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.lewis yi. grist, proprietor, J % Jnitepeniirnf Jfarnil]} ftcfospajjcr: $ot % promotion of f|c political, Social, ^gricnltural anb Commercial Interests of % Sontj).' jterms--$2.50 a year, in adyance. VOL. 33. YOBKYILLE. S. C.. WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 7, 1887. JSTO. 49. |t Jtoial Jtofg. THE NINE OF HEARTS. BY B. L. FARJEON. IV. Dr. Daincourt called while I was dressing, after a few hours' sleep. I am not usually a dreamer, but I had a dream so strange that I awoke with the memory ot It in my mind. It was of hands?ladies' hands?every finger of which was covered with rings. Holding the theory, as I have already explained that the imagination during sleep is not creative, but invariably works upon a foundation of fact, I oivlonvnriniT tn trfli-A t,hf? OfinTIPpHflTI between my singular dream and some occurrence or circumstance within my knowledge, when Dr. Daincourt entered. "Well," were his first words, "have you made anything of tho letters which I left with you last night?" "I was employed only upon one," I said, "which kept me up until C o'clock this morning. I don't begrudge the time or the labor, because I have discovered the clew to Master Eustace Rutland's communications to his sister." "That means," said Dr. Daincourt, excitedly, "that you have? discovered the mystery of the 'nine of hearts.' " "In so far," I replied, "as respects tho playing cards found in Miss Rutland's desk?yes, I have discovered that part of the mystery; but .1 have not yet discovered the mystery of the particular nine of hearts which was found in the pocket of Edward Layton's ulster." I showed Dr. Daincourt the result of my labors on the previous night, and he was delighted and very much interested, but presently his face became clouded. "I am still disturbed," he said, "by the dread that the task you are engaged upon may bring Miss Rutland into serious trouble." "I hope not," was my rejoinder to the remark, "but I shall not allow considerations of any kind to stop me. Edward Layton is an innocent man, and I intend to prove him so." "If he is innocent," said Dr. Daincourt, "then Miss Rutland must also be innocent." "Undoubtedly," I said, "with a cheerful smile, which did much to reassure the worthy doctor. "Have you opened the two sealed letters," asked Dr. Daincourt, "which I brought from Mrs. Rutland's house?" "No," I replied. "I have devoted myself only to the first of the opened letters found in Miss Rutland's desk. I shall proceed immediately with the second, and then I shall feel myself warranted in opening and reading the letters which arrived for Miss Rutland during her illness. By the way, doctor, I have hed a singular dream, and upon your entrance I was endeavoring to track it. It was a dream of ladies' hands, covered with rings." "Any bodies attached to the hands?" inquired Dr. Daincourt, jocosely. "No; sinjply hands. They seemed to puss ueiuro visiuu, uuu \aj idc ua unexpected places?pretty shapely hands. But it was not so much the hands that struck me as being singular as the fact that they were covered with rings of one particular kind." "What kind?" "I must have seen thousands o? rings upon the shapely fingers, and there was not one that was not set with diamonds and turquoises." A light came into Dr. Daincourt's face. "And you mean to tell me that you can't discover the connection?" "No; I can't for the life of me discover it" "That proves," said Dr. Daincourt, "how easy it is for a man engaged upon a serious task to overlook important facta which are as plain as the noonday sun." "What facts have I overlooked, doctor?" "Have you the newspapers in the room containing the report of the trial?" "Yes," "Give me the one containing the report of the third day's proceedings?" . I handed it to him, and he ran his erea down the column in which the evidence of the waiter in Prevost's restaurant was reported. "The waiter was asked," said Dr. Daincourt, "whether the lady who accompanied Edward Layton was married, and whether there were rings upon the fingers of her ungloved hand." "Yes, yes," I cried, "I remember: ADi the waiter answered that she wore a riu^ of torquoises and diamonds. Of course? of course. That explains my dream." "Yes," said Dr. Daincourt, "that explains it." "I need no further assurance," I said, "to prove that it was Miss Rutland who was in Edward Layton's company on the Dight of the 25th of March, but I wish to ask her mother whether the young lady possesses such a ring, and is in the habit, of wearing it. Your face is clouded again, doctor. You fear that I am really about. Vtrinr* +rrml?lc? Yirvrvn "\ficc "Rntlnnri Yfttv are mistaken; I am working in the caus* of justice. If I prove Edward Lay ton to be innocent, no shadow of suspicion can. rest upon Miss Rutland. You must trust entirely to me. Can you not now understand why Edward Layton refused to bo defended by a shrewd legal mind? Ho would not permit a cross examination ot any of the witnesses which would bring the name of Mabel Rutland before tho public. To save her honor, to protect her from scandal and calumny, he is ready to sacrifice himself. He shall not do so. I will prevent it. . Your patient is in a stato of delirium, you tell me. She knows nothing of what passes around her, she recognizes no one, she has not heard of the peril in which Edward Layton stands. Say that she remains in this state of ignorance until Edward Layton is sentenced and hanged for a crime which he did not commit?say, then, that she recovers and hears of it?reads of it?why, she will go mad! It would be impossible for her to preserve her reason in circumstances so terrible. There is a clear duty before us, Dr. Daincourt, and we must not shrink from it. I need not urge upon you to use your utmost skill to restore Mabel Rutland to Health, and to the consciousness of what is passing around her. If before Edward Layton is put agaia apon his trial I do not clear him. I shall not hesitate to make^ome kind of appeal to Miss Rutland which, even should shb remain delirious, shall result in favor ot the man who is so nobly and rashly protecting her good name." "Remember," said Dr. Daincourt, gravely, "that she is in great danger." "You mean that she may die soon?" "Yes," "But not suddenly?" I asked, in alarm. "I think not suddenly." "Still," I said, "there is a chance of her being restored to health?" "Yes, there is a chance of it." "If the worse happens," I said, "is it likely that she would recover consciousness before her death?" "It is almost certain that she would." "Their it would be necessary," I said, "to take her dying deposition. Doctor, it is my firm conviction that the man and the woman who entered Edward Layton's house after midnight on the 23th of March were not Edward Layton and Mabel Rutland." "But the coachman drove them home!" exclaimed Dr. Daincourt. "So he said." "And took them from Prevost's Restaurant." "So he said. Recall that part of the coachman's evidence bearing upon it. Ho j says that Edward Layton, accompanied j by a lady, issued from the restaurant at i 11:55; that Layton appeared excited, j . which he, the coachman, attributed to the j fact of his having taken too much wine; To rebut this we have the evidence of the waiter, who declared that Layton simply tasted the wine that was ordered. He could not have drunk half a glass. The man and the woman came from the restaurant, jumped quickly into the carriage, and but one word, 'Home!' was uttered in a thick voice. Now, Layton, in his ridiculously weak cross examination, put two questions to the witness. 'Did it occur to you,' he asked, 'or does it occur to you now, that the voice which uttered that word was not my voice?' The witness replied that it had not occured to him. Then Layton said, 'You are certain that it was my voice?' And the witness replied, 'Yes, sir.' To me, these two questions put by Layton are convincing proof that it was not he who entered the carriage from Prevo3t'srestaurant." "But he wore his ulster," said Dr. Daincourt. "Here, again," I said, "we have evidence which, to my mind, is favorable. The waiter testifies that when Layton entered the room in which the supper was ordered he took off his ulster and hung it on a peg in the wall, at some distance from the table at which he sat. Moreover, he sat with his back to the coat. Layton, in his cross examination, asked the waiter, 'Did I put the overcoat on before I left the room?' The waiter replied, 'Yes.' The judge Interrupted with the rebuke, 'You have scid in examination that you did not see the prisoner and his companion leave the room.' And the witness replied, 'But when I returned, after being away for three or four minutes, monsieur was gone and the coat was also gone.' The prisoner put his last question i.. xl ii OAA mn nil f LU IIIC Wttlin, JLUU U1U Iiuu act iUP ^/uu VI* the overcoats And the witness answered, 'No.' Doctor, I see .light. Bring me news of the ring set with turquoises and diamonds. I shall be at home the whole of the evening." After Dr. Daincburt's departure I made a hurried breakfast, went through my correspondence and resumed my task of examining Eustace Rutland's letters to his sister. The second opened communication was exactly of the same shape and form as the first which I had deciphered. 1 give here an exact copy of it: K 10 N 17 D 6 L 13 C 1 eo W m of to distraction street m < e 2 awfully yours an till I M Ci * at love bard night * up angel Chester power my m h H ^ corner her ida all o'clock ? ? od is death in will h o * n nine I do Tuesday 51 s a 8foiA*a8i?iG The notation of the nine figures, representing the nine pips in the playing card, in Eustace's first communication, was C, 2, 7, 3, 9, 1, 4, 5, 8. Taking as my guide the alphabetical letter A, I found that the notation in Eustace*Rutland's secpnd communication was 3, 6, 1, 5, 2, 9, 4, 8, 7. I placed the playing card, with its pips cut out, over the paper, and the following was revealed: "Of?street?at ?night?Chester ? corner?o'clock?nine?Tuesday.'' Arranging these words according to the new notation of figures, they formed this sentence: "At corner of Chester street Tuesday night nine o'clock." "Now," thought I, "this may have been an appointment." If so?and nothing was more likely?I could derive no assistance from it. It conveyed no information, and contained nothing which would assist me in my inquiries. It was very likely that I should light upon something further, and I proceeded with my task. The figure immediately following the alphabetic letter A was 12, which meant, if I were on the right track, that the second sentence in this communication was composed of twelve words. I followed the same process I had previously employed, and the twelve words formed themselves thus: "Awfully hard up ida is'an angel I love her to distraction." , So as to finish this communication, I unravelled the last ten words and found them to be: "I will do all in my power yours till death." This I set aside as being intended to convey no meaning. The first sentence, making an appointment at the corner of Chester street, was, whether correct or not, of little importance. I concentrated my attention upon the second sentence of twelve words: "Awfully hard up ida is an angel I love her to distraction." So the young scamp was hard up again and knew that his sister would respond to his appeal. And he was in love, too, and ida was an angel. Ida, of course, was a capital I. I jumped to my feet as if I had been shot. Ida! What was the name of Mrs. Layton's maid, who had given such damning evidence against the man I meant to set free? Ida White! Not a common name. An unusual one. I walked about the room in a state of great excitement. Ida White, the angel, and Eustace Rutland, the scamp. But the woman must be at least eight or ten years older than Eustace. What mat' tered that? All the more likely her hold upon him. Young fools frequently fall in love with women much older than themselves, and when the women get the chance they don't let the youngsters escape easily. Yes, opposite to each other stood two men?one a worthless ne'er do well, the other a martyr! Opposite to each other stood two women?one a scheming woman of the world, the other ? suffering, heart broken girl! I would save the noble ones. Yes, I would save them! The chain was forming link by link. * m m * * ? I broke off here to dispatch telegrams to of my confidential agents. My instructions to them were to employ themselves immediately in discovering where Ida White, the maid who had given evidence against her master at the trial, was living, and having found it, not to lose sight of her for a single moment, but to set a strict watch upon her, and to take note of her proceedings and movements, however trivial they might be. These telegrams being dispatched 1 returned to my task. The two sealed letters which Dr. Daincourt, had received from Mrs. Rutland lay before me. I took up the first, which I knew to be in Eustace's handwriting. I opened it. It was of a similar nature to the two I had already examined and interpreted. There is no need here to repeat the details of the process by means of which I read this third communication, a copy of which I also append: ? 11 8 3 J 11 A 7 N 13 ? . 0 S know am I v. me address m C * ' m w I I *" bo an M - M ? ' c me awful mo tho innocent laid to that guilty m p; find do against you ? m not charge am not desert ? I - i-I H old swear t may ivliere ? M > ? C A II J 9 AV ST CI 0 H I will simply say that the notation was 7, 1, 9, 5, (5, 3, 4, y, 2, and that the words resolved themselves into the following: "You know where to find me. The old address." "Aw awful charge may belaid against me. I am not guilty." "Do not desert me. I swear that I am innocent." I decided that the whole of this was intended to be conveyed to Mabel Rutland's understanding^ and that in the last of Eustace's communications to his sister there was not one idle word. "An awful charge may be laid against me." That charge, undoubtedly, was the murder of Mrs. Lay ton. "I am notguilty. I swear that I am innocent." But all guilty men are ready to swear that they are innocent. Not a moment 1 was to bo lost in setting my agents to work to discover Eustace Rutland's | ' address, as well as the address of Ida ' White. I quickly opened the letter which the Edward Layton had written in prison an( to Mabel Rutland, and which I had wil posted. It was very 6hort, to the follow- cio ing effect: i "Dear Miss Rutland,?All is well, vie Have no fear. Do not write to me until dre you hear from me again. Believe me, ' faithfully yours, Edward Layton." she Thus it was that he endeavored to keep Mr from the woman he loved the true knowl- ho\ edge of the peril in which he stood. To file save her good name he was ready to go the cheerfully to his death. of i 1 v an( dis, I rose early this morning in the expecta- ( tion of a busy day. Dr. Daincourt called saj( on Saturday evening, as I had expected, tha and narrated to me the result of his in- inquiries respecting Mabel Rutland's jew- j elry. Among it there was a ring set with pre turquoises and diamonds, which had been ]je given to her by her mother and which she wore constantly. Dr. Daincourt had re- tw< ceived from Mrs. Rutland further in- em stances of the profound attachment which jse( Mabel bore for her twin brother. "Deep as was her love,"'Mrs. Rutland had said, "for Mr. Layton, there is in her love for her brother an element so absorbing that she would not hesitate to make * the most terrible sacrifices for his sake. J?5 My poor Eustace! It is weeks since I saw * c him, and I have no idea where he is. He ^n is not altogether to blame, doctor; he has " been led away by bad companions. Ah, ^r when I think of him and Mabel as little Ul children and see them, us I often do, play- coa ing their innocent games together?when I think of the exquisite joy we drew from ^ them and of the heavenly happiness they * ' were to us, it seems to me that I must be sur under the influence of some horrible aav dream, that things have changed so!" *ro. At 9:30 o'clock one of my confidential *n(agents, Fowler by name, made his appearance. J1 "Found, sir," was the first thing he ]101 said to me. to. "Who?" I quickly a&ked. ?S' "IdaWTiite. Living at Brixton. The drawing rooms. Quite a swell in her way, ac" sir." ci" "Is she living alone?" ' "So far ns we can make out. There are ?nc two men now on the watch, one to relieve ??3 the other." *? "And Mr. Eustace Rutland?" I asked. Iao "Haven't got track of him yet, sir. The ?loi week is rather against us." "at "What do you mean by that?" P1? "Why, sir, you don't forget that it is * v Derby week, do you? 1 suppose you backed Pre one, but I can give you' the straight tip if *'? you want it." tlia "I backed Paradox for a couple of sovereigns," I said. (Where is the man who . al does not take an interest in the Derby?) ,nS "Not in it, sir. There is only one horse | ??1 will win, and that is Melton." j sho "But," I said, coming back to the all | of s engrossing subj "t I was engaged upon, an i "what difference will the Derby week | brii make to you?" Ru "Well, you see, sir, London is so full? " There is too much rushing about for calm not steady work. In such n task as ours a roo man wants a double set of eyes this week, froi Suppose my lady takes it into her head to " go to the Derby? It will be all a job not "K to lose sight of her." resl "What lady do you refer to?" " "Ida White, to be sure. She's a bit of " blood, sir, and the result of the Derby fasi may mean a lot to her." all "Does she bet, then?" hca "There is not much doubt of that, sir." " "How did you discover it?" ask "Oh, easily enough. We have ways of " our own. Why, sir, when I found out lan last night where she lives, what did I do not an hour afterward but present myself to arr; the landlady of the house and ask her as whether she could let me have room for a me; week or two? I didn't tell you there was She a bill in her window, 'A bedr.oom to let to and a single young man.' Well, if I ain't a late single young man, what is that to do with in t anybody?except my wife? I'm a soft " spoken chap when I like, and before tho the laudlady and me are together live minutes " I'm hand and glove with her, and already Ma p. bit of a favorite. So I take her room tar. ?,nel sleep thero last niTlit, and the first j ant thing this morning dow.n stairs I am an -i the street door when the postman.comes mc tvith the letter. Well, sir, would you be- a si licve it, he delivers live letters, and every Bri one of them for Miss Ida White? I, open- hoy iog the door for the postman, take the let- drr ters from liim and hand them one by one tior io the landlady, who comes pulling and linf panting up from the basement?she weighs dist fourteen stone if she weighs an ounce. Wli 'Miss Ida White,' says I, giving her the Sec first letter. 'Miss Ida White,' says I, giv- his ing her the second letter. 'Miss Ida the White,' says I, giving lier the other three, ing one by one. 'Why, it is quite a corre- tior spondence!' All these letters are from can Boulogne, sir, from belting firms. I was know them by their outsides; I believe like I should know them by the smclL the Then, sir, there's something else. My For lady is fond of newspapers. What kind "Di of newspapers? Why, the sporting ones, fore to be sure. The Sportsman, Sporting Wli Life, Sporting Times, Referee and the mei like. Put this and that together, and win what do you make of it, sir?" It v "You are progressing, Fowler," I said. - "Yes, sir, we're moving. The landlady, stat bless her heart, she doesn't suspect what the letters from Boulogne are, but in less "whi than a brace of shakes I worm out of her that Miss Ida White lias rcee'ved any I mui j number of them since she came io live in ' " I the house." j "pi "Have you any idea what horse she has | leai | backed?" j I< "I have an idea that she has backed j for 1 half a dozen, and that neither of the ' Hiu I favorites is among them. When a woman liav j bets, she wants fifty to one as a rule, and Wli as a rule she gets it, and has to part." bef< I debated a moment or two, and then I ing showed Fowler one of the envelopes ad- tat( dressed by Eustace Rutland to his sister, nev "Are you certain that none of the en- he I velopes you saw this morning were ad- tior 1 - - - .... I T | aresscu mtms nunu writing.'- i jjm "Quite certain, sir." bee I "I should like to see the house that Miss sitt | Ida White lives in, Fowler." . was "Nothing easier; but I shouldn't go as i cag I am, if I were you." j mei "Why not!'" I nor: j "Well, you sec, she had a pretty long , A i examination in court at the Lnyton trial, j pur and you were there all the time. She has \ had i sharp eyes in her head, has Aliss Ida i in \ White, and she might recognize you, and ! wei smell a rat." j wit "You are right. I had better not go." tint "I don't see why you shouldn't, if you i tvsci j let me fix you up." I spo "Fix me up?" j mal "Yes, sir." j pro He took from his pocket a small box of ' you paints and two or three sets of wigs and ! wrr whiskers and mustaches. you "I always travel with thent, sir. I can ! she j make myself into another man in live j fort minutes or so, and as for a change of i I fe j clothes, any handy cheap clothes shop will ! was I serve my turn. Put on these sandy j and whiskers and mustaches?always hide ; bet ! your mouth, sir?and this sandy wig, and j can i let me touch you up a bit, and your own and mother wouldn't know you." tioi I doubted whether she would when I j Evi looked at myself in the glass after carry- run I ing out Fowler's instructions, and in less < fori j than a quarter of an hour we were riding j alio i in a four wheeled cab to Prix ton. Wo j vers alighted within a couple of hundred yards j ioiu of Aliss Ida White's lodgings, and Fowler j the ! took me boldly into the house, requesting i veil | me on the way thither to try and discover ; no I the men working under him who were j of t keeping watch upon the lady's maid's cha movements. To his gratification, I failed j clai to discover them. j ^ "Then you didn't see me give the ollice ! to t to them:'" he asked. ! day "No," I replied. gra ' "I did, though, under your very nose, lillc : That is a guarantee to you, sir, that the had thing is being neatly done. Miss White whi is in the house. If she were not, my men l''o\ wouldnt't be in the street. Did you hear ! wit ] the snapping of a lock down stairs:'" | stri "Xo." j not We were sitting at the window of Fow- j lose ler's room, which was situated on the | lie i second iloor. It was the front room, and j " j we could therefore see into the street. i wa; "It was the key turning in my lady's j I.ai I room. She is going out. There's the J wit street door slamming. You heard that, jus of course!'" 1'atl 'Yes, I heard that." 'And there is Miss Ida White crossing i road to the opposite side of the way, 1 there, sir, are my men following her, :hout her having the slightest suspin that she is being tracked." dy sight is strong, and I had a clear w of Ida White. She was stylishly :ssed, and was certainly good looking. 'It is my opinion," said Fowler, "that > feathered her nest when she was in s. Layton's service; but I don't care v much money she may have saved or bed, if she goes on betting on horses i book makers will have every penny It." Chere was nothing more to be done, 1 feeling somewhat ill at ease in my guise I prepared to leave. 'I will see you out of the street, sir," il Fowler. "It happens often enough t watchers are watched, without their ncr aware of it.'' More I bade Fowler good day I imssed upon him that no money was to spared in the business I had intrusted him, and that he had better engage 3 or three men, to be ready for any ergency that might occur. He prom:1 to do so and I made my way home. . VI. " I TIIE DAY AFTER THE DERBY. More commencing an account of what i been done, and what discovered, annot refrain from writing one sence. Success hus crowned our efforts. ?here is no need here to minutely deibe our proceedings on Monday and esday. Sufficient to say that I was in istnnt communication with Fowler? 0 is a most trustworthy fellow, and ewd to the tips of his nails?and that md occasion on Tuesday to again asnc my disguise. On Tuesday night I 7 Dr. Daincourt, and was glad to learn ni him that there was an improvement Miss Rutland's condition. 'Due," he observed, "in a great meas! to certain assurances I imparted to in a voice so distinct and cheerful as impress itself upon her fevered imnation." 'That is good news," I said. "You are ninistering what she requires?medie for the mind." come now at once to the account of ! of the most exciting days?the Derby r of 1885?I have ever passed through, ivler was in my house at 7 o'clock in the rning, and brought with him a suit of thes which he wished me to wear. He 1 forewarned me that he had intended to kc a change in his own nppearanee, and ras therefore not surprised when he sented himself in the guise of a well to farmer who had come to London to see Derby. 'Miss White is going, sir," he said, id we arc going, too. I have been livin the house with her these last two rs, and it is important that she uld not recognize me. I have a piece atisfactory information for you. ' It is even bet that before this day is out I [ lg you face to face with Mr. Eustace [ Hand." If you do," said 1, "you win lose j hing by it. Bring me into the same | m as that young man and I will wring | n liim what I desire to know." Don't get excited, sir," said Fowler, j eep cool. You have had a good night's I :, I hope?" Yes, 1 slept well." That's right. Make a hearty breakt, as I am going to do. We shall need our strength. It is going to bo a vy day for us." Where does Ida White start from?" I j ed. I can't tell you, sir. I pumped the i dlady of the house, but she knew I hing except that a new bonnet had ived for our lady bird. Miss White is [ close us wax, but that new bonnet f ins the Derby, if it means anything. I : can't very well start before 9 o'clock, ! [ we shall lie on the watch for her not J tr than 8:130. I have six men engaged I he nllair, sir. It will costsomethii?." j Nevermind the cost," I said; "it is i last thing to be considered.' That is the way to work to success, ny a ship is spoiled for a lia'porth of , We shall come out of this triumph- j , or my name is not Fowler, lis confident, hopeful manner inspired j with conildence, aud after partaking of i ibstantial breakfast we both set out for j xton. Fowler had hire'd a cab by the j ir, with a promise of double fare to the j irer, to whom he gave explicit instrucis. We did not enter the house; we cercd at the corner of a street at some ;ance from it, and at 9:40 Miss Ida lite closed the street door behind her. ret signals passed between Fowler and men, and we followed the lady's maid, cab which Fowler had engaged crawlin our rear without attracting atteni. Miss White sauntered on until she i te to a cab stand, and entering a cab, i driven away. We were after her s a shot. Two' other cabs started at same time, and I' learned from vlcr that they were hired by his men. on't think I have drawn off all my ; :es, sir," he said. "Although Miss | lite has left the house, there are two j i on watch, who will remain there the ! jlc of the day. She has started early, rill make it all fhe easier for us." liss White's cab stopped at Victoria ion, and we stopped also. She's a smart looking woman, sir," ispcred Fowler to me. Slio lm? <i snlomlifl mriinlpYinn." T rr>- ! rketl. Put on, sir," said Fowler smiling? ! it 011. Leave a lady's maid alone to j 11 the tricks of the face." la White purchased u first class ticket Epsom Downs, and we did the same, j .11 followed my own judgment I should j c avoided the carriage in which Miss lite traveled, but Fowler pushed me in j ire him, and got in afterward, and, be- j under his command, I did not liesi?. He had purchased a number of ! spapcrs, and shortly after we started surprised me by opening a conversaI with a stranger. He spoke with a ! icashire accent, and I should have ! n deceived by his voice had he not been I ing by my side. The subject, of course, i the Derby, and he appeared to bo er to obtain information ns to the \ its and chances of the various runs. leanwhile, Miss White, who had also | chased every sporting paper she saw, j taken from her pocket a racing guide, vhicli the performances of the horses ! c recorded. She studied this guide | ii great seriousness, and was contally consulting the newspapers tc ;rtain how far the opinions of the rting prophets agreed with the infortion of the authority with which she had vided herself. "So," thought I, "this ng woman, whose whole soul seems ipped up in racing matters, is the same ing woman who in court declared that hated races mid betting men." Be: we were half an hour on our journey It perfectly at ease in her presence. It i clear that she considered herself safe, j . umong strangers. The conversation | ween Fowler and the gentleman beic more animated; others joined in, II observed that Miss White's atten1 was attracted to their utterances. ;ry now and then she made a inetnodum in a small metallic book, and be5 we arrived at Epsom Downs she 1 iwed herself to be drawn into condition, and freely expressed her op'in> upon the horses that were to run for blue ribbon of the turf. I did not tare to address her, but Fowler had J fear, and extracted from her the names j he horses sin- believed to have the best J nces. lie slapped his thigh, and de- j ed that lie should hack them. \'o alighted at Epsom Downs and rode I he race course. The great rush of t ho had not yet set in, but, although the -1 1 I nil Miwiu uan ?*. uutu i kI, there were already many there who j I taken tip a favorable position from I it'll to see the principal race of the day. vler improved upon his aequuitance { h Miss White, and I obeyed the intctions he managed to convey to me to stick too close to him. I did not sight of him, however, and presently L-ame and said to me, in an undertone: It's all right, sir; I'm making lieady. I've told her where I came from in icashire, and that I am a single man h a goodish bit of property which haa t fallen to me through the death of my icr. I've given her my card?I had some printed yesterday In cuse they miglit be wanted. We are going up stairs to have a bit of luncheon before the races commence." Up stairs we went to the luncheon room, where Fowler called for re bottle of dry champagne, in which we drank good luck to each other. It was only by great exertions that we managed, after lunch, to : squeeze ourselves into the graud stand. The crush was terrific up the narrow stairs, and Miss Ida White would have fared badly had it not been for Fowler's I gallant attentions. I have no intention to descrilxs the race. It presented all the usual features of a Derby, to which I paid but little heed, my attention being concentrated upon Miss Ida White. She was greatly excited. There were some bookmakers on the grand stand shouting out the odds, and Bhc must have invested at least a dozen sovereigns on different horses, the odds against which ranged from 40 to GO to 1. The race was over. Melton was hailed the winner. I'knew that Miss White had hot backed Melton for a shilling, and I watched the effect the result of the race > had upon her. Her lips quivered, her glared furiously about. "Ida is an is she?" thought I. "Ah! not j bf the augcl there." A stampede commenced to the lower ground. The grand stand was half empty. Then it was that I saw a man who had just come up give a secret look of intelligence to Fowler, after which he strolled a few paces away, and stood with his back toward Miss White. Fowler joined him with a negligent air, and very soon returned. "I am very sorry you lost," he said t ) Miss White, "and quite as sorry that I must wish you good by." He took her aside and had a brief conversation with her, in the course of which ho slipped something into her palm, upon which her lingers instantly closed. Shaking hands with her, ho beckoned to me, and we left the grand stand. "What did you give her?" I asked. "Only a card," he said, "with an address in London to which she could writo to me if she felt inclined. I told her that I had never seen a lady I admired so ???**/?!* n*t/l f T Vt/\v\A/1 riLrt vff/vnlrl J11UH1, tlliu UlllU X OUU 'vyuiw Bl>u me the opportimity of becoming friends with her. In an honorable way?oh, quite in an honorable way," be added, with a laugh. "And what are you leaving her for now?" I inquired. "Because I know where Mr. Eustace Rutland is to be found," he replied. "It will take two or three hours to get to the place, and I suppose it is best to lose no j time." "Decidedly the best," I said; "but hovr about Ida White?" "She is safe enough. My men are all around her. She won't be left for an instant, wherever she mav go. The gentleman I entered into conversation with in the train was one of my fellows. You are a great lawyer, sir, but I think I could teach you something." "I have no doubt you could. "Where does Eustace Rutland live?" "In Croydon, at some distance from the station." We did not reach Croydon until past 8 and it was nearly another hour before Ave arrived at the address Avhich Fowler had received. "That is the house, sir, he said, pointing to it. "It doesn't look very flourishing. It was one of a terrace of eight sad t looking tenements, tAvo stories in height, and evidently occupied by people in a humble station of life. "Before we go in, sir," said Fowler, "I must put you in possession of the information I haA'c gained. Mr. Eustace Rut- | land does not live there"?I started?"but Mr.,.Fenwick does. The young gentleman j has thought lit to change his name; that is suspicious. He has liA*ed there the last trvo weeks, having come probably from ; some better known locality, the Avhere- j abouts of which I shall learn by and by. "When I say he came from some better ! known locality I am not quite exact; it will bo more correct to sayliCAvas brought from some better knoAvn locality. He AA-as very ill, scarcely able to Avalk, and is still very Avcak, I am given to understand. N'oav, sir, Avhat do you propose to do? Do j you wish me to go in Avith you, or Avill i you see this young gentleman alone, without witnesses?" "You are the soul of discretion, Fow- j ler," I said, "and of shrewdness. I must i sec the young gentleman alone, nnd with- | out witnesses. Meanwhile you can remain i in the house, ready at my call, if I should I require you. Keep all strangers from the j room while I am closeted with him." I knocked at the door and inquired oi j the woman who opened it for Mr. Fen- ; wick. She asked me what I wanted, and ; who Mr. Fcnwick was. "Mr. Fen wick lodges here," I said. "I am a friend of his, and I wish to see him." "How do you know he lodges here?" > asked the woman. "Simply," replied Fowler, "because wa happen to have received a letter from him ; with this address upon it. "What's your little game, eh, that you want to deny him to us?" As he spoke he pushed his way into the passage, and I followed. The woman looked helplessly at us, and'when Fowler said, with forefinger uplifted warningly, "Take care what you are about," she replied: "I don't know what to do; I am only following out my instructions." "Your instructions," said Fowler, "were j not to prevent Mr. Fenwick's friends from > seeing him." "1 was told to admit no one," the woman said. "And pray who told you?" demanded Fowler. "The lady?" "Yes, sir," said the womau. "Miss Porter." "Oh, Miss Porter," exclaimed Fowler, i "A friend or ours also. Dark skinned, i Black hair. Black eyes. lied lips. Whita j hands. Katlier slim. About live foot j four.'' "Yes, sir," said the woman. Fowler had given a pretty faithful | description of Miss Ida White. "Well, then," said Fowler, whose j ready wit compelled my admiration, j "there is no occasion to announce us tc i Mr. Fcnwick. Show this gentleman the room, and while they're chatting together I will have a little chat with you." "It is 011 the first floor." said thr woman. "Of course it is," said Fowler, "the first lloor front, the room with the blind \ pulled down. Do you think I don't , know it? How is the young gentleman?" "Xot at all well, sir." I heard this reply as I ascended tb-i ! stairs, in compliance with a motion of ' Fowler's head. When I arrived at the door of the room occupied by Fenwielr, otherwise Eustace Rutland, I did not J knock, hut I turned the bundle and < entered. A young gentleman who laid been lying 011 the sofa jumped up upofl my entrance, and cried: "Who are you? What do you want?" I closed the door and turned "the key iu the lock. "What do you do that for?" he ex- j claimed. "You will very soon know," I replied. "I am here for the purpose of having a few minutes' conversation with Mr.? shall I say Fen wick?" "It is my name." -i "If I did not come as a friend I should : dispute it, and even as a friend I shall ] venture to dispute it. Your proper name t is Kustaec Rutland." ] lie fell hack upon the sofa, white and trembling. "What do you mean? Why are yoa < here?" he gasped. j "I will tell you," I said. "The time i for evasion and concealment is past. Your i sister" < "My sister!" interrupted Eustace. "I 1 do not understand you." s "You do understand me. You have a i sister?a twin sister?whose name is 1 Muhcl. She lies at the point of deal h, and ] you have brought her to it." 1 lie covered his face with his hands, and 1 I judged intuitively that there sat before me a young man who, weak minded and 1 easily led for evil as lie might be, was not 1 devoid of the true instincts of allottion. < "Did you know of he*- condition?" I 1 asked. 1 "No," he replied, in a trembling voice. 1 "Is it true? Is it true?" ! "It u unhappily true, and it may to I that it lies' in your power to rest-no from the grave the innocent young girl who has devoted her life and happiness to yon." "My God! my God!" "X will not deceive you. Such happiness cannot come to pass if you are guilty." "I am not guilty!" he cried, starting to his feet. "God knows I am not guilty!" "Swear it," I exclaimed, sternly! "By all my hopes of happiness," he exclaimed, falling upon his knees?"by ray dear Mabel's life, by my dear mother's life?I swear that I am innocent!" He was grovelling, on the iloor, and I assisted him to rise. "And being not guilty," I said solemnly, "you were content to remain in hiding while another man was accused of the crime which neither he nor you committed! And being not guilty, you would have waited until he was done to death before you emerged once more into the light of day! I believe you when you say you did not know of your sister's peril, but you knew of the peril in which Edward Layton stood. Don't deny it. Remember, luu UiliU ul uvtwiuu ucu? poanuu. "Yes," he murmered, "I knew it." "Why (lid you not come forward," I said indignantly, rushing as if by an inspiration of reasoning to the truth, "to affirm that you and Ida White were in Prevost's restaurant, in the very room in which Edward Layton and your sister entered, on the night of March 25. Why did you not come forward to affirm that it was you who?by a devilish prompting?took Edward Layton's ulster, unknown to liim, from the peg upon which it was hanging and went out with your paramour to the carriage in which he and your sister had arrived? Answer me. Why did you not do this, to prevent a noble and innocent man from being condemned for a murder which he did not commit? "It was no murder!" cried Eustace. "It was 110 murder! She died by her own hand!" "She died ^y her own hand!" I echoed, bewildered by this sudden turn in the complexion of the case. "Yes," said Eustace, "by her own hand. Upon the table by licr bedside there was written evidence of it." "Which you removed!" I cried. "No, not I, not I! Of which she took possession!" "Speak plainly. Whom do you mean bv she?Ida White?" "Yes." I paused. Truth to tell, I was overwhelmed by these disclosures. "Bear this steadfastly in mind," I said, presently, in a calm, judicial tone. "You arc in the presence of a man who has sworn to rescue the innocent. You are in the presence of a man who lias sworn to bring the guilty to justice. Upon me depends your fate. I can save or destroy you. If by a hair's breadth of duplicity and evasion you attempt to deceive me," your destruction' is certain. This is the turning point of your life. Upon your truthfulness rests your fate. Open your heart to me, not as to your enemy but as to your friend, nnd relate to me, without equivocation, the true story of your life from the time you commenced to plunge into dissipation and disgrace." A Tt-A/1 r.n/1 /?nnc?oi'oTion afutnl'on Tin +nl/l mo the story. In the course of his narration I was compelled frequently to prompt and encourage him, but that, in the result, it was truthfully told I have not a shadow of doubt. His career at college ended, he came to London. There he made the acquaintance of Edward Layton's father, a man who, although well on in years, was as weak minded as he was himself. They entered into a kind of partnership, in which, no doubt, the elder man, now in his grave, was the leader and prompter. From Eustace's description of Edward Layton's father I recognized a man weak minded as Eustace himself was, and whose inherent honor and honesty were warped by his fatal passion for gambling. Old Mr. Hay ton for a long time kept his infatuation from the knowledge of his son, and it was not until he was actually involved in crime and disgrace that Edward became aware of it. Long before this Edward had, through his engagement with Mabel Rutland, been employed in the hopeless task of endeavoring to save her beloved brother, but when the knowledge of his own father's disgrace was forced upon him he knew that all hope of Mabel's father consenting to his marriage was irretrievably gone. It was not only that the young and the old man had lost money in betting?it was that they had actually been guilty of forging bills, which Mr. Beach, the father of the woman whom Edward Layton afterward married, held in his possession. It was this that first took Edward Layton to Mr. Beach's house. Mabel had implored him to save her darling brother, against whom Mr. Beach had threatened to take criminal proceedings. I do not at this moment know whether Edward Layton had revealed to Mabel the disgrace which hung also above his father; but that is immaterial. Agnes Beach, Mr. Beach's only child, saw and fell in love with Edward Layton, and her father, disreputable as ho was, being devoted to his daughter, was guided by her in all that subsequently transpired. The bills he held lie determinedly refused to part with, unless Edward Layton married his child. In the terrible position in which he was placed, knowing that Mabel Rutland was lost to him forever?knowing liow deeply and devotedly she loved her brother Eustace?knowing the disgrace which hung over his own name, lie saw no other way to prevent utter ruin than to enter into this fatal engagement and to marry a woman whom he did not love. But, with a full consciousness of the disreputable connection he was about to form, lie laid no pressing injunction upon his father to recognize the unhappy union; and, indeed. old Mr. Bay ton, aware that he was in Mr. Beach's po-.-er. was by no means desirous to meet lirni. Bovc lost, honor lost, the sword hanging over his head, Edward Bay tun submitted to the sacrilicc. There was no duplicity on his part. Agnes Beach knew full well that he did not love her. He received, as he believed, the whole of the forged bills which Mr. Beach held, and it was not until some time after his marriage tlint he discovered that three of these fatal acceptances had been withheld from him. At the time he made this discovery lie was leading a most unhappy life with his wife, and on more than one occasion she tanntetl him with the power she held over him. It was shortly after the marriage that weak minded Eustace made the acquaintance of Ida "White. She was an attractive woman, well versed in the wiles of her sex, and she played upon him and entangled him to such an extent that there was 110 escape for him. It is unnecessary here to enter into the details of this connection. It is sufiicicnt to say that Ida White held Eustace Butland completely in her power, with a firm conviction that if she could induce him to marry her she could, after the marriage, obtain the forgiveness of Eustace's father?which would insure her a life of ease and luxury. But there was still a certain firmness in tho young man. "Marry me," she said. "I will marry you," Eustace replied, "when I get back the forged acceptances." Where were they? In Mrs. Laytou's possession. Close as was the intimacy which existed between tho unhappy lady and her maid, Mrs. Bay ton retained so jealous a possession of these incriminating documonts tlint. Ida White wns lint, nhln to 1,'IV Iier hands upon them. In the company of Eustace Rutland she was supping in PretosL's restaurant on the night of the 2.1th jf March. She had slipped away from Mrs. Lay ton's house, as she had often :lone before, to meet her young and foolish lover. She saw her master and Mabel mter the room, and observed Layton taking olf his ulster. Then the idea suddenly entered her head that Eustace ind she should personate her master and the young lady?with a full knowledge liow deeply those two' were compromised by their being together?and arrive homo before them, by which time, doubtless, Mrs. Layton would be asleep. She knew that under her pillow Mrs. Layton kept the documents which Eustace frantically desired to obtain, and the possession of which would make her, Ida White, his ivife. If Mrs. Layton awoke and resisted while the forged bills were being abstracted, Eustace would be at hand to use force, if necessary; and it was princi- ' pally from the wish to compromise her ? lover so deeply that he would not dare to < break his promise to marry her that she had determined to put her idea into exe- ] cution. She knew that ordinarily Edward i Lay ton kept the latch key of the street 1 door in the pocket of lis ulster. Sho : disclosed the scheme to Eustace, and ( threatened him with exposure if he did not ] do as she desired. It was she who took the ulster from the wall of the restaurant, ; and it was she who, secretly and expo- i ditiously, assisted Eustace to put it on; ; then they stole out together and entered 1 the carriage. Before acquainting Eustace i with her design she jiad ascertained that Edward Layton's carriage was waiting i for him and Mabel. She trusted to her own resources to keep her master out of i his house after she and Eustace had entered it. ! I tore n u-nrd is necessary as to the true 1 meaning of Edward Layton's proceedings j during tlie day and night of March 2o. j Abandoned as were the hopes innvhich he j and Mabel had once fondly indulged, she, i still relied upon his efforts to save her brother from liariu. Eustace had lost j heavily upon certain races. He had made a despairing appeal to her, and she called upon Layton to assist the erring lad. It was in the endeavor to discover Eustace that Edward Layton had driven from place to place to obtain from him the information necessary to rescue him from his peril. Mabel had, by letter, engaged j to meet Edward Layton in Bloomsbury . square at 10 o'clock on the night of that , day, in order that he might relieve her " anxiety with respect to her brother. I low they met, and what transpired after ? they met, have been already sufficiently s detailed. 1 Ida White's maneuvers were success- ( ful up to a certain point. She and ( Eustace entered the carriage, were driven { home, and, unsuspected, obtained en- f trance into the house. The correspon- ( dence between Eustace and Mabel had { been for sdme time conducted through the : medium of the system of the nine of < hearts, and it was either by an oversight or by accident that Eustace, during the J drive from Prevost's restaurant to Edward r Layton's house, took from his own pocket 1 one of. these cards and let it drop into the t pocket of the ulster. But when they t were safely in Layton's house, and crept t stealthily and noiselessly into Mrs. Lay- 1 ton's bedroom, they made the horrible t discovery that Mrs. Layton, in a moment J of frenzy, had emptied the bottle of t poisonous narcotics, and had by her own r will destroyed herself. The proof was i at her bedside. When she had swallowed x the fatal pills, the horror of the deed overwhelmed her. She summoned up f sufficient strength to rise in her bed, J to take paper and the pen from the ink- * stand, and before the death agony com- e menced in her sleep, to write upon that paper the confession which fixed upon her the crime of suicide. I Having reached this point of the strange story, I demanded to know from Eustace Rutland what had become of that confession. "Ida took possession of it," he said, ' "and I have not seen it from that moment to this." "Why did you not come forward and make this public?" I cried. "Because," was his reply, "Ida told me that, if what we had done became known, nothing could save us from the hangman." "Did ?hc obtain possession of the forged acceptances?" "Yes." * _ "How was it tfiat the tumbler from which the fatal draught was taken was on the mantel shelf ?" "Ida placed it there." It was enough. The entire facts of this mysterious case were clear to me. I required nothing more to prove Edward Layton's innocence that the possession ol the document written almost in her death throes by the unhappy wife. I unlocked the door and called up Fowler. Briefly and swiftly I told him what was necessary, and said it was not at all improbable that this document was in Ida White's lodgings at Brixton; and I had scarcely uttered the words before a rattat-tat came at the street door. "It is she!" cried Eustace. "Who?" I asked, in great excitement. "Ida," he replied. "It serves our turn exactly, sir," muttered Fowler to me, and then addressing Eustace, he said: "Is that your bedroom?" pointing to a communicating door. "Yes." <.tt*? :u i., t 1<w1w i >V U Will 111 Llll'lC* 1AU bUC -U4V1J r come up." We disappeared, leaving the communieating door partially open, and the next minute I heard Ida White's voice. "Cursed luck!" she cried. "I've lost ?85 to-day. I tell you what it is, Eustace?if we can't wheedle your old governor into forgiving us after we are married, we shall have to turn Itookmaker? ourselves. You shall take the bets, and I will do the clerking. It will be a novelty, and we shall make pots of money." Eustace did not reply. "Why don't you speak?" she continued. "Are you struck dumb?" Then came Eustace's voice, like the cry of a despairing soul: "You are a devil! Why have you driven me to this? I hate you, hate you, hate you! You fiend, you have killed my sister!" Fowler did not wait for me to act. He seized me by the arm and pulled me after him into the room. "What!" screamed Ida; "you two!" "Yes," said Fowler?and in the midst of my own excitement I could not avoi/l observing the expression of calm satisfaction on his face?"wc two." "What are you here for?" "For reasons, Ida White," replied Fowler, "which may or may not be fatal to yourself. Follow what I am about to say. We have here a confession from this young gentleman which, if true?that is, if it can be proved by documentary evidence?will bring undoubted disgrace upon you, but neither death by the hangman's hands nor penal servitude for life." She recoiled, and echoed? "Death! Pcnul servitude for life!" "It is exactly as I have said. Death by the hangman's hands or penal servitudo for life. All is known. Your theft of the ulster at Provost's restaurant, and every- ' thing else. Your liberty at this moment rests upon a written document. If it never existed, or if you have destroyed it, you are doomed. If it exists you are saved." "Yon area madman!" she cried, hut I her face was blanched and her figure expressed the most abject terror. "I am an oilicer of the law," said Fowler. "Now do you understand? If the confession written by Mrs. Edward Layton, and which, after her death, you took from the table by her bedside, is in existence, you have nothing to fear. If it is not you are a lost woman. iso worus, no a parleying! It is life or death for you! The moment has come. Decide. Which way!'" i. Utterly overpowered, Ida White replied, , with hands tremblingly raised, as if for mercy: 'T have the paper." "Where!'" ^ Iler hands wandered to her pocket, and h she took a purse from it. k ' Here!" t "There is something else, lady bird." b "What:-" h "The papers you stole from underneath j your mistress' pillow. Ah! you have f( those also! Hand them over. Thank you, lady bird. Very satisfactory?very satisfactory indeed. A happy tormina- ti tion to a most remarkable case!" b VI!. J "August 27, 1885. jj "Deaii Mi:. Laixg?My intermediate letters will have placed you in possession * of all that has occurred. Edward Lnyton ^ is released with honor, and it has been the 1 subject of hundreds of leading articles u that the obstinacy of one juryman, who '< refused to be guided by circumstantial 1 evidence, saved a noble young fellow from fi I an unjust death. A great blow has been p struck against the jury system. Eleven a men wrong, and one man right!?people j( could hardly believe it. But it was so in 0 this instance, and I have no doubt it has v been so in others. You being now a mar- ? ried man, domestically happy and con- . tented, the news I have to impart will give you pleasure. Edward Lnyton is in u Switzerland. He has gone upon a long summer and autumn tour. Alone? No. Mabel Rutland, restored to health, is with him. Well, but that is not enough? I take a satisfaction in prolonging the interest. I could almost fancy myself a novelist. Mr. and Mrs. Rutland are also of the company, and it is Mr. Rutland himself who invited Edward Layton to travel with them. In less than a j-ear from this date the lovers will be united and faith and self sacrifice will be rewarded. Mr. James Rutland, Mabel's uncle, to whose obstinacy Edward Layton undoubtedly owes his life, and before whoso obstinacy justice should bow, is also traveling with them. No one else? Yes. Mabel's brother, Eustace, repentant, humbled, reformed. "I have had painted for me a very 3imple picture on a large canvas. It is the nine of hearts, which I intend shall always occupy the place of honor in my house. It cannot fail to attract attention, and when inquiries are made about it I shall have a story to tell. "With a full appreciation of your rare generosity I remain, dear sir, "Yours faithfully, "Horace Baixbridge." the end. THE STEP-MOTHER. Are there two people more in eonrast than the mother and the stepmother as viewed by the world? rhe woman who marries a man vith one child is biave, but if there ire seven or eight of them she has ihouldered a mountain. She has nany trials, as varying as the colors >f the kaleidoscope, yet as certain as ieath and taxation. A great deal is jxpected of her and but little allowince made for short-comings. A lisplay of temper which would not )e noticed in "grand-ma" or "aunte," is considered volcanic if it comes rotn the "new mamma." Our obect here is Simply to discuss the juestion, who is responsible for the ndignities she suffers? Undeniably, he husband. Her vows mean more han if she had married a young nan, or a man without children. When she promised to cherish him, he children if helpless were included. '.t she seems disposd to do her duty, he husband should see that she is espectfully treated. If she is alowed a chance, she will be more ant 0 do a good part by them than any >ne else. Children are often taught >y relatives and acquaintances to ,reat her rudely and to distrust every ixhibition of friendship. The fathir should teach them to turn a deaf >ar to such meddlers. He can, by lis own example and the disposiion' to quell insubordination and revard meritorious conduct, gain for lis wife the love and respect of his ihildren; I recall a case which veriies the old proverb, "Sow to the vind and reap a whirl-wind." Six ihildren were left motherless and in 1 few years their father married igain. The eldest child, a daughter, ook especial pains to make it unileasant for the step-mother. She iuggested to the younger ones the nanufactureof torture by the wholeiale. The father did not exercise the iroper authority, and the wretchediess in the house beggared descripion. After the lapse of a few years he girl married a man with chilIren. They in turn treated her ruelly, and at times she felt that ler life was endangered. She lived in sad, weary and heart-broken till it last a slow, consuming fever, irought on by great mental anguish, ixtinguished the vital spark. On ler death-bed she called her stepnotlier to her side and said, "Please orgive me; I have been paid a hunIred times over for the way I treated rou." Hair Growing After Death.? fitting in the office of the comptroler of the treasury the other day vere two gentlemen waiting for the ireparation of some document which he bureau was just about compiling. )n the wall opposite hung a tine oil lortrait of Salmon P. Chase, the irst comptroller, showing him as a mndsome, florid faced man, without leard and with head partially bald. "That doesn't look much as he did i year ago," said one of them, noingthe handsome portrait. "A year ago; why, he has been lead these ten years or more, hasn't le ?" "Yes, eighteen of them. Yet 1 aw him only a year ago with full >eard and a full head of hair, very iifferent from the picture you see >efore us." "What do you mean?" "Simply this: I was present vhen his remains were taken from )ak View cemetery for transmission o Cincinnati a year ago. Although eventeen years had elapsed, the renains were still in an almost perect state. The features were entirey distinguishable to those who knew dm in life. The clothing was in a >erfect state of preservation. The >rincipal changes were that the face vas dark, and instead of being mooth, as was his custom in life, vas covered with a full growth of >eard, two inches or so in length and nixed with gray. The head, which rou see was bald in life, was covered vith a full suit of hair, partly gray." One of the Lost Arts.?"There s some unfermented wine," said a Vest Street wine importer, "that vill keep as long as is desired." "Is there anything peculiar about he method of keeping it?" "Oh, yes. The pure juice of the ;rape is pressed into the bottles, "'hen some olive oil is poured in at lie top of each bottle. This eflfectu,lly excludes the air, arid none can vork down into the wine to ferment t. At the same time any air that vas in the juice finds its way up hrough the oil." "But one would suppose the oil vould How into the glass when the lottle was put in use." "That is prevented by sopping up he oil with cotton when the bottle s uncorked. The cotton absorbs it ittle by little. All that is needed is litte patience." The reporter mentioned the mater to a doctor of divinity noted for lis researches in ancient history and he manners and customs of nations. "That is a real discovery," said he. That is one of the lost arts that Vended Phillips did not mention in lis celebrated lecture. This art of eeping unfermented wine was praciced by the Egyptians many years lefore Christ. But it was lost. It las now been discovered and is comng into general use."?JV. Y. Mail ml Express. _ How to he Xobody.?It is easy o be nobody and we will tell you tow to do it. Go to the drinking aloon and spend your time. You eed not drink much now?only a ittle beer or some other drink, leanwhile play dominoes, checkers, r something else to kill time, so hat you will be sure not to read any seful books. If you read anything 2t it be the dime novel of the day. 'hus go on, keeping your stomach ill and your head empty, yourself laying time-killing games, and in few years you will be nobody, un?ss you should turn out a drunkard r a professional gambler, either of /hicn is worse than nobody. There re any number of young men hangag about saloons just ready to gradate and be nobodies. :