might have gone all our lives,- and never known—have carried to our graves the wretched burden ? Constance ! Constance ! you. have given us the grandest Christmas gift of all, and you have found for yourself the treasure you have coveted so longs—your birthright?" The girl stared at the agitated faces before her in blank amazement.

The troubled forehead of the master cleared suddenly.

" Yes, Marion, you are right. We will confess the truth at last. Constance, dearest, you are our own, our eldest child. That we could not acknowledge you has been our bitter humiliation and grief. My uncle was a stern and a capricious man, and ruled me with a rod of iron. He forbade my marrying until I was twenty-five. But when I was abroad and met your mother, and found her needing protection and care, I could not resist the temptation. I per suaded her to a secret marriage, and left her in her cousin's care, while I returned to England, fully persuaded that I should be able to win my uncle's consent after a little management.

" I found him killed by a runaway horse, with,a will left behind, disinheriting me if I married before I was twenty-five. There were four years more to wait. The temp tation was too strong for me. I had looked forward to this inheritance all my life. I had no education fitting for the earning of my own living, much less that of a wife and family. We concealed the whole, aban doned our child, and wore remarried when the yeara of probation were up. But the deceit has blighted all our joys, and though we had you here to cherish and care for, we found that poignant grief and pain werer..- peatedl.y rising un to punirij-jio-—_*_ank Heaven, the nsed__of--aecrecy is over now. If you. baore"read i_7you. will see that this latter will revokes the cruel disinheritance, provided at the time of its making I am already married. > j

"Constance, dearest, it is the .most precious Christmas gift we could" receive. It removes our secret burden of hypocrisy and shame, and it gives to us our beloved eldest child." . ,"■•-.-' '.

"Yov.r own—your own ! Oh, father mother,!" ejaculated Constance, clasping her little hands in an ecstacy of bliss. "It is indeed a precious Christmas gift." " And some one else will claim his share in it, if I am not mistaken," whispered Mrs Fitzgerald, fondly. T "I hear the Dare carriage at the entrance, I am sure. My darling, my dariing, how. it wrung my heart to have you suffer their suspicions and Bneers'J Now all is right—all is beauti ful. And the humble confession we must

make is only a needful expiation. Oh, it seems that a millstone is lifted from my neok t The dreary secret has been like a ' vulture at my heart, like a drop of poison in every cup of joy. Oh, .Heaven be praised for this fortunate Christmas finding ! It has dissipated all our trouble." "It has exorcised the skeleton !" said Constance, between her smiles and tears ; "the jingling of the blessed Christmas bells has driven it away." " For ever and for ever, let us trust and pray," echoed Mr Fitzgerald, fervently.

A MOVING STORY OF A DOG.

ORLEANS, N.Y., September 22.—The large Newfoundland dog Heck, belonging to the St. Elmo Hotel, in the neighbouring oil town of Eldred, Pa., was known throughout the Northern oil field for its great strength and intelligence. The porter of the hotel, a -email man, slept in a little room back of the office. Tho dog slept in the office. On Thursday night last the porter was drunk when he went to bed, and soon fell into a ■heavy sleep. Some time in the night he was awakened by the loud barking of Heck, whowas jump ing frantically on tbe porter's bed and seizing tho pillow with his teetbr The still drunken and drowsy porter tried to make the dog go away, but the animal persisted in his efforts, and it finally dawned on the mind of the porter that the house was on fire. His room was full of smoke, and he Could hear the crackling of the flames. He sprang from.his bed, but he was still so drunk that ho fell to the floor. The faithful dog at once seized him by the coat collar, the porter .not having renloved his clothing on going .to bed, and dragged him out of the room, and half-way to the outer door of the office, when the man succeeded in getting to his feet, and, unlocking the door, staggered into the street. The fire was rapidly spreading over the building and the hotel was filled with guests, not" one of whom had been aroused. The dog no sooner saw that his helpless friend ♦was safe than he dashed back into the house, and ran barking loudly up the stairs. He first stopped at the door of his master's room, where he howled and scratched atthe door until the inmate was made aware of the danger, and hurried out of the house, as there was .no time to lose. The dog gave the alarm .at .every door, and in some in stances conducted guests down stairs to the outer door, each one of these, however, beinga stranger in thehouse. whioh fact the dog seemed to understand in looking out for their safety. All about the house seemed to have lost their heads in the excitement, and it is said that the hotel dog alone preserved com plete control over himself, and alone took - active measures, to save the inmates of the bouse. In and out of the burning building he kept continually dashing, piloting some half-dressed man or woman down stairs, only to at once. return in search of other**. Once a lady with a child in her arms tripped on the stairs while hurry ing out, and fell to the bottom. The child was thrown on the floor of the hall some distance away. • The woman regained her feet, and staggered in a dazed way out of the door, leaving the child in tho midst of the smoke that was pouring from thje office door. The brave dog saw the mishap, and jumping in through the smoke, which was now becoming _ almost impassable, and seizing the child by it<inight-clothes, carried it safoly out. The mother of the child on being re stored by the fresh air, became aware that the child was not with her, and, crying out wildly that "Anna was burning up in tbe bouse I" made a dash for the building as if to rush through the flames to seek her child. Heck had already broughtthe little one out, but it had not yet been restored to its mother.. The dog. saw the frantic rush Of the.mother toward the burning building, ■ ahd heard her exclamation that some.one was burning up in thehouse, and, although tho building was now a mass of smoke and fiames.inpide and out, the dog sprang for ' ward and, ap a dozen hands seized the woman.and held, hor back from her! insane attempt 'to enter tho homo, disappeared with a bound over the burning threshold. The faitbfnl/junimal never appeared again. __"New'Yoik Tribune."

jongiisn great nouses naa oeen neara of. Colonnaß were prominent aristocrats before Rienzi lived, before Louis XI. was intrigued, before America had been dis-. covered, before Venice had become great; and after the innumerable vicissitudes of eight centuries, a Colonna is to-day the successful and envied man who is about to marry perhaps the wealthiest young lady on earth. But whence comes the young lady? She is the stepdaughter of an ad venturous Irishman, who forty years ago was utterly unknown, except as a young labourer, full of energy, hardheaded, resolute and ambitious, yet with no prospect of becoming anything more than a farmer in the Emerald Isle. Young Mackay, how ever, emigrated " tothe West, to the West, to the land of the free, Where mighty Missouri rolls down to the sea," and, when the Californian gold discoveries drew fortune hunters from all quarters, found his way to San Francisco. There he did not take much part in actual gold digging—his instincts being commercial, he preferred to trade; and, like many other shrewd ad venturers, found traffic easier and more profitable than hard, physical work. After several changes he became owner of a drinking saloon, in which he rapidly ac-_ cumulated capital. With this he wai always on the look-out for good bargains and safe investments. But all his successes were eclipsed by the fortunate venture which made him chief owner of one par ticular spot. Mr James Fair, a mining engineer, was convinced that this was, S properly explored, a veritable hill of silver. Nor was he alone in his opinion.*'—£<w-_r strong company hjl_i__-^i»J"persevered in a sear-h__t*°ir'ho'*v'ever> had not proved re -__a_kably productive. Fair contrived to draw Mackay into partnership, with the object of securing the whole. They had to work cautiously, since their shrewdness was so well known that where they were seen to lead, a crowd of speculators would always follow. However, they succeeded. After lengthened and ingenious financial scheming, which was, in spite of theircaution, watched with general interest, Mackay, Fair, ond two others secured almost all the shares—Mackay, (it is reported, although the exact truth has never been disclosed) holding one-half. Then they set to work with a will. Ere long they found them selves masters of an almost pure and as toundingly extensive mass of silver ore, more remunerative than the richest gold mine ever opened. All the four were mil lionaires—and more. Not long ago the " World," in a sketch of Mr Fair pro claimed him as earth's richest man, worth thirty millions, and likely to die ■ worth twice as much. But of late 1 Mr Mackay is the favourite—certainly he is the more prominent. Not yet old ■ and feeble, the Irishman who left his native shores a penniless youth is now richer than j the richest European noble; nor is his "pile " of that unsubstantial and transitory kind which some of us think a peculiarity ■ of all great Transatlantic fortunes; and it i is daily increasing by the unexhausted pro ' duetiveness of the silver mountain. The wealth of the Astor family, gained from an I investment in New York real estate, is estimated at £25,000,000, but is cut up among Beveral owners. That of Mr Van derbilt, amassed by his father's and his own successful handling of Ameri can railways, and by " cornering " markets ' throughout theStateß;is(hetellshisfriendß) 1 £40,000,000; but so many millionaires of his 1 stamp have collapsed and disappeared that | no one feels confident that even he is sure 1 to" die a Western Rothschild. But Mr | Mackay's money is all his own ; its produc tion has facilitated trade, and ruined no one.

The House of Guelph.

Some Reminiscences of tub Dukes of beunswick and their wealth.

The extinction of the senior branch of the House of Guelph is an advent of no Euro pean import, but of considerable interest to thqse acquainted with its history. Wil helm, tbe last Duke of Brunswick, vege tated rather than governed. He was called to reign over the duchy in consequence of the intrigues of his relatives George IV. and Ernest, Duke of Cumberland, the counter intrigues of Prussia and Austria, who did not like the House of Hanover to be too strong in Germany, and of the turbulent ec centricity and litigous spirit and despbtic tendency of his eldest brother, Carl 11. Thi3 latter potentate in 1830, when the old ducal palace of Brunswick was sacked by an angry mob, and its unique library and portraits of the great men who advanced the cause of the Reformation burned, was 26 years old, a beau, and as careful of his personal appearance as a belle who fears the approaches of old age. He was the godson of 16 first and second-class sovereigns, male and female, including his aunts, the Em press of Russia, the Queen of Sweden, and the Queen of Denmark, and his great uncle, George 111. of England. In 18*10 he was also the richest man in Europe. The eccentric Duke's minority,was long, and the personal estate, which was at nurse during the eleven years intervening between his father's death and his majority, amounted to £8,000,000 sterling, or §40,000,000. He had, besides, vast feudal and allodial possessions, and the finest plate, porcelain, and diamonds in Ger many. - Duke Carl 11., who lived in the rose pink house in the Rue de Beaugon from the time he was chased from Brunswick by his sub jects to the year 1870, carried: with, him from Germany 200,000,000 francs or $-0,000,000 in money, gold and silver and precious stones.. In England there was an idea'that all the minor German sovereigns were poor as church mice. This feeling was rife, in the'eighteenth century. • Squire Western expressed it in his abuse of. V the Hanoverian rats" and of the "House of Hand-over." One day in Fielding's time the daughters of George 11. were hooted by a London mob. • The Princess Ann, after ward Queen of Holland, put her bead;6ut .of-the carriage window and in-, a strong: German accent cried : "Why do yon hoot, us that way? Are we not come to England for all your goods?" She meaht ; to say J-. for'your good.") "Yes," be hanged to, you!" retorted the crowd,' "and for all our chattels, too !" .It is probable that the hereditory estates were nursed in Hanover at,the cost of England.: Be this as it may, the treasure of the Grown of Hanover, one which the Pruesiajas.i-ejzed, came to a fabulous amount, and- after: its. loss an immense fortune remained to the late King, which his Queen and''bis-.-son,: the Duke of Cumberland, now enjoy." It is reported that the last Duke of Brunswiokj was in .the bottom of his hesirt a. Legitimist, has left the best part of-bis fortune to this prince, the second .best part to: the Emperor .of Austria, and all hi-* private artistic treasures to the Crown Prince of Prussia,—*" N. Y. Tribune."

buxom daughter—a charming girl of some two-and-twenty summers, who was busily engaged in binding an old but carefully-" mended coat. A light breeze bore the monotonous swell of the far-off sea towards them, over the gorse-covered moorland, now glorious in its russet coat of autumnal brown ;. and the steep flanks of the " Bea con" in the background, and & cloudless sky overhead, completed a scene unequalled for rustic beauty in the whole range of the west country. How oft have these fells and combes re-echoed the bay of the well trained packs as they closed upon their E anting quarry—the noble rod deer; and ow oft have the erstwhile Royal forests of Exmoor received the well-deserved en comiums from travellers'eminently compe tent to bestow them. Removing the pipe from his lips, and allowing the smoke to curl playfully around his head, he thought fully remarked: —" Bessie, I have never told you the, whole story of my life, child, but you shall have it now. Seven-and twenty years ago last June, I parted from your mother at this very cottage—she lived here with her widowed mother then—and left to join nay regiment at Poi-t^nouth, under ordei-s--to—proceed to the Crimea. The "recollection of that parting always makes me sad," he said,, as he brushed away a tear with the sleeve of his only remaining arm; " but promising to return as soon as the war was over, to make her my bride, I tore myself away, and hurried off to the rendezvous. On the 14th of September, 1854, welandedat Eupatoria, 50,000 men— _j__--_;_encE under St. Arnaud, our forces under Lord.Raglan—to take up the cause of the Turks against the Russians; and six days later we had pushed our way along the coast as far as the banks of

THE ALMA.

The left bank of the river, and the slopes above, were held by 50,000 Russian troops, and there I got my baptism of fire, and saw shots first fired in anger. We were almost the first to cross, and as our front rank reached the opposite bank a volley of mus ketry annihilated nearly half our number, but the survivors pressed on. After three , hours' bard fighting we drove them back ! upon Sebastopol, but they fought well, and retired in good order, leaving nearly 2,000 men upon the field. Well, child, when the engagement was over, and we had time to consider our losses, we found by the roll-call that our little regiment had just 2-__nissing, our colonel and nine commissioned and non commissioned officers being amongst the number.. The majority of them fell in the passage of the river, but we searched the field for our comrades, and succoured all we could.. Child, never marry a soldier; I'm glad Bob isn't a soldier," and pausing for a moment to take a pull at his pipe, he acknowledged with a smile the blush upon the face of his daughter; for Bob, be it known, was a rising young tradesman in a northern county, and they were to be married at Christmas. Resuming, hpwever, he continued : "We took up a position to the south of Sebastopol, and laid regular siege to the city. Our. ships and stores lay at Balaclava, some six "miles distant, and on the morning of the 17th October, the fleet commenced the bombardment from the sea, and we seconded their efforts from the land. The earth-works, however, were well nigh impregnable, and although we continued to bombard, no tangible result rewarded us. This was kept up for a week, and on the 25th—by the by, it's the 25th to-day, child ! Yes, 27 years ago this very day we fought the BATTLE OF BALACL.VA.

Our allies, the Turks, failed to hold the re doubts, and retreated before the Russian onslaught back upon our lines. Exultant at their temporary success, the enemy came down on us like an avalanche, and gallant Colin Campbell's 93rd Highlanders saved us, and there's no mistake about it. Deploying in a double line, they checked the impetu osity of their charge with the rifle, and the Scots' Greys, Enniskillens, and Heavy Dragoons swept through, their cavalry like a tempest. The gallant Light Brigade, headed by Lord Cardigan, and accompanied by Captain Nolan, the brave but ill-fated bearer of the order, executed their brilliant charge, reached the battery, sabred the gunners, and recaptured the guns, ' whilst all the world wondered.' The French, coming up at this juncture, completed the rout fit the enemy, and Balaclava was won. Early in the day my poor mess-mate, Ned Jones, got a pill in his breast that gave him his quietus. ' Good-bye, Tom,' he muttered, 'I'm done. Give it to 'em.' Almost in stantly I got ' pinked' in the Bhoulder with a bullet that hurt frightfully. Our am bulance corps were running at their highest pressure, and the nurses—God bless 'em — had their hands full. I could not save the limb, and off it had to come, you see; but thank God, I was under the care of Florence Nightingale. The devotion of that noble woman and the heroic band of ladies who followed her-to the battle-fields of the Crimea will be fresh in the memory of Eng^ lishmen when many generations yet unborn shall have passed over to the great majority —to ' that bourne from whence no traveller returns.' Where canister and grape and sabre stroke and bayonet thrust told with the greatest effect, where the carnage was bloodiest and the loss of life and limb the most appalling, there the immortal band of nurses hovered like ministering angels, binding the shattered limbs, and staunching the life blood's flow with more than human tenderness. On November o the position of our I extreme right was assailed on the heights of . ■"'" •''. ■ ':"' ' lukE_.l_._j", *.'." '\i ',',

and about 8,000 of our boys- and 600 ' Froggiea' held our ground against nearly 50,000 Russians. Winter was drawing on apace, and I shall never forget the rigour of the winter we spent in the trenches be fore; Sebastopol. 111-fed, ill-clad, and destitute of shelter—we had lost our luggage in the passage of the Alma—hunger, cold and privation were nearly as potent to de stroy as the bullet of the enemy. Tramping about the trenches in rags, and knee-deep in'enow, scores of our number down with disease, this time was the most wretched of our lives. Rheumatic fever set in amongst the troops, and I was down in it all through the Christmas. Exposed to a galling fire, and constantly under arms to repel, an at tack or assume the aggressive if necessary, pur position can be better imagined- than described, and the emaciated appearance of our men as they crawled through the sndw, more like, spectres than human being?, was pitiable in the extreme. Snatching sleep we could on the snow-covered ground, amongst the dyj n<* and the dead, scores succumbed, but. I pulled through and helped to,>win Chernaya and 'carry the Redan on the Bth September, 1855.- Our allies bad' captured* the MalaKbff' Tower and Mamolon, and we fonrted a 'forlorn hope' and took the Redan, but could not hold it!' The crossfire of the enemy

iivmg, una witn tne paltry pension awarded me (England never looks after her boys when they have once served her purpose and been disabled, except of course the ' dons,') I re turned to your mother, td release her from her engagement, as I hardly dared think she would have me. Her mother had died in my absence, and she was supporting herself by her needle; but, bless you, she would not hear of my giving her up, and we were mar ried in the little church across the moor. I knew nothing of any trade, and used to pick up what I could get, and it was little enough, as a fisherman in Porlock Bay-yonder; but exposure to the damp brought on another attack of rheumatic fever, which nearly sent me to join my comrades who had fallen in the Crimea. We knew what it was to want in our early days; but by the death of a relative your mother came in for a little annuity of £40, which, with my pension, kept us pretty comfortably. In the course of time you were born, and —and when you were just seven years old, poor Mary died. There," you know the rest." 'And the old man's frame quivered wjth «»->-—— •^renT0* tion. ,_._ ___. — ~

The remainder of October and November passed away uneventfully for the occupants of the cottage, which they proposed to quit at Christmas for a northern township. Bessie was" to be married on Christmas Day, and it had been arranged that the old soldier should accompany them to their northern home, although he would much rather have preferred to stay, and as often as his rheumatics would allow him visit the little spot across the moor " where the rude forefathers of the hamlet slept," and where lay all that was mortal of his beloved wife. The month of December, however, was ushered in with bleak north easterly winds and continuous rains, which had a marked effect upon his enfeebled frame. Before the first week had elapsed he was again laid up with another attack of his old complaint, and although he struggled manfully against it for the sake of his .hild, he was at last forced to yield to its persis tency. Days and nights of unspeakable agony dragged their weary course along until at last, on the 21st of December—just four days prior to the date fixed for the wedding—the sufferer sank rapidly, the doctor pronounced the end near, and asked him to settle his earthly affairs without delay. Carefully and patiently had the dutiful daughter watched by the bed-side, racked by a double anguish—grief at the approaching dissolution of her parent, and sympathy for the grief and disappointment of her lover. " Send at once for Bob," gasped the sufferer, as the perspiration stood out on his forehead in great drops with the effort ; " I've nearly—done—with this world, and—would—like to see you settled before I go." Going to her writing desk at the window, the grief-stricken girl wrote to her lover to join them at once, and resumed her place by the bediskle of her parent. * * ' »

'Twas on the afternoon of the 24th De cember that a stranger crossing the broad stretch of moorland which lies between the lovely watering places of Lynton and Lyn mouth, on the north coast of Devon, and the romantic fishing villages of Porlock, Dunster, and Minehead on the Somerset side, reined up at the door of the " Old Abbey Inn" in Brendon, and having in quired the road to Porlock, hurriedly com plimented the host on the excellent quality of his " home-brewed," sprang to his saddle, and rode forward as fast as the jaded con dition of his steed would permit. On toward the crest of the ridge he pursued his tortuous way, wholly heedless of the marvellous beauty of the country he tra versed. Some 500 feet beneath him the merry Lynn sparkled in the crisp December sunlight—now rumbling over the numerous cataracts that interrupt its course, now hid ing beneath a tangled mass of withered vege tation, or dashing behind a bank of fern or underwood. Crossing by the rustic bridge at " Oare," he plunged into the well-kept grounds of the hospitable Squire .of Glen Thome. The day had been clear, sharp, and bracing, and the breeze that came up the valley from the Bristol Chan nel grew momentarily keener. As he emerged at last in the crest of the ridge he paused for a moment to survey the pano rama which stretched away before him. As he did so, the painful expression on his face deepened, and buttoning his coat well up at the throat, he gave his horse the spur, and struck off the track across the turf. Across the moorland — the haunt of the black-cock and the hare — the whitened summits of Dunkerry Beacon and the fells of Exmoor loomed up against a dark back ground of clouds, which were rapidly o'er spreading the sky, and the increasing violence of the wind ine\ itably presaged a storm. "A nice place to be ip a storm— and especially a snow storm," he muttered. The heather and broom, through which his pathway lay, had donned the cheerless garb of winter, the "chain"—as the range of hills he had just crossed are locally called—had been bared of the gorse which for nine months out of the twelve line its flanks, and the moaning of the wind in the gullies and gorges which intersect each other and crossed his path, had no consola tion for. him, but seemed only to increase his disappointment. Fixing his eye steadily on the beacon in the distance, beyond which she who was to have been his bride on the morrow dwelt, he pressed on with a heightened colour and renewed vigour. Arriving at a small spring, which lay in his track—the source of the historical "Exe," — he dismounted to enable his horse to drink, and plunging his hand into his breast pocket, pulled out ■

A LETTEE, ...l which he. re-read for the fiftieth time, by the 1 aid oi, the waning light. , Yes, ■■ there could be no mistake; it simply ran—.' Papa very ill again. His old complaint. Doctor say he is nearing the other world, and he has asked for.you. Come to me, Bob, without1 delay ;my heart is breaking, and we were', to have been married on, Christmas, Da// But it cannot be now. lam so sorry your .sake, ".Leaping again to. his saddle: and_heading.for the ."Beacon," the/full fury'of the storm burst upon him, an*/ the blinding snowflakes borne on the pitiless , blast almost compelled man and horse to ttirnj back. Pressing manfully \ on,, how ever, he reached his destination, and giving his steed to.the.doctor's groom,/who had ' just stabled his own team, lie hurried up to the sick room. - It. would, be on hallowed ground to chronicle the meeting of the lovers under such^cjrcumstances. The doctor stood by thebe^.-side' timing the pulse of the patient. ,'wCan .anything be-done for him, doctor ?" nioaned the dls-, pairing girl ;"to-night is/Christmas Eye, ' cannot you save him. fpr.Ya- little while?'' , '^No, my dear young lady, nothing can be dope. Three attacks of rheumatic fever, and a life of .such vicissitudes, would wear

case hopeless. Grollually tlie agonised writh ing ceased, these:*: ■■:: gnj'w more composed, and for the first - _11._.• for over a fortnight sleep threw her mantle around him. Seve ral times during the night the oil was re applied, the patient, sleeping peacefully meanwhile, and who!';/ tmconsoious of the operation. Tho slorm' without raged with unabated fury i ■• id nature assumed her mantle of virgin «!iii . Gathered into columns and eddie. . :. •: borne upon the gale, the driving -ii'.wtlukes soon blocked up windows, doorways, and every available interstice ; but aii v.i- peace within. The worn-out girl, ovcy.ye.l ; ; t -.lie marvellous change.that had come over her parent, re tired to her room to ■.natch a little of the rest she so b-.-'.iy nseiled; and Bob mounted guard fur "lie ,;_..-. Thus passed Christmas eve, and Christmas dawned upon the inhabit ,•>.'.- -■■•' the cottage by the Beacon. '.';.. tortured limbs were freed fro.- pain, tbe—_»— —rccr' relaxed and....-"- -- r -*^"7*tter— on New j£____—•tray—a 'cursor but happy co terie of villager.- te-sovnbled in tho little church across tlie moor, to witness the nuptials of Bob White and 'Jessie Conway. Bessie Conway v.-..- given away by her father, in the i_gi-*en'~ds ho wore at Bala clava, and although Sergeant Conway has taken up his head-q-iartcrs under their roof andhasleftthosci.no -.:' i -'• early married life, he has not y.t don canonizing St. Jacob's Oil, which sawd his life when medical'skill andevei-, t h'm« else had failed. As the villagers pelted t! • :.i with rice and slippers, and bade them adieu, more than one of them made a note of the circum stances attending the .-•■;-•.geant's recovery, and the legend, liko i.criwi Woone, will never be forgotten on tlie mom..

Punished on the Soles of the Feet.

" As I walk up the room a clock strikes the hour of two. The prefect offers me his hand, and at his invitation I take a seat by his side. Then n. negro, -lad in a long white robe, and wearing on his head an enormous yellow turban, brings me a cup of coffee and a bundle" of < i-'arattes. As I hand back my. cup to this imposing servitor three Arabs, escorted by two guards, are led before the pi efeet. '!'. -c unfortunate seem to belong to the -..■-.- ■:•■ i. of the people; there feet are bare, their clothing is worn and ragged, theii han'da iremble convul sively, their eyes ai_ haggard, and their faces twitehlin fear as they listen in mournful silence to the word? .-...k-'iY^.sed to them by the prefect. After the exchange of a few words, two of the prisoners are led from the room. Then five men enter. These are the torturers, and nothing more fell or hang-dog than their iook=. can be imagined. Four of them seize the Arab, who is still standing before the prefect, and the poor wretch, as he is ca.st or. the ground, throws at him a glance eloquent- with agony and fear, but the great man's countenance ■remains fixed and. i_cpas_"n •:-, and he makes no sign of grace.

The victim was than placed on one of the slabs with his ehe.*'. resting on the stone, in which position he was held by the execu tioners. Two others next raised his legs until his feet were in i iiOiizontal position, in which they were retained by means of a cord fastened to either end of a stick. Each man held the stick \ 'th ".ne hand, while the other kept fast _•■ .' of the Arab's legs. In the grip of those four powerful and ex pert men, it was imj v . ib'e tor him to move and almost impo-sic-ie tor him to writhe. On this the fifth tori ran r. who had taken no part in the preliminary j .roceedings, came forward, holding in his hand a sort of lash consisting of five strands of twisted gut or hide. The face of this ::ian is singularly hideous and repulsive. He raised his arm and struck with the re gularity of a pendulum 'the upturned feet of his helpless v-rctim. At the fourth stroke the Arab uttered _ cry of pain, and at every fresh stroke the ory was repeated But soon the cry became a scream, t)e flagellated flesh visibly shuddered, and -rie soles were seamol with red and rvid streaks. Sitting silently on my cushion, chewing mechanically til- tobacco otny ex guished cigarette, I could not nelp shiver ing with horror at the sight Of so much suffering. 1 felt as if 1 were under the influence of some'terrible nightmare. Ostr.an Bey, his iecretary, the five executioner., with their&tern and sinister features, looking unnjived on so cruel a sight, seemed for a monent rather the creations of a disorded imagination than beings of flesh and b_od, but the heavy thud of the* strokes aid the screams of the victim recalled ue to the sad reality which I was so rehetantly witness- j ing. Then the punishmpt ceased, and tbe Arab, with ghastiy face/and body shaken' with, a feverish trembjSg, had to incline himself respectfully /efore the man by whose order he had bfn cruelly tormented. Helped by a guard' -or his maimed ahd bleeding feet refu*etf to support him, he *vas then led, still moving v.ith agony, from the torture chamh/". The two other _}rabs ■ were afterwards.punished in like rca-ner. —" Hilaire GayS Book on Egyptian Tor tures." /

Horrible Outrage by Nihilists.

The Odeestr'military tribunal havytried the Nihilist ci/ef, Leiba I>e.ntsoh, agio twenty eight. %c was nharged with a number of other/, with attempting to/murder, in , 1876, ore Gorenovitoh, a felbw-Nihilist. suspected by his fellow. • cortpirators of treachery, and fot this attenpt three of themrMalinsky, Meidaiiaksf and Drobia skir-J-were banged thc-e. ii 1879, during Comit Todleben's *:.; r.. i.ifr. Generalship. Dextsch would • have .'•! ,'ir« their fate had ' Jie'not previously «.?<.-.; .ifrom Kief prison ,{ivherehe was waiting S»Ae tried,, with 132 /ither"persons, for t-.._:-. ;/a' leadiug part in what was known an U I'chighereen affair) through the cohnivat/e of the gaoler's wife, and manager! to/reach Switzerland,* where he resided v.iii the Swiss authori ties gave him up to/lie Russian Govern ment, on condition /.'.'■ he should not be tried as a political. - riminal but as pa ordinary one. Gorp>'. itch himself was not called, because h/ has lost entirely the power of speech./--'i'* criminals having . killed him, as thy thought, threw petro- . leum over him, a*d set fire/to it, in.orderto prevent the recgni' .'./> of. his body. He consequently iprjeeta.. a (Jreadful spectacle, being without ftir, e.'-.yeyes, nose, lips, or tongue, and i/obliged/to'Wear a mask. Deutsch def/ded himself with great courage, eooJess, and intelligence. The \ ■ prisoner wayfoundg-ilry, and sentenced to .thirteen/ears and four months' hard labour, __7was, omyyenr under age wheo the crime/Vas -committed, otherwise he would haft received twenty years' hard labour.../