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A CHANGE OF HEART By MAUD S. PEASLEE (Copyright, by Joseph B. Bowles.) I was the only one who objected to Svlvie's marriage. Everyone else in the village thought she did so well. Sylvie was my sister and several years my junior. We were a large family once, but now only she and I were left, and we clung more closely than ever together. She was so pretty and lovable, I could not bear to have her out of my sight. When I was young, and had had some claims to beauty myself, Walter Whitcomb had thought me fair. For nne bright summer, love may have made me so. Then came misunder standings, fault-finding, with bitter re criminations—and, a parting that wrenched my heart-strings, though my ips smiled. Sylvie met Dick Ormond the summer she was 18. I can remember now how :he faint pink flush used to come and zo in her cheeks but then I thought little of her admiring glances. I had been used tq seeing Sylvie made much aver I almost worshiped her my self. They became great friends, but I do tiot think he courted her at that time. He went away in the fall to be gone two years. He was to finish his edu cation at a famous college, and then he was coming back to practice with his uncle. Lawyer Benson. I didn'l iike the old gentleman, and I remem ber I told Sylvie that I hated lawyers. She looked quite grieved, for you see hat was Dick's profession. I do not think I was sad in those lays I'm afraid I was cross. I know was morbid and heavy-hearted with an uneasy sense of coming loss. I uust have known even then how it vould end but I was loth to acknowl edge even to myself that Sylvie could ?ver love another better than me. When Dick came home in the spring he asked her if she loved him well enough to marry him in the fall, and aelp him make a home. The dear ?hiid: bow happy she: was, and, thank 3od, is yet! I could not refuse my consent I had no reasonable grounds, but I looked with strong disapproval on every thing. Yet I remember how I worked and planned that Stylvie's outfit might be dainty and complete. She timidly proposed that I should live with tiem in the cottage on the hill, and assured me Dick was willing. "But I am not!" I answered grimly, and I made our old sewing machine fairly rattle as the yards of dainty ruffling fell crowding into my lap. They had not been married long when Lawyer Benson died of heart disease. As Dick was his heir, they left the cottage, and moved into the big house with its fine library and handsome furniture. Dick was very busy, for all his uncle's practice fell into his hands and I must say he gave great satisfaction. Dick had bought the cottage with money his uncle had given him for a wedding present, and it was nicely furnished. They wanted me to go and live there when I still refused to go to them. They asked me to let. my care of the house settle all question of rent between us, but I was paying rent on the house where Sylvie and I had lived, and so I insisted on paying them the same if I made the change. Sylvie used often to come up and sit with me, because I would rarely go to the big house to see her. Besides she loved the memories the house held for her. By-and-by it grew to be too much for Sylvie to climb the hill, and she did not go out often in the carriage. Still I did not go down to see her'un less they sent for me. One day the buggy came for me in great haste, and I went, although I grumbled all the way. When they put Sylvie's little daugh ter in my arms, I kissed her because I just couldn't help it but I didn't make any fuss over her, and I won dered audibly if there was any need of my hanging around there any longer. Dick's face was very grave, and he asked me to stay a few days, if I could. I only sniffed and made him no reply. I didn't offer to do anything at all that next day indeed there was no need. That night, though, Sylvie grew worse, and when I went to her I found she was in danger of her life, just through the carelessness of her nurse. Well, I just swept her, and all the rest out of the room, and fell on my knees by the bed and prayed God to forgive me. I think He did, for 1 pulled her through. Even the doctor, and he fidn't like me very much either, said I saved her. For ten days and nights I stood over her with only brief intervals of rest. Afterwards nothing was said of my poing home, and I was glad, for I did not want to go. My pride all left me the night I thought Sylvie would die, and I knew I had neglected her The through my stubbornness.' Now I wanted to be near some one I loved. I was glad they named the baby alter me it made me feel I had a lit tle share in her, too. The baby was a sweet little crea ture, and I softened toward Dick when I saw the tender look the very sight of his wife and child brought to his face so it was not long till I for got I had ever disliked him. We led a quiet, happy life, seeing little company and caring for none., The little Margaret grew and thrived. Before a year had passed, I felt so much a part of the family that I woul^, have felt it a great hardship to leave them. Dick and I were very friendly we both loved the same creatures, you see. Little Margaret was nearly two years old when my twenty-ninth birth day came. You thought I was older than that? Well, no wonder, I felt so very much older in the days of which I have told you. But that spring I felt so happy it made me young again. It was one day when Sylvie was at the piano, and I, leaning back in my chair, listened to the soft, dreamy mu sic that always fell from her fingers when she played. After a time Dick came up the steps with letters for us all. Among mine was one in a handwriting that even then could make my pulse beat faster. Walter was aliye and had not forgotten me after all. I tore it open and read without pref ace or heading of any kind, these lines: "You will doubtless be surprised, Margaret, to hear from me after this lapse of years—eight I think in reality —but 80 to me in the agony I have 4*^ 1 I I Pulled Her Through.' suffered. I left you jesolved to forget you, but you must have known that could not be. Sickness, trouble and pride kept me from writing to you. "You would find me faulty still, dear, but all these years I have strug gled to overcome my temper and to moderate my passions, so that I think if life held haappiness in store for me, it would not be marred by one head strong act. "But that may not be my own life is practically over. I am a wealthy man, but a hopeless cripple, and there is yet danger of losing the sight of my right eye. It is the result of an acci dent in a mill of which I am owner. I am in a hospital now, and the doc tors say I would do well enough if I could only take an interest in what life still holds for me. How can, I? The only hope of my life is gone, for how can I claim you, now that I am maimed and nearly sightless? I am not morbid, dear—I am despairing. "I have made my will', and have left you everything. It would have been so anyway, Margaret, and it is but a trifle compared to the years I have spoiled for you. "I have heard that Sylvie i^ happily married. How glad I should be to see you all. If she could have a sick^man and his nurse in her house, I think I oould come by-and-by. I must not write any more—my eyes are paining me. May I hope to hear from you? Give me a little of your friendship, dear, although I may not have your love." Then followed an address, and his well-known signature. I read the plos ing lines over again and then handed the letter to Sylvie without a word. When she had finished, her tender eyes were full of tears. "Of course he may come," she said. "I was always fond of him for his own sake as well as yours. You will write at once, will you not?" Two days later we had a telegram from Dick, asking that the closed car riage be* sent to the station. We were on the porch with the little Margaret when the carriage was driven up the graveled, road. Then I heard Dick's cheery voice—God bless him! "Here's your invalid. He was not morbid, not he! With only one arm gone, and a left one at that, and eyes that will soon be as good as new, if he only takes care of them. I didn't bring his nurse girls, for here's Mar garet with nothing else to do, now you are well, Sylvie." They were up the steps by this time, and I could see how little help Walter needed. I tried in vain to speak and smile, and then I felt a strong right arm close about me, and I looked up fnto a face all alight with hope and love. Dick had taken Sylvie in through the low French window, and I could hear him 'telling her: "You should have seen him brighten up when I told him what I had come for, and that she*was waiting for him. The doctor said, all he needed was something to live and work for. I have had to keep telling him all the. way, that it would be his own fault if their lives were spoiled. I guess he sees it now, but it was hard work, I can tell you." As we listened, Walter smiled down at me. "It was all through him, love," he said. Time Wor.ks Changes. The visitor, strolling down street with his host, asked with some con cern, "Has anything happened be tween you and the other people in this town of yours?" "Not a thing. Why do you ask?" "When I was here a year ago you called every man by his first name, stopped and chatted with them, and seemed to be friendly with everybody but now you pass them with a nod or a brief greeting." "But you forget that last year I was a candidate for office."—Judge. Full of Knots. The lanky tramp removed his tat tered hat and displayed his intellectual brow. "Ah, lady," he confided, "I have brains to burn. There is nothing I like better than to tackle knotty prob lems." The busy housewife reached for the ax. "Indeed!" she said. "Well, go down to the wood pile. You will find that last load the most knotty problem you ever tackled during your career."— Chicago Daily News. Inconspicuous. Rural Minister—None of the broth ers whose duty it is to pass the plate is here to-day. Would you object to taking up the collection? Modest Worshiper—I never passed the plate in church in my life, and I'm afraid I'd be rather awkward. "Oh, never mind that. It won't be noticed. Most of my' congregation be come absorbed in their hymn-books about the time the plate goes round." —N. Y. Weekly. Nature's Eternal Law. Commit a crime and the earth Is made of glass. Some damning circumstance always transpires. The laws and substance of nature become penalties to the- thief. On the other hand, the law holds with eternal sureness for all right action. Love and you shall be loved. The good man has absolute good, which, like fire, turns everything to its own nature, so that you cannot do him any harm.—Emerson. A Present for a Husband. Furniture Dealer—Yes, madam, there is no nicer present for a man than a handsome writing desk. Look at -this one, for example. Customer—It's very pretty but what are all those square things? "Drawers, madam. That desk has 160 separate drawers." "Huh! And every time he mislays anything he'll expect me to find it. Show me a desk with one drawer."— N. Y. Weekly. Two Women. What is the difference between the average woman and the advanced woman? Less than a hand's breadth, but, over that, how they can despise each other if they will! "Shrieking sister," on one side, "uninteresting and commonplace person," on the other, though they ought to be mutual helpers, and would be if they had ever met over one of their hundred mutual interests.—Women and Progress. Criticism of Women of Fashion. Bishop Williams, of Michigan, speak ing to a New York congregation, said: "The body of many a woman of fash ion is often no more to her than the dummy in the milliner's window merely the lay figure on which to dis play her gowns, fashioned after the latest designs set for the demimond aine of Pas-is." Counting 'Em By the Acre. Yeast—Bombay claims the greatest density of population in the world, having 760 persons an acre in certain areas. Grimsonbeak—I should say that 760 persons an acre sounds very much As if they were counting 'em in the cem eteries!—Yonkers Statesman. Algerians Are Good Marksmen* Many tales are told toy travelers of the wonderful skill of the Algerians in handling rifles. The, native Al gerians would rank with our expert rifle shooters. GRAND MARAIS, MINNESOTA,SATURDAY, OCTOBER 5, 1907. While a visiting physician at the 2 asylum for the criminal insane, I found myself more and more attracted by one particular case—tlkat of the young earl of Thombourfi^. I believed (and other fellow-practitioners, toO) that Lord Thornbourne Was utterly blameless for the deed he ^ad done. It had made an immen^B talk two years ago. Left at an earferage under the guardianship of his mwernal uncle, the celebrated chemist, $Mr. Holme Dyott, he had never liked wis:kinsman, and frequent quarrels had|ccurred be tween them. During onejof these (as evidence on the trial brought out) Mr. •Dyott had struck his nep^iw a terrible blow on one temple with th^ butt-end of his riding-whip. The eaEl| then about three-and-twenty, was unconscious for two days. Afterward a Jong illness had ensued. He had recovered for a certain period (about six nkonths in all), and then his mind began |o fail him. No one but certain servants at Thorn bourne Park, in DeVonshlr^, had known of his uncle's brutal blow (I except, of course, the inevitable gossiping between themselves and folk in the near vil lage). The physicians who attended Lord Thornbourne were told by Mr. Dyott that his nephew's wound" had resulted from a mis-step while descending one of the stairways of his residence. They never thought of disbelieving this. Mr. Dyott's reputation was flawless. His fame as a chemist of exceptional power had grown greatly during the past ten or twelve years. At the trial, it will be remembered, Witnesses made us aware, for .the first time, that Lord Thornbourne's quarrel with his guardian had beei» brought about by the former's avowed intention of marrying Margaret Boyce. This girl, A Murdere r's Masque rade. BY EDGAR FAWCETT. (Copyright, 1906 by Joseph B. Bowles.) though the daughter of a small neigh- boring farmer, had received a fair. edu- cation. She was also strikingly pretty laxing. and graceful. To" Hubert Wyndham, «Wh'y earl of Thornbourne, and possessor of several titles besides, the idea of mar rying Margaret privately had been re pellant in the extreme. 1 On recovering from his illness, the earl, as I have said, seemed for six months to be in a wholly formal state of health. Between himself and his uncle (who still resided at Thornbourne Park) relations of distinct reserve ex isted, though they often dined in one another's company, and now and then drove out in the same carriage. Meanwhile Margaret Boyce had van ished. Early one June evening she had left her father's house, and had never been seen again. It was clearly under stood, and mucb gossiped about the vil lage, that she had suffered fiercely from the tidings that Lord Thornbourne was in peril of death. While he lay uncon scious she had disappeared. Her fa ther had caused a wide search .to be made for her, but without the faintest tangible result. A fortnight after Lord Thornbourne's second and final collapse the murder had been committed. The earl had crept into his uncle's library and stabbed him, with great suddenness and dexterity, three times in the back. His weapon was a long, slender knife—an oriental family relic. At the third blow, with great cries, Mr. Dyott had fallen. When jthe nurse, horrified by these sounds, entered the library, he had found the elder man in his last throes, if not already dead. Lord Thornbourne, with his face dis torted by impish leers and his tremu lous lips chattering wild things, .crouched in a corner of the room. I never saw Lord Thornbourne until I met him at the asylum. He had some slight ailment which I had been requested to relieve—a throat trouble, rather obstinate, though by no means serious. At first our conversations were brief, and of a kind purely profes sional. He then appealed to me as a singularly handsome man. After my second visit to him I "said to a brother physician that there could scarcely be a doubt of his present sanity. "Not a doubt," came the reply "he's ais sane as we are." "Then, why—?" But I paused, and we exchanged gl&nces. "A life sentence, you know," 'said my listener. "Ah, true," I reminded myself, audi bly. "And he bears well the thought of it." "Yes. Do you notice that peculiar look of sadness on his handsome face?' Examine it a bit. closer and you will find a curious resignation there." I did examine it closer, and agreed with this judgment. Gradually we be came in a way intimate. I felt myself touched at first with the poignant pity for him. This man (whd had done a frightful murder while completely irresponsible for the act) must live out the rest of his life in dreary dur ance The thought of it all fretted me like an eczema. I had almost made up my mind to present myself in per son to the home secretary, whom I had known years ago fairly: well as a co-disciple at Harrow: And one morn ing, while I was with my patient, an unwonted impulse to express this feel ing (though I am usually what is termed a very self-contained person)" took me, as it were, with"great lack or ceremony quite by the throat. Something .stopped me dead short, however,,after'I had got through three or four sentences.. A hardness came over the delicate features the soft brightness of the eyes lessened, faded. "Perhaps the home secretary might do something, doctor. He is a sort of remote cousin to us Wyndhams. But, no! I don't want his—his ticket of leave. I really don't." He sighed a little as he spoke, and I can see now, though I did not see then, that I thoroughly^ missed the meaning of the sigh. "But you are still so young." "I am a thousand—in hideous ex perience. And liberty? With my no toriety it would be only a burden." "Don't call it experience,"- I ven tured, with sympathy given full rein. "Your mind was not then as now. You—" He interrupted me by a gesture slight and brisk. It acted on me like the tap on a marble table. "My mind was gone once, that is all. It came back after my long illness— it came entirely back." Of this I did not believe a word. He might be sane now, but of all au thorities on his mental condition he himself was undoubtedly the worst. Still, while his ice-blue eyes held me, set in that lean, pensive, colorless face —the face more of an ascetic than of a criminal mahiac—I felt chills among my veins. "You don't mean—you surely don't mean," I essayed, "that you were of right mind—when you let yourself go —afterward?" He drew his figure well up, glancing right and left. For an instant he had the air to me of some one suspicious about a eavesdroppers. Then he gave laugh of soft scoff, his tense pose re- should care now? he mut tered. "They've tried me. They can't try me again "No they can't try you again." "When that unspeakable blackguard struck me that brutish blow, it was because I told him I would marry Margaret Boyce in the most public way. The long coma that followed was broken by a dull consciousness, during which I would lie for hours in bed and realize all that had passed. Forgive Dyott I could not. Hate him I felt that I always must. Revenge myself upon him? Well, the thought of how and when made my feeble brain feebler, and protracted by phys ical reaction my convalescence for weeks. All this time I knew myself to be merciless in his hands. I mean, as regarded her. I knew that he was capable of any act in the way of per manently dividing us." "You—don't mean," I faltered, "that —he could—possibljr—have—" "Killed her? Yes I do mean just that. I mean that he did kill her." "Good God!" escaped me. "There, in that laboratory—near the library, where I killed him. He made it all plain to me—by innu endo, yet unmistakably. In the labora tory, as I well knew, he had many deadly drugs. Margaret, while I was lying at death's door, had stolen to see him with utmost secrecy and cau tion. She had written him that she would come—and how. He met her at a certain gate (you don't know Thornbourne, or yb\i'd understand just where), and they went toguther to his special wing of the house, en tering by a sort of semi-private door. There a long interview took place he admitted »it. But she told Mm she would never give me up till I. bade her to do so. She was a gentle girl, but with a spirit that could be roused. He must have roused it. Afterward she felt faint and staggered to a sofa. He offered her something \to drink. She took it." "He told you this?" While I gasped the words my com panion nodded. "He taade it plain. He didn't put it as I put it. Recollect, he had lost his bead. I had driven him into a fury. For myself, I think I was more horri fied and torture-stricken then, than angry. Besides, I felt incredulous, too. I told /him that he was lying. But if not, I added, he should be held to strictest account. Slain people leave their corpses behind them. Thousands of pounds would be spent in linding Margaret's body. 'It cannot be so far from where we now stand,' I said. 'Oh, it shall be found—be sure of that!' My hand was on* a bell-rope while I spoke. I meant to summon the servants then and there. But I had pricked him into the last spasm, so to speak, of wrathful folly. "'Stop!' he said, with a kind of fog in his throat, and his twitching face ghastly. 'Do you remember that big mastiff Dagmar, which we suspected of madness here at Thornbourne about three years ago, and which you your self ordered shot? Do you remember how I had. her body brought to my laboratory for'purposes, qs I then stated, of examining the true state of her brain, a la Pasteur, and finding out whether or no rabies had rcally caused her sickness? Have you for got my professional pride as a chem ist when I afterward brought you into'' the laboratory and showed you a small heap of fine, white ashes, nardly larger than two ordinary handfuls? Dagmar was a very big dog, even for her breed and sex. You were aston ished when I informed you that thia was all that was left of her, and threw the ashes out of an open window for the breeze to scatter them. I had no great self-admiration in the matter. Other chemists, less distinguished than I, have accomplished the same sort of tremendous annihilation but I wanted to test my own powers, and I did test them. That's all.' "With this he walked instantly from the room. I sprang after him as the door closed. Then a great giddiness came over me and I sank into a chair. Perhaps I swooned—memory is misty, right here. Anyway, when my facul ties cleared I liad, somehow, the most curious feelings. I seemed no longer a man I had become a vengeance. Hence that second lapse of mine—so termed. It was no lapse at all it was a long, shrewd masquerade. I let my self apparently slip back into the old idiot state. Do you ask why? The murder is my answer. But I could have 'staid sane,' you will say, and killed Holme Dyott just as surely. True yet, then, there would very probably have been the scaffold." "'Your guardian's crime was a black one, Lord Thornburne. But now, when you have so unsparingly avenged it, I—I cannot doubt that grief (per haps the sharpest remorse) must tinge your days." "Grief? Remorse? I grudge every hour as it passes. I'd kill him over again a thousand times in each 24. It was for this I feigned craziness. I didn't want them to hang me. That might have meant only an eternal blank, and if so it will come soon enough. Too soon, too soon," be add ed, with a sort of fiery plaintiveness. "Just to go on thinking it alt over and over—how I stabbed him when he be lieved himself safest from me—how he saw the sanity in my face, and uiv derstood (at the moment he dropped) the whole ruse I had practiced—just to think this all over'and over, I say, means for me such mighty consola tion! Twenty lifetimes could not give me enough of it!" Here.jwith hands tensely clasped, he dropped back: into'liis chafr. Hi en, by slow degrees, his hands fell,toward either side of him, his chin fell upon his breast* "Margaret, Margaret!" beard him murmur. IDENTIFIED ALL RIGHT. Peter Powell Had a. Pair of Peas in His Pocket Which Served the Purpose. While a building was in process of construction two of the tilers became engaged in a violent quarrel. So vio lent was it that'the police were called in and the offenders taken before a magistrate, relates Harper's Maga zine. Both of the men were sober and industrious and good workmen this according to the testimony of the fore man in charge qf their work, who had followed in hopes of being able to in tercede for them: The magistrate asked, in astonish ment, the cause of the quarrel. It seems that one man had accused the other of stealing his coat. "And I can prove it, too," added the man. "How?" said the magistrate. "I always keep my card in the pocket," said the man. The, policemen were directed search the garment. But the found absolutely nothing. "Gimme my coat," said the work pan. It was handed to him. He took two dried peas out of one of the pock ets and held them up triumphantly. "P. P.—Peter Powell. That's me name. Them's my card." He got his coat. to An "Anonymous" Letter. A certain congressman from Vir ginia has long retained in his employ a colored man by the name of Ezekiel. One morning the master left the house, leaving behind him a letter he had for gotten. Some time in the afternoon he remembered the communication, and, as it was of some importance, he hastened back home, only to find that the letter was nowhere to be seen in his library. He had a 'distinct recol lection that the letter had been left on a table. He summoned Ezekiel and asked if he had seen the letter. "Yassah, yo' lef' it on yo' table." "Then where is it now?" "I mailed it, sah." "You mailed it! Why, Zeke, I had not" put the name and address on the envelope!" "Jes* so, sab! I thought it was one of'dem anonymous letters."—American Spectator. Woman's Way. They were talking about the new star in society. "She. never laughs at jokes," said the man. "Maybe she has no sense4-of. humor," said' the other man. "Maybe she has false teeth," said the woman. And then Hhe conversation lan guished.—Louisville Courier-JouraaL MINNESOTA HISTORICAL SOCIETY. NUMBER 17. INVENTIVE INGENUITY. Two German mechanics are said to have invented an electric device for changing hymn numbers in churches. Baron von Welsbach, discoverer of the incandescent mantle, has invented a device by which when the gas tip is turned on a shower of brilliant sparks lights the gas. It is announced that a Lancashire, England, merchant has invented a ma chine which will sew direct from two reels of thread, thus obviating the winding of spools and threading of shuttles. A new process for purification of sugar-beet juice, by means of hydro sulphuric acid, is announced by Con sul Ledoux, of Prague. The Bohemian inventors have obtained patents in Austria and Germany. Clocks are now being made which speak the hours, instead of striking them, through an ingenious applica tion of the phonograph. They are ar ranged to call out in various degrees of modulation, some loud enough to rouse the soundest sleeper. Still another chemist is in the field with an artificial gutta-percha. Herr Gentsch, of Vienna, has produced an artificial gutta-percha from a mixture of caoutchoue and palm rosin it is asserted that its elastic resistance is superior to that of the nature products but that it consolidates less easily and is more glutinous, while its cost would be only two-thirds of that of the na tural product. David C. St. Charles, an engineer of San Francisco, hag invented a repeater which will make it possible to tel ephone clear across thei contirient. What the so-called "repeater" has done for telegraphy St. Charles' inven tion, it is now claimed, has done for the telephone. The combining of the echo in nature with the sounding board of a violin furnished the clew to the discovery. One of the Berlin papers tells of a new device for catching herrings. A German inventor places a microphone in a metal box perfectly watertight and plunges it into the sea in order to ascertain if the fish are passing that way. A wire connects "the submerged microphone (which greatly increases the volume of small sounds) to an or dinary receiver, with which one lis tens to what is going on in the depths of the sea. Excellent results have been obtained in ytfce^oEth^sea -by, the "jp. vention for1 signaling the passing of the herring shoals. SCRAPS OF HISTORY. The last sovereign to abdicate was King Milan of Servia. He relinquished! the crown in 1889. The last slaves under English-speak ing people were United States negroes, set free in 1865. False teeth of ivory, on plates of the same material,. and held in place by gold wires, were in use in the year 1,000 B. C. During the past three centuries more than 200 different systems of short hand have been devised. Pitman's was first published in 1840. The first standing army of modern times was established by Charles VII. of France in 1445. In England the first standing army was organized in 1638. The first attempt at stereotyping in America was made in 1775 by Benja min Mecom, a printer at' Philadelphia. Previous to this time the Dutch had stereotyped a prayer book in 1771. The first printing press in America was es tablished in 1639 at Cambridge, Mass. Earlier than any known paintings, some tapestry discovered recently at Deir-el-Bahari, near Thebes, is among the oldest specimens of human art ex tant, with the exception of the pre historic drawings on the bones of ex tinct animals by the river drift men, which, of course, are incomparably older. But these paintings represent the period in which the art of Egypt was at its zenith, the eighteenth dynasty, and consequently date back about 3,500 years. TELEPHONE TIDINGS. Glasgow corporation owns a tele phone system covering 143 square miles. The charge for five minutes' con versation between London and Brus sels is four shillings. Guernsey was' the first place to have a municipally-owned telephone servica *n the United Kingdom. The first submarine' telephone line was opened on April 1, 1891. It con nected London with Paris. The London telephone area, which covers 600 square miles, is the largest local exchange era in the world. London Wall exchange contains 3,500 direct telephone lines for subscribers. They are worked by 90 operators. There are 60 national telephone ex changes in the metropolitan area, and a dozen belonging to the post office. Three hundred people telephone daily from London to Paris, each pay ing eight shillings for the privilege. The post office telephone plant in London, has-a capacity for 40,000 sub-, scribers, but in 1904 only 15,292 use^ the service* To speak for three minutes from London to Inverness cost five shillings sixpence, and from ^ondon to Qorlj six shillings sixpence."