THE AUCKLAND EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 3, 1887.

ISUPF&EMINTi

Ruby's Reward.

B y IBS G3ORGIE SHELDON.

f ■ . «The Forsaken Bride," NloK* Triaraph' J <<TJiafc Dowdy," etc.

CHAPTER XXVIII

WALTER'S REVELATIOy. frnorninc.bowover, Ruby received *£ O b" telling her that her arCPy bleu sent out of town by Mr lOVer fc to superintend a contract which the , not attend to himself just then; ho would write to her frequently, ana disappointment Thi u fftnf he resolved to bear the long toEBb/' lcrfallM"rt e"J°y her3elf as SSeSaSid her beautiful sur «""f £d the change greatly beneficial to hB he X and began to improve in feih M' h™ after the examinations were fi^lSwSS to the city, and that oVe' IS iust at dusk, presented him- XnKoovoflusoldhom^andin •^SlSdSSnlirningthat tab* was gone X ispand the summer in Edmund her letters tha* she Slol to whom the, n'aco belonged, idhehaSunlightened U thinking It Jest to say nothing unt" h> could have a .enaently took the young man 8 card to i&rdon, who went down immediately to him witli the determination to prevent rLLg between tho two if poseible. She greeted him with cold formality,- and told him that Ruby was out. "I presume she will soon return, wfll she not'1 Walter asked, flushing beneath the Roman's haughty look and manner. i "lam sure I cannot tell you,' Mrs Gordon answered, indifierently, though she ■knew that Ruby was at that very moment W asleep in the hammock on the norfcn tech. , , r Her last week at school had been very torisome, and she had just given horaelf up to rest since its close. f Mrs Gordon devoutly hoped that nothing raid disturb her until Walter should become wearied with waiting and tako his 'departure. ' ... Her patience was severely tried, however, ■for the young man was very loth to leave seeing his betrot'^d, and remained

for more than an hour. But nine o'clock came, and still no Ruby. Mrs Gordon betrayed both annoyance :and nervousness, until at last the young W felt that common civility domanded

■him to relieve hor of his presence. He, however, resolved to make one more effort to accomplish his purpose and in quired for Mrs Coxon,. .thinking that he could leave a note with her for Ruby, and .tha3 arrange for another call. "Mrs Coxon is very busily engaged this mm," Mrs Gordon stated, " and I shall teetoa3kyouto excuse me if I do.not 'disturb, her."

Met-bowed a silent acquiescence, and look hia leave without further ado, while ■Jfefiirdon was very much plated at having so easily driven1 him from the field. •' Bat the voting man was not so readily jdiiposed of as she imagined. ■ j Instead of leaving the place-he' quietly flipped around to the servants' door,-rang [the bellj and inquired for Mrs Coxon. | Skcame to him at once, and was de lighted to see.him. i She drew him into her own little sitting inom,.nade him sit down, and immediately 'began to ply him with numerous questions ,'regarrJing himself and his progress in his [business.

1 He answered her as patiently as he could, totjastassoonasshegavehirn an oppor- Itnnitj he confided to her his object in 'coming there that evening;.' j (( "Mrs Coxon," he saia, in- concltreion. ;"lamsuro that you are my friend, and that I can trust you fully.". i "Indeed you may trust me, Mr Walter," •the good woman said, heartily ; bttfc she had ■ten surprised to learn that he had como .were to see Miss Gordon and failed in hia object. j "Well, then, to come to the poinb at 1 believe thero is something wrong In •tteseladies being here this summer." ! , something wrong! How. so?' ehe ! "la™ satisfied that Misa Gordon wonld ;Mtw hart come here if she had not been ™ti«trapped into doing so." [ Deceived!" . 5,!',? OT Ldoßa ib ha PPen afc Edmund ,»{«% boarders this[summer?" hJ not know'" ilrs^Coxon replied, Jotaß grave, for tho story that'she hod {eenkely and wanted to take boarders was all a hoar of Mrs w£u' T 1 Bhe had not liked *» "all^/ JgWmiobed upon her, portico ;<™ made to pay him something." '•nii mnZ * e t r 7 idea for * man with 'lip m°ncy' MriWaltar with a curling *»'SftSttS k bf 0&sm as thafc ; tho JZ n he lidles t0 know hB ■I««l»«StaaS,t g tTe ihe matter into thft ieroin ei ,wf ent to a, dvertise, and though "Kf ,hlra as tho master." . -ffl^ bottom of it." '^ticlu mundß,P aTt-. I don't see !c "wcanbo any plot," returned Mrs

N* J 4"? Ruby Gordon for a h° ha* Proposed to her ■Eaifc becaSnS : * ? Gordon favonrs his' m Sry U nCt' »* sh, e ** •^et. Mrs Coxnn 'uT nOw for n Y libtl« « e!Wd ever Si l by T d *Lv ° been face. Cned M» Coxon, with a glowing •^^t^***?*^ not wish ife »» that S2 V°T oftllefacfc- I of the Mnd fw ff feared something ■P*^!^?.^ B?**^ me, upon and hisriS!^ f^^od between {?** tew wf rdm S Mi»s Gordon. \i\ l tenEL v* l should no<> ™^b S*?* WeSi? r y °"' b«t^as told tte-_-. ' engage and could not see S^^nft lßhld^-be 2 toCSoSrth h P atWaßonlya «^ te^n 2 Sj*e^yandtop ro - VJ^^ a^ withadefcermined itoL 1?!* wSW^ body !

after Her brother, and t know aha doesn is like Mr Edmund vary well, for ahe Alwaya runs away when ho comes if she can." '•'Do you suppose yon can find her, Mrs Coxon ?•'' Walter asked, Ms face lighting ; " If I could see her jusfc for ft few minutes, ib would be a groat favour.' "If she's ilTtho house, I'll have her here in less than five minute?," returned the energetic housekeeper; and she left the room° immediately, determined the* her favourite should be gratified, and highly in dicant at the treatment that ho had received from Mrs Gordon, to say nothing of the deception that had been practised upon her. , , , She went directly to Ruby'n r-m, and found her there, looking flushed ar-d sleepy, and preparing to retire. Mrs Gordon had waited until she thought Walter was well out of the way : then she went to tha north verandah, awn'ymed her sister, and, in a half-scolding, hali-langh ing way, made her get up and go directly to her room. . . " You naughty midget!" sh* said, kiss hv-r her softly, '-"don't you know that you are liable to get * shocking cold going to sleep out here while this dew is UUl&g;| Confe, I shall have a doctor's bill to settle if you don't #o in immediately j" an(l Ruby> all unsuspicious of any double dealing and feelin* very sleepy, ran upstairs,- intent only upon getting to bed as soon as pos sible. . a She looked around surprised and a trifle startled, however, as Mrs Coxon softly opened her door without knocking. "Miss Gordon," she whispered, fearing that Mrs Gordon might hear her, v could you come down to my sitting-room for just a little while ? I have a very particular reason for asking, or I wouldn't have dis turbed you." , Ruby looked still moro surprised at this strange request and the mystery attending its, but she saw that the woman was very much i-i earnest, and she replied, with cheerful roidinoss : "Certainly, Mrs Coxon ; if there is any thing that I can do for yon of course I will come. Just wait a moment until I knot my hair up; I was getting it ready for the night." "'.. She coiled ib into a loow, graceful knot, pinned it with s. silvar arrow, and was ready to accompany the housekeeper below. Mrs Coxon held the door open for her to pass out, then closed it again without mak ing the slightest noise, and led the way down a flight of back stairs In silence, Ruby thinking her action very strange and perplexing. ~.,■, *. But when tho woman opened the door to her own room at the foot of the stairs, and she saw who was within, she sprang for ward with a glad ciy that made the house keeper smile with an air of triumph as she went back to the kitchen to give orders for breakfast; and then she left the lovers alone. " Walter, how oame you here ? Ruby ex claimed, an she laid both her hands in his and looked up at him, a glad welcome in her blue eyes. " I came to see you, dear," he answered smiling as he led "her to a seat and drew another beside her.

" But—bat —" Ruby began, flushing and looking slightly disturbed. "But you Cannot understand why you are called to the housekeeper's room to re ceive me instead of the drawing-room, which would bo the proper place?" he concluded for her. " Yes, that was my thought," ehe ad mitted.

" Well, then, to be perfectly frank, it is because I was not allowed to see you in the drawing-room," Walter explained, flush ing a vivid crimson. " What can you mean, Walter ?" Ho then told her aH that had transpired, greatly to her amazement and indignation. Ke thought it best that her eyes should be opened at onco to the fact that her sister was a se<rret enemy tc> them both. 111 cannot understand it," flhe said, when he had concluded. "I have been very weary since school closed, and have lain in the hammock most of the time. Estelle knew I was there. I went there directly after tea, and everything was so quiet I fell asleep. It is not fifteen minutes sinco she aroused me and sent me upstairs to bed." " I surmised that you were not far off, and I was determined that I would not be thwarted in any such way,'* Walter an swered ; then added, gravely: " Ruby, it is evident that Mrs Gordon does not intend that you and I shall meet very often if she can help it." " She cannot help it, Walter, she shall not help it. I have been upon the point two or three times, of late, of telling her how—how matters stand. I think it will be better for her to know, "Ruby said, blush ing. " She will be very much opposed, my dar-

ling.*'" " I shall be sorry if ehe is ; bnt tliat ean npt change anything, Walter," was the de cided reply. ' Walter gave the band he was holding a tender pressure at thi3 assurance; then re marked :

"If it had not been for my old friend, Mrs Coxon, I should have been obliged to go away without seeing you to-night." " It was shameful, ana I shall settle the matter with Estolle the first thing to morrow morning. But is Mre Coxon an old friend, Walter? Ah! yes'V-with a start and o puzzled expression—" 1 do remember now your saying something about her a long time ago." "I have known her ever since I was ten years old. Ruby, darling, Ido not wish to distress you, but I am very. much afraid that there has been a plot laid to part us, and—to compromise yon." "Why ; Walter, what can possibly have put such an idea into your head!" Ruby exclaimed.

" Will you tell me just how you happened to come out to this place to spend the summer ?" he asked.

She told him, relating how her sister had seen the advertisement, and what we already know of her account of the circum stances.

"'Has it not appeared rather strange that you could secure such a residence all to yourselves, the attendance of servants, and the use of horses and carriage, upon such exceedingly favourable terms ?" Walter qixcstioned. " Yes, I did think we were remarkably fortunate; bub I know thab some people prefer to have their houses kept open. Estelle said the arrangement was made chiefly to keep Mrs Coxon from being lonely, and makn her content to remain hore while the family was absent. She said also that the owner preferred to have us use his horses, as they needed- the exer cise."

" Have you any idea who the owner of this property is ?" Walter questioned, won dering to see how completely she had been hoodwinked.

" Yes. Estelle said his name was—Ed munds, I believe," Ruby replied, thinking all this cross-questioning a little strange. "Ruby, his name is—Edmund Carpen ter !"

CHAPTER XXIX,

ruby's decision.

" Wai/tep. !' exclaimed the young girl, starting to her feet,.a look of consternation upon her lovely face.

"It ia true, my darling. Edmund Car penter is the owner of bhia beautiful place, which waa my home foi many years, and now you can understand how Mrs Coxou happens to be an okl friend. She was always kind to me, and I have been in the habit of visiting her occasionally since Edmund informed me that I had been a dependent long enough." " And have you known that I was here ever since I first wrote you of our change ?" Ruby asked,

" Yes, I knew by your description of the place, and when I found that you were mi auspicious and really believed the owner's name was Edmunds, I felt sure that you \ren> being; deceived for the purpose." '" How Mind I have been," Ruby mur mured, reflectively, as a number of tilings which might have warned her now flashed upon her mind. " Why didn't you write me Immediately ?"

"I hoped to be able to come to you every week, and I did not like to put my suspicions upon paper. This was why i was so determined to see you to-night." " I will not remain here another day," Ruby cried, with crimson cheeks and Gushing eyes, as she realised more fully the trer-.chery of which she had been a victim. 111 will not remain under obligation to that man one single hour longer than I am obliged to. It is shameful, and if Estellc Mill nob go away with me somewhere else, I will go to Redvillo and spend my vaca tion with Mr and Mrs ttuggW" " I wish you would go to then, Ruby," Walter returned, thoughtfully. " I should feel much safer about you to know you are there."

"' Safer?" she repeated, questioningly. ':I told you I believed there was a plot afoot. lam confident that Edmund Car penter is determined (;o make you marry him if he can accomplish it by any means fair or foul ; and I am afraid that your brothel's wife is trying to help him entangle

you in .some way." " They could never accomplish such a purpose,'1 Ruby said, scornfully. "It does look very much as if Estello was mixed up in it, and I know she wants mo to marry him ; but I would never have believed that she could .stoop f-o low, and I shall find it hard to forgive her for thip. I shall go away immediately, and yet—" Ruby stopped, faltered, and looked wist fully np into h«r lover's face. " Well, de<u? Surely you may open all your heart to >nc !'; ho paid, tenderly.

" It will be fio far from you, and I feel so alone." Ruby concluded sorrowfully.

Walter smiled sadly.

" That is true. But I could ?not sec you very often if you remain in the city," he said. "I shall bo obliged to benwaya great deal this Rummer. Mr Conanc is still so driven that he says I must take charge of the contract at Chester, with a little over sight from him now and then ; so ib will not be possible for me to lie in the city only as I am forced to go back and forth on business."

" Oh, if Robert could only have lived !" Ruby murmured i with quivering lips, and feeling very desolate and troubled. Ifc was wretched to be so without protection. Walter bent and touched her forehead softly. " Oh, if I could only take you now, and shield you from all these things ! It is dreadful to bo so poor !" he said, in a tone of passionate regrot. Ruby looked up quickly, as if startled by a new thought. " You ought not to be poor," she said. " You oufh't to have had some of Mr Ralph Carpenters property, and the more I think of it, the more sure I feel, as I orico heard Mr RuggleS intimate, that a great wrong has been done you." "I have long felt so myself," Walter replied, with a clouded brow, for the feel ing had been growing upon him for the last year ; " for, as I have already bold you, Uncle Ralph mid that he had made ample provision for me." "Do you suppose Edmund Carpenter would dare destroy his father's will ?" Ruby asked, in a lew, awed tone. " I hope ho would not be guilty of such a crime ; but we shall probably never know anything more about it, for the only man who knew about it—Mr Simons—is dead, and if thcro has been any wrong done, it cannot be righted now," Walter said, with a sigh. He felt more disturbed than lie had ever been over his misfortune in this respect, since Ruby appeared to be in danger and to need his protection, which., in his present condition, be was powerless to give her. "I did not know that Mr .Simons was dead," the young girl said, growing pale. " I have been hoping that he v/ould do some thing for you when-he returned."

. "He died three months ago in Venice, and my last hope died also when I heard tho fact. Ho had been ill for a long time, and wished to return, but his physician would not permit him to attempt tho voyage. However," Walter added, striving to shake off his momentary gloom, "it is useless to mourn over the matter. I must make tho most of my opportunities, and do the best I can for myself, and thus shorten our wait ing." "When shnll you be obliged to go back to Chester ?' Ruby asked, after a thought ful pauae. By the first of next week. I havo a good many orders to give for our building, and there are somo alterations to be made in the plans that will take a day or two." "Then I 6hall remain here until after you go, and you will see me often until then, will you not?" Ruby pleaded, clinging to him as if she felt a new dependence upon him.

" Certainly, if I may," he answered eagerly. "Of course you may. I shall tell Estelle immediately of the relations existing be tween us, and give her to understand that I resent anything like what has occurred to-night, or any further plotting or interfer ence regarding my future," Ruby said, with an air of decision. "You havo a strong, resolute will, my darling, if you are slight and frail in body." " I am old enough to choose for my3elt in matters relating to my vital interests." " Well dear, it is growing lato, and I will not keep you longer," the young lover returned. " I will run out again to-mon-ow evening, with your permission, and Ruby, Bince you deem it best to tell your sister of our engagement, may I bring you a visible seal to our compact ?"

"If you wish," Ruby replied, blushing, yet feeling that ehe should be glad to have it.

And then the young man bade her a fond good-night, and wen*; away with a light heart, in spite of his repugnance to her re maining an inmate of Edmund Carpenter's home, and a recipient of his bounty, for it amounted to that.

Ruby went thoughtfully upstairs, after his departure, but just as she reached her own door, Mrs Gordon put her head out of hers, and asked:

' Is that you, Ruby?"

" Yes, Estelle.

Are you still up?"

"Yes, it has been so warm that I have not felt like going to bed. But where have you been ? I thought you retired long

ago." " May I come in, Estolle, if yon are not ready to co to bed just yet?" Ruby asked, unheeding her question, and resolving to settle matters then and there.

Something in the grave decision of the young voice arrested Mrs Gordon's atten tion, even startling her, and opening her door wider, she said :

" Yes, come in if you like. But you did not tell me where you have been."

" I have been down in Mr Coxon's sitting-room," Ruby stated, as she en tered the room and seated herself in a rocker, where she could look her sister full in the face.

"Pray, what have you been doing there ?"

1 1 had a caller."

"A caller! And in Mrs Coxon's room at this time ol night! Who?" Mrs Gordon questioned, growing a trifle pale, as shn began to suspect the truth. "Walter."

" Walter !" echoed the woman, her ire rising as she idealised that she had been out witted, and was about to be called to ac count for her deception. "Walter who, pray V

"Estelle, you know; Walter Richard son.'"' " Indeed ! Bub 1 did not know that you were upon such familiar terms with him that you addressed him by his Christian name." "Why did you treat him so, Estelle?" demanded Ruby, ignoring her sister's sneer ing remark. " i'ou know where I was, and you should have called me." " I do not approve of his visiting here." "And why?" '■ Because he is no fib associate for you."

"Why?" Ruby repeated. "Heis as poor as poverty—a nobody— and I do not wish your name to be coupled with his."

"But it will be, Estelle, henceforth as long as I live, for—l have promised to marry him !" " Good heavens ! Ruby Cordon, are you

crazy ?" "Not. at all. I have been engaged to him nearly ever since—Robert died. The sweet voice faltered a trifle here.

"Ah! betook advantage of your weak ness, did he, and wrung a promise from you at such a time as that?"

" He had gained my respect and admira tion—yes, and love—long before that," Ruby said calmly. " You are a little fool, Ruby, and do not know what you arc talking about," retorted her sister, angrily. "Isn't it enough that you are almost a beggar yourself, without lowering yourself by marrying another ?" " Don't you think you are using rather strong language to me, Estolle ?" Ruby asked, quietly, though her eyes glittered with a dangerous light. "No one is a beggar who in able to take care of ono'a Belf. Edmund Carpenter tried to make Walter one by turning him out of the homo that had been his for years, and which ho believed he still had a right to share, even after tho deatli of Mr Ralph Carpenter ; but by his own efforts he has risen to an honourable position, and one which promises to pay him woll in the future." I do not consider that the ob noxious term which you havo used applies to me eithor, since I have shown that 1 am able to provide for my own wants ior nearly a year, consequently can do so in the future."

"You havo earned your own clothing and pin-monoy, I know ; but if you had been obliged to pay for your board and lodging besides, I imagine you would not speak quite so independently. You know that Robert provided for you as long as he lived, and since his deatli you have been my special care, and 1 shall consider you very ungrateful if you thwart all my plans for you," Mrs Gordon returned, with an injured air. " What plans, Estelle ?" "Why, you must know that I desire to sco you nicely settled in life—to have you occupy a position becoming your birth and education."

" In other words, your heart is still sot upon my marrying Mr Carpenter?" " He is very rich ; he would make you an excellent husband. You would never want for anything." "I should not want for anything but happiness, which I should never have. Estelle, you and I had better understand each other, once for all. / shall never marry Edmund Carpenter. I have told you so once before ; but if I knew I should have to live single all my life otherwise, and work for every morsel I ate, I would never bo his wifo. And now I want to tell you that I know you have not been dealing fairly with mo—that you have lent yourself to an ignoble scheme to entrap mo in some way, so as to bring this about."

" What do you mean ?" interrupted Mrs Gordon, with an angry flush. " You need not feign ignorance, Estolle, and I intended to tell you all that I knevr, for I have mado up mv mind to settle this matter to-night, and for all time," replied Ruby, with a resolution that astonished her sister. "I know that you havo deceived me about coming hero to spend tho sum mer ; it is all a plot between you and Mr Carpenter to compromise mo. I do not know just how, or how far yon would havo carried your schomes, but evon the matter of obligation that I have unconsciously in curred is more than I can tamely submit to. I know Mr Edmund Carpenter owns this place, and what we pay is not a titho in re turn for what we are receiving; that tho horses and carriages which we have been using so freely, instead of belonging to a 'gentleman who is anxious to have them properly exercised,' havo been placed at our disposal by him to help on an unworthy cause. I have thought from the first that it was rather strange you were able to se cure all those luxuries upon such easy terms, but I nevor suspected the truth until to night." "Pray, who enlightened you to such a wonderful oxtent ?" demanded Mrs Gordon, with angry sarcasm. " My own common sense, as soon "8 I knew that we were living in Mr Carpenter's house. Now, Estello, I utterly refuse to remain here ; I will not be under such ob ligations to a man whom I despise—" " I do not know what right you have to despise him," interrupted Mrs Gordon, spiritedly. " What I have learned to-night would be sufficient of itself to make me do that," Euby returned composedly; "but there are other things. I believe he is a thoroughy unprincipled man ; if he had not been, he never would havo threatened a young girl, simply because she did not choose to marry him ; or a young man because he saw fit to bestow certain attentions upon me. More than all this, Estello, if the truth were known, I believe ho has been witholding property which rightly belongs to an other." "You might find it rather dimculb to prove that statement," said Mrs Gordon. "I suppose it cannot be proved," Ruby returned, with a sigh. "But that is neither here nor there; you have heard what I said, and I want you to understand that I shall live up to it." "Do you mean to tell mo that you will give up'all those comforts and go back to tho hot city ?" cried her sister angrily. "I mean that I shall nob stay hare,; I will go with you, Estelle, anywhere else that "you may choose, bub it you persist in remaining here, I shall leave you by yourself,". . .

(To be Continued.)

Cold Bathing.

The use of cold water as a bath for ordinary health purposes is purely reactionary. The cold bath is only useful, or even safe, when ib produces a rapid return of the bloody to the surface immediately after the first im pression made, whether by immersion or effusion. The surface must quickly redden, and there must be a glow of heat. If those effects are not rapidly apparent cold bathino' is bad ; and no such effects are likely to be produced unless the circulation be vigorous and both the heart and blood vessels are healthy. Great mistakes are made and serious risks are often incurred by the unintelligent use of the cold bath by the weakly or unsound. Moreover, it is necessary to bear in mind that there is seldom too much energy to spare alter middle-ace, and ifc is seldom expedient tor persons much over forty to risk cold bathino-. No one above that age should use the tub quite cold unless under medical advice It is possible to be apparently robust, and, lor all the average purposes of life, healthy, and yeb to have such disabili ties arisino- out of organic disease or weak ness as to render the recourse to heroic measures, even in the matter of cold bath ing, perilous. ________

How to Get Sicrc.-Exposc yourself day and night sit too much with wit.exercise, work foohSa without ivst, doctor all the time, take •Ul the vile nostrums and imitations advertised, and then you will want to kuow

Paris as a Seaport.

.Fok many vcars ifc baa been the desire of France to deepen the Seine so as to allow vespelß of considerable draught of water to go clear to Paris, thus mailing that city vir tually a seaport. Paris is 111 miles from the ocean, and there are many, difficulties to C"ercome. It was calculated some time ago that such an undertaking would cost £20,000,000, and there were engineers who claimed tlmfc it could not bo done even for that sum.

The enterprise is really a more difficult one than digging1 a canal for the same dis tance, for the reason that the constant flow of the water interferes with active opera tion;!, whereas in digging a canal the water is shut out until the tronoh or canal is completed. Many similar attempts have been made to deepen and widen rivers, some of which have been successful and others have proved failures. However, it seems that a trial is to be made, as the Government has recently de cided to expend £5,000,000 on the public works at Havre on the Seine near its mouth, and it is probable that this is to be con sidered as the first instalment on account of the great plan of making Paris a sea port. This amount appears to be taken directly from the national treasury, and if it is a sample of what the Rouvior Ministry intends to do it is to bo foared that the deficit will be larger than before.and that the budget will turn out to be as purely illusory as many others have.

The Scotch Farmer and the Gamekeeper.

A rmaxt, farmor nob far from Brechin had long boon Buspeeted by a gamekeeper on the estate of which his farm formed part of emptying his snares. Early erne fine spring morning the fanner was engaged in taking out a newly-caught hare, when, happening to glance around, he espied the keejxjr making ,towards him with all haste. Not the }e.'»st disconcerted, the farmer dis ongafifcd the struggling animal, and, giving her n, slight kick, turned her adrift. " I've found you out at last," exclaimed the over joyed keeper. "Yes, I've found you out at lawt," said the fanner, an he confronted the keeper, and shook his clenched fist in his face. " I've lang thocb that was your wark," as he pointed to the empty snare. "Now, look you here," added the scoiningly enraged farmer, "I dinna oare a strae hou inony beasties you shoot on my grand, but hang mo if I'll alloo you or any other bodic to tether your vermin aiming my stuff. So mind you that," he added, as he turned on his heel and bent his stops homewaard, inwardly chuckling to think how noatly he had made Nirnrod catch a Tartar.

A PETROLEUM KING.

Tho First Man to MaKo a Fortune

in Oil.

A few days ago, in a public hospital of Vionna, poor and alone, died the only son of a man whoa few decades back was called the " Petroleum King" in his Gali cian homo,and was the founder of one of the most colossal industries in modern times— the refining of oil. This man—his name was Aclolph Sohreiner —shared the lot of the majority of inventors and benefactors of mankind. He increased the world's wealth by millions, enriched thousands, laid the foundation for immense fortunes, but re mained a poverty-stricken man. The petroleum industry in the United States date.') from the " fifties," tho first pales of American oil taking place in 1854, but Abraham Schreincr, by documents in the archives of Vienna, produced illuminating1 oil as early as 1853. He owned a pioco of land in Boryslaw where, in an opening in the earth, ho found a black, tar-like sub stance which tho poasants had used from time immemorial to heal wounds and greaso their wnggqn wheels. Schreincr got the idoa that the fluid in tho clay might bo em ployed in other ways. He kneaded a ball from the slime, stuck a wick into it. and it burned brightly with a red flamo until the substance was exhausted. This was tho first petroleum lamp. Later, Schreiner heard something of distillation and deter mined to try a few experiments. He pur chased a huge kettle and transformed it into a distilling apparatus ns well as pos sible, filled ifc with the black earth, and placed it upon the fire to accomplish tho distillation. But that happened more rapidly than he wished. The petroleum exploded, the kettle was broken into a thousand piocos, and Schreiner's body was covered with scars. Hardly recovered from his wounds, ho began his experiments again with a proper apparatus, into the secrets of which an apothecary had intro duced him. Here he was crowned with better success. He gained a product which rosembbd a strongly-smelling oil, and petroleum was found. He filled a bottle and sold it to a druggist in Dropobyez. That was in the year 1853. Schreiner was, therefore, not only tho discoverer of petro leum, but the first who introduced it into commerce. The first purchaser of the new fluid in quantities was the apothecary Mikolaach, in Lemberg. The latter, who acquired the first 100 pounds for fifteen florins, refined tho oil until he succeeded in making it comparatively clear and colour less. Ho was accordingly the prime oil re finer. In tho same year the Kaiser Ferdi nand Railway Company purchased 3,000 pounds at 100 guidens per 100, to use in lighting their signal lamps. Encouraged, Schreiner enlarged his factory and began the production of oil in great quantities. In 1856 he bored tho first oil well in Galicia, He then erected his refinery and distillery. In 1865 the entive works were burned to tho ground. But he completed them anew, hoping for better luck. He had hardly started his motov, when the flames again robbed him of his troasuro, and this time beyond restoration. His youthful energy had deserted him now that grey hairs, feeble health, and age had come. Ho tried to drown his misery in drink and died in <n>eat poverty, leaving his son nothing save a document which stated that Abraham Schreiner was the first man to discover petroleum for illuminating purposes and iu trodnce it into trade. Adolph Schreincr, the eon of the former petroleum king, from whom the world hoped great things, went to ruin as a small merchant in Lemberg, proceeded to Vienna, where he travelled from house to house selling matches. At last he died, as already stated, in a public institution, mourned by nobody, and followed to the grave by none of his kin or name.

A ROYAL INCOME.

A Yonng Lord Who Will Have

£100,000 a Year.

Lord Pokchester, the Earl of Carnarvon s eldest son, has just come of age, and there were great rejoicings at Bretby and Hiph clero. Lord Porchestor comes into the splendid Chesterfield property, which was left by the seventh Earl of Chesterfield to his sister, the late Lady Carnarvon, for life, with the remainder to her children, in strict entail. The property has greatly increased in value, and now brings in over £40,000 a year, while during Lord Porchester's minority the trustees have been enabled to geb together a good, round sum of ready money. Bretby Houso, near Burton-on the-Trents, is a comparatively modern resi dence, but the late Lady Chesterfield spent a large sum in decorating and improving the interior, and it is one of the most com fortable houses in the country. Lord Por chester will be very rich, for, besides his own splendid fortune, he is heir to his father's large estate, which produces at leasb £30,000 a year. Altogether the young Earl of Carnarvon will have nearly £100.000 a year.

EGYPTIAN STONEMASONS.

Hugo Blocks of Granite Placed In

Position by Kaud.

Persons who inspect the obelisk in Central Park, Now York, for the first time fre quently express astonishment that so large a block of stone could have been success fully quarried, carved and handled by the ancients, especially as such work is done with difficulty, even with the improved machinery of the present age. In talking the other day with one of the leading granite men of the country, who has made a personal inspection of the pyramids of Egypt, he said: " There are blocks of stone in the pyramids which weigh three or four times as much as the obelisk. I saw a stone whose estimated weight was 830 tons. The builders of the pyramids counted human labour lightly. They had great masses of subjects upon whom to draw, and most of their work was done by sheer manual labour and force. There are stones in the pyramids thirty feet in length which fit so closely together that you may run a pen knife over the surface without discovering the break between them. They are not laid with mortar either. There is no machinery so perfect that it will make two surfaces thirty feet in length which will meet to gether in unison as these stones in the pyramids meet. They were undoubtedly rubbed back and forth upon each other until the surfaces were assimilated to each other."—"Now York Tribune."

A French Subjugation of Eng land.

A curious book, by an anonymous author, under the title of " Phis d'Angleterre," was recently published in Paris, where it created a decided sensation, mingled with mirth, in official and diplomatic circles. Tho work is seemtngly a continuation of

the series opened by the famous " Battle of Dorking," in which it is related that a French army, having' eluded the British fleet, lands on the English shores, and in a decisive battle near London de feats the English forces and ultimately subjugates the country, deposing England for ever from her position as a first-class Power. In "England No More" there is a description of the failure of the British fleet to move at the decisive moment; the landing of the French army at Hastings ; the taking of Tunbridge Wells, and the occupation of L >ndon, which cannot fail to interest the reader. ' The revolution in Ireland and the Gualdhill riots are also entertaining pages. The author sees in the invasion of Great Britain a means of obtaining the restoration of Alsace and Lorraine. Conquering France would offer Heligoland, Sierra Leone, the Gold Coast, Cape Colony, the islands of Ceylon, New Zealand and the Vancouver islands to Germany, with the Fiji islands thrown in as a "makeweight." The fortifications of the annexed provinces would be de molished and France and Germany would shake hands over the discomfiture of Eng land. The English journals generally make fun over this new evidence of Anglo phobism in France. They maintain that if there were no more of England there would be a great deal more of Germany, the implacable foe of France. The author also forgets, among other things, that the population of Francs is daily diminishing, and that she has political adventurers enough to destroy any unity of plan drawn up in the interests of the nation at large. Not only has France been unable to col onise in Algeria, within fifty hours of her boulevards, but she has not yet solved the difficulty of hor form of government.

A DARING CLIMBER.

Remarkable Escape From a

Fearful Death.

One of the noted characters of Cincinnati, the " steeple-climber," died a short time since at his homo, in that city. His name was Joseph Rodriguez Weston, and for nearly thirty years he has been climbing steeples in the city. No point was too high and dizzy for him to reach and maintain his steady foothold. Of late years he would undertake only those diffi cult feats that appalled others. It was his pardonable boast that he could go as high or higher than any other man. There are many stories of his hazardous exploits in that city. The most notable, probably, was the draping of the cathedral spire on the night following Archbishop PurcelPs death. On the ground below were 3,000 or 4,000 people eagerly watching for a glance at the daring man as the lightning flashes revealed him on the dizzy height. Weston, when only 12 years of age, had placed the tip on the same steeple. An other feat that was greatly talked about at the time was on the night of July 3,1876. Weston climbed the spire of the Presby terian Church on Fourth-street, the tallest in the city, and nailed fast the. stars and stripes, 285 feet from the ground. It wa3 on this occasion that he had a narrow es cape. Weston had obtained from Michie, the jeweller, a heavy gold chain, the links of which were all 6olid. His chain, when he was failing, held him for a brief moment, during which the climber succeeded in regaining his hold. Another time, while Weston was removing the timbers from the steeple of St. Xavier, which had been burned, he was struck on the head by a fall ing rock and slightly hurt. Weston had a horror of going beneath the surface of the earth, and would rover descend into a collar or cistern.

Wesfcon's father was named Rodriguez, a Spaniard, who died soon after his son's birth. His widow afterwards married a man named Weston, which name the boy adopted. Young Weston's stepfather taught him to climb at an early age, and as he advanced in years his many difficult performances gave him a wide-spread repu tation. He was 41 yesrs of age when he died. His son, now only 12 years old, already bids fair to equal his father in aerial exploits.

Parisian Beauties.

In the Prussian Chamber of Deputies Herr yon Ziedemunn made the horrifying state ment that in Posen he had met with a burgomaster who was quite unable to re member when he had -washed himself last. But it is a well-known fact that a con siderable number of Parisian ladies, ad mired for their beauty, never wash them selves at all. Face, neck and shoulders are carefully wiped every morning with a dry towel and then rubbed with a fine ointment; they then appear in all the freshness of youth, with tints varying from dazzling white to a deep pink. Only once a year—generally in autumn—the com plexion begins to show cracks and wrinkles ; then the beautiful lady disappears for a season. All visitors are refused admission; madaxne is indisposed. A fortnisht later she emerges like a chrysalis, as beautiful as ever. She has undergone a transforma tion, a kind of a molting process, which is kept a close secret from everybody except her husband, who has to pay for it to the tune of 2,000 francs. Her far-famed beauty is the work of the emailleuse, a person age quite familiar to English readers who are old enough to remember the case of Mme. Rachel. Several ladies are known who,, twenty-five or thirty years ago, were dis tinguished for their beauty at the. court of the late Emperor, and whose youthful appearance is to-day the objecb of universal admiration. Of course, this artifical ecust effectually prevents any facial expression of the lady's feelings; she can only emile faintly with her lips, she is incapable of blushing, and remains cold and impassive like a statue.

LITTLE FOLKS' COLUMN.

AN ALPHABET OS 1 BUOC3S9. It is said that Boron Rothschild iiftd feU following alphabetical list of maxims framed on his bank walls:—

Attend carefully to details of your btlsi ness.

Be prompt in all things. Consider well, then decide positively. Dare to do right, fear to do wrong. Endure trials patiently. Fight life's battle bravely, manfully. Go not into the society of the vicious. Hold integrity sacred. Injure not another's reputation nor tmsi- j ness.

Join hands only with, the virtuous. Keep your mind from evil' thoughts. Lie not for any consideration. Make few acquaintances. Never try to appear what you are not. ■ Observe good manners. Pay your debts promptly. Question not the veracity of a friend- Respect the counsel of your parents. Sacrifice money rather than principle. Touch not, taste not, handle not intoxi cating drinks. Use your leisure time for improvement. Venture not upon the threshold of wrong. Watch carefully over your passions. • 'Xtend to everyone a kindly salutation. Yield not to discouragement. Zealously labour for the right. And success is certain.

" What; is it you must keep after you have given It to another ?—Your word.

"Emilie," asks the teacher, "which animal attaches himself the most to man J" Emilie (after some reflection) " The leach, sir."

Little Annie was playing very roughly with the kitten, carrying it T>y the tail. Her mother told her phe would hurt pussy. " Why, no, I won't," she said; *• tarn Carry ing it by the handle."

The cat population of Great Britain is over 7,000,000. Probably 3,000,000 of these may be reckoned as females ; and it may be taken for granted that almost 4,000,000 families of kittens annually enter the world. Thus the total production of kittens may be calculated as quite 9,000,000.

It is almost impossible for country people to recognise the dense ignorance as to all matters agricultural and rural from which the children of the London poor Buffer. A day or two ago the parsons of a London parish asked one of the children who had been boarded out under the new Poor-law regu lations how he enjoyed the change of air and scenery. "Please, sir," said the ur chin, "I don't like it at all; instead of giving me milk out of a nice clean tin they squeeze it out of a nasty cow—l seed 'em a doing it!"

The arrival in San Francisco is announced of a little girl who travelled unattended the entire distance from Germany, her native land. Her name is Cresencia Schwartz, and her age is eleven years. Without understanding one word of English, this little Teutonic maiden traversed the broafL Atlantic Ocean, and crossed the American continent without a companion, trusting solely for her safety during her 7,000 miles journoy to the kindness of the people whom she chanced to meet. Her widowed mother in Germany was too poor to support her, ib is said; and an uncle in San Francisco having offered to adopt her, the mother prepared a little baggage, gave a kiss of farewell, and despatched her daughter oo the long journey.

THE TRIALS OF A SCHOOLMASTER.

The following amusing dialogue took place between a German schoolmaster and an incorrigible scholar, to whom the former was endeavouring without avail to illustrate an example in simple addition :— Teacher. —If you had a stocking on one foot and was to put it on the other, how many would you have on ?

Scholar. —l don't wear stockings at all. Teacher. —But if your father had one pig in the pen and bought another, how many would he have ?

Scholar. —We don't feed any pigs. Teacher.—Or if you have one jacket and your grandmother gives you another ab Christmas, how many jackets will you have ?

Scholar. —She won't give me any,

Teacher.—But suppose you have one apple and your mother gives you another, how many will you have ?

Scholar. —Our apples are all sour. They give me the stomach ache. I don't care for any.

Teacher.—You give a poor little beggar a piece of bread, bvit he already has a piece in hi 3 pocket, how many pieces will h&\ have?

Scholar. —I eat my bread myself. The teacher, with a sigh, turns to the next scholar and obtains satisfactory answers. ■ '■.

A BOY'S ESSAY ON VEGJETARIKAISM.

A vegetarian is a person that doesn't eat) cow. 1 like cow fried in a skillit. We have fried cow at our house sometimes. It eatjjj good to mustard. A vegetarian lives oh! cai-rots and turnips and such. He don'bi eat no chicken or salmon. He must be sorfc| of mad. I like to gobble turkey and grayy1.! But our old turkey tried to gobble me.! He is a vegetarian too. He lives on corn^ I put poison in his breakfast, and then he; died on corn. He won't never be a vege-! tarian no more. Pa says he is a vegetarian,] but I think it must be between meals*: The elephant Jumbo is a vegetarian andl lives on biscuits, cigars, and nails, and! such things. All our ancestors were vege-j tarians. The monkey lived on nuts andi the donkey ate thistles. Nebukadnayser was a vegetarian too. He ate grass jusb like a spotted cow. He never pared hiß; nails, and they grew into long claws like; the eagle's in the menagerie. My brother! Bob was a vegetarian for four days. On I the fifth he didn't eat no cabbage nor! parsnips, and said that mutton chop was aj good enough vegetable for him, and he has been a kind of ham and egg vegetarian ever, since. My sister Emma tried very hard to! be a vegetarian one day> but she gave it up; at dinner. She said it was a pity beefsteak j wasn't a vegetable, else she'd have held on! a little longer. Apple pie and plunxj pudding are the vegetables i like best, bubj when I grow up I intend to become a vege-! tarian, and to eat vegetables regularly toj my meat."

The Man of Books.

There was a man of knowledge deep, com manding sweep, who knew, a1 heap, a man. who studied day arid night and hardly spared the time to sleep. This man so staid he knew a maid, demure, afraid and half dismayed, shy as the, nymph of ancient mytha sequestered in, some sylvan shade. t

This maid so rare with golden haly and modest air, so debonair, she charmed this man of learned lore and caught him. fa, her witching snare. i

This man of thought and learned, lore, his hair he tore, and o'or and o'er, ho loudly swore that he would cherish, her/ Joe ay^ and he would love her ever more, ,' Now they are -wed, in hia library nooks bia knees he crooka, and sees hia wife aft' seldom now that; he'a forgotten how ahai looks. . . . ] The wife to whom the man before m io«tUsH swore he would adore for evemere, tires] with her mother, and declares he*1 l*ns»battd] is a regular bora,