Rensselaer Republican, Volume 26, Number 52, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 23 August 1894 — Page 6

SHIPS THAT PASS IN THE NIGHT.

PART I. CHAPTER XlX— Continued.

The Swedish Professor had betaken himself off with his chessmen and his chessboard. The little Polish governess who clutched so eagerly at the paltry winnings, caressing those centimes with the same fondness and fever that a greater gambler grasps his thousands of franks, she had left too; and. indeed, most of- Bernardjne's acquaintances had gone their several Xvays. after six months’ constant intercourse and companions!]in,saying good-bye with the same indifference as though they were saying good morning or good afternoon. This cold-heartednes,s struck Bernardine more than once, and she spoke of it to Robert Allitsen.’ Tt was tile day before her own depart- - tire, and she had gone down with him to the"restaurant, and sat sipping her coffee. and making her complaint. __ ; - -.-. 1— ‘‘Such indifierence is astonishing, and it is sad. too. 1 can t understand it,” she said. "“That is because you are a goose,” he replied, pouring out some more coffee for himself, and as an after thought, for her too. ‘’You pretend to know something about the human heart and yet do not seem to grasp the fact that most of us are very little interested in other people; they for us and we for them can spare only a small fraction of time and attention. We may, perhaps, think to the contrary, believing that we occupy an important position in their lives; until one day when we are feeling most confident of our value,- we see an unmistakable sign, given quite unconsciously by our friends, that we are after all nothing to them; we can be done without, put one side, and forgotten when not present. Then-, if we are foolish, we are wounded by this discovery, and we draw back into ourselves. Btit if wc are wise we draw back into ourselves without being wounded, recognizing as fair and reasonable that people can only have time and attention for their immediate belongings. Isolated persons have to learn this lesson sooner or later: and the sooneV they do learn it the better.” “And you,” she asked, “have you learnt this lesson?” “Longago,” he said decidedly. “You take a hard view of life,” she said. “Life has not been very bright for me,” he answered. “But I own that I have not cultivated my garden. And now it is too late; the weeds have sprung up everywhere. Once or twice I have thought lately that I would begin to clear away the weeds, but I have not the courage now And perhaps it does -not matter much.” “I think it does matter,” she said gently, “but I am no better than you, for I have not cultivated my garden.” “It would not be such a difficult task for you as for me,” he said, smiling sadly. They left the restaurant and sauntered out together. “And to-morrow you will be gone,” he said. “I shall miss you,” Bernardine said. “That is simply a question of time,” he remarked. “I shall probably miss you at first! But we” adjust ourselves easily to altered circumstances, mercifully. A few days, a few weeks at most, and then that state of becoming accustomed, called by pious folks, resignation.” “Then you think that the every day companionship, the every day exchange of thoughts and ideas, counts for little or nothing?” she asked. “That is about the color of it,” he answered, in his old gruff way. She thought of his words when she was packing; the many pleasant hours were to count for nothing; for nothing the little bits of fun, the little displays of temper and vexa-tioiH-the snatches of serious talk, the contradictions, and all the petty details of six months’ close companionship. He was not different from the others who had parted from her so slightly. No wonder, then, that he could sympathize with them. That last night at Petershof, Bernardine hardened her heart against the Disagreeable Man. “I am glad lam able to do so,” she said to herself “It makes it easier for’me to go.” Then the vision of a forlorn figure rose before her. And the little hard heart softened at once. In the morning they breakfasted together as usual. There was scarcely any conversation between them. He asked for her address, and she told him thaUshe was going back to her uncle who kept the second-hand book-shop in Stone street. “I will send you a guide book from the Tyrol,” he explaimcd. “I shall, be going there in a week or two to see my mother.” *‘l hope you will find her in good health,’ she said. Then it suddenly flashed across her mind that He had told her about his one great sacrifice for his mother’s sake. She looked’ up at him, and he met her glance without flinching. He said good-bye to her at the foot of the staircase. It was the first time she had ever shaken hands with him. “Good-bye,” she said gently. “Good luck to you.”

BY BEATRICE HARRADEN.

‘ Lood bye, she,answered. He went up the stairs and-turned round as though he wished to say something more. But he changed his mind and kept his own counsel. An hour later Bernardine left Petershof. Only the concierge of the Kurhaus saw her off at the station. CHAPTER XX. ■ A LOVE LETTER. Two days after Bernardine had left 'Petershof, the snow began to melt. Nothing could be drearier than that process: nothing more desolate than the outlook. The Disagreeable Man sat in his bedroom trying to read Carpenter’s Anatomy. It failed to hold him. Then he looked out of the window, and listened -to the dripping of the icicles. At last he took a pen and wrote as follows: “Little Comrade. Little Playmate, I could not believe that you were really going. When you first said that you would soon be leaving. I listened with unconcern, because it did not seem possible that the time could come when we should not be together; that the days would come and go, and tliat 1 should not know how you were; whether you were better, and more hopeful about your life and your work, or whether the old misery of indifference and illhealth was still clinging to you; whether your voice was strong as of one who had slept well and felt refreshed, or whether it was weak like that of one who had watched through the long night. “It did hot seem possible that such a time could come. Many cruel things have happened to me, as to scores of others, but this is the most cruel of all. Against my wish and against my knowledge, you have crept into my life as a necessity, and now I have to give you up. You are better, God bless you, and you go back to a fuller life, and to carry on your work, and to put to account those talents which no one realizes more than I do; and as for myself, God help me, I am left to wither away. “You little one, you dear little one, I never wished to love you. I had never loved any one, never drawn near to any one. I have lived lonely all my young life; for I am only a young man yet. I said to myself time after time: “I will not love her. It will not do me any good, nor her any good.’ And then in my state of health, what right had I to think of marriage, and making a home for myself? Of course that was out of the question. And then I thought, that because I was a doomed man, cut off from the pleasures which make a lovely thing of life, it~did -not follow that I might not love you in my own quiet way, hugging my secret, to myself, until the love became all the greater because it was my secret. I reasoned about it too; it could not harm you that I loved you. No one could be the worse for being loved. So little by little I yielded myself this luxury; and my heart once so dried up, began to flower again; yes, little one, you will smile when I tell you that my heart broke out into flower. "When I think of it all now, I am not .sorry that I let myself go. At least I have &1 ear nt what I knew nothing_of before; now I understand what people mean when they say" that love adds a dignity to life which nothing else can give. That dignity is mine now. Nothing can z take it from me; it is my own. You are my very own; I love everything about you. From the beginning I recognized that, you were clever and capable. Though I often made fun of what you said, that was simply a way I had; and when I saw you did not mind, I continued in that way, hoping always to vex you; your good temper provoked me, because I knew that you made allowance for me being a Petershof invalid. You would never have suffered a strong man to criticise you as I did: you would have flown at him. for you are a feverish little child; not a quiet Wholly lamb. At first I was wild that you should make allowances for me. And then I gave in. as weak men arc* obliged. When you came I saw that your troubles and sufferings would make you bitter. Do you know who it was that helped to cure you? It was I. I have seen that often before. That is the one little bit of good I have done in the world; I have helped to cure cynicism. You were shocked at things I said, and you were saved. I did not save you intentionally, so I am not posing as a philanthropist. I merely mention that you came here hard and went back tender. That was partly because you have lived in the City of Suffering. Some people live there and learn nothing. But you would learn to feel only too much. I wish that your capacity for feeling were less; but then you would not be yourself, your present self I mean, for you have changed even since I have known you. Every week you seemed to become more gentle. You thought me rough and gruff at parting, little comrade; I meant to be so. If you had only known, there was a whole world of tenderness in my heart for you. I could not trust myself to be tender to you. You would have guessed my secret. And I wanted you to go away undisturbed. You do not feel things lightly, and it was best for you that you should harden rnur heart against rue.

“If you could harden your heart against me. But I am not sure about that. _ I believe that...... Ab, well, I’m a foolish fellow; but some day, dear, I’lLtell you what I think. ..1 have treasured many- -of voli 1’ "Savi-tiin wv niPimisrv” T par> never be as though never known you. Many of your words I have repeated, to myself afterward untiL they seemed to represent my own thoughts. I specially remember what you said about God making us lonely, so that we might be obliged to turn to Him. For we are all lonely, though some of us not quite so much as others. You yourself spoke often of being lonely. Oh. my own little one! Your loneliness is nothin" compared to mkie. How often I could have told you that. “I have never seen any of your work, but I think you have now something to say to others, and that you will say it well. And if you have the courage to be simple when it comes to the point, you will succeed. And I believe you will have the courage; I believe everything of you. - “But whatever you do or do not, you will always be the same to me. my own little one, my very own. I have been waiting ail my life for you, and I have given you my lieart entire. If you only knew that, you could not call yourself lonely any more. If any one was ever loved, it is you, dear heart. “Do you remember how those peasants at the Gasthaus thought we were betrothed? I thought that mighl annoy you; and though I was relieved at the time, still, later on I wished you had been annoyed. That would have shown that you were not indifferent. From that time my love for you grew apace. You must not mind me telling you so often; I must go on telling you. Just think, dear, this is the first love-letter I have ever written; and every word of love

is a whole world of love. 1 shall never call my life a failure now. I may have failed in everything else, but not in loving. Oh, little one, it can t be that I am not to be with you; and not to have you for my own. And yet how can that be’? It is not I who may hold you in my arms. Some strong man must love and wrap .you round with tenderness and softness. You little independent child, in spite of all your wonderful views and theories, you will soon be glad to lean on some one for comfort and sympathy. And then perhaps that troubled little spirit of yours may find its rest Would to God I were that strong man!

“But because I love you, my own little darling, I will not spoil your life. I won’t ask you to give me even one thought. But if I believed that it were of any good to say a prayer, I should pray that you may soon find that strong man; for it is not well for any of us to stand alone. There conies a time when the loneliness is more than we can bear. “There is one thing I want you to knowfindeed I am not the gruff fellow I have so often seemed. Do believe that. Do you remember how I told you that I dreamed of losing you? And now the dream comes true, lam always looking for you and cannot find you. “You have been very good to me; so patient, and genial, and frank. No one before has ever-been.S£Lgood. Even if I did not love you, I should say that. “But I do love .you, no one can take that from me: it is my own dignity, the crown of my life. Such a poor life no, no, I won’t say that now. I cannot, pity myself now no, I cannot ” The Disagreeable Man stopped writing, and the pen dropped on the table. He buried his tear-stained face in his hands. He cried his heart out, this Disagreeable Man. Then he took the letter which he had just been writing und he tore it into fragments.

PART IT.-CHAPTER I. THE DUSTING OF THE BOOKS. It was now more than three weeks since Bernardine’s return to London. She had gone back to her old home, at her uncle’s second-hand bookshop. She spent her time in dusting the books and arranging them in some kind of order; for old Zerviah Holme had ceased to interest himself much in his belongings, and sat in the little inner room reading as usual Gibbon's History of Rome. Customers might please themselves about coming; Zerviah Holme had never cared about amassing money, and now he cared even less than before. A frugal breakfast, a frugal dinner, a box full of snuff, and a shelf full of Gibbon were the old man’s only requirements; an undemanding life, and therefore a loveless one; since the less we ask for, the less we get. When Malvina, his wife died, people said, “He will miss her.” But he did not seem to miss her: he took his breakfast, his pinch of snuff, his Gibbon, in precisely the same way as before, and in the same quantities. When Bernardine first fell ill, peo pie said: “He will be sorry. He is fopd of her in his own queer way.” But he did not sipetn to be sorry. He did not understand anything about illness. The thought of it worried him; so be put it from him. He remembered vaguely that Bernardine’s father had suddenly become ill, that his powers had all failed him, and that he lingered on, just a wreck of humanity, and then died. That was twenty years ago. -Then he thought of Bernardine. and said to himself, “History repeats itself.” That was all. Unkind? No; for when it was

told him that she must go away, he looked at her wbnderingly, and then went out. It was very rarely that he went out. He came back with fifty pounds. ._.-‘LVYheH-that is done," he told her, When she went away, people said: “He will be lonely.” But he did not seem to be lonely. They asked him once, and he said: “I always have Gibbon.” And when she came back, they said: “Re will be glad.” But her return seemed to make no difference to him. He looked at her in his usual sightless manner, and asked her what she intended to do. '■•l-sliaU-ttast. the books,” she said. “Ah, I dare say they want it,” he remarked. “I shall get a little teaching tc do.” she continued. “And I shall take care of you.” “Ab,” he said vaguely. He die not understand what she meant. She had never been very near to him. and he had? never to her. He had taken but little notice of her comings and goings, she had either never tried to win his interest or had failed;- probably the latter. Now she was going to take care of him. (to be continued.)

WASHINGTON COACH.

A Valuable Relic Presented to the Mount Vernon Ladies’ Association, Delrrtt Free Press. In connection with the restoration of the old coachhouse at Mount Vernon, which was entirely rebuilt by “Michigan” during the past year, there is an interesting story of the search for one of Washington’s old coaches to replace in the coachhouse. Though a search was- instituted in New York and Philadelphia for the lost coach, there were no traces up to the date of the completion of the coachhouse in Mav. A t that time Mr. Dodge, the superintendent at Mount Vernon, ascertained that a Washington coach had been sold f rom an auction room in Philadelphia about a year ago to Forepaugh’s circus company for SSO, and also that the Pennsylvania commissioners had tried unsuccessfully to get it from the company last summer for the Col um bian Exposition. Mr, Dodge immediately ' corresponded with Forepaugh’s and Barnum & Bailey’s circus companies, and also with Mr. Brownfield, chairman of the Pennsylvania commissioners. Mr. Brownfield responded very cordially and volunteered his active aid and cooperation in securing the coach for Mount Vernon. Mr. Brownfield was indefatigable on getting on track of the coach, but while the council ol the Mount Vernon Ladies’ Association was in session in June a letter was received from him to the effect that the coach had been traced to the wreck “in the West” of a circus train, and the coach was probably a ruin. This came with tragic effect—a coach which had held the august persons of General and Mrs. Washington to be carted around the country with a traveling show and finally broken to pieces in a railway wreck. But the end is not yet. Suspecting that he might have been misled and was on a false scent, Mr. Brownfield renewed the hunt, which ultimately resulted in finding the coach safely stowed away. Mr. Dodge at once opened negotiations for the purchase of the coach, but further proceedings were assisted by Mr. Brownfield’s .reserving for himself the privilege of presenting the coach to tEFMoiinT Vernon Ladies’ Association. The regents of the association will henceforth accord great honor to Mr. Brownfield’s courtesy, generosity, and patriotism, ami will do everything in their power to attest their gratitude and appreciation.

A Story Lincoln Told Grant.

McClure s Magazine. Chronologically the talk had cbme to G rant’s journey East to assume general command,and his first meeting with Lincoln. “Did he give you his impression of Lincoln when he returned from that interview?” I asked. “Not exactly, ' answered Colonel Gran t. “You see, 1 was with him at the time.” "In Washington?” “Yes; in Washington and in the White House—with him and Lincoln.” "Is it true that Lincoln quoted a story about Captain Bob Shorty and the Mackerel Brigade from the Orpheus C. Kerr papers to your father at the meeting?” I asked. “Very likely; though I don’t remember. The story that I do remember hearing him tell my father that day was about Jocko. JockJ was the commander of the army ol monkeys in a monkey war and he was always sure that if his tail was a little longer he could end the monkey war. So he kept asking the authorities of the monkey republii for more of a tail. They got other monkey tails and spliced them oq, his. His spliced tail got too long tc drag after him, and they wound it around his body. Still he wanted more, and they wound his spliced tail around his shoulders. Finally it got so heavy that it broke his back. Mr. Lincoln applied the story to the case of generals who were always calling for more men and never die anything with them. They talkec about the campaign, but in a desul tory way. I remember Mr. Lincolr saying. ’I don't give many military orders. Some of those I do give 1 know are wrong. Sometimes I think that all of them are wrong."

MISTAKES OF TALMAGE.

law Tilings in Palestine That Aren*; There, the Rev. Dr. Hall Says. New. York Sttn ~ At the Baptist Ministers’ Conference in the Tabernacle Baptist Church, 166 Second avenue, recently, the Rev. Dr. Robert Bruce Hull, of the Greenwood Baptist Church, Brooklyn, spoke of his recent visit to Palestine. Dr. Hull said that he had always believed the Bible to be true, and now he knows it to be true. To Dr. Talmage the speaker applied the saying: “It is better not to know so many things than to know so many that are not so.” “In one of his sermons,” he said, “occurs the sentence, ‘The ro.id from Joppa to Jerusalem and all the roads leading to Nazareth and Galilee we saw lined with processions of Jews going to the sacred places, either on holy pilgrimages or as settlers.’ The preacher of the sermon must have bad good eyes. Nobody else saw them. I am sure. As a fact, that is not so. Of course it isthereporter who must have made the mistake. There are no crowds of Jews there. It is true they are coming in, but they are few in tHtmbers, and they are the poorer Jews for whom Rothschild and MonteBore have built houses. Another mistake in the sermon is where mention is made that all through the journey in Palestine lirearms are required. He says: ‘While the only weapon I had on my person was a New Testament, we went through a region where I said to the dragoman, ‘David, are you armed?’ and he said -Yes;’ and I said, ‘Are those fifteen or twenty muleteers and baggagemen and attendants armed?" and he said ‘Yes,’ and I felt safer.’ He might have required arms but we did not. Not a muleteer in Palestine carries an arm. There is not one that needs one. The dragoman wears a belt in which he carries a pistol, but it is not for use so much as it is a badge of office, like , a policeman’s club. Not a muleteer is armed on the west side of Jordan. It is different on the east side, but there no traveler goes.”

Josh Billing’s Philosophy.

The time tew be karefullest iz when we hav a hand full ov trumps. I am a poor man, but i hav this conlolashun—i am poor by aksident, not design. What an unreal life most folks lead; they don’t ever hav a genuine taste ov sorrow durring their existence. How menny people there iz whose importanca depends entirely upon the size of their hotel bills. Mother! The holy thoughts are chastened memorys that cluster around ihis name can never be so well expressed az in the calm utterance o v the name itself. It iz a good thing tew be hedstrong, but it iz a better thing tew understand that a stun wall iz a hard thing tew buk agin. ~ Mankind ain’t apt tew respekt very mutsh what they are familial witli; - Tt 'iz - wliat we don’t know, or kan't see, that we hanker for. When i see people ov shaller understandings extravagantly clothed, i always feel sorry for the cloths.

I am'just as certain that Blare iz siteh a thing az “Spiritual manifestashuns” as lam that thare iz plenty ov superstishuns and trickery. Prosperity makes us suspicious ov ditch other, while adversity make us trust each other. The only way I can ikount for this iz. that in prosperity we hav sumthing to lose, while in adversity we hav everything to gain. I kousider it • a -great kom pliment lew religion that there are only two lubstitutes for it; one is hipokrasy, ind the other is superstishun.

It may seem incredible to people who read The Sun and thereby become residents of every part of New York at the same time, it is nevertheless true, that to some people “up town” is as far awsy as “down town,” to all pracand purposes, as is Chicago or Patchogne. Within a quarter of a mile of the Battery there live a thousand people who from one year’s and to the other travel no further north than the Post Office; to whom the ride to Union square would be a journey, who would look upon a visit to Central Park as upon a voyage of exploration. With some of them this is caused by lack of time. They are poor people and they work long hours. When work is ended for the day they are t ired. But with one famtly at least the cause is sentiment. This family is made up of a very aged mother and two daughters, both on the shady side of fifty. Said the good old lady the other day: “No, I don’t very often go up town The last time I did was in 1860. when I went with my husband to a lawn party on Fourteenth street.” imagine a lawn party on Fourteenth street now! “We used to live on Bowling Green, but by and by some business man offered me so much for the property that 1 thought it would be ivrong not to sell, even though it. was tny horn.’. Then we came to live here. It’s pretty high up, and we have to rent it. but we get a sp endid breeze (rom the sea. No. I wouldn’t live far from the Battery. The Battery used lo be pretty gay In old days, you know. It wouldn’t seem like home to be ffither away from it.”—N. Y. Sun. i - A canvass of the opinions of the member elect of the Vermont Legislature has been made by the Burlington Free Press which shows that there is no chance of a repeal of the prohibition law. This is the result sa far as the returnshave been received: ' Opposed to its repeal, 64, all Republicans favorable to high licenser 8 Republicans. Ji Democrats. X

A MOTHER'S STORY.

HAPPINESS COMES AFTER YEARS of Suffering. rhe Terrible Experience of a Well-known Official’s Wife—A Story That Appeals to Every Mother tu ‘ . the Land. rom the Chattanooga, Tenn.. Press. No county official in East Tennessee is better known and more highly esteemed than Mr. J. C. Wilson, Circuit, County Clerk of Rhea County, at Day-: ton. the home of Mr. Wilson. He enjoys the confidence and respect of all classes, and in the business community his word is as good as his bond. Just' now Mr. Wilson 4a receiving- heartiest congratulations from his numerous Iriends because of the restoration to robust health of his estimable wife, who has for years been a helpless invalid. Mrs. Wilson s high standing in society, and her many lovable traits of, character have won her a host of; friends, and her wonderful recovery has attracted widespread attention. ' ing to the invalid lady’s attention the remedy that has effected her remark-; able cure, a reporter was sent to Dayton to interview Mrs. Wilson, in order; that the general public might have the benetit of the sufferer's experience and' l>e made aware of the treatment that wrought such a marvelous change inj her condition. The reporter was wel-i corned at the W ilson home, and the en-< thusiastic lady with becoming reluct-: ance gave the history of her affliction and the manner in which she was relieved: “Yes," said Mrs. Wilson, “I was for eight years an invalid with one of the most distressing afflictions woman can suffer. Foi eight years I moped around, dragging myself with difficulty and pain out of bed. My little ones went untrained and were greatly neglected, while I looked listlessly and helplessly, at the eheerloss prospect before me and them. I suffered the most intense pains in the small of my back, and these seemed even greater in the region of t:ie stomach, extending down to the groins. I suffered agony sleeping or awake. Despair is no word for the feeling caused by that dreadful sensation of weakness and helplessness I constantly experienced. • . “ I was treated for my trouble by sev-' eral local physicians, but they were able to give me only temporary relief by the use of sedatives and narcotics. 1 had almost given up all hope of ever securing permanent relief when I saw an account in the Press of a cure which Dr. Williams’ Pipk Pills bad effected. I decided to try them, as I knew the lady who had been cured, and had great confidence in her statement. I began to take the pills in October, 1893, and in two months I was doing lighthousework and attending to the children, without any bad etiects or weakness such as I had formerly experienced. Hitherto,'l had been unable to retain any food, but now my appetite grew stronger, and with it came back that old healthy and’ hearty tone of the stomach. Dr. Williams’ Pink Pills cured me, and I assure ycu the cure has brought a great change in our home. I can now rejoice in my hu.-baud’s success, for I fee 1 that I have something to live for. Who has a better right to feel this than a mother? One thing more. I have recommended these pills to others, and many of the womeno£ Dayton have taken thern wjth good resuits, and it is my greatest pleasure to recommend to every suffering woman a remedy that has done so much for me."

An analysis proves that Dr. Williams’ Pink Pills for Pale Peojffe contain in a condensed form all the elements necessary to give new life and richness to ithe blood and restore shattere i nerves. [They arc an unfailing specific for such diseases as locomotor ataxia, partial paralysis, St. Vitus’ dance, sciatica, neuralgia, rheumatism, nervous h adache, the after effects of la grippe, palpitation of the heart, pale and i allow complexions, that tired fee ing resulting from nervous prostration; all diseases resulting from vitiated humors j. od 4 such as scto.’u a, chronic erysipe as, etc. They are alsoaspe ifio for troubles peculiar to females, such as suppressions, irreg.ilarit'es, and a l forms of weakness. In men they effect a radica’ cure in all cases arising from jnenta worry, overwork, or excesses of whatever nature. Dr. Williams’ Pink Pills for Pa’e People are now manufactured by the Dr. Williams’ Medi ine Company, Schenectady, N. Y., and are so d in boxes i never in loose iorm by the dozen or hundred, and the public are cauItion d against numerous imitations sold in this shape) at 50 cents a box, or six boxes for $2.50, and may be had of all druggists, or direct by mail from Dr. Williams’ Medicine Company.

Singular Superstitions.

The Chinese have a tradition that stary dogs bring luck. London has over one thousand houses which are thought to be haunted. Most of them are tenantless. • The queen o'Spain is superstitions. She believes that articles manufactured by blind people bring luck to those who use or wear them. □ Cross-eyed men and women are the special aversion of gamblers. Negro touts at race tracks always spit in their hats when they see a man whose eyes squint. They say it kills the hoodoo. In many parts of England, in Germany, and in the north. of Europe there are numerous superstitions of the cuckoo, all of which, however, a, ’unite in ascribing to it oracular pow-, era. In the maritime Highlandsand Hebrides, if the cuckoo is first heard) by one who has not broken his fast some misfortune, it is believed, may be expected. The most notable incident during the Queen's autumn sojourn at Balmoral has been her return to the Glassalt Shiel, where she has twice dined and slept, for the lirst time for seven years. The Shiel had not previously been visited by the Queen since the death of John Brown, at whose instigation it was built. “Thinketb no evil.” A lady Is being examined in a police court. Magistrate—“ Well, madam, one thing at least seems to be certain; your husband beat you.” Witness (apologetically)— “Yes, your honor; but then he always was such an energetic man.”