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J*/4", .*»• I :y hjj, fif v.. CHAPTER IV—(Continue)*) Lindsay was horror-stricken. "I must be plain wltli you, Mr. L!nd fty," said the magistrate—'".suspicion is heavy ngninst yon that yon have assas sinated the viscount's little grandson." And Lindsay's wife shrieked aloud •with terror. "Infamous!" the accused man Indig nantly exclaimed. "But tills will estab lish my innocence." And he gave into the magistrate's hands the letter which had been brought to liini from the viscount. "This letter," slid the magistrate. ex amining it, "is dated the second of Feb ruary, and 1 lie viscount died on the thirty-first of January." "Dead! the viscount dead!" exclaimed Arnold I.indsay, trembling beneath a violent emotion. "Yes." they told him, "the viscount had fallen asleep In his chair to awake no more in this world. This letter." said the magistrate, "which you pretend to have received is therefore, of neces sity, a forgery." Amidst the shrieks and lamentations of his wife, Arnold Lindsay was carried away to prison. At his trial he 1old of the viscount's family ring that had been shown to him by the lady to whom he had given the child. Alas! it was proved that the vis count's family ring had been given to the lawyer to whom ids iast will had been entrusted. That ring, still In th- lawyer's posses sion, was produced: and tlie viscount's last testament was itself read in court and, in case of his grandson's death, Arnold Lindsay became the sole in heritor of all the late viscount's vast possessions. Earnestly, but vainly, rlict Arnold Lindsay protest that he was innocent, He was convicted of having, by a murder, removed the feeble obstacle _prwh!ch separated him from the vis count's vast possessions. Ijpp Arnold Lindsay was condemned to "a,! death, and perished on the scaffold. 'Mt ITo t. d'ed bravely, and to the last ino ment declaring his innocence. 7 lfv.7 "He is dead!" said Norton Sowevbv. m** presented himself before Eugenia Sgj|Reekk'SS, about two hours aft ft the gfecxeeution of the wretched Arnold Liud- fllfe Horrible! horrible!" cried Eup -nta. I^filshuddering and trembling from head ||«§|tO foot. SSl And Norton, observing her agitation, Srffsaid: py. "Your consclence. Emrv, will ceise g7 to trouble you from the inotiont that gl|fl have made you Viscouatess Daro fJ§SleJph." About, to take possession of the late |p# viscount's fortune and estate, to Nor fHfton Sowerhy's great consternation. lie SfS found it was beyond his power to claim yg| them. A nearer heir—a nephew of the dead *y(. vlsccunt's. had presented himself. This nephew, who, years before, had set forth to wander around the world, had long been supposed dead indeed, gg| strong seeming proof had been given Hp that he had ceased to exist. I But dead he had not been, since now he had returned to find himself, to his own great amazement. Viscount Dare Ieigh, and tho master of enormous wealth. Not even the smallest legacy wPi there now for Norton Sowarby. And now, too, Eugenia Retkless loathed him for the torturing remorse which ho had given to her heart. Stormy and reproachful words were •,:v exchanged between them, and cursing themselves, and each other, they separ '7 ated, and went their severai ways. was not long, very long, ere again they mot. CHAPTER V. A Sharp Listener. It was In July, 182G, and nearly twen ty years after Arnold Lindsay had so tinjustly perished on the scaffold, that a smart and dashing young man, a traveler for a London firm, arrived at Bath, on his usual business Tislt to his customers there. And this gentleman went, not to the "Commercial House," but to a private hotel, of which a relative of his own' iwas the proprietor. On the first morning after his arrival, when rising from bed, he saw lying In a corner of his room a letter, which, after awhile he took up, believing it must be one of his own, and that It had dropped from his pocket on the previous night. The letter had been lying open on tlio carpet, and as Noel Barrington stooped to pick It up, he saw In a moment that It was not his property, for his eye had fallen on a name written therein which had caused him to start and to clutch eagerly at the paper. Having read through it hastily, and with some agitation, he sought his rela tive, the master of the hotel, and learn ed that he had succeeded in the occupa tion of that room a lady who had re mained at the house something more than a week, and bad departed two days before, on her way towards Lon don. Could his relative at all describe that lady? Bau-lngton asked. NO—he had seen but very little of her, as was Indeed the case with most of the people who stayed at his house. Inquiries were made of the servants at the hotel, and they could tell but little concerning the lady, who had brought with her her own people to attend upon her. They could say nothing about her age or looks, for no one there had seen her, except on her arrival and depar ture, and on both those occasions her face had been concealed behind her veil. A fortnight afterwards Noel Barring ton was himself In London, and seated BY THE AUTHOR OP '*ltoaallc ltutlil»osicf" "I'oor vlcve," «fcc. Gene* wumn a mmnenng lincKiiey-eoacii, was day after day, and almost all day long, driven about the West-end of town, anxiously inquiring for one whom at last lis came to believe it Impossible he could discover. "You are better to-day. dear mother —much better, I am certain of it!" The speaker was a tali and fair joung girl, and leaning on her arm was the woman she was addressing. This last was worn and attenuated, and hard and rigid lines," stamped by suffering, were on her once smooth and handsome fr.ee. She had scarcely passed her fiftieth year, but looked fur older, while her daughter, who was barely twenty years of age, would have been thought to have seen some seventeen or eighteen summers at most. It was near to one of the parks that these two Mere walking. "I am very, very weak to-day," said the elder: "but the doctor has recom mended that I should try and walk a little: the warm sun and soft breeze would strengthen me. he said: and I would that it might be so. if only for your dear sake, poor child." And she looked with pitying tender ness into her daughter's face but her daughter, assuming a cheerfulness it was impossible she could really feel, rejoined, smiiinirlv "Do not yield to false alarms, mother, and obey the doctor's orders consider how good he is to us." "es. indeed more to us than a phy sician," was the earnest reply. And a slight blush mounted to the young girl's face. "And I may never hope to repay him for all that lie has done for me." "If he knew, mother, that you were speaking thus, he would be angry with you." "If he has many such patients ns me," the sick woman resumed, "the worthy young man will be very long in mak ing his fortune." "Not at all, since lie says we have brought him good luck." smiled the young girl. And then, pointing to a small parcel she was carrying, continued: "You ean saunter here, mother, back wards and forwards, while I am away to carry home this work. 1 have not, you know, far to go. and shall be back with you again in a very few minutes." "Yes, yes. run away child: and if I should find myself too fatigued, von.lcr is a seat on which could rest my self." And the ailing woman pointed to bench which was opposite to the spot on which they then were, and beside the park railings. lille the foregoing conversation had been in progress, a hackney coach had stopped at about a hundred yards from these two females. The coachman, wearing a coat with innumerable capes—a middle-aged man, with ruddy face, and rotund form, had! with considerable difficulty, descended from the box. But long before he had reached the ground—indeed almost before he had deposited his whip on the roof of his coach, his fare had alighted, had thrust his hands iuto his pockets, had drawn thence a handful of silver, aud, select ing several pieces, had said: "Here you arc, coaehey! No luck again to-day!" And coaciiey, having received the of fered money, required no little time to stow It away. Noel Barrington, having alighted from the hackney coach, hurried for ward on foot, but had proceeded a very short distance, when lie encountered the poor, ailing woman, who was pain fully dragging herself backwards and forwards on the pathway before a row of lordly mansions which overlooked the pack. About to pass this woman, he threw on her a compassionate look, which was succeeded instantly by a start of astonishment. He stopped abruptly before her, and eagerly and hurriedly said, "Will you pardon me, madarne, if I venture to ask your name?" The woman hesitated before replying, with some agitation: "You are under a mistake, you can not know me, sir my name is Red mond!" Barrington apologized, bowed, and passed on. He had not, however, proceeded far before he again stopped, appeared to consider for a moment, and then, hav ing made, up his mind, waited until the woman Had returned again towards him. Then, again, and very respectfully confronting Mrs. Redmond, he said "Pray pardon me, but I cannot believe that I am mistaken it is not to Mrs. Redmond, but to the unhappy Mrs. Lindsay that I am speaking!" And Mrs. Lindsay, for she indeed it was, trembled, and her eyes sank be fore the gaze of her questioner. And another than she had been pow erfully moved by the mention of that name. After a moment he appeared rets fured, and smiled, and muttered to him self, "What an idiot I am! I had fallen asleep and was di earning—that was It!" And again he took up his newspaper. Tho next instant It fell again from his hands, for plainly and distinctly he heard a man's voice which said: "Forgive ine if I have recalled to you a horrible catastrophe it Is to bid you hope, and hot to revive the remem brance of your griefs, that I dare to Interrogate you." "The only hope,-sir, which remains with me," replied Mrs. Lindsay, "Is, that I may be re-united In heaven to the innocent man whom they have killed." .. .. 7 i*?1 The man witnm the house listened* eagerly, had closely approached the window, and, peering cautiously through the blinds, had said to himself, with an expression of surprise, but without a shade of fear, "Yes, it is Indeed she!" "And who are you. sir?" pursued Sirs. Lindsay, and addressing Barring ton "that you are liiter&stod In a man whom neither his virtues nor my tears were able to defend." "My name, inadaine, is Noel Barring ton." And the unseen listener drew forth his tablets, and carefully wrote down the name. "I think I have heard my poor hus band mention the name of Barrington," said Mrs. Lindsay "but It could not have been you to whom he alluded." "No, madam, It was iny father." And Noel proceeded to relate that his father anil Arnold Lindsay had, in early life, been very intimate friends. "Then ho would not doubt that my husband was Innocent!" exclaimed the poor widow. "No, madam! and his most earnest belief was. that some day the real as Isassin would he discovered." The lls'ener smiled scornfully. "A great injustice has lieen commit ted," continued Noel "life may not be restored to hitn who is no more but I will aid his widow to avenge his rtnory. Yes. madam, we will'restore his name to honor." "It is an impossible dream!" sigh Mrs. Lindsay. "IVrhaps not," said Noel, earnestly. ,:For that it would be necessary that the real culprits should be discovered." "Precisely anil it is on their track that I atn now, hope, about to place you." As Barrington said this, tho man within turned very pale, and trembled. And then Noel told of tho letter he had so strangely found: that, without it nothing could bo done, since it was the only thread which could help them to unravel the iniquities which had been committed. "And where is that letter, sir?" Mrs. Lindsay eagerly asked. "At my house, madam—Number 11, .Sutton street." And that address the listening man wrote also in his tablets, beneath Noel Harrington's name. Then the "commercial man" told Mrs. Lindsay that within the next half hour he should again have lefr London, from which his business would detain him an entire mouth, and gave to her the key of his house in Sutton street. (To be Continued.) Ass.-nilleil In IIIH Own House. Moon-head. Ky., Dee. ^7.— .lake W hitaker. a laborer. went home about (i o'clock and found Henry lyree and AN illiam Cole at his house. Cole and Tyre.- threatened to kill him if he diil not leave. Whiiaker at last started to leave the house, when Cole made at him with a drawshave, lyree saying: "Kill him." Tyree w.-tit out at the other duor and met hitaker and began cutting him with a knife. hitaker seized an ax and knocked Cole senseless and shopped I'.vree seven times with the ax, kill ing him instantly. Whitaker gave himself up. Political Murder. Chicago. Dec. 'J7. Lake Street Brnlgeteuder Thomas llannon to-ilav •lied at the county hospital. Indica tions point strongly to murder, and the police are making an investigation pending the inquest. It is known that llannon. who is a politician of sonio note, had received a letter making an appointment at a spot on .lacksou Street, where he was found bleeding and unconscious. The police believe that the person with whom tlie ap pointment was made assaulted him. Xa VprlftiriK. ttosobnrt. S. I).. I, 27.—Riff Turk ey ami High Shield, leading hos.tilos \vho took nri active part in the tin rising of 1801 at I'iiie HiOgo to-day declared in reply to numerous ques tions that the Indians were not on gaged in the ghost dance that if they were it was the government's fault for not keeping its promises. Th»v were quite peaceful, however, anil said there would be no uprising. Took All In Sight. Council Bluffs. Iowa. Dec. 27. Burglars last night robbed N. P. Co nsults jewelry store of ninety watches and 100 solid gold rings. While busi ness was going on in the front of the store the thieves cut out a panel from the rear doors and took everything in sight. No one saw the men at work. Jewelry was scattered all around the rear of the premises, showing the haste of the burglars. The lass Is about $i!,ooo. Jniune*e Itulc Accepted. Yokohama. Dec. 27.—Although Jap anese rule is accepted by the Coreans generally, the Tonghaks are still ac tive. They have just captured Lai Ju, capital of the province of Haido. They expelled tho governor and in stalled one of their number in his place. Three towns in Southern Corea have been burned by them. Their numbers are increasing. They are getting reinforcements from the" Ti"er hunters. Iuto the River. Boston, Dec. 27.-A lierdic driven by Edward Wilson, containing Austin E. Snow and Miss Lillian A. Nute, both popular young people of East Boston who were returning from the theater! went Into the river from the decs of a ferryboat Snow was drowned and the horse aud lierdick were both lost llson and Miss Nute were rescued. A- Yoniijp Mnrderer. Jackson, Tenn., Dec. 27. Sam Hayes, aged about seventeen years Is charged with killing Will Austin! a negro, last night He is a son of Po lice Officer Hayes, and well connected. He and his brother bad some words with the negro and one of them flred the shot that killed him. Austin had a knife clenched in his hand when he was shot Indemnity Lands. Washington, Dec. 27.—The secretary of the interior has appiwed lists of land selected as Indemnity by the Northern Pacific railroad, embracing about 200,000 acres iu Minnesota and a grant of 302,000 acres in Montana to the same company. CHAPTER -(Contiiinetl.t ITc proceeded to say that the impor tant letter was iu the left-hand drawer jf his bureau, and enclosed within a red morocco pocket-hook, and that the bureau itself stood in the drawing-room on the tirst door. Mrs. Lindsay would find the house entirely closed, he said, for lie was a bachelor, and his housekeeper was away on leave of abseii •.. To all this latter detail, the listener at the window had paid ihe most earn est attention, pressing his ear to the blinds that lie might not lose a word. And eoior returned to his cheeks, and at intensely satisfied smiie lighted up liis face. Kvidetitl.v he had heard enough, for he left tlie window, and. walking to a sideboard, tilled a tumbler, almost to the I'fim. with strong wine, and eager ly drank it off at a single draught. It was. though, with a rather nil steady hand that he raised the tumbler to his lips. "What a rare piece of fortune." he said in himself, '-that thev should stop and speak beneath my window, and that. I should be their to hear!" And seemingly, now. in a very pleas ant and well satisfied mood, lie quilted the room. Meantime, KmmiTnie Lindsay had returned to her mother, and had been introduced to Barrington. who. having obtained Mrs. Lindsay's address, had hurried away to the coach ot'ice. from which lie was about to leave London, (Hi their way home. Mrs. Lindsay told her daughter all that of which we have just heard, and it was settled that when she had seen her mother com fortably seated in her easy-chair. Ktn meline should at once proceed to Har rington's house, and obtain possession of the ail-important letter. •11 U'TKK VI. Tlie Cnntlt'iitneil Man'* Wlitrnv. Norton Sowerby had been tie- unseen listener to the conversation that had passed beneath his window. At the time wh« we IVIPW All his days had been passed in Loudon and the poor village of Cray ford. which had been sustained alone bv tlie Iiareleigh family, was soon abandoned by its few inhabitants, for to have longer remained would have lieen to starve. The houses had fallen to decay, and the village had already become of the past. Having reaclud home. Mrs. Lindsay was so much worse front the agitation and excitemeut she had endured that day. that it was dark night before her daughter could venture to leave her. and to seek the eagerly longed-for letter. But at length a hackney coach was sent for, and Emmeline started on her way 10 Noel Harrington's house. The distance, and the errand she was on. should not have employed her above an hour, but midnight had struck anil she had not returned. She had been gone two hours and a half, and her mother was in an agony of terror and apprehension. The poor mother's hopes were raised as she heard the rumbling of every carriage approaching towards her house and she grew more and more,despair ing as each vehicle passed and stopped not at her door. Tlie delay was not natural, she thought: and blamed herself that she had yielded to Etnmeline's entreaties, and had not herself accompanied her daughter. As midnight sounded on the neighbor ing church clock. Mrs. Lindsay felt that longer suspense would kill her, and resolved to struggle forth and endeavor to gain some tidings of her child. At that instant a carriage came lumbering into the street, approached, and stopped before her house. She tottered to the door, opened it. and the coachman who had been en gaged to convey Emmeline In search of the letter entered the house, but he was alone. Tills coachman was. by a somewhat singular chance, the very one who had been employed by Noel Barrington when on his search for Mrs. Lindsay. He knew well that it was to Barriy,' ton's house he had driven Mrs. Lind say's daughter, but did not. know that Barrington himself had left London. To Mrs. Lindsay's wild inquiries for Emiiieline, this coaelinian replied with a strange and. to Mrs. Lindsay, at least, an incredible story. He had been waiting some time, he said, at the door of Barrington's house, into Mhicli the young lady had entered, and was dozing on his box. when a pair of hands took hold of him, and shook liini wide awake. The gentleman who had nude so free with him was tall and well dressed, ard had a very pale face—that had bc-en all he had been able to distinguish concerning him. Then the gentleman opened tho coach door, and was about to got in, but was then told that the carriage was en gaged, and was waiting for a young lady who had entered the house before which it was standing. Tho gentleman had then said that the young lady would remain In that house, and had yielded the hackney carriage to him—giving, at the same 1JY our ac quaintance with him lie had been for nearly two years Viscount 1 aivlci_gh. Tie- heir wiio had so suddeiy and un expectedly appeared, to deprive Nor ton of tlie wealth and title lie had then believed was entirely his own. was dead. This heir had returned to Kngland with a shattered constitution: and the only marvel was that he should have survived through eighteen years or nearly, of further dissipation. THE AUTHOR OF uBiille IliithlHiiMs" "I'oor Gene vieve," time, to the coachman, more than the fare which lie had already earned, on behalf of that young lady. The gentleman had alighted at the corner of a neighboring street.: and after his departure, the coachman had found upon a seat of his vehicle a small pocket-handkerchief, wluch lie presumed had been left there by the young lady, and which, as it was on his way home, lie had brought to Mrs. Lindsay. And when the man had eonelud^l his extraordinary narration, Mrs. Lindsay exclaimed: '•'1 hat which you have just told me is impossible, or else my poor daughter lias fallen into some snare, which lais been spread for her Tlie coachman protested that he had spoken only t'e* truth. "Then you must at once convey me to that house." said the poor mother. The coachman remonstrated with her that she was in no tit state for venturing abroad at such a time of the night. Bur he spoke to deaf ears: Mrs. Lind say felt that she must behold her daughter again, or she would die. Atnl so she exerted till her streng'H to reach l-er bedroom to procure her bonnet and shawl. As the coachman, grumbling to him self that he and his horses should be kept from their natur.il rest, open-d the street door, preparatory to mount ing his box. a person brushed past him and ntered the house, and after look ing around, turned to ask of tic coach man. who had followed him back in:o the parlor, concerning Mrs. Lindsay. But the moment the new comer caught sight of the coachman's face, lie exclaimed, with considerable sur prise: "Why. uncle, what can possibly have brought you to this house':" "I was wailing for a fare—but why are you here':" "To visit a patient." "The sick lady here is one of your patients':" "Yes. I have attended her for some time, and always visit her before re tirlr.g for tiie night." "All. she seems very ill." said the aeliman. pityingly. "She has not much Iotig"r to live." And after pausing an instant, the doc tor added: "And it is here. ti«i. Jiat the young lady dwells of whom I have so often spoken to you." "She whom you love' the coach man anxiously inquired. "Yes. uncle, and with whom I hope soon to wed!" "You mustn't do that, boy—you must not do that:" "What do you mean, uncle?" "I mean." his uncle replied, "that iK-r mother is just now in despair at her absence, anil that tlie poor ni:an has hired my coach that she may go in search of her daughter." "Kmmeline is lost!" the young doc tor exclaimed, in great alarm. "No. not quite, since I well know whither I conducted her three hours ago." the coachman said, expressively.. The doctor entreated that his uncle would speak Intelligibly. And but t'K plainly did he speak, for. said he: "I took lier to the house of a Mr. Noel Barrington. a commercial traveler, and she must have found her self very comfortable there, for she sent word to me that I had no need to wait for her." The doctor would not believe It that could not be! But his uncle insisted that It could be. since it had been, and was: and assert ed that while the poor mother was tor menting herself at her daughter's ab sence. the girl was happy enough iu Barrington's company. To Barrington's house would the doc tor at once proceed, he said, and his uncle should drive him thither. But liis uncle objected, that ho was engaged by the girl's mother. "Mrs. Lindsay must not leave the house. It would kill her." said her physician: "and 'tis me alone whom you must conduct." "You must do ns you please with me. boy." grumbled the coachman, "for yon are a doctor, and I am bound to follow your prescriptions." And presently Mrs. Lindsay, hear ing tlie sound of receding wheels, look ed from her bedroom window, and saw the coach she had engaged driven rapidly from the door And then she sank down on her bod. and sobbed, and moaned, and feared she was about to die, and that she would no more behold her darling child. Ati»l during all this time, where was Emmeline?—what had, Indeed, be come of her? On arriving at Barrington's house. Emmeline entered it by means of the key which had been given to her moth er by the possesor of the letter she had come to seek. Emmeline had forgotten till that mo ment that she would need a light and now she knew not how, nor with what excuse, to procure one. But she would not retreat there would be at least a glimmer of light from without, and she would be able to distinguish the bureau, and that discovered the rest would be easy. Closing the outer door behind her, she was In complete darkness but made bold by the dask before her, she groped her way to the stairs, as cended them, and soon knew that she had reached the drawing room, for going to one of Its windows, she was looking on to the street There was, as she had expected, a feeble glimmer of light In the room, and presently bhe was able to distin guish the bureau in which was her coveted treasure. She made her way to It the key was within the lock, and hor fing TS wero on that key. about to turn it. when -'.iddenly her heart stood still, her limbs trembled beneath her. Shi- lii-ard the grating of a -y in tho outer door, which continued for sumo time, as though some one re vainly s'risii.g to gain an entrance. But at length the jitteiup: had site Ceefl'^1, lor she heard tile movement of the opening door, and next a l:--avy step upon tie- stairs, and then, feeling her way. she stagg-red from the draw ing room into an adjoining chamber. Pressing against the door, while she held it a little ajar. Kmmeline strove to look and listen through tie- crevice. I'n-setiily there was ample light in tin- drawing-room. Lmmeliiie nnv, standing in the cen ter of that, apartment, a tall man. anil whose face. p,i|e then as was lie own, was entirely strange to her. lb- had opened a dark lantern which was in his hand, and whose light t,e l.ail I directed around the apartment, until it I had rested on the bureau. 'I lien, hastily advancing to i'. ho I placed his lantern on the top, and. in a moment, had unlock-- and openiil that bureau. Kmniclino's first thought was. that, this man was some robber, who hail come then- in search of plunder: but a heap of guineas receiving not tho I slightest notice from him. she would not have known what to imagine, but that he quickly op.-n -d th" left-hand /fisSsi'l rgg. mi *5* .n&tW'S WW -It ft frit 1-8/n \Vi(ni's t'i«» lp»f r»rt £«n I n" ch* drawer, and took t'r -m it tie- r-d mo. l-occo iwiok which sic h'-rs-if had come t* Seek. With an exclamation of joy he took from it a h-uer, which lie read atten tively. And then. "Imprudent woman!' ho muttered, as holding tie- lot',-r to tho I light in his lantern, it was. in a mo metit. all ablaze. I t.'n beholding that Kmmeline strove to scream, and to dart towards that man: but her voice failed her. and she could not move a step That man let fall the burning letter, and placed his foot upon it: and Km-' mciir.e. beitoidiii'g that. l"sr cottsci',us ness. and fell lii-avil.v to the (lour. I The noise she made in falling drovo the man hurriedly from ihe house. And without liis lantern, which still remained burning on the bui—au. It was long, very long, in-fore Kin-' incline revived from her iie,-iih-!ik»: swoon: but when, at last, she was again conscious. and looked into the drawing-, room, the man was no longer tin-re— that was all she knew: how or when he had departed she could not say. Her strength, in part, returning, slio approached the bureau, and saw. lying at its foot, the empty pocket-book, aud the letter almost entirely consumed. Sin- raised the fragment of the letter, and saw that there still remained a few detached words which tlie flames had not devoured. And then, with the lantern to guide her steps, she quitted the l.ouse, and made her way home on foot, fast us her trembling limbs would bear her. And the poor mother's bosom thrilled with an ecstacy of jov when she again held her child within her arms. (To Be Continued.) Venrs A ire Tliey D£1 Feats Tbnt "Would Try Modern Profi-NMlounlN Thomas Thompson lifted three bar rels of water, weighing together 1. S'W pounds on March ^'s. ls-11. He also put ail iron bar on his neck, seized hold of its two ends, and bent it until the latter iret. On another oc casion he raised with his teeth a ta ble six feet long, supporting at its farthest end a weight of luo"poinids. He also tore without serious effort a rope of a diameter of two inches, aud lifted a horse over a bar. Some years ago a negro appeared in London who, with one hand aud ills arm straight. lifted from ground a chair on which was seated a full grown man having on his lap a child. It is on record that a German called Buchholz lifted with his teeth & cannon weighing about '-'CO pounds, and liring it off in that position.' While performing at Kpernav. in France, the same feat, the barrel of the gun burst. Miraculously he was not killed, although several of tho fragments were thrown over fifty yards away. There are stories of other strong men who did not appear in public. A butcher lived in South Holland who killed calves by strangling them. A Dutch Count, iu a private entertain ment, bent an iron bar by beating it with his right liaud against his left arm. protected by a leather bandage, bonding it afterward straight again by beating it the other way. Charles Louvier, a carpentec. of Paris, found it child's play to roll a tin basin between his lingers iuto a cylinder. On oue occasion he carried off a soldier on guard who had gono to sleep In the sentry box. depositing both on a low churchyard wall close by. An equally amusing story is told of a Dane, Knut Knudson, a lock smith, who .while standing in a win dow on the ground floor, lifted with one hand half a bullock from the shoulder of a butcher who was toll ing past with his load. Madras gingham sqr.ares are liked for covering pillows that are in con stant use, as they can be washed and even boiled, without changing the col ors. The parts inter.ded for the center of the sqt.ares* comes in irregular stripes of dark blue ana rose color, id sage and rose, and in gayer colorings. The covers are made with wide friils.