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CHAPTER. V.â€"-00ntinued- . , d the ladies went 3‘“ Then He looked a dozenJgess l . I tibia: gin he had looked..lfl theair ireviously, All the “filled down by and died out of hi: heavier than he .. ,f a mu wbnd is afraid of my tak-i t girdle as his wife closed the door. 001' darlingl if I were to take cold and have a fever and die, it would be the best thing that could happen eith- er to her or moi" He began to pace the room plowly, his hands behind him. and his eyes bent on the ground. "Nearly three months have passed since Karovsky's visit, and nothing has yet been done. Only two more weeks are left me. Coward that I am. to have kept putting off from day to day do- when I reached Beaulieu. I had not the courage to go in and confront. Von Rosenberg. My heart failed me, and I turned back. If I had begun one letter to him I have begun a dozen. only to burn or tear them up unfinish- ed; but now there is no time for fur. ther delay. I will warn him that if he wishes to save his life he must leave here immediately, and seek some asy- lum where his enemies will be power- less to harm him. Shall I vaguely hint at some shadowy danger that impends over him? or shall I tell him in plain terms why and by whom the death senâ€" tence has been recorded against him? Shall I write to him anonymously, or shall I sign the letter with my name? Better tell him everything and put my name to the letter; he can then: act on the information in whatever way he may deem best. In doing this, as Kar- ovsky said, I shall be sealing my own doom. \Vell, better that, better any- thing than the only other alternative.” {He halted by one of the windows and stood gazing out of all the pleasant features of the landscape he had learn- ed to know and love so well. “It seems hard to die so young, and with sol much about me to make life happy," be sadâ€" ly mused. "I think I could meet my fate on the battlefield without a mur- murâ€"but to be murdered in cold blood -â€"to be the mark for some stealthy as~ sassin! Poor Clara 1 poor darling] what will you do when I am gone?" He sighed deeply as he turned from the window. His eyes were dim with tears. Presently he seated himself at the davcnport, and drew pen and paper to- wards him.- “No more delays; this very night the Baron shall be told. But how shall I begin? in what terms shall I word my warming?" He sat and mused. for a. minute or two, biting the end of his pen as he did so. Then he dipped the pen into the inkstand and began to write: "My dear Baron, from information which has reached me, the .accuracy of which I cannot doubt, Iam grieved to have to inform you that your life is in great and immediate peril. You have been sentenced to death by the Chiefs of one of those Secret Societies of the lexistence of which you are doubtless aware. Your only chance of safety lies in immediate flight." “What shall I say next?" asked Ger- ald of himself. that"â€" But at this juncture the door was opened. and Mrs. Brooke came hurried- ly into the room. "0 Gerald, such ter- [I‘lllle ncivsl" she exclaimed, breathless- y. Gerald turned his letter face down- ward on the blotting-pad. "Terrible news. Clara?" he said in a tone of studiâ€" ed indifference. Has your aunt's spaniel oven-eaten itself and'â€"â€" "Gerald. don’tl" she cried in a pain- ed voice. “.Baroai von Rosenberg is deadâ€"murdered in his own house less than an hour ago!" Go.er rose slowly from his chair as if drawn upward by some invisible force. The sudden pallor that blanch-l ed his face frightened his wife. She; sprang forward and laid a hand on his‘ arm. He shook it off almost roughly. "Tell me again what you told me just now,” he said in a voice which Cara scargely recognized as that of her hus- ban . She told him again. "Murdered! Von Rosenberg! Impossible!" "Dixon brought the news; he has just: ridden up from King's Herold." l Gerald sank into his seat again. Ills? eyes were fixed on vacancy for a few: moments he looked as ifd his brain had! been paralyzed. Miss Primby came bustling in. "0b.. my dear Clara can it be possible that} this dreadfulâ€"dreadful news is truet"; “Only too true. 1 am afraid, aunt."l "Poor Duran! Poor dear man! What? a shocking endl I never knew 3. mar with more charmi manner”. Cut; off in the flosver 0 his age. as one‘ ma say." “ erhaps dear. you Would like to see Dixon and question him." mid Clara to her husband. I “Shall I tell him Ile simply nodded. Mrs. Brooke rang the bell and Dixon the groom entered. "You had better tell your master all you know about this frightful trag- 'l‘he man cleared his throat. Gerald stared at him with eyes that seemed to see far beyond himâ€"far beyond the room in which they were. "I had been down to Kin '5 Harold. sir.“ began Dix- on. "to see T mpson. the farrier. about the chestnut mare. and was riding bad-s. when just as [got to the Beaulieu lodge-Elms I see the dogmrt come out lo the baron's man inl r. King. and another Seeing wit r. Pri it, along with giant as was a stranger to me. Una said to himself, with a‘ ing that which I ought to have donolw” something very fascinating. in his long ago. Even this very ' trived to gasp out. and then she stood {“Why. you ain t re, and that Mr. P_ringle 3611'in like,_ I the tip. "Anyan amiss1 Mr. Prinâ€" .b I" says I, witn a jerk of my thumb -______J€ / -ry white and Gerald “Li‘gtowards the house as the dog-cart 114‘55' ed me. But he only stared at me and my poor master. the boron, was found on without a. word. Then I turns to the lodgvkeeper’s wife and sees that she has her apron over her head. and is crying. serous amiss mum i" says I. “I don't “know what you mils serous, young man,” says she, ‘but my poor master, the boron, was found murdered in the little shally in the garden only half an hour sinceâ€"shot through the heart by some blood-thirsty villain." i didn't unit to hear more, sir, but made all the haste I could home." No word spoke Gerald. The man looked at him curiously, almost doubt- ing whether his master had heard a word of what he had said. . “Thank you, Dixon; that will do,” said Mrs. Brooke. The man carried a fing- er to his forehead and. made his exu;2 "Poor dear baron!" remarked Miss Primby for the second time. “Therei “Clara, tell me,” said Gerald present- ly. “Am I in truth awake, or have _I‘ only dreamt that Von Rosenberg is dead?" t 1 ll. 1 I "How 3 range 'ou ta ’, tear, am afraid you are ill} “There you are mistaken. 1 am well â€"excellently Well. But tell me this: on ht I to feel glad, or ought I to fee sorry? On my life, I don't know which i ought to feel I" “Glad? 0 Gerald!" "Ah; I had forgotten. know." "You no longer confide in me as you used to do." . He took no notice of the remark. "'Lct the Dead Past bury its deadz'” he said aloud. but speaking exactly asl he might have done had he been alone. “No need to send this now." he mut- tered in a lower tone as he took up his unfinished letter. "If I had but sent it a. week ago, would Von Rosenberg‘ be still alive? Who can say?" Crossing to the chimney-piece, he lighted match and with it set fire to the letâ€" i Y on donl't ter, holding it by one corner as he did, so. »When it had burnt itself away he . began to whistle under his breath. “0 Geraldl” said his wife in a grieved voice. “I had forgotten; vsk would say." 7 ”‘ am grieved to say so, dear, but his brain seems slightly affected;" whispered Miss Primby to her niece. ‘t'lf I were you I would call in Dr. Presâ€" on." i Pardonâ€"as Karo- Before Clara cculd reply Bunce came in with a lighted lamp half turned dowu. {He left the curtains undrawn, for a soft yellow glow still lingered over field and woodland. As soon as he hadi left the room Mrs. e Brooke crossed to the couch on which her husband had seated himself, and taking one of his hands in hers, said: “Dearest. you must not let this affair, shocking though it be, prey too much on your mind. It is not-as if you had lost an old and valued friend. Baron von‘ Rosenberg was but. an acquaintance â€"u. man whose name even you had: never heard six months ago." ' 'His only reply was to softly stroke “ the hand that was holding. one of his. 2 Clara waited a little and then she! said: "Will you not come' and dress for.’ dinner 9" - ‘He rose abruptly. "Dress for. diuâ€", ner I" he eXL-laizmed with a strange dis- ' cordant laugh. "mow the comedy and . tragedy of life jostlc each other! Grim death claps on the maski of Momus and tries to persuade us that he is a merry gentleman. Here a white cravat, a' dress coat, the )leasant jingle of knives and forks. 'l ere. a pool of blood, a cold and rigid form, a ghistly face \. ith blank staring eyes that Seems appeal- ing to heaven for vengeance. Yes, let. us go and dress for dinner; for, in truth, you and I ought to rejoice and mfike merry to-nightâ€"if you only knew w ." "fieraid. you frighten me." "Nay, sweet one, I would not do‘ that;" he answered as he drew her to him and kissed her . "I am in a strange humor tonight. I hardly know myself. I could laugh and I could sing, and yetâ€"and yetâ€"poor Von Rosenberg l” sub turned away with a sigh. j .At this moment in came Mr. Bunce again. “If you please, ma'am," he said to Mrs. Brooke.’ "here's a strange ' young pusson come running to the ' Towers all in a hulrry. who says she inust. see you without a minute's de- al'.l' The “strange young pusson” had folâ€" ’ lowed close on his heels. “Yes without a minute’s delay," l mum, she con- panting. unable to articulate another word. She was breathless with; run- ning. " Well. if ever i" exclaimed the scan- dalised Bunce. turning sharply on her. even wiped your shoes." "That will do, Bunce. thank you," said Mrs. Brooke with quiet digniiy. Bunve sniffed and tried to screw up his nose further than nature had done already. "Sich min-kl" was his com- ment to himself as he left the room. The person to whom this depreciatory epithet was applied was a girl of SUllte . Sixteen or seventeen summers. Margery Shook by name, who was dressed in a coarse but clean bib and apron. a short cotton freck considerably the worse. ior I wear. gray worsted stockings. lh.ck‘ shoes. and a quilted sun-bonnet, from : under the flap of th-li her nut-brown 2 hair made its escape in tangled elf-like locks. Her br' ht hazel eyes had in I them more of t e expressmn of some. halfâ€"tamed animal than lhnt of an orâ€" ' dinary human being. Her features. l though by no means uiicomelyn were somewhat heavily moulded and did not respond readily to emotional expres- sion. For the rest she was a well- grown strongly-built girl. and when she laughed her teeth flushed upon you like a surprise. Margery's laugh. if laugh it could be called. was perhaps the most singu- lar thing about her. It was wit-sh- like. weird. uncanny: it never extend- ed to her eyes; it broke out of the most inopportime moments; to have teen awoke by it in the dead of night. and not to have known whence it emanated might have shaken the nerves of the strongest man. Margery was an orphan. and until she was sixteen years old. had teen i brought up on a canal barge. It was; her boost that she could drive a horse or steer a barge as well as any man between London and the Didlands. But there came a. day when the gu'l could no longer either drive or handle the rudder. Ague got her in its merci- less grip. The bargeqnnn for whoml she worked landed her at King's_ liar-i old with instructions to a relative of; his to pass her on to the \iorkhouse.‘ But he ore this could be done Mrs. Brooke had found out the sick girl. She was placed in a decent lodging. and the mistress of Beechley Towers paid all expenses till she was thoroughly restored to health. But not only did she do that; she went to see Margery three or four timcs a week. and sat with her, and talked with her. and read to her. and tried in various wa s to let a. few rays of light into the gir 's darkened mind. Sometimes it hapâ€" _ned_ that Mr. Brooke woqu call for _ wife when she was on these expedi- tions, on which occasions he wmnld al- ways stay for a few minutes to have a chat with Margery, so that in a little while there was re sun-h gentleman in eXistence as “Muster Geril." But to- wards Mrs. Brooke her feeling was one of boundless platitudevand devotion; it was like the devotion. of a danb ani- inal rather than that of a rational be ing. Willingly, gladl would she have laid down her life for er benefactreSS. to go back to her old life on the canal. About this time it was that the Baron von Rosenberg set up his establish- ment at Beamieu. An assistant “as required in the laundry ° Margery thought she should like the situation. so it was obtained for her. “Why, Margery, what can be the matter? Why do! you) want to see me so 'irticularly T" asked Mrs. Brooke. “ Us about himâ€"about Muster Geril," she managed to gasp out. "0 mum! the polls is coming, and I've run'd all the way from Budloo to tell you." “The what is iomiug. Margery t" :‘The polls, mum," answered the girl With one of her uncanny laughs. Miss Bumpy, who had never heard. anything like it before, gave a little jump and stared at Margery as if she were some strange animal escaped from a men- agerie. “The police, I suppose you mean 2” Margery nodded. and began to bite a corner of her apron. "You must be mistaken, child, What can‘ the lice be coming here for 3" "For murder." "For murder!" ejaculated both the ladies. There was a moment's lbreathless pause. Gerald, with one hand on the truck of a chair. and one knee resting on the seat, had the hnpassive air of a man whom nothing more can sur- prise. iHle h-zid gone through so lIlllt'h . of late that for a time it seemed as if no fresh emotion had power to touch ' him. "Greatdieaveml Margery. what are you. talking about i" said Mrs. Brooke 5with blanched lips. "They say as how Muster Geril shot the gentlemanâ€"the Baronâ€"what was found dead about a hour ago. Not as I believes a word of it,” she added “’lthfi. touch of contempt in her voice. "_A pistol set with gold and with funny figures scratched or; it, was found not far from the corpus. and they say it belongs to Muster Gcril.” “My Indian pistol which Ilent to ZVon Ilosenberg ten weeks ago," said Gerald quietly. "And now the polls have gone for at warrm to take him up.” added the girl. "A warrant to arrest my husband ‘3" .Again Margery nodded. She was a. girl who, as a rule, was sparing of her _ words. ‘_'I the murderer of Voni Rosenberg l” said Gerald. with a bitter laugh. “Such an accusation would be ridiculous if it were not horrible.” Mrs. Brooke wrung her hands and drew in her breath with a htilf moan. The blow was so overwhelming, that for a few moments words seemed. frozen on her lips. Gerald turned to the window. "Can the irony of fate go further than this." he said to himself. "that I should be . accusedot a crime for refusing to com- imit which my own life was to have paid the penalty!” In came Bunce once more carrying in card on a salver which he presented to his master. Gerald tool: it and read. “Mr. Tom: Mr. Starkie f" "Says he wants to see you very per- ticler. sir.” “Into which room have you shown. ' Starkie a" "Into the blue room. sir." "Say that I will be with him in one moment. Come, Clara, come aunt." he said with a smile, as soon as Bum-c had left the room ; “let us go and hear what it is so "perticler" that Mr. Tom has to say to me." None of them noticed that Margery‘ had stolen out on to the terrace. and was there waiting and watching with her gaze fixed on a distant point of the high-road where it suddenly curved, before dipping into the vallcyi on its way to the little market town' of King's Harold. Twilight still ling- ;ered in tha west, and Margery's eyes ' were almost as keen as those ofa hawk. (To be Continued.) BRIDAL SUPERSTITIONS. IA‘ bride so far defied superstition as to be married May 13 last. She had also 13 tiny bridesmaids. had 13 car- riages and a thirteen-days' honey- moon. month and has fixed on the first Fri- day in May as her wedding ing. Several May brides have testified to the happinem of their married lives. and one woman declared that. although she became engaged on a Friday, fix- ed on the unlucky day no the oneset apart in ext-1h week for the lovers‘ walk. got married on a Friday. had l3guests at the wedding table. and set up house- keeping in May, she has never had a moment's serious unhappiness in all her eight years of married life. morn- ART IN THE WUNTRY. She painted an exquisite picture-â€" The colors were spread nice and Lliiok: while ‘neath a dozing, _ A calf gave the finishing lick. Then. tree. she fell I Another unsuperstitious maiden be. . _ _ came engaged on the 13th of a ccrtan\00wd°mbe dlsmm‘e "1 30m" l"”“- 1” AGRICULTURAL! \\\-\ \. xx \ \\ x \ \\ \\\~\~‘WV\- THE car 0F MILK. Some one slid that where one man is found agonizing over the herd them better. and fed more cheaply. a lot of other farmeis are trying to add to their revenues by cutting downthe wages of the factory operator, andpayâ€" ing no attention to cheapening the pro- duction of milk. One of the factors that hinders more than all else in the pro- gress and promotion of this dairy in- dustry, says (‘ountry Gentleman. isthe refusal of the average dairyman to Change his methods and. get into the drift and current of dairy thought and action. The result is that he is mea- suring everything about his business by a. standard of forty years ago. when of cows he owns and seeking to have \“hth will furnish gnu-mg in l lot or corn may be sown for a forage chip. and as late as August first “xy- n'.ps anl some otlmx‘ root crops ‘y ymld second mturns after the small gmin sown in the spring has yielded liar. amp. ‘ Where theme is not an abundance of LX‘J‘lllilnfi'nL paiaure. this may be add- ed in by sowing rye early in autumn exxrl winter as well as in parly spring. W1? little detriment to its drop of grain which may be harvested in early suin- mer. The rye crop. in fruit~ if druid:- losl properly. may be harvested early enough to permit the following of eith- elr millet or late corn.l tibia ‘latter fog soilin mnxiises in may on .umn an no begoiit off and remode from the uud as pretender, in time to bo hol- owed by winter wheat or rye again. Many stocknicn do not realize . worth. of root and vegetables._and it is only by patient and exhaustive e_x- perience with such food that they Will prove this worth conclusively. Forthe working homes and the 'dairy_stook, mots and vegetables are of peculiar ad- vantage in giving tthem a variety of dairying was all a home affair, and a. i moist food which is a counterpart of balanced ration was black hay. and 13.3116 011033 dry mender- 5° much 0‘ wood-lot was a stable. These methods will not do now. It is asserted that if the incomes of the railnxrds of this country could be augmented one mill per ton a mile, the increase of revenum would be eighty million dollars yearâ€" ly, and make liliiem all paying pmperh t3". \thI. would it mean to the dairy- men of this country if their cows could all be put into this five and sir. thoul- samd pound. mi-‘iik chess, and the cost of keep reduced one-third, and the es- timated wastes of tihe dairy and its losses medically corrected and put in:- t1) the credit side of the account? \Vou'l'd ill. not be a fact that the profits of dairy- ing would be increased fully 100 ‘per cent? _ Now, three things are needed in mak- ing things about the dairy yield greatâ€" elr revenues, and they are outlined in the above qua-ry. 'Dhe want to-day is a great reduction in the cost price of pmolucing milk. It is costing too much for the price received. The thief who‘ a. ' u: \ . _. M "vii: tf'meeshéluitfirhfigllghd a... Margery stole the five dollars and was by his I nodded agam ..\tht can they want shu'ewdness enabled to hold on to adol- to arrest “in; fer?" lar and a half of it, remarked that that was what he called thrift; but it is not l‘lnrift for the owner to feed acow $5 worth of food and investment andi only get $3.50 book; and yet this is. wlhiilb is taking place with fully one- thmd of the cows in the United States. i There is more to this matter than this showing. where dairying has been the rule for seventy-five years or even more, there hits been a depueiziun of the soil going on that 'has in dollars been quite as much as interest and depreciation of Ilihe land in value. Director Dawley. at the New York institutes last winter, showed that on the older farm pasture lamdis as muchih as $250 worth of pot- asihl alone had been cropped off in grass since the settlement of the land. and only in rare instances had any attempt been made to restore soon the part of the 1055 of removed fertility. Can! any pan of farming be made profit- able tiha’t does not in some way main- tain at least the fertility, and done not have a better cow than is now shown Do his the average. fed at a smaller cost than now? Put in this light, a cow that gives 3,300 pounds of milk in a yewr, eats practicall y as much and to keep up her millk to its normal flow requires as rich. ptI‘OlAeim food as does acov.r tihiztt gives a half more milk. If the cost of “mi milk of the first cow is equal to 1:11:07 value of heir misl‘k, tlhien 1.000 to 2,000 pounds additional milik given lily the second cow would be in round num- bers all profit. If by the intelligence of the daiiryman this ration can be reâ€" d:uocd in cost, so that instead of $35, which is now regarded as approximate- liy mile cozlt of the yearly keep of a. cow. [die cost, with onsiliigo, peas, iron and millet. be reduced to $20 or 825, there would be. a most substantial .i.â€"' Vlilddnld. trade of the outlay of a little: dairy intelligence. much ' Milk is costing too, much amid every poor cow. every ll"); of hay feed, and indifferent care adds; to its cost. Market prices of butteri and cheese are not based upon what; milik costs to make. ’llhe last is the far- mer's problem VARIA'J‘ION'S IN FOOD. On the stock farm. too often, there is lack of variety in the food for the animate; In many parts of the coun- try. only a small acreage of corn is the rule of the average farm. der, as a rule. is considered useless in a. large part. The toughened stalks, after stripped of the blades when dry. were formerly of little feedâ€" iing worth. Of late it is claimed that the pith of corn stalks when freed from the out- side of tibia stall: may be ground into a meat similar to wheat bran and that it thus has a good feeding value in that it modifies the condensed meal of oth- er grai'n. when mixed with it. If there is any truth in this claim, and if the machinery for separating the pith is not. onionsive. farmers in districts where wheat is not grown may find the pith bmna desirablesubstitute for the wheat bran which must be shipped for a small way farmers might experiment and determine whether there is any merit in this article and thus be preâ€" pared to consider intelligently the claim of the manufacturer who will soon be needy probably to sell them an implement fur hulling out this sub stance and grinding it. “(e are inclin ed tn think there is Little in this claim. but we are willing to mess this alumr as news for what it is worth. It is to be remembered. however. thnz the average farm affords consideraln'r- vairietzy if there is only patient fore thought to provide it. The corn fielv will often furnish peas pumpkins. {My other varieties of vegetables along wit} the growing corn with little detriinen' m the corn its-elf. After the smaii grain is retrieve! from the giound.inil~ All ovor the dairy territory, : The fod- l substituting mnbol‘ic acid lwhich is fed to the stock that is not. -be.ing fattened for :manket. . . 0n (the other hand the fattening aniâ€" mals need a cooling variety of food to counteract occasional bad influences of inioh. and heating foods that are potent . for fattening purposes. One will besur- prised to note the invigorating effect on the appetite of fattening animals where a moderate allowance of roots, vegetables or ensilage is furnished lalong with the rich, carbonaceous food. at. regular intervals. . ' in the case of all the weanlings it is particularly important that they be lfurnished with a cooling food in Win- Iteir along with the heavy grain food which is called for to make _the .rapid growth desirable and to maintain the gvigor of digestion which goes fair to :promote good health. ‘ 1 Care must also be exercised. when the lyoungste-rs are grazing on immature :grziss that they have ii. liberal supply Lof biri hit. d'ry hay to counteract any i had in luences from too much moxsture j in their food. ’ Colts. calves and lambs are always benefited from their earliest age by ac- ‘cess to bright. bay. 3 l l OILING THE HARNESS. Harness will last much: longer and ilook much better if kept well oiled, iamd. will not get so stiff after being :exposed to a day's rain. l During the spring it is difficult to ‘ keep harness from getting wet, and it will pay well before the season's wonk begins to see that it is thoroughly oil- ed. Lu doing-Allie work, the harness should be taken apart. washed clean, 0. 9 ug warm water and castile soap. and then wiped dry. when the oil should applied. If so c'leun that washingns not needed, it will be better to Wipe of with a wet rag as the oiling can be done better. It is the best to take harness all apart, in order to get at all the parts and oil thoroughly. Good 'llllll‘nf‘r'ls oil can be purchased all ready for u:=e, or noal‘sfoot oil, with; a little. lamp black, will be found ood. If the harness has not been oil for some time and is hard and dlry, it will be bent to go over them twice. finish- ing all up, and t‘lien commencing with the first piece and mm; over again. After every part bite been thorough- ly oiled, it billfluld all be hu up over it flame of some kind and a lowed to dry. It should not he hung in the sun ctr whom the wind strikes, as it will dry too rapidly. The oil should have plenty of time to soak in. Like most other work on the farm, if undertaken it will pay to do Well. ITEMS OF lNTEREST. A Few l’a ragrn plin Which Mny l'rove “'ortli Reading. The seaport and lake towns of the United States have a population of over 16,000,000 lland painted shirt fronts arc consid- m‘oll quite dressy by many of the Lon- don fops. . Last year, in Suffield, Oonn., 1,250 acres were devoted to the culture of toluwco, and the yield averaged $1250 per acre. tininesc male infants, when they are a month old, have their heads shaved. A banquet is usually a vplll‘l; of the cere- niony liie .profit on an industrious and well- managod lien, says u. Kansas farmer. averages two and one-tenth cents per day, all the your round. The mistake of a Chicago (lruggist, in lzfor some harmless medW-ine in an eye-wash.uius- ed a child to lose the sight of one of its eyes With one hand, Frank Butler, of Wa- terville, Maine, recently lifted a weight o. one thousand pounds. llc asserts that no other man in the State can equal this featpf strength The collection of .postage stamps which ranks tuird in the world Li owned by F. W. Ayer. of Bangor, Me. llc recent- ly sold a single staimiof the l-L'twiiiiar issue of 1351 for thirty-five hundred dol- lars A man of considerable weight in ()k- lahomii is Colonel l’. S. ltuckcr. _h‘or years he has carried off the premium as the fat man at every ’l‘erritorial fair. Ile wcigus iour hundred and ninety-sev- en pounds Wm. Johnson, of Richmond, Vii., while fishing, fell overboard, and mum;- diately sank out of sight. When his mmpunions roused the seine. u. long time afterward, Johnson's body was found entangled in the twine. One of the trains on the Southeastern Railway, England, running 'bctwocn London and Hastings, comprises six passenger cars, which were built in Troy, .'. ‘1'. The «intranin are at the ends, and they are lighted by elec- tricity. A pistol dropped from the pocket of a pious colored gentleman while. he was on his knees in prayer, in a church in Crystal Springs. Ark. (.‘oinplainl was linulu agmnsi. him for_ carrying conceal- ~l weapons and a Illli‘. was the re- suit The varieties of climate in Greece are amazing. Sir \Vin. (iell, while travel- ing through the Mama in March, said amt he lound summer in hisssimia, wring in Laconia. and winter in [fir- adia. without having moved buyumi I. radius of fifty miles m Wu..." . v a _ -__,4.._.-__..... . ...,_._,..._._, m._._# m...“ npm~ ....._._..â€"..__. ..._ “mm-am...