Saturday Evening Post 1884-06-14: Vol 63 Iss 48

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— — } Ghe Oldest Enterary and Family Paper in the Guited States. Hounded A. D.1821. Entered according to an act of Congress, in the year 1881, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress. Vol. 63. PUBLICATION OFFICR, No. 726 SANSOM ST. WHAT WE MAKE IT. Let's often talk of noble deeds, And rarer of the bad ones, And sing about our happy days, And none about the sad ones, We were not made co fret and sigh, And when grief sleeps to wake it, Bright happiness Is standing by— This life is what make it. Let’s find the sunny side of men, Or be belleversin it ; A light there is inevery soul That takes the pains to win it. Oh ! there’s a slumbering good in all, And we perchance may wake it; Our hands contain the magic wand— This life is what we make it. Then here's to thosewhose loving heart, Shed light and joy about them! Thanks be to them for countless gems We ne’er had known without them. Oh ! this should be a happy world To all who may partake it ; The fault's our own if it Is not— This life is what we make it. . eae * * Two Wedding Rings. BY THE AUTHOR OF ‘‘A BLACK VEIL,’’‘‘HER MOTHER'S CRIME,’’ ‘‘A BROKEN WEDDING-RING,’’ ‘‘MABEL MAY,’’ ETC., ETC. CHAPTER I. )\ROM the first moment that the Water. | Queen sailed down the river there was | a strong impression on board that soine- thing or other was wrong with the captain and his wife. No one knew what it was, no one could say anything definite about the matter; there was no real gossip or scandal, yet the impression was strong amongst the passen- | gers that all was not well between the cap- tain and his wife. The Water-Queen was a large, first-class steamer bound for India—the captain, Eric Hardross, an able and clever sea- | man. Tne first view of the steamer delighted me. With immense engines, she looked likea very queen of the seas, as though the wild- est waves must obey her, asthough danger | could not come near her. Standing on the | deck in the sweet, warm sunlight, I | watched the passengers as they came on board. | I saw fair haired little children with fond | mnothers and proud fathers. I saw young men in the prime of life | fair-faced girls, young wives thoughtful | matrons. And then, still standing like one ina dream, I saw the sunshine gilding the tall spires ard steeples of the city;I saw the light in the ripples of the river; 1 heard the cry of | the sailors, and, more clearly than all, the | music of a band that was playing ‘Auld Lang Syne.”’ I felt a lump in my throat as the notes of | the music died in the distance and the city spires faded from sight. It was quite three days before the passen- gers began to know each other, or to grow accustomned to the strange new life. From the first none of us cared much for the captain; he was a tall, dark, hard- featured inan, witb large dark eyes that in inoments of agitation took a peculiar golden nue. | j | | | Il felt sure that there was sornethir f e s ‘ sa Al in id Dat) He was aman of great nautical skill He had been for many years captain of some of the finest ships of the day. It was wonderfui to note with what con- | suininate skill and ease be inanaged the huge beautiful vessel that rose so proudiy over the wavea, His was not a cruel face, I saw it once when he was watching some children at play on the deck, and it soft ened into positive kindness; but it wasa face that gave to every one the idea that he was a stern, unbending, passionate man. There were all the fire and the jealousy of the Creole in it. The lips were firm and hard, the features regular, but almost forbidding in their cold | hard aspect. : I felt that my life was safe in bis bands, but I should have been unwilling to trust to his kindness the child whorn I loved. Atthe end of three days matters began to take a regular course, Those who had suffered severely from sea-sickness recovered-the passengers hnew each other—and, when we metat the dinner table, there was something like an atteimpt at comntort and even enjoyment. We were out in broad ocean then. The green shores, the purple hills, the white cliffs had long vanished, and in their place we had the glistening, gleaming wa- ters, the color of which seemed to be al- ways changing—a wide world of waters that appeared to have neither limit nor bounds. We met altogether tor the first time at dinner. I rememnber the names of most of the passengers, They are written in an imperishable record. There were Major Stanton and his wife, with two children—a perfect type of the happy English family—she, sweet, loving, and fair; he, strong, proud, and brave. There were a young husband and wife who amused us all, yet who won all hearts by their simple child-like adoration of each | other—Mr. and Mrs. Leslie—the husband a handsome young Scotchinan, who was go- ing out to Calcutta as the representative of a wealthy firm. Charlie Leslie was very soon one most popular characters on board. He could pour forth a song in a@ rich cheery voice; his laughter had something irresistible in it; his face was always bright with a sunsbiny smile. His wife Helen wasa pretty, fair-haired girl, who never seemed to hear any one ex. of the | cept her busband. Then there was a handsoine, stately bru- | nette, Mrs. Chaplin, who lad been to place her children at school in England—a beau- | tiful womnan, in whose dark eyes lay the shadow of coming sorrow. There were Mr. and Mrs. Vann. He was short, stout, and round, and lived in perpetual fear of his wife. : He had evidently risen froin the ranks,for, despite all hia efforts and the fierceness of his wife, he could never properly manage the letter A, and his grainimar was what an American would call ‘‘various.”’ His wife had two great fears; one was,lest she should grow stout—the other, that she should be taken for a person of extraction.” She entertained us with stories of her fa- ther, who had “held a position under Goy- erninent,’’ leaving us greatly iinpressed, as *“counmon she thought. Those were the principle characters, and that day, as we sat round the table, we est al @a W here is Mrs. Hardross? The answer was prouipt enough. “Mrs. Hardross is not well, sir, and does not wish to leave ber cabin.”’ | inquired PHILADELPHIA, SATURDAY, JUNE 14, 1884. Entered at the Philadelphia Post-Ofice as Second-Class Mater. O2.00 A VRAR IN ADVANCE. Tin VIVE CENTS A Cory No. 48. Isat near the captain, and could see a | quite sure that he makes his wife frown darkening his face. “Tell her that 1 insist upon it.” he said, almost savagely, Mrs. Chaplin, our stately brunette, sgt next to him, and she raised her beautiful eyebrows in surprise at the words and the voice, “You are peremptory, captain,”’’ she said, with ill-disguised contempt. ‘“*Madain, the worst of all folly is to en- couraye folly in others,’ he replied. “I regret that I have not the pleasure of | | understanding vou,” she said. “My wife, madain, is pleased to aflect a creat fear of the sea, and [ aim unwilling to encourage her in such folly.” “It is possible that it may not be folly— that she inay really dread the water. Nerves ot iron are not given to every one,”’ said Mrs, Chaplin. “Our nerves, inadain,”’ rejoined the cap. tain, brusquely, ‘are very much what we choose to make them.’ Aud the beautiful brunette, not liking such heresy, turned from him with a face expressive of the most unbounded con teinpt; while I sat in silence trying to ’ solve the problem why a lady who waa | afraid of the sea should have married a sea- captain. A ruinor soon began to circulate amongst us that the captain was really unkind to his wife—that she was young, beautiful, yet greatly afraid of hitn—that in the sitence of the night, when all was caiin on the great ocean, cries and moans had been her cabin. Some persons went further, and told of the sound of oaths and blows, followed by silence even tore terrible. low tnuch truth there was in these stories heard in |} noone knew. A week passed betore we saw Mrs, Hard ross, She never came to deck; she did not join us at the dinner-table or in the grand saloon. One or two ladies, braver than tho rest, after her; and, when Captain Hardross was ammably disposed, he would answer that she was not well—when he was cross, his reply would be studied and inere brusque. One lovely blowing, and blue. Mrs. Chaplin was sitting on deck, with her dark beautiful face raised to the sky. Liking her very ber. “What do vou seein the Chaptin ?” J asked. She turned to me witha sad sinile, “They are white and fleecy,’’ she replied. “To me they all take the shape of children —little children with wings.’’ “Little chiidren with wings would be an- vels,’’ I remarked. The dreamy look deepened in her eyes. “Wings that seem to be flying away, beckoning a8 they fly, Sir added. Just then the us, and saluted the lady fresh wind was evening a the water wis clear and much, I went up to clouds, Mrs. Gordon,” she captain passed near with avery stiff and forinal bow. “JT donot like the captain,” said Mrs. Chaplin, suddenly. “*T at quite sure that he is very unkind to lis wife. I wish sie woul ]l eouns n ; 1S i f IKI her | 4 or I iss »f 4 j rat f iti do “4 mM er trait grace sufficient to winor to keep a wormnan & heart. That man would have no mercy, no pity, BU COL) passion; | type, with and I am wretched.’’ “Ido not care sufficiently tor him to argue in bis favor or to plead his cause,Mra. Chaplin. “IT am willing to admit that be je a Blue Beard, if you like.” “He is worse,”#he replied. never had such a tace as that.’’ I forgot her words soon afterward, for the night fell—and it was such a night as does not often fall. The sky was clear, dark blue; the stars were not visible, but the moon shone with a radiance bright as day. The face ot the great ocean was lit up; the waves broke into allvery spray; there was just sufficient wind blowing to freshen the waves, and the great steamer rusbed on its way,cleaving the water and leaving a white track behind, I could not leave the moonlight. I went to the side of the ship, and lean- ing over I noticed the white, shining,silvery foam. ‘Blue Beard I had been there some short time when I heard the sound of a light footstep near; looking up, I saw atall, slight figure lean- ing in the same fashion over the bulwarks Watching the moonlight on the deep wa- ters, The lady did not seem to notice ny pres- enee, and | had ample time to study her, I saw a face that was in sone vagne way akin tothe mooulight; it was so perfect in its delicate beauty that it reminded me of nothing else. I have lived inany years since that moon- light night, yet I have seen nothing like that faco—and never shall. There was something at onee soft dazzling in it; it was of the and pure (rrecian brow, from which natural rip- broad) low hair of dead yold) waved in ples. of the face ‘The warvellous beauty was increased by the stranve contrast between the color of the eyesand the hair. dead yold, the eyes were dark as night, with white The hair was of heavily fringed liuis—dreamy, sad eves in which lay agreat nameless, boundless fear. The beautital |! ps wore lines and curves all expressive of saduess; the delicate face Wassorrowlul assiie bentdown to wateh the gilvery toain. I cannot tell how or why—I knew tbat I was looking upon the wife of a brave if not a kindly tinan—toouglt or idea of love was far frommine—vetduciny that moment some- thing awoke in tay heart which never slept again. We stood for some tline in silence, the moonlit falling on us. Suddenly raising her se saw mine, and a low cry came from her beautiful lips. “Pray do not be startled,” I said; “I am ’ eyes, wateling the tnoonlight on the waves,’ She soiled. For the first time Isaw how lovely her face could be, The sadness fell from it like a mask, beautiful dituples caine into play. “Tam not startied,’”’ she replied; “Lut this isthe firsttime Thave been on deck and itis quite anew world to tine Then I knew tuat the beautifu ray j ale vir Was Lii 4 a Ww lle wasa n fist - i t ‘ “I do not think abe said thoughtfu ‘that I have been really . The truth es bat I ain afraid of the

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oe THE SATURDAY EVENING POSY, Her voice sauk into asof, dreamy whis- | “What a dark sea!” ahe cried. “How per as she re the words, “T cannot tell bow it is,"’ she continued; “standing here, I own that there can be no | grander spectacie than this, but Iam fright- ened at it.” “Did your busband—did Captain Hard- ross know that when he brought you with him ?"’ | asked, abruptly. Her tace grew crimeon at the question, but she answered it. “I think eo—I giways told bim I was afraid of the sea.” “In that case it would have been better, | think, to leave you on land while the voy- @ was inade,”’ 1 said, “T asked Captain Hardross to do that, but be waa not willing,” she replied. “Mra, Hardross,’’ I said, after a time, “will you tell me why you are frightened at the sea?”’ She raised her dark dreamy eyes to nine, and I saw slumbering in their depths that which, when aroused, would wake them to greater aplender. “T should like to teli you if I knew bow. I have always been airaid of the sea, One of the dreamsthat 1 had when I was achild was that I stood on the shore of a great wide sea, and that the waves rose and tell without any noise—that they broke on the shore without any sound; and the dream of that silent sea terrified me," “No wonder," I said—‘‘the ghastly one.”’ “Then,” she continued, “another idea of the sea used to come to ne. It was of a great wide waste of waters, black as darkest night,and without any end—a sea on which one could mail through all eternity as it were.” ‘That is another horrible idea,’’ I said, wondering at the strangely sad pictures that pursued her. “There is another worse still,”’ she went on—‘‘a dream which I used to have of find- ing myself quite alone on a sea that was gradually growing darker = and darker. “T bave read many beautiful lines thatthe ets have written. I always remember yron's— idea was a ‘Roll on, thou dark blue Ocean roll,’ But even that line basa kind of terror for ne. “The noise of the waves breaking on the shore seeins to me always an echo of eternity. “W here others see beauty I see only terror and deadly fright.”’ “That is a morbid fear,’’ I said, wonder- ing nore and more, “Is it?’ she questioned, sadly. 1 can- not help it. You who are strong and brave laugh at such ideas, “You would be sorry for me if yon knew how terrified I teel when I wake in the night, and remember that there is only a thin barrier between ine and iny enemy, the mea, “I can bear the waves, and they fill my whole heart with fear, “IT see them limpid, clear, Oh, how they terrify me! glimpse of land.” “T must seem inquisitive, Mrs. Hardross; but it puzzles ine yreatly to know why, with this great fear, you have undertaken a sea Voyage.” “It was undertaken for me,’’ she replied —*T was not consulted about it, Do you think, Sir Gordon, that iny fear ia a sign— an omen—tbat one day I shall be drowned?” Was I cruel to laugh at the question ? She asked it with suc child-like inno- cence and candor, with such tender, earnest eyon. “TI will venture to prophesy that you will never be drowned, Mrs, Hardross,’’ I said. The girlish face cleared, and she at ine again with a aimoile. “Thank you. I have read many stories of people who were afraid of the sea, and in the end such people were always drowned.’’ ‘“*We will hope for a happier Hard ross, “Humanly speaking, there is no cause for fear. “Our ship ia wonder of strength, speed and solidity, and—’"’ My senience was never finished, There was a quick, firm a strong hand was laid on the der—astern face then peer hers. “So you have found your way on deck at last, Laurie?" be said, “1 did not expect to find you here.”’ She looked at him with something of the fear with which delicate and sensitive chil- dren regard a stern teacher. I aaw ber little white hand tremble. My heart was stirred with strange, sad pity for her. “Itseemis rather curious that you should refer such an bour as this,’’ continued her usband. “Other lad‘es cone on deck during] the day-time and talk sociably together; vou wait for night.”’ “And talk to a stranger,’ an attempt at cheerfulness, Just then the moon disappeared behind a mass of clouds, and for afew moments the silvery Jight was obscured. and green. llong for one looked fate, Mrs. footstep; irl’s shoul- down into he added, with troubled it looks—just as though if were closing in on uel’’ “I could not have believed unless I had seon,”’ said the captain, laughing, “how foolish women can be. “You would not be afraid, Laurie, of the darkness that fails over the telds and the lanes, would you?” - “No; but then I love the fields and the woods,”’ It seeined to me thata soit music came into her voice, a# though the memory of fields and woods was very dear & hear. I thought to mysel{— “Could any one have been cruel enough to drag this delicate young girl from the wreen heart of the land, from the midst of flowers and trees and birds, to the sea, the very name of which fills her with great fear ?"’ “IT think,’ said the captain, “that you would show better sense, Laurie, if you thought less of the land you have left and more of the see you are sailing over. After all, it ia morbid nervous nonsense—vyou are as safe on sea as On land. Do you not agree with me, Sir Gordon?” “Yes, in some respects. Did you ever hear those beautiful words, Mrs. Hari- ross: that heaven is as near by sea as by land ?”’ Her face quite changed its expression whenever she turned to me, It grew younger and brighter, “I have never heard them, but I know they are true.”’ “Then try to be alittle more sensible,”’ said the captain brusquely. “I might as well have inarried a baby—better, perhaps; I could have stopped ita crying when I would. IL connot inake a foolish woman wise,”’ A soft sigh passed the sweet lips, “T will try, Eric,’’ she said; ‘but I am afraid.’’ “Why are you here to-night?’’ he asked, so abruptly and with such a disagreeable look toward me that I had some difficulty in controlling inyselt. Even inthe moonlight I saw grow crimson, “IT thought thatif I ventured on deck now no one would see how trightened I was,’’ she answered, A contemptuous laugh was the only an- swer,. The sound of it made iny blood boil. “You have been here quite ‘ong enough for the first time,’ said the captain, after a silence that was painful. “Sir Gordon,may I trouble you to walk up the deck with Mrs Hardross?"’ I made no answer. There wasa strange beating of tiny heart, astrange thrillin ty veins, as the little white hand seemed to tlhutter on my arin. The captain turned away abruptly, and we walked down the deck together. W hat should I say t her in wy inad boyish fashion ? I longed to tell her how grieved 1 was for her, how | pitied her, syimpathized with hea, And when I tried to speak to her I was like one duinb, my lips seemed locked in silence. W hile the waver rushed laughingly by, and the clear white light lay on the waters, “Do not think me curious, Mrs. ross,’’ | said, presently, ‘but what was the naine the captain by?” I cannot tell what induced tne to ask the question but she looked at ime with the brightest smile I had yet seen on ber face. “My name isa very old-fashioned one,” she replied, “but there is something in the sound of it that reminds one of the braes and gowans, “T was called Laurie marriage.” Laurie Stuart—no other name could have suited her balf 80 well as Laurie. It had a ring in itlikethe music of chureb bells, I repeated the name with eagerness new to me, tseemed like the sweetest poem poets could ever dream, the sweetest music ever echoed. Laurie Stuart—should I ever whispering the name? oN y father was a Scoteliman, but my mother was an English lady, the cali, sweet Voice said. “Are you Scoteb,Sir Gordon?” she asked and | auswered, “No,” though [ would have given halfthat I bad to be able to say “Yes.” i She seemed a little disappointed, “You have a Scotch name and titie,”’ she added. And then [told her that my father wasan Englishinan, but that iiv mother was the oply sister of old Sir Archibald Clanalpen, her faco Hard- tay 7 ask called you Stuart before my passionate tire of whose name | had assuimed., “Still you love Scotiand?” she said, nalf Thick darkness tell over the face of the waters, Mrs. Hardross cried aloud in“ terror, and the captain,‘turning to her angrily, said — , “Frightened again, | suppose! You are | al a brave woman ! Poor girl! She trembled, she shuddered, while the dark waters rose and feli with a sullen leaden sound. pleading|ly. “Yes, I love it; and, Mrs. Hardross. if you will come on deck suimetimes inatead of sitting always in vour cabin, we can talk about Seotiand. “Tspould like it, and I should not } afraid if you were here to bal k kk \ me,” she said. Thed r f her ca Was 1 ay I saw the lights vy , ‘“Good-night, Sir,”’ she sa gt ‘you are very Kind I do not Know even now how I dared do itor why I did it; but as I took her hand in mine, I said— “Good-night. Heaven bless you, Laurie Stuart!” And the next moment I stood, with the ol of her band still warm in mine, alone > moonlit deck. CHAPTER II. UE second time I saw Mrs. Hardross was one evening when the air was cold and dam of rain made the decks un- A slight m t confortable, and somethi like a concert was got up awongst passen- gers. The saloon was brilliantly lighted, the ladies were gayly (iremmed; it ben eV cult to imagine that we were sbautup in a ship that large as it was, was yet » prison— that outside the wooden walls lay the great dark restless ocean. I had lingered soine few minutes over my cigar, and, on entering the grand passengers seated in different groups, Mrs. Chaplin presided at the piano. She raised her dark eyes as I entered and salut- ed me with a kindly simile. “| shall sing something that you will like svon, Sir Gordon,”’ she said, as I passed, Seated neara sinal! table I saw the captain's wife—the beautitul girl whom in my heart I called Laurie Stuart. 1 looked at her for soime minutes before Khe SAW Ine. This self-possessed, high-bred, graceful woman in no way reseinbled the frightened girl with whotn T had walked the deck,who bad hung to me shudderingly at the sound of the sea. In the full light I saw that her dark eves were fathomless and luminous; that her hair had a golden hue. Asunile, balf proud, halt around her delicate lips. She smiled when she saw ine, and 1 went tu her. ‘(jood evening, Sir Gordon,”’ Vann, as I passed by her chair. “This is charming, is it not? It reminds me of the parties ny dear father used to give—he held a good position Government, you know. What a fine voice Mrs.Chaplin ras !"” 1 passed her with a bow. She looked annoyed because I did not stop to talk to her. ‘*’ Appy to see you, Sir Gordon,” said Mr Vann; and then he turned a deéper crimson remembering lhe lost A. I stood by Mrs. Hlardross at last, and the proud, weary smile changed into one of kindly recognition. I sat down by her side. She was the loveliest girl seen. She had dazzled me. My brain was whirling; 1n my ears there sounded only the echo of her naure—Laurie Stuart; yet I never for one moment forgot thatshbe was the wife of another man— and as such I respected and esteemed ber. “I was hoping that you would come,” she said, “We have had some nice music. 1 like Mrs. Chaplin’s voice; there is an undertone of sadness in it.’ “You are looking much better, Hardross,”’ I remarked; ‘you are overcou- ing your fear of the sea,”’ The smile deepened until bewitching dim- ples came into play. * You do not understand the secret of my weary, was said Mrs. I had ever | recovery, Sir Gordon,’’ she laughed. ‘Here in the saloon, when the lamps are lignted, I cannot see the sea. TI cannot hear the mutiied sound that frightens me in my cabin. “I cannot realize, in the inidst of this brightness and tiusic, that outside—so close to us—lies the great dark restless ocean.” “Do not think about it then. Try to fancy you are atl what Mrs.Vann would call a party at home,” ‘ “Or fancy that I have but towalk downa pretty littie entrance-hall, and open a door leading toa garden, where the roses are laughing in the moonlight, and = the dew lies like great tears on the white lilies ?”’ “You have a quick imagination, Mrs. Hardross; why not try to think of the beauties of the sea? Surely there are plenty. ‘“Phink ofthe great beaving ocean, all silver under the light of the moon, all sil- whose title and estates I had inherited, and ver under the light of the moon, all golden in the glow of the sun. Think of the mighty _world under the waters, There are poetry _ and rowiance in those deep,silent,unknown | regious.”’ “I love the living, laugbing beauty ofthe land far better,”’ she said. “I love the | green fields; the late chestnut trees, the fire o/ the roses, the gleam of lilies, the fra- grance of lilacs; | love the dew and the rain the orchards, the gardens, the birds and the butterflies—not the cruel relentless sea.”’ Just then Mrs, Chaplin began the song she hac promised me. It wasan old Scoteh melody. i saw the dark luminous eyes fill with tears. “That is verv beautiful,” said the cap- lal s Youny wile; and in a low, soft voice she repeated the relrain to berself. “I love the Sevtch songs,” she said, turning to me; “they are full of feeling. I was named siler @ Bolly. My molliers brother was a idler ] was pleased, flattered,d whted that she Who Was B&B) Treserved Wilh OlMers Sirould Speak So freely to me, “A soldier? Tell uie about him,’'!I said ; and she went on: “He was a lieutenant in the Army,young ana handsome, 1 bave oeard my father say. Mrs, | saloon, found the whole of the assembled | “He went to the Crimea, and he wrote home telling my mother how, on the eve of a great battle, under the silence of the darkening sky, the soldiers sang the old loved song of ‘Annie Laurie.’’’ He told us how the words *For bonnie Annie Lavrte I would lay me down and dee.* rang out from east to west—how many who sang the song round the camp fires did lie down the next day to die, “My mother said that when she had the letter I was a wee baby in her arms, and that while ber fears lay warm on my face she resolved to call ine ‘Laurie’ in memor of theold Seotch song and the brave sol- | diers who sang it.”’ I looked at the gracetul slender figure, the beautiful refined face, and from that moment I never thought of her as the =. tain’s wife or as Laurie Stuart, butas Annie Laurie, the lovely Scotch maiden whose face was “the fairest that e’er the sun shone on.”’ We talked happily enough while the strains of the music rose and fell and all soonds of the waves were hushed. Sudden- ly I saw achange come over her face, and by instinct I knew that the captain was near, He stopped on his way to speak to two or three people, and then come to his wife's chair. “Well, Laurie,” said the quick, stern voice, ‘‘how are you? I ain glad to see you here.”’ ‘I am very happy,’ she replied, shyly. “Tam not frightened now, Eric.”’ He did not respond with kind or encour- aging words, but with quick — gesture, an angry frown, and a darkening of the eyes. “T shall be very glad, Laurie, when you have finished with that absurd nonsense, A child may talk about being frightened— a woman never should.”’ She might have pleaded in excuse that she was alinost a child—only eighteen, she could not be called a woiman—but she pleaded nothing: the dark eyes drooped and the delicate lips trembled, I remember my intense longing to seize the captain and fling him overboard. “You will find some charming ladies on board, she continued; ‘and I do bope, Lau- rie, that in tine you will learn to be cheer- ful and lively, as they are.” “IT will do ny best,” she said, with such sweet humility that I thought ber almost an angel. Then Mrs. Vann came up to her. “T am so glad, Mrs. Hardross,”’ she said, “to see that vou are beginning to feel at home with us. A_ sailor's wife should not know fear.” She looked up with more courage than I thought she possessed, — “T fear nothing but the sea,” she said, “That is right. I fancied, from what I heard, that perhaps you feared not being quite at home with us.” “Why, madam?” asked the voung girl, with a steady calmness that brought a flush to Mrs. Vann’s face: “T really hardly know why I have the impression,’’ replied Mrs. Vann. She had intended to be blandly patroniz- ing and assure the captain’s young wife that there was nothing to be dreaded from her superiority; but the calm, proud eyes rejected the penta ecs and again Laurie—-I can call her by no other name— spoke. “T am afraid of the sea,’ she said; “but I have not the least fear of anything else in the wide world,”’ “Except the captain, we will hope,” re- turned Mrs. Vaan, trying to be witty; and the girl's face grew pale at the words, “Ifl can help you, Mrs. Hardross, in any way,’ continued the lady, bent upon patronage, “I shall be only too pleased.” Mrs. Chaplin, who seemed to understand people by instinct, caine up at that moment and, bowing coldly to Mrs. Vann, took Lau- rie’s hand in hers. “They tell me that the rain and must have passed way,’ she said, ‘“‘and that the moonlight is beautiful. Will you come on deck with me?” That Mrs. Hardross’s fear was not an atfected one was easy to see. She grew pale again, even to her lips. Mrs. Vann laughed. Mrs. Chaplin said, gravely: “T understand it so well. I assure you that in time you willoutgrowit. I rwleand drive now: I like aspirited horse,and could not do with a quietone. But I remember when I was a thousand times more terrified at horses than you are at the sea. Come with us, Sir Gordon, and we will give Mrs. Hardross a lesson on courage.” We left Mrs. Vann giving the captain the benefit of her ideas, and assuring him that courage was a virtue peculiar to the high- born and noble. She herself had it; her fa- | ther had told her she inherited it. “Believe ine, captain, there is nothing.” | concluded this amiable lady, “in the wide world like good birth.’’ | “I believe it, wadam,” replied tie cap- tain: but his tone implied that he saw no evidence of itin her. | The next minute Mrs. Hare ross, Mrs. Chaplin, and inyself stood on the deck of the steamer; the good ship was rushing at reat speed in the w iter; tue waves broke mn sheets "9 6! tink; the rain and the mist had cleared a y¥, and the inoon rode clearand high in the blue heavy ns. We sat down in asheltered corner, and I nsiience while listened ' Lhe ladies talked, “You ares » young,” observed Mrs. Chap- lin, her beautiful face and dark eyes lighted up with animation; “you cannot be | twenty.’’ “I am just eighteen, ’’said fair-haired Lau-

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TH E SATUR DAY —_— ee , ee rie, whose heart went out to the kind- hearted wornan. “You were youngto marry and under- take such a life. What was your mother thinking off” she continued. “My mother bas been an invalid for many years,” said Laurie, sadly. * «Your father is living, ishe not?” “Yes,” she replied; ‘but be thought it best that I should be married. “] shall not be with you very long, and rhaps way pover meet you again,’’ said Mrs. Chaplin. ‘Let me be a true friend to you while I ain here, Puvor child, you need one.” The dark eves tilled with tears. “You are very kind,” said Laurie; “I am grateful to you.” “I want to help vou,"’ observed Mrs, Cnaplin, ‘to lose your terrible dread of the sea; your husband is al ways annoyed about it; and, as perbaps the greater part of your life will be spent on the ocean, only think what you will save yourselt.”’ So I listened to the ripple of the two mu- sical voices and the rapid rush of the waves. The last memory I have of that night is the sight of the lovely face of Laurie Stuart clear in the moonlight, all bright with eimo- tion as she sang, in aclear, rich voice, the old song of “Annie Laurie;’’ and I lay down to sleep with the refrain haunting me: ‘For bonnie Annie Lavrie 1 would lay me down and dee.* [TO BE CONTINUED. ] —~- A Wild Ride. BY BLAKE PAXSON. Howard, she had certainly flirted with Ralph Barlow, and he had some reason to be angry and indignant, but he should have been man enough to let the girl alone, and cease from absurd and unavailing re- proaches. However, he was not; and day by day, hour by bour, Ruth lived in dread of him, never knowirg when she might meet his scowling face In the street, or what sweet hour he might poison life with those angry accusations, which were all the more bitter for beingin a measure true. However, Ruth's friends upheld her, for Henry Howard wasatine fellow, whose antecedents everyone knew—his father the tavorite physician of the place before him, bis married sister, Mrs. Marchmont, the being who dazzled their eyes with bonnets and dressed absolutely just from Paris; while old Mrs. Howard was the Lady Bonu- tiful of the place, dispensed flannels to the poor, hunted dope ebig people and chil- dren going to the dogs for want of educa- tion, and gavethem bread and schooling, and headed contributions for superannuated clergymen and widows who had seen better days. x really respected family were the How- ards, Ralpn Barlow was just noone knew who —a fellow who seemed to have money enough, but who for all that was without any introduction whatever. : fiandsome too; but not the man pie wanted to see dangling after their girls, and when Ruth had a, flirtation with hiim,she led a terrible life at home. No girl likes to be scolded and preached toand threatened by those who are her uardians, and doubtless this influenced uth no little. Now all was smooth and easy. Like most grave nen, Dr. Howard had more in him than appeared on the surface, and made a tender and more attentive lover than she had hoped. She loved him now; and her fleet- ing fancy for Ralph was quite athing of the ast. . The wedding-day was fixed;the wedding- dress nearly done and Ruth would have been perfectly happy but for Ralph's haunt- ing. Enowins that she had once given him reason to think she liked him—indeed, that she bad—she could not use him as she would another, and complain of him to her father or brother. The last time he crossed her path, he had caught her by the arm and held her fast, and told her that she must either break with Dr. Howard or take the conse- quences. “You shall never marry him, Ruth,’’ he said; ‘‘never.’’ And this time Ruth, who had before only wept and trembled, defied him. “Tam not afraid of you, Ralph,” said she. “T’ll have a protector soon, who will put an end to your threats, and punish you for annoying me.’’ “Don’t talk of him te me, girl,’ cried Ralph. And he caught her by the wrist and held her so that for a moment she quite under- stood bow powerless a woman is in the hands of a strong man, and they were alone far from any house, with thick trees on one side and a bubbling brook on the other,but he dropped the hand again and folded his arms and laughed. **Little fool,’”’ said he. Bien Ruth Pennington accepted Dr. “Great brute, to try to frighten me,’’ she cried, and sped away. After that she would never g far away ai0n©6 I'wo days at last lay between the present and ber wedding day, when, after dark, as she sat at the window after one otf those calis that carried the doctor miles when he least desired it and would keep him away fromm | herthatevening, a boy ran up the garden Path, and addressed ber. “You're Miss Ruth Pennington, ain’t your” bal 4 “Yes,” she said, “T aw.” “Then,” said he, ‘the doctor is outside in | his carriage, and he says he wants you | to ride with him, only he can’t leave his horse. “Won't you coine ?”’ he says, niet him 1°11 be there in a moment, "said uth. And she ran into the room where hor nother sat. _ “I'm going out to ride with Harry, ma,” said she. And catching up ahatand shawl that lay upon the lounge,she stood before the mirror to put them on. “Nobody will see you to-night,” said Mrs Pennington. “What anight for a ride— dark as pitch.”’ “Not on the road, ma,” said Ruth, and hurried oft. But it was dark—so dark that after the streak of light from the parlor. had ended, she could literally see nothing. She found the latch of the garden gate by feeling for it, and stepped outside. There, under the poplars, stood a dark object, a sort of silhouette of carriage, horse and driver all in one piece. « She approached it. A hand met hers, and helped her in. “Oh, how dark itis. I can’t see you, larry”’ said she. Then the hand went around her waist, and drew her close, It was no unwonted thing, and’surely it was right for a promised wife to yield tothe embrace, and nestle her head on the broad shoulder. “T suppose it will be lighter on the road,”’ said she. The answer was that little unspellable sound that people use for the affirmative when they do notwant to speak—and the earrirge dashed away furiously. “Why do you drive so fast Harry?’’ she asked, as they whirled through the village the window-iights flashing past them—as it were, each a blurred star, no more. ‘The horse is not running away, dear ?”’ Thearm tightened about her,but no word was spoken. “Why don’t you say anything, Harry?” said she. “I’m frightened. Nothing has happened ?” put on your hat and w hisper. “But I know something has,’’ said’ she. ‘You never behaved so before, I ain treimn- bling. Harry, feel bow I tremble. I am cold allover. Harry, please speak.” Still the carriage whirled on—still there was silence. And now the town was passed, They were alone on a lonely road, and faster and faster still they drove on. The thought that her betrothed lover had suddenly gone mad thrust itselt like a stab into Ruth’s heart. Oh, if she could but see his face, if only forone mornent. ‘“‘Harry,’’ she said, falteringly, ‘Harry, won’t you go back now? = It is sodark. I’m tired of riding, Harry.’’ Suddenly he bent towards ber. ‘‘Kiss ine,’’ said he. She lifted up her hips. As she did so, straining ner eyes towards his face, the black clouds overhead sudden- ly parted, and froin between them peeped the moon, at her full; and Ruth saw by the white and ghastly light the face of Ralph Barlow. It was he who sat beside her. She understood quite well how she had been tricked. She was iniles from home, and in his wer. He had fulfilled his threat of ven- geance. “So, you are surprised,’’ said he, with a loud laugh. “Come, inake up your mind to it. I'was good enough for you once. You have kissed ine before lassie. Ail’s fair in love and war, you know. “I'll not make you a bad husband. I love you, my dear, or I'd never have done this. So good-bye to the doctor.”’ ‘Ralph Barlow, I hate you,’’ cried Ruth. “If I was fool enough to like you once, | hate you now. “You can’t marry me against my will. I'll say no. “I'll tell the minister you carried ine off. What a fool you are Ww think a girl can be married without her own consent. Take ine back atonce. I’m to marrry Dr. How- ard on Wednesday.”’ “Indeed,”’ said Ralph. ment. “You will then have been away with me two days. “I scarcely think Dr. Howard will wanta wite who has beon away with another man two days. “TI think by that time you wili be quite willing tosay Yes. Come, once you liked the notion. “Those stealy-going parents chose the doctor for you—that’s all. We'll have a ‘Reflect a mo- “Harry willthink I him false,’’ said Rath. “Harry will believe me such a wicked girl.’’ z ‘Just so,”’ said Ral ph. “And mother 4 fat have plaved “OD Ral p lake Ine LACK 4 pray for you ever gh “[’d rather vou d Kiss every jay | said Ralph. “No; I'll never go back with | you.” Ther he drove on faster than before; and though Ruth uttered scream after screain, and strove in her despair to cast herself in- to the road, the cries spent theimselves on 116 * ‘“‘Nothing,’’ was the answer, in a sort of merry life together; plenty of money, | jolly times. Come, wake up your inind to it.”” re empty air, and the strong arin about her ya st made her struggles utterly use- ess. At last she ceased to cry out, and sat _per- fectly quiet. Tt was notas Ralph supposed,that she bad yielded to fate. She was watching intently for tho next house that they should pass, hoping that soineone within would hear the desperate shrieks that she would utter, At last she saw it—a square white build- ing, In the upper windows of which a ‘ight burned brightly, for there people watched by one who suffered, Beside the bed satthe husband, holding the hand of the wife whom he had feared that he must lose, but who way now in safety. At the foot stood the physician ready to depart, happy in the good work that he had one, “Good-bye until to-morrow,” he said. “I think you will sleep well to-night, dear lady.” “Good-bye, Dr. Howard,’’said the gentle- nan, grasping bis band, “Il am sorry you have such a long, lonely ride before vou,”’ Then Dr. Howard ran went out to his carriage. A stout [rishwap stood holding the reins, downstairs, and “God bless your honor,” he said. “They tell me you’ve saved imissus’s life, no less,’’ “With God's help I have done some- thing,’’said the physician. “Well, others are as late as [ upon the road, Pat.’’ “Yis, and — Lord save us, what's that?’’ For, as the man was about to answer, a woman leant from the litthe vehicle that flew past, and uttered a terrible cry of— “Help—save ine! Help—save ime!” “Is it rale throubble, or jest some disso- lute crayther inaking adisthurbance ?”’ said Pat. “Tt is real terror,’'said the doctor. “Come Pat—intothe carriage with me and after them.” “Tin not afraid,’’ said Pai; “but,docther, we night get into a tough seriiminage.”’ “Well, you'd like that, Pat,’’said the doc tor. “But they say your bride is waitin’ you, doctor,”’ said Pat. “And ‘tisn’ta broken head you'd like to a wedding.” The doctor gave one thought to Ruth; then— “For ber sake, all women,’ said he and at once they were flying after the other car- riage. The cnase was not long. Their horse was fresh, the weary. In fifteen minutes they were side by side, “Who was that cried for help?” said tho doctor. A struggling forin in the carriage stretch ed out ite hands to him. “Harry, Harry!” she cried, “It is Ruth,” shouted the doctor. And then he bad clutched the reins, and the man in the other carriage arose sudden- ly to his feet, “Let yo your hold,” he shouted. arined,”’ A pistol flashed in the moonlight, which shone still, though dimly. “He will kill you, Harry,” Ruth. “Yos,by Heaven,” yelled Ralph Barlow, “T will.” The Irishman, undaunted, had spruny to the horses’ heads. “T can’t hold them much longer,yer hon- other very “7 ain shouted out | | | or,”’ he cried; “they’re mad--the both of | them.” ‘Then there was the sound of a pistol —a blaze—the simnoke of yunpowuder — Ruth fainted away. When she recovered, Dr. Howard heli herin his arms,and the Irishman stood near, rubbing his head and looking utterly bewildered, There was sign of either of the horses, On the firing she pistol both had run away, but by this time Dr. Howard was on the ground and nad clutched Ruth about the waist. They were thrown to the earth, and the buliet had yrazed tne doctor's cheek, aud cut the ribbon of Ruth's hat in two, but otherwise they were unhurt. The Irishinan had been knocked sense- less by a kick frown one of the horses, and what had becoineot Ralph Barlow was not known. A few hours afterwards he was found dead amongst the debris of lis carriage, lis dead horse beside him at the foot of a pre- cipice past Which the road wound half a mile further on, — Bric-a- Brac. OuR Sizk.—Avcvording to the last census the total mnilesot the United States and the territories, not including Alask«, is 2,970,000, Of the States, Texas tas the largest aren, 262, 200 square iniles, and Rivede Isiand che sinallest, 1,085 aquare tnilios, #0 that thre for- mer would make 241 of the latter and have 805 square milesover, But Rhode Island isahead of all others in density of popula — baving 254 persovs w the square nile. For A DEBATING SoctetTy.—There were a hundred ears of corn inabarn. A greedy rat carried thein alloffto his nest, taking along three ears every tine be left the barn. Hlow inany Visite did be have to make to get the hundred ears? The president of the society answered, *Thirty-tour visite ;’" but the secretary said, that inasmuch as two of the ears the rat took away with hii every visit were his own ears, be inust have wade a hundred visits, A Love CHARM.—A young wife who thought she Was losing het hasbana’s affec- tion wont tos seventy dvughter of mseventh daughter for a love powder, he myetery- woman told her: “Geta raw piece of beef, cut flat, about halfan ineh thick. Slice an onion in two and rub the ineaton both sides with it, Puton pepper and salt, and toast it on each side over a red coalfire. Dropon it three luinps of butter and two sprigs of parsley, and get him to eat it.” The young wife did so, and her busband loved her ever alter. A MysTery.—The other afternoon the Mayor of Vienna was accosted by a servant who gave him « parcel containing two sinaller sealed packets. To one was fixed a letter informing the Mayor that the packet contained 100,000 forins, which be might tintmediately devote ty any charitable insti- tution of which he considered Vienna to be in the most urgent need, To the second vacket wus fixed a fraginent of visiting curd, ‘be Mayor is vo keop It unopened util 1899, when he is to give it to whoumoever presents the missing tragimentof the ecard. If no one presents bitnselfor no communications are received, the contents of the second vacket are to be devoted tu some charitable lostitution, Tuk Beaoars’ BALL.—A correspondent writes frou: Paris: **Butof all tue balls the most curious are the beggars’ balla, Not. withstanding the troubles and trials they have to endure through the day when evening comes they dance, and are as happy and iwerry as though they were rich and perfectly free, They have their halis, and ineet tor pleasure three tines a week; and, contrary to the general byliel, tuey are reported to be exceedingly moderate ia eat- ing and drinkiny,even those whose pockets are well filled with penuics pathered dur- ing the day, The imediey of blind, lame, paralyzed, one-arined aud deformed per- 80D8 at these balls, is one of the sights of Paris.’ THE SKATERS Conps.—Perhaps tho most curious batalion in auy army is tho Norwe gian Corps of Skaters, These corps are counposed of picked men armed with rifles, which they use with great precision. The skates used are adimirably adapted for traveling over rough aud broken ice and frozen snow, being 41x juches broad aud be- tween nine and ten inches long. The sol- diers can be inanveouvred upou ice or over the snowlieids of the mountains with @ rapidily equal lo that of tie best trained cavalry. Asan lostance of the speod they CAL gO, It isstated that a tuessenyer attached to the corps bas accouplished 120 iniles in eighteen hours and @hailover mountamous couulry. GAMBLING AND Swictpe.,—-At Monte Carlo it inthe custom to till the pocket of suicides wilh bank-notes, so tliat it tag be seou that they did mot kill themselves on account of losses, A recent letter troumthere relates how a presumably dead Lrishinan succeeded In getting his pockets filled a shorttimeago. After losing asmall sum at the warbling tailes lie su oo up, excianned, “Lam ruined!’ and rushed into the gardens. Alimost iminediately allerward the guards heard a pistol shot and then acry of pain, and, rushing lo the spot, found the IJrishinan dead. It was dark, with noone around, 8 they filled his pock- | ela with rnoney and lefUhimn to be diseovered Poor Kuth,conscience-stricken and shaken | in every nerve, reallv would be wrong that she should role of bride 80 soon. play the tut the doctor stood firm and claimed her on the proper day, and her wild ride through the night, and tiie lerribie seens that followed it, sees alinost a ber now when she recalls it. Onlv no daughter of Kuth Howard’s wil! ever flirt, if she can help I ‘ I I “ ie | 4 4 —/- * = ‘ ‘ ber sorrow wa pie fi her Gontldatits when one of thet confronted ter with these words—**Never inind, Mollie; there are as good fishin the séa as ever were caught.”” “Mollie Knows thal,’’ replied ber little brother; “but she wauted a whale.’’ foil as though it , | AL the loot ol dreams Ww | inthe morning. They had searcely gone out of sight, bowever, betore the Lrishman wason bis feet again, and skipping away in the inmost lively atyle. Tuk TRATPISTS,—Writing of the Trap- pists at Gethsemane, Ky., a correspondent says: **Whena monk dies no useless coffin incloses his breast,’ but, wrapped In bis cir- cular, with his cowl drawn over his head as in life, he is buried. Each grave is covered with myrtle and has a black wooden cross bearing the naine of thecell’sdusty inmate, each grave isa little stool, | where the father who conducts vou kneeis to pray for the soul of the departed. Atthe end of the row is a new, open grave, which w ll receive the next body, and which eon stantivy helps the father to ‘remenibes death.” There are no qualtitications tor Trappist order Anv tuan who r ‘ 4 =! me years , : ‘ 4 ‘ i ert ft j y } Tike its little convulsions, Some of them don Khow WhO is president, au { the echo wi Gulteau’s pistol slot died at the oater walis. The abbey contains a tine library of rel i yious werks, among which is a Bible printed at Lyousin 1432.”

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— ee — ee MOTHER LOVE.

No love like the love of a mother When trials are gathering fast Though fond ts the care of a vrother, Sometimes i, will fall at the Inet. Should you turn from the pathway of duty, A sister's affection may fade ; But mouther-love shows ite best beauty. When her child to sin be betrayed, A father may speak stern and coldly If hie eee has wandered astray ; But mother will stand forward boidly And help bim regain the lost way, Aud epeak to him kindly, in warning, With Just as tender a tone As sie did in childheod's pure morning, Ere sorrow and crime he bad known, Ah, no! there's no love like a mot! ~'s fo noble, lorgiving and true ; We may trust to many another's And value it, that it is new, To Gnd, when life's sun is slirouded, Aed our pathway cnutere the gloom, Their love for us, too, will be clouded, While bers fullows use to the tomb. ———— <a . LADY LINTON. BY THE AUTHOR OF “THE NEMESIS OF LOVE,’ “BARBARA GRAUAM,”’ ETC., ETC., ETC CHAPTER XVI. LADY LINTON'S DIARY CONTINUED. T WAS «lovely | Cherbourg. A light breeze favored us, and the motion of the sea was not too great to allow of our sitting on the deck or moving about with ease, Alter a ylance bebind us had assured him that we were still followed, tiny busband set our chairs to face the bow of the boat, and seated himself with a sombre eX pres- sion of determination in his face, as though he had resolved to think of the yacht no more. He was unhappy—I could see that. It was with difficulty that he found mat- ter for conversation. For my part, | felt so grieved to think that be suffered, and so perplexed to under- stand why be took the tmatter so deeply to | heart, that I was even more silent than he. It wis a great relief when he proposed that ) should mead to nim. “Anything will do. It doesn’t matter what words go to the tnusic of your voice,” he said. He put his band into his pocket and drew out a volume, “Ah, bere’s the Autocrat! ant reading ata l titnes,.”’ I read. me, and that made te happy. I don'’tthink I gave much attention to the matter; mvonly care was to look out tor the marks of punctuation. Now and then T looked up and encount- ered the solt sweet plea of his gentle eyes; when [To bad found tv place again, and eubdued the Muttering of my beart, 1 con- tinued. T was holding the book in iny right hand and he tock my lett band frou: my lap and beld it in tis, That inade ine stop again, and seeing hap- piness and love on tis dear face, the tears started to iny eves—such joy was in iny heart to think | was a coufort to him, Theld out wy band to be kissed, and after a tender little embrace, 1 composed inv feelings a8 well as 1] could and went ou again. He sthil held my hand, and reading, though wiv arin ached Ing the book so long in one position, That's pleas. 1 went on morning when we left |

THE SATURDA/ EVENING POST. When I came upon deck, after making iny toilet, I found my husband standing with his arins folded and his chin upon bis breast, looking at the yacht, our eneiny, which was stationed so near that I could alinost distinguish the features of the men inoving upon it. “What is it, darling?’ I said, slipping iny hand under bis hand. “Ah! You there, Gertie?” he said, turn- ing to ine. fie took my two bands in bis, and held me ata littice distance from him, looking at ine with great love. “Have I ever seen you in that dress be- fore?" he asked, “Yes, two or three times,” “Then itis you who improve, and not your dreas, for I never saw you look #0 pretty before ;"’ and he drew wie to hitn, and lifted ine offiny feet in his embrace. “Whatshould Ido without you?” he murmured. “And what should I do without you?” I echoed. “Ah, said be, putting me down, and moving towards the side of the ship, his arin around uy waist, “that isa question! What do you think would beeome of you without ime?” 1 detected, or thought I detected a serious thought under the pleasantry, and at once ny imagination flew to tbat absurd possi- bility of an linpending duel, It seemed to ine that he was atill calculating upon the chance of being separated from we for- ever. I could not inove--a tremor siezed ine, looked up at bin in speechless terror, “Why, Gertie,” he exclaimed, catching ine closer with his strong arms, “do you |} think JI had a serious meaning in the question ?”’ “Tell me you bad not, dear,’ I said. “You sweet soul! Would I let any- thing on earth part us now that I have tinade you mine *” “Tell me that—only tell me that!” “T will now, if you like.” “You will let nothing tempt you to—to— to jeopardise your life?” “Why, what do you fluttering dove?’’ “You are not going to fight anyone?” “Now you puzzle ime more than ever. What can you be thinking about, Gertie?” inean, YOu poor “You wentto see the linendiaper lust night, while | was in the town, and I | thought pertiaps—"’ Ho burst into aloud laugh, and happily there was no need for ine to finish my falt- ering sentence. “You're rigut in one respect,’ he said. ,'T did yoon board that confounded boat knew that his eyes were upon last night, but there was no linendraper to fiyht—tmore’s the pity perhaps. But how “ine vou to think of such un unlikely thing 7” ‘Te seemed to ine that you were thinking to day What would become of ine if—if—" I could not continue, He looked at ine with wondering grav- ity. “Good Heaven! Who would suspect you bad itin you?" he said, ina low tone that was not addressed to iv ear; then, in a changed voice and a lighter air, be added, with hold- | wouldu'’t for the world take ty hand | from bis, though | perceived after a while, that hia thougiils strayed trou perhaps was unconcious that he held it. My arin seemed to hang like a heavy leaden weight from my shoulder; there wasa piercing sensation iniuny wrist avd Gugers, aud tuis was followed by a numb- ness, While tue pain in inv shoulder grew ®o Intolerable that at length | was forced to alter ny position so that Loould bave the book on uny Knees and read it. He did tot netice the movement, but atill held ty band. And now Tcoutinued for a long while, and did not pause until uy back ached and my bead grew dizzy with being bent down. Then | bad to change my position again, “Go on, Gerlie, uuless you are tired,’ be aaid. “You can't tell voice is,’ That gave ine new life, and I forgot all about my stupid little aches and pains, It was only the sound of my voice he heard, for when 1 asked him to explain a line of Greek that brought me to a stand, we turned abruptly, as if he had been awakened frou a sleep, and asked me what it was | said. It was time for dinner when we reached ®t. Malo. | lad read, with very uses, since luncieon, and neither of us ever looked at the ship behind us; yet I feel sure it bad been in his thoughts, and I kuow it had vecupled tiv inind far more than The Autocrat al the breakfast-table. W bat had taken piace during uly expe. dition through Cherbourg My fears wok a rather absurd form, yet potan unnatural one, px aps. I dreaded lest wy husband, in Lis rview with the yple on beard the ya bad lost his Sounper and challenged someone to fight. I ovuld only by this wiid plain bis distress. I thought that possibly he was wonder. ing what would become of ine if be fell. I know now that it was excessively stupid to imagine such a possibility. SUppusiILiON ez- ine, and he | “Appease your troubled spirit, sweet; I shall not fight, and po power that is) shall separate usin this worid.’’ Tle kissed ine passionately again and again; To clung to itn in tue Ulinost happiness that any soul can feel, I suppose there was no one upon deck,or near enough te see us, or he would not have taken ine in is arins at first; yet had ali the world been looking on, 1 should have been unconscious of them, all iny faculties being so completely centered upon bisa J lowed Hie led ine up and down the deck —I had regained my strenyth—and as we walked, he spoke. *T have been upset, and felt uneoutort- able «a good deal, Gertie, T adit’? le said. “Perbaps inv depression results from too MUCH happiness, perliaps tue state of iy digestion imakes ime iorbidly sensitive. Whatever the pritual cause nay be, the confounded yvaeut over there, following us aboutin this lnsane fashion, worries ime bevond endurance, ‘The sea inakes ine Superstitious; it bas | that elect upon many men, you kuow.” lew: | Paris for a week I Low sweet your | | f “Then why should we stay on tue sea if It inakes you unhappy?’ 1 asked. ‘That's just what [ was thinking of talk- ing to yeu about, dear. “LT thought that perhaps if I Milgul shake went two off this stujnd feeling.’ Ile spoke with euibarrassinent—not at all in lis usual tnanner, but as if be were aslained lo owu lis own weakness, and his yielding to it. “Wewill start tiis very said. “2 wish you would raise some objection, Gertie, so that Dinight play the lero overcouning INV OWh Inelinalion, or tvraut by overcoming yours, or any rather than this of a sueaking Coward.” “Oh, Gilbert?” He regarded ine with a strange gion On bis face; | could livt be pitied or adiuired ine, ‘Pell tne,” he said, moment,"’ I the part expre S- tell Wheluer ‘Loal Vou have grown tired of the sea, and that you would ve dk lighted to abandon the pian we wuimde lor a cruise of SIX Weeks Hie wiust ave ‘ ‘ ) al ine acle te But | feare ~ ™ Sih idl LOlbikK i “ t allure 8 quickly. ‘Tell me,"’ he rtis 1 harstily ‘tha you would racher by talf dwell in a poisy city than drift along the sunuy coast.” ’ “The sweetest piace in al! the world is where I see you Lappy,’ I said. The barshuess was uo longer op his face !

when he spoke again, but only the expres- siou of love unalloyed. “What a big soul vou have, little sweet- heart!” hesaid. “Will you always love ine so fully, | wonder?” I nodded with confidence and joy, and kissed his shoulder, which was near my dine. '@ were gay at dinner; he talked about Paris, which seemed to be not at all a murky city from his description, and I be- caine quite eager to see the Champs Ely- sees and the Boulevards, and the wundertful en «When shall we start ?"" 1 asked. “To-night, if we succeed in shaking off the enemy.” “JT had better pack up my things directly after dinner, then.”’ “Ob, no; a Valise would betray us! We have to make our escape, you know. What is indispensable you must put on your back, or I will put it in my pocket. The rest can be bought in Paris. “By-the-by, have you any strony affec- tion for that dress?’ “No,” *Good!Now look up another that you like betier to take with you. I shall want you to change Your dress when we get on shore, and let ine bave that you wear now. ‘That astomishes you, (iertie—eh?” he asked, laughing at iny perplexity. “Ah, you have yet lo see the subtle side of ny character!’’ “Shall 1 have to change my bat as well?” I asked. “You, I didn’t think of that. tind a veil, so much the better.’”’ I did as he desired ; and he put the drese aad hat I had selected into the canvas bay With which Peter used to fetch the stores from the shore, Then, when I bad finished all my preparations lor departure, we lett the dear old ship in a small boat, Peter rowing us to the land. It was still light, and, before we reached the shore, | perceived that a sunall boat had put off trom “the enemy.” ‘The distance between us was great, yet I fancied that I could see a woinan’s figure in the boat. Gilbert saw the landed he said— “so to the big hotel over there, Gertie; If you can boat also, and as we Peter shall accompany you. I will be with you in # litthe while.” Iie then walked away to that point which the eneury’s’’ boat was unakiny for, while I, with an uneasy teeling of appre- hension, went, attonded by Peter, to the hotel, Jt was some time before Gilbert arrived. It was po lonyer light; the lauips were Lit in the street, “Have you changed your dress, (rertie?"’ he asked. “Yes; bere are the things.” (700d. We shall want them presently.”’ He thrust his hands into lis pockets, went to the window, and looked down into the court-yard of the hotel, He took no notice of ine. Suddenly drew in bis head, and said, iu reliel— ““Ah, here they are.’’ Then be went to the door and held it open, Stortiy atterwards Peter caine into the room, followed by Hutchins, the iman who served as servant on board the Tub, and Joe, the couk’s boy, both on the broad bundle under his he a4 Wwue ol urin. Peter carried a arin. j “Hlere are the things,’’ said my bus- band, pointing tomy dress; ‘take thein

into the next room, tie.” We went down to the dining-room. Gil- bert made the yarcon bring some Char- treuse and the bill. His silence and obvi- ous inquietude frightened me. “Its nearly all over,’’ he said in a reas- suring tone, a8 be pressed iny band. He paid the garcon, giving him rather more for himself than the bill amounted to, then we went up-stairs ayain. There was a good deal of giggling and suppressed laughter audible as we drew near the roouw, and on opening the door, I perceived, to iny amazeiment, Peter arrang- ing my bonnet on the head of a young woinan, and a gentleman with a beard like iny husband's helping with his advice; but, as J soon found, the lady was only the cook's boy, Joe, In iny dress, and the yen- tleman was Hutebins in my husband's jacket, with a false beard—which, as 1 was told alterwards, they bad bad much diffi- culty in finding. It was laughable to see Joe take Hutch- ins’ arin and lean towards him, as I sup- pose be bad often seen tie do, and the men Come with ime, Ger- seemed to think it wasa tine joke. Only Gilbert looxed augry aud stern, “Oblige me by remembering that T am here,” he said. ‘‘Come, Peter, look sharp.” There was no wuiore Liltering after that.

by | Peter stuffed iutenins’ and Joe's jackets into the canvas bay, and, having touched ~? his littie black ringiet to us, went down- j slairs. Two ininutes afterwards, Hutchins, with Joe on his ari, followed. My husband Lad thrown himself chair with his back to the men, and sat into a gloomy silence. When they were gone, I wentto bin and put my band on his Blhoulder, and sald | ray Ma Sa J lear n i ’ ne mur } I ira iy S Annee al BISSI IY \ Va 4 w I 8 and rose to his ’ * ODE Alii rertie; we'll roand see the dodye icceeded. If it has, we'll Ureatbe again, aud to-morrow we'll fete our escape witu the best luncheon we can yet in Paris.”’ At that ueoment the garcon opeved the has st

in | '

door, and, seeing us, stopped short in be- wilderment. Then, with stuttering apolo- gies, he explained that he thought he had sven us leave the hotel tive minutes before “So much the better,” said Gilbert.

CHAPTER XVII. LADY LINTON’S DIARY CONTINUED. E went down tothe quay; it was de- \ serted. The night seemed less dark there than in the town, where the gas was lit. A faint gray light like a mist hung over the sea ; the anchored boats near at hand jooked like flickering shadows as they rocked to and fro on the waves. Further away were a tew lights slowly moving— they were fishing boats going out with the tide, Gilbert told ime. He could see more clearly than I could, and he understood the position of the quays, the rocks, and the landing-places, which so stupefied me that I could not recognize even the place where we had landed a couplo of hours before, We walked along the quay to a point where it turned at an angic, and there were a few vards of iron rail set up as a pro- tection. There we stopped, and leaning on the rail looked over the waters in silence. I knew that he could distinguish among the distant lights those of our ship, though I could not, and I shared the anxiety I was sure he felt; and my eyes went froin one light tc another, eager to detect the first inovement. for quite a quarter ofan hour we watched them, then— “One is moving, is it not dear? ’’ I whis- pered. “Yes,”’ he answered, nodding. ‘You nav bid the Tub adieu; now tor the other.”’ We were silentagain. The lights of our boat mnoved farther and farther away, and still the others remained stationary. A fear lestthe ruse had failed began to creep over ny inimd, and I watched more strenuously than before, “Ah! Gilbert exclaimed suddenly,- in a tone of relief, “do you see, Gertie ?”’ I hesitated a moment, then I felt sure, and pointed to another double light that was moving from its position. “That's it. The enemies are gone—and a sretty voyage Peter is likely to lead them. Now tor Paris, my Gertie, and a cloudless continuation of our honeytnoon.”’ Saving that, he caught me upin his arms and kissed ine with an excess of gaiety which showed how greatly bis heart was relieved. “Yes,” said he, turning to take a last look at the lights, “they're fairly off, and all we bave to do is to forget them.” Then we turned our backs on the sea, and walked across the port to the Grand Rue. On our way he said, after a little silence— “You've asked scarcely any questions about the ‘enemy,’ Gertie, though I dare say the subject bas been pretty constantly in your miod lately. “If there is anything vou'd like to know, anything you'd like to have explained, you know, better have it out at once, so Lhat,we may talk it to death, and bury it forever.” “T think you would have told ime any- thing you wished neto Know, and I want to Know no more than that,” said I. Aud so, with one accord, we despatched the subject from our thoughts—or at least from our conversation—and bave not once referred to it since. We stayed in Paris ten days, and I think we went everywhere and saw everything —at any race, on the evening, I hoped so, On that evening, 48 We Sat outside a cafe, by the Madeieine, we counted twenty-tour van-loads of Cook’s tourists, returning troin Versailles, pass by; and then Gilbert said— “) think there’d patriots in Paris Gertie?” “Ob, ves!’ “Would you bleau ?”’ “Very inuch, if--if there isn’t too to see.’”’ “Oh, bang the palace! I'm thinking of the jorest. It would bea pleasant change to see a lew respéctable trees,”’ “Lovely! “Then we'll start to-morrow.” I gave bis hand a little pinch without be- ing seen, to let bim Know bow pleased I Was. The next day we left Paris and went to Thomery, which is the second station be- yond Fontainebleau—gquite in the heart of the forest, With not a house near; and, oh how delightful it was to breathe the pure air and walkin the chequered sbade of the great trees, boiding tiv dear busband's hand, without any fear of being seen, The country reminded me a little of some parts of Neufvoury, only that the trees were tnuch finer, and the paths were not encumbered with great rocks, but beauti- tully kept and quite pleasant to walk along, and, after we bad waikea some dis- be enough of our coin- without us, don’t you, like to go to Fontaine- miuch tance, we caine to a till covered with gar- dens, each with along wall covered with Vilies, aud at the foot lav a village border- ty th ver, trom: Which upon the other Sic se aureat hill covered with oaks aud “ K ind there by a crag i v4 \ K S if seethe water again sud eed 1d not know who could regard Wilhoul dellizyht the beautiful broad river sweepilg Ill & ibajestlic course between Lic noble wooded liils, and presenting a per- fect cresce..t to the eye. We followed the course of tie river, keeping close to the water, yet under tbe | sade of the trees, aud when we were iired

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we sat down,and Gilbert smoked a pipe while I arranged a bouquet with the wild flowers we had plucked on the way. “Jupiter, there’s a fine jack!" sald Gil- bert; and he puinted through the reeds to a big fish with along nose that lay per- fectly still ainongst the stems of some lily- leaves. “And look at the roach out there! They look as itthey’d never seen such a thing asa rod and line. One might be ver lazy aud very happy here, I should think.” I agreed with him; that was only natural, his suggestion being 80 pleasant. “With a boat for the river—an English boat, Gertie, not one of those barges we saw at Thomery —a comfortable house with justa glimpse of the water, and enough ground about it to support a cow and some poultry, so that we could laugh at the irreg- ularity of the local butcher, and stabling for a pony-chaise or two——” Ididn’tat that time know what cobs were, but the picture drew was so enchant- ing without them that I let ny bouquet fall | into my lap, and could think of nothing | but the pleasure of living in such a place, “Go on, dear,”’ I said, when he stopped. “Well, said he, laughing, “I can think of nothing to add to the attraction of such a dwelling, except a yracetul little lady, daintily dressed, piquant in the tnatter of | silk stockings and Louis Quinze shoes’’—I drew iny feet under ine—*to welcome a fellow’s return froin a day’s fishing. “Do you like the picture, lady ?”’ “Oh, it’s ten thousand times better than the Lake of Coino picture!” I said. “And, when you changed your clothes and got rid of your fish, dinner should be served—served as well asit could be served with flowers on the table, and the wine you like quite ready, and the linen and glass as white and bright as possible, and a fire burning on the hearth when the evenings grow cold—not acinder fire such as they nave in London, but bright blazing logs, clean and sweet-sineiling.”’ “Oh, yes,’ said he, “che only difficulty is where to putour little ducks;’’ and he looked up at the hills despairingty. There was one chateau in sight, but that seemed too Jarge and fine for our require- inenis; besides which, it was clearly not to let, and there was no other house in sight, “Atter all,’’ I said, with a sigh, * there is no harin in supposing.”’ “Nota bit. It would be more delightful, though, to realize our dream. ‘Here comes a fellow with a Aotteon his back; I'll tackle him onthe subject. If I mix my tenses very unintelligibly, come to iny assistance, Gertie.” Vhen the peasant caine up, Gilbert spoke to him, and at once went to the point by asking if knew of a house to /et. The peasant shook his head. One must go to Fontainebleau for a house, he said ; | there were not en8ugh in the country for | those who had to work in the fields; and, if one was to let, it was snapped up at once, despite the rents which were so high—ah, 80 dear—so dear that one could with diffi- culty tind anything nice at two hundred francs a year! “Two bundred francs a year won’t do for us,” said Gilbert. ‘*What's ‘haunted cha- teau’ in French, Gertie? Ask him if there isn't anything of the sort to be had; an old farm-bouse would do.”’ lexplained to the peasant, who had set down his hotte and seeined well disposed to enter into the affair, the kind of house that would suitus; and he, atter describing a nuinber oj residences that we could not have, and which would certainly not suit us if we could, suddenly recollected that there was # house within a kiloinetre which was just our affair. It was nota tarii-house, to be sure, nor was itold; butit had grounds about it where a dozen cows might be kept, and the garden abutted upon the very path we were pursuing. It had been bought, decorated and fur- nished by a Parisian last year, who had been compelled to sell it then, and Madame Masson of Valvins kept the keys. We had only to tollow the path for three kilometres, and on our way we shoald see the ‘“‘bonbonniere,”’ and be ableto deter- mine whether we should like to livein it. Tomy mind the house was charming, standing in the midst of a beautiful garden, with a simeoth green lawn sloping up to the groat bay-window that occupies nearly the whole of one side, and a lili behind it cov- ered with fir trees, and nothing but a line of poplars to intercept the splendid view of the river and the hills opposite. I looked up at iny husband's face, to see if he liked it as well as I did. * “Gas, Gertie,’’ be said, in jection. There was a handsomely-gilt lamp on each side of the perroun at the front of the bouse. “We need not light it, dear, said I. “That's true; and I suppose the lamps could be rooted up. “The silver globes on the lawn might also be yot rid of; then the place would seen less Like acasinv, and a liltle mire like a habitable hoine. “Tue grounds stretch a good long way ap- of ob- a tone parently—-plenty of rooin for your Iittle ducks, and flights of steps along there tor them to cous down to the river wben they're thirsty.’ | 4 ‘ I c f A Ve a - Wa } i Ww j 4 4 ta t >} would you “Notif the ducks are reasonably quiet. You seew to like the look of it. “Ob, | think it’s lovely! Up there under the verandah is just the place where I sbould sit and look out whea it was time for you tocome home, and

through the | wae cope I faney you could e silver anc ‘ ing rem nay giass sparkling on the “Wouldn't that be nice if gry ?’’ “Gertie, we'll have that house, if inoney can buy it.” i But it was to let. Madame Masson said the proprietor would be only too glad to tind a purchaser who would take the furniture as the house, And she went with us all the rooms, throwing back the persiennes that we might see the beautiful view outside, and the ele- gance and luxury of the wpartmeuts with. in. It seemed all too exquisite for me—the furniture and apartinents surpassed in beauty anything | had ever seen or ima- gined. It fairly bewilders me to think of the painting and gilding, the plush and velvet and lace, the inarqueterie and ebony, the pictures and statuettes and consoles,crowd- ed with lovely ‘itthe knick-knacks, the car- pets and furs and beautifully-parqueted floors, and the portieres and lovely little screens to the tireplace. Then the quantity of linen neatly stored in armeoires, end crystal and porcelain, and the arrangements fur warming the vesti- bule and staircases, While Madame Masson was showing me the kitchens, Gibert strolled away to ex- plore apother partof the house, “There's a very good den at the back, with you felt bun- a capital billiard-table,”’ said be, when he returned, ‘There's everything, I think,” said I. “And you think it will do?” “If it isn’t more than we ought to | have.”’ “More than you ought to have, Ger- tie! “Do you consider gold too good for the gem thatis set in it?” * * * * * o And now he has gone to Paris with the notary from Fontainebleau to conclude to urchase of the beautiful house which is to 96 Our home, He went this morning, leaving me in this little house at Valvins, Ihave been writing nearly the whole day, and my fingers ache. Otherwise I think I could find yet more to tell of the happy days which have passed since I left dear old Mrs, Siinpson at Ken- nington. CHAPTER XVIII. CORRESPONDENCE, ROM Mr. Pierce, Monkden, to Mrs. Pierce, Fontainebleau— “The Swan Inn, near Monkden, Berks. “Sunday night. * *“‘Dear Eliza,—I followed your instruc. tions with the utmost promptitude, starting for Marlow by the 4.35 on the day | receiv. ed your long and most satisfactory let- ver. “I locked up the office, and left a note with the housekeeper, to be given to Mrs. Gower when she called the next morning, thus avoiding a ineeting with the lady and the cross-examination to which she would surely have subjected ine. “You can’t tell how much easier I felt in iny mind alter reading your auiple explan- ation. “T quite agree with all you say, and have not once thought of the roadside ino since reading your express dislike to the no- tion. ‘| took my fishinyg-tackle,as you suyyest- ed—though where you put my fly-book when you turned out wy cupboard in the spring I could not discover—and arrived at Marlow without accident, though I nearly lost iny top-joint in jumping cut of the car- riage. I went at once to Monkden, determined to lose no titne in making Inquries, and found this inn, which is very coulortable, and not over-dear. “After a meat-tea, I had a chat with the host, who is a first-rate fisier:man, and I ar- ranged with him to bait over-night a run which seeiis to swarin with fine roach. I thought about Sophia Kirby,as you desired but somehow the conversation didn’t get beyond fishing. “TI bad glorious sport the next day, but regret to say found no oné totaik to upon the subject of the Linton tmurder. “In the evening there wasa very agree- able sort of tree-and-easy in the perior; but the singing did not allow ine to broach the subject of S. K. “Leang “The heart bowed down,’ ‘Hot Codlings,’ and ‘The Death of Nelson, and was encored for each one. “So far, ] am sorry to say, was fruitiess. ‘Tne next day I nearly caught one of the finest perch I ever saw. “Friday, thirty-two roach. “Saturday, pot inuch, butachub weigh- ing nine and three-quarter ounces, and the best I ever tasted. “I did not neglect business, inv dear, al- my inquiry though enjoving tmvsell uncominoniyv, as you nay suf pose from the tact that last night—Saturday—when | observed , Casual Way thal it Wasi t Such a day as ~ wW ii > ‘sy eT I Le) * Was » : 2 . -~ mhiny approa “ ‘ j iv ‘ x > send you a good report ol proyress, | Jor Walk this evetiitiy instead of yolug chu?th, and succeenued ii making @ diseoy ery which I think you will admin reflects credit on inyingeuuily and perseverance, “Coming W ap inn, the ‘Chub and Float,’ | as absence makes the

if I remember rightly—which lies on the farther side of Monkden, about a mile be. low the Abbey, I found tive or six village worthies seated in the arbor, and sinoking, 1 cailed fora clay pipe and some ale, and fell into conversation with a fellow in bis shirt-sleeves, who evidently knew every One there, “A showy young woman brought the ale that I called tor. “As she wentaway I looked after her with a kind of puzzled look, and said I to my new acquaintance— “Dear ue, it's odd!’ ** «What's odd ?" inquired he, “Why, I seem to know the look of that young woman's face !’ said I, “That's not unlikely,”said he,‘it you've been in the habit of visiting these parts,’ **Ah, to be sure!’ said 1, ‘Now I know, I must have seen her at the Abbey.’ * The deuce you have! When ?’ “Oh, some time ago! Her nawe’s Sopbia Kirby, isn't it?” «No, that itain’t,’ said he. ‘And I’m not particularly obliged to you for finding any likeness betweeen the two, seeing for a hussy as ever lived,’ “This rather took me aback, for I had no notion the tnan was the inn-keeper or the young woman his wife; however,I did not lose ny presence of inind, but made the best apologies IT could, and assured him that, when I was at the Abbey, a good time ayo, I had heard Sir Gilbert speak in high terus Of bis mistress’s maid. * ‘No offence, I hope ?’ said I, “-Oh, none where none is meant!’ he re- plied,sbaking my hand. ‘*What vou say about Sir Gilbert's prais- ing of Sophy is like enough, seeing as she Was something more tv Liin than a maid,’ * ‘How's that?’ ‘**Better ask your friend Sir Gilbert,’ said he drily. “Ol, Sir Gilbert’s no said I, “‘lLonly wenttothe Abbey for a few days to look into some accounts which had got into a muddle, “It struck me that the master seemed to be on pretty friendly tering with the young woman; that's how [ came to notice her.’ * ‘Friendly terins—-ab, I should say they was !’ “*Why, you don’t inean to say that his wife's tiaid was “She was, though, according to all ac counts,’ he said, nodding his head = signiti- cantly. “*T aint afeard of speaking now, because it ain’t likely asthe Baronet ’ll ever show his face again in these parts; and, if so be ] hadn't been afeard of losing my license— which a landlord can never be too particu- lur—I might have spoke afore to a pretty tue, ‘“**T suppose you know there were a inur- der up there ?’ **A murder!’ said I, looking thunder- struck. “-The jury acquitted of him and let him off,’ he said, in conclusion; ‘but, if I'd been on the jury, they inight have starved ine to death before ever I'd ‘a’ jined in that ver- dict—perviding I wasn’t afraid of losing iny license, you understand.’ “*Why,how’s that ? “ *The evidence seemed toclear hii, at all eveuts,’ ‘“*Yes, and I dursay if you see a angler going home with the grass poking out of his basket you'd think it was full o’ fish, wouldn't you ? ‘* 41 know better’an that. W hat’s evidence but so much grass as can be yot for the pulling and just serves to hide the hollow truth and gull the public ? “<‘Ttell you, sir, that Sophy Kirby was the mistress of that house, “Not aservantinu the trary her. “~The housekeeper wouldn't stay im the house with her. ‘Tt was her as bad that poor ill Lady Linton locked up as if she was a lunatick or a thief—it washer who domineered over everybody. “‘And why did Sir Gilbert permit her to domineer over every one and inaultreat his wife ? * ‘Because, sir, she was bis bussy. This was the house of call for his yardener, his bostier, and lis butler,end they all told ine the sauie story. ‘ss Now, sir.tell ine this—why did Sir Gil- bert say nothing of the disappearance of Sophia Kirby and Barton at the time of his wife’s disappearance, when people were dragging the river lor the body and his mother-in-law, who suspected the truth frou the Very tirst,was letting all the wortd know her suspicions of tuis murder ? “Why, sir, it was lo give Sophy Kirby tine to get out of the country with the jewels that were [Lady Linton’s private property aud ostallish herself before the lacts caine out! “*T teil you fora truth, friend of mine!’

place could oon- Sir Grilbert and that Wouian toyvether did the murder, and lL Wis a Sclesied bb frou beginning to Gnd, aid every ole Knows it. He staved ti tyottoo warn for hitn, a th , | whem ilvitig th ( na eT | } Ita L iiKei Liala Ww nan Kes may Kirt et & bacatch as Sir (siibert Siip When shed pot lini ou ber line, * ‘Tithe didu’t go to her of his own free will, Which is likely enough he did, seeing beart grow fonder, 4s aA thyt’s iny wife, and Sopby Kirby's about as | THE SATURDAY EVENING POST.

| acquaintance here

the song says, she could inake him come to her by threatening to go to Lim.’ “She couldn't do this without risking apprehension.’ “There's no saying what a woman won't risk to get a man asshe thinks is trying to get away frou her—not as Tallow that he did try to get away from her. * But anv way you may lay your life on this, sir—there ain't a woman in the world of that sort who would let a man as had been her lover and her accomplice in guilt slip out of her hands while there was any- thing to be wrung out of him; and whether they're inCanad y or elsewhere don’t matter a jack-straw—they’re together soime’eres.’ “A nan taking a seat atour table put an end to our conversation, which | bave set down exactly as ! can. “You will see, Eliza, that the = inn- keeper's tale agrees in inany respects with suspicions, and with certain events revealed in the extracts from Lady Linton’s diary which you bave forwarded during the week. “It quite alters the aspect of the case ; and T «in grateful tw think that our inquir is likely toresult in a discover which must justify your expectations and raise us to an honorable position, unless you write to the contrary. “T shall continue my inquiries here, and see if anything of further importance in to be purnped out of the man at the ‘Club and Float.’ *T have sent your enclosures to Mra .G., who must be thoroughly satistied now, not only with the quaathy of matter you have sent lately, bat with the conclusive nature of the information it contains, ** ‘Hoping that you are in good health and that the weather with you is as Ane as it is witb us, “Jos, PIERCE." From Mrs. Pierce, Fontainebleau, w Mr. Pierce, Marlow— “Valvins, Fontainebleau, “Dear Pierce—The intorimation you have received may be usefal. **By all ineans coutinue your inquiring at Monkden. “We must not be hampered by any in- terfereuce from Mra, (.,and the less you see of ber at this tine the better, “Ifshe writes, asking for intormation, reply, a8 briefly and as businesslike style as possible, that at the present stage of the inquiry our proceedings cannot be made known even to her,success being dependani upon absolute secrecy. “Obtain all the inforination that is to” be had relative to Sophy Kiaby and the pori- tion she held at Monkden Abney, but be careful not to arouse suspicion by being over-an xious, “We tnust know more about John Bar- ton, whose part in the tragedy seems to be ignored, “When vou have heard a statement, dis cover to the best of your ability whether the person frow whom you bad it is trust worthy or 4 liar, “T shall not trouble miyeelfto make any nore extracts frou Lady Linton'’s diary at persent. which, frou: the day of her arrival wre upto the present moment, Contaiiom nothing but the accountofevery-day doline that are perfectly uniun portant to us, “Sir Gilbert and his wife have hardly an} the chatenux are eniply ands the Colston until the end of the Paris season, rest ofthe world aro of a very kind. “Sir Gilbert shoots and hunts alittle, and bas brought «4 low wen todinner; but they seorn awed by the magnificence and luxury of the house, which they had little reason Ww expect from the unpretentious sinple ianoers Ol Sir G. “Occasionally Sir G. and Lady L. Paris for the opera or @ play, jeaving one day and returning the next, “They are as perfectiy happy logelher as any two people can be. “Sir G. loves lis wile passiouate!y —and more Clan biat. “Thisis not surprising, for little Lady Linton isthe inmost sweetand beautiful young woinau I bavo ever encountered, aid quite the lady. “Hler whole thought seems to be of him, gv Ww here and every action is shaped with a View to his happiness. “And yet she is notslavish in her love —if you understand what i wean, “She bas ber own opinions—and very strong aud clear ones they are loo—ol right and wrong ; and [am sure she would not 6 frown ber principles even to please lier susband ; but she has no reason Ws Oppose im, for he, either by ber leading or out ot his great love for her, al ways seus Luinys in the same light as sie, “But [oan see that, happy as they are w- gether, there is anxiety in the bottom of their hearts—a fearon his part which he dares not reveal —a depression in her wind whicn she could not explain. “hus love is yreater Luan is natural even in a good husband for a good wile—and we know why. “| have seen an expression on his tice exactly lide timat whielh pros [eins pach when the doctor tevial hibits ( tiat tie Intiive a4 week. “Don't vou remamber? He knows that, ‘ A oth Tatacdee tales Liiere ‘ ‘ a } “ LA Meri - ‘i or, Ol Tatnuvies “its to Paris, and the beau i preseuts ne 1niAKOS Or, Their happiness is further increased by the fact that Lady L. is yuing tw be aimotuer

Page 6

a” THE SATURDAY EVENING POST. before jong. If Isend any extracts, it will be merety to keep Mr, G. quiet. “Now, Joe, the time has come for action. The first thing is to prove whether the woman onthe yacht which omnes Sir Gilbert and his lady from yver W Bt Malo is Sophy Kirby or not. “There is no doultininy mind that it warseshe, and that in the Interview Sir Gil- bert bad at Cherbourg she refused to accept bis bribes, “The diary shows us that John Barton knew of Sic G's attachment for Mins Graham. “For his own purpose, he would excite Sopiiv Kirby's jealousy, “If Jobu Barton were in love with ber, he would naturally be piqued by her love for his master, “Possibly he was in communicatian with one of the servants at the Abbey, and heard Of Miss Grabaw's visit to Sir G. “He knew all about Sir Gilbert's yacht, and indirectiy jearnt through Peter of his intention to make a cruine, “All the facts point to the conclusion that the woman seen on board the pursuing yaoht was Sophia Kirby. “Sir G. contrived to throw her off the soent: we shall seo what buppens when we put once more upon his traek, “Put the following advertisement in the Times, Daily News, Telegraph, and any other paper vou think likely to fall inte the bands of S. Koor John Barton—Ltoyd's might be as wood as any for such people as they — “Sophia Kirby.—If Sophia Kirby, lately with Sir Gilbert Linton, will communi cate with A. I, care of Mra, Giles, 2 King’s Square, Goswell Road, she will hear of someting greatly to her advantage.’ “Aunt Sarah will receive and send on to you any letter that comes, if you ask her, “17S. K. does answer the advertisement, send the letter under cover to ine at once, aud } will instruct you how to act. “Yours affectionately, “K. PIEROR.” [TO BE CONTINUED.] Her BY THE AUTHOR OF “THE OF LOVE" **VERA,” KTC., ETC. CHAPTER IV.—[ContTiInven. } “Don't wait till then, darling,” cried Roy eagerly, while his grasp tightened round her sliiu waist, “Let me take you away now, and weare married, Mr. Matthison can't anything!’ But to this forcible plan of taking the ini- tiative Alicea would not agree, and all her lover's sophistries and persuasions were of noavail in overcoming ber seruples, so Etheredge desisted in sheer weariness at Jast, and begen telling her of his own con- cerna, and the arrival of his sister from school, “T wiah you could see her, Alice!” he ex- claimed enthusiastically, “she is—excepting yourself——the dearest girl in the whole world.” And then they drifted into a long talk of all the things they would do in that happy future when Alico would be released = from her uncle's authority, and she would yo to Etheredge Court as its mistress, and Jite would be one long dream of delight. Happy youth, that can thus terge all its troubles into the sweets of the coming veurs—the vears whose fulfilinent never oqnals its promise These two standing together in the chilly chureh porch, were both carried into a re- gion of romance. They forgot the distance that must so soon separate them; they were oblivious of the cold damp rawness of the December at- ternoon, whose tnisty shadows were closing rapidly in round them even now—they only remembered their love, and that was sufficient for thea, But time, the linplacable, will not) stand still even for lovers, and the moments wore on, the shadows grew denser, and at) last the church clock struck five, and Roy started in astonishment at finding it so jate, and declared te must not linger a minute longer if he,would eateh the train, A few hasty, passionate kisses followed, a fervent embrace, a quick whisper con- taining an assurance of undving love, and then Roy said adieu, and iett Alice stand- ing inside the porch, watehing his retreat- ing figure through « blurred tnist of tears, Je had not disappeared before another figure came down the path and met fhiiun—a tall, spare toan with tron-yray hair, at the sight ol whom Alice drew quickly back- ward, for sie recognized tas) ber uncle's, and her heart began to beat rather rapidly as she thouyhtof what the consequences would bell le found her here, He could not help seeing Roy, whom he —_ © Crime Atoned. NEMESIS when do parted she could go on to this friend—who was in her contidence—and then the rector would limagine Roy had come down only on the chance of seeing her, and had gone back disappointed. Mr. Matthisen came inside the church, looked around suspiciously, but seeing no one, went back, and locking the door, put the key in his pocket, thinking he would take it to the sexton’s cottage, and thus Save the sexton a journey. He chuckled to Lituself as be went, en- jJoying the idea of how completely Roy had been sold, if he bad been skulking about with the intention of seeing Alice—Alice whom he imagined was by that time safely housed in aneighboring parsonage. But, unfortunately for her, such was bot the case, As soon as she imagined her uncle had departed, and the coust was (clear, the young girl descended trom the organ loft, and cautiously tried the door by which she had entered, She turned the handle, once—twice— three times, but it resisted all ber efforts, and then the couviction that it was locked and she was shut in, flashed upon her with a sudden terrified certainty, and she stoed still aiminute, trying to think what she bad better do, None of the windows opened except from the top, so it was useless to think of them aS aimeans of exit; the only chance left, therefore, was the vestry door, which might possibly be open, as there had been a service in the church earlier in the day, But, nol When she tried it she found it as secure as the other; and poor Alice, real- izingg ber wituation, sat down on one of the pew bass cks and burst into a flood of mis erable repentant tears, She sat there for two or three hours—un- til ber lintbs grew numb, and her hands ached with the cold. She watched the clouds drifting over the sky, and obscuring the faint light of the stars, and then the wan crescent of the young noon appearing above the leatless tree tops, and sending 4 pale,uncertain radi- ance down on the white tombstones that covered the quiet dead below. If you had asked her before, she would have told you she knew every feature of the landscape by heart seeing that she bad been familiar with it) from childhood, but to-night, she discovered a hundred new points in it—indeed, in that silent, star- Hlumined December darkness, it presented an aspect that was quite strange at first, but which gradually became terribly familiar. At last, Alice wus foreed to withdraw from the window and strive to get up a quicker circulation of her blood by exer- cise, She walked backwards and forwards up and down the aisles for about half an hour, her footsteps waking a strange reverber- ating echo that sent a thrill of half supersti- tious fear through ber veins; and at last, thoroughly wearied and exhausted, she en- sconced berself in a roomy old square pew close to the ebancel, and proceeded to mnake herself as comfortable as circuimstances ad- mitted. ‘ Some of the cushions she piled up fora pillow, the rest she put over her feet, and then sae closed her eyes, aud finally 80 far overcaine the terror of her situation as to drop intoa tittul, troubled siumber, How long this lasted she could not say, she suddenly started up, wide awake, with cold) drops of prespiratien beading ber brow, She bad distinctly beard a noise from in- side the vestry, and, brave girl as she was, her heart actully stood still asa repitition of the sound—that of a person stuinbiing over something In the dark—broke on ber ears, She waited fora tnoment, until her selt- possession in 4a tneasure came back, and then leaned over the pew in such a position as to command «a view of the vestry, and just as she did this alight, coming seoming- ly from adark lantern, fell in along slant- lng ray across the stone floor, and showed passed with the slightest possible inclina- | tion of tbe bead, aud then be came ou down | to the church. Alice was quite aware that her presence would be sufficicnt lo enlightenbim ag tothe real position of the Mair ie was) congratu- jating himeaelfon having putan end to six montis ago, apd that bis wrath would be ubpbounded wi ‘ Knew he had been bood winked, so, }u is t ng, She ren siientiy up lhe stairs and | i herself in toe orgal jon. Sbe had told Mr. Matthis she was got ing & spend the evening and stay the | bight witha friend liviag about a mile away, and she thought that if she left her eopcealuient as soon as her uncle had de her the figure of # nan Blanding just inside the doorway. Alice’s first idea was that burglars had broken in for the purpose of stealing the comimnumoen plate, but she abandoned this atlew ininutes later om discovering that only one tian was there, and he had taken up the register, and was rapidly turning over the leaves as if seeking soime particu- lar entry. He had so placed the lantern he carried that its light tell upon the pages, and as he bent over them, Alice was enabled to inake out the outline of bis tigure—that of a medium-sized, rather sii ian, wrapped in a large overcoat with a tur collar. Ky this tine the young girl's courage had all come back, and she bad recovered sufficient self possession to concentrate all her attention on this midnight intruder, to whotn see Was In reality quite close, as the door leading from the vestry to the churel Was Wiue open. Tt was evident be must have some feloni- ous ipotlive in Coming thus, with every pre. eaution for secrecy, in the dead of Dight; but whatever it night be she bad no power to prevent it, for to seek to disturb him would only result in drawing his attention to herself, and that she tar from desirous of domg. Her only alternative, therefore, would be | retmnain quiet and watch him. At! er one cll nis fin- seconds a Ki the leaf Stiiail ength he paused, and pla payee reiepalte Tr a th ght; then, drawing his pock 6 Careélully cut ut it Zister, put laway na Jeath carried in his band, afterwards restored the book to its pusition. As he came back from doing this he stood for a moment just within the radius of the light, und Alice saw «a handsome blond ng few st In a fe ere 1 cuse hie and original | the hood of her face that sbe felt sure she should be able to recognize if she ever met biin again. Having finished his task, he hastily con- cluded his pregretans for leaving; and obscuring the lantern, took up a large bunch of keys, opened the vestry door, re- locked it with as litthe noise as possible, and then went out into the sombre dark- ness of the December night. CHAPTER V. “Hiow the days flyj past!’ exclaimed Vivien, throwing down an almanac she had been looking at. “Why, we shall alreost directly.” She was sitting in the luxurious morning room at Eiberedge Court with Fraulein Schultz, thetwo yentlemnen having gone out shooting earlier in the day, after de- claring their intention of not returning un- til night; and Vivien, thus thrown on her own resources for amusement, had been seized with atit of restlessness, and told Fraulein she did not know what to do with herself. Asarule she did not mind being alone, having plenty to occupy both time and thoughts, but lately she had not been her- self—she had grown thoughtful, dreamy, and yet unsettled. Truth tw tell, ber mind dwelt a great deal on her encounter with Keith and she constantly found her fancy have Christmas here wan- _——---+ | “Do you want to get under cover?” asxea Gordon- -for it was he—gravely addressing Vivien, into whose cheeks a vivid carmine bad rushed. “My house is within two minutes’ drive, and is at your service if you like to accept i¢. 99 Vivien hesitated momentarily, thinking of what Roy would say. Fraulein, who had no further scruples than to let herself be assisted by a great black-bearded stranger, and to whom per. sonal comfort was a paramount considera- tion, immediately clainbered up into the cart, and Vivien had iv alternative but to follow. A littie farther up the lane a gate stood open, aud through this Gordon drove into a neglected looking avenue that led thei straight to the house, whither they arrived in less tine than its master mentioned, for he was driving a blood mare that went like the wind—much too fast, in fact, for Frau- lein’s peace of mind. At the entrance to the Chase a grim-look- ing servant took the reins, and Gordon lifted the two ladies down. He then led them through a wide hall and across 4 passage which brought them to a room Mat seeined to be his own pecu- liar sanctuin, for it was in a state of the Gordon dering away Wo that dark sombre tace with | its fathomless eyes—which held fathom- less depths either of sorrow or remorse, She often wondered what had brought that brusque coldness to his manner, and given bin that weary, hopeless cynicism that seemed somuch more acquired than natural, but She had no means of gratifying | her curiosity ; for after what Roy had said she dared notapproach the subject again, and Le was the only one in a_ position to give ber any inforination regarding it. Roy bad spoken of some terrible crime, and charged Gordon with it, and all uneon- sciously a hot indignant wrath, a vehement belief in tus innocence, had grown up in the girl's heart—perfectly unreasonable, no doubt, but none the weaker on that ac- count. Sue longed to see him again, to speak to him, to feel the spell of his presence, even though he should treat her with the cold indiflerence he had manifested the other morning. “Fraulein! she exclaimed, startiag up and throwing back the rippling masses of bair that had become loosed from their fastenings, and strayed in thick coils over ber shoulders, “If you'll puton your bon- net and mantel I'll take you fora walk, and show the spot where 1 was so near ending iny imortal Gareer.”’ “So,’’ said Fraulein, with the serene im- perturbability of her nation, but she rose and went to yet ready, and «a quarter of an hour later the two ladies were wending their way tothe woods, which, as Fraulein observed, did not offer a very inviting ap- pearance for 4 promenade, It was not actually raining, but the air was full of a damp inist which clung to the bushes in beady drops of moisture, lay over the bollows in a faint blue cloud, and hid the distant hills under a gray veil of log. Fraulein Schultz, in a huge cloak that nade her look as round as one of ,her nat- ive sausayes, and Vivien, clad ina tight- fitting cloth ulster that showed the pertect curves of her figure to the greatest possible advantage, were pretty well weather-proof, and even succeeded in getting a certain imodicui Of enjoyinent out of their walk, which inay perbaps be accounted for by the tact of their having been kept prisoners two the house jor the last three days, ‘There 1’ said Vivien, with an attempt at playtulness, a8 they came to the tower and paused ip frontot it, “that is the scene of the tragedy. **Was not Mr. Gordon brave in rescuing me?” “I do not see that he could have done less, ny love; be would have been a brute lo go on his way and leave you to die,” was the German's common-sense reply; and Vivien, notin the least inclined to take such a practical view of a situation sbe bad worked upinto an actual romance, drew her arin through that of the elder lady, and led ber on along the path she had observed Gordou take when she lett bin. It led for some distance through the wood and then brought them to a stile dividing i from a@ lane which was the boundary ot Gordon's estate. ‘The house was quite near, and Vivien could see froin where she stood the moss- encrusted battlements, the gray stones partiy covered with ivy, and that stack of chiuineys she had noticed on the night of her tirst arrival in England. Fraulein, who had also stopped, wondered to see the strange interest ‘in the girl's dreamy eyes as she gazed on what seemed to ber governess nothing more than an exevedingly gloomy old habitation. Before she had tune to make any corm- pent, a storil«o bali Caine on quite sud- denly, and put every idea outof her head Save Lhe Wore luiimediate one of obtaining shelter. “Ach, Himmel !"’ she exclaimned,drawing cloak well up over her head. “This beautiful Enylisn climate ot yours Is abways playing us such tricks, “What are we wo do?" Vivien was pot juite ready with a reply, ior sheiter there appeared to be none. Just as she was about suggesting a return to the wood, there caine the sound wheels, and a dog-cart turned the cogger and ravtied past—to be pulled up by~ its driver immediately opposite the two ladies, | of j inost inasculine untidiness, being littered over with papers, books, pipes, whips and beer bottles ina confusion thac must have taken some tine to bring it toits present stute of perfection. r Fraulein, stepping gingerly across the floor 80 as to avoid Coming in contact with sundry powder flasks and gun-cleaning apparatus that lay thereon, seated herself in an armchair near the fire, and doubtless speculated on the metamorphosis she would effect if she were let loose in the rooin with a couple of brooms and a dustpan. “7 don’tapologise for bringing you bere,”’ said Gordon, closing the door, and taking upa position with his back against it, ‘for it is the only room with a fire except the kitchen, and I could hardly take you there.” ‘lhere are no apologies needed; we are very grateful to you for taking us in at all,”’ said Vivien. “As for this room’’—glancing around— “T tind it nuch more interesting#ithan one where everything has its place, and is put in it, and where you have no chance of guessing at its owner's Lastes. ‘ “Now your study—1 suppose you Scall it so—bears at least the stainp of individu- ality.’’ “The individuatity of disordex,you should add,”’ amended Gordon, with the Ynearest approach to a sinile she had seen§ on his face, and which made it look, forg the mo- nent, singularly winning. “The truth is, I never perinit anyone to cowe here but inyself, exeept, indeed, mny housekeeper, who twice a year makes a raid on it with ber scrubbing brush, and ren- ders ine uncomfortable tor weeks alter.” “A Christinas visitation, I suppose,’’ laughed Vivien. “You will haveto submit to it again soon, for Cbristinas is very near. “Do you like the season ?” “No,”’ he answered, sharply and briefly. “It is, of all the year, the time I detest the most, for it isthe tine that deepens the memory of past sorrows, and brings them before ine in all their first bitterness,”’ He seeimned to have been betrayed into saying more than he intended, and after he had finished speaking, he crossed over to the window and looked out to see if the weather showed any Signs of iinproyement, which Vivien interpreted as a signal that he was impatient to be relieved of his du- ties a8 host. “T don't think it will be long before we shall be able to go,’’ she said, rather tiin- idly, as she followed his example, and glanced up at the leaden sky. “No,” be replied, “these sort of storms don’t often last nore than a quarter of an hour or so, and when it isover] can have you driven home in my dog-eart if you iike.”’ ‘You are very good, but we are well pro- vided with thick shoes, and so long as it is dry overiead we shall be all right,’? she sald hastily. He wade no attempt to press the offer, but stood gazing moodily out of the win- dow, and, as it seemed, alimost unconscious of the presence of his visitors, one ot whom—Fraulein Shultz—bad taken up a Gerinan newspaper and becoine absorbed in its contents, As for Vivien, it never had once struck her to feel resentful at the stmall imeed of attention Gordon bestowed on her; she had only seen bim twice, and yet the interest he bad awoke in her, and the actual fascina- tion he seemed to exert over her senses, was almost inexplicable, As he stuod there, with his large, muscu. lar, but perfectly symmetrical figure half leaning against the window trame, and bis profile turned towards ber, Vivien tound berself coumparing biui with Trevor Etner- edye. Strictly speaking,the latter was undonbtr edly the handsomer of the two, but there Was not in his classical beauty one tithe of the charin possessed by this man, with bis sad brown eyes, and Jong beautiful curled lashes. “What fine lashes they were!” Vivien said wo herself, bending alittle forward to examine t fill. “Why,dthey were as | Ng an SILKY as lier . ’ ’ 5 She drew Dack In confusion, for Gordon looked up and their eyes met—hers fell in- ) Stantly, while a deep blush tmantiled her | cheek, and Gordon must have been eitber wiore Or less than man if he could have be- held her at that minute,and not been struck with ber loveliness.

Page 7

THE SATUR DAY

l a —

“T beg your pardon, I am very rude,” he said, rousing hitmseit ‘“‘but’’—-with a bitter sinile, “I am 80 unaccustomed to the role of host that I almost forget the st..** “Then you don’t see many visitors?’ asked Vivien, hardly knowing what she was saying, but feeling itincumbent on her to say something. *“*T see none at all, and have not done so for many years, and -_ establishinent, as it at present stands, would forbid it as much as’’—he was going to add “my inclination,”’ but checked himself, and left the sentence unfinished, adding, ‘“‘my staft of servants is limited to two, the man you saw at the door and his wife.” “Tt is sufficient, as you are alone.”’ “Quite,’’he answered laconically,and then continued, Pa “It is very dull for you hére, Miss Ether- edge, andI really have no resources for ainusing you, except, indeed, the picture gallery. “Would you care to see it, or is it too cold ?”’ Vivien answered the last question in the negative, Fraulein in the affirmative, soshe stayed by the fire with her German paper, while Gordon led bis younger guest up the broad shallow oak stairs, and into an older portion of the house, where,he pointed out to her the various celebrities whose efligies adorned the walls. There were one or two interesting pict- ures ainong thetn—a fair-faced beauty of the Court of Charles, painted by Sir Peter Lely, in all the bravery of her silks and laces—an unfortunate cavalier who had fallen by the side of princely Rupert—two or three tair dames of a later era, whose soft, clear coloring announced Gainsborough as the artist. Gordon seemed to be making an effort to overcome the scornful indifference that bad grown habitual to hit; and as he talked of art—a subjectin which he was evidently well versed—his face lighted up, and his manner developed tore into that of a pol- ished inan of the world than Vivien could have deemed possible, More than once the thought struck her of what ber brother would say could he see her walking through the dim old gallery, against the stained glass windows of which the hailstones still rattled disinally, in com- pany with this tall, gloomy man in bis vel- yeteen shooting suit, which, old and = shab- by as it was, yet lent him an air of pictures- queness thatan artist would like to have caught, and given to one of hiscreations—a giaour, a corsair—a moss trooper—anything alittle outside this practical nineteenth century of ours, As for Gordon, his thoughts were run- ning somewhat in the sane groove. It was so long since he had walked by the side of a dainty, bigh-bred lady that there seemned something strange in it. The presence of Vivien herself, fair and young as she was, in that gloomy old house hadin it an element of the incongru- ous. He breathed a quick, dinpatient sigh as he atole a look at her, confessing to himsell that in all those lines of painted beauties there was not one half so exquisite as this delicate mnaiden, with her warm tints and ber living, breathing loveliness. “We bave some old picturesat Etheredge Court, but our collection is tmuch inferior to yours,” said the young girl, as they paused at the end of the gallery, and close to a door across which a green baize curtain had been drawn. “There isone old one in which I am rather interested, although the artist is un- known. : “] sayit is a Van Dyck, but my cousin, Trevor Etheredze, says not.”’ Vivien paused abruptiy, conscious of the mistake she bad unintentionally made in mentioning Trevor’s name, by the change that caine over Gordon’s face. It was not altogether Late, or fiery scorn or even anger. But mingled with all these was an expres- sion of the keenest sorrow and regret that was well nigh pathetic. She had no time to say more,and endeav- or to cover her involuntary slip of the ton- gue, tor at that juncture the door at the end of the ge opened, the green baize was pushed aside, and Vivien saw in the apert- ure a sight that alinose transiixed her with | amazement—a wounan, still young, but so fragile looking, so ethereal and shadowy, that she might well have been taken for a spirit from another world. She wore some soft whit garment that tell in long straight folds to her feet, making ber look like a pictured Madonna, or medi- eaval saint. It was only for about ten seconds that she stood there; her sad dark eyes fastened on Vivien’s face, then she dropped the cur- tain and disappeared as swiftly and mlently ~~ EVENING POST. * :

A Strong Plot. BY JULIA GODDARD.

OHN, l wantto go out shopping this inorning, and I don’t care about taking ey Louie, “Couldn't 1 bring her down tothe office and leave her with you ?" “Why—yes. ut the fact is, Bessie, we are dreadfully busy at the office just now, oem I shan't have much time to attend to her.”’ “Oh, well, she’ll take care of herself; she can look out of the windows, and there are lots of pictures to amuse her, you know, Only see that she doesn’t go to the cases and handle the types, to get her clothes dirty.”’ “All right. Want to go with papa, Lu?” “Yes, indeed I do.’ And Louie’s sweet blue eyes sparkled. “Well, get her ready now, Bess, and I'll take her aown with me,’’ said papa John. “That will be a good plan. And when I have tintshed I'll come to the office for her, and we can all come home together,"’ ar- ranged Mrs, Bessie, as she tlew about put- ting fresh robeson the little six-year-old Louie,and tying up her preity golden curls, 80 a8 NOt to keep John waiting. Jobn was editor of one of the city weeklies, and nothing pleased Louie better than to spend a morning at the office with hitu. Sometimes she ventured into the great press-rooims, but her pretty dress usually bore the marks of it when she did that, so mamma Bessie had objections, Her last charge to Jobn, as he hurried out to catch an up-town train, was to keep Louie away trom the ty pe cases, But John did not answer,or seem to hear, and as she went back into the house (she hadSbeen standing on the doorstep to see themn off) Bessie remarked— “T wonder what has come over Jobn ? He seems to be always thinking and study- ing lately. I would like to know what he’s got on bis mind.” But, as it couldn’t be anything very Serious, Bessie disinissed the subject froin her mind, and prepared to go on her; shop- ping excursion tm ber prettiest’ street costume, And I can tell you Mrs. Bessie was pretty enough in any costume. She hadn’t faded or lost a speck of her freshness, though she had. been married seven years and a half, and had done her own housework over half the time at that, If that doesn’t speak well for John Hard- ing, I don’t know what would, I’m sure. But Bessie was rightin thinking, John had something of nis mind. And the “something’’ was this— A writer who had promised to furnish a first-class serial for the paper failed to coine to time, and John, who was pretty good in the story line, undertook to furnish it him- self, It was longer and far inore sensational than anything he had yet attempted, how- ever, and of course Editor John was very anxious to inake a success of it. His thrilling plot involved some legal points, of which he was not quite sure, and he was studying on these points this morn- ing. Ktter he got to the office, to make all cor- rect, John sat down and dropped a postal- card to a lawyer friend,stating his dileimina, and asking a reply by return inail, while little Louie, though she didn’t go @ito the press-rooin, did find parto! a case, which one of the boys had careiessly lett upon the floor, and proceeded to make ‘‘pye’’ out of it, after the most approved order, and greatly to the detriment of her fresh blue dress. ‘’he next day Mrs. Bessie tidied up her house swiftly, for the pretty fabrics she had bought the day before inust be taken to the dressimaker’s to be cut, and where isthe woman who does not delight in that ? “Now, Louie,” says she, with me tothe dressinaker’s, come home we'll stop at Conner’s and some strawberries for papa’s dinner. 80 fond of them.”’ “Oh, strawberries! I’in 80 glad they’ve coine again, mamma,’ exclaimed Louie, “Oh, there comes the postman, May I run and get the letters, tnauiina ?”’ “Yes, pet, goalong.”’ Louie tripped to the front door, getting there so speedily that the posturnan had not time to knock. Presentiy she caine back with§ a posta!- card, “There was nothing but this,marnia,”’ Bessie took it, and glanced at it. “you can go and a8 we buy He's

as she had come, leaving the young girl to | look at Gordon with an expression said as plainly as ifthe request bad been put into words— *W hat does this mean ?”’ Keith's face had finshed a deep pained | red, and he even seemed agitated by what had just taker place, but for a lew minutes he kept silence. Then he came a little nearer his visitor and said in a low Vv “e “Miss Etheredve, u have accidently t toa ] would surprised a secre many consideration whate, rtp KDOWD ¢ ‘Your face looks trustw liscretion prove so?”’ “Do you mean you wish me to gay nvoib- ing of—of what I have just seen?’’ she dé manded, drawing back a little haughtily. *¥ es.”’ your "TO BE CONTINUED.) that | “It’s for John,” she said. “It’s directed tothe office, too. How caine tne stupid to leave it here, I wonder? tout 1 can pive it to bim at dinner-time.”’ In crossing the room to lay iton the man- tel, she just ylanced at the other side, Ww see where it caine froin. A word caught her eye. “What on earth ; She glanced ayain.

Good gracious ! That card to John Harding ? What Bessie read was this J a - . } t - "7 . : Migt itin England perhaps ' Be L. THOMAS, Att’y-at-Law.” Bessie caught her breath, and turned as pale as death. She fluttered and gasped a ninute—grew red,then white again, and then said—

“Louie, I'll not gy to the dreasmaker's. Don't you want to go over to Nelly Hastie’s and play a while?” Louie was delighted to do that, so having got her out of the way, Bessie flung her- self on the sofa, and cried her eyes half out. And when, two hours later, John came in whistling a lively tune, for the dinner which was always ready so promptly Bessie was still lying there, with rumpled braids and oollar, and very red eyes. “Why, Bess! are vou ill, darling ?”’ cried Jobn, hastening to her side, Bessie flung away the arin he attempted to throw round her, and flashed out— “You'd better ask, you cruel monster! You thought your sins wouldn’t find you out, did you?” “Why, Bess! Bessie! What isthe mat- ter ?’’ cried John, thunderstruck. “Oh, you know! You know well enough! burst out Bessie; “but you thought I wouldn't know! But I’ve found itout. I know all your wickedness! That stupid postinan brought the card here in- stead of to your office, so I know all about it, And—and—you' ve—j ust—about—killed me!’ and Bessie began to sob bitterly. **Bessie,’’ said Join soberly, “I declare to Heaven 1 haven't the least idea what you are talking of.”’ “Yer, you have! You are a wretch !"’ sobbed Bessie. “You—you want—to run off—with some other woman! You know youdo! And I dare say you—you've got her picked out! I'll—I'll stratch her eyes out, | will! I'll—I’ll stratch ber eyes out, Iwill! I’M—I'll pullallthe bair out of her head! I daresay it’s all false, any- how! Oh, you wretch !" ‘(700d Heavens !"’ shouted John, believe the girl has gone crazy. LBensie! Bessie! don’t vou know John ? Don’t you know your own Jobn, that loves you so much?” *Then—then—what did—you——-want—to —sue for—a divorce for ?’’ sobbed Bessie. “Divorce! Heaven! Heaven! it’s true! She is crazy, aud what shall I do?’’groaned Jobn. “I'm not crazy ! There's the card !"’ de- clared Bessie. “It's on the mantel there! Your lawver wrote it, and I got it! Read it yourself! And he—he says you can’t yet it, anyhow!” A ray of light flashed over John just then. Hie rushed to the mantel, found the card, “[ do read it—and then Bessie thought he had suddenly gone insane. He dropped ou the tloor and burst into roars and peals of laughter—he rolled over and over, until, 1 solemnly declare, there wasn’t a whole butvon left to his suspenders and he nearly grew black ‘ the face before he could speak a word, Then he said— “Oh, Bess! Bessie! haven't you been a oose ? “You silly little thing, why didn’t you tell me at first ? “Did you think | wanted a divorce from you ?”’ “Yes. What else could I think? What does that thing mean if you don’t ?” “Why, you see, I’in getting up & senga- tion story for the paper, and the heroine wants to get a divorce,and I didn’t want to inake any ludicrous blunder, so I wrote to Tom, and stated the case as I meant tw work it up, and asked hin if it would do to locate the scenes in London, and be accord- ing to law—and that’s what be says,”’ “Is that all, John ?”’ “That's all, I swear it. Why, Bessie, I believe yetyou are w# litthe crazy, or you would not have doubted your own Jobn. Dv you want to see Lhe inanuscript to Con- vince you, little woman ?”’ Bessie didn’t want to see it. But she told John next tine he got up a story, he must either tell her the plot, or else he musn’t write letters to London lawyers, and scare her to death. And you may be sure Editor John ree mver it. will ec em ep LITTLB Nations.—The little republic of Andorre is 4 inere cayie’s eyrie nesting up on the topofthe Pyrenees, It is only a stone, as it were, to inark the boundary be- tween France and Spain, This it has done for a thousand years. It contains 12,000 who people, are

said to be very primitive and moral. It is | governed by two Viguiers and twenty con- suls. Saint Marino, another dwarf = ation, is still sinaller. It consists of five sinali Villages with 10,000 inhabitants, and is sit- uated in Central Italy. San Marino dates back tothe Diocletian persecution of the fourth century, when, as the somewhat le- gendary bistory has it, 4 plous slune-cutter by the name of Marinus and @ few fellow- Christians sought escape from martyrdom by fleeing to that ionely retreat. They yradually coaxed 4 meager subsistence out of the reluctant soil, and,left to thernse! ves, developed a simple forin of governinent adapted to the nevds of the counusunity. fie present form of governinent dates froin 1547. San Marino iiustbe the paradise of offee-holders. For itsariny of 819 #ol- diers it las 131 officers, and it electa four presidents a vear. ‘The Senate is coun posed of sixty life neinbvbers, Butlthere is a still ninalier tunicipa [ situated 7 h pr } y G ‘ I rea of six ~ a 4 4 j 8 ‘ 4 si a ? ; ‘ al wis or s @ . o> 0,000 Der anniuin Irooiss Lin@ Yeatis "4 | etitutiona,. Such in brief is the status if tue three smallest nations in the world. —_>.<- <—-— — He that lacks time to wourn lacks time & mend Scientific and Useful. STatns.—Fruilt stains may be removed from linen by rubbing the spet on each side with soap, then laying on a mixture of starch in cold water, very thick; rub it weil in and expose the linen to the sun and air till the stain comes out. If not removed in three days renew the process. His Vatvr.—Political economists of England and Germany have concluded a careful series of calculations by which they estimate that the value of an unskiiled laborer, at 25 years of age, to his country is $1,200; that isthe average sum which such a person contributes during his life to Ev panty of the community in which he HARDENING Inon.—Iron may be hard- ened as follows: ‘Heat the iron to acherry red,then sprinkle on it cyanide of potassium and heat to alittle above red, then di The end of a rod that had been treated in this way could not be out with a file. Upon breaking off # piece about half an inch long it was found that the hardening had pene- trated to theinterior, upon which the file made no more impression than upen the surface. ‘The same salt may be used to casoharden wrought iron.” POINTED NAILS.—A carpenter makes a plea through the Scientific American for pointed nails, Hesays: “Can you do or gay anvthingtothe nail-makers to induce them to put « point on the nails, something like wire naila, but perbaps not quite so peaked or sharp, nur toa point. This ta, of course, more applicable to « finishing nail, but it would be of very inuch benetit for the ordinary nail; they can be stuck ifn their place with one blow, where two or more would be required with the mjuare end, drive easier and keep their di- rection better,’”’ CoPrpyino PAPER.—A perpetually damp copying-paper, always ready for use, is pre- pared by diasolving one pound ot chloride magnesium in a moderate quaatity of warin water or cold water—about one pound. When dissolved, apply this solu. tion with a brush to ordinary copying-paper (whether in book form or otherwise), or preferably by ineans of cloth pads saturated with the liquid, then place these pada be. tween any suitable number of leaves; app! pressure, at first very moderately, watt the absorption by the paper is complete; then remove the cloth pads and apply further pressure; it im then ready for, une, = ——_- 2 re... Farm and Barden. SUNFLOWER. —Plant plenty olf sunflowers, Some plant alongside a chicken run, in or- der to afford a little shade for the fowls, It is said that they purify the air and prevent fever and ague. We have seen some of the Russian mammoth sunflowers, of which it is hardly an exagyeration t say that they wereas big as the bottumof a milk pan. The seods are recommended very highly am chicken feed, California fariners raise sixty bushels of sunflower seed to the acre, and after grinding a gallon of oil from each bushel feed the refuse to the chickens and cows, SMALL FLocks.—There is no doubt that awell-kept Mock of poultry is the most profitable ofall farm stock. But a@ little flock well kept, like a little farin well tilled brings the most profit to the fariner, Just as inany as can be kept without crowding, and with ease and convenience, will be the inost profitable. Poultry will net bear crowding avy more than sheep or pigs or people, and it is well known that when any of these are Wo closely kept disease appeare and works tnischief. It is aneceassity of the caso, because cleanliness tiust be sacrificed tw necessity. THE GARDEN.—Do not think you’ must go without a flower bed unless vou can get the new things with unspeakable names. Roses, poppies, pansies and asters are as nice as they ever were, and can be yrown with but littletrouble. Have a bed of flow- ora BOL ewhere aboutthe premises, A very nice flower bed can ve made with our wild native flowers aloue. Buttercups, dande- lions, Violets, goldenrod, the clover, varrow and many other unnoticed plants will iimn- prove under proper cultivation. Then, if you want elegance and regularity of foliage what is better than a single plant of the common ragweed or Ko mau worn. wood ? SHeer.—This remedy for toot rot in sheep is said to be unfailing: Take equal parts in weight of red lead and pulverized blue vitrol; add enough nitric acid to make a thick — after paring the hoof until all diseased parts will be well exposed, appiv with paddle. Sheep should remain in house withdry floor twenty-four bours aiter be- ing treated, unless the weather is quite dry, when itismuch better w turn on «a dry, short sod; but care should be taken to prevent sheep frown crossing streawis or mud, Three applications are usua.\¥ sull- ciert How TO Keer Flowers AS A We ra ra flowers w | <j y - 6 oo aif FF | a r s*. Wa 4 es ‘ + Hw 4 spirits added to it. Put t faded flowers o a dish of scalding bret water isep enough WH cover one-tlird of the stews © put them into cool water with a sual! bit of saltpeter in it. Flowers will kee longer in dishes of wet sand than in vases of water. th Br te 4 ° WS -Baer .

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8 * THE SATURDAY EVENING POST. “ = THE SATURDAY EVENING POST. SIXTY-THIRD YEAR. SATURDAY EVENING, JUNE 14, i586. ANNOUNCEMENT EXTRAORDINARY! Great Reduction in Price! “THE SATURDAY EVENING POST” $2.00 a Year for Singio Copy; —Or,- #$1.00 a Year in Clubs of 10. NOW IS THE TIME TO RAISE CLUBS FOR THE YEAR 1834! We are pie ased to announce to our patrotis that we have reduced our Club) Rates to such a Ogure for this year as to place THE Post with- tin the reach of all. We are determined to get a very FORBEARANCE. Even the trained philosopher, in the first flush of surprise—before he bas had time for that quick search for the silver lining tothe cloud which renders him so superior to ordinary mortals in the matter of bear- ing trouble—loses his ordinary self-control and shows that some unexpected or disa- | greeable blow tells on him, and a3 he re- _ceives the taps which Fate sometimes loves to administer with the point of her finger, he cannot always conceal the fact that his ‘temper is up,"’ and the desire for ‘‘break ‘ing out’ in some shape or form rages with- in him. | And it is mostly in the reception of these | “love taps’’ that the individual peculiarities | of people show themselves. | What one will laugh at and take as 8 | Jest, another will accept in sober earnest— ‘at least, if not a matter of life and death What to one isa mole-hill, and indeed hardly that, to another is a mountain whose ascentis well-nigh impossible, and the for- mer class of beings—merry, good-tempered, jovial souls they are, ‘‘the salt of the earth,” morally speaking-—have hesitation in calling the latter queer, cranky, crazy, and no with some show of reason to their cheerful, wel) balanced minds large list of new subscribers, andin vider to do se we | will receive subscriptions at ONE DOLLAR A YEAR, N CLUBS OF TEN. And, asan inducement to send aclub, we will give 4 gtatiscopy for every clulof boat §1.G0 cach member, we will not send asligle copy for less than and in order to get the reduced rate, one must send atleast ten subbecrittions, We cannotsend @ less number for less than @1. (each. Think of it! 10 Coples of THE POST one year, with one extra for sending the Club, making Li copies, for 10,001 Those who send Clute, canatterwards add names at Gi. CO each. Webhope and trust that each of our present sub ecrifers will send aclut at the new rates A little ef- fort cannot fall tose cure one, and they will thereby be doting to themectves and friends a favor, and assist clreula of so good a paper as Tit bra raisitige the RPATUNRDAY Fvixtne Post Asto Tith Post, there are lew in this country, or any other country, whoare not familiar with it 1 tatslistert ba PSli, it ds the eldest paper of Its kind in America, and for more than hall acentury tt has been recognized as the Leadin, Literary and Family Jour- nai iunthe United States bor the coming year we hase secured the best) weiter ofthis country and Europe, jo Prose and Verse, Pact and Fietlon We trust that the 1 «mat ibocrilets whe design making up eclubs will be in the feld as carly as posst- ble, and tmiahe lary mddition te their lists, Chur pri to club su vite Vthe reduced rate are so jow that if the matter is properly eaplained, very few who desire a firs is terary paper will hesitate to subscribe atone, and suk the gelter-uyp of the club for bringing the paver to their notice, Remem- ber, the getter-up of a club of 10 gets a free copy of the paper au entire year, How to Remit. T’ost when “nt by mall should When Payment for lirik be in Money Orders, Bank Checks, or Drafts. neither is obtainalle send the money io a regp- istered letter, Every postinaster in the country is required to register letters when requested, Fall- ing to teceive the paper within a reasonable time af- ter ordering, you Will advise us of the fact, and whether you sent cash, @heck, money order, or regis- tered letter. Change «f Address. will Bubecribers deeiriag ¢ " changed, please give thelr forme , hee as well es their present address To Correspondents paper, ’ " AGdre.4 all letter TRE SATURDAY EVENING POST. jock Loa 153, Philadciphia, Pa, Office, 726 Sansom treet. But, nevertheless, the criticisms are a trifle unjust, for jolly folks, blest with that best of all yifts, the knack of taking cheer- tully whatever falls to their lot, have their own peculiarities in other ways. Parents will sometimes see traits in their children, and try to ‘‘whip it out of them,’’ as they say ; but they might as well try to stop the sea trom coming to a English Canute of these queer certain point, like the | old; one is as much nature’s vill and doing ' as the other. | | Kew | | | | | | And it is to these persistent attempts at trampling down and totally destroying what is evidently planted and meant to grow, this moral rough handling, so to speak, that many children, with the grit, nerve, and general right impulses which ought to make them good, useful members of society, owe their ultimate downfall. Most’people have one code for bringing up children; they all contorm to_ it whether it suits their temperaments or not. must It they do wrong in any shape or form, a Whipping or a scoldins, or at least a sample of that perpetual menacing and Which is the rain is their portion Yet ‘the child,’’ we are told, ‘is father tothe man,’’and everybody knows there are plenty of men who ean be led into anything ihe the earth by kindness, ballying of so many youngsters, on face ot | SANCTUM CHAT.

Ereat million envelopes is calculated as the daily production of all the factories in the United States, seven million being pro- duced by ten manufactories. Fifty-one thousand envelopes is believed to be the greatest number made by any one machine | in a single day. COMFORTABLE sepulture is one of the chief objects in the life of the British work- man, and, if he wishes to stand well with his tellows, he belongs to a burial society. In Ireland, too, the burden of lite is light- ‘ened by the prospect of a fine funeral, while | im France the greatest ambition of the pro- | and yet are the ughest-tempered, most mul- ish beings alive when anything like’ stiff backed coercion is attempted, There are children born bad, or, as a min- ister once expressed it, ‘with the devil in them ,’? but even these can be more easily And larger kindness. “children the poverned judicious kindness with even will, in by of a growth,” majority work like a charm. of cases, There are people, of course, who will not scruple to take advantage of it; generally evil-hearted they are, and sometimes com- the poor Butthey have not gone there all at once; | rather by degrees, and very likely the first j stepon the road was a “gone to dogs,’”’ souls ! pletely floveging delivered at the wrong time. which can estimated ; through lite it is the triend of not only the recipient Forbearance is something hardly be too highly but also the one who exercises it. Something invaluable when dealing with our triends—especially in) the matter of their peculiarity—-it will not often be abused when extended to our enemies ; something of which we need never be ashamed, which will always brighten the past when we look back, and, in tact, save it from being abso- lutely misernble. It is, indeed, a virtue in itselt, one which, like the greatest of all, charity, will cer- tainly ‘‘cover a multitude of sins —— A . t wea ' and = fasi able have the Vagaries Of me ins and sooth host of more or less believers. Strict literary circles are little affected, albeit the | amateur band who hover on the borders of professional authorship may count in its | started a store of his‘own, Stil, even that would involve a very im- portant alteration in the aspect of the earth in such periods of time as belong to the planet’s history. A million years would reduce the sea level by a thousand feet, and in a period of time, which cannot be reck- oned long when compared with the vast periods of which the heaven and earth speak to us,every trace of water woul] have disappeared trom the surface of the earth. ‘“‘WHITELEY'S’’ is an immense store in London, whose owner finds pleasure in de. nominating himself the ‘Universal Pro vider.”’ In early life he went through the usual routine—was clerk and salesinan, and even traveling salesman, for and succeeded from the first. Now his warehouses cover more acres than he can count, and he em- ploys five thousand men and women on the premises. There is noarticle for which he will not take an order—‘‘an ironclad, a wife ora child, itis allthe same to me, I some yeurs, | receive your order and execute it in the statistics @f the census ot 1880, are these: | | was filled. { regular course."’” A’ stury used to be cur- rent in London of a bet between two men ata club that an order could be sent to Whiteley which he would not execuf&. The order was for a second-hand coffin, and it The loser of the bet inquired of Mr. Whiteley how the coffin came to jus- tify its description as second-hand. “Sir,’’ answered the Universal Provider, ‘it was a misfit.’’ REVEALED law concerns itself with the ' thoughts and purposes of men, as well as Tue directors of the charity department | with their acts, whether secret or overt. It of the Skin and Cancer Hospital in New | forbids us wilfully to entertain any thought or intention that might be deemed crimi- nal, unlawful or improper, if reduced to practice. Its prohibition is as pronounced against malicious, mean and degrading thoughts as against acts of a corresponding nature. Andthis iseminently just and pro- per. Every time we willingly entertain any thought, or form any purpose, whether good or bad, its recurrence becomes more natural and certain. Furthermore, — tre- quent repetition in that direction Jeads al- most invariably to putting the thought or purpose into effect. Besides, many per- the work- ings of the human mind, claim that a sons who have closely observed nia- lignant or degrading thought, repeatedly en- tertained, may do as much to corrupt the eart, sear the conscience, and lower the sta if S iC i . <) ‘ | ~ re M4 { in ! in on ‘ | 4 its Vé ( egrading thoughts and criminal pur- poses. In thisand many other particulars the service rendered by religion in the economy of human life, is of the utmost im portance.

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PATIENCF.

BY A. ¥. RB. Hold thou mine hand, beloved, as we sit Within the radiance of our winter fire, Watching the dainty shadows as tuey flit On wall and ceiling, as the flames leap higher, Hold thou mine hand, beloved, with the calm Close clasp of love assured and at rest, And let the peace of home, a blessed balm, Fall on us, folding faithful breast to breast, Hold thou mine hand, beloved, while I speak Of all thy love hath done and borne for me, The stronger soul supporting still the weak, The good hand giving royally and free ; The tender heart that put man’s roughness by, To wipe weak tears from eyes too seldom dry, I touch this thing and that, the pretty gifts, The silver zone, the jewelled finger-ring, The outward symbols of a love that lifts My fate and me beyond life's buffeting. Yet, oh, thrice generous giver! there remains A thing for which L have not thanked thee yet, Thy patience—through the long years with their pains— Thy patience with my weakness and regret. Ah, let me thank thee now with falling tears, Tears of great Joy, and deep, serene content, And God be thanked that through the weary years We saw together ere our lives were blent, Although the years were desolate and long, Thy patience matched thy love, and both strong ! were —P —— | L Su ise. This was too much for that VOrUny gz tleinan, and he packed up bis inovabies and escaped. His bat was found on the shore of the river,together with a note directed to Annie and the widow, saying that he preierred his |

death to disgrace, and announcing his in- tention *to shuffle off,” ete, lis body was never found, and a year af- terwards, he was seenin the flesh, full one hundred and eighty pounds of it, along with his wife, and « pair of twin babies, So, of course, he did not die when he ex- pected to, A month or two after the squire’s exodns, Join Nugent came to the town to engage in the very striking business of putting up lightning rods, Iintnediately the widow was seized aterrible dread of lightning. She had rods put on all her buildings, the hen-house incluced. Mr. Nugent took a room at ber house. When it thundered, she flew to him for protection. He protected her. When it did not thunder, she was afraid it was going to, and sought of him conse- lation. He consoled her. There was more lightning than usual that summer, and Mr. Nugent bad bis hands full. Altogether, it wasa delightful time. Everybody was happy. August the fifth was set for the wedding. But, alas! on that day of all others, ap- peared at the widow Peusiee's front door, inquiring for Timothy Jenkins, a freckle- faced woman, wit tive children, Mrs. Peaslee tuld her that she bad not the honor o. Mr. Jenkins’ acquaintance, And she called Mr. Nuyent down to pro- tect her from the woman’s abuse, with At the tirst glimpe of hit, the woran darted forward and seized him by the arin. “Oh, Timothy, vou heartless, man you, to desert your aflectionate wite and all your interesting family of eclii- dren.”’ And then there was a fearful seene, dur ing which a ypood deal of hair changed hands, and everything was badly imixed up. Pind it all ended by Mrs. Jenkins tmarch- ing Jenkins off with a voung one on each of his Shoulders, and the others hanging to his legs! Still the Widow Penslee was a widow, Al first she thought of falling sick, like the heroines in novels, when yreat emer- yencies occur, but on second thoughts, she changed her mind, and sought) consolation in Various little proverbs, | Seraps of pvetry, also, came to relieve he: inind, | She thougnt favorably of the | production which begins—“Tf at | don’t succeed, try, try again.’’ Then she remembered the spider— }

wonderful first you **Three times the spider tried his web to fasten to the beams ‘*Three times to cross the maln had people tried befure Columbus. | **T will not vive up to spiders, Spain, or aught but | death,’ | quoth the widow courageously, and she bathed her eyes, for she had been erving a litthe, and prepared a plate of toast and jelly was rich for old Peter Pray, who and a bachelor. gut the Widow Jones was before her,suy | porting old Peter on her arin, and teeding him with mutton broth. Mrs. Peaslee was too late. She yave the toust to Jellison’s dog, smd | went home almost in despair. | But Providence tayvored her. A railroad was taid out in her vicinity. It was constructed, and brought a great Inany Strangers that wav. Mrs. Peaslee took some Sinule men, James Juniper was one ofthe. Juniper had charge of blasting operations on @ ledye of rock a little aistance off, The widow tascinated bin, and in time thev were enyaged. The day before they were to be married, a blast of powder went off without any notice, and a8 poor Juniper happened boarders—only due eiviiy at the thine to be standing directly over he went up. When Lhemade his ascent, she had two legs and two arms; when be descended, it was found that one The widew received iniin what retmalned of lit. tle lifted his powde r-blackened the signt of ler, and said, faintly | “Hannah, are vou going to yvive ine up? | Because, if you are, 1 won't lave doctors a sawing offiny Lones ; butif you'll stick to me, then let ‘ems saw.” but the widow was loyal, and James was raised up to life again, though one of his lezs is a Wooden one, aud le has only one ario With which to eimbrace Mrs. Juniper. So you see,lhal patience and perseverance always bring lorti their fruit, and whet vou feel inclined to depair, think of the Widow Peasiee, and renew your courage. Was TliIsSSIny. ler si each wl house | face at ie’s Dowry oo Ell BY JULIA GUUDARD,. * | ND then, mamma, you must marry Mr. Ka id it isa rive } ' | 4 K Iu ACG SU UGCO] “mz LAL 1s iS Luis tnoment. “Forgive ine,’’ she said, throwing her arms around her inethber. “I am sorry | | said that.

| unfeeling |

| ee + _THE SATURDAY EVENING POST.

But Mr. Raynor does seem so fond of atime when they were alone in the count you—and he must be very rich.” “Hush, Ellie, bush. Never bint at such athing again. I shall never tarry.” “Did you love my father so deariy ?” “Yes, dear. I could never love again I loved your father.”’ The girl looked ata portrait hanging upon the wail of her mother’s rooin, where they had been seated, and inwardly thought It was no marvel the face there portrayed bad won faithful, andying love, It was the face of a young man, not more than twenty-two or three, with large,frank, hazel eves, waving brown bair and regular features, A face fall of animation and power, yet giving promise also of preat tenderness and sweetness, Ellie Morton did not quite realize how her own living face mocked the still beauty of the picture, with iis ever-varying ex- pression in the saine great brown eyes and sweet sensitive mouth. Never were father and child) more like, and Mrs, Morton's eyes following Ellie's, saddened anew at the resemblance that was at onee her torture and her coinfort. But she shook off her own sadiess to say, very gently “Do you love Louis so very daughter ?"" *] do love him. “us dearly, my And T am quite sure he loves mie, ttitiea, tleotueh has never actually said so. But bis unele’s death makes hit rich, and trotw what he said last night, lan sure be wishes lo speak to you of that love, “And | mav drive it awav, Ellie!’ The girl lifted a pale face then, “Drive it away ?" she whispered, ‘There is a secret in your liie aud mine, Illie, that must be told before you inay be the wife of an honorable tian, as Louis Sajou is. “You have forgotten, if indeed you ever vwuessead it.’ “T have forgotten, What is it?” *“T cannot tell vou now. | must see about the luneheon, ButT will tell you some tine to-day.”’ sJut the day slipped by, and the seeret Was uatold, In her manifold duties, she found no hour free for the coutidence she had prom ised her daughter, till tt shadows fell. They were sitting together in the when Mr. Ravirot i With ({UISILE basket of flowers, “Pormit me," he said, “to inake atrifling gift in bonor of the day.” eeve bhbtiye parlor, Caine an Ox “T wonder how he Knew,” Elliethought, sure thatshe had not mentioned the fact thatit was ber mother’s birtuday to any- mie. Sie drew back a little, watehing the stately old tnan as be niade a deep bow and poliactesed Liver boa on the tablejand she won- lered at the flush oon her mother's face, the tresnbling of the hand that hovered over thee beemutifua bl Withastrange leelug of weight upon ber recolleeted the facts con- Raynor's coming to the VYeurs betlore, Sinee that trove polite attentions to ber tmother bad been uneeasing ; he tad evert inost delicate delerenee, iskel SMOHLLIS, mown heart, she neeted with Mr. fhovtise: TWwe his hie et “iW i bad miade beriany litthe proseuts of flowers wd) books, “fam sure he loves her, and @ tikes lim, ’’ bebiie thought, greatly puzzled, stand yet he does not ask ber to be his wile, aud she looks ready to faintil L speak ol such a thing. Wiile she still watehed these two, her own lover came in, and the four gathered tround asStiall table and entered into yeu eral Couversatlion, e But Lows Sajpou ing, aud had an abstracted air. Suddenly he satid- was pale, too, this evon- ‘Nirs. Mou laoti, Wi l youthink me iinperti nentiflask you afew questions 2?) I owill OXplaln tiv reasons alter vards,”’ “(Certainly not a vyentlhs auswer, though J saw #@ Starlied look im her mother’s eyes, ‘Dud you ever Kiow ia Lawrence Mor ton ? “f knew him well.” Her very lips were white as the words pass dd tlie. “Do you know where he can be found ?” “Jtis sixteen yours since he tJelt th place.” “True. Te may be dead. It is a curious ease, Mrs. Mortor but sines it wi BOOT be putolic LT wilitell vou why Pam anxious to find Lawrence Morton. I was called upon to-day to draw up the will of Presvon Pratt.”’ Here Mr. Ravnorturned his face froin Lhe ligghtl and leon Uppal per But Rilie, wateliny ! i, s Lihat iG tened Intemtiy, Wilts @ las laud wh 7 and Gayer eyes, “Mr, Pratt.’ s 1 Pyouis nade us a very CUTIOUsS COnless ‘ od I ‘ tay i writitnge ten thir LL ‘ een, It appe rs tial Soli . emu v rsa i vas Ness f j ‘ Vas fenough, Lut be lic ~ yave the cheque to the head ¢ rik, Ilsav f 2» M 1 he bank, seleclupy

| give back to Lawrence ing-house, “The cheque was detected as a forgery the next day, as Lawrence Morton was arrested. “tle gaveta true account of the inannerin whieh the checque came tito his possession, and Preston Pratt denied it. “It was absurd, people said, to SUP pose & partner in the firm would rob the firm, and Lawrence Morton was e@ommitted for trial,"’ Again Mrs, Morton stole a timid look’ at theold gentleman opposite her, and again the newspaper baffled her. But Ellie could see the old teeth hard set and his breath panting gasps, “But the case was never tried,"continued gentleman's coming in Louis, “forthe prisoner escaped, It was ascertained afterwards that Mrs, Morton procured the noney to bribe the warder selling ber aia and the suspected forger escaped, “But Preston Pratt lived here, frightened from his gambling propensities, working steadily ull the retirement of the senior partners gave him the entire control of the Dusinems, “He has made a mammnoth having never married, leaves portion to public charitios, “Bot he wishes this contession published, and “wreater fortune, the to remove the stain frou Lawrenee Mor. ton’s name or memory, “And he leaves ten thousand vounds With compound interest for sixteen years to Lawrenee Morton if he ean be found, or his heirs if he is dead,."’ “As it that could atone,”’ eried Mra. Mor. ton, With hereyes blazing. “Will hismoney Morton the vears he has spentin exile under the shadow of un- merited disyrace ? Will it give to his wife the tender love, tie sweet companionship she bas toissed for sixteen years ? With it bring to Lawre ce Morton's eliid the fa- ther’s love, that should lave theo tice pre- cious tnemery of her childhood, her girl hood, her maidenhood ? “Out upon such pitiful compensation, With the terror of death, Preston Pratt haa done justice tommy bhustund’s “mane. His money may go where it will—I want none og t."" “Your husband!’ * “My father Louis and Ellie spoke in one breath. “My husband and your father, said: Mra, Morton, putting ber arcs around ber daugh- ter, “My husband, »rotmaiovedin exile, till he was so aged by sorrow and suffering that even his best friends would have failed to reeoynize litth. “Your father, Ellie, who, starving at last forthe love from whieh he was thrust out by such cruel fraud, stole back under a | false namie, that he night see the wife he loved, the child who bad forgotten nim, |} though he might never reveal to them = his identity or bis aflection The words eatne trom the liyos of the ex cited Wotan with rapid force, while her pale face flashed with exeitemment, and her eyes burned like diationcds, as] promised you, Ellie, the story of iny life to-nivht, and another las told it for Ine, Dnever doubted tay Susthand'’s innoeenee, Dnever refused the namie be vave me, that twasimy pride t ear. When friends ad TL re tes trtoves froin the l mie bee had Verrn copes, toe reesebione ay widen name, | t 1 tlie that here iti hhote, bearlig id S ppatnie my husband smouled iit ' Ln) ° I waited till m heart vas sick with lope del ed ter lication | was sure y alal c@eotie ! A ritses¢ folthe weary x! > Lines slibh tas ‘ ¥ Widowhood, It lias Ane t i™ 44 ie, She wa bocvtuer ine and then rising f . r ered ui lo Lhe chair Where Mr. | is menated | ti ‘ it the floorand ‘ ‘ ¥, Was lilted ‘vhoulder, and \ 1) lime riplion AS 4 “4 Joa , i ital su could hide 5 it iii bie rose then, t iherinu a close em. ur a‘ iis ¥ trembled with emotion, as he ans rou knuew 6, ellen?) Sometines J is t “ua tL veous cbicd, bruit i would not | vou yout burden of carrviny my 5 ‘ . pieit tin anmel Separation are how over, t ‘ Iuilie ! ~ 4 Ww ed the ca tLouce, and as her i , f his iieadto Kiss er bright, s M4 ' ¥ wiance at | -Was W Liié Lie iratia f mecd - jiat i ul i wearer f 1 tid Lane t iaAVeO Lrotagelit , i . * asitiy i ‘ , a | s. i 4 et ber ‘ a > “ a Lod mt ied Law ce Merton

Page 10

IPO RRR er RO TE PEO - eee - oe “since Preston Pratt bas done me tardy | justice be his confession and his legacy, we will mot utterly refuse the latter, but it shall be bilie’s dowry.” Then, as they were once more seated, he eal “For in mv vears of exile, homesick and heartsick, thirsting for revenge and justice, ITthrew all the energy of iny youth and Strength into money-making, “Teseaped upon a sailing vessel to China, and janded there utterly friendless and penniless, “But alter months of suffering from ex- treme of poverty, | was taken inte the em- ploy of atea company, Who seon found I understood branches: of business higher than those for which Twas enywaged, and promoted me till Lhad a position of trust, and, finally a partoership. “When J was a wealthy man I sold out, and crossed the sea again, to fiud out if any here remembered me, “T was aged by suffering, and old friends passed ine by as a slranger, “But coming here tomy old home, fear. ing to find death or forgetfulness had pre- ceded tne, I found one true heart, one bear- ing still any stained name, Keeping my icture eusurined in ber own room, cher- shing every gift I had ever yiven her. “T hoped to win a place in her heart under wy assured name, lo share with her my wealth as ber second husband, *But she was not to be won seo. She waited tor my vindication, and Ww has Coie” | But in a few months there was a grand wedding, when Ellie beeame the bride of Louis Sajou, and was given to her proud, happy husband by her father, fully re- stored to lis wile, child, and friends, | -_ oe The Lesson, BY FE. LINWOOD SMITH. R. BESSEMER had been figuring dillgently for the last half-hour in bis | little memorandutm-book ; and Mrs, Hesseimer, with « pile of bright worsteds in | her lap, fromm which she was tmatehing a | slipper pattern, wondered whatever could | be so enyaying bin, “There is no ase talking Annie; we must retrench, Expenses miust be reduced,” Now, when be did speak, and so sudden- ly, and so crossly, and shut up lis little ac count-book with a siuall slam, slie looked up lnquiringly. “Our expenses are not very large George, At least LT never considered them large.” “] dare say you don't.

“You women have precious ideas of | money matters,” Just the tiniest suspicion of a quiver trembled on Awqaie’s lips; thon she siuniled | brightly at hit. “But you musto't be cross to me, George, | Thad no idea you were straitened in your business; why have you never told ine be fore?" Mr. Bessemer gave a queer, indistinet rowl, then settled back in bis chair, twirl Ing his lead peneil between thumb and floyers, “Well, I've told you now, at’ any rate, | and T'm don't mean to be cross either, “Only, Annie, Lean’t afford to spend so uch mMeney OM BO Mika y Unnecessary things as there are in our house, “T need all aboveour actual expenses in the business.”’ “DT thoucht business was wood, “Only George, | wish vou would tell me what you mean by ‘unnecessary ex- penses,’” Annie was looking very earnestly in her husband's face; and there was a puzzled ex’ pression that added to the seriousness of her pretty brown eves, Annie Bessemer vas not an extravagant woman, and she knew it perfeetly well. So, what could George mean ? lie colored a litthe under her tinv before he answered, “The truth Is, Annie, it is just sueh gim- cracks as that’’ pomnted to the pile of beautiful zephvrs she had been shading “that take all the loose money we ought vw put into business." Annie's eves suddenly filled with tears, She felt vexed with herself for so little Belf-control as to pertiit hit tosee how his words touched her, but she could not hide thei fro bite. Instead, she siniled through them, “TP intended to make a pair of tufted slip- pers for your birthday. “You admired brother Ed's so muen, end your own are worn nearly out.” She quietly began to roll up the velvet and zeplrys, Jt, “Oh, Slippers, eh?" and Annie the tmollified tone of voice, “Sinee vou've bought better use it, badn'’t vou? “It would be a wicked waste to throw it sure I

quiet scru- detected the stuff, you'd

aside.”’ Mrs) Besserner suddenly saw daylight | drifting through the previous obseurity of | ber husband's re uiarkes, ; Quick as a flash, sie decided on her mode Of action, and went on folding up the velvet. | “Perhaps you are right as to this ‘gim- | crack,’ George,’ she said, utterly disregard. | iti i s aml re bial a ‘The velve ah rge a jacket.’’ Mr, Les r lay it away With a Slight i ~ ce: Dut he wasii | Lue lla & neelf, to let her see it. “To return to the subjectof retrenche | ment, Annie; and as 1 said, these useless, | trifling ornament that are scattered from garretto kitchen of our house are partly What are Calling Up Uy income, “I declare, I fairly hate to see 'em when I come in the house. “They shall not trouble you again. “What else can I do reduce expenses, George ?" Iie imagined there was sarcasm in his wife’s tones; but scan ber as narrowly as he could, he discovered no lurking smile in eyes or lips. “Well, yes; as long as we're talking about it, J inay as well tell you I think you night manage with one girl instead of two, My mother never kept any, and she had eleven children and her husband tw do for.”’ A vision of her mother-in-law rose be- fore Annie's eves, but she forbore to coim- ment “A cook, housemaid, and mistress seem at least one too many,’’ he continued, “Couldn't you get a stout girl to dothe ‘rough?’ And I know you could cook,” “Tt shail be as you say," she murmured, “Discharge theservants yoursell, George, and send me a stout girl todo the rough.’’ Was she makiog fun of bin? For the life ot hin be couldn't tell. And then Annie went out of the room, NM | f ss « r the sul f red ‘ " six ri el andelie Annie siniled, then laughed-so merrily that -Mr. Williains joined her. “It is so funny,” sie said, “Do you know what it cost to fit u p th office—in detail ?”” Peo:

VENING POST.

For answer he handed her two bills; one for the carpet, the other for the furniture, brackets, and pictures. She saw what the amount was, then gave them back. “Mr. Bessemer bas excellent taste. J like the office exceedingly well. “Oh, what's this?”’ She spied adoor she never ,had seen be- fore, and triea to open it. Finding it fast locked, she turned to Mr. Williams. Ile blushed a little, then fumbled in his pocket for the key which he handed to Annie, “lUs pretty for only men folks, Mrs. Bessemer, but it’s very convenient.”’ Annie opened the door and saw— A little room, with one window, draped with lace curtains, looped back with blue ribbons, A marble-top wash-stand covered with a china toilet set. Biue and white mats, and on the wall, under the glass, and over the top of the stand, a blue and white wall-guard. Carpet to match the outer room covered the floor, and a rug lay before the stand. For the life of her Annie could not re- press a scream of laughter. The next ten minutes tears rushed to her eyos, “Could it be possible George wanted to practice economy and plainness at home, and the while denying bimself nothing? And then she wondered if he did not in- tend to make up for plain” bills of fare at home by delicious restaurant meals, Annie felt strangely. She was wounded to the very core. tut Annie had resolved on a lesson to ber economising busband ; and although it would be a task of weeks, she determined to ‘fight it out’? on the line she laid down, In tue end, she knew she would con- vince hum that she was right, and not ex- travagant in ‘“yimeracks.”’ It was six weeks alter this that Mr. sjusseiner expected several friends in to spend an evening, and naturally enough, he took a tour of the rooms to see how things stood, A tull biaze of light filled the room, and as be entered the door with Annie on bis arin, he stopped stark still, “Wihaton earth is the matter with that arui-chaar? “What is that big black spot on it? Pa- tience alive! look at the tete-a-tete ! “On both endsa similar place! Annie, has George been in here with bread and butter?” Iie turned severely to Annie as he spoke, “Oh, no; | don’t aliow that. 1 think it is grease frou: your hair, dear. “Tt used to be so on the tidies every Monday.” “You take it coolly. Why, woman, the furniture is ruined—ruined “Ot course itis ruined. IL knew it would be when the tidies were taken off.”’ He stared at her atmoment, then walked over to the mantel. It was marble, and in the centre were several small, dull brown spots, “What's that, I'd like to know? haps it is grease off iny hair!” Annie laughed, “Oh, no; but you made the marks lay- ing down lit cigars. Per- “There used to be a receiver, you know,.”’ “Humph! What else have I done, Mrs, Bessemer ?"" Iie tried to be crushing|v severe, but An- nie was not to be crushed, “Not much in here—-only this on the ' piano, where you have set down the lamp when | was playing for you. ‘The parafiine seems to have stained the rosewood terribly.” “T hate the piaguey lainps! I'll have | yras in here to-morrow,” “T wouldn't George, Before I took away the pair of searlet mats from the | plano, the lamp never did any hurt—unot in lour Vears, Was she quizzing him? Inwardly he shook his head at himself, “Come up stairs a iminute, George. I’ve lighted the lamp, and I want you to see how nicely the bedrooms look.”’ She took his arm, and chatted merrily as they went up, and then she led him deftly past the bureau, biting her lips as she watched bis keen eyes alight precisely | where she wanted them to. “Annie! what does this inean ?”’ Hedropped her arm, and pointed to the | stained imarbvle lop, where there were a! hundred little rings of dull, dirty hue, “Why, it must be where you’ve set down your toilet-bottles, “IT declare, see how the bottles tit the marks.” She very innocently looked face that began to take on quizziceal look. Then he went across the washstand, “Since Lam on atour of investigation. I Will see bow many marks of soapsuds | have left here. Humipl!’ Surgenough the washstand looked very Shaboy;and the wall before it was spat- tered in a thousand piaces, bottoms of the up in his 4a Curious, half- room wo the

Hie looked a moment; then half smiled. “Well, | suppose I ain to admit that wiln- cracks are Cheaper than ruined furniture— | “won ty 1 find it savest fice cs ‘ ar? - An fired off r sty so caim.y, s iTecti i : ' 4 Started col- ed fairly red—purpl hen, seeing the | auch gathering in bis wife’s eyes, and on | | her saucy lips, he collapsed suddenly. “Beaten, with imy own weapons, too! Little wife, fetch out the pretties, and lets cover up these tracks of iy foolishness; ‘

and we'll regard them as flags of triumpk for you.”’ “I was wrong, Annie, and you were right—you’re al ways right. “Your little ornamental articles were not only beautiful, but actually saved money by keeping our furniture alwaysnew. You will forgive me?” “If you will take this as a peace-offering for my having invaded your office.’’ She handed him the velvet slippers, laughingly. “You dear litthe woman,’’ he said, and tried to catch her, but she was offto redec- orate her house before her guests came. It was not Irish stew and rice pudding she gave them for dinner; nor only coftee and toast for breakfast; and the very next day Mr. Besseiner searched for and found their old cook and maid. And so Annie sits and sings and sews as happy asa bird. Well Deserved. BY F. R.

NELSON.

ARLY morning at Tunbridge. A trim little row of white villas, and as much alike as peas in a pod. Gvardens—brilliant, diminutive diagrams —stood before each, lace curtains fluttered at the windows, Though not suggestive of massive bank- accounts, there was an air of conservatisin, of quiet elegance, round these little white villas that said inuch for the social stand- ing of their initnates, A gentleman sauntering leisurely along the road paused to look up at one of the houses and laid an irresolute band on the wicket-yate. “By Jove!’ in murmured amazement, after his surprised survey, “she’s taking life quietly for an heiress! *“Rusticating in a doll’s house, if it’s woo early to call ? “Perhaps this isn’t the house. Ah, there's the servant! I'll ask her.”’ He went up the path, a good-looking, fair-haired voung fellow, faultlessiy dressed, from his immaculate linen tothe one pink pose in his button-hole, “Ah—I beg your pardon, but will you tell ine if Miss Leigh lives here?’’ The girl addressed within the low par- lor-window paused, broom in hand. She wore a blue calico dress, and her head was covered with a handkerchief, “Miss Leigh? Yes, sir.” The elegant lounger at the window drew a slight silver case from his pocket. “You will take her my card ?”’ And then he said to bieseelt— *““W hat a deuced pretty girl!” Yes, looked at a second time, she was pretty. Slim and straight as an arrow—a youth- ful, nobile face, with little, curling, red- gold rings clustering round the white fore- head, and a pair of proud, sensitive, scarlet lips. : She turned and left the room, the ecard in her hand. And Altred Randall lazily beheaded the towers within his reach, on his lips that slow, satisfied smile that said so much for his self-appreciation. “Miss Leigh begs to be excused sir. cannot see you this morning.”’ A pretty face always played havoc with Randail’s common sense. All that was lightest and most contempt- ible in the man rose to the surface at sight ot the shy, girlish face betore him. He bowed, wit a look that said more than any words— “As Ihave seen you, Miss Leigh’s cru- elty is not so keenly telt as it) might other- wise have been.”’ The girl started—a hot indignant color flaming into her cheeks. Then, repressing herself with an effort, she simply smiled. After that Alfred Randall called every day at the villa. Every day Miss bim. But as days glided into weeks he almost forgot to inquire for the lady of the house when he called. For a gentleman who had come down to Tunbridge with the deterinined resolution, the avowed intention, of marrying tie heiress of twenty thousand pounds, it was rather a change to find himself head-over- earsin love with the servant of the said lady, who probably did not possess a thous- and pence, For Alfred Randall, the fastidious, ele- gant lion of many seasons, Who just now was existingon nothing per annuin, paid quarterly, and great expectations, had lost his heart to pretty Annie Farley, Misa Leigh’s mind. “It's very strange Miss Leigh won't see mine,’’ he said to her, one day, in his most confidential mood, ‘You Know her family and mine were old friends, and I ought to have a footing here, even if no otber tellow has.” “But perhaps another murely. “Who ?” She nvdded her pretty head sagely. “Mr. Sherwin.’’ Wonder She Leigh retused to see fellow has,”’ de- “No!” amazedlv. *Yes,”’ convincing! y. He remember: now has ng met him once ortwice leaving the villa—a great, tall, brown-bearded fi Ww, W he step of a soldier, the air ofag nan *Pshbaw ! he’s not t Kind « lover Miss Leigh would faney—— “tle’s a strightforward gentleman!” flared up Annie Farley. **Halloa!l’’ catching her bands in sudden surprise. ‘Take care; I shall be jealous.” “Be jealous of Miss Leigh then.”

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST. .

‘i “Ah, that’s so. I suppose she is my des- ny. “But I love you dearly, Annie,and would a thousand times rather marry you to-inor- row——”’ “Are you sure it will be such an easy matter to win Miss Leigh?" quietly. “Well,” conceitedly, “1 guess so. You see, I've an effective, persuasive manner with your sex that works wonders. As I said before, 1 love you Annie, but you new a tellow must live up to his creed, and——”’ “The man who tells a woman he loves her, without at the same time asking her to be his wife, offers her insult!" the girl said, in a tone strange and new to him, and with a swift motion she turned and walked rap- idly away. He stood quite still and looked after the vanishing figure in the pale blue lawn. “By Jove!” he said to himself, dumb- foundered for once in his life—“by Jove!” * * e * * a Breezeless July, burning August, came and went. On one cool, mellow, delightful Sep- tember day came a note to Alfred Ran- dall. He,read it over once or twice in sheer amazement. A painted invitation, on thick, creamy paper, monogrammed in blue aud gold— an invitation to a reception at Miss Leigh’s, The chance lost at Tunbridge might be ained now. re Peas were low, and he had heard she

was good-looking to make marrying her | no sacrifice. From the hour Annie Farley had walked indignantly away from him at Tunbridge he had seen neither mistress nor maid at the villa, The door had been opened by astrange servant, who had persistently denied lim. That night, atten, his cab stopped be- fore a handsome bouse. Elegant, languid, well-dressed, Alfred Randall went into the long, brilliant rooms, into the magic of music, the fra- grance of flowers, the murmur of conver- sation. He went up to his hostess, who stood under the grand chandelier. She turned towards him—a tall, stately, gracious woman. . What a radiant vision—trailing draper- jes of blue and silver; the milk-white glim- mer of pearls; eyes bright, bewildering, blues as forget-ine-nots; proud, siuiling, scarlet lips. ““W hat—Annie Farley !”’ He staggered back in blind amazement. Out rippled Annette Farley Leigh's clear, bell-like laugh. “The sane. Cannot an heiress, especi- ally an unexpectedly-created one, dust her own parlor occasionally ? “Perhaps it was arash act, but it taught me awise lesson. Excuse me they are asking me to sing.” And as sbe turned away, on Heaton Sher- | wip’s arm, the stateliest, ioveliest woman in the room, one man felt, to its fullest ex- treme, the punishinent his conceit de- served. —————>__ 2 = -———- How He Was Won. BY RANDALL W. BAYLE.

other plans tor you, you've suited yourself, and now you may look for- ward to helping yourself,for not one penny of iny money will you get; and mind that you never bring that girl into this house,” “Father, do not be so hard. John hasn’t deceived us, for he told usa year ago that he had seen a girl he would like for his wife.”’ “Ay, and I told him then that no stuck- up, useless city girl would be welcomed by me as a daughter, and I meant it then even as J] mean now all I have said. Do you bear and understand, John?” The young man addressed specimen of the human race, stalwart figure, and a character. All through his father’s angry words he had kept silent, and now as he spoke there was a tone of pained disappointment in bis voice. “So you cast mo off, father, and conde:nu ny wife unseen ?” ; “Av,” came the answer sternly, “you've put it right.” Then the kitechen-door slammed to with aclang, and mother and son were lett nlone, The young man went over to the old lad y’s side. Her gentle face was covered with her hands, but he could see the tears trickling through her fingers. \ ELL, John, although you knew T bad was a fine with a tall face tull of

| ! He laid bis band on her grey head with | a Joving touch. ! ‘ «Do not grieve, mother,” he said. ther isangry now, but time will change that. “Fa- | | “Do not worry for me, dear, for you | know I aw amply able to care for my- self. “J don’t want father’s money, only his affection. As I’ve done not! gy to deserv ts « A KI NW aL S € wl aya It was just a year ago wher Jo \ drews, with his father’s consent, bad i the tarin t& take a situation in the nelyhbor ing city, that he bad first met Miss W ither- ington. Their acquaintance had rapidly ripened | into friendship, and then into love, and the | two young people bad become betrothed. | Miss Witherington was a school-teacher, and the support of an aged motirer, whose sudden death two weeks before our story opened had hastened the marriage. John knew weil his father's aversion to what he called a “city girl,” and, wishing to avoid remonstrance, and relying on his love for bim for future pardon, had decided not to inform him of bis tnarriage until it should be an established fact. -His betrothed, lonely, and full of grief | for her loss, had been only too glad to fly to his outstretched arms for the comfort she so needed. But Jobn had foand his father more im- placable than he had expected, and the result of his first visit home after his mar- riage we bave seen. A year went by. Jobn's salary was but a moderate one; but within their tiny bome, where love and content were the chiet elements, the young | people were as happy as inortals seldom are beneath the stars, One thing alone cast a shadow upon their sunshine, That John felt keenly the estrangement between himselfand his father his wife could easily see, and the thought that it was through her that it had been brought about was an unbappy one. In the ineantime things at the Andrews Farm had not gone on quite as smoothly as | usual, It had not been very long before the old farmer had repented his barsh words, and would willingly have bad thei unsaid ; but his pride had kept bin from acknow- ledging that such was the fact, even though he saw his dear wile’s face dally growing sadder and sadder, and knew the reason. But at length an anxious titne come, in Which all eise was swallowed up in the fear of the calamity which each toiment seemed to be bringing nearer.

The mistress of the farm—the gentle, tender being whom every one loved—was lying stricken down by a grave illness, Thus it happened that one week's issue of the Village Cronicle contained the fol lowing sdvertisement— “WANTED.—At the Andrews Farm, a capable young woman, to care for an in- | valid, and superintend the household.” . * * * * Tt was a hard and protracted struggle,but | in the end life conquered, and Mrs. An- drews was pronounced out of danger. “You may thank Mrs, Shirley quite as much as iny skill for your wife's recovery,”’ Dr. Powers, the village physician, said, as with tears rolling down his weather-beaten cheeks, the old farimer grasped his hand | and tried to ulter his gratitude. And it was true, for if ever there was | bern a nurse, it was the voung woman,with her soft, sweet voice, noiseless footfall, and deft, tender fingers, Who had come in an- swerto the advertisement which in his strait Mr. Andrews lad caused to be in- serted in the paper. But the weeks of convalescence = had flown by, and the young stranger, who bad fitted herself so naturally into the boine ways that it seemed as if her stay had been years instead of only 4 couple of months, announced her thoughts of departure. “Do not go yet, Mrs. Shirley; I cannot spare you,” the old lady pleaded, And much to his wife's surprise, who had never known ber husband to be one prone to sudden fancies. “Do not go at supplemented, ; “This old house needs liventpg up, 1 feel that we owe to you nore than money Can repay. “Remain with us as our young friend,our | daughter, if you will, and jet our affection prove to you our yratitude.’’ An expression of deep feeling passed over the youny face, as, rising, she clasped the old lady's hand within her own, “What you ask, wiy kind frends, possible, ’ she said soltiv,**for I have which prevent. T have seen that you have looked upon me as a widow, Mr. An- drews,”’ she continued, “and |} have not be. tore corrected you ; burt T will mow. My mourning dress is for my mother, who died but a short while My husband is liv- ing, and it isto biin that Tomust) return.” Mr. Andrews’ tone showed the surprise he felt, as he exclaimed “Your husband is living, and yet vou an- | swered iy advertisement ?” | A flush, seeminglv of embarrassment, overspread the fair features before his gaze, and noticing it, Mrs. Andrews hastened to | interlere— | “Of course, my dear, now that we know | that you have other ties, we cannot urge our request, although, thinking vou alone inthe world, I had set my heart upon keeping you with ine, and am deeply dis- appointed,” A week later, with tearful eves, Mrs. An- all,” Farmer Andrews | ur =? is im- duties avo. | drews pressed her yo@oy nurse’s hand in farewe)l. A mouth went by, and one day a letter eame to Mr. Andrews frou: his son. It was like the writer, mmaniy and to the point. “J am too bappy toever repent the step I took in marrving,’’ he said, “but J knowledge that It w Vroom ith tase pet to have lirst if I 4 i ! P 16 18S a Weeu 1 fa 43 4 j Farmer Andrews had poesessed his full share of it, but it had been pruned out of his beart forever by thesicklie of the grim

reaper, who, passing over bis home, had so nearly snatched from him his dearest and best-beloved. It is afternoon, the farm sitting-room is a marvel of shining cleanliness and com- tort. A cheery tire is burning in the grate, and flowers fill the old-lashioued vases upon the tuantel. The sole occupants of the room are Farmer Andrews and his wife, and there is an evident air of expectancy in their bearing. wnuch than “IT wonder if she sees anything nicer than this in the town ?"' the old says, as he looks around his pleasant | domain. By which speech it is plain that there still lingers in bis mind that prejudice against city waysand citv-bred people which a life spent wholly amid rurul sceves and pursuits has fostered, But that prejudice is destined to be left at rest forever. A ring comes upon the bell, the door opens, and there enters two figures, one— yes, both-—tamiliar. “Father, mother, forgive us our decep- tion,”’ cries John's voice. “This is Mrs. Shirley, my wife—you wished her fora daughter, and Fate has been kind and given her to you for one,”’ Such a scene as ensues, peu cannot do it justice. *But how came you, a city girl, to know ' sO much about farm life?’ the old tnan asks in a puzzled tone, when time has calined a little the ayitation caused by the re-unlionp and the surprise, Shirley siniles. “LT lived apou a farin until TL was nine- teen—until my father died,” she explains, If he were to be asked, Fariner Andrews could hardly say now that the old home- stead needs “livening up,’ tor it is) voeal each moment with the miusie of more than |} one merry voice, and John’s and Shirley's boy's and girls are never better pleased than when their grandfather tells to them the storv—-which he relates with the utiost veracity, in no Wise sparing hituselt of how he was won in spite of himself. - —_ - MAKING PosTAGE STAMPs, — Some things are so cotton tial lew apprehehend the ingenufty and labor required to tnake theo. Postage stainps for instance, are in every body's tmouth, except the wise ones, who use a wel sponge, but searcely any one knows how they are manulactured. In printiog them stecl plates are used, on which two hundred stauips are graved. Two men are kept bard at work covering thems with the ored inks, and passing them toaman and girl, who are equally busv at printing them with large rolling hand-presses, Alter the small sheets of paper upon which the two hundred) statumps are on- graved have dried enough they are sent into apother room and gummed, The gui used isa peculiar composition, madeof the powder of dried veyetables mixed with water, which is better than any other taterial, for instance gums arabic, which cracks the paper badly. The paper 18 also ‘al a perfect texture, somewhat Similar to that used for bank- notes, this time MLOalhe After having been again dried, on little racks, which are fanned by power, for aboutan hour, they are put be- tween Sheets of pasteboard and pressed ty hvdraul.e of applying a Weight of two thousand pounds, The next thing cut the sheets in halt; each Sheet When cul, con tains a hundred stanips. Thisis done by a girl, with a large pair of shears, cutting by band being preterred to that of machinery, which method would destroy to many stanips. They are then passed presses, Cay able IS LO Ol course, to other squads, who, in as many operations, perforate the Sheets between ti Sliatsipes. Next they are pressed once more, and then packed and labeled ar d stowed away In another roowui, preparatory to being put in maail-bays for dispatehing to fill orders, If asingle stamp istorn, or inany way tnu tilated, the whole sheet of one hundred is burned, About five hundred thousand are burned | every week trom lis cause, — - -_> In Texas when a tian wishes to cut an acguaintanes, his procedure ts simple. Ile uses a bowle Kuile. > = Warning symptoms, Don’t nevlect these, It yon have syinptorms of Consumption, Catarch, Bron. ehitis, Neuralgia, or tho indications of any other disease whieh tay keep its hold pon you unt it beeomes @ehronie, do not neglect the warning indications, Meet the enemy upon the very threstold, and while ‘ur Vitality is veo un mired. Ef vous regular pliysican fails to reach the « A then we advis mto ivthe new Vitaliz ing ‘Tre Drs. Starkey & Palen, 1109 Gsirard Hh, belprh It ! ind an oa > ("LEAN up your beaek vards and heave ir old totuate cans over the fenee. Be kind to your nelgtibor —_>_ - —_ Important. Philadelphiansarriviog in New York via ( ‘a | . yf Otte \ ] vu a . nd f {> ra 4 i i ~ ‘ ral ! r ’ a ‘ ’ r oe money att ’ im at any otier lrst a™ \ }

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13 (Dur Uoung Folks. PRINCE CHARLIE. BY F. KR. NELSON, 70, I can't Prince Charlie, uncle,” “Can't Ly us, Pattie, with resigning, because hold or keep.” “Bat he's mine, can’t be sold.” The sinail, passionate face of the speaker was raised ty Mr. Lee's. So many years lay between themn—he sixty, and she nine; the elder looked down pitvingly at the younger; he did not an- swer her directly, only sighed, “J can’t let bins go. Must he be sold, uncle?” asked the wilful littie voice, breaaing Silence. “Yea, doar, he must; that is according to ‘All the give up jan't the word to be used regard to giving upor nanght is really ours to the pony'’s mine; he the letter of your tather’s will mnovabies to be sold, the house let or wold.’ The child made noanswer to this, but stole away, with flushing cheeks, a suall dark-robed shadow of ayirl, unlike whata damsee! of nine should be. Perbaps ber dear dead tather had spoiled her by the very excess of his love-—lis wee dark-browed Pattie, who was given to lim just before her imamima died and went away to heaven. Ah, wall! she and her tall elder sister, Mabel had been verv happy al through those nine golden vears which followed, Now he—ber papa--was dead and gone, and bad willed that even Prince Cheriie was to be sold from ber. Poor little sore-hearted uite, she knew not yetofthat long letter ber father tad written to Uncle Puil--bis uncle and hers— telling of his doubts and fears with ceyard to his darling. Dving eves are very clear-sighted, and he saw, when too late, where he bad fallen in traning bis little daughter, She was proud, self-witled, and caprici- ous—"Deal with her gently but firaily, Unele Phil, and may you and Aunt Jo be blessed,’ said that last wisttul letter. Yous, Pattie was to go and inake her home with the elderly brother and mister, living at « farin in Soimersetshire. Their wee grand-niece would be very happy with them, while Mabel was away in Germany, learning to be independent, and perfecting hersel! in the Gertuian lan- guage. The house was topsy-turvy, as said, for to-morrow was the sale-day. Unele Phil was very thoughttal for the coufort of the two orphan gris; he would spare them the pain of seeing the house- bold treasures scattered, “Go clear away to Aunt Jo the first thing in the morning, wy dears; nothing like early morning for a tinal loave-taking,” said he in his cheery way. So, on the tmorrow, when peeping over the hills, the aatir, and going to the eld familiar orchard, to say “good-bye to Prince Charlie. Aud Pattie gave iin a last dainty mouth- ful of herbage. “Do you think he knows ashe asked in a choking voice. nurse the sun Was sisters were all Mabel?" “Yes, dear I think he does,"’ was the reply. And ore would have thought he did, looking into his mild, sorrowful eves, and also that he understood why that ticket was fastened to his head, the sight of which made bis little miistress’s heart so heavy, “Is it ‘When shall we meet again?’ It was Harry Freshiey who spoke-—a romp- ing, len-years old friend of Pattio’s, his saucy face, which peered over alow hedye atthem,all aglow with golden sunshine, “Well good-bye, old lady.” They saw bin dash the tears from his eyes, and yo seudding away——dear, good, kindly, teasing Harryv--this was his) bovish farewell. Then the last kiss was given to Prince Charlie, and they left: him standing in the orebard among tbe sunbeatns, Now Unele Phil was lifting Pattie into the vebicle which was to take thei to the Station; the nurse was to see them salely under Aunt Jo's care. It was very dreary, going out thus from bome inthe early morning to an untried home, “Well, some folks have no Uncle Phil and Aunt Jo te go to, Miss Pattie; think of that,’ sald good old nurse, and the words rang in the child's ears all through the Jong Journey, the clatter of the train, as it whirted along, repeating them over and over; apd anon it was oo dream or delu- Bion, all this change, but a living reality; for they were with their Aunt Jo, standing with ber on her own doorstep. “So heres uiv little chicken come home to roost,”’--this was that ladys greeting, potrimand oeat in her black silk dress and Spotless Cap. “No, Pun no chicken, Aunt Jo, and you mustyu't say ] am; isn't nice of you," said the perverse obild lottily. “Hoity toitv! is it a princess Brother Phil hb us BOUL Ine? wie \ } with a Comical lvok at ti ’ - oN na’ all : red. Sp» bit iu © , for the sake of Cle ica , inadall whisper, grie see Lhe poul on her darlings pretty iips. “Yes!forthe sake the living and the dead,’ Tears were in Aunt Jo’s eyes as her kindly hand stroked Pattie’s travel-staiued chees. | fulness, set ter She made no reply bat allowed Mabel to lead her in, and ere she slept she found | out Aunt Jo would be some one to love, cling to, and grow very fond of. The trial of parting with Mabel and nurse over, and Uncle Phil at bore, the little girl roamed and wandered at own sweet will about the pleasant neigh- borhood, Sometime she craved for the dear old bome, and wondered with a pang what was the fate of Prince Charlie. She only spoke of bit once, “Tt was ervel of papa totell you to sell Prinee Charlie.” aie said in her petulant, unthinking way. “Child, would you speak hard words of the dead?" he answered; at which she sobbed till her very beurt seemed breaking, and yet grieved ber good uucie the next hour with ber wiltulness, “The chila’s temper wants curbing; she is very like a tangled weed,” he remarked to his sister; and not many days after the curbing-liine came, “Don't go near the Ladv’s Pool, little iaid, and whatever you do, don’t stand on the bridge and jean over,”’ was bis kindly coummand, one moroing, meeting her coiu- ing from the way of the woods, The Lady's Pool lay in these same woods, adark., dangerous pool of water, fathoins deep—"botto niess,’’ said the villaygers—a hapless lady was once said to have found herend there; an “uneanny’’ spot under the shadow ol overhanging Lrees, “Why not, uncle?” asked Pattie, “The spot had an ill name, and erous. Strange to sav, Pattie, in all ber wander- ings, bad never lighted on the pool; now a child's curiosity, proumpted by her usual wil longing to see and kuow to ber uncle is dang- | for herself what this forbidaen danger was like, soto speak, and chance, if we may use the word, led her close to it, all un- Wittinglyv, but a day or two after. Ou lit was a dark, gurgling pool, flowing away soinewhere underneath the pround; and she shivered and shook as her light tripping feet brought ber to its brink. Yes, and there was a bridge, with one high protecting rail. Ah, Pattie, look long at but the fairy day- her | dear, but I think I was acting out your father’s wish in withholding bitm. “Curb ber little inpatient heart,’ he said |ina ‘song letter to me, which you shall some dav read; ‘better the pain and loss now than in the vears to come.’ “And when I heard that word ‘can’t’ spoken about giving up the pony, I thought, that was where in curbing :uust begin; he who can’t give up with a good | grace isn't worthy to hold. | “And so, ands so——"'Uncle Phil's voice Was wusky. “Unele, am I worthy now?" asked the child, ‘Learning, dearie; no human being has | ever been rightly worthy to have and to hold save Hitn who said so submissively, | ‘Not iny wili, but Thine, be done.’’’ | And so it wes that, afer many days, Pattie and Priuce Charlie found each other again. Sr 2 THE BIRTHDAY GIFT. BY BANDALL W. BAYLE. LOSS Y was seven years old that morn- ing, and ber birthday gift was a coral necklace with a diamond clasp. A pretty trifle and a costly, tor Blossy's father was a rich mnan, Mounted on the cushion of a velvet chair, the dainty little lady surveyed herself in the great pler inirror, clasping and unclasp- ing the necklace about her dimpled neck with all achild’s delight over the posses- sion of a new toy. The voice of the footiman from the hall at- tracted her attention, “No, sir,”’ he was saying emphatically, ‘nothing bere for beggars. Take yourself og," “Tui nota beggar,’’ replied a plaintive vorer, “| never begged before in my life; but | ny mother’s so sick, and the baby is freez light, take a fall breath of the swet tlower- | scented air. Hiow can you slight the kindly bidding, given so short a time ago? Hersmall, dark face put on its defiant expression; trip, trip, she was on. the bridge, the glooury, swirling waters, with their inysterious Out-going, beneath her feet. Al! she was leaning over, daring her uncle's command, “Back, little one!’ cried a boyish voice, somewhere among the tangle of trees and underwood, Did the voice startle head turn dizzy ? A screain rings out, she is stooping over ! her, or did her there! there! she is in the dark mystery | below! The youth springs to the rescue, Will be save ber, and how ? The calm blue heavens look down be- tween the trees, The lad is holding to the bridge with one hand, hanging over the abyss—it is a miuir- acle of daring. Onee she rises, she is stunned; he but thinks her head struck a projecting stone, | he sees her diuntv: he lands her on Butas she thus rises he grasps ber by the hair; the bridge! Woodinen come rushing up, gaided by that ringing scream. They bear her away, not to Aunt Jo's r her young preserver’s tender care, but to home hard by—a quaint, many-gabled Oliver's gerand- Inansion where young mother, Mrs. Ravinond, a white-taired lady leaning on a stick, receives them, and aoa elderly gentleman, his uncle, sends for a doctor, Oliver himself sped awavto Aunt Jo, and all the lony afternoon and night Patuie lay stunned, bewildered, in astrange roo, strangers about her, and Aunt Jo despair ing Of ber lite. Then delirium set in; her head was sadly injured; some sakl young Oliver had saved her for grow subinissive and wise. A little pale-faced nite, with shorn head, | she sits at lastin the shady bay-window otf ber chamber at Ravinond Hall, Unele Phil and Aunt Jo both beside her. They have dressed her in a new riding habit of blue eloth, and a litthe blue turtun hat lies ona chair near, ready tor her to put on. And Prince Chariie stands, lamb, by the portico iny his sleek sides, They can hear the pony's Stamp, stamp, like a call to his little bin onee mnore, ‘Child, there was once One who iad said right lovaily, ‘Not My will, but Thine be, done.’ “Have you learnt to say it, this weary tine of sullering? Phil, gravely. wentle asa below, Oliver strok- Pattie, in all asked Unele ‘Yes, uncie, I think I have. Have |] Aunt Jo? It was a wistful little face upraised firs t mie, Lise { | en lear y 1 ar ma wasthe reply; ‘] Ves tue way vou bay borne Vo ‘ “Hark! that’s Oliver calling, said Pa | tie, her pale face flushing. “And Prince Charlie's waiting, b- } served her uncle. “But, first, 1 inust clear up the mystery. I bought ip Prince Charlie tor you, my | nye-_— “No tmatter—they all tell that tale—be off!” cried the aristocratic footmman, and the hall door closed with a bang. Blossy hopped from her perch likea sparrow, and was atthe front window ina breath, pressing ber rosy face and golden curls against the plate-glass, It was snowing, and a bitter wind was blowing, and down below on the tuarble steps a little boy stood, sobbing as if his heart would break. Islossv could just see him through the glass, and her sapphire eyes dilated with childish wonder. She dropped her pretty corals, and tug- ged with allthe imight of ber two arins at the heavy sash. Up it went at whirling in, alimost breath. But Blossy did not mind the snow. She faced it bravely, and leaning out, peered down at the little wanderer below. ‘Little boy what’s the matter?” The child, shivering in his threadbaro garments, and dreading to go forth into the last, and the snow caine taking away her the sound of the little bird-like voice, Looking up, framed like a rare picture in the lofty window of the grand mansion, he saw Blossy’s rosy face and flossy curls, naught—that she must dic. | But no poor litthe Pattie was to live, and | LnIStress to Come to | ‘Little boy,”’ she cried again, **what do you want?) What makes you ery?” “Tam hungry, and iny inother’s sick, and we've no money to buy anything to eat, and the baby’s freezing, ‘cause we've | yot no fire,”’sobbed the little boy. Blossy’s pearl-white brow contracted in a thoughtful brown. What could she suflerer ? Her child heart was tenderly com passion- ate, It papa were only at home. Bat be was not, and Blossy’s lady moth- er, lounging in ber elegant boudoir, with a French romance in her hand, was not the wotln to take an interest in a beyyar. Blossy'’s childish instinct told her this; she had no idea of applying to maiina, Adin thought of makinga raid on the pantry filled her curly head, and with an eniphatic— “You wait little boy,”’ down from the window, The coral necklace, on the Turkish rug, | attracted ber attention. | She caught it up with a ery of childish devegbt, and flew back to the window. | ‘Here, litthe boy,” she cried, “this is my | birthday gift, aud papa said it cost ever and everso much;do you run and sell it back, and you'll get money, and then your mother won't starve, aud your little baby won't freeze.”’ i And down through the white, whirling snow flashed the jewelled necklace, and fell tinkling on the marbie steps at the bov's feet. He picked it up bewildered way t do to relieve the little she bounded and raised his eyesina tye swoet face above s tithe. “Ran said,’’ Blossy, “run, I say, | and sell it back, aud buy BOlnetLIng jor your mother. “You may bave it, and I know papa won't inind.”’ Phe little bov be! Ww, not know ng what else to do, closed his cold, brown fingers over the costly trinket, and ran botme with ye. | MI ej ile merchant s Stine: is iinner was ver, and be sat in s raw y-rooin, With eevenling paper before : iis wife, in satin and jewels, reclined ipon a silken divan,. | Blossy came tip-toeing down nursery, and put ner suniy head door. 5 “Papa, may I come in?” from the in at the winter storm, started up in amazement at “Yes, yes, pet,” replied the merchant, “I've been expecting you this last half hour.” “No,” interposed the mother, from her divan. *Blomsy’s in disgrace. What do you sup. pose she did rey iny dear? “She gave that lovely necklace to a beg- gar—dropped it from the window to a common street beggar! She’s enough to drive one insane.” “OL I don’t mind. You are a good, gen- erous little girl,’ exclaimed her father, kissing her tear-wet cheeks, “and papa loves you for it, and will buy you another necklace.”’ ° The indignant lady went rushing from the room, and at the same instant a ser- vant appeared in the opposite direction. “I beg your pardon, sir, but theresa lad out here who will insist on seeing you. I've done any best, but he declares it's im- portant, and won't go.” “Show him in,” commanded the mer- chant. And in a breath a little boy entered, his well-worn hat in his hand. “T’ve come sir,’”’ he began at once, his brown eyes clear and fearless, and extend- ing alittle parcel to the merchant is he spoke, “to return this, and to beg you not to think hard of me, The little yvirl there,” his fine eves lighting as they rested on Blossy, still on her father’s knee, “threw it down to ine this morning.” Blossy nade a swilt clutch at the pack- age, as she slid from her father’s knee. “Wait Blossy,”’ interposed ler father. “You shall keep your pretty necklace, and we’ll give your little friend something more available. **Here, give him this,”’ He drew out his purse, aud took trom it some gold, which Blossy pounced upon eagerly, and put in the boy's hand. “T thank you, sir,’’ he said; it will bea fortune to my poor mother. But he added, hesitatingly, “I’m not a beggar—only I couldn’t see her and the baby suffer so. If you would let me work—if there was any- think I could do. “I’m a handy boy, sir, if I do say it my- self.’’ The ened. “So you would like to work for it, would you?” he said. “Very well; come to my place of busi- ness to-morrow morning, and we'll see. Here’s uy card.”’ “All right, sir—and a thousand thanks tu you and the little girl too.”’ Twenty vears after that wintry evening, a great financial failure shook the commer- cial world, and some of the bestgfirma top- pled and weut over. merchant’s keen grey eyes soft * * * e o * With the rest wasthe great firm owned by Blossy’s father, . Her mother had died a year or two pre- vious, and Blossv alone was left to comfors and support her invalid father. A rare and radiant maiden was little Blossy—the sweet bud had bloomed into # peerless flower, She let them all , Pg her pretty, girl- ish ornaments—and the old coral necklace, with the diamond clasp, was among them. She went down to the seaside with her poor father, but the salt winds did not in- vigorate him. He sank perceptibly day by day, and one sultry suimimer night found him dying.. Blossy sat by his bedside in the little cottage. A tap at the door interrupted them, anid Blossy, upes opening it, faced a tall anid handsome gentleman. “T must beg your pardon, Miss Ross, for this untimely intrusion. You have for. gotten me, no doubt, but your father, my oldest, iny best friend——” Blossy uttered a sudden cry, and put out both her hands, “T know you now,” she cried, and psp has talked of vou so incessantly. “I au so glad vou have coine,” She led him to the bedside. The old merehant looked up, and_ his dim eyes lit with joy. “Why, Howard, my boy,” he exclaiined, “have you come ?—and at the very hour o! my need,.”’ The young man sat down, and took his old friend's hand in both his own, It required but a few words to tell his Btory. From the position of errand boy in the great city warehouse he had gone straigiit up, and now he was the junior member of, a wealthy firm, just returned from Cal- cutta, Arriving in London, he had heard of his old benefactor’s misfortunes, and bad lost no tine in following him. But be found hitn befond all mortal help. “My days are number,” said the old merchant, solemnly. “Tam willing to go, only for Blossy— who will care for her ?”’ : y a young man's bronzed cheeks flush- ed. Blossy was weeping with her face hid- den in the pillows, but at her father’s cal! she put out her hand. he young inan grasped it and drew her nis TPOosorn, Phat night Mr. Ross died, and one vear ‘fterwards saw Blossy the happy wile of Howard. o> ee _A YOUNG nan sent fifty cents to a New York advertiser to learn “How to make and was advised to gluea lar greenback ww, the bottom of his money famt,’’ tive dol | trunk,

Page 13

AWAKENING.

Ithink I conld do without vou, Perhaps, while the sky is fair ; And the infinite smile of summer Glows in the golden air. When earth with its myriad whispers Breathes in the ear of day The secret of that great glory That awaits her far away. For, indeed, there are fairer faces That shine mere bright In the sun ; And voices whose tone, it may be, More smoothly and sweetly run, Aud when over vale and meacow Peace like a mantle fows— Who dreams of the distant battle? Who dove bts the heart of the rose? But when toa night of sorrow Rises a day of scorn ; When out of the smile comes treason, And out of the rose a thorn ; When the soul fs sick with thinking Of the plots and wiles of men, Of life and life’s long travail— Could 1 do without you then ? O, heart ! more true and tender, Than ever was heart before ; O, band! whose faithful clasping Holds fast forever more : O, sweet, pure soul ! unchanging Through doubt, and love, and pain, Shall I, so slow to know you, Now know at last in vain? Behold [ come and whisper, Weary, and bruised, and hurt; I plead for grace, not honor, For mercy, not desert. Will you stretch your hand and lift me Out of my own unworth ? For I know I can do withvut you Never again on earth ! —_ cc <—— —_ GAMBLING OF OLD.

HE Cocoa Tree club in St. James’ street had its origin in a Tory choco late house ot Queen Anne’s days, and assumed the higher form of a clubin 1746. Members of parliament and persons high in life belonged to this club, which, it) used to be said, exercised a very important in- fluence on the course of politics. ; Inthose days members of parliament were not always above taking « bribe, and many of the Cocoa Tree gentlemen were only too easily induced to accept bank notes tor two or threehundred pounds each when the ministry, hard pushed, were obliged to resort to such a device to obtain support ; and the peace of Fountainebleau ts alleged to have cost the government in this way, $25,000. yambling also went on to a tearful ex- tent at the Cocoa Tree. Horace Walpole relates, in 1780, that a Mr. O’Birne, an Irishman, won $100,000 from a young Mr. Harvey, ‘‘You can never pay me,”’ said O’Birne. “I can,’’ replied the young fellow, ‘‘my estate will sell forthe amount ”’ “No,” said the Irishman, ‘‘I will take $10,000, and we will throw tor the odd ninety.” They did, and Harvey won. At most of the fashionable clubs of the Jast century gambling was carried on in the most reck- less manner. In the club book of Almack’s there is this note : “Mr. Flynne, having won only 12,000 guineas during the last two months, retired in disgust March 21, 1772." To lose $20,000 in one evening was not unusual. Generally, $10,000 in specie lay on the table. A curious account is given of the way these desperate gamblers used to’equip themselves for the sport. They took off their embroidered coats, put on frieze garments, protected their lace ruffles with pieces of leather, shaded their eyes with broad brimmed straw hats adorn- ed with flowers and ribbons, and wore marks ‘‘to conceal their emotions!’ That suicide was not an unfrequent result of such high plays can hardly be wondered at. Lord Mountford, a member of White's, where the gambling was fearful, got so ter- ribly involved that he determined to ask for a government appointment, and, failing that, to take his own life. He did fail, and after asking several per sons what was the easiest mode of dying invited some friends to dinner on New Year’s day, having supped the evening be fore at White’s, where he played at whist until one o’clock in the morning A fellow member to his eves In the morning he it fora lawyer and three witnesses, made his will with great deliberation, and then asked the lawyer if it | would stand good though he were to shoot himself.

_THE SATURDAY

hs

EVENING POST.

The answer being yes he said, “Pray stay while I step into the next room,” and then, retiring, shot himself dead. Captain Gronow relates that, about this time. Lord Robert Spencer and General Fitz patrick were allowed to kgep a faro bank at Brookes’s, and that the former bagyed, as his share of the proceeds, $100,000; after which he neveragain gambled. George Harley Drummond, the banker, only played once on his life, when he lost $20,000 to Brummell, and was obliged to retire from the firm. In the first half of the eighteenth century ladies of title kept gambling houses. An entry in the journals of the House of Lords dated Apri] 29, 1745, shows that Ladies Mornington and Cassilis claimed privilege of peerage in resisting certain peace officers in doing their duty, “in suppressing the public gambling houseskept by the said ladies ;’ but the claim was not allowed. Betting, also, was indulged in at the clubs with as much frantic zest as play. Anything served as an excuse, and some- times the occasion of the bets were so shocking that men of less decency would have shrunk from associating them with any form of amusement. A man dropped down at the door ot White’s, and was carried into the house ; immediately the betting harpies were stak ing large sums on the question whether he was dead or not. When it was proposed to bleed him, those who had taken odds that life was extinct protested against such a course, on the ground that it would affect the fairness of the bet. Oo ee brains of told.

There is more vanity and capricein taste than in intelligence, Let us learn upon earth those things which call us to Heaven, Jealousy is the sentiment of poverty, but envy is the instinet of theft, Peace is such a precious jewel that one would give anything for it but truth, To count but few things necessary is the foundation of many virtues, Enjoy your own life without comparing it with that of another. A slip of the foot may be soon recovered, but that of the tongue perhaps never, Gratitude and hope should make us faith- ful and fruitful. Goodness overacted can only secure very transient regard, Beware of the manor woman who as sumes perfection, F De billy -goat gits in his hardes’ licks when he look like he gwine to back out of a fight. De buggy whipcant make up for light feed in de horse trough, As the world makes real progress, less homage will be paid to so-called-genius and more to moral goodness Speaking truth is like writing fair, and comes only by practice ; it is less a matter of will than of habit. Self-denial is the most exalted pleasure, and the conquest of evil habite the most glorious triumph. and wit, impertinence ; virtue itself looks like weak- ness. Good-temper is the philosophy of the heart, a gem in the treasury within, whose rays are reflected on all outward objects. One of the strongest reasons why certain persons profess to hate the Bible, ts that the Bible haves what they are doing all the time Those who are most weary of life, and yet are most most unwilling to dic are such who have lived to nu purpose, who have ratier Ureathed than lived, Beware of quarrels. ‘They are often rais- ed about the merest trifles ; and yet, when once be- brought to a friendly conclusion. Never speak evil of another while under the influence of envy and malevolence, but wait till your spirits are couled duwf, and vou may better Judge whether to uller or suppress the mat- ter.

Whatever the world may say, there are some mortal sorrows and ‘ awa’ Les thr gh our i] tha thr y r tear Notl \ f " g equity be than seve . It is not the flower has fallen off that the fruit begins toripen. Sointlife it ls when the rvu- mance is past that the usefulness be- gins. practical

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Without discretion, learning is pedantry, | gun, are with the greatest d.fMfculty imaginable

_ Femininities. An art exhibition—a maiden flirting. Boston girls are organizing walking clubs. A bachelor is a man who has lost the op- portunityof making a woman miserable,''so says a probable old maid. The young lady from Vassar does not speak of aclammy sweat, but of a bivaivular tran- spiration, No man can obey two masters, but fre- quently be has to obey both his wife and his mother- in-law. ‘‘A Wife's Greatest Trial’ is the title of anew book. We have not read it, bus suspect that it is her husband, Handpainted bonnets with parasols to match will be much worn at watering-places, Hand- painted complexions will be worn as usual, A Japanese woman dresses her hair only once infourdays. This gives the rest of the family an occasinal glance at the mirror. “Tf angels ever condescend to walk the earth itis when clad in the form of good mothers, ** says an eminent writer. Marriages in Germa.y are rapidly dimin- ishing in number, Increasing luxury in waye of liv- ing and Inereasing Ii-health of women are said to be the chief reasons,

In the Paris Bon Marche, where 2000 per- sous are sald to be employed, cach girl has a room to herself, There is also a drawing room, with plane, ete, Now is the time when the small boy in the country comes into the house with hishair all wet and tells his mother that he ran home from school so fast that he is all perspired A despairing swain, ina fit of despera tion, recently declared to his unrelenting ladv-love that it was his firme determination to drown hiniwell, or perish ta the attempt. Lady Visitor—‘‘Oh, that’s your doctor, is it’ What sort of a doctor is he?’ Tad tesident ‘Oh, well, [don't know mach about bis atilit: but he’s gota very pood bedside manner, ** ————— pa a ai News Notes. ——_—

A Sioux Indian acts as a waiter at a Nan- tasket Beach hotei. The Crown Princess of Prussia hasa neck lace of thirteen pearls which cost 994, a0. Base ball is fast taking the place of fight. ing in Cuba. The cost of the American war is estimat. ed at $4, 500, 000, 000, One plant of the dandelion is estimated to produce 2,73 seeds. Utter misery was not born‘into the world until the first tight shoes were made. About 125,000 elephants areannually kill- ed in Africa to supply the ivory trade. A ‘‘theatrical’’ mission has been started in London by the Salvation Army. Women now serve on juries in Washing- ton Teritory. Francis Murphy has secured 4050 temper- ance pledges in Chicago. Illinois has 19,000 more boys than girls It is stated, Cosmopolis, Wyoming, offers $100 pre- miuim for the firet woman settler, Decayed teeth, it is said, are frequently the cause of diseases of the eves and ears, There is an average of 843 ‘people to an acre living In New York city. Rome celebrated recently the 2637th an- | niversary of its foundation by Romulus, She was young and had a pretty face and | a Gainsborough hat, bul when she asked if an aplary Was nota place where they kept moukeys the spell was broken and the charm vanished, When a wise man has to protect two ladies with one umbreila he alwaye places lilmisell be tween the pair, Then he is at least sure of saving his new hat, There isa sign on a building at Los Angeles, Cal., which has been read by a woman, with the ald of an electric light, five miles out to sea It musthave been an lce-eream sign. A young man in Troy, N. Y., is engaged to eighteen giils. Hesays he don’tkuow what he ts going to do, unless the calander is changed so as to have eighteen nights in the week, Two female burglars were recently cap tured in London, They could have got away with their swag had they not stopped inthe house to try on some new bonnets they found io a dressing- room, y ‘ } What could be more cordial, and at. the | same time freer from offensive personal tatnt than | the wedding wish of a Louisiana editor: ‘'May they prove as good to each other as the cake and wine proved to us,"* ‘If he was the last man on the earth J weuldn’t marry him, ° indeed, dear, ** replied Elfrida, caliol: be the use of marrying when there was nobody to envy you! said Ethel, impetuous "No ‘'what would Women’s rights took on anovei phase at San Jose recently, when Mra. Dr. Lambert retused to testify in acase on the ground that she was not a citizen She was comtmeatted to jail tor coutempt of court, Female quadrupeds have more endurance than males. Inthe human race fespeite the elle naland phva sl strenyth ot the ta the woma dures longest and wilh te pain te it ! est man succutinis, ‘Jo you believe that a4 woman nowaduy would die for the objeet of her love? asked aba lor friend. ‘*l don’t know whether she'd di YT t answered the Benedick, ‘hut Dove know herto y wild when the trimming didn’t suit her “What is more awful to contemplate,’ said the lecturer, glaring about him, ‘‘than the relentles power of the Maelstrom * Ania henpecked-look ing man in the rear of the bullding softly replied **The femalestrom. “T don’t see why you are so particular about your hair,’* said a churlish husband. ‘‘I don't suppose she did,”* replie 1 the wife, with a quiet amile, “‘*but then there was nobody in the world but her husband to adioire her,’ “Mary,”’ saida mother to her daughter ‘*has Henry proposed yet? ** Not vet ‘ but J think he will before many day WN it make you think so * **Because * asked me i OX- pected to live with me if Tmarried, a . 3 1 hie no,.** “Papa, I want to make mammaa present next Wednesday, because it le he r ‘ 6 itis, mv child: I had forgotten it i wa tog her r hingSehe ha t got at t 2 t ¥ eh y r pa W } ' ' a WW) bee ne ‘ 1 r ” friend \ * ‘ever ly wh vex vy ¢noug ea add ing pathetically, ‘‘] sould grieve to think that my eweet wife would ever grow old," In Washington county, N. Y., potatoes have been selling at Di cents per bushel to the starch mills, In Trelrnd, whose counties possess superior coal and iron, there is some talk of a revival ofl the lron trade several of Four years seem a long while to wait for a medal, but Lord Woiseley’s Kxyptian heroes only received theirs three weeks ago, Minnesota is the greatest cold water state Inthe Union, Ithas within ite borders 7000 lakes, covering an area of 2,700,000 acres, Ostrich eggs boiled were recently among the attractions of ameal at a San Diego, Cal., hotel, One and two dollar notes are reported to be asecarce lun Washington as clee where Banana skins, a letter from Canton states are used by Chinese to black boot« with Two brothers in Connecticut married sisters, and the fret son of each couple wae born on the QWthof February Vanilla, inordinately used, a French savan Is sald to have discovered, leadsto a disease called **Vanillism,** A piece of property has just been sold in New York city at the rate of 9220) per square foot, A burglar gotinto the house of a lawyer the otherday, Afteraterrible struggle the lawyer succeeded in robbing tim, The formation of a company called Eu reka, for the purpose of Ondlag lost articles, has been announced in France Ten cents a word is now the highest rate piidtor teleyraphing from one point to another tn this countrs The widow of Tom Thumb is being wooed by John Spencer Coyne, a five foot mining operator of means, To use monagrammed paper at this time lato be outot the fashion. Vale tinted papers and heraldic devices are ‘tie thing.” The firet application the I tted States mridlve the sew York eourte 1 Of a Chinaman in ree has just been begun tn The total number of separate farms in the f bteald tate 4, (441 (te anfl their aywiegate val in 8 ‘ee se -” It ms the «et i an n icertain caste of i Ta Ba 1 and hnyper fa mt ‘ t to mar Trial by jurv i vomyw «tt in boris and. In surt al ‘ outota total of (es ases, no ‘ that M4 are t rT heard ty # je we alone The 14 year o'd daughter of (reorce Wil heli, of Lita, Ob., Jumped the rope 2 times and f flous. She lay in that condition for twenty days before she died, A photographer at Versailles is said to have luvented amethodol taking photogr atple whieh retain ali the colors of the seene reflected on the Frank Johnson, of Osceola, TL. hid ina Cave @ vear ago on the appr 4 1 ofa cyclone « | ‘ af le to leay hil etreat Hie wife ea . pr i js to hin i seet ris A me Wepaper ¢ ditor has bee: Mactr roger np an art ! fT sleenser afterwards fo 4 j a ! Niaca ‘ Phe chief engineer of the Va (a b bh ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ “ ‘ | It requires ten cars to take €@2.500 worth of grain t ~ the saine aiue putter Cau be ca ‘ } Sil a car,

Page 14

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THE REASON WHY. Now the bove are in giee, And as Urick as Lie ver, While the bice we ikin rings with their bawling; And they sidie and lean, Then they drop ina heap Ip their hawling and mauling aud sprawling. One anda’! it, the thrall of the fever, tae ail They delight in its «tazes to linger. Some, eo agile and epry, Catch the ball on the fly, Bat catch HM more viton the BHoager, Preeto, change!’ wit! heen glance They tas back of advance, And grat forthe ta siftiv Meeting ; But it treat flown thelr guard Hard some op tice bombard Or meet their front teeth in apreeting, _ * . . . . . . * . . fome may think, In amaze, Why this tase balling eraze Tile bruleing allover the nation? May't not be nature mind, With green aprl combined, To cause tir sinall boy's extermination ¥ WM. MAC KINTOSII, A Family Tyrant. BY F. E. WKEATHERLY,. H, dear me, dear ine!’ sighed Mrs, Copman. “What a world of troubl: this is!” er son-in-law looked up from the news paper he was reading. tie wasatall, handsome tnan of thirty, with sott, dark eves and heretand there a silver streak in tis hair. ‘Is there any mew trical ilove self ?"' he asked Kindly. “No,’ said Mra. ¢ epeteaaanay “en Lhibsoy OS pe- cial. “Except that Marion wants the green pau lor for a studio, “There's such an exeellent orth light to it, you know.” “Well,” said Henry Charteris, “why not let her have te?’ loping it

“Bot what shall wedo for a reception- | room ?"’ said the old lady. “Take my library, “My dear Henry! And all the books what is to become of thems? Dat dear Ma rion would be #o delighted ifouly the plan were practicable.” “Put them io wiv bedroom,’ said Mr. Charteris absentiv. “Floyd can easily knock up a few shelves there, It is a pity that farion shoal be disturbed in the prosecution of Ler art.” “You are always so kind and thoughttul”’ gaid Mrs. Copoman, brightening up, as she burried away to yive the necessary direc- tions, Flovd, Mr. Charteris’ falthtal Seoteh ser- Vitor, stared blankly when the old lady issued her orders, “My twisters library.’ said) he, “up to his bed-roous?) Waerever will To pat the suupested hie » books ?"’ Oh, there's pleniv of room for a few gshelves,''said Miers. Copia triskive ‘Ane if there should be a volume or so left: over, they can eastiv be putin the eloset under the stairs, whieh bagi good large window looking out over tie stables.’ Floyd whistled under his breath, but there was nolling it but to obey, “TT never see such a mother-in-lawed house as this in all mv life!’ said he to the housekeeper, with a groan. ‘ifere’s Mr. Harry, crowded into the bedroom ino the north wit, and the closet ander the stairs, while Mrs. Copimnan and ber three Gorgon. faced daughters have usurped the whole house, with their studios, and their music. roots, and their boudoirs, aud the miseluef only know whatall! The housekeeper shook her head, “Ab, Voutnay well tay so,"’ said) she, “And that ain't the worst of it neither, Fiovd.” “Eh? aald the old man. “Tlow long iv it sinee Mra. Charteris— oor ladv—died ?"’ inysteriously que stioned irs. Akers. : “Sixteen—seventeen months, ain’t it?” gaid Floyd. “But why?” “Ah,” said the housekeeper, “when the (wo years are upsbe'll iaake bing tarry one of the three sisters! You'll see!” , *But they're not one of them under forty and as plain as pikestafis! ejaculated Floyd, fin dismay. “You'll find as that won't make no differ- ence ' said Mrs, Akers, gloomilyv. «That's What she’s got ber eye on, as true as you're alive, Floyd. “And she never vet failed in what she made up ber mind todo.” / While Mrs. Akers and Mr. Flovd were engaged tn tits discuss:on of family attains, Mra. Cop thane ine vas cheerfully bust ling about, ordering the wiaids, tormenting the footiunan, sturuzes wtliis, that, and the other thing be inet ‘ Vv, iivh-cheeked datighters—Marion, Ara 6,und Millicent —Ulttl, suddeniv y he Up, she chanced Ww observe @ ligt ty ‘ ! 4 pretty pink itstis j sit } , \ te scart, enter the pre is door, ms othe geara ~ ie | * ; a iy Bug teh | . imct it “And what .- i iy houses, I'd like to know ?"’ deimnanded Mrs. Copan totly. “She goes thereto get flowers for her Wax-works, wa'am,'’ suid inaster

Fivyd. “My “Your master would allow himself to be preyed on by every one in the village, if he hadn't some one to protect him," said Mrs. Copinan severely. “Go at once, Floyd—or stay! T believe I had better go myself. This sort of thing must be put a stop to.” And she hurried om t) the green-bouse, where pretty Jetty Lane was culling sprays THE SATURDAY EVENING POST. . - lovely young bride,all in white, with cheeks like pale roses, “Mrs, Charteris,”’ be repeated. “My wife. Let ine present you and the Misses Copman to her." | And that was the end of the complication. For, of course, Mrs Copman and her | daughters were too-high spirited to remain of white stephanotis in an unconsciously- | |} and lovely young usurper. graceful attitude, as she reached up among the glossy, dark-green branches for the Blar-like blomsmorns, “Oh! said Mrs. Copuian stiffly, “Miss Lane, | believe?” Jetty paused and turned. Only bome from boarding-school three months, she had never met Mrs. Copman face to tace before, “It's the terribie mother-in-law,’’ she said to herself, And she answered aloud— “Yes, Tain getting a few flowers to model in wax, and—" “AD! sald Mrs, Copman. “But perhaps you hadn't better getany more. The tlow- ersdon’t bloom very profusely and my daughters like them fortheir hair. Besides Mr. Charteris doesn't approve of the whole neighborhood ruuning riot through his grounds,”’ Jettv's deep blue eves flashed, ‘Madarni,’’ said she, “did Mr. Charteris tell vou to say this?” *N-not exactly,’ faltered the sour-visaged Widow; *“hut——"’ “Then,” said Jetty, ‘*‘vou have been wuiltvofavery rude and inhospitable ac- tion! And, flinging her white buds and = blos- sormmson the tiled floorof the preen-house, she walked out like a princess, “Well To never!’ said) Mrs Copman, seareely knowing whetherto be tmost in- under the same soot with such a dimpled And they removed all that belonged to them, and a good deal that didn’t frou the house the next day, in bigh dudgeon. “To think what fools nen are!" said the widow. “When dear Henry was 80 Cou fortable with me and the three girls.”” Lut, apparently, dear Henry was of quite a different way of thinking. For as be stocd with Jetty on the terrace, watching the carriage drive away which contained the widow and her daughter, he said— “My dear, I feel asif a nightmare were lifted off my life. And now we can beyin tc be happy.” ee we KLEPTOMANIACS. FAMOUS pbysician inforins us that a woman who was exemplary in her IY obedience to that mnoral law except the Cighth commandment was so addicted to larceny that, when she could take nothing more valuable she would often at the table

ofafriend secretly fill her pockets with bread. Lavater states that a doctor of medicine could not leave his patients’ rooms without ltaking something away unobserved; and dignantor surprised at this imperial con- | huct While Jetty Lane hurried on, never stop Pinu to shed the tears whieh seemed to his wife searched his pockets, and returned to their owners the knives, scissors, thitm- bles, ete, which ber husband had ab- slrected, The wife of another physician had so | stro a propensity to steal that on making scald her resolute eyelids until she wassafe | Inthe litthe hazel copse, and onee there, under the cool, quivering boughs of the trees, slie burst lito a passion of tears, “Miss Lane—Jetty !"" uttered a remon- Stralngy voice, “Yes, I know,’ said Jetty, laughing and sobbing in the same breath, “Um very fooli~sti, and Pouyht to know better, bus it Isn't pleasant to be turned out of a place.” “What do vou mean?” and Henry Char- teris vravely, And Jetty told tit all. A dark trown pathered over his counten- nmnee, He had known that Mrs. Copiman and his Lires sisters-in-law were Sellish, arrogant, and dormiimeenritig. Ile had been quite aware that he was little miore than a prisoner of state in his own home, Ile had even fortned some vague ideathat Arabella, the vounygest and least lbard- luvored of the three, lad designs on his heart. As far as he personally was coneerned, it attered not One straw; but mow that inno- cent, dewy-eved Jetty had been thus ruath- lessiv attacked, things assumed quite a dif- ferent AS pect. Ile looked down upon the sweet, blush- | ity face, Tle took both the little hands in lis. “Jetty, said he, “this isan uneven bat- tle. One window and three resolute spins- ters ayainst an unprotected species of genes homo, Yet l think if J bad an efficient heutenant Peould deteat the enemy yet. Will you join the ranks?” satin “J—l don't think T understand you,’ tal- tered Jetty. “You are eighteen—I am thirty,”he went om “And vet, Jetty, DT feet voung enoagh in my heart to be your rmateh. Dear little Jettv, will vou be iny wite ? Do you love ; ine, Jetty ?’’ )Sunday-sechool picnic And Jettv bravely answered— “Yos,] will be vour wilfe,Mr.Charteris, I do love you. And,’ she added artlessiv, home from sehool, and tet you at the under the tmaple | trees,”’ Mrs. Copmian and ber three daughters | had beven lo town to order their | spring wardrotes—charged to Mr. Char- | | ters’ account, of course, and it) was late on the afternoon of the third day of their ab- sense When they returned cross, irritable, jand tired—Marion a shade redder-nosed | than usual, Vrabellatiore pettish, Millicent ) nore blowzyv and course, { To their aiazement and indignation, the } sound ofone of Schubert's Nocturnes thoated out from the parior window as they advanced, “Who is presuuung to play on our piano?” said Mrs. Copman, in a rage. “And the windows all open, too, fading the parlor carpet! sereaimed Miss Milli- cent. “Assure as vou live, matunna,’’ gasped Arabella, it's that bold parsons daughter —Jetty Lane.’ “The iimpudence of some people!’ cried Marion. “Wien toaniina as good as ordered her off the premises tot a month ago.’ “Henry, said Moers, Copman sourly, & Bhe cau Sige iil rs -iaw, S t \ Ss s Sia . rm 1 ia \ 1 « e i .% bith “The eurriay was not sent for you,’ said Mr. Charteris.calinly, “because Mrs, Cliar- teris WAS USiny it,’ “Mrs, Charteris!’ gasped the widow, dropping at least half-a- - 0. Frost, Turk Rep-Nosep.—In Russian folk-lore Frost the Red-nosed often tigures asa being of irresistible might, butofa not aitogether inexorable nature. Many tune- tions are attribuced to bim, mostly of a beneticent kind. He is the smith that makes tue clodos whieh fetter the earth aud restrain Ube rivers throughout the winter: he isthe bridge-puilder, a true Samson, who, without an axe, without a wedge, con- stracts bridgés across all waters, Some. Lites aS In tiny Gertnan and other tales, ears asone of the supernatural at fu hero who Is ¢ Xposed to many | ‘ ] s, and X» by the coid producing | ~ Ss Suv if ub the flery lur- tis said R 38 wes ( i im Eve i Bi ~ ‘ y Frost, Frost, ine and t! Fros Prost, do not Kill our oats! Hammer our flux and heimp deep into the ground !” —_————— 2

re-iinbursed the tradesinanto the full value | those monomanines made their purchases, |

DR. RADWAY’S SARSAPARILLIAN RESOLVENT. The Great Bleod Purifier. FOR THE CURE OF CHRONIC DISEASF. SCROFULOUS OR SYPHILITIC, HEK:DI- TARY OR CONTAGIOUS, Chronic Rheumatism, Scrofula, Glandular Swe), ing, Hacking Dry Cough, Cancerous Affections, Sy1'.\- litie Complaints, Mocdiag of the Lungs, Dyspep>:. Water Brash, White Swelling, “Tumors, Hip lio eases, Mercurial Diseases, Female Complaints, Gut Dropsy, Bronchitis, Consumption. For the cure ot SKIN DISEASES, ERUPTIONS ON THE FACE AND BODY, PiM- PLES, BLOTCHES, 3ALT RHEUM, OLD BOK! =, ULCERS, Dr. Radway’s Sarseparill Ke- solvent excels all remedial agents. It purifies the blood, restoring health and vigor; etear skiy and beautiful complexion secured to all. Liver Complaints, Etc., Not only does the Sarraparillian Resolvent excel all remedial agents in the cure of Chronic Scrofuious Constitutional and Skin Diseases, but it is the only positive cure for Kidney and Bladder Complaints Urinury and Womb Diseases, Gravel, Diabetes, Dropsy, Stoppage of Water, Incontinence of Urine, Bright's Disease, Albuminuria, and In all cases where there are brick-dust deypsits, or the water is thick, cloudy or mixed with substances like the white of as egy, or threads like white silk, or there is a morbid, dark, biliousappearance and white bone-dust depos- its, and where there isa pricking, burning sensation when passing water, and pain in the small of the back and along the loins, SOLD BY DRUGGISTS. One bottle contains more of the active principles of medicine than any other preparation, Taken in Teaspoontul Doses, while others require five or six timesasmuch. One Dollar Per tle. R. R. R. RADWAYS READY RELIEF. The Cheapestand Best Medi- cine for Family Use in the World. COUGHS, COLDS, INFAMMATIONS, FEVER AND AGUE CURED AND PREVENTED. DR. RADWAY'S READY RELIEF. RHEUMATISM, NEURALGIA, DIPHTHERIA, INFLUENZA, SORE THROAT, DIFFI- CULT BREATHING, RELIEVED IN A FEW MINUTES By Radways’ Ready Relief. MALARIA FEVER AND ACUE. There is not a remedial agent in the world that will eure Fever and Ague, and all other Malarious, Bili- ous, Searlet, Typhoid, Yellow and other tevers, (aided by RADWAY'S PILLS) so quick as RADWAY'S ke aby KELIEF. Looseness, Diarrheea, or painful discharges from the bowels are stopped in fifteen or twenty minutes by taking Radway's Ready Relief. Nocongestion of fiflamimation, no weakness or lassitude, will follow the use of the K, R, Relief. ACHES AND PAINS. For headache, whether sick or nervous, toothache, neuralgia, nervousness and sleeplessness, rheumae tism, lumbage, paing and pealneas in the back, spine, or kidneys; painy around the liver, pleurtsy, swelling of the joints, pains in the towels, heart- burn and pains of all Kinds, Radway’s Ready Relief will wford immediate ease, and its continued use for a few days eifect a permanuentcure.. Price, cents,

RADWAY'S REGULATING PILLS Reliable, and Natural in Their Operations. A VEGETABLE SUBSTITUTE FOR CALOMEL. Perfectly Tasteless, elegantly coated with sweet gum, purge, regul ite, purify cleanse, and strengthen, RADWAY‘'S PILLS for the cure of ali disorders of the stomach, Liver, Bowels, Kidneys, Blaliler, Nere vous Diseases, Headache, Constipation, Costiveness, Indigestion, Dyspepsia, Biliousness, Fever, Indame ination of hae Bowels, Piles, and all derangements of the Internal Viseera, Purely vegetable, containing no mereury, minerals or deleterious drugs. Bg )bserve the following symptoins resuiting from Diseases of the Digestive rpans j Constipation, Ine ward Piles, Fulness of the Blood in the Head, Acid- ity of the Stomach, Nausea, Heartburn, Disgust of Food, Fulness or Weight tn the Stomach, Sour Eruce tations, Sinking or Fluttering at the Heart, Choking or Sulfocating Sensations when in a lying posture, Dimness of Vision, Dots or Webs before the Bight Fever and Dull Pain in the Head, Deficiency of Pers- ration, Yellowness of the Skin and Eyes, Pain im the Side, Chest, Limbs, and Sudden Flushes of Heat, Burning in the Flesh. A few doses of RADWAY'’S PILLS will free the system of all the above-namea disorders, Price, 25 Cents Per Box. SOLD BY DRUGGISTS, READ “FALSE AND TRUE.” Senda letter stamp to BADWAY & CO., No. 3 Warren Street, New York. 42” lulormation worth thousands will be sent to you, TO THE PUBLIC. Be sure and ask for Radway’s, and see that the wame ‘‘Radway’’ ison what you buy. Can secure Profitable Employmens at Home « « DR. SCOTT'S Electric Corsets. Satisfaction D A 1 [(¢ Saeed euarante< irese r. GEO. A. SCOTT. 842 BRUADWAY. Now York City, re OLD fe O fod 4 ee 20¢. ( OINS. FANCHER West Wiseisd.s t. . Morphine Habit Cured in 1@ Everybody admires beautiful hair, and | fe. d. Stieaee beet every one tay possess it, by using Ayer's | - o— : 7 | Tr y The best cards for the mons v 50 for ic. Premi- win With 3 packs. E.H. Pardee, New Haven, Ct ; Maur Vigor. De. J. ster Hkns, Lebanon, Obia

Page 15

THE SATURDAY

EVENING POST. 15

Facetia. He would be hard-hearted would Kick-apoo Iadian,. When were salt provisions introduced in- tothe navy? When Noah took Ham into the Ark. If you are so terribly nervous that every stupid thing you see frightens you, avoid the looking- giass. As the ice-cream season sets in, and the days grow longer, the girls say the boys grow shorter. Seven letters in the alphabet have always been in trouble, while four of them have always been in luck. When you have symptoms of Heart Dis- ease use Dr. Graves’ Heart Regulator. §1.;6 for $. by druggists. No, we don’t know why they call it the quarter-deck, unless it is because the captain walks back and fro and two and fourth on it. indeed who

A voice from the far West says, ‘‘Send us more wives.’ Anda thousand mean, unhapp Benedicts in the East respond, ‘*Take ours!’ ae Delay is dangerous. Heart Disease’ '% cured by Dr. Graves’ Heart Regulater. Pri “® #1. Sold by druggists. —” x a@- When our readerg “™*”*F *ny Adver- tisement found iu th-“** ©°lumms they wil confer Gaver en *“” Pablisher and the ad- vertiser by yamaing (he .uturdsy Evening West. 2 y

Humphreys Homeopathic Specific No.28 Norvous Debilty, Vital Weakness, work or other caused rr per peg or5 rip +r and large vial powder, for $5, SOLD BY ‘DRUGGIBTS, or sent reye Hon on receipt o dd Hiedicine Co. 100 Wulton St, New York. .\MUSIC FOR ALL. ONE HUNDRED Of the Most Popular Songs, ~Musie and Words,- Ten Cts. SUCH AN OFFER AS THIS HAS NEVER BEEN MADE BEFORE. The chance of a life time for Singers, Players, Glee Clubs, etc., to get a splendid lot of the best songs, music and words, published for ONLY 10 CENTS. For 10cents in currency or postage stamps, we will send (all charges postpaid) One Hundred Choice Songs, music and words, to any address. DIME MUSIC CO., 726 Sansom Street, Philadelphia, Pa.

HENLEY's CHALLENGE ROLLER | SKATE KNOWLEDGED BY EXPERTS a MOST COMPLETE,

SCIENTIFIC SKATE and 8 Men as the MOST DURABLE f Liberal Terms to the Trade. or new # page Illustrated Catalogue, send 4 ct. ome to M.C. HENLEY, RICHMOND, IND. PRESIDENTIAL GAME. Deep as chess, simple as checkers, and wonder- fully popular. Sent postpaid for §1. Get one and figiit for your candidate. ILL INOIS C UTLERY Co., 726 State Street, ( Thicago, lll. Sole agents.

JUSS EINSBOOTS. This pretty engraving for Photograph Albums, with a book of one hundred songs, and & set of six Fancy Cards for 1! t PRATT & CO., Soutby M

SOLD te By iia!lthe. Circulars PHONOGRAPHY or Phonet ~ Ha Catalogue of works by Benn Pitman, with alpha betand illustrations for beginners sent application. Address PHONOGRAPHIC INSTITI TE, Oin’tia.O. 44 CARDS, all covered name, Silk Fringed, Gilt Edge Hidden Motto and Embusse: 1, with name ivc.,3 pks. and present Wc. West & Co. , New Haven, Ct THE; BEST Hair restorative 4 im the world is Har.’s the scalp, and imulates the hair glands to healthful act##e@- 1t stops the falling of the hair; prevy@f 2s its turning gray; cures baldness, and Prestores youthful color and freshness of ¢#PPearance to heads already w hite w ith as . The following are a few illustrations : bf what is done by / HALL’S Ve/set able Sicilian HAwR RENEWER: Mrs. HoNsBerry, 344 Franklin Ave., a. lyn, N. Y., after a severe attack of a sipev* in the he ad, found her hair—already er —falling off so rapidly that she soon became ite bald. One bottle of Hatu’s Harr Re- JREWER brought it back as soft, brown and thick as when she was a girl. ae Mr. KEswina, an old farmer, near War- saw, Jnd., had scarcely any hair left, and what little there was of it had become nearly white. One bottle of HaLi's Harn RENEWER stopped its falling out, and gave him a thick, luxuriant bead of hair, us brown and fresh as he ever had. aa Mrs. A. T. Watt, Greenfleld, Cheshire, £ng., writes: “I have found the greatest ben- efit from the use of Hatu’s Hain RENEWER, it hi ae restored my hair, which was rapily full- ing off, and returned its original color.” Dr. Emit Sarp, Detroit, Mich., certifies that “Hau’s Hatn RENEWER Ia excellent for hair growing, and gives back the patural color to faded and gray hair.” ae” Mrs. 8. E. Evxiort, Glenville, W. Va., Bays: “(ne bottle of HaLtu’s Hain RENEWER restored my hair to its natural, youthful color.” No injurious substances enter into the composition of HaLL’s Hark RENEWER, and it is not a dye. Its vegetable ingre- dients render {it inthe highest degree bene- ficial to the scalp as a preventive of dis- ease. Its effects are natural and lasting, and it does not make the hair dry and brashy, like the so-called restoratives com- pounded with alcohol. Buckingham’s Dye FOR THE WHISKERS Is, in four respects, superior to all others. Ist—It will produce a rich, natural color, brown or black, as desired. 2d—T he color so produced is permanent, cannot be washed off, and will not soil any- thing with which it comes in contact. 3d—It is a single pre paration, and more convenient of mate vation than any other hair or whisker dye. 4th—It contains no deleterious tngre- dients, as do many preparations offered for like use. PREPARED BY R. P. HALL & CO., Nashua, N. H, Sold by all dealers in medicines.

Dr. LUTZE'S “SPECIFIC FOR WOMEN” Instantly relieves and speedily cures all delicate and troublesome affections peculiar to ladies. Highly endorsed by physicians who make a specialty of such diseases in ‘Mospitals for Women,” and in large cities. This wonderful gynecian remedy is put up in granules, in a concentrated form. Each bottle represents the medical virtue of a pint of the decoction—and can be kept with- out loss of virtue a reasonable time. $2.00 | by mail. Address Bowen, Lutz & Co., 1119 Girard St. Philade] phia, Pa. ta Dr. Lutze, Ex. U.S. Ex. Surgeon, author of various monograms on the Dis- eases of Women, etc., etc., treats female diseases exclusively, at office or by letter. Advice free. In writing for advice, address Dr. LuTrze, care Bowen, Lutz & Co., 1119 Girard St., Philadelpbia, Pa.

AGENTS WANTED Fast Potato Digging THE MONARCH POTATO DIGGER Saves its cost ye arly. FIVE TIMES OVER, to eve farmer. Guar anteed to Dig bix Hundrec Busheis a Day

SENT ON 60 Days’ Test Trial a” Write postal card for FREE elegantly illustrated Catalogue, in Six Brilliant Colors, that cost us $2000 to publish. Monarch Manufacturing Co., S2tcxao. icv.

Df Ss bromo Cards, no Zalike, with nameand ox 5 2 ' t songs, l0c. J.8.PARDEE, 411 7th Ave.,

(Ge READ THIS. gay TwoO GRAND OLHOGRAPHS MAGNIFICENT ART Works! COMPANION MASTERPIE’ES | “THE WHITE MOUNTAINS” -e--AND---- “THE YELLOWSTONE RIVER.” i2xXi6 INCHES IN SIZE. ‘ ‘ es A! rrey « FOR 30 CENTS. We offer the readers of the Post at thirty ceuts in cash or postage stampa for the pair —costs of packing, mailing ete., included, the two above-mentioned art-works, from the pencil of the famous American artist, Thomas Moran. “THE WHITE MOUNTAINS” depicts the glory of the Eastern Landscape. “THE YELLOWSTONE RIVER” depicts the glory of the West. C#” THEY ARE NOT CHEAP CHROMOS. 2 It will be distinctly understood that these unique works of artare not cheap, gaudily’ colored chromos, They are perfect imitations of the finest oil and water colors, They have no resemblance whatever to the ordinary cheap chroinos and colored lithographs now so common; but are really SOLID WORKS OF ART, and cannot fail to so impress every lover of the beautiful, and every one who takes the least interest in HOUSEHOLD DECORATION, for they would ornainent any room, and lend grace to any wall ever humle. “THE WHITE MOUNTAINS” represents a grand eilect of misty mountain landscape and is full of brooding storm, and the wild rugyedness of nature, “THE YELLOWSTONE RIVER” is all sunshine, light, warmth and mellow- ness, hanging over the mystic streain and is an eilicient contrast,yet a perfect companion | to the other. No description could do them full justice. We venture to say that finer specimens of the oleographic art bave never been produced, while for cheapness they are un parelleled. The originals from which these pictures have been painted are valued at $2 500. The number of copies is Limited and we advise all those wishing a couple of pictures that In every essential respect may be regarded an oil-paintings, to apply at once, Address, THE PHILADELPHIA OLEOGRAPH CO., 726 Sansom St, Philadelphia, Pa.

, how-

| 4

NO MORE * Bruceline, the Great Heir Restorer and Renewer, «hances gray hair to ita nat: iral color, gradually and permanently. Nota dye. A marvelly . es rut 21 g bray -baire rats fs oe ald we = ond d “ No ste i ate ova ait we women, made to look young in three Woeks mor ay Pp me hey penesene ea wianty. fend for descriptive book, and testimonials and opinic mend ithighly. Address. WEST & CO,7 Stevens sturect, New-York. CONSUMPTION. | have 8 positive remedy for the above aes an pehns gy of the worst kind a rit long it~ ve been care \ Jrésed 80 strong in my faith infte te efficacy, that f will esng. O BOPTLES FREE, together with a VA UABLE TREAT 1K on thie disease, to an preas & P, O, address, DK. T. A BLOOU R. DOLLARD, 513 CAESTNUT sf., Vhiladeltpiiin. Premier Artist AN ATR. td GOSSANAR VES,

sufferer. Give , 161 Pearl Bt., N.

Invent ‘

- gh A gh taye, and receive A Prize:: se, i box of gouls wh TILATING Wit. and ELASTIC BAVD elp wp i i egg pa a yet right away than any yv rOUVrEES else in this world. s await the worker { Lad 1 Gentlemen lutely sure, tess akiven , .Trt 2400, Auyuets, V ; curac I vee AN CALF, Inc HES @ & Return to us wath TER . 1 or ) forebea ac bp utThisQutiscrriiss ty AGOLDEN BOX OF GOODS k. | No. 2 Over for : ou RF , in One Month, BS. asre / than anything dss in Ame: a, Absolute ertainty. , 1 fiver ' Neod no capital. MY oung,173Greenwich 8t.N. York.

HIRE’ IMPROVED ROOT BEER. |’ Y ACh ry aye? Make yn i -aaaee ; : qo 7 5

AL

ime t we ‘ ~ — iy ro) : : PILLS OF TANSY 2".50:'Faerant ‘ f « ow "FR CET SAVE!) on Patents oe . “ane ¢ . | DO tor prices to WT. Tot Vhile., Pa. | __Wiloox Spectite Medicine (o.,P>laeinh is New pont songs . Ynew Chromo Cards (Sos: SSasnerees Ons " new with mine LOO ralixe!: name on 10c.C W Brooks, Putacy, Vt » latest songs, a aj ‘ Ila

Page 16

suits —_—_—---

all on intimate terms with each other, and teased each other by this tine. “You must try to exist for five minutes without biim. @ has yone to the in’s room witb he chiet engineer—I go,” said Mra, Chaplin. tal ae Then, to the com ‘ rs. Hardrom, look odeae y lovely,in a loose white vorning dress triunined with blue ribbon, ed 04, The flush pened alittic on her fair face, and alight of welcome shone in her aweet eyes, as I found a seat for her. In wy own theughts J called her by be other name than sweet] aurie Stuart, A slight Dreeze sprang up, » slight that it did not freshen the waves, but it was wel- come, A golden taze of heat seemed to lie over the blue waters, “What asuimmer day!’ sighed Laurie Stuart, as she sank back on tothe cushions that 1 bad arranged for her. “I wonder if we shall go near enough to anvof the islands tw geta breath of the flowers?" “No, said Mra, Chaplin; “you may be sure that the flowers you see will be Indian ones, tall, brilliant, gorgeous in hue, rich in perfume, very different irom the shuple Diossom™ at home.” “A summer day,” repeated Laurie, thoughtfully. ‘Ob, to be just one bour on land 1" The dark eves were dim with unshed tears, the delicate lips so like crimson flowers quiverea like the lipsof a grieving child. Mra. Chaplin looked kindly at her, ‘Tell us what the spot you are thinking of is like,” ehe said, The girl's fair tace flushed with rapture. “How can I,""she said, “No poet has ever satisfied ine with his description of a suin- mer day. “I know how the apot looks, how the sun- shine falis sianting across tue grass, bow the crimson poppy shines amongst the corn the wild roses are climbing over the hedges and the clove carnations load the evening alr with perfurne. “In the lovely green woods there are nooks tilled with w#olt, dark-green light, where the boughs are tangled overhead,

and wild flowers inuumerable cover the ground,” “You make my heart long = for old England,” said Mra, Chaplin; but Helen Leslie looked up at her with a happy light in her eves, “Wherever ny husband lives,’’ she said, “will seem to ine the fairest land,’ “IL know one spot,’? continued Laurie, “which only tothink of on this) burning Indian Ocean makes uie yearn to be at homo again.” “Tell me about it,” sald Mra, Chaplin. “Ttisioy father’s home--a nook in an old-fashioned yarden, “A tall sproading lime-trea stands in one corner, cod cand Ils rools grows soll green wrans. “Closato it is a well—an old-tashioned well with «a wooden cover, and velvety moss ali around it: the stones are always wet—the moss is wec the water that comes from the well is cold us ice and as clear &s eryatal, ‘There Ina rustic wooden seat underneath the tree, and the pleasant sound of dripping water is always beard, “f forget that we ure onaburning sea, beneath a burning sun, when I tuiuk of the old well in the gurden.” Mra, Chaplin was silent. Mrs. Stanton said: *You must love what von speak of to de- Boribe itso well;’’ but Iieleon Leslie, rain ing her happy eyes, put in: “All places are alike when we are with those that we love best’'—words that came back to inv inind some time afterward. The major sent for his wifesome minutes later, and pretty Mrs. Leslie engaged in a gaipe with the litthe ones, Mrs. Chaplin, the captain’s wife, and iny-. welf sat alone, It was Mrs Iiardross who, gazing at the noble tace, said: “You appear very sad in the midst of this glow of sunshine, Mrs, Chaplin.” She looked up with the expression of one startled from sleep, “*T was yust Lainking of my dreatn,” repiied, “You must not laugh at ne, Sir Gordon, but I have had an unpleasant dreau—a dream that has trightened me." “Bat, said Laurie, “you surely do not believe in dreauis?"’ : “No, but this one bas frightened me.I should be ashawed tosay 8%: much bl any one else, “Sir Gordon has been as kind asa younger brother to ne; and you, Laurie, are like my eldest child. “T will tell you what I dreamed. I fan- eied that the ship and everything ip it) had Vanished. “Y saw no buman face, I beard no human voice. ‘The sea was cain, quiet, heavy and si- lent asa sea of lead, and I lay on it withiny face raised to the skies, not drowned—nor dol remember that IT had any fear of drowning, but, as T looked up at the sky, I ale

saw wiy children gazing down at me with siusiling tacos. “Tiey heid acrown in their crown all ehining with jewels; and, though the distance Was #) yreat froin the sea on which | was living to tie sky where they were wailing tor ine, 1! d nyself rising . Wily frou the = ‘ ‘Ve Ying in Ue mA ? posit , with ; luce nulsed ‘ven. It seeined to me that I ascended through niles and iniles of ciear air, ieaving the iewien seas beneath me; and, as |] drew wearer Ww uy children, | heard them

hands—s | ' #0 | THE

SATUR DAY» EVENING POS:.

: — —_——— plainly, I raised may aringerying out, ‘M. darlings—oh, my ebildren!’ Sad then 5 woke, to bear the rapid rush of the waves, and to remember that | was on the W ater-Queen.”’ We agreed that it was an extraordinary dream. “T never shall like the sea,” sald the captain's wife; “and ifever 1 reach Jand, nothing | indace me to leave it agun.’ "You my dear, that you must do what yoor husband wisies,’’ remarked Mra Chaplin; and I felt a uscless, helpless kind of angerthat this deticate, beautiful girl must subinit to the stery captain's de- creen. A day or two after that, as 1 passed by the captain's cabin, 1 beard her singing; it pleased yet touched me deeply that ¢ ne wODYg she sang was *Aunie Laurie,” Gradually we became the dearest of friends, In all the long hours we spent together— in the early dawn of the suorning, when the sun rose, in the golden poon, when the sun was in its zenith, in the even ing, When it crimmoned the west, in the moonlight that spiritualized everything it fell trom iny lips or hers, not one look cmacanse between us that would not have rue an angel's serutiny. Her husband and intrusted her to me,and his trust was sacred, 1 thought her the loveliest, sweetest, and most gracetul girl I had ever seen, My heart warmed to her unbounded pity and compassion, Every sound of her voice was dear to ne; but J should have lost my respect for ber had that same dear voice ultered one word that her husband would not have liked. The little white band that lay like the white petal of «a flower on mine was never Lloucned by ne save in the grasp of purest friendship; I knew that ber inno- cent thoughts turned to me with a kind of sisterly affection. Hivaven forbid that it should otherwine ! One night there caine a change in the weather. The light breeze died away, and a dull leaden calin fell over the waters—a terrible ealin, the precursor tor a storm, Lspoke Ww the chief mate, who told ne the captain had prepared for a storin, They did not think it would be & severe one, They were of frequent occurrence in the Indian Ocean, but they were soon over, I knew there was not the least cause for apprebension—the Water-Queen bad wea- thered many such storins., But my heart was heavy for Laurie Stuart. She was frightened enough when the sky was siniling and the sea calin; What would she do in a storm? It was for her sake that I Ileaven to keep froin us the fury o and wave. ‘The sun set in a leaden day. There was not the faintest breath of air; we were enveloped in an almost iutolerable heavy sultry mist. I knew by the faces of the passengers that they were saying to each other, ‘We shall have astorin;’’ and | led Laurie Stuart away trom them lest she should overbear their remarks, have been rayed wind “Everyone looks very dull to night, Sir | Gordon,” she said. “What is wrong?” ‘The heat 1s so great that people teel ex. hausted,’’ I replied. She raised her beautiful face and looked around, “What a peculiar color evervthing has! The sky looks as though it was going to tall on us, the sea looks like lead; and, it) may be fancy —there sveims to be a strange odor inthe air, Lau trightened,’’ J looked at her: she was trembling, and her face had grown pale. “Mrs. Hardross,”’ 1 said, “you would surely not be alarined ata little wind and rain, or even a flash of lightning ?” Kiven a8 I spoke I heard the far-off rum- ble of thunder, J shall uever forget how she clung to my arin—how death!y white she grew. Then she said in alow whisper: ‘There is going to be a storin,Sir Gordon, Dear Heaven, what shall Ido? I sial) die of lear.”’ e * Even then I did not take the trembling hands into inv own. I tried to counfort her but it was in Wain. ‘Let me be with you,’ she cried; “I shail not be so frightened with you.” But T doubted that; and, before the gale broke upon us, I spent my time in trying to make ber realize Low grand a storin was on the ocean. All I won from ber was the one pitiful cry: “Tam so frightened! shall 1 do?” Dear Heaven what |

CHAPTER IV.

the tempest—the ship was prepared for | ‘ ' Phe | the | \* hour later everything was ready for | J it, the sailors were at their posts, passengers bad been ordered chief officers were all on deck. “Tt will not be much, Il supp se captain?” beluw; IT said, anxious only that his wile should not suffera prolonged agony of fear. He looked pravely atl ie. ; “it will be itke ali storms of ti k he said—*terribie while it lasts, bu r sura W ‘ 4 d Mrs. Ila <“s soft 7 Des the c uns Orders une on deck, trusting tout, tu the darkness and oontusion, Lie Would not see or recugnize wie, I could not see or speak to bis wlfe—wiie , with Lhe early dawa ——— bad retired to her cabin; but I felt that I say = apt ed a a Gear her. . Sle had asked to be with me while the storm tasted; that, m oh awl could not be, The tem Tbe shrill winds eaine piping over the seas. The loweetng shouts wee. darian; terrt The kk ’ bie flasnes of fi g Plerced the skies and lit up the seas, The leaden waves bed broken into angry foam, came on with a fearful rush—they and boiled with fury. e horror was dee ‘by the roar of thunder. I knew bow terrified Mrs. Hardross would be. + , re The Water-Queen to rock terr ; but there was no Sonat tom faces of offi. cers and men were kind and brave. Still I hovered round the cabin where Laurie Stuart lay, knowing that each gust of wind, each creak of the tiinbers, each rvar of the thunder would strike ber with deadly terror. Once, when the wind sabsided for a ino- ment, and the dash of the waves was hushed, I heard her woan like one sick witb vain. ' I clenched my fingers and bit my lip; those inoans were hurd to bear. Yet what right had 1 w offer to console her. Then the storm increased in intensity;the sky grew black as night, the noise of the waves was terrible to hear, the thunder clashes were like the bursting of a hundred canuon, the lightning was incessant,the sea resembled nothing so much as boiling ink —the creaking of the tiinbers of the good ship added tothe horror of the scene. Strong and teurless as I wag, iny nerves were alimost unstrung. Jus. then the doorot the captain’s cabin opened, and a face I shall never forget looked out at the storm. It was Laurie's face, whiter than death it- self with ghastly fear, herdark eyes dis- tended with dread, her lips quivering, ber bands beating the airin the maduess of fright. A buve the din of the storm her voice rose in a terrified shriek, ‘Eric, Eric, the ship is sinking! Eric, we are going down !” I saw and beard, yet 1 was obliged to stand still. I did not dare to go to her assistance just yet. Some one must have gone in search of the captain, forin afew minutes he came down in great haste looking with impatient conteinpt on his wife’s inadness of fear. “Whatisit? Whatdo you want, Lau- rie?’’ he shouted. Sbe looked up at hiin—I have never seen such a picture of terror—she clung to him, her bands grasping his arms, his neck. She was mad with fear. “We are drowning,, Eric!” she cried. “Oh, Heavens, 1 am afraid! The ship is sinking!’ “What nonsense !’’ he cried, with an im- patient oath, “You are crazy—let me go. such a coward!” The lightning played round them, show- ing the white ghastly tace of the wife, and the dark stern features of the hus- band. ‘This is absurd !’’ he said, trying to shake off her grasp. “Go and lie down. I will send some of the women to you. Thank Heaven there is not such anotber senseless creature on board 1” Just then the sbip gave a tremendous lureh. She secreamned aloud; she was perfectly mad with fear. Let we go!” he cried, in a voice of thun- der. “fam wanted on deck!” did not even hear him. ‘The ship is sinking!’’ she cried. going down!” Above the noise of the storm was heard the voice of the chief mate calling for the captain. “Let me go,” he repeated; “take your aris away. Butshe clasped them more tightly around hitn in a paroxysim of fear, ‘Let me go!" he again commanded—and the voice tnade me shudder. Still more closely the poor frightened girl hold him. ] saw by the Jurid light his face flame with wrath. He raised his hand with a horrible oath, streek her with his clenched fist. She fell without a cry, ber face down- ward. ‘*Now you will let go?’’ he said, in a tone of sullen wrath. . “To be kept here by a sickly woman’s fears when iny ship is in peril! “Go to your cabin until I can send soine one to you.” He raised her in his arins as though she werea feather, and in his haste almost tossed ber on to the couch in the cabin,then rushed out again, locked the door, and put the key into his pocket. Eric, Do not be She el] is |

I had been too full of surprise and borror | to interfere, but now I rushed forward. My impulse, | confess was to take him by the throat and fling him into the sea, l rushed up after him, vowing to myself that he should pay for that cowardly blow with his é, nad with wrath and pity;but when I had reached the topinost step, the vessel gave a sudden lurch, and I tell head first down again, striking my forehead with sueh force ageziist the lowest step that [ lost all consciousness, and reinained there uutil round we aud carried we to wy cabin. It was broad daylight when I woke— woke to the retnembrane@m, of the territied face, the clinging arma, rr, the cruel biow —wote,to find the su n brightly, the sea growing ealin i h& the aswell of the waves su 4 ’ \ of the storin gone by. a j The only thing lef, was a that made ine shudder. ae He bad struck her, the. eoward—beaten down with a fierce blow who had clung to him—tossed her aside tye r of county fear; and I had been onabje ter- re. I thought of many things. Should I “ — and galling him a coward,- penish m Should I tell him with tiery contempt, that I knew how he ill-treated his~ wite, pnd seas if he did so. again I would slay im I thought long and anxiously; but it was all in vain. I could do nothing. I could not interfere. She was his wife—no man can interfere between husband and wile. If said one word to him, I was qoie sure that he would never allow her to speak to ube again: and then the little coufort that 1 could give her must cease. Yet it seemed to ine cowardice as great as his, if I stood by without belr ending ber. ‘Tbe morning was brilliant when I went on deck. Most of the passengers were there, The heat of the sun had dried the decks, and the storm had Jett no trace beyond the slight freshness of the breeze and the swell of the waves, I saw the captain standing in the midst of a group of ladies, Mrs. Chaplin was looking at him with contempt, Mrs, Leslie in wonder. My heartbeat, uiy bands trembled, as I looked at him, { could have struck him down where he stood, but lor her sake J] restrained anyself. I heard Mrs, Chaplin say to him; “T ain wold, captain, that Mrs, Hardrosa was very ill last night with fear. Is it true?” “Pray, madam, who repeats such idle stories ?"’ he asked, angrily. “Are they idle? I aimglad of it; my maid told me that sbe heard the poor lady scream- ing with fear—screaimning, too,as though she were in pain.” “Madan,” said the captain, “my wife has no reason, NO courage, no self-control. «I cannot help it if she cries like a frightened child when even the wind blows.” “You should let her come to my cabin,or at least ask soine one to Bit with ber wie would be kind to her.”’ “Do you inean that lam not kind?” he asked. ‘It would not be real kindness to encour- age any one in Jolly that wuuld positively disgrace an imbecile.”’ “I have said before, and I say again,” re- plied Mrs. Chaplin, “that your wife can neither help nor control her terrible dread of the sea, and to force ber on to it is little less than murder.” “You speak frankly, madam," said the captain who bad grown pale with rage.” “I speak trutofully,’” she answered. “Where is Mra, Hardross?"’ she continued; and, seeing ime, she said, Good morning, Sir Gordon. Giveime your arm and we will find her.” We went tothe door of the captain’s cabin and 1 remaiued outside while Mrs, Chaplin went in. She and the captain’s wife came out to- gether, At first I hardly dared to look at the face of the unhappy girl. When I did 8 it was pale and calm, with a worn, wearied look about the eyes. We shook hands in silence, I knew that she dared not trust her voice to speak to ime. Mrs. Chaplin talked kindly to her as we walked down the deck together. “You must not think of leaving the deck this inorning, Mrs. Hardross,” she said, “Sitdown here. Il founda very aarnusin book yesterday amongst my packages, will go and tetch it. We will havea quiet hour's reading. Sir Gordon will stay with you whilelI go.”’ So we got alone watching the sunlight on the sea. I saw the white hands that had clung in such abject terror tothe cruel busband, I longed to take then with tears of pity, as one weeps over an injured cLild; but I did not—and Heaven knows what it cost ine to refrain. — were terribly frightened,’ I then said. Sue raised her dark eyes so full of fathom- less woe, to mine. “Yes,’”’ she replied; ‘Now I almost know what it is to die of fear, Sir Gordon.” She looked at the glowing sunlit waves. “1 should not be so alaimed ata death that caing at ovce,”’ she said; “but every gust of wind, every creak of the sbip’s tiinbers, brings all the borrors of drowning before my mind. I suffer from it, not once, but a hundred times,”’ Jt wasalltrue—I knew it 1 ‘had seen her struck duwn because ot this great fear of hers. Infinite pity warmed my heart, bot from Inv iIps caine DO Word that should not bave been spoken to another inan’s wife. 1 said all I could to cheer and console her I told her how in the nidst of the storm Mrs. Vann had been overheard scolding her husband for baving asked tor * ’ot brandy and water,’’ threateuing bim with terrible penalties if he did not remember soine of the sailors | bis A's, Sue suniled.

Page 17

“an _— _THE SATURDAY EVENING rOSf. Like a winter sunbeam on a lake of ice was that sinile, so faint, so sad, so sweet was it. About ber hustiand she spoke no word, He had been brutality auery with ber, he had cursed and strue) ier, but the patient lips never opened to utter one word against him. I yield to none in iny great reverence tor women, butthere have been times when even those Whoin the world calls good wo- nen have vexed ine by the way in which they have spoken of their husbands. In my opinion, unless cruelly misused, a wife should never complain, or betray her husband’s tauita. Laurie Stuart never did. We sat together that morning, but neither | friends, I'd teel exactly as I do now at “Don't suppose against or ahensed or Niouled + fea wrens “No, I don’t,” said Aminidab Jones; “I deserve it.’’ “Asif that made any d m ‘old Suspicion. y difference,” cried ters, and cross-queation servants and other | #pies for a year, he'll be of my mind. It's | @ false world, Aiminidab, a very false } world.”’ “You're soured iny dear sir,’’sald Amini- dab. “I'll wager you anything that if I | Were to listen at key holes, peep into the let- | ters, and watch the actions of all my the then nor ever did she say one word to ine | end of the vear."’ about ber husband's shortcoinings. “I never bet on a certainty,” replied Sus- [TO BE CONTINUED.] | Picion; “but I'l make you an offer, Come — Seeing His Friends. BY RANDALL W. BAYLE. H,” said Mr. Jones,as he sat luxurious. ly sipping his wine. Mr. Jones was rich, and like the lit- le mouse in the fable, “fared suinptuously every day.” “Ah, dear me, how foolish it is for people to find tault with the world, and say people are ungrateful, and all that. “It's a very good world, indeed. It’s not full of ingrates either. “It’s really very pleasant to find so many friends, as one goes along. “It's only necessary,” said Jones,holding his glass to the light, and letting the light drop through itina great garnet blot upon the dainask cloth, “it’s only necessary to be ainiable and kind to people, and to be nat urally an agreeatle person,to be loved and respected aud well used. “As for ie who ever had better friends? “Not to mention the lot of acquaintances who don’t count tor inuch. “There's iny Aunt Greenbough, and her nine daughters, as fond of meas though I were a brother. “Todkinson—how that man respects me; and Cousin Fish and his wile, who really have aliuost too good an idea of me, “Ha, ba! think I’m more than per. fect. “And Miss Flyblister, poor thing, per- haps she would have liked ine to like hera little more. “And Ainanda—Heaven! how that girl loves me! “If | were Apollo, she could not admire me inore. “It I were Moses—no, Solomon, she couidn’s think tne wiser. “And my servants—iny excellent Nehe- miah, and iny worthy Diuah—bow devoted they are. “And all because I’ve been generous and good-natured and kind to them all. “Aud because I’tn « pleasant sort of fel- low, notoneof your crabbed, crusted creat- ures."’ And Mr. Jones, having finished his wine arose and sauntered towards his great Turk- ish chair, with vague thoughts of a nap hovering in his brain. For Mr. Jones was not a boy to whom after-diuner naps are unknown, but a gen- tleman of six-and-twenty, growing portlier with every year of good living sal deuteat- ment. But as Mr. Jones approached his chair,he becaine couscious that it was not unten- anted. lt was occupied by a tall, gaunt tigure dressed apparently in cobwebs. At least the texture of the long gown and cap It wore,suggested nothing else. t had a face tiuch of the same hue, with a lean, suspicious nose and chin, and fur- tive eyes of a pale grey. Its long, lean hands rested together on a «taft, and as Mr. Jones approached it cack- led, or choked, or something of the sort. “Ab!” said Mr. Jones to hitnself, ‘one of those artistic beggars who make pictures of theinselves, ] suppose. ‘Well, well, lL think he’s worth a shill- ing. “Here, old man—and if you want a drink and something to eat, go to the table and — yourself.’’ “He, he, be!’’ rattled the creature in the chair. “He, he, he! How you make ime laugh, to be sure, Aininidab Jones. “Bah! I always have food enough—T, if ro one else on earth.” | under my mantie; it is large enough to take in all the world, and once covered by it, you will be invisible. Nobody notices me. “We'llgo to your friends—to Aunt Greenbough’s, to Todkinson's, to Cousin Fish‘s, to Miss Flyblister’s, and to Aman- da’s, and see what we shall see. If youare right, I'll goaway; if you are not, I'll stay. You'll want me for atriend—eb ?” “I'm right,” said Jones; “so put your mantle over ine, and let us start. You see I know what I atn, “I know that there’s nothing about me for anyone to dislike so, Don’t you see ?’’ “Yes,’’ said Suspicion, ‘i see. Your vanity is what has kept me from you so. Comeon.” Tnen he whisked him away. They were in Mrs. Greenbough’s parlor. Aunt Greenbough sat knitting. Five of the nine daughters were present. Suspicion Jurked in a dark corner, and Mr. Jones peeped through his cobwebby | wnantie. ‘Dear, dear,’’ said Aunt Greenbough. ‘Dear, dear, what set me thinking about your cousin Aminidab Jones just now ?"’ ‘I'm sure I don’t kuow,”’ snapped Lily. “Why anyone ever thinks of hii I can’t tell. ‘The airs he takes because grandpa lett him all bis money. I’in sick of bitm.’’ ‘“‘And the idea of bis getting married, as they say he is porns to be, to that flirty thing,’’ said Miss Sally. “Why, [thought he wasto be a_ bache- lor, and leave us somethingif he died tirst.’’ “Oh, pshaw!”’ cried Lily. himself too much. “He’lloutlive us. But though I can’t bear hiim—never could—it was nice to have someone you could always make a beau of.” “Yes,” said Fann oue that could aftor that. “And why couldn’t he marry a woman of his own age, instead of a chit of eigh- teen ?”’ “Cousin Aminidab never had any strength of character,’’drawled Miss Greenbough,an elderly young lady with anut-cracker chin. “T never had any respect for hiin.”’ “And yet she set her cap so hard tor me,”’ inuttered Aiminidab, behind Suspic- ion’s vest. “Why, L wouldn’t Coine, lve had enough bougbs. “T paid the mortgage off their house, and ave the ouly one that’s inarried her wed- ing outtit. There, come away.” ‘To Todkinson’s,”’’ said Suspicion. And there they were. Todkinson was sinuoking and talking toa friend. “and that puts me in mind of Jones," said he. ‘*Now Jonesis a very fine fel- low.”’ “Told yon so0,”* whispered Jones, “A very tine fellow, but he’s cominon- place. “No musicin his soul, and obtuse—yes, obtuse and very vain. “He thinks every woman isin love with him. “We played hitn a trick. all the ladies were in love did indeed. “And he believed it—ha, ha !~—swallowed it. ‘Now you know, whatever else claim for hitnself, he’s not an if vou want to be friends with him, you must pretend to think he is,and that be can play whist too. “Now he can’t play at all,and he’s no judxe of wine either. fle fancies he knows port, but——” ‘‘He pamnpers Greenbough, ‘and carriages and all have believed it. of the Green- We told with birn. him We he can “Then peroaps you'll tell me what pro- cures ine this pleasure,’ said Mr. Joues,not without sarcasin in his voice. “IT thought I’d look you up,”’ said the fig- ure. “Very few men I don’t know. My naine is Suspicion—ever heard it?”’ “Well,I don’t kuow,”’’ said Mr. Joues,de- siring to be polite. “We've had some odd, old-fashioned naines in our tamily—Prudence, Patience, Experience, Desire—balf a dozen others. By an odd name myself—Aininidad ha, a ? “Yes, and you are an odd man,”’ said the figure. “To bear you talk, now—to hear you talk! “Friends! believe in Do you really friends at your age—in fealty, and honor and honesty ? “Don’t you know by this time that all peopie care tor y 1 for is what you 4 for thein Liat your ionev and ¥ r pieas ant invitations, an 2 your presenis,and what they expect you to leave tiem, make then all so complacent to you, that if you were to become poor, they—bah! “What does the fellow the enraged Jones, but Suspicion at once whisked him away again. “There are the Fishes,’ said he. “You true friends. Come, call on therm.” At that moment Fish and his wife were at tea, and Jones peering through Suspicion’s mantle, heard Mrs. F. vsay— “Take another cup of tea, dear.’’ “J will,’ said Fish. “I need it. I've toiled since dawn over mny weary work.” Fish was literary, and disposed to be dra- matic in bis language. . “Yes, I have earned iny bread by the sweat ot iny brow, while ploated scions of | wealth, such as Jones, have revelled = in luxury and idleness. “Yet, as I passed Jones to-day, I said to myself—Bah !- ‘The coat is but the guinea « T 4 a * 1 uf I sh iid 4 lea said irs } aw ao s¢ 4 ‘ aa - ” 74 n his ia { g 8 3 ‘ and I think Iam taller t hea J ues,” ' “Why, let the man whe has most faith in his friends listen at key holes, peep in let- | | he went and proposed out of Miss | Adonis ; but mean ?’’ began | _——- “And ever such a handsomer figure,’ said his wife. “And hecould not have produced the poems I have, | think ?" asked Fish. “Such verses as those, Ob,the ideal’ said Mra. Fish. “Then let hiin keep bis gold,”' said Fish ; “let him keep it. “By the bye, 1 bave an invitation to dine with him.” “Shall we go?’ asked the wife. Yes, ves, said Fish, “I'll go. I shail see him, so to speak, dissolve pearls in hin Wine--spend on one pearl what would feed forty poor children for a year, and L shall sinile bitterly ; but I wi'l go.” “One comfort, dear.’’ said Mra. Fish, it's harder for « camel to get through a needla's eye than for arich tan to get to oeaven."’ “That often does comfort me,” said Fish. “Oh, I shan't jostle against Jones and bis kiud there.” “T loaned that fellow two and fiftw dol- lars last tine we met,’ muttered Jones, “Ah! said Suspicion, ‘always suspect those you have done favors to tiret.” Then they flitted t+ Mise Flyblister's. She was talking to her crony Miss Briggs. “Oh, no, Auna Maria,” said she; ‘ol,no; I wasn't at all surprised that Jones should propose to Aimanda Powers, or someone vise, after I refused him.’’ “What a fib,’ muttered Jones, “T wasn't going to give upiny independ- ence for aiman ot! no intellect,’’ continued Miss F., “and so IT told him, ‘Powers of inind,’ says I to him, ‘are what 1 detmnand in «inan whois to be inv husband. No,’ says I, when he was on his knees,”’ “T never was,’ muttered Jones, No,’ says [T, ‘no, indeed. TI niust marry a great tian, one who will make a figure in the world, “Will von do anvthing—-be anything ?’ So, of course,he couldn't say he would,and revenge to Ainanda Powers,”’ “Oh, what floa !" groaned Jones. “Never said a word to her—not a word of anything but friendship.”’ ‘Such a little fat rolv-poly, with no dig- nity,’’ said Miss Flyblister, pretending to laugh furiously. ‘Dear, dear, and do you know he is ages older than he pretended to be? Dyes his hair, I have heard.” “It's naturally a beautiful black, and I don't lie about iny age,’’ wurattered Joves. “And I wouldn't have hitn,not tor all his money,” continued the young lady. “Never had a chance,” said Jones. Ashe murmured these words he was whisked away. “Now, shall we go to Atnanda’s ?"’ asked Suspicion. “Yes,” said Jones. ‘There we shall find one true heart at least.’’ “Two,” said Suspicion; for there sat Aimanda on a sofa, and about her waist an arin, and near her cheek a pair of whiskers just arrived at visible length. “T shall destroy inysell,”’ said a voice be- hind Whiskers. “Oh, no, vou won't,” stid Amanda, “You see, I can't tnarry poor; Pa can't leave me a penny, and though I can’t bear bin’ near me—"’ “She Jones. “And though I know I shall feel awful, why, I inust have bim now. So good-bye Alphonse. “And, you know, than I, and [imav be «a day.”’ “Tet me out,’ wrapped hin tight, and flew back to snug bachelor apartinent. When he unwrapped his grey mantle, Jones was insensible; he bad fainted. When he came to hitself it was nearly morning. The sky wasgrey, and crowing. He looked abont hitn. There sat Suspicion all agrin. “Ab, Din glad I'in awake,’’ cried “T’ve had a bad dream.” sid she adored me," groaned he’s a good deal older rich widow some cried Jones; but a ones’ the cocks were Jones. “On no,” said Suspicion, ‘it was—"’ “Hold your tongue!” cried Jones. “See here. “T know what sortoffellow Tam. There's no reason people shouldn't like ine. They do. “No reason people shouldn't love me; she does. Get out.”’ “Eh! cried Suspicion. ‘Then you don’t want ine to stay?" “No,” said Jones, “(et out.’ “It’s his vanity,’’ said Suspicion, hob- bling away. “His vanity bas saved him. I've shown him the truth, but he can’t believe it be- cause he’s 8 vain. “Iie’ll marry Amanda, and invite his tive hundred dear triends to his wed- ding.’’ And Jones did. Tt was all true enough. The Greenboughs, andthe Fishes, Tod- kinson, and Miss Fiyblister were as un- wrateful and talked as badly of him as Sus- picion had shown hin that they did, And Atinanda bad a memory of Alphonse and his whiskers in what she called her heart—and at tnany a key-bole might Jones have listened, and many a letter might he have opened—as, who inight not ?—with sad resiite, But thoug! S Vanit et ito be flat tered. enioled a cheated his life throug | like it at the end. | Cup at her husband. - - ~— eee Bric-a- Brac. Cnhrar LinRaRixs.— A Boston furniture concern inakes bookcases containing asharn: library, something ‘ike “Mra, Potiphar.”’ The shelves are covered with the works of Shakaspeare, Tenuyaon, Carlple, and other standard autbors, all of which are blocks «of wood covered with leather, and bound '. gether so that they cannot be removed. For show, they answer every purpose. THe LogK.—A conmon Chinese tal istnan is the “hundred furnilies’ lock,’’ te procure which a father goes round among his frien (4 and, having obtained fromabhoandred dif ferent parties a few of the copper coins of the country, he bitmself adds the balance to purchase an ornament or appendage fash- ioned like alock, which he hangs on bis child's neck tor the purpose of figuratively locking him to life and causing the bhun- dred persons to be ooncerned in his attain- ing old age. Notss.—Silk was manufactured in the United States as long as 18382 by German immigrants living at Economy, Pa. The relative distances of the sun and moon from the earth were first calculated by Aristar- ehus, about 280 B.c, The ancienw were accustomed to place a crescent at the begin- ning of a book and a crown or somethin A Hebrew colony end: ed in Georgia in 1733, and some of the present inhabitants of Savannah are de- ascended trown its inembers, SNEEZING IN AFRICA.—Among the sav- age tribes of Atrica it !s a common notion that kind or bostile spirits make their pres- ence manifest in any particular person by his sneezing. An author in his “Religion of Ainagola,” tells us how when the Zulu sneezes, he exclainm, “I am now blessed ! The ancestral spirit is w'th ine; it has come tome. Let me hasten to salute it, for it is it which causes ine wo sneeze.’"’ The sorcerers, too, are accustomed to aneéz, regarding this act as an Indication of the presence of the spirite by whose fostru- inentality they are supposed to work their inAgic, Hiap He Been SPARKED.—Etienne Pra- dice, who died the other day at the village of Auroux, France, was an example to all Benedicks, and, had he been spared, the comparison of bis second century's @xor- ence with the first would have aflorded valuable evidence on the pros and cons of inatrimony; but, unbappily, he was cut off after eight years of married life. The ol.) gentleman, who was a veteran of the Grand Army, remained in single blessednems ti)! the mature age of 100,when, baving thougit the matter over carefully, he determined to celebrate his centenary by taking to bimerif awife. The bride was a voung school tis treas of the neighborhood, Dreaks.—Cuvier’s bear ‘was particular! y fond of sucking its paws, during wire operation italways seot forth a uniform and constant wurinur, something like the sound of a spinning wheel.’ “The sucking ofthe paw, accompanied by a drumaning noise while at rest, and expecially after ineals, is Common to all bears, and during the heat of the day they tnav often be hear! puffing and hurmming tar down in) cavers and fissures of rocks.”” The cause of thos has often been speculated on, but Tiekell imagines thatitistinerely a habit: peculler to it, and be states ‘that they are just as fond of sucking their neighbor's paws or the hands of any person, as their own paws,"’ RELATIVE Vatcrs.—Colonel Folsom wis reading the morning paper yesterday at the breakfiet table, when be exelained in «# horrified tone of vores, 'Wiat a terri- ble inistortune | oO What mitpecmebody got married ?° “Nobut@ omrried woman in New York, inafitof rave, threw a eoffea ‘Tne cup was shivered into fragments, and one of them cutting his jugular artery, he died on the spot The reporter sayvathe grief of the unfortunate | wornno was drewiful to witness, She was | frantic with remorse, and made ' tempts to | “Poor creature,’ ! Boe, several at- to her existence." Mrs. Polson, witha broken Cup tnust have belonged to her new china set THE StoRY OF CINDERELLA. —The story of Cinderella has been variously traced tu Italy, France, Arabia, and Eyvpt; but the general Opinion seen to be that the Ruypt- jan version, astoid by Strabo and ABlian bas the best right to Le eonsidered as the original. ‘The Princess Rhodope, about n, C. 670, was bathing, and leit her shoes upon the bank of the river, An eagle hovering about In search of prev pouneed UPON AROS and, carrying it off to Memphis, dropped it into the jap of King Psamimetichus, who was holding agourtof justice. The King, s ruck by the sinall size and beauty of the sent forth «a proclamation for the In due course the tnessengers put an end mail Sigh, LT reekon the owner. | found the girl whereupon the king married her. AN ENTHUSIASTIC Souprer.—Coont de la Lippe Birkenbourg, one of the bravest and ablest offl©ersot lis day (1720-1774), arnused niviwself with toilitary mancuuvres and experiments in histown territories in One day he invited his little visitors to dine with hi: after a (26rWiany. mad eourt review. ‘The dinner was served in a tent on the ground: and towards the latter end repast Lue Cou Paerved to i¢ K we veral tities at s wateh and put iy + ‘4 At last

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> —_ - AUTUMN TWILIGHT. BY JOuN MH. HEWITT. A rainbow sleeps among the trees, The wind harps murmur ip the breeze, W bile alone I reset, And watch the floating vapory (old, Tinted with red and tipped with gold, Chut in the crimeon weet. The monarch sun has sought repose Behind the hill-tope ; softly flows The brook toward the bay: While in the twilight may be seen One little star, with emile serene, Shooting its silvery ray. Far off \e heard the city’s hum, Hreaking the melancholy gloom Of voleeless vale and trill : Even the night-bird’s song t« hushed, And the dall gurgling strain that gushed From «parkling brook and hill, Bilence seems eloquent If speaks, Au echo of the past awakes Deep in the wand'rer’s breast— Where are the beautiful and fair, The hourl of the past’ say where? Cione to eterual rest. Like to the golden hues that linger, Ae lf sustained by fairy Huger Outin the blushing west, Are the voung Joys of Iife dniv to be a fleeting dream That pictures our unrest, The sun has sunk the veil of night, Spangled with stars, blue, red, aud white, Over the scene Is spread | Still mem ‘ry penetrates the gloom, Raising grim phantoms of the tomb, And rev'ling withthe dead! LADY LINTON. they seem BY THE AUTHOROF “‘THE NEMESIS OF LOVE,’ ‘““‘BARBAKA GRAUAM,”’ ETC., ETC., ETC. CHAPTER XVIII. CORRESPONDENCE, Mrs. YROM Mr. Pieree, Monkden, to Pierce, Foutainebleau— “The Swan, Friday. “Dear Eliza,—I haven't inserted the = ad- vertisoement, and ] don't mean to. I like the business, and I sha'n't go on il. ‘There's a candle-manufactory at Marlow to be disposed of, and, though it is not plea- sant trade jn wart weather, I'd rather de- Vote iny energies to that than to ruining the happiness of two unfortunate people by this confounded private inquiry. “You must have a heart as bard as) Lady Macbeth's to look upon the abounding love of sweet little Lagy LL. and the yearning af- fection of her husband and ealinly lay your plans for blasting their lives and tinaking them miserable for ever. “T'd forgive Bluebeard showed for bis last wife such tender feelings a8 you ascribe to (i, “[do remember that expression upon poor ‘Tom's face when he heard that be bad only a week more to look upon bis poor girl's face and hear her voice, “Tf Sir G. has such an expression as that then my heart's with hin, and confusion to his enemiessay I. “You will do ine the kindness, Eliza, to with himself if he earnest and Sir come home as soon as vou ean, and let me know how we are lo inanage with Mrs, (3. “LT don’t suppose she will give her the fifty back, “Tt will be as well to retire from the Biness as deceatly as we can. “Any way,il we have to give ber the fifty pounds, there will still be enough, if we sell outof the building s-clety and = ratile the piano, to wet the candle-factory, which [ ain told will be worth double the money when the hot months are over, “Tthink you bad better write to Gi. “You can tell her that my inquiries here have not yielded the results we expected ; and this you ean do trathfully. expect us to bu- Mrs. THE our client by retiring from an undertaking to which we are sole:nnly pledged by an inland revenue stamp. “Ll havesent the advertisement with a mandat de poste to the London papers, and I bave written to Mrs. Gower. “Irrespective of ny feelings,you will see the necessity of doing nothing to make Sir G. acquainted with the inquiry 1 am mak- ing. ei you speak, you will oblige me to give Lady L..an explanation of my conduct, Your letter containing the account of acon- versation with your friend of the ‘Chub and Fioat’ will suffice. “The only chance of happiness Sir Gil- bert and bis wife have is in my failure and Lady L's. ignorance of this inquiry. «ff have no wish to ‘b—t their lives,’ as you profanely put it. “Tl only desire to see ced wtp and pro- vide the means of subsistence tor ourse: ves which your energies, devote them as you will, have hitherto failed to procure. “Yours, “E. PIERCE. “P.S8.—You need not trouble yourself to call upon aunt Sarah. I have written to her, and she will forward to me whatever issenttherein answer to the advertise- ments,”” From Y. Z., Post-office, Southampton, to A. B., care of Mrs. Giles, King’s Square— **May 10, 188-. “To A. B.,—I am instructed on behalf of Sophia Kirby to inquire what advantage is referred to by the advertisement which ap- peared jin the T'imes of yesterday, May 9. Please communicate in« the first instance with “Y, Z., Post-office, Southampton.” I’rom A. K., London, to Y. Z. South- aim pton— “May 12. “To Y. Z.,—A reward of one hundred pounds will be paid to Sophia Kirby if ske furnishes within ten days such evidence concerning the tnurder of the late Lady Linton as shall lead to the conviction of Sir Gilbert Linton, now residing at Valvins, Fontainebleau, France, “A personal interview with Sophia Kirby is desired, and she is requested to appoint tine and place for a strictly private meet- ing. hi" don't | From Mrs. Pierce, Fonutainebleau,to Mrs. Gower, London. “Valvins, Fontainebleau, May 12, “Dear Madain,—My partner in London, Mr. J. Pierce, being wholly occupied in procuring evidence concerning the relations which existed between Sir Gilbert) Linton and Sophia Kirby anteecdent to the date of the late Lady Linton’s death, 1 take upon myself the duty of acquainting you with | the progress we are inaking in the comunis- sion with which have honored us. “We have obtained, not without consider- able risk and difficulty, a copy of the diary kept by the present Lady Linton—:ormerly Miss Graham—which gives evidence (1) yeu _ that she is guiltless of any complicity inthe inurder of the late Lady Linton—a most important fact, which precludes the disas- trous Consequences of wrongly accusing a person whose innocence could be pioved to our confusion, (2) that Sir Gilbert Linton was passion- | ately enamored of her while his first wife | peat the offer he had previously alive, **(3) that he offered to abandon for Miss (iraham’'s sake. **(4) that, after her refusal, he meditated op getting rid of his wife as the only means of realizing his desires with regard to Miss Graham. (5) that, after getting rid of his wife, he did not at once go to Miss Graham ands re- urged so passionately, which was the natural course for an innocent tnan lo take, (6) that it was with a desperate disre- gard to consequences that he at length = re- solved to marry Miss Graham, (7) thal, to escape those consequences, his wife | he proposed to leave England and lead a roving life—the best calculated to avoid a ineeting With his accomplice, Sophia “I find that the landlord of the ‘Chub and | Float’ is one of the greatest liars in Berk- shire—which is saving a good deal, especi- ally in this partof it, where a man never Jlands a gudgeou without swearing he has caught a trout—the stories he has told ine about barbel-cateching prove how little his word 1s to be relied on, “I bave found nothing reliable to add to what I told you in iny last; and,as that was false, you ny Safely write to Mrs. G. that further inquiry is useless, “Tshall wait here until I receive your answer to this, and then return to town, have in the broker froin the bottom of En- dell Street to repurchase the office-furni- ture, and close the show, * Yours allectionately. “Jos. PLERCH.” Froin Mrs. Pierce, Fontainebleau, to Mr, Pierce, Monkden— “Valvins, May 6. “Dear P.,—If vou are not quitea fool,you will have nothing to do with the candle- manufactory. “You will live in it alone if you do take I defy you Ww raffle the piano. It is leg- a be ? i Ver ese eas s es I ca ~ ss fr per Laps wil "Une tl v is i 1 mlin wot defraud | frightened from her pursuit, as shown kK irby. **(5) that he recognized at once an enemy inthe yacht that pursued him from Dover. (9) that the woman seen upon the pur- suing yacht was to be neither bribed nor by her persistence in following Sir Gilbert after the interview he obtained with her at Cher- bouryg. “And that (10) she was to be feared, and atall bazards to be prevented from en- countering bis wife, clearly demonstrated by the ignominious ruse practiced at St. Malo, the flight to Paris, and suLsequent residence in an obscure village on the Seine. ‘These facts led us at once to the conclu- | said, putting the basketin her lap, sion that the woman so strenuously avoided was Suphia Kirby, and that she was not wholly guilty of the murder. “Had Sir Gilbert been guiltiess,hbe would beyond doubt have handed her over to the een ol making his escape from uurelaxed ier. ‘Our next efforts were to discover the ex- act relation which existed between Sir Gil- bert Linton and Sophia Kirby prior to the uiurder, “We succeeded in finding that she was Fotmething more & ttn Lian a paid servant, aud Lihat thelr connection ex 1ded aC K 4 Gale ea©ri r tha sat of S ‘ stirs meeting with Aliss (ira Ail “Mr. J. Pier s ut Clo present nent prose y this brat ii 1 Lite rv with uldently vunergy, 4ud We luiay Cc SATURDAY EVENING | from her lap, as if to rise, POST. hope to obtain further and conclusive evi- dence before long. “At the same time,we have been seeking Sopbia Kirby; and I am happy to inform you that we are now in direct commbuica- tion with ber. “It is contrary to our principles to disclose the proceedings we intend to take; but confidence in your complete secrecy and discretion permits me to indicate the course we intend to pursue in this case. ‘‘We shall tntimate to Sophia Kirby the hiding-place of Sir Gilbert. “If our conclusions are just, she will avail herself of this information to seek him at once here at Va)vins, “The result of their meeting may be the immediate denunciation of Sir Gilbert or a secret compromise. “In either case the conviction of Sir Gil- bert is inevitable. “Though in the latter it may be for a time postponed. “Rest assured, madam, that I shall acquaint myself with all the particulars which can contribute toa satisfactory con- clusion of our inquiry, and that I shall not neglect to apprise you of the facts as they occur, ‘Believe me, madam, “Yours respectfully and obediently, “E. PIERCE. “P.S.—Kindly address all communica- tions to E. Pierce, poste restante, Vulaines- sur-Seine, Seine-et-Marne.”’ From Mrs. Gower, London,to Mrs. Pierce Fontainebleau— ‘‘Mrs. Gower writes to express her en- tire satisfaction with the manner in which Messrs. Pierce & Pierce have conducted their inquiries on her behalf, and also her | confidence in their integrity and business ability. “Mrs. Gower encloses a cheque for the amount due to Messrs, Pierce & Pierce to present date. ‘“Gauntly House, May 14, 188-.”’ CHAPTER XIX. ITTLE Lady Linton sat in her salon. The windows of the bow-front were Jj thrown wide open, for summer had coine early to Valvins, where tbe wooded hills afforded shelter. There were heavy clusters of roses upon the trellis of the varandah. The beds upon the lawn were brilliant with geraniums. The grass in the paddock beyond was up to the knees of the dun cow, and Gertie could see only the back of the old goat as she steadily browsed, and the heads of her young when they frisked and leapt. The acacias that bounded the forest were white with bloom, and the air was sweet with the fragrance. Gertie was alone, stitching. A dainty little work-table stood between her andthe verandah, so that when she paused in her work to get a fresh length of cotton she could look out over her garden and paddock and see the silver river be- tween the tall poplars on the right. That was just what she was doing when her ear caught the sound of her voice hum- ming a tune, In a moment she slipped her work into the well of the little table, closed the top, and, folding her arms upon it, leaned for- ward with her head a little on one side, and looked out in the direction from which the sound had come, her eyes prettily twink- ling with pleasure and her cheeks just tinged with a blush. Gilbert strolled over the lawn with a gar- | den-basket in his hand, and came towards the house. The morning sun was in his eyes when he looked towards the salon, and he failed to see Gertie. Still humming, he paused under the ver- andah and plucked a couple of half-opened rose- buds, Then, baving laid them in the basket, he was about to stroll off towards the terrace, when a little pearly laugh told him thatthe object of his search was close at hand and observing hii. ‘“*You there, Gertie ?”’ back. He caine into the room, taking off his soft felt hat, and laid the rose-buds on the table. Gertie leaned back in her chair and stretched her arms upwards in silence,look- ing into his face with 4 beseeching love in her eyes and lips. He stood over her for a moment, then bent down,and she clasped ber bands upon his neck and held him prisoner. When he was released, he drew a chair near ber and seated himself. “Found balf a dozen strawberries,” he “T in- he said, turning tended them as a bribe. “But somehow they don’t seem quite adequate to the purpose now.”’ ‘What purpose ?’’ “Thought 1 might tempt you to go out.’’ .**I can’t walk very far, dear,”’ she said, her cheek aad neck flushing with a deeper pink. “No necessity. Sitinthe boat, and I’ll row you—lounge in the chaise,and_ I’li drive you. It’s a heavenly morning.” “So itis, love.”” She took tbe basket he “Where shall |} we got “What does that matter to you?”’ he asked after loOKing at ber fora inomentin silent v f | ask v y eN I l sent, a IK It th © piéeasal - promenade in the w id “Sitdown, Gertie; there’s vo hurry, It's as pleasant bere as elsewhere peruaps.’’ He threw his arm overthe back of the chair and talkod of trifles—of matters con. cerning the garden and the stable,and their pane for the summer—and she gave her- self up to tne pleasure of an idle chat, eat. ing now and then a straw from the basket he had brought her, laughing light- ly at his jokes, and thinaing that surely no one on earth could talk so chariningl|ly as he who found without effort something piexs- ant to say upon whatever subject he dix- cussed, and paid her a hundred graceiu! compliments without seeming to seek tor one, She had thought him perfect in the old time, when his inanner was often cynical and hard. But, ab,he was tar more lovable now that his bearing was gentier and more sweet! And the change was more delightful to her because it arose from his greater happi- ness, They gossiped for half an hour,and then, changing his ition, he perceived a reel of cotton at his feet. He picked it up carelessly, and wus about to lift the top of the work-table, when she, with a little cry of alarin, put her hands upon it and held it down. “Ab,” he said, with alittle look of sur- prise, ‘‘you too, Gertie, have a secret !’’ She nodded, siniling and blushing at the tine. “Thank Heaven, it’sa happy one!” he said, rising and looking down at her with tender earnestness. “I see now woy you did not want to go out.’’ “I did not say I wished to home.”’ “J tound that out for myself. I shall ride over to Marlotte; that will give you three or four hours to gloat over your svaret.”’ He stooped down to kiss her. “Aren’t you jealous?’ sbe asked, aold- ing his head between her hands and lvook- ing into his eyes. “Not a vit.” “And aren’t you burning with curiosity to know what it is vou musn’t see ?’’ **Men are superior to that sort of feeling, you know.” Gertie still held him, and seemed to be rather disappointed at his lack of inter- est. ‘“‘Wouldn’t you like to see just a tiny morsel of it?’’ she asked. «Come to look at it in that light, I think I should.” In joyful haste, tempered with elaborate caution, she opened the work-table a few inches, peeped in, and then drew out about four inches of a marvellous little cambric sleeve. “Good Heaven, Gertie,’ said he, after re- garding it in preplexity for a moment, as he cont into his chair, **you don’t mean to hint that you still go in for dolls!”’ *“Dolls!’’ she exclaimed, with an accent of supreme disgust. More perplexed than ever,Gilbert looked froin his wife to the little sleeve, touched it, and lifted his eyes again to Gertie’s flushed face. Then, asa ray of intelligence flushed up- on his mind, be dropped the sleeve which he held between his thuinb and finger,and, leaning forward, took her hand, and said very softly— “Is my little wife to be a mother ?” She snatched ber hand from bis, flung ber arins round his neck, and pressed her burn- ing cheek to his for reply. Gilbert had been yone quite a time. Gertie’s radiant face was bent over the work. Her nimble tingers drew the thread with such care as the most delicate embroidery might require. The door behind her opened, and Mrs. Pierce entered the room and approached her mistress with the noiseless step and restrained bearing of a well-trained ser- vant. Mrs. Pierce was asiight wiry woman of about forty years, dressed in a plain black gown and rigid cuffs and collar and a white apron and cap. Her appearance neat. Her hair seemed to be cemented to her head. Her complexion was dark, her nose Straight and sharp, herupper lip long and divided trom the lower by the straight and faintly perceptible line of her mouth. _Every movement was very painfully pre- cise, he J her little stone-gray eyes seemed capable of precipitate and irregular mio- tion. “Will her ladyship be good enough to in- Struct me with regard totne dinner?’ she asked, adopting the correct tanner ot! French servants. Gertie laid her work in her lap and dis- cussed the subject at some length, choosing this plate and rejecting that as she consid- ered her busband’'s taste. Occasionally Mrs. Pierce made a_ respect- ful pe, which was invariably good, The admirable servant seemed to know stay at long was particularly | her inaster’s tastes as well as Gertie bersel!, } and her excellent inemory furnished her With good alternatives, If one thing was nut to be had, another would serve as weil. She opposed nothing, but contrived inane @vervthinyg possi ble, W hile the quest was yet un ler cons r tors ell rang. ‘rertie rec ved so few visits that sound of the be! ance to her, lustinctively she raised the top of ber { wasa matter of import i le wk ni i rer ww ©

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work-table to put away her work, half ris- ing from her chair. Mrs. Pierce shot a glance through the window as far as ber eye could reach in the direction of the visitors’ entrance and back in to her mistress, Otherwise she did not move a muscle, “That was the visitors’ bell, Pierce.’’ “Yes, madam. Would ber = lady- ship like ime to ascertain who has waited ?”” “Yes, by all means. Philippe of course knows what to do; but youcan bring ine the card.”’ Mrs. Pierce left the room, and Gertie be- gan to pick off soine threads of cambric that clung to her dress, in case she had to see the visitor. Possibly it was M. de Clameran, or some other friend ot her husband's. Ic seeined along time between Pierce's going and ber return. At length she caine into the room, closed the door behind her,crossed with her custo- mary precision to where Gertie stood, and said— “The lady bas not a card——”" “No, madam. The lady desired to see Sir Gilbert. Her name is Miss Drummond,” “She is English ?”’ “Yes, madatmn. I told Miss Drummond that Sir Gilbert was absent, and that I would inform you ot her presence. She is in the morning-room.” “That will do, Pierce. I will see the lady atonce. I think we have settled about dinner.” : “Yes, madain.” Pierce crossed the room and opened the door. Gertie passed out, wondering who this visitor was whose name she had never heard her husband tnention. She crossed the vestibule and with atimid hand—she was nervous, she knew not why —opened the door of the morning- roo. She entered the room so noiselessly that the sound did not disturb Miss Drummond who, standing inthe middle ot the room with her back tothe door, was evidentlv examining the luxurious apartment. criti- cally. Gertie stood still for a moment, only able to forin some idea of the visitor that brief glance. Except that she was taller and broader than most Frenchwomen,thbe visitor looked more like a Parisienue than an Englishwo- nan. There was something strongly suggestive of the Boulevard des Italiens in her hat, with its over-abundant garniture of feath- ers and fruit,in the elaboratel y-ornamented mantle that nipped her elbows into her waist, In the stiff silk skirt trained out be- hind, with its border of white balay- euse, Gertie dared hardly whisper to herself as she closed the door that her husband's ac- quaintance seemed rather showy than lady- like. Miss Drummond heard the door shut,and turned round at once, witha kick at her train. Gertie loved the fashions as well as anv woman, and to her one of the chief attrac- tions of Paris was its parade of richly- dressed women. Yet the pleasure she found in looking at them she lacked in regarding Miss Drum- mond, and this notwithstanding that she was considerably better-looking than the generality of Frenchwomen, and that no- thing could have been richer or more costly than the dress she wore. The thing which spoilt all was the expres. sion in Miss Druinmond’s face, and soime- — in her inanner which was not lady- ike. She was like an actress who, over-actin her part, destroys the illusion she would create, Miss Drummond’s hair, dressed in the latest style of Sarah Bernhardt, was a little too golden, her skin too fair, her lips were too red, ber eyebrows too dark, and an air intended to be haughty, being overdone, became simply impudent, an effect height- ened by a pince-nez which,worn rather low on her nose, compelled her to throw her head back before she could fairly see Lady Liuton. She step forward to meet Gertie,sway- ing her skirts from side to side,and with one hand extended as far asthe mantle which confined her arm allowed. “My dear Lady Linton,” she said, mak- ing two syllables ot the word ‘dear,’ “so happy to know you—so _ very happy !”’ _ Gertie replied in formal terms, wonder- ing where it was she had previousiv heard the letter ‘“h’’ aspirated with such in- tensity. ‘What a charming spot you have chosen to live in, and what an elegant little house !’’ Ayain phrase. She remembered now that the voung ust rom Gertie replied with a= stock lady atthe milliner’s in Regent Street, where Gilbert had taken her, aspirated her “h's’? and cut her diphthongs in half. **And how is dear old Bertie?”’ asked Miss Drummond. ‘“*Bertie!’’ echoed little Lady Linton, in amaze. “Pardon me. I suppose I ight to call ‘7llDbert now ' “We were id Bw eethearts AnOW, ‘Indeed I don’t know. My husband has never, to my knowledge, tnentioned name to me.”’ your THE tee “Oh, the odious monster! I wi!l punish him for this, “He shall not have a moment's peace until he has apologized to both of us. “My husband apologizes to no one.”’ “Not even when he does any one wrong?” “He never does wrong.” —— you sweet dear charining little inno- cen “Don't you see that in this very matter he has wron you most horridlv? I am not seeking a compliment, you know.”’ If she had been, she would not have been likely to get one from Gertie at that inoment, "No," she said; “I see nothing of the kind. , “He has wronged you by treating you as a child,and supposing you would be jeal- ous and burt to find that he wasn’t iminac- ulate. “Ob, these men! They think that every wotnan they love is a fool to be cheated b their professions, or deceived by their si- lence. “Asif we didn’t know what they do be- hind our backs, and were blind to the facts that stare us in the face ! ‘*Perhaps it’s well, inv dear, to let them go on thinking we are fools, or they might cease t» love us,”’ Miss Drummond had seated herself in a causeuse, and spoke, with her head leaning on the back, swinging her feet to and fro carelessly as she stared with half-closed eyes at Gertie, Gertie sat and listened in a state of bewil- derinent, with a feeling of anger gnawing at her heart. W hat was she to do? reply ? She felt as though she had been suddenly transported out of herown world into one where the customs and language had all to be learnt before she could understand ber position. Miss Drummond seemed like the vulgar woman in that book of “‘Ouida’s” which she had read. But perhaps she wasa fair specimen of the class to which Gilbert belonged, and in which she must take her place. She remnembered that *Ouida’s’’ most vul- gar and unpleasant women were represent- ed as being superior to middle-class peo- ple. Perhaps Miss Drummond was only in- dulging in a kind of — that did not represent her real feelings. One thing was certain—ske must repress her anger, whether it was well or ill-found- ed, and receive ber husband’s friend with becoming civility. “T do not expect Gi'bert to return for some hours,” she said, with a little twitch- ing at the corner of her lips, which was the How was she to nearest approach toa smile she could as- sume. ‘You will stay to dinner ?”’ ‘“Thanks—very much, thanks! I came with the intention of staying if I found you agreeable. “It would bea very poor compliment if I didn’t carry out ny intention now I have told you that.” ‘“*You are very kind,’”” murmured Lady Linton, her heart failing at the prospect. “Is your carriage coming ?”’ “There are twoor three boxes and my dressing-case at Fontainebleau — Hotel d’Angileterre—if you will send one of your people tor them, so that I inay have a de- cent dress for dinner. I know how particu- lar Bertie is. “Tt is righthe should be, for I consider nothing more despicable than an ill-dressed woinan, except an 1ll-dressed man. Men have no excuse, “IT should consider it an insult if a man sat down at table with me in anything but evening-dress.’’ “Gilbert finds evening-dress comfortable, otherwise I don’t think he would wear it. Hedinesin his egret Fa when he feels indisposed to trouble himself with dressing, or is tired with walking.”’ “T would allow no excuse,my dear. Men presuine upon privileges of that kind, and dislike you for perinitting thein. “Why do ninety-nipe nen out of a hun- dred prefer the society of other women to their wives ? “Simply because the wives are foolish enough to permit a certain degree of fa- iniliarity which nauseates them. I admit, however, that leniency was the fault of your predecessor.”’ “My predecessor ?’’ **Bertie’s first wife, my dear.” “Ah, you knew Lady Linton ?” They were in the bedrooin now. And Miss Druinmond, standing at the toilet-table, was trying oneafter the other ot the scent-flacons, | and replied: | Yes, I knew her very well.’’ | You visited atthe Abbey ?” | Miss Drutninond, still smnelling the bot- She inhaled a long whiff of White Rose, | SATURDAY EVENING POST a EE —- —— that’s irresistible. Haven't you found it 0, dear ?”’ She had seated herself with the flacon, and, still inbaling the perfuine, looked at Gertie. “I have had very little experience,” stammered Gertie, turning red. ‘Perhapa that is why I find the subject not a very pleasant one.” “Do you wish me to think the subject is unpleasant to you ?”’ “Certainly I do.” “Excuse ine if I find it difficult to be- lieve. My observation has led me to be- lieve that it is the only subject that has any interest to women. “All others are unore or less agreeable as they bear upon that one theme of the rela- tion between men and women,” Gertie made some commonplace rejoin- der, and then, anxious to escape, changed the subject, and left the room to despatch a cart to Fontainebleau for Miss Druin- inond's baggage. That done, she went into the salon and sat down, with her hands in her lap, to think it all over and so arrange her ideas that she night be able to get through the day with. out making a fool of herself, and giving Gilbert cause to regret her waut of worldly wisdom, She beard the tinkle of a bell,and shortly afterwards Pierce caine into the room, with her noiseless step and rigid composure, “It you please, your ladyship, Miss Druin- mond desires some sherry.”’ CHAPTER XX. T was five o'clock when Gilbert returned | from Marlotte, As he passed the terrace be caught a glimpse, through the shrubbery, of a light costume under the verandah, and raised his hat. He rode in by the stable entrance, threw himself froin bis borse, and went round by the lawn. A little way from the window he imet his wife. “Why, Gertie, what is the matter?’’ were his first words, as he took her hand in his and looked at her keenly. A few hours since he had left her radiant With happiness. He found her now with an expression of fatigue and constraint on her face,as though she had suffered greatly and wished to oon- ceal it from him. r ‘Nothing, dearest,’’ sho answered faint- ly. And then,after a hasty glance behind her, as if if to assure herself that she was not observed, she nestled herself against his breast to coneeal her ill-disguised = eimo- tion. He felt her body trembling under bis hands, and led her away to a seat in the shadow of the house, “Come now, iny love, what is it?’’ he asked, drawing her close to him when they were seated. “Oh, I’m a goose—that’s all, dear !'’ she said, trying to laugh. ‘We mustn'tsit bere, Go into the library, please ; there’s a sur- prise for you,” “Not an agreeable one, I should say, by the look of things,’ be returned. “It's a sufficient surprise to find you so changed since we parted, I don’t want another of the sarne kind. Let me kuow what I am to expect ?” “Your cousin has come to see us,’’she an- swered. ‘“*My cousin !"’ he exclaimed slowly, in a tone of wonder, “Miss Drummond, She arranyed it all. I didn't think you would care very much to be surprised in that way. But, as ashe said it would be a pleasant surprise for you, and she being your cousin, and our visitor, 1 couldn't object.” “My cousin—Mises Drummond!” Gilbert repeated, in a voice which was scarcely au- dible. “She was stopping at a hotel at Fontaine- bleau, on her way to Monaco; and, hearing there that we lived #0 close, she thought it would be—be—'‘awfully nice,’ she said, to come and stay with us for two or three weeks,”’ Gilbert said not a word, but the arm that surrounded his wife's waist twitched con- vulsively. “Of course, dearest, I am very much pleased, indeed, that your cousir —that any one you like should come to see you and stav with as,”’ Gertie said earnestly. “Iam only troubled because I begin to see how far removed [Tam from the class of society | to which you belong—because [I see how childish and silly [inust look beside the wornen who know the world better than I | tle, closed her eyes and inclined her head, | | her lips a litthe parted, drawn back, and showing a line of white teech, | (Gertie wondered if it was at the Abbey, | and during bis wife’s lifetime, that Miss , Drummond and Gilbert had been sweet- hearts. And, with a feeling akin to sharine, she recalled the love-passage wl had takes place Detw eel hers fand li i} Mor ler , “ itt r ‘ always interes " ‘They feel it necessary to be on their best behavior with other worten you Know, | There’s a certain fascination about them do—beeause I can't converse about the or- dinary topies of good society, or even un- derstand thein, and so tmnust sit silent and stupid-looking when I ought to be enter- taining and bright.’”’ Gilbert said not aa word to encourage his wile. Heonly drew her a brenst. (rertie was glad he did not speak. It gave her an opportunity to say all that litle closer to his she hadon her tmsind. The pressure of his loving arm gave her confidence In his SVvinpathy and tolerance. “You see, dear,’ she pursued, “I have never kKuown any grand people, except \ ‘ ‘)y ire #8 fferent world 7 y ‘ rite t Ke saturally 4iien imto their wa at things; and now,being br prhit wueta intu the society of such #8 cousin, and having to remodel everything in iny mind, I felt as ifa long lesson were set before ine to master all atonce.”” — “Where is she 7" asked Gilbert, when Gertie ceased to speak. “In the library, dear." His leit hand was on her lap; she lifted it fently to her lips. le seemed not to notice It, “I arn glad to tell you this, dear,” she went on, stroking bis hand tenderiy—*not that I think you would misunderstand me if I badn'ttold you, “You love me so that you would never dout my wish to be pleasant to your friends, however stupid and dull I might seein, would you?” “Oh, that's all right!" he answered v uely, just catching the intonation of voice that indicated an inquiry ; then, re- inoving his arm trom her wa he threw himeaelt forward, with his bre back bent and his elbows resting on bis knees, Gertie, looking at him sidelong, saw that his eyes were fixed on the waving poplars, the shining leaves of which rusti couse. lesaly in the breeze. His lips were tightly compressed and his nostrils expanded, There was soinething in his face which filled the wife's jealous heart with an ex- ultant belief that,however fond he had been at one time of his cousin, he was displeased to renew the acquaintance, *Well,we tnust get rid of her somehow !"’ he muttered, recovering hitmeelt suddenly ; and then, rising to his leet, be asked once again, ‘Where is she?" ‘In the library, dear. “Miss Drummond wished her boxes to be sent for; and Phillippe brought thei in the light cart.” “Ah, then he can take ’em back again in the light cart! What o'clock? Half-past tive? What time bave you tixed for din- ner?"’ @ix.’’ “1'll tell Louise to put it back as I go through the house, “It's ail right, Gertie, “You go and stroll in the forest till I come and find you; take Pierce with you, I have «a fancy tor some Wood-straw berries ; see if you can find ine some.” Ile kissed her, and walked of under the verandah and into the house, with his hands in bis pockets, Gertie sat Senn, wareediitee what her hus- band’s intentions were, yet with a wonder- ful feeling of reliet and ayrateful sense of reliance on his strengh and wisdom, Presently Pierce came out, carrying @ flower-baskot and a garden-hat for her inis- tress, The adinirable wotnan's features were a little nore pinched than usual—the only sign thatever betrayed declination of a ser- view required of ber, Gertie searched the banks until her bas- ket was half tull of strawberries and she felt fatigued; then she sat down within sight of the house and waited for Gilbert's coming. When at lengh he appeared upon the math leading up into the forest,she disimissed jerce, and went lorward to ineet hii. lliseyes were upon the ground, yets to the wife's eager observation there appeared, even at that distance, a look upon his face which alarined her, Perhaps there bad been an unpleasant seene between him and his cousin. He quickened his step and siniled caught sight of her. “l've been along tiine,Gertie, haven't?” he said, taking ber hand and passing it une der his arin. “The fact is, [undertook a task that just goes beyond ty power. “I've been trying all this tine to yet her to yo, and she wont.” “IT don’t see why you task, dear.”’ as he eel yourself the and vou may tind it lady ws yuur | “Oh, that’s explained easily enough! She's vulgar and coarse, and there's not @ single pleasant quality in ner.” A Sigh of satisfaction escaped from Crertie, She found herself looking at Miss Drum- mond'’s visit in # iwuel tore cheerful spirit now. “Miss Drummond had the good like your society, or been 80 anxious to slay she said, laughing. *) wish she had the good taste to leave a house where #he sees she’s not watted,’’ Giibert rejoined uneasily. “Perhaps she did not see it. You couldn't be rude toa lady; andl don’t think you could try to be.” “No, that’s it, you know,” he said, catch. ing atthe excuse quickly. “A ioan ean say Straight out what he thinks to another tian; but it’s different with a wornan, isn't aT" “Certainly, dear. And il don’t see whe you should wish to get rid of Miss) Dru: mond—at onee, “Variety, even iit isn’t quite one most likes, is pleasant. ‘Tlere you bave no One to taik to tut tuste to wouldnt have that's one merit,’ she tie k nd ne, ayreenahbie to LOSSID with someone you have known formerly about old titnes, and ser ar At another tlie Gr] rt ow ! have lauyvhed heartily at his w « ti v { now he replied “ is ¥ at i hadyt la { jt os it ; relerr 1? ‘ , n j 1 aya to dos, ‘Louly teared that I in ght ijpeoar ratios. Bs er a . wei; ] + i S| £ ou # . eaa*

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6 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST. i handsome wouwan who talks so freely and filuenti-.” “Heaven preserve you from ever having anything in common with that worean !”’ Gilbert sald, with fervor. “Don't youthink you judge her rather severely, dear? “A great inany people who strike us at firs as being not quite nice reveal, afier a while, certain qualities that counmand res- $s one soimetiines adimiration.’’ “To be sure they do, “And, even if this women doesn't im- prove, | daro say we can manage to put up with ber vulgarity and unpleasantness for a fow weeks. “Atthe end of that time, if she doesn’t run away froin us, we can manage to run away from her—take another cruise in the Tub, something of that sort.” “1 don’t think we shall have to do that: at least, I bope not, unless you quite: wish a She had so pictured her baby leyrning its first stepson the stnooth lawn among the flowers and sweet surroundings of this house, that the vision was too delightful to abandon readily. “Tthink I shall like Miss Drummond when I know her better. “IT shall certainly do all T her like ine. ‘Besides, we shall find inany opportani- ties of being alone together, you and I. should think she would soon get tired our quiet ways. “Atall events, she tnust leave day.” Gilbert shrugged his shoulders, with short uneasy laugh, and then beeaime sud- can to us Sone make | of | sad | erly, kneeling by her side, denlyv stern as the turn of the path brought | into sight the house, with Miss Draniinond seated uncerthe verandah and displaying a liberal extent of seariet silk stocking. (eertie had never seen such a morose yressionton her osband'’s face > but, fins Drummond's red stocking and large bare white arts and shoulders @x- with her flash- ifieant and ailly, sitting bes'de that up for Roy's absence. It is dull when beis away.” “Do you think so? Idon’tagree with you and I aim particularly glad he is not here to night, for I have something to sav to vou that could hardly be teld in tue presence of athird person.”’ “To met’ Vivien repeated, knitting her pretty brows together, Lut perfectly oblivi- ous of what bis speech Inferred, “I won- der what it is.” “Can't you guess?" he said, coming over to her and resting hisarm on the back of her chair, while be leaned down tw look in- to her face. “Do youthink aman can livein the saine house with you, see vou daily, bold constant intercourse with you, and yet re- iain unmoved by your beauty ? “If so,you are inistaken,for 1 have learn- ed to love you deeply, passionaiely, and I want now to ask you Ww be wife.”’ She drew back in astonishinent—almost anger; and there was only surprise—po shadow of love—in the eyes she raised to lis, “Your wife!" she exclaiined. “Oh, no! I have never even thought of you in any light but that of a triend and relative.” And this was true. Had it been otherwise she would not have treated him with the eandor and un- reserve that had hitherto marked ner con- duet, and whic’) he bad interpreted more in accordance with his own wishes than as his knowledge of human nature should bave taught linn. “But you will learn to look on ine in a different way, Vivien!’ he exclalined eay- and forcibly taking ber Land tn his, “Such love as nine tmust compel «a return and if you will only .et ine have the chance | of proving how dear vou are to ine, ] teel sure you will soon yield me heart.”’ She shook her head, ber eyes filling with your , tears. ing in the distance,she would possibly have | been less contented to see her husband | looking otherwise, [io BRE CON TINGED] ——_>_-_ H Cri A d er Crime Atoned. KY #%CNK AUTHOR OF “THK NEMESIS UF LOVE” “VERA,” KTC., KETC. CHAPTER V.—[Continuen. } No inducetnent in the to ) al ease, then. Ih world would be strong enough make ine breathe a tint ofitt!’ Quite unconscious of the straneness of | the action he put tis handson her shoulders and looked keenly inte ler eves, “Thank you,”’ he said) situply. leel I need have no fear of vou.” He hesitated for a toment; then, a deep shamed red rising to lis brow, he added in aasttll lower voiee-- “For your own salisfaction TL will add itis “You, I “No, Trevor, slight as has been mv ex- perience, I know love must come of itsel f— nothing will ever force it, and if you were wo try lor a hundred vears, vou could not inake ie carefor youla any other way than I do now. “Pray don'tspeak of it again—let us both forget this conversation has taken rylace.”? * , “Forget it! Youdon’t know what you are talking of, Vivien. “Mine is nota boy's first fanoy that a breath will extinguish, but the passion of a inan, which will never be satisfied until it obtains its object !"" he exclaimed, alinost roughly. “Don’t send me from you, darling-~no manin the world will ever care for you | more than | de,’’ She made a forcible effort, and wrenched her bands frow his wragp. “It can never be,Trever, never. I neith~ | er love you now, nor could 1 do so in the a secret that will not dishonor either you or | invaelf by the Keeping.” After that they went silently downstairs to Fraulein, and, the storm belug over they | setout for home, Cordon thei as far as the gate leading tu the shrub- berv. This time Vivien beld out ber hand, and he took it, and retasned Ita tmoment in his, looking the while very earnestly into her fice, HCCOTIPALLV INE | i decline iny proposal The young girl went home, feeling that ea | kind of bond had been them through this mutual forged between secret—a secret that she thought of and puzzled over a great | deal, but which she feit sure would be nevertheless justified, if she only knew the cirguistances that inade it very neces- mary. ” . * * Roy did not return with Trevor edge to the Court that evening, for he had wet some friend and yone home to dinner witb hit. Thus it happened that Vivien and her eousin dined alone. To Trevor there seeined something differ- entin the young yirl to-night, a certain ex- eitement of uinauner that tuade the color in her cheeks deeper, the Light in her eves brighter, and wiliew lent her an added claritin. For some faneyv sbe had fastened a bunch of geranium in ber hair, and another at her Kther- | future.”’ kitheredge rose to his feet,a dark frown coming on his brow. It wus true he had conceived a passion for her, but he was an excessively vain man | and this refusal of bers both galled bis pride, and hurt his vanity. He to sue ip vain toa girl who had only just left the schoolroom! ‘ Half-an-hour ago the idea would have seemed to hitn preposterous, Then do you mean that vou absolutely that you will not even like tine bo think it over?” he said, counpressing bis lips. “It would be of no avail if I did; at the eud of twelve montis iny feelings would be exactly the same as they are now." “Then thisis vour final decision ?”’ * Yes, finaland irrevocable,’ she answered weary of his liportunity. “Not the latter, Vivien, perhaps,’’ he said acunous sin.ie on his lips, as he drew a ehair close to her side and = seated — him- self. “T bave a communication to make to you which may possibly induce you to alter it, after all. **Ketore I tell vou what it is, let me say that it should never have passed my lips if you had listened favorably to tiny suit, only | desperate cases like nine require desperate | reuiedies, “stay, he added, laying his hand on her arin, aud detaining ber as she was about risitis “You must pardon ine if [insist on your KiVing ine & hearing—allerwards you ‘thay | KO or Slay as vou like.” throat, and contrasted with her black silks | and laces, The scarlet flowers were very effective, and completed a toilette that stowed off the pore tints of her skin to the utmost perfec | tion. Indeed, Trevor thought he bad never seen her look so lovely, and the spell of ber fairness nade the brood course through bis veins asaf be were uuderthe influence of strony wine. Hie swore to he would hesitate at nothing in bis endeavor to make this radiant vouny beauty Lis own, As soon us Liey reached Lhe drawing-room hituself Vivien seated bereelf in a low arimn-chair, and took up @ nayazine notto read, how- ever, for her eves fixed the:mselyes on the fire, and she soon lost herself A maze of retrospective wonderinys cerning the events the a She was . s by Tre- You are ve ju this evening, \ ivien. “Ain 1? I beg your pardon then, for it is my duty to try and amuse you, and make The young girl shook off his hold, and then prepared to listen, for, to say the truth she Was somewhat curious to know the arist ofthe coummunication op which he appeared to lav such Slress, “To begin then, vou will remember, Viv- jen, that L came to England as soon as I could after reveiving the Intelligence of your jather’s death. “The object of my coming was a specific one, being nelber inore nor less than ttut ol claiming the Etheredye estates,” “Claiming the Etberedge estates?’ she echoed, in uller incredulity, and Ing Whelber she had heard “You! Ile bowed ap assent, smiling maliciously at ber astonishment. wonder- ariviit. “Baton wuat grounds could you possibly claim thein?’’ she asked, after a moment's pause, As heir-at-law. be a aw—to whom’? N mv fs er, Sur if j ¢ vs ®&xiat- ere **Roy does not exist in the eves ~ the law,’’ he returned, coo ly,aud never remov- ing his eyes froin her face, “If he did,of course I should not have the my | | shadow of a title; but as things really stand the law is on iny side.” “What do you mean?" breathed the giri, her face growing very white, and her eyes dilating—balt with surprise, balf in terror at the calin assurance of his manner, “I inean this-—-forgive iny brusqueness, but vou foree me to it—your father sand mother were never inarried,. “Consequentiy, as the former died with- out a will, | am entitied to bis property as next-of-kin.”” Vivien had falleu back in her ebair, cov- ering her face with her bands. “Butnow she started up, crimeon, ber eves flashing fire. “Itisa lie!” sheeried, stamping her foot passionately on the carpet, ‘a wicked,uwean cowardly lie tuat vou have coined wo re- venge yourself for my refusal!’ Hie rose and faced her. “Itisthe truth, and I defy you to prove to the contrary,’’ he said,quietly— ‘But vray calin yourself—you have not beard all, “An T said, it was iny intention to claim ' the estates. “But linet you, and I think I must have fallen in love with you at onee. *“Atany rate, 1 could not bring myself to take imincdiate proceedings, with a knowl- edge that their result would leave you bomeless, I came on here and waited. “As Ll told vou, if you had accepted me I should have kept this matter a profound se- eret. “But now | reveal it to let you see that so far from baving any mercenary motive in wooing you, Loffer youthe alternative of | retaining the wealth and position which by right should be mine.’ For a few ininutes Vivien stood perfectly still, hardly able to fully realize all this ter- rible intelligence involved, She aad Roy penniless—worse than that nameless! The mere thought of it was agony. : “Whatis your authority for ment?’ she demanded, at last. ‘A letter from your father, in which he distinctly acknowledges it. “The tact that your brother and his soli- | cltor bave made diligent search for his par- ‘ents’ marriage certificate, and have been unable to find it. ‘Besides the late Squire has frequently ulluded to the matter in conversation, both | tome and to the lawyer, Mr. Winter- ' ton. ' “3 aut aware he intended making a will, ) and leaving acl the unentailed property to , Roy and to you. | “He was a procrastinating man, and put | off doing it until it was too late. Here is Phe letter | spoke of.” He held it before ber in such a_ position her cheeks ; #8 toenable her to read its contents, and | pointed out one = sentence, which ran | thus— “J want to have an interview with Win- terton concerning the Melton estate, which he himself turned penniless on the mer- | cies of accrue! worlo, when by oue word she could prevent it? | No, surety not, and yet-—. Thoughtsof what love really was, pure and high and ennobling, bad come wo her, iningling with ber girlish dreams, until she had formed an ideal bero,who should soime- time woo her, and in whose life her own | should beecorne merged—such a lover as | Romeo was to Juliet. this state- She must give up all this now—forego the aweet illusions—the diin ro;mances she had woven round the name of love. ‘“*Well?’’ svid Trevor at length, ina tone 'of interrogation, “have you decided | vet?’”’ ~ “No, and J cannot do so to-night, for my brain is in a whirl--give ine until to-mor- row.”’ “I will give you a week, and on Christ. nas Eve you shall teiline your answer,” said Trevor, who tel. sure her natural uo- seifisiness would prevail at last. **Meanwhile, I will keep iny own coun- sel, and no one need guess that this oon- versation has taken place between us,”’ CHAPTER VI. \HRISTMAS EVE had coine—Christ. inas Eve, ushered in by sunshine that sparkled on the icicles hanging to the trees,and made the bushes all a-glitter with innumerable diamond points that the Ice King bad crowned himself with during the preceding night. A little of the snow lingered in the deep ridges by the farm gates, but the roads were hard and crisp to the tread, and a delicate rine lay on the evergreens that the Court servants had brought im to decorate the house with—for both Roy and his sister wished to keep up the old custom of adorn- ing their walls with the shining leaves and scarlet berries of the shrub that time has consecrated a8 a fit eusblem of the festive BEASON. Vivien and Fraulein both hel ped to weave the wreaths of greenery—the former in a listless, half-hearted sort of way, very dif- ferent to her usual manner. The truth was, the young girl felt ex- treinely miserabie. Aithough she endeavored to disguise the fact, and parried Roy's questions with a forced laugh, her efforts were not altogeth- er successful, for it was impossible to avoid noticing the change that had come over her and stolen froin her ali the bright vivacity, the gav insouciance that had formerly lent ! her such a charm. Ever since her conversation with Trevor she had been pondering deeply over whut he said, and whichever way she looked the prospect offered nothing but misery. Most days she took a long walk to the wood in order to secure to” herself solitude and tite for thought, and once she had met | Gordon with lis pun and a brace of dogs at his beels, and he had walked by her side | | for balf-an-hour, talking of various things, | I should like to separate from the others if - possible and settle on that poor boy,as some | ; Compensation for the wrong done to bim and Lis immotber—he has cause enough to | hate my name.” | Yes,there it wasin her father’s own hand- | writing—a peculiar one, which it would have been impossible to imitate—and such | evidence as this brought conviction with | it. but making no allusion to the strange cir- cuimstance that had occurred on the after- ; noon of her visit to Gordon Chase. And now the day had arrived when she | must finally decide on her course of action, { | The yvouny girl sank down on a couch and | broke into low repressed sobs, The shame nearly overwhelined her in this first mno:;nent of revelation, and Trevor had not miscalculated when be told bitmself , } that the idea of averting it would plead elo- , quentiy in his favor. | Listen vw me, Vivien. You know, of course, all this would involwe if publicity were given to it. “You and Roy would be penniless—Roy who has been brought up in) luxury, and who, if left to hitnself, could do nothing to- wards earning @ divin ' “On the other banc F if you consent to and let Trevor know the result of her week’s deliberation, In the afternoon she put on her things and wentout, taking her customary path, and thinking to berselt, bitterly enough,that her hours of liberty were drawing swiftly to a close, She had fally tuade up her mind that she would accept ‘Trevor's terms and save Rov and the houor of bis uae by the sac rifice of herself It was inaynificent afternoon for the time of vear, the dead leaves under footeno | Jjonger sodden by rain, but crisp with frost, | a8 Sapphires, and Nature in the air keen and exhilarating, the sky blue her kindliest ; mood for ushering inthe great festival of narry te, 1 will swear most solemnly to | forego my Claim lorever. “Roy shall Keep bis place as heir, and you shall be uy honored wife. What you say?" Sue looked up at with fine scorn, “So Vou are willing to bargain tor me,and accept the sacrifice of asister’s affection in hicu of a wile’s love? “Tf anvone bad told me yesterday you were so ieyoble, I would not bave believed them.” [lis tace flushed under the seatning satire of her words, and be bit his lip angrily,but be only said— “You dou't Know len. “If you did, experience would have taught you there are few things aman will hesitate at in order to obtain the woman he loves.”’ “Say rather the woman be would buy as aslave is bought—do not degrade love by calling it Into the question.” ‘ *We will call it what you like--the fact is not altered by the wordsin which it is cloth- ed,” he rejoined, calmly. “The point is—do you accept the terms I offer ?"" “And if I sav ‘no’ ?" “Then [shall at Institute proceed- } Ings to clalin tuv rightful hberitage,”’ him, her lip curling the world yet, Viv- mce lt wasa leartul siruygle tor the dear girl She was hers rer Vy p land had en exult puriiy o i Haine, Which Was an } al nsu ea ie, and sides this her love r Roy was very yreat —Sv greal Luat any sacrifice on his behalf would be justified. Could she bear to see his inheritance torn from hiin, even bis name taken away, and do | the child-God’s birth. Vivien thought now intensely she would have enjoyed sucha walk a week ago, be- fore Trevor's words bad crushed all the joy ot ber glad youth. And then she thought of what her future would be,linked for life to a inan whom sbe not oniv did not love, but for whom even | her former friendly liking had changed to contempt since he revealed true colors, Bv this time she had arfived at the tower and alter a moment's besitation, actuated it Inay be by a desire to look once more on the Spot where she liad first imet Gorden, she mounted the steps, aud after ascending to the top came hall way down again,and then stopped suddenly on hearing the sound of voices from below, Wondering who the speaker could be,she peered cautiously over the erambling stones down Inte the basement of the tower (which she could easily contrive to do, and yet keep herself unnoticed), and there she saw two Men sitting on some logs of wood, and In such @ position that she could not possi- bly inake her exit without attracting their alleiition. This was awkward, tor they neither bore a particularly prep mssuSSiNg appearance,and Vivien was pertectivy aware of the loneli- ness of the spot. and Une small chances there were of unvone paSSINg, So thinking perhaps the men had only come inside tor t uuirpose of eating the himself in his Kreat hunches of bread and cheese they Held ju their hands, and that after baving nnished nove on, she decided va sue was until they ile coon iad given her some idea What they t Ke—two trauinps, rather over imidd ure, One with a y. ry brown face, anda fere- clous buil-dog sort of expression,that prou j ised little inerey to an enemy.

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- € 2-7 @ ‘ Lil L at ibe =~ i & r } ¢ jan now With cullidrer f hisown't ‘*He wrote to ine that his pretty sister-in- iaW Was Slaying there tow, ‘“‘Aha! I know what the sly old dog is up

He wants mé to fall in love with Nora net “Well, why not, if she’s half as prett and agreeable as b.s letters have made ber out to be? ‘Up to this time I've been entirely too too busy to think about any such luxurye as love or matrimony ; but now that mel business seeins beyond danger, and thinga are alter a fashion settled, wliiy——’’ And Mr. Thorneyeroft feit his whiskers with complacent meditation. But even as he congratulated himself apon the agresable surprise he was about 10 give hisold college friend, Ferdinand Clinton, he could not but feel the icy touch of the chill north-west wind, as it whistled over the plains and rushed madly round the lee of thickets, like a clumsy young spirit of the Arctic regions playing at bide- and-seek with balfa dozen other Borean wlaste, Mr. Thorneycroft's feet were getting cold; bis hands telt like ice even in his fleecy- lined gloves ; and he couldn't but reflect that a purple nose and cheek-bones, looking as if they had been coated with red varnish, would hardly add materially to the graces of his first appearance befoe Miss Nora Kin- caid, Clinton’s beautiful sister-in-law. ‘‘Perhaps it would have been wiser for me to have hired a buggy or something,” he tho ght, a little uneasily, “Bat then I couldn't have surprised ’ein half so neatly. Whew-w-w! I wonder if people's ears ever do freeze in this climate !" However, there isan end to all things, even toacesolate twilight tramp over a February wilderness, und presently oar hero caine in sight of the welceoine lights of the handsome white house on the hill side, just as dusk was drawing its sombre veil over ali the landscape. “T don’t really think I could have walked much farther,’’ he said to himself. “And it is beginning to snow quite fast. So this is where old Ferdinand lives, ei? Pretty grounds—arbor-vitw hedge—nice idea of a Jawn ; upon my word, the place is more extensive than I had supposed. “Lights shining out through red curtains —quite picturesque! “A lucky thougbt—I'll take a peep at ‘em all, betore I introduce inyself. “How Ferdinand will stare! Hat! ha! hal” Andon tiptoe Mr. Thorneycroft crept across the piazza, and flattened his nose against tho glass of the window. A quiet domestic scene inet his view; a shaded lainp burning like some tranquil moon on the centre-table, a great fire of logs burning on the open heartli-stone, two or three little children playing at building block towers on the rug, and two pretty women reading by the light—slender,dark- haired and graceful. “T wonder which of ’ein is Nora?’’thought Mr. ‘Thorneycroft. ‘Confound it, they’ve both got their faces turned away. Perhaps at the farther window I could see, if——”’ Tiptoeing across the snow-besprinkled planks, our bero’s boot soles piayed hin, jiteraily speaking, a slippery trick, and down be caine in a sitting posture, bis head striking yore,’ against the panes of glass, “Ob !? cried Mr. Thurneyerolt, with ao acute accent of iningled pain and disinay. And in burely a second, as it seemed to him, the solitary piazza was swarining with life. He was seized around the collar by a Herculean grasp, two savage dogs hung barking at bis cout tails, and the air was resonant with Surieks feminine and growls masculine. “Don’t let him come in here,” cried a falsetto voice, doubtless proceeding forth from one of the fair students. ‘I shall die, if you do! Oh, if Ferdinand were ouly at home!’ “I’ve got vou, you villain!” roared a grotf voice, as Mr. Thorneycrolt folt hiin- self shaken to and fro, like a reed in a hur- ricane, while a painful apoplectic sensation took possession of throat and brain. “You are the felluw that bas been sneak- thieving round the country Luis past mouth, are you? “Well, you’ve got to the end of your rope at last, “Where is Deacon Barley’s overcoat ? Where are Mrs. Grimes siiver spoons? W here have you hidden Colonel Johnson's sleigh-roves and bells, eh ?’’—with a separ- ate shuke for euch interrogatory. ‘1's all a mistake,” be croaked, trying to free bituself frou the strangling pressure on his cravat; *1t’s——’"’ “T dare say ; a likely story,’’ responded his captor, a inuscular youny fellow soime- whattaller than himself. ‘There, there, Nora, don’t scream so; I’ve got hii safe enough.”’ “Oh, iny !"’ ejaculated a voice from the crowd of woman-servants at the door; ‘what a ill-lookin’ old villain he is, to be sure! I’d a-known him for a sneak-thief any- w heres.”’ “Tamno sneak-thief!" ejaculated Mr, Thorneyveroft. “lam pe “Never mind your genealogical table, niy friend,’’ was the response, “but just come with me. (3,000 dog, Bose! hold tight, Carlo !"’ And the dogs took a better grip. “Where are you going to put the poor

| fellow, Harry ?”’ chirpec a soft v S64 sning, bv the way, having byt es subsided intoa volley of sighs L is ‘ ‘ +e 5 oF moe 65 vAC a a at h 4 Hat it’s eo culd there !’’ with a pitying accent. “7")) risk it.’

‘Come along, and no moreof your’ non- sense!” was the brusque rojoinder., ~ ~ “But T cane to—" . “We know quite well what you” came after, ny worthy friend!’ answered, the, tmusenlar hero, Fr “Any necessary explanation can be mad before a magistrate to-morrow. ts “Carlo, old boy, d'ye mind ?” Carlo wag- ged his bushy tail meaningly. } “If he opens his mouth, on him,my dog ! Now, friend, you will find that silence is by ail odds the best policy.’ And thus Mr, Thorneycroft was dragged gnominiousl!y across the the lawn, through agort of paved court, to a sepulchrally sinelling stable, where it was cold as Greenland and damp as the Buastile,, and locked in.’ “Is this the way totreat a Christlan ?” he indignantly demanded, the minute six good inees of door plank were between him and Carlo's double row ot gleaming fangs. “Listen, you feilow! I amnm——" But the sound of vanishing footsteps waa allthe answer he received, and a hoarse growl told that the d had = mounted uard across the threshold of his prison- Ouse, “The scoundrels!"’ he muttered to hiim- self—“the ill-bred louts, not to know a | gentleman when they see him!" But then he remembered that his enemies had really not seen him thus far, and could but contess to himself that the | Cirournstances didgwear rather a suspicious | aspect. “Tre will be all right to-morrow, when they give mea chance to explain matters,” thought Mr. Thorneycrolt, striving to be hopeful. 3utin the mean time—alas! was this to be the end of his ‘surprise ?” The winter night wore away, and Mr. Thorneyeroft, huddled up in #his straw, like a convict in a prison cell, shivered through the long lonely hours, Rheumatic pains began to dart throngh bis limbs; frequent sneezes shook hin fron head to foot, avant couriers of a heart attack of influenza; and he felt his nec growing stiff and stiffer, “Why couldn't I have rung the door bell, like a Christian ?’? he asked himself regretfully. “Or, better still, why didn’t I telegraph that T was coming? I never will undertake to surprise people again !”’ Toward morning he drifted into a sort of unquiet sluinber, from which he was aroused hy the turning of a key in the ruaty padlock without. “Hey! who's there?’’ hecried aloud,start- ing up a8 well as he ould for tie stiffness in all bis limbe, ‘Ferdinand, old tellow!’ For the light through the eastern window was clear and radiant now. “Why,it’s Thorneycroft!’’bawled a cheér- ful voice. “How the deuce came Tom Thorneycroft locked up here like a burglar?” “But why didn’t you tell ‘em who you were?”’ “How could I?’ snapped Mr. Thorney - croit, “when they didn't give ine a cLance, with their dogs and their revolvers, to get in a single sentence 7”’ “Well, it 1s rather an inhospitable recep- tion,’”’ said Clinton, warinly pressing his friend's hand ; *tand bad I be. a at home, it never would have happened. “But come in and get warmed ; you are as Gold as’ a KNOW image, Breaklast is just ready, and—” “Upon my word, sir,” put in a genial voice, “I ain heartily sorry that such a mis understanding should have occurred. J'in atraid I screwed your neckcloth up pretty tight onee or twice, last evening; but things did look rather uyly for you, you must own yourself. Pray accept every apology.” ‘“Tuisis my friend, Mr. Allston,’’ said Ferdinand Clinton; and as Thorneyeroft bowed stifllv he added in a whisper: ‘Just — tw» Nora, iny wile’s sister. Ila, la! old fellow, you see you're a day beblind the fair.”’

'

} order that the portion whieb has lain inet the nest ball the warinth a the brooder. These birds perforina their duties with the greatest skill, without any noise or breakage of the eggs. They squat down, and with their bead and neck rake up and turn over every vaedul egu*, one after another, w a @in one. The inaubation lasts imty-tive Tt an average, soinetiines fifty days, but never continuse beyvnd that. Wueu a iéying to pgs hatch can beard ng to break the “bell of the ogy. & inetimes they succeed in doing so, but usually the father breaks the exg under his brea.t-bone, re oe — — ee bill, and frees chickling. pon react the chickling temains linp a at But the warinth of the parent soon revives it, and a few hours afterward it begins to run about the nest, exercising its long legs, toppling over at each stop, and reoorh- mencing in its stumbling journey. Four days after their hatching, the iek- lings begin to eat. Thev run after and swallow sinall bbies, The father and mother do not heip their little ones to find food. ~~ ©. mee. Scientific and Useful. Hoa kstNEss.—The Journal de Pharma. cie, says that a piece of borax weighing two or three grains will, if allowed to dissolve slowly att the mouth of a singer, remove all traces of hoarseness. ' Cory1na.—Fine writing on glazed paper wil! give one or two inir copies withoutoall- ing in the assistance ofa press or water ff use In made of awrtting solution of three parts of good jet-black ink and one part of gelatine. Mucitacn.—A useful mucilage for labels ete., can be made of two ounces of dextrine dissolved in one ounce of acetic acid and five ounces of water, and the addition of about an ounce of alcohol when the dextrine is well dissolved, }

Luminous Parer.—A luminous water- proof paper, which umay be of use in places pot well adapted tor the application of the so-called Juminous paint, may be made from a mixture of forty parts pulp, ten parts phosphorescent powder, one part of gelatine, one part of potassiuin bichromate and ten parts of water, PAPER SPok Es.— Paper spokes for wheels are among the latest appliances for that ever-increasing article, ‘The paper pulp is forced into iron molds under heavy — sure, where itdriesand hardens, and the spokes thus produced are said to be much superior to wood, Paper is tar supplanting wood in mnany usetul ways. ss Cune FOR DRONKENNESS.—The Seien tific American notes the case of a confirmed inebriate who was cured of his thirst for liquor by drinking a teaspoontul of the de- coction of a balf-ounce of ground quassta steeped in a pint of vinegar wherever his craving was violent. It satisfied the erav- ing.supplied needed stimulus and strength, and in tine took away all the desire tor strong drink. om > ¢- =. ti arm and Garden. BuTrTeR.-—It is said that an infallible tems for distinguishing butter trom butterine is to melt the substance and then suddenly chill it with ice. The lard will go to the bottom aud the butler to the top, the line of separation being distinctly visivle. Horst CoLLa ks,.—Keep the horse collars clean. The dust and dirt which adhere to collars when they are wet with sweat works Into luinps and ridges, and sore shoulders are the result. [lt the coliars beeome hard wash thea clean, pound them and apply | oll. And during the long siege of inflainma- | tory rheumatisin that followed, our hero | was doomed to bea daily witness of the billings aud covings of the engaged pair. Poor Mr. Thorneycrott ! Truly, in bis case, the sport had hardly been worth the candle, Clinton thought itall a jolly lark, but then Clinton badn't been locked up ail | night in the stable chainber,with six weeks of inflamuatory rheumatisua by way of sequel, And things do look so differently from ditlerent points of view. —_> - —_>- AWN Osi kIci's Nest.—Atter pairing, the ostrich beyios to make his nest. It is the mnale alone that perforins this duty. To do it, he squats upon the ground, and, balance ing bitusell upon bis breast-bone, scratches up the earth with his legs and throws it behind hin. When he bas duy out enough on one side to Bull Licn, he turns round and bevins to diy on another side,and continues this operation until be has tnade a hole large enough for bim to wit in comfortably. A few days alter the nest Im fitisliod, tie female beyins to lay one egy on every a ternate day tor eighteen or twenty days. She then rests for awhile,whiet line Varies froin four lo ten davs, and then beyins lay more. A pa ! mit 4 é “. | « « a 4 + lion aie and tiie Digut the inalée 18 always ‘ est, a pUSsesmenR greater Wariasths t ary thie ferna

House Keruse.—The house slops shonld be all saved. Those not fit ior the pig can be used on the growing crops of the garden especially celery. It is surprising what an invigorating eflect resalls frowns throwing the soapsuds upon planks in the growing season. Anordinary Nower garden may be keptina thrifty condition it every plant receives an applic wtion, INskECIS.—The tiine is at band when rou should carelully eXamine your henhouse and fortity it ayainst the arisy of insects so injurious to your tow!s. A careful use of kerosene oil will keep off lice. Coal tar ix also lrequently used to yood advantage for the sane purpose. Apply it with a brush Ino every crack and crevice where there istany Chance lor Veriuin and it will keep them off. CLover.—Red clover will produce the heaviest crop of bay on suitable land that can be grown. About four poundsof green grass inake One of hay. Orchard yrass pro- duces a pound of lay lo less than three of grass. Almike clover yields less than the red variety, but the proportion of grass to bay isthe same. While it is advisable ta secure a8 large yield 45 Ppomssithle it ism lest to yrow @ jimikture lu order to secure qj im” t [DPMAINAGE l. Beeone intorined upon #e Liieorv and tremt taethinods kes vn «anal hm UrAltage 4 Dd y copy is thers lage “i } 4 ive ‘ + ‘iy ‘ a j Litige teaconee ria

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8 TH E SATURDAY re THESATORDAY EVENING POST, | SIXTYV-THIRD YEAR. —_—_— = —— _—-- ----+--- = SATURDAY EVENING, JUNE a1, 1ns4. Sa ae EXTRAORDINARY! Great Reduction in Price! '“THE SATURDAY EVENING POST” $2.00 a Year for Single Copy; $1.00 a Year in Clubs of 10. NOW IS THE TIME TO RAISE CLUBS FOR THE YEAR 1604! We are pleased to announce to our patrons reduced our Club Kates to such a ruk that we have figure for this year as to place Post with- in the reach of acl. We are determined to get a very large list of new subscribers, andin order to du so we will receive subscriptions at ONE DOLLAR A YEAR, IN CLUSS OF TEN. WHAT IT MEANS. “Pluck”’ isa slang term, but every one knows what it means. The idea it is em- ployed to communicate or express is that of courage, with this difference, that, whereas aman be, as it were, passively or stolidly courageous, he must be active if he be plucky. Of course there cannot be any etymolo gical right or wrong inthe matterof signifi cance with regard to such a word as “pluck ;"' but this is what we understand, wand what we believe to be generally under- stood, by it. Pluck is nota blind impulse of audacity. It realizes the strength of the enemy it pro- poses to vanquish, It proceeds on a reasonable and, as far as may be, accurate estimate of the costs of the enterprise in which it is about to en- gage. Many a man is brave in an emergency | “on the spur ot the moment,”’ but cannot | coolly face danger, Pluck looks ahead,and lays its plans carefully,sagaciously,and with | every precaution,

No man who is true to his nature will al- | low himself to be daunted by the difficulty | of living. Of course life is a toil; unques- | tionably it will be hard work to live. We have—imost of us, at least—seen enough of the world and experienced the effort of a la- well assured that we shall not find our path through the | world carpeted with moss and strewn with but this does not dismay us The | soldier is not scared by the prospect of meet- ing his enemy ; on the contrary, he iseager for the fray, because then he will have the opportunity of showing his prowess in high | deeds of valor. Without pluck no man can. be either happy or useful. We ought, one and all of | borious existence so us to” be roses ;

And, agan tnducement to send aclub, we will give a gratiscopy for every clulbof 10 at @1.Q0each, Ree member, we will not send astugle copy tor less than | 2.00; and tn order to get the reduced rate, one most | send atleast ten subscriptions, We cannotsend a less | i ' number for less than §2.00 each, | 10 Copies of THE POST one | Think of it! year, with one extra for sending the Club, making 11 copies, for 610,00!

Those who send Clubs, can afterwards add names at

G1. C8 each. We hope and trust that each of our present) sub | acribera will send a club at the mew rates. A little ef- | fort cannot fall to secare one, and they will thereby | be doing to themselves and friends a favor, and assist in raising the circulation of eo good a paper as Tik SATURDAY EVENING Post Aste THE Post, there are few in this countey, or any other country, whoare not fanilliar with it Ks tablished In I82l, it is the oldest paper of its kind in Amertea, and for more than half acentury it has been recognized as the Leading Literary and Pamily Jour- lor the nalin the United States, coming year we have secured the best writers of this eountry and Fact and Fletlon

Furope, in Prose and Verses, We trust that those of our subscribers who design | making up clubs will be in the fleld as early as possi- | bie, aud make large additions to thete liste, Our prices to clubs sutrs« ribets by the reduced rate are so jow that if the matter is properly explained, very few who desire a first-class literary paper will hesitate to subscribe atone, and thank the getter-up of the clab for bringing the paper to their notice, ) yets a free copy of ber, the getter-up of a club of I tie paperau entire year,

How to Remit. when sent by mall should When Pasvment for dirk Post hein Money Orders, Bank Checks, or Draits, neither is obtainable, send the money in a rege Rvery postmaster in the country is Fail- isteredt letter, required to register letters when requested, Ing to receive the paper within a reasonable time af- us of the fact, and ter ordering, you will ardyis« whether you senteash, check, money order, or regis. tered letter.

Change cf Address, Subecribers desiring their address changed, will tofMlce please give their tormer posts as well es their present address Te Correspondents. In every case send t your ik name and address if rou wish an answer if the forma desired ts not of general interes: sot we iY newer in the paper send postal card r stamy rre; ¥ mall A@dre st a IRE SATURDAY EVENING POST i : ! 2 . Pa Oftice 4% Nansom “treet | Remem- i | but a terrible infliction it all wea the presentand the } true | greater responsibility than that which would ) mereitul and all-loving God us, io be fearless in our hearts and boldly | adventurous in the path of duty. A guilty consciousness is the secret of terror—‘‘con- science make cowards of us all.’’ If we | spend our strength in seeking the gratifica- | | tion of ourown present passions and im- pulses, we make our object ; and the care of | self is sure to be a heavy and grievous bur- | den, Ile that is ever trying to save his life, in | a moral sense, loses it; he who serves self | has a tyrant for his master. By thinking of | self insensibly we tax ourselves with a care | | that was never intended to occupy and worry us, Only the unselfish know whatit is to be really free and happy. It a man charges | himself with the sate-condnet of some pam- pered favorite over a diffleult’ country, he Will soon find that his hands are too full of | trouble to be of any proper use to him. So | itis with the man who spends his energy in | trying to ‘take care of himself,’’ ‘to do well tor himself.” and ‘to enjoy as the silly phrases run. Ile must needs be tearful and hesitating who has taken such a burden on his shoul- ders. The man of true pluck thinks nothing of himself,’’ i selt. His heart is steadfastly set to do his | duty; and, in the honest and earnest pur- | suitof this lawtul enterprise, he wins hon- | or, keeps a good conscience, and none shall or can make him afraid, Lite would not only be net worth living, | re told of | strictly future were It would be difficult to conceive of any fact that world as a | rest on all parentsif it were the every child is born into the doomed creature. the com. and there- idea of a The very idea is revolting to monest instincts of humanity, fore of course abhorrent to” the —— ©

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amy THE SATURDAY EVENING POST. SOMETHING CHEAP. BY CHARLES SWAIN. There's not a cheaper thing on earth, Nor one yet half so dear: °'Tis worth more than distinguisn'd bisth, Or thousands gaiv’d a year: It tends the day anew delight: *Tis virtue’s firmest shield. And adds more beauty to the night Than all the stars may yield. It maketh poverty content, To sorrow whispers peace : It isa gift from heaven, that’s sent For mortals to increase. It ineets you with a smile at morn, It lulls you to repose ; A flower for peer and peasant born, An everlasting rose, A charm to banish grief away, To snatch the frown from care ; Turn tears to smiles, make dulness gays, Spread gladness everywhere ; And yet ‘tis cheap as summer's dew, That gems the lily’ s breast— A talieman for love as true As ever man possess'd. Assmiles the rainbow through the cloud, When threat'ing storm begins: As music ‘mid the tempest loud, That still itssweet way wins : As springs an arch across the tide, Where wave conflicting foam ; So comes this seraph to our side, This angel of our home. What may this wondrous spirit be, With power unheard before— Thischarm, this bright divinity ? Good Temper—nothing more ! Good temper! nothing more ! That woman homeward brings; And can the poorest peasant lift To bliss unknown to kings. “The Blood Stone. BY M. W. PAXTON. ing up his hand with a warning ges- ture, and glancing at his wife, who [Tix !’' said my fellow-traveller, hold- was 8nugly esconced amongst her rugs in the corner. ‘‘Hush!”’ **My dear sir,’’ I retnonstrated, ‘‘iny_ ret- erence to Doctor Price——”’ “Hush !” interrupted iny companion in a more authoritative voice. ‘*Not a word!’’ Now, this was very tnysterious conduct. The gentleman who curtailed ny remarks so brusquely had entered the carriage at Rugby with his wife, and we had been whiling away an hour or so of our journey by retailing our views upon current sub- jects to each other. Having chatted over one topic Or another, some unlucky itnpuise had led me to refer to Dr. Price and his recent attempt at the revival ot Druidism by the cremation of an infant. To my surprise my allusion had a marked effect upon my companion, who became much agitated, and checked mein the de- cisive inanner which I have qnoted. “Ah! it’s all right,’”? he resumed, bending over and looking down at his wife. “She is asleep. ‘‘Come over here into the far corner, 80 that she cannot hear us if she wakes,” 1 obeyed this mysterious injunction, with inany surmises in ny mind as to the cause of so much precaution. “It’s a painful subject to her,’’ he said, nodding hishead in the direction of the sleeping woman. “IT have known her have an attack of acute inania on hearing an allusion made to it.’* ‘‘Made to what ?”’ “To Druidisin.”’ “What an extraordinary ejaculated. “I have been keeping the papers from her during the last week,’”’” continued my acquaintance, ‘so that she should not hear of this escapade of the doctor. “] am convinced it would have a very bad effect upon ber tnind.”’ “Indeed !"’ I remarked not without a growing conviction that my companion was a little wrong in the vps story. “Ah! ofcourse you don’t understand,”’ he said, smiling at my evident bewilder- ment. “The fact is, that just before our mar- riage—some ten years ago—iny wife had a very terrible experience in connection with Druidisim. “It did not get into the papers at the time, but there are a good inany people alive who can testify to the facts. “It shattered her nervous system, and anything which recalls it knocks her over very wuch.”’ With this short preface, my new friend, leaning well forward and speaking ina low voice, with nany precautionary glances at his sleeping wife, told ine the story of her extraordinary adventure, I have endeavored to set it down in his own words as far as 1 can, but I cannot iinitate the earnestness of Lis inanner, nor the wierd effect produced by the flickering carriage-launp, and the presence of the un- conscious heroine ot this strange story. “I don’t know whether you know Wales well,’’ he began ; ‘‘but even if you do, it is not atall likely that vou have ever sur. veyed as far as Llanduran. “Jt is an out-of-the-way little mointain thing !’’ I Village up in the north, not far from the sea, a place which is bardlv marked on the ps, and where 1 tourist ever goes e858 DOC BSLUID es UpoeD IL DY ace A018 was our late lu the ia f "72, and we were 8 taken Py the pretty surround ings and the primitive peasantry, that we inade it our resting-place for some time. “We were a fairly large —my bro- ther Stephen and ‘bis aga vemet wife, with her two brothers, and three friends of mine from London. “Altogether we had avery jolly time of it, and astonished the quiet-livingCyinrie pop- ulation not a little, until our holiday was avenge toan abrupt and tragic termina- ton. “I must tell you that my wife—or Miss Madison, a8 sbe was in those days—was of a inost adventurous disposition. “She appeared to be absolutely insensible to fear. “TI was continually remonstrating with ber a8 to the risks wuich she ran, and her brothers did all they could to restrain her, but without avail. “The more we spoke, the more daring would she become, “We were compelled, at last, to leave her behind when we intended to do any serious mountaineering, for fear she should meet with some accident. “One inorning, when we came down to breakfast, we learned to our surprise that Miss Madison had been seen to leave the inn alone at early dawn, in her walking- dress, and to take the direction of the mountains. “Her intention, evidently, was to steal a tinarch upon us by visiting alone some of those places which we had gone to without her. “We were all rather alarmed by this es capade of the wild girl. ‘Our alarm deepened into positive terror when the whole day passed without our hearing a word of ber. ‘The district was a notoriously dangerous one. “The mountains, without being remarka- bly high, were jagged and steep, and in- tersected by numerous chasins, “Several fatal accidents had occurred of late in the vicinity. “No wonder, then, that I felt asinking at my heart when I left the inn that night at the head of a party with torches it search of the woman whom I had already begun to love. “T will tell you the story now from her point of view, and give you the facts which we heard afterwards from her own lips. ‘Leaving the inn, then, and laughing to herself at the way in which she was giving us the slip, she made the best of her way into the mountains, ‘,The morning was a beautiful one, and the crisp, bracing air increased her natural activity and endurance, so that she had walked a very long way before the thought ot fatigue entered her mind. “She had gone on at random, following the little goat-paths from one rugged valley to another, until she had lost sight of all the fainiliar landmarks, and found herselfin a desolate labyrinth, surrounded on every side by precipitous crags, and without the smallest sign of hutnan life. “Many women would have been terrified in her position, but, as I have said, she was constitutionally brave ; 80, finding it hope- less to retrace her steps, she pushed on, in the hope of reaching some eminence from which she could catch a glimpse of the out- side world. “As she advanced, the scenery became more disinal. “The mountains in those regions are always desolate, being hardly picturesque enough to attract tourists, and too barren to allow anyone to settle among them. “She stuinbled along among” great boulders, and along the bed of a dried-up stream, with loftly granite walls on each side of ber without break or opening. “Following the track of the old torrent, she trvced it at last toa place where there had evidently been a cascade, as the bed of the stream descended precipitously for thirty or forty feet. “Hoping by ascending to obtain some idea of her whereabouts, ny wife clainbered up this steep incline, and succeeded with soine difficulty in reaching the top. “The sight before her was an dinary one. The gap through which the stream had forced its way was the only entrance to a little ravine, surrounded on all sides by high, dark clifts. “This secluded nook formed a cul-de-sac about two hundred yards long and fifty broad, ringed in by firtrees, which sprouted from the base oj the rocky walls. “In the centre of the clear space in the middle was a large flat slab, round whieh were placed anumber of stones, standing upon their ends, and forming a double circle. “This arrangenent was evidently extraor- artiti- | ) Stone, and iny dustrutment is as it lonly the vietinn, and now cial, and iny wile looked round, inthe hope | of seeing sowe signs of bhuiman life. “To her great delight she perceived among the trees a rough sort of hut, w& which she hurried, with the intention of getting suine refreshinent if possible, and then of inquiring her way hoimewards. “The rude duor of this wooden dwelling was ajar, and Miss Madison, after knocking several tines without receiving au answer, |} to attempt to escape and in the centre of each wall, which were evidently designed as symbols or charins, consisting of the same letter, repeaved a number of tines in different shapes and forms. “My wife was standing in the door-way, regarding all these strange things with na- tural curiosity, when she becaine aware of a shadow that intervenea between her and the sun. “Turning round, she saw behind her the most extraordinary mortal taut she had ever bebeld. “He was an elderiy man, with long, float- ing hairanda grizzled beard, which de- scended over his breast. ‘He could not have been less than six feet tour inches high, and the breadth of his shoulders and the length of his arms de- noted extraordinary strength, while the pee clubupon which he leaned might save either served hin as a support or as a weapon, “fis dress wasa sort of ragged gown, which had been originally white, but was now weather-stained and dirty. “What struck ny wife, however, more than either his other features or his strange attire, were his eyes, which were of a light, almost colorless blue, but which projected considerably, and shifted from one object to another without remaining still .for an instant. ** Hail, lady !' he exclaimed, advancing towards Miss Madison, and speaking in a well-modulated voice. ‘For five moons I have waited foryou. Why bast thou tarried so long ?’ “Considerably astonished, but more amused than frightened, the young lady took astep ortwo back from the strangg apparition, who walked slowly forwards, waving his hand rhythmically froin side to side, ‘*The blood-stone is dry !’ he cried, ‘‘the blood-stone is dry ! “ ‘Shall it be said that in the days of the fifteenth avatar there was no man who would honor the old gods, and no woman who would dare lie down upon the blood- stone ? ‘“*Britain’s noblest and fairest have stretched themselves upon that cold couch, You are worthy of the honor, maiden. Thy cheek is unblanched, and thy hand is steady. ** «So should she be whom the high gods select.’ “My wife had begun by this time to real- ize thatthe man in front of ber was a inaniac, though she bad not yet fathomed the mean- ing of his strange words, She endeavored to conceal her fright as mnuch as possible, however,and to conciliate her fierce-looking companion, *+*You must lead a lonely life, said, ‘Who are you, and why up here alone ?”’ ‘Who am I?’ he cried, tossing his long, thin armsin the air, ‘I an Ap-Griffiths, of the pure blood of Arisdenna, seventieth in descent from the high priest Morla, who was second brother to the great Queen Badicea. ‘**+Woman, I am the last of the Druids. All round,’ he continued, tnournfully,‘*men have left the old creed. None bow to the high gods now. “ “Only we are staunch and true,maiden ; you and [—the slayer and the slain.’ “Thoroughly alarined by this time, sir,’ sne do you dwell my wife endeavored to edge away to the mouth of the little glen, but the inaniac, who was wildly excited, caught her by the wrist and dragged herover to the spot where the stones were, “ ‘Havel notdone it well!’ he cried, | ‘There have been many larger, but none more complete. ‘“*¢What is there wanting ? Here is the blood-stone,’ pointing to the flat slab in the centre; ‘thas been ary for thany years, but when you lie on it, maiden, with the flaines roaring around you, and when your | life blood hisses upon the bot then the gods will know there are yet. stone, “ ‘Nay, do net shudderand shrink. Your vile body mav be charred and tortured, but your spirit will Soar above the stars, ever exulting in a happiness which no words can depict. * *Mark inv stones. Thirty-four and twenty-three within, according to the direction of the jearned and holy Morla. eT bave a trench, toe, around the blood. without, ’ be.’ “Here he drew along, keen his bosons. “+All has been ready for knife from FAVG gods months, the yreat have sent me that alse.’ My wife was, a# I have already told you, a woman of great courage and resource, “Tt was evident to berina Was loipossible, In presence of so agile an 1 powevtul an Versarv. “Her only hope of safety lay in Ing and outwitting hin. “She turned towards him, therefore, and hummor- pushed her way in. assumed as tmiuel caliiness as ge could, ‘The room in which she found herself wijie sie asked the terrible question was a sinall one, and turnished in the PoWien am [to be sacrificed ? , | ‘ ’ er , ? « roughest manner possible. ‘*Attne middle ho tlie lit,’ said *A heap of goat-skins in the corner ap- the maniac, with deemion. peared to have been utilised as a bed, and a “She felt instinetively that it was useless large block of wood in the centre was evi to plead ber sex, her age, or her hel pless dently intended asa table, as the seinains | ness to this Sanyulnary fanat ofa weal, in the shape of a coupleo! bones, | “The sun ws 4iready s down on t were lying upon it. | horiz t “ . “What struck the y ing ludy inost, ! vi j rs t this extraordinary apart ! eLte ~ Thes h anguag which shec ectured to be Welsh; but to learn be re l ean d there were others, especially over the door | ‘*+*You are! gibt, maiden, | 6sald ; ‘ther believers | should | inoment that | the ! ad- | | ting pereat Cayote, and piling is much which none can teech in these lat- ter days save those who still have the priestly blood in their veins, “Come with me into my dwelling, and I will discourse with you concerning many things, that when thy soul is loosened from its bonds it may know whither it speedeth.’ “With these words the Druid as I wil call him, led Miss Madison into the hut, and commanded her to be seated on a rough + tonnes bench which stood opposite the qliwor, “He himself laid down upon a couple of —_ at her feet, and began to talk to er with great volubility and earnest. ness, “Much of his conversation was unintel- ligible to her, and oceamonally he would break into rude doggerel verses, but she could understand enough to gather that he was laving down the precepts of the old British faith, “Poor girl | her mind was too full of hor- ror to allow her to pay mach attention to his disq visition, “Certain death seemed to stare her in the face—vnd death in its most horrible form, “Look which way she would, there seemed to be no possibility of escape, ‘*Phrough the half-open door ake could see that the night was drawing in. “The Druid observed it too, for,suddenly ceasing his harangue, he sprang to his feet, aud seized a great chopper which leaned against the wall, ***T must leave you fora time, maiden,’ he said. “There is much to be done before the darkness comes, * *The wood is to be eut for the funeral pyre, for I swear to vou that none who ever lay upon that hard bridal couch shall bave had a more seemly ending than thine sball be.’ “With these words he hurried out of the hut, and Miss Madison could tell byw the crashing sound that he was cutting among the fir trees which surrounded the valley. “For a moment a ray of hope came into her mind, “Might she not slip past hin while he wes engaged in his work, and gain the mouth of the ravine without his detecting her ? “She rose with the deterinination to rink everything upon the chance, when, to her unutterable horror, she tound that the cun- hing misereant had, in some unaccountable way, inanaged to slip the noose of a rope round her ankles while he lay at her teet, and that she was firmly pinioned to the beneh. “It was only then that the relentless cruelty and unbending resolution of the inonster who lad captured her came tully home to her, “She screamed piteousty for aid, she knew that her cries were as her strugyles would be. “She was entirely at the tnaniac, “Ife came back upon hearing her ertes, and stood in the door-way, looking down at though useless as mercy of the her with a look of inelancholy upon bis face. “Tt was so dark now that it was diMeult for ner to distinguish his features, “Lady,” be said, ‘this is not what I bad hoped, * ‘tlow shall thy courage bear thee up at the supreme moment if thou shrinkest now ? “*You have been honored above all wornen by the selection of the gods. Canst thou not prove tuyself worhy of the choice ? «Learn, too, that thy cries are of no avail, for there is no buiman ears for many ainile, **Phou art notthe only one on whom death will come to-night. “When the red lightol thy pyre tinges the crags of Contnorris, and thy holocaust is Completed, then ApCGrriffiths, the last of the priestly line, shall pass away with§ bis mission gloriously fulftulled. **My life, as well as vours, maiden, ter- thinates at the coming of the ttiteenth avatar, Which my knowledye teaches me Will beat the twelfth hour of this night.’ “Driven to desperation, my poor wife prayed and beygyed tor inercy frou the inadinan, Using every possible eutreaty and expostulalion to preveut hint from carrying out lis inurderous design. “ler prayers, however, had the opposite effect, for, living inte «a paroxysin of rage, the Druid sprang upou her, forcing her down onthe beuch, lowhicu she was al- ready pintoned, “Wicked and ungrateful woman!’ he roared, wind.ug a cord round ber body,and securing ler wore firtoly than before, ‘would you persuade the ouly faithful one to turn false? Nota word more, or Lupus Kilence your tongue, You have already coumtmitted 4 grievous sin.’ “With these words, he seized lis chopoer ones tore, and weut back to lus Work, cul tuein around thie ‘“rradually the darkness of night settled down upon the litthe valley. lutal blond slonme,. “The poor pirl—streiched, more dead than alive, Upon the rough benei—could disliuyuish the gaunt outlines of the tuad- nan as he wielded bis chopper with detnon- i ti i y Dhier e@ sound ceased, and she lost Migelat cof datsan day t 4 it \ ! ' CA ut, ? vever @ahe I ré K vy a ig VA ‘During this time, the very possibility of

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10 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST. oe ee ono -- o-- - escape had ceased to occur to Miss Madi- aon. “suddenly, however, ber senses, strained an unnatural tension, detocted, a sound ln the distance. “She listened once more in a quiver of excitement, and aguin it seemed to her that the breeze bore a laint nete tw her ear, nut unlike the sound of a born. “Could it be that ber friends had Lit upon the right track ? “She lay periectiy still, able to bear the beatings of her own heart. “For tive minutes ail was silence, save the monotonous chant of toe tnaniac, “Then again the same long wail struck open ber ear, apparently rather louder and more near than before. “The Druid seemed to hear it, too, for he ceased his incantation, and paced uneasily back wards and forwards. “By ber calculation it could not be more than eleven o'clock. “She had therefore an hour before her if the maniac adbered to his forimer plan, The suspense war agonizing. “She lay with ber eyes shut, counting the sevonda, and waiting fora repetition of the sound; but all was as silent as the rave. “Minute passed after minute, Half the hour was gone without any sigu of her res- ouers. “Another quarter passed, and the mad- man began to dake a last look at the pyre, and to make his final preparations, Then be struck a light, and ignited the base of the mound of sticks, The dry, resinous pine-wood cracked and apluttered, while long tongues of thine licked round the borders of tie latal blood. mone, “He approached the door of the hut. “The time has come taiden!’ he said, “Itunsust have been a weird sight—the coluun of tire shooting up inte the air, throwing fantastic shadows among the gaunt fir trees and the Druidical stones,— within the circle of light the white-clad maniac, and in front of bias the shrinking girl! “He was in the verv act of undoing the cords wich bound her, when, frou the mouth of the wirl came # loud appeal tor help and «a cocrus of huiuau voices, all @lcrithigg teeter. “The tight olive tire lad attracted the res cue party. “The Druid started like a hunted beast. "Too late to lie roared: ‘too late! “Thy doom is sealed ! Thou must die! He ought upthe bench and the prostrate woinan, and, running with ineredible speed, he laid) ber beside the roaring flaines, while be drew his long kKuile trou bie tromoun, “My poor wife's last recollection is of the fierce tace looking down at ber, the savage, cvlorless eyes, and the uplifted Kuile. « * * - - “When she came to herself, friendly faces were around her. “Her head was pillowed upon tiny breast, and the first word that passed her dear lips was iny name. “The Druia was lving on his back, some little way off, with bis head cut open. “[ shall never vet such a stick again as the old triend which T broke that night over his crazy skull. “Jt was touch and go, though, for if T had got up one moment later, the fellow's Knife would have been iu Mary's heart, “We got her down to the inn at Lianduran, but she developed brain fever nextiiay, and for weeks her life was des- paired of, “Such an impression has the adventure made upon her that the leust Incident whieh twmay recall H bas a very bad effect upon her. “Toat Is whv I have concealed = the episode of Dr. Price from her knowledge?” *“Anithe Druid?” T asked. “On, be turned out to bea very well- known tian of science and an archaeologist, “He had been erratic in tis) couauet, and was therefore confined in the Merthyr Lunatic Asyvluin, but he eseaped some six wmenthe before, and all clue to bis where- abouts was lost, “He must lave spent the whole titne in this nook among the mountains, practisins his pagan rites, and living on the goats and anvihing he could prek up.’ “What became of him, then?’ “Ol, that is about the queerest thing in the whole queer story. , “Whether the crack with ny stick de- { some burp, or how ft acted, I don't know; but the faet when he recovered his senses Le was as sane as vou and 1, and bas as taras I know, reniiined ®) ever since, “They kept lint in the asylum for some time tor fear of a relapse, but they lef hii out eventually. “Hush! she’s wakening up. Yes, they will have a lively time atthe beginning of next season, tall Appearance. Dou't you think so, my dear ?' - ——_>_ Waiting. BY E. LINWOOD SMITH. CAN'T do it! I can write nothing worthy of her—nothing worthy ny own deep, inwidening love!" | And Cart Heine threw down his pen in despair, and looked about the bare walls of his poor little raom as though he addressed Ei tpame ter Lipertaa |; ‘ al hulagining re fectui il» Liner ‘ wy ®ii ar no poet ca emit nh MADLLY Blip » lend him iuspiration Again he bevtover bis work, A timid rap at the door aroused him. Without lifting bis bead, he called outa suinimmons Ww enter, The door opened but alittle way, anda girl's faxen head was thrust through the aperture, “Mother bade me ask you, Herr Heine, if you will not join us at supper. “We have placed aseat for you at the table if you will honor us," spoke a sweet low voice, while a rosy flush spread itself over the young and winsome face. The tnan looked up with a start, She spoke of supper, and he had eaten nothing since his imeagre breakiast in the early morning. Could it be that it was already evening? Yes; from his window he could see the sinking sun. His Lead, too, was taint and dizzy. His pulses throbbed, It was another evidence of bis landlady's thoughtful kindness. They were poor people, but they often bade hii to their huuible board, when but for them he would bave gove supperless to bed. lle rose now, and pusbed the paper from him. “Thank the gocd mother for me, Gretchen, and say I will be glad wo come.” The young girl curtsied, and withdrew trom he? place on the threshold ; but as 5.6 descended the stair she sighed deeply. “He looked at me not once,” she whis- pered to hersell. “Ah, me! lt was of the berg he was dreaming. It Ways dreauis, “tle is coming, mother,’ she said aloud, entering ber own apartinents, “LT think he had forgotten it was 80 late, “Does not be always forget? It's iny opinion he's so fond of the clouds he'll not be sorry to take up bis tinal abode there,” answered the elder woman, but) not un- kindly, a&% she bustled about among the tea-things., A little later, and the subject of their re- marks bad joined them, “Jt was kind of vou to think of ine,”’ he said. “TP begin to realize that Law bungry.” “It was Gretchen,’ said ber imother, “['ve something eise to do than remenuiber love-sick youths, who think only of the heart and forget the body.” “Theo Linust thank Gretchen;”’ he con- tinued, though the words be had just heard Fraulein Etter- is of ber he ai- ” brought avivid flust to his bandsoime face, And turning to the young girl witha stulle, for the first time his eyes met hers, Something be sawin their blue depths surprised hii, Hle quickiy looked again, but the long lashes swept ber cheek and bid them from his serutiny. Supper was but halfover, when a_ bustle and sweeping of skirts announced a new arrival, and with but little ceremony a tall, beautiful girl entered the room, Carl sprang to his feet. Frau Winstein, too, arose, but Gretchen, | pale and silent, remained seated, “Ah, Herr Heme, you bere?’ she said, bowing to the others as she spoke, bat her glanee turning last towards hiin, and rest- Ing there coquettishly, not unmindtual of the adimiration in his look “Do you Know they say the prize has been awarded for the great poem, and that some one in our village has been the lucky tian ? “Who can it be? ositv.”’ Curl Heine's face grew deathiy pale. Every one is all curi- réinains that | The prize for the great poem offered by the conservatoire, and to attain which would take the fortune ofany man! He would have no trouble henceforth to find publishers for his work, He would no longer have to solicit but be soliited, Nor was the prize in itself to be disre- garded, 7 Itwasaright handsome sumin money,and entitled the lucky winner, besides, to cer- tain privileges, which to a nan of letlers were invaluable, Noone kuew that Carl testant. It seeined so presumptuous for him, in his lone'y humble parret, to even compete; bat, alone in the hlushoft midnight, an idea bad been born to bin, and le liad risen quickly and first let his bewildered vision realize its beautv, and then elothed its nakedness, and adorned its crodeness, until the day-dawn iwarveiled at the creation of the might. For inany days and toiled at its perfecting. He would have toiled on ever. ever un- satisfied, but that the tine for its reception by the academy was limited; and on the last day vouchsated him he sealed Lis work and sent it im. But tirst he signed it—not with his own natine; bis courage for that was wanting— but with a nom de plume, and his righttol nhuine altached in a sealed envelope, to be opened only in view of success, He siniled sadiv as he thought of the seal for ever unbroken, but now Fraulein Ever- ber’ declared the decision to have beer bad been a con- many vights he finade and ended, } “Who bas woo the prize?" he asked, | “No one Knows as yet,” she answered, “Or, rather, they know only by the ficti- tious name he has assigned.” | ‘And that?” | ‘Edgardo '"" bie white ar sank back, i breat ess, (yretele Sprany > iis Siu sid held a glass ‘ « } i i u u SsOor fu “Upon my word, Herr Car \ ex claiined, ‘one would s iIppose you were on | the list of disappointed axpirants.* ae SNES moan fre A moment before he had been tempted to call out— Rejoice “Edgardo? with ie.” But soinething in her tone husbed Lim. She might be wrong too, The thing was too marvellous to be be- lieved. Yet, oh Heaven, if it might be true! To bim it meant all things—faime for- tune, love; for the winner of the p ize posi might sue even for Elsa Euerberg’s jove nor be repulsed. And,he loved her—ah, how well, only his own heart knew. She was the dauguter of a well-to-do mer- chant in the town. She might look above an humble poet; batshe had smiled on him very kindly, and his heart had beat high with the hope that some day he might lay it at her feet. No wonder the look be had surprised in Gretchen's blue eyes had startled hii. To him but one woinan existed, and that one the beautiful Fraulied Etterberg. He walked home with her that night un- der the stars, and though he meant not to have betrayed his love, his story stole through bis lips though he said naught of the new bope which bad given bim cour- aye, To his wooing she answered neither yes nor nay, but she suffered him to carry her band to his lips on parting, and promised Ww see him on the morrow, When he returned to bis room a new in- spiration seized him, He tore into fragments the lines which had 80 displeased him, and with hope and cour- age lighting new torch-fires in his breast, he hastily wrote verse after verse to her whose memory kindled them. Carefully copying thoin, and dedicating them to Fraulein Etterberg, he signed himself by one word “Edyardo,’”’ then sank upon his bed and fell asleep. ‘Eurly the next morning the verses were dispatched, Inthe evening, full of hope and happi- ness, he followed them; but the moment that he entered tbe presence of his divinity he perceived a change. She no longer met him with smiles, but with indifference, cold and frigid. When, tremblingly, he referred to her words of the night before, she laughed in his face, as she vaguely hinted of some splendid destiny in store for her, and mar- velled at his presumption in supposing that she, the beautiful Elsa Etterberg, could re- ceive the addresses of such as he, when those of highest bonor in the land sued at ber feet in becommng humility. It is 1—myself! She had been kind to hi:n—ves, For her kindness his presuinption had fittingly punished her. She had loved him— never. And again she laughed scorn. Like a drunken man he reeled from the house. What to him were his honors and his faine? W hat te him the letter that dav received, in mocking which he had carried with bim to show her, telling bin that the seal had been broken, and that he and Edgardo, the prize-winner, were one? What to him the future now ? Her love alone had given him the in- eentive and the inspiration, That gone, all else bad perished with it. His very success was hateful to him. A strange impulse seized hiin to hide it from the world. Hie was in no :nood to bear the congratu- lations of men; and so, finding his way half-blindly to his room, he wrote a few hurried lines, asking that the idenrity of Edgardo with himself for a time be kept concealed—tbut there were very impor- lant reasous why he wished it so, Confiding his Jetter to the post, he tot- tered back to bis chamber, and flung biim- self face downwards on his bed. The dawn found hit: still stretched there; but his lips babbied ceaselessly of stranze subjects, The strain had given away. The fever was upon him, All the morning Gretchen waited for his tread. When the day was half-done she stole to his door, All the agony of her pent-up love was in her ery as she discovered him, But his deaf ears heard and heeded not. For weeks they despaired of the young life which waged with death so bard a bat- tle. jut though he wished it not, life gained the victory. His tirst conscious glance rested on the fixure of his tireless nurse, ° He remembered it all through his deliri- ous dreains, The child’s face looked white and wan, but the blue eyes tnet his very calmly. The look he had once surprised in thein had fled. Not until later did he learn how cease- lessly his deliriuin had betrayed his love— | how nearly it had betraved his secret. | Constantly had he spoken ot Edgardo, “Jt must be,” thought Gretchen, “that |} he had tried, too, for the prize and failed, / and the disappointinent had brought on the fever,” Once, When the pulse was at the highest, she stole from his side, knowing he would iniss her, and found ber way to | Fraulein Etterberg’s house. . It was the wreatest tr f her love, rit was tS greatest s He needs you,"’ she sa He calls pon your name. Will you uot go to him? it may save his lite. ; gut the other drew herself up haught- ily. “He presumed too far,’ she answerea. “T ain Edgardo’s betrothed. “He loves me. I await his coming. I cannot leave lest I should miss biim.”’ And Gretchen, grieving tur this new grief to him she loved, went sadly back. But the world stili asked—who was Edgardo? and no one answered, As Carl Heine grew stronger he saw less of his nurse. More und more she absented herself from bis roorn. More and more he missed her. Had he been blind all these months he had lived with her beneath one roof, to be 80 unconscious of ber sweet and winsome echarin? One day he spoke to her of Elsa. Strange to say the old pain was deadened as he uttered her name, “She is betrothed,’’ answered Gretchen, lowering ber eves, that she might not see the white look of pain gatber, yet deeming it best that be should know the truth, “To whom?” he asked. And in bis voice was no treimor, nor had the color lett Lis cheek. “To Edgardo,” the girl answered. ‘We know no more, “[ wished her to come here when you were so ill, but she feared to miss bfu in ber absence.”’ A sinile played about the invalid’s pale lips. Me saw it all—the verses he had sent, breathing his soul’s ardent love, and claiim- ing ber for his bride when he camein triumph to seek her, were signed Edgardo, She had{not dreampt to look for bitu in his humble person, and so waited and watched for her grand suitor in vain. “So she would not come?” he said. “But you, Gretchen—if Edgardo had chosen you, what then?’ “f would bave said him nay,”’ she whis- pered. “Nay? Not possible. Why, he will be great and rich. Care you nothing for tnis?’’ “Not if my heart were poor,” she tremb- ingly replied. But something in her words made his soul Jeap with gladness, He scarcely knew what sprung to his own lips in answer, but the next moment found her sobbing in bis arms, and she knew that ber heart would be poor never nore, A wiiracle had been wrought—Carl loved her! A month later was their wedding-day. But as they passed out from the church a great shout went up— “Edgardo! Edgardo His secret, for the first time, had been made public. She turned eyes. “Tt is for you, that Elsa waits,’’ she whis- red, “Ay, little one. will be long.” to him blue, bewildered Methinks her waiting > Rachel Heath. BY F. R. NELSON. OYAL MOORE was Rachel Heath’s first love, and she had reached the age ; of twenty-nine before she met him— quitean old inaid; and yet attbatagea woman Knows her own mind, and her own Jove is inuch more likely to be lasting and trne than the ardent passion ot eighteen. Rachel's life had been such that she bad never any chance for what is called falling in love. Her mother had died when she was very young, and the care of an old and sickly father had come upon Rachel. She had fulfilled the trust faithfully. She had borne all the old man's queru- lous tault-finding with gentle patience; she had submitted without amurmur to being kept in the sickroom while her young acquaintances were gathered together enjoving themselves; and though Mr. Heath might’ have spared her as wellas not, she never called hiu selfish even in her thoughts, He was her father, and to him she owed every duty. So her sweet.youth wore away and wom- an’s crowning blessing was denied ber: and her cheek lost 18 sea-shell bloom, and her dark eyes gathered shadows of thought and sadness which should never coine to young eyes. At last old Mr. Heath died, at the age of eighty-nine, and Rachel was left all alone. It was then that Royal Moore ecaure iuto her lite. He wasa physician, and had attended her father for the last few weeks of his ex- istence, Something about the girl’s calm, quiet endurance—something in) the self-retiant strength of her churacter—touched Dr. Moore’s interest before he bad even noticed that she had a clearly-cut face, rather pale and a little sid, with large hazel eyes, and a wealth of curling brown bair. Her figure was pertect, and, after all, there is no chari: of beauty more potent in 4 inan’s eye than a fine figure. It was not tore than a month before the old, old story was told, and listened to with a strange and sweet delight. This love of Dr. Moore's was so unlike anything poor Richel had ever bad shown her Lefore, that she hardly dared be bappy nit, jest it might elude her grasp and desolate than before. iad alwavs had to think everybody—ali the planning calculating, and “looking out’ caime roo ré I éerto she | l care for and « upon her—but now all was changed. One whose constant aim was to make her

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST.

happy was near her continaally, and upon his strength ber weakness relied, and her | mind rested froin care and perplexity. A couple of months they had been en- hen Laura Sayres, a distant cousin | ed w ef Rachel's, took it into her head that she needed the ses-air. Rachel lived in the little sea-girt town of Brenton, and to “deur Cousin Racbel,’’ Laura wrote, she was coining. Rachel reinembered her as a child—gol- den-haired, Liue eyed, and waxen-laced— and of late yearsshe had heard soinethiny of her wonderful beauty. To tell the truth, Rachel was pleased at the prospect of Laura’s coming. Perhaps she dreaded the bustle and ex- citemnent which this woman of fashion wonld bring her, and perhaps she shrank from any intrusion upon the sweet and tender relation between herself and Dr. Moore. But one cannot insinuate to one's cous- insthan their proposed visits are unwel- coine—which is one of the disadvantages of baving cousins—and Rachel wrote Laura a very kind letter, saying ber house was at her service. Dr. Moore was net over-pleased at the rospect, for he detested fashionable tadies, 16 suid, and be had no doubt my Lady Laura was frivolous and vain as the ma- jority of them were. He had 80 much Racbel all to hi:nsel f. Then he kissed ber forehead, and slid bis arm around her waist, and drew her to his side, and they stood silently together, and heard the sea waves beat on the rather have his little shore, and the crickets chirp in the grass, | and neither of them: dreamed of the cloud which was even then gathering in the calin sky of their felicity. saura Sayres caine. Just twenty, aslight, graceful girl, with hands like sculptared inarble, and feet whose rare perfection of shape and tininess were admirably shown otf by the exquisite hardly | Paris boots she wore ; an arch rosebud of a | face, trammed in aimass of crinkly golden hair, tied up with azure ribbon, and falling in a shower of curls down her snoulders, Yes, there was no gainsaying the fact that Laura Sayres wasa beauty, and Dr. Moore, being a man, could not help adwmir- ing her. She played and sang finely too, and he was fond of music. Rachel foresaw that which was to come, but she bore up bravely against it, and was always kind and sweet to Laura,and gentle with Royal Moore. Laura, accustotned as she was to being adinired and flattered, appropriated Dr. Moore without hesitation. Aunt Rachel had mnentioned his engage- ment with Rachel to her, but Laura had lived in the worid where engagements are formed and broken to suit the convenience ol the parties, and she attached no impor- tance to the communication, “Why, aunt, engazed to that old maid ! It is too bad. Why, Dr. Moore is one of the most splendid men I ever met.” “Laura,” satd Aunt Edith severely, ‘no inan can be too good for Rachel Heath. She 18 the noblest and truest woman | ever knew.” “Oh, yes, auntie,’? returned Laura, ‘I know she is a periect saint; but then she is so grave and old, and she wears ber hair in such horrid style. “Not a puff nor a friz, and, I'll venture to say, not athread of false hair.” “No,” said Aunt Edith ; “Rachel’s head is too full of good sense to allow itself to be done up in bair froin the scalp of any luna- tic or criminal.” Laura flounced out of the room in a pet, and revenged herself by bunting up Dr. Moore, and coaxing hiim to take ber out in a boat. It was twilight when they returned, and Ruchel watched them come up the walk with an odd pain at ber heart. She did not understand Dr. Moore. Suddenly something seemed to have ‘one between them, and to huve changed ne genial, bappy voung man into a restless and capricious trifler. — Rachel felt curiously afraid of him in those days. F ; She avoided being left alone with him, and shrank into herself more persistently than ever. Sometimes sho caught his dark eyes fixed upon her face with an expression of anxious doubt, and once he bad detained her and asked her what was tlie inatter. And she bad answered—‘notbing,” bravely repressing the tears which were ready to fall over the wreck of her brief happiness. All the bright summer Laura lingered at trenton, and Dr. Moore was ever her inost devoted cavalier. Riding or walking, thet together, and though Dr. wo were always Moore used at ilways declined, and after a tine he to ask her. Laura confided her hopes to Rachel one ; wuen Rachel and | to night after the girls had gone to their rooius. She should tarry Dr. Moore, for she liked bim vastly ; and then be was rich aud of a good family. rN “I did think he was engaged to you, went on the selfish yirl,‘*but, of course that is all over. “No man loves and neglects a woman at the saine Lite. “And the you inust aves ier : niin [ ain twet } i Mo 7 said Rachel, in a v Lich , . surprised Lersel! ‘and ifhe loves ju. I should aivise you t inarry him.’ “You are such a dear, guood creature, cried Laura, kissing ber, ‘‘aud I am so glad NN | that you do not care anything about hin. | It would be so awkward, if you did. Bo | good-night and pleasant dreawa."’ Pleasant dreains indeed ! Poor Rachel never closed her weary eyes | that night,and the nexe morning she looked , 80 worn and ill that even selfish Laura in- sisted on bathing her bead and coddling her to sleep on the sofa, it was early autuinn now, and the even- lugs were growing chilly. Laura, ail in a diaphanous ¢!oud of white muslin and azure ribbons, sailed in just be- fore it was time for Dr. Moore to come. “How charming! Royal and I are to practise that new song together, and, really, it would have been chilly here without the | lire. | “You are very thougbtlul, Rachel. I |; wonder if T will be as good when 1 am = as old 2” She went close to the fire, and held her sinall, white hands out to the ruddy blage. Her sweeping skirts trailed over the hearth, a breath of air from the opening door as Aunt Edith came in swayed them a little nearer, a tongue of flaine seized u the fins, fabric, and in an instantthe un- fortunate girl was wrapped in a cloud of tire. A tearful teinptation beset Kachel. If Laura perisped, Royal Mvore would be hers ones more. The thougbt went through her brain like lightning but she cast it behind her with iim- patient scorn. The next inoment she had torn up the hearth-rug, wrapped it around Laura, and, iorecing the screaming girl down to the floor, she succeeded iu smothering the | ames, just as Dr. Moore eutered the | roo. She thought it was very strange that he should spring to herside, and ask if she were burnt, before he ever looked at Laura; but afterwards he lifted the poor young girl in his arins, and carried her up to ber room, aad dressed her wounds and soothed ber as best he could. By-and-vye he came down and found Rachel. She had bandaged both ber hands, for | they were fearfully burnt, and sbe bad told | Dr. Moore she was not bure. “My dear little girl,’’ he said, “you have deceived ine; youare burnt. I uiust see after this,’’ And he took off the wrappings, and grew pale at sight of the scarred aud _ bilistered hands, She submitted to him quiet] His touch brought back to the sweetness of the old time. And she had nade up ber mind to tell him this very evening that he was free. *“Rachel,”’ said he, when he had tinished dressing the burns, “I want to talk to you a littie while. You have given ine no chance lately, and I have been very un- happy over it. “1 have at times almost begun to fear that, after all, you did not care tor me aa | thought you did.” “IT desire your happiness above anything else,”’ began Rachel, bravely ; “and when I saw that you were pleasel with Laura— and indeed it is not stranye,for she is young and bandsoime ™ ‘Pleased with Laura?” said Dr. Moore. “T was never pleased with her dear. I have been playing, you will think, a very inean and dastardly game, but ny con- science approves ine, Ree some of

“Two years ago, Rachel, that girl flirted with my brother Henry, and broke his heart. “He was young romantic and very susceptible. Her beauty enthralled hiimn. Sue, like the heartless flirt she is, led bin on, until he Knew no rest nor joy away froin ber. “Then when his devotion became tron- blesoime—for there was another suitor on hand—she laughed at him for an idiot, and frankly told hitn she never thought of inar- rying bin. ‘She had only been amusing herself, and had supposed Le was doing the eame. “Henry went to his room, locked. tho door and blew out his brains. “When this girl, who had caused his death just as surely as though her white hands iad held the fatal pistol—when she heard ot it, she cried out— “*What a fool; but there! I always thouglit he was rather weak; and he was 80 fond of me. Dear nie bow dixagreeable itisto haveinen falling in love with one,’ “By the side of tnv poor brother's dead body I inmade a vow that if ever destiny threw this ‘alse and treacherous yirl in my way, | would punish ber for hersin against him, and I have kept my word, “Perhaps itis not noble or generous for me tosay it, but IT believe she loves ine. And, Rachel, darling, I love only you.” Despite poor Rachel's = involuntary So her lost happiness Caine back, Laura was net able to leave her ehamnber Dr. Moore went quietly ehurch one morning and the village | were imarried, Aud when Aunt Edith told Laura of what was going on—and Anut Fdith hada wicked sort of enjoyment in telling ber— there was a scene, The next day Laura went hore. Dr. Moore and his wife are living their contented, FI let, ititry life, al the harp. ' é ec J ———— W he n ~ @ - . =o lawn the ivan who is vie A ph wound ins t i! stand sii the beauly of the axiows Which léeachbes us that | it is Letter to give Luan Ww receive. | quet of “Honest Abe,”

| shrinking back, he took her into his aris | ‘irst to ask Richel to come with thei, she | ; i toe ; | and kissed her in the old slow, sweet way. aos)

HOUGH in democratic America we have no titled rulers, yet nearly every man who bas achieved distinction in any walk of life has his sobriquet, by which he is inore or leas widely known. Especially in thistime of stutesinen, puii- ticians and soldiers, These s»briquets are usually bestowed in recognition of some great achievement or achievoments, or else illustrate some per- sonal characteristic of the recipient. Some of these democratic tities are tri- vial; others are of importance and form an accepted port of history and biography. To begin with let us mention bin that was “first in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen,’’ Geurge Washington, who is so justly called the “Father ot his Country.” It is weil known that instead of this title he might have had that of king, had be chosen ; but bis patriotisin was of too high anorder to Jisten tosuch a proposition. Posterity will honor him the sore in his choice, Hieury Clay, the man who “had rather be right than be Pres.dent,”’ was koown as the ‘“ireat Pacificator,’’ because of the compromise measures introduced by bim in Congress. These measures pacified the leaders of both factions, and serious difficulty was thereby averted. Daniel Webster has been called “the Great Expeunder of the Constitution,” and is now ollen referred to as “the god-like Daniel,’’ from his majestic presence. Jonn ©, Calhoun, the Southern nan, bore the subriquet of “the Nullifier.”’ Thos Jeflerson was weil Saye of Monticello.”” He was a scholar, “and a ripe and good one.” Johan Adams, who died upon the same day as Jefferson, and who was closely associated with bim in the early days of the Repubtic, was a man of great capacity, but personally aud politi- cally uppopwlar, He was called in derision by his neighbors “the Duke of Braintree,”’ from his cold and aristocratic manners. Andrew Jackson gained the tithe “Old Hickory” frow his toughness and obstinacy. Though obstinate and very tenacious of his opinions, he was aman of strict integrity and undoubted patriotisin. John Quincy Adams, who served many years in the house of Representatives aller being President, was appropriately called “The Old Man Eloquent.” Stephen A. Douglas was known as the “Litthe Giant.” Willian Henry Harrison was sometimes called *Tippecanoe,”’ in recognition of bis Victory ut the battle of that name, Zachary Taylor was termed by his sol- diers “Old Rough and Ready.”’ The martyr Lincoln bore through life, and will ever bear ip bistory—the sobri- states- Great styled ‘the ° How will he deserve .t! Honesty, kind ness and simplicity were the most promi. nent characteristics of the nan whose men. ory the navion honors as that of one of her yreatest statesinen and wisest rulers, Goneral Grant has been styled *Phe Si- lent Man,” und during the was was soiue- tines called “Unconditional Surrender" Grant, the initials of these words being the garne as those of hie nanie. General Marien, of Revolutionary farne, during his campeigns in tne South gained the name of “Phe Swamp Fox.” General Anthony Wayne “Mad Anthony,’ because of and linpetwosity. The dashing cavalry commander, Major Henry Lee, beeaune “Light-Horse Harry.” During the late civi war the soldiers de- lighted to call General Joseph Hooker “Fighting Joe,” while General George H. Thomas will ever be Known as the “Rock of Chickamauga.” was called his bravery | The Contederate general, Thomas J. Jackson, bore a name gained in @ sorte. | what similiar manner, At the battle of gull Run, General Lee, ofthe Contederate arninv, While eneouragiog his tnen, pointed lo Jackson, SAVItiY : “There stands Jackson wall.”’ Kver after thix he was known wall Jackson, many believing it to real naine. like a stone us Stone. be his | . os No faculty is developed. uo quality is ne quired, no power is yalned, except by con. Stunt exercise. Tl we dépire our young people to grow Up inte valuable teu and itoms them gradually asstiine responsibility, to and forces of Character, to as to tike in, to act as Then tie will be w suc naturally following each other, eac of which wall prepare tle way and thoroughly for the next, and eaeh of which will Dring new light, browder id —_ we tush ace mality le exert their will vive out as weil well as to learn. cesyon Of SlLepms Weittherh, bral ml views and higher abilities to bear upon | Increasing Guties aod respousibililies as they arise. te - -_ From Death's Door. Many who were thought by physicians | and triends to be it deatii’s door lave been restored to their faimiiiesand to courparalive seevend health by the new Vitaliz Treat- nent of Drs. Star ‘ & Pa ! BLL ’ r St., Piiiladel pbhia. l cures ‘ | 4.1 al jis new lreatinent,w and painpliets aud reports of cases will be prowptly uaiied. = 7 New Publications.

“Clytta’” t the tithe of mronnare ofthe sixteenth century translated frou the Ger- inan of George Tavior by Mary J. Safford. Like others of ite kind it deals with batits, | persons, and ideas f the time ip a manner at onee entertaining and histerioaliy in structive. Many of the leading charactres of the period, civil, military and religious take purtin the scene and ihe great move- nents In whieh Luey figured receive tnore oF less intelligent treatment. To the literary appetite an xious for something stronger than tnuch Offered by the other schools of novel- writing, and withal as tasteful, we can re- commend “Oiytia.” Gaottsberge New York, Publisher, For sule by Porter & Contes. Cloth, 90 cents, Mrs. A. L. Wister's latest translated noves frou the Gerinan te called “Quiekmenda,’” by Adsiph Strickfuas, There le « certuin fuinily likeness in these romances by differ- ent authors, and what is better they are all healthful in tone. Bot the va are tiany and marked. In “Qoatcksands’® we have two young men strangers to one another, both intending suicide, and when one attenpts it be is rescued by the other. From this comes a change of names and, so lar us can be predicated in a fiction, of om reerk, Some confusing scenes follow, and there are odd turns of tortune; the resoved nan turos out to be a rogue and his resouer ahero. He is thrown into a new social se under the ignoble name that be has assum and there is of course much love-making With the usual incidents. This hint of the plot will nuturally suggest that i¢ bears prowise of being « good story,aod a perusal will put it beyond doubt. Price $1.50. Lip- pineott & Co,, Publishers, “Rapid Ramblings in Europe," by W. 0. Falkner ta a finely printed, bound, and or- nainented book wall would give rise to an liepression frou its appearance, there is nore in Jt, than is really the case, Books of travel on the continent, especially over the benten track, are entirely too plentiful to cite inuch juterest or win irore than a inu notice. ‘This one in readable enough tothe general public. The author aceom. panied by several wembers of bis family and some friends, make the “grand tour,” What they saw and talked about is setdown in a somewhatorivinal and we may say,onen humorous if not witty inanner, We doubt though tor the reasons given, whether 1 will attract muchattention, The dedieution is unique, and the steel and wood-engrav- ings of the different members of the party, with whiehthe book is embellished, while doultless very good, will hardly prove of any wreit interest to the general reader, Price $2.00, Lippincott & Co., Publistiers. MAGAZINES. The contenta ot The Sanatarian for July are: Canned Goods; Drunkenness in Great Britain; A Shoe That Wili Not Pineh—A Short Study in the Hygiene of the Feet, Hiustrated; The Chotera Epidenile in Egypt; Sewers as Life Protectors; International Sanitary Conferences in their Commerctal felations® —Quarantine; Disposal of the Dead; Epipiiam Chymicum; How to Save Teeth frout Deeav:; Editor's Table; and Literary Notices, Pries 35 cents a copy. Published 115 Fulton St., New York. St, Nicholas tor June partakes strongly of the fedlds and the woods, The frontispiece Daisy Time, it a clarurnhig pieture, sae the toanyv other Vlustrations in the number are pleasing in design and first class in exeen- tion. The instalments of The Serrlet Tana yer, by J.T. Trowbridge, and Manon and His Hunters, by Maurice Thonipson, are

Iresip wood joviting, Miss Aloott's sixth Spinning-wheel Story, is an Interesting sketch ofthe Middle Ayes, Frederick of Hohenstauien, the Boy euiperor, is anther of ES. Brooks’ Histone Boye series, Queer Giame, by Mrs. S. Bilerrick, is paper on bee-hounting. A live story tor boys ts W., W. Funk's Two boys of Meyylesville; aud Susan Anna Brown has «a hintfal peper for yrirls, entitied Marvaret’s Favor Book, ‘There are several poews, and the depart nents are fulrand entertaining. The Cen- turv Co, New York, Lungren furnishes a chartning frontis- piece flor the pemiig slory of the June Wide Awake, Tie Cow with Golden Horna, one Of Mires. Wiikius feicilul stories, A tinely paper is About White Elephants in yeneral and Bharti’ white ef-s phant In perteular, No, VIEL. of Absop's Fauiles, The Cat-’ at Law, tas six full page draw. tous by Garret. Mra. Jotin Sherwood hase brisket boorditye-sehoul story, aid Miss Hors eootei bates an luteresting paper about Some Litthe Shakers, with «a dozeu il- fusteatons® ade by Bodtish. KEiward Everett Hale tucouishes an instructive article descriplive of ais Visi, am chaplain, to the Dosten Court louse, Atnony the toany other wood (hinge tn this punher are gen- ¢rous justalients of the several serials, short Stories and @khetches, The Clooutan- qua Supplement ts excellent in inatter, w peculiarly stumbonable urticle Letuy Mr. Skinner's Hints ts Young Pedestrians, fers 83 avear. D, Lathrop & © Pub Jinliecrs, idoston, _>_ °° A WAN left a Dbonv steed in the street,and Coming ick awhort tiu afterwards, dis- ‘ tt tx rev Vesithi v' placed a card a | <a - eairioy the notice {bul | — * -- “ rem mre . on ’ liealt oT “ ‘reed to awallow consists sUyar-coated j articles in a pill-box,

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__ ile | ‘Dur Uoung F olks. THE BEARS’ PARTY. Eee

BY PIPKIN.

Y love,” said Mrs. Bear to Mr. Bear, asthey sat at breakfast, their two young cubs being outside the hollow tree where they dwelt; “the little folk are having a merry tiine of it over the water this Christrnas season ; what say you to our giving our young people alike pleasure?" “Withall my heart. What shall it be—e ball, a concert, or a Christinas tree 7"’ “Neither, replied Mra. Bear, with a tors of her grizzly head; ‘what people you gen- tleinen are for doing things grandly. Now I was thinking ofa dance, “and a snug lit- tle supper afterwards.” “Ab P right, as you alwaysare ;"'and then they talked of this and that in «low whis- per, because of the four ears outside. The possessors of the said ears were little Master Nimbie-toe and jitic Miss Long- nose, his sister. “Mother, what were you and father talk- ing about?" inquired Niimble-toe, as the two caine bouncing in, just as their father wiped his mouth with bis paw, and their mother removed the cloth, “Young people must ask no questions,’ replied she, while her husband retired into the recesses of the tree. “Something about a Christmas tree, mother?” said Long-nose, “Hoity toliv! What next I wonder?” returned her mother, as she tied jon her apron, and went about her household work. Meanwhile, Mr. Bear emerged from his retirement, quite a dandy in his apparel. “Mother, where's father going, wearing his beat bat and trousers?" asked Nimble- toe, as she stood, duster in hand, outside the hollow tree to watch him off, the two young ones with her. “Little bears must see and hear a great deal, and ask no questions,” she told him; “now, dears, go aud play, for [ am busy.” “] wonder where tather's off to?’ per- nisted Nimbie-toe, but he soon forgot to wouder, playing with lis sister in the dear old forest. Meanwhile the sun rose higher, and Mrs, Bear, up to her eyes in concocting and commingling of dainties, feared the dav would be too short for what she had to do, However by noon, she had all to her heart's content, so, donning her best gown, and sinoothing ber shabby hair, she was just setting out as mysteriously as ber husbaad before her, when the two young ones came bounding up, as bungry as bears could be, “Mind and be good cubs; I've lett your dinners for you.” So she adimonished them, and tramped away through the forest as they watched ther. “T wonder what's going to happen?” said they; but they ate their dinners, and then another thing puzzled them. “IT wonder what nice sinell this is in the lace,”’ quoth Nitmble-toe, and went pry- ng round the house till he came to the larder. *Ho, ho! I know,” cried he to his sister, clapping his paws in gice. Vina in ny W bat sponded, diving after him. Oh! what bidden dainties inet their eyes! Honey, roots, and fruit, prepared in a dozen different ways, as only bears know how, but all deliciously tempting. Choice jaw to children was a nothing compared to what this was to them, “Wasn't mother sly to hide away all these things,’’ said Nimble-toe, dipping his maw bere and there tasting, sinacking his ips as he gobbled and ate. And, | ain sorry Ww say, his sister was no wiser, no more trustworthy, no more hon- est; ah, they tasted and tasted till it was all me! “Mother may have meant it for us; in fact, I fancy she did'’—so they quieted their consciences as they sat outside the hollow tree and watched for their parents’ return. Mr. Bear arrived first, a large parcel un- der his fore paw. “Well, cubs, where's your mother?” ‘“jone out dressed, father,’’ returned Long-nose, feeling the mysterious parcel with her paw. “Ha, ba!’ langhed he, “that's right;"’ and neither of them dared to ask him what he'd bought. Anon, their mother appeared in the red sunlight of evening, and they gamboled to ineet ber. “Well, have you been good cubs?” she inquired. “Yes, ] think 80,"" returned Nimble-toe, winking at his sister, and trying to make her laugh. “Ab! just so; and here's father,"” quoth the mother, entering ther abode, “And here's the concertina from town for mother,”” said Mr. Bear, waggishly, producing what had puzzled them both. “Yea, inv dears,” theirimother told them; “now the secret Is out; we're going to have a party, and I've been to invite the guests, and they're coming. “The Misses Porcupine, the three Mas- ters Fux, and the two Misses Rabbit.’’ “Oh, mother, bow jolly!’ and the two wild things danced for joy; vet their bearts sank as they remembered the pre- serves and dainties they had gobbied up. *“] wish we hadn't done it,” whispered is it?’’ she re- here we are, and unsuspicious Long-nose, as they combed their hair in their own oorner. “Motber ought to have toid us,” said ber closer & her, comb in brother, band. Al well! the frisky oolmnlng young guests began

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST.

to arrive, and mother’s new concertina be- gan to send forth raptarous strains. Never such a graceful party tripped it lightly on the toe as did these young crea- tures outside, in the solemn moonlight, under the Christinas stars, and Master Squeaky Fox, who had a fine voice, but wasno dancer, sat and watched the pro- ceedings; and then he distributed winks and nods, ‘Muster ueaky shall sing one of his songs,’ said Mra. Bear in high good hu- mor, as yet knowing nothing of the raid on her larder. “Yen, Master Squeaky shall sing, and I'll help him withthe chorus,”’ added Mr. Bear, who loved a good song. “Now we'll have the Forest Quadrille, and then supper after Master Squeaky's song,’’ were Mrs, Bear's words as the even- ing waned, at which the two young bears clung hand to hand as they danced, too faint at heart for Squeaky Fox's winks and nods to amuse thei, The quadrille ended, Squeakyv'sa song was sung, the refrain of which was— **The moon shines bright, Our hearts are light, With naught but mirth in the alr, oh!" Mra. Bear laid down her instrument. ‘*Now for supper—Mr. Bear, help ine to lay the cloth,’ were her words; where- upon that gentleman, with a proud stile | on his Ips, went to do her bidding, Bears do not turn pale, bears do not usually faint, but the two young thieves shook in their skins, you when their father came from the larder and cried, “Mrs. Bear! Mrs. Bear! Mrs, Bear!’ as she mingled with her guests here and there, “Bring the prepared dishes first,’’ said ashe, with calin dignity. ‘There are no prepared dishes,” returned the mystified Mr. Bear; “only a mess and a little of empty dishes,’ he added, with a masculine want of tact. “Yos, yes, there are,’’ and the hostess, with a gracious smile; and away she went io see for herself, . But alas! she might have Ween Mother ” Hubbard, for aught her cupboards or shelves afforded, “Cubs,’’ said she, returning to where they and her guests sat round the table; “have you been meddling with things in the larder ?”’ “Yes, mother, we've been meddling,” replied shame-faced Nitmble-toe—too brave to tell # lie, A silence fell—then the father and mother spread a frugal repast of such as their house afforded, in sorrowful dignity. None of the guests were = ill-mannered enough to remark on the lack of delicacies befitting the season, but Master Squeaky Fox was heard to remark to his brothers on the sly— “] do believe those young gourmands gobbled up the good things prepared for us; they are a low, bad-mannered set.” ¢ Then the parents’ humilation was com- plete. “My cubs, you have taken away our good name as parent bears, and spoilt your first Christinas party,’’ were their mother’s words, kissing them good night as the Christmas bells chimed their sweet music through the forest, and their father’s step could be heard outside as he smoked his pipe in sorrow, - —- - > - —— THOSE TWINS.

BY RANDALL W. BAYLE. Mr, Horatio Jones when he found him- self the parent of a fine pair of twins—a boy and a girl. Ite implicitly credited the statement of the nurse, that the boy was the finest and the girl the loveliest infant ever born within her knowledge; and his face beamed with delight when old Mr. Booker detected untnistakable buinbs of genius on the head ofthe male infant; and Mrs. Martin as serted that the nose of present seemed of no particularor detinite shape, gavecertain protnise ofturning outa pure Grecian. Mrs. Martin who had had twelve chil- dren of her own, must of course know, Mrs. Jones’ mother—Mrs, Cratchings— had of course, been with her daughter several weeks previous to the birth of the infants; and immediately on receiving in- dear never was a prouder man than ina Jones arrived, for the gratulating her son welfare of the new additions to the house of Jones.® It was during her stay that the impor- tant question of choosing names for the twins was discussed and decided. It was on a Sunday, and uncle and aunt Jackson and cousin Joshua bad been inu- vited to dinner, after which Miss Arabella | Walters an intimate friend of Mrs. Jones, had dropped in, speedity followed by Mr. Weatherby Jones, a distant relaive of the family, though on very familliar terms with them, Seated around a cozy fire, with port wine and walnuts ou a@ round table, the company were very pleasant and cheerful, until after | awhile cousin Joshua inquired what the twins were to be called—a subject which bad never been in the reimotest manner alluded to by either grandma Jones or grandma Crutehings. “Ahem! said Jones, with a proud air, ‘it occurs to me, since there are so many of us inet together this eve ng, that it would be a favorable opport ty of choos Fine the t at oe ing names f “Sappose we have ‘er and see what they look like,’’ said cousin Joshua, a bald. headed, jolly-looking old gentleman. may be sure, | the ywirl, whieh at | wei, poe ted that important event, grand- | purpose of con- | and looking atter the |

“Then we can choose names to suit them.” Accordingly a message was dispatched to the nurse, and that important personage soon entered, bearing upon each stout arin a very tiny and very pink specimen of in- fantifle humanity, buried in a froth of lace and ruffles, The company gathered around and min- utely inspected the pair, with many com- inents and expressions of admiration. “The image of his father,’’ said Mrs. Jackson; “and the girl—bless the teeny- weeney itty darling!—tho perfect type of her inother.”’ - Jones looked bighly gratified—until Mr. Jackson observed, with sideways poise of his head— “Well, now, to my mind they're like babies. “They're all as much alike as a bushel of Aas, Mrs. Jackson, a large woman of com- inanding aspect, cast a glance of severe adinonition at her husband. He was a little nervous-looking man, whose misfortune it was to be perpetually doing and saying ill-timed things, though with the best intentions in the world. After a sufficient amount of petting from their grandmnothers, and of raptures from Miss Arabella, with a distant stare froin Mr. Weatherby Jones, who seemed rather afraid ot them, the twins were borne away, and the discussion of their future names was resummed, “As there seems to be no personal pe- cuiiarity about them to suggest a name,”’ observed cousin Joshua, “any ordinary natmne will dou—only being twins, you see, the natnes like the owners, should resem- ble each other. “What do you say to Thomas and Thomasia, or Samuel and Samuella, for in- stance ?"’

“Oh, no, indeed!” said Mrs. Jones quickly. “No common names for my _ babies; something pretty and striking—though I don’t object to the names being somewhat alike, considering that they are tw.ns,”’ “T wouldn't bave ’ein alike if I were you. Emily,” said her mother. “The children are enough alike already, and if they have the saine sounding names, they'd never be able to know themselves apart.” The company admitted the reasonable- ness of this oo But cousin Joshua would not give up his point. “Twins ought to have twin-like names,” he maintained, “Names that pair together, as it were. Such as—as——” And he scratched his head with a puz- zled air. ‘Bell and Beau,” said Mr. Weatherby. “Jack and Gill; or maybe, Punch and Judy would do,” said Mr. Jackson, and imiuediately shrank up under the wither- ing glances cast upon him. Nobody but cousin Joshua laughed, and Mr. Weatherby Jones looked from the window and remarked absently that it was a fine day. “Ob! cried Miss Arabella, clasping her fair white hands in sudden ecstasy. “T have thought of everything. Paul and Virginia!’’ Mr. and Mrs, Jones seemed pleased at this suggestion. “] am sure they are very pretty names,” said Emily, looking appealingly at her husband. “What do vou say, dear?” “Well, really, my love, 1 see no object- ion if you like them.” “Nor I,” said cousin Joshua, There was a pause. “I never knew any one of the name of Paul,’ commenced grandina Crutchings solemnly, ‘who didn’t turn out badly. “There was Paul Simpkins, who fell offa gate-post and broke his left hand forefinger when he was only four years old; and Paul Hicks sent tu prison for stealing ; and —and—"’ ‘But there was the Apostle Paul, ma,” said Mrs. Joues. ‘tle was a saint, you know.” “The Apostle Paul lived in old times,”’ replied Mrs. Crutchings decisively. “Things are changed since then. Be- sides, he was cast into prison and put to death, as you know," she added, looking around with an air of superiority. “Wouldn't it be a good idea,”’ said Mr, Weatherby Jones, ‘to give the boy the naine of some great nan ? “The consciousness of being a second— aw, hum!—Hannibal or Cicero would probably have a good influence upon him, and render him ambitious of preserving the honor of the name, and of emulating the fame of his illustrious namesake.”’ “Ma,”’ said Emily, observing that hor mother had not spoken, but sat with hands _stifiv folded and pursed-up lips, “can’t you suggest something ?”’ “If your own feelings, Emily, as the daughter of one of the best of men and fath- ers, have not suggested to you a naine for _ your boy—your first boy—then I regard it | as useless ny Inaking any sugyestion.”’ There was a dead silence, and everybody looked at everybody else. _*You go tor family nates, | ina’am?"’ said cousin Joshua, “Pray what was the Christian your late respected lLusband ?"’

perhaps, name of “His name sir,’ responded the widow soleinniyv, “his name wus N las Peter Crutechings;: anda etter or minore atniable ipered inan never } Here grandina Jones gave an audible sniff; and Mr. Jackson observed pleas- antiv— i “Yes, madam, I remember bim very nobody, I ever saw before, except—other |

| City. well, and that his name was Nicholas—for the boys in the street used to cali him Old ee which naturally riled him consider- ably. “Many a thrashing I’ve seen him bestow upon those young rascals."’ “IT have always thoughbt,’’ commenced grandma Jones, with great deliberation, “IT have always been under the impres-ion that a man's first boy would naturally be named after himself or his own father. “My husban@’s name was Thaddeus— Thaddeus Jones.” “On the oomtrary, ma’m,” said Mrs, Crutchings frigidly, “if you will excuse me—lI have already understood it to be the custom for the eldest son to bear the naine ot his mother’s family—thus notifyiog dis- tinctly what two fainilies he represents."’ “Crutchings Jones,’ murimured Mr, Horatio Jones criticisingly. ‘*Thaddeus Horatio would sound rather better, I should think,’’ said tne mother loftily. “If you bave no regard for the memory of your blessed father, Horatio, and no de- sire to perpetuate in your family the re- inembrances of bis virtues, then it is use- less my saying anything further. “Asto myself,” she added with dignity, “I trust that I can do my duty as a grand- mother to your daughter, whether or not she is called by my name.” Here the old _—* voice faltered, but she would not yield to the momentary weakness produced by the consciousness of neglect and injury. She adjusted her cap and looked defiantly around, **Well,’’ said Jones’ mother-in-law, with sarcastic emphasis, *I must say that when & person expects a young woinan to over- look and slight her own mother, and name her first girl-baby after another person— why I'm prepared for anything.” “[ should think, ma'‘ain that a person would have aright to expect it, so long as she is in her own son's house.”’ “Oh, ina’am, I don't intend to dispute that question; and I am sure I have no in- tention of being an intruder in the house of my own daugiter’s husband. If my presence inconveniences vou a “Ma,” interrupted Emily pleadingly. While Jones bee gu something in the ear of his maternal parent which caused her to bridle up with— *“T ain sure, Horatio, that I don’t indend or desire to produce any unpleasantness. I ain the last person fs And bere she applied her handkerchief to her eyes and left the room, at the saine moment in which Mrs. Crutchings, with all ber little curlsin a tremble, sailed out by the opposite door. A dead silence fell upon the company. Jones looked extremely uncoimlortable, and his wife began to show signs of ner- vousness, Mr. Weatherby Jones sucked the head of hiscane, and Miss Arabella pensively toyed with ber watch-charins, **] don’t see,” aaid Mrs. Jackson medita- tively—*'I don’t see how the question is ever to be settled, unless vou allow the twins to grow up and choose names tor theinsel ves.”’ “Or call them after everybody at once,” suggested her busband. For once his idea was considered worthy of attention. Cousin Joshua immediately took it up. “Suppose you cal] the boy after both his grandtathers—Thaddeus Peter—-and the girl after both her grandmochers,.”’ “Jerusha Jane Jones! Whata name!”’ sobbed Ennily. *“Couldn’t we prefix some ornamental natne,"’ said Miss Arabella, “by which the little darlings might be usually called?” This proposition being approved, it was further proposed that the grandmothers

themselves should have the privilege of choosing these qualifying first names, The two ladies were thereupon waited on and informed of the arrangement. Mrs. Crutchings was discovered to he packing ber trunk, and Mrs. Jones reading — upon **The Trials of our Earthly afte.” But they were induced to return to the company, and though neither appeared perfectly satisfied with the new arrange- nent, a nore harmonious feeling was soon restored. “I think,” said Mrs. Crutchings thougbt- fully—“I think Eglantine the prettiest fe- male pane in the werld. “It was the name of the heroine ofa novel which I wrote at boarding-school. “And,” said grandma Jones pensively, “there is, in my opinion, no nobler-sound- ing name than Hamilton, “I hada lover of that name—my first lover—whoin my papa forbade my inarry- ing. So the twins were called Thaddeus Jerusba.”’ But there’s no foreseeing the course of human events, and to this day the Jones twins are known to all their acquaintance by the twin-like abbreviations of “Haim and Eggs.’’ —. Po . Important. Philadelphians arriving in New York via Cortland Street Ferry by taking the 6th Avenue Elevated Train corner Chureh and Cortland Streets, can reach the Grand Union Hotel in 42d Street opposite Grand Central Depot in twenty ininutes, aud save $8 Cuar- riage Hire. If enroute to Saratoga or other Suuimer resorts via Grand Central! Depot, all Baggage will be transfered from Hotel to this Depot, FREE. 600 Elegantly fur- nished rooms $1, and upwards per day. test surant the best and cheapest in the Fainilies can live better for less money atthe Grand Uniun, than at any “Hamilton Perter,"’ and “Eglantine Jane | Other first class hotel in the city. .

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: a ‘ ae - And the pitiless curses that followed her footsteps SON AND DAUGHTER. a straggling Rose-bush is stili io be seen surviving the general ruin. and blossoming brightly each May and December, lending When the roses of summer were budding and bloom- anaae yellow wheat bent ‘neath its barden of ® peculiar charm to the deserted city ; and gold, it may be partially due to these taithful sen- fhe Prodigal Son came, world-weary and tattered, ti als hit ‘ - pon ahaso tte doeetenn babadhant of cht. inels which sotten hard out'ines, and cover with a living mantle the dull, inanimate stones, that the ruins of this oace beautiful city still attract the attention of the tourist, and are considered the most beautiful in the world. ' And they clang to his garments with tears and ca- | Till the cup of bis welcome ran over with joy, | And the flowers of love and forgiveness were woven In a blossoming crown for the Prodigal Buy. beige > 9 hung from the eaves and ihe | Unlike many beautiful objects, ain. fess And the winter winds moaned round the dwellings | possessesa utility which is wondertul. From of men, it is distilled the attar of Roses, which torms Forsaken and homeless, the Prodigal Daughter Crept back to the home of her girlhood again. an article of commerce in Syria, Infllia and But they turned her away in the storm and the dark- Persia. : nese The manufacture of this essence is at- a — winds with their chill, piercing | tended with so much difficulty and expense | breat that the cost of a single drop is often fabu- lous ; but it is so extremely powerful that a vessel which has once contained even the smallest portion of it, will retain the deli- cious odor many years after the last drop has disappeared. As the poet beautifully expresses it: Were fierce as the tempest and cruel as death ! ABOUT THE ROSE, N old legend tells us that Flora, hav- ing found the body of a beautiful it sic aaliciie ili ‘an nymph, resolved to immortalize her by a ee ee transforming her into a plant which should | But the scent of the Rose, will linger there still, surpass al] others in its charms. She sum- moned Venus and each of the Graces to as- sist in the ceremony. The Zephyrs cieared the atmosphere to allow Apollo to bless with his beams the new flower ; Bacchus contributed nectar to nourish it, and Vertumaus supplied its per- fume, while Flora crowded it with a dia- dem which was to distinguish it as the queen of flowers. The Rose may truly be called cosmopo lite, as it is fodnud in almost every coun- try, and is everywhere equally prized compounds, all equally popular and pleas- for its delicate perfume and useful proper- | ant. ties, | The green leaves ofthe Sweet Brier can Among the ancients it was highly valued, | be dried and used as asubstitute for tea; the and from the earliest times its virtues and | fragrant petals of the flower are reduced to attractions have been appreciated, and its a paste and formed into amulets, charins, charms have caused it to be interwoven | and beads; the rosaries used by some in de- with the history, romance and poetry of all | votional exercises are supposed to have been ages. made originally in this way, and received Tha Rose tree is supposed to be a native | their name accordingly. of the east, as the word Syria signifies ‘‘the —_—> + > Jand of Roses,’’and one of its richest varie- brains of ib 0 ld. ties bears the name of one of the world’s oldest cities. ponngoes = : . Chaplets of Roses were early worn on! Superstition is a sort of parody of festive occasions, and Roses contributed | faith. largely tothe adornment of the luxurious Almost the best rule of life is to be wor- thy of one’s self. homes of the Greeks and Romans. The first Rose ever seen is said to have God may put off those to-morrow who put Him off to-day. been given by Cupid to Harpocrates, the ?""” : : god of silence, to engage him to preserve Pee. penne voli wholly opposed to all the secrets of the amours of his mother, | The path of duty in this world is the road Venus ; hence, it became the symbol of si- pr oven tenn | lence gpa Ge ~~ vale ee caeees A work of charity is a type of the charity on the ceilings nhs ser pot aye yt Pe Pigg oy Bie yoo, Ming and as it was considered a breach of honor | -atience is the panacea; but where does to reveal whatever transpired during their | it pe noc can a it? convivialities, the expression, ‘‘sub rosa,’’ Time once passed never returns; the mo- was used to denote secrecy. ment which is lost is lost forever. The island of Rhodes received its name, Egotism, vanity and selfishness spot) con- according to some authorities, from the | versation far more thaa deficiency of * dent, abundance and sweetness of its roses, and! Godsmiled when he put humor into the many of its coins, still extant, are said to | human disposition, anid sald, “Phat ts good.” bear the figure of this flower on the re- Contentment swells a mite into a talent, verse, and now, as in ancient times, the and makes even the poor richer than the Indies, breezes from that fertile isle are scented with delicious perfume. . The inhabitants of Sybaris were so effem- | A suggestion to the pulpit: Less ora- inate in their habits of life that their | torical pyrotechnics, and more head and heart argu- couches were formed of the velvet petals of '™°"' the Rose, and the luxurious Heliogabalus In the whole universe there are no agents caused Roses to be strewn upon his guests ta eg the misery of the soul like its own evil until they formed a carpet many inches | The cultivation of a cheerful thick beneath their feet, and filled the air | with their fragrance. The Rose is the national emblem of Eng. | land ; on the eve of the struggle between the houses of York and Lancaster, a dis- | pute took place inthe Temple Gardens, as to the rights of the rival factions ; the heads of the factions, the Dukes of Warwick and Somerset, appealed to their friends to take sides in the controversy, but they declined to commit themselves; whereupon War- wick plucked a white Rose, and Somerset a red one, each inviting his partisans to tol low his example, and the innocent flowers thus became the badges of the contending armies in the romantic ‘‘war of the Roses,”’ which ensued. | By six qualities may a fo 1 be known The city of Pestum,on the coast of Italy, | anger without cause, speech without profit, change was celebrated for its exquisite Ros rite if you In pharmacy it is used quite extensively, whole fields of Roses being culhivated for the apothecary’s use alone, from which he produces a variety of compounds and ex- tracts, among which are the ointment of Roses, soothing in cases of inflammation ; vinegar of Roses, a pleasantand refreshing | remedy tor headache ; conserve of Roses, | which was considered by the ancients a | sovereign specific for a cold ; honey and oil | | of Roses, beside the many perfumes tor the toilet, flavoring extracts and various other spirit de- be observed, Show us the man you honor. by thatsymptom, better than any other, what you are yourself, There is hardly anything more necessary to the peace and harmony of domestic and suctal life than a spirit of conciliation, We must regard every matter as an_ in- trusted secret which we believe the person concerne d would wish to be considered as such, The training of the conscience, or moral sense, is the most delicate and important of all the duties devolved upon the teachers of youth., We can all cherish aconception of a pure, virtuous and beautiful character, of just, geuerous onform our dally and noble conduct, and strive to « to our highest ideal, " h were further re rka twice a year, and even now, wher e beautiful temples have fallen to decay aod only a few scattered stones mark the - re is the sentence whi cugraved upou she elite site of ite once noble Gdifices, here and there | pet-ring: ‘This tow shall svcu pass away,'' | To the generous mind the heaviest debt is | that of gratitude when itis not in our power to repay | i him te a breach of promise trial, | mands as a first requisite that the cond!tions of health | We know | _ THE SATURDAY EVENING POST. a ee ee ~—- __ Femininities. News Notes. Eleven States now allow women to vote in school affairs. Over 400 women now practice medicine in the United States. Gaiety, tempered by seriousness, is the happiest manner in society. Mendon, Mich., has a paper edited and *‘set up’' entirely by women, Clothes don't make the man, give a woman a powerful boost. Women can be, and many of them are, notaries public in the State of New York. Remember, what women admire in them- selves, is seldom what men admire in them. A disagreeable girl—Annie Mosity; a fighting girl—Hittie Maginn ; a sweet girl—Carrte Mel. Miss Kate Sanborn, the lecturer, says that notwo women arealike, bul men can be ar- ranged in bundles, According to a Cincinnati paper, it is be- coming fashionable for professional beauties to have their bodies tattoved. Always dress up to your age, or a little beyond, Let your person be the youngest thing about you—uot the oldest, Always speak low. but they In support of this it | is only necessary to quote Shakspeare, who calle it ‘an excellent thing In woman,'’ Jennie June does not believe in sombre. colored dresses, She thinks bright dresses are nec- essary to health and cheerful life, Thirty States and Territories have more men than women, and seventeen States and Territo- ries have more women than men, Having pages at fashionable weddings is apretty custom: they makelt so much easier for a bride and bridegroom to turn over a pew leaf, “Bye-bye, love,”’ he murmured, as he started down to his office In the morning, and she did, to the extent of a@W bonnet, He says good morning now, Whatever is fashionable is beautiful. Ask any woman you know whether it ts not so, What- ever is old-fashioned must, by the same rule, he hid- eous, In Holland they have a proverb which pronounces that ‘‘servants are a cross sent from God.*? The experience in this country Is that they are sent frou below. A Georgia personal says: ‘Mr. Ed. Swint was in Sparta last Friday, wearing the ruMed shirt he was married in 15 years ago, It is a fine-look- ing shirt to this day,’* Mrs. Piatt has written a poem to show that the only happy woman Isa dead one. Hardly. We never saw adead woman who appeared to be so tickled as a woman with a new bonnet Said a lady not long since in Paris to a simple-minded French chambermaid in a hotel: **You understand English, do you not?’ Yes, madam, ** she answered, ‘*but I understand Amer- can better,’ A London journal talks with some jus- tice, but with a greatdeal more injustice, of ‘‘the sickly strain of ornate commonplaces with which this higher education of women is irritating our ears every where," A bride of two weeks was mortally wounded by her husband at Buffalo, N. Y., recently. He was examininga pistol when she playfully pulled hisarmin, The weapon was discharged, the bullet en- tering ber head. A woman named Abbott, of Portsmouth, N. H., has been held in $500 for stealing a letter be- | longing to another woman, froin the postoffice. The letter was written by a young man for whose tavor both the women are rivals, A new out-door game for ladies and gen tlemen, called *‘Enchantment,’' is becoming fash- jonablein England. Wehave noticed that out-of- door games, when played by ladies and gentlemen, wenerally end in enchantment, The London correspondent of a New York paper notes a recent marriage in a provincial town ta which the bride brings a good fortune,to her groom in the shape of the heavy damages she got off One of the reasons given by a plaintiff at Evansville, Ind., in apetitionasking foran absolute divorce from hi« wife, is that she prays God dally that he might die, and, as he is a Orm believer in the ef- cacy of prayer, be Is afraid that her appeal may ve answered, A new trick of New York thieves is to drop a dime at the feet cf the woman whose pocket- book they have designs on, and whose whereabouts | they thus discover If she picks upthe coin and puts itin her pocket-book, as several victiins have al- ready done to their loss, During a heavy gale at Newport, R. 1, recently, the wife of Captain Stave was dritted away from shore, when alone in her busband'’s boat. She | was out in the storm twenty hours, but, by her know!l- edge of nautical affairs, properly rigged the boat and | safely weathered the storin. A child, with a snake head, with all the motions of a snake, keen eyes that plerce you through, Is living in Cobbeounty, Ga, Its mother killed a snake about a month before it was born, and the fright and shock she received at the time was clearly shown upon her child afterwards. An Indiana girl was swinging in a ham mock when a wau passed heron horseback with a gun across the pommel of his saddle I ! stumbled and jarred the guo It went went f a hit the girlin the hammock lier mothe the kit en wasl ga ea, Wa Little | 4 ‘ F . $) Pa ad ther du §W yraad ss grow levery ‘ auew the little girl, prompUy; and ber wgs Wes cvuuvile- | tog. They went. A dude is a 50-cent man in a $50 suit of clothes. London averaged three firesa night dur- ing 1883. Vassar girls consume 2,400 pancakes at one break fast. Little or no rain has fallen in Cuba the past four months, The savings banks of New York State hold over $420, 000, 000. Every street in the business part of Chi- cago is to be laid with graniie. It is computed that a flash of lightning lasts only one-millionth part of a secuna. A woman in North Carolina is selling the darkies pieces of rock from the Garden of Eden. There are 112,412 miles of railroad track in this country, of which 107, 158 are in operation, There are 3,985 paper mills in the world, which turn out 1, 904, 000, 000 pounds of paper anaually, A little Maine girl has expressed herself as only hating two things—namely, Sundays aad dy- ing. Bronze needles have been found in Egyp- Ulan tombs, which must have been made 4000 years age. Citizens ot Victoria, B. C., assembled in mass meeting the other day and denounced gam- bling. The'town of Decatur, Ga., has an ordi- nance forbidding childrea to play marbles on the streets. Twenty years ago there were twelve wo- men doctors in the United States. There are now over BOO, There are atill living in Rochester, N.Y., ® persons who voted at the first charver eleetion, 50 years ago, The Paris police arrested 200 vagabonds in one haul :eceutly im the Tullleries Garden and the Louvre Square, To supply the ivory trade, about one hun- dred and twenty-five thousand elephants are killed annually in Africa. New York City is said to contain 10,000 liquor dealers, while the butchers, bakers and grocers combined number only 7, 226. In order to impart dignity to the town of Maroa, Ill., forty of the merchants have signed a pledge to wear high silk hats, A wealthy Long Island widower,50 years old, bas broken his engagement with a woman ot u, on the uovel plea that she is too yeuang, A new kind of bug has been discovered whose particular weak ness js for boring through lead pipes. It le called the ‘‘plumber's friend."' An old bachelor died at East Alburg, Vt., the other day, and 960,000 in bonds, notes and certi- ficates were found in the linings of bis clothes, By cutting off the noses of his hogs for three or four generations, a farmerin Berrien coun- ty, Ga., ls sald to have secured a breed of noseless hogs. It is estimated that there are now in this country 30,000 manufacturing establishments, em- ploying over 6,000,000 workmen, and §4, 500,000,000 capital, Dr. Hargis, now a prominent Methodist preacher, chose tor the motto of his college society ‘The devil take the biadmust,’' and graduated at the foot of bie class, Time works changes. ‘‘Forty years ago,’ saysan observer, ‘‘butter was made of cream, sugar was made of cane, cigars were made of tobacco, and shoes were made of leather.'* The latest craze in tamborine decoration is to make them take the place of the old-fashioned album. Some of them are covered with autographs of literary or other celebrities. Hans Bulow is reported to have intro- duced a new feature in bisconcerts. la the adayto of Beethoveo’s ninth symphouy he has the ball dark- ened and frankincense burned A South Carolina man thinks he has dis- covered thata chalk mark around « barrel of sugar is acure for ants, and is now mad because the patent office refuses lim a patent for it. In Wheeling, W. Va, the School Board of that place has given uotice that) at school eom- mencempents this year nu bouquets or other preseuts will be permitted to the graduates, A wealthy coal miner living at Youngs- town, Obhlo, has had bie mind eo affected by being de- vated for a political office that he has been placed ta a hospital for the insane at Cleveland, Robert H. Terrell, a Virginia-born negro, who entered Harvard College asa walterin the dine ing-hall, is to be graduated at the approaching come mencement among the first seven of his class. The ‘‘Ancient and United Order ot Sons and Daughters and Brothers and Sisters of Moses and | the World at Large’’ isthe title of an of ganization composed of colored people, lu Washington, L, Cc. The first church erected on American soil is still used asa place of divine worship. It is situ- ated Just outside of the City 6f Mexico, and was |} built by Cortez during his second visit to that coast. | ‘“Lucky’’ Baldwin, one of San Francis- cos milillonaires, was married recently for the fourth time, His bride ts 2) years old; he ts 60; she has good social position, be has ten million dollars it le a fair arpa . I Mi has a black h w ; “ aru ‘ ae.ves at p eVieus three years Bave | Bet paid * Sets i Se. dg ae

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eM oom mer mee - + eC - - YHE, SAFURL«Y EVENING POST. How it Ended. BY BLAKE PAXSO I might bave had a rich tan. “If T had accepted anyone of several —_ Oftera, I might bave been tiving likea ady, with servants, and my own carriage, and all that I siould like to bave,"’ was Mrs. Dunning’s constant boast to her daugh- | MIGHT have married better. r. And littl Helen comprehended this idea atan age when other children did not dreams that “mother” would have married anyone but ‘“father,’” This was not the worst of it, however, In her little bedroom, leading from the eorm- mon sittiog-room, Helen heard her me. ther, over aud over again, reproach her ta- ther—a quiet, honest, decent man—for never having risen toany higher position In Tile. To be sure, his evea had failed him so that he could not keep books; but was there nothing but being porter and night watel- man? The poor man ate his meals amid a storm of sareasin and fault-finding, exeept just after pay-day, when, having more money than usual in her pocke., his beiter-haif was good-lhumored, Heo himself had very few expenses. He was a contented tnan, now well on in years, who would have loved bis wife had ashe permitted him to be quiet, and was very proud of bis little ygolden-laired daugh- ter. . The girl inherited her mother's disposi. | tion, though she was tnuch prettier, She had also a ywreater kuowledye of the lashions, of the quality of goods, and of what elegant people bad in their houses, But of all she would have enjoyed being idle and finding in her useless hands a per- | etually full purse; bat as this was iin possi- yle, ahe determined to earn scine for whut sie wanted. Her father easily found her a place at the love counter of the shop in whieh le bad n employed tor filleen years, and she enjoyed forawhile the pleasure of the fruits of honest industry. On Sundays, in church, she well, #0 elegant, so dainty at every point that ner imother could not listen tothe sermon for admiring her; and ter tather— always proud of her in every way—felt that ashe was « great comfort to him, Soon that came which comes ww pretty girls. Janes Selwyn fell in love with her. He was only an assistant in the shop where they sold bonnets, shoes, ready-made costumes, und jewelry of an inexpensive sort, and where many people were em- ployed;but other inen married on bis salary and he offered bimsell to Helen, looked) so most They were inarried in church, with quite , a little flutter of white satin, orange Howers and pretty bridesiaids, and went to house. keeping in better style than that which Helen's father found it possible to main- tain. Halen, indeed, might have added to their inoome by keeping ber place, but neither of the young people desired this, In tact, the girl, who bad never managed a household, believed herself much better off than she really was, She found that she bad not as much as he- fore for her dress,and seon contrived to ron into debt with buteber, baker, and grocer, in order to add to her ocostuine articles that she declared she needed, and which only be bought with ready mouey. The diseovery ot this fact acene, and Ilelen, guided by her mother's advice, insisted on ber right to be dressed well, and reproached ber husband with | crueity. for aimonth or two all was wretched. | Desa, } Then suddenly Helen began to simile again, Janes looked happy and never had the voung beauty been so well dressed. “fle suw the folly of being nigwardly to me," she explained to her friends, “Men need a wood talking-t) now and then.” The motner, too, now had, every now and then some Valuable presenut—a cloak, a bon- pet, furs, wlovea, Rhe even stopped abusing her hus- band. vn 5s He was very bappvy. The attention that bis daughter paid him Was wratilving. Every night, about twelve o'clock, she sent him suime hot collee und some warin | rolls. His son-in-law brought them, ond fre- quently stayed with hia a long while. Meanwhile there was something going on ot which he was unaware, A detective had been closeted with the pro- prietors, and a sword wus hanging by # siu- gie hair ever somebody's head. It was night. The old watchinan was at his duty, when a tap came at the glass door of the shop— lef open that the policeman might peep in ashepassed. Dunning saw his son-iu-law’s face, The young man carried the usual coffee, and wore a large Overcout, Lhongh the night seemed warin to Dunning. The old hada good appetite, and sit down fortably on a box bebind the counter to eal and drink. cotn- The son-in-law roamed about, and was goon cut cf Sigil. He siaye (| w f Litman t at migist and took upon . x s through the upper floors once r Such kindness, Dunning thought was very adinirable; but the son-in-law declared that on Suuday he could sleep as late as he Inoeney | oould | caused a little | Ne aban | chose, and that jt was jun to play watch- man. ‘ , Tie dawn was breaking when he said good-bye, and the old inan soon after went to his own howe and went to bed, where he fell fast asleep, as usual. He was aroused by a sbriek. It came from his wife, Hastily donning bis clothes, he rushed inte the sitting-room. A tnan whose face there—his @:mployer—and were with hin, They eoxplatned briefly. Arined with a search -warrant, they had cone to arrest him, and seek in his apart nents for stolen goods, “Our safe was opened last night,’’said the tnan iu whose service he had been so lony, “and jor «a long while we have tnissed goods and jewelry. We must look bere.” “And weleome,”’ “You'll tind nothing. night, and ] bad sy son-in-law with too, vounger and brighter than I. * Nobody could have entered the place— atallevenis, you'll fod no stwlen goods here, he knew well stood two strangers their business very cried the old man. I was at iny post all me, “Hannah, stand away; let these men search everywhere, “Don't seream and shut your doors, Honest folk ean’t be hurt. “I wonder at you, sir, thinking thus of ine.”’ “We arrested vour son-in-law an ago,” said the gentieman, coldly. "Arrested James—the good, kind boy!" cried old Dunning. “Fine pay for being so goodlto his wite’s father! James! Hear that, Hannah?" Kul ineanwhile the officers of the law had opened trunks and boxes, and laid apon the floora pile of clothing, nore costly than the old iman knew, llis wite’s “Sunday” gowns and cloaks; her collars, Which might lbave belonged tu a inillonaire’s wite, “T can swear to them all,”’ sighed the old merchant, a8 deeply allected as his etm- plovee. “Dunning, vou can't pretend it possible these tulnus have been salary. ‘This collar is worth black silk thirty.” “They are presents—presents from my danguter! stirieked the old women, . Dunning stared at her, “TL don't Know the price of the things wo- men wear!’ he gasped. “1 don’t know whatthixs means! IT never took a penny that waso'tinine myself! 7 can’t believe hie staggered to an old sofa, neatly oov- ered with flowered chintz, aud burst into tears, lt was easy to arrest him: he made no re- SIStLnCeA, lt was known. Jaines declared bis father-in-law not his uccommplice, but tis dupe, Even the mother-in-law could only have guessed that the presents bestowed upon her were ill-gotcen, Ile took upon bisown shoulders the whole weisht of the crime,and without attempting any explanation, pleaded guilty; and since the sutn be bad taken trou: the sale was a hire one, was sentenced to tive years’ penal servitude, Yo bis tather-in-law alone parting, an explanation, “You lave had tlelen'’s wife,’’ te said. * You have endured reproaches from her because ol vour poverty. “Helen is prouder than ber mother; she bour ten dollars, that not long betore the truth was be made, in mother tor a knows betler wiat rich women wear and bave, “[ adored her. She eried for finery like a scolded and worried mie, “She blained me for being poor. Shesold me—ber husband —ler kisses and caresses— only bestowing theinon me when] brought her costly gifts. “Since I bave been a thief she has seemed to love me, ‘rod erie. sO. The ola man dropped young tnan’s shoulder, He could say nothing, baby; she knows, IT have paid for If vou ean forgive ime, try to my do So they parted, never to see each other again. Assured of his innocence, Dunning's eimployers offered bin lis place once ure, but be could not hold up his head in the ride of bis Lhumbie honesty as of yore, lis daugiter, iis Helen, had been the cause , ofall, and Jauiws, near as a son vo bis heart, was a felon. Torn by soame and sorrow, Le took to his bed, and soon died there. His death was soon followed Helen, who never got over the disyrace caused by her yreed ior dress, é - —, oa In OLp Days. —In the old days no wo. man Was allowed to put Ler foot witbin the walis of the monastery at San Augustine, Mexico. A noble lady of Spain, wife of the reigning Viceroy, was bent on visiting it, Nothing eould stop her and in she came, Butshe found only etptv clomters, for each Virtuous mouk locked himself securely in Lis cell, and alterward every stone in the floor which her sacreligious feet bud touel. ei was carefli ly replineed \ WwW one fresh irom: the mountain t } liwes are BHULY Cumlyved, AUC DYUSEe lias Deen Lurie luwal at —— = —_— DELAY is dangerous. Heart Disease is ‘eure! by Dr. Graves’ Heart Regulator. Price $1. Seid by Druggists. | eluners of old? bought with your | by that of | RINGING THE BELL. She seemed indifferent to his tender plea, And was as deaf unto his whispered pleadings— Nor toa single offer would agree, But feigned she wished to break off all proceedings: And all ber care was lo appear unpleasant And iil at ease when he happ'd to be present. With aching heart her lover bade adieu, And hid, as best he couid, his deep emotion ; The tears : ushed to her eyes like early dew-- She barely could allay her love's commotion. As Ume wore on she could no longer tarry, But penned an humble note to her dear Harry. It read: ‘‘l really did not mean it, dear, *Twas but to tes: for me your soul's devotion, And as your love, so is nlue own sincere— Of you bereft life's cup'’sa bitter potion ; Returngor my poor heart you'll wring furever— Farewell to joy if I from you must sever,’’ He answers: ‘‘If my absence wring your heart, Away trom you I shall no longer linger, But this resolve let ine to you {mpart: Besides your heart I'd like to**ring’’ your finger.”* Then to her side with eager steps he hies To seal that love by which their hearts are clinging, And tho® the marriage belis food hearts aye prize, The sweetest is the belle that Harry's ringing. —WM. MACKINTOS4. ice Facetia. By-the-way—Mile stones. Why are potatoes and corn like certain Hecause, having eyes they see not, and having ears they hear not. Delay is dangerous. cured by Dr. Graves’ Heart Disease is Price $1. Hleart Regulator. | Sold by druggists. A lady living in the Mohawk Valley his a plece of soup in the house supposed to be a hun- dred years old, anu she says nove of her family bave Cver felt the slightest temptation to use it, ———_ © ——— Supechuous Hair. Madame Wam bold’s Specific permanently removes Superfluous Hair without injuring the skin, Send tor circular, Madame WAMBOL ), 198 West field Sireet, Boston, Massa, UMPHREYS VETE RIN AICS FOR THE CURE OF ALL DISEASES OF Horses, Cattle, Sheep, Dogs, Hogs, Poultry For 2 years HUMPHREYS’ Veterinary 8S pect fics have been used byF' armers, Stock=- breeders, Horse R. R., Hip romes, Menageries, and others with perfect success. LIST OF SPECIFICS, A. A. Cures Fevers & Inflammation, Milk hever, Spinal Meningitis, Hog Cholera, 75c. B. B. Strains, Lameness,Rheumatism,75c. Cc. C, Oures Distemper, Nasal Discharges, 7 5c. D. D. Cures Bots or Grubs, Worms, 75ec. E.E. Cures Cough,Heaves,Pneumonia,75c. F. F. Cures Colic or Gripes, Bellyache, 75c. G.G, Prevents Miscarriage, 75e. H.H. Curesall Urinary Diseases, T5e,. I. 1. Cures Eruptive Diseases, Mange, 75c. J.J. Curesall Diseases of Digestion, 75c. Veterinary Case, (black walnut) with Veterinary Manual (3 pages), 10 bottles Medicine, oa Medicator, - - ~ Medicetor, - - - - - - ese Veterinary Cases are sent free of express on receipt of the price, or any order for Veterinary Medicine to the amount of $5.00 or more. Hamphrey’s’ Veterinary Manual (330 pages) sent free by mail on receipt of price, 60 centa. sa Pamphlets sent free on application. HUMPHREYS’ Homeopathic Med. Co., 109 Fulton Street, New York. MUSIC FOR ALL. ONE HUNDRED Of the Most Popular Songs, | his bead on the | ~Musie and Words,- FOR Ten Cts. SUCH AN OFFER AS THIS HAS NEVER BEEN MADE BEFORE. The chance of a life time for Singers, Players, Glee Clubs, etc., to get a splendid lot of the best songs, music and words, published for ONLY 10 CENTS. For 10 cents in currency or postage stamps, we wil] send (all charges postpaid) One Hundred Choice Sones, and words, tu any address DIME MUSIC CO. 726 Sansom Street, Philadelphia, Pa. music ne Spring- | DR. RADWAY’S SARSAPARILLTAN RESOLV ENT. The Great Blood Purifier. FOR THE CURE OF CHRONIC DISEASE. SCROFULOUS OR SYPHILITIC, HEREM- TARY OR CONTAGIOUS, Chronie Rheumatism, Scrofula, Glandular Swell ing, Hacking Dry Cough, Cancerous A ffections, Syphi- litiec Compla ~“" Bleeding of the Lungs, spepsia, Water Brash, White Swelling, Tumors, Hip Dis eases, Mercurial Diseases, Female Complaints, Gout Dropsy, Bronchitis, Consumption. For the care of SKIN DISEASES, ERUPTIONS ON E FACE AND BODY, PIM- PLES, Rotor SALT RHtUM, OLD SORES, ULCERS, Dr. way'’s Sa Re solvent excels all remedial agents. Divod, restoring heulth and vigor: beautiful complexion sveured to all. Liver Complaints, Etc., Not only does the Sarraparillian Resotvent excel all remedial agents in the cure of Chronic Scrofuious Constitutional and Skin Diseases, but it ts theonly positive cure for Kidney and Biadder Complaints Urinury and Womb Diseases, Gravel, Diabetes, Dropsy, Stoppage of Water, Incontinen e of Urine, Bright's Disease, Albuminuria, and in all cases where there are brick-dust deposits, or the water is thick, lt purifies the eiear skin and ' cloudy or mixed with substances like the white of as exg, or threads like white silk, or there is a morbid, dark, bilions appearance and white bone-dust Fpoe- on | its, and where there is a ne, Saree sensa e smali of the back SULD BY DRUGGISTS. One bottle contains more of the active prince! les of edicine than any other preparation, Sion in easpooutul Doses, while others require five or six timesasmuch, One Dollar Per ttle. a fe RADWAY'S READY RELIEF. The Cheapestand Best Medi- cine for Family Use in the World. COUGHS, COLDS, INFAMMATIONS, FEVER AND AGUE CURED AND PREVENTED. DR. RADWAY'S READY RELIEF. RHEUMATISM, NEURALGIA, DIPHTHERIA, INFLUENZA, SORE THROAT, DIFFI- CULT BREATHING, RELIEVED IN A FEW MINUTES By Radways’ Ready Rellef. MALARIA IN ITS VARIOUS FORMS, FEVER AND ACUE. There is not a remedial agent in the world that will cure Fever and Ague, and ail other Malartous, Bill- ous, Scarlet, Typhoid, Yellow and other fevers, (aided by RADWAY'S PILLS) so quick as RADWAY'S ReaDY¥ ELIEF. Looseness, Diarrhoea, or painful discharges from the powels are stopped in fifteen or twenty minutes bv taking Radway'‘s Ready Relict. Nocongestion or Inflammation, no weakness or lassitude, will follow the use of the R, R. Relier, ACHES AND PAINS. For headache, whetber sick or nervous, toothache, neuralgia, nervousness and pe peony rheuma- tism, lumbago, pains and weakness in the back, spine, or kidneys; pains around the liver, plenrisy, swelling of the joints, pains itn the bowels, heart- burn and pains of all kinds, Radway’s Ready Relief will afford immediate ease, and its continued use for a few days effect a permanentcure.. Price, O cents. when passing water, and pain in | and along the loins, RADWAY'S RRGOLATING ILS Reliable, and Natural in Their Operatiens. A VEGETABLE SUBSTITUTE FOR CALOMEL. Perfectly Tasteless, eleyantiy coated with sweet gum, pas e, regulate, purify, cleanse, and strengthen, RAIL Way ‘S PLLLS for the cure of all disorders of the Stomach, Liver, Bowels, Kidacys, Bladder, Nere vous Diseases, Headache, Constipation, Costiveness, Indigestion, Dyspepsia, Bilhousness, Fever, Inflame- mation of Me Bowcels, Piles, and all derangements of the Internal Vi-cers. Pureiy vegetable, containing no mercury, Mineral: or deleterious drugs. Be Observe the following symptoms resulting from Diseases of the Digestive Organs: Constipation, In- ward Pilea, Fulnes-s ot the Blood in the Head, Aeid- ity of the Stomach, Nawsea, Heartburn, Disgust of Food, Fulnese or Weight in the Stomach, Sour Eruc- tations, Sinking or Piavering at the Heart, Choking or Suffocating Sensations when in a lying posture, Dimness of Vision, Dots or Webs before the Sight Fever and Duli Pain in the Head, Deficiency of Pers- iration, Yellowness of the Skin and E Pain in he Side, Chest, Limbs, and Sudden Flushes of Heat, Burning in the Fiesh. A few doses of RADWAY'’S PILLS wili free the system of all the above-namea disorders, Price, 25 Cents Per Box. 30LD BY DRIUGGISTS, READ “FALSE AND TRUE.” Send a letter stampto BADWAY & CO,, No. 3 Warren Street, New York. 4@” information worth thousands will be sent to you. TO THE PUBLIC. Be sure and ask for Radway’s, and see that we mame ‘‘Radway’' ison what you buy. Can «ccure Profitable Employment LADIES at Home selling DR. SEGT I'S Picotto Stee eee actos Dr. GEO. A. SCOTT. 642 BRUADWAY, New York City. ( ) I = 1) #323 ! Y Sadadictbe Wkaeeg a , COINS. OPIUM n Book, .... YANCHBER, West Winsted Morphine Habét Cured in 16 to 26 days. No pay tid Cared. Ds. J. srekrPuK ‘ea, Lebanon, ULI oe Chrome ¢ , . in ,ilLa Rivlr, at meand six is b7ty Ave., N.Y. est sulys ] i =

Page 29

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST. 12 Humorous. A tough morsel—The crust of the earth. A piller of the church—A pious apothe- eary. A relic of barberism—A hairdresser’s widow, What things increase the more you con- tract them? Debts. Every affliction has its blessing. The man with a wooden leg never knows what it is to have rbeumatism in that ankle, The two-headed lady on exhibition says that two heads are better than one, or else she would not be receiving $25 a week salary. The stingiest man is said to be a miserly old bachelor who talks through his nose so as to save the wear and tear on his false teeth, A youth begged a Camden beile to give him something he could wear next his heart. She sent hii a red Gannel chest-protector. A gun that is charged with powder is Nkely to go off So isa treasurer that is charged with embezzlement, if he can get a chance, The man who was hugged by a grizzly, remarked, on being rescued, that he never had such tremendous, pressure brought to bear on him before. When you have symptoms of Heart Dis- ease use Dr. Graves’ Heart Regulator. §1.,6 for $5. by druggists. ‘‘Herr Meyer, I suppose you understand that everyone isto bring something to the ple-nic. What will you bring?’ Herr Meyer—'‘‘My leedle dwins—Hans and Yawcob "' = = IN HAIR. Inventor of the celebrated GOSSAMER VEN. TILATING WIG and ELASTIC BAZD TOUPEES. Instructions to enable Ladies and Gentlemen w measure their own heads with accuracy : R. DOLLARD, 513 CHESTNUT 8T., Philadelphia. FOR 1G8, INCHES, TOUPEKS AND BSCALPS, No. 1, e round of the INCHES. head No. 1. From forebead back as far as bald, No, 2. Over forehead as far as required. No. 3. Over the crown of the head. ead. No. 2. From forehead over the head to neck. No. 3. From ear to ear over the top. No. 4 From ear to ear round the forehead. He bas always ready for sale a splendid Stock of ents’ W les. poneses, Ladies’ Wigs, Half Wigs, rizettes, Braids, Curls, etc., beautifully manu ‘ured, and as cheap as any establishment in the Union. Letters from any part of the world will re- ceive attention. Private rvoms for Dyeing Ladies’ and Gentlemen's KING’S EVIL Was the name formerly given to Scrofula because of a superstition that {t could be cured by a king*’s touch. The world is wiser now, and knows that SCROFULA can J be cured by a thorough purifica- ticn of the blood. If this is yoy the disease perpetuates its taint throu generation after generation. Among tis eurlier sy mptomatic developments are Eczema, Cutaneous Eru tions, Tua- mors, Boils, Carbuncles, Erysipelas, Purulent Ulcers, Nervous and Phy- sical Collapse, etc. If allowed to con- tinue, Rheumatism, Scrofulous Ca- tarrh, Kidney and Liver Diseases, Tubercular ‘onsumption, und vari- ous other dangerous or fatal es, ure produced by it. Ayer's Sarsaparilla Is the only powerfel and alicays reliable blood-purifying medicine. It lx so eflect- ual an alterative that it eradicates from the system Hereditary Scrofula, and the kindred poisons of contaious diseases and mercury. At the same time it en- riches and Vitalizes the blood, restorin healthful action to the vital organs and rejuvenating the entire system. Thisgreat Regenerative Medicine Is composed of the genuine Honduras Sarsaparilla, with Yellow Deck, Stil- lingia, the Iodides of Potassium and Tron, and other ingredients of great po- tency, carefully and scientifically com- pounded. Its formula is generally known to the medical profession, and the best prea constantly prescribe AYER’s ARSAPARILLA &8 an Absolute Cure For all diseases caused) by the vitiation of the blood. It is concentrated to the high- est practicable degree, far beyond any other preparation for which like effects are claimed, and is therefore the cheapest, as well as the best blood purifying med+- cine, in the world. Ayer’s Sarsaparilla PREPARED BY Dr. J. C. Ayer & Co., Lowo/l, Mass. { Analytical Chemists. ] Eold by all Drugyists: price $1; siz bottles for $5. 30 DAYS TRIAL 1 ves & I LECTRO-VOLTAIC 1 _ A fh ond other the? ELECTRIC 9) Days’ Trial TO La Sai" ‘Youna OR °OLD, rae oe suffer- from Wervors Di ViITALiTY, EBILITY asTixe Weaxnrsses, and ail My direnses of & resulting from Asvses and F F dicen nd pe eed mAL 1008 8 A Gat once ted ustra’ et free. "3.5 Gai taio Belt Co., Marshall, Mich, Srcrv aN AWAY! The “LITTLE WO Farmers, mechanics, business men or bovs can | pede owns x LL - Hunting Cased Time mbeg or cheap toy, bot a iy whable telier of the time of day in oes . op nicke|case, Send 84 centa in my ees and we will at once our New Campaign ged) i ~ ¥. ished, eleganuy goldem lated, with s true eeper. aph of the epubliiean or ou like, These we want 1,00 OPIUM HABIT! MARSI, of Quiver, ish wh habit will do well to write to DR, uiney tier who has a world wide reputation for dhe corte net os tendo during the past twelve years. The main Points to be communicated are te present state of health, length of time used, and present amount of drug used per week. Sank tariam Treatment when desired Send for testimonials trom deadins end wen and women cured epr a. 20 FOR : 400. ene sendin; me 40 cents, stamps or silver. wi li receive by = Booey pened mall a pac e of guuds that sells fur $3.4), including s Goi Ring worth §1. I] have a fine variety of goods and = make this sacrifice to secure agents for my latest beveiles. Pe LS > make $5/") a day by acting § . HENAY, Box 127, BUFFALO, of A 2a Sec ure per ma- a empioyment ween City Lady Agents: and g.o othe ne cote leant mam ete. Sample eutfit Free. A -ss Queca “City Suspeader Co Salary sel pe New pop 1gs alike, ‘came nm 10c.¢ aera W Brow LOO%: 4Q Oem ae, no2 alike, with name 3 "REED 4 CO , Nassau, | by mail. a9 | | 5O«c: pric Dr. LUTZE'S “SPECIFIC FOR WOMEN” Instantly relieves delicate and troublesome affections peculiar to ladies. Highly endorsed by physicians who inako a specialty of such diseases in ‘*Hospitals for Women,” and in large cities, This wonderful gynecian remedy is put up in granules, in a concentrated form. Each bottle represents the medical virtue of a pint of the decoction--and can be kept with- out loss of virtue a reasonable time. $2.00 Address Bowen, Lutze & Co., Philadel phia, Pa. ta Dr. Lutze, Ex. U.S. Fx. Surgeon, author of various 1nonogra:s on the eases of Woinen, ete, treats diseases exciusively, at office or by Advice free. In writing for advice, address Dr. Lurze, care Bowen, Lutz & Co., 1119 Girard St., Philadelpbia, Pa. HI NS wn den nee | UM ahowe disease; by N. ts 1 menneay of the worst kind and of dong ¢ standing have pace. wae re\ tndeed 80 strong is my faith inte efficacy, that I will sen eu BOTTLES FREE, together with a VA UABLETREA xt press & P, O. address, D&T. A. BLOOU ° Prize’: nev right away than anytht 4 else inthis world, Portunes awalt the workers ab lutely sure. Argent a Sieees Trve dao, Anyeo HIRES’ hy a F R 1119 Girard St. ete., female 1E on this disease, to any sufferer. Give 161 Peari 8, N pa tn pe Saar A tlh mage, a A rece er, ostivy box of goods whieh wili help allofetther sex, tomo « 9 ImNPROV er RooT BEER. age 2 ct Ma >» gallons of dell a awiir s « he vera ~ = eS ‘Wedateae Ave PI qt RE CU BE | . ines, Send Ps Med Vth, Phila., rER CENT ®AVED on Patent es to W. T. Totten, 672 N.) (je BEAD THIS. BD | | | | GRAND OLHOGRAPHS i eo MAGNIFICENT ART Works! COMPANION MASTERPIECES ! “THE WHITE MOUNTAINS” “THE YELLOWSTONE RIVER.” I2Xi6 INCHES IN SIZE. FOR 30 CENTS. We offer the readers of the Post at thirty cents in cash or postage stamps for the pair —costs of packing, inailing etc., included, the two above-mentioned art-worka, from the pencil of the famous American artist, Thomas Moran, "THE WHITE MOUNTAINS” depicts the glory of the Eastern Landscape. "THE YELLOWSTONE RIVER” depicts the glory of the West. (#7 THEY ARE NOT CHEAP CHROMOS. “%-} It will be distinctly understood that these unique works of artare not cheap, gaudily- colored chromos, They are perfect imitations of the finest oil and water colors, They have no resemblance whatever to the ordinary cheap chromos and colored Iithographs now #0 comnon; but are really SOLID WORKS OF ART, and cannot fall to a0 hinprese every lover of the beautiful, and every one who takes the least interest in HOUSEHOLD DECORATION, tor they would ornament any roo:n, and lend grace to any wall, bow- ever huimle, “THE WHITE MOUNTAINS” represents a grand effect of misty mountain landseape and is full of brooding stocin, and the wild rugyeduess of nature. “THE YELLOWSTONE RIVER” is all sunshine, light, warmth and mellow. ness, hanging over the mystic streain and is an efficieut contrasi,yet a perfect companion to the other. No description could do them full justice. We venture to say that finer specimens of the oleographic art have never been produced, while for cheapness they are un parelleled. and speedily cures all | | The originals from which these pictures have been painted are valued at $25,000. The nuinber of copies is timited and we advise all those wishing;a coupie of pictures thas io every essential respect may be regarded an oil-paintings, toapply at once. Address, THE PHILADELPHIA OLEOGRAPH CO., 726 Sansom St, Philadelphia, Pa. Our Beautiful Oil Colored Transparent vouernmaCAMPAIGN PICTURES! ANYEODY We have them with the TRUE Photographs of the Dis- | letter, | sta, Me. | Pack- | ca ey President and Vice-President, Both Parties, Democratic and Be publican Nominees, They are White Wax Varnished Metal Fraines with loope mtohang them up Sige, SienTs Suilal for the window or wail, and are the most complete of snvthing of the Kind ever Offered for the price Tiiinntvie of pleture was only intro- duced a month or 60 before the end of the last campaign, and was sold only by afew aye nts in the New Englaod States and were sold as fast as they could be folshed, An agent at one political gathering sold 300 -te Inside of two hours, which netted hin 642. eald be thought he could have sold i, if he had had them that day. Tiles eame party, whe hese «a busines ss Boston, has lett it lo push these pictures, and he Says that le exper ta to make from (4 to §®) per day through the carnpaign season, Awe have the eapacity now for .urn- Gt, We Ing out these pictures, we lutend to keep # large quautity of dit... cach candiinte ov hand, and shall thes stand ready to supply i) ’ } those whe want them, aud inans quantity, We predictlaree nit sales yy avents, for they cannot fall to find a demand In every house, office, shop ut store inevery state in the Union, for the Ke publican of Democratic candinuate Dates 4 resident and View- Presidv ot, Beents. One Handred, im. Address F UO. WE oR EY &400., Providence, K. I. - HOPE: ‘DEAF. Peek’ ° Rh csr Tubular Cushioned Bas Dr ap cnre Deafness ied vy acie rm ru merce ; “strated deecriptive t : teatin m doctors, j ren, ite oot sav ty minent me “and Werte is ae have Leen ’ oo py. leasure in reeommnen ding them. 7 are unseen while in wee t " ak mavens wre Address, “ 0e.. 7 Marray %., New- York. Agente fer touth and Woes.

Page 30

i€ -_—— a Ladies’ Department. FPASHION CHAT.

HE lately recovered faney tor alpaca and mohair amounts abroad to & posi- tive revival. These are the “new” matertals for every day dresses, par excellence. The inohairs especially, which pow have a very fine, silky texture, are in great | favor. In Paris, they are used, in general, in two shades of Suede, ‘‘beige"’ or gray fora custurne, Itis also pot uncoiminen to see some shade of gray united with Suede, which imay happen to harimonize especialiy well. These suits have a durable, satisfactory look. rather simple. Not much trimming. Occasionally some galloon, beaded with steel, forthe gray dreanes. Also an “agraffe’’ or buckle of silver or steel. For the trimming of the alpaca costumes —+ ---—_ 2 — a

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST. changeable surah or silk and of an over- | dreas of sowne soft wool goods, cut into deep | squares on the edge, with a straight blouse | of the same, shirred in the back and drawn in loosely about the waist by a thick silk cord. Revers cuff’ and collars of the checked material, and a cravat to match. This model is chiefly for young girls and young mnarried ladies. It presents in so far as the blouse is con- cerned, another aspect of the liking for half loose, shirred and draped and round waists, which is making itself every day more ap- parent, and before which the jersey bodice, tight and plain, and moulding the figure closely, of which we bave seen more or less Variety within the last ten years, is bound sooner or later to go to the wa!l. This jersey bodice stvle wil! probably be | relinquished very fast—it is too becoming Th t th f ki , | as a rule, and especially too advantageousio © ‘“facon,”’ the way of making, is | stout figures; women will without a struggle. But is is doomed nevertheless. The woven jersey might be called the climax, the cultivating pointof this fashion. The point from which it was fated, by the ever. lasting law of change which rules fetninine fashions, as well asthe weightiest affairs of not give it up

—which are recommended for serviceable traveling suits—rothing better has been | devised than rows of narrow velvet rib bon. This is cortainly very suggostive of ‘ve olden time.” Still, a French woman's innate tact and chic can give a modernized and attractive | appearance t material even a little valu- able, from an artistic point of view, as this, | With these vests of costumes are worn hateor bonnets of colored straw, mate. | ing the predominant color of the dress and trimmed generously with Spring flowers and ribbons, also a little velvet. With the visiting and carriage costumes of changealle silks and brocades—almost all mixed with some ecru, either in the forin of lace, or of embroidered tulle, or at least, of a sinal) guiuipe, The bonnet is of gold or ecru lace, of sil- ver gauze with velvet flowers embossed, or | of the old-fashioned horse-hair, with silver | or gold threads woven in with the braid. — | The trimming consists again of kuots of ribbon, narrow velvet strings and of flow. | era, bouquets, grasses and leaves. The litte spring manties are of black wilk grenadine, with tlowers of velvet, sometimes with a touch of color and with linings of changeable tafleus in golden brown, orange, red, according to the degree of elegance. The carriage parasols are all transparent, of soft lace, sometimes set off be some bright bows, Boots, shoes and slippers have decidedly low, flat heels. High heels are sold only in the ready- made “chaussure’’ to the jess fastidious | class of customers. The hair is worn ex- | clusiveiy high, on the very top ofthe bead and occasionally massed a trifle on one side, | the other side being filled in and finished for the evening, or the ball, by knots or “poufs” of soft-figured gauzes, or gauze ribbons, and in the forimer case by tlowers and aigrettes to boot, Very young girls and debutantes have | bad a charming novelty invented for their use. Their simple coiffure is most poeti- cally adorned with a thick, broad wreath otf a natural flowers, rosebuds, or othersimall, pie guch-used fine blossoms, set rather back from the face. Nothing more youthful and pretty can be imagined than this floral crown. Add to it a short evening dress of tulle, or crepe lisse, over satin. The thin material tucked in the front above a fluffy mass of little flouncings at the toot aud forming behind what the Pari- | sian dresstnakers pow cal! a ‘veil,’ that is, afull, straight drapery, plaited in at the waist, and floating down in vaporous folds, and finish the picture by conceiving alow bodice with surplice tolds of tulle or crape coming modestly over the shoulders, and often drawn in at the waist undera belt of satin, with light sprays of hyacinths or li- lacs and knots of pale gauze ribbons hold- ing the sane here and bere, and one has the very perfection of evening attire for the rosebud age. The revival of these gauze ribbons, along with many other old things, is a happy idea. They bavea particularly nice eflect on thin, ligbt imaterials. They are beginning to be used by our New York dreasmakers to some extent on | such fabrics as wull, nainsouok, gauze, lawn, etc. Another leading Paris sty inent which, it is predicted, will, wit minor modifications, Ls seaside and wateriug piace <iresses this summer consists of a skirt of checked, of the mo- u some great vogue for -- every point of view, has been ex- | | resurrect, nations, to go down and back, to slowly wane, That type of waist, admirable as it was hausted. Some change, must be brought up in its stead. jutasthere is nothing absolutely new under the vault of the heavens, one must | And #0 the quaint and really not at al! and grand-inothers have been dug from the honorable shade where they reposed. jut they are being improved under mod- ern fingers, these bodices, Itis the sane thing, and yet not the sane, They are draped, gathered, crossed, supplied with bouffant /ronts, manipulated in a thousand different ways. The new wethods of closing them, too, diagonally across from the right side of the collar tothe left hip, or down the left side alone, always with the outward curving in- clination toward the left hip, constitute happy departures from the old type. With the first mode of fastening there is always the accoinpaniment of the few soft, loose folds following the diagonal line as it crosses the figure, and the idea of which is reproduced in the separate plastrons of lace, beached net, ete., now fashionable in | Paris and of which we have had already occasion to speak. The second manner of closing the waist, down the left side, is introduced eftectively in the composition of a recent French dress ef mouse-gray gros grain, which has a skirt trimmed with bands of the material set, an inch or two apart, frou: above the small box-plaiting at the foot nearly to the waist, and graduated in width, diminishing as they go up. The apron falls away in a sharp point in front, and is gathered in rich folds high on the leit hip; the back is draped irregularly, one corner forming a point; the waist is fastened by a belt of gros grain, with ends ) crossed in front; a full jabot of soft mull is | carried down the Jett side over the fasten- ing of invisible hooks, and corresponds with a deep-plaited collarette and cuffs of mull, polonaises, which hold their own bravely through all the fluctua- tions of are frequently fastened diagonally now or are double-breasted, a la Moscovite. fashion, The right side which laps over, nay then be carcied down into a point falling over the skirt, while the left side is tucked up to forip a panier. A larye rosette of velvet ribbon is found to bean effective finish against the said panier, seeming to bold it up; and there nay be a velvet belt. very pretty effect in soft veilings or cash- meres. Fireside Chat. NOVELTIES IN DECORATION, ERTAINLY the strangest things are thought of nowadaysin the way of or- namental and decorative novelties. Vho would have imagined, a sbort tire ago, a stuffed kitten poeping out of a gilded wall-basket, with a bow of ribbon cied round its throat, and a Japanese tan, as background, forming a drawing-room or- nainent; or alarge plush photograph fraine, with another ,itthe kitten clinging tothe top, and peering over as if to yet a lini pse of the pictured one below ; ora waste-paper or work basket, with a little feline bead and sboulders emerging in an jUlring way ; Or a lamb Li a Slee pibg ISSY curled round in blissful unconsciousyvess on acushion of puffed or quilted satin? These tamborinves ure the last new toys, | and they are decorated in various ways, BOine novelty, | lovely bodices if our mothers! This model hasa | a bonhbonniere, and had alid of cardboard, covered with the satin cushion, supported on little gilt nails fixed in at distances in- side the ritn. handkerchiets can be kept in it, or sinal! personal ornaments, or work inaterials. The lid ean be painted, or have a smart bow of ribbon, or a cluster of artificial flow- ers or fruit in a frill ot lace. Another mode of decoration is to paint the parchment base of the tamborine in some pretty way, and attack long inter- twined ribbon of two colors, finished off in a large bow. With these ribbons the tamborine is hung over the edge of a tall screen, or sus pended froin the corner of a mantel val- ance, the high back of achair, or, in fact, wherever fancy dictates. It is also used as a card receptacle on a writing table, and sometimes has bows nailed on between the tiny double cym- bals, all round. A circular glass or tin for holding flow- ers is aiso fitted in. A great many of these tamborines met with a ready sale at recent bazaars, as they are novel, and one of the little passing fashions of the day. tention from young bouse-wives who are fastidious about their roous. The large ones, resemmbling parasols, coimn- posed of fraved ruchings of one or several colored silks, are to be seen in both draw- ing and dining rooins, edged with a fall of rather wide lace. The Japanese paper parasols, with a hole eut round the top of the framework of sticks, occasionally form the foundation, but more usually awire frame is worked upon. Red silk is most popular, but pink is nearly as much so, and both throw a soft, | becoming shade on surrounding objects, Feather butterflies, or humming birds, inounted on quivering wire, are to be seen on some, The lace covers of parasols, long laid by

now converted into lainp shades over col- ored silk or paper, with silk ball pornpons looping up the divisions, Even a lace berthe can be utilized in this mauner by being laid round asilk covered shade, witb a full rucbe round the top and round the edge, a bowon one side join- ing the ends, To ladies who are fond of displaying their real lace about their rooms this may be an idea, Lamp siades of artificial grass, with a spray of flowers on one side, are pretty. For candle shades, small fans, or large but- | terflies, fixed on to little brass holders, | Which grasp the candle, are popular, es- | pecially tor reading by. | These holders and frames for siades are | obtainable at most oil and lamp shops. A | length of red ribbon, tolerably Meas 4 tied in alarge bow With the ends spread out but- | terfly fashion towards the room, forms a pleasant shade, and has a good effect. This bow is tied round the neck of the white opeque glass shades, It requires some ingenuity to transforimn acominon pianoforte traveling case into an ornamental object for a drawing-rooin, but such a metamorphosis can be effected, and was recently shown me. The slanting lia was hidden by a glass case, framed in wood, made to fit, fastened on to hooks, and containing a collection of ininiatures on a velvet background,

glass, screened by red plush curtains, and beautifully painted in oils with bulrushes, grasses and waterlilies. The sides of the case were draped with the same plush, and had one or two old- fashioned pictures and objects of art, pin- ned on by means of ribbon. Standing against the wall,

| the whole | thing looked very weil, and its origin was bevoud a guess, | On the top stood in bold array, colored ware jars, cheap in themselves, but bright | in effect, and behind thein were peacock } and Japanese fans. | ‘Tho arrangement was carried out by an officer's wife, constantly on the move. In- | side the case a quantity of things, only re- | quired in traveling, were stowed away safe and sound. ; Painting on glass is on the increase, Screens of various heights, the backs of blotters, and the fronts of cottage pianos, as well as wany other things are painted. Even atall mirror over a console table | would have a life-size branch of laburnutn , painted across; and a sinaller glass stretch. Ing across a corer of the room, abovea with sprays of apple blossoin or thorn. I saw a short time ago a circular piece ot painted plate glass doing duty as a mat to a good-sized cauldron, standing at the side of the fireplace. The cauldron had a blue painted ribbon and bow as its decoration, and contained coals, A very sinall pair of tongs lay on the top. : Some cauldrons are gilded. They are not reinovea trom tbe room to be filled, ; the real coal scuttle being in reserve out ot } sight. ' ' ; The little painted milking stools are very popular, and I am told that a preliminary } Coat of carriaye enainel is better than oj! | paint, and carriage varnish than copal or } Spirit. Both may be makers, and best, is possibié6, to »btained from small coac! as they are very sticky, it is i@t the coachiman, who is accustomed to the use of them do the work, | The latest in screens are the movable | Japanese ones. The one we saw with the kitten on it was When the bonbons are all disposed of, , (Correspondence. TyRro.—There is not a set form of speech for the occasion, Something to the following «fect issultable: ‘‘Allowme to offer my best wishes for yours happiness.’* Of course, if you are on intimate terms, a formal speech would Be vat vw! place. F. H. M.-—The “Eraof the Jews” is B.c.

| 3761, whereas the ‘Common Era** of the English

Lamp shades receive a good deal of at- | Bible is B.c., 404. The difference in these dates Mlas- trates the difference between the Jewish chronvlogy and that which is adopted by English Christian writers. Mary T.—All such persons are knaves or charlatans and can be prosecuted at law. Devote your savings to some better purpose than encourag- ing a set of imposters whose single alm in Iffe is siim- ply to live on the hard-won shillings of the unedv- cated and credulous. REEDER.—What may pass as gallantry in a mau will be looked upon as flirtation ina woman. We grant that it isa sin on the part of the male sex, but you are eld enough to know \he reason why the same sin in women meets with a punishment that, though it may be the result of deceit, 1s nevertheless damaging to their future happiness, GRANGE B.—Yours is a not uncommon complaint, but itis one thatcan only be cured by your own efforts. You must discipline your mind, and putastrong curb on your imagination. Read moderately only, and let your thoughts dwell more on everyday facts than upon visionary ideas, Look upon the world you inhabit, and make the best of it, without trying to create an ideal one of your own—in ' in a word, give your mind to realities only, as being to simall for present day use, are | Post.— Catafalque signifies an elevated tomb (usually only a temporary timber structure), decorated with painting or sculpture, and containing the coffin of « distinguished person. Itis wenerally placed in the middle of a church or large hall, and is surrounded with tapers, armorial bearings, etc. it is most generally used for what is terined the *‘lying in state’’ of men who have made a great mark in the worid, either by their military acquirements, of by their hereditary rank, as kings, princes, or the first orders of the nobility. TRYPHINA.—You inust be very unso- phisticated and innocent to ask our aid in a matter that ninety-nine out of every hundred of your sex are so well versedin. Husbaud-hunting has become quite a science with some ladles, and they generally inanage sv well that, while they are really courting themselves, they lead their lovers to believe that they care very iittle about them, Honey ts good to catch flies, and will also do forlovers, but it requires an occasional dash of vinegar to transform a bache- lor into a married man. Try the mixture on the geu- | tleman you have selected. JANE.—The only objection we see to the intermarriage of cousins is the fact that, 1f there be any hereditary disease or dis «bility in the family, the offspring will havea double dose—so to say—of the evil. Asaruile, it is as well that marriages shall con- sist of the union of opposites, or rather of organisms which are so constituted as to enhance the excellence of each other and counteract the evil tendencies, Similars du not go well together, but those aatures which are able to help each other. Generally speak- ing, the individuals should be iwembers of different familles of the same race; but therecan be no fixed rule. Ann.—lIodine is generally preseribed for those swellings of glands which are foundio a stru- mous organisin. There is doubtless a serotulqus con- stitution, and the jodine willl promote absorption of the tubercular Iyinph with which the claits are blocked and irritated. lTodine is also prescribed tor , swellings which are the result of inflammation tn | The front was covered by a long looking- | cases in which the glands are not permanently en- larged, but are likely to become so, It should never be employed except under medical advice and direc- tion; but, when so ordered, it ls the best possible ap- plication, and exceedingly likely, in suitable cases, to dv good, E.—Scales are a succession of sounds pro- ceeding by single steps,and are divided into diatooic chromatic, enharmonic. When tormed by a@ suc- cession of tones and semi-tones according te definite | rules, a scale is diatonic. Such ascaletls formed by intervals of two tones aud 2 semi-tone, and three tonesand a semi-tone, from any given key-tone. A scale of which all the steps are seml-tones is chroma- tie ; if of smaller intervals, it is enharmonic. The | relative minor {fs a minor third below the major hav- writing table, would be partially covered | lig the same signature, the sixth amd seventh being raised one semi-tone, in ascending only, by ineans of accidentals. Evw.—The best way to learn a language is to **peg away’’ ata good graminar until you have mastered it: then get an interesting book and trans- late it with the aid of grammar and dictionary. All the quick waysand ‘‘roval roads*’ are misleading. It is absurd to suppose that any man can learn a langu- age without troutle and difficulty. If you wish to obtain simply a colloquial knowledge of a living tongue, you may pick it up from those who speak it ; but to read a language, and, above all, to write it, you must know the grammar, and it is waste of time and thought to adopt any of the *‘short** of ‘ready’? methods, F. H. M.—Pray do not ask us our opinion as to tue personality of the Devil if you seriously mean to ask ‘‘whathis your opinion of my writeing.*' We should not liketoexpress our opinion of your spelling ; nor do we wish to give an opinion as tothe personality of the Devil. The lecturer whe speke suv Jocularly of the behavior of the Spirit ef Evil has evidently a very firm belief in his existence, and yet —which ts strange—he has apparently no fear of offen- ding him by the remarks he makes, Seriously, this is not asubject which should engage your thouglts. Let the learned squabble as to the existence or non- existence of a personal Devil, while you buy a com- mon spelling-book, and learn to write English at least Gecently well. Jas. L. B.—What sort of “excessive study** can have placed you in this jeopardy? We cannot understand your case, and therefore are un- able to advise you on this point. As regards food, we »not think any particular kinds or classes of tood re mure att rt} — Mere streugthening or fesh-forming than others. hat is a mvt Hatisamyth. If the body be healthy, it will grow strong and form flesh the erudest of food. Philo- PUuysiologists and chemists who sit in their 4 evoive tineis Out of their inner con- - P F ’ alk fiesh-formers : but let them go ack siums of any large city, and, casting sentia ' t 7 ; , entality t winds, see the food on which vurinfant roughs are raised. A very little inquiry in the re ion of facts will put su eud Ww all these due meortes. . the most inuscular of i