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Reid, nager bomas uBro, om 10 or Co, ns ad» »mptl y 93. n led ahat. .a o al= ‘hyce c. of the ercd tion. g'dfl cpo®» arremé t1l0% ada YO 3 to w I la ite 1% States t h eto®R .008 ted im Al1 CHAPTER II.â€"Continued. ter ‘"Yes, we will part friends." L"" Her voice rose, her eyes flashed. But ing she held out her hand and looked hbim l An steadily in the face. gir "We wl part friends. â€" Farewell, George Wildair, You have deceived me more cruelly than man ever deceived woman before. You have blighted, my life, you have broken my heart; but, She wrung his hand, dropped it suddenly, turned, and was gone like a flashâ€"lost in the black, wet, night; and Mr. Wildair was left staring aghast. is you say, let us part friends. Fareâ€" well, Georgeâ€"but not forever. We shall meet once more." ‘"Deuced odd," he muttered, at last, recovering from his stupor. "Has the loss of her fortune and the loss of her lover turned her braint ‘We shall meet once more,‘ shall we? I hope not. Did abhe mean that as a threat, I wonâ€" dert By Jove! T‘ll keep out of your way, Miss Vance, for the remainder of my mortal span, if I can." Through darkness, through falling rain, through driving rain, Isabel Vance hburried home. _ "For the last time,"" she said, between her locked teeth. "My old life ends toâ€"night, my new life dawns toâ€"morrow. Isabel Vance is dead and buried, a fierce and pitiless avenger shall rise in her place. From this hour, let all who have wronged me beware!"‘ She reached the house soaked, to the skin. _ She ascended to her _ own room, but not to change her saturatâ€" »4 garments. Deliberately she set to work. She drew forth her trunks, colâ€" lected her clothes and valuables, packâ€" ed them rapidly, wrote her name and address on cards, and tacked them seâ€" curely on. Then she sat! down by the table, dropped her head on her folded arms, and lay there, as though she never cared to lift it again. All night long she never| moved. The rain beat and the wind blew; but the storm in her burning brain and bitâ€" ter bheart raged more fiercely still. Morning came, and with the first pale glimmer of the new day she lifted her head, and showed a face so haggard and worn, eyes so wild and unearthly, that every trace of her‘ bright beauty was gone. ie L 3r & Two hours later, Miss Rossiter, deâ€" scending to breakfast, found Isabel deâ€" spatching ber trunks to the station, and she herself in traveling array, waiting to follow. The haggard face and hollow eyes made Ellen Rossiter racoil with a cry of dismay. y " Going I‘ she exclaimed soon!"‘ "The sooner the better. Goodâ€"bye, Miss Rossiter. If ever it is in my powâ€" ar to repay the many: good turns you have done me, believe me, I shall reâ€" yay them with interest. _ _ _ _ She turned and wa‘lked out of the bhouse. f _ Ellen Rossiter looked after her with a shudder. 18 "And if ever the archdemon‘ himsel{ looked out of two human! eyes," said Miss Rossiter, in a violent tremor, "he looked out of Isabel Vance‘s just now. _ That girl has some awfu) ;loed in ber mind, or I‘m no judge of acas." "Confound _ the _ luck t" _ growled leorge Wildair, with a savage frown, ‘Is this infernal treadmill life to go »n forever? Drudge, drudge, slave, slave. Better to be born a _ blackaâ€" moor, bought and sold at once! From morning till night, week in and week out. the same horrible slavery for daily breed and salt, and all hope of the unâ€" aendurable drudgery ending soon lost now. If that old spiteful cat had only made Isabel Vance her heiress, how difâ€" fareat all might be. Life in that dazâ€" zling fairyâ€"land, whose highways are paved with gold, a handsome _ and stately wife, all the glory of the world might be mine. And nowâ€" and L0Wâ€"_..*" The July day had been _ intensely warm. _ All day long the London paveâ€" ments had baked and blistered under the sun. Noise and war, rush and ratâ€" tle over stony streets, under that blazâ€" ing &ky, since early morning, until one‘s head throbbed and ayes and ears ached from uproar and glare. h. He looked round his dingy little den, with a wrathful glare on his handsome face, and flung the parchâ€" ment in his hand fiercely: to the other end of the room. "I was never born for this life, and I‘ll not endure it much longer! Who is that who says, ‘All things are possible to the man who believes in himself? There should be rich women in plenty, in these days of money making and speculating, ready to exchange their yellow treasure for a young and handâ€" some hushand. Old or young, handâ€" some or hideous, what does it matter, so that there is enough gold to gild the ugliness. By the way," he »proke off, suddenly, "I wonder what became of poor Isabel?" As the temple clock pointed, to five, George Wildair pushed away his chair from the table, where he bad sat busily writing for the past three hours, and rose up with an impatient oath. _ It was in dingy little chambers where the young lawyer sat alone, and the ceaseâ€" less turmoil without was like the roar »f the angry sea. "No one has seen her; no one has beard bf her; she has disappeared as completely as though the earth had opened and swallowed her up. Poor Isa! I acted like a cold blooded scounâ€" drel to her; I dare say; and yet I don‘t know. I couldn‘t marry her; it was simply impossible. Bachelor pauperâ€" ism, with a dry crust toâ€"day, in a dingy restaurant, and a petit souper toâ€"morrow night at the Albion or Critâ€" erion, § a very different thing from matrimonial pauperism, with a sickly wife ag© crying children, and the cut direct frem one‘s frlends in Bohemia. No. no! It was bettem for Isabel, betâ€" He walked to the grimy window, and gazed o@t moodily at the passersâ€"by. FOR THE THIRD TIME. CHAPTER III, ter for myself, to actias I did. Nothâ€" ing but weary waiting could have come of continuing the engagement; nothâ€" ing but misery from a marriage. ’fimli"yet, Heaven knows, I loved that Mr. Wildair put on his hat and coat, closed his door and walked out. He walked moodily along the crowded atreet for some way, then sprang into a passing ‘bus and rode up to Hyde Park. He was in the habit of goâ€" ing there evenings to kill time and :moke a dreamy cigar among the rees. girl" This bright July afternoon the drives and walks were crowded ; Brilâ€" liant equipages flashed by, filled with fair faces; dashing equestrians pranced gaily after; wellâ€"dressed men and woâ€" men rambled through the cool paths, and loiterers reclined on the benches. Over all, a sky of cloudless blue shone, and in the west the sun was setting in a gorgeous flame of splendor George Wildair leaned against a tree, smoking bis cigar, and looking with lazy eyes at that splendid sunset. He was contrasting his own hard fate, bitâ€" terly and curiously, with that of those fortunate. people in the gay car« riages that rolled by, when a voice startled him out of his discontented reverie. "Don‘t tell me that this is George InglisgWildair, grown, so big, and so brown, and so bearded, and all in ten ycars! Don‘t tell me so, because I used to know him when a great awkward hobbledehoyâ€"and it isn‘t possible, you know!" The voice was girlish and silvery, and the laugh which followed was sweet as a peal of muslcal bells Mr. Wildair wheeled round, and stood staring blankly at the pretty speaker. _ She sat in the daintiest of little phaetons, that was drawn by two spirâ€" ited, creamâ€"white horses. She looked the prettiest of fairâ€"haired fairies in her bewitching carriage costume. The blue eyes sparkled like stars, and enâ€" chanting dimples chased one another over the rosy, laughing face. By her side sat an elderly lady, as upright, and stiff, and prim as the virtue of Pruâ€" dence embodied. t "Miss Amy Earle, surely!‘ he said, doffing his hat and coming up to the pony carriage. "Can I believe my eyes? How stupid of me not to recognize you at once, for, except that you have grown taller, you are exactly the same as of old. This is a delightful surprise; 1 should as soon have thought of seeing the Empress Eugenie in the park." it "I bave tbeen in London a month, and I have been looking for you ever since, and asking for you, but no one seemed to know anything about the matter. I thought you had! got marâ€" ried, or turned Diogenes and lived in a tub. Let me present you to Mrs. Sterling, my friend and chaperon, who bas been tormented with ma for the past three years, and is likely to be for three times three to come. . My old friend and playmate, Mr. George Wilâ€" dair, dear Mrs. Sterling." _ "He doesn‘t know me!" cried the little speaker, with a second. musical laugh. "See how he starest I declare, if the horrid creaturs has not gone and forgotten me in ten years as completeâ€" ly as though I had never existed. And we used to be so intimateâ€"Damon and what‘sâ€"hisâ€"name, and all that â€" ;).rothers-in-arms, you know, Mrs. Sterâ€" lng-" And then, like a flash, it all dawned upon George Wildair. Ten yearsago â€"a little wax doll of a girl, with chinaâ€"blue eyes, and tomboyish waysâ€" six years younger than himself, and his pet, and protegee, and nextâ€"door neighbor. Miss Earle laughed once more. She had glittering white teeth. . and an exquisitely musical laugh, and eviâ€" dently made the most of _ tbhem both. "John Sterling is my son," she saidâ€" my only son. Now that you recall it, I do remember his speaking of you very oftan. I am glad to make your acâ€" quaintance, sir. My son‘s friends are always mine." "How nice!" cried Miss Earle, with sparkling effusion. "It‘s exactly like a play, where everybody turns out to be the brother, or wife, or father of evâ€" erybody else! Won‘t you take a seat, George? Oh, I beg pardon; I supâ€" pose I must say Mr. Wildair, now." " If you do, 1 will never forgive you! â€" Think it is the old _ days over again, and permit me to call you Amy." f George Wildair started violently, and turned very pale. Nes3 "And you have left the country for good, I suppose," he remarked, "and have pitched your tent in London perâ€" manently?". "What!" he said, "are youthe Miss Amy Earle to whom Miss Dorothy Harâ€" denbrook left her fortune?"‘ "That is more than L ever did, then. But, if you knew, her, you must have heard the name of the person to whom she left her wealth, I preâ€" saume." ‘"So it appears, although 1 knew nothing of the matterâ€"hardly ever heard her name, in fact, until she was good enough to make ma her hbeiress. Mrs. Sterling bowed stif{ly, not reâ€" laxing into the faintest smile. But Mr. Wildair was not to be rebuffed. ‘"‘The name is a very familiar one, I knew a John Sterling once; he was my most intimate friend at colâ€" lege. He became a doctor, and settled down in the country somewhere» Perâ€" haps you know him?t" "Oh, dear, no!" exclaimed the young lady. "I am only bhere a month, and don‘t intend to remain. We, came on businessâ€"I‘ve had a fortuna left me. I have been living in Cumberland for the last three years."‘ t Miss Earle bowed and smiled radiantâ€" ly, "I have that happiness!â€"but, good gracious me! How aghast youw look! If I had told you I had murdered someâ€" body, you could not wear a paler or more horrified face!â€"What‘s the matâ€" ter? Did you know Miss Hardenâ€" book?t"‘ "I did," said Mr. Wildair, still strugâ€" gling with bis surprise: "but I never dreamed that Miss Amy Earle, of Cumâ€" berland, was the little Amy I knew in London. And you were Miss Hardenâ€" brook‘s cousin?" The frigid face of the elder _ lady brightened at once. He took a seat by: her slide, and the highâ€"stepping ponies rattled‘ off. _ ‘"Slightly." He drew a long,; hard breath of intense surprise. _ _ Ian‘t it romantict But it wasn‘t altoâ€" gether fair, either; for there was anâ€" other young lady, a nearer relative, who lived with her, and who certainly had a better right to it than I." "Indeed!" ‘"Yes; a Miss Vance. She was disinâ€" herited at the last moment, through some caprice of the old lady‘s. She has disappeared, it seems, and no one knows anything of her whereabouts. I have tried every means, advertised, and all, but I cannot find her;" F Mr. Wildair was looking straight beâ€" fore him at the yellow light dying out of“t‘he »nvestern sky. : «_ :â€" > |â€" / ‘"And why do you wish to find hber, prayt‘ he asked. _ _Miss Earle glanced at him in reâ€" proachful surprise. 4 " Can you ask f She bad & much better right to this monâ€" ey than I. She was a _ nearer relative; she had lived with Miss Harâ€" denbrook for years and had been brought up to expect it all at her death. If Miss Hardenbrook chose to be unjust and whimsical at the last moment, that does not alter my obâ€" ligation. John Sterling told me my duty plainly; he said I should be wrong and cruel, and unjust, not to share with herâ€"to give her half. I would, too, if I could find her." "John Sterling was always a trifle Quixotic," said George, with his cynâ€" ical laugh. ‘"Very few people inheritâ€" ing this fortune, would take this view of the case. However, it does you honâ€" or, Miss Earle." ‘‘My son is not Quixotic Mr. Wildâ€" air," said Mrs. Sterling, with cold asâ€" perity, "He is the most noble and highâ€" minded of men." Mr. Wildair bowed with his most cynical smile. . _*"Not a doubt of it," he thought. "It is so easy to be magnanimous and noâ€" ble where other people‘s money is conâ€" cerned." But ,aloud, he blandly said: ‘"Your pardon, madamâ€"I should know that. But, in these days of selfishness that kind of thing is very apt to be mistaken by a very ‘unappreciative world, for the wildest sort of Quixoâ€" tism. ‘And so you have failed in your search, Miss Earle, for this disinherâ€" ’ilted' damselâ€"Miss, how do you call er 9 "Miss Isabel Vance; and so very handsome a damsel, Mr. George Wilâ€" dair, that I don‘t think you would forâ€" get the name so easily if you saw hbher once. She was an actress before Miss Hardenbrook adopted her. Most proâ€" bably she has returned to her old proâ€" fession. It is odd she is*not to hbe found; perhaps she bas changed her name; but I daresay she will turn up promiscuously some day, as you did this afternoon. I searched for you you know, and couldn‘t find you." _ "Ah! no doubt; but you see I have a good memory for my old friends, parâ€" ticularly one I used to quarrel with every day. Look at that sunset skyâ€" did you ever see anything more loveâ€" lyt" The steppers pransed gayly through the broad drives; the phaeton rolled as if on velvet; the luminous dusk of the delicious spring twilight â€" hung over the earth like a veil of silâ€" ver haze. The young moon trembled on the verge of an opalâ€"tinted sky, ?nd the noise of the city came far and aint. George Wildair sat beside the fairy bheiress, with the starry blue eyes and pale aureole of golden hair, like a man in a delightful dream. Bedridden Hasâ€" san falling asleep at the gates of Damâ€" ascus and awakening in the princess‘ palace, with that royal beauty bendâ€" ing over him, could scarcely have been more delightfully dazed. An hour ago alone and disconsolate, he had been cursing his bhard fate, and lo! with one touch of some magic wand, he sat in the princess‘ carriage, with the pretty princess herself chatting deliâ€" cious nonsense familiarly by his side. _ Mr. Wildair bowed. "It is too much honor to be remembered all these years." f o "And weshall expect tosee you ofâ€" tenâ€"shall wenot Mrs. Sterling?" were the words that aroused him from his dream. "And toâ€"night if you drop into the Adelphi, I dare say you will see us there. It is my old pet play. "The Lady of Lyons;" old as the hills, you know, but ever new. That dear, sweet Clauds Melnotte! Oh, how I wish some delightfully handsome, and learmed and eloquent gardener‘s son would fall in love with me, and marry me, as dear Claude did Pauline! It must be so nice to be loved like that, and have paleâ€"faced beroes going mad for one‘s sake!" "It‘s not proper, is it, Mrs. Sterâ€" ling? But then, it‘s true, and I don‘t mind George; we‘re such old friends, you krow. And one likes to say what one thinks, sometimes." "I can quite comprehend the possiâ€" bility of going mad for Miss Amy Earle‘s sake," Mr. Wildair said, in a low toneâ€"and the pretty little heiress shrugged her dainty shoulders. _ _ "Oh, of course! You couldn‘t help saying that could you? And then I‘m rich; and men have gone mad before now for less gold than my moneybags hold. I quite understand all that; I‘ve had scores of offers; but to be loved as Claude Melnotte loved Miss Desâ€" happelles, that‘s quite another thing, you understand. I shall look for you at the theatre toâ€"night, Mr. Wildair." George alighted at the corner of Fleet street and the pony carrlage rolled away. He went to his chamâ€" bers and made a most elaborate toilet, and issued forth under the summer starlight, an irristible Adonis, in a gggss-coat., and pale, tightlyâ€"fitting 108. "Amy, my dear!" rebuked Mrs. Sterâ€" ling in her most stately manner. _ The first act was nearly over when Mr. Wildair strolled into the theatre, adn swept the house with his lorgâ€" nette. Yes, there she was so brightly pretty, that it was a pleasure only to look at her; the sparkling face, and the pale roseâ€"hued silk, and the pearls, and the waxenâ€"white flowers she wore all less fresh and exquisite than herâ€" self. Many glasses were leveled at their box, some at the great heiress, but more at the sweet, pure face and dainty little statuesque head. . 4 The curtain fell. Mr. Wildair made his way to the box, and was greeted with an enchanting smile. He took his stand behind Miss Earle‘s chair, And whispered sentimental small talk, under favor of the music, to his beart‘s content. And Miss Earle deigned to listen graciously to it all, and flutterâ€" ed her fan and played with her bouâ€" quet and laughed, and sparkled and vwa~ rather silly, if the truth must out; and \rs. Sterling dignified and frigid lo»‘e1 on in chilling disapproval. The play endedâ€"Pauline was happy "He is a snallow, heartless, fortuneâ€" bunter; and he will win ber, and marry her, and neglect her, and break ber heart, poor, silly, frivolous child. Roâ€" mance reading is turning her brain. She is pretty and she is sweet, and inâ€" nocent and trustful as a child of three. It is a shame, it is a pity, and all your fault, you ungrateful, headâ€" strong boy! Why didn‘t you marry her?f You might, when we were at Blackwood, if you chose. But no, you would be Quixoticâ€"Mr. George Wilâ€" | dair‘s cynical name, for it is the right one. ‘She must see the word; she must know her own value; you would not entrap her confiding youth and |innocence; you would not be called & | fortuneâ€"hunter! Ridiculous, romanâ€" tic twaddle! She will marry this \George Wildair, and be miserable all |\ the rest of her life." in the arms of her Claude, and Miss [ Earle was satisfied. Mr. Wildair gave | ber his arm to her carriage, and left her with a promise to call upon the morrow, and with one of the waxy jaâ€" l ponicas from her hair in his buttonâ€" | hole. Miss Earle‘s dreams were usually bright, but they were unusually bright toâ€"night; and Mrs. Sterling sat up inâ€" to the small hours, writing to her son. George Wildair walked home thrpugh the misty moonlight with the air of & conqueror, and a smile of triumpb on his face. | To what do you attribute your u M -.trollable. appetite for strong drin:'llx‘;o?s ilt ;eredltary? o, mum, says Waggles, with i of relief; it‘s thirst, t SR ‘"How oddly things come about in this world, after all," he soliloquized. ‘"Who says the roma®ce is all in three volumeâ€"novels, fiveâ€"act melodramas ? To think that I should _ become master of Dorothy Hardenbrook‘s thouâ€" sands, in spite of Dorothy Hardenâ€" brook‘s will!l" A Combat on the Floor of the Sea, a Dead Fish and a Brutsed Man. Andrew Cameron, a solid Scotch lad with red face and red hair, reached New York the other morning on the Ward line steamer Yucatan from Vera Cruz, Mexico, bringing with him a story of a fight with a shark. Camâ€" eron is a deep water diver, and says he has gone to greater depths than any other diver, in the business. His story is corroborated by J. W.Field, an engineer in the service of Pearâ€" son & Son, the contractors, who are rebuilding the basin where Cameron was employed. ‘"When I first stabbed him I had signalled to King to be hauled to the surface, but he misunderstood my sigâ€" nal, fortunately. If he had started to haul me up I feel sure that the shark would have bitten one or both my legs off, as he would then have had a clean chance at them. The holes which his teeth made in the rubber cloth let the water into my syit, and it rose to my chest, where it was held by the air pressure. I signalled to King imâ€" mediately after plunging the dirk inâ€" to the shark‘s belly, but his carcass had reached the top before King got the signal, and, guessing what had occurred, he had started to haul me up in a hurry. When I reached the ladder hanging from the float I was too much exhausted to seize it, and they had to lift me on the float by main force. "I had located a loose pile and had started in to tighten up the bolts which had worked out," he said yesterday, ‘"when I was conscious of something passing over me and obscuring the light. I leaned back and saw a shark fully ten feet long apparently about to attack me. He was moving around not more than a foot above my helâ€" met. I dropped the wrench which I was working with, and snatched out the dirk. I moved my head to one side, and reaching up SLIT THE SHARK‘S THROAT twice. He sank down around my feet, and I tried to get behind a pile. I pushed myself as quickly as Icould but the heavy lead clogs on my feet would not let me move as fast as I wanted to. _ Before I could draw in my left leg behind the pile the shark turned over on his back and made a rush at me. His jaws closed on my left leg and his teeth went clean through the quarterâ€"inch rubber cloth. The force with which he rushsd against me, confused me so much that I did not feel the bite. After this he let go and floated upward toward my head with his belly exposed. I drove the dirk into his beliy ana I ripped it up toward his mouth, cutting his stomach through. He then floated up to the surface. The tramp at the back door is try« ing to tell the familiar gaunt woman with heavyâ€"bowed spectacles that he is ill. Three months ago Cameron was sent to Vera Cruz to work in the basin, built out from the main _ enâ€" trance to the port. He had three men to assist him, one of them a Mexican named King. The men worked on a float, with a ladder running down from it into the water. Cameron was clad in the regulation suit of armor worn by deepâ€"water divers. He had been working for two months and a half without any accident. During his frequent descents he bhad discerned at times the outlines of dogâ€"fish or young sharks, but these never bothered him. At about 6.30 o‘clock on the morning of Oct. 16 he went eighty feet below the surface. Besides his tools he had & dirk 18 inches long and 2 1â€"2 inches wide in the belt of his rubber suit. ‘"My left knee was dislocated and the flesh hbelow it lacerated. I remained under the surgeon‘s care for several days until the Yucatan arrived. My leg is partly paralyzed." Cameron says he has made the deepâ€" est dive on record, having descended 200 feet into Loch Craig in Scotâ€" land on last April 16, to recover the bodies of an engineer and fireâ€" man in a locomotive that had fallen into the Loch. DIVER AND SHARK FIGHT. HONESTY THE BEST LAY. ONTARIO ARCHIVES TORONTO To Be Contimued. Having Completed our New Factory we are now prepared Bash and Door Factory. Lumber, Shingles and Lath always In Stock. M G. &J. McKECHNIE to FILL ALL ORDERS PROMPTLY. We keep in Stock a large quantity of Sash, Doors, Mouldings, Flooring and the differâ€" ent Kinds of Dressed Lumber for outside sheeting. Our Stock of DRY LUMRE is very Large so that all orders can be filled. 000 strokes, and as the bheart pumps six ounces of blood with each stroke, it lifts 30,000 ounces less of blood in a night of eight hours spent in bed than when one is in an upright position. As the blood flows so much more slowâ€" ly through the veins when one is lyâ€" ing down, one must supply then with extra covering the warmth usually furâ€" nished by circulation. Why Cover is Necessary During Nours of Slumber, Why one takes cold easily lying down ' with their clotbhes on, and why the neâ€" | cessity of cover during sleep, is he-! cause nature takes the time when one is lying down to give the heart rest, | and that organ consequently makes 10 | strokes less per minute than when one | is in an upright posture. Mutliply that by 60 minutes, and it is 600 strokes. Therefore, in eight hours spent in lyâ€" ing down the heart is saved nearly 5,â€" DROMEDARIES THAT SMOKE. Dromedaries are said to be particuâ€" larly fond of tobacco smoke, and can be made to do almost anything under its influence. Travelers, in Egypt, it is asserted, rely more on tohacco smoke for their control over these huge beasts than anything else. When trayâ€" eling on long journeys the dromedaries are in many cases required to travel night and day without rest, and the beasts are kept up to their tasks by smoking cigars. The driver carries a triangular piece of wood, which is piereâ€" ed at one point like a cigar holder. This is inserted in the mouth of the beast, the cigar being lit and pressed into the hole in the same fashion followed by man. The dromedary immediately closes its eyes and puffs away through its nostrils until the cigar is burned away. The indulgence appears to reâ€" fresh it, and the keeper has no diffiâ€" culty in persuading the animal to plod on without further rest. I did not Slsep a wink last night, said Gohang. A neighhbor kept me awake with his infernal noise. No. He was trying to put his haby to sleep by singing. What was he doing?! asked Ukerdek, Puiting a carpet down? ;( ® _ AN UNEXPECTED EFFECT HEART BEATS |N SLEEP. *The ancient idea that really good furs will last forever is a fallacy, and many an owner of a fine sealskin jac« ket or fine ermine cape will soon be lutnnisbod when she looks at bher furs | for the first time since their long sumâ€" ‘mer seclusion to find that they look Iver_v shabby after lying in a camphor | chest for six months," says a furrier. "If a dealer has had chargo of such articles during the off season they are kept in good condition, because boluz every convenience for cleaning an taking care of furs. _ But if the owner has taken them into her own keeping she will no doubt be glad at this time to learn how her treasures may be reâ€" novated and made to look as good as new . "Ermine and sealskin are best cleanâ€" ed with soft flannel. _ Rub the fur deâ€" licately against the §raln. and when it has bean thoroughly lifted and reâ€" versed, dip the flanne! into common flour and rub lightly any spots that look dark or dirty. Then shake the goods wel!l and rub the fur with a clean, dry flanne! until the flour is all removed. "Sable, chinchilla, squirre! and monâ€" Fey skin may be very effectually cleanâ€" ad with hot bran. _ Procura a small quantity of bran meal and heat it id an oven until it is quite warm. . Then rub it softly into the fur and leave the goods for fiva or tea minutes beâ€" fore shaking to free it from the bran. ‘"Mink may be cleaned and freshened with warm cornmeal, and, like the other shorthaired furs may hbe dons without removing the lining. But the longâ€"haired goods are best rh;nod apart and freed from stuffing and lining. *"‘Those who may not carse to go ta the trouble of takinf fur garments nuusudé auifl! FiuA iLa% ha clmnlo wamas apart will find that the simple remeâ€" dies T have mentioned will go a long way toward making the jackets and capes look clean, even if not ripped apart." OFFH AND SLEEPING . A gentleman, over 50, says: " 1 culâ€" tivated the habit of sleeping offhand when I was a youngster," he says, "and have kept it up ever since, I don‘t go to bed or lie down when I want a nap, but as soon as I feel drowsy, 1 out my elbow on The hback of my chair, rost my head upon my hand, and go off sound for five minutes. When 1| wake up Iam in firstâ€"class tvrim again. L have tot so used to that way of nap ping that if I lie down 1 am wide awake in an instaat." CLEANING FURS