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4- .» ou- _... - '2‘ 13., ‘«.~»~4..o,2~ AgA.M..A21F~.-.I u ,M I, .. ,n . -, Q have“. J'v-‘n-“M‘W'wfiwr- w-WMWW - . ., <rh~wv.: ..-....V_ "F‘iii’s lNSTRU CHAPTER VIIâ€"(Continued? 'I shall have to do it," he said t himself. as he sat moodily in his cham- bers. “They’re all at incâ€"uncle Roger. Tommy Myles. Isabelâ€"all of them. I'ini shot if I over interfere with anybody's marriage again." . . T he defection of Isabel rankled in his mind worst of all. That she. of all peo- ple. should turn against mun-and. as a. last insult, send him upbraiding mes- sages through Tommy Mylcsl This she had done, and George was full of wrath. . “ A note for you sir." said Timnis, en- tering in his usual silent manner. Tiuims had no views on the controversy. being one of those rare people who mind their own business; and George had full- en so low as to be almost grateful for the colourless impartiality wiih which he bore himself towards the quarrel be- tween his masters. ‘ George took the note. ” Mr. (Jerald been here, Timmsi" _ "He looked in for letters. air: but went away directly on hearing you were here.” _ . . . Timms stated this fact as if it were in the ordinary way of friendly inter- course, and withdrew. "Well, I amâ€"l" exolaimed George and paused. . The note was addressed in the hand- writing he now knew very well, the handwriting of the Bournemouth char- acter. "Dear Mr. Neston, “ I shall be alone at five o'clock to- day. W'ill you come and see me? Yours sincerely, “ Ncaera. Witt." " You must do as a. lady asks you," said George, “even if she does steal shoes, and you have mentioned it. Here geist What's she up to now. I won- der i” Neaera, arrayed in the elaborate care- lessness of a teaâ€"gown, received him, not in the drawinghrooom, but in her own snuggcry. Tea was on the table; there was a bright little fire, and a someâ€" lent old cat snoozed on the hearth-rug. The whole air was redolent of what ad- vertisements called a “ refined home," and Ncaera’s manner indicated an alâ€" most pathetic desire to be friendly, checked only by the self-respecting fear of a. rude rebuff to her advances. “ It is really kind of you to come," she said, ” to consent to a parley." ” The beaten side always consents to n. parley," answered George, taking the scat she indicated. She was half sit- ting, half lying on a sofa when he came in, and resumed her position after greet- ing him. “No, no," she said quickly; "that’s where it’s hardâ€"when you're beaten. But do you consider yourself beaten ?" “ Up to now, certainly." ' n ” And you really are not convmced? she asked, eyeing him with a. look of candid appeal to his betterpature. ” It is your fault, Mrs. \Vitt." " M fault '2" " hes. Why are you so hizu‘d to forâ€" get?" George thought there was no harm in utting it in a pleasant way. "Ah. 'w iy was Missâ€"now is it Game or Gaines'lâ€"so hard to forget i” " It is, or rather was, Game. And I suppose she was hard to forget for the some reason as youâ€"would be." “ And what is that i’: " If you ask my cousin, no doubt he will tell you," Ncacra smiled. “ What more can I do ?" she asked. " Your people didn't know me. 1 have produced a. letter showing I was some- where else." " Excuse meâ€" ” \Vcll, well. then a copy of a letter." " What purports to be a. copy," "Ilow glad I am I'm not a lawyer! It Seems to make people so suspicious." "It's a. great pity you didn‘t keep the or' inal." _ Ncaci‘fi mid nothing. Perhaps she did not agmo. _ “But. Isuppow: you didn’t send for me to argue about the matter!" " No. 1 seal. for you to propose peace. Mr. Ncslon. I am so Weary of fighting. “'hy will you make. me fight l" . “ It's not for my pirasure,” said George. “ For whose then f" she askwl,stretch- ing out her arms with a gesture of en- :rl‘aty. " Cannot we say no more about till V " With all my heart." I " And you will admit you “mug?” . . . , ‘ "That is saying more about it.‘ " You cannot enjoy the position you are in." "I confess. that." , . _ " Mr. Ncsion, do you ever think it’s pomible\ypu are wrong. But no, never were mind. ill you agnie just to drop it i" _. “Ilvartily. But there's' the Bull’s- eye " "0h, bother the Bull's-eye! I'll go end sve the editor," said Neaera. "He's a sic-rn iniin. Mrs. Witt." " He won't be so hard to deal with as you. Thom. that's settled. llurrahl you shake hands, Mr. i‘wsion i" “ By all means." " \\ iih a. thief. l" t " With you. thief or no thief. And I must full you you are voryâ€"" " What i" "Wozl. above. small resentments.” "Oh. what dos it maticrl‘ Suppose I did lake the boots?" "Sho's." said George. Ncacm bum: into a laugh. Very accurate." . I “" And you are very inaccurate, Mrs 'iit." “i shall alw.va be amused when I meet you. I aim 1 know you have your hand on your watch." . "Oh. yes. 1 retract nothing." " Then it is peace!" 0‘ \".s-ID I y Near-m at up and gave him her hand. aid the ca was ratified. But it so chaiioid i t Nelson's sudden movement musket the cat. Ho yawnod and got up. " You are l l l l l l l l I“ MIMEâ€".â€" his back. and digging his claws l " ’ b." said Neaera, "don't spoil the! ' archi 0 into i. e hearth-rug. George's attention was directed to the animl-gfiinduas he looked at it. hfinsitartâ€" . 's c range of pmiure re- vealed a serious deficiency: he had no tall. or the mercst apology for a (311. It was certainly an odd coincidence. perhaps nozhing more, but a. very odd coinCidence that George should have seen in the court-yard at Peckton Gaol no less than three tailless mtsl Of course there are a good many in the world; but still most cats have tails. . " I like a. black cat. don't you i" sold Neaemr“ lle’s nim rind Satanic." The Podium cats \wm black. ton.â€" black as ink or lllu heart of u. money- lender. . An old favourite i" asked George. in- srdiously. Ot‘l'llwe had him a good niuirv years. . The last word slipped from Neuera involuntarily. '0 \\' h), I I. I. “I’d forgotten his milk,” answered thiliom, With extraordinary prompti- U( o. ")Vhere did you get him?" horian was quite calm again. " Some friends gave him to me. Please don't say I stole my cat, boo, Mr. Neston." George smiled; indeed, he almost lauglif-d. “Well, it is peace. Mrs. Witt, g: taking his hat. “ But remem- r I! "_\Vhat i" said Nenem, who was still smiling and cordial. but rather less at her ease than before. “ A cat may tell a tale, though he bear none." “ What do you mean?" " If it is ever war again, I will tell you. Goodâ€"bye. Mrs. \Vitt." "Goodâ€"bye. Please don't have poor Bob arrested. He didn't steal the boots _Oh, the shoes, at any rate." " I expect he was in prison already." Neaera shook her head with an air of bewilderment. “I really don’t un- derstand you. But I’m glad we'reanot enemies any longer." George departed, but Neaera sat down on the rug and gazed into the fire. Pre- suntly Bob came to look after the for- gotten milk. He rubbed himself right along Ncaera's elbow, beginning from his nose, down to the end of what he called his tail. "Ah, Bob," said Neaera, " what do you want? Milk, dear? 'Good for evil, milk forâ€"' " _Bob purred and capered. Neaera gave him his milk, and stood looking at him. “ How woqu you like to be drowned, dear?" she asked. The unconscious Bob lapped on. Neaera. stam her foot. ” He shan'tl He shan'tl" she exclaimed. " Not an inchl ’ Not an inch 1" Bob finished his milk and looked up, “No, dear, you shan’t be drowned. Don't be afrai ." . As Bob knew nothing about drown- ing. and only meant that he- wanted more milk, he showed no gratitude for his reprieve. Indeed, seeing there was to be no more milk. he pointedly-turned his back, and began to mashl his face. CHAPTER VIII. “ I never heard anything so absurd in all my life," said Mr. Blodwell, with em- phasis. . George had just informed him of the treaty between himself and Neaera. He had told his tale with some embarrass- ment. It is so difficult to make people who were not present understand how andmterview came to take the course it “She seemed to think it all right," George said weakly. " Do you suppose you can shut peo- ple’s mouths in that way ?" ‘There are other ways,” remarked George, grimly, for his temper began 0 go. I “ There are," assented Mr. Blodwell; “and in these days, if you use them. it's five pounds or a month. and a vast increase of ossip into the bargain. \Vhat docs Gerald say ‘i” "Gerald? Oh, I don’t know. I sup- hlis. “Vitt can manage him." “Do you? I doubt it. Gerald isn't over easy to manage. Think of the -ition you leave him inl" “ He believes in her." " Xcs, but he won't be content unless other people do. Of course they’ll say she squared you." _” Squared me I" exclaimed George. in~ digniintly. “ Upon my soul, I'm not sure she hasn’t." "Of course you can say what you please sir. From you 1 can't resent it." "Come, don't be huffy. Bright eyes have their effect on ever body. By the way, have you seen Isabe Bourne late~ ly x’" ' ll No.l' ” Heard from her i" "She sent me a message through Tommy Myles.“ ‘ “Is he in her confidence?" "Apparently. The effect of it was. that she didn’t want to see me till I hadrome to my 8911508,” " in those words !" " Cl‘liose were Tommy's words." "Th-9n relations are strained ?" "Miss Bourne is the inbst judge of whom she wishes to see." “ Quite so," said Mr. Blodwell. cheer- fully. " At present she seems to wish to SI'Q Myles. “'0”, well, George, you'll have to come to your knees at last." " Mrs. Wilt doesn't require it." " Gerald will." , “Gerald beâ€" But I've never told; you of my fresh evidence." l " Oh. you’re mad! What's in the wind now?" ' 3 Five minutes later George flung him-l self angrily out of Mr. Blodwcll's chziin- { hem, leaving i but gentleman purple and , palpitating with laughter, as he gcnily n~echoed. "The i-atl Go to the jury on the! cat. George, my boy!" To George in his hour of adversity; was as a tour of sin'ngth. She said that the Nesions might squabble among themselves as much as ihev liked ; it was no busmess of her. As for the affair getting llllOA the papers. her visiting-list would suffer considerably if she. cut out everybody. \\ ho was wrongly. or she added signifi- . rantly, rightly abused in the pipers.l George Nest-m. might be mistaken but he. “an an honest voung man, and for. her part she thought him an agreeablel oneâ€"anyhow, a gout deal too good. for iliai insi iid child, Isabel Bourne. If anybody I idn't like. meeting him at her house. they muld stay away. Poor; Laura l’ovklinglun protested that she: Mrs. Poi‘klinglnn , itâ€"a dear l-lspiou. certainly. hated and despised George. but yet said Mrs. Pockling- “ you can stay in the nur- oouldn't stay away. " Then. my dear," ton, turtly, sery." “ It's too ind !" exclaimed Laura. " A man who siys such things isn‘t fitâ€"” Mrs. l’oukiington shook her head gen~ tly. .‘iIr. l'ocklington's Radical princi- ples extended no more to his household than to his business. "Laura, dour," she said. in tones, I do so dislike argument." 50 George Went to dinner at Mrs. Pocklmgion's. and that lady. remorse- leg in parental discipline. sent Laura down to dinner with him; and. 85 everyba'ly knows, there is nothing more pleasing and interesting than a pret- ty girl in a. dignified pet. George enjoi- ud himself. It was a 10 time since he had flirted; but real y nOW. (wandering Isabel's conduct, he felt at ixu'fect liberty to conduct himself as seemed to him good. Laura. was an old friend, and George determined to see how ‘lllk‘illl'lilln hei- wrath was. its so kind of you to give me this [)Iflluflll‘u," he began. Pleasure?" said Laura, in her lofti- est. [_one. Lice: taking you down, you know." “Momma made me." Ah, now you're trying to take me down." “I wonder you can look any one in the faceâ€"~â€"-" “I always enjoy looking you. in the face." “After the things you’ve said about poor Nciioral" "Neaera ?" :Why shouldn't I call her Neaera 9" Oh, no reason at all. It may even beuher name.” A woman who backbiteis is bad. but a. manâ€"â€"" "Is the deuce?" said George inquiring- Laura. tried another tack. "All your friends think you wrong. oven mamma.” “What does that matter, as you think I'm right ?" :I don't; I don't. I thinkâ€"" That it's great fun to torment a. poor man whoâ€"â€"â€"" George paused. \Vho what i" said Laura, with de- plgrable weakness. 1y "Values your good opinion very high- 'ZNonsensel" George permitted himself to sigh glee 1y. A faint twitching betrayed itse f about the corners of Laura's pretty mouth. - If you want to smile, I will look said Laura; away," said George. "You’re very foolish)" and George knew. that this expression on a lady’s lips is not always one of disapproval. m}:Itlam, indeed/f said beg: "'to spend ime in a vain sui .' "Of Neaera. t" pm "No, not of Neaera." “I should never." said Laura, demure- 1y. "have referred to Miss Bourne, if you hadn't, but as you haveâ€"â€"-" “I didn‘t." Presumably George explained whom he didrefer to, and apparently the ex- planation took the rest of dinner- time. And as the ladies went upstairs, Mrs. Ppcklinglon patted Laura's shoul- der With an approving fan. "There’s a good child] It shows breeding to be agreeable to people you dislike.” - Laura blushed alittle, but answered dutifully, "I am lad you are pleased. mamma." Most ikely she did not im- pose on Mrs. Pocklington. She cer- tainly did not on herself. .George found himself left next to Sidmouth Vane. “Hallo, Nestonl” said that young gentleman, with his usual freedom. "Locked her up yet ?" George said Mrs. \Vitt was still at lill‘g'e. Vane had been his fag, and George felt he was entitled to take it out of him in after life whenever he could. "\Vish you would," continued Mr. Vane. ‘j'l‘hat ass of a cousin of yours would jilt her, and I would wait outâ€" srde Holloway or Clerkenwell, or where- ever they put ’em. and receive her symâ€" patheticallyâ€"hot breakfast. brass hand. first Cigar for six months, and all that, don't you know, like one of those Irish fellows.’ ' "You have no small prejudices." , "Not much. A girl like that, plus an income like that, might steal all Northampton for what i care. Going upstairs '6" “Yes; there's an 'At Home' on, isn't there i" "Yes. so I’m told. I shouldn't go, if I wore you." “\Vhy the devil not?" "Gerald’s going to be thereâ€"told me so 1' 1y long as “Really. Van, you're very kind. \Ve shan't fight." .“I 'don’t know about that. He’s Simply mad." "Anything new?" _ “Yes; he told me you'd been trying to square Mrs. Witt behind his back, and he nuiant to have it out with you." “Well.” said George, "I won't run. Come along." The guests were already pouring in. and among the first George encountâ€" cred was iIr. Dennis Espion, as over- strained as ever. Es ion knew. that George was aware 0 his position on the Hull'sâ€"eye. . “Ali. how are you, Neston i” he said. holding out his hand. George looked atvit for a. moment, and then took it. “1 support life and your kind at- tenlions, Espion." “Ah! well. you know, we can't help matter of public interest. hope you see our positionâ€"" "Yes," said George. urbanely; faut vivre.” _ "i don't. suppose you value our opin- ion. butâ€"" "Oh yes: I value it at a pennyâ€" erery evening." "I was going to sayâ€"_' "Keep ii, my dear fellow. \Vhat you say has market valueâ€"to the extent l have mentioned." "My dear Nos-don. may 1â€"" "Consider this an intervive My Make any use of this communication you please. Good night." George strolled away. "Suppose I "II ‘wns rather rude." he said to himself. “But. hang it. I must have earned that fellow fifty pounds!” (To be Coni inued.) TOO SOON. Old Grimes. is dead, that good old man. He missed a limp of fun; He died, and nevor rode a. wheel 0r shot a ki-yi gun. pained I YOUNG FOLKS. \\\\ \ ~ \ x \‘ \-~ \\\\\\-\\\.\“\~ GOING TO UNCLE JOE’S. .E'Tis a bright and balmy morning, when the roses are in bloom, :The birds have. wakeiied early and sing their sweeiened tune, Us youngsiers are all wide awake, ex- She sleeps because cepi dear lxaby Rtfit‘. she doesn’t know were going to bncle Joe's. _Oh, you should see us when we're dress- ' But, 1 ed our new clothes are a sight, dressed in white, M iii»; iln l or mouth and carried them home. Strange to say when calmed of her family she took charge of two cock- chickens, which she reared with greet ntteni iou.. When they lx‘gan tocrow she was evidently much annoyed and endeavored to suppress their noise. l PUTS mchsr IN HIS PURSE. Tommy Atkins Finds Many Ways to Add Io Ills Solillcrs‘ Snlnfl'. It is a grvat mistake to suppose that B36? looks the best of au’sodmw : the limit of a. soldier's pay is ii shill- ing a day. Where Tommy is a shrewd And. now here comes the wagon: and} person and keeps his weather eye open in it each one goes, And father says, "Now, hold on hard, we're off for Uncle Joe's.” There's a. basketful of something, all covered nice and neat, . And. safely stowed away from Sight. - right underneath the seat. But, no matter what we take them, each one among us knows, . 'Twill never come back empty, when it goes to Uncle Joe's, And, now we're in the hollow, now go- ing up the hill, . And, now we cross the old long bridge, and hear the busy mill, And, now we're in the shaded lane, where each sweet wild flower blows, 0h, never was there such a road as leads to. Uncle Joe's. The squirrels and rabbits scamper, at times, across our way, And, humble-bees and butter-flies, are out for holiday, . And, every time we meet a. team, right ’ well the driver knows, That we are gay and happy, ’cause we're going to Uncle Joe’s. Ahl now we've turned the corner, and can see the big red barn, _ And fields of grain, the like of which, are on no other farm, Then father says, “Just see that corn, how clean and straight the rows," But, we’ve no time to answer, for we're at Uncle Joe's. Then, forth they come, from house and _ barn, all hasting us to greet, With, "how d'ye do's?" and happy smiles and 'words of welcome sweet. Aunt Louie takes the baby, with a “My! how fast she grows 1" But, no one's arms can lift us down so well as Uncle Joe's. We sit awhile within the house, and play with dolls and toys, Then, on with hats, and out of doors, both happy girls and boys. To ee the chickens, ducks, and calves, to stroke the' new colt's nose, There's always something more to see, when we're at Uncle Joe's. We play at "hide and seek," and "tag." Oh, you should see us run, No children ever laughed so much, or had such jolly fun, And, then we go to meet the men, when loud the old horn blows, For well we know, both Dick and Tom, who lives at Uncle Joe's. \Ve gather in the kitchen, where the dinner table's spread, And, Sit quite still, with folded hands, until the "grace" is said. Then uncle on us, one and all, both food and smile bestows, Oh, dinner never tastes so good as at dear Uncle Joe's. ' We ride home in the twilight, and all along the way, We're counting over all the joys of this most blissful day, And when we lay us down, our eyes . in happy slumber close, W'ith dreams such as we know but when we've been to Uncle Joe's. THE STOLEN LUNCH. Poor little Peterl Do you see him at the schoolhouse punin Oh, how he cries and howls! Yesterday a little girl named Mary Owens came to the teacher and said: "Oh, Miss \Vurd, what shall I do? This is the third day that some one has eaten up all my lunch. I have been watching and trying to find out who can be the thief. But it is of no use." The poor child cried because she was so troubeld at the loss of her dinner. “Never mind, little Mary," said the teacher.- “Do as I tell you, and we will catch the naughty child very soon.” So they said not a word more before l.he_ other scholars and quietly laid their plans. Next morning the teacher brought a tempting doughnut and plac- ed it in Mary's lunch basket. . Just before the bell rang to dismiss the school at noon the scholars heard a noise and soon saw Peter standing by the well and working the pump handle in a lively fashion. The doughnut had been filled with red pepper, and when poor Peter tasted it. he knew he was found out. Oh, how it did burn! It seemed as if he could never get to the water.) And worst of all, the boys and girls now came run- ning to him. shouting and laughing at him with all their might. No doubt this will be the last time little Mary will lose her lunch. DOG AND GOOSE. A dog and a goose on one occasion be- came fast friends, but. the goose seems to have made the first advance; If the dog barked the goose would cackle and endeavor to bite any person she sup- posed the dog to be barking at. She would not roost in the usual way, but ran about the yard with the dog all night, and even when he went about the neighborhood the goose armmpanied him, running and flying in order to keep pace With him. “but is very s1 range, however, when the dog was ill the goose would not leave him for a. single moment, so food had to be placed in the kennel for both of them. The affection is supposed to have its origin in the dog’s saving the goose from a fox. In another case a dog tried to console herself for the lots of her family by adopt' a brood of ducklings. When her litte ones were taken from her, she was uite disconmlate, unlil she fell in with t e ducklings. These shciend- ed in the most affectionaie manner and exhibited the greatest concern when l l I there are a. hundred and one method: for him to supplement his meagre pay by dojng work outside his military du- ties. In fact, a very respectable sum may be realized by "doing a bit outside," or " taking on a civilian's job," as the operation is called. In all garrison towns smoking cou- certs are often given in public houses. for which a. chairman and pianist are engaged. These positions am often fill- ed by soldiem. the landlord trusting to the popularity of the red coat. to gain him a wider connection. In many theatres. too, and music halls soldiers often get employment in the orchestra; and should a military drama _be on the boards Tommy's services are in great requisition for parts where a. martial appearance and very little speakmg are required. ' The writer knows of a. case where ii compounder in the army used to make a, very handsome addition to his in- come _by dispensing and making up pre- script ions for atfew hours every even- ing at a_ cheniist’s shop in the town in which his regiment was stationed. This was a somewhat unusual case, but in many garrison towns hotel Proprietors, as .far as possible, employ soldiers as waiters in the evening, and pay them well, too. A very curious instance of " taking or a. ciyilian's job," came under the writer's notice a short time ago. When passing a. bootmaker’s window he saw sum! artillerymen stitching away at various pairs of boots as eagerly as if thei; iivos depended on finishing the jol. quickly. . . IVOMEN DOCTORB. , Last year's report of the National As sociation for Supplying Female Medic- al Aid to the \Vomen of India states that in eleven years since its organiza, tion, under the name of the Lady Duf- fei'in Fund, the number of women and girls annually relieved v and cured has risen in 1895 to above 1,000,000 (1,054,- 387), and in the last three years the number has doubled. The movement has a pathetic his tory. After suffering for years frorr native quacks, the maharanee of Pun- na was cured by an English ladyâ€"a medical missionary. Her liighnoss wrote to Queen Victoria, inelased the letter in a. gold locket, put the jewel around the doctor's neck, and charged her not to take it off untilf she gave it into the Queen’s hands. Her Majesty sent a kind answer, and laid on the next new Viceroy, when dismissing him, the "special injunc- tion" to launch a. Schemb for the im- provement of the medical treatment of her Indian women subjects. With Irish impetuOsily and Scotch thoroughness combined, Lady Duffcrin organized the fund all over India, and in London also, for training native wo- men doctors as Well as healing the suf- fering. The invested funds amount to £129,000 at par, and the income from all sources last calendar year was £45,- 545. \Vith this a million of suffering women were cared for, in addition'to the many who come under the min- istralion of the medical missionaries, American as well as British. . \Vere prourcss more rnp‘d, rspecially among the high-ms“! ladies. who must l~e attended in the zen-ma and harem, there would not be women doctors enough. Lady Elgin, Lady Elliott, and other governors’ wives have brought about the foundation of hostels for nu,- tive women studying medicine, ob- sletrics, and nursing. Mr. ‘Womlbnrn. an expirien'el civil engineer, dfil'l'tl'ed at the :lnnllfll meeting in Cal ll‘t'l l'ilc- ly that "the rapidly growing :in'l new. enormous attendant-e al the Dufferin hospitals is the host possible cvidom-n of the trust of the people in the treat,- ment they receive there." FA LSE HAIR. The barbarous thing, false hairshows signs of life again, or, at least, there is an evident determination to force it into a renewed existence. \Vhat was feimurly known as .i "rat" is being brought back to use by.ex1ers, in ill-.- vising coiifurus. The hair of tho ordin- ary Woman, it is said, is not sufficient- ly luxuriant to suide material for the newest methods 0 arraingc-iiient, and this old and l‘..\‘(".tlli,‘.lll. deVicc proves just what is needed. . 'l‘lic “ rat ” is made of a plump coil of jute or curled hair, and is much the shape of a. vury large crullcr. If the hair is vcr thin, or if it is felt‘ that detection 0 the rat must be avoided at any cost, the frame should first be light- ly cow-rod with hair the exact shade of the wearer’s. . In order to dress the hair cffmdivcly the frame should be pinned to the top or in the middle of the bark of .tlio iii-ad, according as it is most becomin . The hair should, than be drawn throng the opening in the center of the ring, after which it is a simple mattor‘to arrange it in almost any'.lu~c011‘iing way. If the hair is simply twisted about the ring the effect is given of a ver large coil of hair; on the other ham , it may be skillfully brought into a gr:qu of puffs with the useful rut as the 13315 of the structure. _ The shape of the rat itself is also susceptible of mlll'il variation. and may make [Kissible again the high-pinnacled wonders that graced the. heads of the stately dairies of centuries ago. It is unquestioned, at least, that the. rare- lms knot and loose braid of hair are passing com leter out of style, and that the coi fure of the mming mason will be a marvel of elaborate preci- they naturally took to the water. When 3‘03' \- osrne to land the dcg seized them 1 C » ‘9