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,erate'iy to lock the door behind her. o - > war f MM» “ Friends '2 No l” “ Not foes, at least '2" She is silent. “ Betrayal will cost you dearer than me,” says Staines. “ I think not,” slowly. “ Coward l” she says scorn fully. “ A woman’s good name is a brittle thing. A touch smashes it.” “ Yet, I am not afraid. You will never be able to smash mine ; whereas you will recall, perhaps, that little all'air with Grevecocur and-â€"” Staines grows livid. “ Hah l” laughs she, lightly. “ That touches you, it seems. That heart. I am not going to set the social bloodhounds on your track-yet." “ Sign a truce with ine then,” exclaims he. eagerly. “ To be kept sacred just so long as I see you conducting yourself properly,” returns she. “ Now go. The very sight of you is hateful to me.” She seems to breathe more freely when he has left her, and turns with a glad smile to Margery, who draws near with Curzon Bel- lcw at her side. Just now she is looking a little worried, but Mrs. Daryl is not allowed time to in- quire into the matter. Lady Branksniere, sweeping up to them, lays her hand on “fil'nelmiiia's arm. “ I want to introduce you t0 Lady Anne." Half-way across the gallery Muriel looks round. “ So you know Captain Staines ‘2” “ Slightly, yes. I met him abroad, in Brussels where the old people went once and took me with them.” Then Lady Anne is reached, and the in- troduction is gone through. j Meantime, Margery has sunk in a rather dejected fashion upon the deep window seat and is gazing out upon the wooded hill steeped-sin dying sunshine, and on the lake far down below that is sparkling as if incan- descent. “ You didn’t mean it really, did you '2” asks Bellew, presently. “ That I am not going to the country ball, next Thursday fortnight? Certainly, I meant it. Why should you doubt me ‘2” “ But your reason ‘2" “ Reasons rather, for they are ‘ plentiful as blackberries.’ But why should I give them '2" “ Give one at least,” pleads he. “ Take the principal one, then. I haven’t a gown fit to be seen in.” - “ Oh l stuff and nonsense,” says Mr. Bellow. “ l dare say l" indignantly. “ That is just the brilliant remark one might expect you to make. But there is very little non- sense about it, let mc tell you, and no stuff at allâ€"not a yard of it-or probably I’d go. But to appear shabbily gowned is a. thing I will not do. If I did,” with a withering glance at her slave, “ you would be the very first to find fault with me.” “ I would ‘1” “Yrs. you. Picture inc to yourself in that heirloom of mineâ€"the old white silkâ€"â€"” “ You look lovely in itâ€"” “ Amongst all the others tricked out in HIS HEIRESS ; ' on, LOVE IS ALWAYS THE SAME. . “ Lady Branksmere, of course. CHAPTER‘ VIII‘ 1 what were you alluding to '2" “ You l” The ward falls from Mme. von “ Ah? so l Hadn't a notion of such an Thirsk as though without her knowledge. affair as that. But really one never knows Her eyes are fixed coldly upon Muriel. what those immaculate-looking women are “ Yes, it is I," returns Muriel, calmly ; gOing to be iip to next. In love with him “ I was anxious to see this part of the house, \before marriage, you say. And now she- Why but Mrs. Stout has told me that it is to you has him ‘here ‘3" _ I must come for the keys of it.” “ By Branksmerc’s desire, not hers. It Mrs. Stout, has droppeda courtesy and was Branksmere himself who specially is out of si ht ii on the a earance of ma- invited him.” _ dame. g f p PP “Ah l now, that was kind l” exclaims “It is true that my rooms lie beyond Mrs. Amyot. _ . ., hero,” answers madame now. She has quite _“ Whats the joke ?' asks Halketl'?‘drop- recovered herself, and proceeds very delib- ping into the chair nearest to her ; Any- thing I may hear Without detriment to my The action is significant, and Lady Branks- morals ‘2” _ n . mere draws her next breath somewhat “ One knows so little about them, hesi- quickly. > tates Mrs. Amyot. , . “ Your rooms. Yes,” she says, with a. “ They are unobtrusive, certainly. I coolness. “ I would not interfere with them, don’t show them off like Miss Mumin. You as long as you remain here ; but Mrs. Stout must take them fpr granted.” n tells me there are at least seven apartments “ I shouldn't like to take them at all, in this wing.” lisps Mrs. Vyncr. “ Six,” corrects madame, amiably.” “ I shall tell Colonel Vyner about your “ W'hat I wish to see,” continues Muriel, incivil'ity tome,” 58-18 Halkctt, “1i you per- stolidly, “ are the rooms out of these six sist in this persecution of an unprptected that you do not occupy. Your boudoir, young man. By the by, is liehere ‘2 your bedroom, are your own ; but the “ He is always en evidence. , others?” not escape him,” says Colonel Vyner s “The others,” echoes madame, with an wife. _ expressive little shrug. “Ah! You ‘do “ Well, I still want to hear about what not know, perhaps, that I do a little dilleJ was amusing you so intensely a moment tame painting. Just quite a. very little. since,” persuits Halkett, “if I may, With- But it is'a joy to me, and I hate that the i‘out blushing." servants should meddle with my affairs, “ That, certainly,” casting a coquettisli and-” glance at him. “ Mrs. Vyner and I were “ But six rooms for painting,” interrupts merely discussing the amiabilityof the pres- Lady Branksmere, ruthlessly. ent age l” Here she leans a little toward, “ Not altogether, you will understand.” her friend. “My little story was iipt yours, Then, with graceful politeness, “ You de- she murmurs, confidentially. “Sentiment sire the wing, perhaps? It has been, up to had nothing to do with it. It was some- this, apportioned to your husband’s grand- thing else. Gambling debts, a row of some mother, she being, unfortunately, attached sort 1n some club abroad. ,I‘o tell you the to it for many reasons-â€"and to me it is con- 'truth, I ani always rather vague about my venient, as being near to her, so that at any little stories unless the _ subjects of them moment, night or day, I may reach her l happen t0 be-” without disturbing the household ; but, if l interposes “Your intimate friends,” you wish it”â€"blandly-â€"“ we can, of course, Halliett. _ move, weâ€"" ' “ Ah lmake it acquaintances. “ I do not wish to disturb Lady Branks- better,” returns MisuAmyc t. mere in any way,” protests Muriel, haught- “'Talking of them, yawns Mrs. Vyner, ily. “I merely expressed a desire to see “ did you ever_ see any one wear like this portion 6f my own house.” Madame von Thirsk? How shechooscs her “Ah!” she says with an agreeable little gowns l ‘ IVS a talent-â€"ppsuwe talent ! smile, and slips the key she holds into her Thirty, If a day. and doesn ll lOOk twenty- pocket. two. I hope when I’m run thirty I'll look “It a ears then that I cannot?” she half 8-8 well.” says, wigff a pale smile. “ “Then will that be ‘2” asks Mrs. Amy ot “ If, indeed, I might still consider this mischievously. . I small portion of your house ” (with a pecul- “ Never l” calmly. “ I have made _up iar bow) “as belonging to me and my my mind to go from twenty-eight to fiity patient, Lady Branksmere, I should be in aweek. But pay 21le(-11th11 to madame. grateful,” returns madame, meekly. She is worth it.” _ “ You say the servants are forbidden to ‘ “ She is very careful, certainly, and she enter your rooms,” she says, lookingstraight \IS foreign. 'l he latter counts a great It sounds at madame. “No one, then, has access deal.” . _ _ there save yourself?” “ I think it is ‘all those dear little sofji "And Mrs Brooks. She itis” (pointedly) high frills she wears round her throat, “ who summons me at night to the bedside says Mffl- Amyot, reflectively. “ N01 hing of-my patient-â€"â€"wlieii my presence there betrays one like the throat. But 1 don t their best bibs and tuckers straight from _ . r ‘ ' is necessary, which” (with slow force) “ is \admire her as much as you do. lhere is a Whitc and \Vorth. Confess you would be ashamed of me.” " Ashamed l” “ Yes, thoroughly,” with decision. “ You iiecdn’t imagine that you are_a.bit better than the rest of you, and all men hate a dowdy woman.” very frequently.” sly, catty look about her that- annoys me. “ Mrs. Brooks only?” If I were Lady Branksmere â€"” - o u ,1 “ I have said,” returns madame decisive- “ \Vell '3 “I should give her her walking-papers ly. _ “ So?” says Lady Branksmere. “ It straight Oil-n . seems a pity, madame, you will permit no “You should rcnieinber how good she one to see these paintings of yours, which, has been 130 Branksmere all these years-or Iam sure, are well worth a visit.” at least to his grandmother, murmurs She turns away with an insolent air, and MYS- Vyllffl', deinurely. _“And then-he goes down the gallery with her usual slow has askedflaptain Staincs to h,ishouse. There and stately step. is such a thing as gratitude. _ n She stops short when she has turned a “ Oh! Branksmere’s all Tight, says corner, and is out of sight of her foe, and \ “And Lady Branks- l hands with uncontrollable __ CHAPTER X. Mrs. Amyot, when the idea of dancingi / through the afternoon is propoun'led to her, is delighted with it ;‘ so is Mrs. Vyner, in her languid fashion. So indeed is everybody except Aunt Selina l Halkctt, who, from the beginning of their acquaintance, has been greatly taken by her, now approaches her with a winning smile. “ You dance, of course, Miss Mumm,” lief says, “ may I have-‘2” “ Dance? N0 l" interrupts Miss Mumni. “ I should think not, indeed. I wouldn’tbe guilty of such lightness.” Shc is sixty if a day, and on an average weighs about seven- teen stone. “ No, no,” says Mr. Halkett, “ Your actions, I feel sure, are not open to censure of that sort. “ \Vhatever you are ”â€"-with profound and respectful conviction-â€"-“ I am sure you are not light.” “ It is a comfort to know that you sir, at least, have measured me justly,” returns Aunt Selina, gravely. “In my time, that abominable romp called dancing was looked upon as little less than sin. \Ve were con- tent With more innocent amusements, such as, for instance, ‘Puss in the corner,’ ‘Blind mane-bud,’ ‘liiss in the ring,’ ‘ Hunt the slipper,’ and a Variety of other simple sports.” “ There is a great deal in what you say,” lie agrees solemnly, “ a great deal. We might all take it to heart with much benefit to ourselves. There are possibilities about ‘Kiss in the ring,’ before which the weaker attractions of dancing pale. And as for ‘Hunt the slipper !’ why should we not hunt ir now ‘2 Mrs. Amyot, will you join mc in the chase? Miss Mumm, I feel sure, will kindly give us the rules." “You will find it dull l” remarks Miss Mumm, severely. “Let that be understood. Dull, but,” with withering force “decent l” Without further ado she takes herself off, and a universal peal of laughter follows on the last ccho of her footsteps. “Annie, will you sing us something whilst they are arranging the things-put- ting the footstools to one side?” asks Muriel. Halkett, suddenly. mere--" “ Is handsome enough to upset all our apple-carts,” laughs M rs. Amyot. “ There fore, we owe hcr one. But Captain Staincs? He wouldn’t suit inc, at all even is." “ I wonder who would ‘2” asks Halkett, carelessly. “ You do admirably,” rotorts she, sauci- clinches her passion. Suddenly all the passion dies from her face. She grows singularly calm. But her lips as she moves onward seem to have taken a. hard, stern, determined line c o - . o o c o From the south gallery comes the sound 1y. 0f many voices and much laughter, and “ No-no more tea, thank you, Mr. Bel- the welcome clatter of cups and saucers: lew,” says Mrs. Amyot, looking up at the breath of innumerable roses mingled Curzon. u But you can give me something With the fragrant °d°1' 0f the steaming 58'“! elseâ€"informa.tion about that little woman fiOMS on the ‘MF- in the window talking to madame.” ' The walls are sparsely studded with u That is Mrs. Daryl. A new-comer al- priceless plates of hideous colors and_ de- together. She married Billy Daryl lately, signs, and °n a large black rug a 11m“ or he married her. I’m not sure which. sleepy puss is snoring blissfully. Taken as Anything else I can do for you ‘3" a whole, it is a charming picture, and Lady u Yes.“ lo back to Margery,” with a Branksmere, standing on the Persian mat smile. “So,” turning to Lord Primrose, before the fire, in P1 tea gown 0f ancient who had just joined them, “ That is Mrs. brocade, completes 1f’- - Daryl? Big heiress, wasn‘t she?” She is talking to old Lady Primrose-a “ Yes. She was the only child of her placid person with corkscrew ringlets and father, and he was a mo and bone mor- a desirable son-and is smiling kindly. She chant.” ' D is looking pale and slender and extremely H Not at 3,11," corrects Mrs. Vyner. beautiful. ‘ “Three lovely golden balls linng before his Everybody is talking more or less, and (100,-, a.nd-” the soft hubbnb caused by the \‘oices grows “She didn't get a penny from her father,” dl'OWBY; Somebody atthe upper end 0f the interrupts Halkett. “'There was an old gallery 15 Playms the piano very delicately general something or other, an uncle of â€"almost 1n a whisper 8'5 "I ‘VBPB- hers, who enriched her. You’ll like her. At this moment a servant throws wide 51,6’5 real grit, as they say in her early the tapestry hangings at the end of the. gul- home.” , 19W and 911110119065 I, “ Strangers are often interesting. I shall ‘i Captain Staines.’ make myself pretty to her,” says Mrs. â€"â€"â€" Amyot. “ By the bye, she appears to know , Ca tain Staines, at all events l" CHAPTER I)“ \PVith some people at all events, it ap- Imvoluntarily Lord Branksmere lifts his pears hf’ i5 hilf'dly a favorite i C°l°n°1 Vyn- eyes and turns them upon his wife. er receives his advenccs but coldly, and . . . . 3 ‘ v ‘u I hope Jenkins was m time to meet LOld I rimrose glows cven more devoted to your train ? Ho started rather late,” says l Lady Anne as he draws near. Lady Branksmere, advancing so very indo- I Staines, turning suddenly round, finds lently to welcome the new-comer, that as l himself. face to face ‘ViFh_ Mrs. 13M)”- liis hand touches hers she is still on the , u 1h“ 13 a surprise, Is 1L “0t? smiles she border of the Persian rug. Her uncou ccrn ‘,calmhF .. BM I Sh°“1d_ have given you is so complete, so utterly without effort '. credit for being proof against all casualties Lady Anne Branksmerc, who is never (apparently) that Branksinere draws a ' 0f "Ch a’ nature. ‘Have you never yet happier than when her fingers are on the breath of passionate relief. He had al- taken that to heart? ~ keys, moves briskly to the piano. most forgotten where he was in his eager “ Willy-J’ begins he, coiifusedly. “She sings?” asks Mrs. Yvner, vaguely. examination of his wife’s features, until “Mrs. Dar_vl--” interrupted she, icily, "Oh, charmingly. Not magnificently or startled into remembrance by a whisper at and turns away. loudly, you know ; but with feeling and all his side. “ I beg your pardon,” exclaims he, fol- that sort of thing," savs Primrose. “Tell It is scarcely a whisper, either, rather a 1 lowing her further into the window recess. you a fellow who sings‘ well, too. Staines. word or two spoken involuntarily. Mme. f “I know nothing, remember that.‘ You Like a bird, he sings. Very hard to make vcn Thirsk is standing beside him. As _are married, then? and to Daryl? By Jove! him warble, I expect he thinks it wise to Muriel’s cold, measured tones meet her ear, You-â€"ycu are Lady Blanksmcre’s sister-in- make himself rather scarce in that way. she draws a breath of admiration. law ‘2” Adds to his popularity-see ‘2” “ Magnificent!" she says. “Yes. \Vhy should the fact cause you He would want to add something to it; “ What?” he asks, sharply, turning emotion '2” asks she contemptuously. by all accounts, it, is thin l” whispers Mrs. abruptly to her. “ It doesn’t,” returns he. ' '. Amyot. “ That old brocade,” with a little super- “ Is that so? Then why have you grown “Eh '2 Can’t say, I’m sure,” says Lord cilious glance at Muriel's toilet, and an so red ‘2" demanded MFS- Daryl, “Look Primrose, rather puzzled, to whom Staines ambiguous smile. here, my friend l if you have come down is more or less a stranger. "Thought he “ I say l” says Mrs. Amyot, “ that is “here with the intention 0f making it uu- was rather a fancy article, run after a good Captain Staines, isn’t it? Some little story pleasant for anybody. Pd advise you to deal and that, eh ‘2" - about him wasn’t there?” chuck up that intention as speedily as pos-‘ “Captain Staines, will you sing to us “ I never heard it amounted to that,” sible, Fm here too l" now?” says Mrs. Amyot, suddenly, who dmwls Mrs. V ner. “ He was wry decid- “ I don’t see why you attack me like had been ayingto make him sing ever since edlf cpris wit her before lie: marriage, this.”8aid Staines, sulkily. Then suddenly Primrose had told her he was chury of bur-J’ ~ he lifts his head and looks at her ; “ can’t 1 giving his voice to the on-ld, “ With whom ‘2" we be. friends ‘2” asks he. “I think not,” returns Staines, smiling at her. “My efl'orts wouldliardly please you, Iimagine, after what we have just heard, and hesidesâ€"-” “ Besides what ‘2” “ Simply that I believe I have forgotten how, that's all. I 'had almost forgotten that I once used to sing until to-day.” fling-iel, who is standing near, looks quickly a im. ‘ “ Let to-day then be the commencement . Ofa new epoch in your life’s history," per- sists Mrs. Amyot, gayly. “Return ‘3° your old delights. Give place to song.” “ To go back upon our lives is denied us,” says Captain Staines, gently. “And t0 most of us the past is a sealed book to which we dare not revert. I am sorry I can not please you in this matter, but,” he turns his gaze suddenly upon Lady Branksmere, “ music has died within me.” "Through dearth ‘of encouragement, perhaps,” says Lady Branksmere, coldly, “ 1f you were to try-â€"â€"to make an effort-â€"- to'recover your lost power, perhaps you might succeed.” “My lost power l” repeats he in a pe- culiar tone. He looks down, and then continups softly, “ \Vell, I will try, if that is your desire.” “Not mineâ€"Mrs. Amyot's,” says Lady Brandksmero, haughtily. ' . “Oh, yes, mine certainly,” laughs Mrs. Ainyot. , .- The group at the piano divide and make room for him. His voice is not. powerful, but clear and elastic, and for exquisite timbre could hardly be equaled. “Lady Anne is profoundly touched, and stands gazing at the Singer with tears in her eyes. Muriel is standing well within the shel- ter of a velvet portiere, but her face is in the light. The shadow of a terrible grief is desolating her beautiful face. Some cruel thought-a. crushing remembrance- hitherto subdued, seems now to have sprung into fresh life, and to have reached a o'olos- gal height. That music has undone her quite. _ Somebody drags a chair with a little rasping noise along the polished flOOI‘. and Lady Branksmere starts as though violent- ly awakened. ' “Thank you. It is a charming song,” she says, indifl'erently, turning her gaze full on Captain Staines. “ I always think you are better worth listening t0 than most people. Now, for your waltz," smiling at Mrs. Amyot. She seats herself at the vacant piano, and lets the first bars of the brilliant waltz float through the room. CHAPTER XI. “ The Dowager Lady Branksmere’s love to Lady Branksmere, and she will be pleas- ed to receive her this afternoon.” The message sounds like a. command and Mur- iel, throws aside her brush, and prepares to obey it. “ I wish I could go with you-she is in- teresting, as fossils usually are-but the fact is she abhors me; I am too large, too healthy, too fleshy for her,” laughs Lady Anne, “ I look out of place in that ghast- ly old room of hers.” ‘ “I can’t see that you are more robust than Madame von Thirsk. Yet she. toler- ates lier,” says Muriel. “ She adores her,” corrects Lady Anne. “ There is some tremendous bond between them ;_ I d0ii’t quite know how the friend- ship arose, but it began about seven years ago, about the year poor Arthur was kill- er .” She always alludes to her dead hus- band as “poor Arthur.” “You know Arthur was her favorite. He was the eldest, and it was only by a luckless chance that Branksmere came in for the title. You know all about that duel l" She is talking confi- dentially to Muriel. “ I knew he had been killed in a duel ; that is all." “ Branksmere, George, your husband, was with him at the time. He, George, hinted to me that it was a quarrel about money ;bnt he was so distressed thatI knew the wretched afl'air he; arisen out of some fault of poor Arthur's. He was rather wild, you see, and had an ungovernable temper. From whet- I could drag out of Branksinme, who was most reticent about it, I should say poor Arther lost himself over some affair in a brilliant-saloon, and grossly insulted the man by whom he be- lieved he had been cheated.” She pauses. “ He wasshot dead," she says, in a low whisper, tapping her fingers nervously upon ‘p the table. “ How terrible-â€"â€"fr" you. “ Yes, terrible. Bzit do you know, now I can think of it quitecalmly. It all hap7 pencd so long ago, you see. Seven years is a tremendous space nowadays. Yes, it all happened the year madame came to the castle. Poor Arthur was killed about the beginning of the year, and she came here about six months afterward. I remember it perfectly. She was a friend of some peo- ple Branksmere knew in Tuscany.” - “ She seems to have given up Tuscany and made her home in England-in Branks- mere, rather.” “ Yes. I sliouldn’t min'l that, if I were you. She is very good to the old lady, and useful when tho dowuger has one of her troublesome days. Going to licr now?” “ I wish you could come with inc.” " I shouldn’t be welcome.” “ Would I do ‘2” asks Mrs. Amyot ami- ably. “l am afraid you would be worse than Lady Anne,” says Muriel, smiling. “ You are too bright, too airy. It is only ghostly bony people like me she can endure. I shall give your kind regrets to Lady Brankq- mere, however, if you like.” “ W'hat _ a tiresome number of Lady Branksmeres there are," remarks Mrs. Vyner, idly. “ Too many,” acquiesccs Lady Anne. “ There is the dowagcr, there is me, there is Muriel. I felt so horrified a3 the idea of beingf placed as No. ‘2. amongst the dowagers that I went back to my old na-me, and be- came, if not Lady Anne Hare, at least Lady Anne. A safe return, Muriel,” as the pres- ent Lady Branksmere moves toward the door. “,Thon I won’t do '2” asks Mrs. Amyot, pathetically. “ Yes, you will for me, admirably,” says Halkett, who has just stepped in through the window. racket at the same time. N it.” face to face with Captain Staines, “ You should go out; the others are on “ So take heart, and a tennis We arc having such a game out here. Come one-come all of you-â€"and 'let’s make an afternoon of Muriel crossing the hall slowlyâ€"being in no haste to gain the chamber where the old dame lies in solitary state-comes suddenly the tennis-ground,” she says, iii a do 2 stifled sort of way, and goes quckly o _ ~- ward. “ One moment, Lady Branksmere,” e; claims he, in a low tone. “ One only. What have I done that you should avoid me ‘2” "‘ I do not avoid you," icily. “I fear you do. I fear my presence hero is a matter of dissatisfaction to you. But I have arranged about that,” he goes op, gloomily. “A telegram to-morrow Will rid you of me. l shall ~lcave as suddenly as I came.” “I beg you will not do this thing. I ae- . sure you there is no reason whyyou should," says Lady Branksmere haughtily. . “There is a reason,” breaks out Staines in a low tone, full of suppressed passion. “If ydu arc dead to the past, I am not. I know now I should never have come hero-â€"- now that it is too late.” “And why not here ‘2” she demanded with flashing eyes. “ Because you are here,” he says, slowly. “Need I have said that? Did you not know my answer? I was mad when I _ac- cepted your-Lord Branksmere’s-invita- tion, but I could not refuse it. But now that I have come-now that I have seen- when all the old sweet memories force them- selves back upon me, I feel I‘ dare not re- main.” “ You willplease yourself about that, ol course,” answered Muriel, coldly. “ To go will not please me,” declares he, hurriedly. “ Then stay,” indifferently. “ Are you a stone?” he cries, vehemently. “ Have you altogether forgotten ‘2” “Altogether l” she says stoutly. “ I won’r, believe it,” protests he.‘ “What l in this little space of time to have all, all blotted out l Nay, I defy you to _ say it from your heart. Now and again some thought from out the pure sweet past must rise within your breast. Yet love could never have been to you what it was to me. You wronged me Muriel, as onlya woman can wrong a man. You betray- ed me.” ‘(I ?" “You. Was I the first who broke faith? Have I married? And now, standing here together face to face once more, you tell me I have no longer a place even in your thoughts, that it is nothing to you whether I g0 or stay ‘2” , “ Nothing,” returns she, slowly. “I shall nevertheless be very pleased if you will stay with us for a little while,” she says languidly. “I accept your invitation,’ declares Staines, suddenly-almost defiantly, and turning away, strides impatiently down a side corridor-to find himself all but in the arms of Mme. von Thirsk l ('ro 13s cos'rnvo so.) i How the Ocean Became Salt- Prof. Edward Hill read a paper before the Victoria Institute recently on “How ‘ the waters of the ocean became salt. " From an inquiry into the character and affinities of the organicfforms of past geological ages, the conclusion was justified that the waters of the ocean must have been salt from very early geological times, but it by no means followed that they were as fully saline as those of the present day. There were two ways by which they might account for the salinity of the ocean waters from very early periods of geological time. First, by sup- posing that the primeval Watérs were sat- urated with acid gases which were held in suspension in the vapor surrounding the incandescent globe ; or, secondly, that the salinity result-ed from a process resembling that by which salt lakes of the present day had been formed. He thought that they must concur with Dr. Sterry Hunt, that from some cause or other chlorine largely abounded in the waters of the primeval ocean, as by far the greater proportion of the salts were chlorides, and chlorine was but very slightly represented in river waters of the present day. From the examples of closed lakes they could determine the process of salinification with the utmost certainty. Throughout greater or shorter periods these lakes had been receiving the waters of rivers, bring- ing down mechanically suspended sediments and chemically dissolved salts, silicates, and carbonates. The sediments were precip- itated over the bottoms of the lakes, and the water being carried off into the atmos- herc in the form of vapor as far as it en- tered, left behind the dissolved ingredients. These necessarily augmented in quantity, and ultimately the waters of the lakes be- came saturated with salts and carbonates, which were then deposited. The ocean was a closed lake of enormous magnitude, and they were thus brought to the con- clusion that the saltness of the sea might have originated in ver' much the same way as had that of the Dea Sea,Lake Oroomiah, or the Great Salt Lake of Utah, and many others which possessed ir. common the characteristic of having no outlet. \Vheu ‘the great envelope of vapor which surround ed the incandescent globe began to con- dense upon its- cooling surface, the result- ing waters, though containing, as Dr. Sterry Hunt supposed, acid gases, were destitute of saline ingredients. The process of salinification began with the first streams which entered the seas from the old border- ing uplands, and this process carried on throughout the long ages preceding the silurian period, brought the, waters to a condition suited to sustain the life of forms of inhabitants representative of those which inhabited the ocean at the present day. These long ages might be supposed to in- clude not only the archccan and azoic periods, but that during which the first crust was in course of formation over the incandescent globe. _______--o-â€"-â€"-â€"â€"_ Hatching Fish Under Hens- The Chinese have a method of hatching the spawn of fish, and thus protecting it from those accidents which generally de- stroy a large portion of'it. The fishermen collect with care from the margin and surface of water all those gela- tinous masses which contain the spawn of fish, and, after they have found a sufficient _ quantity. they fill with it the shell of a fresh han’s egg, which they have previously emptied, stop up the hole and put it under a sitting hen. At the expiration of a certain number of days they break the shell in water warmed by the sun. . The young fry are presently hatched, and are kept in pure fresh water till they are large enough to be thrown into the pond with the old fish, The sale of spawn for this purpose forms an important branch of ' trade in China. \.