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,....,.. «mamaâ€"“mania...” .. es . CHAPTER XXXIX. 1 'rt'iix i-iiiimiruzn. One Sunday afternoon I found myself dozing over the Encyclopedia. It had been raining all day : my mind was slug- gish, and reading had failed to excite anew idea. (living myself a shake, I went to the window, thrust my hands in my pockets. and looked out we? the dreary moor. Hebe sat hard by, one of the big book: open be- fore her on the shelf between two pots of flowers. There was nothing to read but ' heart the Encyclopmlia. l r l l l l i BEYoypjsgALL. A man will put an end to his life for the silliest trifle. But " I added growing fierce with my recollection of the t “it's not a trifle that leads him to inur er a woman. I never heard of a man killing a woman be- cause he had lost a wager or robbed an em- plo er. A man must be mad with passion to t o murder.” “Why do you talk of murder?" asked my wife, quaking with horror. “ Because I cannot think of my love and forget its effect. I tell you it brought me to that pitch. It made me a murderer at I only needed the opportunity to be a murderer in deed. I would have killed “ Don’t you think we might afford to ex- the woman I loved," tend our library 1’" she asked. “ We haven’t read a twentieth part of what we‘ve got ; these volumes contain all that there is worth knowing.” “ Do you think so 2" " What subject of human interest could you suggest as an addition?" I asked, with languid curiosity. “ A work of imagination." “Oh, a story," said I, With a snort of contempt. “I’ll pick up anovel for you the next time I go into the town if I re- memhcr it." “ I was not thinking entirely of my own pleasure,” she said quietly. “ Well, you need not trouble your head about me. I’ve got all I need. Romance is good enough for a parcel of girls and boys â€"aud women. But what on earth does a l “The woman you hated 3" said my wife in correction. “I know what I say, and I tell you it was the last convulsion of love. That was long agoâ€"I had time in prison to get over it. A gaol’s good for that. A man gets the nonsense knocked out of him there; his sensibilities are stamped under foot till he’s callous to pain or pleasureâ€"like a tire' some tooth when the nerve is destroyed. How could he live on and on otherwise?" I glanced at my wife as I put the ques- tion. A single tear dropped from her cheek for reply. She must have seen that I told the truth, for I turned again to look out of the window, unmoved by her sympathy; occupied solely with my own bitter reflec- tions. “ But an attack of that kind leaves its rational man want,” I asked, stretching my trace behind,” I Went on after a pause. “It arms, “ with the history of courtship and marriage? They’re all alikeâ€"those stories. A couple of young fools fall in love ;tlicy fall out of love ; they are reconciled, and their folly is consummated in a marriage.” " Romance is not always confined to young people, and it sometimes begins after that stimulated my mania. marriage." . , “ Oh, if they’re not young there’s less ex- cuse for their lolly, and if they can’t live soberly after marriage their adventures can have no more interest for a sane man than the vagaries of a. couple of idiots at large.” “ Even the vagaries of idiots may excite our sympathy,” “ I suppose I’ve got no sympathy ;"1:lien. afteraloug yawn, I added, “Anyhow, I don’t want to have it excited by such profit. less stuff.” My desultory reading in the Encyclopedia had led me to skim over one or two systems of philosophy, picking up an argument here or there which pleased. me, and leaving the rest. There was nothing in the expanse of leaden cloud and stony moor to interest me, and as Hebe was silent, I continued sen- tentiouslyâ€" . “The object of lite is the attainment of happiness. True happiness is nothing but a condition of contentment. Contentment is only to be obtained by the complete sub- jection of those passions that upset the per- fect balance of joy and sorrow on which equunimity depends. A wise man avoids anything whichexcites his passion;and if I thought a book could stir me up either to hate or love, I would avoid it as carefully as indulgence in an intoxicating drink.” My wife sighed. I yawned again. “I’m not clever enough to argue upon abstract questions,” she said. “But all that you have said seems to me quite wrong.” “ How’s that?” I asked, in a tone of un~ philosophic irritation. “If all that you have said is true, it would seem that the highest aim of man- kind is to undo all that civilisation and culture have done, and sink back to the condition of animals -ay, even lower than \ that, for even they can suffer.” “ Well, and suppose we arrived at the condition of vegetables, trees, heather, grass -â€"I don’t sec that we should lose anything worth a moment’s regret. But, hold hard ! ’ I exclaimed, waking up with a new idea that had for me the charm of originality ; “ what is there to justify a belief that the condition of a tree is lower than our own? May it not be that the ultimate end of civ- ilisation is to make man as obedient to the laws of nature as the tree?” “Gregory ! Gregory !" said my wife, passionately. “ Did you never love ‘3” I sat down because I was tired of stand- lng. My wife was opposite to me, the light falling on her face that had lost its color and composure. “What has that to do with the argu- ment ‘3” I asked. She dismissed that question with an im- patient gesture. Her agitation about such a trifle made me laugh. Then, my elbow ou the shelf, my chin in my hand, Iturned my head and looked again at the slanting rain. It seemed to me that it would be better for us both if she arrived at the same i Chance 8° right- atyle of indifference as myself; we should I affected my brain long after it had ceased to ravage my heart. They ought to have sent me to a madhouse instead of keeping met here. Perhaps they did not see that I was mad ; I didn’t till I got away from the punishment cell, and crank, and the irons But I was mad. 0h, you’d admit it if you knew all. Never mind thatâ€"it’s all over now; and I’m healthier and better than ever I was.” “ Better 2'” “ “'hy, yes. couldn’t be lenient, even if I had any feel~ ing for youâ€"oh, I know the madness that comes with love !” “ And othersâ€"partners in my crimeâ€"- could you forgive them as readily '2 ” “ You mean Major Cleveden.â€"I know the whole story. You asked if I should not hate him. Noâ€"if met him tomorrow on the moor, I should let him pass without a curse.” It was true. I felt as I walked up and down. thinking the matter over, that, tak- ing all the circumstances into consideration, it would have been a terrible thing for both of us if I had retained any feeling of love for my wife. Our present condition was the most pleasant I could imagine : it- was en- durable to my wife. and convinced that it could only exist with a philosophical state i turned. Closing the door as noiselessly as of apathy on my side, I resolved to keep I had opened it, I stood for some minutes my passions under subjection to the end. I might as well have ordered the sun never to rise again, in order that I should sleep in endless night. CHAPTER XL. ANO'I‘H I'll: I'IIASE. It must have been about three weeks after the foregoing discussion that, glancing down the list of household requirements Hebe had made for me to take with me into town, I found at the bottom this item :â€" “A little quinine." “What‘s this ‘3" I asked. “\Vhat sort of delicacy requires this ingredien t.” ’ “I don’t feel very strong,” she explained, in a tone of dejection. I had been so engrossed in making myself a forge out in the shed, and setting up a bench there, that I had not remarked any change in my wife’s condition. Indeed, her undeviating gentleness had lulled me into such a feeling of content and security that I paid less attention to her than ever. “ I’ve noticed nothing,” said I looking at her in astonishment. “ I am glad of that.” ed a little. I could'see now that her face lack- ed the brightness Ihadfnoticed when she told me with buoyancy that she felt stronger than for vests before. She must have gone I tell you I would have igraduully back little ‘ by little in slight murdered the woman I loved ; well. now 1 {degrees for the alteration to be; inll’ewept' would not walk across the mom to do harm, ible, even though my thoughts were other- injury. Isn’t that an improvement ‘3” My wife shook her heard sorrowfully, h e chin falling on her breast. i wise engaged. “ You would have noticed,” she went on with the slightest; accent of bitter- “ And this is the secret of my mercy,”Il"essi “if I had failed to supply 5’0“ added. “ I’ve no more love for her than I have for that dog. " “Oh, it; will come back again,” Hebe cried, suddenly, as hope re-animated her. “ Just as the buds burst on the trees when the winter is quite gone, love will come back to your heart." “ There's plenty of room for it,” said I witlia hard laugh; “ for there's nothing left of my heart but the shell.” This itch of philosophising took hold of me, and as the weather abo it this time kept me indoors, where I had no mechanical occupation for the moment, I indulged it pretty freely at my wife’s expense. Re- membering her suggestion I bought a novel for lier~Thackerny’s “ Esmond.” “ \Vill you read me a chapter, Gregory, while I work ‘2” she asked, thinking, per- haps, to wean me from the Encyclopmdia, and humanise me. My absurd vanity led me into the trap, but without the anticipated effect. “ That’s true l’.’ I exclaimed, closing the book at the end of the first chapter. “This man lays bare the secrets which novelists and law makers shut their eyes to. “I am afraid I do not quite understand," said IIebe. , I opened the book again and read the conclusion of the chapter. “ I look into my heart and think that I am as good as any Lord Mayor, and know I am as bad as Tyburn Jack. Give me a chain and red gown and a pudding before me, and I could play the part of Alderman very well, and sentence Jack after dinner. Starve me, keep me from books and honest) people, educate me to love vice, gin, and pleasure, and put me on Houiislow Heath with a purse before me and I will take it.” “ And what conclusion do you draw from that?” she asked, diflideutly. “ That we are one and all mere creatures of circumstances ; and that to reward one man for his virtues is just as unreasonable and unjust as to punish another for his vices.” “ Oh, I am sure he did not mean that. You will find, as you read on, that Thack- eray loved the good and hated the bad with all sincerity.” “ Then he was inconsistent, and there’s no sincerity in his philosophy." “ I would rather his philosophy were. faulty than his heart.” “It’s more likely to be the other way about. Guided by reason, one can’t go wrong ; led by feeling, one can only by Why should a man he hated for vices that are the result of con- ‘og on then in this comfortable wav without i diam {0" Which he is "0t l"3-‘ll30m3il7'le- Y0“ ‘ might as reasonably hate him for being tlier. “I suppose every man must fall in love some time or other,” said I, mumbling my words without taking my chin from my hand : “ some as he gets measles and other childish disorders. I’ve got through mine, and am not likely to be attacked again, thank God 1'" “ You were happy then ?"she said, eager- ly. “ .\l‘yesâ€"â€"sort of. One day mad with joy; next day mad with despairâ€"«hope one moment ; fear the nextâ€"delirious always. Balancing insane delight against insxiue wretclicdness, the result, I supposi‘, left me something to the credit. of happiness." "But you were happier then than you are now«-think~â€"nnswcr me truly :"aud then. as I made no reply, she added, im- petuously. “ [)0 answer me." “I'm thinking it over. It’s dillieult to answer in a moment about feelings that are past. I know this, though: I wouldn’t change my present condition for that.” “ You Would not 1" " No. not for the world,” s'aid I with emphasis. " Then you never loved 2" she said in a voice that trembled with sorrowful emotion. " Never loved l” I exclaimed, as all that Ihad endured throu h my ion flashed upon me. “ Never ored ! have loved as a man only can love who has loved but once. I've heard that when a disease lays hold of a stron . healthy man the danger is greater than w en it seizes a feeble man who has got three I: a doses petty maladies. That‘s why I too it so badly. Never loved !â€" why, I gave my life for the woman I loved. That isn't much. you say; a man’s life is worth so little. You may calculate its value in pounds, shillings, and penceâ€"by the sum a suicide has lost on a horse race. 1 | l born ; he is not to blame for either.” My wife laid her work upon her lap, fix- ed her eyes upon me while she collected her thoughts and then, ina low, earnest tone, saidâ€" “Suppoae that l sanctioned the course that sent my hu band to prison, knowing that another course would save him ?” I nodded, and she continued with an effort-â€" “ Suppose that after that Iâ€"Iâ€"” she stopped short, the color, covering her face. No “ I know," said I with a laugh. “ Sup- pose you were unfaithful to liiiu'.’All right; I can suppose that." “ ’I‘hrn, would you not hate me '1 Should I not deserve all your hatred '3” “ Not a bit of it." said I, unmoved. “All that is simply the result of education and temperament. You had been taught to love ease and luxury and the flattery of society. You thought- you could not live as the acknowledged wife of a condemned con- vict. You considered that before the twenty years expired, to which your husband was bound to be condemned, either he or you would be dead. And then afterwardsâ€"" " Oh, don't go any further,” she cried in horror. “ Very good. There’s nothing in your conduct that I myself should not have done had I been in your place. under similar con~ ditions and circumstances.” She looked at me in silent wonder and in. p““Thst must be the judgement of any dispassionaze mind," I continued. “ It proves what I said, that a man cannot be unjust if he is guided by reason. But I would not answer for myself if I were under the domination of emotions. I 'Torquay. l wants.” Then her lips quivered, and she dropped her head tc conceal the rising tears, as she added, " I can’t keep up my spirits as I used.” I turned away, fearing thereiwas oing to he a. sceneâ€"irritated that she coul not go on just the same as' I did. She had her work and her books ; and, besides that, there were the dog and the fowls and the household things to amuse her. What else could she want? ' “ \Vhat-mude you think of quinine? ” I asked. . p “ It did me a little good when I first came to Torquay. Dr. Borrington advised ' 3’ it.“ Dr- quav ‘2 ” “‘Yes. my strength. tired.” . I went out and saddled the pony. “You had better not sit‘up for mo,’ said I returning to the cottage 'beforo ‘ starting. “It may be late before I come in.” , “But you .may ‘wsnt something. She spoke almost hopefully. “Oh, if I want anything I can get it my- self. I don’t want to be waited'on.” “No,” she said, mournfully. “You could do as well without me as with me, couldn’t you ‘2” ‘ I hadn’t the grace to protest against this. In my conceit, perhaps, I thought 1 might find just as much satisfaction in solitude. “Anyway, you go to bed when you feel tired,” said I. * ’ Instead of going to Tavistock I went to More than once on the way I looked “that last line on the listâ€"“ a little quinine"â€"-and each time with grow- ing uneasiness, though I did not perceive its pathetic significance then as I do now. I merely considered the personal inconveni- ence I should be put to if my wife really fell ill and I lost her services. At Torquay I found .Dr, Borrington, a. keen, dark-eyed, ssllow man, with an ir- ritable manner. He glanced atme and then at his watch as if he were in a hurry to get the interview over and pocket his fee. I told him my wife was ailing. He questioned me closely, and With increasing sharpness as my answers revealed, not only my wife’s condition, but my own character, What I did not tell him he divined, and so justly that it; seemed to me he must know who my wife was and all her history. “ Your wife is a delicate, sensitive woman ‘3" he said, taking confirmation from my face. “ A young womanâ€"affectionate dispositionâ€"fond of her children, cats, dogs, anyliviug thing? Patient, painstakingâ€" don’t bother you ‘ with lier'troubles -keeps them to herself? Had a mental strain at sometime? Suffered a good deal of un- happiness ? Stops at homeâ€"don’t see many friends? No change of sceneâ€"no amuse- ments outside her home 1’” He paused a moment, and went on again. “ You say she subsists almost exclusively on a milk dietâ€" been under medical treatment already-â€" that diet was prescribed? Anything else ':" “ She took quinine.” . “ Before the milk diet was resorted to." He sat down and began to write, still questioning: “ No coughâ€"complains of nothing but feeling tired and low spirited 2 You find her crying without cause ’3 Of course you do your best to cheer her 2" “ I have my occupations,” said I. He stopped writing, and, looking up, said-â€" “ You are more concerned about them than the life of your wife." “ What’s the matter with her ‘1" I asked, startled by this suggestion. Borrington is the doctor at Tor- I thought it might bring back It is dreadful to feel so 3 “ A complaint that’s only too common," he said,finishing the prescription and rising. “ Your wife is suffering fromâ€"" he handed me the paperâ€""a careless husband." He struck the gong. I could find nothing to say as I put my fingers in my waistcoat ket for a sovereign. “I don't Want your money,” he said. “ If the medicine fails to do good to your wife, let the poor soul come to me." I covered my retreat with the boldest face I could put on it, and with growin discomfort I took‘ the prescription to the chemist whose address was stamped at the head of the paper. “What should you say was the matter with the patient 2" I asked, when the old man had read itthrongh. m-â€"-â€"-â€"â€"-â€"-â€"â€"â€"-â€"â€"â€"â€"-â€"-â€"â€"â€"â€"râ€"â€"â€"â€"â€"â€"â€"â€".â€"~ i ! Her voice quiver- . ““'eak digestion. “Well, that's not very serious.‘ "Oh, that’s your opinion, is it 2" he asked regarding me over the top of his glasses. My look and manner seemed to ofl'end him not less than it did the doctor. He put a paperweight on the prescription, and turned to take down a bottle. Measuring some liquid in aglass, his back turned to me, he resumed -â€" "If you had a lamp, and for some reason or other the wick ceased to convey the oil properly, should you be greatly surprised if you were left in the dark '3” I could find no reply. The parable struck me with startling force, the conclusion stupefied me. The living room was empty when I re~ there with my hand on the latch, looking .around me in dull depression. There was no sound but the low grumbling of the dog, who, coiled up on the landing above kept a jealous eye on me. My supper was laid on the table, my chair placed, a glass of flowers set where the light of the lamp fell. My slippers were by the stove; a chamber candle with a. box of matches stood ready on the dresser. She had forgotten nothing. For weeks she had never failed to open the door to me on my return, to take the parcels from my hands, to open them one after the other with smiling interest when she was assured that I had all that I want- ed on the table, and to draw me into con- versation about my purchases as I ate and drank. I had never perceived that it was a pleasure to talk and listen to her, taking it as a matter of course, and part; of that con- tented stato of mind. that I intended to maintain for the future. The difference made by her absence astonished me, and the more so when I reflected that all my physical requirements were as carefully pro- vided for as usual. f‘All the calorie gone I” I said to myself. ' Every moment I hoped to hear her foot- step overhead. I wanted her to come down, without knowniug why. I had nothing cheerful to talk to her about, and if she were tired it was better she should sleep on. This was the first time .I had felt it incumbent on myself to make my conversa- tion agreeable. or in any way studied what would be best for her. Usually I returned ravenous from my journey across the moor, and attacked supper the first thing. To-night my ap- petite was gone, and I set about quietly put- ting back the things in their places on the “it w... when I an occupied with thin tbumaku me forget you, you know. t struck me that thin weren’t exactly balanced 5 they sho d be. My work isa pleasure yours isa duty; and you ought to have something to interest and amuse you, lost as I have : that‘s only just 3 and sides: things are just, wecan‘t go on contentedly.‘ ” Was that the only reason 2” she asked without changing her tone, without raising her eyesâ€"“to make me content 2" I don’t remember :what use I made ; it was scarcely intelligible to myself I know. " Tap"â€"â€"a tear fell on the paperâ€"“ W'â€" IC up‘” “ Are you thinking about your children 2" I asked, not harshly. She shook her head. It was not her tears that moved me ; only the thought. of being left alone in the world that pushed me on teen extremity. “ If you could in it somehow,” I said, .“ that you could go and see them." "‘ No," she said, closing the pa r, and hurriedly drying her eyes. “ o ; they are well cared for, I know. My place is here. I will waitso longas there is any hope of finding my husband. ’ (To an cos'rixriin). A BOY IN THE ROLE OF JONAHâ€" Lowered Into an Elephants Stomach to Remove All Indigestlblo Iron Bar. Apropos to the incident related recently of the death of Zipp, the big ele haut at Barboo, \Vis., from having an lowed a chain weighing 90 pounds, a reminder was called up and related by Dr. Hume of Don- ver. “ Just prior to the demise of the much lamented Phineas T. Barnum I was touring in Connecticut and called upon the great showman at Bridgeport, who invited me to see the circus: animals in winter quarters. On arriving at the great caravansary where the wonders that tour the country year after year are stored: the illustrious owner was informed that Beta, the prize trick elephant, was ailing. All the symptoms of the poor beast pointed to the fact that she was suffering from acute gastralgia and meailis had been tried to relieve her without avai . “ It was finally discovered that Beta had by some means wrenched ofl‘ an iron bar from her stall, and as it could not be found it was surmised that she had swallowed it, and which accounted for the gastric irrita- tion of the valuable pachyderin. “ Mr. Barnum saw that poor Beta must dresser and in l‘lhecuplwfil‘di admiring ever)" i soon succunb to the imflamniatiou caused where the perfect neatness and order that b prevailed. Then, when the table was clear- ed, having as little inclination for sleep as for food, I sat down in Hebe’s chair by the window, looking at the folded work on the shelf and the things she had been using dur- tlie day. The work was a curtain for the window of my room. In her work-basket; was a bodkin of my inventing; I hadn’t been able to make it work, but it was there amongst her treasures. ' I thought about looking into the Ency- clopzedia to see what it said on the subject of “ Decline,” but my courage failed ; and at last, finding my spirits sinking lower and lower, I got up, lit my candle, and blew out the lamp. 'At the door leading into-my new room I turned and glanced back. Howler had ceased to grow]. There was not it sound. The room looked emptier than ever in the feeble light I held; the shadows outlie wall were phantoms; the flowers on the table seemed dead now the lamp was out. "If it were always like that l" Isaid to .xiyself in awe. In the morning I remembered that I had of late forgottcnto fetch the water. It was areliet to think that; she might not have felt tired without cause. I had the kettle boiling, the room dusted, and the breakfast things on the table before she came down. I was standing outside, undecided what to do next, when Howler bundled down the steps, and set up a regular howl of delight at the bottom. Hebe was looking at the table in astonishment when I went in ; but her amazement Was greater still when I held out my hand with a bashful awkward- ness, and hoped she felt better. It was the first time since the old days that I had offered my hand to her. She put hers into mine, and pressed it in silence, her eyes alone expressing that this was for her a moment of solemn presuge. Howler came up and snifl'ed at my legs, as though he were in doubt about my identity. "I thought you might sleep late, so I got breakfast ready,” I said, with- drawing my hand, and feeling it neces~ sary to excuse myself, lest she should give me credit for more feeling than I possessed. At one moment, as we stood there hand in hand,a wild tenderness in her quivering lips made me fear she, would throw her arms about my neck. “Oh, I have slept too long ; I didn’t. hear you come in. You could have made no noise at allâ€"and thank you for asking about me ; I feel much better and brighter this morning. ” ' She spoke hurriedly, and with agitation. But she regained her composure by the time we were seated at table. “ I’ve put the things in the cupboard, but: I havsn’t turned them out of the bags. And the quinine is on the shelf.” ' “ I feel now as if I should not want it.” ” But you must take it, and when that’s gone I’ll get more. Your hand ought not to be so thin as that.” The words slipped out involuntarily, and I hastened to cover them by adding, ” And there are some books in.that parcel over there, and illus- trated papers. " “This is like the morning you brought the flowers home,” she said, with soft grati- tude dwellin on every word. She opene the packet, and bringing the illustrated papers to the table, drew her’ chair near mine, that we might look at the pictures together. It was as if she had never seen the like before. There was ab- sorbing interest in every one; even the Prince of Wales “laying another founda- tion stone, poor fellow !" In estsd a dozen ingenious comments. I shouffhsve dismiss- ed the whole batch in five minutes ; the tea was cold before she had half exhausted the fund of amusement. " If you could make some frames we might hang the large pictures round the room. Gregor ," alie hintedâ€"never forget- ful of my wea ness, though perhaps iviug it another name. Ipromlsed to make nurse of an entirely original kind. r v " And why did you buy these 2" she ask- ed, without raising her eyes from the paper, but with an earnestness that she could scarcely conceal. ” I thought it would cheer you up a bit y such a large foreign body and with ready wrt resolved on a unique plan to remove it. Attached to his large winter hotel was a small colored boy who went by the name of Nigger Joe. He was butlittle larger than a lull-grown possum, and 1’. ’I‘. sent for him and explained that he must take a rubber‘ tube in his inouth to breath through, and, with a rope round his waist, must go down into the elepliant’s stomach and get out that bar of iron. . “ Joe rolled his eyes and demurred, but he knew his employer too well to refuse. Accordineg Joe was‘anointed with a pound of vaseline and, Beta being safely gagged, he was gently pushed down the giant (Pso- plian head first, a. smooth stick wolloiled lan ing him at the bottom. According to instructions the boy soon gave three tugs at the rope to be pulled out; again, and sure enough, tightly clasped in Joe’s bands was the offending and indigestible iron bar. It is needless to say that Betu’s life was saved and that Nigger Joe was handsomely re- warded for his cure of the valuable cle- pliant’s indigestion. ” -â€"-â€"-â€"-â€"-â€"*-â€"â€"â€"___-._- An Extraordinary Story- Au extraordinary storyâ€"one of the real. ity-boating-romauce stylesâ€"reaches us from Kieff. The news reads like a shilling-shock- er or 0. Ports St. Martin drama, and, with- out entering into all the unsavoury details on which our correspondent dwells, we may summarise his narrative briefly, as follows : â€"It seems that, by the orders of the Central Revolutionary Committee, one of the affiliat- ed was entrusted last October with the strange ' mission of sloping with the wife of one of the chiefs of the famous Third Section of the Imperial Chancellery, the object of the proceeding being to extort from Madam la Generals some information about a fresh system of reprisals against Nihilists, as planned by the High Police. The mission it appears was not one of extreme difficulty, for on the 10th of November the couple were travelling in Italy under the respective dc- scriptions of Anna Ritter, vocalist, and Richard Werner, impresario, an several volumiiious'rcports had been despatched to St. Petersburg. capade had been made known in every detail to the police all over the Empire, and when the couple returned on the 12th of Decem- ber to Russia, and repaired to Kicfl‘, that hot-bed of Nihilism, it was only to meet a speedy doom. Man and woman were recog- Iniscd immediately, and his Excellency, telegraphed for from St. Petershurg, stat ted without delay, and surprised his wife with her paramour in an hotel. Before the gen- darines who were following him could inter. fore, the General, drawing his sword, began to hack about, decapitating his wife wit a tremendous blow, and mortally woundin the man. The body of the woman was burie the same night, and the wretched man brown into prison, where every care will token that he does not die before he speaks out. So eager is the Russian Govern- ment to know every particular of this story that a special emissary has been despatimed to retrace the route journeyed by the two lovers. A TERRIBLE wagon". (:olllslou or n Passenger Train Willi a Cattle Train tn Hungary. A Buds I’eath, telegram says :â€"-A pas- senger waytraiu and a cattle train collided near Gran to-day. The cattle train was heav- ily loaded and its impetus formhc loco’ motive over the locomotive of t' ‘- passenger train and into the first and second carriages. The other carriages of the par inger train were partially smashed. In the first car- ' three persons were killed instantly m0 more were severely. p’atba s fatally injured. In the second carriage 5 persons were lnjunsd two so seriouslvstbst they are expected to die. In the other mniagel 18 persons were cut 'or bruised. but none dangerously. The engine drivers of both t in! were terrlbl burned, but may to 030:. Three hundred head of cattle were 'll d. Most of the injured who coins b. iknloded have been token to the bran litule The misplacement of a switch it! nappy.“ to have caused the accident. .bo. In the meantime, the cs- “