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*?yv lewis grist, Proprietor. | ^itJjeptititfnf Jfamilg Hcfospajjcr: J^or % promotion of % political, Social, Agricultural anb Commercial Interests of % Soutlj. | terms--$2.50 a year, in advance. VOL. 33. YORKVILLE, S. C., "WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 13, 1886. NO. 41. - -- ? ; - i J, ferial Jfotg. FIFE MILLION P01D! By T. WEMYSS KEID. CHAPTER VII?Continued. THE HAUNTED ROOM. 1 stood, candle in hand, by the side of tl bed, asking myself these questions, and as did so my eye suddenly lighted upon som thing which was lying, apparently where had slipped from the sloping pillow, on tl sheet below. It was a scrap of papernote 1 I seized it with eager hands, and : an instant all the craven fears that had be< creeping into my heart vanished. 1 forg ghosts and nightmares, and even the hatef Flinter himself with his deadly knife, ai W1U1 a low orjr U1 uni^uv x duo u?v note to my lips, for 1 saw that it bore n name in the handwriting of my darling. With a trembling hand 1 opened it ai read the message which it conveyed to me a message written hurriedly in pencil. "Oh, my darling," she said, "it is ban hard; but we most part, just when I hat found you. I knew how it would be if was discovered. I knew we should never 1 allowed to meet again if they could help i You must leave this place to-morrow?f your own sake even more than for min But do not suppose I shall forget you. shall be free some day, I hope. God grant may come soon I Whenever it comes y< may depend upon me. Do not go far awa dearest, if you still care for ma If you j to Scarborough I shall know where you ar and that at least will be some comfoi Good-by, darling, for I shall not be allowi to say it by word of mouth. But rememb that I shall always be true to you. DAist." There was a postscript written in cha acters so straggling that it was clear thi they had been penned under the influence some intense agitation. "1 have had a ten ble scene with my uncle He came t~ n when be left you. I could never have thougl that he would have been so cruel." How the long remainder of that nigl passed I cannot telL I was almost stupefic by this crowning misfortune Thy secrets i the haunted chamber no longer troubled m nay, I cared nothing now for Flinter's hard concealed animosity. The thought th overbore all others was that, as Daisy be relf had put it, I had found her but to lo her. In comparison with this, all nigh mare visions, secret visitations of my be room, and even portents like th9 rusty knif which had so mysteriously Deen piacea upc my bed, seemed of 110 consequence. I dress* and sat in dreary suffering, waiting for tl * coming of the morn. Much sooner than might have been e: pec ted in the ordinary course of things heard a servant moving in the outer root I was aware that a fire was being lights and by and by the rattle of cups az saucers told me that a table was being la: in the room. I was somewhat surprised, i I had been given to understand on the pi vious night we would all breakfast togethi in the hall below. 1 waited impatiently 1 learn my fate. I was not very long in suspense. Long b fore eight o'clock there was a tap at thedoo and I opened it to admit the servant wl came laden with hot water and the nece saries for my bath. He stared in amazemei when be saw that I was up and dressed, may have been that part of his astonishmei was due to my appear an oe. I was conscioi of the fact that the experiences of that terr ble night bad given me a face so haggar and worn that I might have been years old* than I looked when I retired to rest. He made a few inquiries as to the servio I required, and then, in a somewhat hes tating manner, as though he were awai that he had unpleasant news to commun cate. he said: "Your breakfast, sir, will be served 1 your own sitting room in half an hour, < sooner, if you wish it; and my master hi ordered me to tell you that you will find letter from him on the breakfast table." Then be retired respectfully. Too well I knew what the letter would sa; I was utterly jaded and dispirited by thi night of agony. And yet, when I thougl that I was about to be expelled from tl house which sheltered the woman I love* and that I should be compelled to leave h< in the society of such a man as Flinter, felt ready to do anything and defy ever; body if I might but be with her. I bathed and redressed wearily, and the in the sitting room 1 read the letfc addressed to me from Mr. Mauleverer. was very courteous, but very cold and en phatic. The writer said that he had learne with surprise and pain that I had bee guilty of conduct,which he would never ba^ thought of attributing to ma 1 had, in e feet, made love to his niece?his adopte daughter?the lady who was, as everybod knew, his destined heiress. He could hai forgiven this conduct on my part?strong] as be must have objected to any marriaf between me and Miss Stancliffe?if I hs acted openly, as he should certainly hai expected me to da But in seeking su reptitiously to win the affections of h niece I had adopted a course which he r framed from characterizing, because he he no wish to wound my feelings by the use < strong language, but which, he regretted 1 say, made it impossible that he should coi tinue to receive me as his guest. Orders ha been given for the brougham to be read for me at nine o'clock precisely, and would take me to Lorton station in time f( the express train. He concluded by wishii] me a polite but very formal farewelL In my rage, humiliation and bitterness sat down and dashed off one of those in petuous letters which ere only penned b young men in love. In it I repudiated wit scorn the notion that the wealth of which I was unhappily possessed?so I put it?ha anything to do with my love for his nieo and while expressing my regret that I ha not secured his approval of my suit before spoke to Daisy, 1 declared emphatically tha loving her as I did with my whole heart, should never willingly relinquish the hope c making her my wife. Possibly tuere might be other phrases i this letter that were calculated to wound th natural pride of a man like Mauleverer. hardly know whether this was so or not, fc it was written wnue my mmu was agitate by a whirlwind of passion and grief. I this as it may, however, when by an by I was taking my seat in tl brougham. prepared to leave Gret Lorton Hall with crestfallen head an heart, I received a letter from 01 of the servants, on opening which I four that my own letter ha i been returned to n without a word. In my rage and indigni tion at this insult I tore the unlucky epist to pieces, and, as I stamped upon the fra< ments where they lay upon the terrace, literally shook the dust of Great Lorton Ha from off my feet. One long, lingering look back I gave whc the brougham mounted the hill I cod not see the house, inclosed within its rt brick walls. But there were the great el: trees, among which the rooks were circlir in the clear morning air. I thought tbi Daisy perchance heard their hoarse crie iVhen should wo be so near to each othi again! My heart was filled with a dead! sense of pain, and I felt my eyes, too, filliii with unbidden tears. Two souvenirs I took with me from m visit to the halL One was the rusty, ol< fashioned knife I had found upon my be< the other, the precious note in which Dai? confessed her love for me. CHAPTER VIIL MR. FLI.NTER AGAIN. The season was beginning to wane i Scarborough. Harding bad left the Gran hotel some time before I paid my stranf visit to Great Lorton, and I knew none < the persons who were staying there. M 'position was not an enviable one, now that was back again in the big house. It wj bad enough to be oppressed by that sense < mystery which enveloped everything coi nected with the hall and with Maulevere; It was still worse to be reminded by ever; thing around me of those happy days whe Daisy and I had been together, and whe she had first learned to love me. There v/i the very spot in the hall of the hotel where used to take my stand each morning, awai ing the appearance of her and her uncle o their way to the saloon. There were tt seats, occupied by strangers now, where w had spent so many never-to-be-forgotte boors together; and there, quietly riding e anchor in the bay, was the beautiful yacl which T had learned to hate as one of tl tangible proofs of that wealth which divide me from the niece of the millionaire. I ' waited with an impatience that I could i hardly control for news of my darling. j i ? It came sooner than I expected, in the 1 S shape of a letter from Dr. Branksome, on- 1 closing oue for me from Daisy herself. Need : ] 1 I say that I read the latter first! "My dearest friend," she wrote, "I must 1 send you a few words, if it were only to tell i you that I am well. I must not say much, ; 1 for I feel that I am doing wrong even in ! < sending you this short message. But Dr. j < be Brankiome has told me that he thinks I may ] , I do so, and much as I have loved my uncle e. I cannot yield mysslf comoletely to his will ] it in this. Ah, you cannot tell what a change ie there is in him since this has happened. I I 1 .a cannot account for it He is so different 1 i [q irurn wuai> ut? uos ever uocu uoivio??v )n utterly unlike his own self?that it almost ot seems to me that something has happened ul to transform his whole character and to i id change the love he once profaned forme 1 le into hate. I am trying to bear it patiently, < iy for I owe so much to him. But sometimes it is very hard. Dr. Branksome hss been ] id my friend through it all, though even he is _ compelled, when my uncle is present, to ] hide bis sympathy with us both. I i ^ don't know how it will all end, but I 1 re do want you to feel that you can trust me. 1 it I shall be true to you through everything, be P.ease, dearest, do not believe any evil ! it you may h.^ar of me. I know- I have my 1 or enemies, ani I can't help thinking that they < ,e. are your enemies also. If you hear tales I I about me, rest assured that if I have erred it at all, it is from my love for you, and that i >u nothing, neither lifj nor death, shall ever yf make me false to you. I cannot write jo more; I am ashamed to send you this; but I e, think I know you well enough to be sure & that you will understand all that I want to ?d say to you, even though I have not the or power of saying it aright, and that you will believe in your heart of hearts that I love r. you above anything and everything else in at this world." of I was touched and consoled by the frank i. and outspoken language of my darling. It no was what 1 should have expected from one ht so full of noble impu's?s, so little given to consider the mere conventionalities of everybt day life I felt that she must indeed love )d me with all her soul, or she could not have of addressed me in such a strain as this, oj Branksome's letter, tro, brought me some |y consolation, though it also caused me uneasiat ness regarding Daisy. It was as follows: ,|W "Dear Mr. Festox: You will forgive me for writing to you on a subject which I have ?" no doubt you regard as too sacred to permit of any intrusion by a stranger. But I have myself loved?once; and I trust that it is >n At A ..rmn nr,a iiuis as a (iraagci uiau juu iwa u^a/u vmw ** who so long stood in the place of a father to 30 Daisy. I was grieved beyond measure, my dear friend, by the manner in which your x" visit to this place terminated. It was, in* deed, an unexpected blow. As an older man ?* than yourself, you will, I know, forgive me i if I say that I cannot but feel that it would have been better if, before speaking to Daisy, you had taken me?or, still better, Mr. 13 Mauleverer?into your confidence. But I ( ^ acquit you entirely of any worse fault than j * that of having acted, as yonng lov- t 10 ere are so apt to do, upon im- { pulse. I fear, however, that our . good host takes a much darker view of your r? conduct I have reasoned with him and j 10 expostulated with him warmly on the sub- j "7 ject; but so far without effect I tried to speak a word to you on the morning when f ' you left us, but I had been forestalled by the c " steps taken to hasten your departure. I can { 13 only say that you may count on me as a friend, . and that I shall try, for Daisy's sake as well B as for your own, to put a-i end to the c ;r present distressing state of affairs. She is a bright girl, but she is a very proud and a } ? very passionate one also; and I sometimes r l~ tremble when I think what may be the consequences of the cmel and incessant persecu- [ tion to which she is just now being subjected p by a man who seems to have forgotten that 11 she is the only creature left in this world . )r who is bound to him by the ties of con13 sanguinity. t a "I sha 1 hope to see you before many days ^ have passed, and then I can tell you more. ] You, will, I suppose, be staying at the ? T' Grand hotel. I shall find you out there be- ^ fore long. In the mean time, believe me, ? " yours most sincerely, g 36 Francis Branksome." p Another week passed without my hearing J I anything directly or indirectly of the occu- 8 p. pants of Great Lorton HalL My mind, t which had been soothed by the contents of c ,n Daisy's letter, was again becoming agitated 1 Jr by the fever of impatience and uncertainty, t it I had sent, a letter?a long letter, in which my f a_ whole heart was poured out?to Daisy, ad- < ^ dressed under cover to Dr. Branksome; but I )a no reply had come, and I was meditating re some further steps for tie purpose of gain- c ing tidings of her. 8 One morning, however, a servant brought 1 [y me word that a person had called to see me c TQ on particular business and was waiting in the * ly hall of the hoteL I went down and found * ? one of the crew of the Golden Hawk await- ^ ^ ing my appearance. He saluted me respect- 3 re full}', and placed in my hand a note. It was I p. unsigued, and I did not know the hand- 8 Ig writing, but it wa3 written on a sheet of 8 g. notepaper stamped with the name of the c ^ yacht. It contained only a simple message: "If you wish to see Dr. B., corns on board 1 q the yacht at once." ? j. The man waited a moment after I read the 1 ^ note, and then said: t _ "Ihe captain's gig is on the beach, sir, II you mean to go on board." )r "Who gave you this note?" I asked. lJC "The captain himself, sir," was the immediate reply. "And I was told that you would j return with me." a. "When did Dr. Brankome arrive?" iy *1 don't know, sir. I have not seen him. a. He mu<t have come on board when I was ie below." d Of course I did not hesitate a moment I 9 hardly stopped to light a cigar before I ^ started for tin beach, walking with a brisker j step and a gayer heart than I had known t since I left Great Lorton?for was I not j about to get news of D.-isyt It was a somewhat bosterous October day; but the wind was from the northwest, and [n the sea in the bay was therefore almost 10 calm. In the rfflng I saw that the passing j steamers were making heavy weather of It; )r but on shore there was nothing threatening d in the appearance of the skies. Two men jg were waiting in the gig, and with the help [d of one of the local boatmen we bad soon ie pushed off and were making our way to the it Tacht* [d How well I remembered my former visit w to her when 1 wa3 in the company of Daisyl ld 1 looked eagerly as we neared the stately 1Q vessel for the friendly face of Branksomo; lm but I looked in vain. He was evidently j0 below, probably sheltering himself from the _ keen autumn air. As I stepped on board one of the stewards q came up to me and, touching his hat, said, "This way, sir, if you please." ,n I followed him down the gangway and ld paising through the dining saloon I found myself in a passage leading, as I rememm bered, to the chief saloon and to the lovely little boudoir which had been prepared for Daisy's special use. To my surprise it was ^ to the latter apartment that I was conducted. 3r It was rather dark within, but some one was ly awaiting me and I entered with outstretched ,g hand. "How kind of you?" I began, and y stopped suddenly. It was not Bratiksotne's commanding figure that I saw before me. j. It was the short, powerful form of Fiinter. (y I was more startled than I should have liked to admit: but I recovered myself as . well as I could. "I beg your pardon." I said, "I came on boai d to see Dr. Branksome, who has sent for me." "Just so!" replied Flinter in a dry tone, l(j beneath which I fancied that I detected a ,e touch of irony. "Will you be kind enough to tell me where y I shall find him?" j He looked at mo for a moment, and in the ^3 semi-gloom of the cabin, the windows of which were curtained, I detected a smile a. upon his hard, bad fac . There was scalers thing that irritated me in his manner. I j had seen that, despite the evident confidence ,n which Mauleverer evidently reposed in him, Q hs was not treated either by the millionaire jg or by Branksome himself on a footing of j social equality, and I knew enough of him j. to be aware that he had none of the convenn tional claims to be regarded as a gentleman. [0 Annoyed at his silence and his insolent beare ing, I addressed him in a different tone from n that which I had usei at first lt "Come, sir!" I Baid, "I do not wish to keep Dr. Branksome waiting and I know he la expects me. Have thd goodness to let me F see him at once." t "Uh, certainly. Come this way." He ;poke still in the tone of veiled irony which irritated me so much, but he no longer stood like a statue. He placed his powerful hand lightly on my arm and led me along a passage and through an open doorway which gave access to another short passage, rhere was an open door at the end of it, and almost before I was aware I had passed through it and was standing in the middle pf the strange apartment which the Duke of Cairngorm had caused to be prepared as a punishment cell when the yacht was built. My first impression was th^t Flinter was playing some rough jest at my expense. "What do you mean by bringing me to this place?" I asked. "Dr. Branksome is not here." Flinter stood in the narrow doorway, which his powerful figure completely filled, "You are quite right, young man," he jaid. "The doctor is not here; out you'll find very comfortable quarters here until he :omes?quite as good as you deserve." "You insolent fool," I cried hotly, "let me pass!" I was strong, and had plenty of mere physical pluck. I did not hesitate a moment as I advanced to push him on one side. But before I could lay a finger on the ruffian I Tound myself seized by the collar in a grip which was like that of a giant It was all in vain that I struggled and struck out I was flung with violence upon the floor of the :abin, and before I could regain my feet I heard the door close with a sharp snap, and 1 knew that I was alone in the gloomy apart //////11 I found myself seized by the collar. Almost Instantaneously, however, a small rap in the door, like that which is used for he purpose of handing food to prisoners in heir cells, and which for aught I knew to he contrary was intended to serve the same jurpose here, was opened, and I saw Flintir's hateful eyes peering at me, while a loarse chuckle of malicious pleasure broke rom his throat "Well," he said, after he had surveyed me or a moment, "I hope you will like your luartera Your hot blood will have time to ool here. Make yourself comfortable, roung man, and don't feel afraid of being tarved. You'll And plenty of good victuals in the table in the corner." "If this is an impudent joke," I cried, "it lad better be ended at once unless you wish ne to report your conduct to your master." "Oh, ves, it is a joke," he retorted, with a >rutal laugh, "and it seems to me it is a very ;ood one. too." "Open the door instantly, or you shall ?y dearly for your shameful misbehavior." "Pay! yes. I'll pay you in good time," he eplied; and then suddenly the little traploor closed with a click, and he was gone. ; heard his retreating footsteps in the pasage, and shouted to him at the top of my roice. But even as I did so I heard a heavy ron door noisily shut, and then all was ilence. I shook the door of my prison, I shouted, [ stamped upon the door; I made noise inough, as I thought, to be heard not only houghoutthe vessel but for a great distance in the sea. But I might as well have >een crying to the winds. Either by some :unning contrivance all sounds proceeding rom the cell were stifled forthwith, or those >n board the Golden Hawk were taught to >ay no heed to them. Exhausted, even more by rage and inlignation than by any physical exertion, I at down at last upon the cushioned bench, vhich was evidently meant to serve the louble purpose of a bed and a seat, and ried to collect my bewildered senses and ake a calm view of my position. What vas the meaning of the stratagem of which I had been made the victim? Could it be wesible that it was really intended to make k prisoner of me in this violent fashion? ind if so, with what object was such a rime committed? These were the questions which I rapidly evolved in my mind. Incredible as it eemed, I was nevertholes j forced to admit hat I must answer in the affirmative. In >road daylight, and in an English watering >lace, I had been trapped and imprisoned, vith as little regard for my personal rights, >r for the claims of the law, as could have teen shown by the worst desperadoes in the vildest parte of the earth. And what was vorse, it was at once apparent to me that I vas utterly helpless. The fatal folly of the )uke of Cairngorm had provided a prison or me from which I could hardly hope to scape unless with the connivance of my ailers. And then I thought with despair of be fuct that my abduction had been maniged in such a fashion that no one on snore could have anv reason to suspect foul play. I cad lef tthe hotel openly, and as I now rememt>ered bitterly, with so cheerful an air that ;here could certainly have been nothing in ny appearance to arouse the suspicions of ;he people there. I would be missed, of jourse, and probably my disappearance night be a brief wonder for the people of ;he house; but who could attribute it to atayhing more than some sudden freak? There vas no one in Scarborough who took any inerest in me, or who would feel called upon o make any inquiry into my whereabouts. I emembered how on that very morning I lad looked out from my bedroom window ind seen the Golden Hawk at anchor at the pot where she had lain ever since her irrival Many a man would look out tonorrow morning and see the beautiful ship, is I had done, without dreaming for a monent that it was associated with such an rntrage as that of which I was the victim. But what could be the purpose of such a xime as this? Only one conclusion was possible. The letters both of Daisy and Dr. 3ranksome bad hinted at some extraordintry change in the character of Mauleverer? omething approaching, in fact, to a fit of nadness. I was conscious of having offended 10 man but the millionaire. Nobody else ind any interest in keeping me at a distance 'rom Daisy. And it was on bis yacht that I vas now a captive, and in the hands of a uffian against whom not merely iny own nstincts, and the strange dream I had had n the haunted chamber, but my darling's voids, had warned me as a man with whom my dealiugs must be dangerous. I could lot resist the conviction that Mauleverer, :arried away by some fit of insane passion, jossibly on making the discovery that let?rs had passed between me and his niece, lad caused me to be seized in this violent oronfnwa Tvlm WOO ll 1C TTIAcf. CULUl/11 <JV bUO UCHbUiO MUV >'Us> u?? Maw* I rusted agent The jnore I thought over the subject the I nore ciearly convinced I became that this vas the real interpretation of Fiinter's conluct and as I reflected upon it I felt that ny only hope lay in the early appearance of 3ranksonie. I was convince 1 now that he vas not on board the yacht, and that his lame ha I been merely used for the purpose >f luring me i:ito the cunning trip. But he ind promi-cd to see me scon. He had said le was coining to Scarb iro igh. It was cerain that business would bring him on board he Golden Hawk, and then I might hope hat he would hear of the outrage which had >63U committed upon me and would come to ny rescue. It is needless to speak of the unutterable edium of the first hours which I spent in my jlootny prison. When I had to some extent ecovered my equanimity I made a careful inspection of the place, hoping that I might >erbaps find, if not some way of escape, at ill events the means of communicating with ho e on board the yacht. I The cabin was about nine feet square, anc almost the first thing I discovered was thai the walls were lined with sheet-iron. It wai lighted by means of a funnel some four feel in length, which ran upwards at a sharp angle, and at the end of which was a thick circular plate of glass. It was clear, therefore, that my cell wall was at some distance from the side of the ship. Thi? little window, which shed the dimmest of light intc the cabin, was fixed, but the air in the place was by no means bad, and it was clear, therefore, that it was ventilated in some fashion which I could not discover. For a moment my heart beat more quickly when 1 found that there was a second dooi tn th? nnartment. in addition to that by which I had entered it I opened this dooi and found that it led into a small bath room, provide 1, I presumed, for the use of the duke's sons when his grace found it necessary to subj ct thpm to the discipline of the punishment cell. This little bath room, which was plainly but completely fitted, lay between my prison and the side of the vessel, and it was dimly lighted from the passage by means of which entrance to the place was ob ained. When I made this discovery Irememb?red having noticed on my first visit to the yacht that the walls of thit passage also were lined with iron. It was clear to me at once that there was no escape in that direction. Everything appeared to be scrupulously clean: nor could it be said that?allowing for deficiency of light?my quarters would have been at all bad if I had occupied them voluntarily. I had seen many an officer's cabin in our big ironclads which was not tc be compared to this either in spaciousness or in the convenience of its furnishing. For when my eyes had become accustome 1 to the prevailing twilight gloom, I had ascertained that very fair provision had been made for the comfort of the unlucky wight who was destined to occupy the placa The couch which occupied one side of the room was capacious enough to form a commodious bed, and though the cushion was no doubt hard, it was not harder than many on which 1 had slept voluntarily in the past A small chest of drawers, above which hung a glas< in which, when I looked into it, 1 saw nothing but a ghastly blur of white? the indistinguishable reflection of my facestood near the door; while at the opposite end was a folding stool and the table tc which Flinterhad drawn my attcntioa He bad not deceived me in one respect. There was, as he had said, an abundsinl supply of "good victuals" on this tabla H was covered with a white tablecloth, and 1 could see a loaf of bread, a dish on which were neatly arranged a number of slices oi co:a i>eeit a uuiuo ul i;iaruu, auutuor ui water, together with salt and o'.her ordinary accessories of the table. It was at least evident that ray captors had no thought of starving me. Nay, 1 made a discovery that positively caused me for a moment tc think less bitterly even of the ruffian Flinter. On a small shelf above the table there was a well-filled box of cigars?Larranagas of the finest brand. Clearly, then, though I was a prisoner, there was no intention of subjecting me tc any ill-treatment beyond that which was needful to keep me in close confinement This conviction finally satisfied me that 1 had been correct in my conclusion as to the real reason of my abduction. I was the captive of the millionaire; but I was alsc his guest, and be had not forgotten some, at least, of the laws of hospitality in his treatment of me. I sat down upon my bench after this long and careful survey of my prison and again tried to think steadily, calmly and clearly of my situation. My investigation had satisfied me that there was no means of escape from within and little if any chance of being able to communicate with those persons on the yacht?if such there were?who were not privy to my abduction. I was struck by the almost entire absence of sounds from without, and was more than ever convinced that some special means hod been taken foi the purpose of procuring the isolation of the cell. No sound of trampling feet on deck, no cries from the sailors, no whistle of wind in the rigging reached my ears. I might have been at the bottom of a coal mine so far as any knowledge, either by sight 01 sound, of what was passing in the outei world was concerned. How long^had remained buried in gloomy thought, wondering how and when this strange adventure was to end, and what good purpose Mauleverer really hoped tc serve by treating me in this lawless fashion, 1 cannot say Suddenly, however, I heard e sound whic'i made me start to my feet trembling from head to foot with a new excitement I was fond of the sea, and hac made many a voyage in my father's com ? T /) J "A'lJ 4-UAAA//v?A f/\ AI/^ paujr, X U1U UUU UUOU| IUD1 DiUi c, bv uo IV*V what was the meaning of the noise which now penetrated even the dreary silence of mj celL It was that deep, muffled throb which marks the first revolution of the engine or board a steamer. I listenod with all my senses on the alert, and very quickly I found that my ears had not deceived me. Slowly at first, and thei with increasing speed, the dull throbbing ol the engines was continued, and almost sim ultanoous'y I heard the rattle of the cap stan, and knew that the anchor was being weighed. I hardly dared to allow my owi mind to grasp the real significance of the soundi I stood there, almost breathless, my ear fixed to the door of my cell, during minutes which seemed hours. But only toe soon there was the fullest confirmation ol my fears. To the throb of the engine wai now added the harsher gjrinding of the shafl of the screw, while very soon other evi dences convinced me that we were putting out to sea. Once more I raised mv voice in loud cries It had been terrible before, when I knev exactly where I was, and when I could ai least feel that we were lying at anchor in ai English bay. But now, when I found thai wo were steaming away across the waves, ir a direction which I was absolutely unable t< determine, bound, it might be, for some porl where civilized laws had no effect, and wher 1 remembered, too. that I was absolutely ir the power of a ruffian whom I believed t< be capable of any crime, fresh terror seized upon my imagination. I exhausted myself utterly in vain attempts to attrac' the attention of the crew. Soon, indeed, I realized the fact that if 1 had not been able to make them hear before there was not the faintest chance of mj doing so now. The yacht had passed beyond the shelter of the Castle cliff and was breast ing the waves, which ever and anon brok< upon its quivering sides with a roar thai must have drowned all other sounds. Thi motion of the vessel increased so much thai if I bad not been an exceptionally gooc sailor I should soon have been placed hors d< combat; and my past experience of the sec enabled me even in my gloomy prison hous( to perceive that we were laboring through ? heavy gale from the nor'west. CHAPTER IX A STRANGE VOYAGE. I looked at my watch. To my surprise 1 found that it was only one o'cjock in ine airernoon. I had heard the church clocks strik ing ten when I first stood on the deck of the yacht. My imprisonment, which seemed tc have lasted for an age, had really so far con tinued for rather less than three hours. Th< panic?for I can call it nothing else, thougt it is with shame that I make the confession? into which I had been thrown when I firsl knew that we were putting out to sea sub sided with a suddenness that surprised ever myself. Perhaps it was the calm of despaii that took possession of my breast At al events I succeeded for the moment in driving all agitating ideas out of my mind. I as sumed the airs of a philosopher. I could noi help myself, it was certain; and why, therefore, should I continue to expend my strengtl in fruitless attempts to baffle my fate/ Foi the present, at least, no bodily harm was in tended to me. It would bo wiser, therefore, to accept the situation and await events. Full of this new composure, I began tc take notice of the fact that I was hungry, and that food was at my elbow. I turned to the table and observed there for the first time that which I ought to have seen before. Guards had been put upon the table before the food was to have been placed on it, sc that even the bottles were kept in their places despite the heavy rolling of the vessel. I satisfied my hunger, and then?why, then I remembered the cigar box. I remembered, too, that I had in my pocket a box of wax matches. In another minute 1 was lying on the couch, in as easy a position as it was possible to maintain under the motion of the vessel, enjoying one of the very best cigars I had ever smoked. I shall not inflict upon my readers all the phases of the long, deep reverie in which I indulged while one cigar after another van I ished in smoka At times I awoke a3 from S dream to a sense of the extraordinary ai i alarming position in which I found my so ; and then I rose and rushing to the do > shook it violently, to see whether by ai : accident it might have been opened as I li in silence on my couch. But for the mc i part I maintained the composure which fi upon me after I knew that we wore fair > out at sea, and allowed my fancy to run ri > in those imaginary meetings with my da; ing which form the solace of all absent lo i ers. By and by the gloom of my room gre deeper and I knew that night wa3 stealii on. I struck a match and looked at n ' watch. It was five o'clock. These four hou had passed more quickly, and despite t , gale which the ship was encountering, f > more comfortably than the three hours th ' had olapsed between my capture and t commencement of our voyage. 1 was thin i insr somewhat wofullv of the lone hours* . darkness which now lay before nia, wh noiselessly a flood of silvery light lllled t i cabin. Startled by its sudden appearance, > looked up, only to discover that an electi light was shining above my head in its pee ; shaped glass. It was only when this ha i pened and when I felt all the comfort of I i ing at last ab'.e to survey my abode at case t for th* artificial light was far brighter thi the natural one had been?that I realized t striking apprehension with which I had 1 ; garded the prospect of a night spent in a 1 solute darkness in such a place, i "If I only had a book now," I said to m i self, "and?why yes, I should really enjoy i cup of tea. Surely the millionaire wou not begru ige me that if he knew how mui I shou.d relish it!" i Hardly had the words passed my lips thi 1 I heard the click of a key, and then I sa that tho little trap in the door had be< i opened and that Flinter was regarding r i with a sardonic smile upon his ugly fac i All authorities on the subject are agreed i to the surprising effect which solitary co flnement has in taming a man's spirits. l found now that the authorities were rigt Instead of making a wild dash at the sp ; where the ill-omened countenance of n [ captor was visible, I sat still and merely i dulged myaelf with a silent stare of disda . in return for his grin of derision. i He sniffed audibly, inhaling the fumes > tobacco with which my little room w filled. "Enjoying yourself pretty well, it seet ; tome. You do right. No good in kickii ; when you can only hurt yourself by it ] [ civil and quiet and you won't be kept i long perhaps as you suppose where you a ! now. I came to see if you would like sor ! dinner." "Dinner!" I said. "I thought the me ; you left for me was intended for my dinne i and I really found it very good." Seeii that I had given up for the present t i thought of trying violence, I felt it better keep up in his presence the air of philosopt , co lness which I had adopted for my ov i comfort "No; lunch," he replied, sententiousl "You'll have good victuals here if you on behave yourself. If you give me your proi ise to keep quiet, I'll bring you your dinn as soon as it is ready." I hesitated for a moment, troubled by t thought of keeping any terms with such ruffian, but then 1 somewhat sullenly ga him the promise he asked. He immediate disappeared. In about half an hour he returned, ar throwing open the door, entered with a tra which he balanced es the ship rolled cleverly as a steward on board a Cuna liner could have done. In a surprising short space of time he had cleared away t remains of my morning meal, and had la upon the table a dinner such as few captivi I venture to say, are indulged with. "Ship's rolling too much for me to bri: BAim. Kltf. fhorn'c flaVl onH Pnf.lfit.q fl' i partridge, cheese and celery, and a pint [ champagne. It's as good a dinner, I bet, you would have got in Scarborough." > "Very good, indeed, I am sure. It is , no use, I suppose, asking you, Mr. Flint< i why lam here;" be shook his head; "but ; least you might tell me where I am going." i "No use asking questions." he responde shortly. "Because why: I never answ 'em. So that's plain. But if you keep qui as I've told you already, you shall be as w ' served with food and drink as if you wt i the old man himself. Now is there anythi: I more you want?" "I should like a book to read." [ "A book! Oh, yes; if that is all, you sb t soon have a book. Biess me, I'll bring y , an armful the next time I come, if only r will keep you quiet" I He left me to partake of my dinner in so tude. I did justice to it, and despite my u 1 pleasant situation and my dislike, not to s t dread, of the ruffian who was responsible i r my imprisonment, I felt alir">st cheerl i when he presently returned, carr; ing neat t a dozen volumes in his arms, in addition some blanket* for my use during the nigl , "There's books for you!" ho said, tumbli I them in a pile on the chest of drawe i "Make what you can of them; they're nothi t in my line." And right eagerly did I avail myself of 1 invitation to do so when I was once mo ; left alone. It was true that I was diss t pointed with Mr. Fiinter's choice in litera i matters. One of his volumes was a list i the Royal Yacht Squadron, two more we ; works relating to the art of navigation, ) fourth was nothing more than a series t tables of logarithms, a fifth was an old v J ume of that venerable work, "Russell's H t tory of Modern Europe;" then there was well-thumbed copy of "Buchan's Domesl I Medicine," a dictionary, a copy of Thorn Moore's poems, and. last of all in the pi Guy and Ferrier's "Forensic Medicine." t It was this book which, though it was t the bottom of th? heap, attracted me fli It did so partly becausj it was the only wo t which had a modern appearance in the c L lection, an I partly because my own medi< ) studies had given me an interest in it. T t rest of the books were old and battered. i could not imagine how they had been inti i duced into such a palace as the Gold ) Hawk. The copy of "Forensic Medicin 3 was in good preservation, and was evidcnl I the latest edition of that standard work, t I took it inlo my hands and turned to t title page. It was the edition, I saw, [ 1875. The binding was quite new, and t , pages were clean. The book apparently h r hardly been opened. 1 was holding it light I in my hand while P speculated as to b< such a volume chanced to have come hei 3 when I found that it had opened, almost, t it seemed to me, of its own accord, at a pi i ticular page. I knew in a moment what h t happened. When the volume was fit 1 1.4. ! M. 1- 1 V. /irtM nf ! I DCUgUb lb IIUU C YIUtJULI) I.cua u^uni o? bi ) page, and the reader, whoever he might 1 i wishing to keep it open there, had bent t > stiff now back in such a way as to ma i something like a spring of it?a spri which, when the volume was held in a c< tain way, caused it always to open at o particular place. Any of my readers w cares to destroy the outward appearance [ a new book may by a -implo experime satisfy himself of tho possibility of doii this. What was the subject which the perse who had apparently looked at no other pa of tho volume, had been studying? I glanced careless'y down at the print page, and the first word I saw was "Stryo nia." Strychnia, poison! Wild thougl , coursed instantaneously through my brai I saw that the chapter which soi one had been studying with the clos< . care?for the pages were well thumbed?w I that in which the whole subject of poisonii r by means of strychnia, the symptoms, t | dose, the fatal period, and the post mortc k appearances are treated with masterly pi ' cision. What did it mean? Let my reader pla himself in my position, a prisoner absolute at the mercy of a man whom I honestly I lieved to be capable of any crime, if 1 wishes to undei-stand the dark and terril > fancies which forthwith took possession my brain. Who could have bought tl book merely in order to study the subject I oisoning by strychnia with an innocent i ' tention? That was the first question I ask myself. Once more I remembered the awl 1 J- -? r> \\T? worus Ul VJ1 egauu. iim ik Jjuaaiuio iU murder was really about to be done at Gre ( Lorton Hall? Nay, as the man whom know to be the only one likely to comn such a crime was on board the Golden Ha\ at this moment, might it not be the case tb the crime had already been committed, ui that while he was flying from justice he h carried me with him to prevent my being ( any service to Daisy or her uncle f And , there had been murder, who was the victii Was it the millionaire? Or was it?could , be?my darling? I sat dazed and helpless for a time und the horror of this new tram of thought. B i a ; I was now face to face with a problem which id ! demanded the full use of all my faculties. If If, I were to deal with it to any useful purpose, I or must treat it with ail the coolness and deliberiy ation of which I was capable. Gently closing iy the book, I flung my cigar aside, and going >st to the bath room bathed my head in the 3n The first word 1 saw was "Strychnia." 110 coo], refreshing water of which there was :e* apparently an unlimited supply. Then I 03 came back to my seat and carefully tried an n" experiment which had occurred to me. * Laying the closed book on its back on the lfc- palm of my hand I allowed it again to fall ot open at its own will. Once more it opened at pags 536, and again I read that first seun" tence of the page, which describes how "The *n patient complains of a choking sensation, and of thirst and dryness of the throat; but the effort to drink often occasions rigid 08 spasms of the muscles of the jaw. Sometimes there is foaming at the mouth, and the 03 froth may be tinged with blood," eta, eta "5 I repeated the experiment in another man?e ner; the result was the same. I tried it again 80 and again, and always the volume opened at re the same page. Yes, it was quite clear to me ne ii--. .l e .i-1_ i 1.1?i uuw lli it mtj owner ui buia uwn. uau la^u^uu it for tho simple purpose of studying the at subject of poisoning by means of strychnia. >r' All the pages of this volume, it is true, were cut open, but it was only at this part of it a0 that there were any of those unmistakable V5 signs which showed that it had been read llc and studied with care again and again. en I read the whole chapter through with attention, and it says something, I think, for my j command over my own nerves that I did not y forthwith fancy that I was myself suffering from that "feeling of suffocation^ which is 6 described as the earliest symptom after the poison has been swallowed. For I could not drive out of my mind the possibility that this ye accidental discovery might have the deepest ,j personal interest for myself. If I had fallen y into the hands of a murderer, what assurance j had I that he might not try his frightful ' arts upon me? Tho thought was one that it ^ was difficult to face with composura I ber(j gan to realize what is the lot of the captive ,jv who lies ia peril of his life, and who is powerhe 'ess defend himself against the unknown id doom which may be hanging over him. gg Terrible was the long night through ' which I now passed. Tfce gale had eving dently risen to a great height; and the mon(j tion of t he vessel was such as to be distress0j ing even to the most experienced of sailors. ^ In place of the dead silence of the morning my prison cell was now filled with that in0f describible tumult of sound that marks the ;r progress of a battle between a good vessel and a raging sea I could hear the shriek i of the wind and the roar of the waves, while, even above these sounds ro-e that constant .0p groaning and creaking of the straining timsj. bers which showed how hardly the ship was ejj beset by the storm. I could feel too the ,re fury of the blows which each successive n_ wave delivered against the side of the yacht. A storm at sea is an awful thing to the landsman at the be*t of times. Let my reader try if he can conceive what this ou storm was to me?held like a rat in a trap in the middle of the laboring vessel. Yet despite my fears and tho iumult all around me, I slept, and my sleep was jn_ strangely free from those hideous dreams of which I had been apprehensive. "When I or awoke at last the bright light of the electric >uj lamp had disappe ?re 1, and some faint rays from the outer sky were entering my cabin ^ through the funnel which served the purpose of a window. I looked at my watch 1J(T and discovered that it was nine o'clock. To ? my great joy, too, I found that the sea had nz fallen, and that the yacht was making comparatively steady progress through the ,jg waters. ~re It is no part of my purpose to inflict the whole story of my imorisonment upon the ry reader. Nothing, indeed, could be more monotonoror more terrible in its monot)re ony?than the manner in which my days a were passed. Thrice during this second day I was visited by Fiinter, bringing food I 0j. hardly spoke to him, and he made no attempt to open a conversation with me. I a was still absorbed in an attempt to put to,jc gether the var'ous pieces of that strange puzzle, the first bit of which that had been l0 put into my hands was my meeting with ' Daisy and Gregson at the York railway stat tion. and the last the discovery of tho paspas? on strychnia in the work on forensic rjj medicine. That there was some strange 0I_ unity of significance in all that had hap,aj pened to me since I first saw my darling was he a conviction that was slowly forcing itself j upon my mind. Never before in my peaceful ,0_ life had I been even remotely associated with en anything in the nature ot a mystery, but now e? for some weeks I had been literally dwelling . iy in the midst of mysteries. Hour after hour parsed while I tried to hit upon s-omo key ke which should make the whole strange and Qf jumbled story plaia But I labored in vain, jjg There was only ono point of which in my aj heart of hearts I was as certain as of my lv own existence. That was that, come what might, nothing could ever be revealed which re would cast a shadow of shame upon the Qg name of the girl whom I loved. ir_ Day after day went by in tho same paina(j ful and hopeless round, and I began to ,st; despair of ever again being released from 3j3 my hateful prison hoase. It was more than )e a week since we had left Scarborough. Where we now were I could not form the jje faintest conception. I knew that we had n once stopped for an hour or more, and I , ? guessed from the perfect stillness of the vesn0 sel that we bad entered some harbor. I was conscious, too, of the fact that it was now ~r much colder than it had been when we left nt England, and I had been thankful for the additional rugs with which my jailer had supplied nie. But Flinter evaded all mv at,n tempts to elicit from him any information Lr[ as to our whereabouts. Nor would he give me the faintest hint of when I might hope to e(j be released from my captivity. ;h_ Ten days of an imprisonment, so close as lts mine was, began to tell not merely upon my n spirits but upon my physical health. My ll0 appetite failed utterly, and I hardly touched !st the delicacies with which Flinter, to do him a? justice, kept my table abundantly supplied. tlg I found myself daily growing weaker, and he the victim of an apathy which was alto,,n gether alien to my nature, in plain English, I was cowed and broken by th3 treatment to which I had been subjected. I no c0 longer even spoke to F.inter on his periodical ,jy visits to my cell. jg. It was when 1 was in the midst of one of jje my worst fits of dejection that the event (]e which I had so ardently longed lor took 0f place. I was aroused one moruing, shortly lis before noon, by the noisy opening of the of great iron door which barred the entrance [n_ to the passage leading to my place of conod flnement, and for the fir-t time sinco I had ?1 entered tho accursed hole I heard the sound a[ of voices outside. They were speaking in at quick, excited and even angry tonos. j Before 1 had time to reulize what was jjt coming, the door of my room was thrown Vk open, and, to my intense amazement, I saw at Dr. Branksome standing before me. Qd [to bk continued next week.] ud ^ ?[ ffiaf A Williamsport youth sent fif" ty cents to a New York firm to learn it how to keep from swearing:, and received in reply: "Don't open your er mouth!" he has sworn ever since.? ut IViffiamxpnrf (Pa.) (Irif. IpsccHattcouiS gUading. something"to lhavk. [Neu> York Journal of Commerce.] We heard a very suggestive conversation the other day between two gentlemen who were discussing the controversy before the Surrogate about the probate of a will. One declared that the best method after all was to make no testament and let the estate of a decedent be settled and divided according to the statute. The other asked how then any provision could be made for bequests of a i...o rru? .1 : i,1Mn unm iuiuit; uiiiuic ; i nc uiscuwiuu tuui- | ed at once upon various testamentary projects which had collapsed owing to the vagueness and insufficiency of the terms in which the bequests were made. In conclusion one of them said: "I know what I would do it I had anything to leave, but I have nothing worth bequeathing to anybody." The reference was undoubtedly to such material estates as have a financial value. And it is true that there is a growing uncertainty in regard to the disposition of these estates by last will and testament. If the document is carefully drawn, and the provision inserted without a legal flaw in the language or execution, there is always the question of mental soundness, and beyond this of "undue influence" on the part of some one who is benefitted by it at the expense of the greedy kinsman. The temptati.on to contest the probate is always very great if the estate is large, since if the will can be broken the gain to the contestants is likely to be considerable, and if it is so constructed as to stand on the last appeal, they hope for a compromise in the course of the struggle that will add something to their coffers. The absolute right of one who has accumulated an estate to dispose of it as he will, which was once wholly unquestioned, even when he is fully competent to express his wishes in such a testament, has been restricted in various ways by statute for many years, and the tendency both in law and public opinion is in favor of still further interference with arbitrary bequests. If a man really has his heart set on doing some particular work of benevolence with his earnings, he cannot be sure that his purpose will prove effectual unless he appropriates it in his lifetime. The common feeling seems to be that after the owner of an estate has no further use for it himself, he has no right to follow it to the next generation with any directions concerning it. When his hands are forced to drop the wealth he has held with so tight a grasp, his natural heiis are ready to clutch it for themselves, and believe that nothing should come between them and its enjoyment. We are not justifying this sentiment, but describing it as something which actually exists and which has great influonno in unupttlimr nnv nrnvisions made by the owner of property for the uses to which it shall he applied after they have left it. Instead of any improvement in thestability of wills, especially of such as divert a large portion of the estate from the natural channels of descent, this tendency to render void such bequests is likely to increase, and we shall not be surprised in the near luture to see further restrictions on these acts of testamentary bounty. But we intended to say something in regard to that which all men may leave behind them for the benefit of survivors. There are, alas, too many like the one we have quoted who have literally nothing worth a bequest. It is not especially sad to leave a meagre bank account and empty Ijockets, where itis not the resultof thriftessness and dissipation. The Model of the race left no material property save the raiment he wore to his death, which was divided at the seams into four pieces by his executioners ; and his vesture woven whole, for which they cast lots. But He left a name, a character, an influence, which is the world's greatest treasure today, and will be increasingly valuable as the centuries come and go to the end of time. We see from this that he who is poorest in the world's goods may still have something to leave of inestimable value to those who follow him. Elijah's mantle dropping from his shoulders as he entered the celestial chariot, became in the hands of his successor a' mighty instrument for working wonders, although it seemed but a worn piece of cloth. This is a parable to us of the value of a noble life that has gone before, in its influence on successive generations. The frail casket in which it rendered such loving service to God and humanity is all that to sensual eyes remains of the departed, and even this is soon to be buried out of sight. But the unseen presence is a mighty power for good, renewing itself in the building up | of character transmitted from one toanoth er, and multiplying without any loss in such division, until the progeny of one illustrious example becomes an innumerable host bound by an invisible but common tie, here and beyond the grave. The poorest man who has not where to lay his head may leave such a legacy to those who come after him. The true heirs cannot be kept out of the estate. Nor can there be a strife over the multiplying shares, as each, drawing from the same pattern, may take in the whole of the canvas, and reproduce in his own life the completed picture. It is a noble ambition to make such a bequest to the ages. They who are disappointed in their efforts to accumulate the millions of cash assets which comprise the whole of some men's wealth, may make their own lives so radiant with whatever blesses and brightens the world, that they shall be copied in all the succeeding years. Their names may soon be forgotten in earthly annals, perhaps before their bodies shall crumble to the final dust. But the halo that surrounded them while intent on this loving service is part of the great volume of light that enriches the world, and is rekindled for all who come under the same sweet influence and follow their bright example. None of the millions divided by authority of the surrogate's Court can be wrought into a memorial so enduring as the lesson of right living, embodied in an illustrious example, and thus perpetually transmitted until the last of the race shall de summoned from the earth. TRAINING SCHOOLS IN THE SOUTH. A recent letter from the late Governor of South Carolina, Hon. Hugh S. Thompivm./irwi Mtipution thtt best informed | OW1J, l/VJ WHU ? public man of the South on educational matters, declares that the need of trained teachers is now perhaps the most immediate pressure on school affairs in that section. While in a general way the Southern people have great need of national aid for establishing schools, the quality of these schools depends, even more than in the North, on the outfit of the teacher. Especially in the rural | realm, where nine-tenths of the SouthI ern people live, the new school is often | the most important agency of progress, { and the teacher has an opportunity superior to all other officials for good. This view has determined the policy of the Peabody Educational Fund in appropriating its income chiefly for the training of teachers, and the Sla?er Fund is doing something in the same direction. But the yearly income of both these charities for this purpose does not exceed the expenditures of the city of Worcester, Mass., for her common schools. Already a good beginninghas been made in training teachers for the common school work in all the sixteen Southern States. Missouri leads with four good State normals, and several city training schools? that of St. Louis is not excelled anywhere. Texas and Maryland have State schools of established reputation. Virginia and Louisiana have made an excellent beginning for whites, and some of the best col ored training schools in the South are found at IJampton and New Orleans. Tennessee co-operates with the Peabody Fund in the support of the leading normal college for whites of the South. Alabama subsidizes half a dozen schools for the training of white and colored teachers. West Virginia supports two or three State normals, and Kentucky, the Carolinas, Arkansas, Delaware and Florida attempt something in this connection in their State universities. Mississippi has established a normal school for white girls. Georgia alone seems to be the exception, although the colored colleges in the State train teachers. Every State now supports an institute asylum, more or less effective. But the most vital spot for training teachers is the new graded school now coming up in all the Southern towns. This school offers special facilities for the establishment of a proper training department of the Oswego (N. Y.) pattern, giving at least a year of instruction in the science and method of teaching, with practice in a real school. Every Southern city (and all towns of a thousand people and upwards in the South have the city organization), is the centre of an extensive rural district, generally poorly supplied with school facilities. The academies are too expensive for the majority, especially of young women desiring to teach, and seldom attempt proper training. At a moderateannual cost these free graded schools may be crowned with an effective training class, which will not only supply the home demand, but furnish a central opportunity for numbers of young people from the country, who can return and afford to teach in the neighborhood of their own homes. Only in this way can the South, in town or country, build up an effective system of public schools. Every important graded school South of Washington should make an effort in this direction.?Neic England Journal of Education. - - - ? \V. H. BAILEY. W. H. Bailey, of the Executive Board of the Knights of Labor, an organization 750,000 strong, was born in Greenwich, England, September 0th, 1840. His parents removing to Northumberland. The lad, at the age of ten, was placed at work in the coal mines there. In 18G6 he came to America and settled in the Monongahela Valley where he remained until 1867 when he' went to Ohio. In 1860 he settled in Wheeling, West Virginia, where he was made foreman of the Central Glass House Company's mine. When, in 1873 the great panic came, he was forced by the want of work to return to Ohio. Two years later, with his accumulated savings he bought a tract of coal land and commenced to operate it, but the land proving worthless he lost his entire fortune. He returned to West Virginia and worked in the Kanawha Valley. In 1877 he joined the Knights of Labor and a strike occurring in West Virginia he was again forced into Ohio. In Perry county, he reorganized the scattered Knights and in 1881 was elected District Master Workman and labored so zealously that in two years his district numbered 1,800 members. It was during his first term as District Master Workman that he succeded in organizing the imported negro miners at Itendville into an assembly and he also organized fha Ciprmnns that had been brought over by the O. C. Coal Co. In 1885, he was re-elected District Master Workman. In 1883 he was elected representative to the General Assembly at Cincinnati, again in 1884 at Philadelphia, and in 1885 in Hamilton, Ontario. In fulfilling his duties as a member of the Executive Board he is almost always traveling. One of the most signal victories of the Knig? ts was gained atGloverville, which strike Messrs. Bailey and Barry were instrumental in raising. . THE EYES OF THE BEE. There is the bee's eye, with its hundreds of facets, each presenting the same image? this is proved by separating the manysided cornea and looking through it with a microscope at a candle flame. The bee, moreover, besides its pair of faceted eyes, carries on the top its head three simple eyes, very convex, for short-distance vision. Then there are itsantenme, whereby it feels its way in the dark hive, and which give it moreover its exquisite power of smell. Bees can hear, too, though Sir John Lubbock thinks not. They seem deaf because, like wise people, they only attend to such as concern them; their own hive's "roar" the stragglers can hear a very long way off, and Mr. Cheshire thinks that the old key and warming pan music at swarming time is by no means exploded. Their impassiveness under many kinds of sounds he compares with that of most human beings in a thunderstorm; we are as if we heard not, whereas if a child cries for help we wake into activity. " j - ?a?v?a. Bees are clearly not given 10 wnsic CUIUtion or nerve force. They have a nervous system with ganglions?i. e., knots or lumps where the nerve thread meets. A bee's brain is a larger ganglion placed in its head, divided like ours?into two lobes. In queens and drones the brain is small. The worker has proportionately twice as much as the* ant and more than twenty times as much as the cockchafer. Intelhgentthough it is, we need not suppose it to be a high class mathematician because its cells are hexagonal. Mr. Cheshire says that if you put a soap bubble on a bit of slate one side gets flattened. Put another close to it and the contiguous walls become quite flat, owing to the equal tension on both sides. Now add five more bubbles, so that the first oc- ? cupies the center; a cross section of this central bubble will now be perfectly hexagonal all the contiguous walls of the seven bubbles being flat, the free ones curved. This is the case in the hive, the free walls of the comb always running in a sweep, and the hexagonality beingsimpiy due to the pressure of oue bee against another as they are working.?All the Year Round. 5?"One of the most important rules in the science of manners is that you preserve an almost absolute silence concerning yourself. Play the comedy, some day, of speaking of your own interests to ordinary acquaintances, and you will see feigned attention swiftly followed by indifference and then by weariness, until every one has found a pretext for leaving you. But if you wish to group about you the sympathies of all and to be considered a charming and agreeable fellow, talk to them of themselves, seek some way of bringing each of them into action in turn; then they will smile at you, think well of you and praise you when you are gone.?JYeio Yorl; Herald, A