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xvi... .,.. <7»! 5...... r and mustang in one team. [sun cm 0? THOUGHT. (iris-f halan Marts, even while it ages heui- . The first great work is that yonneli to y mm: 2 be true. What is resignation? Placing God bl two if c-unelvu and our trouble. S-anl we not think that cvrrything m- do, is June religiously if it be done well i The only sound and healthy descriptiim of assistingls that which teacbesiadependcnce ind reiteration. Poetry is the only verityâ€"the expression ofssonul mind speaking after the idml, and not after the apparent. Hal-lbs are the daughters of action, but they none their mothers, and give birth to daughlcu after her image, more lovely and l prosperous. Whm a high-minded man takes pains to «(â€"-’ mud. Muller. A NEW AND nil-nova!) zorriox. Maud Muller worked at rakingabay. y. ct mo for his injustice, his kindness of heart And defied he, “my cents a snow: in the best and purest light. Ail 13w iesulis of religion imply a life set right win its surroundings, at: right with God. if there is to be the river, here must be the fountain. There are struggles of the secret soul, knosn only to God, that mark the face with wrinkles and whiten the hair in the midst of manhuod'l strength. ‘ I! the lard does not give you what is sweet, he Will give you what is moot ; he is consultm,’ your Welfare, when he appears to forget your comfort. ' The action of a man is a representative type of his thought and will, and a work of charity is a representative type of the charity within, in the soul and mind. ‘ Thou. too, must learn, like others, that the sublime mystery of Providence goes on in silence, and gives no explanation of itself, no answer to our impatient qucstiouinus ! The happiness of man arises more from his inward than his outward condition ; and the amount of cod in the world cannot be much increased at by increasing the amount of goodness. A man's moral principles, likes the dykes of Holland or the levee of the Mississippi, need to be continually watched and strengthened. Ho is ruined _if they are undermined or overthrown. The life ofadepcudent being mustever be a life of faith, and the essential property of faith in obedience. This runs through all the relations of this life and those which take hold on the eternal futurc.'- Heaven will ripen the experience of earth. \tht Icemcd small will be enlarged ; what was bitter will be made pure and sweet; what was hidden will be made plain; what was conflict will become a. victory. If'n man have not found his homo in God, lils iiinniiurii, his forms of speech. the turn of his sentences, the build (shall 1 say i) of all his opiniouswill involuntarily confess it, let him bravo it out how be will. The Rich and the Poor. Tho troubles of the poor are many, but these of the rich are not few. Iudccd, upon the whole we rather think the latter are the worse off by a great way. The worry about servants alone, is, in far inoro cases than may be suspected, simply terri- ble. Many a lady, able to keep two and tlirco servants, is simply at her wit’s end with that old and over pressing question of survaiitgalism. It is like driving heart-horse To keep every- thing in order, to prevent waste, to please the stomach aml taste of the lord and master, and above allund before everything, to maintain a. lady-lib * quictudc and absolute peacolulncss of appearance with all the so- cial ctcotorns of calling and beiniir called up- on, is a strain upon ono’s nervous system which drives many a woman into permanent hopelessness, and many more into ruinous drink. There are only too many wives who apparently have everything that their hearts could wish, to whom life is n burden from the bother of the scrvnntn and tho exactness and want of sympathy on the part of the husbands. They are treated as if they were simply housekeepers and bend servants. “'e have heard of wretched follows,â€"-]iurrcuu.~i and humbugs, of courseâ€"who, if they sus- cctrd that their wives had been in the . itchcii or could notice the ghost of a flush upon their cheeks, would say in lordly in- dignation, “ You have been in the kitchen," and turn on their Leol nuddeavo the house as if wife and dinner were unworthy of their lligh Mightinosscs on the least appear‘ once of the “repose of Lady Clara Vere do Voro " having taken its departure. The idiots that they are l \Vhat is the conse- quencc? \Vunry, disheartened women who are called wives and who, in the midst 6f grandeur, sigh for one word of honest sym- pathy and one look of honest admiration and love. The one all prevailing feeling of them innsculino autocrats up arcntly isâ€" "Wu have boon at business alrdny. What is the use of it who but to attend upon us? to hoop the c -ildrvii out of the way 3 and to linvo evcr 'thing in such ripple pic order that even a ' diidu ' could u it find fault, nor an epicure imagine anything better." \Vell, 0 course thuy ought to have things nice, and so they would if they dealt more in kisses and loss in scmvls. More in kind \vurds andloss in selfish faulblinding. Sumo may but h at the idea of a lady remarking. as one i id the other day, that she wished she could meet with an empty cnflin sonic- wlicru into which she niightquictlycrccp,but it was no laughing matter to her. lll-assortcd nuniagci of convenience or short lived pas- sion, combined with the selfish exactions of the strong upon the weak, are every day in this manner bearing fruit which is bittcras gull and gritty as gravel. a“... 1-)- s¢â€"â€"â€"__._. School Examinations. And now the souls of our :- children in Public and the High schools, Collegiaie Institutes and Private Summaries are being sadly exorcist ovcr thoannual examinations, which are this month being held or about to beheld. 'l‘uuwork of the Universities in over for the season, and that of the lower grade is being brought in this way to a close. We suppose it is all rig t, and the system of examination is about the only one whereby the education of the pupils can be tested. but the system has great disad~ vantages, nevertheless. The teaching in too man of the schools is directed almost crclusiv: v to that winch will enable the pupi's to pan tho examination, whilst the uork that is better iith to train the pupil for daily life is neglected. in this way our young people sic losing the possibility of that thorough intellectual training which. after all, is so necessary to make capable men and women. Many of them, too, will never reach anything beyond the acquire- rncnt oi the three it's, and it is above all no- cesssr that they should have than perfect- ly. a standard, too, should be made morethsn it is, on the basis of the work they will have. as ciiiuns. to perform, and theirtrniaing should be more tnuongh and practical. it is not quantity, but quilt that hills. The development of intelleetii and s ritual faculties is the real end and ' education. Thetrisloftbod osmiumnspintonbas ‘Mohsrgemdcistbst will lie is lirr clothes were course. but her health was flue l Ami she worked away in the sweet sunshine. Singing as glad an a bird in May. “ Barbara Allen” the iivedong day. She often glanced at the farâ€"off town. And wondered if eggs were up or down. And the sweet song dird of a strange disease. Leavinga phantom taste of cheese. And an appetite and a nameless ache l-or soda water and a ginger-cake. The J udire rode slow] into view, Stopped his horse in f in shade and drew ills fine-cut, while tho'blusblng Maud Marvelled much at the kind be "chawcd." lie was “ dry as a fish " he said with a wink. And klnd-athonght that a good square drink \t’ould brace him up ; so the cup was filled With the crystal wine that the old spring spilled. And she gave to him wfihasun-browned hand ; " 'lhuuks,” said the Judge, in accents bland, “ A thousand thanks, for a sweeter draught From a fairer hand "â€"but then he laughed. And the sweet girl stood in the sun that day, And raked the J udgc instead of the bay. 9. 1‘0'DOO»â€"_ BENJAMIN BLUNT, MARINER. LY THREE CHAPTERS. CIIA l’TER I. ‘ She still sleeps. she breathesâ€"like any little child. If it had not been for dear old dad, she would be sleoping fathoms deep among the sand and shells at the bottom of the sea. Once she smiled and murmured someone's nameâ€"her husband’s. She must love him very much, or she would not smile and talk about him in her sleep. I wonder whether I love Phil cnongh to talk about him in my sleep? 1 know I often dream about him.’ ' Speaking thus to herself, Ruth Mayfield softly closed the door of an inner room, and went on with her preparations for breakfast with as little noise as possible. She was a plousaut~fuced,_ sun~imbrow‘ned girl of nineteen, with dark sunny eyes, and a wealth of wilful chestnut hair that looked. as if it had been ruffled by manyaseaâ€"breeze, and would never come quite smooth a sin. She was the adopted daughter of old en- jamin Blunt, smack-owner, and I know not what beside, in the little fishing hamlet of Duncross-ou-Sea. A very pretty picture Ruth made this morning, moving so deftly and quietly about her household duties, with a. dark homespun gown, her white apron, her snowy collar witli'a. tiny bow of Juven- dcr ribbbn at the throat, and with a. clove- pink and a sprig of southernwood fastened in the bosom of her dress. Under ordinary circumstances, she would have been singing while going about her work, but there were reasons why she should not sing this morn- ln . fiiowcvcr humble the house of Benjamin IBlunt might be, there was about it an air of cozy comfort to which many a. more preten- tious dwelling could lay no claim. And then it was all so daintily clean, from the quaint ‘old br candle-sticks that glintcd. on tho chimcy-piocc, to tho well-scoured un- carpoted floor, on which n dirty footprint would have seemed a nrofnuation. The room in which Ruth was laying out; breakfast was kitchen and sitting room in one. At one end of it a door opened into a. good sized scullcry ; and at the opposite end. another door opened into a little parlorâ€"n. sort of sacred apartment, which was never used nbovo adozcu times a year. Old Ben was proud of his parlour, but he never cared to sit in it; and Ruth was like-minded in tho matter. Two other doors opened into bed rooms, for the cottago was only one story high. The room had two broad, low, dia- mond-pained windows, each of which had a softly cushioned seat, on which it was pleas- ant to sit, especially on warm summer after- noons. when the kettle was singing a tune on the hub, and puss was purring on tho hoarth; when through the open casomont; came the mingled scent of many flowers, and the soft humming of marauding bees, with mayhap, the faint lap of the in-flowiug tide, as it came creaming and curdling up the tawny sands. The front door of this room opened into a. small porch, which in summer time was covered with flowering creepers. From the porch you stopped into awildernosa of a gar- den, where mint and thyme and marjoram and marigoldi- and parsley were mixed with pinks and stacks and sweet-Williams and nannies, with lilies and roar-s of many kinds, in an inextricablc confusion, that would have been enough to drive an orthodox gardener mad. From the porch, a pebbled iootway led through tho garden to a‘grecn wooden gate, which gave access to the high mad; on the opposite side of which, a shelv- ing, shingly ach brought you at once to the sands, and so to the verge of a bound- lcss cx c of sea. On t iis particular morning, although the sun was shining brightly, and the season was that of early autumn, tli ocascments were close shut, and lluth’s firo would not have done discredit to December; for a sharp- toothcd wind was whistling round the cot- tage; last ni ht’s lo had not quite blown itself out, not all t e wild waste of waters, as far as the eye could scan, was still a seeth- ing mass of angry, white-tipped waves. Presently the little green gate was opened by a stalwart, bronzed, good-looking young fellow, drused in the blue jersey and high boots ofa fisherman. Ilia namo was Phil tiaylor, and be was lluth Mayfleld's sweet- heart. Ilo walked leisurely up the pebbled footwny, shilling at a flower hero and there ; but the booming of tho tide on the beach dcadcred the sound of his lactate and Butt; dlid plot bylar him. He laid his hand out n ate . an tiiena ntly ch ed his mind. Crossing to midtfctho win‘dngws â€"-ths one opposite the fireplaceâ€"he stooped and peered through the pane, shading tho light from his eyes with one hand as he did so. Ruth “"1 bending over the, table, with her back to the window, and did not perceive him. He smiled. and his eyes brightened as be looked. Presently be re two quick little ups on the windowvri his fingers. Ruth» started and turned. and shook awnming fin at him, when abs sau- whovrss the on prit. Then-crossing to tin. door she opened it very gentl . "0 Phil, how you startled me also said. "Do yourrosrs always conic out like that Ruth, when you are startled!" he asked; andwitbtbsttbcbold 351me list to binned kissed her. which made the moon Ruth‘s checks turn from puk' to “IsthsCap. at hcmsr’nked Phil on he plucked a spray of honeysuckle oltbc "No: helud hisbreskfaatmbcnnm sndvcntout.“ “Ididn‘tsoshiniulcsns slow. I've anssssagsforhiin;bntldsrcssyitwill uptillho coin- bsek.â€"Bcrisibs Mywbowssbrsughthmiutnlgbt “Shsisilbed,fastnslosp.‘ “ stalup‘sthsbutuiingfor bar. Minn lea-ssh?" Ilow softly and evenly “ Yr s, if you will be good and promise only to talk in a whisper." "I will be as good as cold; and you know I always did like to talk to you in whisp~ era." So I’hil was allowed to enter. He seated himself on a three-legged stool by the chim- ney corner, where he had spent many happy hours already. “ Ah, Phil, how frightened I was last night !" said Ruth, as she handed be sweet- heart a steaming cup of fragrant cofl'ee. “ Frightened, dearieâ€"at what?" “ Had I not enough to frighten me, when you and dear old (lad wore out together in that terrible storm, and I not knowing from one minute to anoter what might hap- n 2" “A capful of windâ€"not tomzike a fuss about." “ How can you talk in that way, Phil? I have lived here too long not to know, when wind and water fight together as they did last night, We are sure to hear of some poor creatures whose homes will never age them again. Squire Titcombe himself said we had ' not had such a storm for four winters past." “ Squire Titcombe's no better than an old woman.” “Ali, Phil, you can't deceive me in that way. I had just laid the cloth for supper, and was listening to the noise of the Wind and the sea, which seemed to grow more deafening every minute, and was wondering why dad did not come in, when I heard the boom of a gun. I knew what it meant, and for a moment my heart seemed turned to stone. I put aside the curtain and was peering out into the darkness when dad opened the door. He looked so quiet and resolute, and had such a bright bravo look in his eyes, that I knew something was about to happen. The first thing he did was to get out his waterproof coat and leggins and his old son'-wester. While he was putt- ing them on we heard the gun again. “Won't you have some supper, father, be- fore you go out 2" I asked. “Not; not now â€"uot till I come back,” he said. Then he took both my bonds in his and drew me to him and kissed me twice very tenderly. The tears came into my eyes but I hit my lip and kept them back. I should have plenty of time to cry when he had gone. “ Don’t get downhcarted, little one," be said. Then be squeezed my hands very hard, smiled, patted my cheek, and was gone. As be shut the door behind him the gun sounded again. “ It seemed terrible to bo indoors all alone. PrescntlyI drew aside the curtain and put the lamp close to the window. I knew it could be seen a. longway out at sea, and I thought; that maybe dad. might see it from the boat, and that it might licarten him on in what he had set himself to do. Then I put a shawl over my head and went down to the gate; but I had to hold on tight, or the wind would have taken me off my feet. After a time some fishermen came by with lanterns. I called to them, and they told me that a small schooner had struck on the bar, and that in another hour she would ho all in pieces. Said one : “The Janet's gone out to the wreck with bravo old Ben and Phil Gaylor and balf-a-dozen more. It's a bad night to be out in ;"but neither wind nor weather over stopped Ben Blunt when there were lives to be saved.” Then they went on and were lost in the darkhcss, and I heard the gun again. After a while, I found myself kneeling down by the lamp at the window, with my shawl over my head, to dcaden the din of the storm, praying to heaven to bring back my dour ones safe and sound. Then all at once there was a great rush of wind, and the lump Wis blown out, and there in the doorway, by the dime fire- light, I saw you and dad standing with something white in your armsâ€"and I felt nothing, only that both of you were safe l” Although Ruth had spoken in tones that were scarcely above a whisper. there was a heightened color in her cheeks as she ceased. Phil gazed at her in undisguised admiration, as indeed ho well might. 7 “ They have found out who the lady is,” he said, presently. “ They say that her name is Lady Janet Trevor.” ” Lady Janet Trevor! Why, dad’s boat is called the Janet, and dad was the man who saved her l" “ That he was. If he hadn't said that ho was going out to the schooner in his little Janet, and called out for‘ volunteers, every soul on board the ship would have been lost." “Bravo old dad i Nobody but himself knows how many lives he has saved.” “ He has one medal already from tho big Society in London. Perhaps they’ll send him another for last night’s work." "And my life, fun, was one of those that he saved l I always remember that in my prayers.” "The night he saved you, dearie, be found a daughter." “And I a :iccond fatherfi' “ If he was your real father, he could not love you bettcr than he does." " \Vho knows it, I’hil, better than I do? And my love and duty and obedience are all his, and will no as long as I live." " Not all the love, Ruthâ€"not quite all." “You and he between you have it allâ€" ovcry morscl.” Then she put into his hands a slice of bread and a toasting fork. Phil know what was expected of him. Kneeling down on one knee and shading his face from the fire with his left hand, he set to work. But one can make toast and talk at the same time. “ I'm going into Deepdalc this afternoon," he said, "to buy something toward house- keeping. Guess what?" ’ “ coking-glass, rhapil " A woman’s first t ought. Guess again." “A th.” “ No. Try again." " I ivc it up." “ \\ hat do you say to a set; of polished fire-irons and a bearthrug 3" “ I‘bil ! Only dan’t burn the toast." " Ay, and tho heartbrug is u hearthrug, and no mistake. I've had my eye on it for a long time, and now I've made up my mind 38 to buy it." " Will it cost much money 2" “ Not when you consider the pattern. Fansy l in the middlo a great big sunflower, and little sunflowers all around it, with a border of pink dablias. A sort of bearthrug that seen-n too splendid ever to at your feet on. You feel as if you wantc to sit at a distance from it, and keep on admiring it ever so long." “Why, there won‘t be its rqusl in the vl II " 1 should think not, indeedâ€"Then there‘sc ten tray as I’ve set my heart on buyingâ€"a Sunday ton-my." , -" A Sunday tea tray, Phil Y" "It‘s s splendid work of srt,'I can tell you : only fittc be brought out on Sundays and birthdaysand when there's company to tan.” " But what is there painted on it. Phil 2" "Ayoung I'nnnnnmt ayoang manâ€"as itinigbtbsyncsnde-walkisg along a zigzag path, slim; the daisicsand but- tcrcnps, to a church right upin the left hand corner of the picture. Youantciltbc church buknggyofl. WWW: no highsr' than young man young man. They're swutbesrts. that's what they arcâ€"just like you and me. .Yon can't see their-faces. beam they're going toward tbcchuch: batym can tell, from them behind thenytheywflkshugthst FENELON FALLS, ONTARIO, SATURDAY, JUNE 3O= 1883 hearts. Anybody can see that they’ve been having a bit of a tiffâ€"not like you and me Ruth. But there‘s a style half a mile further on," continurd Phil, as he rose to his feet and handed the toast to his sweetheart ; "and what’s the slyle there for, I should like to know, if notto give them a chance of kissing and making it upâ€"just like you and me 1" And suiting the action to the word, and before Ruth divined his inten- tions, she was a risoner in the strong arias of the young iis erman, and his lips were pressed tohers. , At this moment, the door was opened,and before Ruth could release herself, there stood Benjamin Blunt, his face one broad smile. Ho was certainly no son of Ansk ; indeed, as fishermen go, he might be coconut- ed a little man ; but what there was of him was nearly all muscle and siuew. Ho carried his sixty years as though he were not half that age. He had clear cut aquilinc fea- tures, and his blue-grey eyes were as keen as the eyes of a hawk. Advancing years had grizzled his hair and board, but they still curled as naturally as when he was a youth of twenty. In his younger days, no moro daring or'skilful harpooner ever sailed for the Greenland seas. Yet, through all the ups and downs of an adventurous career, he had preserved intact at certain natural fresh- ness of heart and simplicity of character which endeared him to all who came much in contact with him. “Yodio, yo-lio, my heartics l“ he cried in a cheery voice ; “is this tho way you carry on when the skippcr's back's turned? The sooner you two get made one the better. Matrimony is the only cure for love making. Before you’re wedded, you young folks think you can’t see enough of each other. By the time you've been married six months. you'll turn up your noses at one another, and think what fools you were not to keep sin- gle for another dozen years.” " You might have tried matrimony your- self, Cap.. you see to know so much about it,” said Phil, with a sly glance at Ruth. “ Hump 1 Not such a. ninuy. Look at me, a gay young bachelorâ€"my own master, and with half the girls in the village in love with me.” k u b I ‘ “The ay yeah 5 ar wi o e oping one of ghese dogmpl’bil, and be bringing home :1 ate mother younger than myself. \Von’tI lea her a life i” " We must buy him a pair of yellow gloves to go courting in.” “ And a walking stick with a silk tussle." “ And a pair of shiny' bootsâ€"a tip-top swell and no mistake." “ Hush i" said Ruth suddenly. forgetting all about the poor lady,” Ben had been looking from one to the other with an amused smile; but the smile died from off his face as ho saidé “Ah l how is she by this time I wonder ?” “ When I pooped into the bedroom a. little while ago, she was fast asleep.” “ That’s her best physio. She'll wake up as lively as a porpus." "They do say as how she’s a real lady,” remarked I’hil. “ A real lady l \Vhy any simpletou could see with half an eye that she’s a real lady." " Ali, but I mean a lady with a handle to her nameâ€"what they call a lady of title.” “Lady Janet Trevor," put in Ruth, in a. tone in which admiration and awe were finely blended. . “ \Vhat name did you say i” asked Ben withastart. “Lady Janet Trevorâ€"at least, that's what Phil called her.” “ Ladyâ€"Janetâ€"Trevor," he said, dwell- ing on each sylable, as though desirous of committing the name to memory. “ Funny, isn't it, dad, that both the lady and the boat in which she was saved from the wreck should be called ‘Janet?’ " “Oh, very funny, my dear, very,” he re- plied, not withontntouch of pathos in his voice. “I could almost laugh when I think of it." He seated himself in his armchair in the corner, and, resting his hands on his knees, sat staring into the fire. Phil turned to Ruth. “The lady's hus- band's down at the Three Crowns. He got his arm badly crushed by n spar last night. I want this morning to see how he was. I told him the lady was all right ; and the doc- tor says he may come up and see her as soon as his arm has been dressed.” “ The gentleman coming here i" exclaim- Ruth in dismay. “ Why not? Ben Blunt‘s cottage is good _cnough for any gentleman to put his head into. ’ - " You don’t understand. The parlour isn’t dusted, and there's not been a fire in it for six weeks. Dear, dear l" Ben’s lips were moving; ho was talking to himself. “ Another Janet under my roof l How the past comes back again i” A moaning look passed between the young people. Phil tu'rned to the old man. “And there’s a gentleman, Cap., as wants to see you," he saidâ€""a gentleman with an eye- glass and an uncommon rough head of hair â€"a gcntassoems all arms and legsâ€"who rushes about, asking questions of everybody and puts down the answers in a little book. He says he belongs totho Dee dale news- paper, and he wants to know a l about the wreck." "Pity he wasn't aboard the schooner; he'd have known enough about it then," replied Be i, rousing himself from his abstraction for a. moment and then relapsing into it again. “ He asked me what was the schooncr’s cargo," continued Phil, "and when I told him gold-dust and cockatoos, he put it down as serious as a judge." Ruth whis red to Phil. "Try to rouse him and et im to go out wtih you. He’s got one 0 his melancholy fits coming on." “ And there's another gent, Cap. , at the Three Crowns as wants to see you, ' said Phil in answer to tho appeal, as he laid a. hand gently on Mr. Blunts shoulder ; “ not the ady’s husband, but another. He hasn't much time to spare. because he says he must catch the eleven o'clock train from Dec dale. “'on't you come, Csp.? The n eman will be waiting for on." “ Eb, what gentleman!" as ed Ben, lift- ing his head With a vague far-off look in his eym. "Ah, now I recollect. Let us go down and ace the gentleman. Perhaps he won't mind giving half a sovereign for poor J im's widow and little ones." “The mornin 's cold: drink this before you start," sai Ruth, profl'ericg a cup of 3°- . Ben took it without a word; but as ho sipped it, besaid: “ I think. my dear. as I'm going among the gentry, I ought to at on my stand-up collar and take my umbreIla 1Imsliould like to appear respectable, you ow.” "Just as you like, dad. But the would think no better of you than the if you were to wear twenty stand-up cohars." “ But I don't not to wear twentyâ€"I only want to wear cae,’ he replied positive- ly. "I hopsyou made it stiff, my dear, there's ' more uncomfortable than: stand-up collar f it won’t stand up." There answ- hainomusT mtwinklsin hish eyes as be as. o appearance, is seri- onstgoodhsdvanisbedss quieklyuithsd coins. Presentlybspva down his cc and moor. “It won't take me more a minute to mints myself," he said ; and with that hsmtoffiatohiabedmoui. And indeed toourpsir of lovers it seemed no more than a minute before he was back spin.th in reality it was nearer “We are 0 tbeycsu‘tpo-iblybeanythlag but swam-Jul. It was while they were sitting alone to- i you what became of the captain and tho: gather, that Phil suddenly bethouebt him- i poor sailofs whom we left on board 3" ; self of sometbin be had hitherto forgotten. “My stars and ittle fishes l” he exclaimed, ‘what a memo ' I must have l’ Speaking thus, he dip his hand into a side pocket and produced therefrom a locket with a broken chain attached to it. “ I found this pretty thing in the bottom of the bout, this morning," he said. "It can't belong to anybody but Lady Janet. You had better give it to her, Ruth, when she wakes up.“ Ruth took the proffered trinket, and turn- ed it over and over admiringly. “Ain’t it pretty, Phil? ' she said. “And see, it opens l and here's the likeness of a lady. “'hnt a_ beautiful face ! But how old-fashioned she's dressed l It must have been taken years and years ago. I’ll give it to the lady when she gets up." - She was in the act of putting away the chain and locket on the chimney-piece, when Mr. Blunt rc-entered the room. In place of his free and easy turii~down sailor collar, he had donned a stand-up affair, very high and stiff, lo his very evident discomfort. In one hand be c uni-2d a small oldofnsbioned pearl bicoch, n .rilk pocket handkerchief of a striking pain-in. and a pair of black kid gloves; and in the other hand a gingham umbrella of a decidcly Snircy-‘Csmpfsh up- pcai‘auce. “ Now I’ve got my collar on, I can’t help - thin .iiig it.iiiust be. Sunday,” he said. “I‘ve actually catclicd myself n-listeniiig once or twice for the bells; and I was going to put my prayer-book in my pocket quite natural when I betliought myself that it wasn't Sun- day at ridâ€"Just slick this in somewhere where it will be seen," be added, as be hand- ed thc brooch to lluth. “Old Mrs. Rudd left it me when she died. It's got a lock of Rudd’s hair in it.” Then, while Ruth was pinning the brooch in the bosom of his shirt. he turned to Phil. “ lie was quite bald was Rudd, for many years nforc he died. He used to wash his head every morning with the best old Jamaica rum, to try and bring his hair back; but it \vould’ut come. At lastlio took to drinking the rum instead; but he kept bnld till the day he diel. Poor old Rudd l His last words were : ‘ Just rub your hand stop 0’ my head, Ben ; I feel as if the hair was a-ooming fast.’â€" That'll do, luvly, my dcar,"~â€"this last remark to Ruth. “And now, just put this handker- chief in my pocket so as to leave a bit hang- ing out behind. Now for my glovcs'.â€"â€"I never wear ’em, you know, Phil. Icouldn’t get ’em on, was it to savu my life, but I carry ’cm in my hand, and people think I’ve just taken ’cm oilâ€"Now for my umbrella. It isn’t often that I go into company; but when I do, I like to go respectableâ€"Good- bye, poppct ;" with that he kissed Ruth and patted her lovingly on the cheek. “ We won’t be long More we’re backâ€"N ow, Phil.” Phil was quite ready. “Morning, Ruth. See you again afore long,” be said. “ Yes, yes ; we must try to get; half a. sovereign for poor J im’s widow and the young nus,” said the older man to the younger as they crossed the threshold. - Ruth crossed to the window, and watched them go down the garden pathway and turn to the right, on their way to the village. I’hil gave licra farewell smile and wave of the hand. _ . “There’s not a man, woman, or child in Duncross that isn’t proud of Ben Blunt to- day," she said to herself as she went back to her duties. “Listen ! There’s the fisher lads clieei'ing him as he goes down the street. They’ll all grow up braver and bet- ter for having a man like dad living among them.” CHAPTER II. Mr. Benjamin Blunt, accompanied by Phil Gaylor, had not left; the house more than three or four minutes when the bedroom door opened, and Lady Janet Trevor issued forth. She was a woman of four or five and twenty summers, tall and fair, with a sort of sweet statclincss about her which was port of nature's (lower, and would have been equally hers had she been the daughter of a peasant. Her long fair hair was unbound, and fell below her waist, confined only by a. single ribbon. Her face was paler than usual this morning ; and her eyes, of a blue as tenderas the blue of April skies, and fringed with long dark lashes, were anxious and troubled. She was simply dressed in a robe of thick blue sergeâ€"Ruth had washed some of the sea water our of it, and bad dried it before the fire in the middle of the night; but Lad Janet did not know that â€"â€"und had a so 1:, white, flcccy shawl .of Ruth’s knitting thrown loosely round her shoulders. As she came slowly forward, Ruth thought that in all her life she had never seen so lovely a vision. “Ilow plain and mean I must look by the side of her i" said the girl to herself with a little feminine pang. But she didn't. In her own way and in her own place, Ruth was as natural and charming as Lady Janet was in hers; but then Ruth did not know it. “My husbandâ€"Sir Harry Trevorâ€"is he â€"â€"is he?â€"â€" You told me last of ht that ho was solo, or did I only dream it 2' Ono hand was pressed to her heart, the other grasped the back of a chair. Her blue eyes worc fixed on Ituth with ii pathetic wistfulacss that touched the other to the quick. “ lie is quite safe, my lady." “Thank heaven for that i I ask nothing more than that." Her voice was low, 80ft, will musical, with the clear' intonation of a be . “ He was taken from the boat to the hotel,” said Ruth. " My Phil saw him there half an hour ago." "I must go to him at once! much to see him.” “ He told my Phil that he would be up here in an hour’s time. Had not your Lady- ship better wait till ho comes 2” Ruth wisely refrained from saying anything about the crushed arm or the doctor’s ordcrs. “ Perhaps you are ri ht,” replied Lady Janet. "But you don’t now how impatient I am in see him." Ruth placed a chair for her, and she sat down. " Your Ladyshlp will have some breakfast ?" “ Just a cup of tea, lease; nothing momâ€"That terrible scene t night l',’ she said with a shudder. " If I live to be a hundred, I shall never forest it." There was silence for a minute of two. Lady Janet sat gazing into the firs, living over again in memory the events of the pre- vious night. Then suddenly turning to Ruth she said: " It wasniy fault that we so near- ly lost our lives last night. We had been travelling in Norway, my husband and I. “'hcn we get back toChristisnls, we intend- ed coming home by the ordinary steamer, but a friend of Sir Harry, a merchant out there. offered us apassage in his schooner, The Firefly, saying that she had plenty of abin accommodation, that there would only be on passenger beside ourselves, and that svoyageby her wouldbescbsngsiromtbc monotony ois steamer. M husband was doubtful about accepting a ofi’er'; and it manly in consequence of my persuasion thstbesgrcsd to it. Ilwehatlonlygone bytbestumsr,asbewishedi Butouscan never foresee what will happen." At this juncture Ruth botbought herself oithelockstandebain, and was «min I long so Mind the chimney' spleen to an than when Lady anet’snext wordsancsudbcr: “ It is very tic-sol roof-he mid," "batforthemoinentlresllyforgot to ask i" ll ' '1 3 artist’s. Barbara; spa / ,‘,i l l I i l “They were rescued by the lifeboat from i Redclill‘e, four miles away. As soon as my ' father found the schooner was in dangrr, he sent a messcn er on horseback to the life- boat station ; at he was so afraid the schooner would break up before help could reach her, that be made up his mind to try what he could do with his own little boat." “ God bless him for it l" ejaculated Lady J nuet fervently. [To in: com-mun] â€"__..â€"â€"â€".aâ€"‘..â€" GALLIC WORD-PLAY. In a salon a savant affirms that tho last word has not yet been said and that some day the means of conibattiiig death would be found. “ Don’t be in a hurry," says a young rake, “ I’ve still got an uncle to inherit from i" Baby has been forgotten at table. He rc- llects a moment, and then, turning to his neighbor, says :â€" “ \Yould you kindly give me a little salt?" “Some salt !" says the mother. “ What are you going to do with it, my child 3" Baby casts his eye down and replies timidly: “I’m going to put it on the meat â€"wheu you give me some i" Between friends : Two elegant ladies who have airivcd at the age when coquotry requires the iii-st care, but one of them has painted llfll' face a little too much. The first : “\Vhat age have you my diur‘f" The second: “ What does tliit matter? “'0 are never older than we appear to be.” The first, after a sccond’s examination: “ Ah, I thought you were younger.” An individual six feel; high and stout out of proportion presents himself at a doctor's office. "Well, sir," says the prince of sciences, “ what can I do'for you '2” “Doctor,” replies the giant, in a voice that makes the windows rattle, " I’ve lost my appetite l" ” God pity the unfortunate who has found it, then 1" answers the doctor, solemnly, “for unless he's n millionaire he’ll be a ruined man before the month’s out l” The young Anatole is cndonvoring to nch- tiato a loan with his uncle. “Hang it, sir," says the elder mornlist, with severity, " I do not understand why you can't manage to get along without com- ing to borrow of me i ’ “But, uncleâ€"" “ Don’t ‘but unclo’ me, sir 1 Why, when I was a. law student at Paris, just as you are, I had 125 francsn month, and with that I managed to get alongâ€"I not only managed to get along, but to accumulate some debts, too 1" â€"'â€"â€"-‘bâ€"so Verbal Errors to bo Guarded Against. Accord for give ; as “ the information was accorded him.” I Alludc to for refer to or mention. As for that; “ not as I know” for “ not that I know.” Avocation for vocation ; a. man’s vocation is his business: avocatians are things that occupy him incidentally. Balance, for rest or remainder. Charactcrjor reputation ; one may have a good reputation, but a. bad character, and the two words should never be confounded. Dangerous, for in danger; a sick man is sometimes most absurdly said to bo danger- ous, when it is only meant that the poor fel- 1<1>lw is himself in dangerâ€"a very different t in . ngcan, for debasc. disgrace or humble. To demean one’s self is merely to behave onc's self, whether well or ill. Dirt, for earth or loam. Donate, for give. Execute, for hang, as applied to the crim- inal. It is the sentence, not. the man, that is executed. Healthy, for wholesome ; an onion plant may be healthy ; but when you pick an onion there is no more licalthincsu or un- healthiucss to that although it; may or may not be wholesome as an article of food. Illy, for ill. Iiinuguratc, for begin. Kids, for kid gloves. Learn, for teach. Liable, for likely or apt. Loan, for land. Pants, for pniitaloons, or (better ntill) trousers. I’m-take, for cat. Real, for very ; as “real nicc,’ pretty.” Reside, for live; rcsidciico, for house. Retire, for go to bed. Seldom or ever, for seldom, if ever, or seldom or never. Some, for somewhat ; "she is some better w.da),.” Stop for stay ; "where are you stopping?” This is one of the vilcst of witticisms. Summons (the noun), for summons (the verb). Those kind of apples, for that kind. ’l‘ranspiro, for occur. Vulgar, for immodest or indecent. Without for unless. Mâ€"Ofiâ€"fl Queer Family Complications. In the suburbs of Paris there lived a abort time ago a wealthy widower, who was bch- ed with any only son. This young gentle- man took a somewhat lax view of morality in general, and was living with a lady whose finger was adorned with no wedding-ring, but who was nevertheless the mother of his two children. The father was a kind-heart- cd and unworldly old man, and Constantly impressed upon his son the advisability of marrying tholndy, and thus (according to French law) legitimazing his children. The son, however, did not take to the idea, and at last the anxious parent, deeming that be was at the point of death, summoned him to his bedside and declared that unless he at once married his miser he would do some thing that his son would afterward regret. The son remained obduratc, and the next day his father sent for the cure and himself went through the form of marriage with the lady in guestion. Having thus Llano what he consi ered to be his dot , he died and was buried. Ilis sop then ound that his own children had been converted into his stepbrothers, and inherited with him and their mother equal shares of tho paternal estate. If he is a wise man, therefore, be will at once marry his father's widow. But he can hardly in his step-brothers. Bo atleut half of t property which would Otherwise have been is has been sacrificed to his Okinawaâ€"London Life. Mu4-’ 0s Mistress , “ Were you bap‘tiwd, Kcziab, when you were turned 1'" aid : “ Law, ma'un, we don't baptize in our church ; we immerge." Oscar “'ildcis in favor of giving ono's wife a name asthetically snggutivc of her husband's basins... A good plan. A chemist's wife would be then Ann Eliza; a furniture dealer‘s Sophia; a firmcr's, Tilly; a fisherman’s, Nettie; a tonsorial ' Kl “broker’s trolls; nburglar's, 'bty: an attorney’s w-ra: a harkseper’s, (llama; and an editor‘s 't-s. V " i‘cnl mt. LIA?“ Ol' EUIOB. Dcvout people visit the big bridgeâ€"to get a cross. _ The beam is directly opposite the scale. ‘iec'iiise it isjust over the weigh. Undertakcrs are just now scnding a hay around to are who am going to in: up ham- mocks. The doctors pay haf the boy‘s wages, of course. . A western pivacher, whose eon legatiou had begun to iall of? somewhat, bar it infi- inatcd that he would discuss a family scandal the following Sunday morning. Ab ‘”““" “"““ “""‘“""”‘"’“‘“ a consequence, the church was cmwdcd. N019 I i l The minister’s subject was Adam and Eve. Sir John Lubbock has beaten the story cf the 'l‘ichbornc claimant's version of the mot~ to “ Inns sr-mpcr Dco " (which be rendered " Isms and the gods forcvcr,") by telling of an aspirant to neadunic honors, who defined a throdolitc as “ one who hates the gods." “ Don't you think l‘arson Bron'nis a man of considerable ardor‘!" inquired a friend of Mr. Jollic. “Kc,” was the rcpl ' : “on the contrast-3'3 inferred from the ex ibi'; made at dinner the last time he invited me to dine with him that he was a man of very little larder.” “ How would you test a man to discover whether he is a real Christian or not?" ” Well, if he fvll the truth about the weight and size of the fish he catches when he goes fishing, you may feel- confident of tho genuinencss of his Christianity. This is probably the best test that could be applied. for there is no occasion upon which a man has more difficulty in resisting the devil than when he is oxpafiatiug upon hisangling prowess." Mr. li‘ifhian made the following neat ad~ dress : " It; becomes my melancholy duty, on behalf of the members of the Will Coun- try bar, to make the olliciul announcement to this court of the death of one of its oili- ccrs, cut down just as be was emerging from the cloudy atmosphere which envelopes and often bcwildcrs and discourages the sfrug~ gling tyros in their endeavor to gain a firm foothold upon the clear table land and in the genial sunshine whore walk those who have attained a standing in our honored pin fusion that cmnnmnds respect and secures iiulcpnnlcnce.” ._..â€"___¢u<.o«>u!!~â€"â€"-â€"-â€" MUSIC AND THE DRAMA. Sir Jules llencdict thinks that l‘utti has a rival in Albzuii. l’ntti Liiowsfiffy operas. Madame )iodjaskr. and her husband, the Count llczcnin, will pass the coming season at the National Yellowstone Park. Edwin Booth says he never saw a bet- ter actor than Sowncnthal, the German player, who was the first to move him to tears. ‘ ' Mrs. Lmigtry will, it is annoniwnd, return in September to play in the drama expressly written for her by Mr. B. (I. Sivphcnaon, son of Mr. C. Stephenson, a Government of- ficial. . Lilian Russell, the famous “ Qucch of tho Dudes," and the strongest card in 60min opera, has left her admirers, her managers, and her creditors in the lurch, and sailed for London, where Manager Henderson} has secured herâ€"if she doesn‘t change her mind while going over. . \Vilkic Collins, our greatest English sensational novelist, has conceived and car- ricd out the idea of writingn play. It would seem to have been an unlikely and grotesque in its plot as any of his latest sensational stories have been. The consequence is that “Rank and Riclics"â€"â€"fho nme of the new playâ€"has been laughed and hissed 011' the stage at the first presentation. Tho high- er qualities of tho drnnmtic poet ni'o awnnt- ing in \Vilkio Collins, whose strong points are rather dramatic situations and nurpi’iEcs than dramatic unity and conception. “ The Thunderbolt" has proved sonicullmt of a flash in the pan, and fallen rather flat. The Now York papnrs mostly have bud rather favorable notices ; but there linvo been some decidedly uiifnvornblo. Last week we gave a specimen of the former, this week we give ouc of the latter, from Allelic _uml Drama, as follows : “ The dialogue in dull, stupid clap-trap. The only redeeming feature of the performance was the acting of Mr. (lottliold. It is n disgrace to Union Square to allow such rubbish to appear on its boards, even in the summer season.” From which it will be seen that our ioct- laureate htui not altogether electrified tho Gothamiics. _.._... _. . ._...fi. ._.._._- Emperor William's Dream. A Berlin correspondent of the London Daily News: relates the following episode of the German l'lmperor'n recent visit to the hygienic exhibition. “'hilo inspecting tho pavilion of the city of Carlsbad his majesty noticed a. small china. cup, bearing the date 1863, and decorated with a blue silk ribbon. ()n inquiry he was informed that: this was the on from which ho had taken the waters of Czir sbud in 1863, preserved in memory of his visit. Taking the cup in his hand, the Emperor said with n umilc : "You, I remem- ber that time very well. It‘s twenty years ago, and yet it nearly seems as if months had only passed since then, my recollections are so vivid. Tlicy remind me of a small episode which, perhaps, I may tell ou. One night I dreamt I stood by tho 'ur- spring and a man handed me n cup contain- ing: poison. \thn I a wake I laughed at this dream, for every morning at the spring I received my cup from tho hands of a charming girl. and that. she had no desire to take my life I felt positive. 'l'hzit morning, I went to tho spring at the usual hour; but when I found a man present this time, wait- ing to hand me the cup, instead of the girl. who was prevented from coming by illncsa, or some other reason, then the memory of my dream made me feel quite uneasy and shivcry for a moment. I remained uncertain for some instants, and thou I uupprcased my suspicions, saying to myself : The good Carlsbavicrs cannot have any thoughts of murder. And then I looked once more at tho kind-looking man and at all the pie-Mani. snrroundiuuu, and I emptied the cup at a draught! Of course it did not harm me. On the contrary, my stay at Carlsbad was very beneficial to me," .._.._._.‘ 0~-'â€"-0 , "w...â€" Tho Fool and tho Lawyer. “\Villiam Look, who made you?" demand- ed a learned counsellor. William, who was considered a fool, acrcwcd up bin lace, and. looking thoughtful and uomcwiint bewilder- cd, rcplicrl. “Moses. 1 u'posc." “That will do," said the counselor, addressing fie court. "The witness rays he supposes Moses made him. This iii an intelligent mmwor,-inoro than I thought him capable of giving, for it shows that in: has some faint idea of the Scriptures. I submit that it is not sufficient to entitle him to be irwom an a witness capw Me of giving cviil ncc." V “Minter Judge, will the fool, “may I as the lawyer a question 2'" “Certainly,” lurid the judge. “Well, then, Mr. Lawyer, whorl'ye s’imo mado you?” “Aaron, 1 n'1wac,"saixltixc lawyer. imita- ting the witness. After the mith had somewhat subsided, the witness drawlcd out,â€" "Wa'al, neow, We do read in the llwli that Aaron once made a calf ; but who'd a thought the crittcr'd got in here 1'" W A Chicmvmaml Charm. “'i‘. hat other business do you follow be- sides prmhingf " was asked an old cola/ml man. " I speculates a little." “ How speculate? " " l sells chickens." “ Where in you get the chickens?” “ )7 boys fetch cm is." “Vi here do they getthem?" _“ I «loan know. ssh, l’w allrrs so busy wul my Menuhin dat I ain't got no timoto ax. l was s grins to inquire do udder day, but a rival come on and tulr up all my time."â€"Arkamu Media. W Ilia. Enabling is one of those who make- the rust of’ her sex prowl of bdugwoir‘” ‘-