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BalUlMi-noe In even particular jruaraiueuil. Mull orue Himiptlv Mlsa. DARK DAYS BY HUGH CONWAY. I Author of "Coifed jBacfc." CHAPTER I. A PRATIR AND A VOW. When this story of my lire, or of such por tions of my life as present any out-of-tho. common features, is read, it will be found that I havo committed errors of judgment that I have sinned not only socially, but also against the law of the land. In excuse I can plead but two things the- strength of love, the weakness of human nature. If those carry no weight with you, throw the book aside. You are too good lor mo: am too human for you. We cannot bo friends. Read no further. I need say nothing about my childhood nothing about my boyhood. Let me hurry on to early manhood to that time when the wonderful (1 roams of youth begin to leave one: when the impulse which can drive so ber reason aside must be, indeed, a strong one; when one has learned to count the cost of every rnsh step; when the transient and fitful flames of the boy have settled down to a steady, glowing fire which will burn until only osims are left; when the strength, the nerve, tho intellect, is or should be at its height; when, in short, one's years number thirty. Yet. what was I then? A soured, morose, disappointed man; without ambition, with out care for the morrow; without a goal or object in life. Breathing, eating, drinking, as by instinct. Rising in the morning, and wishing' the day was over; lying down at night, and caring little whether the listless eyes I closed might open again or not. And why? Ahl to know why you must sit with me as I sit lonely over my glowing fire one winter night. You must read my thoughts; the pictures of my past must rise before you as they rise before me. My sor row, my hote, my love mus.t be yours. You must, indeo.l, he my Tory self. You may begin this retrospect with tri umph. You mav go back to the day when, after having passed my examination with high honors, I, Basil North, was duly en titled to write M. D. after my name, and sat to work to win fame and fortune by doing my best toward relieving the suffer ings of my fellow creatures. You may say, os I snid then, as I say how, "A noble career; a life full of interest and useful ness." You may see me full of hope and courage, and ready for any amount of hard work; settling down in a large provincial town, resolved to beat out a practice for myself. You may see how, after tha usual initiatory struggles, my footing gradually grew firmer; how my name became familiar; how at last ' I seemed to be in a fair way of win ning success. Ycu may see how for a while a dream brightene I my life; how that dream faded and lelt gloom in its place. You may see the woman I loved. No, I am wrong. Her you cannot see. Only I myself can see Philippa as I saw her then as I see her now. Philippa aslsaio her then as I see her now. Heavens 1 how fair Bhewas! How glorious her rich, dark beauty I How different from the pink-white and yellow dolls whom I have seen exalted as the types of perfection! Warm Southern blood ran through her veins and tinged her clear brown cheek with color. Hor mother was an English woman; but it was Spain that gave her daughter that exquisite grace, those won drous dark eyes and long, curled lashes, that mass of soft black hair, that passionate, impulsive nature, and perhaps that queen like carriage and dignity. The English mother may have given the girl many good gifts, but Her beauty came from the father, whom she had never known; the Andalusian, who died while she was but a child in arms. Yet, in spite of her foreign grace, Philippa was English. Her Spanish origin was to ber but a tradition. Her foot had never touched her father's native land. Its lan guage was strange to her. She was bnrn in England, and her father, tho nature of whose occupation I have not been able to ascertain, seems to havo spent most of his time in this country. When did I learn to love her? Ask me, rather, when did wo first meet? Even then, as my eyes fell upon the girl, I knew, as by revelation, that for mo life and her love meant one and the same thing. Till that moment there was no woman in tha world the sight of whom would have quickened my pulse by a beat. 1 had read nnd heard of such love as this. I had laughed at it. There seemed no room for such an engross ing passion in my busy life. Yet all at once I loved as man has never loved before; awl as I sit to-night and gaze into the fire I tell myself that the objectless life I am leading is the only ono possible for the man who loved but failed to win Philippa. Our fiist meeting was brought about in tho most prosaic way. Her mother, who suf. fered from a chronic disease, consulted me professionally. My visit, -first those of a doctor, soon became those of a friend, and I was five to woo tho girl to the best of my ability v Philippa and her mother lived in a small house on the outskirts of the town. They were not rich people, but bad enough to keep tho pinch of poverty from their lives. The mother was a sweof, quiet, ladylike woman, who bore her sufferings with resignation. Her health was, indeed, wretched. The only thing which scorned likely to benefit her was a continual change of air and scone. After attending her for about six months, 1 was in conscience bound to indorse the opinion of her former medical advisors, and tell her it ffc"l' 1.9 well for her try another change. My heart Was heavy as I trove this vice. If ndopted, It meant that Philippa ana j. must part. But why, during those six months, had I not, pissionateiy in love as I was, won tha young girl's heart? Why did she not leave ma as my affianced bride? Why did 1 lol nor leave me at all? Ilia answer is Bhort. She loved me not Not that she had ever told me so in words, Dal never sjkal her in words for her love. But she mast have known she must have known! When I was with her, every look, every action of mine must have told her the truth. Women are not fools or blind. A man, loving as I did.fwbo can conceal the true state of his feelings must be more than mortal. I had not spoken; I dared not speak. Bet ter uncertainty with hope than certainty with despair. The Kay on which Philippa refused mv love would be as the day ot death to me. Besides, what had I to offer her? Although succeeding fairly well for a beginner, at present 1 could only ask the woman I made my wife to share comparative poverty. Anil Philippa! Ah! 1 would have wrapped Phil ippa in luxury! All that wealth could buy ought to be hers. Had you seen her in tha glory of her fresh young beauty, you wouid have smiled at tho presumption or tne man who could expect such a being to become the wifo of a hard working and as yet ill- paid doctor. You would have felt that she should have had the world at her feet. Had I thought that she loved mo 1 might perhaps have dared to hope she would even lien have been happy as my wite. Hut slw lid not love me. Moreover, she was ambi tious. She knew small blame to her how beau tiful she was. Do I wrone her when I say that in those days she looked for the ift of rank and riches from the man who loved her? She knew that she was a queen among women, and expected a auoen's dues. (Sweoiest, are my words c,ruel? Ihey are the eruelost I have spoken, or shall speak, gainst you. Forgive them !) H were friends-gTut friends, bucli friendship is love's bine. It buoys false holies; it lulls to security; it leads astray ; it is a staff which breaks suddenly, and wounds the hau l which leans upon it. So little it seems to need to make friendship grow' into ove; and yet how seldom that little is dded! The love which begins with hate or dislike is often luckier than that which egina with friendship. Lovers cannot be rimds. Philippn and her mother loft my neigh borhood. They wont to Loudon for awhile. heard from them occasionally, and once or twice, when in town, called upon them. imo went bv. I worked hard ut my pr fession the while, striving, by sheer toil, to rive away tho dream from my life. Alos! strove in vain. To love Philippa was to love her forever! One morning a letter came from her. 1 tore it open. The news it contained was grievous. Her mother had died suddenly Jhilippa was alone in t!io world. So far us knew she hid not a relativo left; ami i bo heved, perhaps ho ed, that, save inyselt the had no friend. 1 needed no time for consideration. That afternoon I was in London. If I could not comfort hor in ber great sorrow I could at least sympathize with her; could undertake he management of the many business de tails which are attendant upon a death. Poor Philippa! bhe was glad to see ni". I rough her tears she flashed me a look ratitude. I did all I could for her, an i staved in town until the funeral was over hen I was obliged to think of going horn.-. what was to become of the girl? Kith or kin she had none, nor did she leiition the name of any friend who would willing to receive her. A9 I suspected. ho was absolutely alone in the world. A.- soon as my back was turned she would have no one on whom she could count for sym pathy or help. It must have been her utter loneliness hich urged me, in spite of my better judg ment, m spite ot the grief which still oppress ed her, to throw myself at her feet and do clare the desire of my heart. My words I cannot recall, but I think I know I pleaded eloquently. Such passion as mine gives power and intensity to tho most unpracticod speaker. Yet long before my appeal was ende 1 I know that I pleaded in vain. Her eyes, her manner, told me she loved me no:. Then, remembering her present helplesi condition, I checked myself. I begged her to forget the words I had spoken; not to answer them now; to let me say them again in some months' time. Let me still be her IrienJ, and render her such service as 1 could. She shook her head; she held out her hand. The tirst action meant the refusal of my love; tho second, the acceptance of my friendship. I schooled myself to calmness, mut we discussed her plans for the future. She was lodging in a house in a quiet, re sectable street near Regent's Park. She xpressed her intention of staying on here fur awhile. "lint alone!" I exclaimed. "Why not? What have I to fear? Still. I nin open to reason if you can suggesi another plan." 1 could suggest no other. Philippa was past twenty-one and would at once succeed to whatever money had been her mother's. This was enough to live upon. She had no friends, and must live somewhere. Why my frame or mind be gay or grave, Philip pn was always present Now and then she wrote to mo, but her letters told me little as to ber mode of life; they were short Iriendly epistles, and gave me little hope. Yet I was not quite hopeless. I felt that I bad been too basty in asking ber for her love to soon after her mother! death. Let ber recover from the shock; then I will try agpl'i, Three months was the time which in my own mind I resolved should elapse tofc-r? I again approached ber with words of ioVJ. litres montnsi now wearily they Jraczed themselves awayi Toward the end of my SolMmposed term of probation I fancied that a brighter, gayer lone muimesveu iiaeu in rninppa's lettws. Fool that I was, I augured well from tins. Telling myself that such love as mine must win in the end, I went to London, and once more fbw Philippa. She received me kindly. Although her garb was still that of dsep mourning, never, I thought, had she looked more beautiful. Not long after our first greeting did X wait before I began to plead again. Mie stopped me at the outset "Hush," she said; "1 have forgotten your former words; let us still do friend." "Neverf 1 cried passionately. "Philinoa. answer me once for all, tell me you can love me!" She looked at me compassionately. "How con I Lest answer your' she said musingly, "the sharpest remedy is pernaps the kind est Basil, will you understand me when 1 say it is too late?" 'Too late! What can you mean? Has another " The words died on my lips as Philippa, drawing a ring from the fourth finger of her left hand, shovied me that it concealed a plain gold circlet Her eyes met mine imploringly. '1 should have told yon before1," she aaid Kcrny, and bending her proud bead; "but there were reasons oven now I am pledged to tell no one. Basil, I only show you this because I know you will take no other an wer." for aome days, so I stayed, trying by a course of what is termed gayety to drtva remembrance away. Futile effort! How ninny have tried the same reputed remedy without success! Too late! Has an- hoiild she not stay on at her present 1!,. nigs? Nevertheless, I trembled as I thought I risked no expression of love or regret i this lieautiful girl all alone in London thought of my grief should jar upon U hy could she not lovo me? hy could she not be my wife? It needed ail my selr lestraint to keep me from breaking afresh into passionate appeals. As she would not give me the right to dis pose of her future I could do nothing more. I bade her a sad farewell, then went back to my home to conquer my unhappy love, or to suffer from its tresh inroads. Conquer it! Such love as mine is never nnnnnnml Tt im m nmn'a lifA Pt.,'1: was never absent from my thoughts. Let I1 had made n"xemmto to stay in town What can you meant other " I rose without a word. The room seemed whirling around me. The only thing which was clear to my sight was that cursed gold bund on the fair white hand that symbol of possession by another! In that moment hope and all the sweetness of life soemod swept away from mo. Something in my face must havo told her how her news affected me; She came to me and laid her hand upon my arm. I trembled like a leaf beneath her touch. She looked beseechingly into my lace. "Oh, not like that!" she cried. "Basil, I am not worth it. I should not have made you happy. You will forget you will find another. If I havo wronged or misled you, say you forgive me. L -tm hear you, my true friend, wish me happiness." I strove to fcree my dry lips to frame some conventional phrase. In vain! words would not come. I sank into a cuair and covered my face with my hands. The door opened suddenly and a man en tered. He may have been about forty years of age. He was tall and remarkably hand some. Ho was dressed wiin scrupulous care; but there was something written on his face which told me it was not tne race of a good man. As I rose from my chair he glanced from me to Philippa with an air of suspicious inauirv. -Dr. North, an old friend ot my momer s and mine." she said, with composure. "Mr. Farmer," she added; and a rosy Dlusn crepe- round her neck a she indicated the new comer bv th name which I felt sure was now also her own. I bowed mechanically. I made a few dis jointed remarks about the weather and kin dred topics; then I shook hands with Philippa and left the house, tho most miser able man in England. Philiona married, and married secretlyl How could her pride have stooped to a clan destine union! What manner of man was he who had won her? Heavens! he must be hard to please if he cared not to show his conquest to the light of day. Curl sneak! coward! villain! Stay; he may have his own reasons for concealmont reasons known to Philippa and approved of by her. Not a word against her. She is still my queen; the one woman in the world, to me. What she has done is right! I passed a sleepless nirht In the morning I wrote to Philippa. I wished her all happi ness I could command my pen. if not my tongue. I said no word about tho secrecy of the wedding, or the evils so often conse quent to such concealment. But, with a fore boding of evil to come, I begged her to remem ber that we were friends; that, although I could see her no more, whenever she wanted a friend's ahl, n word would bring me to her side. 1 used' no word of blame. No pon the happiness which she doubtless exjiected to find. Farewell to tho one dream of my life! Farewdl, Philippa! Such a passion as nun? may, matter-of-fact, unroniantic days, anachronism. No matter whether patby or ridicule, 1 am but laying true thoughts and feelings. 1 would not return to my home at once. I shrank from going back to my lonely hearth and beginning to eat my heart out WINTER IN CALIFORNIA, in these seem an t o sym bnro my And (hit was her husband Fhilippa'a hug- band? Four days after my interview with Phil ippa 1 was walking with a friend who knew every one in town. As we passed the door of one uf the most exclusive of the clubs I saw, standing on the steps talking to other men, the man whom 1 knew was Philippa's husband. His face was turned from die, so I was able to direct my friend's attention to him. , "Who! is that man?" I asked. 'That man with the cardenia in his coat Is Sir 5rvyn Ferrand." WMis uof wnatisne? W bat kind of a man it. he?" "A baronet. Not very rich. Just about the i-snal kind of man you see on those steps. Very popular with the ladies, they tell me."! "Is he married?" "Ho veil knows! I don't f J never heard of a Ltnlv Ferrand, although there must be several wo ore morally entitled to use the desigimttn." And ibis was her husband Philippa' busbaii'll' I clinked my teeth. Why bad he mar rfed uui'-r a fai-e name? Or if she knew ilmna it by which she introduced him to mo wJ lilsn. why was it assumed? Why l..d't7V hiorAage toon cUiiUesliner .Not only Sir Mervyn Ferrand, but the noblest in tne land should be proud of winning Philip. pa! The more I thought of the matter the more wretched I grew. The dread that she haj been in some way deceived almost drove ua'mad. The thought of my proud, beauti ful queen spme day finding herself humbled tothe dust by a scoundrel's deceit was an- giiish. What could I do? My first impulse was to demand an expla nation, then and there, from Sir Mervyn Ftrrond. Yet I had no right or authority bo to do, What was I to Philippa save an unsuccessful suitor? Moreover, I felt that she had revealed hor secret to mo in confi dence. If there were good reasons for the concealment, I might do her irretrievable harm by letting this man know that I was aware of his true position in society. No, I could not call him to account But I must do something, or in time to come my grief may be rendered doubly deep by self-reproach. 'i'lietiext day I called upon Philippa, She would at least tell me if the name under which the man married her was the true or , lie. .Na one. Alasl I found that she had ie:t her home the day before left it to re turn no morel The landlady had no idea whither she had gone, but believed it was her intention to leave England After this I threw prudence to tho winds. With some trouble I found Sir Mervyn For r a mi's town address. Tho next day 1 called on him. He also, I was informed, had just left England. His destination was also unknown. I turned away moodily. All chance of doing good was at an end. Letthe marriage bj true or false, Philippa had departed, ac companied by the man who, for purposes of his own, passed under the name of Farmer, l.ut who was really Sir Mervyn Ferrand. I went back to my home, and amid the wreck of my life's happiness murmured a prayer and registered an oath. I prayed that honor and happiness might bo the lot of her 1 loved ; I swore that were alio wronged I would with my own hand toko vengeance on the man who wronged her. For myself I prayed nothing not oven forgetfulnesi. I loved Philippa; I had lost her forever! Tho past, tho present, the fu ture were all summoned up in these words! The Effect of Diet on tho Tenth. Exchange. 1 According to a Hartford, Conn., d en list the extensive and almost univi-rsal use of tonics and sedatives, in, the form jf iron and bromides, and the general use of fine flour and non-bone making food materials, aro what support the vast army of dentists in this country. It is a curious fact that the effect of Amer ican food upon tho teeth of emigrants who have been used to a coarser and perhaps a more wholesome diet, is more marked than upon the teeth of tho sous jf American ancestors. How tha Weather Differs from Winter in New England. San Francisco EuiHIi.J After Thanksgiving, winter. In the Atlantic states, cast of tho Hudson, Rood sleighing is expected at this date. Here nothing moro than a few white frosts indicate that winter has come. There have been frosts in the low lands during the past week. Last night th.o trust cropt up on tho hillsides a little, ma crystals lay on tnoplanK side walks in the suburban towns and sparkled as the rays of the rising sun touched thorn. For a moment or two there were niillio.is of diamonds, then small drops of water, and thou nothing. But tho frost makes crisp mornings, and a coal or wood fire most en joyable morning and evening the wood lire especially. More over, the frosts help to color tho foilage, although in this country tho deciduous trees drop the greater part of their foli age before tho frosts come. The soft maples, elms, whito birches and locust trees, which have been naturalized here, I ror tne most part, nave cast their loaves, 1 et tne maples take on a wreath of color before the leaves fall; so the frost does not do all the coloring. Even the eucalyptus, which casts its leaves at midsummer and continues dropping tnem until late in autumn, has a wealth of color which is hardly noticed. The coniferous trees prevail so largely in California that tne hign colors of decid uous trees which grow on the hillsides and mountain slopes of eastern states are rarely seen here. Yet in every dell after the first frosts have come in this latitude, one may find patches of color shading off from gold to scarlet, with a great- many subdued tones, which artists, who are good colorists, do not fail to notice. The firs and the pines clothe many of tne mountains in eternal green. When they are bare, they are as desolate as in Spain until the vernal season sets in. The first rains have already come, uui tno winter rains nave not yet ap peared. There is a sort of hush between the autumn and winter. If one goes to the wood, he will hear hardly any other sound than that of the harsh and ob streperous bluejay. Here and there will be a tapping on the trunks, and an oc casional sriuirrel descends to see what provision in the way of acorns therm may bo left on the ground. In the open, wlieiy the ground ia sctt, thero' urc the tracks of tho sneaking coyote. Even owls cease in a measure to hoot in the winter season, and tho mournful sound of doves has altogether ceased. A great silence has fallen upon tho woods. There is hardly a singing bird. The linnets in the suburban gardens, which two months ago were so active in feast ing on the ripe fruit, beginning even earlier with cherries, and continuing until the last npe pear had disappeared, have become siient also. JNo more songs and no more depredations, for the good reason that thore is nothing to steal, and the pairing season has not begun. The white frosts are the fitting introduction of winter. They precede the heavier rains. The trade winds have died out. They will not prevail in this latitude before the middle of next May. Some are un kind enough to say that it is a pity that they should ever prevail, but these winds aro the Lord's scavengers, sent up as so many messagors from the salt ocean to deliver the city from plagues and pestilence. San Francisco has not been a clean city from the day of its foundation. There is Oriontal dirt, and Occidental dirt. It has come to be a foreign city. Merchandise fills the side walks, and in many places crowds the pedestrian into the street. Offal is thrown there. The six months' trade winds of summer and the six months' rain are the two sanitary agents which keep watch and ward over the city. The most dangerous weeks of the year, on tho score of health, are those when neither tho trade winds nor tho rains prevail. The winter season being less pronounced in this latitude, there is less disposition to store np anything All the season is open, and even now the bees are making honey, or aro going to rob other hives. For in this state even the bees have caught tho spirit of the monopolist. They get a part of their honey honestly, and, as to the rest, they do not scruple to get it dishonestly. OH, HAD I KNOWN I '( Harriet Prescott Spofford.J ' If I had thought so soon she would have died He said, I had been tenderer in my speech I bad a moment lingered at bar side, And bold her, ere she paste I bevond mi reach, If I had thought so soon she would have died That day ?he looked up with her startled eye Like somo hurt creature wher the woodi are deen, With kisses I had stillo 1 those breaking sighs Wilsf hisses closed those eyelids into sleep That (lay she looked up with her startled eyaa Olt, had I known ibo would have dio 1 so soon, Love had not wasted on a barren land, Live llks tboe' I'ivers un lor t irrid noon Lost on the de'iert, pours 1 on ton the sand- Oh, bal I known she would have dio J so soon SOCIETY o.T WASHINGTON. How to Get into the Whirl of the Offi cial Circle -Feeding the Multitude. 'Ruhamah" in Glube-Denioerut. Matrimonially, Washington is tb poorest, market in the country, as manj of tliedeluJod ones have found before 'the first season was half over, and while to a certain extent anybody can get into society here, and go to tho public recep tions ut the While House, and c.ill on every o.lieial family, the privilege? cease (.hero. A bar is set against those not in oilieial life that can only be lifted by winter residents of great wealth, who will entertain the o.lieiah. A very frank and a very vulgar woman bluntly asked a prominent so.-ioty ma tron how she should manage it to get into the whirl of the official circle, and the astute matron answered; "Feed them! Spread your tablo well the firsf time, and all Washington will bo eager to come on the next occasion." That ambitious soul was simply the wife of a rich retired tradesman who came here to spend her money, but without official position, or relative in office, she had a weary and expensivo up-hill struggle, and had to take many snubs and buffetings from those who feasted and danced in her house. It was bettor that their fortune from trade was ac quired in another city than here, for the richest of tho Washington merchants have no standing in what is distinctively known as Washington society. A man may make his fortune in lunk. old clothes or street-sweeping, any place else, and with his money come to con gress, and gain entrance to the great social circle for hi? taratfjy but if he made his money here society would scorn him utterly. mere was a woman here once, the wife of a western statesman, who. a domett years bofore her appearance at Washington, managed a launarr and hotel and drummed up her patrons at the depot from her omnibus steps. She was familiarly known by her first name everywnere. together the couple ac quired a fortune, and, taking a house as soon as they reached Washington, they fed the multitude and won their way by terrapin and champagne to tho place the ambitious wife coveted. Her grammar was beyond all parallel and her language not always marked with propriety. Though her manners lacked the repose and polish of tho Vere de Veres, every one flocked to her house when it was open, danced for her fa vors, ate and drank of her abundance and went away to ridicule her. Foreign ministers and attaches would go there, but on'y the unmarried men, as the la dies of tho foreign circle did at least draw the line at the ex-laundress. After a season or two the statesman's wife broke down and, plaintively savins "I have overdone," retired from active ite, and felt the keen sting of disaD- pointmcnt and what she called ingrati tude at tho way she was passed bv. over looked and forgotten, when no longer able to minister to those who had rioted at her expense so long. Gladstone's Last Chore. Chicago Tribune.) Tho English prime minister's duties do not end with the close of the daily sessions of parliament, whon the tired members are at liberty to tako them selves off to bed. On tho contrary, be fore seeking rest he must write to the queen, giving her nn oiicial lvpt rt ol the proceedings. Those letters are couchod in the third person: ".Mr. iihidstone pit-suits his duty to hit maj esty, etc.." and ln'V ',-,ii'.-iys replies, nsiinily di-tate ! to a wturV. i ho run in the third iv-.ni. Common brown sugar may be the sweetest, but loaf sugar is more refined. The Child in Literature. Atlantic Monthly. There was a time, just boyond tho mem ory of men now living, when , the child was born in literature. At tho same period books for children began to be written, mere were children, indeed, in literature before Wordsworth created Alice Fell and Lucy Gray, or breathed the line beginning, She was a pnantom of delight. and thero were books for the young bo fore Mr. Lay wrote "Sanford and Mer- ton ;" especially is it to be noted that Goldsmith, who was an avant-couricr of Wordsworth, had a very delightful per ception of tho child, and amused himself with him in tho "Vicar of Wake field," while he or his doublo enter tained his little friends in real lifo with tho "Keuowned History of Goody Two Shoes." Nevertheless thero has been, since the day of Wordsworth, such a succession of childish figures in prase and erse that we are justified in believ ing childhood to have been discovered at tho close of the last century. The child j has now become so common that we scarcely consider how absent ho is from tho earlier literature. Men and women are there, lovers, maidens, and youth, but these aro all with us still. The child has been added to the dramatis persona of modern literature. An Art Well Worth Acquiring. Titus Munson Coan in Harper's Weekly. The cure of sleeplessness depends upon the cause; how various the causes are we have seen. I will not enumerate the devices for procuring slumber in tho ordinarily healthy; they are very numer ous, but none of them have any general application. Ono counsel may be given, for it is not hackneyed; it is this: Learn to sleep in the daytime. This art is one which everybody has not acquired' People there are I know sucti people who aro wise enough to eat when they are hungry, but who have never attained that higher reach of wisdom, to sleep when they are sleepy. But occasions come to all of us when we need to be able to sleep in the daytime at will. Have you failed to get your needed sleep, whether because of work or watching, sorrow or pleasure? Then repose in the daytime is the re storative needed. There is great virtuo in naps even in short ones and the art of napping in the daytime, if vou have not learned it already, is one to be learned without further delay. It may require a little practice, but nature is on the side of the learner. And lastly, here is a bit of philosophy, written by a wise man and a physician, Dr. Frank Hamilton. Let mo honn that at least one of my readers, if only one, will be wise enough to profit by its wis dom: "Gloomy thoughts prevent sWn The poor and unfortunate magnify and increase their misfortunes by too much thinking. 'Blessed be he who invented sleep,' but thrice blessed Yu who shall invent a cure for thinking." The Cost or It. Since the bombardment of Alexan dria tho British have spent on their Egyptian armament 22,000,000 pounds sterling, the income from which at 3 per cent, would be more than $3,000,004 yearly.