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goütîd by a Spell
CHAPTER XXVII.— (Continued.) She listened to him without moving a muscle until he had finished speaking; then she answered, "Poor, weak fool, I pity you! You may one day know that vengeance is held by a higher power than that of puny man." So solemnly did she speak the words, that for a moment she awed her oppo nent, and he moved aside without a word, to allow her to pass out of the room. "What occasion was there to tell that woman of my past life?" angrily de manded Judith, when Madame Berne had departed. "I told her to suit my own purpose," he retorted, in the same tone. "And what injury have I ever done to you, Mr. Montgomery," I asked, "that you should seek to be revenged upon me?" "You have done me no injury," he said, averting his eyes; "but she has!' "Is it just to punish me for the faults of others?" I asked. "Has that old tigress gone?" cried Mr. Porter, putting his head in at the door, and looking round. Ocularly sat isfied of her disappearance, he bustled eagerly up to Judith. He turned the conversation upon other subjects. By and by, he said to Mr. Montgomery, in a careless tone, "I have something to show you. I want to ask your opinion of the worth of a bit of jewelry l have here. I know that you are a judge of those things." He produced a locket, which I instant ly recognized as the one he had once shown to me, and which I believed to contain a portrait of my mother. I can now understand his cunning de sign. It was to try if Mr. Montgomery would recognize the portrait without be ing previously put upon the scent. The locket would not open. "Give it to me," said Montgomery; "I'll do it." But before he had time to examine it a man, looking like n servant, hastily entered the room, without knocking. Looking about him for a moment, he went up to Montgomery and whispered something in his ear. "Where is lie?" cried the latter, look ing very scared. The man whispered again. "Come along, then; do not let. us lose nn instant," exclaimed Montgomery, ex citedly-. And before the other occupants of the room could recover from their astonishment, the two men had rushed out. "What's the meaning of this?" cried Mr. Porter, somewhat alarmed. "There's mischief brewing!" "Something is wrong," said Judith. "But, at all events, we have nothing to fear; we have had nothing to do with the abduction. The worst they can do to us is to turn us out of the house as tres passers." "Where's the locket?" suddenly cried Mr. Porter. "Why, that scoundrel Mont gomery lias walked off with it!" And away he went in pursuit. "So, Silas," said Judith, when we were alone, "you are a gentleman with an in dependent income." 1 could only wearily shake my head. "Even money has no charm while your happiness is clogged by me," she said, bitterly. "Well, I will make a bargain with you. Settle half of the money upon me for life and I will free you of my presence forever." "Take it all if you will," I answered. "You have blighted my whole life. All the money in the world can never buy me back one happy moment." Mr. Porter's entrance interrupted our further conversation. "lie's off!" he said, looking very flur ried. "They both jumped into a trap that the man came in, ami galloped off at a pace fast enough to break their necks. And he has taken my locket with him!" CTIAITER XXVIII. Little less than an hour's furious driv ing brought Montgomery and his com panion into a suburban district. They pulled up before a handsome villa resi dence. A gentleman, who had evident ly been watching for their coming, ap peared at the door. "llow long you have been!" he said, irritably. "Come as fast ns horseflesh could go, sir," answered the man, respectfully. "Just look at the marc, sir; she's for all the world ns if you had chucked buckets o' water over her!" "This way, Montgomery," said Mr. John Rod well—for it- was he. He led the way into a back parlor. "Read that," he said, handing Mont gomery a telegram. "From Jonathan Hodwell, Morley's Hotel, to John Hodwell: "Can I have the use of your house in Essex for a short time? Police have got a trace of Clara in that direction. Telegraph reply." Montgomery gave a low whistle as he read these words. "That's awkward!" he ejaculated. "What a fool's remark!" exclaimed Rodwell, irritably; "it's ruin, destruc tion! What can be done? Can you de vise any scheme? 1 have telegraphed to say that 1 will be with him this, even ing." "And then what do you mean to do?" "That is precisely what I want to talk over with you. You see by that tele gram that the police have discovered a clue, and we know that the clue is In the right direction. The hope of gaining the reward will wonderfully sharpen their scent. Perhaps, while we are sit ting here, they have spotted the very house." He paused, expecting an answer; but Montgomery, with an unmoved face, re mained silent. "I must tell you," he went on, "that before this girl was brought home I was regarded as my uncle's heir. But he became infatuated with this silly doll, and left everything to her, except a pal try annuity. Well, the girl's intellect was always weak, and as she grew older, this weakness merged almost into idiocy. One night she disappeared, no one knew whither. My uncle was almost frantic. Rewards were offered; the rural police put upon the serfrch; ponds, rivers, you cess. that I clung that the teims up, at fall began would fancy which city, trace lent had tramp going had some in see print found That upon to I nnd with quite ed would ing snug more who ns been had with I was By lips with of tion low, you ple made the of in I taken there, I to was to 1 of mj that he not to the If you bo out to evil me on or by am my I ly are not a streams dragged far and near; but, as you will anticipate, without any suc cess. As time passed on I did all I possibly could to instill into his mind that she must be dead, to which belief j I really inclined; but he obstinately | clung to the idea that she still lived, nnd | that he Rhould find her some day. In | the meantime, I kept on the best of teims with him. If she never turned up, I felt pretty confident that the bulk, at least, of the old man's fortune would fall to my share. Years went on, and I began to feel quite certain that Clara would never again be heard of; when, fancy my consternation upon one day receiving n letter from the old man, which informed me that he was in the city, consequent on having obtained some trace of his lost granddaughter. He lent some tramp money upon a suit of clothes, and out of one of the pockets had dropped a miniature of Clara. This tramp fellow had told him that he was going to the city, and thither my uncle had set off at once to endeavor to gain some tidings of him. He had not been in town many days before he chanced to see a picture of his own cottage in a print seller's window. He bought it, and found the name of Clara in the corner. That I might check any further search upon his part, I undertook to send round to every picture denier to make inquiries. I called at a number of shops myself, nnd I sent you to others; you know with whnt result." "But I did discover her, after all," in terrupted Montgomery, "although in quite another way; nnd had I not stay ed nt Bury so late into the Monday, you would have known of it. However, noth ing could be neater than the way we managed it. Luckily you had such a snug place to take her to." "Yes; I have found the house useful more than once. An old maiden aunt, who used to reside there, left it to me ns a legacy. Fortunately, it had only been recently vneated. As soon as I had secured my fair cousin, I began to consider what wns the best thing to do with her. After n mature consideration, I came to the conclusion that marriage was the best solution of the difficulty. By making her my wife I should seal her lips regarding the past, nnd secure my uncle's fortune in the future. To my surprise, she received all my advances with the utmost repugnance. The cause of that, I have discovered, is a connec tion Bhe has formed with some low fol low, who actually turns out to be Judith Stokes' husband. By the bye, how came you to think of introducing those peo ple at my house? You must have been made to have entrusted my secret in the hands of a woman who has a spite against me?" "A spite against you?" echoed Mont gomery. "This is the first 1 have heard of it. Now, 1 was deeply interested in getting him back into Judith's hands. I bethought me of the house that 1 had taken the young lady to the night before. There must be plenty of spare rooms there, I thought; and as Judith and Mr. Itodwell are old and confidential friends, I don't see that he can possibly object to oblige her so far." "And do you not think such an act was a piece of impudence upon your part?" "Not at all," answered Montgomery, coolly. "1 had my own private interests to serve in the matter—vital interests. 1 thought of myself first, as you did of yourself when, years ago, you enticed away from me the girl who was mal .ng mj living. Tit for tat!" Redwell glared nt him fiercely. "If that is your mode of dealing with me," he said, "how do 1 know that you may not one fine morning call upon Mr. Jona than Rodwell and blow the whole thing to him?" "No, I shjill not do that," answered the other, quietly; "honor among thieves. If the plot succeeds, I know that I shall get more out of you than 1 possibly could out of him. Besides, there is a stronger bond even than interest that binds me to you—revenge!" "Upon whom?" "Upon Silas Uarston." "In that case, l think we can work to gether better than 1 suspected; but as you have greatly complicated my diffi culties by Introducing Judith into the same house, it is but fair that you should bo the more ready to help me in any way out of them." "What do you mean?" "In the first place, my marriage with Clara would have to be brought about immediately; and as she is not likely to consent, and as the days of enforced marriages are all gone by, it is more than probable that the whole plot will have to be abandoned. I am convinced that Judith fully intends to betray me. Her evil disposition would never let such an opportunity of revenge escape. Such a revelation would overwhelm me with de struction. My father, at his death, left me property to the value of two thou sand per year. Bit by bit, it has been sold and mortgaged. I lost a thousand on the last Derby; that was the last straw. My debts amount to some eight or ten thousand; my doors are besieged by duns; my credit all but stopped, and I am all but penniless. If I could once show proofs that I was my uncle's heir, my creditors would cease to press, and I could raise more money. Oil the other hand, if things remain ns they are, I should have to fly the country, a beggar." "But how do you propose to induce your uncle to alter his will while he be lieves that his granddaughter is alive?" "Suppose it could be proved to him that she was dead?" The two men's eyes met in a long, searching look; each one was trying to read the other's secret thoughts. "Supposing," Rodwell went ou, "I could hit upon a plan to silence—to re move both Judith and Clara at the same time? Nothing could then stand in my way." "What do you mean?" asked Mont gomery, with a scared look. "You seem excessively dull to-day," exclaimed Rodwell. irritably; "especial ly when your own interests nnd safety are as much concerned as my own. Could not the girl prove that it was you who abducted her?—and as you could not ly. on are ery. ful your to thing off had my there to ble girl's with ity. ard in You over face the key the of and art, of ing he of age to it In to of A is It a if furnish your judge with unexceptionable references as to your moral character, I that would be enough to give you two years on the treadmill, besides the loss of all the money I have promised you. Let us carry my plan to a successful conclusion, and I will sign a deed to pay you five hundred a year for life. I should not think it would take you long to de cide between the two pictures." "Speak out, nnd let me know what you want," said Montgomery, uneasily. ! "You—to help me to get rid of both Judith and Clara!" cried Rodwell, bold- j ly. "Suppose that the house should catch \ on fire—houses do catch on fire, you know, sometimes,- without any one dis covering the cause, and people frequently are lost in such fires." "This is abominable!" cried Montgom ery. "So I thought, nt first. The house is heavily insured, too; we could share the insurance money between us." "But what purpose could such a fear ful crime serve? You would not dare confess to your uncle that the girl was in j your house; nnd, unless you could prove! to him that she was dead, her death would be useless to you.' "I have thought of all that. If this thing could be arranged, I should drive off to Morley's nt once, tell him that I had traced my cousin, taken her under my protection, lodged her safely in the Manor House, offer to drive him over ! there at once. When we arrive there it would be a heap of cinders." Montgomery shuddered as he listened to the diabolical ingenuity of this horri ble plot. "But how would you account for the girl's disappearance—for your meeting with her?" he asked. "In a hundred ways!" was the reply. "Before she ran away from home, she betrayed symptoms of incipient insan ity. The actions nnd adventures of such people cannot be measured by therstand ard of every-day life." "Whnt part do you want me to play in the tragedy?" asked Montgomery. "I should have to go over to my uncle. You would do the rest!" "Well, give me a little time to think over it." "I will give you half nn hour," said Rodwell, looking nt his watch. He was perfectly calm nnd self-possessed. Ilis face was stern and resolved. He left the room, nnd Montgomery heard the key turn in the lock. (To he continued.) From Some Their As No As Or Their How The The The The The Nor Wee Just Nor So I Their La To Such Of When t i SHIP3 BUILT BY SAVAGES. South Sea Islanders Are Expert in Ma rine Architecture. In the Marshall group of Islands in the south seas is a little atoll of coral known as Likieb atoll. It is hundreds of miles away from any other island, and the natives go half naked like the other dwellers of the south seas. But they have learned one great civilized art, just the same, and that is the art of building ships. About forty years ago a Portuguese sailor was landed there from a whal ing ship. When his vessel sailed away he remained behind, for the lazy charm of the Pacific Island life had tempted him and he had decided to leave the restless sea and live the rest of his days on the warm, sleepy beaches, where no one worked. Soon he married the daughter of a chief and became a trader. After many years nn American captain vis ited the islands during a trading voy age in the south seas nnd when his vessel shortly afterward became un seawortliy he set to work on the beach to lmild a now one. The Portuguese whaler's two sons helped him and learned a great ileal about the operation. The island had line, hard wood on it. just the kind of timber that shipbuilders value because it will not rot or waterlog readily. The captain at last succeeded in fiuishin; good 40-ton schooner and sailed away In her. Before long the two boys had begun to teach the natives something of what they had picked up and soon, instead of the primitive canoes and dugouts that the Marshall islanders have been using for centuries, the folk of the Likieb atoll began to build canoes made of carefully fashioned lmnhe and pinned together with rivets. Now there is a real shipyard on this little speck lost in the wide Pacific. A high roof under the palms on the beach greets the mariner and when lie lands he sees vessels, modern tools lying around nnd everything looking just as it does in a shipyard anywhere on the American coast, only instead of workmen in overalls he sees dark na tives with hardly any clothing. The wood from which the knees and timbers are cut comes from an island on the western side of the lagoon. It is called kauoe and is extremely hand some, looking much like black walnut. It lias the valuable property of grow ing harder as it grows older and makes tine vessels. Tools—nil of them of the best kind— wood for spars, etc., are shipped to Likieb atoll now from New Zealand and the boats that are turned out In the savage island have been compared with American and English built ves sels that have touched at the place and found to be excellent in every respect. The savage shipbuilders have a queer scale of prices, if a chief wants a schooner of, say. 12 tons, built for him, they charge him $1,000 for it, but if a poorer person wants the same kind of a vessel they will charge many hundred dollars less. They do this quite openly and explain it by saying that the chief being rich can afford to pay more than a poor person for the same thing.—Washington Post. Advantage in Kansas. "Sally's father said her beau should never step foot in the house again," said the Kansas girl. "Then I suppose she had to givo him up?" interrogated her chum. "No, indeed. She entertains him In the cyclone cellar." Few persons have courage enough to appear as good as they really are.— Hare. St. little for Rev. out She even his page fore the the than with had no was him of In ple. ed and not his you you of of out ful on I to j a it, j \ j ! OLD AND NEW. From an old garden Lucia senda Some early roses to her friends, Their lovely petals fresh in hue, As though just washed in crystal dew, No name they bear, but rich their bloom As those that from Damascus come, Or those that in some Persian vale Their delicate perfume exhale. How vividly they bring to view The roses that my childhood knew! The Welding brought from distant wood, The Cinnamon that near it stood, The Provence, deemed so regal-fine, The pure White Rose and Eglantine. / Nor let me Burgundy forget, Wee buds in tiny leaflet set. Just fit for fairy folk to wear, Titania and her maiden fair— Nor dainty Blush, which few excel. So tinted like an ocean shell. I love them, one and all, and though Their many charms the new may show, La France, Colomb or Jacqueminot, To the old kinds my heart will cling, Such precious memories they bring Of home and friends in that dear time When life was in its joyous prime. —Boston Budget. t + i Her Word of Cheer 1 ARION SCHUELER bent slightly forward In her fath er's pew as the door from the pastor's study into the auditorium of St. Margaret's Church opened and closed. Then she leaned back with a little sigh. This made the sixteenth candidate for the pulpit since the resignation of Rev. Emmanued Boyce. They had ranged all the way from the young collegian, with his sleek, dark head, clean-shaven jaws and palpably built out shoulders to this— Her eyes went to the nervous bands arranging the papers on the reading desk—hands which, In some unac countable way, spoke of failure and disappointment—to the well-brusbed, threadbare coat, with its carefully darned triangular tear on the sleeve. She felt suddenly sorry for Rev. John Tinsdale. Possibly she was the only one who even tried to follow him as he plowed his near-sighted, nervous way through page after page of manuscript. And possibly, also, throe months be fore she might not have done so, but the song of the springtime was singing Itself in Marion Scliueler's heart, and the abundance of her happiness over flowed in pity for those less blessed than herself. When the service was over John Tinsdale left the platform and stood with clasped hands in front of It. He had no need to unclasp them. Not one person out of that vast congregation came forward to speak to him. And no one suspected that the young man was slowly but surely drinking the dregs of a very bitter cup. For a year past the thought that his ministry was a failure had haunted him night and day. And he had mnde of this service a test. He would preach In a strange church to a strange peo ple. No one would be biased for or against him. If anyone, even a i ..Je child, said afterward that he bad help ed him lie would keep on. If not— His eyes grew hard and blight with bitter certainty as the people moved slowly out. Then lie became suddenly aware that someone stood beside him. It might have gone hard with John Tinsdale just then if 10 years of love and allegiance to another woman had not run like a bright thread through his life, for the girl who bad come for ward to speak to him was the very em bodiment of beauty and happiness. "Mr. Tinsdale," she said eagerly, "I want to thank you so much for what you said this morning. I really think you were sent here to save me from becoming Selfishly absorbed In—ray own—joy." John Tinsdale took the band she held out, though he hardly saw her face for the mist which had suddenly risen to his eyes. The quick revulsion of feeling left him dizzy for a mo ment. He was to keep on! When she ran down the rear stairs of the church to speak to the janitor upon the following Sunday, a figure stood nt the foot which looked sadly out of place within the fashionable pre duets of St. Margaret's. . At another time Marion might have wondered why women with colorless hair nnd eyes always affected neutral tints in dress. But something beauti ful in the pale face, something which unwittingly told the story of years of cheerful self-sacrifice, held her mind from other thoughts. "Miss Sehueler?" The girl in drab advanced slightly, with her eyes fixed Intently on Marlon's face. The latter bowed, her dark eyebrows raising themselves slightly In vague surprise. "I came here from Carson Centre— on purpose to see you." "Indeed?" Miss Scliueler smiled, and the other girl winced at the new beauty It added I to her face. j "He—he has never ceased talking about you — since last Sunday!" she broke out, chokingly. "He! Who?" "John—John Tinsdale. O, I don't wonder—now that I've seen you!" Marlon opened the door of the ladles' parlor hastily nnd drew the other wo man aside. Gently she forced her Into a chair nnd, drawing another before it, took the cold, lifeless hands In her own. "Now," she said, steadily, "tell me who you are. Not his wife?" "No, but—we have been engaged for eight years." e the at as but ed tell yet I on an In to at in of The tea:-s rose quickly in Marion ! Schueler'8 eyes. "O, my dear! That is a long time to wait for happiness," she said breath lessly. Her own engagement might have been counted by as many weeks. Her hold upon the small, work-worn hands tightened. , e "Indeed, Indeed, it is not as you think.'' she said earnestly. "I knew at the time that my speaking to Mr. | Tinsdale as I did Inst Sunday meant ■ more to him than I could understand. I But It was what I said, not me, that counted. Why, he looked beyond, not at me." The wet eyes of the girl from Carson : Centre were fixed hungrily on her face as she drank in every word. "Go home and ask him to tell you all I about it," she said soothingly. "The years which lie behind you demand that you shall not misunderstand each other now." "It isn't that I mind waiting, but—• ! but it hurts me to think another wo man bad been to him the inspiration l I have failed to be," she said wistfully. ' "He is preaching on trial to-day. If he succeeds it will be because of having met you." With sudden resolve Marlon detain ed her. "After all, I see that I shall have to tell what will hurt you—for you do not yet believe me," she said quietly. "And, anyway, nothing can hurt you more than what you now think. When Mr. Tinsdale preached here last Sunday not one person—not one—came to speak to him at the close of the service. It seemed to me so cruel—and whnt he said did help me—that I tried as best I could to atone for the lack on the part of our people. Don't you think Mr. Tinsdale would be likely to re member, and talk about, the one per son who had spoken kindly to him In a strange place?" A new light and hope had come into the pale eyes raised to Marion Schue ler's. "I will try to believe you," she said eagerly. "It—would mean death to me —to think otherwise. Goodby." "Goodby, dear," she said huskily, "and God bless you both." Two people were waiting for Miss Scliueler at the door of St. Margaret's on the following Sunday. Rev. John Tinsdale she knew nt a glance, but a second look was neces sary ere she recognized the little worn* an at Ills side—so pretty was the face In Its soft, new happiness, so dainty the slight figure in its garb of dark blue. "Miss Sehueler," Tinsdale held out Ills band smiling radiantly, "my wife tells me that you and she nre alrendy acquainted." "John has received a unanimous call to the church where he preached last Sunday," the little bride began In nn eager undertone. "We were married yesterday—and, O, my dear, it is nil due to your word of good cheer!"—Bos ton Globe. HOTEL BILLS IN GERMANY. Conditions tinder Which a Bead Man Must Pay Board. American travelers in Germany have for some time hesitated about dying at any of the hotels because of the un- : settled conditiou of the German law ' governing the extent of their liabilRy in such nn event, says the New Or- j leans Times-Democrat. A recent re- ! port from Consul General Gunther at Frankfort gives an important decision of the Supreme Court at Berlin, in | which It is declared, presumably to the great dissatisfaction of the German innkeepers, that a man's liability ceases at lits death, and that damages cannot be collected from his heirs for the time during which the room is be- | ing renovated and disinfected. The , court held that the death of a guest was a risk which the business of the hotel keeper required him to take, and ho was without recourse, eveu though his room should be untenanted a month as a result. A distinction, however, was drawn between the case of an unexpected death and one maliciously contrived by the guest for the discomfiture of the landlord. In ease the visitor should willfully commit suicide a liability for the rent of the room while- It was be ing placed in order would survive. It would he the same If he entered the hostelry and concealed from his host the fact that he was in the grip of a deadly disease which was liable to take him off at any moment. Such de ceit, according to the court, would lie richly rewarded by rendering the man's estate responsible for dnmages. In the suit In question the bill pre sented by the landlord to the dead man was for ten days' lodging, and ns the hotel was a first-class one, the amount was by no means small. The decision of the point by the Supreme Court of Berlin will relieve a great deal of anxiety in the tourist mind and he will die much more freely at Ger man hotels than before. The prospect of a hotel bill Living and moving and having Its being for weeks after one has passed away is enough to make the stoutest heart quail and resolve to live. And this Is especially true, in view of the fact that a European hotel keeper is supposed to be the model of a lightning calculator when It comes to devising à bill for n stranger within his gates. Too Many to Remember. Citlmau—You've been living In the suburbs so long I suppose you've had considerable experience with servant girls. Subbubs—Well, it's got so that when my wife is interviewing an applicant now èhe always begins by asking: "Were you ever employed by me be fore? If so, when and for how long?" —Philadelphia Press. ald It tion tain lia's had on the ders. of the 15 the tal lery fish I ! 1 one I and j I Is . 80 j up a is cid itor und the one the ing ber far 100 the 100 the the be the ! ; to a to ; j ! by I ' I I : ' j ! | | , NEVADA WONDER CAVERN. Great Underground House of Many Hooms—Unexplored. Lehman's cave is seventy miles northwest of here, In White Pine County, Nevada, at the foot of Jeff Davis' peak, says the New York Her ald correspondent at Modena, Utah. It Is a marvel, and after the comple tion of the San Pedro Railway Is cer tain to become the Mecca of thou sands of tourists. An English traveler who had ex plored the subterranean wonders In Switzerland and Germany, the Mam moth cave of Kentucky and Austra lia's biggest caverns, pronounced Leh man's cave grander than anything he had ever visited. This cave has been explored for about a mile. A. B. Lehman, after whom the cave was named, took up on the land at the entrance, and for eighteen years lived there improving the accessiblity of many of the won ders. The place Is now in the hands of Charles Rowland. One enters the first large cavern, the "temple of the gods," and stands bewildered. Within this chamber Is "Washington's column," four feet In diameter and forty feet high; "Lin coln's column," "Grant's column" and Garfield's column," each three feet in diameter and thirty feet high. These four stalagmites are pure white. Next comes the "bridal chamber," 15 feet by 20 feet and 30 feet bigh, the walls of which are resplendent with sparkling lime crystals. The "musical gallery," 40 feet high, 12 feet wide and 50 feet long, contains a crys tal piano. From one side of this gal lery crystals shaped like the fins of a fish project from the wall three or I four feet. Upon these some one has ! marked the musical notation, enabling 1 one to produce chords with a purity of tone.* I "The needle's eye," "cabinet room" and "round room" all contain lnter j estlng specimens of nature's fancies. I One of the most beautiful features Is "Shoshone falls," 30 feet high nnd . 80 feet wide, a lime formation built j up from the bottom until It resembles a foaming deluge frozen while in ac tion. The "skating rink" Is a room prob ably 50 by 75 feet, the floor of which is covered six inches deep with pla cid cold water, seemingly all Ice. This Illusion is hard to dispel until the vis itor has stepped Into it. The "cypress swamp" is fully an acre In extent. The floor Is covered with beautiful fernlike stalaginitic growths, with eroded passageways in und about, filled with cold water. The "angel grotto" exhibits a fac simile of nn angel with one wing bro ken. The "grand museum," "Cleopatra's needle," "Liberty Enlightening the World," "pillar of beauty" and the "crystal palace" are remarkable. In some of these wonderful chambers the stalactites combine with the sta lagmites In fanciful forms that one could spend hours studying. The form of a life-size deer greets one In the "grand museum," while the great organ Is not all illusion, hav ing an nltar-llke base, with stalag mites running to the roof of the cham ber like organ pipes. The largest single passageway so far discovered is 200 feet long, and 100 feet high. The greatest cavern is known as the "large room," being 20 feet wide, 100 feet long and 100 feet high. "Chaos" is appropriately named. One looks down Into this chamber and the floor presents a view of confu sion. Huge blocks of stone weighing tons He about as If a cyclone had started to demolish the earth. Numerous side apertures indicate the presence of a network of still un explored chambers. In several places fissures the depth of which are un known would indicate wonderful areas below. A current of air plays through the chambers, giving rise to the belief that ah undiscovered exit remains to be found on the opposite side of the mountain. Flirtation In Russia. Russia is not the place to which we should look for any movement against the particular kind of frivolity on the part of young people known as fllrta ! tlon. Yet recent news has It that the ; young men of St. Petersburg, wishing to turn themselves and others from the errors of their ways, have formed a society for the suppression of the flirt and the abolition of flirting. Thir ty-seven young men of high birth, moved to this high endeavor, have taken a solemn vow not to pay court to any lady unless their Intention is marriage, should the lady be willing. The fine for a first offense Is a fairly heavy one, but should the member be flirtatiously Inclined a second time, he ; must pay a fine multiplied by five. A third offense is visited by expulsion j from the meetings of the society. It ! seems a pity that Russian maidens should be the only ones who benefit by this modern form of chivalry. Brit ish maidens may well sigh for a like growth of public opinion against the too universal practice among young men of having a good time with u I "Jolly" girl, and then ride away to repeat the meaningless vaporlngs to the owner of the next pair of bright eyes. _ Wrong; Diagnosis. Doctor—Your habits appear to be ' sedentary. What Is your occupation. I »Patient—Bookkeeper. I Doctor— Ahl I thought bo. Now, you should take a long walk every night after your work Is done. Patient—I think that's what made me sick. I've been up nearly every night for a week with the baby.— Philadelphia Ledger.