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. Sept. 19.â€"The Comâ€" in the celebrated Meâ€" som case finished its aml made a report. recommenled th .t the mieresn pe s@uspeuded e, and that KRey,; Fosâ€" be reproved by the suspension of the Rey. was the limit of the wer, anml now it reâ€" erence to deal wit h [erence to deal with > evhdonce will be oubâ€" fontreal Conference of "hurch this Jane, when t. caso will be finally ntime, he i# re leved ru work. The unhappy he two meaol in Syraâ€" well remembered, and [ehrred to at length ed the truthfuilness of 1 reports pub istred, an investigation by a wi this was granted, consisted of the Kev. cher,. Chairman ; the {. Kingeton ; the Rev. »prisburg ; the Rev, J. kville :; the Rev. Dr. on‘s Corners, and the igs, Pakenham. on at »yracuse. mittee met here first, ugust, the statements rzgymen were taken an awljouroment was irman delegated Mr. . P., a lawyer of this ssioner to go to 8yraâ€" all the evidence bearâ€" that he could get. I when the committee erday he made his reâ€" rerbatim ecopy of it obtained, the correâ€" stands that it was wativo of the minie ts made before the reat many of the senâ€" pubished at the time be false, and many of wit neeses _ examined Â¥eAmmond and Mr. sion of the affair. In case, however, there obtainable as to how » in the condition be imeelf to have been in. ang>e men gavye him s on the street, 1nd hours all is a blank is statement he rests disclaims any consclâ€" unbecoming his posiâ€" ister of a Christian t evidence was taken committee as to the t of any drug that Inistered in _ candy is understood that it nderson‘s Casge to e Sonference. Ig a lasd of long life mous, for in the small amay, in the Province n goiden weddings were ebrated. The ages of ranged from 75 to 9@ untry people were quite 1ir record, and the day er to picturesque public OM SMALLPOX, t SUSPEADED. I M W MONOD REPROVED, H at i w i matiers to ments of the were . sBown ence, as she tion to sign was written r or against o registering on tho Monâ€" ol that the 3 in nder an A# n expressed Ing done so, » act was not ntion, yet It _ of becoming a source of Mr tho Monaâ€" that the that Mr. son stayâ€" ‘a ndersop One Day um sef n 1 be met d that MceAmâ€" in imâ€" d, and to the Manâ€" e beeg les of 1C)a n, MmIna) Yoan t that beimg Bail, and i{ter 8seG reet 1% w e the vill he C# !*m'“ *"'WMW TEEFEEEETIETITEETITITZ _"â€".' & A Pretty Irish Romance. j =n0+«mw0mm"¢m++¢m+m: All this George Archer had seen beâ€" fore, for this is not his first visit to Anne‘s parlor by a â€" great many times; and the pretty chintzâ€"coverâ€" ced furniture, and the dainty womanâ€" ly ornaments, the leatherâ€"{ramed engravings, and quaint old articles of vertu, the carved brackets and little statnettes, and the harp covâ€" ered with greon velvet stanrding in a regess, he has often looked at and admired. But his heart leaps up in a sudden burst of anger, surprise and pleasure, strangely commingled, at the sight of that which is unfaâ€" miliar, but fairest of all. Gillian Doane, in a gown of soft creamy white, with knots of rich black ribâ€" boa bere and there, sitting on the littlo redâ€"cushioned sofa just beneath the high window. Aad the golden light through the leaves and flowers falls on the gentle hoad, with its silken locks of silken browaâ€"onu the pure white brow, the darkâ€"fringed, soulful eyes, like a glory crowning the saintly young novico of some mediaeval picture. En an instant, even while he is struggling with cold thoughts of susâ€" picion, bitterness, and proud reâ€" solve, his heart softens with a sudâ€" den memory of the tenderlyâ€"witty reproach of the song "Love and the Novice." They have betrayed her innocent soul for one moment, but the next they are modestly veil~d, and the swriit tumult of surging color and shy emotion visible in the pure, pale as ours . * Armd whilst ho pauses and gazesat hor, her eyes met his and he sees the glad welcome, the surprise and delight that flash into them with a radiance and fire. of halfâ€"revealed j!"l‘S. 5 t "Here we dwell in holiest bowers, Where angels of light o‘er our oriâ€" sons bend, Where sighs of devotion and breathâ€" ings of flowers Te heaven in mingled odors asâ€" {face, is forcibly qaclied, and Gilian‘s grecting of George Archer is even a litt> cold in its gentle, maideniy reserveâ€"a little cold in its very rraciousness. "Othors have planned this meetâ€" Ing for us; she is as innocent as I am olf any intent to bring it about," ho tells himself, his pulses quickening, his blue eyes darkening in a secret, unreasoning gladness, as ho presses her little hand with his sunâ€"burned, strong fingers. _ _ cend ! o Mo not disturb our calm, O Love! 8e lke is thy form to the cherubs above, ‘ It might well disturb such hearts And then somchow the sight of that pretty little hand, with its dainty ringsâ€"one of large gleaming pearls, one of splendid emeraldsâ€"on the delicate, waxen fingers, seems to touch his heart with a keen pang of shame and remorseâ€"seems to poiwt to a deepening stain on the honor of his manhood. 4 tick ue "What havo I to do with a dainty, patrician thing like this?" he says savagely to himsel{f, turning away and sitting down at the far side 9f the room. "What right have I, in common justice, or honesty, to try and steal a costly exotic blossom from a rich man‘s home, and then try and compel the rich man to give me in addition the means of existence for the stofen exotic, well knowing that if he did not it would soon withor away and die miserably in the bleak air of poverty ? & § "0 Womanr; in our hmu;oue. 1 6 ues 4 Uncertain, coy, a nd hbard to please." There is one thing that certainly will please you and that is MONSOON CEYLON TEA * All grocers. Lead packets, % Eo uis 5 "It is nothing but knavery, nothing but common, vulgar knavery and disâ€" bonesty," (George mutters to himâ€" sAf under his moustache, pertinaciâ€" ously staring at tho pattern of the crimson Kidderminster carpet on the fMoorâ€"a carpet concocted by those clevrer hands of Anne O‘Neil‘s out of pleces of carpet too much worn for oven any of the bedrooms of the house. I Tea is brought i1. presently, strong, hot. and excellent in flavor, as is alâ€" most universal in an Irish household, and it is accompanied by delicate triangles of potatoâ€"cake, smokingâ€" hot, crisp, buttered, and daintily speckled â€"with carraway seedsâ€"all ;h.n an Irish potatoâ€"cake ought to O Bat Georgs Archer, though he drinks the tea and eats the cake, which Anne herself hands him, with one of her keen, inquiring fooks, sits apart from the rest of the little group, with a â€" stern, set look on his firm lips, and a cold, determined light in his blue_ eyes when he looks at either Mr. Damer or Gillian, which is very se_ldom.L BRis voice is cold and curt also when ho speaks, which is more seldom still, amd1 that only to Mr. Damer or Anne. Gillian he never once adddresses, and answers her few timid questions in the bricfest possible way. o. e "I have brought it on myself, I know," he thinks resentfully ; " but after what \ told Mr. Damer he must think me a bigger fool or & creater knave than I am. if he thinks I am going to fall in with his sugâ€" gestion after all. I dare say I had had a couple of extra glasses _ of whiskey and soda that night," George thinks, with so much extra rgl r tingc~ing his face that he shilts bhis chair impationtly rather negarer to the covered harp, and more out of the light of the window, "when I fol in so readlly with Mr. Damer‘s suggestion that I should ‘go in for the heiress" I must have been bal screwed or I would not have made such an ass of mysell !" George thinks again, with a bitter selfâ€" contempt that makes him avoid even The Coming of Gillian: 199 an accidental glance at the pale, girlish face with the big, dark eyes, timid and innocent as a young fawa‘s, * "I even hinted boastruiiy to Lacy of my intentions, and he took it as & matter of courseâ€"the fellow. alâ€" ways does take everything as a matâ€" t_e}' _of courseâ€"and coolly told me to remember that the race was open to others, and that it was to be a fair field and no favor, and I agreed, and told him mine was just as wellâ€"worn a motto, ‘All‘s fair in love and war‘ 1 daresay he went away laughing heartily at my empty braggadocio," George says, nearly talking aloud in his perturâ€" bation, and imperiling the existence of one of the Chelsea china cups â€" among poor Anne O‘Neil‘s few private treasuresâ€"by placing it half over the edge of the table. "Bingham Lacy knew well enough bow vyery likely I was to find ‘a fair field for winning a wealthy heiress, with anything like honorable dealing !" f He looks up suddenly at this momâ€" ent, under the magnetic attraction of Anne‘s fixed gaze. 3 ts tok And then the grave, wondering glance passes from (Gcorge‘s face to Anne‘s. But it reccoives no enlightâ€" enment thero. "Will you have another cup of tea?" she asks, in her clear voice, with its slight, persuasive accent. "Do! And pass Miss Deane‘s cup also, please." "Now, this is the very first time you have ever eaten real Irish poâ€" tato cake, Miss Deane," Anne says, with, a bright smile. "You must wish. And if your wish comes to pass, you will either see its fullilment or a promise of its fulfilment in nine days, providing you keep your wish a secret." No more tea for me, thank you," he says, curtly, as he takes Gillian‘s empty cup, without a look or a word, and silently pushes it on the teaâ€"tray. Both the action and manner are almost discourteous, and (Gillian for tho first time looks steadfastly, with an inquiring expression, at the cold, proud, handsome face, and the straight, thick, brown eyebrows lowâ€" ered over tho averted eyes. _ _ "Indeed," (Gillian says, smiling, but her smile is rather constrained ; and after a pause she says, looking down and speaking in a grave, formal tone, "I have wished now, and I hope it will come true. I cannot see why it should not." "Mightn‘t we guess the wish, Anne? _ Would that spoil _ the charm ?" Mr. Damer asks, very wagâ€" gishly. "Upon my word, these cakes of yours are the bost I ever eatâ€" barring none, Anne. You made ‘em yourself, I know," Mr. Damer says, taking his fourth triangle. _ " Eh, Anne? Mightn‘t we guess Gillian‘s wish? I think I can, and that it‘s mighty likely to come trus." 6 _ _"Well. "Eixé'es it, if you can, Mr Damer," Gillian says, smiling. Mr. Damer laughs, and his blue eyes , light up, and his bright smile is full | of gallantry and admiration as he‘ bows to his girlish cousin with all the easy courtesy of an Irish genâ€" tleman of the old school. | Looking at him just now, Gillian can recall, without any surprise, her mother s stories of him in his gay young manhood as "handsome Harry Damer," as he was popu‘arly known through the country side. "I guess the likeliest wish to come true, my dear," he says smiling, "that you win every heart you meet on Irish soil, and that you may meet one worth the winning, to win your own heart in return." George laughs sarcastically. "Which means â€"boing intorpreted" â€"he saysâ€""that Miss Deane must make a great many mon miserable, before she relents and makes one man nhappy.".. c ..s~ s l4 .. s "Couldn‘t Miss Deano win woâ€" men‘s hearts, as wel as men‘s, I should like to know ?" Mr. Damer says, dryly, and turning on George sharply. "You‘re only speaking for yourself and your own sex," my dear fellow." & C aoke â€""Ag was most natural," George retorts, rather disagreeably. uq.'.u-».y. ‘It was not my wish, certainly," she says, with a brief little smile, looking down that sho may not see the faces of those two who have reâ€" buked her. Rebuked her for a possible vanity of which she is in no wise guilty, save it be in the passionate yearning to be loved, which is at the core of the woman‘s nature blossoming into life in her girlish breast. Why should they rebuke her and be displeased with her even for Mr. Damer‘s foolish flattery ? Why should Anne O‘Nell and her lover find fault with her who has only wished to be their friend in the best way she knew how ? BR EPC VY P CCC Bhe can dimly understand © Anne‘s reproof as prompted by a woman‘s morbid jealousy, by the restless sufâ€" fering of an unprosperous, unsettled loveâ€"affair. But she cannot underâ€" stand George Archer. beyond the fact that she has perceived. almost from the moment of his entrance into the room that her unexpected presâ€" ence has been an unexpected cause of embarrassment and displeasure to P if you get it, $y ol 1 _ "Will you not?" Gillian â€" asks, | coldly, but her eyes have deepened and darkened with eager longing ; and anxioty, and there is an involunâ€" | tary reproach in the cold voice with those wistful eyes. t And yetâ€"and yet poor Gillian reâ€" members the parting at the white gate in the shrubbery, yesterday morning, and for a few foolish moâ€" ments of selfâ€"delusion has she fancied there was nothing but gladness and friendship for her in the light of George‘s blue eyes, wnen he met her nfiln this afternoon. She is anxious to forget that pleasâ€" ant delusion as quickly as may be ; and, as soon as tea is over, Gillian lL)egs_Anne to play Irish melodies on " As ‘you know, you promised me yesterday morning," she adds, with her winning smile, and a coaxing touch of her little hand on Anne‘s. For short as the time has been, Gillian has discovered already that neither chatelaine nor guest in Mount Ossory can lay claim to half the talents and accomplishments of the lady who styles herself in her proud humility. "One of Lady Damer‘s waitingâ€"women." Anne plays and sings in three forcign languages. She is a good pianiste, and a brilliant perâ€" former on both harp and guitar. She sketches from nature, and paints in olls and waterâ€"colors. She makes exquisite lace for Lady Damer‘s adornment, she makes‘ and alters Lady Damer‘s dresses, she is an atâ€" tendant at her ladyship‘s toilet, her amanuensis and deputy in a hundred ways; bears the brunt of her temâ€" pers and her tyrannies as other female martyrs of her_ class bear from female tyrants, and is rewarded in full by fiveâ€"andâ€"twenty pounds a year. 1 her harp, "I will play for you with pleasure," Anne says, with the natural cordial grace which is generally repressed and utterly hidden by her, "if you will ask Mr. Archer to sing." _ ‘"Now, Anne! Are you utterly merciless ?" George exclaims, with an embarrassed laugh. "To sing after hot potatoâ€"cake !" "Will you not?" Gillian â€" asks, George: moets the wistful look, and answers it with a smile. "I will,sing if you wish. At least, I will try to sing," he adds. ‘"‘VYery good of you," Gillian says, with chill politeness, for she knows well that even the slight compliment 19 false. The harp is attuned presently, and Anne strikes the opening chords of the grand air, "The Lamentations of Aughrim." She plays like one inâ€" spired, her eyes flashing, her cheeks pale, her lips crimson, and her strong white, wellâ€"shaped hands gleaming here and thero over the quivering strings. R He is going to sing because of that swilt touch of Anne‘s hand on his shoulder, _ and her lowâ€"muttered words as she stoops to uncover her barp. With searcely a pause, and without waiting to be asked, she plays ‘"‘The Minstrel Boy," and then the passionâ€" ate, varlike strains, "Let Erin Reâ€" member the Days of Old." i i ad "I never heard anyone play so well," GilMian says, simply, though her voice 19 quivering with emotion. "Oh ! I love it," Anne says, careâ€" lessly, almost bitterly. ‘"When one‘s heart and hand are given to an art, it is rare but one succeeds in some measure. _ Now, George," she adds, briefly, turning over the music, "sing for Miss Deane, though you refused tho rest of us, sing ‘Take Back the Virgin Page.‘" Gillian does not add a word of a reâ€" quest. She sits, indeed, with her face averted, gazing out of the window at the gold and crimson of the westâ€" ern sky ; but not a syllable, nor an inflexion of the fine barytone voice with its power of modulation and exâ€" pression, is lost to her. *"‘Take back the virgin page, White and unwritten still, Some hand, more calm and sage, the leaf must fill, + Thoughts come as pure as light, Pure as even you require ; But, &h! each word I write, love turns to fire. f ‘"Yet let me keep the book, Oft shall my heart renew, Whon on its leaves I look, dear thoughts of you, Like you, it‘s fair and bright, Like you, too bright and fair, To let wild passion write gne wrong word there. "And as o‘er ocean far, Seamen their record keep, _ Led by some hidden star, through the cold deep, So may the words I write, Tell through what storms I stray, You still, the unseen light, guiding "I never heard you play better, Anne," Mr. Damer says. 9 my way !° She might add, whilst she strives to make up a conventionally "pretty" speech of thanks, that she has never heard any one sing so well. No one‘s singing has ever touched the secret depths of the poor child‘s heart, and thrilled her pulses, and filled her eyes with tsars, before. en ‘"‘Thank you, Mr. Archer, that is a beautiful song," sho says quietly, though her voice is a little unsteady, as her fingers bruise some of the luxuriart verbena leaves, and the room is filled with the delicate inâ€" censeâ€"like fragrance. _ KaP "I thisk you maligned my potatoâ€" cake, George," Anne says, laughing. "And now, as a punishment, I‘ll bring down that big yolume of Irish songs from my room, and you shall sing the book throughâ€"covers and all." _ "Upon my word, my dear, if you‘ll excuse me, I must go and change my coat for a thinner one," he says very sgeriously. "This room is so terribly warm. Terribly ! Don‘t you find it so? No ? Well, you look cool in that pretty white gown; doesn‘t she, George ?" x iklts _And she is hardly gone when Mr. Damer starts up. t hi "Well, upon my word, I never did see anything so barefaced," George mutters with a glance of indignaâ€" tion after the retreating figure. "It‘s an absolute outrage on the poor litâ€" tle girl‘e feelings." k t Pa k H# sees the nervous changs in her face as he crosse@ the room nearer to her, and leans on the windowâ€"sill whilst be taliks to her, but he caunot know how Gillian shrinks in an agony of dread lest she betray herself. _ "Very," answers George, smiling irâ€" repressibly, whilst he bites his lips with vexation, and Mr. Damer hurâ€" ries out of the room. _ _ o For he sees Gillian suddenly sit up very straight on the couch, and sees the look of apprchension after Mr. Damer ags he goes, and \eaves her quite alone with George Aruhgr.L She is too young, too innoc~nt, and unverged f1 even womanly wiles to be able to hide her feelines wol‘ but che is consclous of a keen womanly shame p9 Talking of the weather, the flowâ€" ers, music, anything and everyâ€" thing; talking at random; talking with only a vague idea of what he is saying, or what she is answering, until the halting conversation lapses into dead silence. For she is silently nerving herself to venture a little further on the unstable ground of their acquaintâ€" ance. Having gone so far as she did yesterday morning she owes it to herselfâ€"in dignity and consistency, she thinks, poor little selfâ€"deceived Gillianâ€"not to lie under any misâ€" prehension in his regard. _ _ The moment of her awakening had not come yet. The girlish heart does not know, as yet, of the woman‘s passionate® yearning for his apâ€" proval, and the natural sexual adoration of each true daughter of Eve when the angel of her fate brings her Adam to her side.. 4 CHAPTER XL The moments slip on into minutes and George stands there, leaning against the high windowâ€"sill talking irrelevantly to Gillian across the g:teenllh-wmte biossoms of mignonâ€" ette. Gillian almost imagines she can hear the rapid beating of her heart in the summer stillness, in the silent breath of flowers, in the flitting lights and shadows of the clematis sprays and the waving muslin curâ€" tains, in the presence of George Arâ€" cher‘s big, symmetrical form, the bold, bright face, the ardent blue eyes, which seem to gaze into the fragrant verbena leaves, and the depths of her girlish soul. 3 3X And George is nerving himself, standing there in the golden sunâ€" set light, looking at the innocent, fair young creature, in her soft white robe, with the gentle, childâ€" like head, the pure downâ€"cast face, the timid bosom heaving visibly beâ€" neath the snowy ruffles of cloudy crepe, which modestly veil the sweet, white throat and breast beneath the squareâ€"cut bodice; he is nerving himsel{ desperately and determinâ€" edly to speak blunt and cruel words to her which will wound her spirit, bruise and deface her childish trust and faithâ€"cruel words which will hurt her and offend her fataily. It is well she should be couched of her blindness, but it follows as a malâ€" ter of course that she will regard the rough, cruel operator with averâ€" sior for evermore. ‘*well, "be : it so!" he says to himself, curtly. "I could not stand her innocent liking and her wistful eyes and smiles much longer ! She shall know the truth from me, and theaâ€"detest me if it please her." that warns her she is trembling at the sound of the pleasant,frank volce, at the sight of the handsome face, the glint of the golden chestuut hair and blue eyes, at the mere fact of his presenceâ€"the presence of Anne‘s lover. He is walking with veiled eyes as well as Gillian, as unconscious and selfâ€"deceiving as she. 3 He thinks it is from honesty and selfâ€"willed pride, from a dogged deâ€" termination to let Gillian see that there is one, at least, who will not basely woo her for her father‘s wealth. But it is only from the restless fever of longing that has awoke in his heart, from the recklessness of jealousy and despair that his speech is prompted. It is only because he is sixâ€"andâ€"twenty, in the bloom and strength of manhood, and she is sweet and loveâ€"worthy, a â€" hal{â€" blown rose of womanhood in her nineteen years. At last Gillian can endure the emâ€" barrassed silence no longer. _ _ "Offended me? You? â€" How could you think such a thing?" he says huskily. Now that he has the opportunity,, he feels as if he could not utter a word, and pauses a full minute, gazing at her in silence. And Gilâ€" lian, conscions in every fiber of her being of that steadfast look, yet sits as if urmoved, daintily toying with the tuft of clematis blossom in her bodice, while she awaits his reply. "Mr. Archer," she says, carelessly, as it were, in a slightlyâ€"piqued tone, and hal{â€"smiliog, "how have I ofâ€" fended you ?" f Since yesterday morning, and that goodâ€"bye at the white gate in the lane, she has been "Standing with reluctant feet, Where the brook and river meet, Womanhood and childhood fleet." And suddenly she has began to be versed in women‘s ways. "What made you think such _ a thing ?" George asks, abruptly, staring at her, and watching the delicate flush of her cheeks deepen and spread even down over her white neck, and hide amongst the snowy, misty crepe rulfles. _ "Because I thought you _ were sorry, or displeased, to see me here this evening," she says, slowly, striving to keep down that warm, surging blush, striving to still her quivering fingers employed with the sprays of cl_matis. "It coald have been only my fancy. Why should you be displeased ? I have done nothâ€" ing to displease you." C ol "I‘ll tell you the truth, even if it offend you!" George says suddenly, almost roughly. It will offend you. I know ; but it will be best after all. I was sorry I came here this evening when I found you were here." _ _ " Why, What have I done?" Gilâ€" lian asks, starting to her feet, crimâ€" soning and clasping her hands with an involuntary gesture of fear and entreaty, â€" though the poor child proudly draws up to its full height her slender figure and confronts him haughtily. â€" And so they stand face to face for a few moments in the golden sunâ€" set light, with the breath of the flowâ€" ers around them and the tender trailing branches and scented leaves of the verb>na ly‘ng between them; only that, and about three feet of space, and yet Gsorge Archer knows that it means for him an abyss widle as the world between him and the fair woman who has unconsciously grown dear to him. So dear in her fair youth, her innocence and friendâ€" lineges, that her girlish b>auty appeals least of all to the bast and tenderâ€" est instincts of his manhood. "Only for her moneyâ€"only for her money," he thinks, feverishly. "Only for the shame of what I should b> in my own eyesa all my 11>, I should love her, dear, protty little girl. I should court her to be my wif*â€"my darlâ€" ing, loving little wife, who would make that dreary. gray old barâ€" racks a happy home." [ w o CC "I should. with all my fauits and ehorteomin«s, ho a better husband to herp than Lacy ever could or 34 would hbe!" poor George thinks, with a swelling heart and pangs of hopeâ€" less jealousy. Heaven deliver her from him, at all events! Whatever love his cold, calculating, passionâ€" less nature can feel is given away long ago. It is a very different woâ€" man to this poor little eweâ€"lamb who could keep any hold over Lacy‘s selfish, worldly heart. "Poor ilittle lamb," George repeats to himsel{, folding his arms to try and repel the fierce temptation that begins to assail him, "now that you have fallen among wolves, I wonder ifâ€"to eat of my meat and to drink of my cup and to lie in my besom, like ‘the poor man‘s ewe lamb‘ in the Bible storyâ€"would not be the best fate that can befall you in the dangers around you? _ + HE RECEIVED "What have you done?" he asked, repeating her words. ‘"Nothing â€" only come amongst us and roused up evil passions and desires in our naâ€" tures, not because you are young and lovely, but because you are rich! Don‘t forget that, Miss Deane. You are reputed to be very rich, and your money is a great temptaâ€" tion to us all, greedy for wealth and covetous of gain as Cellic peoâ€" pleâ€"Irish peopleâ€" are apt to be. "And your money is a temptation to us all here â€" don‘t forget that," he says, hoarsely, in a â€" sappressed _ voice, whilst Gillian _ stands with _ wideâ€"open eyes of fear, and pale to her lips, lisâ€" tening breathlessly. ‘"‘To Lady Damer, to her hushand, kind and good as he is, and to others as well. They ali want to possess you, or some share of the wealth you represent; for we Irish people are very poor, and very greedy of moneyâ€"so our enemics say; and though I speak against the only friends I have on earth, Miss Deane," he adds, in a lower, sadder toneâ€" ‘"though I agn placing myself in your power and at your discretion, to be branded as a traitor by those who have been good and kin" to me all my days, yet no one can say I am a liar ; I have told you but the truth. though I know it is a shameful truth." (To be continued. ooo ooo e P se Te ifa e B ol se ce o e oha ofo of ooo fe ho cheolp Te l e afecfe C ofe on o e Eo ofee e o e ofe o e ohe ofa e ohs l ope o refeafeofe ol he ho efecfeage During a recent conclave of railâ€" road magnates in New Orleans someâ€" thing reminded a wellâ€"known General Manager of a whimsical story. "I am afraid there is no particu ar moral to this yarn," he sail, "but it hapâ€" pens to be true, and I‘ll give it to you for what the newspaper boys call ‘human interest.‘ Not long ago the millionaire President of a big manufacturing concern up in Ohio made a specch at a banquet, and to illustrate how seeming _ misfortune may prove blessings in disguiso, he said that he got his start in _ life through being kicked off an accomâ€" modation train in the dead of winâ€" ter. It was during the hard times of the ‘80‘s, he went on to relate, and althourh he was a skilled mechanic and something of an engineer he found it impossible to procure work of any kind, even manual labor. Things went from bad to worse, and at last, he found himsel{ stranded somewhere in Southern Ohio. He was stone broke and desperate, and wanted to get to Dayton, where he had heard vaguely thore was someâ€" thing Coing in his trade. So one bitâ€" ter cold evening he slipped on board an accommofdation train, hoping to be able to talk the conductor into carrying him, but he failed ignominâ€" iously. Heoe begged and pleaded and told his story with all the eloquence of despair, but the tickst puncher refused to molt. On the contrary, he pulled the bell rope when they came to the next stat‘on, grabbed the unâ€" happy young mechanic and propelled h‘m off the car with a seri‘s of swift kicks. Ho landed in a snow bank and slept in a freicht shed. Bat next day his chance came. "A epan suddniy gave way in a now iron bridge over a big creek at the edge of the town, and the whole structure threatened to go down before experts could arrive {rom the builder‘s foundry. At that critical juncture the stranger jumped into the breach, built a temporary supâ€" porting trestle of logs and crossâ€" ties and saved somnthing like $20,â€" 000 worth of work. Of courso the bridge people were delighted, and when they saw what a really scienâ€" tific job he had done they offered the shabby enginser a handsome poâ€" sition in their establishment. From that on his risoe was rapid, and in concluding the little tale he laid es prcial stress on the apparent hopeâ€" lessness of his position the night he was cjected from the train and made the point that one should never give way to despa‘r. ‘If that conductor bad carried me on instead of kickinzx me off,‘ he said, ‘I would have miss>d the great chance of my life, and might be working now at the bench. I am really indebted to him for my start in the world, and I have often wichm~1 that I cou!d meet him and tell him about it." o "This curions little narrative was At the age of eweet sixtoen a woâ€" generally copied by the papers," conâ€" Man‘s rights are several lengths tinued the rafroad man, "and one @Abead of a man‘s. day a conductor in our service came n«me ® Into my office in great excitement Many a man who is open to comâ€" and showed me a clipping. ‘I‘m the viction manages to escape it by, very man that put that fellow o"f" hanging the jury. ho declared, and aftor questioning woevsess i him a little as to dateg and details _ Nellâ€"She must be awfully homeâ€" T concluded he ware correct about it. Ho remembered the incident perfectâ€" ly and also recalled the fact that the odont e as ts g::odont Tooth Powder Large Liquid and Powder Ail stores or by mail for the price. Samnle for the postace, :c Good for Bad Teeth Not Bad for Good Teeth Sozodont hex His Luck Tuarned. HIS REWARD. ONTARIO ARCHIVES f TORONTO ‘I‘m the fellow that put you off", ‘Indeed " said the president, look=, ing at him keenly. ‘MWow da you know ?"" The conductor stumbled over | _ his story, and before he concluded the magnate jumped up, emiling warmly. **This is a great pleasore," . he said, ‘a very great pleasureâ€"some«â€" thing I have been looking forward to for years‘ ‘It‘s mutual,‘ said the conductor, grinning. *Thanks, eaid the manufacturer‘ â€" ‘You noticed, perhaps, in my little spaech that I gladly ascribed my start in life to the fact that you kicked me off the cars instead of carrying me to Dayâ€" ton on that winter night which you recall with such remarkable preciâ€" sion ?‘ *Yes, I noticed that,‘ said the conductor, who, without knowing why, saddenly bogan to feel a curi« ous sense of apprehension. "Exactly, pursuecd the president, rubbing hbis _ palms, "and as far as results were | concerned you were, of course, mereâ€" | ly an instrument in the hands of Providence. I have returned thanks to Providence in various ways, and think Providence and I are about even. But the kicking," he went on in the same silky voice which the conductor says made cold chills crawl all through the roots of his hair, "the kicking was a personal touch of your ownâ€"a sort of humorous embelâ€" lishment, without which the throw= ing off of a halfâ€"sick, halfâ€"clad penâ€" niless wretch might have been a bit too somber, Let me see,‘ he added, musingly, ‘it seems to me you were a good deal heavier then.‘ *I used to weigh 180,‘ said the conductor, swallowing in his throat, "but I‘ve run down since." *‘Yes,‘ said the president, politely, "my own experiâ€" ence was just the reverse; I was greatly run down that night and have since gained considerable in weight, which makes things about even at present.‘ With that he suddenly grabbed the conductor by tho collar, whirled him around like lightning and kicked him all the way down stairs. He landed on the paveâ€" ment all in a heap," said the rail= road man in conclusion, "and epent a day debating whether he would bring a damage sult or go gunning for his cruel assailant. At last he decided that he was up against it and had better come home before anything else struck him. He is & hot anarchist now, and says the millionaires have no souls."â€"New Ore leans Timesâ€"Democrat. ; ‘big bridge‘ at the town had broken the following day, but the subsequent career of his hobo passenger was something he had never heard of. It filled him with awe and veneration, and he was especially impressed by the generous disposition on the part of the lucky man to attribute his forâ€" tune to the circumstance of having been kicked off the train, and his exâ€" pressed desire to meet the person who did the kicking. After ruminating over the matter for a week or two and reading the speech until he knew it by heart, he consiuded it would be wrong to deny the millionaire an opâ€" portunity to express his gratitude, and accordingly he applied for a leave of absence to pay him a visit. I granted the leave, got him a paes, and he departed in high feather. Went for His Reward. "As soon as he arrived at his des« tination, according to his own story, he went at once to the manufactory, which was a great deal vaster and more impressive than he had expect= ed, and asked to see the president. After some delay he was shown Into: a magnificent private office on the Recond floor, where a stalwart greyâ€" haired gentlieman was seated behind a big mahogany tahble. The conductor had prepared quite a wellâ€"turned and witty little speech of introduction, for he realized, of course, that the millionaire wouldn‘t know him from Adam‘s houseâ€"cat, but the sptendor of: the surroundings and the cold blue, eye of the man himsel{f knocked it all out of his head, and the only thing he could do was to spread the newspaper clipping on the table and blurt out : ‘I‘m the fellow that put you off"*, ‘Indeed ?" said the president, look=, A stoppedâ€"up geyser is an exâ€"spurt in its way. *Â¥ A wealthy parent may cut off his son without a cent, but he can‘t cut off the lawyers. Education is like love, men thint they have it until they get to be Some of the hardest work in the world is done by the people who rum laborâ€"saving machines. Generally the person who is fosd of a secrot is the one who doesn‘t think enough of it to keep it. A young lawyer ought to do a fees nominal business. "All coons 1ook alike to me," re« marked the hungry bird as it swal« lowed thoe embryo butterlly. . The "right side" of the stock marâ€" ket is usually the outside. The sweets of married life are no% to be found in family jars. ol c un i Nellâ€"She must be awfully homeâ€" ly. Belleâ€"Why do you say that? Nellâ€"Oh, I hear she has eo many girl friends. THE ATTIC PHILOSOPHEER. Cc ie is 29e 254c.