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d we are vthing. ur Harness ill â€" satisfy carry the ntitv. ing Mach ingers and uary 1, 1903. E, Publisher. al. are offer" OYre. ham, 19, 1901 BUNGS. 3333# Jars also $$§$€' â€"Tease was this week six boxes pet «4/ . w Lake stock mark et 9 YJ 4 A Pretty Irish Romance. â€" i o *4 49499494494 L4®b 49 040®4 4444444Â¥ 4#*44044444444 4444444444444X Lady Jeanette has of course, profiered the services of her own woâ€" manâ€"a â€" hardâ€"{eatured, _ consequenâ€" tial personage of filty, until Miss Deane can p.ease herseli in an Irish attendant ; but the very idea of ringâ€" ing the bell for the stout, dignified ?erson. who is in dress and demenor ike &A principal of a select sachool for young ladies at the hour of 6 a. m., is so alarming to Gilâ€" lain that she takes her bath and arranges her hair and puts on her soft white flannel dress with its black ribbons and rufiles, with the utmost quickness and a . nervous idea haunting her that the stern person, whose name is "Lynch," will undress her and make her go back to bed like a naughty child, if she is not quick enough to be completely dressed and down stairs before Lynch makes her appearance. :-I'-b'}i"’r.'.'{'-.'r'b*'}‘b*-b**“fiH*#*m&*******m&*#fl**fi**#&: : & & g ge i ; The Coming of Gillian: j "‘Thurue for ye," the goodâ€"tempered housemaid says, gmiling hopefully. "But, throth, Honora, I‘m thinkin‘ th: things is goin‘ to be althered nlt&', ther ! She have a great fortune entirely, they say sure ; and sure we know the captain‘s here to the fore, an‘ a handsome grand young gestleâ€" man like him won‘t be long comin‘ round a young lady M‘ _ _ The hail door stands wide open in the balimy stillness of the mornâ€" ing, and (Gillian passes the houseâ€" maidâ€"busy at her avocations, and with a pleasant, courteous grootâ€" ing, to which the housemaid reâ€" sponds with a pleased smile and cordial â€" ‘‘Goodâ€"morning, _ miss"â€"the young lady goes down the door steps and looking first to the right and then to the left, takes the path to the left, which leads through a shrubbery of _ rhododendrons _ toâ€" ward a white gate and a narrow shady _ road which disappears amongst trees. "An‘ the soight ay something young, an‘ gay, an‘ handsome, is wanted about this house if ever a house wanted it !" rejoins the colâ€" leagae, gloâ€"mily. "Faixâ€"what wid me jauyâ€"an what wid Miss O Ne‘lâ€"an‘ what wid Mrg. Lynch, there isn‘t a haporth 0‘ fun or divarshin in it from year‘s end to year‘s end !" & "Good luck to her! But she‘s a nice young lady, an‘ a handsoms young lady!" Kitty, the Irish houseâ€" maid, says to one of her colleagues of the dustpan, gazing altor Gilâ€" lian admiringly. ",n;m, don‘t be boitherin‘ us !" govprâ€"tempered Honora rejoins curtly. "The captin‘ never could hould a canâ€" dlo the best day he ever seen to George Archeri The ‘not‘ is in it } but ‘Sheorsha Ruahâ€"‘Red George,‘ as they cails himâ€"wid his fine, fair, ‘foxy® hair, and his fine, fair skin, an‘ his grand broad shoulders, an‘ his fine long legs, is the grandest an‘ the han‘somest man in the barony !" _ MONSOON "Thrue for ye" â€" goodâ€"tempered Kitty says again, smiling more broadâ€" 1yâ€"*"but faix I‘m afeard, Honora, he haven‘t much chance at all of her ! Hws a raal gentleman, Misther Arâ€" cher isâ€"though they sez quare things absut him"â€"and a glance of deep inâ€" telligence passes between the owners of the dusters which are slowly rubâ€" bing the tables, "an‘ if one favors him â€" here, we knows â€" another doesn‘t." %, ‘"None knew thee but to love thee, y 4s p uq ‘"None named thee but to praise." = J It is singular that some of the most beautiful poetry ever written is exactly applicable to MONSOON CEYLON TEA, or Honora abandons her duster as Incompatible with oratory, and folding her arms, brings her head impressively to one side, and forces her arguments with a fluency that impresses Kitty to drop her duster and stand at attention. \ mey Longlellow was not thinking of MONSOON TEA when he wrote these Mnes, but they describe this delicious beverage very accurately. "I don‘t care a thrancen what they says about him!" _ she says, with a deliberate nod. "Mr. George Archer has the blood of a gentleâ€" man, an‘ the sowl of a gentleman, an‘ the looks, and the eddication of a gentleman, and what else d‘ye want ? An‘ sure it wouldn‘t take nelither the clark nor his rivorence to tell the raison me lady ‘ad shut the dure agin him!~ "Faix â€" that‘s true!" Kitty reâ€" joins, more emphatically than ever, and drawing nearer her companion In the absorbing interest of their gossip. "And sure they sez that he‘"â€"â€" she begins, when she sees Honora‘s duster suddenly rubbing with surprisieg dexterity. And Kitâ€" ty is down on her knees polishing the central rail of a table the next Instant, as Mrs. Lyochâ€"Lady Jeanâ€" nette‘s ‘"confidential _ maid" and housekeeperâ€"comes dow»n stairs with her keys. C She stands at the white gate lookâ€" Ing Iinto the narrow lane, dark ard gool in the close shadow of the trees over the dewyâ€"wet earth, until the hot sunlight beating down on the rthway through the shrubbery, edged high with foliage on each side, feels scorching on Gillian‘s white Eypsy hat, with its ruffled black silk lining, and itse wreath of black silk wheatâ€"ears. s A golden lacing of summer glimâ€" mers here and there on the shaded road, and after a little timid hesitaâ€" tlon and a backward glance at the eunny lawn and the open landscape behind her, Gillian pushes open the white gate and wa‘ks on. Miss Simms, the London maid‘s, opinion of Ireland has found no ech> in her young misâ€" tress‘ generous, trustful nature, but some of Miss Simmp stories of horâ€" rible Heeds which "friends" of hers have told hor have happened in Ireâ€" sand, and fleeting _ recollections of tragedles which she has heard disâ€" oussed or r=ad from newspapers, Carc= fully as all horrors have beea kept from her knowledze by her tender mother‘s too watch!ul care, seem to start up with astonishing visidness in Gillian‘s memory this mornuiug. 4+ |_ It is very lonely, bright, and calm, \ with the solemn _ grandeur of the dark purple mountains rising up to | heaven on the horizon, and the furzeâ€" | grown uplands, desolate mand unculâ€" | tivated, near &t hand. The wild, | swoeet honeyâ€"scent of the sheets of | golden blossom is wafted on the fresh | morning air to her where sho stands, ‘and there is the soft, melancholy | gurgle of the river running past the | woodland, and the ery of the rooks, | but no sound or sight of human life | anywhere. _ The world she has known, London, her former life, seems to have slipped away thousands of miles, and into bygone years, from Gillian ; as the slender little whiteâ€"robed figure in ithe dainty lacquered shoes, and the dainty kat and long, black Swedish gloves, goes on with soft, light footâ€" stepsâ€"over the moist mossâ€"grown earth. By and by, as the trees grow sparser, and the road grows mossier, with quantities of beautiful ferns flourishing luxurantly in the _ sunâ€" light, Gillian gets glimpses of _ the country beyond the woodland. At this early hour everything is so still, so solemnily calm and still, there is not even a bird‘s note to break the silence. save the melancholy hoarse "caw" of a solitary rook winging his flight above the trecâ€" tops. I * A little natural timorousness once or twice makes the Londonâ€"bred girl falter in her lonely walk, but stili sho perseveresâ€"wanting "to come to the end of it," as she tells herself â€"until the shady woodland way comes out on a barron hi‘lâ€"side with a foxâ€"cover of broom and furze above and beiow the road. The grassâ€" hboppers are whirring noisily in the hot sunshine amongst the dry grass, and Gilian stands just at the enâ€" trance ol the wood listening to them, wondering earnestly what they are, listening to the gurgling of the brook, which she can see rushing on below her down the course of ‘the wide valley toward the dark mounâ€" tains and the little whiteâ€"walled hamlet, more than a mile away ; alg:’ feeling the fresh mountain â€" bree strong and exhilarating as ‘w blow on her face and bring a liâ€" cate pink to the fair, white cheeks. a little shiver. "I feol as if there were nobody in the world but myself. I wonder if all the poor Irish people who used to live in this part of the country are gone away or dead?" "I feel as if I were walking in an enchanted land,"" Gillian says, with She stands there listening, and gazing over the wastes of blossomâ€" ing furze and broom downover the valley, and its whiteâ€"walled cabins nestling among trees, and the little distant vilage, and the gray castelâ€" lated building on the hill, until the unbroken â€" soltude begins to _ opâ€" press her. ‘The morning _ breeze seems to sigh and whisper sadly over the tossing plumes of the broom, and rush away through the woodland with some mournful story of sorâ€" row. and wrong; the lonely river running on murmuring some ceaseâ€" less, melancholy tale to the dripâ€" ping sedge on its banks, and the wild, wailing note of the rooks is like a human ery of desolation. . "It is very beautiful, but it makes me sad," Gillian says, with a sigh, turning to go back, and taking out hor watch at the same time. §3 It wants but a quarter to cight, for sho has loitered on the way she has come, which is not more than a mile and a half, and with visions of breakfast kept waiting and Lady Damer kept waiting for her eccentric guest flashing through Gillian‘s mind, she hurries on a few yards, and has entered the shadow of the trees again, when she hears a crashing sound of branches and a wrush of earth an dpebbles as some one comes blunâ€" dering down the clayey bank almost beside her, and an â€" underâ€"sized, squarelyâ€"made man, in shabby illâ€" made clothes, steps almost in front of her, with his hand to his hat, and a very unpleasant smile in his keen dark eyes, and on his tlong, long, coarso lips, hardly covered by a ragâ€" ged moustache. Cns iee Gillian looks at the man with dilatâ€" ing eyes, for she has a terrified inâ€" stinct that he does not want to know the time, and that his assumed civilâ€" ity is as falso as his request, and that he is a cunning, dis sipatedâ€"looking man, with a cerâ€" tain assumption of swagger in his unkempt moustache, his â€" dirty, flashy neckâ€"scarf, and even lt'he c‘gt 5"‘“&;;" S’évr-é? pardon-. miss," he eays, in an insinuating tono; "would you be so kind as to tell me the time?" of his vulgar _ quasiâ€"{ashionable clothes, that adds an element of the vilainous to his appearance. _ _ m o S ie OOA C Eo dnae EC OLG in "It is ten minutcs to eight," she says _ faltering, though she tries hard to speak calmly, with her heart throbbing wildly. For she sees plainly, in the wolfish greed of the man‘s gyes the wolâ€" fish twitches of the muscles of his face, that the sight of the watch has determined him in some evil purpose. t in ts TA RORIEVU ET EC ud hel 5 dbaitatarry She takes out her beautiful little watch, enameled and richly chased as it is with the thick, deepâ€"yellow gold guard, glittering in the g\}n’.?hlx‘l‘e. dur > Arint She is not startled, therefore, though her lips are white and dry with terror, when the man stays her hand as she tries to replace the watch, and when she shrinks vioâ€" lently from the touch of the strong, broad, dirty hand on her white sleeve, and retreats a step . of two, he follows her, placing himsel{ right in her way. "Couldn‘t a indy like you spare & poor fellow a trille?" he says with tho unpleasant smile rather widenâ€" ing into a grin, as he sees the fear in the girl‘s eyes and the pale young face. A + " Yes, I will _ give you something if you are in want," Gillian says, drawing back again, and speaking coldly and with d;gnity, though her knees were quivering beâ€" neath her. i "‘Pon my sowl, but I‘ll dhrink your health with this!" he says, leering at her with the ridiculous assumption of gentllity in his vulgar voice and broad accent, that his slopâ€"made, shabby clothes possess. " But I‘m very hard up this morning, miss, an‘ I want a trifle more from you." _"You wiill get no more, and you are very ungrateful," Gillian says, with trembling lips, trying to pass " Begorra, me darlin‘, if you wasn‘t such a purty young woman, I would not be coaxin‘ ye!" he says, rudely clutching Gillian _ with his arm and pinioning her. " But I wants me pasâ€" sidge to ‘Merica, miss; and I only came home to see me poor old mother sure, and if you‘re the lady I thinks ye, maybe you‘ll stan‘ me twinty dollars." _ Bhe takes out her purse and offers the man half a crown, which he takes eagerly. 19 oo h e esn cce et h en en _â€"The ruffianly fellow burst into a laugh, glad to have roused her anger. His unkempt beard is almost touchâ€" ing Gillian‘s face, and the girl strugâ€" gles desperatelyâ€"in disgust and rage, and terrorâ€"to escape. _"How dare you! How dare you !" she pants, trying to tear her sleeye away from the grip of his fingers. "Be alsy, now, and don‘t put yourâ€" self in a bad timper," the fellow reâ€" torts, with his evil leer, holding her tighter. "I wanted that purty watch of yours, but ‘pon me honor I wouldn‘t like to be afther deprivin‘ you ov iIt, miss ! So if you‘ll gi;le me five pound an‘ a kiss, mo jewel, I‘ll never tgouble you again." < "Begorra, but you must," he anâ€" swers, with a savage gleam in his eyes, grasping her with both his brawny arms, when suddenly the grasp relaxes, he makes a fierce but ineffectual snatch at the purse in her hand, and with one leap springs down the bank into the brushwood covert helow the road, almost before Gillian is aware that she is rid of him, and that a tall, fair man in a brown knickerbocker suit, striding along at the rate of six miles an hour, is within ten yards of her. CHAPTER VIIL He comes out oi the shadow into the sunshine of the open road before Gillian can believe her glad eyes. _ And then she runs to him with swift, tottering steps and outâ€" stretched hands. s " Oh, I‘m so glad to see you! I‘m so glad to see you !" poor Gillian crieg, smiling, whilst the tears are rolling down ner face like rain. "A dreadful mar has frightoned me so ! He wanted to rob me, ami he was so insolent !" " Which way did he go ?" George Archer demands, his blue eyes lurid with rage, and his closeâ€"shut teeth showing under moustache. " Let me get after him! I won‘t leave a whole bone in his skin !" And he emphasizes this agreeable assurance by a rapid shifting of the thick, ggbby stick he carries, so that his sinewy hand grasps it about oneâ€" fourth of its iength from the ferrule end ; whilst he runs fleetly along the road, #@@nning the glen and the cover below, and Gillian runs after him, breathless and sobbing. "‘Take your hand away," Gillian says, ‘sternly, looking with despairâ€" ing eyes Rickward and forward. "Take your hand off my arm this inâ€" stant, or I wiil not give you a shilâ€" ling more." § ‘O)p), don‘t!â€"Jon‘t micd him ! Don‘t leave me here, please, Mr. Archer !" she pleads, half inarticulately, comâ€" ing up to him jusit as George is preâ€" paring to pluuge down the bank after his quarry. * "Please take me home, and don‘t misd hiim!" se says, pitcously, "He has frightened me so! Don‘t go away and leave me all to myself !" And clinging to Mr. Archer‘s brown tweedâ€"covered arm, poor Gillian cries so heartily in hysterical relief that the big, bright tears, like drops in a thunderâ€"shower, very liberally beâ€" sp;-mkle Mr. Archer‘s knickerbocker suit. i i "Well, thereâ€"there! I won‘t. Don‘t cry, nowâ€"don‘t cry !" George says, soothingly, but looking rather balked and impatient. "Sit down here and rest a few minutes, and I‘ll see you safo home again. How do you come to be out here at this hour alone ?" "I came out for a nice moroing walk," Gillian says, bursting into laughter, and looking up at George Archer with wet eyes;, ‘"and I was just looking at my watch when the man leaped down from the bushes up there, and asked me to tell him the time, and then asked me for money, and when I gave him halfâ€"aâ€"crown he said he wanted his passageâ€"money to Americaâ€"â€"" _"Oh! did he?" George interrupts, eagerly. "*All! Would you recognize him again, Miss Deane ?" . "I said he should not have a&ny more, and then h> caught hold of me," Gillian says, crimsoning; "look at the mark of his hand on my sleeve!â€" and said he wanted my watch, but he didn‘t like to deprive me of it." "Ah !" George Archer says, looking at the quivering lips, and the rising color, under the white gypsy hat. "What did you say when he made the demand for his passageâ€"money ?" _ "A considerate gentleman," George says,. angrily laughing. "Well, Miss Deane ?" proml‘s We X "Indeed 1 should, anywhere!" Gilâ€" lian says, with a shudder ;â€" ‘"but I hope I shall never see him. He frightâ€" ened meâ€"so horribly â€"andâ€"he was so rude." ap prleo "soâ€"then he saidâ€"hoe saidâ€"â€"*" Gillian says rather choking over her words, and looking down with a haughty, trembling lip, "he said if I would give him five pounds and a kissâ€"heâ€"â€"" ¢ Je "What ?" George Archer exclaims, his ow n color rising through his clear sunâ€"tanned skin. "The cowardly ru{â€" fian. What a pity he escaped a dose of blackthorn syrup," he says, reâ€" gretfully eyeing the viciousâ€"looking knobby stick in his hand. "A beast like that should get a beast‘s treatâ€" ment, and have aches and pains to remember his transgressions by. What a pity you didn‘t let me give him chase. I might have had him by this time." 4 ho 6. Te "And he might have hurt you, shot you, perhaps." Gillian says, with big velvety eyes of alarm and entreaty, gazing at him anxiously. "I should never have forgiven myself." _ _ "He might have shot at me if he had a revolver," Goorge says, slightâ€" ingly ; "but as for hurting me, if we had come to close quart>rs, I rather thing my blackthorn would been hurt first." "Io that what Irishmen fight with?" Gillian says, curiously touchâ€" tl:g the hard da:'pkmel.ti &klfd knobs of o shining, c "‘That is what Irishmen used to fight with in the good old times," George says, laughingâ€""that is a nhuleug‘lll. which is a tough oak stick. t thera is nothing to equal a blackthorn for smashing a man‘s skull! We‘re a lot of brutess and savages, you know, Miss Deane," he adds, rising, "and I‘m sure if your belief in this respect needed any confirmation, you have received it this morning! You havemet one of the typical Irishmen who are such a credit and blessing to their counâ€" try, that by discriminating English folk, we are all badged and ticketed as one class, to be dealt with and regarded as all alike." \ "Oh! we were not speaking of either the men of the arisâ€" tocracy or the _ Jandâ€"owners â€" the wollâ€"bred, woellâ€"born men," George says deliberately, his firm lips relaxing in the lines of a cold smile. "I was epeaking of the people, Miss Deane, of my own class, in whom naturally I feel the greatest interest." "Oh, no! Not gentlemen, surely!" Gillian says, deprecatingly, with shy, girlish admiration and partiâ€" sanship in the kindling brilliancy of her eyes as they glance‘ at the goodly form, the handsome faceâ€" brave and strong and honestâ€"of the man who is standing beside her. He glances at her in return, and his keen, blue eyes read her thoughts instantly. (Gillian colors vividly up to the smooth, roseâ€"white brow, and her eyes burn like stars. | P "In conduct and character I hope there are a great many," he ansâ€" wers directly to the generous light and glow in the pure eyes; "but that does not make a man of ob scure birth and no position an equal of men who have a place and a name in the land." "Are there no gentlemen amongst ‘the people? she asks, gravely, in spite of that shy blush and the girlâ€" ish enthusiasm shining in her eyes. He speaks very quietly and se dately, but Gillian notices the cloud that falls over the bright, gay face, the sombre shadow of the blue eyes, the hard, proud look that settles over the strong, largeo features. "Do you feel able to walk home now ?" he asks, after a minute more, as if anxious to turn the subâ€" joct, and anxious to be rid of his charge, Gillian thinks. 5 ols "Yes, oh yes," she says hurriedly ; "I should have gone before. It is past 8 o‘clock. _ Pss 6 4 o on ‘"You are keeping English time, Miss Deane," he says, smiling once more. "It wants nearly a quarter to eight by Irish time. The Saxon has the advantage of poor Ireâ€" land even in that respect you see." _ Gillian laughs at the jest, but walks on, thinking that, if she only might, with propriety, she could inâ€" troduce a subject of â€" conversation of which Mr. Archer would not so soon grow weary. If she could have talked to him of the darkâ€"haired woman who is his _ sweetheart, â€" George _ Archer would not so soon have tired of her society. And she thinks it with a curious swelling pain of â€" loneliâ€" ness or sorrow or enyy. ko "If you have a few minutes to spare, Miss Deane, and you can easily walk to Mount Ossory in half an hour," George Archer says, pausâ€" ing and looking back, "would you like to walk as {far as the bend of the road and see the view ? The morning is so clear that you can see the spurs of the mountains up as fap as Lough Ceimanech." â€""Where?" Gillian asks, turning at once, and with a look of great inâ€" terest. "Lough Ceimanech," he ropeats, smilingly. "That dark hollow there to the left, where the white mist liesâ€"just below the dark clifisâ€"do you see?" "Oh, yes, I see," Gillian answers, gazng eagerly down the long, wide valley to the rising green slopes and dark purple precipitous heights of the mountain range beâ€" yond. "How beautiful they look in the morniog light ! And what is that village at the foot of the mountains, Mr. Archer ?" Â¥ "That is Darraghâ€"the village of Darragh," he answers, ‘"‘and it is nearly two miles from the nearest mountain â€" Slieveâ€"naâ€"Mor. Those mountains are four miles away from you, Miss Deane, though they look so near in the clear atmosphere." _ . "This is beautiful!" repeats Gilâ€" lian, enthuslastically. "I am so glad you showed it to me! I should not like to have missed it. What is that gray, castleâ€"like building on the hill behind the village, Mr. Archer ?" _ "You would not have missed the view in any case, Miss Deane, as M*r. Damer would be sure to have shown it to you," George Archer answers, carelessly. "You will have to ‘do‘ all the "beauties of the country round, you know ; Slieveâ€"naâ€"Mor and Lough Ceimanech are favorite places for picnics." oo 4. 38 "I believe they generally have one or two every summer from Mount Osâ€" sory," he answers, coldly, setting her right if she fancies he will partake of those aristocratic gayeties. ‘"And now, Miss Deane, I think we had betâ€" ter turn. Mount Ossory is only twenty miuutes‘ walk for my long legs, but I doubt if you can do it in less than half an hour, and, besides, they may miss you and be alarmed about you." "I hope not," Gillian says, her heart beginning to beat uncomfortably at the thought of being questloned by Lady Damer as to where and with whom she has enjoyed this highly unâ€" convertional morning ramble. "For I suppose,""" Gillian argues with herself, her pulses beating quickerâ€"*‘she does not know anything of the attachâ€" ment between him And Miss O‘Neil, so she might think it wasâ€"was as If he liked me." se es o. t l M "On, how beautiful!" Gillian says, with eyes of innocent gladness. "Do you often have picnics to the mounâ€" taing ?" + Bhe gives one look back at the fair. landscape spread out below, shining in the morning sunlight, the green fields, the bright, gold patches of blosgoming furze, the dark river with the white stones in its bed and the osiers on its banks, the snowy walls of the distant hamlet, the grand background of the purple mountaing, and the grayâ€"fortressâ€"like building, on whosge windows the sun is gleaming in buraished specks of brightness, on the heicht behind the village. _ _ _ _ _‘"You did not tell me what that gray, castieâ€"like place was," she says, have "Distance lends enchantment to it," he says, smiling and walking on. "It isn‘t very grand or imposing when you are in it, I assure ‘you. That is an Irish castle, Miss Deane â€"Darragh Castle." . _ _ _« t inquiringly. "It looks very grand and "An old Irish castle! The very thing I wanted to see particularly," Gillian explains, reproach{ully, turning back for another long look of earnest admiration. "Oh, who lives there? I should so like to see it inside! What a beautiful site, too! just fit for a castle. What a grand old place it must be!" _ . "It is neither old nor grand," George Archer says, laughing heartâ€" ily, but at the same time coloring and speaking with a elight embarâ€" rassment, "It really was built in the year eighteen hundred and two for military barracks. A detachment of soldiers was kept there for years after the rising of ninetyâ€"eight. It is a big, damp, draughty, dreary place, with huge ewmpty rooms, and walls six feet thick and drillâ€"yards and courtyards, with walls twenty feet high, with spikes on the top ; and that is Darriogh Castle, Miss Deane." "Who lives there?" Gillian â€" deâ€" mands, with incressing interest. "It could be made such a splendid place, with gardens and terraces and founâ€" tains inside that great enclosure I can see." j "I dare say," he says, deliberateâ€" ly, "if the owner or tenant could spend three or fou= thousand pounds on lt." % \ "And he cannot, I suppose ?" Gilâ€" lian says, regretfully. * q "I don‘t think the owmner could or would, Miss Dean«c," George Archâ€" er replies, with a slight smile, but looking at her curiouslyâ€""I am sure the tenant could not." § "Is he so poor ?" (illian asks, hastâ€" y. 7 "So poor as not t» be able to spend a few thousands on adorning his abode?" he questions, sarcasticalâ€" ly. "Strange as it may appear to Miss Deane, he is. I am the tenant of Darragh Castl, and I regret to state that my hat generaliy covers all my worldly wealth," George Archâ€" er says, laughirg. | â€"â€" â€" ! o _â€""Youlâ€"you live in that beautiâ€" ful old castle?" Gillian exclaims, amazed. | 4 which he cox.xld launch his great, sinewy foot against an opposing obâ€" ject. One day a miner brought into camp a Mexican burro, which soon obtained a wide celebrity as a vicious animal, who, when exâ€" cited, would attack man or beast with desperate fury. Several mounâ€" tain ponies had been kicked to death by him and more than one man had nearly lost his life by the savage heels of the brute. Bo exciting had become the record of the jack‘s achievements that they became the subject of universal â€" conversation and inquiry among the miners. Sitâ€" ting in their cabias they spun wonâ€" derful tales of what he had done and was capable of doing. s In the days of the San Gabriel Canyon mining boom, in the sevenâ€" tios, a largeâ€"boned and gigantic Indianian, was known to his rough but kindly associates as "Kicking Tom." He had won the nickname by reason of the terrific force with _"He can‘t outkick me." The obserâ€" vation was reccived with amazed siâ€" lence. "Would he?" repiied the athletic Indianian. "Then he can have the chance. I‘m ready to kick for $100, and may the bost man win." _ â€""HMe is the liveliest kicker going," said one. i d _"Or the best jack," interposed a companion. "You are right, old man. That beast can kick the hair of[f a man‘s bhead without touching the skin," replied one of his companions. . ":Lâ€"drd, Tan. Why, he‘d make mince meat of you in a minute." | o M That was touching Tom in a tenâ€" der place, and after a moment‘s reflection he spoke up with the reâ€" mark : t T g _ Axs) "I mean what I say, old man, so don‘t be too spry with your tongue." And Tom‘s brow lowered in gathered anger. His friend apologized for the jest, and the crowd dispersed. JUB\I, 2424228 424. â€"0h, t io. dviltcadii cce ~Arutuctzali dn The next day the rumor went wild through the camp that Tom was willâ€" ing to kick the burro for a wager. In the dusk of th> evening the miners gathered in from their work and disâ€" cussed the subject in all its bearings. Opinion ‘as to the match was about evenly divided. If anything, Tom was tho favorite. Under these circumâ€" stances a mill for $100 a& side was easily arranged between the beast and the man, and it was decided that the conflict should come off the noxt Sunday afternoon. _ _ Promptly at the appointed hour every inbhabitant of the canyon and the villages, that have since grown into Pomona and Pasadena, was asâ€" sembled in the little level spot just outside the limits of the camp. Tom Landed First. The preliminaries were quickly arâ€" ranged and the fight began. The beast seemed to take in the situation at a glance, and, laying back his cars, he watched his wary opponent with angry eyes. Suddenly Tom leapâ€" ed forwerd and landed a terrific kick squarely on the junction of the neck and head. C s ap n C ts The brute recled before the force of the blow, but, recovering on the instant, he wheeled and launched both heels at his antagonist. The man leaped aside, and as quick as lightning responded with another fearful kick on the burro‘s neck. And so the conflict raged. Someâ€" times the jack would get in a savage blow on his opponent, but oftener the man had the best of it ; and at last, putting forth all of his wonderful strength, he landed a kick with the fury and irresistible force of a pile dariver on the jack‘s neck, which had been his objective point from the beginning. The beast reeled back, and with a convulsive quiver, fell over. Tom was terribly bruised, but over. Tom was terribly bruised, but | It is not what we see, but what we no bones were broken, and in a few |remember perfectly that helps to days he was as spry as ever. widen our mental vistas. ONTARIO ARCHIVES TORONTO (To be Continued.) Ready to Wager. Ni e ieA piapsngn . eguibers 16 Cardinal Masellia, Born in Italy, a Citizen of the United States. The recent consistories held at the Vatican call attention afresh to the fact that the reign of the preâ€" sent head of the Roman Catholie Church is fast nearing its . close. The strength of the venerable Ponâ€" tiff{, in spite of the many distractâ€" ing crises through which he has passed, seems almost miraculous. For many a day the passing of His Holi« ness has been prepared for. Specuâ€" lation is widely indulged in as to his probabl> successor when the in« evitable end shall have come. _ , Cardinal Gibbons is not the only American citizen in the College of Cardinals. Cardinal Gaetane Aloistâ€" Masella, of the Socioty of Jesus, is an American citizen, and, besides, he fullils that essential condition for election to the Papacyâ€"he is an Italian by birth. This Cardinal is on» of the most learned men in the Roman Catholie Church. He was born in Pontecarvo, was educated and ordained in his pative land, but came to the United States when comparatively a young priest, â€" He resided here for many years and while filling a chair in the Jesuit College, at Worcester, Mass, took out naturalization paâ€" pors. F When, in obedicence to the comâ€" mands of the head of the Order, he returned to Europe and consented to accept the "red hat" he stlil reâ€" tained and proudly proclaimed his alâ€" legiance to the United States. Some years ago, at a banquet in the Amâ€" erican College, in Rome, Cardinal Masella, epceaking in perfect Engâ€" lish, thus declared himself : "Years ago I bocame an American citizen, because of my profound bhonor for American institutions and my love for the country and its peoâ€" ple. Toâ€"day, living on this other gide of the world, my loyalty to the United States is even greater, if possible, than it was then. Thereâ€" fore I shall live and die what I am proud to be, an Americar." Coming Union Two of Prominent English Families. Mr. Herbort Gladstone, whose ma« trimonial engagement has just been made public, says the London Chroni« cle, was generally regarded as a con« firmed bachelor, which is scarcely surprising, because his tale of years is not far short of halft a century. For over twenty years he has sat in the House of Commons, but thanks to his devotion of physical culture, those years have passed very lightly over his head, and his figure is still quite youthful. Overshadowed as it is by the memory of a great historical figure, he could scarcely expect to achieve much in politics, but he has proved himsel{ a useful administraâ€" tor, and showed a certain amount of orrglnality in accepting the post of Chief Whip, after he had served as First Commissioner of Works. Mr. Akersâ€"Douglas, on the other side of the House, precisely reversed this procedure. 1 | 1 | 4 _ _The Paget famly into which Mr. Herbert Gladstone is about to marry is one of those English commoner families which are too proud to claim any cqunection with the ennobled Pagets, whose head is the Marquis of Anglesey. Sir Richard Horner Paâ€" get, Mr. Gladstone‘s future fatherâ€" inâ€"law, is a Somerset ‘»quire pure and simple. He sat for something like thirty years as a Somersetshire mem»â€" Who may succeed Pope Leo XIII. in the chair of 8t. Peter? It will undoubtedly be an Italian, be« cause of the preponderance of Ital« ian Cardinals in the Sacred College. Several times when the Pope has had weak spells and the rumor has been abroad that his end was near, cerâ€" tain newspapers have hinted at the possibility of there being an Amâ€" erican Pope, in view, of the consplcs uous ability and universally rec« ognized popularity of Cardinal Gibâ€" bons. â€" These attempts to suggest an American Pope are interestinga There is, indeed, reason to believe that a citizen of the United States might be the next Sovereign Ponâ€" tilf, but it would not be the dis= tinguished Archbishop of Baltimore. _And possibly this Cardinal may be the successor of Leo. XIIL 5 ber in the House of Commons, and when he retired in 1895, he was made a Privy Councilior. He had been made previouely a baronet, and owns a fair amount of land for a baronet, some 4,000 acres among the Mendip Hills, where the famous Cranmore Tower is a mark lor miles around. The marriage between Mr. Gladâ€" stone and Miss Paget is one _ more proof of the amenitiecs of English politics. The Right Hon. Sir Richard Horner Paget was always one of the "Old Gang," and got his reward for services to the party which his fuâ€" ture soninâ€"law epends his life in combating. lat A POSSIBLE AMERICAN POPE. Among the many wedding presents which are preparing will be one from the Byron Society. The society has arranged to reccive subscriptions at its branches in Athons and Vienua, as well as in London. Mr. Herbert Gladstone was ons of the founders of the society, the object of which is not, as so many people seem to think, to promote the study of Byâ€" ron, but to carry on the poet‘s policy for reviving among the Greek nation the arts and letters of its ancient days. HALL & RUCKEL, MONTREAL, The eummer girl steols her heart in order that it may not be etolen. A Perfect Liquid Dentifrice for the Teeth «â€"« Breath Sozodont Tooth Powder Sozodoent GLADSTONEâ€"PAGET. [b