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g%;:yvgaztm . y . you"... ,i. ,. - w.‘ sari-Jar: Inim- ~¢ any i. 5.? MEDIAâ€"NED illsâ€"DAUGHTER. CHAPTER XVII. Coxnxcsn.) Ht- spoke all languages, even English, with equal fluency. and with a sufficiently impartial pronunciation ; and he had all that polish of manner which I suppose has given rise to the old proverb, that if you scratch a Russian gentleman, you will draw the blood of a Tartar savage. _ I need only add that he was obviously incapable of ttuth unless with a serious object, or by way of amusing himself with a novelty, and that he was extremely en. tortaining. Englishmen call themselves cosmopolitan. Americans laugh at us English as insular, much as an Englishman from St. James’s would laugh at the best man in all Tristan‘ d’Acunha. Russians laugh, and laugh very fairly and 'ustly, at the United States, with New ork for its St. Petersburg, and Boston, that.“ hub of the universe,” where the axis of the earth visibly sticks out through the earth's surface, for its Moscow, and the Boston Philosophical institute (if that be its name).'for its Kremlin. The Prince called on us the next day, and our acquaintance soon improved, so that he became one of the four men whom I could say 1 had really known. I may at once put aside my late husband and the Very Reverend the Dean. It is more difli- cult to institute any comparison between Prince Balanikofi' and George Sabine. I can only suggest it by saying that each was a perfect specimen of his type, the one of an English gentleman of old family, the _ other of a Tartar Prince with unmeasured estates, and unexhausted mines and forests. Amongst the Prince’s other cosmopolitan accomplishments he possessed the art of driving four-in-hand. Amongst his pet toys at Paris was, in addition to his box at the Opera, an exquisite little steam launch on the Seine. What with the Opera, and long drives on the roof of the drag, and delightful runs in the launch on the river, we hardly ever needed to complain that we had lost a day. And why need I trouble myself about what the English world in London, or even the Parisian world, which is smaller and more lenient, might say or think 2 My position was quite secured. I could do as I pleased. and I intended to do so. 1 was free to take up the Prince if I pleased, and to throw him over again when I pleased and how. Society, in the strictest sense of the term, was closed to me. As the divorced wife of an Ambassador, I had the doors ofevery Court in Europe hopelessly shut in my face ; and as now knew, beyond the circle of the Court there is no society in any capital of Europe. Your richest roturier sets aside certain nights of his salon for the Court circle, and others for the remainder of his necessary acquaintance. The two great circles may meet ; they may even, in geometrical phraseology, touch ; but they never inter- sect. ‘ The etiquette of the “ Almanach de Goths.” may be as devoid of real mean- ing as the pedantries of heraldry. But it is none the less an appreciable factor in human life. Not even the Church of Rome, which freely dispenses the sacrament of matri- mony, will recognize as Princess at the Court of the Vatican the morganatic wife of a Prince, lawfully married by all the most sacred rights of the Church . I might have seen what was coming. To be more exact, I should say that I ought to have seen it. To be strictly truthful, I will own thatI have seen it, but had simply shut my eyes to it. What happened fell out upon this fashion; and. as Russians have very little sentiment about them, I can put the story plainly and straitfouwardly. The Prince one day did me the honor, in the most faultless English and with a con- siderable amount of more or less sincere Muscovile passion of laying his heart and :hree hundred thousand francs a year at my set. His frankness was something refreshing. He could not marry, he explained without the permission under his sign manual of the Czar himself, who would never consent to the union of the representative of a family allied to the Romanoif with the daughter of an English priest, however exalted in his hol ' calling. ' here was besides a little difficulty in the fact that his own wife happened un- fortunately to be still alive, and that her father, although not of very exalted birth, held a position of the highest trust and confidence in the Imperial Chencellerie. Money, however, was the merest trifle. He would deposit a sum with the Rothschilds or any other French or English house suffi- cient to secure me a yearly income of three hundred thousand francs, and I could to- morrow select and furnish any hotel in Paris that took my fancy. All this was said as plainly and as brut- ally‘as if he had been talking to any mem- ber of la haute socotterie, and yet with the most imperturbablo grace and polish. Iremember only twoideasâ€"if I can so term them â€"-that flashed through my mind. Ono wise to ask myself what I had done to merit this insult, or if I could in any ossible way have given him the idea that I) had been laying myself open to do it. The other was an almost insane desire to kill him as he stood there, leaning with all his great length against the mantel-piece, and twisting his watch-chain into knots be- tween his great fingers. I believe I should have been idiotic enough to have done asmuch ifa pistol had been lying ready to my hand ; and I am uite sure that it would have been one of i one cases in which the late Maitre Lsuhaud would have secured a triumphant ac uiital. uckily, there was no pistol, or. indeed, any other weapon more dangerous than a paper knife at hand :and so, not caring to trust myself to French, I addressed him in in" own tongue. began by telling him that he was a rowanl to insult me as he had done, and that, if I had lacqueys within call, I would have him thrust out. This, I said, he might take as my definite answer and as my final answer. since! unhap ily knew no Englishmen in Paris to l him to account. Meantime he saw the door, and he could go. Ami here, I am afraid, I somewhat spoiled the dignity of my hanngue by a idmg that the sooner he went the better. Tim, no deubg waa vulgar ; but i think, i on the other hand, that I can fairly plead I was excited. K I cannot tell whether this outburst took him by surprise “or not. I must only pre~ some it did; for he would have hardly provoked it if he had forseen it. As there was clearly nothing else to do, he said, without the least expression of ir- ritation, that be deeply regretted the un- fortunate misunderstanding which had occurred, and the whole blame of which he was frankly willing to accept. And he then made me a most profound, and at the same time graceful bow, and departed in themost natural manner, and without the least ap- roach to anything like discomposure or can of digui“ As the docwlosed behind him, I threw myself on the sofa and instead of fainting, burst out laug bin . Then my thoughts whirled round and only. The memory of George Sabine flashed through my mind. as a streak of lightning dishes through a pitcby dark sky. 4 _ . After the lightning follows the thunder and then the rain.‘ I began to sob, and then burst out crying passionately. When I recovered myself I began to wonder dreamily, what sort of advice the Very Reverend the Dean would have given me under all the circumstances. I may have been doing that worthy man an injustice ; but I came to the conclusion that he would have urged that there was much in the past history of the Prince which called .for pity rather than for anger ; that his affection was evi- dently sincere; that he was no doubt anxious, under my better influence, to lead a new and better life; that it was not for mortal man to too severely judge his follow; that the manner of my refusal had been, to say the least, un‘charitable, if not actually unchristian ; that from a' mere worldly that the Greek Church differed so slightly in its tenets from our own that he for one never-despaired of seeing, even in his own lifetime, the reconciliation of the two, in which happy event he should be able to exclaim with the aged Simeon, “Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace.” CHAPTER XVIII. \Vhen Ethel returned she was bubblin over with little details. She had been here, and she had been there; and in one or two shops she had seen some wonderful bar. gains, and there had been even more than this. " Only fancy, Miriam, I was coming from the Rue de la Paix, and was crossing the Place Vendome, when I ran almost full tilt into a young Englishman, who looked at meâ€"at me, my dear. Well, I smiled de- murely, much as a Queen might smile to a bow, and he followed me all along the Rue St. Honorsâ€"shying horribly when I looked in at the jewellers’ windows, until we reached the end of the street. Thenâ€"I couldn't help itâ€"he touched his soft felt hat most politely, and said in Ollendorf, that ‘ It was making a beautiful day.’ So what did I do? I kept my countenance, and answered him in English with a French accent. ‘ Naughty little boy l go home at once, or I will write and tell the Proctors and the examining chaplain to his holiness the Bishop.’ My child, you should have seen the little power: make tracks.’ " When we had finished laughing over this defeat of the church militant, I turned to more serious matters. “ We must really take counsel together, Ethel. I have had, this morning, a pro- posal which has fairly bewildered and dis- gusted me.” “ Good gracious l” " I feel pretty much as the Dean might have felt three years ago if the Prime Min- ister had dropped from Heaven after the fashion of a thunderbolt, straight through the roof, and alighted at the hearthrug at the Vicarage, and had then said without any attempt at preliminary warning : “Mr. St. Aubyn, you are the ablest man in the whole Church. Mr. St. Aubyn, I will make you a bishop to~morrow, only it must be on the distinct understanding that you live on prison dietâ€" no wine, no beer, no pastry, gruel four days a week, and on the other three bread, and a quarter of a pound of meat! \Vhat would the dean have said ‘2” “Perhaps, my dear,” replied Mrs. For- tescue, “ he may at some time have read of His Excellency, Don Sancho Panza, Governor of the Island of Barntaria. If so, he would most certainly have declared that he would prefer to have the stipend of Ossulston raised to five hundred a year, and to go back to it and get drunk every night with his crony the churchwarden, as you tell me he used to do." “I don’t get tipsy with you, my dear Ethel ; but your opinion is sound all the same. If you had been at my shoulder just now, you would have told me to do exactly what I have done.” - And I then told her, as briefly as possible, all that had taken place with Prince Bal- anikoff. “ Well, Miriam, it is just the impudence of these va abouds. They live among their serfs, and t ey think that they have only to throw their handkerchief, or to show the shadow of their little finger. And, on the other hand, you know," and here she drop ped into a meditative tone of voice, “ he was certainly very straightforward. “’hat he said about the Rothschilds was perhaps brutal, but eminently satisfactory. “ What he said about its being impossible for him to marry without the permission of the Emperor, and equally impossible to ob- tain that permission to the marriage in uestion happens, although it comes from a ussian, to be strictly true. Of that I can assure you there is no manner of doubt whatever ; and when he told you he was married already, I think you may pretty safely adopt the rule of English law- yers which I understand to be that all admissions are eviience against the party that makes them and may fairly be construed in the most adverse sense. And yet in spite of all this, my dear Miriam, I declare that ill had been you I should have then ht twice. You see, of'eourse, it is no good linking at matters. We must look them in the face, for time and tide do not wait for any of us. " In a worldly point of view you would have gained considerably b coinciding withâ€"shall I sayâ€"these iusu ting propos- als. Of course. dear Miriam, you have done the right thing. About that there is [min Of. View. I hld peryel'sfillj Sficrificed 9- not- have considered what he said at all. very‘brilliaut future With infinite oppot- I am afraid I should have jumped at it. tuuitles in it of usefulness and good, and It is so hard to live comfortably, and a. no manner of doubt. And if poor George Sabine were alive it would have been a very difi'ereni matter. But he isn’t alive, and I think you were a little hard upon the Rus- sian. After his own barbarous fashion, and according to the best of those Northern Lights which do duty in his wretched country for a son, he meant to act on the square. He may have been brutal person~ ally. Most of those Tarturs are. But a Russian is never a cad, and he is always generous. I fancy very much that your prince could have taught our own Ambas- sador at St. Petersburg a lesson in manners as well as in a good many other things.” “But do you seriously mean," I cried, starting to my feet, “that you would have entertained his infamous proposal for a moment 2” “My dear, .you mustn’t force words upon me that beg the whole thing. In the first place, the roposal was made toyou calmly enough an in the most courteous manner possible. And then, too, it was made to yourself. It was not as if the Prince had gone to the Dean and asked him to sell you straight out for a high price. You are not fair on the man.” “Not fair on him l” “Let us just admit," she continued, "for the mere sake of argument, that he is taken with you. Without flattery; there are few who would not be ; and Russians are extremely impulsive. He couldn’t marry you. Why should you blame him so severely for blurting out the truth in his own fash- ion, without any lying or beating about the bush? You may have done Wisely or unwisely; it is for you to judge, notfor me. You may have rightly or wrongly, but you have no right whatever to complain of hav- ing been insulted. The man told you the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, and I shouldlike to know what more you would have had from him ‘2” “Then you would seriously have consid- ered what he said ‘3” “If I had been you, dear Miriam, I ans- wer yes. If it had been myself, I should nice little rents of three hundred thousand francs goes such a very long way." “You are then really in earnest?" “Never more so in my life, my child,and now let us have a cup of tea.” With the cup of tea we tacitly allowed the matter to drop. Each of us thoroughly knew the mind of the other, and when there is an insuperabledifl‘erenoe of opinion at the very outstart. you must remember g that life is short, and that it is worse than waste of time, the most precious of all divine gifts to man, to keep a discussion going which cannot possibly end in any useful result. As the Dean used to say, “De principiis disputantibus non est ratio.” If you cannot agree as to what is a straight line and what is a point, it is idle to link arms and endeavor to cross the fateful pon asinorum. CHAPTER XIX. No more talking over matters with Ethel Fortescue would have altered the position an inch. I understood her point of view thoroughly, and she knew I did so. She understood mine. ‘We were far too good friends, and too sincerely attached to one another to quarrel, especially over what was entirely my own affair. And, each of us in her own way, we wore more like men than women, regarding friendship as a very rare and precious thing which must not be broken by differences of opinionâ€"o iuion being a transitory matter, and lie 16 to sudden changes and shifts of the wind, or to periods of entire calm, such as you get in that horrible region the Duldrums. Whereas friendship, like the trade winds, always blows steadily in a. direction which can be anticipated and consequently is not to be made light of, or treated as a matter of indifference and a disturbing element in your plans. ’ A compromise, however, was possible. I had my fifteen hundred a year. As to that there could be no possible doubt. If we are to come to the details of household management, of which my sad and long experience at Ossulston had taught me only too much, two women can live to- gether as cheaply as one can live by herself. consequently I was not hampered in my calculation by my loyalty to Mrs. Fortescue whom I could welcome at any time and upon any notice. So I decided to go to England, and to live decorously and respectably. N at that I suggest for a moment that I had ever. done otherwise. This resolution determined upon, we parted company with honestly sincere expressions of goodwill and affection Ethel Went off to Carlsbad ; I made my way to Leamingtou. And now begins the story, which, I fear, I must abridge in its telling, of “La J uive Errante.” I had been at Leamington about two months. I lived in unexceptionable lodg- ings. I kept a little pon -carriage at the adjacent livery stables. lodged the larg- est sum at my disposal at the Joint Stock Bankâ€"for at_ Joint Stock Banks every clerk tells the affairs of the customer to all his friends. I engaged a maid, a bloused Warwickshire woman of thirty, whose orders were to accompany me wherever I might go, and, by way of color, to always carry an umbrella, or a box of water-colors, or some such lumber. After about two months people began to call upon me. First came the, wife of a doctor, whom a convenient chill and sore throat had obliged me to summon. Ipraised her husband's skill and tact. I drew acomparison between him and the great Sir Timothy Carver. by no means favorable to that most distinguished snrv goon. I regretted that the sphere of her husband’s abilities should be bounded by Leamington, and I sent her awa radiant. \Vithin a week I was asked to inner,aud I went. I was dressed in black with a high neck trimmed with some of my most valuable lace. I wore a small capâ€"a cap of protest Imight also call itâ€"and my only jewels were a black pearl brooch and pendants which, I believe, u n my honor some of the ladies took for eh I was a success 5 and when the men came up from their cigarettes and five-year-old port, bringing the full aroma with them, I could see that I had made my mark, for they all clustered round me. Amongst them, however, was one who claimed acquaintance with me, remindiu me that I knew him. I, of course, 'repli that I had not that honor. “Ah, my lady,” he said, with what was meant for a sentimental smile, “the months -a m.._- , .__» . come and go, and perhaps it is a surprise to each of us to meet the other. My name,” he added rubbin his hands, “ is Jenkins. When Ifirst in eyour ladyship‘s acquaint~ ance, I was only managing clerk in Lincoln's Inn Fields to Messrs. lei, Slowcoaoh, & Absolute, Sir Henry's solicitors. I am sure you will be glad to hear that I am now a rtner in the firm. In fact"â€"and here he ropped his voice to an odiously confiden- tial whisper, “I am down here at this mo- ment apparently an pleasure. No man likes pleasure better than myself: but I never let business interfere with it, your ladyship. And I do not mind telling you that our firm has intrustcd me with some very delicate negotiations, much reminding me of those in which I had the honor of being concerned on your own account. What a very strange world and a very small world after all it is l” Now of course I ought to have conciliat- ed this little such. I ought to have asked him to call upon me, and to bring his wife, if he had one, with him ; but Iwas utterly unable to do more than to reply frigidly that I remembered the circumstances as perfectly as himself, so perfectly indeed that I had no need to be reminded of them. And I then found myself, without knowxng whether he possessed one, actually asking whether his wife derived any benefit from the Leamington waters, and whether he found the time and had the inclination to ride with theâ€"â€"-hounds. “My wife, your ladyship,” be commenced at once, “ finds the waters do her a deal of good, She suffers from obstinate liVer complaint, for which I am told they are invaluable. I don’t ride myself, especially after hounds, but we have very pleas- ant drives in the morning, We've been already to \Varwick and Kenil- worth, and we mean to do the neigh- borhood thoroughly before we go. We are here in quite a humble way, or else I would ask your ladyship to call, and to do me the honor of being introduced to Mrs. Jenkins.” And at this point happily our conversation was interrupted. I left almost immediately. I felt that I was threatened by two dangers. One was entirely my own fault : stopping at Leam- ington as Mrs. Chichesterâ€"the; nom de guerre I had chosenâ€"I had been addressed and recognized as Lady Craven. After all, he had only said, when I came to think of it, “my lady” and “your ladyship.” That was well enough so far, and saved me from my blunder in not having at once taken him into my confidence and given him warning. But then, what a terrible prospect ! Am I forever to be taking everybody into my confidence and giving them warning, from the solicitor’s managing clerk down to the dressmaker’s fitter-cu? It would be better to go to Kamschatka at once. Luckily he had not used my name. The first danger was over ; but he would be sure totell his wife everything as soon as he went home ; and if he did so, Leamington would be impossible for me. And this second danger soon proved u. reality. Some few days after I went in the morn- ing to call on toe wife of aclcrgyman whose acquaintance I had made. He was only a. curate, but he had a sufficient private in- come, and lived in a big house in Lansdowne Terrace. I knew they were in, because as I knocked at the door. I saw the excellent lady put her head over the blind in the ground-floor window. I then saw'uer two eldest and eligible daughters successively do the same. Indeed all three of them had a good stare at me. When the servant came to the door, it was to inform me with the obvious hesita- lie, that her mistress was not at home. It is a dreary story to give in detail. Let me summarize it by saying that exactly the same thing hap ened at half-a-dozen other houses. Scan al flies through Leamington, or through any other English watering- place, like wild fire through a field of ripe corn. I found myself in Leamington an outcast and a pariah. I asked another curate to tea, giving him a week’s notice. He was too truthful a little man to tell a downright lie, and he pitecusly pleaded the many calls on his time. This was absurd, as he notoriously lived upon his parishioners making his tea and supper out a compensation for his mid-day bread and cheese and table-beer. He was a good little fellow, and would no doubt have been only too delighted to have come, so far as he himself was concern- ed' But he was weak and terrified. He could not bring himself to say, “Neither do I accuse thee;’, and if he paid me the compliment of writing upon the ground, I was not present to see him do as much, and so was in no ways solaced by the operation. In (T0 in: CONTINUED.) us soccer AT WATERLOO And Ills Grateful Country Generously Rewarded lliin. A London despatch says:â€"Handbills were distributed the other night through- out the workiug class residence district calling for a mass meeting to be held on Sun day afternoon, under the auspices of the Social Democratic Federation, to con- sider the remar kable case of J chu Stacey, a Waterloo veteran, which has just been brought to the attention of the public. Stacey, a Waterloo veteran, who is 96 years of age, recently walked from Mexborough in Yorkshire to London and returned, a to- tal distance of over 300 miles. for the purpose of interviewing the war office authorities and begging for an increase in his pension, which for nearly a quarter of a oeutur has amounted to 25 cents per day. Accor - ing to the official documents he was drafted into military service in 1816, and when eighteen years of age he was sent to join the German legion, which was specially assigned to reveut Napoleon's escape into Germany. e aftorwards joined the army as a regular soldier, and took art in num- erous en agements under Lor Gough, Sir Henry attain, Sir Henry Havelock and other noted generals. He rose to the rank of sergeant, and was one of the Queen’s escortoo the day of her marriage. In 1860, at the age of 83, he was discharged on pen- sion of tenpence per day- On his recent visit he was advised that his request would be filed for consideration. Since his return home, however, he has been advised that the war office finds it im nible to accede to his representations. he object of Sun- day’s meeting is to initiate a fund to save the old veteran from ending his days in a poor house. tion of a rustic ingenue ordered to tell a h" . . .-..._. -- 1 YOUNG FOLKS. \. \\»\, Wilful Dalsy’s Lesson. "Daisy, Daisy, come here l" "Yes, Mamma, I'm coming." " Here is aletter from Grandmn Sh. wants you to come and see her and stay two or three months. Now, what do you think of that! I will read the letter to you.". Dear Daughter : I want to ask a great favor of you. Will you let Daisy come to see us, and stay along while! I think she is old enough to come alone. We will meet her at the station. Our country air will do her good. The air of town has made her cheeks pale and thin. poor little dear l Let her come to grandma’s and she will get well.â€"Mother. ‘ That was all, but it was a wonderful letter to Daisy. She had never been to the country in all the nine years of her life, and now the thought of a summer in the couu~ try! “Oh i" she cried, jumping up and down, “that will be jolly." "Yes," said mamma, “butyou must be a good girl." “ I’ll see about that," said rebellious Daisy. Now let me tell you about this little Mire. Her wilful ways had often caused her trouble, as well as those around her. She never had much of what the world would call real trouble. Her parents did not ex- pect any hard tasks of her, but let their little girl do pretty much as she pleased. She kept herself very neat and clean ; for she loved to be “fixed up," as she expressed it, and loved to appear independent and self-reliant to others. The eventful day at last arrived, when she was to leave home to go to her grandma’s. Mamma and papa accompanied her to the station, and put her under the care of a kind-hearted conductor. She rebelled at this, as she wanted to take care of herself, but for once her parents had their way and she had to submit. She was very thoughtful all the way. The passengers noticed the bright little girl with her golden curls and thoughtful face, and thought she must have wiuscme ways and pretty manners. In the car was another little girl who had a blank book, in which she noted down what interested her, and what she thought would interest others. This is what she wrote about Daisy : ” ‘ Saw a little girl today. while on the train, that looked like abig wax doll. I wished I had her for mine. She had long, flaxen curls and big, blue eyes, and beauti- ful fair skin. Her name, they told me, was Daisy Darling. She is a darling too. Wish she was my sister, cause mine is dead. . I If Daisy could have known what this lit- tle girl was thinking about her, she would soon have caused her to confide in her the story of her dead sister. Her warm, impetuous manner would have made a freind of the little girl, but she never knew it. Seen her journey was at an end. She was at grandma’s station where she receiv- ed a warm welcome from those waiting for “ She is just like a beam of sunshine come to gladden my old days,” said grandma to grandpa. Grandpa replied in the words of the song : Only a beam of sunshine, _ But, oh, it was warm and bright L Daisy had overheard these remarks about herself. “ I will try to be a sunbeam to dear old grandma,” she thought. So she tried and succeeded all that day and the next and the next in being indeed a sum beam. But alas ! on the fourth day her interest flagged ; she had grown tired of being good. “ I declare l I don’t know I what to .do with Daisy," said grandma on the morning of the seventh day. “ She has not done her work half so well the last three days. Yesterday, when I told her to come and set the table, she said ‘I don’t have to,’ and ran off. I don’t like to tell Elsie, but I ought to 1 I’ll wait awhile first ;" and grandma went about herwork hoping to_be able to spare Daisy the disgrace of havmg to be reported to her momma. “ I wish something would teach her a lesson." Her poor grandma little dreamed of the lesson that was in store for the naughty little Daisy. Soon after this, one day at noon, when grandpa was getting ready to go up the mountains to his oil wells, Daisy said, " Grandma, may I go too 2" i “ Why no dear, don't you see the dishes' aren’ t washed 2" “I don't cars l Wash them yourself l" said this wicked little girl. " I am going i Come, Grandpa,” as if that settled the matter ; but it didn't, quite. So she went. All the afternoon, she played around the wells without once falling in, she told grandpa. _ At the close of the day grandpa said, “ Come, dear. ” " Wait a minute,” said wilful Daisy. " I want to look in each well again before I ' o." 8 Just as Daisy was looking into the last and deepest one, she grow a little too bold. 'and down she went, down to the very bottom on her face. Grandpa had his back turned, but he knew her shriek. “ Oh, if she had only minded randma l" Such were her thoughts as she ound her- self dripping with oil. Grandpa hurriedly fished her out. What an object she was l The oil scum spoiled everything except the little irl herself. We hope she was im- prove , for a very penitent little girl ore t into grandma’s arms that night. " I V! ll be good,” she said softly. The next day she went home. “ I never will be had an more," she told her mamms ; so grandma s forgiveness was secured and everything was happily settled. But Daisy has never for otten her lesson and we hope she never will. When she is tempted to disobey she wnll think of her fall in the oil well. ----â€"-â€"-.â€"-â€"-â€"â€"â€"- Regard for the Unltlss. Servantâ€"“ Please, mum, Mrs. Nexdoor wants you toland her some reading matter - suitable for a sick person.” iivc her than Mistressâ€"“ Certainly. [ medical almanacs. "