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AK g. 'of 01.65! tank, two-thirds demlld of“ flagrant} Mm_ ,thenflidlegpznod dlifc. The, number your: "mum all ya: of, age has a ‘ yrccpnbly, an i .fmui this it is known rhe’ resident growing“; 5 chm-v. '- Itanrcm in France arc-maklng to have the some of Napoleon I. “Rafi/ll 8h? summitoithesplm~ did column ’ 1' sing the canny-panda oboe! si'ln’ n titirm, and it is.” be-ho‘pod will tiringngliemtented m take-no more violent s ’1 . l-‘oi: summat- Chapel ofhuock, in reland. have-been com- paratively few’aml uninteratfiag,’ leading to the rutural‘eoncluaion thn the extraordinary excitement-then had died out. But this panes tn bomot the case. On last lady y a nieetin _ held «was the largest known. Weft: run from all part- of the country, bringing pilgrims nml trmriatafrmn many quarter; of the world. During the day cum were effected in the chalk - 3‘le “filler!” and) their mun: her was L. ‘ . liennubflulnno is I brigand' who has been a terrortoallthe residents of a district in Southcrp Ital . He was recently captur- ed and tall-into g'aplcs where, while in pris- on he wufuund 'tobétatoocd in a remarkable manner. (hi his brunt was a large picture of himself in a Mommanding attitude, with pistols in his hand and the corpses of.scveml gendarmcs lying around him. The back- ground was the sea: to the right was a small village with trees and gardens, and, in place of afranioa chair tatooe'l in green surrounded the whole. THE execution of the monument at Doni- rcmy to the memory of the Maid of Orleans, for which a large sum of money has been subscrilxed, has just been confided to an ar- tist. The monument will be a group of four statuaJcanne d'Arc being of marble, and thc others, St. Michel, St. Catherine, and St. Marguerite of bronze. It will be set up a few yards from the )arisli church of Dom- reniy, beneath the c ockâ€"tower of a new chapel which has been erected on the spot formerly occupied by the oratory with which tradition llfL'l attached the name of the hero- inc. Kslsz, the actor at the Bavarian Conn 'I'hcatre in Munich, enjoys the friendship of King Ludwig IL, and it is a friendship which he finds worth the having in more ways than one. lfe went recently to Vienna to visit his family, and rode along in the King’s ma rniliccnt saloon car, which had been placu at his disposal for a fortnight. Earlier in the season Kainz was the guest of the King at Lindci‘dorf, and on his return to Munich was laden with presents of a choice and costly kindâ€"a chased gold cup, two diamond-set watches, a travelling alarm clock in lapis lazuli, diamond studs, and chalk drawings of scenes from the life of Te”. Mr. Irving having recently dwelt on the rapid increase that has taken place in the earnings of actors, some intercstin ' figures to illustmtc.'tlie point still further iavc been brought tolight. Twenty years ago we are told that it was a. fortunate actor in a Lon- don theatre who made 850 a week, but now half that sum is paid in a single night to any young man with a fine figure and a stock of irrcproachzible clothes. At I)rury_-l.anc IOS years ago lacy for a week was paid $83 and llarrick 8l70. By far the next largest salary for two persons was paid to Sprange flurry and his wife, who received 5250. For a whole week the total outgoing of Drury- Lane was only $2,5l‘2. London, with all its conservatism, is not entirely unlike New York in the changes which overtake certain streets that once were famous resorts of wealth and fllSlllUll. Great (icorge street, in Westminster, in earlier times, ainl not particularly early at that, wasiispopular as Carlton House ter- race is now, but change has for many years been settin ' its seal fast upon its face, until now the on y house that remains among the long rowsof oiliccs and other commercial places in that of the late Lord llzitlicrley, and in his death the house will, it is feared, cease longer to be a home for anyone. l’ro- bnbly it will be sold in the settlement of the estate, so that the last relic of the old resort will thus be turned over to prosaiciind world- ly uses. .__.__...-.o-. 4 WAII-‘S. .-\ homely young girl film the consolation of knowing that if she lives to he 40 she‘ll be a pretty old girl. I A young lady of Long Branch tohl her brother that she wears high-heeled shoes in order to comb her hair better. Oh, ciirscd the fate that gave thee to the mower! as the fellow said when his best girl nuirricd his former rival. Very little jewellery is worn at the sea- sido this summer. Much of it is left at home wjthgond uncles who furniin travelling funds. ‘ It isn't because a woman is exactly afraid of a cow that she runs away and scrcanili. It is because gored dresses are not fashionable. ‘ Cincinnati has founded a “home” for wid‘ uws: who have no intention of accepting .1 ~ second offer. It is to be hoped that at least two rooms will be occupied. l The l-f-ycar-old daughter of Sitting lliill isl called “- Slic-wlio-fSlances-at-You-as-Sli Walks." This is better than having a gir \\‘l|0 glances at every ice-cream saloonbctwccn the theatre and the home of her proud sire, l who keeps a dog. “I'm sorry to have to say” it of a woman at her time of life, Mr. llrudilcrly, but as we're talking confidentially now, I'll confess my wife mica powder." "Lucky man," innocent- Iy returned Mr. ll. ; ” if .\lni. llruddcrly ever felt that way towards me, she'd use dy- iianiitc." Four years ago ago a young man, without 3 Wm on his bac', and only one suit of clothes to his namc, entered Denver and beggcd his supper. Last week he cloped with his employer's wife and 90,000 of his cash, Chum application to business, papulatiou is; an efl'ort‘ “I’lace Vendomeat Paris. M lg‘ltatloa is the ’ {reports from the. _\'()l.. I.\'_. l 1 The Preacher‘s Return. At wharf or do i Satan stood, A gentleman y crest To welcome home as best e could The sturdy, sun-browned watcher. Said he: "I hope you have enjoyed Your summer peregrination, While I the season have employed, Without an hour's vacation. “You must 'admit I tried to make i' Your rest and travel plenum: <And now. to please you. I will take A back seat for the present. , "The (‘flul'l’lltfa you will doubtless find All nicely-cleaned and garnished. The carst changed to Jul! your mind, The pulpit newly varnished. “The large- rin't Ifiblc that you prize lsln lbs 0 position ; And close beside the volume lies The new revised edition. “The peopleâ€"well. of course you know How can regatlona scatter, And what or do and where they go 13 not a weighty matter. “The best of sheep are apt to stray \\ ithout a guide to lead them; not I was there to point the way, To watch them and to feed them. "I dwell alike in virtuc's home. ' In vicc's slums and crawlways And they who sin and the who roam Uave Satan wit them afways." "OF THORyS, GRAPES?" 1:3/ Ilm {flu/for of “His Vicronu Cams,” “Cum: STANHOPE‘S Disnoxns,” “A STRANGE Wnnoixo- EVE,” d'c. CHAPTER I, lriglit moonlight lying tenderly on moor and hill and glen, the moon shining down through laden orchard treesâ€"apple and pear and plumâ€"shining down upon gable end mid thatched roof and brown rugged wall, and, gliiiting upon uncurtained wmdows, rc- flccted a crooked flattened moon in the small diamond panes in that old-fashioned roomy farm-house that is the pride of Robert Mus- grave. Ills farm-folk say that he loves the house almost as much as he loves his dough: tcr; that he is more tender with the “bit 0’ land" than with bonnie sonsic Ellie. On this brilliant night, with the great harvest moon hanging like an orb of gold in the sky, the old man, tall and upright, and carrying himself with a certain dignity,stcps from the keeping-room out on to the door- step, liis collics and his staghounds gnmbol- ling about him, mid be looks out and along the silvcred garden walks and down” to the laden trees in the orchard. “Ellie l Effie, 1 say l” he calls out. “Come in, childâ€"conic in l” “We're looking at the moon,- fatlicr l” calls back a sweet voice that has little of the father's Scotch accent. For from the \Vcst Country came Ellie’s mother, who has been laid to rest these five years ; and Ellie has her southern tongue, they tell her, and her dark bcivitcliiiig beauty. “And what for will ye be aye a glowerin’ at the inliiic 1'" lllllttel‘s the old man, striking his stick on the ground as he turns back into the house. “I wish the young mon had never come licrc~chnttering nonsense to my girl, I take-it." Nonsense ! Is it “nonsenso” to her and to him? The girl stands just outside of the shadow of the trees, and her shining eyes look up with dreamy rapture to the golden moon ; and he is looking into her eyesâ€"those wells where shine for him his sun, his moon, his stars, his hand clasping hersâ€"the little soft clinging hand that has never known hard work, and never shall, lie vowsâ€"and all his artist’s soul goes out to that bright beauty that has steeped his senses in this “sweet inadncss"â€"â€" that makes him forgetl the diff that lies between them, forget that l the t reams of twenty may not outlive the ' more solemn judgment of twenty~fivc. FENELON FALLS, ONTARIO, SATURDAY, SEI’TEMB “You will come, Gips ," he 53 ‘sâ€"‘ 'ou will not fail, my bonnie {iipsy ?" l i} , She smiles and promises again: and then ' he ridts away. She turns back to the house, singing blithelyzand her father, watching her, is easy at heart. She does not miss this handsome stranger then ; so he goes about his work and thinks no more of Vane Ernsclifl'e. But a day later Ellie. says shefivould like, to go and see an aunt who lives at Donner which is some twenty miles off; she has so often asked her to her a visit. Ile father thinks the change will do her good, and consents to her going for a month. At ilemting she kisses him tenderly and weeps in ‘his arms. He cannot understand why she is sorry to leave him for this short time, and sniilingly tells her she has grown sofblicartcd. So she goes and stays three weeks with her aunt, an old dame who sits spinning in the ingle nook all day long. There bonnie Ellie meets her handsome lover, and they wander together over moor and hill and glen. Ile makes so many sketches of her that at last he has nearl ' a portfolio full of sweet, Winsome Effies, coking up with great brown eyes, now wistful, now laughing, now sad. And one day they are married. A Scotch minister speaks the words that bind them together: and Vane's own servant and an- other are witnesses. . Afterwards the girl bids farewell to her aunt as though to return home. There is no fear of her father knowing or hearing of her departure a week before the time specified ; and Vane takes away his bonnie bride to the Highlandsâ€"his own at last ! At the expiration of a week they part, she to go back to her Border home, he to re- turn to Italy, where he is going to paint and study further. Thence he will go to the East. . ' “I will write very often to you, my dar- ling,” hc says, when they stand to ether for the last time, and he holds her to iis heart and feels her own beating against his. “You must not weep so, dear Gipsy ; it will not be for longâ€"a year, perhaps a little longer; but it passes soon ;and you must write to me and tell me everything, My letters will come to the cat office at Ardlaun. I have arranged wit old Derrick to let you have them quietly. And you must not wear the wedding ring, dear." ‘ She starts and looks up at him pleadingly, butl only for a second ; then she holds up her left hand, and he draws off the golden cir- clet, pressing his lips softly to it ci-e he gives it to her to keep in her bosom. “I will put it back, sweetheart,” he says, half smiling. “\Vait in trust and hope.” So she returns home, and he goes to Italy; but her soft half-shy kiss lin cis yet on his lips, her wistful eyes are at a 1 times before him; and not even his art can wean him from his love for Effie, his peasant-wife. it at e i i The winter has come, and the moors over which Ellie and her lover used to wander in the sunny autumn look bleak and desolate ; the trees in the orchard are brown and leaf- less, and the snow lics deeply on garden path and lawn; the icicles hang from the caves of the farm-house and the frost makes fantastic pictures on the windmv-panes. Ellie sits and dreams, and thinks the time is long and weary; and there is a wistful look in the large brown eyes. Letters have come for her oftenâ€"long dc- lightful letters, which she pores over with eagerness and presses to her lips and lays aside among lavender and sweet-scented herbs. But she pouts over them too, and is disappointed in some. They are letters such as most girls would like to receive, full of vivid descriptions of scenery, of the men and women he meets and sketches, of the society he is in, He cxtols this picture and that statue, he paints for her all the glories of Italian art, tliinkin she, poor lassie, will follow his flights ant love to soar with him into that ideal region She is so fair and guilelcss, and he is an “'lllCll 800"" to be his home- artistâ€"artist to the ccrc~all the vivid iin- ngination, the warm impulses, the love of the beautiful and good unchecked as yet. 110 is twenty, and at twenty that beautiful glori- ous fancy that endows the woman first loved ‘ with every grace of body and mind is unfct- l tcrcd by knowledge, by sorrow, by the thousand and one daily experiences which, She puts down the letters with a sigh and l a pout, and wishes there were more expres- sions of undying love and devotion to herself. She wants him to so ' on every page that lie warships her, and that he is not happy \Vltll‘ out her. She writes him long pathetic letters. Docs I he not miss her every hour? She is so lone- it may be, will teach him so painfully in his 1y! “'lll he not Come back to her now ? passage through the world. Vane l'lrnsclifl'e loves passionately this beautiful girl at his side, who is a peasant’s daughter. Will he forgot that under her father's roof he has received shelter, has broken bread with him, has sat in the inglo nook? No, no, with all his faultsâ€"and they are lcgion«he loves truly and nony ! lle could not do nude in his eyes and her own the woman ie regards now as the apple of his eye. He has whispered low passionate words that call the crimson blood to her cheeks. Shc droops her head till the silky curls shadow hcrbrow, and half murmursâ€" “flush, hush! Oh, no, no; you are so much above inc 2" Then he pleads the old, old sophistries that shall last as long as the world lasts. lie tells her love conquers all differences of rank and poxition ; he has no fear. She will shine a star in the sphere where he will set her, and she shall live in as leader and be robed in silk and velvet am be as a queen among the women of his fair world. "Your love,” she says, laying her head upon his bit-ant, “will be all lask. Ali, is it rcall ' true you love me 1'" lie c naps her in a lon v close embrace, and there occurs to him no tiought of a future when this rapture shall not be. She is his~ cuuplcd with pluc ‘ and industry, \vinsevvry l his own, his durliugdiis companion for a life- time. The night had suddenly over-cloudch and become quite stormy. llcing of a sentiment- al turn shc accordingly took her seat at the piano and began to sing, "Into some lives the rain must fall." But he was entirely practical, and, clutching her arm. said ten- ,lcrly, “Sing something else. darling ; you know I didn't bring my umbrella." A romantic maiden was rucuul from drowning at Xantaskct by her lou‘r. When time :and but a month ago he met her | tripping over the moors. i lie is well-born and hauidsoine, this lover iof hers-,and she has given him her young ihappy heart. He is telling her that their , marriage must be secret, must be concealed : from every one till he comes to claim her. D "For, my darling," he says, caressing the shapely head that rests on his breast, and 3 looking down at her with a tender smile. “I give you my heart and my name because I love you. I choose to bridge the gulf that she had 'umi‘lw‘l)’ W‘Ws'l'vilfmiu the shock l the world would sa ' is between us. llut and fright to feel like talking. she over- : others will not see t iingsquitcas l scethcni; wlk‘llllul him With _rvproacln-I. “My duh and, if I were to take you now to my uncle, ling," he. replied in ntunulmwm : “you , he would never see me nor on again. And aule did not wish me to let you perish 3" 3 then, when I am of age am have taken in And he soothes her in a tender half-playful style, and does not chide her; but all the some he yearns for her to share his enthusi- asm. He writes no more at cal: length about art, what he is doing, am goingto do. His letters necessarily are shorter, for Vane Ernsclill'c is not a man who can fill a letter with expressions of adoration ;.liis love is in his heart : he cannot write of it. Then his letter are not sent so often ; he has gone to the East, he tells her in the last, and warns llul‘ to expect delays. Yet she frets, and the tears comes often to her eyes, and she sits listless and weary. » She keeps the house and rarely stirs forth. shunning the gaze of the village folk on the hill-side a mile away. She fancies they look at her, some of them, with strange meaning in their glanccszand she falls down upon her knees in her little room and weeps such tears as leave her spent and exliaustml. She writes to Vane a wild appeal to conu- back to her and take her away, and tell them all she is his wife. One day, as she is soothing herself by picturing how he will come to her soon in hot haste without warning and turn all her sorrow into joy, a hand is laid upon her shoulder. She starts up with a cry. Has her dream come true? Ah, no ! llis touch would be soft and gentle, his lips would smilc upon her, his eyes gaze tenderly. This is her father's stern face, stenier than usual, with somethin in the y eyes that look down at her w iich scni s the blood coursing through her veins, which makes her invol- untarily clasp her hands before her eyes. “Ye sit glowerin' over the fire, girl, of late,” he says grimly. There is suppressed passion in his voice, and his hands tremble a little. “Vc're no' the blithe kissic ye were once. What for is the change? Answer 3'“ She treinhles and oowcrs ; but there is agony in the lumecching eyes she raisesâ€"- mute agony. "Is it no' tnic," the old man gocs on, “that ye left sister Annie's house a week be. fore ye mine home! Is it no“ true that ye went off to the ilielands with the Southrnu'.’ (lirl,will ye kill nic,that 'c can donaughtbut wee and ring your ban 3 3" S esprings to her feet. dashing hack the hair that has fallen over her face : her eves I does not stop to think that her father is but I an imorant pennant; shebelieves him. This then explains Vane's short letters and lengthened silence, How little in those letters he seems to miss her; how little be said about the re~uuion at the end of the year ! - In a dazed way she creeps away upstairs and stands for a few moments in the middle of her room, looking niournfully around her. She sits there all the evening and will take no food. In the middle of the night she leaves her father's house, her happy home. She does not break down as she goes out into the darkness, a homeless wanderer. And while she blindly casts herself adrift on the world, Vane Erusclifl‘e stands under soft skies looking up at that brilliant golden moon that If vhts up a tropical world. He is thinking of a night under the ladcn orchard trees, and his hand steals to his breast and rests on the little spray of white heather she laid there when he rode away to leave her for a year. CHAPTER II. A long line of carriages was drawn up in that noble street on to which looked the trelliscd windows of the Palazzo Mougiiii. All Rome knew that the Anglodtalian artist â€"â€"thcy claimed him as of their own training â€"Vane Ernsclifl'e, lived there, and that on that glorious afternoonhis rooms were thrown open to his friends that they might view his last picture before it left for the Salon. Through the wide portals,- up the tesse l latcd staircase, where brigl.t~hued flowers scented the air, passed silken robcd ladies with attendant cavalicrs, princes and dukes 5 and counts. There was the Cardinal Andolfo, l the great patron and lover of art and letters; ' there were artists and lifteratcur, fair maidens and stately daincs, all eager to see this work -â€"as they were eager to see every Workâ€"of _ the young artist, who hadjust completed his I twenty-fifth year. , “They do say,” tcssa del’Anizzano, from her villa some miles in the country ' to see her favorite ‘ picture, “that beautiful Margliei‘ita dellu Rocco is the orignal of the ‘Franccsca’ here." . “0h, very likely I” answered the artist to whom this remark was addressed. “The ' are great friends. Do you think, Contes- snâ€" ’ . ,. “\Vho can say ?”â€"â€"shru ging her should- ers. “If signer Ernsclifl‘cIias the vivacity of our nation, he has the reserve of his ‘ own. Is she to be here, I wonder ?" ' “No doubt. She will come to see herself finisher ,” returned the artist ; and the Con- tessa laughed. “These rooms,” said lovely Valentina Barlctti, casting up her eyes sentiinentally, “are the vestibule of Paradise.” Magnificent indeed were Vane Ernsclifle’s rooms ; he had gathered into them nrt~ treasures that were almost priceless, paint-I lugs and statues, specimens of rare carving,‘ porcelain vases, and silver and old of Lellini’s working. Everywhere t n: eye rested on some beautiful object. Passing through these rooms one stood in the studio beyondâ€"a. Paradise of art. But fcwpcoplc had arrived there as yet. One could point out the artist unerringly in the noble, somewhat grave-looking man who was stand- ing talking to a Venetian prince. Not that he had changed much, save in expression, and was more matured in feature and form than at twenty. He had the same supple grace and the some wonderful brilliance of c 'c. 3 Ivory now and then, as he talked in lllSl soft musical tones, his eyes glanced backl towards the doorway ;and once, in so doing, ' they lighted on the Contcssa and those with v her. liiuncdiutely, with a graceful apology to the prince, he came forward, bending over the lady’s hand with courtly deference and . uttering words of welcome. ‘ ' “This is kind of you, Contessa. I scarce- ly expected such an honor,th_ough I ventiir- cd to send you 'a card. Ah, Eccellcnm”â€"to whispered the Con- who had driven the aged cardinal, who greeted him warmly I but twenty, had formed such a strong bond down upon the features of the late lamented, â€"“I am always happy to see you in my rooms. Signorina Barletti”â€"lifting to his ‘ lips the little hand the. young lady "ave him with a bright smile and a coquettish glance â€"â€"“you bring with you the breath of the flowers and the sunlight of heaven." She blushed and smiled with a soft, “Ali, Signor l" and passed on. For each and all Vane had some pretty compliment, seine gallant s )CCCII, and earn- est welcome.. But still, as ie mingled with his guests and talked with them, ever and anon he looked back at the door. , \Vliilo they stood in rapt contemplation of tlielai' re picture on the easel, he turned at some slig it sound near the doorway ; for an instant there was a lighting up of the gray eyes,nniomcnt- ai‘y quiver of the lip, and then he crossed the room and met the dark-eyed slender girl who stood there, looking herself as though she had just stepped down from one of those antique pictures, with her soft dusky color- iii ' and estrous eyes. , “mm was neither shyness, embarrass- l ER 17, 1881. "chll, Margherita, how do you like your ' raft?" a voice broke in on the 'rl's - 53.52.... g‘ She starteda half exclamation on her lips, and looked round 'with‘ bewildered eyes, flushing crimson; and shivering like one rudely awakened. She could not innnedi. ately recover herself to answer. “A marvellous icture, is it not, Signorina dclla Rocco 2" sub the soft gentle voice of tthlel Cardinal ; and to him she turned grate- u v. “It is almost too bmutiful l" she murmur- ed. “Ah, Ecccllcnza, how glorious it must be to have such genius !" I He looked down at the speaking Italian ace. “Heaven has not left us without the golden portals, daughter," he said, half smil- ing ; “but it is seldom we see genius so ina- turcd at twenty-five." ‘ “Is it not wonderful 3" exclaimed the Con- tessa and Valentina both at once. ""l‘his alone would make an artist’s fame. And when you consider he isan Eu lisliiuan l" The Cardinal laughed ; ani Marghcrita _ said archlyâ€" “Arc tlicsc’poor English then quite with- out gifts? And, besides, Signor Ernsclifl‘e is trained in the Italian school." . “But his genius is English born,” put in Gerald Athcvton,the talented English sculp- tor, laughing. “Don’t abuse my nation, frigids; I am listening.” “Oh, no !” said Margherita, with a bright smile. “You must be very tender with them, because I love the English so much, and 'I know so many." “You have lived much in England, Sig- llOl‘lllfl. della Rocco 1'” asked the Contcssa. “Yes ; you know my uncle is attached to the Embassy in London, and I have been in lnglaml a great deal. I think I shall go to him on a long visit this summer.” “\\'liat,sliall we lose you?” cried Guiseppc Marcmiua, who was inadl in love with .(u hello Mar 'herita, and fol aired her like a shadow w ierevcr he could. “Rome will not be Rome without its brightest star." ' “Rome will do very well without it,” re- turned the girl, laughing. “\Vhile I am in London, you can think of something else to compare me to. But every one is going; and aunt‘Lucia has not come yet.” iThc beautiful Italian” was not sorry for this, for she was untrammelled by ver rigid notions of propriety ; and, having known Ernsclifl'e from the time she was thirteen, chose to think herself, as regarded liim,quitc absolved from the rules that usually hedge in young ladies. 1 She had lived too so long among artists and in artistic circles that she had fallen into much of the frec-and-casy Bohemian style of thought characteristic of them; andlshc not un- afrequcntly scandnlized society by diet ways. Shewas asloimbuedwitliinany En lisli notion in regard to the liberty accort ed to un- married women; and, as she did much as she liked, being indulged by her aunt, ’the Count della Rocco’sâ€"her uncle’sâ€" sister, it followed that Margherits was greatly belov: ed by all the artists, male and female. , Slic minted too, and was considered, and was, a genius; so that most of her cccentricitics \vci'c pardoned. ' She was not alarmed therefore at the pros- ect of a tote-adorn with the artist in his studio while awaiting for her aunt ; and, be- sides, she wanted to look at the picture much longer. When she had said good-bye to her friends, and every one had departed, she went and stood before the easel, and lost herself in dreams. Vane came back and paused a little way off, watching her with a liulf.sniilc. “So you like it, Mm‘gherita ?” It was the painter’s soft tones that this [time brought her back to the world; and this time she did not start and shiver, but a. bright light flushed for an instant into her large eyes, and the quick color of pleasure came to her cheeks. “It is so perfect, Vane,” she said, falling l as they always did when alone, into the I more familiar style that had had its begin- ning in the days when she, a child, and lie of sympathy. | “Perfect? Ah, yes, I think so l" return- ed tlie artist, half smiling ; but she put her hand deprecatingly on his arm. “No, no ; you knova did not mean that ; v and you shall not point me again, siguor, if you make such remarks !” “You cannot help it, Marglierita," he an- swered. “I could point you from memory.” “Then I shall not give you sittings,” and the girl laughed. “\Vlien you paint my por- trait, you shall show your skill and do it from memory, and then you need not come to London." . Vane aused one brief second before he nnswcrm her : and then he said, as he drew forward a chair for his companionâ€"â€" “Is it true then that you are going to London 2'" , (To 115 coxrixusn.) «W»â€" l'tlch South American Jewels at Auction w..._.__â€"___._,.__W -..__.x.____.fi.... . . have run away and left poor aunt Lucia to ’ toward the defence of Peru. "will, "0“ “WW”? in the girl’s {mllk mm" One of the results of the disastrous war "0" ‘0 him She returned hi3 30lt'5P0k0“ now being waged in South America has been "Marghcrlm" “ml Clasp 0f the llm‘“ “"llll 5‘ the sale of a large number of gold and silver smile and a clasp 3-3 Wflml- church ornaments set with precious stones, “I am sorry, Signor Ernscliffe," she said. and old personal jewellery scntfrom Lima by “that I could not come sooner : and now I patriotic persons in order to procure funds 0f nearly 500 do the rest of her purchases by herself. lots, which realized very various prices, " xoiu ‘ll" ""N'm". “K'lly- “ but can place man artist in the world I wil Wh)‘ “M 31‘“ l“ u“ 8° lluwu for the third come for you, sweetheart. 'l‘illthcnyou will tune?" trust me 3” _ . “xi”, fie“ um “M. a“? man“ flicks Fun! 3 \\ hat is there she would not tnist With stun infatuation ; And incanth e play fantastic tricks With Imafia‘kiumtiun ; Their tall a ad in to u in. Regent“ birth: frkfi, . 'l‘ill autism! am . gnu, Milan» Malia mallet-dictum. l to him .‘ llc weeks with the calm sclf~rcli- uric Wildly bright. mil lwr cheeks are flush- in . once of genius. and thinks that in a little while he will take one. of the highest place: in the world of art. Effie forgets the 'rayvhaiml father who has cared for her and y ovcd her, and who strives in his stern fash- ion to be all that her mother was to her. “Thin talk-st which both nearest." But she strutch forth her hand for the sweet forbidden fruit ofl'cml her. She is doing no i that? And ther- \'anc would never ask her She cannot hear this: though she has promised him, her husband, to say nothing , of their marriage, sumly he could not mean her to bear this, his wife! "Father," she cries wildly, “forbear, oh l forbcar l I am his wife ! 'A minister did ‘ it~~two folks saw it, father! He said it was ltruc : he called me his bride, his bonnie. bonnie bride! 0h father"---~shc broke into f 3me 2" “\ll" ‘ d folds", schml at your . . £931»! a country when“ hum A “mg uum‘nup 3 Why. what is bitter weepingâ€"J‘he couldna‘ have deceived “a,” mi iii»: l‘ mu “if. I . -. ' run ‘. years: “you re nothing up to um.” - “ 1'" . - . I [J In dust," It‘ll llw sto~ $32” "314' with, a £3“;- alan the only mm- boy a all on the “lbw p.53 girl in wohoanaftev u V w" iii. his blob, “you glands! hr. tit“ three ymm' "l'r'v learned that a mistake in‘ .to dowliat is wronv! l 30 the next day Vane ism-inn bids farc- uglwelltnhii hat, no his winning bright unilcaud graceful kindly manner, durpr tin 'hl with the reverence due to : and, thereia in his heart a pan of self-rc- b, heatiflm it. The goes with ’ do“ the pnlen paths and three lithe i iii m'fuidthoprincipah,orehanla;ferhcrtbereisalong,lmg us:- -tbeo he vaults on to the mettle-some , _ bone that utobcarhimtothe town. ‘ “timtin'. greetin' ; " and her father looks down at her with a half-fierce sorrow. "That marriage ye trust in is no more nor bare words ovcr the llorder ; he knew that well enough. And now ‘1: think ’he'll come for 5c and make a lady ye, a Scotch lauic wi' just her banty for her dowr‘ ! In his own countrv ye couldni‘ claim tobe his wife after their bigliah law." l listens, stunned by what she in her ignorance takes for Gospel truth. .She Fancy keeping me from seeing your picture for a ard of lace !" “A i, Margherita," said the painter mis- chievously, “is your eagerness to see it due toâ€"â€"" , “No, no; I can see myself in the glass." ller eyes grow bright, and she flushed a little as she came forward to grcet her friends. Then she stood back, her hands clasped lightly befor her, her head a little thrown back, utterly unconscious that from the picture to henâ€"the exquisite original of that pcrfcctconception -â€"theadiniring glances of many present went, and that the artist was covertly watching her. The painting on which she looked was well worthy the study, not of an hour, but of days. lthadal that richness and softness of color for which the old Italian masters were famed. In all technical details of drawing, as of color, there was not a fault that could be picked out ; 'ct, after all, the greatest charm of a bcauti ul picture is in the conception,thc intellectual idea,of which the technical skill is the faithful servant. And in this. “The Vision of Alp," the artist had not fallen below the painter: he had chosen that moment when the cloud has half pasle away from the face of the moon and aclcar light is shining . on the upturned features of the Renegade, revealing there the awful struggle of opposing passions. On Francesca too, "his promised bride," the moon is sliinin down serene and clear ; but the shadow o the cloud not yet [nasal leave: the trans t hands that are laid on Alp'a in semi-darknessfin her eyes is the agony of supplication, the anguish of a soul in travail for the soul she lava as her own. With marvellom skill the [nintcr had por- itnyed the warm flairtints that half per- ‘suadal Alp that this form he saw was no more vision, and yet was no spiritdike that he shrank from the touch so cold and death- likc. -' It was Margberita‘x face and form. and in i the face that looked at her "comitcrieit presentment ' thencla ‘ to those who could I read-as one could~ capabilities of such Ea ' teagonyaawa: revealed in the Renegadc's bride. , , the following were sold at the highest rates: A pair of long pearl and diamond carrin vs, with four large Oriental pearl buttons, an a pair of extraordinarily large pearl drops, £235; a curious silver-gilt mitrc, enriched with scrolls of diamonds. emeralds, rubies, and other stones, £273; a magnificent old chased tine gold monstrancc, enriched withn large number of precious stones, including fine emeralds, nibics, sapphires, diamonds, and aincthysts, likewise pearls, total weight 378 or.N 10 cth, £2,000 ; an old gold inonstrancc, with a centre of large diamonds and topazcs, with rays of rubies, diamonds, and topazcs, £940; fourteen gold rays for a monstrance, set with to .03 and diamonds, l £f'rl0; a gold crescent o eighteen brilliants, £200: an old silver-gilt monstrance, with a gold door and lining, 298 07.. IO dwt., £200 ; l a life-size silver figure of a pelican, with an I enamelled gold breast, the eyes and nigrettc set with large emeralds cut m cal-(than, 'tlircc silver-gilt fi arcs of young pclicans, £380 :nn old ciiamc led frame in three pieces, enriched with emeralds, £275. Total of the prices, £10,778. __..__._«.. . â€"......»â€"-.câ€" » â€"~~â€"â€"- The Postal Business or theWorld. Aficrman paper has been compiling the statistics of the world's correspondence by- post and by telegraph. The latest returns which approached completeness were for the 'car 1877. in which more than 4,000,000,(X)O cttcn were sent, which givu an ave c of ll,0fX),000 a day, or 1‘27 3 socon , Europe contributed 3,036,000,000 letters to this great mass of correspondence; America, about 700,000,“; Asia, 150,000,000; Africa, 25,000,011); and Australia. 50,0“),(XX). Aa- » mining that the population of the globe was between l,300.000,000 and 1.400.000.000, this would givean avenge of 3 letters per had for the entire human race. There were in the same year 38,000 telegraph stations, and the number of manages may be set down for the ym at betwem 110,000,000 and Minnow, being an average of more than moo) manages perday, l‘.’.67l per hour, and nearly 212 per minute. Armaments. The Battle of Drinkers Sprnlt â€" Her ~ Wound. L0H.- Trlttflph. The ship Duart Castle has just brought borne to Portsmouth 3 very rc- Iuarksble woman, who is 'a fit and proper modulate for the newly appointed onlcr of St. Catherine, so highly esteemed by musing sisters who hear an En lisli name. From the same vessel 'was tcly discuilxirkcd Major McGrewor, of the royal enginccis, who advanced up t c Majuba hill that fatal day with 1‘20 men, but only brought back thrcc to tell the stor ' of the disastrous engage- ment ;but of al those on board thew was no more notable poison than .\l!$. Smith, the widow of the band-master of the llfth regi- ment of foot, who had so acted nsrichl ' to deserve the title of heroine. even in days when chivalry is, comparatively speakin , a dead letter. Details have yct to be sup icd in order to account for the presence of . In. Smith at the battle of Briinkcr‘s Spriiit. .vsoldier's wife is ’soliIOm at the front. ller beamindccd is there, but her loving eyes are spamd the horrors of the actual conflict. She is at home tortured with an intolerable longin r, or creeping as far as she dare to thc. din an turmoil of battle; but as a rule she has to wait till the rest of us bcartlic upshot by word of mouth tenderly conveyed, or by the curt unmtainty contained in a telegraph dispatch. "I'licwifeoftlic luindniastcrin one of our regimgntsappcars to have been an ex- ccption to this inevitable rule, for she was not only here when the fighting took place, but was accompanied by her little daughter, 2 years old. At the battle of llrunkcr‘s Spruit the husband of this iuarvclloiisly brave woman was shot dead at her side. Such a shock would be enough to piiinlyzc ii woman of ordinary nerve and render her for a moment helpless. To leave so attached a friend, and, as the ancients used to say, “so dear a head," amid the agonizin ' hor- rors of the blood-stained battle-field, is not what many women could or would have done, no matter how strong their inclination of duty. But brave Mrs. Smith, the band- .iiiastei"s‘ivifc,-(lid far more than this to en- title her to the just name of heroine. Her husband was shot dead ; she was found her- self wounded in the head, and so was her little daughter. No matter how serious her own wound was, it is quite certain that her child’s injury was not very serious, or she would not g;lllL\'¢ left it even for an iii- stunt. There were, however, cries so poig- nant, so searching, so full of exquisite an- guish, that this good woman was irresistibly roused to the grand duty of humanity. Thinking little of her own \vouud, leaving the dead body of her husband, and comfort- ing her injured child, this soldier’s wife he- came for the moment a saint. In what she did she was dead to the world and all its sclfisliiioss,. and she became transcendent, if the storyytold be true. “01' child had been wounded ; but there were others who would have died had it not been for the heroic dc- votion of this noble crcaturc. ‘llcr call was not to the dead but the (lying. A nurse was wanted and she could not turn a deaf ear to so many sad appeals. While the light lasted the wife of the dead baiidnuustcr busicd herself with her husband‘s dying com- rades. She brought them water when they were parched with thirst; she stanchcd their gaping wounds; while men were crying for help around her, she tore up her own cloth- ing and bound it round the bleeding limbs ; she, neglectful of her own sorrow, appeared where she was.inost needed, comforting others, while her, heart was dead within her breast ; and it was not until the din of but- tle, like some terrible thundercloud, had rolled away that the reaction came, and with it all the horror of her forlorn condi- tion. . __â€"â€"-_<.. l.,-â€"<-oâ€"â€"â€".*â€"~._~ Consolation. “It is very hard to lose a husband,” sob- bcd the Wilow \Viltwingle, as she gazed and wondered whether she could borrow a long mourning veil. “Yes,” sniffed the undertaker. “But all flesh isgrass.'l‘imotliy v. 2'2, and itonly remains for us to plant him in as fashionable a shape aswe can. Iladn’t we better plough him under tomorrow ‘3" “ Isn’t that too quick 1'" sighed tho widow, who knew she couldn't get ln-r washing from the laundry until the day after. ’ “I don't believe he'll keep,” said the undertaker, eyeing the deceased critical- ly. “This here is rctty hard weather on meat, and he's [in 10 to sp’ilc unless you shovel him in pretty sudden. lIc smells )llll now.” "So he does," replied the widow, sniffing at him cautiously. “And yet I hate to put him in the ground."- “You can store him in the receiving vault for a while, if you like, but if on try to keep him around the house long fic’s likely to bust open, and you’d better not have that if you can avoid it." “Is it cold in the vault?"askcdtlic widow, with streaming eyes. “It ain't sorcmarkabl tropical," respond- ed the undertaker. “ loui'ners generally put stills in there now, and you can pop him into the grave whenever it's handy. llv the time you get around to it he’ll be so far gone you won't mind it. If I was you I'd stick him in the vault for a few weeks." \l'cll, Isuppose it is best, and perhaps we’d better do it tomorrow." “All right," said the undertaker, “I'll can him up during the day and in the morn- ing I'll team him over to the church. llon't cry. Just heel yourself urctty well up with Scripture and you'll pull through. Would you like a rosewood or a velvet duster for him?" - “Rosewood, by all mums. him tenderly." “Oh! we ma ' have to bump him around a little, but we'l make it as easy as wccan for him. How many teams will you want to haul the Iricf?" “I thin ' ten will be enough," replied thi- widow. “Oh, what shall I do when he‘s gout-'3‘y “Don’t think of that now," rympaihimd the undertaker, an be made a few incmor. anda in his notcdlook. “llc's keeping up his end with the angels, and you know the lliblc says the Lord in a shepherd who leads. us around by green paid/mi. lract: up, and think of him as bcin ' when: the wicked cease from troubling am the weary gi-t the Home handh- bcst. “'ho have you got to do the pious business?" ” Our minister is preferring himself now." "That's all right. I'll be around again during the day to try the box on, andl guess I'll freeze him a trifle, or you can‘t ctand him by morning. This boat is terrible on defuncta. but we'll slide him away as well as we camaod you'll just hunt with pride to see how i {a done." And e simple-minded, good‘hwu‘d undertaker left the widow in her grief, while he went to order his men to “ids up the alum thing by old Wilt- wing e, who had sprung a halt in his mortal coil." o Tnz preacher tool: for his text: “lle givcth llis beloved sheep." And then be said, as he glaan around, that the way his congre- gation had worked itself into the affection» of the Lord was amazing. *3 to its transiench to a. box. new to We Your Snake. , To retasnakeoatof abottleisatedious i job : i whatever position it is turned, the :head will ledirwted upward. so theonly buy to induce it to come out is to place the fbottle upright or nearly so; even than the hand is withdrawn on the slightest alarm, {and the pcsition is bv no means favorable , If the door or Eopening of the latter will admit of it, the ‘_ 2 best plan is to put the bottle uncorked into gtho box. and let the snake crawl out at it: {leisure : first “choking oh" the bottle With ‘3 a wedge of paper or wood, lost it should roll govcr on the h‘ptllt‘. and fastening a string to it. in order that it may be removed without ,dilliculfy :it the earliest opportunity. If ithis is not piucticablc, tie a stout bag on-r ,tlic mouth and stand the bottle upright; , \i hen the snakc is out cut off his rctn-at by ‘ means of another ligature, and than you have him. t is worse than useless to try to shake him out or nu‘clcrate his exit in any way, if the neck be narrow. One of the first poisonous snakes 1 ever possessed was brought to inc. in a luandv bottle, and, after twisting and shaking, and tapping it for an hour without avail. I grow inquiticnt. The tail just then happened to pmtrude about half an inch, so I seized it \iith my tinge”, and. rapidly drawing the body through the other hand, had the mptilo safely in my grip behind his death-dealing jaws now distemb cd with anger. llut the slide of my snakc. box was shut (\Vt‘l‘, and I could not draw it back with onc hand : sol was obligml to let him slip luck into the bottle again. Having set the box all in onlcr for the new conicr’s reception, I once more assaycd to lay hold of him by the tail : but now, most pmvok- iiigly, no amount- uf iiianicuvi‘iiig would bring that useful member to the top. Anotherhalfdiour‘s unsuccessful angling con vcrtcd my iniluiticnvc into des “tuition, and at length when I saw the mi about two inches from the mouth of the bottle, I stuck my finger in recklessly to try to scenic. it. That was hopeless, as I might have known: but it certainly did cool my spins a little when I discovered, on attempting to with- draw it, that my linger “as jumnicd ! I pulled. \vrcnclicd, twisted it with all my might, for the brute was inising its hem . and its flickering tongue was rapidly ap- proaching the unhappy digit that involun‘ tnrily corked up its prison. I gave a liinil mg, the violence of which nearly disolnted all my pluilangcs: but it was no use, and with a ycll I raised the botth- hi 'II in the air. intending to smash it on the edge of my bun‘k. I distinctly felt the snake, moment- arily inverted, fall on the end of my finger ; but us I flung my hand up the bottle slippcd oil‘, and fell on the dock beside me, fortun» atcly' without breaking. lly the time I picked it up the snake \vns half way out, hissing furiously with rage and fright, and I had but just time to thrust it into the bov. lf 1 had not been flurricd, I should probably have been able to extricate my finger \viti very little difficulty. It is of the utmost ini- portancc never to lose presence of mind in dealing with these thin vs. One extreme is as bad as the other. hlcn who become habituated to reptiles often find themselves running iiiinccchni‘y risks. not in foolhnrdi- iicss, but from slicer tlioiiglitlcssimss, [min the simple absence of loathing or concions- ncss of danger. You nccd not fear a venomous snake, but always respect him. A Fatal Electric Shock. A strange and terrible accident occurred recently at the generating rooms of tlic llriish Electric Li 'lit Company on (ludson strcct, lliifl‘ulo. A unit ‘J o‘clock two young men naiucd George Leonard Smith and lonry Kimball, in company with another young man and two girls, stepped into the station and stood looking zit the macliincr ' in mo- tion. Smith was very inquisitc ain wanted to experiment. 'l‘licinaniigcr, Mr. G. Clmll‘c allowed him to try a harmless experiment, which consisted of taking hold of one of the brushes attached to the commutation, in which the electricity is held until cmi‘icd away ; and then, taking hold of the hands of his companionsagentle current of clcctriw ity was passed through their bodies, Smith wanted to take liuld of two of the brushes, but Mr. Cluifl'c grabbed his arm and held him back, telling him it was sure death to touch them. The party shortly afterward loft, Mr. Clinfl'c telling them to get out. About a quarter past ten o’clock Smith suddenly came into the building, seemingly under the influence of liquor. llc leaned over a railing which keeps outsiders nt a distance from the machinery, and, before a warning could lif' said, he had grabbed the first and tlii Mr. (illlllll: saw what be war 1 :ii‘. to doand made a jump for him. His hand :1.‘I'li fast to the brushes, and, giving the enginwi' word to stop the engine, he took hold oi Smith and endeavor- cd to pull him from his hold. This he was nimble to do, but as soon as the engine stop- pcd Smith i'niscd himself to his feet, and, throwing up his arms, gave a loud gasp and expired instantly. The thing was done so quic who witnessed it could scnrccl cycs. Smith's fucc lind a pao bluish tint and was drawn out of shape. His hands were luidlybnrnt, undon severalof tliefingI-i's the flesh was burnt to the bone. Of the nn~ fortunate man but little could bolciiriu-d, save that lie was formerly 'u scooper at tin- \\'hcclcr elevator, but for the past week had been handling lumber in \‘lll'lUllH yards on the island. lie was about twenty-eight years of age, and iii the neighborhood of ll\’l‘ fectcightiiiclics in height. It was stated that he has a wife and child liviii v in tin: city, but where the writer was unalile to av.- ccrtiiin. Illr. Clinffc says the generator is one of tremendous power, and would kill fifty thousand lllL'll as easily as (inc. :2 lily that those y believe their .â€".-~ aw‘ o~~\<->v - .v George Eliot's Sayings. See the difference between the im ll'ttiilllllll a man makes on you when you wall; by his side in familiar talk, or look at him in his home, nnd the figure he makes when Hf'l'll from a lofty historical level, or even in thc eyes of a critical neighbour, who thinks of him as an embodied system or opinion rather than :is a man. The lit-ginning of hurdnliip is like the first ean: of bitter food ; it seems for a moment unbearable; yet if there in nothing elm: to satisfy our hunger, we Loki-another bite, and and it possible to go on. The finest language, I ln-licvc, is chiefly limdc up of unimposing words, such as "light,’ “sound,” “ stars,“ “ mimic," v words really not worth looking at, or hoar- ing, in themselves, any more than "chips," or “sawdust :" it is only that they happen to be the signs of something uni-.iwnknhly great and Mantiful. \VliI-ii death, the great l't'I‘lillCllf‘l‘, lulu roine, it is never our tenderness that “‘1' H" print of, but our m-vcrity. There is no dim iair Hi absolute an that \ihit-li (:Ulllffrt with t w first inonuznbi of our flint great «oi-row : “lll'll Mr hiin not yu-t known what it in to hair nnll'uird and be licalml, to ban.- ill’blmllml and to haven'- cow-rml liopv. 'l'ln: mother's yearning, that ct-nnp‘h'u'nt type of Our life in nnotlu-r lilv, which in tlw (:hhl‘lllfr of will human lovc. IH'ln the for» l'lil'l: of this rhvi'ishcd I'lxllll, even in the raw, degraded man. «OI‘O’OCP' ' 'I'ui. l'linpcror William is reports-ll to be suffering from a severe attack of indigo... tion. ll has lwcn suggests-«l that a suitable ops-n- ing for may choir» may be, “Oh. llml, have mercy on us miserable uingcn.” Tin: correspondent of the lnndon .K'lumlurrl say» that it M no urcrct at St. l'rtrrnbnrg that the nobility were far more [attached to the lnu- Emperor than they won: tn Alex. andL-r Ill. 'I'm: new Duel-cu of Argyle daughtrr of the tenth baron Ward and the niece of tlu- first l'kirl of lnidh'y. She is tliccl-hmt of llisbop Claugliton’u daugh- turn. If is a curious fact that though the late Marl; Hopkins die-d worth some minnow, he nuwr lu-pt books or had any bank ac- count. llc spent 3i,750,0fl)iu themmtruc' tion of a house, but the estate has not a sinv glc rurcipt for expenditures. is a grando