the signature before shs road tho letter; it was "Lucia, Countess of Lanswsli " Then she knew that il was breaking with the extremity of anguish? When such a gritf come* to anyon* a* to Loone, one (lands by in silence ; it i* though a funeral is passing, and one is breathless from respect to ihe dead. The besl part of her died as she knell I there ; the mu* of the sky, th* gold of the shining sun, the song of the birds, the sweet smell of flowers were never the same lo her again. Almost all lhat was good and noble, brave and bright, died as ehe knell there. When thai teller reached her, she was, if anything, better than Ihe goa eraliiy of women. She had noble instiucl*, grand ideas, great generosity, and self- sacrifice ; it waa as though a flame of fire came lo her, and burned away every idea save one, and that was revenge. "He loved me." sne cried ; "he loved me truly and woll ; but he wa* weak of pur pose and my enemy has taken him from me." Hours passed all tbe August sunlight died; Ihe reapers went home, ths cries of the sailors were stilled, tho birds were silent and still. Shs sat then trying lo realize that for her that letler had blotted th* sun from Ihe heavens and ih* llghl from her life ; trying to understand thai her brave, handoome, gallaal young love wa* false to her, lhal he was goiag to marry another while eh* lived. Il wss loo horrible. She was his wife before God. Tbey had only been parted tor a short time by a legal quibble. How could lie marry anyone else ? She would not believe it. It was a false- hood th\t the proud mother had invented to part her from him. She would not be- lieve it unless she heard it from other*. She knew Mr. Sewell's private address ; ho would know if it were true; she would go and ask him. Mr. Sewell wa* accustomed to tragedies, but even he fell in some degree dauntiM when lhat young girl with her colorless face and flashing eye* stood before him. She held oul a lettur. "Will you read this?" she said, abruptly. "I received it to-day from Lucia, Countess ol Lanswell, and I refuse to believe it. ' He took the letter from her hands and read it, then looked at the still whit* face before him "Is it true ?" shs asksd. Yes," he replied, "perfectly true." "Will you toll me who it is thai is going to marry my husband y " she naked. "If you mean wiil I tell you whom Lord Chandos is to marry, I am sorry to. say my answer must bo 'No.' lam not commis- sioned to do so. \ ou may see it for your- self in the newspapers." "Then it is true," she s*id slowly; "there is no jest, no doubt, no mistake about it?"' "No, none. And as yon have shown mo your letter," said Mr. Sewoll, "I may a* well show you the one I have received, and you may see fo.- yourself what Lady Lane- well's lutsntions aboul you are. Take a chair," added the lawyer, "I did not notice that you were standing all this time ; you took me by surprise. Pray be sealed. " She look the chair which he had placed for her, and read the letter through. She laid it down on the table, her face calm, white, the fire in her eyes giving place to utter scorn. "I thank you," she si1 The letter written you is cruel ami unjust as the one writlen to me. I decline t:ie thousand per annum now and for all time. My husband loved ms and would have been quite trim to me, but that his mother has iuirigued to make Mm falee. I refuse her help, her assistance in any way; bul I will have my revenge. If I had money and Influence 1 wou.d sus for my righls h, and might win then. As It is, and for the preset, t k I am power less; bul 1 will hav* my revenge. Tell Lucia, Countess of Lanswsll so for me." The pa**ion, ths dramatic force, the eager interest, ihe power of her beautiful face, struck him. In his heart he felt aorry for this girl, who he knew had been cruelly treated. "I would not think about revenge," he aid; "that is a kind of thing one reads abonl in novels and plays, but it is all out of date." "Is it ?" she asked, with a slow, strange smile. "Yes. Taks the advice of a sensible man who wishes to see you do well. Yours is a false position, a cruel position : but make the best of it take the thousand per annum, and enjoy your life." He never forgot ihe acorn those wonder- ful eyee flaehedal him. "No," she said, "I thank yen; I believe when you give me that advloe yon mean well, liu t I cannot follow it. If I were dying of hunger I would nol touch even a crumb of bread thai came from Lady Lanswell. I will never even return to the house which has b-en my own. I will take no single thing belonging to them. I will leave them my hatred and my curse. And you tell Countess Lucia, from me, that my hatred shall rind her out, and my vengeance avenge me." She roar from her ohair and look tho letter she had brought with her. "I will niver part with thia," she said ; "I will keep it near mo always, and the reading of it may stimulate me when my energy tiroe. I have no message for Lord Chandos ; to you I say farewell" "She is going to kill herself," he thought; "and then if il gets into the papers, my lady will wax wroth." She seemed to divino his thoughts, for she smilod, and the smile was more sad than tears. "1 shall not harm myself," she said : "Death i* aweeter than life, bul life holds 'vengeance.' Good-bye." CHAPTER XXXVL AFTER TIIREK VBAK-. "The question is," said Lord Chandoe, shall we go or not? Please yourself, Mar ion, and then," he added, with an air of weari- ness, "you will be sure to please me." "1 should ',ike to go, certainly, if you really hare no other engagement, Lance," said Lady Chandos. "My engagement* always give place to your pleasure," teplied the young husband, "if yon go. I will really desire to see this new star we will go. I will see about it at once." Still Lady Chandoe seemed irresolute. "It is quite true."- ehe said, "that a! I London has gone mad aboul her, just a* Paris, Vienna, and St. Petersburg did." "London is always goipg a\ad about something or other, but the madneee never laste long. "I have road -nny things," continued hit wife calmly, "but I have never read anything like the description of Ihe scene keeping up of title and estate. She ha* a husband who is all kindness and indulgence to her; who has never denied her the gratification of a single wish; who ha* never spoken one cross word to her; who U always devoied toner service. What could any one wish for more ? She would tell you, with a charming, placid smile on her sweet face, that she is perfectly happy. It there be higher bliss than hers she Joes not kuow it yst; if there i* a love, as there is geniiu. akin to madness, she has never felt it. all Passion doee not enter her life, it serene and calm. In thoee three years Lord Chando* had made tor himself a wonderful name. The Duke of Lester bad done all that he could for him, but hi* own talent* and energy had done more. He had proved himself to be what the loading journal **>id of him," a man of th* times." Just tke man wanted full of life, activity, energy, talent, and power. He had made himself famous a* an orator; whan Lord Chandoe roee to speak, the house listened and the nation applauded; his speeches were eagerly read. He was Ihe rising roan of the day and people predicted for him that he would Ite prune minister before he was thirty. His mother's heart rejoiced in him all her most sanguine hope* w*re fulfilled. Ask himifhe ishsppy. He would laugh carelessly, and answer, "I am a* happy a* other men, I imagine." Aak him if his ambition and prid* are gratified, and he will toll yon "Yea." Ask him if ambition and prid* can fill his lifo to the exclusion of all els 3; he will tell yon "No." Ask him again if he has a thousand vague, passionate deeires unfulfilled, and his handsome face will cloud and his eyre droop. They are very popular. . Lord Chandos gives grand dinners, which are considered among Ihe best in London. Lady Chandoe gives halls, and people inlrigne in every possible way for invitations. She give* quiet ilancee and soiree*, which are welcom- ed. She is "at home'' every Wednesday, and no royal drawing-room is better attend- ed than hor "at home." She ha* select little tea* at five o'clock, when some of the most exclusive people in London drink orange pekoe out of Ihe finest Roee dn Barri china. They are essentially popular; no ball is considered complete unless it is graced by the presence of the queen of blondes. As the Belgravian matrons all ay, "Door Ladj Chandos U so happy in her marriage." Her husband was always in attendance on her. Other husband* had various ways ; some went to their clubs, some smoked, some drank, some gambled, others flirted. Lord Chandos was irte- proaohable ; he did none of these thing*. Then had never been the least cloud be- tween thorn. If this perfect wife of hi* had any little weakness, it was a tendency to slight jealousies, so slight a* to bo name- less, yet she allowed them al time* to rattle her calm, serene repose. Her hus- band was very handsome there was a picturesque, manly beauty about hi* dark head and face, a grandeur in hi* grand, easy figure lhat was irresistible. Women followed him wherever he went with to 'at the opera-house last evening; it really admiring eyes. As b* walked along the as mails me long to see her." I ureeu ih.v said to each o'her. with srmlinir made m long to see lier. "Then lei thi longiag be gratified, by all means." aaid Lord Chandos. "\Ve will [ go this evening. Consider it settled, Marion, and do not think of changing your { plans." It was breakfast-time, and the husband | ami wife were discussing th* advent of a i new actress and singer one who was 1 setting the world on fire Madame Vanira. Lord and Lady Chandoe always took break- fast together; it was one of the established ruins, never broken; it was the only time in ihe day when they were quite sure street* they said to each o'her, with smiling eyes, what a handsome man he was. If they went to strange hotels all the maids oourteaied with blushing faces to the hand- some young lord. A: Naples one of the flower-girl* had disturbed Lady Mancn's peace a girl with a face darkly beautiful as one of Raphael's women, wilh eyee thai were like liquid fire, and ibis girl always stood waiting for them with a basket of flowers. Lord Chandos, in his generous, princely fashion, flung her piecss of gold or sliver ; onoe my lady aaw the girl lift the money he throw to her trcm the ground. of seeing each other. It was three years since they were married, and time had not worked any ,,,,.,,,,,, ,, UI1 , ml ,,,., ,,,, c great change in eilher. Lady Chandoe Sorrento, Lady Chaodos would have no was even more beautiful than in her maideu more, and Carina was requeetod soon after- days. Sho had the same sweet repose of | ward by the master of the hotel to take her kiss it wilh a passionate kiss, and put it in th* bodice of her dree*. In vain after that did Carum offer Parma violet* and lilios from manner, the ssme highbred elegance and grace, the same soli, low voice but ihe beauty of her face had grown deeper. There wa* more light in the blue eyes, a deeper eheen on the golden hair, a richer tint on Ihe fair face; there was more of life, animation, and intercut, ihan she had displayed in those days when she seemed to glide through life like a spirit, rather than battle through it like a human being. Perhaps for her the battle had to con.,-. In figure ihs had developed, she looked taller aud more stalely, bul Ihe same beautiful lines and gracious curves were there. A* ehe sits in her morning -dress the patesl blue, trimmed with the most delicate cream color, a pretty, ooquetlieh cap on her golden head, the bloom and freshness of early youth on her fact, she looks ihe loveliest picture of lovely and blooming womanhood, the perfection of elegance, the type of a patrician. Her while hands are covered with shining gem* Lady I 'handoi has a taste for rings. She is altogether a proper wife for a man to have to trust, to place his life and honor in hsr, * wild to be esteemed, appreciated and revered, but nol worshiped wilh a mad passion. In iheserene, pure atmosphere in which ehe hved no passion could come, no madness; shs did not understand them, she never wont oul of the common groove* of life, but she was moit amiable and sweet in them. Nor had Lord Chando* altered much in these three years; he had grown hand- somer, more manly ; the itroug, giaceful figure, the erect, easy carriage, were jusl ths same ; his face had bronzed wilh travel, and the mustache thai ahad*d his beautiful lips was darker in hue. Had they been happy, these Ihree years of married life ? Ak Lady ('handoi, and she will lay, "Happy a* a dream." She has nol known s shadow of care or fear,she ha* been unutterly happy ; she is the queen of blondes, one of the moet popular queens of sociely, the chosen and intimate mend ol more than one royal princess, one of the most powerful ladies al court ; no royal ball, or concert, or garden-party is iver given without her name being on the list ; she is al ihe head of halt Ihe charities in London, she lays foundation stones ; she opens the new wings of hospilals ; she interests herself in convalescent homes ; she influence*, and \a b great many instances leads the fashions. "Huts laChanilos,"the Marion ooviume," are tributes to her influence. To know her, to be known to be on her visiting list, is a passport every- where She hostile finest diamonds and the finest rubles in London; her horses are the envy and admiration of all who see them; her mansion in Belgravta is the wonder of all who see it every corner of the earth has been racked to add to its luxury and comfort. She has more money .lust as pin-money than many a peer -has (or the stand with hei flowers elsewhere. Lord Chaudos never made any remark upon it every lady ha* some foible, some little peculiarity. She was a perfect wife, and this little feeling of small jealousies waa Dol worth mentioning. If they wnt to a ball and he danced three time* wilh ih* same lady, he knew he would hear something in faint dispraise. If he admired anyone as a good rider or a good dancer, oul would come some little criticism ; he smile i a* he heard, but said nothing it waa nol worth while. Like a kind-hearted man he bore this little falling in mind, and if ever he praised one woman, he took care to add something complimentary lo his wife. So ihe Ihree years had passed and this was the spring-tide of the fourlh, ihe showery, sparkling month of April ; violet* and primroses were growing, the bird* beginning to sing, the leaves sr ringing, th* chestnuts budding, the fair earlu reviving afier it* long swoon in the arms of inter. The London season of this year wa* one of the best known, no cloud of eilher sorrow or adversity hung over the throne or the country ; trade was good, everything Deemed bright and proeperous ; but the great event of tho season waa most certainly the first appear- ance in Kngland of the new singer, Madame Vanira, whoso marvelous bec.uty and won* derful voico were said to drive people mad wilh excitement and delighl. 1 1 was to see her thai Lord and Lady Cliandoa went to the Royal Italian Opera on that night in April on is continued. rhich our story (Til BE CONTINUED.) The Usual Result. Daughter" I purchase*! ihese goods a Catchem & Cbeatem's." Mother" Never heard of them." Dtughter " Why, mother ! don't yon remember how all the pretty places in th* country were daubed up with their horrid signs, and how mad we all got ? I'll never forget them in the world." War In the Future. (leneral (in the near future) "Quick I \\hatnewsT" Aids (breathlessly) "Tho enemy'* bicycle brigade i* attacking our Hank." i , nxral (promptly) "Tell the gunners to load with tacks." Lying; Low. Schoolmate -'Why <lo yau never touch your piano ?'' Mine Thumper "We'ro buying it on Installments." "What ilitference doe* that make ?" "I'm afianl if >,w should hear me |'lay, J heM top plying."