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find .01" with we! it '1: mai the' pra plot life To ulo 01' 3i: (r. "An' what in it ngra 7” says she, step- ping our the threshold and looking up the big. hare room to where, in the third window, a. tall, alight, childish figure in standing. tiedly to the old woman without taking her eyes 0“ the window. “Entry, can’t you! Look out. over there," pointing. “tht in that? A man. eh 7â€"3 man hurt, wounded r' â€"â€" Oh, Bridget! did you see? nearly in then I” . "May the diwil carry him!” says Bridget wrathfully, “whoever he is, for troublin’ ye like this! An' may the heavens Bind him sinse, to kape him for the future from search'un’ for cowld mud baths at this sayson of thd years.” "You never care a pin about any- thing, Bridget," says her young mis- tress glancing angrily at her over her shoulder, “exoept-" "You, me dear !" retorts the old wom- un promptly; whereupon both mistress and maid laugh in a subdued sort at way, as if a. little afraid of being heard. “’Pon me conscience! he’ll be there all night if the morning doesn't see him in the other world,” says the old woman, presently, who again has re- turned to her watching of the distant figure that is trying in an uncertain fashion to cross the morass. She is a rather handsome old woman. with masses of snow-white hair, that are but partly hidden beneath her still more snowy cap. (Her dress is that of the ordimary Itiah peasant, with a big white apron flowing over the skirt of “Whoever he is,” says Miss McDer- mot peering over the old servant’s nhoulder through the parlor window, "he bertainly knows nothing of the neighborhood Ours is about the most dangerous hog about here. Don’t you think, Bridget, we ought to send some one to help him 3” i l ”Unless ye mane me," said Mrs. Dris- poll, whose Christian name is Bridget, “I don’t know who ya can Bind; as ye know well enough yersell, miss, an’ leix 'tis you've had cause to know it, the master niver lets Patsy out ov his night from mornin' till night. ’Twould be ridic’lous to count on him. .An’ be- sidesâ€"Glory be, miss! did ye see that? For a winged bird, he's a wonderful [(7 PCI‘. Embed, the man in the bog below seems, in spite of the fact that he is battling with an injured arm. extraord- inarily full of life. The ill lucid that has led him into this dangerous mass of water and spongy soil is not strong enough to destroy him; even as the two women. watching him breathlessly in the window of the gaunt old house, have olmost given way to despair, he makes 3 last effort and, landing on a firm bit of turf. jumps from that again to the !irm land beyond. Ie That last effort seems, however, to have exhausted him. He staggers ra- ther than walks toward the house. As he nears it, the girl _wa_tching hirgyan see how ghastly'is his face; 5nd fling- ing open the old-fashioned cament with an ahrupt_gesture,i she__springs down to the Buff grass beneath} re- prdleaa of the old servant's remonstr- A few minutes brings her to the stranger’s aide. ”Oh. Ihope not. Spraimed, per- hapsâ€"but not broken. There !--are you mier now? Lean heavier on me I don't mind it a bit, andâ€"oh, don't faint! Oh. Patsy! Patsy !" to the groom, gard- ener. boob-cleaner, man-of-all-work, who comes hurrying up to her. “Catch him! He’s awfully heavy." Patsy catches him. "Is he dead entirely, d’ye think, "You are hurt, air. You are faint. Lean on me. Oh ! we watched you cross- ing that terrible bug and at one time we feared-- But you are safe now; You will cane in! Your arm, I fear, isâ€"" "The ball will do him, I'm thinkin’, till the dochtor tell us where to sind Hun.” any: the old woman, icily. . With open unwiilingneas she lends a ”at! to convey the fainting- mn into ”Broke-n." says the young man with s nervous amide. miss 3" “No: only tainted. There! Be care- ’11]! “in arm, he say a is broken. There now! Oh. is that you, Bridget i" to the old woman who has hobbled out to her in a very angry frame of mind. “Where can we put h m2, do you think? In the north room?" CHAPTER I. 8.1 \V 35 the north room," she says, sharply. “Miss Dulcinea, _don’_t donthatf' says ~.---â€"v“ Bridget, compressing her lips, and re. gardiing her young mistress 'Wlth an anxious gaze. “'Tis unlucky enough that a half-dead crature should cross the threshold; but to take him inâ€"to keep himâ€"till death claim him, that will be bad, miss! I'm tellin' ye 't will be for your undoin,’ miss.” ' "Nonsense !" says the girl, scornfulâ€" ly. “What superstition! Besides he 19 not going to die because his arm is broken. Patsy, give a hand hereâ€"to the north room, I tell you 1" “Miss Dulcie, darlin’, be sinsible now, I tell ye a hurt man brings no luck. An’ yer father, darlin'-â€"-think av him! \‘s'hat'll he say i” “The McDermot, whatever his faults, would not grudge hospitality 'to a fainting man." “Well, well! maybe; But look here now, my deariel There's Sir Ralph to he thought of! If he should hear of this.” “Let him hear of it !" says the girl, angrily. “Am I to study his wishes, even before Iâ€"-â€" 7” She pauses as if to finish the sentence is distasteful toher, and a. frown'contracts her exquisite, low, broad Greek brow. “I’m tired of hearing of Sir Ralph!" says she asec- 0nd later ins clear, ringing, wrathful tone. , .A tome-loud enough to reach the ears of the foremost of two men who now enter the hall by the lower door. “0 sweet Fancy! Let her loose; Everything is spoilt,_ by use." “There is agardom id herface.” He is a. tall man, between thirty and thirty-two years, but looking commer- ably older. Not a hamdsoma manâ€"not even. a. commonly good-looking one. A mom decidedly plain: man in a yvel_l- bred way than Ralph Anketell it would be difficult to find. That his Large mouth is kindly and his small eyes earnest does Little to redeem his face. But one thing at least he has; a magnificent figure. A better set- up man than he or one stronger or more vigorous, is hardly to be found in the Irish county to which he be- longs. yumd a swift glance at the girl, how- ever, he takes as) notice of them; and the glance goes astray, as she is look- ing at the prostrate figure on the chairs rather than at him-a fact that cums home to Amketell with a little Chill. Miss McDermot’s last 'words have been quite clear to him. and being en gaged to her [he may be pardoned fox not. findingphem exactly palatable. Be- He had entered the big ball. beauti- ful even in its decay and disorder. by the lower door that leads to the gar- den, followed by Dulciâ€"nea’s father. The latterâ€"The McDermotâ€"is a spare, tall, gaunt. man, with dull eyes covered by overhanging brows, and a most dog- ged mouth. Perhaps from him the girl has takeln her ohstina y and hat- red of control, if from the dead mother she has inherited the great love of truth and honor, and the well of bid- den. affectlon that lives almost unsus- pmted within her breast. DuTnirdea. in a. law time, and with a slender hand uplifted, as if to insure quiet for the wounded man. tells her “What. is this? What is this? de» mands her father, hurrying to where. in the dim growing of the autumn twilight, thg silent figure lies. The soft gmy. dying light that scarcely lights up the grand old hall; the central figure prune. inanimate; the old woman there, with her white The whole scene makes a. picture hardly to be forgotten if once seen- as once seen it was! hair and cap and scornful air; the bending figure of the man servant. and here, where the lights from the eastern window fafl full upon her. the proud, slight figure of the girl, drawn- to its fullest height, and with the lovely face uplifted. T'hle rays from the depart- ing sun (all with a wintry rapture on her nut-brown hair, lighting it in parts to gold. She is looking stirred, anx- ious; she is leaning a little forward toward her father, and her eyesâ€"such eyes! Blue, deep, heavenly blue; blue. like the ocean when it dreams of storm -â€"are turned expectantly to his. Her lips are parted. And in the back- ground the two figuresâ€"the father’s mm!" the lover'sâ€"both silent, wonder- ‘V‘He is ill, father, he will die if mov- ed." says the girl, in soft tones fraught with: fear. “Ah! of that we know nothing." Her band is still uplifted. “But Bridget says he is to nest there-there l" with a. swigt gwtum toward. the comfort- less lounge. ”until the doctor comes.” He 2â€"w1m is he 3” asks The McDer- mot suspiciously. "Certainly not!” says The McDer- mot, taking a step forward. “There! Here, Patsy, What are you about? Car- ry this stranger toâ€"where. Dulcie 2" “The north room is the warmest. It has been. prepared for Andy; but he may not come." says Miss McDermot. “AM even if he doesâ€"- Take care Patsy. Father, his arm is broken.” She runs to the body they are Lift- ing, and. thrusts her own young firm arm under it, where the broken limb hangs helpless. Sh}; is {tsecond Later a little sur- prised avt finding herself thrust gently if somewfimt unmrpmoniqusly aside. “This is a man's work, not a wo- man’s.” says Sir Ralph curtly. it cant- teously. "You must try to forgive me if you fipd.mb_in tibia yvgy,” "Who is m do you think, Bridget e" asks Miss McDarmot half an hour lat- er of her henchwomm when she has soothed down that awry despot to a propar frame of mind. CHAPTER II my 1113-111“. 5 5.1.; v»-â€"â€"â€"-â€" (fame last night, as I’m twold by Larry Mprpgy, the cab dr'uver. You know him muss ' "What! Not Larry the 'lhief? Ar- rah. what ails ye at all, me dear ?" “Oh. Larry? Oh! of course,” blush- ing furiously. "I thought you were talking ofâ€"ofâ€"” “\Vell, I wasn’t,” says the old wom- an, dryly. "I wouldn’t presume to lot *'*‘I’ run a race about them Eng- lish folk." .m. really thimk the poor man we rescued wasâ€"isâ€"an Englishman ?" “Sorra doubt of it! Bad scram to the day we saw him. Ye’ll see now, miss, ’twill bring us no luck. An’ naught but a wandherin' artist. I'd bet me life! The ould lord above there is cracked on fools 0‘ that kind. I'm towld.” “Why should artists be fools i" asks Dulciinea. perhaps a little coldly. “Well, for one thing. they never has ft penny to their name." “We haven't a penny either." says the girl with a. superb straightening of her lovely figure. “Ar? we fools 2" h_.‘__A“ UL “0‘ I'U' ‘Jl DID ‘-- â€"-- J “ ore or tees." says Mrs. Dr'scoll. serenelyâ€""yer father anyway! What's he biin doi-n’ wid the property all these years? Makiin' ducks and dhrnkes o' 't. However." says the old woman. ”lot McDermot do what he likes. It’s not of the likes of him I'd dare spake the imlt'nd word. but than other!” with :: contemptuous sniff. "What’s thim? Nothiin’! People as go thravelin’ here an' there through the country an' niiver a roof to the'r heals or a grandfather to their portion. A Mchrmot should not be named in the same day wid thim, penny or no penny.” “Ah, the pennies count, Bridget," say: the girl with a quick but heavy szg . “Wied'them that are risin’. but no? wid the ould stock." says the old won: an eagerly. “A McDermot poor is th- same as a McDermot. rich.” "No‘ no. shaking her head sadly. , “Ye say that? The more shame to thim as makes ye feel it l” cries the iold woman fiercely. her line quivering "How dare any one forgot the dawn x0t so long distant. aytl‘nr. when this oul-d house was the best im the Countv Cork. and when the McDPrmofs could shake their fists in the faces of all their ememiea ‘2” ‘-v-. _â€" V “I suppose we could do that. now." says Dulcvilnea laughing in s: ita. 0‘ her- sel-f. Than. goflngz hack to her format mood. “\Vell. that's all over, Berq‘ot," says she. impatiently. "The end of the McDermots has come. Father, yo" vj‘iNo. I don’t. {Thero's you! thmm'.C you 1" (31' as the old woman hastily. L..-‘__..LA ‘-- nann-mnn " Eflflfl +hf‘ “A lmplanchniy awe? man.’ says thr girl. with a, rather sad laugh.“1’m afra‘d 1 should never summon up en- mmh courage to shake my fists at: any- “There's one at whom you shake it o'ten onongh ” says the old woman re “roachfuny. “Take care ye don't do it once too often.’ “Would the consoquennes", (saucilw "be so disastrous then 3" “Ah! now. me dear! ye know bet- ther about that than I_ could ta]! yf‘ I” urpoeflv misunflerstanding her. “And *0 I shake my fist at you. Bridget? And when I do it once too oftemwhat" (mischievouslv) "what will you do to me. then, eh ?” “Ah. you will have your joke. Manna! I know that. whatiyver comes 0’ it. But don’t go too far wid Sir Ralph. misq- he careful I'm tnllin’ ye. He’s none 0’ yer soft sort. ’H‘eâ€"â€"” ‘ “Oh. bother S‘r Ralnh!” eavs tho girl turning with a little petulant ges- ture and walking away. In Bloomsbury, England, the other night, a lady, being awakened by a noise opened the door to be confronted by an utter stranger. The position was so entirely novel that the conventions of society were lost sight. of. The only remark that occurred to her was: “ Who are you 2" \Vith equal frankness. he replied: "I am a burglar 1" Then perceiving that this failed to put her at ease. he added :’ “ But a vrey quiet one." The entrance of the police put an end to what promised to be a very interesting description of his charac- ter and methods of procedure. Hawkinsâ€"So you sent for a doc- tor? Does he think you will‘ be out soon? Robbinsâ€"I imagine so. He said he Wished I had sent for him sooner. Saliy Gayâ€"No; his impedimenf-ia in :his thoughts. Dolly Swiftâ€"Let me see! That young Mr. Bubblehead has an impediment in big gpeech, hasn’t he? I. Beezldtbpâ€"What did you mean by tellingg'Duxter that I was {and of talk- i bi embertdnâ€" Well, you told me the_ other day tint you hated mull THE NATURAL INFERENCE. OD A QUIET BURGLAR. HIS AFFLICTION. T0 ‘86 Continued. TOO LATE. .uoh oliver Golds-It“; Plural Poverty and Despair â€" lady hub um! Lord Byron-â€" THE GIFTED FRANZ LISZT AND HIS ERRATIC WAYS. FRANZ LISZ’I‘. and battle. His life in Paris and Vien- na was remarkable for its artistic triumphs and mo havoc he played As thb years went. on his fame grew sneaker. and when he went. to Rome. though no longbr young, has charm lupus-s W -- ._°,.__ ' was great enough to win and his will strong enough to enable him to break off an interwting affair with a noble Polish lady from whom marriage di- vided himâ€"the dangerous folly of than any of the cardinals or the beauti- ful women upon adapt occasion. slight figure. his long gray hair, fall- 'umg straight and wiry to his shoulders. mid restless eyes and powerful. roughâ€" LiJa im-trument was indescribable. Liszt's rugged. lurrowed face was light- ed. with a wonderful radiance. bud- denfly he rose, leaving the tones still xibrating, leaving the hearts vibratâ€" ing. and there was no sound to break the spell of the enraptured silence. In the summer of 18“.}, Liszt went to live in a half-ruined. monastery just outeile the gates of Rome. in these haze white-walled rooms he seemed per- fe-.tly happy with his piano in one cornâ€"â€" er of the cell-like eitiimgroom and his writing-table riled with books and mimic; be iie these, there was nothing 1 interest in tl.e rooms. His window melted out upon one of the most glori- us \iews in the worldâ€"the hazy Cam- .a'gnn. the Aan hills cutting a clear proli'le agaimst the \ ivid bky. anl Rome. in all ita beauty, in the distance. Here .iszt earned another being; his art ”messed him more paipably and more intzli . ialuaily. Later the world was electrified by the news that Franz Liszt had receiv- ed the ecclesiastical tonsure. and hence- "«>rth was to bear the title of "abbe." He became a fatorite of Pope Pius IX. land often played to Him at his villa on the claseic Lake Nemi. ‘- LW Vw-v Always a great artist, this wonder- ful man passed through many phases .ess emiut'finygâ€"patriut. spendthrift. atheist, convert and amost saint! m1 mate. with the View of entering the army or navy, but he suffered the mortifimtion of being rejecbed as un- qualified. That he might. appear be- fore the examining surgeon suitably driesmd. Goldsmfith obtained a. new suit. at clothes for which Griffiths, the pub- ;isher of the Monthly Rexiew, lxecame security. The clothes were to be .re- turned immediately Mmen the pur- pose was served. or the debt was to be uncharged. Phat Goldsmith, having failed. in. his Objeet and probably dis- tmed by urgent want, pawned the «10mm. The publisher threatened and Goldsmith replied: f GOLDSMZI'I‘H’S POVERTY. In 1758, two yeans after Goldsmith returned from his wanderings on the ontinent. he presented himself at Sur- geoims' hall for examination as a hospi- “I know of no misery but a jail. to Mia :11 my own imprudence and your letter seems to point. I have seen it inevitable these three or four weeks. and. by heavens! mquestit as a favor â€"a. favor that may prevent something mom fataL. I have been some years atr'ug‘gling with a‘wretched being-â€" with all that cantem-pt and indigence brim? with ibâ€"with all those strong pas--.uns which mains contempt insupâ€" {km-tablet What. then, has a jail that is formidable ?" Such was the hope'lessness. the deep despair of this imprudent but amiable author Who has added to the deiight of millims and to the glory of English literature. Burns was standing one day Upon the quay at Gneenock, whenawealthy merchant beflnng'ing to the 'town had the misfortune to fall into the harbor. He was no swimmer and death would have been inevitable had not a sailor who happened to be passing at the time rescued him. The merchant. upon re- covering a little from his fright, put his hand into his pocket and gener- ously presented the sailor with a shill- Log. The crowd which had collected loudly protested against the contemp- tible insignifi anee of the sum; but Burns with a. smile of ineffable scorn. entreated them to restrain their clam- or. "for," said he. "the gentleman is of course the best judged the value of his own life. " Many of Byron's most charming and hauler verses are written to Lady Camflim Lamb. the novelist. whose life was sadly interesting. She was mar- riodbafomfin agootmtothOnor- tbb Willia- LImb and was long the lobby Bur-5' UNFORTUNATE LADY LAMB. A POET'S \V IT. :1 tttmtivm and. her gr m Lord Byron. she imam}; m d In “tantalum infuLuauuu for an m which com-tin»: “"6! year. and was me caqse of much 00m. meat. '11:. poet :5 saxd to haw ”med with her («limit and a quarrel to“ plans. For in“?! year}? IAN." Carolin, ‘l‘- _‘ w“ n - â€" - ' ' ."WII Ed I. m Of mmuvg fevlmmn at W Hall. W16 11111111! (lne day Mr. Lamb. we met at me “It 8:86 Whifi‘b “51s (aaneyiQ of Lord Biron Lu gem“ W. 8“ W“ ‘ hump inan. aiblo a. long sud seven. bursa fol. lowed, during Whifih she halal wells 0! W. t . Fm i8 time Her manne and Mikaela.“ and thm ”its hot with her. A romantic Sus- It is announced that Dr. Iryds is u receive £17,000 a. year as repl'vw:;mtiv1 of the Trwovul in Eumpe. "his 5an an i8 greatly in excess of the amount which Great Britain deems su’fi'ient for any one of her represemm res in foreign countries. Our most highly- tain'l smhnasadorl to Germany Aus- trimâ€"Hungaryv and Turkey remix-e 9.000 a yecr each. The representatzve in St. Peter-sham hug the n_ext .largegt 531; _A‘- tom her detth. a separation zmk 918;. m be; 9nd [msband \\ 1m, how, .SLANG AND THE RED MAN. Win) was inten‘i-ewing LIMi-ufmil of. everythim-tmt-hisâ€"Iirewater. xho. um mighty chief ‘0f_ ‘P‘nce _[J_u\\eri‘u_. Uibe City. For some reason. known on; no the diplomatic mind. our rem behTa- the in \Vashington is much \wrs- nff. receiving but £6500 a year. thong“ he has probnbly to wbrk for hardnr fur L's country. The ambassador to Spa.“ n»- wives £5,500, while the represemlm-ws in China and Persia draw £503 r;3,-‘ll .«ss The heads of the logatirms in Ja, .11. Brazil and Egypt. each receive 141w; but Lord Cromcr has beside £1.1an as a. “personal ullawanoe." The Br can t. at Pretoria. ewho is paid by the colonial office, receive: only £2,000 a W-C‘ Great .l'lutl PI"! Iler IKo-prf‘sflua In" at (he Various (uuru, year. Blessings ever wait on vim and though a Lute, a sure rm oeedAF-Congme. Early to bed. and eu'ly to r fine. m a man healthy. wealthy an w; Franklin. Fire and sword are, but 5!.» of deatructxon in comparisun guérmâ€"Speuner. If you Wish to he held in. (‘81 must associate. only with thn>~ mtiknabharâ€"Btuyere. babble r..râ€"St£ele. Ono qt the God-like things wt m~ worl¢ a the veneration done m hum- an worth by the hearts of men-4MP lylo. The shortest and mm with honor in the world alilty what we would up} This is the luv d benefim 1»er menâ€"the one ought to forgm :v. ' what he has (liven and the ntlmrnx never to forget What he has m-e‘ Plumes! Indication 0! un- (11qu ”me-crate.” Mooney betnys itself among m in certain physical charuwtvlr'v which are denominated stiguum 1 brand marks. SUCh stigmata Cues r" deformities. the unequal (ieVeiu ”H“ of the two halves of the face :v‘.‘ rrn ium; (Len imperfections in the dew Opme'nt 0f thb externsl ear, “Lid. conspicuous for its enormous m» ‘ protrude-{mun thb_hoad like a lam *1 r"l‘hat: which nearly all degmmu lack in the sense of morality u-I- f r .â€" ond wrong. 1h order to sand} ‘ momentary immune or .im-lmmi‘dfl caprioe they committ cnmes‘ 1m . .‘T pulses with the greatest 03.111“wi a cell oomflacency: ' Al 7 l.\1l Another mental stigma of t' o ertte is his emotionalism. Hr until he lheds tears or wow 8 t 1y without. Mute occasion. First Sathhat shall I «30] She ”Y5 5M" t want any cheal‘ ”11" htionn. Second Samn_sm her an ex! pen-in inflation. HADN’T THE GENUINE A1{.'l‘lt‘l.h AIBASSADORS’ SALAHXLS. GRAINS OF GOLD. BORN THAT WAY. fivmt shall 1 «10? not my cheap inn' _ [1.33 her ought he has received. in esteem to be the one In astwimtiona. 531' 3091‘ is maq'l among met ate frlmluai fear .0' 1130* 61’! cran ment altos W983 1N IE rm: FALL of mulchiuv in MN?“ an the next June. of the finest d of gr0“'ill in August am “3,013 are “ to be thrown the winter. V referred to u be overcomb ‘ until October. m. M thl ‘re “t, cover at the row 01 nimble man“! weather. in U wants an in! l have 50m similar to we early in the lowed. 1 lost 1 I would lose I: ed out by u only gave LII ground a ligt int-stead of ('0V it. on each aid up to them around them 1 lave said. turtles. and I I Lhink they Iidenbly [all net plants. ‘. thinks that. 1 ot the aumm berrie- has n him between crap. To qm take my on [or the bone! profit in at In plants act in panama whltlunu deodvo any Elke my IdVil of to w spring “3111‘ 8mm; plaml 0d than WI “1‘ the april had experiem Um Opting; ] PI‘NB tnd I er than for than twice two's; the}: orhet BR VOS 95 Eye