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Russian Ambassador Andrey Denisov said in Beijing on the 1st, Chinese President Xi Jinping will be the main guest of the Great Patriotic War in Moscow to celebrate the 70th anniversary of the victory ceremony on. Meanwhile, the Russian Embassy in China will grant 40 World War II veterans, "the 70th anniversary of victory in the Great Patriotic War" Memorial Medal.RIA Novosti, Denisov on to summarize the theme of World War II Roundtable, said, "Earlier, the General Office of the CPC Central Committee Li gauntlet to Moscow for a visit, this is the new direction of cooperation between the two rare The talks in a major issue for the President Xi Jinping's visit to Russia to prepare. We now can say with certainty that China's President Xi Jinping will be the main guest of the Great Patriotic War in Moscow on the 70th anniversary of the victory celebration. "Russian Embassy press officer Roman on the 1st of the "Global Times" reporter that, in addition to the invitation of Chinese President Xi Jinping as the main guest of the event, but Russia has invited the leaders of the countries as the main guests attended is not clear at present, but He believes that the Russian President Xi Jinping should have special treatment, because the relationship between Russia and China is special. 1st Denisov said President Vladimir Putin is expected to attend the military parade held in Beijing in September. To participate in the 70th anniversary of the victory celebration will lay a good foundation for bilateral relations between Russia and China, including the emotional foundation.RIA Novosti, Denisov said on the 1st, the 70th anniversary of victory in World War II on the occasion of the Russian Embassy in China will grant 40 World War II veterans, "the 70th anniversary of victory in the Great Patriotic War," Memorial Medal, which is Russia One of the central events Embassy. Chapter award ceremony will be held on April 15. At present, China has a total of 60 work in the Soviet Union during the war veterans had initially estimated that 40 people can be present to accept the award chapter.Roman on the 1st of the "Global Times" reporter, said that this is the first time for Chinese Russian World War II veterans awards, Russian Embassy had never had a similar activity. This will be a very interesting and very important event, then Ambassador Denisov will represent China's veteran President Vladimir Putin for the award. Currently there is a bilateral relationship embassy team, responsible for contacting these veterans, and invite them to participate in activities. Roman said that during the event, the Embassy will also host a "Manchurian · our common victory," the exhibition's opening ceremony called. The photo exhibition will be devoted to the history of Russian troops in northeastern China and Japan struggle.RIA Novosti reported that, in the fight against Nazi Germany and militarist Japan, on the occasion of the 70th anniversary of Russia will hold a joint celebration of about 60, which is the most important heads of state visits. 1st Denisov said that China and the Soviet people to the victory in World War II paid an unprecedented price, and therefore will not allow arbitrary interpretation and deliberate distortion of history.

“Oh, at first he didn’t seem to believe a word, but afterwards Meadows had quite talked him over. Meadows kept on insisting that several times you had got hold of inside information that only the police or the murderer himself could possibly have known. He said you must have been there, for instance, on the park lands that night when Police–Constable Holthusen was killed, or you couldn’t possibly have told the Premier what you did when you went up on the deputation. Then the Chief broke in:—‘And, damn it all, that’s how he knew a police bicycle had been stolen that night outside Government House. I can see it all now. He stole it himself. It was a dead secret all along from everyone except the parties actually concerned, and then up gets that Peter Wacks at the public meeting and gives everything away as if he knew all about it, which no doubt the beggar did. Oh damn!”“A rage? By cripes you should have seen him when Meadows said you were the man hiding on the roof at Prospect last Sunday. He just danced up and down like a cat on hot bricks. ‘No wonder he made us the laughing-stock of the city,’ he swore. ‘Oh, the damned swine!’ Then he went on to give Meadows a good jaw. They must never let you out of sight now, he said, for one single second after nightfall. You must be shadowed everywhere. But they must take damned good care not to make any mistake, for just now you were a sort of idol in the city, and if they made a bloomer it would be good-bye for all heads at Victoria Square. The Chief also said that, meanwhile, he should try to pump you tonight.The chauffeur was next quickly handled. He looked a fool and the Inspector was soon glaring angrily at him. The tale, he told was very muddled. Yes — he had been standing by the gate all the time, almost from the very first second when the revolver had been fired. The murderer must have run very quickly across the road. No — he didn’t actually see him run. In fact, he hadn’t seen anyone run. What he meant was — that if he had really run he didn’t know how he could have done it at all, for he had been watching the road all the time. No — he wasn’t drunk and he wasn’t making anything up. He didn’t care who asked him anything if they asked him politely, and he didn’t mind now who heard him say —“Blast the police!” He was disgusted.The police, too, could have had no sort of rest at all. All night long numbers were pacing the road — never more than a dozen yards from one another. They talked in gruff voices and repeatedly wished for the morning, when everything wonderful was going to happen, and I should be taken, without doubt. They cursed the people in the house for a lot of muddlers to have let me get away at all, and gave it as their opinion that it would be a hanging matter for half the police if I weren’t caught this time.Then there was myself. I know I never slept. I was listening and listening the whole night long. I was in a bitter agony of mortification, and fear, too, was now creeping like a cold palsy over my mind. What chance of escape had I now, and when I was taken what would it all mean? I should be hanged for certain, and what would become of Lucy then? She would be branded for ever because of my love, and every kiss I had given her would leave its dark memory of dreadful shame. Why — oh, why had I ever touched the paste. I had never dreamed of things like this. It was Fate that had turned my steps this awful way. I was only a pawn in her dreadful game.

THE Bowden Vigilance Society was a great success from the very first, and within a few days the adjoining suburbs of Croydon and Kilkenny asked to come in under our wing. It was quite convenient for us to take them, for many of our streets and roads overlapped, and we soon had a fine wide organisation, working easily and without friction throughout.

‘Assuredly,’ said Cennini; ‘you see there the Orators from France, Milan, and Venice, and behind them are English and German nobles; for it is customary that all foreign visitors of distinction pay their tribute to San Giovanni in the train of that gonfalon. For my part, I think our Florentine cavaliers sit their horses as well as any of those cut-and-thrust northerners, whose wits lie in their heels and saddles; and for yon Venetian, I fancy he would feel himself more at ease on the back of a dolphin. We ought to know something of horsemanship, for we excel all Italy in the sports of the Giostra,’ and the money we spend on them. But you will see a finer show of our chief men by-and-by, Melema; my brother himself will be among the officers of the Zecca.’

‘The banners are the better sight,’ said Piero di Cosimo, forgetting the noise in his delight at the winding stream of colour as the tributary standards advanced round the piazza. ‘The Florentine men are so-so; they make but a sorry show at this distance with their patch of sallow flesh-tint above the black garments; but those banners with their velvet, and satin, and minever, and brocade, and their endless play of delicate light and shadow! — Va! your human talk and doings are a tame jest; the only passionate life is in form and colour.’

‘Ay, Piero, if Satanasso could paint, thou wouldst sell thy soul to learn his secrets,’ said Nello. ‘But there is little likelihood of it, seeing the blessed angels themselves are such poor hands at chiaroscuro, if one may judge from their capo-d’opera, the Madonna Nunziata.’‘There go the banners of Pisa and Arezzo,’ said Cennini. ‘Ay, Messer Pisano, it is no use for you to look sullen; you may as well carry your banner to our San Giovanni with a good grace. “Pisans false, Florentines blind” — the second half of that proverb will hold no longer. There come the ensigns of our subject towns and signories, Melema; they will all be suspended in San Giovanni until this day next year, when they will give place to new ones.’

“Something that Nelly Trotter” (Trotting Nelly, as the company called her) “brought from a sketching gentleman that lives at the woman’s” (thus bluntly did the upstart minx describe the reverend Mrs. Margaret Dods) “at the Cleikum of Aultoun yonder”— A name, by the way, which the inn had acquired from the use which the saint upon the sign-post was making of his pastoral crook.

“Indeed, Dinah?” said Mr. Winterblossom, gravely taking out his spectacles, and wiping them before he opened the roll of paper; “some boy’s daubing, I suppose, whose pa and ma wish to get him into the Trustees’ School, and so are beating about for a little interest. — But I am drained dry — I put three lads in last season; and if it had not been my particular interest with the secretary, who asks my opinion now and then, I could not have managed it. But giff-gaff, say I. — Eh! What, in the devil’s name, is this? — Here is both force and keeping — Who can this be, my lady? — Do but see the sky-line — why, this is really a little bit — an exquisite little bit — Who the devil can it be? and how can he have stumbled upon the dog-hole in the Old Town, and the snarling b —— I beg your ladyship ten thousand pardons — that kennels there?”

“I dare say, my lady,” said a little miss of fourteen, her eyes growing rounder and rounder, and her cheeks redder and redder, as she found herself speaking, and so many folks listening —“O la! I dare say it is the same gentleman we met one day in the Low-wood walk, that looked like a gentleman, and yet was none of the company, and that you said was a handsome man.”

“I did not say handsome, Maria,” replied her ladyship; “ladies never say men are handsome — I only said he looked genteel and interesting.”

“And that, my lady,” said the young parson, bowing and smiling, “is, I will be judged by the company, the more flattering compliment of the two — We shall be jealous of this Unknown presently.”

“Nay, but,” continued the sweetly communicative Maria, with some real and some assumed simplicity, “your ladyship forgets — for you said presently after, you were sure he was no gentleman, for he did not run after you with your glove which you had dropped — and so I went back myself to find your ladyship’s glove, and he never offered to help me, and I saw him closer than your ladyship did, and I am sure he is handsome, though he is not very civil.”

“You speak a little too much and too loud, miss,” said Lady Penelope, a natural blush reinforcing the nuance of rouge by which it was usually superseded.

“What say you to that, Squire Mowbray?” said the elegant Sir Bingo Binks.

“A fair challenge to the field, Sir Bingo,” answered the squire; “when a lady throws down the gauntlet, a gentleman may throw the handkerchief.”

I conceive, also, that these twenty years would appear in the retrospect scarcely longer than the week to which Wakefield had at first limited his absence. He would look on the affair as no more than an interlude in the main business of his life. When, after a little while more, he should deem it time to re-enter his parlor, his wife would clap her hands for joy on beholding the middle-aged Mr. Wakefield. Alas, what a mistake! Would Time but await the close of our favorite follies, we should be young men — all of us — and till Doomsday.One evening, in the twentieth year since he vanished, Wakefield is taking his customary walk toward the dwelling which he still calls his own. It is a gusty night of autumn, with frequent showers that patter down upon the pavement and are gone before a man can put up his umbrella. Pausing near the house, Wakefield discerns through the parlor-windows of the second floor the red glow and the glimmer and fitful flash of a comfortable fire. On the ceiling appears a grotesque shadow of good Mrs. Wakefield. The cap, the nose and chin and the broad waist form an admirable caricature, which dances, moreover, with the up-flickering and down-sinking blaze almost too merrily for the shade of an elderly widow. At this instant a shower chances to fall, and is driven by the unmannerly gust full into Wakefield’s face and bosom. He is quite penetrated with its autumnal chill. Shall he stand wet and shivering here, when his own hearth has a good fire to warm him and his own wife will run to fetch the gray coat and small-clothes which doubtless she has kept carefully in the closet of their bedchamber? No; Wakefield is no such fool. He ascends the steps — heavily, for twenty years have stiffened his legs since he came down, but he knows it not. — Stay, Wakefield! Would you go to the sole home that is left you? Then step into your grave. — The door opens. As he passes in we have a parting glimpse of his visage, and recognize the crafty smile which was the precursor of the little joke that he has ever since been playing off at his wife’s expense. How unmercifully has he quizzed the poor woman! Well, a good night’s rest to Wakefield!This happy event — supposing it to be such — could only have occurred at an unpremeditated moment. We will not follow our friend across the threshold. He has left us much food for thought, a portion of which shall lend its wisdom to a moral and be shaped into a figure. Amid the seeming confusion of our mysterious world individuals are so nicely adjusted to a system, and systems to one another and to a whole, that by stepping aside for a moment a man exposes himself to a fearful risk of losing his place for ever. Like Wakefield, he may become, as it were, the outcast of the universe.At fifteen I became a resident in a country village more than a hundred miles from home. The morning after my arrival — a September morning, but warm and bright as any in July — I rambled into a wood of oaks with a few walnut trees intermixed, forming the closest shade above my head. The ground was rocky, uneven, overgrown with bushes and clumps of young saplings and traversed only by cattle-paths. The track which I chanced to follow led me to a crystal spring with a border of grass as freshly green as on May morning, and overshadowed by the limb of a great oak. One solitary sunbeam found its way down and played like a goldfish in the water.From my childhood I have loved to gaze into a spring. The water filled a circular basin, small but deep and set round with stones, some of which were covered with slimy moss, the others naked and of variegated hue — reddish, white and brown. The bottom was covered with coarse sand, which sparkled in the lonely sunbeam and seemed to illuminate the spring with an unborrowed light. In one spot the gush of the water violently agitated the sand, but without obscuring the fountain or breaking the glassiness of its surface. It appeared as if some living creature were about to emerge — the naiad of the spring, perhaps, in the shape of a beautiful young woman with a gown of filmy water-moss, a belt of rainbow-drops and a cold, pure, passionless countenance. How would the beholder shiver, pleasantly yet fearfully, to see her sitting on one of the stones, paddling her white feet in the ripples and throwing up water to sparkle in the sun! Wherever she laid her hands on grass and flowers, they would immediately be moist, as with morning dew. Then would she set about her labors, like a careful housewife, to clear the fountain of withered leaves, and bits of slimy wood, and old acorns from the oaks above, and grains of corn left by cattle in drinking, till the bright sand in the bright water were like a treasury of diamonds. But, should the intruder approach too near, he would find only the drops of a summer shower glistening about the spot where he had seen her.