ady drizzle that showed prom- of developing later into a heavy, c rt. 'There was a chilliness he air that fully accounted for -cheerfu) fire blazing away mer- 'ily in the Dig bronzed grate of the long roewm---a spacious apartment, with Frengh windows opening on to wide expanse of garden, thick | )yt--here goes--w with bashes and shrubbery. One of those windows, devoid of blinds, was slightly ajar; a shaft of light from the fire--the only light in the 'oom--gleamed out through it to the | " [Tm an old soldier and have faced many dangers, but--l've put off, and kept putting off, telling you my feelings, because I'd a batter of guns, than dare to tell you--but it's out now at last. ["m older than you a good bit--l've. roughed through life a good deal, ill you have me? I love you truly and fondly; if you could care for me even the tiriest little bit, I'd strive all the rest of my life to make you happy." Out in the garden the watcher shadows of dusk gathering darkly | qeyoured her face with hungry eyes across the garden. ae Sat Out in the roadway beyond the garden a man stopped short at ight of the gleaming firelight from the window--a man gaunt and hag- gard, seamtily clothed and miser- able-lookmg, : With furtive glances to right and left, he slipped in through the gate nd stole round, in the shelter of he bushes, towards the open win- dow. He got near to it and looked in; no one was within the room. | He opened the window wider, paused in momentary irresolution' and then beldly entered the room, stole swiftly across to the fireplace and went down on his knees on the big crimson rug, his benumbed 2ands owtstretched to the blaze. With infimite satisfaction he rose from the rug and stood with his back to the fire, glancing all round he room With keen curiosity. Un all sides he saw luxurious furnish' -ings--cabinets with rare china, eb- ony tables with costly bric-a-brac. One object caught his inquiring gaze--caught and held it--a large cabinet photograph in a silver frame, on which the __firelight ~ gleamed--the photograph of a beau- cful woman, the face full of expres- 2 MON : He started violently, took a few steps forward, and gazed at it with a curious expression in his sunken eyes. His hand reached out as if to catch hold of it, drew back again, and fell to his side. A name broke from his parted lips in husky whisper: "Doris!" A little color came in his white face ; he moistened his dry lips with his tongue, stole forward to where the photo stood, and picked it up. There was a tremor in his hand as he raised the photo up, stared at it curionsly for a moment, then pressed his lips to the pictured face. _. A sound, somewhere within the house, startled him; he put down 'the photo hurriedly, and darted across to the window. A patter of feet in the hall outside, and he was @ut through the window instantly ; $ust as the room door was thrown open and a dainty little maiden ran in, peered all round inquiringly, 'and cried, in a sweet childish treble :-- 'Mums! mums !--where are you mums 9' As if in answer to her call, there came through the open doorway the original of the photo, a tender smile on her parted lips, a flush on her cheeks. With her came a fall, \ll-set-up man, grey mous- tached, keen-cyed, soldierly. Well, Miss Challoner ?" said the fatter, with mock formality. 'The ¢hild ran to him, with hands ojt- etretchoa--he caught her up and swung her on to his shoulder. ~ "T'm not Miss Challoner to you,"' she said, running her fingers through his 'close-cropped curly hair. "I'm that to outside folks, of course, but Molly to special peo ple like you." "Now, Major,' laughed Mrs. Challoner, as she seated herself on 'a low couch near the fire, "there's 'an unsolicited testimonial for you." "Which I greatly appreciate," re- turned the Major. He came up the long room, and Molly, from her high perch, turned | solemn eyes on her mother, Some idea was taking shape in her mind, ~ but she spoke not a word until the ~ Major, lowering her to her feet, sat in a big, roomy arm-chair fac- ing Mrs. Challoner and perched the | and crept a little closer to the open window. | ~ Mrs. Challoner looked into the glowing coals as if she saw pictures there. ; : "ZL thank you, Major," she said at last, visibly agitated, "for your words. Any woman would be hon- ored by the love of such a brave, true gentleman as I know you to be. You ask me a question; but, before I answer it, let me tell you something." 3 Mrs. Challoner looked up at him with a smile, but he saw the tears glistening in her eyes. '"The story [L am going to tell you is my own." "But," he exclaimed, "I don't want----"' : "Stop, please"--she raised her hand to silence his protest--"you must hearsme; it won't take long in the telling. Ten years ago I met my first husband. I was only a girl then; he was a man of the world. I thought him all that was good; he proved to be all that was--other- wise. Our married life was not a happy one, and only the birth of Molly prevented me leaving him." She paused a moment and stared into the glowing fire, her brows wrinkled with unpleasant thoughts. The man in the garden watching her set his teeth hard, and listened in- tently. : "T won't enlarge on his misdo- ings--he was eapable of any thing 3 but just this I've to tell you: when Molly was only twelve months old he was arrested for forgery--arrest- ed, tried, and found guilty. He was sentenced to five years' penal servitude. I have never seen him since. He servd three years of his time, then escaped along with an- other convict. Six weeks afterwards the two men were recaptured. In the course of a fierce struggle to get away again one of them was shot. That one was my husband."' The man in the garden crouched down in the bushes and smiled a weird smile. The rain beat down faster--he heeded it not. "He died in the prison hospital shortly afterwards. I read of it in the newspapers at the time." Outside in the pelting rain the man in the garden glared at the two people facing each other in the glow of the fire blazing away mer- rily. Once or twice his lips moved in silent whispering; once or twice he made as if to reach the open win- dow, but each time stopped himself with a strong effort. "Out of my life he went for ever,"' continued Mrs. Challoner. "Il was free; I was glad. I had little Mol- y, and was ready to face the world with a light heart. They say it 'never rains but it pours.' Two days fater the news of my-freedom a lawyer's letter informed me of the death of an almost forgotten uncle who, out in Nevada, had amassed considerable wealth, and it was all willed to me. Since then I have devoted myself to the bringing up of Molly; she is a dear girlie, as you know yourself, having known her for a considerable time--in fact, ever since we settled here. She has no recollection of her father; how could she, when he was taken away from her at such an early stage of her existence? I have led her to believe he died just after she was born; she must never learn otherwise.' She paused. The Major waited patiently, his hand clasping hers. 'There is just another thing I +hild on his knee. Then she looked iwant to make a clean breast of---it into his face gravely, turned to is only right you should know. You ook with equal gravity at her mo-| know now I am the widow of a con- "ther, and calmly remarked : "Mums, wouldn't it be nice if this | spring. was daddy?' Mrs. Challoner started in confu- sion, her face erimsoning from chin to brow; the Major also started, an sager look in his eyes as they turn- ed ta sean her flushed cheeks--she 'averted her gaze hurriedly. Outside in the gardeu the man watched every movement within the ovin, listened to every word. Again Molly spoke, the clear tre- ble ringing out through the sha- - dows. ; "fd like you , for daddy," she Pe Major's neck. There was a strained silence for a moment; then the Major rose with r, squared his shoulders as if go- ng into action, carried her in-his arms to the door, and put her down here. <ONow, 'uin away for a. little while: something very special to say to nother." aks oe 2 : -- Ohediently she went out--he clos- the coor and walked back to the. side. Mrs. Challoner half rose m the couch, looked at him, look- away from him, and sat down vin, her fingers restlessly lacing nd unlacing themselves in her S Molly,'" he said, quietly, Vith bead erect he walked up oom and stood with his back ¢ glowing coals, looking down at ber. The man in' the. garden Jared in at him, a fierce look on 4 There wep a tense silence in the; room paid, putting one arm round the | face, his hands tightly clench: | ' \ { | { i son's wife. | } | pone | | | | | i ' | tw the Major broke into) 'are---just you. lve} felon; my Molly, his off- But, in addition, you must be told that the name I am known by is not rightly mine. George ChaHoner was my uncle; when J found myself his heiress, | adopted his name to hide from the world that I had once been Roger Elli You start!' The Ma- jor had made an involuntary ges- ture of surprise. "You knew him ?" said Major Grant, gently ; victed "'Nia.7? "but---pardon. me saying it -- that fame was--well, a rather notorious sémac scars. ago,"' "T know that only too well," she said, with bitter emphasis; "hence my desire to meet the world as Mrs. Challoner."' The Major released ber hand and rose to his full height.' "Doris, I bove you," said he. "'It matters not to me whose widow you are---all that matters is that you Do you think you could learn to care for me?' She looked up at him with a queer little smile. : "I'm afraid 1 couldn't--learn.' His face fell; he drew back a step. : "VYou---conldn't?' ; "No, Major," she said, softly, both hands outstretched to him, "because I have already learned to do so." oo In a moment his arms were round hex, her head pillowed on his shoul- der. : rg Outside, the man in the ' Py arden the ro sooner face | ode towards | head 'as entering. "Mis © ores a in tieiearh 'irresolutely, his face twitching. + ce | Her mother raised a blushing f |cbuntenance to meet her surprised "Come, darling, you are going to have your wish--the Major is go- Ing to become your qaddy mm fu- f 'ture. Are you glad?" eee : Molly uttered a shout of glee and sprang av him; he caught her to him with one arm, the other, round: her mother's waist. She flung her arms round his neck and showered kisses on his upturned face, with gleeful ejaculations of 'Daddy! Daddy!" ~ Seo The man in the garden shrank back as if he had received a blow. He turned' as if to slink away, then retraced his steps and gave a long final look in through the window, the firelight shining full on his face. At that moment Molly, turning suddenly, saw him, She uttered an excited shout. ' "Mums--mums--a_ horrid 'man! Look--look!" pointing towards the open window. Her mother, startled, looked, but saw no one, The Major threw open the window to its fullest extent, and leaned out. There was no one there. x * * * Down the dark road staggered, rather than walked, the "horrid man"? whose white face had. start- led Molly. His brain was in a whirl of con- flicting thoughts. Every word of what he had so recently heard danced before his mental vision as it focused on a screen, He plunged blindly forward until his tired limbs refused to carry him farthor; then he sank down under the shelter of an overhanging hedge. Here, exhausted, he lay for a jong time, then staggered to his feet again and trudged on aimless- ly--not knowing he had turned back in the direction when he had come. 3orne on the breeze came faintly the hoot of a motor-horn, gradually drawing nearer. He paid no heed to the sound, but plodded on along the middle of the road. Then sud- denly, round a bend of the way, eame a motor driven at fair speed. The two acetylene lamps shot big glare ahead. The sight of them dazzled him, and he stood blink- ing at them as they rapidly nearpd him. The chauffeur caught sight of the motionless figure, and sounded his horn shrilly several timep. But the man did not move; did not seem capable of moving. The chauffeur, unable to stop in time, with a great effort swerved to one side--almost into the hedge. At that. precise moment the man in the road made an effort to get out of the way, and staggered right in front of the car. There was a sudden impact, a hoarse cry, and a startled shout from the chauffeur, who rammed down his brakes with frantic haste. the tramp was "'gone un- a der."' With face white to the lips, the chauffeur leaped from the car, fol- lowed by his companion--a tall, up- right figure in a big motor coat. Tenderly they brought forth the stricken man and examined him by the light of the Jamps. A glance showed his condition was hopeless. As they bent over him his eyes opened; a spark of recognition il- lumined them as they rested on the owner of the car. "Major Grant," he with an effort. The Major--for he it was--start- ed, and looked keenly at the wasted features; they were quite unknown to him. "Send -- him away,' whispered the dying man, his eyes on the chauffeur. At a sign from his mas- ter the latter moved away out of earshot. "T don't know you," said Major Grant, "though you seem to know me."' "Never --"saw you--till -- ago," said the other man. "Tell me your name."' "Roger----Ellison."' . The Major staggered back as if shot, "Ves," said the other man, with a wry smile, his voice gaining temporary strength, '"'I saw you from garden--you and Doris~and the child--little Molly--God bless her--my. child." "But Roger Ellison was shot and died in prison hospital," interject- ed the Major. "Wasn't--other man shot--died-- mistake in newspaper. J fixished-- sentence. Got out, end pf 1t-- |couldn't find bher--gave up looking.' {Didn't know of--Challoner's mon- |ey--cuanged bame~ all the, better, \for her, too, 1--didn't. Drifted | down ward Same as ever--always a 'had lot?' He paused for breath. | 'Here now--merest chance -- just drifting under. Saw light out win- |dow--was inside -- saw photo |hers.'? Another pause. '"Then saw kiddie--U'd have shown myself but --you there, too, "Waited--watched -listened--heard all." A queer grin distorted his fea- tures; then he went on :-- "Mad at first--you making love my wife--rearly "went in--several times--feit contd kill--both of you." "But she--we--dida't know," be- gan the Major, hastily. -- Roger [ison raised a wasted hand. feebly. "T know -- felt like murder, though--made up mind--go in--put stop to everything--but Molly--Mol- ly came in again" (another pause for breath)--"saw _her--kissing you"--a shudder went through the wasted frame--"heard call you-- daddy--and--so gladly too, I--- Tae? ; He closed his eyes and lay back exhausted. The Major knelt on one knee in the muddy road and put his hand under the other man's. ' 'Rog whispered, while 'whiclt, winding around the hillsides | er Ellison hh "T never -- loved--Doris--much _ until I couldn't--fnd her. When I her badly. But--you're a--good sort--I'm sure--she--she loves--you --saw that in--her eyes--when she looked--at you--there in the--the firelight." Another long pause. "I'm going--this time--out of her life--for ever--what she--she want- You--love her--she -- Be good--to her--won't for--that.. loves you. you?" ae : He held out a feeble hand; the Major clasped it without hesitation. "T will," he said, simply. e A smile slowly spread across the face of the dying man. "That's good! Never let her -- know you met--me--here © now. Promise.' : "T promise,' said the Major sol- emnly. : ; "And be good--to Molly -- God bless her !--my little Molly. That's --all settled so--I'm a--goner--this time--no further worry to anybody. Mind, now. Doris--never to know --how I--I drifted out. And you're --a good sort--Major--so be fond-- of Doris--and little Molly -- God bless----" : His voice trailed off into an in- articulate whisper, a shiver shook the wasted frame. A feeble pres- sure on the Major's hand--the fin- gers relaxed, the eyes closed. An- other convulsive shudder, and Rog- er Ellison, ex-convict, had passed the last of life's milestones. x a % * 7 a x * "Accidental death" was the ver- dict of the coroner's jury, who ex- onerated the Major's chauffeur from all blame. The remains of the un- known man were interred in the little village graveyard at the Ma- jor's expense, and later a nameless headstone crowned the little plot in "God's acre." A pretty little wedding took place some months after in the gaily-de- corated church, and as the happy couple passed out after the cere- mony the Major's glance involun- tarily turned towards the nameless grave. The identity of its occupant was a secret, to be locked for ever in his breast. Mrs. Grant, serenely happy all the after years, never knew how that happiness had nearly been de- nied to her, on that fateful night when Molly's impulsive words--and actions--turned away "the man in the garden."--London Tit-Bits. ado eae 6G PRETTY DRY TOWN. Not Much Water Since King Solo- mon Built His Famous Pools. Jerusalem, to-day, with its 80,000 inhabitants, depends almost entire- ly on rain for its water supply, the rainfall averaging about twenty- seven inches a year. Water thus collected and stored is good as long as roofs and cisterns are kept clean, In -the houses of the weal- thier classes these cisterns are large enough to store an ample amount of water. With the poorest people the reverse is the case. Most of the cisterns of their houses are small, and the houses are often so overcrowded that frequently, long before the summer is over, the water has given out and a supply has to be purchased at high prices from neighboring cisterns. Among the poorer Jewish settlers on the outskirts of Jerusalem few are able to own their own cisterns, atid large ones are built, generally by charity funds, for a common water supply. In many cases they are filled with surface water, and the insanitary elements with which the water thus collected is impreg- nated are held responsible for a large percentage of the fever and other diseases prevalent toward the end of the dry season. This same condition of the water stipply ap- pears to prevail among all the poor- er classes of the city. When there is a Shortage of rain a critical state of affairs ensues, and at such times most insanitary water is used. At various times since the days of King Solomon efforts have been made to secure a water supply on which the city could depend. About seven and one-half miles to the south, by a little west, of Jerusa- lem, on the carriage road to Heb- ron, are threé enormous reservoirs, known as Sokomon's pools. These | | valley, across which heayy walls | were thrown and cemented, and are large enough to contain 3,000 gal- lons of water, They were filled dur- ing the rainy season with water from the surrounding hills, and this was augmented by the inflow of a} small spring a little higher in the | valley, known as the "sealed foun- | tain,". and. some other small | springs. From these pools there | Was a masonry aqueduct, said to | have been the work of Solomon, | carried ihe water to the temple in | Jerusalem, At one point this con-% duit went through a mountain by a tunnel.--Harper's Weekly. i ete THE KING'S HOKSES. . Tourists who are jievers of good horses make it a point of seeing "the King's horses'? and the stable carriages. Indeed, viewing the stables at Buckingham Palace has become almost an importasit item ave a oe Sean 9 charger belonging to the late hae Edwan vite thich was led behind the king's coffin in the fun- eral procestidn, is showh to the visitors, and this beautiful animal invariably raises their enthusiasm. Speaking of oratory, many shal- mari uttered in a deep saw her--while ago--felt I--wanted | -- ed--long ago--I don't--blame her | were constructed in the bed of al [Lesson TH. 'The Last Judgment, |¥ bee ff Matt, 25. 31-48. Golden Text, Matt. 25, 40. Verse 31. The Son of man--What he did in his humiliation was done in humanity's stead, and what he claims in his glory he claims as humanity's Head. He is the "Race- Man.' ~~ sy : : All the angels with him--The doctrine of angels is full of comfort. Nothing is taught more explicitly than that there is a "family in heaven'? as on earth, who "behold the face of our Father," who are moved to joy by the penitence of the sinner, and are models in the performance of the Father's will (Matt. 6. 10). In connection with Christ's coming in judgment, they are represented as a kind of court surrounding the throne and giving majesty to the scene. ; On the throne--We must do our best to rid our minds of the idea of a judicial seat which shines with material splendor. 'This is a pic- turesque way of setting forth the real triumph of Christ reigning as King and declaring judgment up- on the deeds of all men of all time. | ' lost in the sowing, and however deeply entangled the roots of the good seed may have become in their fight for their life, the good is at last regnant, and the evil is to be expelled forever. Shall come in his glory--There is no doubt that Christ has come al- ready--after the resurrection Pentecost, in the destruction of the Holy City--and that he comes still. of righteousness, and out of wrong. glory. follows. (Matt. 24. 14), the name of Christ, but their fellows, and that is the decisive test. here, therefore, a universal judgment. He shall separate . bad character in tales. jet-black hair, and to their habits. and shrubs works great mischief, own kind. resent people of good character, are common in Matthew (compare builders, wheat and tares, wise and witless virgins, good and bad fish, etc;); E honor. The King could bestow up- on them no higher token of appro- val than to give them a place at his right hand.' 34. The King--The change from 'Son o: man" is noteworthy. Seat- ed upon his throne, in glorious ma- jesty, with all people before him, his state is kingly. "This King not only comes in his kingdom (Matt. 16. 28), but has kingdoms to bestow, which have been waiting throughout all time for their pro: per sovereigns." Compare Dan. 7, as Be Inherit--Receive as the rightful portion of sons. ; When saw we thee ?--Some have professed Christ and thought to be judged by that profession, whereas their deeds of kindness have been taken as a test of the sin- cerity of their profession. have never known Christ, but,' hav- ing exercised themselves in Christ- like charity, bave proven them- selves to be his friends. Both clas- ses are surprised. But we need not be. The ultimate test is not some artificial conformity to a ereed, but the exhibition of love which is the rarest fruit of the Spirit ef Christ. 40. Ye did it unto .. .-my breth- ren ye did it wmto me words in Heh. 2. 11 eome to mind. This is perfect brotherhood. 41. Note the changes in this ad- dress to the wicked: from tliat to the righteous. They are cursed, nat of my Father (34), but .as an inevi- table outcome of their wilful life. Their doom was prepared, not. from the foundation of the world, nor for them, but for the devil and his angels. The power and opportu- nity of escape, therefore, was ever theirs, : Eternal fire--Thera are here two questions of interest: (1) What is the natiwre of this fire, or punish- mept (46)? That it is prepared for Pied vt 'ithe devil and his angels, spiritual Ff ' : = /and not corporal heings, precludes Something-like remorse, which con- the jossibility of its being material. sumes the soul like a fire, must be meant. (2) What is meant by eternal'? ? The authorized version gives no help here, for it translates the same word in two ways: "ever- lasting fire," "eternal life" (46). 'The word in the New Testainent ig qualitive rathor than quantitive. Tt does not refer te an indefinite continuance of time, but to a cer- tain kind of experience, Endless punishment and eternal punishment are not of necessity the same, though they maye be. However, the loss or suffering involved is i However many seed may have been at But a moral view of the universe de- mands a personal return of Christ in judgment, for the consummation of his kingdom, the establishment the casting This will be his true 92. All the nations--This is a dis- puted point, upon whose meaning depends the interpretation of what It is significant that the "end" has come, and that there- fore the gospel of the kingdom has been preached in the whole world for a testimony to all the nations This does not nec- essarily mean that all have heard it does mean that all have had the oppor- tunity to know their obligations to in this account We have description of . the sheep from the goats--The latter bear a most legendary This seems to be due to their color, they being covered with long Their browsing upon tender twigs They pasture with the sheep, but there is no intimacy, and when they are folded at night both seek their Sheep, being for the most part white and harmless, rep- Similar separations into two classes wheat and chaff, wise and foolish 33. 'Right hand--The position of Others ; ~The | "|to see, f all sorts "of trees und |plants, and had agents in various: parts of the world to secure the best -|and most handsome shrubbery pos- sible, with which to adorn the royal gardens. One day a famous scien- bloom. The orange was at that time are speaking, and the king was de- in the palace gardens, and saw that it was carefully guarded. A certain ambassador from the West saw this tree and offered 'the king a large. sum for a cutting of it. Th however, refused, for he prized the it to become plentiful. Now, the chief gardener had a beautiful daughter who greatly ad- mired the tree, and who used to come and sit under it and dream of the man she loved. Her father would not let her marry this gal- lant youth because he was poor. It happened that the gardener acci- dentally broke off a piece of the blossom, and the girl ,stooping, picked up the Spray and twined it carelessly in her hair. - Later as she wandered in the garden, whom should she meet but the embassa- dor. He was quick to notice the spray in her hair, and offered her a vast treasure of gold in exchange for it. She sold it to him and at once bestowed the money on her lover, thus sweeping away the only obstacle that came between them. They were married without delay, and, we presume, lived happily ever afterwards, On her wedding morn the gar- dener's daughter secretly obtained another spray of the tree and wore it in her hair, hoping that the blos- som would bring her good fortune in the future as it had in the past. Thus 'she set an example that has ever since induced brides to wear a crown of orange blossoms in hon- or of H. M. King Cupid, the first and only King of Love. vie N OLD MASSACRE. a sk SCENE OF Unearthed by Capt. Cook's South Sea Expedition, Relies The exact spot where ten mem- bers of Capt. Cook's expedition were massacred by the Maoris 137 years ago has been definitely deter- mined and some interesting relics of the ancient tragedy discovered by Robert McNab in Grass Cove, Queen Charlotte Sound, says the London Standard. It may perhaps be remembered that on December 17, 1778, the cap- tain of the Adventure sent two of- ficers and eight men across the sound to gather wild greens for the ship's company. They failed to re- turn, and searchers who were sent out finally discovered evidence of a tragedy in a number of baskets containing human flesh and fern root, also a hand of a white man. Grass Cove was previously conjec- tured to be the scene of the ancient tragedy, but Mr. McNab, however, has settled the question once and for all by discovering the exact spot where the Englishmen were mur- dered. After Mr. McNab and the party of friends with him had decided that the massacre took place in a cer- tain bend in Grass Cove--a conelu- sion to which they came by com- paring the locality with the deserip- tion given in Cook's papers--they went ashore and spoke to a settler, Mr. Greensill, who was living on the spot, regarding any evidences of the massacre that he may have seen, Mr. Greensill said he had dug up in his garden an old flint- lock, a barrel, a bayonet and some other kind of a weapon he was un- able to identify. ' This latter weapon Mr. McNab at once identified as an officers's han: ger, which was doubtless the one used by Midshipman Rowe, who was in charge of the boat's crew. There was a description of the sword given lin the accounts and ; spond exactly with the weapons dug jup. It was with that hanger that tist made the king a present of a magnificent orange tree in full unknown in the region of which we | lighted. He had the tree planted -kingy | In tree as a rarity, and did not wish | fr they corre- | | 'eivilizati that * ~which. --except perhaps its actual de -zens--who are not glad that street should be wiped off the f of the earth as a disgrace to m 18 ion, it has to be confeysed rdly a street in London is so famously connected with history, poetry and every circumetance of --- says the London Chroni«_ ore the | days, bef highway, Tabard str Kent street and was proach to London for every one arrived from anywhere in Kent, from Ofanterbury, from the Cinqu Ports, and so one might almost say from Europe. -- Up Tabard street nearly 600 years ago rode the Black Prince, cone queror at Foictiers, bringing with -- him in triumph the captive Frenck -- King, a pageant compared wif -- these twentieth on shows are but half hearted pieces a make believe. Up Tabard street _ swarmed the peasants of Kent un-- der Wat Tyler and later on Jack Cade and his Kentish men, pour- -- ing in from the heart of England's ~ industry, the "Lancashire lads" of -- that day, TRS DOWN TABARD STREET some time before either of these eyents the Canterbury Pilgrims clattered over tho stones on their way to Becket's shrine, laughing, jostling, jingling in the May morn- ing, a bevy of jollity and color, -- Yet even in those, far off times Tabard street seemed to have © made up its mind to proye unwor- thy of this honor of welcoming the _ coming and speeding the parting guest. As long ago as the thir- | teenth century it was & haunt of depravity and poverty, In Shakes--- peare's time it was shunned by all respectable folk. For centuries it was deplored that distinguished foreigners coming from the Contin- ent should get their first impres- sion of London from Tabard street, and sometimes they used to be hur-. ried through by night so that they should see as little of it as possible, So on to our own times, The recent resource of changing its old name to something pretty and poe- tic has had absolutely no effect. Vice and dirt seem to be in its very. air, and since the creation of Dover road turned the stream of traffic elsewhere it has just quietly degen- erated into A BACK SLUM; from the association of which one fancies the very earth will need to be cleansed, Yet with it all, the very dingiest --though not the worst--features of Tabard street still have a romance for us of to-day. For their last dis- tinction was that of being touched by the genius of Charles Dickens. Not a hundred yards from Tabard street Little Dorrit was born. At St. George's Church hard by she was married and there too is the vestry jorch where the kindly biea- dle laid her to sleep with the burial register for pillow. ; Iiven the old Marshalsea, the debtors' prison, where Mr. Dorrit was so distinguished a resident, where Dickens's own father was not unknown and to which Dickens him- self paid many a visit as a boy--is still to be traced to a far greater extent than can be imagined, Ono has only to dive into Angel plaee --the little court on the left just: before one comes to St, George's from London Bridge to find the grim old walls of the Marshalsea standing as they stood a century ago, with here and there an old grated window that still recalls THOSE TIMES OF TEARS, Following the old walls round by - warehouses and offices flanked by grimy little paved alleys that are probably themselves Dickens survi- vals, one reaches the Southwark mortuary--a blithe resort by com- | Midshipman Rowe killed two Maoris | parison, surrounded by a little gar- ,and wounded the chief before being ) overpowered and killed, Th® dis- icovery places beyond a shadow of 'a doubt the exact locality of the }massaere, which took place on the ispot now occupied as Mr. Green- sill's garden in Grass Cove. Mr. McNab discountenances thevtdlea that the weapon may have been ear- ried there from the faet that the locality exeactly corresponds with the description given by Capt. Cook, oo casemncomene x MATRIMONY: IN AUSTRALIA. Australian's -- statisticians have | just published the matrimonial fig- lures for last year, The youngest bride was a girl of 138, living in New South Wales, and the oldest was ® spinster of 89. Twelve of the [brides were only 14, fitty-four were 115, 267 were 16 and after that they lan into the thousands, Nine brides punder 21 married men over 50, the bridegroom in two cases being 80.' ec A soft answer may turn away wrath, but it won't turn a book agent down. "Many a truthful man develops in- to a cheerful liar when his wife asks how he likes her new hat. Glasgow Corporation is "still forging ahead" with its municipal farming experiment at an average loss of $4,500 a year. "This is the second time you have heen here on a charge of causing a collision,"' said the judge. 'The other time you said it was too dark What exens Seine -- = | + t ij ' | | \ ther old father. den of old-fashioned flowers. Closo ~*~ by is a battered old door---once an actual door of the old Marshalsea. Tf one peeps over the wall here from across the alley close by the -- entrance to the mortuary one may eatch a glimpse of the old Marsh. alsea belfry, still practically just as it was when it rang out: lock-- ing up time for Little Dorrit and Coming round into St. George's churchyard one has completely oeneircled the famous old prison that was the world of Little Dorrit's girlhood. 4 "he LIGHTNING EXPERIENCE. A farmer in Lincolnshire, Mng- jland, who, some time ago, lost a» hand, ard now wears a steel hook on his arm in its place, was caught in one of the recent severe storms. A terrific flash of lightning render- ed him unconscious, and on coming to he felt severe pain in his maimed arm, Looking down, he saw that the hook had been straightened out and tyisted, his coat sleeve and the leather sheath (which is fitted to tha handless arm and to which the hook Is fixed) were torn to ribbons, and-- the stump of the arm itself was se- verely damaged, He was otherwise | arm is complete- " { \ uninjured, but the ly paralyzed) eS a a pene Shortly afier a woman marries her ideal she discovers that she didn't, . * 'Sy The man who expects to fall in an undertaking is seldom disap pointed, © eae wee