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THE YAGARES OF FASHION. Mumufimltyusu than. 4 am not One 'm’ihe mat amusing inconsisten- cies of fashion may be seen every day on men's feet. height of vulgarity at prucut for a gentle- E man toprcsenthimselfinapariororballf room with his lmts drawn outside of his; tmuraera. Indeed, the line between; eastern refinement and backwoods coarse- ness is no betterdrawn than by the wear-f ing of this one article of dress. Notwith-g standing this, it was for many years the? only way to wear the articles in question; ' even those leaders of the mode, Brum- i top-boots, or “lies-ism," asthey were sometime called, in this manner. It was fighting Napoleon's armies in Spain, dis« covering that the fancy and tssseled oops worn by the rough roads, ordered them present style of boot, at first called “Wel- were worn. Being made to wear under the trousers, the size of the leg was re- ing over of the tops was no longer prac- ticable. A relic of the latter, however, ed morocco in the front of most boots 0- mell and the fourth George, wearingtheir not until the duke of Wellington, while of his men's boots had become soiled and to draw their trousers over them. and the lingtons," after their illustrious inventor, rluced, the tassel- left off, and the turn- remains in the insertion of a bit of color: the present day. The adoption of different styles of wide-awake hats in this country on the arrival of Kossuth isremembered by many readers. His advent also restored the heard to favor, Anglo«Saxons for one hundred years having seemingly forgotten that it was neither necessary nor wise to undergo a daily scraping. The “sans culottes" (without brooches), so called in derision, were thus designat- ed because of their wearing the newly- adoptod panfnloon (not trousers) and making other im rtsut changes in dress, such as discarifiiig hair-powder, long coats, boots, and shoe-buckles, etc, of the court party. A degree of simplicity in dress carried to ridiculous extremes was inaugurated at the beginning of the “reign of terror," but the good effect is felt to this day. During the last cen- tuary boys dressed nearly like men, and the “pantsloon,” a straight, stove. ipe shaped garment, was first tried on t eir limbs. These gave way in timcto the “trousers," now in use, misnamed “pants" by us, and it would seem that fashion in this garment, as in many others, is going to repeat itself, as for some years past our small boys have in- dulged in kuickerbockers, a sort of knee- breeches, and many persons advocate a return to them for grown people. It is not at all improbable that ere another de- cade the dude will be as proud of his well-padded calves as the macaroni of 1776, or the dandy of a few years ago was of his “springtop pants” and patent- lcathcr bootsâ€"Busfim Globe. .dâ€"- A Talk with the Khedlve. In a recent interview the lfhedivc of Egypt said; “The English newspapers are always very interesting : they convoy so much inforinatipn from Cairo which one would otherwise never heurhere. To me it is particularly useful to read my own remarks, reported by a gentleman whom I have never met. It appears that I am thinking of abdicating, that I insist on holding Kordofan, and other things. It is singular that I was unaware of it. ; that the idea of abdication never entered my. head ; and that I considered Kordofnn as lost. a month ago. “ As regards abdication, I will say this: I never sought for the khcdivate. The happiest time of my life was before my nccoptnnco of it. When my father, Ismail, was deposed, the choice lay be- tween myself and l-Iaiim. Ismail's sole hope for his family lay in my succession. He himself first saluted me as khcdivc. He knows that a single word from him would have given me a welcome excuse for refusing to be khedive. He knows that my refusal would have been ruin to him. Before accepting it, I considered my first duty to my father: having ac- cepted it, my first duty is to my country. “I consider that I fulfilled that duty in following the advice, first of the control, and now of England. I saw three ways of doingfhntâ€"first, the following if. out- wardl ,while Working against it secretly; secom ly, the following it. blindly, without question; thirdly, the opposing my own opinion when l disagreed with the advice: arguing frankly ngsinstjt but giving way and following it when I found my views were, not accepted. I adopted the third course, and I um culled ‘wenk.’ Say that. to my advisers. Then would they have been better pleased if I had resisted abso- lutol 'f “ but l am also ‘unpopulnr.’ So far as this term has any moaning in Egypt the charge is true and I am proud of it. The English are unpopular because they seek reform. The doctors are unpopulanwho, at the risk of tlicirlivos, disinfect houses. The judges are unpopular if they punish bribery. An official is unpopuliirif he re- fuse: to punish on demand. Every step in the right direction is unpopular, and will be so for some time, but we must still persevere. “Now, who is popular? The man who rules hard and punishes every angry look, who bouts first and questions afterward. That mania 'popular,; flu is obeyed bo- causo the sufferer dare not say or do alight to oppose him. It is very sad, but this is the only Egyptian popularity. Stilkthis is not a reason for continuing such treatment. We must work patiently in the other direction and raise the charac- ter of the follsh, but we must not expect gratitude or popularity for many years. " But I have digresscd. I said that my first duty was to my country. It is the same now as then. Whenever I am con- vinced that lcan benefit my country by abdication, no personal consideration will make me hesitate, but I do not think so. And Iluustsdd that,cx¢.\‘pt by journalists, the i" that has never been raised." At discussing the aspects of the Soudan question, the khcdive said: "Xofqueation of abandoning linrdofan or Balfour arises, for they have abandoned Egypt. As regards the Eastern Soudsn, on the littoml of the Red Sea. so have no direct interest there, and ‘1! outs us inonevi ' A) we received it i , , I . . - l we must foruully offer to h‘llllil it; but its destipy does not. affect Hg} pi. i " Khartouinis a more doulvial question. . The ministers think it Humanity In hold it. My own opinion I muuu; allow youls to publish before I hare state-l it in youth, cil. If the ministers cannot follow Em:- lsnd's advice. they will prnlnh y l's-algll. In theaetual stateof things It would be difficult to find substitutes lot ;lio.-m." In reply to a rennrk that Engiuh pub- , lie opinion remgnixsd the loyalty withi which he had «on. in. high...“ replied: l "Y“,B - force; lard lsndulph Churchill is surest _.-. -.â€".. fume. {laughing} but there is wine- i It'would be considered the‘ I tcctives in England Went soon i hil‘l 'l‘ui-kov l of her and descriptive handbills appeared ; shadow lish public opinion is a great i real b I : l illB é. VOL. XI... s linden: Romance. 3' K313. The maidens brow was and. The malden's voice was low. And dark] looked she at the clock. And da 1y at bar beau. “ My pa will ewoop upon you Before the clock strikes fan. And if his boot once makes you scoot We ne'er will mezt agam.’ Then out ke brave John Henry. A sultor ld was he: “ Let him who fears a fathei's frown Like some base coward flee; But I am not a suitor Who'd safety seek in flluht; I'd sooner die than I to fly _ Without first show as light. ’ lie sat upon the sofa. His arm around her waist. ' And on he'd sqpeeze the blushing maid, And oft heri he'd taste. But hark: the c ock ls slrlklng; It sounds like knell of doom! A form appears l The father fierce Comes stalking in the room. He looks upon dis daughter. A tear is in his eye; He uses on her byld-ey ed beau, Ills glance was stem and high. " Young men I give you warning To leave. without us flour: Or else I'll see that you Will be Feet foremofl. curried cut," Then up sprang brave Jenn IIrnry An a'nlete strong was be; Ana is lth that frowning father's form He made exceeding free. He gave him one lo-u header. Wnlch sprawled him on the floor; . Ila blacked his eye. smote hip and thigh, And drove him through the door. " Proud parent." quoth John Henry, " Wt at thlnkesi. than of mel. Dost thou believe that from this house That I would lllt‘A‘kly fleet If than are not too weary, It thou caust wagthy Jaiv. I’d like to know lf '1” too slow To be thy eon-in law 1" “John Henry," spake the parent " As thou eus'st, so let. it be, ' And straight unto the person then I-‘orih went llolh he and she. The lovers. in love's quarrels, Should be both brave and he'd; Cr. quire bereft. th- y'll man got left And llnd thcday is cold. Now in the nlghts of wlntsr, W hene‘er the clock strikes ten, John Henry chuckles at his wife, While rocklng little lien. With giggling and with laughter, Again th talc ls told, 0! how he fought when he did court In the brave dsvs of old. ‘---~â€".â€"â€"â€"â€"â€" curâ€"mull ANll CRIME. Cuar'rsu XII. (COSTINUED.) “What. did you do then i" “I shouted with all my might as soon as I could get my voice back. All the servants came in, and we sent for a doc- tor and her ladyship. The doctor came at. once, but her ladyship was not to be found." John Hicks was followed by Celeste Dubois, Lady (10 Gretton's maid, a quick, bright-eyed Frenahwomun, who, in a very different fashion, told substantially the same story of the over-night dispute and the morning horror. “I went to call milady,” she cried, with a dramatic uplifting of her hands, “to break to her the sorrowful and dreadful news, and she was not there; she had fled, her bed unslept in, her dress un- touched, for she would not allow me to attend her at night. She had gone, like a madwoman, out into the world.” Mademoiselle Celoste’s evidence pro- duced a profound sensation, and left little doubt in the minds of the listeners that the flight had not. been the only mad act. laid to Nora do Uretton's charge that night. Link by link the chain of evidence convicting her was being forged in her absence. It. would be hard indeed to find a weak place in if. presently. Thedactonwho wasnota little flustcred by the unusualimportance attaching to his words, merely deposed that he was called between seven and night a. m. to Clifl Cottage, and found Lord do (lrettou, who had been dead five or six hours. He was stabbed under the left shoulder, and . the blow had penetrated the heart. It' must have been dealt. with considerablcl force, but~in answer to a timidly-put questionâ€"not perhaps with more strength than an abnormally-excited woman could command. The weapon used was long, keen, and narrow; there was no trace of such a Weapon in the room. lie was of opinion that at the moment. the blow was struck, or immediately after, Lord do Gretfon had inhaled chloroform, as a strong odor still lingered in the room and about. the dead man. ‘ At this point of the proceedings the Coroner thought it better to adjourn the inquiry for the production of further evi- dcncc, and, if possible, for the discovery of the missing bride. So matters stood when, for the second time in three da’s, Arthur Bcauprc ar- rived at Stoke \ t-rnon, and took up his quarters at the village inn. As yet his name had not appeared in the mac ; no local detective, it seemed, had discover- ed that there had been a third person present at that momentous beach meeting that had brought jarring discord to mar the music of the honey- moon. Ile felt that it would have been wiser and better to keep away, but a fatal fascination drew him to the spot in which the death-blow to his happiness had been dealt. and kept him chained there from hour to hour, helplessly wait- ing for the news he longed and yet dread- ed to hear ~-tho news that Nora was found. But. the news lingered strangely. It was easy enough to bring the crime home to the unhappy maddened girl, who by her iliiht indeed had made a virtual con- illusion of her guilt; butit was terribly v n search on every wall. It should have been so easy, such mere child's play, to track the maddened fugi-I tivc, who must surely have borne about her some traces of her terrible deed. The detectives were in ' f. with and ashamed of their own I ' urn -, the news. papers ironically congratulated them on their customary display of perspicuity and skill ; but. a failure it still remained, even after the Coroner's ju had return- ed a verdict of "\"ilful in er," and the, lovemment had given a fresh spur tel the offer of a large reward. would have been , a little more! I 3 Per pa the verdict. little Ion :- in aiming ' ssh-the aid of u-thatia heal ' tone, but for the arrival of tfills:I'Iiiiir‘e been. as shall loyal m a :1me whose clear s htfor- England." ward evidence dsstm ed the last emut ...... .... ......._ .. ., _.___._ of impmbabilitp in cease. and gave_a m life-aim Malt of an. Jennie maxim-m orlmidc Grew)“ dw Chamberlain, the American twenty, whicbwu ordered bythePrinoeuf' \Vsle‘hasbunplseedinflarlborough House. pleasure, a distinct motive for Nora‘s crime. The newwimem was CristineSingletou w. .4}... only member of Lady do Gretton’s, his voice sounded so far away and FENELCN FALLS, ONTARIO, SATURDAY, FEB. 9, 1884 family, it was explained, who was able to ve evidence, Captain Bruce being par- alyzed, and Mrs. Bruce suffering, on the testimony of a medical certificate, from extreme weakness and nervous exhauso tion. Cristine was always pale, but she look- ed whiter than ever in the deep black dress she had assumed for the occasion. She stook quite calm and composed, conâ€" scious of the intent and curious scrutiny of which she was the object, but in no way disturbed by it. Many were there who knew her, and, guessing instinctive- ly at the jealousy that had embittered her step-sister's life, wondered that she could so well control the remorseful anguish of which no doubt she was the prey. Remorse! If he could but have known what a tempest of passion surged beneath that calm exterior, the hardest person present would have shrunk in hor- ror from the fair, delicate-looking girl so genuinely pitied now. Anguish she felt indeed ; but it was for her own crushed hopes and wounded pride ; in her savage exultntion there was nothing that savour- ed of remorse. Onceâ€"how long ago lâ€"when first she learned how terribly fate had helped her plans, how far vengeance had outstripped her thou 'hts, she had felt remorse in- deed, am would at almost any sacrifice have undone her cruel Work. But Arthur Beaupre s scorn had frozen the better im- pulse in the moment of its birth and wakened the old rescntless jealousy that Would hardly slumber again. Clearly, coolly, and succinctly Miss Singleton’s evidence was given, and every word told with deadly effect against «the absent Nora. Lady dc Gretton had never loved her husbandâ€"it had been a marriage of con- venience only. She had been engaged to a young man who was supposed to have been killed in the Zulu war, and grief for him had completely changed her nature. The young man however was not. dead, and Lady de Gretton unhappily learned the fact on her wedding-day. A quick murmur of surprise, mingled with pity, passed throu h the room ; the motive, hitherto a litt e uncertain, was growing terribly clear. Did she learn this fact before or after the wedding ceremony 'l . Cristine raised her clear eyes, and met the Coroner's gaze fully, as she answered, with mournful decisionâ€" “Aftcr, certainly, or the wedding would 11 place ; she was de’voutly never have take attached to Mr. Beaupre, and “Keep to the point, if you please,” the lawyer interposed a little sharply. “Are you sure she did know it at all i’_’ “I gave her Mr. Beaupre's letttcr with my own hands. I know that Mr. Beaupro followed her down here, and that Lord dc Gretton found them together on the beach. ” - The last. words, as evidence, were wholly inadmissable, of course ; but they told as nothing spoken in that room had told vet ; and, looking at Arthur Beau- pre’s ghastly faceâ€"the point. on which her eyes had rested through the wholo'speech -â€"-Cristine felt that her vengeance was at last complete. For him to stand up and speak the words that would rob the girl he had loved so loyally of her last des- perate hope would be a martydom in- deed. “Now he is sorry he flung back my penitence and refused his pardon 1" she thought, with cruel cxultation. “He should have remembered that N ors had something still to lose, and what a woman I wonder what he scorned could do. thinks of inc now !” The speculation was a wasted one. She had noplace in Arthur Boaupre’s thoughts, which were wholly absorbed in the task before him. Strong man as ho was, he felt a sudden deadly faintness steal over him, felt his eyes grow dim and misty, and for a moment. feared that he was about to swoon. How should he speak of Nora to these men, how tell the love and terror that possessed him’l \Vhy had he not put the width of the earth between him and the possibility of such a cruel task? Could he escape even now 1 Alas, no! Even as he asked himself the ques- tion, he heard Cristine’s clear cold voice answering it and the query addressed to her simultaneouslyâ€" “Mr. Beaupre told me. is now present.” And the slender black-gloved finger pointed with vengeful purpose to the re- mote corner in which Arthur sat. He had no choice now but to perform the one duty laid upon him, to tell the story which had served to convict the girl he loved so dearly in his eyes, and which must needs, be thought, tell terribly against her in those of others. All eyes rested eagerly on the pale handsome face, all ears were strained to catch the low-toned words in which this, the hero : of the romance, told the painful story of his meeting with his lost love. He had .'met Lady de Gretton by acci~ dent, and knowing nothing of her mar- riage. Lord do Gretton had interrupted the meeting, and had naturally seemed displeased that it should have taken place. There had been no quarrelâ€"this with an earnest emphasis and evident sincerity. They had parted with the understanding that the farewell was final. Mr. Besupre had returned at once to town, and only learned that Lord de Gretton was dead from the evening newspapers. No one doubted the truth of the young man‘s story ; all pilied the pain with which it was wrung forth ; but none the Mr. Boaupre . hard to find her, though the keunest de- less did it do the work Cristina Singleton inteudcd it to do and sweep the last of doubt from the jurors' minds. “Wilfiil murder Z" own desperate thoughts. linktul with Nora's name, seemed to himl the most horrible pmfanation.‘ Norm; his fair gentle love, his innocent be- tmthcd, a murdereu 2 There was some- thing hideously unnatural in the idea. These men did not know her, they could not all to mind a thousand instances of her patience, lougosufi'ering, gentleness, as he could ; and yet the thought struck him sharply as a knife-thrust that he too had doubtedâ€"mo, not doubtedâ€"convict- ed herâ€"in his own mind. He laughed aloud at the thoughtâ€".- laughed louder still when he law that his immediate neighbors in the room first staredathiminahalf-shocked,bslf- scaredfsshion. then, with aremarkablo unanimity, made for him to has daaedand mistyfashion m He used to Women wondering the of: The verdict, gt", little hand within his own an vowed to lull, m“ bu, the echo of Arthur Beaupre'si love and trust him until death bid them ' Yet the words, 5 P5“ l and why the wrong words came with such ‘ and the hollow fever-ed eyes sought her 5 face with a desperate entreaty in their 1 ' ular rtinacity to his lips. 5mfie waspefaintâ€"thst was it ; he had not eaten or slept forâ€"how many months and years was it I He could not sleep while this suspense overâ€"now that Nora was dead. “They have hung her, have they not "l" he inquired, with extreme courtesy, of a man who stood bmide him in the door- way ; but. somehow the tone, suave as it was, made the stranger jump. “You forget, sir," he began quickly ; but a look at Arthur Besupre’s face changed his purpose. “Take my arm," he said, with kindly haste. “You look as though you would faint. This has been terribly hard for you, butâ€"" The sentence died in a dismayed ejacu- lation, for Arthur Bcaupre, with a smothered groan, slipped suddenly to the ground, and lay there like a man struck dead by a sudden blow. CHAPTER XIII. Arthur Beaupre closed his eyes upon a summer world, and opened them con- sciously upon a world whose brighter autumn tints were fading fast. The small stock of strength he had brought home with him had been reck- lessly expended in those days of waiting agony ; and when the reaction of the strong extitement me, it came in the shape of utter and complete collapse. For six weeks he lay between life and death, parched by fever, and tortured by fierce pain, but mercifully spared the supreme agony of suspense. \thu, slowly and painfully, sense come back and memory took up its torturing task, he learned that for the girl he had left in such deadly peril there was nothing more to hope or fear. . Very gently, very pitifully the news was told him, for if; was told by his mothers’ lips. Mrs. Beaupre summoned from her northren home by the news of her son's sudden and dangerous illness, had come without loss of time and nursed him night and day with true motherly devotion through the terrible weeks and months that. followed, never losing heart, even when hope seemed madness and the doctors gravely warned her that death was hovering near. The shadow presence could not kill the fervent faith that com- forted and upheld her. What had been would be again, she thought, as she sat, an erect and watchful figure, through the long night hours, keen-eyed and eagerly alert. Had not this her son been given back to her from the dead already, and would the Power in whom she trusted with a firm unfaltering faith work but half a miracle in her behalf? The doctors shrugged their shoulders over the old Scotchwoman’s argument ; but she was justified in her faith. The doctors said her son owed his life to her nursing, and thought, and intended her to say, that he owed it to their skill. But, though she thanked them with the gracious sweetness of a. true gentlewomsn and with a tender tremor in her clear voice, she still held firmly to her faith that Heaven had heard her prayes and given back her son. He was himself but half thankful for the boon of life ; it would have been so easy to drift out with the ebb tide of his own weary weakness. It was cruelly hard to bear again the burden and heat of the day. Life had lost all interest for him. Mrs. Beaupro read the eager question in the blue eyes that gleamed with a piti- ful brightness from the pale haggard face, and answered it in her gentle womanly fashion before her son had time to put it into words. “My poor boy 1" She drew the hot. head down upon her shoulder, and smooth- ed back the soft short brown hair with true mother-touches, tender and soothing. “You have been ill so long, Arthur, that â€"â€"â€"that there is nothing terrible to face now." He misinterpreted the words, and a sudden horror dilated and darkened the blue eyes. He tried to free himself from his mother’s clasp as he asked broken- lyâ€" “Thcâ€"thc trialâ€"is it over then 2" Mrs. Benupre bent her head a little lower, and answered softlyâ€"â€" “There was no trial, dear." “Why I” The word was but a long- drawn gasp ; Arthur held his breath un- til the answer came. “Becauseâ€"oh, my dear, be brave and patient !â€"â€"tho poor unhappy girl " “My Nora l" he interrupted fiercely, and with a sort of savage pride. “Have they found hor,â€"has she-confessed 2” Mrs. Beaupre shook her pretty gray head. “I told you, Arthur, all her pain is past," she said, with grave emphatic ten~ domess. “Lady do Gretton is dead.” “Ah l" The sharp spasmodic cry thrill- ed through the mother's heart, making it ache with a keen sympathetic pain. With an abrupt movement, Arthur tum- ed his face to the wall, instinctively hid- ing the agony on which not even a mother's eyes might look. He asked no questions, the one great fact for the moment swallowing up all others for him. Nora was deadâ€"no mat- ter how, or where, or when. Never again could the old days come back and brin his bright-eyed sweetheart to greet him with outstretched hand and sunny smile. In the first sharpness of pain he forgot all the intervening anguish, forgot that barriers wider than the grave had come between them. The Nora who died for him in that moment was not the wild- eyed sorrowful woman to whom life was all bitterness and dread, but the innocent light-hearted girl who had laced her A smothered n broke from thé pale lips, and Mrs. upre, who, from her distant corner, had been anxiously await- ing an opportunity to break in upon the grief that she held sacred, now come to the bedside. “Arthur dearest, it was Heaven's will." she , whis red feverently, while the tears ran ike rain- pl down the soft wrinkled checks, “ even here, even now, we could see that for the poor un. happy girl death was best." Arthur Beaupre stirred restlessly at the words; they toucheda painfully vibrat. ing chord inhis memory. Home had seen that death was best. He too had prayed that Nora might be taken away from the shame and agony to come, and nowâ€" Tbeculd dmpsrosslikebeads on his forehead; be seized his mother's hand, l lasted. But now it was all I my must be spoken. darkened depths. “Mother, how did she die i" No softening of the words was possible; and to speak them briefly was best. .. “In the moment of madness and her crime she must have rushed straight down the cliff, and either fallen or thrown herself into the sea. One of her shoes were picked up on the beach, a long strip of her dresshad caught on a pricky shrub andâ€"and laterâ€"" Mrs. Beaupre broke down at. last, and turned her head aside, unable to endure the mute horror of the listener's face. But Arthur broke in impatientlyâ€" “Mother, for pity’s sake, do not pause now I Let me know all." “A week later they found her, Arthur, thatis all. She is buried here. ls it not better to think of her so than as she might have been 'l" Yes, it was better. Even in the mo- ment of supreme agony Arthur Beaupre found strength and courage to acknowl- edge that the grave was better than the prison or the madhouse, to one of which the flat of man must inevitably have con- signed her. Heaven had been meriful to his tried and erring love ; he would make no impious protest. And yet “Oh, Nora"â€"â€"the cry of the strong loving heart broke forth irrepressibly~ “if I could but have seen you in your cof- fin, and touch your door dead lips, I could bear the parting better! I should not sea you for ever as I see you now, with that cruel madness in your eyes." Mrs. Beaupre shivered at the words, recalling the terribly altered face of the , dead girl, bruised and battered by the‘ cruel tossing waves, swollen outof all re- semblance to humanity. Only by the long black hair and the general height was it possible to identify the poor hu- man sea-drift; upon which few could bear to look and say that it had once been beautiful Nora. “That too was best, dear ; she was sad- ly changed,” she said gently; and that day, to her great relief, he questioned her no more. The doctor found his patient less well that night, and warned Mrs. Boauprc rather sternly against exciting conversa- tions, which the poor woman felt her- self powerless in the circumstances to prevent. It needed no higher medical skill than she herself possessed to tell her that the vivid scarlet spots on either thin cheek, and the feverish light that made the blue eyes so dazzingly and restlessly brilliant were danger-signaIsâ€"she recognized them only too quickly, and with a sore and sinking heart; but how was the danger to be avortrd now? The poor soul passed the night in piti- fully cnrnest prayer, feeling every now and then that the chill shadow of despair was falling over her at last ; but with the morning came renewed hope. Arthur fell into a deep sweet sleep with the dawn, and woke at mid-day to meet her anxious gluce with a faint shadow of his old bright; smile, to clasp her hand with the long thin fingers that looked so strangely white and frail. “I shall not leave you, mother; I am not such a coward as that,” he said, with an attempt at cheerfulness which nearly choked the worn-out and overwrought nurse, who, not trusting herself to speak the gratitude that swelled her heart al- most to bursting, found practical vent for if. in the prompt preparation of a re~ storative. From that moment Arthur’s progress to recovery, if not very rapid, was steady and sure. He knew the worst now, and all that was manly, and steadfast in the young man’s nature woke and armed him against a cowardly despair. Life was barren of hope and empty of joy; but life hold duties still. With the sun at noontidc, he must not weakly cry for the cool soft airs and deepening shadows of the night. He had still his profession and his mother. Men sorely wounded had bound up their hurts and faced the battle bravely for less things than these. He was up and about, frail and shadowy looking, but still a room-bound invalid no more, before he again adverted to the subject that filled his thoughts, and that hung forever like the :sivord of Damoclcs â€"suspended in the air over poor Mrs. Beaupre’s head. He was sitting in a big Chintz-covered easy-chair before the bright little fire. which was acceptable to more than inva- lids on this sunny but chill autumnal day. A newspaper lay open before him ; but his eyes rested on his mother's face, and, had she chanced tolook up, she would have known his thoughts by their strange wistfulness. But, as it chanced, she kept her gaze steadily on the work before her, a piece of fine darning, which she fancied few women of her age could achieve. She felt quite bright and cheerful to-day, and looked as she felt. The morning sun- light fcll across the quaint old‘fashioned little room, filling it with warmth and homely comfort ; the fire crackled merrily in the small polished grate, the pale pretty asters she had arranged in an old china bowl refreshed her flower-lov' eyes. Over and above all, Arthur 8 taken his breakfast with something like an appetite, and sat now quietly reading his newspaper. Truly all things were well with her to~day. “Mpther, who followed Nora to the ve fl Suddenly, in the midst of her cheery visions, the thunderbolt fell, scatteri her hopeful fancies right and left, afid mising a grim and spectral army in their place. (m as cos'rimn.) Miss White, an English composer is finishing an opera in 'ienna. No action will be considered as blame- less unless the will was so, for by the will the act was dictated. They whodo speak ill of themselves, do so mostly as the surest way of provâ€" ;nz how modest and candid they are. Frederick Douglass is undoubtedly one of the ablest and most. eloquent negroea in the United States. For many years he has been championed and patronized as a re resentstive and exponent of the col poo la. Helms just been mar- riedtoa w to woman, and by this act cuts 05 a deal of the sympathy that oxistetfl for him. Probably! 15:: fheaspin- tiono agrcatmsjorityo aegropw ple to become as intimately” emaciated with the white race as paeub' . . mania. The glamour of an unreal civili- | ization appears to have obscured her sight, NO 50. THE JBWS IN ROUMANLI. The Tide of mutation Against Them Increasing In Fury and Barbs-By. With a regularity that would puzzle even the most scientific observer, the tide of fanaticism against the Jews in Rou- mania sets in with ever-increasing fury and barbarity. Whilst. in other countries, where the Jews formally were per- secuted, their lines have now fallen in pleasant place, this is not the case in Rou- at the same time that her dealings with the J ews have become more and more dis- graceful. Not that we are handed over to ferocious beasts as in the case of the Roman emperors, or sent to the gallows. Our treatment is even in some respects worse ; we are living martyrs of unspeak- able tyranny. It is not enough for our enemies that we are debarred from exercising a large number of callings and that ublic func- tions are withheld from us. thcr means are now taken to keep us down, among them Jew-baiting, which has become s. favorite sport. The government, no longer fearing the interference of Europe since the recognition of Roumanian inde- pendence by the great powers, make no secret of their action with respect to the Jews, and they now publicly order the expulsion of our coreligionists from vil‘ lages and towns in virtue of a new law which confers arbitrary powers on the executive. The case of the expulsion of Rabbi Taubes, of Dorohoi, by order of the council of ministers, deserves special notice, as his case forms the starting- point. of a long series of contemplated persecutions against the J ows. Some time ago the commissary of the town of Dorohoi, disguising himself as a Russian Jew, demanded admission one night into the house of Rabbi Taubcs. The rabbi, who did not suspect that any danger was in store for him, admitted the visitor; but before a word could be spoken on either side he was seized by some gendarmes at the disposal of the conunissary, carried out of the house, and dragged into a car- riage which stood in readiness a few yards off. The carriage was driven straight to. ward the Austrian frontier, over which the rabbi was conducted by his captors. For some time no one could understand the motive for this harsh procedure. At length if. was discovered that the rabbi had been the victim of ii ross misrepre- sentation, the prefect of t 0 district hav~ ing denounced him to the ministry as a spy of the Alliance Israelite; hence his transportation across the frontier. Let me add that Rabbi Tsubes was born in this country in the town of Targufromos, and that he has occupied for many years the post of rabbi of the community of Dorohoi. His father is at present rabbi at Bottuchani, and his uncle fills a similar post in Jassey. His antecedents, are, therefore, of the best, and as he is neither a vagrant nor introduced himself into this country by fraudulent means, the charge of being a spy is as base a. calumny as his expulsion is unwarranted. Fresh orders have been gi I that all Jews residing in the rural corn lilies, and engaged as clerks, overseers, farmers and merchants, shall without delay quit those places, and in case of refusal, force is to be employed in order to compel them to comply with this order. Five days’ grace is given them to settle their affairs. The motive assigned for these expulsions is that the Jews are addicted to underhand- ed practices, though no proof can be cited in support of this accusation. What an amount of misery, accompanied by its usual train of evils, awaits many innocent families ! On the frontier, too, the Jews are harassed on entering or leaving this country. Iloumnnin. had already met with a sharp rebuke from Russia on this account. Incredible as this may appear, it is none the less true. If it Russian Jew is placed in an unfortunate position of having to make a journey to Ron- mania, the journey is attended by many difficulties of which he perhaps never dreamt. If he reside in Moscow, Warsaw, or other distant parts of Russia, he is compelled first of all to travel to Odessa, at. a large expense of time and money, in order to have his passport vised by the Roumanian consul general before he can cross the frontier. It is alleged that the policy which inspired this measure is a desire to restrict the entry of Jews into this country, and I must as that if this be so the government partial y succeeded, for no scnsiblb Jew would think of enter- ing the country under such circumstances. For a time the Russian authorities retali- ated by absolutely refusing to admit any person, irrespective of creed, provided with Roumaman passports. But the hour and the fox have come to an understand- ing, and the frontier regulations for llus- sum Jews have remained the same.â€" Jow/ Cor. London Jewish Clo-oniclc. Simple Little llorseTales “ I remember an experience of mine, ' said the cab-driver, taking off an over- coat that had at least ten capes. “I was driving a 2.30 trotter along a country road, some fellow came up with a horse that went by me as if I was standing still. I was dead struck on his action and speed, so when I had caught the chap at the next tavern I gave him 850 to enter the horse in a three-mile race for a pot of money. Besides I backed him for every He looked near the homestretch as if he cfllld distance the field, but just in front of the club-house he stopped stock still. NC thing could move him a foot. I found out. afterward that a whiskey drummer used to drive him, and nothin could in- duce him to s bar-room. hat pecu' liarity broke me." “I got broke one winter on a race near Toronto," broke in the stable-boy. “ It was on the ice. Of course to horse was rough-shod, but the other ellow went right away from me, and I lost all my dust. I found that his horse's shoes had been filed toan edge, and that the ani- mal had actually skated the mile in fifty- eight seconds. You'll find it on recordâ€" and records can't lie." g.â€" I look upon lndolence as a sort of solo cide ; for the man isefilciently destroyed, though the appetite of the brute may sur- vive. . Society is composed of two great class- aea-thuse who have more appetite than dinner, and those who have more dinner than appetite. l cent I could lay my hands on. ' “a Horse, Sir, is Like a Child.” . Stan ' a few days, since, ‘uat out- side 01% of a ferry~boaton e Hud- son, looking listlessly over the water through which we plo hid our , I heard at my side the unsavemen‘. d‘f‘liar- neu, andthenavoicesa ing, in a s ul tone, “New, Kate, beha’vo youneln. If looked round, and saw that the words came from a pleasant-looking fellow, and were addressed to a bright~eyod, power- fully built house, against whose shoulder he was leaning. As he stood there, the horse would threw her head round, nud, opening her mouth, would reach after him, while the young man would draw back, repeating the words which had drawn my attention to him, “Behave yourself, Kate." In her ungainly way, the animal was sporting with her owner, and he was answering her yilayfulness. l I I i “ ’ou seem," said I to him, “to ~ have an intelligent and playful horse, there." “ Yes, air, she knows all I say to her. I am accustomed to pin with her; and as I am standing by her sad, and touch- ing her, she thinks that I wish to have some fun with her now. She will follow medst my call, and do anything I want her to o." “ Have you owned her a long time i" “ Not very long, sir; about a year and a half. You see she is not a youu horse. She is some twelve years old. ut she can do more work, and more willingly, than any horse I ever owned, and though I am a young man, I have owned a good many." “ You did not, then, train her from the start to this mamas sud docility 3" “Well, sir, not exactly. Yet when I first bought that horse she was a very dif- ferent boast. Why, sir, she was ugly and stubborn, she would, likely as not, re- fuse to budge a stop. But when I saw how she was handled by the man that owned her, I knew what was the matter. The owner was cross and ugly to her. He beat and banged her about, and halloood angrily to her. That; made the horse ugl ._ You see, air, a horse don't like that. If you are ugly to them they will be ugly to you. He could not make her move with the load of twenty-five hundred we had put on the dray. I said to him, ‘Lot mo take the lines.‘ He gave them to me, and I went to the horse's head, ttod her, and spoke softly and kind y for a few moments to her, and then told her to go on. Why, sir, she moved right off! Then we put. on the dray a load of forty hundred, and I just. said to her, ‘Go on, Kate,“ and at once she started, as if the load was nothing. You see, sir, a horse is likes child; he will be just what. on are to him. The man that. owned ior said, in surprise, ‘If she would only do as much as that for me, I would never lot you have her.’ He did not ‘undorstand that you must be kind to an animal like her. \thn I am harnessing her, or when I come homo with her, I romp with her and she enjoys it. She will do any- thing for inc." 1 let. him talk on. To a man who has a good horse, you can do no greater favor than to listen attentively and with inter- est while he tells you all aboubtho quali- ties of the animal. You could'éool off an angry man, if you' could only get a chance to stroke the neck, and look ndmiringly at the flank of his horse. We soon reached the wharf, and parted. We shall not meet again, but I shall remember oliu thing that he said, “ You see, sir, a horse is like a child." That remark showed in- sight. I Wish that a good many parents, some that I have seen, and whose words 1 hour in my walks, could learn just a little of what my acquaintance on the ferry-bout knewsowoll. “Ifyouareuglyfiethom, they will be ugly to you, sir.” So he said, and lie was right. “He banged about that horse and spoke angrily to her, and it made her stubborn." That was it. It was not wonderful. , It is so with children. Do you think that it is in human nature to be other- wise? Just remember. Were you ever called at sharply and an oily? Do you not. remember just how t in voice seemed to stir up all that was determined in you, and make you, ulmostin spite of yourself, stubborn and willful 1 When I hear how some mothers and fathers speak to their children, I am not surprised in tho least that they are diso. bedient. I think that I would be so too. I could not help it. The only reliofl could find would be in being ugly. The very tone of voice has something in it. that. rasps you that are older, whilo it tears into the sensitive nature of a child. “ Oh, the get used to it," some one says, “and 0 not. mind it." There is what is very sad in that, if it is so. It can only be because your child has grown hard. The feelings must be callous, when harsh words do not wound or excite un- er. You can make an infant lip quiver by the tone of voice. You must not for- get that the cords are not broken. They will vibrato at your call in the after- time. You that have spoken roughly and often harshly to your children, tr tho cntlcr ways. Softcu the voice. Jet it ave the melody of kindness and affection in it. There are little faces that will look up woudcringly, erhaps, at first, but the boys and girls will sur rise you with their smiling obedience an manifested affec- tion.â€"-â€"I"r0m “A liadn-Ior’s Talks about .lfarrial Lift." w... -~...._ Boys Make Men. When you see a ragged urchin Standing wistful in the street, With torn hat and kneelcss trousers, Dirty face and bare rod feet, Pass not by that child unheediag : Smile n him. Mark me, when lle's grown old he'll not forget it; For, remember, boys make men. Let us try to add some pleasure To the life of every boy , For each child needs tender interest In its sorrows and Its 0y. ' Call your boys home by its fm htneu. They avoid the household w on It is cheerleu with unkiadneu, For, remember, boys make men. s A Ssxsclous Dog. A butcher's horse and sleigh ran away on St. Charles llorromine street, Montre- al, recently. The horse came in St. Inmbert's Hill and slot: Notrel )ame street toward the City Ila . The bomb was followed by a large St. Bernard dog, belonging to the owner of the horse, which, at every chance he could get, caught the horse by the bridle and tried to stop him, and at last sumoded at the corner of (Io-ford and Notro Dame streets. Not till a constable came up to take clia e of the runaway, however, did the inte‘l‘Iigsnt animal quit his hold. fl”¢-}~~â€"-â€"â€" Miss Mary Anderson has evidently made a more than usual sitcoms as Gloria the French actress,in filbert‘s newdrsma, “Comedy and Tragedy." The revelation of new and migrated powers absolutely startled the a 'ence, and the London papers menthusiastic in their raise, the entire performance being by accounts a most remarkable one and absolutely without blemish.